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spiltscribbles · 3 years

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57. “Wait a second.. are you jealous?” + Poorly Timed Confession + modern au 😍 pretty please!!!

~Notes: OMFG angel!!! Thank you SO SO much for the prompt<3 You are a complete babe! I hope you like :S It’s cheese, but like also what else would I do? LMFAO XD

Smash Prompt Game | Send Me A Prompt💜 | A Reblog Is Like An I Love You!!

“Hmmm… All right, would you rather, mmm… Smell Borris Johnson’s sweaty gym socks, or snog Professor Slughorn full on the mouth for a straight minute— oh erm, not so straight I reckon on second thought.”

Remus wrinkles his nose at him from across the bed, and clucks his tongue at the awful pun. “You’re unruly.”

“And you’re dodging,”

“Am not arse, I’m just recovering from that very terrifying scenario you’ve spewed out like the sadistic satanist you are.”

“Which scenario are you recovering from though?” Sirius leers, wiggling his eyebrows and jostling Remus’s textbook with his foot.

“I hate that you’re enjoying this so much,” Remus intones in a deadpan.

“Mary John, I’m waiting,” Sirius says with far too much glee.

Sometimes Remus is sure that he hates him. “Fine, the answer is I hate you.”

“Filthy and slanderous lies, Lupin.”

“You’re demented.”

“Five. Four. Three—“

“I won’t choose.”

“See, all I hear is that you wanna get it on with our chemistry professor, you saucy minx, you.”

Remus sniffs. “Better than touching that prick with even a ten foot pole.”

“Mmmm, have I ever told you how hot and heavy I get hearing you talk politics at me?”

Remus throws him the bird, which makes Sirius laugh. Remus can objectively say that Sirius has the most beautiful variations of laughter in the world, and he’d know considering he’s catalogued each one. This version is definitely top three. His care free, effortless laugh when Remus takes him off guard with a snide remark or lowly muttered retort that’s not appropriate for most company— It’s really more of a experience, truly. His breaths stutter out in a lovely staccato, and his eyes glimmer like the sea, and sometimes it feels like the world’s been suspended and it’s only the two of them in that slice of eternity.

Erm, Ah, but yeah…. That only happens occasionally, and it’s only because Sirius is Remus’s greatest friend— has been since the final year of primary school after Remus had moved to the London outskirts from his small, coastal town in Wales, and on first sight, Sirius swung a snowball straight to Remus’s face, which he of course responded to by throwing two more his way, and well… The pair of them were soaking and breathless by the end of it, but their fate was sealed, they were the greatest of friends, and nothing would ever alter that unquestionable staple.

So what if sometimes Remus’s chest thuds painfully when Sirius dimples his way, or Remus only ever wants to talk to him over anyone else— even Lily or his Mam— if he’s had a bad day, or good one, or if something remarkable had happened, or , or… Or whenever really. And there’s absolutely no significance that Remus can’t help the totally delighted grin that splits his face in half whenever he gets a text or snap from Sirius.

None of that is at all relevant.

Sirius is Remus’s greatest friend, and he’d never risk ruining that by allowing some pesky little crush swallow him whole and clammer out his mouth— vulnerable and throbbing in the open space between them. It doesn’t matter if Marlene always makes kissy faces their way, or how James only ever refers to them as a couple, and so what if Peter’s got a pole running that Remus knows basically the whole school is betting on.

They’re all wrong, Sirius would never, ever feel the same sort of way that Remus does him, that’s downright preposterous and ridiculous and just simply impossible. And Remus’s perfectly content with that very real truth… He is.

Remus is fine with it God help him. So everyone else just needs to but the fuck out of their business.

Besides, this, this right now— Him and Sirius splayed out on opposite ends of Remus’s bed, with Sirius’s feet nudging at Remus’s elbow whenever he’s got a question about there homework, with the window cracked open just so, letting in some of the chilly winter air because Sirius absolutely can not focus if he’s not cold— the fucking furnace— Where Remus can still hear the going ons of his family playing out on the floor below them… This is the most perfect place in Remus’s eyes, and he won’t ever change that, especially not to live out some boyhood fantasy that would never come into fruition in his wildest of dreams.

Remus’s content… He is… He has to be or else he’d lose one of the most vital people in his world.

“You’ve got footie practice after school, right?”

“Mmhmm, you coming to watch?”

“Only if you admit i’m your good luck charm,” Remus sardonically bats his lashes at Sirius as if he was in a mascara advert, and the taller boy blows a raspberry right back at him.

“Nice, real nice. You’re extraordinarily mature, you know that, Black?”

“And sexy, don’t forget that, oh so important descriptor Lupin.”

Remus leans against the locker besides Sirius’s, watches as he trades his current binders for the lot he’ll need for the afternoon, and tries really hard not to stare too longingly at how Sirius’s arm muscles ripple beneath their school’s maroon, uniform jackets in the most delicious of ways. (He hates the fact he’s been dissolved into a starry eyed mess lusting over the star striker, but thus is his fate.)

“I’d never commit such a faux pas, and I’m insulted that you’d ever think as much.”

Sirius sneers at him with a slight shake to his head. “So you coming or not?”

“I’m still contemplating my options,” he preens, but before Sirius could retort, Marlene, megawatt smile and dangerously sharp smirk— swaggers over towards them.

“Good morning my two beautiful chums!”

“What do you want?” Sirius asks before even glancing her way, to which Marlene blinks up at him, faux owlish. “S, I just wanted to greet a couple of my closest companions this lovely December morning,” she defends herself.

“Marls, you’re never this agreeable before noon,” Remus points out hesitantly.

“ And you rarely are even afterwards,” Sirius tacks on.

“Rude,” she pouts.

“Accurate,” Remus pipes in with an apologetic grimace.

Marlene stares them both down for a solid minute before finally relaxing her shoulders, and thrusting out the legal pad in her grasp. “The student council and spirit society are selling corsages for the snowflake formal, and Dorcas has deployed me to get some orders.”

“Whipped,” Sirius teases through a counter-fit cough.

Marlene doesn’t hesitate before smashing the legal pad on his head. “And you traipsing around getting people to buy the tickets for the theatre department last semester even though Re was only playing Mercutio wasn’t you being wrapped around his littlest finger?”

Remus flushes, feeling an unnerving amount of bees stinging around his stomach, and is thankful when the conversation pauses after Sirius casts her a very heated V. “Sod off.”

“So are you guys gonna buy or not?” Marlene huffs, weight slung to her left hip, and arms crossed against her chest.

“I’m a gay bloke, Marls, did you forget that?” Remus pins her with a one eyed squint, and she just scrunches her face up at him, exasperated.

“I’m sure there’s matching boutonnieres.”

“Fine, I just don’t have any school spirit then.”

This time she glares. “Lily and James are Head Boy and Head Girl, isn’t there like an oath between you lot, one for all and all for one, or some rot?”

“That’s the three musketeers,” he says.

“isn’t that basically who you guys are?” She reasons.

Before their wage of words could continue, Sirius just grabs the order form out of Marlene’s hands and fills out a sheet with the flurry of his pen. “Happy?”

“Positively delighted,” she leers, pecking them both on the cheek before strutting off, reminding them of their group study session at Alice’s tonight in her wake.

Sirius shakes his head, reluctantly amused with a grin gathering on the corners of his mouth, but for Remus everything feels like it’s frozen. “You didn’t have to do that you know? ’S not like James is much of a Head Boy anyhow, and Lily wouldn’t have really cared.”

Sirius shrugs, commences their walk to the opposite wing of the school for their shared history class. “Emmy likes that sort of romantical shite.”

Remus sees red, feels his heart lodging in his damn esophagus. “Oh, so— Erm, you’re taking her then,” Remus wonders if his tone sounds as detached as he feels.

“Yeah,” Sirius eyes him, questioning. “She wants that title of snow queen real bad, made me promise I’d campaign with her and the whole shtick.”

“Oh,” it’s like Remus could feel it when he closes off completely, can feel his hopes squashed down and his heart contract and his every organ collapsing in on themselves, leaving him feeling hollowed out completely.

Sirius slows down marginally, eyeing him with a slight frown. “Is that all right? I know you two don’t exactly get along and we were planning to go as a group, bu—“

“It’s fine,” Remus hates how screechy his voice gets, how he feels like he’s about to scream. “You two are a shoe in, no doubt.”

Sirius tries to mirror Remus’s faux excitement with a tepid grin of his own, but Remus doesn’t let him, instead commandeering their typical table on the back row and tries focussing on the thousandth war with France while his world tilts off kilter.

Emmy is beautiful, and popular and her smile alone dazzles the whole room. She’s everything that Sirius should look for in a partner, someone to match his whip lash wit, and his taste for all things exuberant that skirt on flashy, and someone who’s got just as many friends and admirers as him.

They’re perfect and Remus should just get over his petty ass hatred of her, even if he still thinks she can be down right cruel and selective and selfish. Qualities Sirius surely isn’t… But maybe it’s all in his head how she sneers at people who she finds plane, or how she literally guffaws over the misfortune of others. Maybe his perception of how she wields people in like moths to a flame just to get what she wants is all a misunderstanding, or in his head or something.

Maybe all that’s possible, even if Remus seriously doubts it.

But at the end of the day, Sirius loves her— has been basically infatuated by Emmeline Vance since she first transferred at the start of their Freshman year. Sirius loves her, and who ever Sirius loves is merely an extension of him… Right?

Remus just needs to get over it and somehow rid himself of this crush he’s been fostering for so long it’s basically a part of him at this point. Though, he thinks it’d be a lot easier if he didn’t see their faces plastered on posters everywhere the week and a half leading up to the dance— looking like actual royals that would put Will and cate to shame.

“Yo cheekbones!”

Remus starts, swivels around from where he was scratching his pen to paper, finding Sirius— as glimmering and beautiful as always— swaggering up to him, insanely electric smile painted over his face.

“Would you rather eat a jumbo jar of jalapeños without a break, or eat the toenails from someone with athlete’s foot next to your dinner every night of the rest of your life?”

“I thought you were having lunch with Emmy to keep up your royalty status before this weekend?” Remus asks, tacitly side stepping from the horrific images swimming to the forefront of his mind because of his cruel question.

“Now that doesn’t sound like an answer to my ultimatum,” Sirius says in a singsong sort of voice.

“You answer me first,” Remus says airily.

“But I asked first,” Sirius argues haughtily.

“Well both your options would kill me, so I wouldn’t do either,” Remus retorts.

“That’s not how the game works!”

“You’re the one who always says that rules were made to be broken,” Remus says, lofty as all get out,, and dissolves into laughter at the completely cross look Sirius’s giving him.

“You were born to be contrary, weren’t you?”

“So lunch?”

“Got bored,” he shrugs, hopping onto the corner of the desk Remus’s working on. “What you up to instead of eating?”

“My position paper for Model UN.” Sirius smiles down at him, and Remus can’t help the flush that spreads across his cheeks in return. “Not as glamorous as running as Snow King, I know.”

“It’s precious,” Sirius contends, his soft timbre sounding like syrup and his long fingers fluttering against Remus’s skin, pushing back a lock of his ever disheveled, tawny curls in a far to gentle way, and Remus gulps before averting his gaze to break the sudden tautness that’s built between them.

They’ve had so many of these almost moments, ones that Remus’s always treasured but he knows doesn’t mean much of anything at all to Sirius— Sirius who is effortlessly hilarious, and brims with genius and who is so beautiful that sometimes it hurts looking at him for too long. Sirius who has a new suitor at his beck and call on a near weekly basis. But whenever they transpire now, it just hurts all the more because Remus knows in his heart of hearts that they will never lead anywhere, and Sirius is in love with Emmy and Remus can’t let himself float around in this daydream for any longer.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat, shuffles in his seat only slightly. “I’m Algeria so my Mam’s pretty excited about it. She’s been telling me all the stuff Wikipedia’s got wrong and everything.”

Sirius laughs, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “Your mother is kinda everything, you know that?”

Remus twists his mouth up, reluctant. “Don’t tell her as much, or else she’ll go on and on how she won Miss Teen Great Britain when she was only sixteen.”

“Hmm, I was wondering where you got that pretty face.”

“You, Sirius Black, can go lick an unwashed arse.”

“You’ll never catch a suitor with that cheek of yours though. I’d work on that, Lupin.”

“I don’t think I could ever win Miss Congeniality, alas.” Remus doesn’t quite catch Sirius’s reply, to busy responding too the text his phone just chirped with instead.

“Mary John, are you listening?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sirius’s brows hike up, flabbergasted smile stretched across his face. “So totally rude! And I came all the way here— to the place where dreamers die— just to spend time with you.”

“Sorry,” Remus gives him an abashed little half grin before setting the phone back down. “’s just Fabian.”

Sirius’s expression drops, goes inquisitive instead of his typical ebullience. “Fabian? Why’s Fabian Prewett texting you, and why is he,” Sirius crooks his head so he’s able to read the new message that popped up on Remus’s phone’s screen. “Asking about color coordination?”

Remus blushes for an entirely new reason now, one he likes much less. “Ah, he’s the sort to like it when our suits like match, but not in an abrasive fashion, you know?”

Sirius’s face goes scarily blank.

“Your suits? Suits for what?”

“The dance…” Remus says slowly, he’s confused what Sirius’s confused about.

“The dance… Right… I thought you were still going with everyone else?”

“Pff, no way,” Remus scoffs. “Lily’s only pretending to be single, you know how red in the face she gets whenever around James. They’ll end up dancing the whole night away. And with Dorcas running the whole event and Benjy thinking any social function is a plague on society, that’d leave me stuck with Peter and Mary, . And honestly I’ve seen enough of her tongue shoved down his throat for a lifetime.” Remus is only slightly surprised that doesn’t even elicit a chuckle from Sirius, who’s now looking a bit stormy— and he thinks he’ll never be accustomed to his mercurial moods that can change as quickly as the snap of the finger.

“Right… So you’re going with Fabian Prewett… as your date?”

“Yes… Why is that so hard to believe?”

“it’s, it’s not,” Sirius scrambles, suddenly standing up.

“Then why are you being so weird about this,” Remus argues, getting up to meet him at his level.

“Am not!”

“You’re going with Emmy,” Remus reminds him, this edge of desperate.

“I know I am, okay. But you— you—“ Sirius tappers off, eyes glassy and lips parted with words he can’t get out, and Jesus fucking Christ is it weird how for the first time ever their roles have reversed. Sirius can’t put any sentences together, and everything Remus’s been beating down— everything thrashing inside of him— are now burning his throat and warring over who can spill out first.

“What? I’m suppose to stay behind like the pathetic, nobody friend. The guy who’s just there to moon after you while you have an actual life. The Judie garland to your Mickie Roomie!”

“What are you even talking about right now!” Sirius shouts, sounding as torn apart as Remus feels.

“As if you don’t know!” He snarls, collecting his books into his backpack— Suddenly this room feels to stifling. He can’t breathe and it’s too hot and his chest is pounding.

He’s imploding and Remus has no idea how to rectify it.

“Just stop! Remus Stop!”

“leave me the fuck alone Sirius!”

“Why are you being such a prick about this!”

And that, that makes Remus angry, angrier than he’s ever been.

Before he could even think about it for a moment longer, Remus is rounding on him, dashing so close to Sirius that he can taste his breath with how close their faces are skirting against each other.

“I’m in love with you! I’ve been in love with you for forever, and I know that you don’t feel the same way, and I know that you’re in love with Emmy and, and I just know okay.”

“Wha—“ Sirius sputters, looking like a gaping fish. “Wait a second, are you jealous? Of sodding Emmy Vance?”

“Don’t!” Remus practically growls out. "Don’t disrespect me, okay? Don’t pretend that you never knew, or that I was such a good actor. I’ve been in love with you for years and you always knew and Fine, I get it. You never felt the same way, that’s fine. But just don’t pretend as if you never had the choice, don’t make me out as the bad guy for actually, finally saying yes to a bloke who’s actually into me. I need to fucking give up on the premise of us, I need to get over you. So I’m going out with fucking Fabian Prewett and you’re going out with Emmy Vance and that’s that!”

His breaths are labored, jagged and painful, as they race out of him, but Remus can’t move. He’s staring straight into Sirius’s beautiful, gray eyes, and he sees everything he’s always seen there, and hates that this is probably the last time he’ll get to be this close to him.

Not after this.

“I didn’t,” is the first thing Sirius croaks out, broken and helpless. “i didn’t know, Remus you have to believe me— I didn’t—”

“How! How could you not know!” He shouts back, but Remus doesn’t get his answer in so many words, instead he feels it.

He feels it when Sirius clamps his hands on either end of his waste-line, feels it when Sirius smashes their lips together in a cacophony of lips, and teeth and spit. He feels it when Sirius moans in side of him, when his hand moves down, spreads across the width of the small of his back, pushing their torsos even closer. Remus feels it when everything goes into focus, when he takes Sirius into his arms, greedy and excited and disbelieving.

And Remus thinks to all the other times he’s kissed another boy— To this prior weekend swapping snogs with a beaming Fabian in the back of a theatre. He thinks of how there was never anything worth anything when he kissed any of them Because it was all Sirius, always Sirius. And he could try to love Fabian, or some other cute boy, and he tried, and he tried, and he tried, and he gave all he had…but it was never enough, could it ever be enough?

Remus knows it in his bones that it’s enough when it’s with Sirius.

When they finally pull apart it’s difficult to breathe and Remus feels lightheaded and it’s wonderful in the most marvelous of ways.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Sirius says in a whisper.

“Maybe next time give a guy some warning?” Remus can’t help the shit eating smirk that swipes across his mouth and is elated at the adorably cross scowl Sirius answers him with.

“Fine jackass, how’s this for a warning, I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“That’ll be sufficient, I suppose,” Remus goads, laughing against Sirius’s lips when he does just that.

~*~

Sirius ends up winning snow king, but rejects the dance with Emmy, opts to ask Remus to join him instead, as if they were in the middle of some John Hughes movie from the fucking 80s.

It’s utterly ridiculous and overdone and simply way too much— but everyone applauded and cheered and when Sirius kissed him in the middle of it, Remus felt as if his whole body sung with joy.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #SPILT INK #PROMPTS #I love you endlessly #!!!!

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vanaera · 4 years

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Love at First Snow (jhs)

Synopsis | It is during the first snow Hoseok first meets Y/N. It is also during the first snow he prepares to put a ring on her. Little does he know, fate has other plans. (OR: As Hoseok relishes in the spirit of the Holiday season, he cannot help but also reminisce how you two, though entire polar opposites of each other, ended up together. Characters | dance major (and “academically-challenged”)!Hoseok x Genius!female reader (College AU) Prompt | “You know, you remind me a lot of the Grinch. The only difference is in the end, his heart grows three sizes, but you stay an asshole.” Genre | Fluff, Humor, Angst Wordcount | 16.9k (I’m sorry, this ended up longer than I intended) Warnings | Discussions of verbal abuse from toxic families and mentions of panic attacks A/N | Hi Cristine! It is I, snowflake, your secret santa! This is my gift for @bts-poetry for @bangtanarmynet, and @btsbookclub ‘s Secret Santa 2019 event! I combined this gift with the prompt I claimed in @kwritersworld’s 2019 Christmas Event as my inspirations for both events have merged into one story hehe.

Everyone has some titles to live by. “Well-versed lawyer,” “patient teacher,” “single mother,” “broke student”—one-liner characteristics and descriptions enough for people to summarize the entirety of one another. From each other’s greatest achievements to their itty bitty mistakes, any of them can be used to replace an identifier. After all, people always see what they want to see. It all depends on what title sticks out the most to the majority around them. For Jung Hoseok, he lives up to the title of a lovable boyfriend and a rare one, too. As whenever people look at him, the first thing they see is the aberrance of how he ended up….dating Y/N.

There’s nothing wrong with him, or Y/N for that matter. It’s just…they are the most impossible couple to end up together as they are the most literal polar opposites of each other.

People remember Jung Hoseok as the golden dance major of the prestigious South Tigers University. He got into the Performing Arts program, Major in Dance by acing the laborious dance audition despite his unimpressive results in the written exam. Hoseok’s colorful background from his long-term dance crew, Hope World, and his countless wins in different hip hop dance competitions were more than enough proof to know he is indeed one of the top dancers of the university. With a body capable of executing each move ever known to humankind with such grace and precision, Jung Hoseok also has a stage presence that warrants everyone’s unbridled attention. Thus, it is without question he is the prided Most Valuable Dancer of his university’s varsity dance crew, Synergy. The long line-up of trophies Synergy has placed in STU’s hall of glory, all thanks to the competitions Hoseok led, are enough to say Hoseok is literally the modern-day Apollo.

However, it is not just his talent or insanely god-like face and physique that makes Hoseok so “golden.” Because as if Apollo wasn’t enough, Hoseok also impersonated Helios. Jung, Hoseok is warm and kind and funny. He easily makes everyone want to be his bestfriend the moment they met him. Most people often speak of him first thing in the morning with another wonderful feat he pulled off. Hoseok is great in the things he does — playing as the great wingman for people who need the extra push in their romances or becoming the occasional teacher’s pet who goes to the professor and (easily) successfully convinces them to give the class a deadline extension for a requirement. Hoseok turns up every campus party into the happiest event anyone could ever be in and he is such an amazing, sincere friend who remembers everyone’s birthday and gives out the nicest of hugs. Hell, Hoseok even volunteers in long-inactive “dead” college organizations like the Campus Drunk Patrol, Environment Protection Squad, and Animal Welfare Group in his free time. Hoseok is the literal sun and anyone who knows him — which is literally, everyone — will never be unable to deny otherwise.

So when Hoseok expressed romantic interest in Y/N in sophomore year, everyone around him was beyond bewildered. Most especially, his friends.

“Y/N?” Jimin sputters, “as in…The Y/N, L/N from our batch?”

“Well, yeah-”

“Like the Analytical Physics major Y/N L/N?” Taehyung gapes.

“Yeah, I mean,” Hoseok sends them a questioning look, “is there any other Y/N L/N?”

Taehyung scratches his head. “Well, no…I just thought there’s a Y/N in another batch?”

Hoseok gives him a pointed look, unamused.

But Taehyung’s true sentiment is voiced out when Jimin half-screams at their table, “Why her?!”

“Well, why not her?” Hoseok half-smiles, picking on the fries that were dropped scattered onto the table after Jimin unceremoniously pounded his fist on the surface in an act of over-exaggeration.

Taehyung sends Hoseok a disgusted look but continues his friend’s argument, “Dude, she’s like, the entire opposite of you.”

“And that is an understatement.” Jimin points a fry toward his direction, glaring at Hoseok.

Hoseok huffs, “Oh c'mon, you’re all just going overboard. What happened to the golden rule ‘don’t judge a book by its cover?’”

“First of all, Y/N’s not a book,” Jimin scoffs. “She’s like, the whole fucking library of science textbooks. Last sem, we’re busy doing a group project when Y/N suddenly spewed some SOHCAHTOA shit about the Bermuda Triangle. As if the things she said are already a whole level of weird, she even said them in a manner like Liam Neeson’s ‘I don’t know who you are but I’m going to kill you’ monologue from Taken. And second of all, the golden rule is ‘do not do unto others what you do not want others to do unto you,’ dumbass.”

“Okay I got the golden rule wrong,” Hoseok groans, “but nevertheless, you’re still violating it by judging Y/N.”

“In our defense tho,” Taehyung mumbles over the straw of his milkshake, “Y/N judged us first. I was watching Orange one time in the library and she came over and took a seat with me. And then she said some alien gibberish about how Naho Takamiya always fall stupidly on the stairs because she said, by verbatim, ‘according to basic logic and common sense, that’s not how projectiles work,’” Taehyung clicks his tongue and Jimin cringes. Taehyung continues, “Y/N said Naho wouldn’t fly to the hallway when she tripped on the actual steps. She even actually drew a diagram with computations of Naho’s fall and gave it to me before she abruptly got up and go. God, I’ve never felt so stupid and insulted both at the same time.”

“And,” Jimin adds, “last December, I shared a meme on Facebook about turning on your brain instead of your heart this coming 2017 and guess what she did? She commented below “guess, you’ll just die of heart failure before 2017 even comes.” Jimin rolls his eyes, “She made me feel dumb as if I don’t know how heart failure works. So us judging her back is just fair and square.”

“But you don’t actually know how heart failure works,” Hoseok retorts. He glares at Taehyung, “And dude, to be honest, Orange is overrated and Naho really flies whenever she trips, or gets tripped, on the stairs.” Hoseok throws up his hands in annoyance. “Seriously, are you two judging her for just…I don’t know, being smart?!”

Taehyung sighs. “Okay, that’s a bit true, but the thing is, Hobi, our IQ levels are already a bit higher than yours—”

“What’s that got to do with this?!”

“—And if Y/N’s already treating us like the biggest idiots of the world,” Jimin continues Taehyung’s words, “then what chance do you have in having a decent conversation with her? Much less a more fruitful one that could end up in a romantic relationship? There’s like a 99.9 percent sure-ness she will make you more of an idiot than us!”

“Yeah,” Taehyung nods. “Her thoughts are composed of quadratic formulas and science shit like ‘the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.’ While I’m not even sure you know what DNA stands for.”

Hoseok gawks, “Of course I know what DNA stands for!”

“Then say it,” Jimin cocks a brow.

“Dual Nucleus Association—fuck, why am I even doing this—” Hoseok glares at his friends, “What do you take me for? An imbecile?”

“Well, yeah,” Taehyung says honestly.

“That’s why right now, we’re telling you to drop anything you’re feeling in that,” Jimin points to Hoseok’s chest, “for Y/N. Hell, how will you even click together? Y/N’s allergic to nonsense and emojis and your daily vocabulary is entirely nonsense and eggplant emojis.”

Hoseok opens his mouth to argue he also knows about the clown emoji but before he can utter a word, Taehyung beats him to it.

“Dude, we’re not telling you this to insult you.” Jimin snorts and Taehyung closes his eyes before he looks again at Hoseok’s eyes, “Okay, maybe we’re enjoying teasing you a little too much. But we can say this is just payback for you not letting us go home earlier yesterday because you said we ‘need improvement’ which I damn well think not, bitch.” Hoseok squirms and Taehyung claps his shoulder hard, making him wince. “Anyway, what we’re trying to say, Hoseok, is we just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“How will I get hurt?! Nothing’s happened yet. I’m just saying I like Y/N—”

“That’s what we’re worried about, Hoseok,” Jimin cuts him. “Nothing’s happened yet but we know something already did.”

“Like what?”

“You like Y/N. That’s the problem,” Jimin deadpans. “Hoseok we know you like to take relationships seriously. We even know that when you set your heart on a girl, your imagination is already two steps ahead, playing your wedding in your head.”

Hoseok gulps, a guilty sweat forming on his temple.

“But you see, Y/N belongs to that type of people who have their what-will-you-be-in-10-years solidly planted in their heads. And it’s highly probable a relationship, much less a wedding, is written in those 10-year plans. Much more, art majors like us are stigmatized to bound for failure because society is still close-minded and deems art won’t feed us. And by the meaning of society, it’s the ‘almighty and noble’ science folks Y/N belongs to. For God’s sake, there’s a lot of movies that have already forecasted science and art don’t mix!”

“Well, I don’t remember any movies—”

Taehyung looks at Hoseok, incredulous. “Dude, there’s like The Theory of Everything—”

“That’s science and faith!”

“Stephen Hawking’s ex-wife sang in a choir. And she also started writing after their divorce! So that’s still art!”

Hoseok was about to retaliate when he feels Jimin clasp a firm hand on his shoulder. He looks at him. Jimin sighs, “Hoseok, we just want you to not regret your decisions in the end. Y/N belongs to those snobbish high-hat people who treat everyone below them like dirt. There’s plenty of other girls out there who are much nicer than Y/N. Nice just like you. For one, why don’t you try giving a chance to the girls who’ve been crushing on you since freshman year? I know a few and they’re actually sweet. Just anyone who’s not Y/N. Seriously, just trust us on this, Hobi.”

Except Hoseok does not. If there is one characteristic to describe Hoseok other than nice and talented, that would be his hard-headedness. He didn’t listen to his parents when they tried to discourage him from taking dance as his major. Hoseok disregarded numerous peers’ suggestions to join a frat so he can “shine more.” He even disregarded the toxic masculinity fraternities promoted by rocking pink overalls with his sparkly ugly sneakers and multicolored acorn pouch (which Jimin told him was the bane of the entire fashion industry) at least once a week. He even changes it up with other colorful ensembles the fashion students make. Hoseok did not even listen to Taehyung when the former told him not to drink before taking their finals in World History because, "no Hoseok, the alcohol does NOT bring back memories.”

And look where his stubbornness got him. Hoseok became one of the greatest dancers his university has ever handled. His sole talent is enough for him to get invited to teach classes in several prestigious art colleges in the country. Hoseok gained more fulfilling and growth-inspiring friendships than surface-level ones offered by frats. He enjoyed more substantial conversations than booze temptation and toxic, trivial fights over games and girls. Hoseok even accidentally created a modeling career with local brands after his viral modeling of a peach acorn-inspired outfit for the project of his fashion major friends. Although him disregarding Taehyung’s reminders was a big mistake as he totally flunked World History, that night actually made Hoseok learn his lesson not to drink before the finals (and also because he learned the alcohol does not bring back memories he actually needed for the exam. But memories of his most embarrassing moments — like the one where he ended up performing in a children’s party as a fairy godmother—complete with the rainbow gown, fairy wings, plastic crown, and wand—because he mixed up the location of the college’s Halloween party with his friend’s family get-together).

So, why would Hoseok listen to Jimin and Taehyung when setting his eyes and heart for Y/N feels like the most right decision he has ever made in his life? Especially when Y/N’s nowhere the high-hat snobbiety concept Jimin put her in. Hoseok is sure about this because he started to see and know her more than anyone else could after the fateful night of the Science Majors’ last year’s Christmas party.

“Is that Y/N?” Hoseok squints his eyes. The person walking towards him is clad in a black coat and indigo satin slip-dress that falls short on her mid-thigh. Her hair is a mess and her small glittery satchel is slipping off her shoulders even if she adjusted it again and again. Not to say she’s also limping on her two-inch silver heels. When the girl raises her head and sees him, her face falls into an annoyed scowl. Hoseok right then confirms it is aberrantly, and shockingly, Y/N. At the sight of recognition in his face, Y/N immediately runs away in the opposite direction. Hoseok finds himself already chasing after her before his mind could acknowledge that he is actually running after the campus’ excruciating goody-two-shoes in the ass'o clock of the night.

Hoseok easily catches up to Y/N. He blocks her way, causing her to halt. Hoseok hunches as he breathlessly puffs, “Hey Y/N, why you so fast?”

“No-none of your business Jung Hoseok,” Y/N turns away from him and crosses her arms. Hoseok almost smiles. It is amusing how she effortlessly pulls her usual “intimidator stance” even in such a weird scenario.

“Well, it is my business if you’re wandering on campus grounds in the night and obviously not sober.”

Y/N whips her head towards him, “I am sober. What are you even here for?”

“According to my eyes, you’re clearly drunk. Look,” Hoseok points to her face, “you look red all over and you can’t even look at me straight.”

Y/N slaps his hand away.

Hoseok puts his hands back in his pockets, “You’re clearly doing some beautiful eyes challenge right now.”

Y/N cringes at him but Hoseok continues, “And for your second question, I’m patrolling for the Campus Drunk Patrol.” He smiles and points to the logo on his jacket.

Y/N leans forward and squints at the logo. Seeing her raised brow, Hoseok explains, “We aim to help drunk students sober up before commuting home. We can also escort them to their dorm facades and notify their RAs to come and get them.”

Y/N still has her brow raised, skeptical. Hoseok sighs, “Well, it’s a dead org so I understand why you don’t believe me. If I also learn some org that’s been inactive for five years has suddenly gone active, I will be skeptical, too. But trust me on this, okay? I’ll just walk you around until you’re sober enough to know how to go home. I heard you’re dorming here. I can help you get to your dorm if you want.”

Y/N still looks unconvinced and Hoseok releases a sigh again. He juts his thumb and points to his back, “We have our Patrol Marshal stationed there by the campus gates. He can totes see us here and tell you’re one of the stubborn drunk students who refuse to cooperate with our protocol.”

Hoseok smugly puts his weight on his left foot.“You can refuse and go ahead. But because the marshal doesn’t let drunk people he already caught go home, he will notify the head RA and trust me when I tell you I’ve seen a lot of students end up in bigger trouble for not complying with our joint protocol with the RA Council. Or,” Hoseok smiles, “you could just make our lives easier by letting me help you sober up.”

Y/N looks away, gnawing on her lip. When Hoseok hears a faint “fine” come from her, he has to keep his jaw from hanging open.

Because, why wouldn’t he be flabbergasted?

Y/N L/N, the fearsome Analytical Physics major, is not the sweetest star out there. With a resting bitch face, innateness to give cold replies, gift of the perpetual judging stare, and insensitivity to joke cues, Y/N is one of the hardest people to cooperate with. It is not entirely because she does not put in any effort. No one just found it easy, or tolerable even, to interact with her. Sure, Y/N’s smart, a genius in Hoseok’s eyes. However, what stuck to everyone’s memory is how she unconsciously belittles everyone around her. Y/N gives out unnecessary run-throughs of chemistry concepts about any movie or animation brought up in a conversation. She instantly goes grammar-nazzi on anyone who slips on the rules of English grammar, especially when people make errors concerning the Oxford comma in their papers. She even goes out of her way to explain to her fellow students the physics of how and why they drove or parked badly with their bike or scooter.

But the pinnacle of Y/N’s negative reputation has to be her merciless removal of her senior’s name, Oh Sehun, from the case study required in Communication Media Theories. In her very first year in university, at that. Although her action is justified as Sehun did not contribute anything at all in the group project, this name removal caused outrage among every college student. Sehun, who is actually the college’s renowned quarterback, graduated late and was now behind of his original team who already got into the professionals. All because of Y/N. Hence, the people in the university have started to associate her name with the title “stuck-up-iest bitch to ever walk on Earth.” Some don’t even seem to remember her name. All everyone knew is that Y/N’s one hell of a condescending bitch.

So having Y/N walk silently by his side, cooperating for the first time without reciting her rights based on the constitution with such accuracy in verbatim while passively and implicitly insulting him, Hoseok cannot help to be so shocked.

Noticing the complete silence that has surrounded them two, Hoseok breaks from his trance and leads Y/N to the college’s cafe. It’s already closed, given the lateness of the night, but it has their outdoor metal chairs set-up outside. He lets Y/N plop down on one of the metal seats as he produces a coffee-in-can for her.

“Do you just casually carry around canned coffees with you?”

“No, just when I am on duty for the patrols. Caffeine is the best way to help people sober up fast.” Hoseok inserts an edible straw for her and she grabs the drink.

“I don’t think so,” Y/N mutters, “Human body processes consumed alcohol on its own, thus, it’s processing speed is neither affected nor aided by any exterior substances. With this, there’s no such actual thing as 'sobering up fast.’ It just feels like that because caffeine is a stimulant and hence, counters the sedative effect of alcohol, making you feel alert and appear to be sober.” Y/N takes another sip, “Nevertheless, thanks for the free coffee.”

Hoseok almost gapes. The people were not kidding about how Y/N casually spouts science shit wherever she goes. Although he’s supposed to get tipped off, Hoseok just finds this set-up oddly amusing. He leans forward in his seat and props up his arm on the table to cup his face. “Anyway, why are you out in the late of the night?”

Y/N gives him an unamused look, “Because I was obviously partying. Is there any other party in the campus right now than the Science Majors’ Christmas party?”

“You’re right,” Hoseok chuckles, “but what I mean is, why are you already outside? The party doesn’t end 'til 2 A.M.”

“I just decided I want to go home.”

“Why?”

Y/N drops her drink on the table, “Are you just gonna ask me 'why’ everytime?!”

Hoseok tilts his head and smiles, “Talking with drunk people is part of our protocol in sobering up. So, yeah, I’m gonna ask why every time until the redness on your nose and cheeks subsides a little.”

“Fine,” Y/N hisses. She gives Hoseok a steely glare, “This night is the first time I’ve done something so stupid such as going to a party in an attempt to expand my connections. It turns out everyone still irrationally hates me about Oh Sehun’s name removal and they refused to interact with me. They kept sending me glares while I just pathetically stood in the corner of the room for the duration of the party, dumbly holding a cup of some alcoholic drink I just realized 30 minutes ago was what you call ‘spiked.’ These pretty heels I wore hurt my ankles and toes all for nothing.” Y/N covers her face with her palms, “God, I don’t even know why I’m opening up about these things with you when it’s just the first time I talked with you. Maybe it’s just because I’m just drunk, god, it’s so stupid–”

“It’s not stupid,” Hoseok interjects and Y/N raises her head from her hands. Hoseok smiles, “When there’s too much alcohol in our system, we get to do stuff we never knew we can. And sometimes, they are things we really desire to do but dare not let out in the open, afraid of what others may think. And it may come off as stupid as you’re letting your heart do the talking instead of your brain. But you know what? You have to be stupid sometimes to acknowledge what your brain may be missing out on. Plus,” Hoseok stretches open his arms wide, “there’s just the two of us here so no one can really judge you because hey, I’m just all ears here. After all, I’m just an officer of the Campus Drunk Patrol helping you sober up.” At the sight of Y/N’s pursed lips and eyes set on the coffee beside her, looking as if she’s convinced (and it looks like it’s not like her to admit it), Hoseok smiles wider and leans forward. “Now, back to your story. Why did you decide to go to a party?”

“Because,” Y/N sighs, “I don’t know, @keanu_reeves_is_the_real_daddy from Hoboken said in Reddit that going to parties is a great opportunity to make friends.” Y/N looks down at her hands and interlocks them, “I’m just–I’m just desperate to get some friends. I’m already in second year, and still, no one wants to be with me. I often talk about how I don’t care whether people like me or not. Most of the time, I really do not care at all. But sometimes...it also gets lonely when you feel everyone seems to hate you.”

“Well, I’m not everyone.”

Y/N looks up at him, frowning, “That’s a great joke, Hoseok. I saw you hanging with Jimin just yesterday and I heard my name as the subject and "stick-in-the-ass bitch” as the predicate in a couple of sentences.“

"Hate to break it to you, sweetie, but it was just Jimin who talked bad about you. Did you hear me say your name and 'stick-in-the-ass’ in one sentence?”

Y/N glares at him. She then rips her gaze away from him to set them back on her interlocked fingers. “What are you trying to imply, Hoseok?”

"I’m trying to imply, if you want to have a friend, I’m willing to be one.”

"But you already got lots of friends.”

Hoseok smiles, “That doesn’t mean I have no room left for one more.”

Y/N gives him that skeptic look again and Hoseok snorts. “Hey, I’m being serious here. I really want to be your friend if you’d like. And no, it’s not because I pity you.”

Y/N raises a brow at him in disbelief and Hoseok purses his lips. He raises his hands in surrender, “Ooohkay, maybe like 0.001 percent I do, but 99.999 percent I just don’t like how everyone hates you for something that is not actually your fault. I really want to get to know you if you’d let me.”

Y/N just stares at him and Hoseok, for the first time in his life save for the days he’s answering written exams, has literally no idea what to do. Is Y/N angry at him for blurting out those things? Or is she aggravated he seemed plastic? But Hoseok knows he meant every single thing he said because first and foremost, he cannot lie even if he wanted to. He’s a goddamn horrible liar that anyone will know he’s lying before he can even start to lie. Second, he always says the first thing that comes to his mind because, in the majority of his life, he is incapable of thinking first before doing something. And third, Hoseok really meant what he said. He’s always been curious about Y/N. Jimin and Taehyung always talk ill about her and from the numerous negative shits he hears from them, he can’t help but think that maybe, her reputation is just one big hell of a rumor. It’s just impossible that so many rumors and negative comments about someone who he rarely sees outside the university, to be true.

Hoseok knows because he also has his fair share of rumors he has struggled to disprove. Like how he “cheated” in dance contests because no one can’t believe someone is just so exceptionally talented that they can win every single competition they join. Or how he “slept around” with almost half of the female population in the university just because he has lots of female friends and he loves to joke around with eggplant and saliva emojis in his texts. It’s hard to be contained in such one definitive title, much more a heavily negative one. Hoseok knew what it felt and it feels it’s just wrong to stay as a standbyer while the entire university jeers on Y/N for such a trivial reason.

“Do-do you really mean that?”

Hoseok looks at Y/N and nods. “Yes, I do.”

Something wet drops on his jacket and Hoseok looks up at the sky. The sky is pitch black, save for the white inklets dotting the atmosphere, lightening up the dark horizon along with the glow of sparkling snowflakes. He turns to Y/N and smiles, “Oh look, it’s the first snow.”

Y/N returns his smile this time. She tells him she wants to stay for ten more minutes to appreciate the snow before going home. Hoseok grins at her and says he’s got enough time to spare before his duty ends.

The next day, Y/N’s frowning at Hoseok as the latter awkwardly holds his lunch tray next to her table.

“Uhhh, aren’t you standing by the wrong table? Your friends sit over there.”

“No,” Hoseok quips. “Jimin and Taehyung are not seated anywhere here because their lunches are scheduled way later today. And, this, in my opinion,” Hoseok scoots to Y/N’s side and sits down beside her, “is the perfect table.” Hoseok digs in his lunch and grins at her, “You should probably start eating now, too, y'know? Your food’s gonna get cold.”

“I–” Y/N bites her lip and look away before she refocuses a glare at his face, “Are you really taking seriously your joke last night?”

“It’s not a joke,” Hoseok retorts, dropping his utensils. “I’m serious about everything I said."

"But I didn’t mean mine. I’m drunk, remember?”

“If you really didn’t mean them,” Hoseok looks at her, “then you can just tell me to leave. I’ll do whatever you say.”

Y/N stares at him, brows scrunched together as if conflicted. She looks down on her hands on her lap and sighs, “I…don’t really want you to…leave. I’m sorry, I just…thought you’re just playing with me. You know all of this is still new to me. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Hoseok chuckles, “no need to be so serious. We can take things slowly as long as you’d like.” Y/N pulls up a small smile and Hoseok grins. “Let’s finish our lunches and then we can look at memes. Memes are essential building blocks in friendships.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Taehyung and I became friends after we accidentally sent each other hilarious anti-government blinking man memes.”

It is needless to say the entire university goes berserk later when they find Y/N, the campus bitch, and Hoseok, the university’s sunshine boy, guffawing over chemistry memes during lunch. Hoseok does not understand a thing, but he enjoys laughing with Y/N as she passionately explains to him each concept and why they are funny.

It is true that Y/N wasn’t the dearest person in the world. Hoseok learned this after weeks of dealing with her unintentional snarkiness and unnecessary science lessons that may seem insulting and offensive to others. But through the time he got to befriend her, Hoseok learns Y/N is just too smart for her own good. Y/N always goes around like an encyclopedia because she doesn’t know what else to say when she wants to find common grounds with other people. It is just unfortunate that Y/N cannot speak of anything that does not involve quantum mechanics and chemical structures. Meanwhile, her unintended snarkiness is always directed to people’s redundancy and anomalies in their speech. Hoseok found out about this as soon as February rolled in, that it has to do with the restrictive childhood Y/N had. This, he discovered when Professor Minyoung Park called for him after his Science 11 GE class.

“Hoseok, I see you getting close with Y/N, these days.”

“Yes ma'am,” Hoseok replies. He sits on the chair in front of her desk.

“Oh, then you must have been familiar with how she can get,” Ms. Park leans forward, “not so…friendly around people. I know she and her mind of hers can be a little too much for others.”

Hoseok’s forehead furrows. How did Professor Park know? Although Y/N’s bad reputation has easily spread like wildfire among college students, not many professors or any of the university staff have shown any interest in her life other than her impressive academic standing. Hoseok asks, “How did you know, Ms. Park?”

The 40-year old professor leans back and smiles. “Would you believe I used to tutor Y/N L/N back in middle school?”

“No way,” Hoseok’s jaw drops open.

Ms. Park chuckles, “Yes, it’s true. I know, what a coincidence right? I remember how that pretty girl used to be so insecure about her braces.”

“Yeah, she must be so…adorable back then,” Hoseok looks away bashful. He’s not used associating Y/N with such adjectives. Saying them aloud feels too weird on his tongue.

Ms. Park’s voice makes him turn back to her. “Until now she is. It’s just a shame how she did not outgrow her…usual speech style. But in her defense, it’s not entirely her fault.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen. His curiosity is instantly piqued. “What do you mean, Ms. Park?”

“Well, Y/N L/N is brought up in a home…quite not friendly for children growing up. The L/Ns is a prestigious family. Not for their wealth, but for their remarkable lineage of geniuses. Y/N’s great grandparents are renowned mathematician whizzes. Her grandparents own Fields medals for their remarkable contributions in mathematics. Moreover, Y/N’s parents are well-respected chemists in almost every pharmaceutical congregation. Even their relatives are families of renowned doctors and engineers. From over ten years of tutoring her, I noticed how expectations pile up upon the short shoulders of young Y/N. Every single school day, Y/N has to attend cram schools and private tutoring after her classes to ensure she stays on top of the overall batch standing. She also has to be exposed to upper-class parties at such a young age which I think does not help anyone at all. Especially a child. All the people ever do there is brag about their achievements, scour for new families to ally with or manipulate, and eye each other’s mistakes so they can prove publicly how better they are than everyone else.” Ms. Park looks at Hoseok in the eyes, “Believe me, I used to dream about attending such parties until I finally learned how they go when I’ve been invited by the L/Ns. And with Y/N being a single child, all eyes were on her. So any room for mistakes is non-existent. Her parents assured her to grow like the perfect daughter they wanted her to be by making sure her movements are always constantly monitored and kept in check. You think Y/N studied here because this is just a prestigious school? No. The L/Ns wanted to send her abroad. To Harvard. Y/N refused and convinced them instead she’ll study here because I work here. And her parents trust me that I can be their eyes to see Y/N’s progress.”

Hoseok nods but he cannot help but let his mouth hang open at everything he’s discovering right now. No one really knew anything about Y/N. And suddenly out of nowhere, on some random Thursday afternoon, he is introduced into a pandora box of history where everything about her suddenly seems to make sense.

Ms. Park must have noticed his troubled face so she reaches out and holds Hoseok’s hand. “Hoseok, I’m not telling you these to pressure you. In fact, I am happy Y/N finally found someone who can listen to her and understand her, instead of watching her like a glass-cased perfect doll. I’m just telling you all these not to excuse the mistakes she has done but for you to understand where she’s coming from, especially when interacting with her can be difficult sometimes. So I hope you won’t give up on her, Hoseok. I know you’re a good kid. I just want Y/N to finally enjoy herself like every other college student out there.”

And Hoseok, with his ever characteristic stubbornness did not give up on you.

“What do you mean I cannot state the faulty quantum mechanics in Antman to Taehyung?!” Y/N scowls at Hoseok, fingers frozen on the book she has mid-taken away from the shelf.

“Because you will break Taehyung’s heart,” Hoseok purses his lips and steps nearer to her, almost cornering her to the back of the bookshelf. “And can you lower your voice? We’re in a library.”

“For the same reason you should also back up a bit as I do not fancy you borderline sexually harrassing me.”

“Sexual harassment?!” Hoseok whisper-yells, “I’m stepping closer to you because I feel the need to whisper louder for you to get my point that you should not explain whatever Antman’s faulty quantum shit to Taehyung because that will make him angry. And sad!”

“Why will he be angry?” Y/N sticks her nose up and crosses her arms. “Shouldn’t he feel grateful I am adding heuristic value to his existing knowledge?”

Hoseok drags a hand down his face, “Well, I didn’t say you cannot explain some facts to Taehyung. I’m just saying you don’t tell him those things in a matter-of-factly way you always do because he’ll think you’re insulting him for watching such movies.”

“How should I say them then?” Y/N quips back.

Y/N learns the answer to her question before she knew she already did it. She realizes it when she gets out of her film class and Hoseok, who has been waiting for her last period to finish, asks her how did it go.

“Well, I told him 'The film Antman is quite weird.’”

“And what did he say?”

“Taehyung grinned at me and high-fived me.”

“Well then, it was successful. Much better than how you initially decided to do it,” Hoseok grins.

“But still…I called Ant Man weird, I’m still perplexed why Taehyung is pleased.”

“Calling something weird is a common expression to us,” Hoseok starts and Y/N tilts her head. Hoseok explains further, “’Weird’ can mean as a good endearing weird or an insulting ‘weird.’ If you added statistics of probability and some laws with calling something ‘weird,’ it will sound like 'Hypothesis one is proven: the movie is confirmed to be bullshit because of unquestionable proof.’ And that will appear insulting because you are not giving room for others’ opinions to be valid. It will make you look you’re belittling them if you said it that way. But today, you did not. See?” Hoseok smiles, “you do not have to state 100 percent what you really meant. Just a bit of truth you find essential for others to know is already enough for a small talk.”

Y/N nods, her lips morphed into an amused “oh.”

Hoseok grins as he puts his hands on his waist, “Trust me on this. I became Mr. Congeniality last year for a reason.”

“What does it have to do with making small talk?”

“It means, I am the expert in making small talk.”

***

“C'mon, Y/N, let’s go to the spring festival. Please, please, please, pleaseeee.”

“No, Hoseok,” Y/N pulls her hand from his grip, “I have to study for our finals.”

“But, Y/N, it’s too early for that. The finals is yet to come 'til next month! Look at me, I do not feel any pressure to study yet.”

“But that’s because you do not have any academic standing to maintain.”

Hoseok’s face falls and Y/N immediately rectifies her mistake. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, Hoseok. Of course, I know you also value your class standing, given your program and all. I’m sorry I’m being insensitive again.”

Hoseok breaks into a laugh. “Oh my god, I’m just fucking around with you! You’re partially right though, I don’t have an academic standing to maintain but a performative one. Although I still have to keep my grades up so I can continue studying here. Anyway,” Hoseok grins at Y/N, offering his hand out, “I only accept apologies in the form of accompanying me to the spring festival.”

“Fine, Hoseok,” Y/N begrudgingly accepts his hand. But Hoseok cannot miss the small smile forming on her lips.

“Don’t fret tho,” He boops her nose and she cringes at him, “we can insert some Q&A sessions later so you can do a bit of studying if you’d still like.”

“How will we do that?”

Y/N learns the answer to that when she finds themselves screaming from the opposite ends of the giant boat ride.

“HOSEOK, DAMN YOU!”

The boat tips and her stomach drops but all she can hear is Hoseok screaming.

“WRONG, Y/N. The answer to the drilling ship which can dig 'til the mantle of the earth IS CHIKYU! NOW, off to the next question. What are CYANOBACTERIA?!!!”

But Hoseok does more than just sticking by Y/N’s side and not giving up on her. He falls in love with her.

Through the months he has become Y/N’s friend, Hoseok cannot help but be endeared by her. The things about her he never thought will come as close to what he calls cute suddenly grows on him. It grows too much that he lives off every single one of them. Even if it usually ends with him getting roasted. He used to get frustrated by Y/N’s never-ending witty comebacks. Now, his heart started singing during their bicker-banters that Hoseok even started to look forward to their bickering. Y/N’s smile that Hoseok used to think was a standard horror level of creepy is now all he could dream about when he’s asleep, and even when he’s awake. The way Y/N laughs at him, or smiles when she sees him were heart-warming. Until they upped 100 million levels and now they have become cataclysmic for his heart. The way Y/N patiently teaches him his lessons, or how her science-y jokes and memes become funny was something Hoseok used to overlook as trivial. Now, he couldn’t wait for the days he’ll bring his notebooks to the library and stare at Y/N’s face while she teaches him quantum mechanics and chemical structures.

Y/N’s small “tokens of appreciation,” as what she called it, like her handmade ‘thank you’ cards she gives Hoseok every month, or her invitations for Hoseok to accompany her to some street event or nearby dance event, or as uneventful as a new food stall that has opened in the university were something Hoseok never put much thought on. Now, they’re Hoseok’s source of both happiness and headaches as they make his heart fly and his brain ache for thinking too much into her actions. The way Y/N looks at him like never someone else has before—so attentive and focused in everything he says as if everything that comes from his mouth has so much worth listening to. Even if it’s a disgusting tale of how he almost shitted his pants before their science exam because he didn’t listen to Jimin when he told him to stop binge-eating spicy wings as a coping mechanism to stress, Y/N listens. This used to be something Hoseok treats as his special privilege as her friend. But now, it has become a national treasure he does not want to share with others. Especially with Namjoon, his roommate, whom Y/N managed to befriend because the former is a Biology major who’s on the same level as Y/N’s intellectual prowess. God, Hoseok cannot even count on his hands the number of times he’s been conflicted if it was��jealousy on Namjoon’s effortless way to make Y/N laugh, or petty anger because he cannot even understand their jokes.

Hoseok doesn’t know how or why he suddenly felt all of these things for Y/N. It just happened. And so is how he accidentally blurted it out to her during one of their conversations, despite Jimin and Taehyung’s adamant warnings not to ask her out.

"And whenever I use the microscope in my room, I’m always scared turning the coarse knob so much. It will be horrifying to see the objective lens break the slide and the coverslip.”

“Y/N, I like you.”

YN’s jaw goes slack and she stares at him, eyes wide. Hoseok almost feels perspiration dot his entire hairline for what feels like ten whole minutes in purgatory. Will Y/N leave? Will she scream at him, laugh at him even for his audacity? Will she reject him? Of course she will, what is he thinking? Taehyung and Jimin are right. Y/N is smart and he is too dumb for her to even fulfill at least an ounce of her standards. Y/N is respectable and he is a shameless clown–

“I…am allowing you to be sexually attracted to me, Hoseok.”

“W-what?”

“I said,” Y/N looks straight into his eyes, “I am giving you permission to like me, Hoseok.”

Hoseok balks. “P-permission? W-why do I need permission?”

“Because, if you’re going to like me, I need you to know I am acknowledging your sexual attraction to me seriously,” Y/N stands up, putting her hands in the pockets of your coat. “It will be a waste if you do not want a long-term commitment. I do not have time to dwell on anything less than that.”

Lucky for Y/N, so does Hoseok and he wastes no time proving it to her. For the course of six months, Hoseok courts her in the most possible best Hoseok-way. Y/N lived the majority of her life within suffocating walls surrounded by academics, titles, honors, and people waiting for her to fall. Hoseok wanted to take her with him on a break (and a possible future lifestyle) away from them all. So he takes Y/N to carnivals, dance events, and festivals–ranging from streets decorated in cheap glowing lanterns to grander events that have remarkable fireworks displays.

Hoseok shows Y/N himself at his most vulnerable and strongest. He lets her watch him perform alone in practice rooms as he expresses the things muddled in his head, things he never dares to say to anyone else. Y/N’s been with him when he broke down due to his anxiety concerning his not-so-impressive acads. She was also with him in his embarrassing drunk adventures. Hell, Y/N even participated in his crew’s weird end-of-the-sem party. She let Hoseok dress them two like the two robbers from Home Alone–complete with the rageddy cut gloves and dirty face makeup. But, Y/N has also seen Hoseok’s crew’s successful university tours, the exclusive events he got invited to, and his dance recitals that got many theater and entertainment scouts crowding the room he’s dancing in.

Hoseok shows all of himself to Y/N. Willingly and so transparently, that in turn, she started to show him her self, too. Y/N let him see her in her utter glory. She let him see her receiving awards from various electronics competitions and exhibitions, her creating the first demo of her portable printer and scanner machine that earned many positive reviews from numerous investors, and her getting featured in not just the university’s newspaper or any other school’s newspapers, but the city’s news for a composting machine she invented. And, Y/N also let Hoseok see her at her worst. She let him see her get told off by one of the people she had unconsciously insulted in the hallways, her failing her Communication GE classes, and her having a panic attack when her parents announced yet again another party of scholars who wish to see what she’s been up to lately.

These things made Y/N realize Hoseok was serious about her and she, in return, has started to cherish the golden boy who would never leave her alone for the day until she’s crying from sheer laughter and happiness.

However, it is the small things Hoseok does that really really gets to her.

Hoseok remembers the small details Y/N slips in during their conversations.

“Hey, you are not supposed to eat that,” a fork clashes with Y/N’s own, preventing her from reaching the delectable dish.

“This pasta?” Y/N looks up at Hoseok.

“It has chopped shrimps. I asked Seokjin about it and he said it has prawns.” Hoseok grabs Y/N’s hand and leads her to the other side of the buffet. There, he gets her pasta with white sauce, this time, garnished in bacon. “Here, eat this, instead. It may not taste like the one with the shrimp but at least you won’t get allergies and you can enjoy the rest of the night instead of chilling out at the hospital watching sad re-runs of The Big Bang Theory.”

***

“Hoseok, you won’t believe how fascinating my yield turned out to be, like–Hoseok, what are you doing?

Hoseok pauses in his fumbling and blinks at Y/N. He looks down back at his bag and sighs. “I was hoping to keep this a surprise but oh well.”

He pulls up something from his bag and Y/N’s left gaping when he hands her a box of baked cookies. He rubs his neck, the tip of his ears reddening under her gaze. “I remember you telling me it’s been a while since you ate cookies. My mom baked a lot for us so here, have some. I know you’re on some ridiculous diet your parents told you to take. But I hope you could give yourself a cheat day and just eat and enjoy the day. Your parents aren’t here.”

Hoseok never fails to check up on her.

“Hey, how long have you been hunched over your desk now?” Hoseok’s voice blares from Y/N’s phone’s speakers and she sighs.

“About five hours now, I think?”

“Okay. Why don’t you take a break for ten minutes before going back to the grind? You told me your back is being an ass to you for two weeks now. Give it some rest. Also, drink some water.”

“Okay mom, will do,” Y/N chuckles over the line.

“Okay my daughter,” Hoseok sing-songs and she snorts. “I’ll call later and check up on you. Don’t dare to not take a break. I know where your dorm is and I’ll break into your window if I have to.”

“Okay, okay, will do, my personal health support system.”

“Glad to be of your service, ma'am.”

***

Y/N sighs as she throws her bag onto her bed. Today is a beat day. Mr. David was sour and he poured all his frustration on their class by giving out unnecessary lectures instead of teaching the new lesson. Y/N guesses she’ll have to self-study again for a quiz the prof has irrationally scheduled for tomorrow. And oh, Ms. Peterson also gave out a heavy paper late. It will force Y/N to cram for it in two days as submission date is just the day after tomorrow. Why is every deadline piling up today? It’s not yet even finals week yet!

Y/N plops onto her desk with a heavy sigh. She’ll end up having to do an all-nighter again — wait, what’s that doing there? There’s a pack of sandwiches in a clear food container sitting on top of her desk, beside her notebooks. Y/N doesn’t remember buying one or requesting her rommate, Jae In, to buy her one. Curious, she picked it up and turned it around. That’s when Y/N sees a yellow post-it attached on the plastic container.

“Hey Y/N. I thought of you today and decided to make you a sandwich. This is edible, I assure you. I asked my cooking mama friend Seokjin to come over and help me. Eat this snack before you do your work. I know you always start work right after coming home from your classes. I hope you eat on time and not skip on meals.

With super duper mega love,

Hoseok 😘”

And Hoseok helps Y/N to the best he can, whenever he can, especially about things she’s passionate about but no one takes time to really understand.

"Hey Y/N,” Hoseok greets as he plops down next to her seat in the library.

“Hoseok?” Y/N glances up at him, eyes wide, “What are you doing here? You told me you have practice today.”

“Eh, the members cancelled on me today. And also, I’ve missed you, so I figured why not visit you.” Hoseok grins at her and she momentarily forgets how to breathe. Y/N doesn’t know when Hoseok started to have that effect on her, it just happened. And although it is starting to be an inconvenience regarding how she becomes a nervous wreck under his gaze, she weirdly cannot find herself complaining against it.

Hoseok leans forward, breaking her trance. “Now, what should we study today?”

“Uh-uhm, cellular mechanisms. I wanted to learn more about cancer cells.”

“Cellular mechanisms it is, then. Want me to help you make diagrams?”

Y/N nods and Hoseok grins, “I see the skills of artist Hoseok is not about to die anytime soon, eh?”

***

“How does that work, Y/N?”

“Well, it converts the mechanical energy from every step you take into electrical energy. It’s not yet finished so I’m still figuring out how many more parts I need for this to work. My previous demos have a lot of mistakes.” Right at the same time, a bolt pops off. Y/N runs a hand over her face, “And a lot of malfunctioning parts.”

Hoseok scratches his head. “I don’t know about any energy conversions but I know how to screw well?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“A-a statement. I can fix what we have for now while you revise your design. Whaddya think?”

“That sounds good.” Y/N turns around and heads for her blue prints. But before she can pick up her measuring materials, she turns back to Hoseok, meeting his gaze as he’s mid-picking up a screw driver.

“Thank you, Hoseok for assisting me on this. I know it’s just a personal project and I may be taking too much of your time when you should probably be resting at your dorm.”

“Pssh, you’re not taking too much of my time. I am enjoying my time with you. Also, it’s not just a personal project. It is a personal project so of course, it deserves to have gigantic importance to you. And it will turn out great because I know it will. Now go let’s get these revisions done so we can do another test run.”

Hoseok has been a wonderful friend, an amazing supporter, and a sincere person who never feels ashamed of showing Y/N what he felt. That is all she needed for her not to doubt anymore and accept his confession.

“Hey, Y/N,” Hoseok huffs, hands tucked deep in his red parka. “Why did you tell me to meet up in the park? It’s cold out. Can’t it wait 'til tomorrow?”

“No, it cannot,” Y/N faces the man, brows scrunched, her lips red from the number of times she has bitten it. “Hoseok, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“W-what is it?”

“I…am reciprocating yo-your profession of your sexual attraction to me.”

“What?”

“I said, I am reciprocating–” Y/N’ bites her lip and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she gives Hoseok the most focused stare she can ever give. “Hoseok, I am accepting your love confession. I like you, too.”

Hoseok stares at Y/N, eyes wide, mouth agape. And for too long that Y/N thought the cold must have frozen him all over.

“Hoseok, why are you staring like that? I am telling you, I like you too–hmppf!”

Hoseok is kissing her, his lips pressed softly against hers in a gentle peck. Before Y/N could process things in her head about what to do when the boy she likes started kissing her, Hoseok is already coaxing her lips to dance with his. And before long, Y/N is returning him a kiss with the same ardor as his. It’s not like her to suddenly make out with someone so publicly. Hell, it’s not even like her to kiss someone with such passion that the warmth she feels on her chest comes close as to the heat of the sun. But as Y/N stays in Hoseok’s embrace in the middle of the frosted park which contrasts their warm chests, everything just feels so right.

So right, as if fate just planned this very night for the two of them. Because, as their kiss comes into an end, Y/N and Hoseok both jolt at the drop of wetness that land on their heads. Y/N looks up and sees the familiar soft white snow falling from the dark night sky. The first snow. Right then deja vu sets in of how it was just one year ago she met this giggling boy in front of her at the very same time of the year.

“I guess the universe wants us to be together, too.” Hoseok smiles.

Y/N grins at him and sinks deeper into his embrace. “As preposterous that sounds given that the universe is, literally speaking, a no-higher living being, it is more preposterous that I am finding myself agreeing to and blushing because of this.”

“I can’t understand what you said but I think it means you like it too so I’m deciding this is one of the best blush-worthy moments I ever had,” Hoseok kisses the top of Y/N’s head, “and whatever you say won’t stop me from taking back what I said.” Y/N nuzzles her nose against his chest, smiling at the way she cannot tell her heartbeat apart from his–the beats beneath their chests in sync despite the incongruity in her words.

***

Loving Hoseok is easy. He is charming, generous, understanding, and everything Y/N ever wanted. Even more, nothing really changed from their friendship, just the addition of cheesy pick-up lines, sweet kisses here and there, hot make-out sessions which more often than not escalate into passionate (and very amazing) love-making. And Y/N loves her relationship with him as well for this. Because even if Hoseok succeeds in making her a soft mush for him, she cannot live her life without having him be the best-est friend she could ever have in her life.

But from all the things Y/N loves about Hoseok, her most favorite has to be his utter transparency. What she sees in him, is what she gets. Hoseok is unabashed in proclaiming his feelings for her. He does not get embarrassed in showing Y/N his love for her. And, Hoseok does not keep secrets from her. He just willingly tells everything about him to her, no euphemisms, no lies. Y/N guesses this is probably the reason why their fights never last too long. Moreover, this quality of his makes up for Y/N’s inability to effectively express her thoughts and feelings. He taught Y/N pure utter honesty that so many people have stigmatized for naivety, but actually felt so amazing. He also taught Y/N to trust and let down her walls for people so they can be able to love her. Hoseok inspires and motivates Y/N to become a better version of herself, not only for the sake of others, but also for herself, and she cannot be grateful enough for that.

Titles didn’t matter with Hoseok, with Y/N, and their relationship. What only matters is their labels for each other–boyfriend and girlfriend, lovers loved and in love. Hoseok does not encrypt his messages in a way that would match Y/N’s mental capacity – He just talks with her like the way he is, nonsense and eggplant emojis and all. Hoseok does not burden Y/N with heavy, unreasonable expectations. He just loves her and lets her be whatever she wants. He just stays by Y/N’s side as she freely learns from and works on her mistakes like every flawed human being. With Hoseok, Y/N knew what she deserves and she started to live her life the way she has always dreamed of–so flawed but so perfectly Y/N L/N who is unafraid of what the future may bring to her.

However, not everyone cannot fully comprehend Y/N’s relationship with Hoseok. Loving Hoseok may be easy but the environment surrounding their relationship is an entirely opposite scenario. For Hoseok’s and Y/N’s disregard of titles, does not guarantee everyone else around their relationship will do the same.

Y/N’s relationship with Hoseok spread throughout the campus like a Jeffree Star fight-controversy with another YouTuber in 2x speed. The entire university has gone berserk yet again, unable to fathom how someone who shines so bright like Hoseok can be together with someone like Y/N who dims other’s lights. And for other people, they cannot understand how such a happy-go-lucky academically-challenged student like Hoseok can even amuse such no-shit, genius brain of Y/N.

Almost everyone has something to say about their relationship. And, most often than not, they are negative. It didn’t help anything in their relationship as Y/N is already insecure as to why Hoseok even chose her when he can have any woman he wished. Y/N knows she’s difficult to be with. She struggles with expressing her feelings and thoughts. She even feels like she’s making things too hard for Hoseok. You see, Y/N’s a safe player. In whatever grounds she’s in — academics, social life, family ties — she always plays safe. Y/N finds it hard to not be so, especially when all her life, she has been groomed to be a person well-liked by everybody else — a person safe from any negative impression that may tarnish her reputation. So, when things get a little bit too hard with Hoseok, Y/N finds herself automatically heading for the exit.

Just like in one Wednesday night in August. Y/N had her fair share of fights with Hoseok. From the difficulties that tie with his popularity, her inability to show her feelings to him that sometimes makes him question her love, his procrastination and occasional lack of care for his academics, her nature to obsess over her studies that she tends to forget herself and everyone around her, to his numerous female friends who have the audacity to still flirt with him even if they all know he’s dating her — Y/N and Hoseok have fought about them all within their seven months of dating. And sure, they were already pretty bad fights given that they were immensely serious with Y/N and Hoseok ending up screaming at each other, giving each other cold shoulders, and ignoring each other for at most (usually) five days. But this Wednesday night was not like any of ther previous fights. Because this time, Y/N told Hoseok she wanted to break up with him.

“Will you stop for a second, Y/N?!”

Y/N swiftly turns around, tears brimming her swollen red eyes, “What do you want, Hoseok? I already said what I need to say. I am tired of constantly being the bad guy whenever we fight. I am tired of this, of you. I want to break up.”

“No, you don’t mean that,” Hoseok almost cries. He looks equally devastated as her — swollen eyes, pale face, trembling fingers. “N-no, you don’t mean that,” he repeats, this time, his voice breaking.

“Of course I mean them, Hoseok,” Y/N spits, “I never say things I do not mean. You know me.”

“I know you,” Hoseok retorts, “that’s why I am telling you right now you don’t mean telling me you’re tired of our relationship, of me. That you want to b-break up. B-because you’re Y/N,” he breathes out. “You seem cold but you actually care. You do not speak your thoughts or feelings aloud but act on them. Okay, maybe you speak them out, but you say it in a way most people do not understand so that still does not count. But, Y/N,” Hoseok reaches for her hand before she can even think of shaking off his hold, “I know you love me. Deep inside the deepest of your hypothalamus, like you said, I believe you love me. Or else, you wouldn’t stay when I told you to watch me dance alone, frustrated with the world. You wouldn’t put in effort befriending Taehyung and Jimin despite knowing what they all said about you in the past. You wouldn’t have told me you wanted to come with me to my hometown and meet my family for my dad’s birthday. And,” Hoseok looks down at his feet, “you wouldn’t have stayed with me this long knowing how annoying I can be and what everyone else has to say about us. So please, Y/N. Just please…stay. Let’s talk it out together. Don’t just break up with me. Please don’t just l-leave me alone.”

When Hoseok looks up at Y/N, it is with his brows scrunched together, eyes glazed over, and form almost kneeling in front of her. He holds her hands so tight, but yet so gentle, as if afraid if he clasped her fingers tighter, it will be too suffocating that she’ll slip away from him. He just looks at her and she cannot help but return his gaze. Y/N realizes right then, it may have been a bad decision to do so. For all she could see in his eyes is her reflection. Her and only her. It even seems as if he’s trying to keep the entirety of her as vivid as a memory can be. And maybe it’s because it’s the way he unabashedly tells her everything he loves about her. Or the way he remembers every single detail about her. Or how he knows her so well despite their relationship blooming at such a young age. But, they are all enough for Y/N to hold his hands tighter and let him engulf HER in his arms.

“H-Hobi–”

“S-see? You even still call me like that,” Hoseok mutters above her head and Y/N bites her lip as she clutches onto his jacket tighter.

“Hobi, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean them. I’m not tired of you. I’m not tired of u-us. I do not want to break up with you. Not at all. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Y/N lets out a sob and Hoseok hugs her tighter, running a hand over her hair, knowing it calms her down. “It’s just that everything’s been too much lately. The-the way your friends–”

“What did they do?” Hoseok’s voice deepens close into a low growl. Y/N gulps. “Please tell me, Y/N,” Hoseok says softly as he cups her face in his warm hands. Y/N bites her lip and looks away. She does not want to be that type of girlfriend who instigates a fight between their significant other and their friends. She does not want Hoseok to have a bad blood with people he cares about. But then, Y/N remembers their fight two months ago. That night when she confronted Hoseok about the consecutive late nights he has spent in the practice room, neglecting his studies and even his own health for the past two weeks. The moment Y/N cornered him about it, Hoseok broke down and told her everything — how he lacked the motivation to perform well in his recitals and how his course adviser told him to pull his shit together before he fucks up the nearing international dance competition.

“She told me that I’m dating you right now but why can’t I even pull my shit together like you do. That she doesn’t understand why you’re even dating me when you can date far more competent guys. That sooner or later, you’re going to break up with me. Because,” Hoseok sighs and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his cheeks, a tear slipping down them instead, “look at me. I’m so sloppy. I’m such a loser—”

“No, you’re not!” Y/N interrupts him and Hoseok jolts. “You…you’re not a loser. Sloppy, yes, sometimes,” Hoseok winces and Y/N grabs his arms and pulls him toward her so she can hug him tight. “Hoseok, listen to me. I’m your lover. No one else’s but yours. I love you and I will not leave you. I do not care about other guys, if they are more competent or whatever. After all, competency is just a social construct designed to promote the societal standards that aim for conformity.” Y/N disentangles herself from him to cup his face in her hands. “Hoseok, you are not a loser. And, you’ll never be. How can you be at least an inch of one? You were the one who led countless competitions which won our university so many awards. Almost ALL the trophies in our campus’ Hall of Honor were all thanks to you. You were the one who helped our fashion design majors grab an opportunity with various labels after your runway a year ago became viral. You were also the one responsible for resurrecting countless dead orgs with actually good goals. They even received rewards from the local government because of the projects you arranged! You’re not a loser, Hobi. In fact, you are the opposite of loser. It’s just your prof is an ungrateful bitch, demeaning you like that when you’ve brought glory to her name as your program adviser. What a fucking asshole, I could have punched her in the face and—”

Hoseok detaches his lips from hers and smiles. “I can’t believe I’m starting to rub off of you. You just said your first curse word. Two even!”

“Damn you, Hoseok. I’m being serious.”

“And so am I. Thank you for cheering me up, Y/N. This is why I love you so much!”

Hoseok has always been honest to Y/N and she decides it’s only right for her to do the same.

Y/N looks up at him. “Nayeon, Sungyoon, and…Sara cornered me yesterday and I thought it will be about what you are recently up to. Why you were absent at yesterday’s practice. It turned out they did this high school toxic open-forum-like session where they told me all my shits and why I shouldn’t hang out you. They said you were no longer the Hoseok you used to be because I kept dragging you down. That I…do not deserve you and you should be with girls like you. And you know what, I thought so, too. Because, you have far better things ahead from you than tying you down here with me.”

“No one can tell what you deserve or not, Y/N,” Hoseok retorts. “Only you can. And, I know what you are thinking right now maybe the opposite of what you really think about yourself. But if I could help, I think you totally deserve me. Even more than that, honestly. Because, Y/N, you are not tying me down anywhere. In fact you are tying me up. Not literally but figuratively. Okay” Hoseok closes his eyes, “I know it doesn’t make sense—whatever I say doesn’t make sense on the regular basis, so what’s the difference—but, what I mean to say is, Y/N, you are keeping me afloat. You are keeping my head up from the expectations and shitstorms that is plaguing me. You are helping me stay alive and keep pushing through all the difficulties I face. And for that, I am eternally grateful for you. So,” Hoseok smiles, “do not let anything anyone else says about us get to you. Because, they don’t really know anything about me and they very much don’t know anything about you. They don’t get to judge. Not when they do not know how it feels to have the most amazing angel by your side.”

Y/N scrunches her face at him but she hugs him tight nevertheless. “Must you always be this cheesy and cringey?”

“Only for you, baby,” Y/N could feel Hoseok grin from the top of her head. “Also, I’m gonna have a talk with those girls so expect apologies coming your way. And if things go the other way,” Hoseok clicks his tongue, “expect a decrease in my friends.”

However, everything Hoseok spouted is easier said than done. Because truth be told, Hoseok thinks it is him who actually doesn’t deserve Y/N. She is intelligent but so is she kind. She’s mature and it is usually her who does most of the helping and progressing in their relationship. Most of all, it is more realistic to say, Y/N is the one who has far greater things ahead than him. And it became clearer to him the night she took him with her to her family’s home for one of her parents’ parties.

Y/N countlessly told Hoseok she didn’t need to attend it. She even highly advised him not to come with her. But Hoseok has forever been stubborn so of course when he told Y/N he wanted to meet her family, he did every bit of convincing that get him to where he is now — shaken and lost in the middle of a fucking science exhibit of a party. The night actually started out well. He introduced himself to every member of the L/N family, even distant ones who stayed in the farthest, most unnoticeable corners of Y/N’s house. Y/N’s family members welcomed him with smiles and actively talked with him. Her parents even handed him his plate of food themselves and invited him to spend Christmas with them.

It only started going downhill when it was time for the main event of the party—the what-have-you-been-up-to lately segment or what Y/N would like to call the “let the best bragger win.” Everyone started spewing their achievements for the year in a fashion that challenges the other party to disclose their far greater successes. Which, ultimately, insult the others for their lack of any. The party felt as if it was a battlefield with every member of Y/N’s family pitting their achievements against each other, no matter what context they are in—even if they are not of the same category to even compare. Next thing Hoseok knew, he was being dragged into the center of the conversation, with Y/N’s father asking him to tell his “revolutionary thoughts.”

Hoseok tried his best. He really did. He had recalled every lesson he learned in his Science-related GEs and even tried to apply them in the academic journals he saw Y/N reading. That’s why he doesn’t understand why every single time he opens his mouth, Y/N’s entire family is laughing at him. Is the Dual Nucleus Association found in fingerprints that funny? Hoseok didn’t take too long to ponder on it, for the next second, a hand is pulling him to the front doors of the L/N house. It takes another second for Hoseok to register Y/N was the one who’s dragging him onto the street in angry stomps.

“Y/N! Why did we go out?” Hoseok pulls on her arm, “We have to come back! It will be rude to your parents! I don’t want to leave a bad impression y’know–”

“It doesn’t matter, Hoseok!” Y/N whirls around, distraught, and Hoseok only notices just now her glazed eyes. Y/N chokes out, “Leaving an impression on them doesn’t matter because we have to get out NOW.”

“What? No, Y/N! That’s not appropriate! I–”

“Then is it appropriate for my parents and relatives’ to blatantly insult you right in your face?”

Hoseok takes a step back, “What? But they were laughing at me there. I guess my jokes are–”

“Hoseok, they were mocking you in there. We both hell know the fingerprint DNA trivia you were telling them is not a joke.”

“But your father said the Dual Nucleus Association I muttered was revolutionary and funny.”

Y/N closes her eyes as she releases a staggered sigh, “Hoseok, ‘revolutionary’ in my father’s dictionary meant ‘stupid.’” Hoseok scrunches his brows and Y/N breathes out, wishing she could let out as well the aggravation and loathing for her parents she has kept inside for so long. “He was making fun of you, Hobi. DNA does not stand for Dual Nucleus Association. It’s Deoxyribonucleic Acid. My father fucking knew what this means because he took a PhD in Microbiology and he didn’t even have the heart to correct you. He even put you up in front of everybody else and humiliate you without you even noticing it.”

“W-what?”

Y/N sighs for the nth time as she reaches for his hands. “Hoseok, I’m sorry I left you alone. This whole time, I didn’t know you were in my father’s care. It’s just that my cousin came to me and asked desperately for help about the verbal abuse he experiences at home. The way he asked for my help, I knew he’s about to-to blow up sooner or later. So I immediately went to his aid. And I guess I got so preoccupied trying to make him calm without triggering his panic attacks that I…did not see where you stayed in the party. Worse, I didn't fucking even know you were with my parents. I know this is not enough of an excuse and I have been a shitty girlfriend tonight. So I’m sorry, Hoseok. I’m deeply so so sorry. And right now, I’m trying to make up for my mistakes by telling you we should leave. Now. I cannot let any of them insult you more,” Y/N’s voice breaks and she raises her hand to wipe a tear that has cascaded down her cheeks, “I cannot, Hoseok, for so help me God, I will march over there and declare I want to denounce myself as a L/N.”

Hoseok doesn’t reply. He just nods at her and looks down at his feet. Y/N gulps down the anxiety building up in her larynx as she leads the two of them to the car he rented. She opts for the driver’s seat and hits the gas. Within minutes, the two of them are enveloped by the silent nightscape, a stark contrast to the cacophony of pride in her house.

“Hoseok,” the man turns to the sound of Y/N’s voice. “W-what else did my father say to you?”

Hoseok starts to fumble with the loose thread of his navy suit jacket. “Do you…really want to hear it?”

“Is it that bad?”

“Well, I-your dad questioned my ability to provide for you in the future. Because of my major and aspirations and all.”

Y/N turns to him, aghast, “What?! Why would he even say that? What, he started to forget women’s abilities to revert back to the traditional patriarchal views?! Fuck him!”

“I knew you would say that,” Hoseok says, chuckling softly. Y/N faces him again, this time perplexed as to why he is laughing. Hoseok reads her look and he clears his throat.

“When you told me I was being insulted in the party, I will admit I am offended. But, before that, during an earlier talk with your father, I was not the least bit upset.” Hoseok meets your eyes. “That time, I was scared. Immensely shit-scared.”

“I should have come to you first, not my cousin–”

“No, let me finish first.” Hoseok purses his lips. He then looks out of the car window, at the scarce stars on the sky. “I knew we are far apart from each other. It was obvious even before we got together. Hell, I do not even get the memes you send to me when we first started out as friends. Sometimes, I even get insecure that even if you are not really bestfriends with Namjoon, he seems to get everything you tell me you found at the lab. Just by listening to our conversations, he understands them all. So effortlessly at that. I even have to plead him to tutor me and dumb-translate the science-y things you tell me, while I dry my brains out trying to understand them. But when I talked with your father, tonight, how he reiterated your status and skills and their difference from mine…I have never been this scared in my life. Scared that what he said will come true—that you will realize how someone like me can never truly understand you ‘til the long run. That you will get tired of slowing your pace down for me…That you will eventually find someone more compatible with you–who also has a much more stable future ahead of just an aspiring dancer.” Hoseok turns toY/N and he reaches out for her left hand, her free hand. He clasps them in his hands and looks up at her, “But, I swear Y/N, I promise I will do my best. Your father may not be convinced but I want you to know. That I will do my best for you, Y/N. I will learn more for you. I will understand you more. I will improve my reputation into a much more respectable one. Hell, I can quit dance if I have to.”

Y/N gives Hoseok a pained look. “No, Hoseok, you will not quit dance. I do not want you to quit dance. It will be too unfair for you and I know you will regret it.”

Hoseok sighs and shakes his head. “Yeah…that sounds easier said than done.”

“You don’t have to do those things for me,” Y/N squeezes his hand, making him look back to her. “I actually enjoy helping you learn. I love that you goof off the way you want because when you do that, I am reminded people like you still exist today — people who are not afraid of being themselves. Because of that, you inspire me to live more. I also love that you put in the time learning the things I’m saying because it means you genuinely are interested about my thoughts and you are not afraid of women being smarter than you — something most guys fail at. But that’s because most of them are misogynistic, prideful men on their high horses. And, I know you’re not like that. Most of all, I love it when you dance. Because through it you freely express every bit of your emotion. Because, you’re transparent, Hoseok. You’re an open book and I like it the best because you don’t leave me hanging, confused, troubled, and worried about what you’re feeling, especially when you know I am already bad at reading emotions. You are my stable ground, Hoseok. You make me feel safe. And despite the bad fights we’ve been through, I know you’re always doing your best. How can we stay this long if not for you being the brighter one between us when it comes to communicating, knowing that splitting because of things that can be solved will only result in one hell of a horrible mistake?” Y/N turns to Hoseok and he looks at her with his mouth agape, eyes blown wide. She smiles at this. “You have to know you’re more than enough, Hoseok. Like you said,” her smile grows wider, “no one can tell us what we deserve or not but ourselves. And with this, I know and feel that I deserve you, Hoseok. And you, me. What do you say?”

Hoseok’s response to that was not of a verbal one but a physical one—one that involved a feverish kiss on Y/N’s lips, and her jawline that led Y/N to park the car by the empty gasoline station. Feather-light kisses, desperate hands to grab each other as close as they can be to each other, Y/N indulges in Hoseok and him in her in a passionate love that burned so bright it rivals the sun. The only words that transpire during that fateful night was “I love you’s” and for Y/N and Hoseok, they are more than enough of an anchor of him to her and her to him as waves of obstacles come in your way.

All of these moments with Y/N have accumulated into Hoseok’s most wonderful memories in his life. And he still replays them in his head as another year of being her lover passes. Of course, problems never failed to arise as they manage their relationship. But, the ones caused by the comments of everyone in the university have lessened as Y/N and Hoseok have now graduated. Hoseok has left the university after he graduated, while Y/N stayed in the university as she applied for a Master’s degree in civil engineering.

Y/N still lives in her dorm for the convenience of teaching in the campus and studying after work. Meanwhile, Hoseok lived in an apartment in the city, close to the prestigious dance studio he works at. Their schedules are most often than not, amiss, and the distance between them can be sometimes frustrating. However, what remains the biggest obstacle is everyone’s opinions about the two of them. Sure, they were not as restrictive as what the two of them have experienced in the university. But it didn’t mean it hurt less when people say how they never thought someone as fun as Hoseok will choose someone so boring like Y/N, or how Hoseok’s intellect was a down-grader for her respectable reputation, saying she has a tasteless choice in choosing partners. Although these problems may get a little overwhelming, the two of them never let them get in between their relationship.

Hence, Y/N and Hoseok are still madly in love like the first year they have started dating. So in love that Hoseok felt it is now the time to propose to Y/N. For anymore day without her officially bounded with him, when you already own every piece of his heart, is something Hoseok cannot take any longer. He wants Y/N to be his partner for the years to come, his significant other for forever, and the only person he wakes up to and sees last in his day and nights for the rest of his entire life. Hoseok knows this and he has never been surer in his life.

This is the reason why Hoseok is where he is today: clad in an ugly Christmas sweater and mismatched socks, with a troubled look on his face. Hoseok may have only realized he wanted to marry Y/N in late November, but he was able to make an intricate proposal plan to execute before this year can end. Today is Y/N’s free day and he has classes that have ended early. Lucky for him, Jimin is free to take her out for some last-minute gift-shopping in the afternoon so Hoseok can have ample time to decorate Y/N’s dorm with hearts and diagrams of the hypothalamus (because “No, Hoseok, we do not say I love you from the deepest corner of my heart, but from the hypothalamus. We do not feel from the heart. It just pumps us blood”). Hoseok will have the gifts he bought for Y/N delivered that very same day to complete his decorations (and to also spoil her even more). He will cook Y/N her favorite dishes and make her hot cocoa even though he very much likes eggnog more, just because she likes the sweet chocolate beverage. He even requested his orchestra friends Yoongi, Jinyoung, Seokjin, and Sandeul, to play Jingle Bell Rock (“in cursive”) on the far side of the hallway so when Jimin drops Y/N off, she can have her favorite Christmas song as her background music when she steps inside her room and gets surprised.

That is why when his heart and hypothalamus decorations actually looked shit, the arrival of the gifts was delayed ‘til tomorrow, and the meals he cooked looked inedible—not to say the hot choco looked like a mess too and totally un-aesthetic—Hoseok finds himself frozen in his place next to Y/N’s Christmas tree, looking as if he was constipated for ten days. Worse, his girlfriend is already standing by her door frame, kicking the door close like it was just any other day.

Y/N hangs her coat on the hanger and puts her shopping bags on top of her wide cabinet. She nonchalantly glances at him, “Hoseok, what are you doing there?”

Hoseok feels sweat run down his face in waterfalls. If Y/N is surprised he was standing stupidly next to her tree, she did not show it. But right now, Hoseok’s concern is her seeing the decorations he made chucked in a large paper bag he hid behind the tree at the last minute. Of course, it is poorly hidden. He plays with the collar of his sweater “I…um, I–”

“Nevermind. I guess this is one of our spontaneous date nights you ironically always plan. You should inform me next time, you know, so I can prepare for you as well,” Y/N smiles at him. “Come sit with me.” She walks to the sofa by the Christmas tree and pats the seat next to her. Hoseok scrambles to sit beside her and tries not to look like the dumbest fool in the world. Y/N did not get surprised, the orchestra’s music is barely heard inside as the cold wind of early winter overrides it, and he looks totally shit. How can he propose to her now, huh? All of his plans are ruined!

“Di-did you eat already?” Hoseok asks, hands sweaty on his sweatpants. “I made you your favorite.”

“Umm…yeah,” Y/N bites her lip, guilty. “I was already hungry before Jimin and I can finish our shopping and I really felt a great need to devour some pizza today.” She reaches for her small satchel and produces a folded paper bag. “I saved some for you. We can eat it later while we watch Netflix.”

“O-okay,” Hoseok nervously laughs. His eyes land on the pink mug on the dining table. He looks back at Y/N, “D-do you want to drink something? I made you hot cocoa.”

“Ooh, I’ll drink it later. I just had a sweet choco milkshake before I got here,” Y/N bites her lips again in guilt. “I’m sorry, Hoseok, I didn’t know you prepared these stuff for me. If I had known sooner I would have never even stepped out of my dorm today.”

“It’s okay,” Hoseok pulls a smile and he tries not to look a tad bit upset about the failure of his plans, because he knows Y/N will immediately recognize that look.

And, he wasn’t wrong. “Why, Hobi?” Y/N cups his face to make him turn to her, “did I do something wrong?

“No,” Hoseok looks away. “It’s just, my plans…didn’t work out today.”

“What plans?”

Hoseok immediately feels his ass on fire. Did he just almost give himself away? He cannot just blurt out he wants to marry her! He wanted it to be special and he cannot have that happen in just her dorm with his shitty-looking outfit and almost-burned food. He wants Y/N to remember this day and he ain’t taking the risk of letting any bad memories mess up his proposal. And so, Hoseok sighs and decides he has to abort the plan and schedule it some other day. He’s just gonna make an excuse for now. “Well, I just thought we can make this random Thursday special y’know? Keep up with the aim of my spontaneous dates–good surprises making life much better without needing a reason to be. So I just made some food and stuff for the fun of it. It’s just a normal day surprise.”

“Oh, then I’m glad today is really spontaneous dates today. I may have…foiled your plans, but look, I happened to have a surprise for you!”

Hoseok tilts his head, “What is it?”

Y/N grins at him before turning around and fumbles for something in her bag. Then the next second, Justin Bieber’s Mistletoe is suddenly blaring loud from her phone.

“Y/N, did you seriously just play Justin Bieber’s Mistletoe in speaker mode?”

“Oh, don’t be an in-denial bitch. I know this is your favorite Christmas song. A good song has to create the aesthetic and mood for tonight,” Y/N chuckles, “Here, Hoseok, my present for you.” She hands him a box wrapped in a fancy green sparkling wrapper with a red bow tied around it. It was medium-sized, enough for one of his favorite KAWS models to fit inside.

“Present?” Hoseok asks, feeling both joy and guilt respectively swell in his heart and pit in his stomach. Joy, because Y/N is to add another model to his growing collection. And guilt, because he didn’t bring her anything worth the same as her gift. But as he tears open the box, another fancy green box just stares back at him. He looks up at Y/N with squinted eyes. “I see what you did there, sneaky missy.” She just chuckles at him and Hoseok continues to unbox her gift, only to have another box inside. Hoseok wonders what made Y/N think of doing this infamous wrapping technique for her gift when she wasn’t even that much into wrapping gifts. She always just give him gifts in standard wrapping paper, messily taped all over around. Moreover, what even is her gift and how small does it have to be? Because now, Hoseok’s hands are getting tired of unboxing box after box and the gift is now currently the size of a stress ball!

“Y/N, can you just tell me your gift? I’m getting tired. I can open it tomorrow instead and we can just get straight to Netflix tonight.”

“No, Hoseok,” Y/N laughs, patting his shoulders. “Keep unboxing.”

Hoseok continues forth with the unboxing and his heart starts to sink to his stomach as the box got smaller and smaller. This is probably a prank. One to get back at him for telling Y/N last year he bought her her favorite gift for their monito event with Jimin, Taehyung, and Namjoon. Only for him to arrive with nothing but a bow on his head and shamelessly declare to everyone that he is her gift. Nothing must be inside this box to contain a gift so small. The box in his hand is now just the size of a small toy car!

Hoseok sighs as he opens the box. Another green box will appear and then he’ll see the paper saying “Pranked you, Hobi!”

But it does not.

For the box on Hoseok’s hand right now, is gaping open to him right now. And all he sees is a sparkling, silver ring embellished with emeralds that seem to form waves around the base of the band. A fucking ring is sitting right on top of his hand.

Hoseok gapes and just stares. Far too long that Y/N decides to break the silence. “Surprise! I bought you an engagement ring! With green emeralds just like your favorite color.” She grins at him as she holds Hoseok’s hands in hers, making him turn to her while he stays jaw ajar.

Y/N suddenly feels self-conscious and unconfident. This is not the reaction she is expecting. She starts to fear if she’ll spend the coming Holidays boyfriend-less. Just by looking at Hoseok’s stupified face, it looks everything is happening too fast and too sudden tonight for her boyfriend. Nevertheless, she says, “I-I know this may come off as a really big of a surprise. After all, this is an engagement ring and right now I am trying to propose to you. Barely, even. So, of course, this is definitely a shocker. Especially when we only just spent two years dating. Still too early for a proposal to come, as what others will usually expect,” Y/N’s voice breaks.

She wrings her hands together, her feet trembling beneath her, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to stop. “But, Hoseok, in these two years I have spent with you…I learned what it felt like to be loved and be in love with you. We fight, yes. Healthily usual even. But, at the end of the day, everything still feels worth it. And I guess,” Y/N smiles, “I cannot get enough of it. I cannot get enough of you. Being your girlfriend no longer satisfied me. I now want to be your wife. I want to be the only person you’ll stress over science just to impress. I want to be the person who’ll be your home. The one you will come home to, wake up to, and sleep next to every night, every single day. I want to be your partner-in-crime, especially when we have kids and we’ll play some game I never heard of but will still enjoy in the end just because you like it. But only if you want kids, hehe.” Y/N laughs awkwardly and scratches her nape. “Hoseok, I know I am clumsy in saying my feelings for you. Today is my first time saying everything so honest and raw like this so I know this may shock you. God, you don’t know how many times I practiced this speech in my office. Other professors must already be thinking I’m going crazy—anyway, what I only want to say is,” Y/N reaches for Hoseok’s hand and kisses it. “Hoseok, I want to stay by your side for the rest of my life.” When she looks up at him, she says, “And it will only happen if you’d also love to be by my side forever as well. So what do you say?”

“W-what, I will say?” Hoseok repeats, still shaken. However, he’s so happy he cannot help the wide grin splitting on his face. “Yes, Y/N, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Forever and ever and ever and ever.”

“R-really?” Y/N’s releases a relieved sigh, fingers wiping the tears that have formed on her eyes. “T-Then, why did you look like as if you’re about to walk out on me when you opened the box?”

Hoseok cups her face in his hands, wiping away the tears. “Because you remind me a lot of the Grinch. The only difference is in the end, his heart grows three sizes, but you stay an asshole.” Y/N scowls at this and hits his chest, hard. Hoseok coos at her as he hugs her tight and chuckles, “You’re an asshole because you headed out straight for my heart—hook, line, and sinker — and now I am completely blown away when I was supposed to be the first one to do so. Seriously, Y/N, I did not expect this to happen this way. Not when I also prepared a surprise for you tonight.”

Y/N’s brows raise in curiosity. Hoseok unzips his gym bag on the sofa and turns back to her, now with a red velvet box on his hands.

Hoseok pops open the box, a ring of the same design as the one she bought him stares back at her. But this one, instead of green emeralds, is embellished with blue emeralds, her favorite color. Right then and there, Y/N wanted to cry.

Hoseok rubs his nape. “I’m supposed to propose to you tonight as well. But you beat me right to it and now I forgot my speech.”

Y/N chuckles at that as she wipes away the tears that have formed yet again on her eyes. Hoseok smiles as he squeezes her hand. “But, that doesn’t mean I’ll skip on this once-in-a-lifetime’s opportunity to propose to you,” Hoseok looks at her, “Y/N, I love you. And I know forever can be a heavy word and sometimes love cannot solve every problem that may come our way. But Y/N, what I said two years ago hasn’t changed. I will try my best. For you, I will. And we may be young but I know you and I are capable to make us work for as long as time can let us. Because you are Y/N, and I’m Hoseok. People may be against us but we know with each other, we are the best we can ever be. We deserve each other. We need each other. But most of all, we love each other. That’s all we need. Me and you. You and me.” After he breathes out, Hoseok cups Y/N’s cheeks and she leans forward and interlocks their lips in a soft kiss.

Y/N grabs onto Hoseok’s ugly green sweater and deepens the kiss, letting her mouth do the talking for her and him. For no words can be enough to express everything that is settling in their hearts tonight — euphoric bliss, the sweet feeling of triumph. Although Y/N can feel a tinge of the uncertainty of what may come to the two of them in the future grappling on her nerves, there resides in her heart the greater courage that despite the unpredictability of life, Y/N knows she can manage it with the constant she now has by her side — Hoseok. And for him, her. Because, Y/N is certain this is the most right decision she has ever made in her life: loving him. And, Hoseok proves it is the same for him as when the kiss comes into a close, he whispers on her lips, “Guess the déjà vu tonight is really working at its best. Fate really wanted us to be together.”

Y/N grins at him, her forehead bumping into his, “And where’s your proof, future Mr. Y/N L/N?”

Hoseok presses a kiss on Y/N’s forehead, on her cheeks, on her nose, then at the corner of her ear. He whispers, “Look outside.”

And there outside, white droplets fall from the sky, lighting up the near-black horizon while frosting up the window panes. It is the first snow. Y/N smiles. What Hoseok said to her when she reciprocated his love confession doesn’t seem so preposterous now. It seems like fate really tied the two of them up together as she first met and started dating Hoseok when the first snow fell. There’s a saying that whoever you’re with during the first snow, you will be with that person for a long time. Y/N and Hoseok have already been living proof of that for being together in three years—friendship plus dating days combined — amidst whatever people say against them two.

And Y/N hopes, that as she and Hoseok promise forever to each other tonight, the saying will come true. Because she wants the two of them to be together for a very, very, very long time. After all, Hoseok is right. She is Y/N and he is Hoseok and together, they are the best they can ever be, titles and achievements be damned. The weather may be cold during these pinnacle moments of her and his relationship but their hearts are warm and cozy, and there is nothing more Y/N could ask for.

Epilogue:

“You know, Y/N, my original proposal was beautiful, I’m sure I’ll have you bawling tonight.”

Y/N gives him a look and Hoseok laughs, “Good thing they’re gone now. D’you know I actually wrote my entire proposal in my hands? They just got erased because my hands have become so sweaty when I chucked away the decorations I made for you.”

“What decorations?”

Hoseok pulls on the collar of his sweater, “Cut-outs of hearts and hypothalamus?”

“R-really? You remembered what I said to you three years ago?”

“Of course, babe,”Hoseok smiles, “It’s you. How can I forget that? But they’re not available anymore as I already threw them away. They looked like shit.”

“Where did you throw them?”

“In a paper bag….by your Christmas tree–hey, why are you picking it up?”

Y/N turns towards him, smiling, her hands gently holding the crushed hearts and hypothalamus cut-outs. “Because you made it for me, Hoseok. Of course they hold value to me. It’s you.”

“You’re really a Grinch, you know? You’re making me cry with your sweetness and beauty when I should be jumping up and down with joy right now.”

“….Do you always have to be cheesy like this?”

“Only for you, babe. And get used to it. You have a forever to experience this one-in-a-million love from the one and only Jung Hoseok.”

A/N pt. 2 | Hi hons! Sorry my Christmas gift for you all was late! My requirement deadlines in uni ended up until Dec. 16 and so for the majority of December, I was solely focused on uni stuff. I tried limiting myself from using page breakers in this fic, a challenge I put on myself to train my skills again in doing transitions in my writing. This story is inspired by the rivalry of science and art majors in our uni in my first year! Also! I hoped you guys appreciate my take on @kwritersworld’s prompt. I want to incorporate it in a very unexpected way, while at the same time, reflects my character in a way I‘ve never done before. OC here is a bit grumpy and lacks social skills to be friendly so I interpreted her as an everyday-Grinch hehe). Lastly, @bts-poetry, I really enjoyed doing mini Q&As with you! I hope you like this gift and I also hope we can talk more in the future!

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ifishouldvanish · 5 years

Text

The Boston Hour (20/?)

Avid Antiques Roadshow viewer Belle has a giant crush on one of the program's appraisers– the suave and eloquent Dr Rumford Gold. When she finally scores tickets to the show and meets him though, she finds he's anything but.

AKA: The one where Belle is an Antiques Roadshow super-fan and Gold is her favorite appraiser.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Rumford, Belle, and Neal try to endure their unexpected dinner guest. RATING: T WORDS: 11,368 TMI’s: [boop] A/N: I promised myself I'd get this chapter up before the new year. It's... kind of a lot?

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Read on AO3]

Rumford's house was fancy.

This wasn't any surprise. After all, Belle had expected it to be fancy, and she'd been in fancy houses before.

But those houses were new fancy.

Rumford's house was old fancy.

Those houses had had large, oddly shaped rooms, uncomfortable-looking chairs in places she couldn't imagine anyone ever wanting to sit, and often displayed a complete disregard for acoustics in the name of boasting ‘high ceilings’ and an ‘open concept’ floor plan.

But Rumford's house.

Rumford's house was cozy; Function still present beneath the decadent flair of luxurious rugs, inviting loveseats, and dainty window dressings. There was nary a fluorescent light bulb to be found in any one of the several sconces and table lamps, nor a single white wall in any of the tastefully decorated rooms he'd walked her through.

...Rooms that included a guest suite, which he’d informed her she'd be sleeping in tonight.

Now, normally Belle would be delighted to spend the night in a canopy bed fitted with satin sheets, surrounded by period decor, fresh flowers, and jewel-toned damask wallpaper– but not when there was another bedroom right across the hall that would have a Rumford in it!

That was the room she wanted to sleep in tonight! So they could cuddle! And kiss!

She couldn't possibly impose now, though. Not when her Rumford was so upset! Flitting about the kitchen, clearly trying to distract himself with preparing dinner! He'd waved off all of her offers to help and insisted she make herself at home, but oh! How could she?!

Not even his study– full of lovely, lovely books– could keep her away! Instead, she'd spent the past twenty minutes awkwardly standing around the kitchen, half following him from one cupboard to the next, half keeping her distance so as not to crowd him.

But soon the potatoes were roasting, and the pork chops were cooking, and there wasn't any more flitting about for Rumford to do.

He stood by the oven, checking the clock, checking the potatoes, nudging the pork chops around their pan on the stove, checking the clock again.

That was her cue, Belle decided.

“Dinner smells wonderful,” she told him, coming up behind him and curling against his side. She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze and he returned a weak smile, his brown eyes big and lost and sad– like a puppy!

“I-I'm sorry, Belle,” he mumbled. “This isn't how I wanted our evening to… it was supposed to…”

She turned to face him better and took his hands. “I'm here to spend time with you,” she said. “And that's what I'm doing. Even it means I have to spend a little time with her, too.”

He sighed. “I'm sorry I didn't warn you.” His thumbs rolled over hers in little circles, and Belle smiled at him, recognizing the worried gesture for what it was. “But she told me she was staying at a hotel and that she'd stay out of my hair, ye know? I-it wasn't supposed to be an issue, and now–”

Belle cupped his face. “You worry too much,” she said, reaching up on her toes to give him a quick kiss. “Silly man.”

He nodded, and a proper smile bloomed across his face. “I do.”

There was a terrible urge to squish his cheeks and give him a big kiss!– but Belle managed to fight it.

“When's the last time you saw her?” she asked softly, taking his hands again to squeeze instead.

They could talk through this, she knew. The waiting was always the hardest part, and if Rumford couldn’t get his mind off of what burdened him, then she could at least listen, and bear the weight of them with him! They were a serious couple now, and serious couples supported each other through thick and thin and unwanted visits from exes!

“Oh, she visits every year for the holidays,” Rumford said. “T-to see Neal.”

“Oh, that's nice.”

That didn't sound so bad!

Couldn't be!

He and Neal were probably making things out to be worse than they really are. Letting the color of their past experiences with the woman bleed through into the present.

“How is she, really?” Belle asked. “Should I brace myself?”

Rumford managed a little huff of laughter. “Oh, I expect she'll be perfectly gregarious with you. It's me she doesn't like.”

Belle pouted her lips and looked him over, tucking a lock of hair behind his precious little pixie ear. Oh, to nibble it!

“Well, she clearly has very poor taste,” she assured him.

After all, what kind of woman landed herself a total dreamboat like Rumford and then just threw it all away!?

The oil began to sizzle and crack in the pan, and Rumford turned away to check on it. “It's fine,” he dismissed. “She'll give me a few backhanded compliments, spew some thinly veiled insults... I'll pretend not to notice in the interest of avoiding an argument, and in a few hours she'll be on her way.”

Belle frowned.

Well now, that sounded so terribly sad! Was that the sort of treatment he was subject to every time he saw his ex-wife?

No wonder he had such poor self-esteem!

“Well, this time you won't have to face her alone,” Belle said, rubbing his back.

He lowered the heat and spun back around, leaning against the countertop and folding his arms over his chest.

“Yes, I suppose that's true.” he admitted, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled at her.

And oh my! He looked like he belonged on the cover of Good Housekeeping, Belle thought! A cover line to the effect of, Rumford's Recipes for Late Regency Romance: How to Add Antique Splendor to Any Space! She'd definitely buy that issue! And then she'd eagerly turn to page forty-eight, or seventy-three, where a full spread photo of him posed invitingly on a carved mahogany sofa awaited her! Maybe with his tie loosened up a little and a button undone?

You know, to make him look more… approachable?

Belle wet her lips and splayed her hands over his chest, smoothing out his shirt.

Any excuse to touch him, really.

He blinked down at her hands on him with his mouth hanging open.

“For every ornery thing she has to say about you, I'll have three lovely things to say,” Belle promised, lifting her chin.

The corners of his mouth tugged upwards again. He wet his lips, and kiss? Could they kiss again? A hot, steamy thing that would give him a taste of what he'd be missing after they went to bed tonight? In their separate rooms?

Instead he just scoffed and broke eye contact.

“What?” Belle asked.

“I just lo…” he shook his head, and brought one of his hands up to lay it over hers. “I'm very lucky to have you, is all. Sweetheart.”

Belle bit back a smile and slung her arms around his neck. “I think I'm the lucky one...” she murmured, fingering at the hair on his nape.

His cheeks turned pink, and squish, squish, squish! she thought! Kiss, kiss, kiss!

“You've settled into your room just fine?” he asked. “Have everything you need? Toothbrush? Hair brush? Slippers? Enough pillows?”

Belle hesitated. She was certain she hadn't forgotten anything. She'd made a spreadsheet of everything she would need for the weekend, including her cutest pajamas and her most fetching bra and panties– which were to be slipped into before they made love for the first time under the guise of “freshening up”.

They might not have been ready that night at home in Storybrooke, but that was before they'd become serious, and Belle was feeling quite ready now. She wouldn't rush Rumford into doing anything he didn't feel ready to do of course– but maybe being serious had him also feeling ready, like she was!

So, no no. Nothing forgotten.

Belle did suppose though, that now was the best chance she'd get to express her disappointment with the proposed sleeping arrangements. Because if you wore cute, matching pajamas and your boyfriend wasn’t around to see them and tell you how cute you looked– thus prompting you to them tell him how cute he looked– what was even the point?

Belle leaned into his ear.

His cute little pixie ear.

She would tell him she wanted to cuddle. But in a sexy way.

“There is one thing I’m afraid I might not be able to sleep without...” she whispered.

There was a pause– a slight twitch of his shoulder– before Rumford pulled back, furrowing his brows.

“What's that?” he coughed. “...Pads? Tampons?” he whispered, “A heating pad? A-anything you need, sweetheart. I-I can run up to the store right after dinner–”

Belle laughed and shook her head. Sweet man, him! “No, silly!” she said. “Nothing like that, I just mean–”

Ding-dong!

They both turned their heads towards the foyer, following the loud ringing as it carried through the house.

Rumford dropped his hands to his sides. “That must be her.” he said, the warmth in his voice gone. “I'll... go get it.”

He gave her a tight-lipped smile and started for the door, and Belle bit her cheek. She watched him disappear into the foyer, and soon there was the sound of the front door cracking open.

She couldn't help eavesdropping.

“Milah. Please, come in. Here, let me take your bags.”

“Oh! Rum, I like what you've done to the place.” she said, and she had an accent. English.

“Oh. Thank you. Did a spot of cleaning a few weeks ago, so.”

“Looks nice. Very nice.” she said. “You know, I don't think this house has been this tidy since I was living here,” she laughed.

“...Aye. Seems like it, doesn't it?” he chuckled stiffly. “Well, ah… Neal's hiding upstairs. Belle and I are working on dinner–”

“Oh! Belle!” she gasped. “Is that her name?”

“Aye. Aye, why don't I get you a glass of wine and introduce you?”

“Oh, that would be lovely.”

Belle permit herself to relax a little. His ex-wife seemed pleasant enough– so far. She decided to step up to the stove and nudge the pork chops around, so that she might look busy when they came in.

Heels clunked across the wood floors, and Belle looked over her shoulder as Rumford returned to the kitchen a few seconds later.

The woman trailing behind him was… taller, to start with. Taller than her, taller than him. In fact, Milah towered over him in the heeled boots she was wearing, and would probably still have an inch or two on him without them. Thick, wavy, raven hair cascaded freely over her shoulders, framing a face with heavily made-up, piercing blue eyes. She was intense-looking, a little intimidating, and Belle couldn't help thinking that standing next to her, Rumford looked even smaller and cuter than usual!

“Belle–” Rumford said, “this is Milah, Neal's mother. Milah, this–”

“Lovely to meet you, Belle.” Milah cut in, stepping forward and extending a hand with a smile.

“Oh.” she chuckled awkwardly and nodded. “Likewise.”

Milah wore a large, beaded necklace, with heavy earrings to match. A wide, black leather belt with large rivets cinched her waist, giving shape to the flowing wrap blouse she wore– its plunging neckline exposing a tanned chest. The whole ensemble was equal parts bohemian and rock and roll, and Belle found it hard to imagine that the two people in front of her had ever crossed paths, let alone been married.

She cleared her throat and finally let go of Milah's hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said again. Awkward– but polite!

“Ah… the wine!” Rumford blurted, starting toward the counter.

“Oh, don't be daft!” Milah scoffed and beat him to it. “You don't have to wait on me, Rum!” She looked to Belle and winked. “As if I don't know where the alcohol is around here…”

Not quite sure what to make of that remark, Belle managed a chuckle and stepped aside so Rumford could return to the safety of the stove. He poked at the pork chops again, prodded at the potatoes. Grabbed his own neglected glass of wine and took a deep breath.

“Okay?” Belle whispered, rubbing his back.

He took a swig and nodded. “Aye. M'fine.”

She smiled sympathetically at him, and at last they spun around to face Milah together, shoulder to shoulder.

“So…” Milah began as she poured herself a sizeable glass. “Neal tells me you two met on the show?”

Belle looked up at him, smiling. She could remember the first time she looked into those big brown eyes like it was yesterday! Rumford looked down at her, smiling too– and was it possible that he was having the very same thought? That the memory was bringing him a much-needed morsel of comfort at this trying time?

“...We did,” Belle answered.

“So which is your area of expertise, then?” Milah asked, leaning against the island. “Fine art, like Rumford? Or, let me guess– Deco arts? ...Those creepy dolls? No, wait–”

“Belle's... not an appraiser.” Rumford mumbled.

“Oh,” Milah blinked. “Production team, then?”

“No…”

“I'm studying to be a librarian,” Belle said.

She raised her brows.

“Belle was a guest, actually.” Rumford finally said. “She ah… brought something in for me to look at.”

“...Huh.” Milah said, eyeing her up and down curiously. “So she did.”

Belle quickly glanced down at her chest. Had she not done enough buttons on her blouse? Did she look too approachable?

“A book.” Rumford clarified, and took a long sip of his wine.

“Yes, let's go with that.” Milah said, taking a sip herself. “Spread her pages and cracked her spine, I'm sure.” she added under her breath and swept her eyes over Belle's legs again.

Belle froze for an instant, and Rumford shrank beside her.

Just what was that supposed to mean!?

Was it–?

Was she–?

Did she think Rumford was going through some kind of midlife crisis? Becoming some kind of skirt-chasing creep!?

Or perhaps that she was some kind of hussy, using her sexual wiles to prey on a sweet man like Rumford!? That she was after his money, or the thrill of being able to tell all her friends that she once dated one of the most esteemed figures in the antiques and appraisals industry!?

“Oh, no!” Belle laughed belatedly.

Three lovely things, she'd promised.

“That would damage the binding! One should always break in a book one leaf at a time, starting from the cover and working their way in.” She wrapped an arm around Rumford's waist and propped her chin upon his shoulder, smiling up at him again. “I've long admired Rumford's book-handling technique, so suffice to say, he was um… very gentle.”

Rumford seemed puzzled. “Your book was perfectly broken in long before I ever touched it.”

“I know...” Belle brushed his hair out from his collar and smoothed a hand over his chest. “I make sure it gets taken care of myself, but… it's always nice to see a man who knows how to handle a book with the proper care.”

He blushed again, and oh, someone was definitely going to be getting their cheeks squished tonight if they kept that up!

She gave him a little pat and looked back to Milah. “My mother always told me you can tell a lot about a man by how he treats his books,” she said. “And well, how big his–”

“Hey, I guess this makes you some sort of Antiques Roadshow groupie!” Milah realized, giving her a playful swat on the arm. “My kind of girl! You know, the summer before I started my Master's, I got to go backstage at all sorts of concerts– and let me tell you, it wasn't because I paid for VIP passes.”

“Oh.” Belle said, and she could feel Rumford’s body tense up again. “That… must have been fun.”

“I guess you could say I was sewing my wild oats…” Milah sighed fondly. “Met this wet blanket a few months later,” she gestured at Rumford, “and… Well, I don't know what I saw in him then exactly.”

Belle's lip twitched.

Didn’t know what she saw in him?

How about handsome?! Brilliant! Sweet! Thoughtful! Gentle, with precious, squishy cheeks!? Perfect pixie ears and a tight little–

“I guess it was the shy, aloof thing,” Milah shrugged. “Always good to have a challenge, you know? Most of the boys at University follow you around, panting like hungry dogs, but not this one,” she pointed. “Suppose I found that endearing at the time.”

Rumford coughed. “Neal mentioned you've been seeing somebody as well?”

Milah paused, mouth hanging open as she thought about it. “...No, not really,” she shook her head. “But you know me, I do like my fun.”

Rumford anxiously tapped a finger on the rim of his glass and took a heavy swig.

“But a librarian!” Milah said. “That's… something,” she said. “Where do you think you'd like to work? I bet Rumford could get you an in at quite a few places. Cambridge, Oxford, Cornell…”

“Well actually,” Belle said, “I was thinking… someplace... less academic.”

“Oh?”

“I’d like to direct a public library.” she said. “I… well, I like working with children, families... engaging with the community, you know?”

“Hm.” Milah shrugged. “Well, suit yourself, I guess.”

“I think that's wonderful, Belle.” Rumford assured. “I-I think you could make a real diff–”

“I'm just saying, she shouldn't settle.” Milah interrupted. “I speak from experience when I say too many women settle, and then they wake up one morning, look around, and think, how the bloody hell did I get here? ”

Belle managed to keep a smile plastered on her face, but Rumford was staring helplessly at his glass, avoiding eye contact.

Such a terribly insensitive thing to say, given the circumstances!

This was her chance to really stand up for Rumford, Belle thought. To set some boundaries around what sort of comments would be tolerated and which would not. Rumford might be afraid of geese, but in this moment, Belle realized, she had to become one with the geese. Fiercely protect her territory– her man– from anybody who dared to threaten or get too close. Let it be known that any further attempts from this woman to assert her dominance would be met with angry honking and aggressive wing-flapping.

Belle cleared her throat.

“Actually, the role of the library in the community is what's most important to me,” she said. “I wouldn't want to compromise on that for the sake of prestige or a bigger paycheck. To me, that would uh... be ‘settling.’”

Milah scowled at first, then let out a bark of laughter. “You know Rum, I'd ask where you found this one, but we already covered that!” she clucked.

He looked up at her with a put-on smile. “Aye.” he chuckled uncomfortably. “We… sure did.”

“Well,” Milah sighed, “I will say that I admire your… sense of virtue.” She shrugged and took a slow, careful sip of her wine. “I suppose I'll go see what our boy's up to, then. Lovely to meet you, again, Belle.”

The heels of her boots clunked across the floor as she left, and slowly receded up the stairs.

Rumford sighed in relief once she was out of earshot. “That wasn't as bad as I ex–”

“‘Shouldn't settle?!’”

Rumford flinched back, blinking in surprise.

“Who does she think she is!?” Belle asked. “And the way she kept interrupting you like that!? That's just rude! And don't even get me started on that comment about liking her fun!”

“Belle.” He set his glass down and rubbed a hand over her arm. “Belle, it's… fine,” he said. “Honest. I-I'm used to it. It no’ a big deal.”

“I beg to differ! I mean, where does she get off, calling you a wet blanket!?”

“Well...” he shrugged, “I can admit that I am–”

“Talking about my Rumf– talking about you like that!” Belle huffed. “And a good challenge?! As if you were nothing more to her than some… some sexual conquest!?”

Rumford was sweet! And sensitive!

He had feelings! And cheeks that were just begging to be smushed and smooched!

He didn't deserve to be spoken about in such a way! Of course, no one did– but especially not her Rumford!

“Oh, I'll have her waking up and wondering what happened, alright,” Belle muttered under her breath. “...in the hospital!”

Rumford carefully gripped her shoulders. “...Belle? Are you alright?” he asked, darting his eyes over her face with concern.

She took a deep breath– then another, and another.

It wouldn’t do to lose her cool. Not now, when it was clear that Rumford would need her more than she had initially thought.

Besides, there were other, more effective ways to handle people as unpleasant as Milah.

Belle's anger was a wave that she was going to let crash over her, and it would carry with it all its ilk in her chest when it receded back to the sea.

When those waters ebbed back onto her shores, they'd be replaced with calm determination.

“It’s okay.” she exhaled. “I'm okay now.”

“...Good.” he smiled in relief. “Please don't send my ex-wife to the hospital.”

Belle nodded. “I won't send your ex-wife to the hospital, Rumford.”

Oh! But she could!

“But I cou–”

“I know, sweetheart. But look–” he nodded toward the stove. “Dinner's about finished. You could help me set the table, aye?”

“Oh!” Belle perked up. Yes! Helping Rumford! she thought, bouncing on her toes. “Okay!”

“Are you sure you're up to it?” he asked. A little smirk spread across his face, and he took her hands. “Because it's a very important task,” he whispered. “You see, I'm having the most amazing woman in the world over for dinner tonight, and I need everything to be just right.”

Belle gave him a sidelong look. She was far from impressed by Milah!

“I don't understand…”

“It's you, sweetheart.” he explained. “The most amazing woman in the world is you.”

*****

The dining room table looked beautiful, if Belle dared say so herself. Sure, they were Rumford's placemats, and Rumford's plates, and Rumford's silverware, and Rumford's glassware, and Rumford's napkins– but she'd laid every piece out with tremendous care, and she was confident that anyone who stepped foot in the dining room would immediately recognize that they were looking at a table that had been set with love.

Neither Milah nor Neal had commented on the table as they took their seats, but that was fine! Sometimes a beautiful table was invisible– so that it hadn't caught their attention, Belle decided, was actually among the highest of compliments. (Besides, once Rumford had finished carrying the food in from the kitchen, he'd given her a kiss on the cheek and told her it looked perfect!)

The table seated six, but they were only four– leaving the armed chairs on either end of the table empty. She and Rumford occupied one side, while Neal and Milah occupied the other. Glass, silver, and porcelain clinked and clanged, and everyone must have been really enjoying the meal Rumford prepared– because no one had spoken a word yet!

That was, until Milah set her fork down, dropping out of their delicate percussion ensemble.

“So, Belle.” she said, “You're… younger than I was expecting.”

Belle stopped in the middle of cutting her food, her hand tightening its grip on her knife.

“Oh.” She slowly resumed her sawing at the piece of meat on her plate and popped a forkful into her mouth, buying herself a moment to think how best to respond.

You're younger than I was expecting...

On the surface, the comment did nothing more than admire her youthful appearance. But beyond that surface? Lied the scathing implication that she was too young for Rumford. That she must be a mere plaything for a lonely, older man. That her motives for being with him were questionable.

But none of that was of any consequence.

Mama always at told her that the best way to deal with backhanded compliments was to ignore the “backhanded” and accept the “compliment” graciously.

Belle finished chewing and swallowed.

“Oh, I get that a lot,” she nodded. “I'm told I have a very young face? I'm twenty-eight, but a lot of people still mistake me for a teenager sometimes! I suppose it doesn't help that I'm only five foot two, but as my friend Ruby says: I'm not short, I'm just fun-sized!”

“Oh, fun-sized!” Neal said, forcing a laugh. “Like the little candy? That's clever.”

A tight-lipped smile spread across Milah's face, but it didn't meet her eyes, which were leering. “Yes, well, I was only twenty-three when Rumford here got me knocked up with Neal. He was twenty-eight at the time? It seems you like them young, dear,” she told him. “Because you–” she turned back to Belle, “You would have a been what, then? Ten? Eleven? A child!” she laughed.

Neal's eyes bulged, and Rumford dropped his knife– the heavy silver handle smacking the edge of the table and clattering onto the floor.

“I-I–” he stammered and began scooting his seat back to pick it up.

Oh no, Belle thought. She couldn't let Milah get away with that! Painting Rumford like some kind of lecher? Cradle robber? Dirty old man?

She was the dirty one! Belle French! A dirty girl, with one thing on her mind: making her Rumford feel loved and supported!

And sexy!

“I got it, baby,” she whispered, setting a hand on Rumford's thigh and bending under the table.

So Milah wanted to make comments about Rumford's age? How ‘old’ he was?

That was fine. It was nothing dirty girl Belle French couldn't handle. This dinner would be like their first date, she decided. Except this time she wouldn't be drunk! (And she and Rumford were serious!)

She resurfaced with the knife in hand, tossing her hair out of her face and over her shoulder.

“Th-thank you. Belle,” Rumford managed in a whisper.

“Mhm!” She smiled at him as she placed the knife in his hand, letting her fingers linger longer than they needed to before turning back to Milah.

“What can I say? I've always had a bit of a thing for an older man,” Belle said. “There's something about a guy with a few lines in his face and greys in his hair that just… mmph! You know?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Neal said and began gulping down his soda, watching for his mother's reaction from the corner of his eye.

Milah sat up and smiled. She gave Belle and Rumford a knowing look, sweeping her eyes back and forth between the pair of them. Something in her demeanor was changing, but all she had to say was: “I see…”

Belle wasn't sure whether to let her guard down or keep it up.

Neal and Rumford had stopped eating. Their eyes darted back and forth between the women at the table, watching, waiting– the younger with amusement, and the older with apprehension.

“Besides, age is just a number,” Belle said to placate him, setting her hand further up his thigh and giving it a squeeze. “Right, Rumford?”

He swallowed hard and shifted in his seat. “Yes. Yes, I agree, sweetheart.”

“Aww. ‘ Sweetheart’…” Milah sighed. “That's nice. You know, you look happier, Rum. That's good. I'm glad for the two of you.” she said, raising her glass.

“Ah–” Rumford tilted his head and furrowed his brows. “...thank you...” he accepted cautiously.

“But just give him a few more years, Belle,” Milah winked. “He'll have more than a few grey hairs and wrinkles for you.”

Belle opened her mouth to speak, but stopped short of it.

Of course he'd have more grey hairs and wrinkles! And he'd still be sexy! That's what she just said!

Milah had to be playing a new angle now– but Belle still couldn't figure out what it was.

Was it possible that she was actually being genuine? That instead of making a jab at their age difference, she was just playfully suggesting that if she found Rumford irresistible now, then she ought to buckle up for one sexy ride?

Belle supposed that in case it was the former, she ought to make it clear to Milah just how much she'd be barking up the wrong tree. Because Belle French!? Finding grey hair anything less than distinguished and sexy? Not a chance!

“...Oh, I know!” Belle giggled. She brought her hand up to stroke the greying hair at Rumford's temple, and the corner of his mouth tugged upwards ever so slightly in response. The bit of sideburns hiding beneath were the greyest, and she'd probably have a perfect view of them in bed, Belle thought– looking over him while he lied on his back and she rode him like a bull.

She continued to gently comb his hair, and he seemed to lean into her touch. “I can hardly wait to see Rumford age into a full-on Silver Fox…”

Rumford turned to look at her with wide eyes.

Belle wet her lips, and he swallowed.

Neal dropped his silverware onto his plate. “You know, on second thought…” he reached across the table for the bottle of wine and began pouring himself a glass, “I think I will try the uh… peanut... noir…” he said, squinting at the label.

Rumford coughed, tearing his attention away from her. “One glass,” he said. “And only fill it a third of the–” he sighed as his son filled the glass more than halfway to the brim. “Or that's… fine too, I suppose.”

Belle gave his hair a finishing pat before returning to her meal. How was that for three lovely things?

“Tell me, Belle–” Milah said, “does he still like to have his ears played with in bed?”

Neal almost spit out his wine. “Mom. What the fuck.”

“Language.” Rumford cut in.

“Oh, come on, Pop!” he whined, gesturing at his mother. “I did not need to know that!”

“It's fine, Neal.” Milah scoffed. “Odds are, he'll have passed the taste for it onto you. Have your girlfriend try it next time.”

“I don't even–” Neal cut himself off and shook his head. “Just– ugh!”

“Oh, relax!” she laughed. “I'm only trying to lighten the mood! You and your father look so serious!”

But oh, that louse! Belle thought. Asking a question like that!? As if what Rumford liked in bed was any of her business anymore!

She couldn't answer yes or no. And to say, “I don't know, ” would be admitting to having a lackluster sex life where she and Rumford couldn't even be bothered to explore each other's erogenous zones properly!

“I don't think that's appropriate,” wouldn't work either. That would be admitting to being uncomfortable around the topic of sex– which dirty girl Belle French most certainly was not. (Unless her father was in the room.)

No, no. She couldn't let on that Milah was getting under her skin in any way. She and Rumford were serious– a unified front– and if Milah was getting under her skin, that meant she was getting under Rumford's, too!

Belle decided to do the only thing that felt right– tell the truth.

“Well, um…” she looked down at her plate and nudged her food around. “Rumford and I haven't, uh…”

“Oh, you're waiting!” Milah smiled. “That's nice. You, my dear, are made of far stronger stuff than I,” she winked. “...Afraid I'm quite easy.”

“Well, I wouldn't say we're waiting…” Belle said, her eyes drifting to Rumford's. “We just haven't… gotten there yet?”

“We're… taking things slow.” he explained, sliding a hand over hers.

Belle smiled at him, feeling her chest flutter at the simple gesture. “He's actually the patient one.” she admitted with a chuckle, turning back to Milah. “I um… well, if it were up to me, I'd have taken him to bed after our first date!”

“Ah, I see!” Milah said. “Perhaps you and I aren't so different after all,” she laughed. “Well, don't keep her waiting too long, Rum…”

“We're just waiting for the right moment.” Rumford said, lacing their fingers. “First time together should be special, I don't want to rush–”

“See, that's where you and I and very different.” Milah cut in. “I say it's best to see if the sexual chemistry is there as early as–”

“I'm sorry–” Neal interrupted, setting his glass down. “Am I the only one who thinks this is like, really weird?”

The table fell silent for a moment.

Rumford coughed.

Belle remained quiet. She could admit it was a little strange to be speaking about her and Rumford's sex life in front of his family– but not without also admitting that Milah was winning at whatever game this was.

Milah cleared her throat. “Anyway, Belle. When the two of you do get there, you should reach out!” She leaned across the table and lowered her voice to something resembling a whisper. “I was married to Rumford for almost five years, you know– I have all kinds of little tricks he likes that I could share with you,” she winked.

“ Mom!”

“What?!” she shrugged.

“That's gross!”

“A healthy sex life is an important part of a relationship!” she argued. “Nothing to be ashamed of! Nothing dirty! I wish Belle and your father the best!”

“Doesn't mean I wanna hear you talk about… dad's kinks while I'm trying to eat!”

“Sex is a beautiful thing, sweetie,” Milah said. “It's how your father and I got you.” she added, and gave him a doting little poke to the chest.

“Yeah, I know where babies come from, mom. Thanks.” he muttered, shoving a wedge of potato into his mouth.

“And don't be ridiculous– having sensitive ears isn't a kink.” she laughed. “Anyway, Belle,” she half-whispered again, “you're lucky in that Rumford here is quite gifted with his tongue.”

“Oh.” Belle giggled and snuck a glance at Rumford, but his reaction consisted of nothing more than raising his brows and blinking.

“What the absolute– fuck shitting ass hell.” Neal said, setting his fork down again and pushing out his chair.

“Neal…” Rumford warned.

“I know, that was a terrible outburst.” he agreed, already starting to get up. “I'll go send myself to my room so I can think about the consequence–”

“Sit. Down.”

He rolled his eyes and plopped back into his seat. “Fine.”

Rumford squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “You know, your mother has a point,” he told Neal. “I'm sure all of that raunchy music and reality TV you're on would have you believe that sex is just about… being randy, and... getting each other off–”

“Please stop talking.”

“But in a real relationship, built on love and trust– which your mother and I used to have in spades, believe it or not– it's so much more than that. It's truly one of the most beautiful things two adults can share together.”

Belle nibbled her lip and rubbed his arm. Her Rumford was such a romantic!

“For all that happened between your father and I,” Milah weighed in, “I cannot deny that he always was an exceptional and selfless lover.”

Rumford laid a hand over his chest. “Why thank you, Milah. That… I appreciate that.”

Belle blinked and looked him over curiously. “Is that right?”

“Oh, believe it.” Milah nodded. “But ultimately, we just lacked that… fire for each other. Even the best technique is no substitute for true, unbridled passion, you know? But let me just say that I can already see it broiling between the two of you. If there's an earthquake sometime in the next few weeks–” she paused, “I'll know why.”

Neal dropped his loaded fork onto his plate. “And I… don't know why I'm still trying to eat at this point.”

“Thank you!” Belle smiled. “That's… such a lovely compliment. Isn't it, Rumford?” she asked, reaching for his hand.

He took it, and began brushing his thumb over hers. “Aye. Lovely compliment, Milah. Thank you.”

Neal blinked owlishly. “...Seriously?”

Rumford pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed. “Look, son. I know it can be be jarring, and… unsexy to think about your mother and I being intimate–”

“Oh my God.”

“But sex isn't like what you see in all those... pornographic films. It's–”

“Though certainly it can be,” Milah chimed in.

Rumford shot her a scolding look and continued. “It's a whole language of love one must learn anew with each partner,” he explained, and Belle had never felt so close to literally swooning in her entire life. “You should know that on the afternoon you were conceived, Neal, your mother and I were… truly connected. Mentally, physically, spiritually–”

Milah scowled and tilted her head. “Pretty sure that was just the five mimosas I had at brunch,” she whispered across the table to Belle.

He gave her another sidelong look. “When you make love, it's–”

“Beautiful.” Neal finished for him. “The miracle of life. Got it. Now can we please talk about something– literally, anything else? For the love of God?”

“Well… I do suppose we've exhausted the topic,” Rumford said.

“You think?”

There was another beat of silence, and everyone reached for their glasses all at once.

But a language of love, Belle thought! How beautifully put!

She wanted to learn how to speak it with Rumford! They could practice every day, and cover every dialect!

She was pretty sure she and Rumford were already truly connected mentally and spiritually– but physically? Oh my, yes! She was ready for that! For them to share one of the most beautiful things together! To make love, because she was in love!

“Fantastic job on the potatoes, Rum,” Milah said. “Perfect amount of crisp.”

Rumford looked up from his plate. “Thank you,” he nodded. “Trick is to soak and dry them first.”

“Is that right?” she said, studying the wedge speared on her fork. “...He's a great cook, you know,” she told Belle. “Never a disappointing meal to be had in this house.”

“Mm,” Belle agreed, swallowing her food. “Everything's delicious, Rumford.”

“This is actually Neal's favorite dish,” he said– and oh, that smile! His cheeks always looked the most squishable when he did that! “I make it for his birthday every year.”

“Hell yeah,” Neal confirmed, popping a forkful into his mouth.

With Milah’s prodding questions and comments off the table, Belle eased her shoulders and let her elbows take their place.

Neal, she thought.

Milah was here to see Neal. Rumford adored his son. She herself was here to get to know Rumford better, and by extension, his family. After all, if (when) she and Rumford got married, she would technically be Neal’s stepmother. She wouldn’t expect him to call her mom or anything, of course– but she could still do motherly things, like tell him to eat more whenever he stopped by for dinner, or buy him socks and new slacks for Christmas.

Goodness! They should have been talking about Neal from the get go! None of this how'd you meet, how's your sex life business!

“Are you excited for college, Neal?” Belle asked.

“Huh?” Neal blinked. “...Oh. Uh, yeah,” he shrugged. “I guess.”

“Your father told me you're going to be studying graphic design?”

“Yeah.” Another shrug.

“Is that something you've always been interested in? Or when did you decide you wanted to major in that?”

“Eh,” he shrugged. Again. “I always liked to draw and stuff when I was little. And I always thought like, concert posters and stuff were cool.”

“Well, I think that's great.” Belle smiled. “If you want a creative career, I hear graphic designers are among the most in-demand.”

Rumford cleared his throat. “He used to draw on everything when he was a boy,” he said proudly, pointing with his fork. “Teachers used to complain he was always doodling all over his work. I'd come in for those parent-teacher conferences, and they'd show me all these worksheets he'd drawn landscapes and cars and fantastic creatures on the backs of– as though they were such a terrible thing.”

“Because it meant I wasn't paying attention in class,” Neal said bitterly, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I'd tell them–” Rumford continued, “My son's marks are just fine, and unless you have some proof that his doodling is impacting his performance in class, I'd appreciate it if you let him be.”

Belle found her gaze stubbornly fixed on his face as he spoke. She'd seen him talk about his son before, but the sparkle in his eyes was even brighter now, with his boy sitting right across from him.

“...I don't remember any of that,” Milah frowned.

And just like that, the sparkle was gone. Rumford slouched and stared down at his plate, his lips twisted into something uncomfortable.

“...Yeah, it's almost like you weren't there,” Neal deadpanned, and took a swig of his soda.

“Neal…” Rumford warned, and Belle lightly rubbed a hand over his back. He said he wanted to avoid an argument, and here his son was, looking to start one!

“I'm just saying,” Neal shrugged. “She wouldn't know because she wasn't around.”

“Yes. I suppose not.” Milah sighed, reaching for her wine glass and taking a swig.

Rumford rested his fork on his plate. Did that cute little thing where he brushes his knuckle against his cheek. “I used to tell you over the phone,” he reminded her gently. “When we'd talk and you'd ask about him? How he was doing in school? I'd always say he reminded me of you with his talent.”

Now Milah was the one staring down at her plate. “You know, you’re right,” she nodded, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I do remember that.”

“Aye,” Rumford smiled ruefully at her across the quiet table. “You know, I started going through all my photo albums last week. There's so many pictures of Neal– you really ought to take some home with you.”

She nodded again. “...Yeah. I'd like that.”

Milah didn't look so intimidating anymore, Belle thought. Just sad and lonely. The way her father used to look after mom passed. How far away he always seemed across their kitchen table set for two every night.

“Lots of pictures from Halloween,” Rumford continued. “Dressed up as Batman, Spider-Man, one of those turtles…”

A smile spread across Milah’s face, and regardless of how she felt about the woman so far, Belle was happy to see it.

“You know, one year he actually picked out a suit because he wanted to look like his papa,” Rumford chuckled.

“Oh god,” Neal groaned, burying his face in his hands.

But oh no, Belle couldn't help it.

“Aww!” she went, because just imagine! Answering the door on Halloween to find Rumford and his little boy in matching suits! She'd crouch down and go, “Who are you supposed to be, handsome?” and little Neal, knee-high to a grasshopper, would answer, “I'm wearing a suit just like my papa!”

“Gosh! To hell with a handful of candy–” Belle said, “I'd have given you two the whole bag! ...And um, maybe my phone number, too…” she murmured in Rumford's ear, if for no other reason than to see him blush again.

Milah scoffed. “Good luck with that,” she said. “Took him months to realize I was interested in a bit more than just sharing lecture notes.”

“Yeah,” Neal said. “He'd just convince himself it was some kind of mistake. Like little scraps of paper with cute girls’ phone numbers on 'em grew on trees, got swept up in the wind like dead leaves and fell in people's laps all the time.”

Rumford tutted at him, cheeks pink and ripe for pinching again.

“Well, I think it's sweet,” Belle said, rubbing that hand over his back again. “My mama always used to say that if a guy doesn't get shy and nervous around you, it's because he can't see how wonderful you are– and if he can't see that, then he isn't worth it.”

“Rumford must be worth in his weight in gold then,” Milah said.

“Seriously, Belle,” Neal said. “It's a miracle you were able to convince him to go on a date with you at all. He's got a total blindspot for anyone flirting with him.”

Rumford scowled. “Based on what evidence, exactly?”

“The museum lady,” Neal supplied readily. “When she gave you her personal number? Also, I'm still pretty sure that guy Je–”

Rumford suddenly grew tense. “I don't know what you're on about,” he cut him off, his voice higher than usual. “I do plenty of work for museums, son, you'll have to be more specific,” he said, and quickly grabbed his wine glass, taking a heavy swig.

Neal huffed and rolled his eyes. “You restored a set of old chairs for the museum! It was back when you used to work late all the time. And it was a Saturday, and I rode my bike to the shop and brought you lunch, and she came in to write you a check or something, and she was all, ‘Here–” Neal spoke in a high, feminine voice, batting his eyelashes, “this is my personal number. Do give me a call if you need anything, doctor– and I mean anything.’”

“Please,” Rumford scoffed. “That was Cora Mills! For heaven's sake, she's the mayor's wife!”

“Oh, I don't know,” Milah said. “She always looked the sort in those terrible campaign commercials, if you ask me.”

Neal snorted. “Takes one to know one, ma–”

“Well, it doesnae matter,” Rumford interrupted. “Because I never would have wanted to...” he trailed off and took another sip of his wine.

“...Never would have wanted to what?” Milah asked. “Be the other man?”

Belle stopped chewing on her potatoes at that. Swallowed hard.

“Whoa, mom. Too far.”

“Well, I can't imagine it would be any worse than the alternative!”

“Seriously?”

“I'm just saying. After what I did to him, it'd be quite the boost to the ego, I think! As they say, one person’s trash is another person’s–”

Belle couldn’t hold her tongue any longer.

“I don’t think there’d be anything flattering or glamourous about that,” she said, wrapping her hand around Rumford's arm. “Being second to somebody else, having to sneak around, knowing you can or will never have all of that person? Not being chosen?”

“Oh, no, no!” Milah shook her head. “See, when you have an affair, that person is… your escape,” she explained. “An oasis in the arid wasteland of your life. A beacon of hope that lets you know that you’re still capable of... feeling, and–”

Neal scoffed. “Gee, thanks, ma.”

She slapped her hands on the table in exasperation and glared at him. “Oh, do you have to take everything I say so literally?!”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Do you have to talk about how great fucking somebody else was when dad's sitting right there!?”

Belle took her elbow back off the table. She tightened her grip on Rumford's arm and rubbed her thumb over his sleeve, hoping to assure him that she was still there, hearing this– even if she was at a loss of what to say or how to make it stop.

“All I'm trying to say, is that I know I hurt your father, but if a married woman wanted to do some escaping with him, perhaps he should have–”

“Married or no, I never would have done any sort of escaping with her because she’s not the one I was interested in!”

The table fell deafeningly silent.

All eyes turned to Rumford and his cheeks burned red– the reddest Belle had ever seen. It wasn't the good sort of blush he wore when she told him he was handsome, or that she was lucky, or after they'd shared a kiss. No, no. This blush didn't make her want to squish his cheeks at all. It was the blush of a man who was feeling embarrassed, frightened, humiliated, and Belle just wanted to rush him away someplace quiet and hold him and tell him everything would be okay.

“That... insufferable… shrew of a woman...” Rumford tacked on weakly. He swiped his napkin from his lap and tossed it on the table. “I think we're all ready for dessert, no?” he asked, rising from his seat.

Neal and Milah blinked up at him in shock, and he left the room.

Belle hurried to do the same. She followed Rumford out of the dining room and into the kitchen, finding him standing in the corner, staring at the pantry door. She shifted on her feet and wrung her fingers over her belly, once again torn between giving him space and just scooping him up in her arms.

“Are you alright?” she softly asked from across the room.

He clenched his jaw, but nodded.

Belle stepped over to him and tentatively rested a hand on his shoulder. He slowly spun around, and she wrapped her arms around him. When his arms came around her a second later, Belle couldn't help noticing how clammy he felt.

“I know...” she whispered, holding him tight. “I know.”

He heaved a sigh and burrowed his face in her hair, and she began rubbing his back.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled.

“No, no…” she hushed, petting his hair. “You don't have anything to be sorry for. It's hardly an appropriate subject for the table and you have every right to be upset.”

“Mm,” he grunted, and shook his head.

“No?” Belle asked. If not for the upsetting conversation, what could possibly have upset him so?

His thumb rubbed back and forth along the seam on her shirt, and he let out a sigh. “...What have I done?” he asked, his voice small and weak.

“Oh, Rumford,” she hushed, “you haven't done anything wrong.”

“But I said that I– do you think they'll know now?”

Belle furrowed her brows. “Know what, Rumford? I don't understand.”

He didn't answer her. Only sighed and shook his head.

Belle tried to replay the conversation in her mind, to isolate just where things had gone wrong. There were so many things that could have upset him, but what was it that Neal had said? That had made him so tense?

“What is it?” she pleaded. “You can tell me, Rumford. You can tell me anything.”

He was still for a long moment, and Belle let him be, offering all the comforting words and touches she had.

It wasn't the museum lady, no. There was someone else his son was about to name before he cut him off– A man’s name.

At last, he took a deep breath. “Not now,” he mumbled against her shoulder, shaking his head again.

That explained his behavior at the table, Belle thought, but not his reticence now, alone, with her. Unless she hadn't made her acceptance clear enough that night he'd told her? Had her forgotten about that?

No, no. There had to be something more. Something he still carried close to his chest.

“Okay,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple. “That's okay. You don’t have to tell me now. You can tell me when you’re ready.”

He nodded and nestled against her more tightly.

She might not have been able to protect him from the pitfalls of having dinner with Milah, Belle thought. But she was still here now, loving him, supporting him– and that was just as good, she decided.

It was tempting to say those words to him now– I love you. But saying them for the first time was such a big step– just as spending the night was a big step, and meeting his son was a big step, and seeing him like this was a big step. Belle wanted to comfort him, but what if it only overwhelmed him? Having to process just what it meant to be loved after being alone for so long? Feeling pressured to say the words back when he might not be ready to?

She dismissed the idea. Surely she could show that she loved him, make him feel loved, without having to be so bold as to say it.

So she just held him, and pet him, until Neal and Milah’s voices began rising on the other side of the wall.

“I can admit to what I did!” Milah squawked. “Should I pretend it never happened!?”

Belle chuckled. “Are you sure you don't want me to send her to the hospital?” she whispered.

Rumford huffed a little laugh and finally pulled away, smiling weakly at her.

“There's a line between ‘okay’ and ‘not okay at all’ mom, and you overshot it by like, twenty miles!” Neal shouted. “No wait, I’m sorry– kilometers!”

Rumford smiled at her. “No. No that won't be necessary.”

His terrible red had gone back down to a sweet pink, so Belle indulged herself with a big smooch on the apple of his cheek.

“Oh, come on! You know your father! He's oversensitive!”

“All the more reason to not embarrass him in front of his girlfriend!”

“I'm not trying to embarrass him! I'm just trying to be forthcoming! Candid!”

“He’s a private person, mom! He doesn’t need you being candid and forthcoming about… that!”

“You stay right here,” Belle said. “I'll clear the table.”

Rumford nodded, and she spun on her heels back toward the dining room.

“God, it’s like you get some kind of weird, sadistic pleasure out of making everything as awkward as possible for him!”

“Now why would I do that?!” Milah snapped.

“I dunno!” Neal said, and Belle hovered by the threshold, waiting for an opportune moment to step in. “Maybe you're just jealous because you're getting old and you're alone and–” Their eyes met and he cut himself off.

“Oh, don't be ridiculous!” Milah said. “I can admit: I was a bit skeptical as to what a girl her age in shoes like that could possibly want to do with–”

“Mom.”

“–a weak-willed forty-five year old man who just so happens to have money.”

“Mom.”

“But she seems like a lovely girl, and if they’re happy–”

“Mom!” Neal nudged her with his elbow and raised his brows.

Milah stopped talking and turned to look at Belle, her mouth hanging open.

Belle approached with a polite smile, doing her best to ignore everything she’d just heard, as it clearly hadn't been meant for her ears. “Are we all finished?” she asked, gesturing at the the table.

“Uh... yes,” Milah said, rushing to gather all the plates for her. “Yes, I believe we are, thank you.”

Belle collected every plate, fork and knife, and stood tall at the end of the table.

She couldn’t ignore it.

“If you must know, my interest in Rumford is that he's a good, sweet, intelligent man who makes me feel special– and I'm pretty sure I make him feel special, too,” she said, lifting her chin. “I think he's brave and strong where it counts, and um… well, I meant every word I said before about his grey hairs and wrinkles, so.”

The pair of them blinked up at her in stunned silence. Not sure what else to say, Belle looked back down at the pile of dishes and secured her trembling grip on them.

“And for what it’s worth... the reason I wear these shoes is because I think they're cute– but also because I'm a little self-conscious about being fun-sized.”

With that, she hefted the pile of dishes off the table and made her start for the kitchen.

An unexpected, “Belle?” stopped her in her tracks, and she nearly twisted her ankle on those shoes when she spun around to look.

Milah’s lips were pressed into a thin line. After a beat of hesitation, she sighed. “I meant what I said before,” she told her. “He does look happier.”

Belle swallowed. “...Thank you,” she accepted stiffly.

“I mean– he did. Before I… ruined everything again with my mouth.”

Belle bit her cheek.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry,” Milah finished.

Belle thought out her next words carefully. Rumford was the one who was hurt and upset. He was the one whose happiness had been rained on. “Then perhaps you ought to apologize to Rumford, and not to me,” she said, finally leaving the room behind her.

Minding her shoes this time, Belle carried the dishes over to the sink, careful not to make them clatter as she set them on the counter.

“You know you wind up apologizing every time you come here, right?” Neal told his mother. “Like you could avoid all this by just… not saying weird, humiliating shit all the time?”

Rumford came up behind her, heaving a sigh and rubbing his hands over her arms. “He’s a fair bit more like his mother than I care to admit sometimes,” he said. “...Frank, outspoken, I mean. Potty mouth.”

With a chuckle, Belle spun around to look at him and took his hands. “He loves you, though,” she told him. “Been sticking up for his papa the whole time.”

That precious pink rose to his cheeks again and he looked away, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into a timid smile. “Ye both have,” he said quietly.

Belle nibbled her lip. “Well… you’re worth sticking up for.”

His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “And you do ,” he said. “Make me feel special.”

Belle felt herself blush, and Rumford must have thought she had smushy, smoochable cheeks too– because he planted a kiss right on her face, where she was certain it was the pinkest.

“Come,” he said. “Let's get dessert out.”

Belle narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s for dessert, anyway?” she asked.

He grinned and led her over to the fridge. “Why, Neal's favorite, of course.” He cracked open the door, and after moving a few things around, produced a pie. “Chocolate cream,” he said. “Homemade, with my Auntie Edith's crust recipe.”

Oh, he looked so proud! With a gleam in his eyes that told her he just couldn’t wait for her to try it!

“Sounds like quite a treat,” she smiled, and she fetched the dessert plates while he topped it off with a heavy dollop of whipped cream.

If Rumford’s enthusiasm wasn’t enough, there was Neal’s too, as they carried it out to the table. They doled out once slice at a time– Rumford cutting and plopping each piece onto a plate, and Belle passing them along.

The table was quiet while everyone dug in, and Rumford had every right to be proud of his pie, Belle soon confirmed. The chocolate cream was rich and melted in her mouth, and there was definitely some kind of secret ingredient hiding in his auntie’s pie crust! She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it complemented the flavor of the chocolate beautifully enough to make her moan at the table, and suddenly there were three pairs of eyes on her.

Belle swallowed. “It’s um… very, very good,” she mumbled in her defense.

“It’s fuckin’ amazeballs,” Neal corrected her, shoveling another forkful into his mouth.

She looked to Rumford, waiting for him to scold his son’s language, but instead he just smiled.

“Sweetheart,” he chuckled– and in a moment of beautiful déjà vu, Rumford swiped his finger along her cheek, wiping off a bit of whipped cream and sucking it off his finger.

Oh, yes. This casual intimacy shared over sweets was definitely their thing, Belle decided. From her churro, to their chocolate chunk almond cookies, and now to his pie?

Rumford stopped suddenly as though he'd been caught, and that was a terrible shame, if ever Belle had seen one. Because boy did she like his mouth. And having excuses to look at it. While he sucked on things.

“See, we never looked at each other like that, Belle,” Milah said.

Rumford startled and knit his brows at her, dropping his hand into his lap. “Looked at each other like what?”

She scoffed and shook her head. “You see, Belle, sometimes I regret ever getting divorced– for Neal's sake, you know, not–” she trailed off and gestured dismissively between herself and her ex-husband, “but then I remember how much happier I am, and I see the two of you, and I'm reminded that it was worth it– To give all of us a chance to be truly happy with someone else.”

“Yeah,” Neal said. “Only you like to be truly happy with a different guy every–” “Neal!” Rumford cut him off.

“Sorry!” he whined. “Sorry, I’ll just... eat my pie.”

Belle stifled a giggle.

Rumford pinched the corners of his mouth and sighed. “That's… a lovely sentiment, Milah.” He said, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

“I thought you guys got divorced because mom did it with the pool guy, though.” Neal said.

“Roofer.” he corrected him. “And not at the table.”

“Oh, right. ” Neal scoffed. “That's not appropriate dinner conversation. What was I thinking?”

Rumford pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Eat your pie, son.”

Belle surveyed the table, and decided she’d definitely serve herself another slice of pie once she finished hers. She scooped another mouthful onto her fork and brought it to her lips.

“Actually–” Milah said, “the first time I was unfaithful was with one of my colleagues at a dig in the Atacama desert in Chile back in 2003.” She paused and smacked her lips. “...Had a great ass.”

Belle’s forkful fell back onto her plate.

“And… there you are again with ‘shit no one needed to know’ for one thousand, mom.”

“...what? I was a terrible, unfaithful wife! I know that!” she said, throwing her hands up. “But I can't help it that your father held about as much sex appeal for me back then as a runny bowl of oatmeal!”

“Christ, mom! Cut Pop some slack! He’s just an art historian !” Neal said. “You can't hold his quads and glutes to the same standards as one of your glorified grave robbers.”

“Glorified–!?” she cut herself off with a huff and took a swig of her wine. “I'm just saying. I think I knew we were done when I started imagining it was Sean Connery all hot and sweaty on top of me instead of your father.”

“Seriously, mom?”

Belle cleared her throat. “Well, I happen to think that Rumford is much sexier than Sean Connery,” she cut in, rubbing his arm and giving him a little squeeze. “And let me just say that I used to date a guy who did bodybuilding, and I think all that bulk is overrated! A soft physique like Rumford's is much better for cuddling up to at night than all those muscles...” she said, splaying a hand over his tummy.

“See? That's wonderful. Just wonderful.” Milah smiled at the pair of them. “You see, the thing about cheating is that…. Well, it's like they always say in those documentaries about serial killers– you don't mean to do it the first time, but next thing, you've got a taste for it, you know?”

“...Wow.” Neal deadpanned. “You actually just did that.”

“Did what?”

“Compared yourself to a serial killer.”

“Oh, that's not what I meant and you know it.” Milah shot back. “I was gone three months for that trip! At the time I told myself it was just a moment of weakness. That I just missed my husband's touch so terribly!”

“What you told yourself?” Neal scoffed.

Rumford dropped his silverware and coughed. “It's… so nice to have all of us together for dinner, isn't it?”

“I’m sorry–” Neal said, ignoring him for his mother. “Are you seriously looking for... sympathy? Right now?”

“Neal…” Rumford warned.

“You know what, mom?” Neal said, pushing his plate away, “I'm gonna say it. Because while dad's cool with just rolling over on his back about it, I'm not. And while Belle doesn't know you well enough to see what you're fucking doing, I do.”

Now that didn’t sound good at all, Belle thought. She scoot closer to Rumford, wrapping an arm snugly around him and bracing him for the verbal onslaught that was surely coming.

“I'm sorry–” Milah's eyes darted back and forth between father and son, and now it was her turn for her cheeks to turn a terrible red. “Have I done something?”

“Yeah, actually. You did. And maybe making light of what you did helps you sleep at night, maybe living on another continent makes it easier for you to forget– but it hurt. It hurt dad and it hurt me and–”

“Neal...”

“No, let me finish.” he said. “'Cause it pisses me off, alright? It pisses me off, mom, that you cheating on dad is all some hilarious joke to you. That you can sit across the table from him in his own house and make jokes about how he wasn't hot enough or manly enough or adventurous enough for you. And you know you can get away with it because you know he's too afraid to say anything and rock the boat around the people he's close to. And that's okay– because he has every right to be afraid. His own dad didn't think he was worth a damn and he's had to live with that his entire fucking life– but then you come here, every year, and you have to drill it into his head even more, how apparently worthless he was to you, too.”

“That's not true,” she argued weakly, pointing a shaking finger at him. “I never called your father worth–”

“You never loved him? Fine. I get it. You guys were young and you got pregnant and that must have been scary, so you got married because it seemed like the right thing to do. I don't care. But at some point– hopefully– Belle, or somebody , is going to tell Pop they love him, and there's a huge part of him that's going to doubt that that even fucking means anything, and you did that.”

“Neal.”

“You took that from him. You took it when you cheated and every little comment about… calling him oatmeal, or weak-willed is just setting it on fire and pissing in the ashes.”

Rumford sighed. “Neal, please–”

“So honestly, you can take your I’m so happy for you bullshit and shove it up your ass because the only reason you give a shit is just so you can feel absolved of the guilt I'm hoping you have over what you did to him. To us. Because if you actually gave half a rat’s ass about Pop’s happiness, you–” Neal hesitated. “...You wouldn’t keep acting like it’s nothing!” good voice cracked. “Why do you keep doing that? It’s not nothing!”

Milah curled into herself, unable to meet anyone's eyes. “...Of course it’s not nothing,” she croaked. “And I feel terrible about–”

“Admit it: You're not happy for him. You're just relieved,” Neal finished– and with that, he stood up and shoved his chair in. “Belle–” he addressed her, “I’m sorry for making this like, even more awkward than it already was. And Pop? ...I'm sorry for the language.”

He stormed out of the room and Rumford hunched over the table, rubbing a hand over his mouth. Without a word, Belle ran her hand up and down his back in soothing strokes.

“And there it is,” Milah said, with a hollow, self-deprecating chuckle. “Always wondered when it would all come out. His sixteenth birthday, his eighteenth, graduation...”

“I'll… go talk to him.” Rumford said, pushing his plate away and getting up. “You know, h-he’s at that age, he's got a lot of anger, h-he’s… I'll talk to him.”

Belle wanted so badly to go with him, but knew that she couldn’t.

He made it halfway to the stairs before Milah spoke up.

“Rumford, wait,” she said. “I'll talk to him. It's… it's my fault. Let me– let me be his mother. For once.”

He hesitated, and let out a sigh. “I'm not sure that's a good idea.”

“Please?”

“I… I know my son.” he said. “He's not going to want to– I'll talk to him first.”

A/N: I hate to leave you guys with this ~cliffhanger, but... otherwise this chapter would have been another like, 4k. Everything is gonna work out and be fine though!!! There's gonna be lots of emotions and talking about feelings!!!!! From everyone!!!!

Also I really really need to work on my Rumbelle Big Bang fic from here on out. So probably no update on this until late February. Thanks for being so patient and good to me, y'all. :**

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #fic: the boston hour

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cyrusgoodboye · 6 years

Note

Prompt: a cute tyrus sleepower pleaseee

The Best Sleepover Ever - a Tyrus fanfiction

This prompt took the longest time, you have no idea (well, actually some of you do since I took an entire month to write this. Hopefully this long prompt makes up for that). I’d like to thank @ededdandreddie and @celsquietramblings for taking a look at this and making sure I wasn’t about to make a fool out of myself by publishing it with tons of errors and malfunctions (seriously, guys, means a lot!). I’d also like to thank @aro-mack for the pillow fight idea (you’ll see) from their Tyrus headcannons post. And I’m tagging @qwertykevin because they wanted me to, LOL! And, without further adieu, let’s get on reading!

“Who’s ready for my slumber par-tayyy?” Cyrus trilled enthusiastically. He had been planning this outing for ages, and now that all three of them were available on the same weekend, it was the perfect opportunity for one of his biggest dreams to finally happen: a sleepover! And with his two best ‘brahs’, Jonah Beck and T.J. Kippen!

When he received no response at first, he adjusted his phone so that Jonah and T.J. could see him better on their group video chat. “Hello? Are you guys still there? I said who’s ready for my sleepover?”

Jonah was the first to answer him by making a crackly wince, and Cyrus frowned at his friend’s reaction; he had never seen that facial expression before. “I’m really sorry, Cy-Guy, but the Space Otters were just invited to a last minute Frisbee tournament! I won’t be able to come,” Jonah said, guilt lining his voice. At least he sounded apologetic.

Cyrus tried not to show the heart-wrenching disappointment that was occurring in his chest. When would he ever get the chance to have both of them over again? “Oh, that’s okay,” Cyrus assured him as best as he could manage. He hoped his acting was at least somewhat believable; especially after that whole school video fiasco. Cyrus had learned not to put too much faith into his acting skills since the whole disaster. “We could always reschedule—”

“Reschedule?” T.J. piped up. Cyrus had almost forgotten he was on the group call; he had been pretty quiet for the majority of the video chat. “I just found my sleeping bag.”

Cyrus felt a tug in his stomach at the arise of conflict. What could he do? On one hand, he didn’t want to leave Jonah out of their bound-to-be spectacular sleepover, but, on the other, he didn’t want to disappoint T.J. by canceling on him. What was the middle ground here?

Cyrus took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before he became too overwhelmed about the matter; he knew how he could get when he was antsy. “How about me and T.J. have the slumber party this weekend, and we reschedule one another time for all three of us?” Cyrus suggested. Bless his intelligent mind for finding some kind of compromise!

“Oh,” Jonah said. Cyrus couldn’t quite detect the tone that Jonah was using. Did he seem disappointed? Completely forlorn? Or was he just being indifferent?

Before he over thought the situation (he did have a tendency to overthink at times), Cyrus tried to shake his worries from his mind. Relax, he reminded himself. You don’t need to read too much into his reactions anymore. Despite getting over Jonah a while ago, second-guessing the boy’s expressions was still like second-nature to him, and Cyrus often found himself fretting about it.

“I’m guessing that means you can’t come to the tournament?” Jonah asked dejectedly. Now he was sure Jonah was upset.

Cyrus bit his lip to keep words from spewing out of his mouth. He wanted to say ‘yes, of course, what are friends for?’. But he couldn’t disappoint T.J. like that. Besides, Andi was right; Jonah did expect everyone to cater to his needs, and now that Cyrus had taken off the rose-tinted glasses, he could see that. “I’m sorry, Jonah. I promise I’ll go to the next game, alright?”

Jonah looked downcast, and Cyrus felt his heart twist. “Yeah, sure. See you later, Cyrus,” he mumbled, crestfallen. Before Cyrus could change his mind about not going to the game, Jonah logged off the call, leaving him and T.J. alone in shock at the Frisbee player’s abrupt, unexpected exit.

“I guess he’s not too happy,” T.J. commented after a few seconds of surprised silence.

Cyrus knew that T.J.’s comment was supposed to be his everyday dry humor, but it only made him feel worse about making Jonah upset. T.J., noticing the boy’s eyebrows drawn together in worry, was quick to make him feel better. “Hey, I was just kidding. I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he tried.

Cyrus tried to take T.J.’s words to heart as best as he could. T.J. was right! He couldn’t worry about everything, even though his mind so desperately wanted to. All. The. Time. “It’ll be fine,” he repeated, trying for a small smile. “Anyway, what time are you coming over?”

By that Friday, Cyrus had every last detail for their slumber party down: all the way from what they would be eating (thank goodness for The Spoon’s new carryout policy!) to what games they would be playing (only the classics, of course). It was practically guaranteed to be the greatest sleepover in history!

When T.J. finally knocked on the door that Friday after school, Cyrus opened the door with a flourish, begging the boy to take his shoes off before stepping over the threshold. As T.J. cautiously toed off his high-quality sports shoes, Cyrus took the boy’s bag (and almost fell over from its weight, but T.J. didn’t need to know that) and urged for the basketball player to follow him. The two boys padded through the house as they shared pleasantries, their footsteps echoing in the seemingly empty home as they strolled along, and Cyrus led him to the spacious, open living room. There was a grand entertainment center nestled against the back wall with a colossal flat-screen perched on top of it. The walls were painted a warm taupe, with the cream-colored double sectional accenting it well. A detailed antique coffee table sat in the middle of the room, covered with a few issues of Therapists Weekly and a few movies that Cyrus had planted there.

In short, it was a large room to take in, and T.J. absorbed his new surroundings with a thorough sweep around the room. After he had given a rigorous glance around the area, he raised his eyebrows in surprise before shifting his gaze back to Cyrus. “Nice place.”

“Thanks. I guess being a shrink pays well,” he joked. He tried to set down T.J.’s duffel bag as cautiously as he could manage, but it clattered onto the floor with a loud thud despite his wishes. “Sorry!” Cyrus apologized sheepishly. He carefully shoved it beside a resting chair so that neither of them would trip on it later. It could happen!

The corners of T.J.’s mouth turned up, and Cyrus felt his stomach churn. He loved to make T.J. smile. “It’s cool.”

Cyrus’s feelings for T.J. weren’t exactly new; he’d known that he’d liked T.J. for a while now, but alas, there was nothing he could do. Well, besides soaking up every smile and laugh directed at him and overthinking T.J.’s every move. But even that he tried to keep at a minimum. His feelings were surely unrequited, and he definitely didn’t want another Jonah Beck situation. “So, would you like to hear our game plan for this evening?” he asked excitedly. He had everything planned down to the last tee.

“Game plan?” T.J. asked, raising an eyebrow. He seemed more amused than he did incredulous.

“Of course!” Cyrus exclaimed. “Behind every great slumber party is a master game plan, right?”

T.J. gave him an entertained smirk. “I’m assuming this is your first sleepover?”

Cyrus blushed. “How could you tell?” He’d always wanted to have a sleepover with Andi and Buffy, but it was hard enough for Andi’s grandmother to let them over during the day, let alone at night. It was the same situation with Andi coming over to one of their houses for the evening; the request was completely out of the question. And thus began the worst playdate home award: a title still held by Celia to this day.

The basketball player shrugged. “We don’t really have game plans at the sleepovers I go to. We usually just play video games and talk about girls,” he admitted.

Cyrus’s heart skipped. Talk about girls? As in…crushes? “O-oh,” Cyrus stammered. He was stunned, but he reprimanded himself for being shocked. Of course T.J. has crushes on girls. He’s not like you. “Would you rather do that, then?” he asked nervously. He prayed T.J. said no. He didn’t think he could pretend he had a crush on some girl for rest of the night.

T.J. snorted. “No way,” he affirmed. “Those sleepovers are lame, anyway.” Cyrus raised his eyebrows, and he allowed himself to smile widely in relief. Thank goodness! “So, what do you have planned?” T.J. asked.

Cyrus grinned excitedly. “Okay, so first I planned for us to play the infamous Truth or Dare,” T.J. raised an eyebrow in amusement but didn’t comment, “and then we’re going to watch a movie while gorging on food from The Spoon, and then we’re going to have a pillow fight!”

T.J. couldn’t contain himself any longer, and he let out a little chuckle. “A pillow fight?”

Cyrus drew his eyebrows together in worry, and he frowned. “Do they not do that at slumber parties?” he asked in confusion. “I got all my information from Wikipage…,” he trailed off unsurely.

T.J. put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Relax,” he assured him. “We can do whatever. But I’m pretty sure I’ll beat you in that pillow fight,” he teased.

Cyrus felt a wave of relief wash over him. “How do you know I won’t win?” he jested back.

T.J. ruffled the boy’s hair, and Cyrus let him. Although he normally had an aversion to having his hair touched, he found it endearing when T.J. did it. “I’m not one to tell you what you can or can’t do,” T.J. said, and Cyrus suddenly got a flashback to when T.J. helped him get a muffin. ‘Don’t tell him what he can’t do.’ He smiled at the memory; one of his favorite things about T.J. was that he didn’t automatically expect him to fail.

“So, you think I could beat you?” Cyrus asked excitedly.

T.J. grinned, and Cyrus saw a wicked glint in his eye that hadn’t been there before. “We’ll just have to see!” Then, in a flash, T.J. was grabbing a pillow off of the couch and whacking Cyrus’s side with it.

“Ahh!” Cyrus yelped. He tumbled to the floor, and T.J. towered victoriously above him.

“Is that all you’ve got?” T.J. asked teasingly, but not in a harsh way. Cyrus nodded helplessly, holding out a hand innocently for T.J. to pull up. T.J. rolled his eyes jokingly, and he clasped the hand in front of him, preparing to tug him forward. “I can’t believe you’re already giving u—!” Cyrus jerked his arm with all his might (which wasn’t saying much), and brought T.J. crashing down on top of him.

The floor broke T.J.’s fall, his hands pinning down the hardwood on either side of Cyrus’s head, which prevented him from completely falling on top of the boy. “Was…not…expecting that,” T.J. managed to breathe out between pants. Cyrus laughed, although he could hardly breathe with their close proximity. For a second the two boys just stayed in that position, staring at each other, and Cyrus gulped. T.J. was too close for comfort, and yet somehow wasn’t close enough…

Cyrus ignored the irrational part of his brain that had thought that. T.J. likes girls, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time. Unfortunately, his logic didn’t seem to pierce his heart like he was hoping it would. “Um,” he managed to say, which shook T.J. out of his daze.

“Right. Sorry,” he apologized, blushing slightly (which was not something Cyrus thought the basketball player was capable of. Especially not because of him). He carefully got up, pushing himself off of Cyrus, and Cyrus took a big gulp of air. Now he felt like he could breathe again.

Once Cyrus cautiously lifted himself up, he brushed his clothes off, avoiding T.J.’s eyes. “Does that mean I win?” he asked, although his voice didn’t hold the triumphant tone he thought it would. The butterflies in his stomach were probably just messing with his head, he noted.

“Sure, Underdog,” T.J. relented, albeit more than willingly. He faintly nudged Cyrus, causing the boy to meet T.J.’s eyeline at the motion. “See? You can do anything you want to.”

A small grin stretched itself onto Cyrus’s face. “Thanks, T.J. It means a lot.” The two shared a gaze again, and Cyrus, intrigued, almost took a step closer, but the sound of bustling emitted from the kitchen, breaking the two boys from their stare.

“Cyrus!” a loud voice bellowed. Cyrus cringed at its volume. His mother with her perfect timing, as always. “I’m home!”

Cyrus smiled sheepishly at T.J. before turning towards the direction his mother’s voice was carrying from. “Coming!” He glanced back at T.J., making a motioning signal with a dip of his head. “Come on,” Cyrus said softly. He placed a hand softly onto the small of the basketball player’s back, and guided the boy forward. “I hope you like baby taters!”

After the two boys piled their plates up with food (it was burgers and baby taters and milkshakes galore!), they plopped down on the couch (which was a rarity for Cyrus, but his mom allowed him to eat on it just this once. He guessed even she wasn’t going to deny him this one normal teenage experience). For a few minutes they just stuffed their mouth with food, although Cyrus was trying to persuade T.J. to pick a movie in between bites of his delectable taters.

“Come on, T.J.,” he insisted. “Just pick one.”

T.J. shrugged, popping one absentmindedly into his mouth. He seemed indifferent to all three choices. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

Cyrus groaned. He studied all three movies in front of him (Jurassic Park, The Notebook, and The Wizard of Oz) as if they would inform him what movie would best be suitable for his company. “I picked an action movie, a romantic-comedy, and a classic musical. How much more variety do you want?” he exclaimed.

T.J. snorted, but humored Cyrus nevertheless. “Fine, I’ll pick one.” He glanced over the titles without much care and pointed to the one on the right. “That one.”

Cyrus looked at him with surprised, widened eyes. “The Wizard of Oz?” he asked questioningly, as if to make sure T.J.’s decision hadn’t been a mistake. “I thought you would’ve picked Jurassic Park, honestly.”

T.J. shrugged. “My mom loves that movie, so I kind of grew up watching it,” he admitted. Cyrus realized it was the first time that T.J. had ever really mentioned his parents, so he just nodded and wordlessly popped the disc in.

“Do you know what happened behind the scenes of this movie?” Cyrus asked as the introduction began to play. “I hear it’s pretty macabre—”

T.J. grimaced. “Please spare me the gory details,” he insisted, scrunching his nose. Cyrus smiled secretly to himself. He thought T.J. looked adorable when he scrunched his nose up like that.

Stop! he reminded himself as the thought popped in his head. You just went down this road with Jonah, do you really want to go through this again? When T.J. gave him a sweet smile, his heart melted. Yes, it seemed like he did want to go through this again.

As these thoughts swirled around his head, Cyrus tried to wipe them from his mind and, in better judgement, forced himself to turn his attention back to the movie. He thought that T.J. would find it pretty weird if he was being more attentive to him than to Dorothy.

During the first twenty minutes or so of the movie, Cyrus was pretty successful in his pursuit. He only caught himself glancing at T.J. a couple of times (three, to be exact, but who was counting?) and, by the time Dorothy was prancing around Oz on the newfound Yellow Brick Road, Cyrus tore his gaze away from the television and allowed himself one freebie to ask T.J. a question. “Who’s your favorite character?”

T.J. looked at him in confusion, and scanned his face calculatingly, as if he could deduct the reasoning behind Cyrus’s random question by his facial expressions alone. “Why?”

“Just curious,” Cyrus claimed. Actually, he had learned from his shrink parents that people had a reason behind every action, like, or dislike; they even had a reason behind something as simple as a favorite character in a movie.

What more was there to the guarded basketball player than what was seen on the surface?

T.J. sighed. “I dunno,” he said, glancing down at his lap for a second. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt before his gaze shifted back to Cyrus. “Probably the Scarecrow.”

Cyrus tilted his head in curiosity. “Why him?”

T.J. shrugged again, and Cyrus wanted to put both of his hands on T.J.’s shoulders to physically restrain him from lifting them. He knew it was a nervous tick of T.J.’s, one he usually did when the atmosphere felt more heavy or uncomfortable than he was used to. “I guess because he ends up being smart and stuff,” he admitted, his eyes quickly flickering to Cyrus before flitting away again. “Even though he thinks he’s stupid the entire movie.”

Cyrus felt a zap go through his body in shock. Was…was T.J. referring to his learning disability? He knew that T.J. was insecure about it but…he seemed so devastated. “The Scarecrow was smart all along,” Cyrus pointed out, feeling his throat tighten. His heart hurt for the boy beside him, and he allowed his hand to lightly brush against T.J.’s forearm in order to console the boy. “He just needed someone to believe in him.”

T.J. finally fully turned towards Cyrus. “Yeah,” he mumbled, a small half-smile on his face. “I guess you’re right.”

Cyrus beamed exultantly. He wanted more than anything for T.J. to believe that he was worth something; he desired the same for himself everyday. “Of course I’m right,” Cyrus said determinedly. Couldn’t T.J. see that he was so much more than his disability? Cyrus wished that he could show T.J. how he saw him, how much he admired him, but, then again, that would be outing his feelings to the boy and, even more so, himself, and Cyrus wasn’t sure if he was ready to do that just yet.

“What about you?” T.J. asked, a curious tone lining his voice.

Cyrus glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Who’s your favorite character?”

Cyrus pondered for a moment. Who was his favorite character? And why were they his favorite in the first place? “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. He thought about it for a couple more seconds before giving a definite answer. “The Cowardly Lion,” he confirmed for the boy.

T.J. raised his eyebrows. “Because he ends up being brave in the end?”

Cyrus smiled. “Yeah. Because he ends up being brave in the end.” Suddenly Cyrus was glad that T.J. chose this movie after all.

About midway through the musical, Cyrus inquired T.J. about their upcoming activity that he had up his sleeve. “When do you want to play Truth or Dare?”

T.J. gave him an indifferent expression. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

Cyrus leaned forward and turned down the volume so that they could speak at a normal decibel without struggling to be heard over the movie. “How about right now?” he asked ecstatically. The prospect of playing the thrilling game was causing excitement to drum through his veins. It was exhilarating!

T.J. sat up and he adjusted himself so that he faced Cyrus. “Fine,” he said, feigning annoyance. His smile gave his tone of voice away. “You go first.”

Cyrus beamed. “Okay. So…,” he began ominously. T.J. grinned. “T.J., truth or dare?”

T.J. raised his eyebrows in a challenging manner. “Dare,” he said matter-of-factly.

Cyrus racked his brain before coming up with a particularly deadly dare, and he smiled widely. “Okay, okay,” he started, gesturing towards T.J. “I dare you to call Buffy and tell her that you think she’s better than you at basketball.”

T.J. groaned into a pillow. “No,” he grumbled reluctantly. Cyrus grinned happily. He didn’t know he was going to make T.J. cave so easily.

“Come oooon,” he drawled, handing T.J. his phone.

T.J. pouted his lips, just like he had that one day on the swings, and Cyrus felt his face burn. T.J. looks so cute, Cyrus commented. He so badly wanted to move forward, and…well, kiss him.

Cyrus tried to suppress the feelings rising up inside of him. It was becoming harder and harder to fight off his feelings for T.J. with each passing minute…

“Hello?” T.J. said boredly into his phone. Cyrus shook himself from his thoughts. He didn’t even remember T.J. calling Buffy! He must’ve zoned out.

Cyrus heard Buffy speak, but her voice was muffled through T.J.’s phone, and he urged T.J. to put her on speakerphone. The boy’s gaze shifted over to Cyrus momentarily, and he followed his request, swiftly pressing the speakerphone button before placing his cellphone between them on the couch.

“—and you have the audacity to call me?” she finished with an annoyed huff. Cyrus looked questioningly at the basketball player, and T.J. shrugged, looking just as lost as he was.

“Buffy,” T.J. started, “I have something to tell you.”

Cyrus could practically see his best friend roll her eyes cynically, despite her being in her own house at the moment. “It better start with ‘Buffy’ and end with ‘I’m sorry for being such a jerk’.”

T.J. tilted his head forward. “Actually,” he began to correct, “I’m calling you because I wanted to tell you that you’re better than me at basketball.” T.J. scrunched his nose at his own words, glaring at Cyrus for giving him such an awful dare, and Cyrus smiled smugly in return.

“What?” Buffy asked, her voice clearly sounding skeptical. “T.J., you always tell me that I stink and should drop the team, but now you’re telling me I’m better than you?”

“Pretty much,” T.J. said curtly. Cyrus could tell that some kind of dark energy was thrumming in the boy across from him, but he couldn’t place a finger on exactly what it was.

“Which of course I already knew,” Buffy said arrogantly, speaking as if T.J. hadn’t even said anything at all, “but I’m still not sure if I’m following. How exactly did you come to this conclusion?”

T.J. clenched his jaw frustratedly, and Cyrus reached forward to hold his hand, to squeeze his shoulder, anything at all to help him calm down. He had never really seen T.J. get so worked up before. “I’ve always known you were better than me,” he admitted angrily. He crossed his arms, and Cyrus settled on resting his hand on his knee instead of grabbing his hand. “It’s why I lash out at you all the time. I’m just…frustrated because you’re better than me at everything.” Cyrus’s eyes widened at the basketball player’s words; he knew that T.J. wasn’t just saying this to complete a silly dare. He actually thought this and was insecure about it. Clearly a nerve had been struck.

Buffy, completely floored, began to speak. “T.J., I—”

T.J. swiped his phone from between them, clutching it so hard that Cyrus was afraid that the glass might shatter in his fingertips. “Whatever. Just forget I said anything.” And with that he angrily tapped the hang up button, tossing his phone onto the plush rug underneath them.

Cyrus didn’t know what to say at first. He had no idea T.J. felt that way. “T.J., is…is that true?”

T.J. let out a long, deep sigh, and he slumped onto the cushion. “Yeah.”

Cyrus scooted closer, and tried to ignore the way the butterflies in his stomach fluttered as their knees brushed against each other. “That’s why you hate Buffy so much? You think she’s better than you?” he asked in disbelief. The news was shocking, to say the least. Cyrus had always wondered why T.J. had such a vendetta against Buffy, but he had never imagined this. Not in a million years.

“It’s just part of my stuff, I guess,” he joked lamely, but Cyrus saw straight through his mask and saw the pain that was lying underneath.

“Hey, it’s okay to be insecure,” Cyrus assured him. In a moment of feeling particularly daring, he moved closer, and his heart soared when T.J. didn’t flinch or move away. “I feel insecure all the time. It’s just part of being a teenager.” Or, in his case, just a part of being Cyrus.

“I don’t want it to be,” T.J. confessed tiredly. He drew in a deep breath before he sat up, shaking out his arms as if to rid himself of any insecurities he had. If only it were that simple. “Anyway, truth or dare, Cyrus?”

Cyrus gave him a worried glance. “T.J.…”

“I’m fine,” T.J. insisted adamantly, although Cyrus didn’t quite believe it. “So…?”

“Truth,” Cyrus answered.

T.J. huffed out through his nose, clearly expecting his answer. “Not surprised.”

“Hey!” Cyrus defended. “Honesty can be more bold than an actual dare.”

T.J. humored him. “Fine.” He paused, seeming to be deep in thought. After a moment, he looked at Cyrus decidedly. “What is some of your stuff?”

Cyrus froze, his heart pounding in his ears. His stuff? Did he mean…about him liking boys? What would T.J. even say if he told him? Would he react badly? What if he hated him? “T.J., I…” Cyrus felt his throat tighten. Was he even ready?

T.J. seemed to notice the frightened look glimmering in his eyes, and he rested a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder, keeping an intense gaze. “Hey, you don’t have to tell me anything deep, just…tell me something that you haven’t told me already.”

Cyrus felt relieved beyond words, and he sent an appreciative smile T.J.’s way. “Alright…um,” he started nervously. He racked his brain. What was something he could tell T.J.? “Oh, I know! I’m scared of the dark.”

T.J. raised his eyebrow dubiously. “You’re scared of the dark?” Cyrus nodded solemnly. Suddenly he felt self-conscious at his sudden confession. He knew that it wasn’t normal for boys his age to still be scared of the dark, but Cyrus feared that it was a part of his deeply rooted trauma that he’d never be able to rid himself of.

“That’s gotta be rough,” T.J. offered, and Cyrus felt relief wash over him at his response. Of course T.J. wouldn’t make fun of him! This was the same guy who didn’t tease him for singing a song about going down the slide. How could he expect anything less from T.J. in the first place?

“Yeah, my phobia is high maintenance at times,” Cyrus admitted. “Especially in the winter when it gets dark earlier than normal. But I usually go to bed at 8:30, so it’s pretty manageable,” he elaborated.

“You go to bed at 8:30?”

Cyrus didn’t think the basketball player’s tone could get anymore incredulous. “Yep!” He checked his phone, which blinked back at him with the time. 10:27 PM. Crud! He hadn’t stayed up this late since he had a late night fashion show with his new James Bond ‘Diamonds Are Forever’ collection. “And…I might crash any minute.” Cyrus said in desperation. “We better go to sleep ASAP!” He hurriedly threw a blanket over him, but it landed on his head instead of his lap, which had been his intended target. He heard a small chuckle leave T.J.’s mouth, and the boy carefully unveiled it from Cyrus’s head, revealing his now disheveled hair underneath.

“I don’t want to go to sleep yet,” T.J. told him. Suddenly, the basketball player got a mischievous glint in his eye that made something dark bubble in Cyrus’s stomach. Whatever he was about to propose was not going to be good. “Hey, I know. We should pull an all-nighter!”

Cyrus made a face. “T.J., I just told you. I’m scared of the dark,” he whined.

T.J. shrugged. “I’ll be right here beside you. Besides, we can leave the lamp on.”

Cyrus looked at T.J.’s hopeful expression on his face, and he relented. He would be safe with T.J., right? “Can I get my Diplodocus nightlight? It helps me sleep at night,” he admitted.

T.J. looked at him blankly. “Diplo-what?”

Cyrus just shook his head good-naturedly at the boy. Perhaps they didn’t share an interest for the most fascinating species that had once ruled the earth like Iris had, but Cyrus wouldn’t have it any other way. “Never mind, I’ll go get it.”

When Cyrus returned with his Diplodocus nightlight, he found T.J. at the entertainment center, ejecting The Wizard of Oz disc (that had long been over) and putting Jurassic Park in its place.

“What are we even going to do all night?” Cyrus asked as he struggled to plug in his nightlight. He forced it into the outlet, the prongs of the dinosaur light being reluctant to go into the slits in the wall. With one last shove, the device slid into the outlet, causing it to shadow a faint glow throughout the otherwise darkly lit room. Finally! Now that that was hooked up…

“I don’t know. We can keep watching movies, and we can still play Truth or Dare…,” T.J. trailed off as Cyrus rose up next to him. “Sound good?” T.J. said, giving him a soft smile.

Cyrus got lost in his blue-green eyes. “Y-yeah, sounds good,” he stammered. He felt himself get flustered as he realized he was staring longer than what was considered appropriate, and his eyes darted away in embarrassment. “I gotta go change into my PJs!” he exclaimed, turning his head quickly to hide the blush on his cheeks.

T.J. blinked dazedly, as if he had been broken from a trance. “Okay?”

Cyrus clambered to his bedroom (almost tripping on the way there), and he closed his door in a flourish, heaving behind it. How was he going to last the night with T.J. being so…cute, and lovable, and amazing? He had absolutely no clue.

After dressing himself into his dinosaur pajamas (they fit the occasion, after all), he took a deep breath, his hand gripping the metal door handle tightly. You can do this, he reminded himself. Just don’t be weird. Cyrus almost laughed at his advice to himself. Not being weird was easier said than done in his case.

As he strolled out into the living room, smoothing out his clothes nervously, his eyes swept over the room. Where is T.J.? he asked himself in the painstakingly empty living room. Before he knew it, a loud, “Boo!” sounded behind him, and Cyrus jumped, his heart racing.

“You scared me!” he claimed breathlessly, clutching his hand over his heart. For the first time, he noticed that T.J. had changed as well. He was now donning a pair of sweatpants and a white V-neck that almost made Cyrus flush in comparison.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, but the mirth dancing in his eyes gave away the sincerity of his apology. T.J.’s eyes then flitted down to Cyrus’s attire, and he smirked. “Cute.”

Cyrus blushed again, and he felt tingly from his head to his toes. “I know it’s nerdy to have dinosaur pajamas, but…,” Cyrus trailed off, not exactly knowing how to finish.

T.J.’s grin grew even wider. “I wasn’t making fun of them.” Oh. Was…was T.J. calling his pajamas cute? Or was he referring to Cyrus?

“Thanks,” Cyrus mumbled, his cheeks twinged pink. This boy was going to be the death of him.

T.J. flopped down onto the floor, nestling into the narrow space of the double sectional, and he patted the limited space beside him. Cyrus swiped the remote off of the coffee table and he pressed play before seating himself snugly between the L-shaped part of the couch and T.J., and Cyrus couldn’t help but hold his breath. T.J. was so close.

T.J. beamed at him, seeming unbothered by their close proximity, and he snatched a blanket off of the back of the couch. “I’m cold,” he claimed, pulling it across his body. He threw some of it onto Cyrus’s lap, too, and Cyrus snuggled against its warmth.

“Me, too,” Cyrus said with a small smile on his face. How he stopped himself from completely melting on the floor, he had no clue.

As the movie started up, the two boys kept up a tame game of Truth or Dare while they watched Dr. Alan Grant and Dr. Ellie Sattler traipse around the park with Lex and Tim. Whenever Cyrus would ask the infamous question (“Truth or Dare?”), T.J. would always answer with ‘dare’, to which Cyrus had to rack his brain to conjure up for (most of the dares he gave T.J. consisted of prank calling random people from school, since Cyrus did not want T.J. to leave their comfy little spot on the floor). It was a while of back and forth, but, after a round that ended on Cyrus’s turn, it was apparent that T.J. was beginning to slowly lose consciousness.

“T.J.!” Cyrus exclaimed as the boy next to him slumped onto his shoulder. His heart began to pound at the prospect of being by himself in the dark. While normally he felt safe with his nightlight on, he still felt like he was being swallowed whole by the surrounding void around him. The living room was a lot bigger than his bedroom!

Cyrus began to tug on T.J.’s sleeve, and T.J. nuzzled against Cyrus’s shoulder at the motion instead of waking up like Cyrus had hoped. “T.J., wake up!” he hissed urgently.

A loud, rattling stomp sounded from the surround sound system, and Cyrus felt himself tremble. His favorite cold-blooded friends seemed a lot scarier when it was dark out. “T.J.!” he called out again.

“Hmm?” the boy murmured, lifting his head slightly. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and glanced at his surroundings in a confused manner before his eyes landed back onto Cyrus. “What’s wrong?”

Cyrus cracked a small smile at the boy’s mussed hair, but a scream from the television reminded him of the fear that was bubbling in his stomach. “The movie is scaring me,” he admitted.

T.J. huffed and slumped back onto Cyrus’s shoulder. “I thought you’ve seen this movie before.”

“Never in the dark,” he said worriedly. He continued to fiddle with T.J.’s T-shirt anxiously, its soft, soothing material feeling nice against Cyrus’s fingertips.

T.J. drew in a breath of air and exhaled deeply, and Cyrus shivered from the boy’s breath on his neck. This wasn’t a normal thing to do, right? Most boys would never (dare he say it) cuddle…would they? He had no experience, really, unless he counted Jonah, and they had never gone as far as pats on the back and slung arms around each other’s shoulders.

Before he had a chance to overthink their current situation, T.J. broke him from his thoughts. “Tell me all the dinosaurs you know,” T.J. said, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position.

Cyrus’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “What? How—”

“Just tell me about them,” T.J. mumbled against his shoulder, and Cyrus swallowed before answering him.

“Alright.” He would take any opportunity to talk about his favorite species, even if he didn’t know T.J.’s motive behind the request. “There’s the Stegosaurus…oh, did you know it only has a brain the size of a walnut? Crazy, right? And the Saltopus…” Cyrus continued to list all of his favorite dinosaurs, and all of the fun facts he knew about them (did you know that a Argentinosaurus was the longest and the heaviest dinosaur?). Despite being on the brink of unconsciousness, T.J. tried his hardest to stay awake to listen to him. He even laughed at some of the puns Cyrus made about dinosaurs, which Cyrus appreciated wholeheartedly. Most people didn’t value his well thought out reptile puns to the extent that he wanted them to.

By the time he finished his extensive rambling, the credits were rolling onto the screen, and Cyrus realized what T.J.’s intent had been. He had been trying to distract him from the movie, and it had worked perfectly! That sly boy…

After he turned off the TV using minimal movement (T.J. had just fallen asleep, and he would’ve felt bad for waking him up again), Cyrus cautiously wrapped an arm around T.J.’s upper torso. Hey, if he was going to be in this position for the rest of the night, he might as well get comfy, right? That’s what he told himself, at least.

Before he allowed himself to drift off to sleep, Cyrus looked over at T.J. This was the boy who had just listened to him babble about dinosaurs for thirty minutes instead of laughing at him. Who’s to say that T.J. would hate him for being gay? Or would be opposed to it? Maybe he would be indifferent, or maybe he’d be supportive. But, either way, Cyrus really wanted to tell T.J. about his stuff. And he hoped that T.J. would be open to telling him about his, too.

When Cyrus woke up the next morning, he smelled the distinct scent of sweet maple syrup wafting from the kitchen, and he burst up, completely forgetting that T.J. was leaning on him.

“Ow!” T.J. winced tiredly, burying his head back into Cyrus’s shoulder.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Cyrus said, shaking him awake, “time to eat breakfast!”

T.J. groaned, but got up nevertheless, fixing his twisted white V-neck as he yawned. “What’s for breakfast?” he asked as he rubbed his face, trying to wake himself up.

Cyrus grinned. “If I know my mom, she’s making her famous waffles!” He hurried over to the kitchen bar, settling himself into a stool, and T.J. followed suit. Across from the bar was Cyrus’s mom, grabbing plates out of the pantry for the two boys.

“Hey, boys,” she said cheerfully, setting down a plate and a glass in front of them. She filled each glass up to the brim with orange juice, and Cyrus smiled back at her.

“Good morning, Mom!” he exclaimed. She came over and kissed his cheek as she plopped down a steaming waffle onto each of their plates. “Ooh, these are the best waffles ever!”

“They are, aren’t they?” she boasted. She checked the time before grabbing her suit jacket and a briefcase. “Me and your stepfather are heading out to the office, so you boys behave yourselves, all right?”

“We promise!” Cyrus told her while T.J. gave out a weak, “Will do,” and with that, Cyrus’s mom and stepdad were out the door after a flourish of blown kisses and waves goodbye. Oh, did they love their little boy!

T.J. grabbed the bottle of syrup, squeezing a plentiful amount onto his waffle before cutting off a bite-sized piece with his fork and sticking it into his mouth with a satisfied “mhm”. Cyrus dug into his own, making sure to pile tons of whipped cream on top of his. T.J. looked at the bottle with longing eyes before he sprayed some onto his own waffles, too.

“This tastes so good,” he murmured to himself as he stuffed his mouth full. Cyrus laughed.

“I told you they were the best!” T.J. nodded in agreement, adding another waffle or two onto both of their plates. After they finished up, scraping their plates prior to dropping them into the sink, they both drifted back into the living room, neither of them having a plan on what to do next. As they plopped onto the couches, their stomachs full, they plunged into an awkward silence.

“Thanks for staying up with me last night,” Cyrus said, daring himself to glance at the boy beside him. He was so close to T.J. he could just reach out and touch him. From his spot on the double sectional Cyrus took note of the sharp curve of T.J.’s jawline, the light splay of freckles dotted across his cheeks that were only visible up close, the hue of his eyes (they seemed to vary from color to color, he had realized), and the cute slope of his nose. And—wait, was that syrup on the corner of his mouth?

“No problem, even though I was supposed to stay up all night with—what are you doing?” T.J. asked. Cyrus paused, boring into his eyes and his thumb ceased in motion. I didn’t even realize I was doing that!

Cyrus quickly withdrew his hand, almost as if T.J.’s skin had burned him, and he blushed deeply. “Sorry, uh…,” how do I explain this without sounding weird? “…you had syrup on your face.”

T.J. gave Cyrus that small smirk he had become accustomed to, and the butterflies in his stomach flared up at the gesture. “Oh, okay.” Just then, a buzz emitted from T.J.’s phone (saving Cyrus from the tense silence that was sure to follow), and T.J. grabbed it from the coffee table where it had been resting. He read the message and typed a quick reply before tossing it aside carelessly. “My mom’s coming to pick me up in twenty minutes.”

Cyrus’s stomach dropped. He had been planning to tell T.J. his secret today! And now he was pressed for time…maybe he should postpone?

No, a voice in his head (that suspiciously sounded like Buffy) interrupted him. You can do this. It’ll be okay.

Cyrus took a deep breath before he returned back to reality to find T.J. staring back at him.

“You okay?” the basketball player asked him with worried eyebrows, and Cyrus nodded once, building up the courage the meet T.J.’s eyeline.

“I hope I will be.” At T.J.’s confused expression, Cyrus just shook his head. “I wanted to tell you about my stuff,” he admitted.

T.J. grinned. “Oh, so you have other stuff besides being afraid of the dark and swinging too high?” he teased, and Cyrus smiled back, but wasn’t able to match T.J.’s mirth with all the knots in his belly making him feel nauseated.

“Yeah. This is worse.” he said, his heart beginning to pound. There’s no going back now. “I have a crush.”

T.J. tilted his head to the side slightly in confusion. “That’s not too bad.”

Cyrus gulped. Here goes nothing. “On a boy.”

T.J.’s eyebrows jumped in surprise. Clearly he had not expected that to come out of Cyrus’s mouth. “Really?” he asked in pure disbelief.

Cyrus’s stomach plunged. Was he wrong about T.J.? Would T.J. stop being his friend just because he liked boys instead of girls? “Yeah. Are…are you okay with that?” Cyrus asked worriedly, fidgeting with material of his dinosaur pajamas. In order to avoid looking at T.J. (he was probably giving him murderous glances at the moment), he began to list the dinosaurs he saw on his PJs. Oh, look, a T-Rex. And there’s a Velociraptor. Ooh, and a Triceratops…

T.J. snorted, shaking Cyrus from his train of thought. “Cyrus, I’d be kind of a hypocrite if I wasn’t.”

Cyrus’s head jerked up in surprise. Had he heard that right? “Wait, what?” he said bluntly. He was in too much shock to be embarrassed. Was T.J. like him? Had he been gay all along?

T.J. sighed, and he twiddled with the tassles hanging decoratively off of one of the couch pillows, mirroring Cyrus’s nervous tactics from a few moments before. “I like a guy, too.”

Cyrus’s eyes widened. He had definitely not expected this at all. “Oh. On who?”

T.J. paused on fidgeting with the tassles, and he gave a raised eyebrow. “Do you really want to know?”

Cyrus nodded fervently at the boy’s remark, and T.J.’s expression morphed into a slight smirk at Cyrus’s eager response. “Guess we’ll have to play Truth or Dare to find out.”

Under normal circumstances Cyrus would’ve laughed and humored the boy, but this was no ordinary circumstance, and he was hungry for information. “Okay, T.J., truth or da—”

“Ah, ah, ah, Underdog,” T.J. chastised him, much like how Cyrus had done to him earlier that morning. “It’s my turn.” Cyrus nearly slapped himself. Of course it was T.J.’s turn. What if T.J. asked him about his crush? And would he tell him the truth? Should he? And what if T.J. liked him back? He hadn’t even thought about that possibility…

Cyrus shoved all of his questions and comments to the back of his mind, all of them overwhelming his brain. Just focus on the task at hand, he reminded himself. That seemed to calm him down.

“Underdog, truth or dare?” T.J. asked with a smirk so wide that it made Cyrus feel uneasy.

“Truth,” he responded as his heart pounded in his chest. What could go wrong with the truth?

T.J. smiled at his response. Uh oh. This couldn’t be good. “Who do you like, Cyrus?”

Cyrus’s heart completely stopped beating. That. That is what could go wrong with the truth. “I’m afraid to say.”

T.J. lightly tapped his knee. “I won’t judge.”

Cyrus gulped, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Was it too late to back out? “I like…,” I can’t believe I’m about to say this, “…you,” he breathed out. His heart skipped. “I like you, T.J.”

The boy in front of him seemed to remain indifferent to his confession, but Cyrus thought he caught a hint of a smile being fought back. Or maybe he was reading too much into T.J.’s expressions? He did tend to have an overactive imagination at times.

“Your turn,” T.J. reminded him, managing to maintain a straight face. Cyrus silently cursed at him for his poker face. He could put gamblers to shame.

“Truth or dare?” Cyrus asked breathlessly.

T.J. pretended to think about it before answering. “Truth.”

Cyrus’s breath caught in his throat, and he fought back a smile. Normally T.J. picked dare. “Who do you like, T.J.?”

T.J. scooted a few centimeters closer, which didn’t go unnoticed by Cyrus. “Well, the guy I like is super smart…” Don’t get your hopes up, Cyrus. It could be anyone. “And he really, really likes chocolate chocolate-chip muffins.” Anyone can have an affinity for those, they’re delicious! “I had to help get him one once, actually.”

An indescribable feeling bloomed throughout Cyrus’s entire body, and he raised his head to meet T.J.’s line of sight. Surely there couldn’t have been more than one guy that T.J. had helped get a chocolate chocolate-chip muffin, right? “Really?”

“Really.” Before Cyrus could squeal, or do anything to remotely express the unlimited amount of joy he was feeling in that moment, T.J. spoke. “So, Cyrus, truth or dare?”

Cyrus was confused for a second. T.J. still wanted to play? Even after they had confessed their feelings for each other? He glanced at T.J. unsurely; what did he have up his sleeve? “You know what? I’ll choose dare.”

A smile broke out onto T.J.’s face; Cyrus gave him exactly what he wanted.

T.J. inched closer to him, and Cyrus’s breath caught in his throat at the action. “I dare you to kiss me.”

Cyrus’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Wait…T.J. wanted him to kiss him? On the lips? Was he serious? Surely he couldn’t have meant that…

His eyes flickered unsurely up to T.J., who looked pretty confident in his statement. When T.J. raised his eyebrows expectantly, Cyrus took a deep breath and, in a sudden burst of confidence, shakily leaned forward. Was he actually doing this? Was this actually happening?

Cyrus’s eyes flitted down to T.J.’s lips one last time before he closed his eyes and plunged forward, pressing his lips firmly against T.J.’s. He was actually doing this!

His heart hammered in his chest as T.J.’s lips moved softly against his own, and a warm feeling blossomed in his chest. This was probably the most exciting thing to happen to him, ever!

Cyrus, originally having no place for his hands, ended up cradling both sides of T.J.’s face while T.J.’s hands rested on the side of his neck, his fingers curling around the nape of his neck, and Cyrus was pretty sure that they had both died and gone to heaven. Stuff like this didn’t happen to him. Surely this was some beautiful, amazing dream! And definitely one that he never wanted to end!

Eventually they broke apart, both of them desperately needing air, and Cyrus beamed in disbelief as he caught his breath. “That was…”

“Wow,” T.J. agreed, running a hand through his tousled hair incredulously. His eyes were sparkling, and Cyrus wondered if his own eyes were mirroring T.J.’s delirious expression.

Their eyes met in their half-dazed state, and T.J. began to lean in once more, causing Cyrus’s heart to pound in anticipation. However, before their lips met again, they were both shaken from their mesmerized stupor by a rattling honk! that emitted from outside.

T.J. sighed at the sudden sound. “That would be my mom,” he said, reluctantly pulling away from Cyrus. He began to collect his belongings near the entryway, and Cyrus shuffled behind him, unwilling to let the boy go just yet.

As T.J. slung his backpack over his shoulder, he quickly pulled on his shoes and tucked his sleeping bag under his arm. “Looks like I got this out for noth—hmph!” Cyrus cut him off with one last sweet, chaste kiss on the lips, and he abruptly pulled away before T.J. had time to react.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow? At the swings?” Cyrus asked, a deep blush highlighting his cheeks.

T.J. beamed widely in response, and he ruffled Cyrus’s hair before he strolled out the door. “I’ll see you there,” he said, grinning over his shoulder. As Cyrus watched T.J. descend down the porch steps, waving at him one last time before he left his line of sight, he leaned against the door frame with a smile on his face. Sleepovers were more than he bargained for, that’s for sure!

Bless this for finally being finished. I absolutely loved this prompt (you guys should’ve seen the outline for this, it was pretty hilarious!), and I hope all of you guys like it, too. Please leave a comment to let me know if my hard work paid off at all (seriously, comments and kudos are so encouraging and I appreciate them tons!). Check me out on AO3 and fanfiction.net, as well. Thanks for reading!

~emmagrace13

#andi mack #tyrus #cyrus goodman #tj kippen #jonah beck

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thdorkmagnet · 5 years

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Starcoweek5, Prompt 5: Crossover Double Date

Pancake Pals

Well here it is folks! This one was really interesting to me when I first heard of it, a crossover with a second ship you love! I debated for a while the perfect fit for this but ultimately decided to go with my favorite cannon cartoon couple (Starco, duh) and my favorite cannon anime couple RenxNora aka FlowerPower from RWBY, which is a supppper good show and one that I adore so, so much. Plus, I felt their dynamic was too similar to Starco not to go for.

Hope you enjoy! (p.s. This is cannon Starco just so you know)

Disclaimer: Star vs and all its characters are owned by Daron Nefcy and Disney. RWBY and all its characters were created by Monty Oum and are owned by Rooster Teeth. All rights go to them.

When Star and Marco had arrived for their date at the new pancake shop that had just opened on Earth-ni, they hadn't been expecting to see the closed sign hanging on the front door. After all, this was opening day and they had both gotten their taste buds all ready to be satisfied by the delicious breakfast treat. But instead, their taste buds were being forced to go without as the store had closed after only a half an hour of their grand opening.

"I know we're late, but I thought there'd be enough to have at least one pancake," Star said sadly. The blond had looked so disappointed and downcast by this, that Marco hadn't been able to stand it, kicking the door open with loud karate yell. The couple took in the scene inside, noticing the empty store, not a customer in sight, and the apparent owner of the store crying into his hands, as one of the staff tried to comfort him.

"What the heck happened here?" Star asked, looking around at the empty restaurant.

"I don't know," Marco replied. "This is opening day, this place should be packed."

One of the staff overheard the young couples conversation, explaining, "Our first customer completely sold us out of pancakes."

"She's a menace!" the owner screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks. "An absolute nightmare!"

"Well, where is this menace?" Marco asked, his hands on his hips, refusing to give up just yet. His girlfriend wanted pancakes and she was going to get some, if he had anything to say about it.

"She's over there," the staff member said, pointing at a small booth in the corner, which the two hadn't noticed coming in, but it was piled high with all pancakes.

The two shared a look before Marco started storming over, Star quickly following after him and shouting, "Wait, Marco! It's okay we don't to-"

"But Reeeeennnn, these pancakes are delicious!" came the overly enthusiastic voice of a girl from the booth. "Almost as good as yours!"

They then heard a deep sigh. "Nora, you know we're short on cash, right now. We don't have enough to pay for this many pancakes," a monotone voice replied. "And yet, you still insisted on eating an entire stores worth."

"Well I worked up an appetite," Nora defended herself.

"Not 18 dozen pancakes worth."

There was a gasp. "How can you say that, Ren? You don't believe me? I'm hurt, I'm betrayed. I must drown my sorrows in pancakes."

The only thing the two heard after that was the loud slurping and munching of the girl and the deep sighs from her friend. Star and Marco shared a look with each other, a plan simultaneously forming between the two. They both casually sauntered over to the corner both, before looking down at the two. The girl had short orange hair with a white blouse shirt and a pink skirt. The boy had jet black hair with a single pink streak, tied back in a ponytail. He wore a dark green, long sleeved coat and white pants. Nora was still munching away on her food, while her partner Ren had his face buried in his hands, a small cup of coffee sitting next to him.

"Hey there friends!" Star greeted, cheerfully waving at the two who looked up at them in surprise, Ren with narrow magenta eyes and Nora with wide blue orbs. Nora with a pancake now hanging out of her mouth. The blond continued, "I'm Star Butterfly and this is my boyfriend Marco Diaz."

"I'm Lie Ren," the black-haired boy spoke up, before gesturing over at his partner, who slurped up the remains of her pancake. "And this is my friend-"

"Girlfriend!" Nora corrected him loudly.

"Right, girlfriend Nora Valkerie. May we help you with something?" Ren asked all formally.

"Actually we think we can help you," Marco spoke up, leaning against the table and giving them a knowing look.

"Don't trust them Ren, their probably a bunch of con artist," Nora whispered to her boyfriend suspiciously.

"But they're younger than us," Ren whispered back.

"Uh, so anyways," Marco interrupted, drawing their attention back to him. "We couldn't help but overhear that your having a bit of a financial crisis and we wanted to help you out a bit."

"For a price," Star said pointedly.

"What kind of price?" Nora asked with narrowed eyes, slowly reaching for something beside her.

"Just that you share some of your pancakes with us," Star said and Nora instantly lightened up, saying cheerfully, "Oh sure, that's fine! Help yourselves!" Star and Marco cheered and high fived each other.

Ren turned on his girlfriend. "Nora, you barely let me have any of your pancakes. And your going to allow these stranger to."

"If they're offering to pay, I will," Nora replied with a scoff.

Ren sighed, shaking his head firmly. "No, I'm sorry. I can't ask you two to pay our check for us. It's simply too much money and it wouldn't be right of us to-"

"Hey!" Marco shouted over to the restaurant staff, before setting a huge pile of cast down on a nearby table. "Here is $650 and I think that should be enough to cover our friends' check."

The owner and staff all stood their slack-jawed at the sight of the immense amount of cash before diving over to it in a hurry, Marco just turning back to the equally shocked Ren and Nora.

"So, is there room for two more?" Marco asked assertively.

…

A few minutes later, the sound of happy chatter filled the empty restaurant, as Star and Nora swapped stories over full mouths of pancakes, spewing food all over the table with every word. Meanwhile, in the background, the owner and staff were counting out their money with excited faces. "So then," Nora mumbled, before swallowing her bite of food and continuing dramatically. "There we were, all alone."

"We were in a crowded city," Ren corrected, over to Marco who was listening in between small bites of his pancakes. Star on the other hand, didn't seem to hear a word the black-haired boy had said, completely invested in the story, being told.

"Only me and Ren to face this deadly and evil threat! As from the bushed emerged a giant Death Stalker!" Nora exclaimed, standing up in her seat.

Star gasped loudly, muttering worriedly, "Oh no."

Marco turned to her with a raised brow. "Do you even know what a Death Stalker is?"

"No, but it sounds really bad," Star explained, before turning back to the orange-headed girl eagerly.

"It's a giant scorpion," Ren explained and both Star and Marco released collective groans of disgust.

"Stop interrupting!" Nora yelled, drawing the attention back onto her. "Now as I was saying-" she looked pointedly at Ren. "The Death Stalker was a hundred feet tall, its yellow beady eyes trained right on us. But I didn't back down or panic, as I went right up to it and hit it as hard as I could with my hammer! The beast went down with a mighty blow, thus saving everyone with my heroic feat!"

"Yay!" Star cheered. "You go girlfriend!" Star and Nora high fived before going back to slurping down pancakes like there was no tomorrow.

"And what was I doing during all of this, Nora?" Ren asked.

Nora stopped eating for a moment as she replied, "Well duh, you were busy fighting off all the Beowolves so that I could handle the Death Stalker, silly." She chuckled, patting her boyfriend on the shoulder. "Poor forgetful Ren."

Ren just turned to Marco with a deadpanned stare, saying, "I don't know what could be causing her to be having so many reoccurring dreams. Frankly, I'm a little worried."

"I don't know, man. Maybe limit her amount sugar for a bit, see if that helps any," Marco suggested. The two turned to see both of their girlfriends, deep in an eating contest, munching down the syrupy treats with no sign of stopping. Ren let out a defeated sigh, before taking a large swig of his coffee. "That's a problem," he muttered.

Marco smiled over at his girlfriend, who now had syrup smeared on her cheek and was laughing at something her new friend had said. She was too adorable sometimes. "Be honest," Marco said turning back to Ren. "Their so much cuter when their acting all crazy, right?"

Ren followed his gaze, unable to help his own smile as he watched his oldest and dearest friend swallowing pancakes down whole. They had been together for as long as the young man could remember, growing up beside one another and protecting each other through every disaster they could imagine. And though Nora could be crazy sometimes, he had grown to like her insanity, almost nothing able to faze him much anymore.

Ren smiled and nodded in agreement. "Yes, somehow their crazy almost feels normal after a while. And I would certainly miss it if it were to go away."

Marco took a long look at his girlfriend, his bestie, his Star and tried not to think of how close the two had come to being separated forever. "Yeah, me too," he replied softly.

"Wait there's a fair!" Nora exclaimed, ruining the two boy's moment.

"Yeah, me and Marco were going to go after we finished lunch!"

"Ooohhh are you thinking double date," Nora said with a mischievous glint.

"Oh, ho, you know I am," Star replied back, with a large smirk.

Before Ren or Marco could say anything, their girlfriends had pushed them out of their seats and were already racing for the doors, dragging their unwilling and startled boyfriends behind them.

"Come on, Marco! Let's go!" Star exclaimed.

"Wait, Star. Can't we at least get a to-go bag for the food," Marco tried, but Star was too excited to stop. "I didn't get to finish mine."

"Sorry Marco they'll only slow us down," Star declared loudly.

Ren put up no resistance as Nora led her man down the streets of Earth-ni, talking a mile a minute and her feet racing almost as fast. "Oh this is going to be so fun! I can't believe we get to go to a fair, together! Like together, together! This is gonna be so much fun, right Ren?! Yeah, it's gonna be amazing and now we get to go with another couple! And they are so cute too! Like reaaallly cute! Though do they remind you of someone! Cause I think they do, though I can't think of who! What about your, Ren? Any ideas?"

And thus the two cute couples spent the rest of the afternoon, hanging out at the corn festival. Star won Marco a stuffed corn prize, the girls tried their hand at the test your strength game (Nora winning after smashing it with her own hammer) and Marco even tried participating in a eating contest, which was nachos so Marco threw up before taking a single bite. All in a fun little date for both of the young couples.

Done on time! Yay! Hope you enjoyed this one! Even if you have never seen the show RenxNora is based off of, Starco should be cute enough to stand on its own, I hope, haha. Well I'm off, everyone, see you next time!

#my writing #Starcoweek5 #Starco #Star Butterfly #Marco Diaz

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sincerelybluevase · 6 years

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Prompt 29 Alternative Ending

So this fic is based on @cooldoyouhaveaflag /RipperShipper’s Prompts of Turnadette prompt 29. Go and check all of those prompts out if you haven’t already; they are super well written and just plain amazing! Anyway, in prompt 29, Shelagh has a bit of a nasty encounter, after which Patrick comforts her. I wondered what would have happened if it was one of the nuns who intervened, and thus this fic was born. Thanks to cooldoyouhaveaflag for letting me write fanfic of fanfic haha ;). Also I wanted to upload this earlier but then exams got in the way. At least it is here now!

TW: assault.

Shelagh had expected to be stared at, had expected whispers and rumours. After all, it wasn’t very day that a nun decided to renounce her vows and accepted a marriage proposal by the local GP. It was only natural that people talked.

She just hadn’t expected it to be quite so vicious.

Conversations fell quiet when she entered a room. Heads turned, eyes followed her. There were hushed comments, stifled snickers. Shelagh didn’t know if she found those hardest to bear, or the people who came up to her to spew their gall straight in her face.

I was naïve, she thought as a former patient complimented her on how slim her belly still was, and again when another woman wondered out loud whether the sisters of Nonnatus would allow her to come back to work if she wished to even though she’d seduced the doctor whilst still being a nun.

“I’m not pregnant,” she’d stammered, hating how her entire body flushed. She’d tried to smile. “Doctor Turner and I… nothing untoward happened, nothing of the sort.”

“Of course, dearie,” the former patient had said, and had given her a pitying smile and a small shake of the head.

Shelagh had gone into Patrick’s office and hugged him hard, trying not to cry. They knew the truth, and that was all that mattered, wasn’t it?

“I’ll tell them to keep themselves to themselves,” Patrick had whispered, and had planted kiss after kiss in her hair.

The nurses and nuns shut those comments down whenever they could, but there were many gossipers, and plenty of places where they could talk uninterrupted.

But no matter how rude the things people said to her, Shelagh had always believed that people did not really bear her ill will. This was a point of view she was forced to rectify one evening. She had visited Patrick and Timothy, had stayed with them till dark had fallen. Patrick had offered to drive her back to her lodgings, but Shelagh had declined; it had been a long day, and he was on call. The walk was nothing she couldn’t handle, and she knew the streets of Poplar like the back of her hand.

She was halfway through a small alley when a man stepped into her way. She hadn’t seen him, and her heart made a painful little jump. He was tall, and broad-shouldered.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled, and tried to go past him.

“Where ya going, sweetheart?” he asked. He leaned against the wall with one arm, effectively barring her way.

She blinked. “Please let me through,” she said, accent thick.

“Oi, it’s the little sista!” the man said, and grinned. He missed a tooth.

He wouldn’t dare touch me. No one dares touch a nurse or nun, she thought. But she wasn’t wearing a uniform now, or a habit. She looked just like an ordinary woman, and everybody knew that the streets of Poplar were not safe after dark for ordinary women.

Everyone but you. You forgot. How naïve…

Shelagh turned around, determined to walk away before the man could say another word, but one of his friends had stepped into the alley and blocked her exit. Her pulse sped up.

“Told ya it was a bloody shame some of them nuns hide under so much fabric,” the second man said. He laughed.

Shelagh resisted the urge to straighten her skirt, to touch her coat. What she wore was hardly risqué, but it did accentuate her figure more than the habit had ever done. What piece of clothing wouldn’t?

“We gotta thank that doctor of yours for the view,” the first man said.

“I have to go home,” she said, and tried to duck under the man’s arm. He gripped her arm with bruising force. She yelped, and stepped back.

“I wasn’t done talking, sweetheart,” he said, voice low. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. She slapped his hand away, anger coiling in her belly.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” she hissed.

“Oi, this one bites,” his friend said. He laughed a rumbling laugh that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

“What will ya do about it?” the first man said. The tip of his tongue protruded from the empty space where one of his front teeth had been knocked out. “The doctor had a taste of you. He’s a peoples’ man, isn’t he? Likes to give and share. I bet he wouldn’t mind too much if my friend and I here took you. Isn’t that how he got you out of that habit in the first place?” He brought his face close to hers. “Did he press you against a wall and ruck up yer skirts? Or did you undo his trousers first?”

Shelagh slapped him before she knew what she was doing. Her palm smarted, but the heat in her face burned more fiercely. She stared at her hand in horror.

“Why, yer little…” His friend yanked her head back by her hair. She screamed and gripped his hand, trying to unwind it. The first man fumbled with the buttons on her coat, tearing one off. It hit the cobbles with a metallic clank.

I’ll have to sew that on again.

His rough hand groped her through her jumper The cold autumn air kissed her throat, kissed her belly through her slip as he pulled up her jumper and the blouse underneath. “No!” Shelagh hissed, and gave him a swift kick against the shins.

“You little slut!” he groaned and stepped back. Shelagh rammed her elbow in her assailant’s stomach. His hand startled open, letting go of her hair. She whipped around and scratched his face. He roared and groped for her blindly. She stepped back, ducked under the other man’s arm, and ran.

They came after her almost immediately, their heavy boots thundering on the slick cobbles. Shelagh shot out of the alley, almost knocking someone from their bike.

“What the…?” the woman said.

Shelagh blinked in surprise. It was Sister Evangelina.

The two men stumbled out of the alley, their faces contorted masks of fury. They stopped dead in their tracks as they took in the angry nun with the red nose on her bike. “Sista,” one said, and took off his cap.

“What’s going on here?” Sister Evangelina asked, her little eyes shooting from the man with the bleeding face to Shelagh who was clutching her coat closed. The wind ruffled her hair. There was nothing left of her neat French twist.

“Nuthink much,” the man with the bruised shin said.

“Nothing?” Sister Evangelina stepped from her bike, threw it against a brick wall, and advanced with her hands planted on her hips. “Nothing?”

The men stepped back, looked at each other, nodded, and ran.

“I’ll remember your faces!” Sister Evangelina hollered after them.

Shelagh laughed at that. The sound was throaty and empty and strange. She leaned against the wall and pressed a hand against her mouth to still the stound, but she couldn’t stop. Her body shook, her hands trembled. She inhaled fast between the bouts of laughter, then laughed again till her lungs were quite empty.

Sister Evangelina pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, and still Shelagh could not stop.

“Let it all out,” Sister Evangelina said, rubbing rough circles between her shoulder blades. “I always thought you’d be more of a crier than a laugher, but by all means do laugh.”

Eventually the hoarse sound petered out. Shelagh wiped her eyes. She felt empty inside. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Sorry? Those men will be sorry once I find them and am done with them. I’ll use a cheese slicer on their testicles.”

“You can’t say that, Sister,” Shelagh whispered, but she felt only mildly shocked.

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

Shelagh shook her head. Her scalp burned and she was probably bruised, but nothing too serious.

“Can you walk?” Sister Evangelina asked.

“I think so, yes. I’m not an invalid,” Shelagh answered. I was only assaulted.

“Let me take you to your lodgings and leave you in the capable hands of Mrs Smith. She’s a fine landlady if ever I knew one.”

“Isn’t there a patient you need to tend to?”

“Mrs Redgrave has delivered a healthy baby boy. I was on my way back to Nonnatus.” They started walking. Shelagh shivered in her coat. Her hair whispered around her face.

“Do I need to use my cheese slicer on Doctor Turner, too?” Sister Evangelina suddenly asked.

“What on Earth for?” Shelagh asked.

“What man lets his fiancée walk around alone in the dark in Poplar?”

“I insisted he’d let me go home by myself, Sister. He was on call. And I didn’t think… I’ve always been protected by my habit. Now I’m suddenly quite naked and vulnerable, and I’m not yet used to it.”

“Then why don’t you let your former sisters protect you?”

“How could I? Your association with me would just smear Nonnatus’ name. People…” She paused to wipe away a tear. “People say horrible things about me and Doctor Turner. It can’t do Nonnatus any good.”

“Don’t you think that you add fuel to those rumours if you avoid us? Makes people think there’s a reason we don’t want to see you.”

“Well, don’t you?” Shelagh whispered. “I’ve… abandoned you. I’ve left you because there is someone I love more.”

Sister Evangelina snorted. “Don’t be daft. I knew you weren’t content with us. You were too young when you became a nun. I was against it from the start. I knew something like this would eventually happen. I’m just glad you got your head turned by a good man.”

“He’s a good man, isn’t he?” Shelagh agreed, and smiled.

“Hmpf,” Sister Evangelina said, suddenly looking vexed, as if Shelagh had made her say something she’d rather kept inside.

“Here we are,” Shelagh said. She turned around to face Sister Evangelina. “Will you be off to Nonnatus now? I’d hate to keep you. Mrs Smith will make me a cup of tea, I’m sure of it…”

Sister Evangelina took Shelagh’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “I know I’m leaving you in capable hands. Just… come and visit us at Nonnatus again. We miss you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Sister.” Shelagh drew a little circle with her thumb on the back of Sister Evangelina’s weathered hand.

“Silly girl,” Sister Evangelina said, but her voice was kind. She let go of Shelagh’s hand. “I need to go.”

“Thank you for everything, Sister. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there.”

Sister Evangelina shuddered as she mounted her bike. “Best not think about that, and thank Him upstairs for sending me to you in time.”

“I will. I haven’t lost my faith.”

“Good.” Sister Evangelina started pedalling. “Do phone that Doctor of yours and tell him I’ll come after him with a cheese cutter if he ever lets you walk home alone again though!” Sister Evangelina called over her shoulder.

“I’ll rephrase it for you!” Shelagh said, but smiled.

She was going to be all right.

After all, she had the best family someone could wish for: Patrick, Timothy, and the whole of Nonnatus.

#call the midwife fanfic #call the midwife #turnadette #shelagh mannion #sister evangelina

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energyswordsunday · 6 years

Text

and time’s arrow marches on.

Cross-Posted on AO3.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Fandom: Runescape

Relationship: Adwr/Rowena

Characters: Rowena Behr, Adwr Cadarn, Leolin Cadarn

Words: 2990 Chapter: 1/?

Content Warning: Misogyny, Antisemitism, Classism

Summary: 25 Pentember 1927, 4th Age. Yanille, Kandarin. The day Adwr Cadarn's life takes a bittersweet turn. And yet, in the end, he wouldn't have had it any other way.

Elf meets human meets forbidden romance.

Chapter Summary: A mysterious farm girl has been the talk of the town for the past 2 years. She seems to constantly be in the public eye, no matter how much she keeps to herself. Fresh from Prifddinas, a young elf has been set on guard duty at the entrance to the village. His naturally inquisitive nature lands him in the pickle of a lifetime. His mission: to get to the bottom of this mystery, and figure out just who this girl really is. With help from his best friend, will this elf be able to talk to the intimidating human?

Behr. A foul, foul word, like a hex. The mages never liked her. The name she carries is poisoned, to them, for eternity. Behr. Behr. A word that oozes off their tongue, is spat with vitriol; a word that ignites a fiery, burning hatred in their heart. She is a woman. A woman, young and full of vigor, and filled to the brim with magical talent. The elders are scared of her, hiding and hissing her name like a curse, for her raw power makes them insecure of their own feeble sparks. Roaches, she calls them. They hiss and spew in quiet tones, but scurry off when faced with confrontation. A mutual relationship of disgust and distrust is what they share, a complex setting where they must occupy the same space; maddening, sickening, but necessary. She had joined the Mages’ Guild a little over two years prior, against the outcries of these mages. It is incomprehensible to them, still, how she got in. No matter their begging, pleading, grovelling, their Guildmaster will not budge, so they make up stories to soothe themselves. Simple, serpentine, suspiciously spurious stories, about how she threatened, beguiled, seduced him. They try to run her out, but it never works. And they still, still, don’t understand why. Whatever the true reason, she is a woman, and she is good at magic. Better than all of them. This makes her unholy in the eyes of her guildmates. To them, she is a cheater; she had struck a deal with Zamorak to obtain her power, and in the process, corrupted herself, making her the despicable woman that she is today. For a handful, she is. Loudmouthed and opinionated, with a sharp tongue to match her wit. Her shoulders are broad, and home to long, curled auburn hair that cascades down her back from under her patched hat, mesmerizing children and adult alike. Stern, scrutinous green eyes set her face, giving one the impression that she could use them to cut glass with ease. Faintly, she smells of hard work and the wilderness. She is Wizard Behr, the Bear from the Woods. And she is not of this earth. It is clear to anyone who crosses paths with her that this is a stubborn woman. She has bowed her head not once to any man, and has spat in the face of proper society. Local gossip outside the guild pins her as an evil spirit that bewitches foolish men to do her whim. Her scale is in danger of tipping at any moment, her luck due to run out, yet, strangely, she remains unfazed. “No man in their right mind would allow this beast to practice magic,” A greying wizard hisses to a colleague of his, outside a small building with a magical barrier glistening over its walls and makeshift fence. “I’m still angry that she-devil was let in, and now she has the audacity to make everyone wait on her?” “Careful, Wizard Flemtoed, she might hear,” the other wizard replies, laced with sarcasm. “You don’t want your guts torn out by a live Behr do you?” This snippet of conversation glides with the breeze and attracts the attention of a man a distance away. His ears, long and pointed, are fine-tuned to the world around him; what is normally a boon, for him, he wishes he could now deactivate. He is a foreigner in these parts, and still has not quite adjusted to the fact that humans are so different. This man’s keen sense of hearing has landed him in quite a precarious position on numerous occasions since his migration, and frankly he is a little tired of his accidental eavesdropping, though it breaks the tedium of his daily routine. Consequently, in spite of his interest this time, he errs on the side of caution and keeps to himself. He is on duty with a few other members from his clan, the Cadarn, who had first passed over Arandar centuries ago to settle and rule Kandarin. Out of a handful of these Elven settlements, the young man is liking his current station the most, as it has the most diversity around him. Unfortunately, it is also in close proximity to the Ogres, making it a frequent target for raids, which have been rapidly increasing in numbers over the months. Yanille was a bit short-handed as a result, thus prompting King Baxtorian to issue the command leading to his reassignment. Here, he is to stand guard temporarily in anticipation of a raid, while his fellow clansfolk worked on drafting up better defenses. While it is a fascinating place, guard duty leads to long bouts of boredom for this young man, which cause him to fantasize regularly about all the scouting missions he is missing out on. He often finds himself longing for the freedom and the thrill, along with the exercise. “Adwr!” A voice barks out at him. “Ah–?!” The young man jumps, having been caught red-handed in his daydreams. He is met with an intense gaze from his best friend, another elf from his clan, who is stationed about twenty feet from him. “Don’t make me lecture you again,” the elf warns Adwr, soft but stern. This is a conversation they have had hundreds of times throughout their friendship, but without his help, in all honesty, Adwr doesn’t know how he would have survived his studies, let alone this guard assignment. “Right,” Adwr chirps back, flashing his friend a sheepish smile. In his own defense, however, waiting around just in case anything happens is pretty boring. He doesn’t understand how people can just… stand there, and do nothing. He sighs and clicks his tongue, focusing on counting and naming all the types of wildlife he sees in front of him, again. He’s somewhere through his third or fourth ‘I Spy’ game when the whispers that had distracted him moments ago suddenly grow to a hush. The crowd of wizards disperses, as if on cue, every one of them suddenly very late for things they have to do. A mixture of teleportation, running, and meandering occurs, leaving the courtyard bare. All except for one wizard, of course, who lingers – a sharp looking older man who really, really has no business growing a beard that long. Adwr can’t help but sneak a glance over in that direction. “You’re late,” the older man grumbles, seemingly to himself. “You know how the Mages’ Guild feels about tardiness, right, Behr?” The object of this man’s dispassionate scolding makes an irritated noise and waves her hand at her superior dismissively. “Farm business. You know, Art.” The mass of vibrant curls that enters the village in front of him catches Adwr’s attention in an instant. His hand magnetizes to his chin, mouth slightly agape; his companion snorts, but the sound doesn’t register to the pale elf. This is the woman that the villagers speak so ill of? 'Interesting', he thinks. “Wizard Behr, I have made it clear that you are to refer to your colleagues with respect. This includes your leader,” the grumpy wizard starts. “You’d do well to note that I am the sole reason you were allowed entrance.” “Oh, Gods be damned. What are we, monks? Ain’t your ma given you a name for a reason?” She counters. The redhead shakes her head, giving a grunt of irritation. The tension between the two indicates to Adwr that this is conversation that is had very regularly. “That is beside the point, Wizard Behr. Now come on, we haven’t got all day, and a full roster is required for this meeting in order to begin.” ‘Art’ resumes. The lines on his face seem to be less from old age and more from stress. “Fine, fine. Just remember, I have a life an’ family too, ya know?” “As do we all.” The two wizards quiet down, taking to mumbling and grumbling to one another and themselves as they approach their guild building. Adwr watches them, engrossed, until his companion butts in again, this time with a gentle tap to his shoulder. “Hey, pysgodyn aur. Our relief is here. Let’s go have some rarebit before you starve to death.” “Rarebit… Oh! Lunch! I completely forgot!” Adwr replies. The prospect of food is enough to lure him away from his thoughts. “I swear, I should just tie some cheese to a fishing rod and hop on your shoulders. Maybe then you’d pay attention to what’s in front of you.” His companion jokes, as they make their way to the meal tent. “Only if it’s gouda cheese,” Adwr hums back, well aware he’s being ribbed. The exasperated noise he receives in return is worth the pun. “We don’t even make gouda!” The pale elf chuckles. “I’ll settle for tintern then.” “Maybe in the next few years when we make it back to Prifddinas,” says the darker elf. “I can wait as long as I need for some good cheese!” “And as always, my point has been proven.” In good spirits, the two elves plate up and make off to the corner of the tent, where it’s dim and quiet, absent of any distractions or irritants. Adwr seems pleased, content to share his meal with his childhood friend in peace. Said friend has always understood that Adwr is a little… Odd. Different from other elves, certainly, but pleasant to talk to, passionate, and a very intelligent, creative-minded individual. It was a huge relief to him when they both got older and Adwr hadn’t taken on the arrogant, self-absorbed demeanor so many others of their age groups tended to due to their success and upbringing. The elf, himself, was also considered strange, but in a different way. Whereas Adwr never really fit in socially, his companion was fine in that regard, where applicable. Instead, his problems lied in his heritage: he was born into a poor family of workers. He would have been doomed to the same fate, had his family not encouraged and fostered his love for archery. Amongst his peers, this elf was an exceptional shot, but this carefully cultivated talent was always unfairly put under scrutiny. Elves of more influential families made no hesitations in reminding him that he was strange for trying to break out of his designated ‘box.’ Growing up, for him, was a constant unending struggle to prove his worth and fight for his own right to be put in the same courses as his peers. Adwr, however, is different. This elf always held a specific sort of admiration, and a bit of jealousy, towards his friend, for though Adwr was othered based on his various quirks, he still regarded everyone with the same sort of respect, purely for the joy of friendship. It was Adwr who had approached him and extended his hand, and it was always Adwr who would stick up for him against the rest of their peers. He is thankful, truly, and wishes he could purely be just grateful and appreciative towards him, but there is always a part of him that will be jealous, for he truly had life easier. He never wants Adwr to know this, though, for he understands that Adwr wasn’t trying to play savior to him. But... Everyone has their own demons. “Leolin. You haven’t touched your rarebit, are you okay?” Adwr interrupts his train of thought with his standard fare. It is a nice gesture, but sometimes Leolin just wishes his friend would let him mope. “Mmh,” is the response he receives from his melancholic buddy. “I’m fine, just thinking about some things.” He puts on his best smile and Adwr seems to be soothed. “Well, it’s really good today – they finally got the texture right this time! But I still think that rotating cooking shifts are the worst idea. I know we all were taught how to cook growing up, but some days, I really can’t stomach what’s put out.” The elf’s passionate chatter warms Leolin a bit, inspiring him to sample the meal in front of him as he finishes speaking. It really is no use trying to be sad around this man. He takes a bite, and nods to indicate his pleasure. “You’re right. My compliments to the chef – this is actually pretty good for the rarebit we have out here. They must have had a good run in with the locals,” Leolin muses. Quality elven ingredients weren’t always easy to come by out in these parts, so it can be assumed that there was some good luck with trading today. This reminded him of the wizard that caused that commotion earlier, who was rumored to have come from a large local farm. Maybe she was late because her family was busy trading with their clan? His eyes glint with mischief as he remembers what he was planning to pester Adwr about. “Speaking of locals… So how about that little redhead you were eyeing up earlier?” Leolin lilts, a devilish grin on his face. “You like farm girls, Adwr?” Adwr nearly chokes on the piece of bread he’s currently attempting to swallow, causing him to slam a fist down on the shabby table as he tries not to cough it back in his friend’s face. The table wobbles, and Leolin’s plate jostles a little. “Ach – No!” are the first words out of his mouth before he catches his breath and clears his throat. A light blush dusts his face thanks to the teasing and his lack of air. “It wasn’t like that! You know I don’t engage in those sorts of behaviors, Leo, I was just curious! Did you see her hair? She stood out! And – I – Look, it was a coincidence. You know how easily distracted I am by noise.” Leolin almost feels bad for messing with his friend, but gives him a long, drawn out wink and continues on anyways. “Oh, yeah, su~ure. Why so defensive? You just don’t want to admit that the human was cute.” Adwr huffs indignantly, folding his arms and turning his head pointedly away. “I refuse to answer to your harassment.” He sneaks a peak at Leolin after his show of being offended, who is giving him a very silly looking face. They meet eyes for a few seconds before Leolin wiggles his eyebrows at him, prompting them both to burst into a giggle fit. It takes at least a minute before they are able to regain their composure again. “In all seriousness, though, what is with that ‘Behr’ girl?” Adwr asks. “You’ve been here longer than I have. She seems to be a controversial figure in this village. I just can’t wrap my head around why.” Leolin fixes his friend with a serious gaze. “Rowena? Well, that’s her name, for starters.” “Rowena,” Adwr repeats, waiting for him to continue. “Yeah. She’s from some local farm I guess. And she’s the only woman in the Mages’ Guild here, from what I hear.” Something about what he just said to Adwr resonates deeply with Leolin. Another misfit, perhaps? “Really? There’s no other women? Why?” The paler probes. “Afraid I don’t know the answer to that. Why don’t you ask her?” “I can’t! I don’t know her, what if she gets angry with me? I don’t want to be insensitive.” “That didn’t stop you from talking to me when we first met. Come on, she’s only a human. Humans are practically harmless. I can stand there with you.” Leolin’s offer only makes Adwr frown more, worry creasing his face. Was he really that afraid of offending her? “I don’t know. I think… I should watch and listen a bit more. I know she’s a human, Leo, but I can’t shake this feeling that she really is as scary as what the people here say.” “My dear friend, you should know by now that just because people say something about someone, that doesn’t always mean it’s true.” Adwr shakes his head. “Maybe humans are different like that. You’re forgetting that… That I haven’t actually talked to a human before, Leo.” Leolin frowns at his friend’s increasingly negative behavior. This wasn’t typical for him. “Hey. What happened to that endless optimism? You were so excited about all the humans that lived here when I talked to you a few days ago. You can’t let your fear of one bad experience hold you back suddenly.” A small, timid smile works its way to Adwr’s face. “I can, but I shouldn’t, I suppose.” He looks back at his friend’s freckled face, and takes a deep breath. “I think if I talk to her, I should do it by myself. But. You can stand nearby, if you want, in case things go south. As long as I don’t have to do it right this second.” “That’s better. I would be glad to stand guard, my friend. It’ll be a favor returned for all the times you were there for me whenever I had to talk to an instructor.” Leolin gives his friend a toothy smile and reaches across the table to offer his hand. Adwr accepts the gesture, gripping his friend’s hand firmly with his own, and giving it a nice shake. “It’s a deal, then?” “Deal. So, do you want to work on a list of questions, just in case?” Leolin offered this for his friend in fond memory of all the times Adwr had him do the same. Only, in this case, rather than passing someone a note, the intention was to prepare Adwr to speak to Rowena. “I don’t want her to think it’s a survey!” Adwr replies hastily. Leolin snorts. “It won’t be a survey, silly. I meant so you know what you want to say, and how, so you won’t choke up.” “Oh. Well… In that case, let us commence!” Adwr rises to his feet, suddenly full of vigor and determination. He looks down at Leolin expectantly. “Okay, fine. I’ll take my food with. Let’s go.”

Notes:

elves in runescape seem to speak welsh and have welsh names, if you're wondering about that. i didn't just pull that out of nowhere hgkdjghkdj

rowena is jewish CODED. i say this because runescape has its own extensive pantheons of gods and it's not easy to fit an irl religion like that in there without being offensive. so she retains more of the racial aspect than the religious here.

i tag antisemitism with the knowledge that some of the things these people will say does stem from that, but that's only one layer of many of hatred that rowena faces for who she is.

adwr is autistic. he was also a canon runescape character that was really only mentioned by name, adopted by me and my gf.

#runescape #rs #4th age #adwr #rowena #crow writes #adwrow #hi everyone i started writing the story of how makyuri's parents met and the tale of their romance #it would mean a lot to me if you would reblog and/or comment!#aaaa!

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donutcryforme · 7 years

Text

the break-up, pt. 2

As the Kik para comes to a close, and finally regain control of my emotions again. God bless. ( Once again starring @justalostindie, and @wastedsxns for supportive commentary, for doing things such as throwing popcorn and talking to her phone screen in anguish)

***

Scott navigates Lacey’s apartment like a veteran tour guide; he knows it better than his own frat house. It takes mere seconds for him to take the familiar path to her bedroom, but for a moment, he takes a detour and hangs back against the door frame. Surely he’s looked better–a hot shower can’t wash away red, puffy eyes and drooping, dark circles–but it doesn’t matter right now. He’s just here to make Lacey feel better. “Hey.” He wants to go to her, but like a vampire, he waits to be invited in. This is her house: her rules. He wraps his fingers around the door frame behind him–as close as he can get to her without breaking these new boundaries that she’s laid out for them. “How are you feeling?”

The minutes she waited for Scott’s a rival both felt like hours and seconds. Why did she agree to this? Wasn’t this the opposite of what a broken up couple did? The answer was yes, but her whole body was craving him. Every drop of her eyelids brought his image, that she couldn’t shake herself from, thus she stayed awake. Her internal debate made her jump at hearing his voice. The lights were off, her hair was ratty, her eyes red. “Hi,” she whispered. “Like shit…but we went through that already.”

His eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark yet, but he knows she looks beautiful. She always does. “I guess I was just sort of hoping the answer might’ve changed.” Something tells him the invitation isn’t coming soon, so he prompts it. “Do you mind if I …”

Lacey crossed her arms over her chest selfconsciously, this was so stupid. “There’s still time for it to,” she whispered. Tucking some hair behind her ear, she sniffled a bit. “Yeah, yeah, you can come in. That’s…I mean why you’re here, right?” Or something like that. “How have you been?”

“Yeah.” This is stupid. He hears the rasp in her voice, and maybe it’s just his mind playing tricks on him again, but she sounds like she needs him. He goes to her. The blonde slides into bed beside her like he’s done so many times before, and he feels a pang in his chest at the thought that this might be the last. “I’ve been …” What reigns supreme: his pride or the truth? “ … not so great. I could probably use some shut-eye, too.” His eyes lid softly, as though on cue. He tries not to think about that morning, laying on the bathroom floor and counting the tiles until he lost track. He tries not to be that broken-hearted boy right now. “But I can leave–after you fall asleep, of course. If that makes you uncomfortable.”

Lacey doesn’t want to turn to him when he climbs into bed with her, but her body works without her mind and Scott has gravitational pull. She curled into his side, one hand balling into a fist around a handful of his shirt. Even if her words were telling him to go, her whole being was calling her a liar. She didn’t answer him really, except for a few more sniffles and a smattering of silent tears. “I’m sorry,” she croaked at barely above a whisper, and she was. Sorry that she couldn’t be stronger, sorry that she was a mess, sorry that she needed him to be there even if she shouldn’t. “I don’t want you to go,” the girl admited after a long moment of something that couldn’t be called silence.

Scott is surprised when he feels the weight on the bed shift as she turns to him. He feels her familiar hand grasp at his shirt, and what should be a sharp glance in shock becomes a slow, sleepy blink in exhaustion. Not that he was expecting this, but he’s too overtired to show it. Something about this bed is muffling the constant chatter that his mind has been spewing for the past two days. Or maybe it’s her. He can’t see the tears, but he can hear them. Look, he’s done it again. His hand goes to her back to do like he promised, rubbing gently like she used to do to him. “Okay,” he whispers. “I’m here as long as you want me.”

At least he isn’t pushing her away. It wasn’t that Lacey actively expected him to, but she knew it was a possibility and that she would deserve it. Honestly, she can’t tell if he’s ok with everything that’s going in, but she isn’t about to ask. His coping mechanisms are probably not something she wants to think about. Besides, before she could actually get the words out, her sniffles begin to subside and her death grip on him begins to relax. Not completely, she’s not quite asleep yet, but she feels better than the hours prior. “I fucked up,” she whispered. “And I can’t take it back.”

For awhile, there’s a calm stillness between them that hasn’t existed in days–maybe even before the breakup. The crickets play their gentle song from her open window, but otherwise there’s a shared silence: soft breathing, hearts beating. It’s nice. Soothing. He could fall asleep right now, lulled into a peaceful slumber that he hasn’t seen in two nights. But then Lacey’s voice lilts in a breath over the evening’s sleep sounds and he remembers why he can’t just yet. He cracks open his eyes so he can see her outline in the darkness. “Sure you can,” he murmurs. “You always can.” As though to prove his point, the hand that was previously rubbing her back moved to her face, tucking a wild tendril behind her ear before gently resting on her cheek. “Talk to me.”

((I SLACKED OFF AND KIK ATE SOME OF THIS AND IM SO UPSET ))

The past forty-eight hours had been a black hole of exhaustion and grief, but with those words, he felt like he was finally able to breathe again. “I love you, too.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest. “Why can’t we go back to the way things were?” The question held an air of childlike innocence. “You acted the same way around me for two years. Why does that have to change?” A soft breath escaped him. This was such a complicated mess; he didn’t know how to fix it without her help. “What are your doubts? What’s stopping you?”

In his arms, Lacey finally felt some semblance of whole again and part of her wanted to vomit. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go, that wasn’t how she was supposed to feel. “Going back to the way we were doesn’t make this any better. We’d have this exact same fallout some point in the future. It doesn’t change how much I hate myself right now, or how uncomfortable I am around Harper or your drunk friends,” it didn’t change what she wanted for the future or his opinion on them. “I don’t known if we can fix it,” she took a shaky breath. “That’s why I don’t know if there’s a point.”

Innocence lost. They were talking themselves into dead ends. Scott pulled away, rolling onto his back with a frustrated sigh. “I can’t change things about other people, Lacey.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, lips pressed tightly together in a line. “I can’t control what Harper does, and I can’t control what my friends do–who, by the way, aren’t my ‘drunk’ friends. But if they’ve said something to you, you have to tell me. I’ll tell them to back off.” He glared at her ceiling fan, as though he could make it spin and change her mind. “Nice to see you’ve given up, then.”

When he moved away, she tucked herself as far into the corner of the bed as she could and wrapped her arms around her knees. She should’ve just shut up. “I never said you could, I didn’t tell you to, but I have an issue with them that’s effecting this,” Lacey was at a loss. She didn’t know how to say half of what she wanted to say. “Harper makes me feel worthless, and nine times out of ten he gets away with it. Yeah, I say one thing, he blows up, sometimes I don’t say anything,” she choked up slightly. “I can’t be around your frat brothers when they’re drinking, and they usually are. It’s…they say things but it was more…what they did. I can’t be there and that’s the only place you ever are.” Rocking slightly, tears began to fall again, “I didn’t…i just don’t know what to do.”

This is so not how Scott thought this evening was going to go. His daydreams of the past fifteen minutes were nothing like this: he pictured her overtired and under-loved, desperately missing him, ready to come back into his open arms to take back what they had. But expectations and reality did not coincide this time. “But you’re not dating them,” he insisted. “You’re dating me.” Muttered under his breath, an afterthought: “–were.” He mimicked her position absentmindedly, rolling up and sitting back against the headrest; even separated, they still shared a wavelength. “I get that this a problem–trust me, I do–but I just can’t believe that this is a DEALBREAKER for you. That you’re ready to throw away two years, just because you don’t like my friends. And that’s fine, you don’t have to like them, but I just don’t know how we got here. I feel like this came out of nowhere.” He paused, processing something in her words that he’d missed. “What do you mean 'what they did’? My brothers–what’d they do?”

“I know,” the tears were no longer freely flowing down Laceys cheeks. She had seemingly run out. It was probably closer to dehydration than it was that. “I can’t be around them. You’re around them so often, it’s just…they’re not the deal breaker but they are part of the problem. The other is you. Did you know I started my business? The one i kept telling you I wanted to start? Or is my dream just getting married and that’s stupid?” She took a shaky breath. “I don’t care that you drink, but I’ve asked if you could do it less. You won’t. So, if that’s how everything’s going to go, me talking and you not listening or not caring, I can’t do this no matter how much I love you.” Of course he asked her to explain, she couldn’t blame him, her words were vague. “It wasn’t all of them…but you know what he did.”

His hands attacked his messy blonde locks, fighting the urge to rip them out. One minute they were on the same page; the next they were reading completely separate books. “Will you stop saying that?” It was more of a snap than he would have liked. “I don’t think your dreams are stupid. I’d never think ANY of your dreams are stupid. I just want more for you than getting married–even if it’s marrying me. If that’s what you want, then I won’t stop you, but I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you because of it. It’s scary to think about, you know?” He bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying to control his temper. “As for your business, no, I did not, because you didn’t tell me. I want to know what’s going on with you, but you don’t talk to me. You tell me things in riddles and then expect me to guess what you’re thinking. It’s really hard, Lacey.” Scott released a sigh–more tired this time. He never liked to talk about 'deep’ things like this, and it was emotionally taxing on his exhausted mind. He allowed himself a moment to really process, really let her words sink in, before lashing out again. Although he seemed to be the only one trying, he really wanted to make this work. “Is it really that bad?” he whispered. “Everyone else–it’s the same for them. It’s college–” No. He can’t give the same response as he usually does. That’s why she’s mad. He took a deep breath. “I care,” he said firmly, “and don’t you dare say that I don’t.” He paused: concentrating, contemplating “Would you really break up with me because of that? It bothers you that much?” He chewed on his lip in contemplation. “I understand, that that’s on your list. I’ll try. Just … please don’t ask me to stop.” His crumpled form shot up at her final words, back tall and alert as his head snapped up. “You know who it is?” he asked, demanding for an answer in tone. “When you told me you said you didn’t remember. You didn’t say it was one of them.” His voice turned hard. “Who was it?”

“No I won’t, because you said it. My only dream isn’t fucking marrying you Scott Sparks, I just…thought we would never be apart. I wanted you in my life until I die and it’s a slap in the face to hear that you think it’s shitty,” she ran her hands over her face and hiccuped. “I have told you. I told you when that was that I wanted to do, I told you when I was thinking of actually doing it. You fucking helped me set up the website the other day,” it wasn’t helping so much as trying to seduce her, but he had been there. “I tell you things. Yes, sometimes I speak cryptically because I’m trying to see if you remember and most times you don’t. You’re smart, Scott but you don’t…put effort into anything,” and she knew it was because he didn’t think he was. Chewing on her lip for a moment, Lacey waited for the excused that she knew were coming. It was a shock to her when he didn’t finish them. “I’m not asking you to stop. I only ask for less. Yes, I’m aware it’s college and your boys and whatever, but if I’m lucky, you’re trashed five days a week. More if I’m not lucky. Drink, that’s fine, but you don’t need to get fucked up beyond fucked up, you just choose to. I can’t be around you when you are and I want to be around you.” The sniffles started again, but no tears accompanied it. “I didn’t who it was…but I knew he was a frat boy. I remember the letters on his shirt,” she choked down a cry. “I didn’t remember until the one party I went with you to. He was there, I saw his face and I…I was frozen. I knew he remembered me…i know he knew me.”

He paused, blinking slowly. “Lacey … that’s a long time. We’re not even out of school yet. How can you plan down the line that far?” His eyes narrowed in the darkness. Forget separate books–they were in separate libraries. They were talking themselves in circles and this was a starting to get old. “Will you stop saying that?” he growled, picking his head up. “That’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant.” Shaking his head, he added, “And I can’t believe you test me, like some kind of kid. That’s such a shitty thing to do. I’m your boyfriend, not your student. I get enough of that at school.” He tapped his socked feet on the comforter, fidgeting in an effort to keep his cool. “I just think it’s funny that you have this list of no-buts demands for me, and yet there’s nothing on there for you. Like you do nothing wrong. It’s not fair. If I’m doing all this changing so we can be together, what are you doing?” Scott released a long, slow breath, closing his eyes again. “I don’t know who it could have been. He’s probably long gone by now. And I’m sorry that happened, Lacey, I’m really sorry. I just wish that didn’t prevent you from hanging out with me.” He rubbed at his tired eyes, willing them to open for just a little longer. “You have to understand, I don’t want to have to choose between you and all my friends. Just because one person did something really bad doesn’t mean the rest of them are like that. They’re actually really great guys, if you’d try to give them a chance. I promise they’d like you if they got to know you.”

“I’m allowed to know what I want Scott, it’s now my fault you don’t. You don’t have to, but I can,” she was whispering now, they obviously weren’t going to agree on most of this. When he growled, shrank back further, it wasn’t a voluntary reaction. “Well if my boyfriend actually listened to anything I said…I repeat myself a lot, Scott. It’s not a test, I just want to know if you are actually there. It’s not like I’m doing it often.” Now she was confused, “I’m not making a to-do list Scott…I’m telling you how I feel, what upsets me. I’m also not saying I don’t do anything wrong, or that I don’t need to change, but I can’t speak for what I do that upsets you. I can’t bring it up or ask for the change, that’s on you, and you don’t bring anything up.” Their last topic made her shiver. “I’m not asking you to not hang out with them. I’m asking for you to not be shit faced all the time. Or maybe split your time more. Compared to them I don’t see you, and no, I can’t hang out around them…because of him. He’s still there, he’s your pledge class. So as great as the rest of them might be, I can’t feel comfortable there. I’m sorry.”

“I listen to you!” he said, slamming his hand on the mattress. “I listen to you more than anyone else. Sometimes the things you say don’t make much sense to me, but don’t you dare say I don’t try.” He was still so blindsided. Two years of innocent bliss had been ripped from his fingers in a matter of hours; he still didn’t know how to process it. Scott released a frustrated groan, attacking his hair. “Shit, Lacey, I’m not shitfaced all the time. Just because I have a beer or two with my brothers most nights doesn’t make me an alcoholic. Sometimes I get drunk, but don’t act like it’s every freakin’ night.” After a pause, he added, “–And don’t act like that makes you any better than me.” Seems she struck a nerve. It was a subject she brought up often, and sometimes he found truth in her statements, and that scared him. He lashed out. “Just because you don’t drink doesn’t make me wrong. I’m sick and tired of you acting like you’re more of an adult than me just because you don’t.” After a pause, he added, “–and because you want to get married.” His new least favorite word. “And I know that you think I’m just immature or childish or whatever for saying that, but I don’t get why you’re so focused on the future. So much can change. You don’t know what’s coming. Don’t you get tired of thinking ahead all the time? All this 'ten years from now’ and 'forever’? What about now? What about today? Who’s to say what you think’s going to happen really will? Plans are always gonna change. You can’t plan for anything.” The proverbial white flag was heavy, but it was seeming better than dragging out this endless argument. He eyed his sneakers sitting at the side of the bed. “I can’t fix everything, Lace,” he said softly, resting his hands on either side of him. “Some things, yeah, but not when it comes to other people. Not when it comes to Harp, to Pike. Even if I lightened up on the beer, even if I hung out less at the house, even if I spent more time with you. Hell, even if I moved out and changed everything about me–it wouldn’t help, would it? I’ll still have my letters, you’ll still see Harp. It just seems like no matter what I do, you’ll just never be happy.” This was his surrender, he realized. This was his white flag. Slowly, he swung his legs around to the side of the bed and started putting on his shoes. “There’s only so much I can do without becoming someone else. Not gonna lie, I came here thinking we were gonna get back together. But as much as I don’t want to see you with someone else, I also have no clue how this is I gonna work out if you hate everything I do and don’t do.”

The slamming of his hands against the mattress was enough to make her physically jump from the bed. She wasn’t trying to be afraid, but she couldn’t help it. Tears ran down her face as she pressed herself against the wall. “I’m not saying I’m better than you,” she whimpered. “I don’t think I’m better than anybody, you of all people should know that. My not drinking has nothing to do with you. I think I’m less than everybody, I don’t think I’m anything, don’t you dare,” except there was no malice in her voice. She was just sad, and scared. “I’m not saying don’t drink, I’m just asking for the quantity to be less. Maybe you don’t realize you’re drunk when you are, but fuck Scott, you are and I don’t want to be scared of you,” that was her biggest problem. It wasn’t him as much as she was terrified, but she was working on it as much as she could. “I’m thinking about the future because the present is killing me. If I think about the future it means I have one and I don’t give up. I just…want to give up,” she slid onto the ground and covered her face. She couldn’t watch him leave, again. “I don’t care about your letters, I don’t hate anything you do, I just want you to. understand. I’m trying my best, and you’re not meeting me in the middle. I love you. I love…almost everything about you, but I’m scared.”

Scott spends awhile tying his shoes, looping perfect bunny ears and securing them with double knots. He can hear his (ex-?) girlfrend falling apart on the other side of the room, and he's too lost to make a move. He's stumped, but as long as he's still tying his shoes, he doesn't have to act yet. But all procrastination must come to a close. He stands up and makes his way to the door, before turning his head to look at her--really look at her. Even without the lights on to illumimate her face, she looks tired: crumpled, broken, and scared. He has a decision to make. The blonde grabs onto the door frame that anchored him earlier. Is he the problem or the cure? The elixir or the poison? He thinks that there's no ether in the world that could solve all their problems, and without her, his life would be so such simpler. No fighting, no future, no compromise--just living his life the way he chooses. Maybe he'll even take up her offer and fuck other girls just for fun. He lets go of the door frame. His legs carry him to her, his heart deciding for his brain. He hates himself for caving, hates this magnetic hold she has on him, but he's kneeling down in front of her on the floor. Because as much as he hates himself for giving in to love, he also hates to see her cry. "I'll meet you in the middle," he whispers. "Okay? I promise." His hand finds her cheek, and although he shouldn't be surprised, the hot tears under his palm make him duck his head in shame. "Tell me what I have to do--drink less, whatever--and I'll do it." His words are wavering, but he's surer than he's ever been. "Just please don't cry."

#watch me jump from past to present tense like a magical pixie horse #like scott... i cannot commit (to a tense)#justalostindie #c;scott #scott;lacey #( v. we were merely freshmen )#raise ur hands if u use too many similies and italics for Emphasis. EMPHASIS!!

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