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ahundredtimesover · 1 year

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Belong (03) | MYG

Pairing: Yoongi x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: exes-to-lovers-to-exes-to-lovers; actress!OC x basketball coach!Yoongi; summer romance; “long” distance relationship; parallel timelines; angst, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, family drama, mention of sport injury; dreams & moving away; implied depression; basketball and acting talk; 2014 and 2022 Yoongi; shy and nonchalant cocky whipped Yoongi; explicit sexual content (straddling, kissing, oral, penetrative sex) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 17.7k

Series Masterlist

Status: Complete

Series summary: Being an actor has always been your dream. Pursuing it meant many things - leaving the town where you grew up, distancing yourself from your family that had fallen apart, and saying goodbye to the man who made you feel what home was like. When you decide to finally return after being away for so long, you meet Min Yoongi again, and you’re reminded of the summer romance from 8 years ago with the college basketball superstar whose broken dream pushed you away. As you find yourself spending time with him, you’re left to wonder if love changes, if it gives second chances, or if it’s just another illusion that will hurt the both of you the second time around.

Listen to: Incomplete by James Bay; Love Like This by Kodaline; Lose Ourselves by Boundary Run; Driving Hours by Axel Flovent || Playlist 🎶

Present day

Taehyung, sitting in front of you at the Japanese restaurant for his treat, scans the menu then glances up at you and Yoongi going through your orders. He listens as you try to decide between 2 dishes, with the man next to you choosing the one you don’t get.

“What are you getting?” You ask your best friend.

“Hmm,” he sets the menu down. “I’m getting a ‘what the fuck is happening,’ please.”

You blink widely at him as the words process. “What?”

With crossed arms, Taehyung arches his brow.

“Arriving at the restaurant together? Sitting so close to each other? Sharing food?” His eyes focus on you, with a tinge of judgment that you’ve rarely ever seen on him. “Smiling like you’re that 20-year old woman in love? Are you two back together?”

You don’t know if you’ve just forgotten how observant Taehyung is, or if you and Yoongi are back in that bubble you used to have that makes you unaware of how couple-y you both are. You turn to the man next to you who gives you an assured look.

“Your call,” Yoongi says.

“Your call?” Taehyung repeats, gasping. “That’s basically an admission!”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic!” You roll your eyes. “It’s not the worst news you’ve ever received.”

“So it’s true?” He badgers. “You’re back together? Since when? How?”

“Last night. I returned his jackets, hung out at his place, got to talking, kissed… Do you want details?” You challenge him.

“No!” Taehyung scowls.

“Then why are you asking so many questions!” You exclaim. “And why are you being judgy?”

“I’m not!” He defends. “It’s just… it’s been a full day since you got back together and you didn’t think to tell me? Your best friend in the entire world?”

“Well, we were busy,” you shrug.

“I didn’t need to know that,” he frowns.

“You were asking.”

“Just to clarify,” Yoongi butts in. “She woke up early in the morning and planned to leave after we, uh, you know. We only talked about our situation then. So technically, it hasn’t been a day.”

“What?” Taehyung exclaims, turning to you. “You planned to dip and skip your ex?!”

“Can you lower your voice?!” You kick his shin. “And no, I wasn’t gonna leave,” you say to Yoongi now. “I mean, I did stop because I wanted to stay. But that’s besides the point.”

“And the point is what?” Taehyung asks.

“That Yoongi and I weren’t actually good with the ‘moving on from each other’ thing. We still feel something towards each other and we decided to just see where things go from here.”

“So just like that summer… but older. Hmm,” Taehyung hums, his eyes moving from you to your right, as if he’s deciding whether to be happy for you or to berate you.

“Just like that summer,” you repeat, “but more mature, with a past we can learn from. And… happier,” you admit, as you look at Yoongi and once again feel the overwhelming emotion of love and joy. “I’m really happy, Tae. The last time I truly, and I mean truly, felt that… was here.”

You feel Yoongi tighten his hold on your hand underneath the table, as if some confirmation that it’s the same with him.

Taehyung gives in. His whole face that was tense just seconds ago now softens, as he looks at you and recalls how this carefree and genuine smile of yours was a staple everyday during that summer. It’s been tough since you arrived here, but seeing how you’re glowing right now reminds him that only one Min Yoongi can ever make you look this happy. That’s at least one thing that Taehyung won’t ever deny nor take away from you.

“I know,” your best friend replies. “I can see that.”

Turning to Yoongi, he asks the older man if he has anything to say.

“I’m happy, too.”

It’s not something Yoongi just says to anyone who isn’t you, so saying this now to assure your protective best friend means a lot.

“So can you not be judgy now?” You chuckle, easing the tension.

Taehyung insists that he wasn’t but teases that you and Yoongi were being so obvious.

You also insist that you were trying to be subtle, but you can’t really defend your giddy smile, which has much to do with the feel of Yoongi’s fingers intertwined with yours. It’s something you’re getting used to again, much like with everything - his gruff morning voice, the scent of his clothes that you wore all day, wrapping yourself around him, and his kisses. There’s more you’ve missed that you know you’ll have again and you can’t wait for those, too. You’ve got a month left here, after all, but if things would continue to go this way, maybe even more.

Dinner eventually goes by smoothly, with Taehyung no longer being hostile to you or Yoongi but actually being candid, saying that he missed third wheeling with you both, and then flustering him for fun.

Your best friend is a brat most of the time and he wants to put Yoongi on the spot. He asks Yoongi questions like his favorite body part of yours - your eyes even if he can’t look straight at them; his favorite date - the first time he took you to dinner with a bouquet of marigolds and you spent the night playing arcades; and his favorite mannerism of yours - any time you pout because it’s cute.

Taehyung insists it’s so Yoongi could be prepared for when you go public with your relationship and he gets asked about you. But deep down you know your best friend is doing it for you; there’s this comfort in knowing that those 2 years still stay with Yoongi, and his quick answers tell you that many things are still fresh in his mind.

“Favorite outfit?” Taehyung asks. “PG answers only.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing is not PG,” Taehyung warns.

“I meant, nothing in general,” Yoongi clarifies. “I like everything because everything suits her. But if I’d have to choose, then anything yellow. It’s her favorite color and she looks happiest in it.”

“Hmm, okay. Moment when you knew you really liked her?” Taehyung continues.

“That day I brought her to the shop for the first time,” Yoongi recalls. “I never told her but my dad had been feeling down then; I knew he was missing my mom. But ___ went there with me and spoke to him while he was taking inventory and made him smile and laugh and I don’t know, seeing that just solidified what I felt.”

Taehyung’s face softens; he remembers you talking about that day and he sees you now, the memory hitting you hard as you try to contain your smile.

“And the moment you knew you loved her?”

“The first time we hung out at my place… the morning after,” Yoongi says, as he looks down on his lap and fumbles with his hands, something he does when he’s nervous. “She was walking around my studio with my shirt on and she just… looked like she belonged there, with me, in our own small world. It was just us and nothing else mattered.”

Neither you nor Taehyung says anything. You just gaze at Yoongi and the way he keeps himself distracted with his own fingers, and then you blink the tears away.

You take his hand in yours. “So, I think he’s ready for his hypothetical interview,” you chuckle.

Later that night, as you lie on your bed next to Yoongi who, just like you can’t seem to fall asleep, you say out loud the thoughts you’ve had since dinner.

“The moment you knew you loved me,” you start, “that… that morning was when we said we liked each other. You already loved me then?”

“The thought was there,” he answers, his eyes rooted on the ceiling. “But I kept going back to that moment even the mornings after.”

“Why?”

“You know how the first time you were on stage, that’s when you said you fell in love with acting?” He asks, earning him a hum of agreement from you. “It’s the same with me and the first time I played basketball. I fell in love with the sport that moment; I couldn’t see myself playing anything else and I knew that I wasn’t going to love any other sport after. I go back to that moment constantly, just like that first morning with you.”

Yoongi turns, his eyes holding yours. “That day was so simple. We stayed in, watched random videos, cooked whatever, but I could just… see us doing that for a long time, you know? I didn’t want to do that with anyone else, and somehow I just knew that I would never feel what I felt for another person again. I think about that day and what I felt and I think it was love.”

You kiss him and hum against his lips. “I think that was love, too. I think it still is.”

“Hello, stranger,” Hoseok’s playful tone greets you as you pick up the phone. “I feel a little hurt that your break included a break from me. Have I become that manager who doesn’t shut up about work and that’s why you don’t call?”

“Oh, stop it,” you chuckle. “But that’s also your job, though - to talk to me about work to remind me that I actually still have a job and I need to earn.”

“That’s true. You’ve got appearances and photo shoots waiting for you when you get back here in 3 weeks.”

Right. Three weeks, you think to yourself. Not long ago, you couldn’t wait for all this to be over so you could go back to Seoul, but with how things have been with Yoongi, you just want time to stop so you could spend more days with him the way you have.

It’s been a few days since you’ve gotten back together and you haven’t really spent a day apart since then. You still see your father and grandparents and have meals with them, but days begin and end with Yoongi - your mouths on each other, your hands all over his body, his lips all over yours. It’s been pleasurable for sure, but beyond the cuddles and the sex, it’s the conversations and the silence that have been so affirming. You like starting and ending your days with those, too.

“___, you still there?” Hoseok asks.

“Yeah, I’m just fixing up,” you say, looking for another one of your hair ties that you misplaced. You decide to just ask Yoongi for his because he definitely has an extra one. “Anyway, you called, so are you doing the friend thing by checking up on me? Or are you doing the manager thing and calling to tell me that I’ve got a project or something?”

“Both,” he laughs. “Well, there’s a request for you and Jin to be on a variety show and he said you’ve both dreamed of going on one so I assume that’s a yes. And there’s a pitch for skincare endorsement, too.”

“Okay to both,” you say excitedly, as you walk down the stairs. “I’m guessing filming for the show will start when I get back? And send me the details for the endorsement tonight, I’ll go check it,” you add.

You walk into your kitchen where Yoongi’s cooking, and you gasp in excitement as you see the kimchi fried rice he’s making. You hug him from the back, surprising him, but he doesn’t push you away.

“Smells good,” you hum, forgetting the call you’re currently in, only remembering when Hoseok asks what it is that you’re referring to.

“Uh, the food,” you reply.

“That you cooked or…?”

“Uh,” you trail, Yoongi looking at you curiously now, but you know you can’t lie to your manager, even if it's by omission. So you tell him the truth.

“That Yoongi cooked,” you admit.

“Excuse me, what?” Hoseok says, and you don’t miss the surprise in his voice. “Yoongi is with you? As in, in your house? Why? Are you back together?”

“Uh,” you stutter, choosing to take the conversation outside and then sitting on the couch that faces inside so you could see if Yoongi’s finished. “Yes, we are.”

“Since when?”

“The other day.”

There’s silence before Hoseok speaks again. “___, I told you to be careful.”

“I’ve been!” You insist. “I mean, we don’t go out much and there haven’t been any photos of us, at least that I’ve seen. You don’t have to worry; we’re being careful. And even then, he’s literally the most non-news worthy person I’ve ever dated. There’s no fire you’ll need to put out because there’s no dirt on him.”

“He’s your ex-boyfriend, that’s one. And as your manager, I’m still supposed to remind you that he might not want the attention,” Hoseok sighs.

“I’m not that big of a celebrity, Hoseok,” you reason. “I doubt people would mind.”

“They could.”

“Then he and I will talk about it when we have to.”

“But about what I said, I didn’t mean that as your manager. I meant that as your friend,” he says. “___, he broke your heart. Who’s to say he won’t do it again?”

“And who’s to say that he will?”

“So is he gonna quit his coaching job and move to Seoul?”

“We… we haven’t talked about it.”

“Do you plan to?”

“Yes, of course!” You groan. “We’ve just been enjoying the time together after so long. There’s so much to catch up on and we just… we just want to savor this for now before I have to go back there.”

“So you’re just gonna live in your own bubble for the next 3 weeks and then decide to talk about it when you feel like it. Is that it? And then what if he doesn’t go with you like last time? What if he lets you go again like last time?”

“You’re being harsh,” you mumble, not feeling like you need this right now.

“I’m not being harsh, ___. I’m being practical,” Hoseok sighs. “You knew you were gonna see him, and I knew, just like everyone else did, that you weren’t over him. And now you’re in that same position as you were 6 years ago, but this time, you’ve built a career; you’ve got a lot to lose to now. And whether he lets you go again or you choose to stay, you lose. You shouldn’t even be in this position.”

“You don’t get to speak about how I feel,” you respond, feeling a little too bare and vulnerable right now. “Neither should you speak about how I’m supposed to handle my personal relationships, Hoseok. Speak about it professionally and don’t act like you know what I had to go through and what I’m feeling right now.”

“You’re right, I don’t know what you had to go through,” he admits. “But I know that you cried so many nights because of him. I used to take out your trash, remember? Before you had Jimin? I never meant to see it but you threw a ripped photo of you and Yoongi before. You’d skip events at Daegu, date guys you didn’t even like… I— I’m your manager but I’m also your friend, ___. I pick up on your cues, how you avoid questions about your first love, how you say that there was never anything for you back home when I knew you used to head out there every weekend.”

The words feel like a punch to the gut. You know Hoseok; he’d never intend to say them to hurt you. He’d always kept himself out of your personal relationships, including the men you dated just because you were lonely even if he was right - you never really liked them.

But it feels too soon, you think. You don’t want to think of all this right now, of what it would mean for you and Yoongi after the 3 weeks you have left. You don’t know if he’s thought about it; knowing him, he probably has. But maybe you also don’t know; maybe he hasn’t thought about it because like you, maybe he just wants to live in this bubble first… before you lose it all over again.

“___, I’m sorry,” he finally says, after you’ve spent the past minute or so silent. “You’re an adult. The agency doesn’t restrict you or anything. I’m not here to police you either. I just… I don’t want you to get hurt again. And I don’t want anything to hold you back in your career, especially given the momentum you have.”

“I know,” you mumble. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s your break, a well-deserved one. I didn’t mean to ruin it.”

“You didn’t. It’s all good,” you say, and you mean it, too. He’s just reminded you of the things you’ve been trying not to think about.

You glance at Yoongi at the same time that he signals that the food is ready. You smile at him and tell Hoseok that you have to go. He apologizes again and tells you he’ll call back about work details.

Entering the house, the scent of the food immediately makes you salivate. You also spot another dish that you didn’t see earlier.

“Did you steam the dumplings?” You ask excitedly.

“Yeah,” Yoongi chuckles. “You got so many packs of it. I figured you’d want some.”

“Always,” you smile, sitting down next to him and placing your legs on his lap, as you usually do. You cling to him like a koala; you always said it’s how you squeeze in as much time to cuddle with him as possible. “I’m so glad we bought so many things at the supermarket the other day.”

“Because we got all the things you usually crave for,” he playfully shakes his head. “We have to buy milk soon, though. You put it in everything.”

“Get used to it again,” you stick your tongue out, earning you another laugh.

You eat as if you didn’t just have that conversation with your manager and you’re thankful that Yoongi doesn’t bring it up… until he eventually does, when you both sit on the couch later that evening, watching a Pegasus game on TV with your legs on his lap again.

“So… your friends don’t seem to like me, huh?”

His dry laugh tells you he’s trying not to be affected.

“My friends? Who?”

“Well, Taehyung seemed hostile the other day. And you looked pretty down while talking to your manager earlier. I’m thinking maybe he doesn’t like me. Do Jin and Jimin know yet? I bet they’d be disappointed, too. Does—-”

“Yah,” you groan, knowing he tends to ramble when he’s nervous. “Why are you thinking that way? They don’t not like you, okay?”

“I wouldn’t like me if I was your friend.”

“Too bad you’re my boyfriend, then. You can’t dislike yourself.”

“I still could,” he says, unable to hide his smile at how you referred to him as.

“Well then, I don’t. And that’s what matters,” you declare, climbing to sit on his lap now.

“You really like straddling, don’t you,” he chuckles.

“Only so you could look at me,” you state, “and so I could hug you and you could hug me like this.” You wrap his arms around your waist to his amusement. “And so I can properly tell you that my friends are fine; they’re not out to get you. They’re just… protective, that’s all.”

His eyes soften and you relax your position in his hold.

“I cried to Jin once and told him I didn’t wanna speak of it ever again. Hoseok saw our ripped photo in my trash. Jimin’s never met you but I apparently say a lot of things when I’m drunk. And Tae, well, he took it the hardest. But he also saw me at my happiest with you,” you reveal. “It was hard, but only because it meant so much. I won’t deny any of that. But we’re okay now. We made decisions that hurt each other but we also can’t seem to just let each other go. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

“It does,” Yoongi nods, thinking that this would do for now.

There are so many thoughts swimming in his head and hiding underneath. They continue to plague his mind even after he goes to bed that evening, with your body wrapped all over his after he made you come thrice. They stay there even after a shallow slumber, as he wakes the next morning feeling restless.

He never imagined he’d ever get back together with you. Sure, he’d thought about it many times before; even planned on seeing you one time to catch up and maybe see if things had changed but he’d chickened out seeing that they did, drove back to Daegu, and then convinced himself that it was the right thing to do.

But you were everywhere for him - in his rare smiles and laughters, in the crevices of his broken heart that he caused, in his dreams where you would probably remain. Being with you again gives him a sense of direction after he lost it all those years ago when his dream slipped away.

That version of him didn’t think he could love you right, and though he’s grown so much since then, he feels that the remnants of that boy are still there, and he’s scared that he’ll drive you away again, ironically because you - your dreams, your hard work, your happiness - always come first.

Yoongi always preferred being alone; he didn’t like fitting himself where he doesn’t have a place to be, or if he thinks his presence would cause more harm than good. Dating a celebrity is tricky, and he’s allowed himself to live in this fantasy world within the 4 walls of your rental house where nothing could harm the both of you, including him.

Turning to his side, he gazes at your sleeping form. You’ve shifted since last night, and now you’re comfortably lying on your side facing him, soft snores escaping you.

He doesn’t fight the desire to feel you, so he cups your cheek with his hand and caresses it, just like you said you always liked. It’s his gentleness, you said, and he never really understood it but he does it because you like it, just like he does many things when it comes to you.

You hum as you feel his warmth, a small smile creeping in your face, causing him to smile as well.

“G’morning,” you hum, turning your head so you could kiss his hand. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t really sleep,” he says, his hand trailing down slowly. “I think I’ve been sleeping too much.”

You giggle with your eyes still closed. “We can go somewhere if you want,” you say, taking in a breath when his fingers graze your pert nipple. “Or just stay in.”

Your chest heaves and Yoongi takes it as a sign, so he cups your breast, his thumb tracing patterns on your bud. You moan in response, and the sound itself causes his own dick to harden, even more when he feels your thighs clench underneath the covers.

“Baby,” you pant.

He knows the tone of that voice; he heard it last night when your goodnight kiss turned into a make out session and then he slid down to make out with your cunt, too.

So he takes the bait and slides his hand there again, parting your legs open to gain entrance. You comply right away, moaning even louder this time once his fingers breach your lips and proceed to gently rub your clit that’s already throbbing in anticipation. Comfortably propped up with his arm, he gazes at your closed eyes and parted mouth, his own pleasure increasing from watching yours build up.

Your body glides against his hand’s movement, your back arching now as you start to crave for more. “Baby, please,” you mumble.

“What do you want?”

“You,” you moan.

He smirks and gets on his knees. He retrieves his hand from between your thighs and uses your essence to lubricate his own aching cock, earning him a cuss from you. Lifting your leg over his shoulder, he enters you slowly, until he’s following a pace that has you keening, especially as he kisses your ankle then down your calf, softly and gently even as he starts to go harder.

Watching him from below is hypnotizing, with his taut and smooth chest glowing against the sun. It’s the way his long hair frames his face, how his free hands comb over it, how he bites his lips, and how his head is thrown back, exposing his pretty neck.

You watch his slender fingers caress your leg. You watch his digits, still coated with your essence, play with your clit again. You imagined how inviting they might’ve looked earlier as he pleasured you, and you get to see them now. Those rough, hard working hands touch you so gently, hold you so fiercely, and they satisfy you to no end.

Your back arches as you feel the tightness become too much. You come and he follows right after, with moans coming from him and curses coming from you. The way he sounds, despite the absence of his words, makes you feel like you could come all over again.

He kisses your leg another time before putting it down, a shy yet satisfied smile gracing his face.

“Can you kiss me now?” You ask.

He hovers over you and gives you a peck on the lips.

“More,” you demand, kissing him all over his face.

“Jagi, let me brush my teeth first.”

“I don’t care,” you pout.

“I do,” he chuckles, tickling you so he could escape from your hold.

He puts on his boxers and then scurries to the bathroom where you follow him. You brush your teeth next to each other and once you both finish, you immediately wrap your arms around his neck and pull him for a kiss, one that eventually turns into a make out session like it often does.

“Jagi,” he laughs, as you now move to his neck as you pepper him with kisses. “You have your niece’s party. You have to fix up.”

“Right,” you say, finally letting him go. “Are you telling your dad about us today?”

“Yeah. I’m spending the day with him and he’ll definitely ask questions.”

“What do you think he’ll say?”

“He’ll probably tell me not to screw it up again,” Yoongi laughs dryly.

“Did he say something like that before?” You wonder.

“Just years later. He said when I broke it off, I was in a pretty bad place; he didn’t want to add to that and he just supported me with what I needed to get better,” Yoongi recalls. “We’ve gotten closer the past years and he’d bring you up usually when you have a show or movie going on. But he’s never direct about the breakup. I guess it hit too close for him; I did what he couldn’t do.”

“Well if anything, I’m sure telling him would be a less awkward conversation than when I tell my father,” you say, having decided that if you want to repair the relationship, being honest to your old man about your boyfriend is a good first step. “I’ll just maybe hold off on introductions so letting him know should be enough.”

“Good luck to us, I guess?” Yoongi offers.

“I guess so,” you reply, hugging him for the encouragement and comfort you need. “I already can’t wait to be with you tonight.”

As it turns out, Mr. Min was more silent than expected. Yoongi told you that his old man was more emotional, hugging him and saying he’s glad his son’s happy again, that he found the piece that was missing. Yoongi didn’t get that last bit, but you do; you remember that first conversation with his dad when you first visited the shop some weeks ago.

Your father was the talkative one. He asked about how you and Yoongi met, what happened along the way - which you narrated in a rather simplistic manner, given that you knew it’d hit too close to him, too; you did what your mom did, after all - and when he’ll get to meet him.

“Sometime,” you’d said and your father merely smiled and didn’t press further.

That was a few days ago. Since then, you’d gone to the Opera House with Yoongi, played basketball in his favorite playground court, and planned to hike a mountain, until you saw how far you’d have to walk so you both decided to stay at the foot of it and just go for a food trip around the small town.

While Yoongi’s working at the shop today, you’re at Taehyung’s house, seated on his couch while he lays his head on your lap. You’re both watching a classic movie and reciting the lines word for word, getting sucked into the emotions of the scene.

Your best friend sits up right after the credits start to roll. “So, how’s it like dating your ex-boyfriend?” He asks.

“Good,” you smile, recalling how it’s been since you both got back together.. “All the things that I loved about him are still there. He’s still wise and gentle and thoughtful. But he’s so grown up now, like when he talks about coaching the team and improving the sports department of the school. He sounds so mature when he talks about his dad’s business and how he’s helping in growing it, perhaps running the shop in the future when Mr. Min is unable to. But he still teases sometimes, he’s still a little cocky flirt and an unbothered man when he wants to be.”

“You seem really happy,” Taehyung looks at you softly. “It’s different, the way you look. You’ve never talked about anyone like this.”

“I don’t know where I got this capacity to feel for someone so much,” you admit. “It’s… it’s overwhelming sometimes, you know? Like when I watch him preparing our meals or when he’s on his laptop for work or when he’s just seated next to me. I just feel so happy that I’m part of his world, that I get to experience this - being with him. It’s kind of scary sometimes.”

“In what way?” Taehyung asks worriedly.

“In the way that I know that the universe screws with us sometimes and takes things away,” you say. “In the way that I find myself imagining - for the first time - what living here would be like and what job I’ll have and where he and I will live. It’s scary because of the way we got together was so familiar, and what if the heartbreak is the same, too?”

“Do you think about that? Of him, pushing you away again?”

“I can’t help it,” you sigh. “It’s moments when I’m not with him that I end up thinking this way. It’s like I’m overwhelmed with joy when I’m with him but I get so anxious when I’m not. Because what if one day, our circumstances pull us apart again? Then what? What if even with how happy I make him, he wants to stay here? And even with how happy he makes me, what if I still want to leave?”

“___, your life is in Seoul,” Taehyung reminds you.

“My career is there; there’s a difference.”

“Is there really? In the industry where we work?” He challenges. “You can’t be all that you want to be and stay here. I thought you always knew that.”

“I did. I guess, finding my happiness again just gave me ideas,” you say. “Staying here to be with him back then wasn’t an option - I had a career to start and well, he also didn’t want me. But now, I’ve got a few years under my belt. I could do something with it here, you know? Maybe run workshops? Set up my own theater company? Get into broadcasting?”

“Why are they all premised on you staying here, though? What about Yoongi being the one to leave to stay with you? Why do you get to be the one to give up your dream?”

“Because it’s easier to make it here than it is in Seoul. And well, I guess it’s a better scenario to think about rather than him not wanting to leave his life here to live it with me there.”

You don’t even notice the tears forming until one slides down your cheek, which you eventually wipe away. It’s the thought you’ve been keeping in, unwilling to acknowledge it for fear of it coming true. You’re scared that with all the things about Yoongi that haven’t changed, his choice to prioritize your dream over your relationship is one of them, so you go ahead and think of giving it up for him instead.

“Hey,” Taehyung says, hugging you for comfort. “Have you told him any of this?”

“No. I don’t like talking about those things when we’re together. I just want us to—”

“Stay in your own bubble of love before it breaks?”

You sigh in frustration. “I sound really stupid, don’t I?”

“You sound like any person who’s been hurt by someone they loved so much, and those fears are valid,” Taehyung assures you. “But even if I want to say that you should follow your heart and be with the man you love regardless of what you have to give up, I can’t. Because I saw how hard you worked to be where you are. I know what this means to you. You love acting more than anything and you always have.”

“But I also know that Yoongi loves basketball, and he’d do anything close to what he couldn’t have,” you point out. “Coaching his college team fills that hole that his old broken dream left.”

“Then where does that leave both of you?” Taehyung asks. “Who gives up what? The last time this happened, you gave each other up. Was it worth it? Would it be worth it this time?”

“I don’t wanna think about it,” you pout. “I don’t want either of us giving the other up.”

“Well then you’ve got to find a way to live out your dreams while still being together,” Taehyung advises. “And something that’s sustainable, something that doesn’t tire you both out, that doesn’t break you into pieces when being together is meant to keep you whole.”

“I know. I’m just taking it one day at a time,” you huff, exhausted from just thinking about all this and silently crying. “I’m working out schedules in my mind, figuring out arrangements, what I can do here, what he can do there… but they’re all still scary because they’re unknown. Choosing to just be happy with how we are now seems easy.”

“It is. But what happens when it gets hard?”

“I guess he and I just have to… figure out how not to hurt each other unlike the last time,” you sigh, knowing that saying it is much easier than doing it.

Yoongi never promised he wouldn’t hurt you; he isn’t the type to make those, knowing that his actions always say more than his words ever could. But you knew he wouldn’t, that he’d never intend it. Yet losing him was the most painful thing you had to endure.

“You know it’s not that simple, though,” Taehyung says, pulling you close to him for the hug he knows you need.

“I know that, too,” you reply, leaning on his shoulder now. “You’d think that after what I went through, I’d be so scared to be with him again because I lost him once and I don’t know how I’d deal with losing him again but I’m so stubborn, I can’t help myself.”

“You find home in a man in the place that stopped feeling that way and then you don’t want to leave,” Taehyung hums. “That’s natural. That’s human. But you don’t belong here, ___. You belong out there. You belong where you’re wanted.”

The bell over the door of the shop rings, and in you come in a yellow linen ensemble that Yoongi especially likes. His smile is immediate and it grows wider when you walk behind the counter where he is and kiss him.

“Missed you this morning,” you pout, taking his hand even if he still isn’t a hand-holder, but he lets you do it because it’s something you like to do.

“Yeah, me, too. I just needed to get here early to help my dad with some orders,” Yoongi says. “A couple wanted cutting boards for their entourage and it’s too much for him to work on his own. It tired him out actually. He left at lunchtime to rest.”

“Is he okay? You said he’s been getting more tired than usual.”

“I think it’s running this place that exhausts him,” he sighs. “I’ve been telling him to involve my cousins since he wants to keep the business within the family but he’s so stubborn; he doesn’t think they’ll appreciate it as much because they didn’t grow up in the shop. And then when I help, he says I help too much.”

“Maybe you’re too blunt when you tell him,” you chuckle.

“How else am I supposed to tell him?” Yoongi arches his brow. “We don’t sugarcoat things around here.”

“Well then maybe your words need a little more love and care,” you smile. “Convince him that way; maybe he’ll give in.”

“Fine. When I figure out how to do that, then I will,” he laughs. “Anyway, why are you here? I thought you were doing errands.”

“I was. But then Hoseok asked to call and then we ended up talking for 2 hours and I needed a break,” you answer. “My dry clean can wait.”

“Was it bad?”

“No, not at all,” you smile. “The call was just too long but I also wanted to see you right away. I’m staying here for another week.”

“Really? How’d that happen?” He asks, feeling all sorts of warmth, knowing he’d be with you for a few more days.

“Jin asked to move our filming so I asked to move my photo shoot,” you smile proudly. “And I arranged my schedule with Hoseok already. I’ve got days in the week I could drive out here and stay with you. Some weeks will be busier than others, though.”

Yoongi’s heart sinks. Of course this is something you’ve thought about. You went ahead and thought he wouldn’t be driving out to see you, too.

“I can drive out to you, you know? You’re the one with the busy schedule,” he says.

“So are you. Baby, you’re training college kids. And you’re helping your dad out here. I already know you won’t be taking a rest.”

“And you’re the celebrity with so many events and filming and photoshoots to go to,” he counters. “You won’t be taking a rest.”

“Well then how do you expect us to see each other if we don't plan to?”

His silence prompts you to continue. “You haven’t thought about it yet, have you?”

“Of course I have. Even if all I want is to savor our time together, the thought of us being apart again bugs me everyday. It… it got hard the first time. It took a lot from us.”

“Because we were different people back then,” you explain. “I was just starting out with barely any projects and you were recovering. But now, we’re more capable, more confident. I can’t be the only one thinking this is gonna work out this time. Please tell me I’m wrong.”

The worry in your face starts to worry Yoongi, too. But he wants to be the strong one this time, even if everything scares him right now.

“You are wrong, because we’re gonna be fine,” he assures you, hand on your cheek to calm you down. “We’ll make time and we’ll find something that’s more permanent, okay? We have just a bit more time left. Do you think we can just focus on that first?”

It’s both comforting and worrying to know that somehow, you and Yoongi are on the same page for now, choosing to just focus on your time left together rather than dwelling on what comes after. Sure, thinking how you could sustain the relationship is important, but so is just living in this moment with him without worrying about anything else.

That’s how the second year of your relationship went, after all. Even with the arrangement you both made of alternating visits after that first summer, you didn’t account for the tragedy he’d suffer through after the next. That’s what made it hard. Some things in life you just can’t predict, some dreams that come true and end that change everything; sometimes it’s what makes the relationship work, sometimes it’s what ends it.

“We can,” you smile, shifting to kiss his hand that’s still cupping your cheek. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

For the next several days, you and Yoongi spend as much time together as possible. You stay in and watch movies - including yours, have meals out with his dad, go out for drinks with Taehyung, and drive out to places you’ve never been to.

You join him at the shop when he does some woodwork, something you don’t expect would turn you on so much with how sexy he looks being so focused, his fingers hypnotizing you as they glide through the wood. He stays with you during your video call meetings with Hoseok about several possible projects, noting the ones you really want and the ones that just won’t work out.

It’s waking up and falling asleep next to him that you love the most, though, and he seems to feel the same way. He pulls you close at night and kisses your forehead; you’re the one who dives into his lips until it escalates to him eating you out or pounding you from behind. But he always finishes with his head on your neck, taking you in, saying he loves you with barely any words. In the mornings, you wake him up with kisses, his pleas for you to stop having no bite at all. The softness of his smiles tells you he secretly loves it, and it’s what stays with you as you go about the rest of your day.

Before you know it, it’s 2 days before you’re scheduled to drive back. You indulge your father’s request for lunch the day before you leave, and Mr. Min prepares dinner for you that evening. You don’t miss the joy in his eyes as he tells you repeatedly how happy he is that his son is happier now as well.

That night, you and Yoongi make love gently. With him taking you on the couch and then on your bed, you feel everything he doesn’t say. He holds your gaze as you come for him, and then he kisses you amorously when you ride out your high.

On your last day, you meet with Taehyung and his parents for breakfast before spending the rest of the day with Yoongi. You stay at home, just lounging about in nothing but his oversized shirt and your underwear.

“Okay,” you say, as the sun has set and you start to get hungry. “I found this super easy recipe for some garlic pasta that I’m gonna make for us, and then I’m gonna grill some steak that you’re gonna watch over because I don’t know how to tell if it’s cooked.”

Yoongi laughs but he agrees. “Sounds like a plan.”

You walk around the kitchen to get the ingredients and prepare the pot for the noodles and pans for everything else. You get the cutting board and start chopping the garlic as slow as you possibly can.

Leaning on the counter and watching you in amusement, Yoongi chuckles. “Jagi, let me do it. You might hurt yourself. Or overcook the pasta because you’re taking too long. Whichever happens first.”

“Hey, be nice,” you glare at him.

He just softly smiles as you go about your task, with your eyebrows furrowed as you focus on mincing the garlic. You ask him to season the steak and he teases you that all you’ll be doing now is putting the meat on the pan and claiming that you cooked it.

“Ha, ha, you’re funny,” you pout. “I’m trying, okay? This is why Tae and I had to survive on instant meals because we couldn’t cook our own.”

“Yeah, now both of you could just hire people to cook for you.”

“Or date people who can,” you wink. “I missed your makchang and your meat dishes a lot. No one in Seoul could make them like you.”

“I also only make them for you.”

“What a sweetheart,” you giggle.

You finally finish with the garlic and then cook it in the melted butter on the pan. Once ready, you mix in the noodles with some parmesan cheese and parsley.

At that moment, Yoongi couldn't help himself. He walks over to you and hugs you from behind, his strong arms wrapping around your waist and his face resting on your neck as he watches you continue mixing. He feels your breath hitch at the act; this is something you usually do, after all, and he’s more subtle when he initiates physical contact. He’s never actually done this before, but it just felt right. Seeing you in his clothes, in this place that’s become so familiar, does something to him, especially as you try your best to feed him this time around.

“Hmm, couldn’t help yourself with my cuteness, huh?” You giggle, and he hums his yes.

“You think I could do this everyday?”

“Only if the recipe isn’t more than 5 steps.”

“Hey!” You elbow him, laughing along as he says he’s just teasing.

You let him taste and then add more salt when he says so. You put it aside so you can cook the steak now, and all you really do is put it on the pan and do what Yoongi tells you to do.

“Can you imagine it?” You wonder out loud as you sear the meat. “You and me in our own place, doing this?”

“It’s a nice thought,” he downplays. He thinks about it more than he cares to admit.

“It is. That’s why, uh, I’ve been looking around for houses around here for long-term lease,” you finally tell him. “This place is available. It would be a good place to stay for when I visit every week.”

“Is that all you think about?”

“Hmm, I think of what I can do here, too,” you confess, finally expressing the things that have been swirling in your mind.

“Why?”

“I mean, Seoul would be great but if I can’t have you there, Daegu isn’t so bad,” you say, your voice dropping a little. “I could teach drama at your university or run my own classes.”

“But this isn’t your home, though,” he says, his eyes now losing its softness and are now focused on the meat he’s cooking.

“What’s home but the place where you are?” You counter. “I’ll be wherever you are. I… I know that’s what I want.”

“Jagi, that’s a loaded thing to say. This place is too small for you, always has been.”

You don’t respond, only because you agree. It was too small for your mom and it was for you, too. But sometimes, dreams and priorities change. Sometimes, people find something they lost a long time ago and don’t want to lose it again. Sometimes they find themselves in a place they never expected, and find a home they thought was only warm enough for one.

“It’s just a thought,” you hum. “It would be nice though, wouldn’t it? To… do this everyday?”

Yoongi doesn’t think it’s a test, but when he manages to say that it is - it’s become one of his gentle dreams, actually, something he feels a little too greedy to have - there's a tinge of uncertainty on your face that mirrors his, and he wishes on your last night, he doesn’t disappoint you.

But you seem to shrug it off and he tries to do the same. He finishes off the meat and then slices them for you. You plate the noodles and take them to the dining table. Both of you devour your dinner, with your legs over his lap and frequent kisses on his hand while he eats, and enjoy some wine right after.

Later that night after you’ve both washed up, you exit the bathroom and proceed to look through his pile of clothes in your closet.

“Jagi, no need for that,” he mumbles, prompting you to return one of his white shirts that you were about to wear.

You turn to him in anticipation, as he removes his own shirt and walks over to you in just his boxers. Cupping your cheeks, he kisses you deeply.

“It’s our last night together,” he whispers. “I just want to—”

Your hand on his cock disrupts him, and while he doesn’t say anything more, he does continue to kiss you and fondle your breasts.

He makes you come into his mouth first, and then lets you suck him off until he’s painfully hard that he shoves himself into you once he lays you on your back. You moan obscenely, as he chooses to go hard this time.

He doesn’t want you to think of whatever uncertainty you may have picked up from him earlier; he doesn’t want you to think of tomorrow or the day after that. Tonight, he just wants you to focus on how he makes you feel; he wants to let you know how good you make him feel. He wants to rid your mind of worries for now about your future together. He just wants your sounds, your curses of his name, your chest heaving, your toes curling, and your screams of wanting more.

And that’s what he gets. You groan when he thrusts deeply into you as you grip the sheets and the pillow you’re lying on. Your whole body shakes when you’re all-fours on the bed, feeling him enter you from behind, shivering with his kisses on your back as he pushes into you.

You’re spent by the time you both finish, and Yoongi takes his time to wipe off the sweat from your forehead and your mixed slick from your body. You curl into him once he returns to the bed, and all he could do is hold you tight and hope that in the morning, this is all that you’ll remember.

You gaze at the man sleeping next to you, peaceful, with no care in the world. For someone who says he isn’t all that affectionate, he sure likes to hold you when you sleep at night, as his one arm secures you in his grip. You delay the morning kisses, wanting to savor this first. It won’t be until a few days later when you get to be blessed with this scene again, and you want to hang onto it for as long as you can.

Eventually, you give in, peppering him with kisses until he just pulls you on top of him and cradles your head to stop you. You both end up giggling though, and Yoongi, who usually doesn’t like morning breath kisses, kisses you. He holds it there for a while and you hum against his lips, not wanting to think that you’ll be without this for a while.

You both finally get up. It’s a quiet morning with the breakfast he makes. You eat your meal right next to him with your legs on his lap like always. You choose to exchange soft looks and giggles rather than words. You take a quiet shower with him. He helps you fix your things, and when Taehyung arrives, Yoongi loads your luggage.

He greets your best friend and when you’re both left alone outside the car, you give Yoongi a tight hug.

“I’ll drive out to you next week,” he says as he wipes the lone tear that falls down your cheek. “Is that okay? It’s my last weekend before training starts.”

“Yes,” you sniff. “That would be great.”

He gives you a final kiss before entering his car. In the intersection, Yoongi takes a right while you and Taehyung go straight. He thinks there’s no more painful way to part and to remind him of your reality - no matter how much love there is, you’ll always be heading in different directions.

Yoongi visits you that first weekend. He spends 3 days with you, one of which is spent with Jungkook and Namjoon who almost cry seeing both of you back together. There are a lot of secrets spilled, like how both men sought you out because they’d also been heartbroken by the breakup; they wanted to know how you were doing and wanted to let you know how Yoongi was doing as well, in hopes that you’ll both never lose contact, that despite the separation, you’d still feel connected somehow.

That second night, Yoongi massages your feet as you talk about the busy week - meeting with Jin and the variety show producers, guesting at a talk show, and giving an interview. In the balcony of your 20th floor apartment overlooking the Han River, Yoongi sees the world through your eyes - at the top, where you’re meant to be.

The next week, you take the 3-hour drive to Daegu to see Yoongi for 2 days, since your schedule suddenly became full with guest appearances in various shows and meetings for other potential endorsements. You meet him at the antique shop that he helps manage while working on coaching stuff on his laptop, scribbling plays and watching his players’ scrimmages on film so he can work on their system. You don’t do much but lounge at his apartment during his free day, the silence now replaced with numerous phone calls and emails that you can’t reject.

You get a driver for the trip on the third week. Thursday and Friday are the only free days you have, which is a luxury, you think, since Yoongi works every single day, coaching the team and helping his dad. You’re at least afforded some days when you don’t have filming or something extra on the side, so you take the chance to go to Yoongi.

It’s 5AM when you tell him you’re coming, and he’s up early for morning training to say he’ll see you for lunch. You’re on his couch by the time he arrives with meat to grill, and you run to him immediately for the hug you’ve been badly needing.

“Everything okay?” He hums against your neck, taking in your scent.

“Yeah, just miss you,” you sigh into his hold. “I miss you everyday and much more than I thought I would. Like, I’m busy when I’m not with you and that should make me think of you less but no, it just makes me think of wanting to go home to you.”

“I’m sorry, jagi,” he says, kissing your forehead to add to the apology.

“Nonsense. I’m just a clingy girlfriend, you know that,” you chuckle, playing off the sadness you truly feel at being away from him like this. The daily texts and calls could only do so much.

Yoongi, though, falters a bit at your admission. You love in all ways - through words, gifts - you’ve been bringing him something that reminds you of him every time - actions, and affection. He loves with this - cooking you meals, hugging you tightly, holding your hand, looking into your eyes when you talk. He loves by making you feel like you’re home; he feels like he does it best when you’re next to each other. And that he could only truly return your love when he’s with you.

He kisses you in response - slow and deep with his hands cupping your face again.

It alights something in you, as you feel so much with it, especially as he seems to want to keep going. But your body reacts immediately - it’s how it is when Yoongi’s expert tongue works around yours, his soft hums against your mouth and the way he caresses your cheeks making you lost in your own little world. It makes you crave for more, too.

Your hands trail down his chest, sneaking underneath his shirt to feel his skin and then pulling it off him for the whole thing. He hisses when you slide further down, your fingers grazing his semi-hard cock.

“Hmm, I think I’m gonna have my meal first,” you tease, going on your knees to remove his joggers.

You smile and lick your lips as your hand strokes his length, long and thick in all the ways you want. The view from below is glorious, his long hair framing his face, closed eyes and parted mouth letting you know of his anticipation. You don’t miss the sight of his heaving chest once you take him in your mouth, and his tempered groans cause shivers in your body once you increase your pace.

“Jagi,” he moans, the term affecting you differently when he says it in desperation, in a tone that screams of pleasure instead of endearment.

It just prompts you to go faster, to take him in deeper, and once you notice him tighten his grip on the counter and feel his restrained thrusts against your mouth, you know he’s close.

You pull away briefly, your hand taking control. “It’s okay, baby. I can take it.”

He follows your lead and grinds against you now, his hips so beautiful in motion as he chases his high. He comes abruptly, taking you both by surprise, but you don’t pull away. You milk his every last drop, his whispered curses turning you on even more.

You stand up and cheekily smile, and he can’t help himself but pull you to him. He hides his face in your neck, too shy to show just how good you made him feel. But he knows there’s another way to do that, so his hand that’s wrapped around your waist travels down and sneaks underneath your dress and inside your lace panties.

“Hmm,” he pants, finding out just what sucking him off did to you.

He meets you in a frenzied kiss before turning you around, his fingers doing what they do best to your cunt while his mouth attacks your neck. His free hand fondles your breast, and it’s pleasure all over your body that you moan out every possible curse you could.

“Baby, it’s too good,” you heave, much louder than he is, as you normally are. “Fuck, I missed this. I want this everyday. I want you so fucking much everyday. Agh—”

Yoongi disregards your desire, one you’ve expressed multiple times in the last few weeks of this arrangement. He wants nothing more than to have this, too, but he’s learned a long time ago that wanting something so much doesn’t guarantee he’ll have it. Sometimes it’s worse; it’s hard to get back on your feet when you fail.

But he focuses on your pleasure, on the way that your body is responding to his movements, on the way that you’re pulling his hair and grinding against his fingers that’s sliding so perfectly in and out of you. He focuses on the way your sounds let him know that you’re feeling what he wants you to feel.

You reach your peak. Yoongi knows it when you lean your head against his chest and clench your thighs. Your hand goes over to his that’s on your breast, and he knows it’s too much now, so his fingers slow down, ultimately stopping.

“Guess it’s just right that I have this, too,” he says, sucking his fingers that have your slick all over.

You chuckle as you catch your breath, turning to him in time to watch him take his fingers in his mouth. His hand is perfect already; knowing it’s laced with your essence makes it even more irresistible.

“I definitely want more but I’m also really hungry,” you pout, facing him now. “I didn’t get to have breakfast since I was asleep the whole ride here.”

“Did you barely get any sleep again?” He asks, knowing that tiring days make it harder for you.

“Just a little. Dinner with some friends ended late and then I had this early morning fitting for this gala next week,” you explain. “I said I’m only free before 9 so the stylist dropped by my place at 7.”

“Well, then you can spend the rest of the day just resting, okay?” He says, given that he has a meeting with the coaching staff before the team’s afternoon training.

“I’ll be on your bed waiting for you to come home,” you wink. “Maybe I’ll be naked, too.”

Yoongi laughs and kisses you again, something you’ve noticed him do a lot more since getting back together. He used to wait for you to initiate anything when you first dated, only taking control once you’ve set the pace. Now, he doesn’t seem to mind - he kisses you more, hugs you more, pulls you in more. You like to think this is him missing you just as much; you don’t want to think it means anything else.

You do as he says, making yourself comfortable on his bed with his scent enveloping you until he’s back home at 8, admitting that he dismissed everyone half an hour earlier so he could grab some dinner and get to you right away.

It’s sex in the kitchen right after dinner, and gentler lovemaking when you’re both tucked in bed later that night.

You have to leave right after lunchtime tomorrow, giving both of you just a bit of time for a meal after he finishes with morning training. It feels so fast and there’s never enough time. He’ll have to settle with texts and video calls again, which he was never good at. He’s always hated typing and talking on the screen but he always did it for you; there’s no other way, after all. And then he’ll have to wait for the next free time either of you gets to see each other once more.

“I’ll miss you again,” you whisper, interrupting his thoughts.

He thought you were already asleep.

“Me, too, jagi.”

“At least it’s just 3 hours, though,” you comfort yourself. “And no time difference. I don’t know how I’ll survive if we had an actual long-distance relationship that doesn’t let us see each other once a week.”

“That would be tough for me, too. I… I’m not good with calls and stuff like that,” he admits.

“Oh, I know,” you giggle. “You get anxious. And when you have nothing to say, you don’t get to hold my hand or play with my hair like you always do.”

“You know that, huh?”

“Min Yoongi, you’re fiddly with your fingers; you want to always be doing something with them, whether it’s stuffing them inside me or something more wholesome than that,” you laugh. “And I like it. Even when you don’t say much, you do other things that tell me just how much you love me.”

“You know me well, don’t you?”

“I’d like to think so. When I think about you as much as I do, that kinda happens.”

Yoongi just smiles and tells you to go to sleep. You follow and curl into him closer, your warmth comforting every part of his soul.

He wishes he could love you more, not in a way that’s different to how he does it but in a way that lets you feel it every single day and every minute of it, and in a way that doesn’t tire either of you out, that doesn’t restrict and that doesn’t limit, that doesn’t end and that doesn’t hold back. Everyday he yearns for you, but so far he doesn’t know of any other way to do all that without either of you giving up something important.

You have your fast-paced career that you were always meant to have; he has one that he’s fallen in love with. Your home is 3 hours away, and his is right here, where he gets to be with his dad whose only life now is the shop and nothing else.

He’d seen the things people give up for the ones they love; he’s learned that giving up people you love for a dream happens, too. It’s his parents’ story and yours, after all. It’s both of yours, too. And even if he knows that your story will go in either direction, he chooses to live in the one you have now - in tangled limbs and hushed I love you’s under the covers, in cooked meals and lazy days in the comforts of your chosen homes, in untold desires of a different end to your story this time around.

Yoongi surprises you the next week when he calls you on Friday night as you’re heading home from your event. He drove after afternoon training. Geumjae will be home for the weekend and help his dad in the shop, so there’s time to see you for a few days.

You’re ecstatic when he shows up at your door, peppering him with kisses like every greeting after a week of being apart.

You have an interview the next day that Jimin sneaks him in to watch. It’s the first time he’s ever done so, and watching you charm the hosts in your marigold dress hurts and heals his heart at the same time.

You talk about your favorite roles and what acting means to you; you talk about the hard work you put into every character you play, doing your own research and taking classes to improve yourself. You talk about the love of the fans, how people reach out through letters and social media to tell you how you’ve been a source of joy for them. You live for this and Yoongi wishes he can witness it all the time, that he can see the fulfillment on your face when the hosts and crew compliment you even when the camera's not rolling.

He wishes that you don’t feel too bad when you have to cancel dinner with him because of another dinner that Hoseok tells you about. It’s on short notice, as this casting director that he sent one of your auditions to some time ago is in town. The man thought to meet up with some friends and acquaintances from South Korea, and Hoseok insists that you join him.

You do, and Yoongi is not one bit disappointed. “Who knows? You might meet someone who’d give you your big break. Don’t worry about me,” he insists.

It’s 1AM when you return to your apartment, over an hour later than you promised.

“There were more people than expected,” you explain, “so it was actually like a party with all these important people. Hoseok says that directors usually scout in these types of events, so I went for it. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here with you. You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Nonsense,” he says this time, pulling you into a hug as you lay on the sofa with him, which is where he chose to wait for you. “I’m sure you charmed the guests there. I wouldn’t have kept you to myself, even if I was leaving tonight. There’s no way I’d let you pass up an opportunity like that.”

“You’re too understanding,” you pout. “We’ll stay in tomorrow, and then I’ll go to you next week. I don’t wanna miss your first game of the season.”

“And I can’t wait to see you on the stands, cheering for me,” he smiles.

You’re crying on the phone a few days later, apologetic to Yoongi because you can’t make it to Daegu for the season’s opening game. He’s been excited for his team, saying that they’re one of the favorites to win the tournament, and to be the first champion player and coach of his school would be the biggest honor, a dream he didn’t think he’d have. You hate that you have to miss it.

“One of the men I was talking with during the dinner last week turned out to be a casting director,” you explain. “He’s been in search of an actress for this TV series with a foreign production company and he reached out to Hoseok and wants me to audition. I—”

“And why are you apologizing?” Yoongi asks. “This is an audition that could change everything for you.

“But I promised I’d watch your game.”

“And you will, one day. You have to rehearse for this, ___. This is too important.”

“But—”

“You know that I won’t let you give something up for me, right?” He interjects. “That includes the time you need to prepare. Don’t be upset. I’ll tell you what happens, just promise me you’ll practice well. And I’ll see you when I can, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumble on the other end.

You want to see him badly, but you also haven’t stopped thinking about this audition. Hoseok doesn’t know all the details but there have been talks of a TV series that will do filming abroad; that means it’s a big budget show and something that the industry will surely hype up. You apparently caught the director’s attention with your carefree yet innocent energy, like there’s this joy and romanticism in you that the character embodies. You remember his question of you ever doing ballet before, and you said you took lessons from your mom who’s a ballerina, and the possibility of that being part of the role excites you. You don’t even know what it entails but you already know you really want it.

You enter the studio the next week, ready for what could be the biggest audition of your life. The fact that the casting director wanted you to audition before seeing any tape that Hoseok would have sent him makes you want to believe that you have a shot. The 2 scenes you’re given have varying emotions that you need to express, and Jin was your mentor throughout the week as you prepared for this moment.

You’re buzzing with energy right after, feeling like you truly did your best. It was quite draining, since you put so much of yourself into it. You talked to Yoongi less during the week so maybe that’s why, too, but as you enjoy dinner and drinks at your apartment with Jimin, Taehyung, and Jin, you wish that your boyfriend could be here, too. They had a morning game in Heongseong so he must still be tired.

But your smile is immediate when he sends you a message.

[From: Yoongi 💕] I’m sure you did great but still, how was it?

You exchange texts throughout the evening as your friends tease you for ignoring them now, but you laugh along.

“Are there any more details about the show?” Taehyung asks. “Like what your role is or where it’ll be filmed?”

“None yet, but Hoseok seems excited when he talks about it. Maybe he doesn’t wanna say too much so I don’t get too upset if I don’t get it,” you say. “Let’s just hope it’s a big deal if I get the role, and a cheap ass show if I don’t.”

“Have you thought about what’ll happen to you and Yoongi if it ends up being a big deal?” Jin asks, worry painted on his face because as a fellow actor who’s also done filming abroad, he knows what’s expected of you and what more you have to give up.

“Not yet, I don’t want to worry myself if it turns out to be nothing,” you say. “We’ll figure it out. We've sort of just been doing things one day, one week at a time, you know? We don’t need unnecessary drama at this point.”

Your friends look at each other, collectively deciding not to burst your bubble and this world you’ve created with the man you love dearly. It might not be worth it, but it may also be a big blow if you and him don’t prepare for the implications of a new role, however small or big it is. Your life continues here and so does Yoongi’s, 3 hours away. It may not seem much, but given your respective careers, 3 hours may be a little more than you can handle.

But you’re happy. You’re tired from the travels because every bit of downtime you get, you’re driving to Daegu to see him because Yoongi’s jobs don’t give him as much freedom as you do. You’re incredibly happy knowing that you at least get to be with him, even if the time limit causes you to just spend the days in instead of savoring the autumn season and walking around town.

It’s 3 weeks later when Yoongi’s in your apartment that everything changes. You hadn’t seen him since that time he came here when he watched you do your interview. You’ve been guesting in shows to Hoseok’s insistence in hopes of continuing your relevance as you await a new project, and with a school holiday coming up, Yoongi has the weekend to spare.

It’s the usual stay-in, and it’s in the middle of a make out session as you straddle him that your phone rings, with Hoseok’s face showing up on the screen when you answer the call.

“Hey,” you say, settling yourself down on the couch. “What’s up? And why are you panting?”

“I was doing my groceries when I got a call, and I had to run to my car to let you know,” he replies, building anticipation. But he doesn’t make you wait too long, as he announces the news. “You got the role, ___. And it’s just as big as I heard.”

“Wh—what?” You mumble, not knowing which words of his to focus on.

“NBC is working with a French production company for this series. It’s an anticipated show with big stars and it’ll be shown around the world,” he explains, your mind still reeling from the news. “You’re taking the lead, ___. This is the big break we’ve been hoping for.”

“Oh my goodness,” you finally say, tears streaming down your face as you process the news. “This is— this amazing, Hoseok. I… I don’t know what to say. What are the details?”

“They’re sending them later and we can go over everything before they give the official offer.”

“Okay,” you reply, trying to calm your racing heart. Looking over at Yoongi who’s smiling softly at you, you know who you want to celebrate with. “Just let me know. I’ll just process all this first.”

“Sure thing,” Hoseok says. “I’m so proud of you, ___. I can’t wait for the world to see what you can do.”

You put the phone down and look at Yoongi next to you. He tugs your arm and you return to your seat on his lap, hugging him as you whisper that you got the role.

He returns the affection, enveloping you in his warmth as he lets you cry against his chest.

“I’m so happy for you, jagi,” he hums against your ear. “You deserve all this and more. Everyone’s gonna fall in love with you all over again.”

“I don’t know what to say,” you sob. “I’m scared but I’m so excited. Am I good enough for this? It feels like such a risk to be handing this kind of task to someone who’s only had her first lead role last year.”

“Jagi, of course you are,” he comforts, turning your head to face him and wiping your tears as they fall. “You got asked to audition after meeting at a party; that’s got to say a lot about the role fitting you so perfectly that whatever it is you exude is exactly what they’re looking for. I mean, I hope it’s all positive though.”

You giggle in sniffles.

“And your first lead role just happened to be huge. And that obviously helped in your audition and the directors choosing you,” he continues. “You earned this. Treat it as a challenge. And knowing you, you’ll put your heart into it as you always do.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, as you melt into his touch, moving to kiss the hand that’s cupping your cheek. “I’m so glad I get to share this moment with you.”

“Me, too, jagi. Me, too.”

It’s the next morning when you learn more about the project, with Hoseok coming to your apartment in the morning to discuss it with you. He arrives with breakfast for 3, and you don’t miss his soft-but-bordering-on-sadness look when you say that Yoongi’s staying for the weekend.

“Is he up?” Your manager asks as he walks to your kitchen with you.

“Nope, still asleep. He won’t be up for another hour or so.”

“Okay, good. Then I won’t be here to break the news to him.”

“What do you mean?”

Hoseok goes on to tell you about the call with the directors last night. They’re excited to have you on board, they said, loving the way you portrayed the emotions during your audition. Your face is what they’re looking for, and there’s an elegance yet relatability in you that’s perfect for the role. It’s a lot of nice words leading up to what it would entail, and at the end of it, you’re left even more excited and even more nervous. It’s almost everything you’ve dreamed of, only because of what you know you have to leave behind.

Over an hour passes by and Hoseok stands up to leave.

“I know you want this,” he says, “and this is what you’ve been working hard for. I don’t have to tell you what to do.”

“I know, Hoseok,” you sigh. “I know what I have to do.”

“You’ll be okay?”

“I guess.”

“What about him?”

“I hope so.”

He gives you a hug before he leaves, and it’s right as your bedroom door opens and Yoongi exits, mussed hair and sleepy eyes greeting you.

“Hey,” you say, walking towards him for a long, tight hug.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “Hoseok was over and I had him bring some breakfast,” you say, leading him to the counter where an array of sandwiches and parties await him.

“Oh, you talked about the role and stuff?”

You nod in response, sitting next to him as he eats.

“Are you allowed to tell me about it?”

“Yeah, so uhm. It’s about this young woman who gets into ballet after her adoptive parents die. She meets a man, falls in love, and there’s drama there, and then another man finds her who happens to be someone she knew when she was younger, and there’s drama there, too, since she discovers something about her parents and their death that makes her question her identity and basically her entire life,” you narrate.

“You’re playing a ballerina?” He gasps. “___, that’s perfect for you. I’m sure your mom would be ecstatic.”

“She will,” you manage a smile. “And also, uh, it’ll be filmed mostly in Paris.”

“Hmm,” he responds, unable to look you in the eyes. “So it’s a foreign series?”

“Not really. It’s a joint project between production companies,” you explain. “My male love interests are Korean and French. There’s a mix of actors in it and the cast is amazing. And there’s a lot going on, so much drama and romance and art. The venues look amazing and I—”

You stop at the feel of tears pricking your eyes, prompting Yoongi to ask what’s wrong.

“I… I’ll be away for a while,” you say. “Filming will take at least 6 months and I have to fly there earlier for French and ballet lessons. And promotions would be huge. And—”

You’re crying harder now, as the words make things even more real. You’re not only playing a role that seems to fit you perfectly; you’re also gonna be in Paris where your mom is. To be able to be with her is just as much of a dream for you, especially as she gets to watch you do what you love.

But that also means leaving behind the person you love most in the world, and as he stands to cradle your head in his arms, you feel the weight of your own dreams pull you down. Being 3 hours away has been challenging for both of you; you can’t imagine how much more when you’re thousands of miles away.

“Jagi-ya, everything sounds amazing,” he says, but you don’t miss the sadness in his voice. “You get to learn new things, you get to be with your mom, you get to be in a new place and act and do what you love. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

“I just… I just don’t want to be so far away from you, not again,” you say.

Yoongi doesn’t know the words to say. He was never good with them, especially when it came to you. He always had other ways to show you how he felt, but he doesn’t have anything for this. He’s incredibly happy for you, but just like you, he doesn’t want to be far away from the person he loves most.

But there’s a reason why he doesn’t think he’ll be good at long-distance relationships. It’s the love he’d fail to show, the needs he’d fail to address, it’s the time that’d pass and the changes in between that would be too difficult for him to handle. Much as he wants to comfort you and say that everything will be alright and that you’ll both be okay, he doesn’t have it in him to break your heart by making promises he can’t keep. He loves you and will continue to; he just doesn’t know how to do that properly when he’s not next to you.

So he just kisses you, tender in all the ways that he can make it, to let you know whatever it is he can’t say, that he doesn’t have words for. It stops your cries a little, but the sight of your tear-stained cheeks still hurts him.

Neither of you says anything for a while but you don’t let go of each other. Even the rest of the day is spent similarly - with minimal conversations and hands that don’t separate, lips that constantly find each other, and bodies that give and feel pleasure as if this is all you can give because for now, words aren’t enough.

Maybe you’ll find the words one day and so will he. Maybe then they’ll be enough - to heal your heart or break it, you don’t quite know.

Your heart has been heavy since Yoongi left your apartment last week. You’re not sure if you were expecting him to assure you that things are going to be fine between the both of you, but it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt when he chose not to say anything about it. You know that he’s the type to think hard about what he’ll say; maybe he just didn’t know what to tell you then, but days later, he still doesn’t, and that’s ringing the tiniest alarm bells in your head.

He acknowledges your messages of updates you give about the project. You’re working with Hoseok to look at the contract and the schedules, and you’re getting more details as the days go by. Yoongi doesn’t ask anything more, though, a rarity since he’s said before that he enjoys it when you talk about work.

You want to just be with him, knowing that a hug or a kiss would ease the tension, but that itself makes you worry. What will happen when you’re away and there’s something going on that you both don’t want to address? How would you resolve that when you can’t just drive to each other to fix things? What if he’s going through something that he doesn’t want to talk about? It’s happened before after all. What if you’re struggling and missing him so much? What if the time and distance become too much?

You let the week pass without seeing each other. Their team has an out-of-town game and the shop has work requests that he’s helping his dad with. You’re also exhausted from all the meetings this week; you have an upcoming photoshoot that you’re preparing for, too.

So you decide to take an early drive to Daegu the next weekend, getting the ire of Hoseok who had to move a meeting that Saturday because you asked.

“I just really, really need to see him,” you tell your manager over the phone. “I’m worried about us and I’m losing my mind. I need to know that things are okay.”

Hoseok doesn’t argue. You rarely ever ask to move things around and this matters too much to you, as your shaky voice tells him.

You make it to the gymnasium for the game, finding Mr. Min in one of the seats and surprising him.

“Hello, my dear,” he beams, hugging you tightly. “I’m so glad you’re here. Does my son know you’re coming?”

“No, I kinda just decided last night.”

“Okay, then. Maybe your presence will cure his grumpiness,” the old man laughs.

“He’s been grumpy?” You wonder, not having seen that through his texts this past week.

“Yeah, more than usual. He hasn’t been that way since you arrived last summer,” he says. “They had a bad loss the other day. He’s also stressing himself out by helping me manage the shop when I said I could do it. You two didn’t fight, did you?”

“No,” you respond. “I mean, not that I know of.”

“Well, then can you just comfort him in case something else is up? Maybe he also just misses you.”

You hum in response and try to enjoy the game. It’s quite a stressful one that Yoongi doesn’t get to look your way. They eventually lose in a heartbreaking manner and you can sense his frustration through his gritted teeth and blank stare. You decide to send him a text that you’re here and will just wait for him at his apartment. He replies with an “okay.”

He arrives with a look of disappointment that you don’t know how to ease. During the times he’d lose in their games as a player before, he said he just liked to deal with it on his own but having you around made things better. It seems that’s still the case now, as he falls into your embrace once he enters the door.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry your first game is a loss.”

“It’s okay, it won’t be the last one,” you assure. “At least I got to watch you be a sexy coach and all.”

He chuckles and kisses you, but you can feel he’s still upset, so you don’t push it, knowing that talking about something else upsetting like your scheduled departure won’t do you any good, even if it’s one reason why you came here in the first place. You decide to just let the day pass with cuddles and barely any words. He falls asleep early, with his arms around your waist, and you’ve never felt so far away from him.

You plan to leave in the late afternoon the next day. You both sleep through the morning and Yoongi makes you a loaded brunch to make up for being upset after the loss. You suppose it’s good a time as any, so you tell him that you took the offer and will be signing the contract next week.

“I’m leaving in a month,” you say. “I’ll be away for at least 7 months with projects waiting for me in Seoul. It’s a lot, Yoongi. And I don’t know where we stand right now. You haven’t really said much since the other week.”

“It’s really happening,” he smiles, the tinge of sadness unmistakable. “I guess I’ve been avoiding what taking this role would mean.”

“And what exactly would that be?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer, prompting you to ask again.

“Jagi, it’s a big project that requires so much of your time and energy. And I don’t… I don’t want you to be thinking of anything else that isn’t about that.”

“You don’t want me to be thinking of you, is that it? You don’t want to go through this with me. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“What I’m trying to say is that you need to put all your focus on your role, remove all distractions and stuff. That includes me.”

“You’re not seriously suggesting we end this over a 7-month project, are you?” You ask, incredulous that it’s his immediate thought.

“A lot can happen in 7 months.”

“Like what? I’m not gonna change. I'm not gonna fall in love with someone else while I’m away,” you insist. “I already know I’m gonna be missing you like crazy everyday, wishing you were with me.”

“Exactly. Do you think that would do you any good? Missing someone who can’t be there next to you?”

“How would you know it won’t?”

“Because we’ve done this before, and I know what you had to give up to be there for me because I couldn’t be there for you,” he exclaims. “Remember how it was all those years ago? The late-nights running over lines because you spent the whole day with me? The back-and-forth trips to see me because I couldn’t move? The missed auditions because you had to come here just so I wouldn’t have another breakdown? Loving me while living your dream never did you any good. This is too big for you to consider me a part of it.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” You demand. “I made all those decisions because I loved you and I’d make them over and over again. Things are different now. We’ve learned. We’re more mature and you’re not… you’re not broken anymore.”

“But loving me this time around isn’t gonna be any different. It won’t be easy,” he argues. “We survived the past weeks with an arrangement that barely works but we try and yes, it’s all worth it when we finally see each other but how long will he have to hold on for those 7 months you’ll be away? Missing each other? Hoping to be with each other?”

He heaves, feeling so much at this moment. He wants to pull you close to him, hug you as you cry but he doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to do. He doesn’t know how to comfort you when he’s the one breaking your heart.

“I… I’m not good at expressing how I feel,” he continues. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do with myself while you’re gone, I don’t know how to be there for you while you’re not here. And I don’t want you to feel burdened with going away because of who you’re leaving behind. You apologize every time you have to go back to your life, and I’d hate for you to feel that you’re meant to be anywhere but there. That’s where you belong. You always have.”

You stand there in disbelief just as he is. He’d been in denial for so long about the both of you, choosing instead to live in his version of reality where your dreams and plans align, where your days are spent in your own world and nothing - including him, could hurt you.

It’s easy to say he’s being over dramatic. There’s so much love between the both of you; clearly that should be enough to make things work. It’s just 7 months after all. But he knows how you love and how you want to be loved. He knows that as long as you’re together, you’ll be constantly living in 2 worlds - the one where you’re living your dream and the one where you’re wishing you weren’t, because somehow, he’ll just always exist in the latter.

He’ll have a hard time, too, and that’s what he’s terrified about. He doesn’t want to say just how much he misses you, because he misses you a lot. The last thing he wants is for you to be burdened by it, and Yoongi knows that if he’ll struggle, he’d rather he does it without you knowing, and staying together would just hurt the both of you, and your dream is too important for your distance to affect that.

“I don’t know why you don’t even think that it could work,” you say.

“It could, but to what expense?” He asks.

You could always come with me, you want to say, but you know that would never be an option. He didn’t think Seoul was for him all those years ago; you doubt he’d think Paris would be. He has his own dreams to live in this town, the big and the gentle ones. Those matter just as much, and you wouldn’t want him to give those up, especially after what he suffered through. Those are what’s left for him, what pushes him. They’re what he lives for. You thought at one point, so were you.

“I guess I was being naive,” he says after a long beat. “I didn’t think I’d ever have the chance to get back with you so when we did, nothing else mattered. All I knew was that I was happy for the first time in a long time. I didn’t dare to think of what would happen after the summer. I was naive to think that things wouldn’t change much, that we would go on without needing to talk about it. And now this big thing is happening for you and it was just a slap on the face.”

You look at him as he struggles to look at you. He fiddles with his fingers, and you want nothing more than to hold his hand but you don’t know what that would do, not if this turns out to be the end of things. Somehow you don’t have the will to fight because a part of you knows he’s right. You just wish he wasn’t.

With how both of you love and want to be loved, you know it’s going to be hard, and it’s too much to ask for one of you to give something up. He watched his family get hurt with such choices; you just wish he’d at least try to make it work.

“I thought it was gonna be different this time around,” you finally say. “I guess I was being naive, too. Something else will always be more important than us.”

You’ve only seen Yoongi cry once and you remember how much it broke you to see that. He’s not the type to show that much emotion, so seeing him break right now with a few tears rolling down his face is breaking you in all the ways possible.

“I’m sorry,” he heaves, covering his face as he tries to stop crying. “You didn’t come all the way here just for us to end like this.”

“It seems like we’d have to eventually,” you respond, feeling the numbness start to course through you, just like that first time. “I know you have your own dreams to live here. And I’m so sorry, too, for coming back and messing up the life you’ve created for yourself in this place.”

“I don’t regret being with you again, ___. All I’ve ever been was happy with you.”

“Maybe one day, in 10 years perhaps, or in another lifetime,” you manage to say as you wipe your tears. “Maybe then we’ll finally choose us.”

You decide against kissing him a final time, knowing you’ll probably ask him to take it all back. So you give him a smile, one that tells him that sad as you may be, deep down you understand. And it’s all going to be okay.

You struggle for the next 2 weeks, trying to keep all the hurt in until you finally concede and ask your friends to come over so you can cry everything out. They do their best to comfort you, but they know that all you want is their presence so that you don’t have to go through this all on your own. You insist that all you need is a good cry and you’ll be fine.

There’s a whole world waiting for you in 2 weeks’ time. The crew hosting you there wants you to experience Paris in the best way possible. You’re excited for the lessons and you can’t wait to be with your mom again. Jimin will be accompanying you so you know you won’t get bored, and there’s so much to see and do that you think you’ll be too preoccupied to think about your broken heart. You’ve met with the cast and you already know that you’re gonna get along well. Your male leads have been lovely, too, and you know you have to be comfortable with them enough for the intimate scenes you’ll be having.

But tonight, you cry and you cry hard. It ends with Taehyung hugging you as you sleep, and that wouldn’t be the last. For the next several days, Jimin makes sure that you’re never alone, always showing up with a cup of coffee and texting you everyday of a new place to check out in Paris. Jin savors the time he has with you, taking you to lunches and dinners - sparking once more those rumors about the 2 of you dating - and hyping you up for your role.

You even meet Jungkook and Namjoon, who try their best to comfort you after you narrate what happened.

“No need to update me about him this time,” you tell them. “Somehow I just know he’s gonna be okay. But still, please make sure he is.”

Your busy schedule helps keep you from thinking about Yoongi, but as you learn, all it really takes is a broken hair tie to remind you of the love you lost the second time around, and how despite all the good things waiting for you, you know deep down you would’ve wanted to experience all of this with him.

It doesn’t help that on the weekend before you leave, your photoshoot location happens to be in a town just 30 minutes west of Daegu. Following your heart this one time, you instruct the driver to head to Yoongi’s house, assuring Jimin that you just want to have a proper goodbye with the man before you leave.

Yoongi’s car is parked outside so you know he’s home. Keeping yourself from running back to yours, you garner the courage to walk the steps to his front door, ringing the bell and taking a deep breath when you hear footsteps behind it.

He stands before you, his disheveled hair and the black crescents under his eyes telling you that he’s maybe struggling just as much as you are.

“Hey,” you greet, trying so hard to level your voice. “I was in town and thought I’d drop by. Can I come in for a bit?”

“Y-yeah, sure,” he says, stepping aside to let you enter. “It’s just quite a mess.”

You look around, his apartment suddenly looking way different from that last time you were here. There are unwashed dishes on the sink and piles of takeaway boxes on the table. You spot the bottles of whiskey on the floor and the blankets on the couch. You hate to think that this is how he was that first time, and the thought breaks you even more.

“It’s just been a hard couple of weeks,” he says, seeing your face falter at the state of his place.

That’s quite an understatement, actually. He’s been a terrible mess since you left that day. He’s glad he’s at least professional enough to get his shit together during training and games, but once he gets home, he stops caring about anything else. He likes to think it’s just a phase; he was like this the first time he let you go, and it took a while but he did get his act together.

“It’s been hard for me, too,” you admit, catching him by surprise. “I leave in a week but I feel quite unprepared. There’s too much of myself I’m leaving behind.”

“Hey, ja— I mean, ___. I told you not to think about it,” he says. “You’re gonna do great, okay? And you’ll love it there. They have amazing parks and so many flower shops and vintage stores. You’ll never run out of things to do. You’ll—”

Your sudden hug stops him, even more when you start crying against his chest, your tears soaking through his shirt and he just knows, those will leave a mark.

“Why didn’t you ask me to stay,” you sob. “We could have a life here together. Just you and me. Just ask me, please.”

The words sound foreign but they’re yours, and they hold truths that you don’t want to vocalize, only because it feels like betraying your dream, even if a big part of you knows that the man currently holding you is just as much your dream as being an actor is. You wish you were brave enough to choose this life and that he would be, too. But you always knew that your plans for yourselves never aligned with each other’s; it never really did. Summer romances don’t last, after all, and they’re meant to fall away just like the season does.

But you let yourself be vulnerable at this moment, even if you know that his response wouldn’t change, and that would somehow hurt you more.

“I can’t, ___. You know I can’t,” he says, his voice shaking as he lets himself be vulnerable and cries, too. “You were always meant for more. This place, this isn’t more; it never was. And that means me, too.”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” you say, facing him now.

“You’ve wanted this for much longer than you’ve wanted me,” he says, cupping your cheek.

You close your eyes as you feel his touch for what seems to be the last time, your tears constantly falling that his thumb wipes away.

“Just live that dream for me, okay? That’s all I want. That would be enough,” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

“Promise me you’ll live yours, too?”

“I will,” he says.

You let yourself be weak one last time and kiss his lips, soft and quick, enough to have something for both of you to hold onto.

He looks at you with sorry eyes and you know that’s all he could give you - an apology.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.”

Yoongi waits patiently inside his car, his fingers tapping the wheel as if that would magically call you out of your apartment building. You told him your flight schedule before and he knows you usually leave early because you don’t like being late. You should be leaving around this time, and quite frankly, he doesn’t know why he’s even here. It seems as if he can’t let you go every time, but he does anyway, even if he yearns to crawl back to you right after.

He’s parked nearby, close enough to see you exit the building, but far enough to hide in case he chickens out. It’s not long before he sees a van pull up and Jimin and a few men loading up endless luggage bags. You exit right after, in comfortable clothes and a baseball cap, and he stops himself from going out of his car to give you one last hug.

He watches you hug Taehyung who sends you off. The time ticks and you’re entering your car, closing the door, and driving away.

Yoongi’s eyes follow the van until it disappears from his sight, knowing that whatever chance he had to tell you he loves you one last time is gone. Maybe it’s better that he didn’t. What good is his love if it’s not enough to keep you next to him? Maybe it’s enough to make you happy, he decides, but not enough to make you happy with him.

A knock on the window interrupts him, and he’s about to come up with some bullshit excuse on why he’s parked outside the building when he realizes it’s Taehyung. Yoongi exits the car and greets his friend.

“You know she would’ve liked to see you, right?” The younger man says. “It’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You wanted to see her, too?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi shrugs. “I guess I just didn’t want the last image I have of her to be one where she’s crying because I’m breaking her heart again.”

“She’s taking it a lot better this time around. She’s not denying how much it hurts, and I think that helps,” Taehyung says. “You were the best thing in her life these past few months, and she’s just choosing to keep all the good memories with her.”

“That’s good,” Yoongi hums.

The thought of you being more positive is already making him feel a lot better.

“She wanted me to give this to you,” Taehyung adds, handing Yoongi a small envelope. “Take care of yourself, okay? And for her sake, please win that championship.”

Both men share a laugh in the crisp autumn air, and it’s enough to ease the tension. Taehyung bids him goodbye and Yoongi returns to his car, choosing to read whatever you left for him back home.

Yoongi,

I didn’t want our last time to be full of tears and I wish I got to say this all to you and hold you while I did.

I know that I’m happiest when I’m with you and that will never change. But for now, we’ll go on chasing the dreams that keep us whole. I hope one day both our dreams will include each other.

Your heart will always be my home. Thank you for sharing it with me.

With all the love I could possibly give from thousands of miles away and everyday,

___.

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#yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfiction #bts suga #min yoongi #yoongi x you #yoongi series

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eddis-not-eeddis · 1 year

Text

So the K-drama my sisters and I all liked has turned out to suck, because, quite frankly, we are much better at writing romance subplots than any of the writers on that team were. We are devastated.

Things Wrong With Once Upon a Small Town

The leading lady does entirely too much pining. I am not opposed to a reasonable amount of pining. I may even pine a bit myself, from time to time. But her level of pining is practically indecent, and often unnecessary too.

We had the secondary romance plotted out perfectly. The vet tech (oh she of the instant coffee stash) was supposed to fall for the peach farmer who ran the local cafe. Finally getting a taste for real coffee, etc. etc. It was going to be adorable.

LOOK IF YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE A K-DRAMA CATCH AT LEAST DO IT RIGHT! MY GOSH! The woman was LITERALLY on a STEP LADDER and the LIGHT was SIFTING through the TREES and THEY WERE HAVING a MOMENT. Perfect set up. Zero execution. The lame excuse of a K-drama catch that happened when they were all drunk after the party (she literally tripped over nothing!) just doesn't cut it. -3/10

We all decided that if the male lead's ex was gonna get with anyone it needed to be his bestie, because none of us like him or her, but we were all in favor of her not ever getting married ever and accidentally driving into a ditch...until we realized that would probably have led to her getting amnesia or something and lengthening the already overburdened plot.

Too many awkward meetings on the road while the characters are walking their bicycles. Get ON the bike and pedal folks. You can't awkwardly gawk or stare mournfully after someone when you are trying to hit your deadline, so get moving! Y'all are supposed to by super busy! GET! YOUR! TAILS! IN! GEAR!

There should have been more cows.

No really. He's a country vet, WHERE ARE ALL MY GOSH DARN COWS?

Also we expected to see at least a few sheep and they never appeared and we were heartily disappointed.

I really thought the rivalry between towns was going to amount to something, but it was honestly quite lackluster and rather boring.

Seriously people, communication is key. I had to watch thirty minutes of the leading lady lying to everyone about her feelings and then being mopey about the fact that the male lead wasn't dating her.

Um. Why is the peach farmer always just there? Doesn't he have a peach farm and a cafe to run? WTH? My guy, you have one (pardon, two) jobs. Stop hanging around the leading lady. She's not that into you.

I am expected to feel bad for a guy who has waited multiple years to confess his feelings and then only does so once he is drunk in front of his rival. No. Zero compassion. Love triangle drop-kicked into the ether. All of these people suck, but he sucks the most.

This is a stupid thing to be bothered by, but since I'm already on a roll, the male lead's socks personally offended me.

WHY WEREN'T THERE MORE COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWS!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Luckily there is only one episode left and then it will be over.

#we are all So Disappointed #we were won over by all the farm animals in the first few episodes #and then intensely depressed to discover this show really wasn't about them at all #just about three extremely dopey humans #tragic #we knew things were heading south when an entire three episodes went by without a single cow being sighted #alas #we are in mourning in sackcloth and ashes

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golden-wingseos · 4 years

Text

“uh oh.”

when they accidentally embarrass themselves in front of their crush... [y/n].

featuring —

✧ bennett, chongyun, diluc, zhongli (separate) x gn!reader

warnings ―

✧ not proofread, blood (not graphic, but mentions), mentions of death

notes ―

✧ woke up at 5am, had this idea, wrote it all at 5am... went back to sleep 😻

𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐓 -: ✧ :-゜・．

he was living life, actually talking to you until...

until he accidentally. slipped. and fell flat on his face. and what makes it even worse? the moment he got up, he slipped again. right on his bottom

to anybody else—maybe that wasn’t too bad! yeah! it’s okay, chin up king!

no. absolutely not. because he was about to confess to you. he had the flowers (a single windwheel aster) ready!

“ah, bennett, are you okay?” you smiled, holding your hand out to him as he short-circuited, his life replaying through his very eyes as he prepared to dig his grave and hop right in

“your nose is a little red, here,” pulling out a handkerchief, you let bennett wipe his slightly bloody nose as you handed him a cute band-aid for future needs

“a-ah, thank you! [y/n]!” bennett cradled the band-aid you gave him, his heart still pounding in his chest—but now, it was at least two times faster

hmm, even if he did brutally embarrass himself in front of you and messed up his confession... at least you gave him a band-aid!

don’t be surprised when he goes home to tell his expecting-dads...

“hey bennett, did you do it? did ya confess?”

“no! but i got a band-aid!”

“. . . oh you bet they like you, benny!” one of his dads laughed, slapping bennett’s back as the adolescent boy lurched forward upon impact

feeling his now dry nose, bennett’s mouth hung agape at the thought

you liking him? wow... did anybody want to like him?

well, he could only hope!

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐘𝐔𝐍 -: ✧ :-゜・．

you bet it—he accidentally (was fed) jueyun chilis!

xingqiu was having the time of his life. but chongyun? king was partying on top of tables, announcing his profound love for you, sobbing because he thought you didn’t like him... you name it

glaring at xingqiu, you mouthed ‘i’ll kill you’ while chongyun was joining xinyan’s performance as the orange-eyed fellow winced under your stare, whistling innocently while you chased to catch up to chongyun

“oi! chongyun! you can’t interrupt xinyan’s—“

“[y/nnn]! i missed you!” the boy immediately turned around, rushing towards you with his hands outstretched for a hug

“you just saw me like five minutes ago...”

“i love you, hehe.”

was he even listening? your eyes widened at the use of the ‘l’ word. seriously? how could he throw it around so easily? even when you two weren’t even dating!

“i... um... yes,” you nodded, patting his back stiffly as he hugged you. you had never been this close to chongyun before, for he often held everyone at arm’s length to not trigger his condition

and yet, as he embraced you. you noticed the sky blue light of his hair, the scent of mint and the many popsicles he ate fanning off of the white garments of his clothing

xingqiu—who watched from afar—merely smirked, patting himself on the back as he opened up a book as to not look obvious with his staring

“another one for the great xingqiu!” he quietly snickered.

and once he cooled down, chongyun’s HORROR when he heard the rumors from walking down liyue’s streets. older women giggling at him for how cute he was while he slowly went insane

what did they mean he hugged you? and confessed his love? what!? you didn’t mention any of those things! neither did the usually-teasing xingqiu

and oh boy... the pure embarrassment he feels when the mr. zhongli confirms those rumors... he has to go scarf down four popsicles or else he’d trigger his condition again

“i’m so sorry [y/n] i’m so sorry [y/n] i’m so sorry [y/n]—“

ah. you hummed, nodding at his apologies as you made an observation

he was cute with his condition triggered and without

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂 -: ✧ :-゜・．

how did the diluc of mondstadt get embarrassed? well, you see, it was kaeya! why of course it was kaeya... kaeya was the source of all of diluc’s problems /hj

he was just bartending for angel’s share, you know, the usual. and then, you came in!

you bet his crimson eyes did a double-take. you drink?! even he didn’t know that

and once he saw the oh-so-familiar irritable blue hair of his (regrettably) brother, his eyes narrowed at the sight. was this a date?

his suspicions were confirmed to be true by kaeya, who simply grinned as you were oblivious to the silent fight the brothers were having, their eyes darting around as to symbolize the words they could not share with your presence here

“ah, [y/n]. what can i get you?”

“uh, apple cider is fine,” you smiled, sending the red-head’s heart racing at least at 200000 beats per minute

“hm, quite good taste, dear!” kaeya smirked, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as diluc deadpanned, his irritation growing as he clutched his hands a bit too tight around the glass cup, shattering it with the mere squeeze of his fingers

oh crap. diluc thought.

oh crap. kaeya thought.

the WAY diluc wanted to bash his skull in. he would’ve handed kaeya his claymore, his eyes devoid of any emotion as all he could muster out was “do it, kaeya. kill me.”

kaeya’s widened eyes quickly turned crinkle as he laughed, getting kicked out of the tavern as you watched the entire exchange silently, your face contorting into confusion, then worry, then back to confusion

“i—uh, sorry, i’ll remake your drink...” diluc cleared his throat, a light blush dusting his face as he ignored the shattered shards on the floor, fixing you up another apple cider as he practically heard kaeya’s taunting voice in his ears

“yEaH. i’Ll rEmAkE yOuR dRiNk.”

now diluc really wants to bash his skull in.

𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈 -: ✧ :-゜・．

he didn’t get embarrassed during the time. only until he went home, replayed it in his mind, screamed into a pillow, and prepared to go into a solitary hideout did he realize how much he messed up

it was just a normal day for the ex-archon—walking through liyue with you by his side as he utilized his knowledge in informing you about the ways of the harbor, and ultimately, life!

and while you walked towards a restaurant, zhongli being the gentleman he is, held the door for you

of course, if it weren’t for trying to push on a pull-door.

he made it blatantly obvious too, trying his best to push through the laws of engineering as you stared, a small smile dusting your face like the golden light that’d shine through liyue harbor

he merely said ‘oh’ once he pulled it, opening it for you without a care in the world as his gentlemanly duties were always first

but oh boy did his amber eyes morph in embarrassment while he sat alone in his home, his face buried into his pillow as he could not bear this—this travesty of his past self

did you notice? probably. is that why you smiled at him? oh crap! he’s such a fool, a big fool. stop. get rid of it. get rid of the memories

at least the others (bennett, chongyun, diluc) can forget about it once they die. but oh boy—zhongli? he’s gonna remember that for another century

but hey... at least he was considerate? ah hah?

“no,” his voice was muffled against the fluffy texture of his pillows, his eyes scrunched in embarrassment as he forced himself to fall asleep

ah... how you had him in such a trance you could bring even him to embarrassment

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

Text

Change of Scenery // Evan Buckley

IN WHICH: Captain Bobby Nash has kept a secret from his friends, his wife and his step children since 2015 when he came to LA. Bobby’s eldest and only surviving child comes to LA to reconcile and make amends all the while she catches the eye of a certain blue eyed firefighter.

Warnings: Swearing, death/familial loss, pregnancy, blood, angst, injuries/medical emergency, and fluff

Words: 8k

A/N: Back at it with another 9-1-1 fic. Hope you enjoy, and I may just have to do another crossover with 9-1-1 and Julie and the Phantoms.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

There are moments in our lives that define us, whether it can be known as a positive or negative, but the outcome is always the same. A six-letter word that strikes fear and excitement into the souls of humans is change. The fear can be for ourselves or as a result of a child, a sibling, or a parent branching out on their own. Unfortunately, you had gone through a harsh and cruel experience on a cold winter night in the city you grew up in.

A typical Thursday filled with classes at the college you attended in Minnesota on a scholarship, nothing out of the ordinary. The plan had been to drive to your parents’ apartment to catch up with them for the weekend. Saturday morning was already reserved for a girls day with your little sister Brook and your mom. In the afternoon, you’d promised to take your brother Bobby to the ball diamond.

Your bag was packed, the plan to drive straight from class to St. Paul the following day to arrive in the daylight. Your dad struggled with worry when it came to you driving in the dark and especially in winter with icy roads.

“Y/N!” Dottie screeched from the living room of the four-bedroom dormitory. The pretty and curvy brunette had been the first friend you made in college.

Typically Dottie was on the quieter side, so when she screamed, you practically sprinted to the girl.

“Where’s the fire?” You demanded with a smirk at the reference to a topic that was a constant in your family.

The fire drills your father conducted every four months for an exit plan in case of a fire and general information to save yourselves. He had also trained you to remember fire hazards and how to call dispatch with clear information if that time ever came. It never did and hopefully never would.

“The Lakeview Apartments in St. Paul.” Dottie’s dark brown eyes spoke only of pity and concern. The five foot ten roommate literally caught you as you tumbled into her arms with a loud grief-stricken scream.

You were forever indebted to the brunette for the plans she sacrificed to drive you back to St. Paul. There was absolutely no chance Dottie would allow you to both drive and be alone with no news. The media hadn’t released the names of the 148 deaths the fire relentlessly tore from the land of the living.

“I want to prepare you for what you’ll see. Your mother suffered severe third-degree burns over the majority of her body.” The kind nurse, also one of your friend’s parent, explained as she guided you to the Burn Center in the Regions Hospital, “I don’t want to lie and tell you she’ll be fine. You’re an adult Y/N. You deserve the truth and not be coddled.”

“Is she gonna survive?” You quietly asked, “Has she woken up since she was brought in?”

“The doctor placed her on a high dosage of morphine for the pain. Your father hasn’t left her side.” Lucinda informed you with sympathy written as over her face, The hazel eyes unable to adequately meet yours.

“I’ll check on her, then could you take me to the rooms my siblings are in?” You asked, completely unaware Brook and Bobby had been DOA at the hospital.

Your father hadn’t answered the text messages or the voicemails you had left on his phone—radio silent. You couldn’t be mad when he was with your mom, but a text would have been nice.

“This is where your mother is staying for the unforeseeable future. If you need anything, you can call me.” Lucinda softly replied before turning her heel to head back to the Burn Centre’s front desk.

It was horrific walking into a room with no idea if the occupant who had raised you would survive. The confident, gorgeous mother you had for the past nineteen years was unfamiliar to you, the extensive gauze covering nearly every inch of her body. You almost couldn’t even recognize the man sitting in the chair with his hands wrapped.

“Dad? What happened?” You questioned the grieving man. The only person left in your family as you would soon come to know.

“Y/N?” Bobby gasped, pushing himself to his feet, staring at his only living child. The guilt ate at him just staring at you with those light brown eyes, “Oh, sweetheart.”

Your dad crossed the room in a few steps. The scent of smoke was still clinging to every part of him, but it was fine. Your dad was okay, minus the wounds on his hands. You’d always been closer with your father than your mother.

“Dad, what happened?” You quietly asked the ashamed firefighter that had to reconcile his feelings on the fire and his career—that struggle ending up pushing you away when he really just wanted you as close as possible.

“The building caught on fire after an ember from a heater lit a blanket on fire,” Bobby informed you with his eyes pinned on his wife. Bobby knew the chances of Marcy surviving were incredibly low, and he had to tell you that.

Bobby only knew the details passed on from a firefighter who pitied the man who’d lost most of his family.

“Is Mom gonna be okay?” You questioned, and the said injured woman in the bed weakly responded.

“Baby?” Marcy quietly questioned from her absolutely still position on the hospital bed, “Uh, Bobby.”

You left your father’s side to be as close to your mom as possible, with the clear plastic separating you for her safety. Your heart shattered at the sheer exhaustion in her pretty blue eyes.

“Hi, Mom.” You shakily spoke with one hand lightly pressed against the plastic divider. You didn’t even notice when your dad stepped up too.

“Marcy?” Bobby called out from right beside you, just as torn up, but Bobby carried extra weight on his shoulders, “We’re right here, Marcy. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

The muffled grunt of pain, your mom’s attempt to save you from grief, Marcy let out as she turned her head to look at you. You knew deep in your gut that this was the time place you would see your mom alive. And by the look in her eyes, she knew too.

“The...kids…?” Your mom’s breathing became more erratic as she questioned the man she viewed as her hero. The man she believed had saved her and their youngest children, “Where...are they?”

“The kids are fine.” The way your father said it and the tears led to the knowledge once kept from you.

“No.” You whispered, seeing the total grief written clear on his face. The pain meds and agony kept your mom from knowing the truth.

“They’re safe.”

“I knew you’d come and save us.” Your mom breathed as her eyes started hiding the pretty blue you’d now only see in pictures. In your dreams, until even those faded as father time cruelly pulled you along.

Then your worst nightmare happened. You watched as the woman you looked up to flatlined with the thought of her children safe. You’d always know she’d held on just long enough to find out the state of her children. You could only hope she’d forgive your father for lying to her as she died.

“Mom!” You screamed, fighting the arms of an orderly restraining you. You barely noticed the resistance to your frantic attempts.

One minute you were staring at a team unsuccessfully trying to revive your long-gone mother, then you were in a hotel room. The atmosphere tense and quiet between father and daughter, with the ghost of your dead family to keep you both company. You could hear Brook gagging every time you’d kissed your now ex. You could see Bobby toddling after you years ago.

At least you had your father—a father whose guilt festered until he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“It was my fault.” He murmured, staring at the barely eaten burger that tasted solely just cardboard. He couldn’t bear to look at your face, “I didn’t mean to leave it on.”

Your head snapped to stare at him in disbelief, “What do you mean you didn’t mean to leave it on?”

“I-I went to the roof to sleep after your mom kicked me out. I didn’t have my keys to the apartment I had below ours.” Bobby began spilling the lies he’d told to you about his addictions. Of the apartment, you’d had no clue was even in his possessions.

The pain of losing your family tore into you, “You took my mom away from me. I’ll never get to share my wedding day with her. Shopping for a dress and gossiping about boys. I’ll never be able to wipe Brook’s tears during her first heartbreak.”

Each word broke Bobby more and more.

“You stole my future. You’re selfish, ungrateful and utterly pathetic. You cost so many people so much, all because you sought out your next high.” You spat, glaring at someone you’d never expected to hurt you. You didn’t notice your hands grabbing your possessions nor opening the hotel room door, “You couldn’t even properly try to get clean.”

“Y/N-”

“Get your shit together before you kill anyone else. I never want to see you again.” You sobbed with regret already festering in your body, but pride held you back from apologizing.

Upon your return to your dorm with Dottie by your side, you immediately began the process to enter an exchange program. Within a month, your feet entered Sydney Airport. You didn’t return to America for several years.

You took a job as a casual lifeguard on Bondi Beach, met Lucas in a meet-cute situation at the grocery store. You graduated college and found a job as a paramedic as you began becoming a flight paramedic. In 2020 Lucas and you discovered you’d be bringing in a little baby into the world.

Learning about your little Cashew growing safe in your womb fanned the flame of desire to reconcile. Ultimately the pride kept pushing the urge to apologize for the cruel words you told your father further away. You naively believed you had all the time in the world.

Remember the six-letter scary word? If losing your mom, siblings, and father was a devastating blow, losing Lucas was nearly tied. Your little Cashew lost their father before they even got to meet him. That was push enough to pack up your home and fly back to America with your father’s new address as soon as you could.

In the fallout of the apartment fire, your father relocated from Minnesota to Los Angeles.

Los Angeles, 2020

As soon as you’d found the nicest but cheapest hotel to stay in until you found a place, you walked the streets of LA. The first order of business of approaching your father at his workplace as you had no personal address. Residing still in Minnesota, Deputy Chief Evans had only given you the address of Bobby’s work.

You could only hope Bobby wouldn’t turn you away. That he was willing to bridge the gap, you’d widened over the years. That he could forgive the silence to each email, he sent when you changed numbers.

“We should go out to dinner.” The female voice was what brought you back to the present time. The woman was beautiful with her buzzed head and clear skin.

Right by her side was a dark-haired male of Asian ethnicity with a bag thrown over his shoulder, “If you’re paying, you bet I’ll be there.”

The two continued to converse in their own world until the man had to literally dodge you when they finally noticed you.

“Does Chief Bobby Nash work here?” You inquired, having no desire to enter small talk when the baby was sitting on your bladder again. You nearly retched when the man stared down at your swollen midsection, shocked, “It’s not his baby.”

Hen caught the evident disgust on your face, “He’s in his office. I’ll guide you there…”

“Y/N.” You supplied the firefighter. Hen smiled in response, “And your name is…”

“Henrietta Wilson, but you can call me Hen. That was Howard Han. He goes by Chimney, and I’ve been sworn to secrecy on the name.” Hen chuckled in her steps to the closed door of the fire chief. Hen swiftly knocked on the door to give Bobby a heads up.

“Come in!” Bobby called from his pile of paperwork he had pushed and waited to work on. It had slipped as the date came closer. Your twenty-seventh birthday, the seventh one since he last saw you.

“Cap, a woman is asking for you,” Hen told her friend and boss. It’s a good thing you didn’t choose to surprise your father because Hen was shorted, and your bump made manoeuvring around tricky.

“What can I do…” Bobby trailed off when he saw the girl waiting to talk to him. The pen in his hand dropped to the table in shock.

Hen glanced between the two equally taken aback individuals, “Am I missing something here?”

“Hey, dad.” You whispered to the man who’d been dreaming of this moment since the minute you left. He’d searched for you at your previous college and nearly made a missing person report.

“Dad?” Hen couldn’t pick her jaw up from the floor if she even wanted to because this was juicy information. Sure, Bobby had caved into telling his team, his family that he’d lost his wife and two children in a fire.

He rarely talked about his life before the 118, but he’d never mentioned having a surviving daughter. Not in the handful of times he’d talked about the tragedy, nor did he have any objects or photos of you.

“You’re really here?” Bobby lightly chuckled with a twinkle in his eye. Hen had only seen a handful of times. All of them had Athena in the scene, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You beamed, stepping closer to the man you’d missed dearly, “I’m so sorry for the way I left. What I said was cruel and untrue. You aren’t selfish, and I can’t blame you for something you couldn’t control.”

Bobby grinned. He’d stepped around his desk only to halt when he took in an undeniable development—the baby bump you carried.

“Is-”

“I’m pregnant. Six months along with a baby girl.” You laughed to the apparent disbelief in your father’s light brown eyes. His gaze continued to shift between the bump and your e/c eyes.

“Wow. Sorry, this is...wow.”

“She’s one of the reasons I wanted to come back. To fix our relationship because I want her to know her grandpa. You’re the only grandparent Poppy will know.” Bobby was quick to tug you into his arms as soon as the first tear dropped down your cheek.

There was so much you wanted to tell your father, but that overwhelming grief rose higher. You’d left Australia where Lucas laid in a plot in a cemetery. You left the friends you’d found in the city. Left the lifeguard job you’d come to love.

“Where are you and your partner staying?”

“He...uh...Lucas passed away recently.”

The arms holding you tightened in response to your confession, “Oh sweetheart.”

“I didn’t know where else to go. I can’t stay in the home we bought. Not the place he died when I couldn’t save him.”

“I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’-”

“Don’t coddle me. I was...am a paramedic. A flight paramedic, to be specific, so I know that my hesitation could be the reason he died.”

Your career took the father by complete and utter surprise because you’d always planned on a different job. Before the fire that claimed so many lives, you’d never entertained a career in the emergency field.

“We have a lot to catch up on. First, you need to know that I’ll always love your mother no matter what, but you need to know. I met someone when I first moved here, and we were friends at first. She divorced her husband. We started dating...sweetheart, I remarried.”

A wave of emotions flared in your chest, from betrayal to sadness and ultimately happiness. Having lost your first love, you understood and knew if love came around for you, you wouldn’t ignore it. Lucas wouldn’t want that.

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

Re-entering into Bobby’s new life was a difficult adjustment for everyone included. Tension had risen between Athena and Bobby for a brief period. Athena hadn’t even been aware of your existence, but she could fault Bobby. Athena had even told her first husband about her late fiance Emmett when they were still together.

It was difficult for you with the new addition of two step-siblings in the same birth order as Brook and Bobby had been. The Grant siblings had welcomed you into the family without any reservations.

“Did you ever get to fly the chopper?” Harry asked as he scrubbed the dirty dish from the Sunday family dinner.

It was the first dinner that had no awkward tension since you arrived back in the country. Athena had taken a bit to warm up, but it was nothing personal. She’d actually been the one to find you you’d been staying at a hotel. Mama Athena did not like her pregnant step-daughter living at a hotel. She’d actually stormed your room with Hen and Karen as back up to pack your room and leave for the Grant-Nash house.

“No. I had to help keep the patients alive. If I’m telling the truth...sometimes I didn’t even notice I was in the air.” You whispered to your stepbrother. He was just invested in your career as he had been when Bobby first entered their lives.

“That is so cool!” Harry enthused with soap suds splashing your thin knitted sweater. Harry’s mouth formed an ‘o’ when you flicked water onto his face in retaliation.

“Do you know Bondi Beach in Australia?” You inquired the youth with the chore of dishes completed.

“Yeah! There’s a tv show called Bondi Rescue! I watch the clips on YouTube!” Harry exclaimed, hot on your heels to the couch. Out of May and Harry, he followed you around with questions about your life in Australia.

“I was a casual lifeguard. I’m not featured on that show, but I would get called in when a lifeguard was needed. It paired well with my job as a flight paramedic.” You half-smiled, remembering the Bondi lifeguards who had welcomed you into the family. You became one of them when they started pranking you.

“Did you ever see a shark-”

“Harry, go brush your teeth. Leave Y/N alone.” Athena informed her youngest from the open patio doors. Your father, Athena and May had been outside as soon as the table had been cleared.

“But-”

“Harry,” Athena warned the youngest Grant. Harry didn’t attempt to argue with his stern mother; all he did was hug you quickly. You watched the young boy disappear into the hallway.

“He reminds you of your little brother?” Athena questioned. In your time of reminiscing, the older woman had settled in Harry’s previous position.

“A little.” You whispered, “Thank you for welcoming me into the family. For making my dad happy.”

“You know I may have some baby clothes put away if you’d like to use them?” Athena offered with that smile that made you feel at home. Athena was far different from your late mother, with her presence commanding respect and intelligence. Your mom was similar, but I suppose it could be described as a softer touch.

“Anyway, saving a penny is appreciated. I have a question for you also.” You hesitantly started with a bundle of nerves deep in your belly. Athena turned to give you her full attention.

“Well? Out with it.” Athena pushed, but she had a slight feeling of what you were about to ask her.

“My mom was one the strongest women I know. It hurts that my baby won’t get to experience her love and guidance, and you can say no. We’ve only known each other a short time, but would you consider...maybe being a grandma to my baby?”

Giddy was the feeling Athena developed along with the laughing smile that only came from happiness. The woman could only nod her head in response to your hesitant question. To Athena’s knowledge but not yours, Bobby was softly smiling, watching his formerly estranged daughter getting along with your stepmom.

“Oh!” You gasped as your baby kicked hard enough for her foot imprint to be seen through your knitted sweater.

Bobby was by your side in concern the second he heard your startled sound, but Athena wasn’t that concerned. Athena remembered having the same reaction.

“Are you okay?” Bobby frantically questioned. He faltered when the woman shared a belly-deep laugh at the sheer fear written in the seasoned firefighter’s eyes.

“Poppy was kicking.” You chuckled as your father’s shoulders dropped in relief, “Here.”

Your nimble fingers clasped around your father’s wrist to bring his palm to the spot Poppy was kicking. A certain lightness flooded your entire body, being capable of sharing this experience with Bobby. Watching tears well up in the grandpa to be’s brown eyes.

“Whoa.” Bobby breathlessly spoke as Poppy kicked against his palm. The feeling building in his was exhilarating with the small amount of grief mixed in, “I remember when your mom was pregnant with you. We didn’t know if we were having a girl or boy, but she was adamant you would be a kickboxer. So active.”

Athena watched as the relationship between father and daughter started healing directly in front of her eyes. The Sergeant was about to give you two some privacy when you caught her hand in your free one.

“Here.” You informed the older woman shifting to place her hand where your father’s hand had previously been. Your e/c eyes sought the wonder-filled different shades of brown eyes the couple had.

“You should get some sleep,” Athena spoke, staring at her hand resting on your bump. Her dark chocolate brown rising to find your gaze, “You won’t be getting a lot once she arrives.”

Bobby and Athena watched as you turned the corner to the spare room Athena’s parents used when they visited. For the time being, you’ve moved into the room, and the Grant-Nash house hoped you would stay. May had always wanted a sister, and Harry loved all the stories you told about Australia.

“You know, at some point, you’ll have to talk to her.”

“I just was-’

“-without anyone else being the buffer. Bobby, both your lives is evidence enough that some things are too trivial to stress over.” Athena pinned her stern gaze on her husband. The same husband is actively trying to avoid her penetrating gaze.

“What I did-’

“Is in the past, Bobby. You have a second chance with that wonderful woman in that bedroom and our grandchild. Now, are you sure that having the party at the firehouse is okay?”

A hand supported the base of your back where an ache tended to stay for most of the day. That ache wasn’t the worst symptom of your pregnancy. You had heartburn constantly that tied with unfortunate constipation that had thankfully lessened. Your purse always had a cardigan for the hot flashes as well.

“Perfect! May has my car, and Bobby needed that.” Athena beamed from the open bay of the 118. One of the firefighters, Eddie, if you recalled, snagged your purse and the specific ingredient for a recipe.

“You could have borrowed Bobby’s-”

“His vehicle is in the shop Buck.” Athena interrupted the only member of the 118 you had let to officially meet.

Now there were two suspects of the sudden shortness of breath you started experiencing. It could be Poppy in the limited space in your body or the handsome firefighter. Buck had to be hands down none of the most attractive men you’d ever encountered. His dark blonde hair had minimal height, but the soft waves made your fingers itch to feel it. His ocean blue eyes crinkled at the corners with mirth.

“Ah, so you’re flesh and blood of Cap?” Buck questioned from in front of you. His blue eyes centred solely on you, with half a mind thanking himself that he could navigate the station blindfolded in the dark.

“For the last twenty-seven years, I have been.” You retorted, stopping at the edge of the stairs to the apparatus. Your keen sense of smell catching one of your favourite meals your father had dug up from the recipes he hadn’t used in years.

A zing of electricity trailed off your arm when a calloused palm met yours. Your e/c eyes followed the path of tan skin until it reached the shirt sleeve of Buck’s t-shirt. The shirt emblazoned on the chest with the department’s insignia. The man in the casual uniform guided you safely up the stairs with his hand on your back.

The pressure of Buck’s hand on your aching back muscle nearly brought what would be an embarrassing moan from your lips. Thankfully a gasp of surprise fell out instead at the banner hanging with other decorations.

“What?” You choked, cupping your hands to your face. Pure unadulterated shock and affection flooded every inch of you.

The entire 118 squad intermixed with their loved ones surrounded the open area with grins. On a table behind everyone was many wrapped gifts. But the cake was the most impressive.

A large rectangular cake in the realistic shape of a fire engine parked in front of a fire hydrant with a fondant hose going to the truck. On top of the fire truck was the turnout boots next to the matching helmet, the 118 proudly on it. You adored the turnout coat draping off the top to hang off the side.

“If you look at the helmet, it says Poppy.” Buck enthused, guiding you even closer to catch the immaculate cake, “It has to be the best cake we’ve gotten from them.”

“Hey, my rebar head cake was phenomenal!” Chimney called with a belying grin on his face. His hand encased by a brunette woman about his height with her heels on.

“It’s a long story.” Buck offered as soon as you gave him a weird questioning look, “Let me introduce you to everyone!”

For the next five minutes, you spend it by meeting the family of 118, including Eddie’s completely adorable son. Christopher was happy to sit next to you as soon as Harry had found you. Slowly the others came closer to hear the stories.

“What’re the most common injuries on the beach?” Denny, Hen and Karen’s ten-year-old son questioned.

“Bluebottle Jellyfish stings. On one day, we had hundreds of people come to the tower for stings, and the treatment for the minor ones is stingose spray and ice.”

“My question is how a girl from Minnesota is a lifeguard in Australia. Especially on Sydney’s most dangerous beach.” Chimney inserted, waving his bottle of pop at you, his eyes kept moving towards the wine Maddie brought.

Unfortunately, the 118 wouldn’t be celebrating with the wine until their shifts ended in a few short hours. It was a damn miracle they hadn’t been called out yet.

“This former Minnesotan spent summers at my best friend’s parents’ place in Cali as a lifeguard. Also, Bondi is not the most dangerous beach in Sydney. That’s Tamarama.” You pointed towards the man who raised his hands in surrender.

“Have you ever seen a dead body?” Harry asked, bringing a sobering silence in the question’s wake.

Your body language changed as soon as he asked, “Unfortunately, I’ve seen death as a paramedic and as a lifeguard.”

“You’re a paramedic? I thought you were just a lifeguard?” Buck asked, interested in the new information. Buck could feel his Captain’s eyes on the back of his head; he was sure Bobby could smell the attraction on Buck.

“Casual lifeguard. Called when needed as a backup.” You turned your e/c eyes towards the arguably youngest member of the 118.

“How many dead-”

“Harry.” Athena warned her son from continuing a topic that killed the ease and happiness you’d shown previously, “Why don’t we stop talking about-”

“Too many, Harry.” You interrupted your stepmom with a gentle smile towards the woman, “It’s not just drowning that claims lives but also the cliffs surrounding the beaches. Lifeguards patrol more than the beaches and water. Lifeguards respond to medical emergencies, mostly spinal until the paramedics arrive.”

“Oh-”

“I had a fellow lifeguard leave the job because of the suicides we deal with.”

“...who wants cake?” Karen used the quiet interlude of the much too serious topic for a group of kids barely in the double digits of ages. All referenced children followed Hen’s life to the beautiful baked creation.

“Sorry for getting dark there.”

“We all know the dark side of the jobs we chose to do. You sound like you miss Australia. Are you going to return there?” Eddie questioned with one eye pinned on his son, consuming more sugar than he wished.

Eddie’s question did raise self-doubt, but you knew that ultimately living in Australia was no longer a viable option.

“There’s nothing there for me.”

Eddie, Buck and your father understood that mentality to a ‘t’ with family complications keeping them away. Your father for obvious reasons, whereas Eddie and Buck each had a living family with opinions only they saw right.

“You’re always welcome here. Especially when you bring that little cutie to the firehouse.” Maddie cooed towards your baby bump. The 911 dispatcher had asked many questions about your pregnancy.

Maddie was the type of person who could make a stranger feel like they had known for their entire lives.

“Here.”

A plate of the cake was thrust in front of your face courtesy of Maddie’s brother Buck. It is quite literally the perfect size you could ask for. In his other hand, he had a new bottle of water waiting for you to grab.

“Thank you, Buck.” Your shock must have shown in your voice when his cheeks flushed.

“This whole party is a celebration for you, so you shouldn’t have to get up...unless you want to!” Buck rushed to respond, getting more flustered with the amused look of his older sister on him, “You’re already doing something absolutely amazing, so you should get to rela-”

“Buck!” You laughed, ending the older man’s rambling thoughts. The entire party attendees had started watching Buck’s failed smooth attempt.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Buck mutely nodded in response, “No prob-”

The bell was the one to interrupt him instead. The on-duty firefighters rushed down from the upper levels to the lockers. The swift suiting up impressed you as it was like you blinked, and the bay was empty.

“Should be the last call before they get off shift.” Maddie, still occupied with the cake she was eating, “That wine looks so good!”

Your attention snapped from the vacant spots the 118 vehicles parked to the woman ploughing down on the cake. Sure it was good, but not that good. Maybe you could tell as a pregnant woman, or perhaps you just caught some of the symptoms you felt.

“How far along are you?”

Maddie froze, “What are you talk-”

“You’re pregnant, right?”

“Don’t tell anyone. Chim and I found out recently, but we want to wait on telling people. Once the first trimester is over, everyone can know.” Maddie pleaded with two hands cupped under her chin in a prayer position. The pretty brunette using the puppy dog eyes on the new friend she’d made.

“You should tell Buck-”

“We will once we enter the safe zone. So tell me about your baby’s father.” Maddie swiftly changed the subject, unaware of the ache developing in your midsection.

“Lucas Gowan.” You mussed, recalling the freckled half Australian half Scots man with the thick red locks.

“Ooh, is he still in Australia?”

“Technically, he is. I met him at the grocery store near the university campus. I’d transferred to escape my grief. It was purely an attraction at first sight before developing into love at first sight. We convocated and moved into a cosy little place. We’d only just found out about the baby when Lucas passed away.”

As you told Maddie, your hand had moved to cradle the only remaining piece of Lucas.

“His death was unexpected and sudden. He’d taken a run the morning of our scan to find out baby Gowan’s gender. He fell off the side of the cliff. I was told he died instantly. The investigator believes his shoelace untied, and he stepped on it. Fell right off the side.”

“I’m so sorry.” Maddie breathed, leaning closer to hold your hands in her own, “He’d be so proud of you. For returning to the states. Do you keep in contact with his family?”

“He was an only child. Parents died in a car accident when he was ten years old. He was in foster care until he aged out of the system. Poppy is named after his mom.”

Maddie instinctively knew talking about Lucas was, “You know you get along pretty well with Buck... I’ve never seen him so flustered.”

“Maddie, I can tell you are a very intelligent woman, but you’re wrong here. Why would a guy like Buck be interested in a pregnant woman with a reconciling relationship with her father and his Captain while grieving her baby’s dad?”

Maddie tilted her head to the side, “Because I know my brother. He’s only ever had that look when I first moved to LA. Back when Abby was still important to him.”

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

Maddie’s mouth opened to speak, but you were saved by the bell when Athena called you over for pictures. Then her attempts got thwarted once more when the 118 returned to the house perfectly synced to the end of shift.

“Driving here was the last time until the baby’s here. You’ve got precious cargo-”

“I’m seven months pregnant; I can still drive. There’s no law saying I can’t-”

Never argue with Athena Grant-Nash, “It may not be illegal, but I won’t endanger my daughter or my granddaughter.”

“I have to get to my OB/GYN appointment tomorrow. You and Dad each have a long shift during my scheduled appointment. Harry is both too young to drive and in school. May has a shift at dispatch. There’s literally no one available to take me.”

Bobby watched as two of the most important women in his life argued over something as trivial as driving. Harry shook at listening to someone fighting against his mother; she could be terrifying.

“I can take her.”

Everyone in the fir house turned to the voice who’d offered suddenly and found the sheepish form of a tall firefighter. Eddie’s eyebrows raised at his best friend.

“I don’t work tomorrow. I’ve got no plans. Albert’s got some date with a girl at her place.”

“I couldn’t put you out.”

“You need a ride, and I’ll be bored, so why not take my new friend to her baby doctor.”

“Baby doctor?” Hen parroted to her wife in astonishment towards her coworker and close friend. Both the women found the blatant flirting from Buck to the soon to be mother.

“She’ll take you up on the offer. She’s staying in our guest room. Come early for breakfast before you go. We’ll be having waffles.”

Buck found any excuse to visit the Grant-Nash home with the motive to hang out with you ever since the baby shower. From delivering baked goods from your favourite bakery to insisting on driving you to appointments. Didn’t matter if Athena or Bobby could take you; Buck was adamant he drove you.

The friendship was easy going and very natural, like a ball glove still moulded perfectly to your hand. The hangouts in your home evolved to weekly visits to restaurants with guidelines to the current event happening worldwide.

Ultimately it even led to a test date.

“You look breathtaking.” Buck breathlessly informed you once he’d gently pushed your chair closer to the table.

“Thank you.” You kindly responded despite thinking the complete opposite to the charming man sitting across from you.

Athena and May had helped you get ready for the date with calming words on how going on a date so far into the pregnancy was okay. Then, your father had tentatively inserted himself with sage advice on re-entering the dating scene.

“I thought we could grab some ice cream after,” Buck spoke up as soon as the waiter had taken your drink order. Buck had decided to refrain from alcohol and went with glasses of lemonade and water.

“You shouldn’t say that. I’ll just want ice cream.” You snickered, caressing the taut belly you’d grown to love. In fact, the firm push of a heel announced Poppy’s agreement with ice cream as dessert.

“How is Poppy?”

“The doc says she’s right on track. Healthy all around and in the position, she’s supposed to be at this stage.” Buck adored the affectionate smile that always appeared when the topic of your pregnancy was brought up.

“That’s amazing! Bobby gushes about you and Poppy. The fridge has an entire door dedicated to sonograms of Poppy. Even a few from that maternity shoot Hen and Maddie surprised you with.”

A few weeks had passed since the baby shower the 118 had surprised you with. Maddie had announced her pregnancy to the joy of the chosen family she had. Bobby had put together a crib he had painted. Michael, Athena’s ex-husband, had started making plans for adding on to the house for a room for the baby.

Despite informing the architect, you planned on moving out when you had saved enough, he’d made a sound argument. Athena would want a place for the baby to stay when you visited, or the woman demanded to babysit.

Now you found yourself in a National forest not far from Los Angeles, posing in front of nature. A surprise photoshoot Hen and Karen had organized with Karen’s brother Trey. Maddie and Athena had been the ones who drove you.

“Hold the teddy bear on your bump,” Trey informed you from behind his professional and intimidating camera. The photographer praised you in the rapid movement to listen to his offer.

“Hey! Maddie! You should take a few photos. I need a pee break.” You didn’t wait for Maddie to respond in your rush to the somewhat rustic bathroom hut.

By the time you returned, Maddie was taking a couple pictures. Then you took some with Athena to have on the nursery walls and for Bobby to have a photo for his desk.

“Now one with all three of you.”

Present

“So a daredevil.” You stated unsurprised that the firefighter had a history of recklessness. You don’t go into firefighting without a taste for danger.

“The bruises and blood fit better than the awful bleached hair during my time in Peru.” Buck laughed, recalling the questionable choice in his fashion pre-firefighting. Sometimes he missed the people he encountered in his period of self-discovery.

“You didn’t wear puka sh-”

“I did. Bleached hair, puka shells and Hawaiian shirts were my staples during my bartending years. I fit in with the aesthetic of the bar I tended.”

“Buck!” You nearly gasped at his raw honesty. Buck didn’t hold back any answers to your questions, but you each strayed from the topic of family.

Talking about the tragic family history wasn’t a good idea on the first time regardless of the time you’d known each other.

“You’re telling me-” Buck halted as soon as he caught the flash of discomfort flicker over your beautiful features, “Are you okay?”

“She shifted. Been sitting on my blad-” You cut yourself off with a hiss of pain. Buck’s eyes widened at the pain taking over your features, “Oh, that hurt.”

Buck went straight into work mode, “Have you been in pain for long?”

“No. A few cramps here and there today, but my doctor said it was nothing to worry about.” You informed the experienced first responder resting level to your knees.

Buck didn’t want to say it, but he was sure that you’d gone into early labour. There was no indication your water had broken, but he kept over the last hour together. Every once in a while, you shifted or pressed a hand to your bump.

“Has your water broken?”

You shook your head, “No, but...oh... that’s not a cramp.”

With that statement out, you clenched your fingers tight on the edge of the table as pain rippled in your belly. A contraction that stole your breath momentarily. In your contraction, Buck had dialled 911. Buck recalled that sometimes a woman’s water doesn't break until right before the birth.

“We’re not getting that ice cream, are we?” You snorted upon being lifted onto the gurney. How fortunate or unfortunate you were to have the 118 right there.

Hen had taken a position at your feet to check on your lower body while Chimney took your vital signs. You honestly didn’t like the look Hen and Chimney shared with Buck.

“What is it?”

“We’re gonna need to deliver here.” Hen sighed, giving you the facts that terrified you. When you envisioned having the baby, it was in a medical centre. Not in a restaurant.

“My office is large and away from the crowd if you want. I can show you the way.” Sophie, the restaurant manager, offered already starting to lead the way. Sophie would never know how thankful you felt for being able to have privacy.

“Okay, Y/N, is it okay if I check how dilated you -.” Hen breathed with her hand, gently disappearing until the thin blanket Chimney procured from the stocked ambulance, “Y/N when I saw I want you to do that.”

Hen didn’t need to check your dilation when she could see the baby’s head already.

“I’m right here.” Buck cooed in your ear. He had held your hand as his coworkers did their jobs around you.

“This isn’t the way I envisioned you seeing my pu-”

“Push.” Hen urged, cutting off your almost vulgar language, but it eased the tension in the small restaurant office. You couldn’t even see Buck’s flustered reaction as you bore down with the contraction, “Good! Take a breath.”

“You’re a strong woman. It never ceases to amaze me the strength women have.” Buck spoke, keeping your e/c eyes on his blue ones. His hand raised to push a strand of your sweaty hair off your temple.

“Once more push!” Hen called out just in time with the last contraction. The feeling of the pressure between your legs popping was moan inducing.

Poppy was silent. Your entire body froze, yearning for the sweet sound of crying instead of the eerie silence. The world stood still as Chimney worked on your baby girl.

“Pulse is strong,” Chimney announced, keeping his attention on the task of clearing Poppy’s throat and nose. And that sweet sound of crying commenced, “Congratulations Y/N, you have a beautiful baby girl. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

Your father beat the ambulance to the nearest ER in pure anticipation at meeting his granddaughter Poppy Nash Gowan. He barely noticed as Buck stuck to your side like glue. Bobby waited outside the door as you got checked over in the room.

“Quite the first date.” You mused towards Buck, who hovered in awe over the life form you had carried for nine months. You’d been pregnant for three quarters of an entire year to his fascination.

“All my meaningful relationships started with a medical emergency.” Buck finally looked up at you. He’d kept Poppy company in the bassinet while you delivered the afterbirth upon entering the hospital.

“Seriously?”

“Had a tracheostomy on Valentine’s Day with Abby, an earthquake with Ali and a newscaster in a crashed helicopter.” Buck listed off. He hadn’t even noticed scooping the newborn into his arms until he’d sat in the chair by your bed, “Why not add a sudden labour and delivery.”

“He would have liked you.”

The sentence came out of absolutely nowhere. Almost like something had ripped it out of your vocal cords. At the look of confusion, you elaborated.

“Lucas. He would have liked you. I think if it is possible, he might have pushed me into meeting you. I’ll still need to take it slow, but I’d like to give this a shot.”

That was all Buck needed to lean in closer to kiss you—the first of many kisses.

Some might disagree on how quick your relationship with Buck developed, but they didn’t know yours at all. It was natural with the firefighter who stepped into the role of father figure for a growing Poppy. By the time Poppy was one, you’d moved into a house not far from your father’s place with Buck. By the time Poppy was three, a pretty ring had sat on your finger. By five, the young girl had a baby brother.

“Your parents spoil Poppy.”

“You say that like you didn’t crawl into her crib during her afternoon naps.” You deadpanned towards your husband. Buck had the nerve to sheepishly grin, “You give in each time she says ‘pwetty pwease’ for a cookie.”

“It’s a crime to make her sad!” Buck defended himself, but a grin of amusement threatened his act, “Besides, you crack each time too!”

“Mhm. Just wait until Theo can talk.” You pressed a kiss to the sleeping infant strapped into the baby carrier. Theodore Robert Buckley could fall asleep in a thunderstorm if he was in Buck’s arms.

“Oh! Maddie wants to have Poppy over for a play date. Madster’s been begging for her cousin to have a sleepover.”

Maddie and Chimney’s daughter was only a few months younger than your daughter, but the two were thick as thieves. Buck had referred to the Han daughter as Madster with how similar her mannerisms were to her mother.

“Think they’d take the rascal?”

“Is this code for you wanting to have another?” Buck questioned with a twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes. The same blue Theo had inherited along with a birthmark like Buck’s on his bicep.

“I-” You choked, blinking furiously, “Evan, I pushed Theo out of my body barely three months ago!”

Buck inconspicuously winked in response with the sudden scream of excitement coming from Poppy. The rambunctious five-year-old ploughed into Buck’s legs full force. Falling into the practised ease, you’d unstrapped Theo from Buck’s chest and promptly had his tiny body stolen into his grandpa’s arms.

“There’s my boy.” Bobby cooed to the sleep drunk tiny infant. The little baby is crowded by his Gram Athena and Aunt May, “Gonna have to get you a Minnesota Wilds jersey.”

“Hell no. That boy is LA born and bred. He’ll be wearing a Kings jersey like the civilized.” Michael announced with the sudden arrival of Theo and Poppy’s Uncle Harry.

“Mommy? When are we going to Stralia?” Poppy inquired from right beside your leg. Her tiny handheld is the giant one of her dad.

“In a few weeks. Are you excited to see the mommy’s old friends again?”

“Hm. Can we see Dada?”

Buck may be Poppy’s father, but he’d never let Poppy go without knowing she had two fathers in all. Her first one waiting to meet here decades from the time she was born and solely referenced Lucas as Dada. Buck was grateful for the man who brought Poppy into existence; the little green-eyed tot Buck could never regret. Unlike Buck’s parents keeping his older brother’s existence a secret, the firefighter refused to follow in their footsteps. He’d continue to shower the late Lucas in gratitude and respect. He refused to make the same mistakes as Phillip and Margaret Buckley.

“Of course. C’mon Poppy, time to say goodbye.” Buck guided the little girl to the extended family showering her little brother with love. The little girl was quickly swung into Bobby’s arms, and Athena cooing at your infant son.

Changes. The six-letter word doesn’t have to be terrifying. It can be breathtaking, memorable and beautiful to experience.

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luvdsc · 4 years

Text

august.

Bad habits are hard to break, and you’ve made a terrible one of loving him.

pairing :: liu yangyang x reader genre :: fluff, angst ⋮ best friend + college au word count :: 10,500 words warnings :: none. playlist :: time lapse (taeyeon) ⋆ 2 kids (taemin) ⋆ daydreams (exes) ⋆ sharing you (lany) ⋆ august (taylor swift) ⋆ too close to love (will hyde) ⋆ sad stripped (lany) ⋆ strangers (taemin) ⋆ the 1 (taylor swift) author’s note :: can you believe that i literally wrote this entire 10k fic in one day aka today ??? whew this gave me the same rush that i got when i wrote my research paper in the class it was due for the day of, printed it out during break, and handed it in at the end of class :’) ↳ part of the almost collaboration series.

Liu Yangyang is jumping fences to escape late night parties, shared laughter over childhood favorite cartoons on February mornings, midnight dancing in the refrigerator light, and November kisses stolen in between the shelves of the nearby 7-Eleven. He is obscure doodles in the margins of your physics notes, good intentions laced in December’s mistakes, strawberry lemonade and broken truths wrapped in summer bliss, and September endings with honest lies.

He is your August, he is your everything, but he isn’t yours.

AUGUST 2018.

August has barely begun to fade away.

You’re eighteen years old, and you’re drunk off of your first taste of freedom, one toe already dipping into the shiny pleasures of adulthood. Your new roommate, Karina, has excitedly told you about the famous beach night themed frat party that kick starts every school year at your university. Everybody who’s anybody would be there, and your heart already races at the thought of going to your very first college party.

“Coral or blue?” Karina holds up a solid colored neon blue bikini and a striped, bright pink one for you to choose between.

“Blue.” You nod towards the first option, and she discards the other one back into the open drawer. You pull out a marigold yellow one and a black one lined with white strings, wordlessly gesturing towards them, and she immediately points to the latter.

“That one is gonna look so cute on you. Well, both would, but I love that one.”

You grin at her, silently thanking whoever decided to pair the two of you together for the random dorming. “Perfect, thanks. Do you know any of the guys hosting the party?”

“Yeah, Dejun? He’s really sweet and a year above us. I met him in the music elective I’m taking.” She turns to take off her shirt and tosses it to the side, pulling on her bikini and wriggling into a pair of ripped jean shorts. “You?”

“Kind of? Jaemin is in my project group in Intro to Engineering. He’s rushing for that frat.” You quickly change out of your outfit and into your chosen swim top and daisy dukes. You make sure to grab a pair of black flip flops from your closet. The bundle of nerves in your stomach grows as you step out of your dorm with your new friend, a bit anxious but also excited to attend your very first party.

Thank goodness for summer weather. It’s still a nice, warm 75 degrees Fahrenheit according to your weather app when you and Karina finally make your way to the frat house. The sun barely begins to set, but the party slash dayger had started earlier and is in full swing. There’s a DJ set up out front, blasting some sort of EDM music, and the lawn is absolutely covered in foam. You see the source of it shakily set up on the roof of the patio along with a couple of boys sitting up there, Hawaiian shirts barely covering their figures. You catch the eye of Jaemin, who happily waves at you from his vantage point, and you wave back at him.

“Oh my god, I love college,” Karina says, grabbing your arm excitedly as the two of you step into the foam. You reach down to pick up some of it before flicking it towards your roommate, who squeals before scooping some up and throwing it in your direction as well.

“Ready for our first shitty college drink?” You pull her through the mass of other students and towards the horribly decorated tiki bar stationed in the corner of the patio.

“Hell yeah, let’s do it.”

The two of you stumble over, still throwing handfuls of foam at each other amidst giggles before making a full stop in front of the bar. The older boy behind the makeshift counter lazily grins at you both, a shell necklace hanging loosely around his neck, and his unbuttoned orange Hawaiian shirt gives you a nice flash of his toned abs.

“Hey, I’m Johnny. What can I get for you two?”

“Two vodka shots, please.”

“Alright, ID?”

You freeze, and Karina’s grip on your arm tightens, and then Johnny laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Relax, I’m just messing with you, freshie. Two vodka shots coming right up.”

He pulls out two small plastic cups and pours out the drinks for you. “How many do you want?”

“This is good for now, thanks.” You and Karina pick up the drinks, smiling a little nervously at him. He flashes another amused smile at you. “Alright, come back anytime if you want another.”

You move away from the patio, and Karina follows close behind. The two of you throw back the drinks and dispose of the empty cups quickly. The burning sensation in your throat disappears after a few seconds, and you turn to your roommate. “Should we find our friends?”

“I think I see Dejun back there! Let’s go say hi, I can introduce you to him.” Karina drags you through the rising foam, the bubbles clinging to your skin, and when you go past the DJ stand, you feel the pounding bass reverberating in your chest harder than ever. You trek past the gate and into the backyard where the foam has risen to your waist, thanks to the enclosed fences. She taps on the shoulder of a boy with the prettiest almond eyes you have ever seen, and you shyly smile at him when he greets you.

“Hey, I’m Dejun.”

Oh my god, even his voice sounds pretty. Older college boys are definitely better and hotter than high school boys. Heck, they’re better than freshman boys. Nobody wants to date a freshman dude, not even the freshman girls.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” You extend your hand, but then realize how stupid that must be. You hastily start to retract your hand, but he laughs and warmly grasps your hand. Smiling at you, he shakes it firmly, squeezing your hand gently before letting go.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

The butterflies in your stomach grow in volume as the conversation goes on, and you’re positively enamored by the end of the night. Karina had given you a look earlier before walking off with Dejun’s friend and joining the dancing crowd. With the addition of his phone number in your pocket and a promise to show you a new song he’s working on with his guitar next Friday, you’re walking on cloud nine.

“Do you want something to drink? I need a refill, and I can go grab you one,” he asks, and you’re about to offer to go with him, but then you remember the teasing upperclassman and simply agree, asking for another shot of vodka.

After he disappears, you look around, eyeing the crowd and wondering if you can spot your roommate anywhere. You bump into someone lightly and turn around to apologize. Your eyes meet a pair of curiously bright ones.

“Sorry about that, I’m looking for my roomie.”

The boy gives you a Cheshire Cat grin. He’s wearing one of those dumb Hawaiian shirts, too, and it’s unbuttoned, but he has a white T-shirt layered underneath it. “No biggie, it’s a massive party and it’s crowded. Who are you looking for?”

“Ah, I don’t know if you know her, but Karina? She went off with this dude, Kunhang, I think?”

His eyes light up at that name. “Oh, I know him! I saw him earlier by the keg stands inside. Your friend might be there, too. I can—”

“THE COPS ARE COMING!” A loud voice bellows, and you freeze up. Suddenly, the music is shut off as everyone starts running away. You start to panic, the terror rising in your chest, and the boy in front of you grabs your hand and pulls you with him. “What are you doing?! Don’t just stand there! We gotta go!”

“Wait, but Kar—” You start to object, but cut yourself off when you bump into his back as he abruptly stops. He scans the backyard, quickly assessing the situation before turning to you.

“There’s way too many people trapped in here, we’re not gonna make it to the gate. We need to climb over the fence. I’ll hoist you up, and you can help me up from there.”

“I don’t even know you,” you protest, and he throws you a look.

“Hi, I’m Yangyang, nice to meet you, I don’t want to get my ass hauled out by the police and continue the icebreakers in jail, so let’s move now. We good?”

“Yeah, okay, we’re good,” you say faintly, mind still whirling around as you try to grasp the situation. “I’m Y/N.”

“Great, now up you go.”

He immediately picks you up without any warning, and you almost fall backwards, arms flailing before you grasp the top of the fence and pull yourself up. Balancing precariously on top of it, you grab his arm, tugging him up until he’s sitting right next to you, too. The both of you swing your legs over the fence and jump down to the other side. You let out a sigh of relief, squatting down as you clutch your heart.

“Oh my god, we made it. I didn’t get arrested at my first party.”

“What an amazing accomplishment.” Yangyang brushes off the back of his shorts. “We aren’t going to jail. Freshman year is gonna be a breeze if your bar is set this low.”

“Hey!” You frown at him, standing up and crossing your arms over your chest. “How do you know I’m a freshman?”

“It’s written all over your face.” You give him a look, and he relents. “Only a freshman would be this scared of getting caught.”

“So are you an upperclassman?”

“Nah, this is my first party, too. I’m rushing for Nu Chi. Hold on, wait here.” He sneaks around the edge of the fence, peering around for a few seconds before jogging back towards you. “Okay, the police are over there. I’m gonna have to wait a while before going back in.”

“You have to go back?”

“Part of tonight’s rush process,” he sighs before turning to you. “Do you live on campus?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna walk back now,” you answer, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “It’s late, and I’m not in a partying mood anymore.”

“I can walk you back,” he offers, and you shoot him a grateful smile.

“That’d be great, thanks.”

The two of you start the trek back, an awkward lull in the conversation making itself known. You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly when a soft breeze picks up. There’s a light rustling noise, and you pay no mind to it until a soft cloth is draped over your shoulders. Eyes widening, you notice the colorful, palm tree-printed button down shirt wrapped around you and the boy next to you, looking straight ahead with his hands shoved into his pockets. Smiling to yourself, you slip on the shirt, loosely buttoning the front of it.

“So, Yangyang,” you casually begin, testing his name on your tongue for the first time. You decide you like it. It’s cute. He turns to you, raising an eyebrow, and you continue, “Since our lives are no longer in jeopardy, we can continue the icebreakers, right?”

His lips curve into a smile. “Alright, shoot. What’s your first question?”

“Captain America or Iron Man?”

“Oh, Iron Man, hands down. He’s so…”

You meet him in August.

FEBRUARY 2019.

“Hey, where’s your cereal? The Reese’s one?”

February marks six months of your relationship with Dejun. It also marks six months of your friendship with Yangyang. It is time for your weekly Sunday rituals of watching old cartoons and eating breakfast, and you could’ve sworn that box was still half full last week. You rummage through the top drawer Yangyang had designated for snacks and other foods in his dorm as he takes out the milk from his mini fridge and carries it over to his desk.

“I ran out a few days ago. There’s Cinnamon Toast Crunch somewhere in there though.”

With a victorious cry, you manage to pull out the slightly crushed box of the aforementioned cereal from underneath the packages of flamin’ hot Cheetos and spicy nacho Doritos and triumphantly bring it over to your best friend. He already pulls out two bowls (which were stolen from the dining hall) and hands over the plastic spoons in his grasp (which was also taken from the dining hall).

“Thanks.” After dropping a spoon into each bowl, you shake out the sugary cereal squares before pouring the milk because you’re not an absolute heathen who puts milk in first, like Sicheng. Yangyang clambers up to his top bunk bed, and you carefully pass over the two bowls of cereal, milk sloshing precariously near the edges. You climb up afterwards, and he gives you your bowl once you settle down.

“So, Scooby Doo or Pokémon?”

“Mm, we watched Pokémon last Sunday already, so let’s do Scooby Doo this time.” He nods in agreement, pulling up the cartoon from the queue in Netflix, and the two of you lean back against the ginormous mound of pillows and stuffed animals of his that occupy nearly half of his bed.

You’re shoveling a spoonful of cereal into your mouth when he casually asks, “So how’re you and Dejun doing?”

Choking slightly, you quickly swallow. “We’re doing good. I think he booked a table at the Italian restaurant down the street for Valentine’s Day. Are you doing anything for Valentine’s?”

“I’m forcing Renjun to come watch that “‘Happy Death Day’ movie with me.” The faint sounds of the Scooby Doo theme song plays in the background as you hum in acknowledgement, mouth twisting into a mischievous smirk.

“That’s so sweet. So who confessed to who? Not gonna lie, I thought you had a crush on Hyuck, not Jun.”

“... I would shove you right now, but I just did my laundry, and rewashing my comforter is expensive and I’m out of quarters.”

You stick your tongue out at him, and he rolls his eyes before lifting his bowl up to sip the best part of having Cinnamon Toast Crunch: the milk infused with all the cinnamony, sugary goodness. You let your spoon fall back into your bowl with a soft clink, a sudden worrying thought popping into your head.

“I bought him some customized guitar picks and a pretty composition book. Do you think he’ll like it?”

“That’s a pretty basic gift, isn’t it? It feels like something Kun would get him,” he teases, but his heart falls when he notices you chewing on your bottom lip, spoon held limply in your hand.

“Hey, I’m just joking, of course he would like it. He’s completely whipped. He’ll love anything from you.” Yangyang’s voice grows softer, and he fiddles with a stray thread on his comforter, avoiding eye contact with you. “I know I would.”

He looks up slightly and sees you smiling gratefully at him, eyes shining bright. He quickly ducks his head, turning away slightly to hide the hues of pink blooming on his cheeks. He feels you leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder with a quiet sigh, and his breath hitches in his throat.

“Thanks, Yang.”

Replaying the sight of your smile in his mind makes his stomach flip flop, and he resists the overwhelming urge to tell you you’re pretty, pushing it back into the farthest crevice of his mind. Your head on his shoulder makes him feel like he’s carrying the entire world, and he doesn’t know what to do. He paints on a tight smile of his own, silently hoping you can’t hear the way his heart nearly pounds out of his chest.

Yangyang knows that having feelings for his best friend, specifically one of his good friends’ girlfriends, is something he absolutely should not be doing, but he can’t help it. His stupid heart refuses to listen to his brain. For now, all he can do is desperately hope that this dumb crush of his goes away soon because while 99% of his friends are oblivious (including you), Ten and Donghyuck are not. They’ll be able to spot his feelings from a mile away, like how Kun always knows when there’s a good sale going on at the Asian supermarket downtown (This week, it was the 50% off bean sprouts and chili paste).

Letting out an inaudible sigh, Yangyang carefully rests his head on top of yours. Clutching the empty bowl with one hand, he shoves his other one under his thigh to stop himself from reaching over and tangling his fingers with yours. He stares at the screen, watching until the bright colors blur together.

“Anytime.”

He likes you in February.

AUGUST 2019.

The earth spins around the sun for another time, and August makes its presence known once again. It’s Thursday night, and you’re sitting on the countertop in Nu Chi Theta’s kitchen, swinging your legs back and forth as Yangyang struggles to make some scrambled eggs because the half filled carton of eggs the two of you managed to find is the only thing that isn’t expired (besides Jeno’s protein shakes, but neither of you are gonna touch that cardboard tasting monstrosity).

“Maybe I should make it.” You peer over at the frying pan, wincing when you see the full damage of your future meal. “Did you use oil?”

“Of course I did!” he exclaims indignantly before pitifully pushing around the nearly charred mess of yolk and whites around with his spatula. “I’m not Mark.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter, waving your hand around to dissipate the acrid burning smell, and Yangyang throws you a dirty look. He grabs a fork and stabs a small chunk of the eggs. Picking it up, he brings it closer to his mouth before hesitating. His eyes dart to you, and you raise your eyebrows at him, a silent challenge in your gaze. The sad piece of egg hovers in the air for a few more seconds before he defeatedly drops it back into the pan.

“Okay, what if we just Uber Eats some McDonald’s?” Turning off the stove, he then tosses the remnants of his cooking into the trash and drops the pan into the sink.

“Stellar plan. Best idea you’ve had all night.” You hop off the counter to stand next to him, propping your chin on his shoulder to see him pull up the app. He immediately puts in your usual order along with his before holding it up for you to see it better.

“Looks good?”

“Looks perfect.”

He clicks the confirmation button, and the delivery is set to come in 30 minutes. You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close you are with your chest pressed against his back and hastily move away, warmth spreading across your cheeks.

Glancing over at your best friend, you don't miss the way Yangyang smiles down at something on his phone before his fingers fly across the screen. When he looks up, you immediately turn away, focusing your eyes on anything but him.

“Hey, you’re going to the Alpha Sig formal, right?” Yangyang calls out, and you throw on a teasing grin.

“You mean Alpha Sigma Psi, also known as the sorority I’m in?”

“Ah, right, yeah.” He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “But you’re going, right?”

You nod, the sudden realization creeping up on you. “Oh yeah, I am, thanks for reminding me. I completely forgot to ask, but do you want t—”

“Ningning just asked me to go with her,” Yangyang blurts out, and you freeze, failing to hide your shock for a split second before you regain your composure.

“Oh wow, that’s great, Yang! I’ll see you there then.” You try to give him a convincing smile. He wrings his hands, biting his bottom lip. Something is on his mind. You can tell. He’s not someone to hold back with his words, but this time, he is.

“I… I don’t know if I’m gonna go,” he says at last. Your heart picks up a little at that. Does that mean he doesn’t want to go to the dance at all? Or does he not want to go with Ningning? If you asked him now, would it make a difference?

“I’ve never slow danced,” he confesses, leaning against the opposite counter, and your heart drops. So that was it. Of course, he wouldn’t reject Ningning. She’s an absolute goddess, heck, you wouldn’t say no if she asked you either. You stamp out that last flicker of hope.

“What if I suck at it?” he continues, absentmindedly carding his fingers through his hair. “Oh god, I bet Yukhei and Kunhang are never gonna let me live it down. I can do choreographed dances, but I’m gonna mess up over a stupid slow dance. But where am I supposed to put my hands?! Like on her shoulders? Her waist? Do I hold her hand?”

Your eyes follow the way his hair ruffles slightly, and you wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. You swallow hard before saying quietly, “I can teach you?”

His hand pauses mid-movement, and your eyes fly down to meet his. His eyes widen, and he contemplates your offer for a split second before nodding excitedly. “Yeah, that’d be great! Can you teach me right now? While we wait for our food to come!”

“S-sure,” you stammer, flustered at the sudden acceptance and his eagerness. “Um, here? In the kitchen?”

“Yeah, why not?” He shrugs before straightening up. “The lights should be dimmed, right? We can kind of mimic that here to set the mood or whatever.”

He goes over and fiddles with the light switch, flicking it on and off, and you laugh, walking over and placing your hand over his. “What are you doing? Some kind of Kevin Nguyen mating call to look for a rave bae?”

“First off, I’m offended that you think I’d be one of them,” Yangyang narrows his eyes at you. “Secondly, I’m trying to make this feel more formal dance-y. Oh, wait!”

He turns off the lights for the last time and reaches over to pull open the refrigerator doors, the artificial fluorescent light pouring out and mixing with the faint beams coming in through the window from the street lamps outside. He grins at you, satisfied. “Romantic, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the amused smile on your face gives away your true feelings. “Wow, Romeo, you swept me off my feet. The food is gonna go bad, and Kun is gonna kill you for the high electricity bill.”

“What food? Jeno’s protein shakes probably never expire.” He snorts before standing closer to you, his hands resting on either side of you on the counter. You can see the pretty gold flecks in his irises, and your breath gets caught in your throat. “And I guess this means you gotta teach me fast before we waste more electricity, right?”

You place your hands on his chest and lightly push him away, and he laughs, stepping back. You let out a shaky breath, remembering that your lungs need oxygen in order to, you know, continue living.

“Okay,” you clear your throat before pulling out your phone and putting on a slow song. “Ready?”

“You chose Ed Sheeran? Thinking Out Loud? Really?”

You raise your hands up defensively. “Hey, he’s the king of sappy slow songs that all girls want to be played at their weddings for their first dance.”

When your legs don't work like they used to before,

And I can't sweep you off of your feet,

Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?

Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?

“Is this the song you want played at your wedding?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and your face grows warm. You ignore the question, and this time, you’re the one taking a bold step forward, a few centimeters now separating you and your best friend. You see his Adam’s apple bob as he gulps lightly before meeting your eyes.

And darling, I will be loving you 'til we're seventy,

And baby, my heart could still fall as hard at twenty-three,

And I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways.

“So, your hands go here.” You take his hands and place them on either side of your waist. His arms freeze up. “Relax, Yang. Precious cargo here.”

He lets out a chuckle, loosening his grip as he starts to relax. You reach up and slide your arms around his neck, interlocking your fingers. You gaze back at him, saying softly, “Now pull me closer.”

He does so.

Maybe just the touch of a hand,

Oh me I fall in love with you every single day,

And I just wanna tell you I am.

“And now follow my lead. We’re going to take one step. And then another. We’re just slowly turning in a circle.”

After a few spins and steps, you stop leading and let yourself be led. Yangyang continues to hold onto you carefully, and you can hear him muttering a 1, 2, 3, 4 count under his breath until he finally gets the hang of it. He grows a little braver, pulling you even closer.

So honey now,

Take me into your loving arms,

Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars.

“Are you going with Dejun?” he asks quietly, and you stiffen at the mention at him before shaking your head.

“No, we broke up in July.”

Yangyang falters in his step before recovering. “Oh. You never told me.”

“Yeah.” You struggle to keep your voice level. “I just… he’s your friend, and I didn’t want to make it weird.”

“You’re my best friend though,” he says firmly, looking you directly in the eyes. His grip on your waist tightens. “It’s his loss. That dumbass just lost the best person who’ll ever come into his life.”

You give him a tired half smile, one that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. He hugs you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your waist and securing you against his chest. You rest your head in the crook of his neck and hope that he doesn’t feel how quickly your heart beats in your chest.

Place your head on my beating heart,

I'm thinking out loud,

Maybe we found love right where we are.

“Thanks, Yang,” you whisper, your breath tickling his skin. He envelops you tightly, and the two of you continue to spin in slow circles, quietly dancing in the refrigerator light as the remaining verses of the song warble in the background.

You think you finally understand what Dejun meant when he said he’s breaking up with you because your heart was already occupied by someone else.

You fall in love with him in August.

NOVEMBER 2019.

[ 12:54 a.m. ] yang 🐏🤪: hey you up?

[ 12:54 a.m. ] yang 🐏🤪: 7/11 in ten mins?

Tiredly rubbing your eyes, you stumble out of your dorm building, one of Jeno’s sweaters draped over your figure. November nights are cold, but this one seems chillier than usual. Yangyang stands near the front steps, and he stiffens up when he notices whose hoodie you’re wearing. He makes no mention of it though when you join him.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He glances over to you as the two of you walk side by side to the small convenience store just on the edge of campus. You shake your head, shoving your hands into the front pocket of your sweater.

“I was up cramming for midterms. I could use a break anyway,” you shrug. A wisp of your hair falls in your face, and Yangyang starts to reach out to fix it, but forces himself to keep his hand by his side. You reach out to carelessly brush it away, tucking it behind your ear.

“What about you?” You look over at him, noting the bags under his eyes. “Rough night?”

He smiles tiredly at you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks a stray pebble along the sidewalk. “More like rough week. Two more midterms left, and they’re for electromagnetic theory and linear systems.”

“Oh god, good luck. I took linear systems today, and it was absolutely brutal.” You wince, brightening up when you see the familiar neon orange, red, and green lights up ahead.

“Maybe I should just withdraw and take it again next quarter,” your best friend grumbles, kicking the stone as far as he possibly can.

“You really want another quarter with Hwang?”

“You’re right,” he sighs, “I just need to get a C+ to maintain my GPA. C if I’m pushing it.”

The two of you hurry over to the 7-Eleven, quickening your pace, until you reach the store doors, and you pull them open. Entering quickly, you push the door open slightly wider, and Yangyang slips in behind you. The cashier doesn’t even look up, texting away on his phone. You make a beeline towards the chips aisle, grabbing a bag of flamin’ hot Cheetos and a pack of sour gummy worms.

“What are you getting, Yang?” You call out over your shoulder, eyes zeroing in on the Red Bull stand at the end of the aisle. When you hear no response, you halt in your steps, turning around. Yangyang stands in the middle of the aisle, looking dazed under the fluorescent lights.

Putting your items back on the shelf, you approach him, reaching out and touching his arm gently. “Yangyang, what’s wrong?”

He jerks back before silently holding up his phone for you to see. There’s a slew of text messages from Ningning a few hours ago, and a quick scan tells you all you need to know. Your heart weighs heavily in your chest when you look back at him, a forlorn expression on his face.

“She dumped me,” he says quietly, shoving the phone back into his pocket. “She said our relationship was like a friendship. She didn’t feel anything. She said we could still be friends if I wanted to be though.”

He jabs a large bag of Lays potato chips angrily as his voice raises slightly higher. “But I don’t get it. Do friends take each other on dates? Do friends spend the night? Do friends hug each other and hold hands walking to class? Do friends spend three hundred dollars to do a surprise weekend trip for their birthday?”

He whirls around to face you, and he’s so close that you can see those pretty golden sparkles in his eyes again. Suddenly, his hands are cupping your face, and the next thing you know, he’s kissing you. Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second before they flutter shut, and you press your lips against his. The 90s pop station music playing overhead seems to fade away, and all you can focus on is that your best friend tastes like spearmint gum and grape soju. He pulls away abruptly, the realization of what he’s done finally hitting him as his chest heaves up and down.

“Do friends kiss like this?”

His voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through the silence. You feel like you’re spinning out of control, a split second from careening and crashing.

“No, we—they don’t,” you mumble, and Yangyang sees the starstruck look in your eyes, and he wants to apologize: to say sorry for kissing you. But he doesn’t. Because for some reason, he doesn’t feel sorry. He closes his eyes, curling his hands into fists before exhaling slowly. He sees you looking back at him this time, and he wonders if you feel as equally lost as he does.

Because you’re right. Friends don’t kiss each other like that. Friends don’t feel like this about each other.

He kisses you in November.

AUGUST 2020.

The sun still shines bright late into the day, and August greets you like an old friend. You’re absentmindedly doodling in the margins of your notebook designated for Quantum Mechanics. Yangyang sits next to you in the lecture hall, making a bunch of origami cranes before tossing them at Renjun’s head right in front of him. When the bird reaches its target for the sixth time in a row, the annoyed boy whirls around in his seat, glaring at your best friend.

“Stop that,” he hisses, and Yangyang innocently raises his hands in the air. Renjun angrily frowns at him before turning back around in his seat. After a few minutes, Yangyang flicks another crane towards his friend. If this was a cartoon, you would see steam blowing out of your friend’s ears. You silently watch as he wordlessly picks up his phone, seething as he presses on a particular number.

Suddenly, Travis Scott’s SICKO MODE starts blasting, amplified by the large auditorium-like room. The professor goes silent, and everyone turns to see Yangyang scrambling to pick up his phone. He fumbles around for a few seconds with it before finally shutting it off and putting it on vibrate mode. Cheeks burning red, he meekly puts his phone back in his bag and squeaks out a “sorry” before sinking down in his chair (You can see the culprit grinning like the cat ate the canary right in front of him. Karma’s a bitch who also goes by the name of Renjun).

You pat his arm consolingly as he sulks next to you for a few minutes, mouth jutting out into a pout. You decide to take pity on him and lean closer to him, whispering quietly, “Would it make you feel better if I bought you boba after class?”

Immediately, he brightens up. “One oolong milk tea, half sugar with white pearls and coconut jelly?”

“Yes, I’ll pay for your overpriced drink,” you huff, thinking about how his one seven dollar drink could buy you a whole rotisserie chicken that’ll last you a week. At least the fluffy dog at Cloudy with a Chance of Boba is cute and fun to play with. “I’ll even get the honey waffle fries.”

“Heck yeah!” he whisper-yells, fist pumping quietly before he suddenly deflates. “Wait, I can’t. I promised Lia I’d get lunch with her.”

Ah, right, there’s Lia now. Yangyang’s new girlfriend: the only other student who went to Düsseldorf, Germany to study abroad over the summer, and inevitably, the two of them became close. All you really know about her is that she’s pretty, she’s in Iota Theta Zeta, and she followed you on Instagram a few weeks ago (of course, you followed her back because of the unspoken best friend and girlfriend policy).

Her page looks carefully curated, and there’s a common pink tinted theme going on throughout her feed. She has over a thousand followers, and it seems like Yangyang fits perfectly in her magazine curated life, judging by how he occupies nearly every picture taken in the summer with her or how he’s tagged as the photographer. You can’t deny that they look good together, pointedly shoving the green eyed monster back under the bed.

You take a peek at your messy Instagram page where you only post pictures when you’re half drunk, so there’s no semblance of uniformity anywhere. You shrug at him, pocketing your phone.

“No biggie. I’ll see if Karina is up for some boba. She’s been holed up in the dance studio already, and it’s only week two of classes, can you believe it?”

“I remember Ten was the same way,” Yangyang hums, eyes fixated on his phone and fingers tapping away. He laughs quietly, lips curling into a pretty smile, and you glance over curiously.

“What’s so funny?”

“Hmm?” Yangyang finally tears his eyes away from his screen for a split second to look at you before another buzz takes his attention away. He’s distracted, lovestruck, and you wistfully smile before turning back to your notes.

“Sorry, what’d you say earlier?” he loudly whispers a few minutes later, and you barely glance up from the large bulbasaur doodle you’re in the progress of completing right next to the chart marking the wave functions for a bouncing ball that you had copied down from the blackboard.

“Oh, I just asked what was so funny,” you murmur, coloring in the flowers you drew around the Pokémon with your blue ballpoint pen.

He looks confused for a moment before lighting up. “Oh! It was just a German joke. It’s not really funny if I translate it though.”

“Got it, no worries.” You notice the professor starting a new example problem, and you abandon your drawing, focusing on the formulas rapidly filling up the chalkboards in front of you. A quiet chuckle echoes in your ears, and you pause in your note taking to look over and see your best friend still typing on his phone. You make a mental reminder to create a copy of your notes for him later on when you pass the library on the way to the dining hall.

“Hey, Y/N.” Yangyang nudges you gently. “Rain check on the boba?”

You offer him a soft smile. “Of course. Anytime.”

He gives you a quick grin in return before his attention returns to the device in his hand—or rather, the pretty girl behind those texts. Your best friend is sitting right next to you, but you’ve never felt so far away. You know distance makes the heart grow fonder, but you don’t think it’s possible to be even fonder of him than you are now. Bad habits are hard to break, and you’ve made a terrible one of loving him. No wonder it’s beginning to hurt so much.

You lose him in August.

DECEMBER 2020.

December is the coldest month of the year, yet it is also simultaneously the warmest with all the holiday festivities it brings. If Yangyang were to choose a month to describe you, it’d be this one. You are a walking paradox, a conundrum he might never solve, an oxymoron come to life. He doesn’t understand how you can be his best friend, yet feel like a stranger; a friend who he wants as a lover; someone who has created such an impact in his life, but disappears seamlessly here and there.

He wonders when you’ve gotten so distant. He wonders why he never noticed the way you seemed to slip away through the cracks until it’s now nearing the end of the year, and the last time he’s seen you in person was before the November autumn break.

But you’re here.

You’re standing right next to the punch bowl filled with spiked eggnog, wearing a garish knitted button down jumper with brightly colored Christmas lights decorating it. It’s perfectly in theme with the Ugly Christmas Sweater party Nu Chi is holding, and Yangyang is beyond ecstatic to know that you’re attending. He had texted you an invite two weeks ago, and you merely reacted with a thumbs up.

Yangyang swears he was going to follow up with you on that, but he got so caught up with midterms, then meeting Lia’s family for Thanksgiving, then studying for finals, and then finally, preparing for this party. Buying enough beer for twenty-three keg stands is a lot more difficult than it seems (Donghyuck’s car broke down halfway during one trip, and they all had to carry back the packs of beers to the house in 40 degree weather in their Sperry boat shoes and Patagonia long sleeves that definitely weren’t cut out for this kind of weather).

His girlfriend is somewhere in the room, wearing the other half of the reindeer sweater she forced him to put on, but all he can focus on is you. He hurriedly makes his way over, skidding to a stop in front of you, and you’re startled before a smile spreads across your face.

“Hey, you, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You grin at him, reaching out to poke the reindeer tail sticking out from the front of his itchy sweater (Lia got to wear the head half of the reindeer, while he was stuck with the behind).

“Yeah, how have you been?” He reaches around you to pick up a cup and pour himself some eggnog. He offers you one, but you decline with a small shake of your head.

“I’ve been doing good, a bit tired with finals coming up, but what’s new?” You joke, grabbing one of the sugar cookies from the table. You’re secretly surprised that they actually have real food (No, Hyuck, Jell-O shots do not count as real food). You suspect Jaemin has something to do with it. He always contributes to the annual Greek row bake sale.

“Are you here with someone? Did Karina come?” he asks, curiosity coating every word. He looks around for your roommate, but she’s nowhere to be found.

You shake your head. “No, I actually came with—”

“Me!”

Yukhei bounds over, slipping an arm over your shoulder. He hands you a new cup of apple cider, which you accept gratefully. He grins happily at Yangyang, who freezes up at the sight of his tall friend. “I asked her to be my date for the party, and she agreed. She also made our sweaters! Aren’t they so cool? There’s even lights that spell my name and play Christmas songs. She did a bunch of cool programming tricks to make them work.”

Yangyang realizes with a start that the two of you are indeed wearing matching sweaters, and that leaves a rather sour taste in his mouth (and it definitely wasn’t because of expired eggnog). The corners of his lips tilt downward as he presses his lips together tightly.

“So… you two are together?” He gestures between you and Yukhei with a forced laugh. Jealousy never did look good on anybody, and unfortunately, he’s not an exception.

“We’re just seeing each other and seeing how it goes for now,” you answer quietly, noting the way your best friend reacts. You have always been good at reading him, and you tread carefully now, not wanting to make a scene. Drunk Yangyang never holds anything back, and he’s had quite a few pre-game shots already (It definitely doesn’t help that he’s a lightweight, too).

“I see. How did you guys meet? Or I guess, start talking?” He attempts to look intimidating, staring down at Yukhei, but it’s a difficult feat to accomplish, especially when he’s trying to stare down a six foot guy who’s more like an overgrown puppy and his friend.

“Oh, she came by for one of your boba runs, but you were still out with Lia. So I asked if I could go with her.” Yukhei flashes his pearly whites at you, and you chuckle, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“I said yes, and we hit it off, I guess.”

“You guess? And you took him on our boba runs?”

“You were out with Lia,” you say defensively, and he blanches when he hears his girlfriend’s name come out of your mouth.

“You could’ve waited,” he mutters, but you still hear it, and you give him a scathing look, finally too tired of this push and pull game that’s been going on behind the scenes for nearly three years now.

“I did. I waited over an hour here for you, but you didn’t show up or even text me that you were gonna be late. Yukhei was nice enough to offer to go with me.”

He stays silent, and you gnaw on your bottom lip, unsure of what to say next. Yukhei looks at you in concern, but you reach up and squeeze his hand reassuringly, which your best friend doesn’t fail to notice, his lips pressing into an even thinner line.

“I don’t understand what the deal is,” you finally burst out, startling both boys. “What’s the big deal about me and Yukhei going out?”

Something inside of him finally snaps. “The big deal is that you’re basically sleeping through my list of friends and then breaking up with them! First Dejun, then Jeno, now Yukhei? Who’s next? Should I give Renjun a heads up? Pencil you into his planner? Or Sicheng? Sungchan? You have a class with him, so you’re bound to flirt with him, too, right? When are you gonna stop fucking around with my frien—”

He gasps, stopping mid-outburst as he stares at you in disbelief. Apple cider slides down from his hair, dripping onto his face and soaking into his sweater, the sticky juice clinging to his skin uncomfortably. You’re absolutely seething, the empty cup crackling in your clenched fist. Shocked, Yukhei carefully tugs the plastic away from you and places it on the table before replacing it with his own hand, his thumb caressing circles on the back of your hand soothingly. Yangyang doesn’t dare to meet his furious gaze, lifting his chin to look at you instead. The entire room has hushed down by now, all eyes staring directly at the three of you in a mixture of surprise and slight terror.

“Screw you, Yangyang,” you say lowly, voice shaking with anger. Tears form on the edge of your waterline, but you blink them away before hastily brushing a stray droplet from your cheek. “They asked me out. I said yes. We went out. It didn’t work out. We move on. Just like how you’ve gone out with my friends. And they didn’t work out, so you moved on. So what’s so wrong about that? What’s so wrong about trying again to find love?”

He can’t answer you, curling his hands into fists until his fingernails indent miniature crescents in his palms—until the pain overtakes the feelings that are threatening to spill from his heart. Yangyang may not be yours, but he doesn’t like the fact that he can’t call you his either.

Love. That’s what you want, that’s what you crave, but not if it’s from him. So what is he supposed to do with love that’s unwanted? It’s bursting at the seams, and he has nowhere to hide it anymore.

He loves you in December.

AUGUST 2021.

August sneaks up on you this time around, and you find yourself in Kunhang’s apartment. All of your close friends are here, starting the last year of youth with one final first day party. You think back to that day three years ago: when your eyes met a pair of equally bright ones for the first time.

Curled up next to Yukhei on the couch, you look across the room and meet those very same eyes, although they seem hazier this time around. Lia is wrapped around his arm, and you think it’s quite ironic how both your and his relationships remain the same after all this time. Perhaps you both were bad luck for each other, leading to the other’s demise with short lived relationships. He looks away from you.

The rules of truth or dare are simple. You cannot ask the same person again until three other people have been asked first, and no one can be asked more than three times in each round. And, for reasons you can’t understand, everyone seems to take the code of truth seriously.

“I’ll start,” Kunhang announces, leaning back in one of the several beanbags he has in his place. “Goeun, truth or dare?”

Goeun sighs, leaning back on the palms of her hands. “Dare.”

“You and Mark, seven minutes in heaven.” Hendery points towards the coat closet, and the immediate reaction of hoots and wolf whistles has the girl rolling her eyes. With an exasperated huff, she stands up and pulls a red faced Mark along with her.

“Wait, you gotta pick the next person!” Donghyuck calls out, and she stops in her tracks, throwing open the closet door and shrugging. “You can choose for me.”

With that, she and Mark disappear behind the door, and Donghyuck turns toward the rest of the group, eyes glimmering mischievously. You pay no attention to him, absentmindedly playing with Yukhei’s fingers. You tug one of his rings off his finger, and he smiles, plucking it from your grasp carefully before holding your hand. He carefully slides it onto your right ring finger, but it falls off. Grinning, he pretends to try it on every single one of your fingers until finally settling on your thumb. The ring fits snugly there, and you admire it, wriggling your thumb around.

“Well, look at that. It fits you. I think that means we’re meant to be,” Yukhei says, smiling broadly, and you laugh, interlocking your fingers with his again before glancing down at the silver engraved band resting on your finger. The weight of the metal feels heavy resting against your knuckle.

“Yangyang, truth or dare.”

Donghyuck’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you instinctively perk up in your seat at the sound of his name before freezing up in your spot. Yukhei squeezes your hand softly, and you tighten your grip around his fingers.

“Truth.”

“You’re no fun,” Donghyuck sighs, slouching back against the armrest. Yukhei leans over and whispers something in his ear before settling back next to you, shifting slightly to wrap his arm around you. Donghyuck lifts an eyebrow at your boyfriend before shrugging. “Okay, here’s an easy one. Are you in love…”

“Yes.” is his immediate response, and you notice how Lia absolutely preens next to him.

“… with Y/N?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you immediately turn your head to look at Yukhei, your eyes growing wide in horror. He looks apologetic, shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry, but just the way he looks at you, it’s so obvious, and I had to know.”

You whip around to face the boy in question. With bated breath, you look at him, but Yangyang stares at the center of the floor, struggling internally. Everyone is quiet, and it reminds you of the calm before a storm. At last, he looks up, gazing right at you, and you can almost swear that you see those pretty little gold flecks in his irises from here.

“Yes,” Yangyang confesses quietly.

There’s almost a collective gasp rippling through the room, and Yukhei lets out an inaudible swear under his breath. Your grip on his hand grows slack as you fumble to get a grasp on the entire situation.

He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

The words echo in your mind like a mantra until it grows so loud that you can’t hear any of your own thoughts anymore. Lia is in absolute hysterics, demanding an explanation from him, but he merely shrugs her off. Standing up, he quickly moves to leave the room, glancing at you one more time before disappearing out the front door.

It’s like your body is on auto-pilot after this. You drop Yukhei’s hand, immediately standing up and rushing after your best friend, paying no mind to the hushed whispers that only seem to increase in volume once you leave. You step out onto the porch, and there he is, sitting on the steps.

You quietly stand behind him, contemplating what to say and carefully choosing your next words. But there’s only one question on your mind.

“Why did you say that?”

He stays silent for a moment, staring out at the moon shining brightly ahead. “Because I meant it.”

Your heart wrenches in your chest. “You shouldn’t.”

He finally turns to look at you, an indescribable look in his eyes. It reminds you of heartbreak. “But I do. And I tried not to for the past three fucking years, but I can’t anymore.”

“Since freshman year?” You feel the tears well up in your eyes, and this time, you let them go. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Yangyang grips onto the edge of the stairs tightly, frustration ringing with every word that falls from his mouth. “Because I was scared. And I thought you never felt the same way. You’re my best friend, and I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Yang…” You whisper, hand reaching out as you let it hover over his shoulder for a few seconds. Then, you pull back, curling your fingers into fists, pressing crescent indentations into the palms of your hands.

He stands up, whirling around to look at you, desperate. “Tell me I’m not too late. Please, Y/N.”

Something inside of you breaks. You open your mouth and start to say something when the door opens behind you. Turning around, you see Yukhei. His eyes widen when he sees the two of you standing there.

You know this is it. This is the moment. This is where you have to decide.

“I, I was just looking for you. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Yukhei awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna go back in and—”

“No, wait, it’s okay,” you gently interrupt him. You reach out and slip your hand into his, and he relaxes, giving you a relieved smile. You smile softly back at your boyfriend before turning to face him, eyes apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Yangyang.”

He and you are asymptotes: two lines curving towards each other, but never touching; two hands reaching towards each other, but never interlocking; two people tangling their red strings of fate, but never tying.

You give him one last glance before going back inside with Yukhei.

You break his heart in August.

SEPTEMBER 2021.

September is supposed to be a new beginning: the transition from summer to autumn. Yangyang doesn’t think he can let go of you as easily as the trees shed their green for gold and red. Wherever he goes, wherever he looks, little reminders of you bloom in every crevice. You’re absolutely everywhere and nowhere, and it drives him crazy.

He thinks he’s gone completely insane when he hears your laugh while he’s walking to the laundromat one day. He shoves his airpods in and continues on his way until he sees you. Walking across the street, there you are. You’re on the phone with someone, and he contemplates going over to say hello. But suddenly, you’re hanging up the phone and waving eagerly at someone. When he turns his head to look, his heart drops and gets buried six feet under. He hurriedly ducks into a nearby bookstore and watches as you run up to Yukhei, slipping your hand into his like it’s second nature to you now. The two of you walk off together, and Yangyang is left standing at the window of the store until the shop owner politely asks if there’s anything he needs.

He doubts a time machine is something they have in stock, so he silently shakes his head and steps out onto the street once again. It is now silent and empty.

He loses you in September.

AUGUST 2022.

A lot can change in eleven months.

You’re twenty two years old, but you feel like you’re eighteen again. You know you’re going to see him for the first time since September at Kun’s housewarming. You had repeatedly assured Yukhei that you’d be fine. After all, life goes on; the world doesn’t stop just because you had a falling out with your best friend, even if it may have been a little more than that. Nevertheless, a year has nearly passed. Time is known to be the best healer, and perhaps your heart has shed its old skin and habits.

Your hand is safely enveloped in Yukhei’s, and the two of you walk towards your older friend’s new apartment. He playfully swings your interlocked hands back and forth, and you giggle, tightening your grip around his fingers. You stop in front of the door, the muffled sounds of a party slipping through the cracks. You suck in a breath, shoulders tensed. He’s in there.

“Are you okay?”

Yukhei squeezes your hand gently, voice laced with concern. You remember to breathe, exhaling slowly and relaxing before nodding. You smile up at him. “I’m okay.”

“If you want, we can go back home now, have another NCIS marathon, and drink this by ourselves.” Yukhei waves around the nice bottle of wine the two of you had brought for Kun. “We can even stop by the convenience store and get some ramen.”

You laugh quietly, the corners of your lips upturning with mirth. “It’s okay, I’m fine, Yukhei, I promise. Plus, I have you, right?”

He brightens up at that, practically beaming at you, and your heart skips a beat. “Right!”

You reach out and knock on the door. Kun greets the two of you, and you enter his apartment. Yukhei still doesn’t let go of your hand, and you follow behind him as you weave your way through the living room, greeting some of your friends. You hear Kunhang calling out to your boyfriend from the kitchen and feel him hesitate next to you. You squeeze his hand gently before letting go and nudging him in the direction of his friend. Yukhei gives you one last look, but you wave him off, smiling goodnaturedly and silently assuring that you’re okay. He swoops down and leaves behind a soft kiss for you before going.

You walk over to the alcohol table, pouring yourself something to drink. Leaning against the wall, you take a sip of your drink, your eyes flitting over the rim of your cup and slowly scanning the room. It feels like forever, like everything is moving in slow motion, like the world is submerged underwater, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.

You find him easily. After all, it’s hard to forget someone whose features you’ve memorized over the past four years. Your eyes map the delicate outline of his face once more, and for a moment, you wonder if red is still his favorite color, or who he shares a carton of Ben and Jerry’s with nowadays. You wonder if he thinks of you sometimes, too.

But then, you wonder where Yukhei is. You search around until you see your boyfriend still standing in the kitchen, laughing at something your mutual friend said. Your eyes soften when you see him grab your favorite snack. You turn back around, your heart swelling in your chest tenfold, and your lips curl upwards, an endeared expression on your face.

That’s when you notice that he’s looking at you.

You brace yourself, waiting for the tidal wave of emotions to wash over you and the quickening of your heart rate to greet you like an old friend. Because that’s what always happens when you’re around him. After all, he is the biggest what-if in your life. He is someone you almost loved forever, someone you almost stayed for.

And yet, nothing happens. You wait a little longer. The world still goes round, and you’re still breathing. There’s no shortness of breath, no erratic heart palpitations, no sweaty palms, absolutely nothing. Liu Yangyang is a stranger in a familiar body, and your heart remains still.

You give Yangyang a faint smile, nodding towards him, and it feels like a sudden jolt in his heart. Time stops, and all he can see is you. You look beautiful. You have always been beautiful. This is his chance. Whatever higher entity out there has taken pity on him and given him a second try to make it right. He finally takes a step towards you, and the tender, encouraging expression in your eyes gives him the strength to take another one. After all, the eyes are the windows to the soul. Clutching his drink in hand, he pushes his way through the crowd. He’s only eight, seven, six, five steps away from you now. A smile grows on his face as relief curls around his heart like a bandage. You’re standing there, waiting for him, smiling at him.

And suddenly, you’re no longer looking at him.

You stopped looking at him.

Yukhei makes his presence known next to you, excitedly chattering about something and gesturing towards the kitchen as he hands you something to eat. It’s a snickerdoodle cookie. Your favorite. Your eyes are fixated on the tall boy, positively sparkling as you beam at him.

Yangyang feels like he can’t breathe. The bandage is ripped off, and all he can feel is excruciating pain like a thousand pinpricks into his heart before the numbness hits. He freezes, rooting himself in that spot on the scratched hardwood floor as his colleagues and friends continue to jostle around him. As his world crumbles around him, he can’t tear his eyes away from you. They stay on you, the barest traces of nostalgia lingering in the dimmed golden flecks of his irises that you had still admired all those months ago. It’s like he’s trapped in a silent film, stuck in a fish bowl and swimming in circles, and he watches in horror as you outstretch your hand and intertwine your fingers around Yukhei’s, leaning up to press your lips against his tenderly. Your boyfriend looks at you like you hung the stars in the night sky yourself (He would believe it if you said you did).

You don’t look at him like that anymore.

Yangyang remembers when you used to. When you used to love him. When you were almost his. He feels something inside of him break for a second time.

The world continues to spin, and yet, he’s still not moving. He’s stuck in quicksand, sinking deeper and deeper as everyone around him moves on—as you move on. He desperately tries to keep you in his view, and his feet finally pick up as he lurches forward. He’s not fast enough. You’re slipping away, walking away from him, hand in hand with Yukhei, disappearing around the corner of the hallway, and he can’t do anything about it. It’s too late. He’s too late. The sticky remnants of cheap beer run down his wrist, and it finally registers in his mind that he had crushed the flimsy plastic cup in his hand sometime in between now and then. In a crowded room full of people, he’s left standing there, alone and lonely.

Almost is the worst way to love someone, Yangyang bitterly realizes. It hurts to lose someone you almost love. No, it was never an ‘almost’. He most certainly loved—loves—you. And it should be impossible to lose someone who was never his to begin with, yet he has. All this time, he thought he had you, but it had always been the other way around.

He was your August, he was your everything, and he is yours.

But you will never be his.

You let go of him in August.

1K notes · View notes

teddy06writes · 4 years

Note

Can I request a Sapnap x Karl x Quakity x Y/N ? I just like polyam ships and your Sapnap x Karl x Y/n just made me want more

Ee hee, thanks for the request

Sapnap x karl x reader x quackity (THE PEOPLE ARE ENABLING MEEEE)

trigger warnings: swearing, panic attack

premise: you and your boyfriends are out shopping/ trying to get kicked out of a target when you run into your asshole ex, when he starts to bother you your boys take care of it

(y/n/n)- your nick name

(also we’re pretending covid isn’t a thing)

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“(y/n)! We are gods!”

You turned at Alex’s call, snorting upon seeing he and Karl T posing while standing in the target cart, Nick balanced on the front, also t posing.

You laughed at your boyfriends, quickly taking a picture before Karl started to wobble and fall, “You guys are ridiculous.”

“Yup!” Karl grinned as Alex helped him out of the cart to avoid falling.

You shook your head, quietly putting the picture onto your twitter with the caption, ‘look at these nerds <3′

“You guys are gonna die from idiocy some day.”

“Not when your there to save us.” Nick countered, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“If anything they’ll get dragged down with us.” Alex scoffed.

“Tragically,” You muttered, “Did we actually come here to do anything but solicit?”

Karl giggled, “Well I thought we were just terrorizing the people of Target.”

“The only thing we actually needed was more notecards.” Nick reminded helpfully.

You smiled, “At least one of you is useful.”

“Hey!” Alex protested, “We’re useful too!”

“Sometimes.” Karl giggled again.

“Betrayal!” He gasped dramatically as Karl threw his arms around his shoulders.

You rolled your eyes, “Well, if your useful too then, help me find notecards.”

Alex sighed dramatically, grabbing one your your hands and intertwining your fingers, “If we must.”

Karl grinned, hopping back to sit in the cart, “Lets go then!”

Nick rolled his eyes, muttering something about being ridiculous, before moving to the push the cart, you and Alex moving along beside them.

A half hour later found many random unnecessary but still necessary items piled into the cart around Karl, and note cards had still not been found.

You were hallway through the seasonal section when you sighed, “Alright this is taking too long, I’m going to actually get the note cards, I think they’re just down there, try not to break anything.”

Karl chuckled, “No promises.”

You smiled and headed out of the isle, towards office supplies.

“Well, well, well, (y/n), fancy seeing you here.”

You froze in the middle of grabbing the biggest package of notecards, trying to keep your hand still as you turned, “John,,, uh hi?”

Now, John wasn’t the worst person, no your relationship wasn’t necessarily bad, but towards the end it definitely took a turn for the worse. When you’d first brought up breaking things off he was, less than thrilled, leaving the last few weeks of your relationship a battle field of screaming matches that consisted of little more than his yells.

“It’s been a while.” He smiled.

“Uhh, yeah, it has been.” You began to fidget with your fingers, eyes darting back up the isle towards where you’d left Nick, Alex and Karl.

“Let me guess, still single?” He laughed, “Yeah it would make sense, I’ve only pulled like one person since you.”

You glanced down, “Uhh, no actually.”

John frowned, letting acid drip into his voice, “Oh, I guess the were right when they said you always moved on fast.”

“It- it- it- it’s been a year and a half?” Your attempts to keep your voce steady began to fail, “And, I’ve only been dating one of them for a few months.”

-It was true, Alex had been the last one to join your relationship a few months ago-

His eyes narrowed, “You’re not telling me you’re still on the stupid polyamory thing are you?”

You cleared your throat uncertainly, “um, y- yeah, I have three boyfriends.”

He rolled his eyes, “There's no chance you’d ever fucking pull three people. Hell you barley even managed me.”

Your gaze stayed trained on the tile floor, unspeaking.

“It’s clear you haven’t moved past fucking your way into a relationship.”

You bit your lip, tears welling in your eyes as your breathing quickened, deep down you knew it wasn’t true, as a group you all respected Karl’s asexuality, even once, over some late night conversation of cuddles and lazily traded kisses, going so far as to promise that the relationship would remain entirely romantic if it made him more comfortable, and it had.

Still, there was a nagging in the back of your head, telling you that John was right. There obviously was only one reason they kept you around.

“That really is a shame,” You felt his hand rest on your shoulder, “I know I would stay with you for more than that.”

“Get your fucking hand off of them or I will rip your arm off and beat you to death with it!”

You were simultaneously relieved and flooded with more anxiety upon hearing Nick’s voice.

“Who are you?” John asked skeptically.

“Their boyfriends, who the fuck are you?” Alex spit.

He laughed, dry and harsh, “So you’re the fucking idols who thought you could get away with dating (y/n), not that I care their very-”

“No, you shut the fuck up!” Nick cut him off before he could say anything else advancing up the isle towards him, “Why the fuck are you bothering them?!”

They continued a back and forth exchange, as you slowly slid down to the floor, nails pressing tightly into your palms, breathing far too fast.

“Hey, hey, (y/n/n), (y/n/n) look at me.”

You opened eyes that you didn’t realize had been screwed shut to see Karl kneeling sitting In front of you, looking worried.

“Can I touch you or no darlin?” He asked softly, almost making you forget the yelling happening only a few feet away.

You bit your lip, quickly shaking your head, the tiny seed of doubt John had planted in your mind starting to grow.

“Okay, that’s fine. Can you breath with me? In for seven, hold for 4 out for 8, yeah?”

After a moment of trying to breath in sync with him, you held out a hand, and understanding Karl took it, moving to pull you into his arms, “In for 7, out for 8, just like me alright?”

You all but melted into his touch, doing your best to breath normally again.

“Get the fuck outta here man!” Alex yelled.

“You’re gonna regret this.” John sneered.

“No,” Nick said firmly, “Your gonna regret messing with our partner if you don’t fucking leave.”

After you heard footsteps hurrying away you felt Alex settle on your other side, “You alright baby?”

“Their starting to breath normally again.” Karl reported, running a hand through your hair.

Nick sat down on Karl’s other side, and you all stayed sat on the floor of the offices supply isle, Alex sending death glares to anyone who tried to ask you to move.

Eventually you sat up, sniffing.

“Who was that?” Nick asked softly.

“My ex.” You murmured.

“Why was he bothering you? What did he say?”

“Stupid stuff,” You muttered, rubbing at your eyes, “C’n we go home now?”

“Of course Darlin.” Karl assured, standing up and turning to help you up.

Later, back at the apartment, after everything had been put away, you all ended up in a cuddle plie on the couch, and that seed of doubt was beginning to shrivel with every pass Nick’s hands made through your hair, every small circle Alex absently traced into your palm and every tiny joke Karl made about the movie playing.

“Guys?” You asked softly.

“Yeah?” Alex asked.

“I love you.”

Karl grinned, “We love you too.”

Alex pressed a kiss to your knuckles in understanding and Nick hummed in response.

The tiny seed of doubt was gone.

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines #karl jacobs x reader #quackity x reader #quackity imagines #sapnap x reader #sapnap x karl x quackity x reader #sapnap x karl x reader x quackity #karlnapity #karlnapity x reader #poly #teddy06 writes #sapnap x Quackity x Karl x reader

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angryinternetduck · 3 years

Text

a mutual feeling

harry styles x reader. enemies (kind of) to lovers. 9.5k words. summary/warnings: boxing! boxer!harry x boxer!reader, harry's dad is your trainer, you kind of hate each other, not really, it's not even enemies to lovers they're both just brats, it's boxing so there's kind of a lot of violence and blood, there's nothing too explicit, alcohol consumption, you're a better fighter than he is and you fight and end up doing it, oops, friends w benefits type of deal, he doesn't do relationships but he likes you, oops again, and you like him, triple oops, it's quite the journey but you'll make it.

***

“You look like shit,” Harry greets you when you open the door.

“And you, my love,” you respond with a slight slur, “look handsome as always.” You lean in for a kiss, and Harry gently pushes you away, rolling his eyes as he walks into your apartment. You grimace at the contact, feeling the pain even through the fuzz of the whiskey you’re holding.

“My dad would kill you if he were here,” Harry says.

You giggle, shutting the door behind him. “Well, then, thank goodness he’s not!”

Harry glares at you from your refrigerator and makes a noncommittal grunt.

You frown, suddenly, your alcohol muddled mind working through something. “Wait a minute,” you say slowly, “he’s not here… but you are!” Harry glares even more and walks back over to you. You pout as he guides you to your couch.

Groaning through the pain, you allow him to nudge you onto your back on the couch. “What,” you manage to ask through gritted teeth, “are we gonna fuck now?” Harry sighs, softening the bag of frozen peas he’s holding with his fingers. “You wish.”

He kneels down beside the couch and lays the bag over your bruised nose and black eye. He’s biting on his lip, concentrating and wincing a little bit whenever he hits a sensitive spot and you grimace. He fiddles with the peas, trying to get the bag in exactly the right spot, and you watch his eyes. His green, green, worried eyes.

“He knows,” you murmur.

Harry’s jaw clenches, and that’s the only response you need.

You roll your head away from him, breaking eye contact and letting the bag of peas slide onto your black eye. “Fuck.” Suddenly you’re sober. Harry sighs again, going still for a moment, and then another, and then he stands up and walks away.

“What if I didn’t show up tomorrow?” you ask softly.

You hear him fumbling around in your cabinet.

After a moment, he says, “You will.”

You don’t say anything, because he’s right.

Silence falls over the room, and you’re just about to ask him what he’s doing over there when there’s a loud bang. You gasp, jolting upright, and watch Harry shake out his fist. Your cabinet door is ajar, papers and knick knacks misplaced.

“You promised him, goddammit!”

You exhale slowly, sharply, leaning back as the pain from your sudden movement sets in.

“You promised me!” Harry closes the distance between the cabinet and the couch, throwing your first aid kit onto the coffee table in front of you quite violently. “Christ, you said you’re done! No more fighting.”

You close your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He breathes a second, and you can hear he’s panting. So angry. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do,” you go on softly when he doesn’t talk for a moment. “I get antsy, and it’s late, and, well…” You turn over a little bit, grimacing, and hold up the wad of cash.

“Train!” he bursts, ignoring the money. “You said training! Fight with my dad! It’s so easy. Fight with gloves! Spar! For fuck’s sake, you said no more of this - this underground - rubbish. You can’t be out there fighting random people just to get your rocks off.”

You frown. “It’s not -”

“You’re so fucking reckless it’s insane!” he interrupts, apparently on a rant. “I cannot believe how stupid you are. After all this, you won’t go pro, won’t stop, won’t - won’t do anything but keep fucking yourself up and leaving me to clean up after!”

That strikes a nerve, and you sit up, anger brewing in your stomach. It always seems to come to this with him. “What?” you scoff incredulously. “Leave you to clean up after?” Harry scowls at you. “What else would you call this?”

“I’d call this you getting into my business!” you exclaim. “I’d call this you coming to my house in the dead of night because you’re - you’re worried about me. That has nothing to do with me, Styles, and you fucking know it. I never asked for this. I’d be just fucking fine on my own, thank you very much.”

“Yeah?” Harry spits, grabbing the half empty bottle of whiskey and shaking it at you. “Just fine, huh? Bleeding out on your couch passed out from too much to drink, that’s fine? We have very different definitions of fine then, don’t we?”

You scowl at him, vision going red with anger, and you shout, “I’ll prove it! Leave!” You jump to your feet, getting riled up, but can only start, “There’s the -” before pain shoots through your body and you fall back down, struggling for breath.

“Shit,” Harry mutters. The bottle’s dropped and he’s at your side in a second, taking bandages and disinfectant out of your first aid kit. He pulls up your shirt, cleaning a bruise on your rib cage that broke skin before pressing a soft cloth against it. “There could be a broken rib in here,” he says under his breath. “You need to go to -”

“I’m fine,” you cut in.

He looks at you, concern in his gaze, and you have to shut your eyes.

“I can’t afford it,” you whisper. “Give it a few days. I’ll be able to tell. If it’s really bad… I’ll go.” He doesn’t reply, doesn’t say anything, but you can hear the worry in the silence. “Promise?” he says.

“Yeah.”

He grabs your hand, and you frown, and he says, “Look at me.”

You meet his eyes, lifting your hand just off the couch with your pinky extended.

He links his pinky with yours.

“Pinky swear,” you say.

***

You can tell Des is pissed from the moment you walk into the gym. You can’t even see him yet and you already know. There’s something in the air. Everybody turns to stare, eyes wide, faces shameless. They have a right, though - it’s not every day somebody comes in with fresh bruises and black eyes.

“He’s in back,” the receptionist tells you as soon as you walk up to the counter.

“Great,” you mutter. “Thanks.” You shift your bag further onto your back, heading for the back room where you train. And there he is, sitting on a bench, feet up on a yoga ball and eyes trained stubbornly on his phone.

“Hey, Mr. Styles,” you say cheerily, only a hint of sarcasm slipping into your tone.

“Don’t hey, Mr. Styles me.”

You clear your throat and shut up.

“What you did last night,” he begins, standing up and crossing his arms across his chest, “was reckless, uncalled for, and dangerous. Not to mention stupid.” You grit your teeth, letting your bag slide to the floor and leaning against the doorframe. You’re in for a long one.

“These fights aren’t only dangerous but illegal,” he goes on. “You could’ve gotten yourself jailed or worse. And you know that.” He steps forward. “The worst part is you know that. We’ve been over this so, so many times. And you still go and risk your life.”

You bite your lip and look at the floor.

“I train you because you’re good,” Des tells you. “You’re a damn good fighter, you know that? And it helps you, I can see that much. A right stupid bloody temper, that’s what you have, and if I can save some poor bloke on the street from getting his arse kicked, I will. But if you won’t go pro, won’t do it safely, and won’t stop with these bloody undergrounds I can’t do it anymore!”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Damn right you’re sorry! You promised me! You swore! Said you’d never go out again! And I had to find out from my ex wife that you’re at a fight? What the hell?” You frown at this, confused suddenly, and ask, “Anne told you?”

Des scowls and turns away. “Her coworker’s daughter’s involved. I don’t bloody know. Don’t know how, why, when - but it doesn’t matter, does it?” He rounds on you, again, and you sigh quietly, exhausted from the lecture and the guilt and the pain.

He must clock it, because he softens, taking a breath and rubbing his fingers over his eyes. “Go home,” he says. “I can’t… I can’t look at you, and you can barely lift a muscle. A right mess, you are, about to fall apart just from standing so long.”

You start to complain, “But -!”

“No. Go home. Now, or else I’ll have Harry drive you.”

Frowning at the threat, and the fact that it worked, you pick up your bag and turn to go. Before you leave, though, you look at him once more. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I really am.” Des sighs. “I know,” he says.

You walk out. Stares, round two, and then you’re outside, and you take a breath of the cool air. It’s October, cold, but it feels good. Walking down the steps, you see Harry, leaned against a tree with a book.

You roll your eyes and ignore him, hoping he won’t notice you.

But he does. He calls your name, jumps up, walks over to you.

“Save it, Harry,” you say immediately. “I don’t need another lecture.”

You see him frown from the corner of your eye. “I don’t… I wasn’t gonna.”

“Save it anyway,” you mutter.

He says your name again and stops walking. You feel his hand brush against yours, like he wants to grab your hand. Against your better judgement, you stop walking too. “What?” you ask, a bit shortly.

“I just… I’m sorry,” he says.

Your brows furrow in confusion. “For what?”

Harry clears his throat. Looks at his hands. “Last night. I shouldn’t’ve said those things.”

“Oh,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says, half smiling as he looks up again. “Oh. I just - well, you’re right, that’s all. I’m just getting in your business.” You sigh, shaking your head and starting to apologize yourself, but he cuts you off. “No, no, you don’t have to - I just wanted to say that I’m…” He breathes a laugh. “I’m available. If you want to fight. When you get antsy. Even if it’s… late.”

You can’t help but smile a little bit. “Are you offering to get my rocks off for me?”

Harry barks a laugh and then says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Fuck yes.”

He doesn’t say anything, and your eyes lock, just for a second, and then you clear your throat, looking away. “Right, well, I’ll… I’ll see you around.” He nods. “Yeah,” he says, heading back to his tree. “See ya.”

***

Antsy.

The ceiling fan spins around above you, taunting you, pushing hot air around and around. It’s October and you’re somehow hot, cramped in your apartment. It’s a few weeks later, now, around midnight. You had a session with Des this morning, and you’re still antsy. Restless. You could probably go down the street, get your brains knocked out, earn a little cash.

Or you could call Harry.

Grotesque, just the idea of it. What a surrender. You roll out of bed, shove on pants and a sweatshirt for the cold air outside, and grab your car keys. You’re sweating by the time you get to the door, then freezing cold when you step outside.

The drive isn’t too long, a few minutes. The parking lot’s empty. It’s eerie. Des keeps a key above the door under the light. You’re surprised to see a dim light on in the back, and you’re even more surprised to see Harry hunched over a book.

“You’re in a gym, Styles, and you’re reading,” you say, breaking the silence. He jumps and looks up. His eyes are tired. “You’re in a gym,” he says back, “and it’s midnight.” His voice is raspy.

“Could say the same to you.”

“I live here.”

You raise a brow. “So?”

“You don’t.”

“Right.”

He holds your gaze. He likes to do that, likes to keep eye contact and make you think he’s staring into your soul. You’re the first one to look away. You always are. It’s unnerving. His eyes are so pretty, too. If you stare too long you start to admire him.

“You’re a bit early for a session,” he says as you put down your bag.

You pull on your gloves. The velcro is deafening. “I got antsy,” you reply.

“Did I miss a call?”

“No.”

“I’m a little offended.”

You crack your neck, bounce on your toes. “We’re not friends, Styles.”

“Right, I’m very offended.”

You step away from him, towards the punching bag. “Besides,” you say, “you’re too weak” - you throw a punch, the bag swings, creaks - “to spar with me.” Harry huffs, standing up and walking closer. “Christ, you’re just bullying me now.”

“I’m good at that.”

“Not really.”

Another punch, right hook, a combo, one, two, three, he’s standing against the wall, looking very cool with his arms across his chest. “Yeah?” you ask. “Should I try harder?” One, two, you’re starting to sweat. It feels good.

“Should stop trying at all.”

Three, four - one, one, four - “Go read your novel, Styles.”

He watches you for a second, and then sits down. He opens his book.

When you leave, an hour and a half later, he’s fallen asleep.

***

Another week and you’re wired again. The fan’s off, you’re sweating, but not in a good way. Soon you’re in the car, in the parking lot, in the gym. And… the light’s on again. For a second, you wonder if he ever sleeps.

“No wonder you’re so weak,” you start this time. “You never sleep.”

He doesn’t jump this time. “And neither, apparently, do you.”

“Least it doesn’t affect my fighting.”

“Affects your head, though. Explains the stupidity.”

You sigh. “You’re a prick.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“What are you, five?”

You look up and he’s smiling, the bastard, like it’s funny. Which it is, actually, but he’s being annoying about it. When you meet his gaze, he smiles more, just for a second, and then looks down at his book. “Won’t bother you this time,” he murmurs.

“Gee,” you say wryly, “I appreciate it.”

He doesn’t reply, just shrugs, and reads.

You frown, because you’re surprised. Not because you’re upset. Not because you wanted to talk to him. Or maybe you did. The anger is good fuel. You take it out on the punching bag.

You don’t stay as long this time. He’s still awake when you leave.

“See ya,” he says as you walk out.

These late night sessions don’t hold you over like a good fight does. Every week you’re going over there, and every week he’s there, too. The light doesn’t surprise you anymore, and to your embarrassment, you’ve begun to come up with your witty greetings on the way.

The conversations don’t last as long. It’s a back and forth, and then silence. It’s comfortable, the silence, and you don’t bring music. You should. You should block him out, forget he’s there, but you can’t.

It’s true, about the anger. It’s good fuel.

You feel him staring one night. He’s so intense. You think about his eyes, how much you hate them, how expressive they are, how you can tell exactly what he’s feeling, what he’s thinking…

The chain swings, creaks, you breathe in, out, one, two, three -

Harry catches the punching bag.

You pull your punch to keep from breaking his nose. “Shit, Styles, what the hell?”

He’s grinning at you, dimpling, you want to punch him, he says, “Let’s fight.”

“I told you,” you sigh, turning away, “you’re too weak for me.”

“The last time we sparred, I was sixteen.”

“And I’m sure you haven’t improved since.”

Harry raises his brows. “You think you’re better than me?”

“Yes,” you say, “yes I do.”

“Wanna prove it?”

You look at him, let your eyes drift over his body. He’s worked out, that’s for sure, and he’s so damn tall, too. He crosses his arms over his chest and watches you smugly, like you’re checking him out and not assessing his skill level. You kind of are checking him out. The sharp angle of his jaw line probably doesn’t affect the power of his punch.

You break the moment of silence. And then you say, “Fuck yes.”

It takes a second, a second of getting on gloves and drinking water and shedding layers, and then another second of bouncing on your toes, circling each other, watching his smile, his eyes, in the dim glow of the moon in the windows.

And then he makes the first move.

He throws a punch.

“Too easy,” you say as you duck.

“Just getting warmed up.”

“Lucky for you,” you start, moving closer, telegraphing left, “I’m already warm.” You go right. Right hook, for the jaw - he blocks it, of course, and you go under, for his stomach. He doesn’t dodge that one.

“Thought you’d give me a little more than that,” he says, but he’s a little breathless so the effect doesn’t carry. You just smile, watching his shoulders. Broad shoulders. His hips move left, you duck right, it’s too easy. His punch goes too far. The momentum carries him, you hold those broad shoulders and knee into his ribcage.

He coughs, stumbling a little, and you feel a twinge of guilt. Oops.

And then it’s all movement.

He lunges forward and -

One, two - hook left, dodge it, he’s sweating, eyes focused - one, two, another left jab, an uppercut that lands. He’s spinning, bouncing, now you’re the one that’s coughing. No more guilt. He doesn’t draw blood, though, going weak on you. Of course he is.

Amused, you laugh, “Shit, Styles,” and square your shoulders, crack your neck, draw closer, hands up. His brows jump, and he looks just as amused as you are. Bounce, bounce, eye contact, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Here we go, you think, and now it’s your turn.

One-two-three-four, bang bang bang, every punch lands, not hard, go gentle, a knee to his stomach, also gentle, pull him down, elbow to his back, so gentle, don’t hurt him, look at those back muscles, he swears under his breath, arm behind his back, don’t pull, don’t hurt him, he’s on the floor, on his stomach, arm bent, your knee on the small of his back -

He breathes a laugh, craning to look at you over his shoulder. “Alright, then. Point proved.” You grin, releasing him and falling back onto your hands. “I’m not one to say I told you so…”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, turning onto his back. He puts his cheek against the mat, looking at you. He’s still smiling. You look at his dimples, his cheek, and you lean forward, off your hands. He holds your gaze, no surprise there, and you hold his.

His smile fades, and you watch his eyes flick down and back up. You’re panting, chest rising, falling - it’s so quiet. You creep forward. He swallows, you see his throat work. He’s still sweating. So are you, probably.

You lean over him, watch his eyes widen, trail your finger over his cheek. “I hope I didn’t bruise you,” you murmur. He’s breathing just as heavily as you are, and even though he looks like he’s about to faint, his voice is cocky as he asks, “Oh, is that why you’re touching me?”

Closer, closer, your necklace hangs in the space between the two of you. Even closer, and it rests on his chest. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “Are we about to fuck?” He rolls over, suddenly, doesn’t reply, pulls you with him, and he’s on top of you and he’s kissing you and it feels so good, tastes so good, you close your eyes and grin and pull him closer, closer.

Turns out the answer’s yes.

***

A rude awakening. So rude. Borderline disrespectful.

Everything hurts. You groan, rolling over.

The bell on the door chimes again, and your eyes snap open.

You bolt upright. “Fuck,” you hiss.

“Such a dirty mouth,” Harry mumbles, still half asleep.

Scrambling for clothes, you mutter, “Your dad’s here, idiot.”

“Oh,” Harry says, blinking awake. “Fuck.”

You hurry to grab clothes and get decent and run out the door without another word to Harry. It’s cold outside, and you’re only half dressed. You get your car running, pull out of the parking lot, and hope Des doesn’t see you.

When you’re home, you take a cold shower. Icy cold. Your head’s still pounding, but you manage to muddle through what happened last night. Regret seeps through you with the water, and you’re thankful for the heat in your apartment when you step out.

You have a session with Des in a few hours.

Should be fun. Awkward.

And it is, when you eventually get there. A little of both. Mostly awkward. Des doesn’t suspect anything. He must not have seen your car in the morning. You trade smirks and scowls and glares and grins with Harry throughout the morning, but not a word.

Not a single word.

***

Antsy.

Antsy, antsy, restless, wired.

And guilty.

Because you’re not antsy for a fight. You’re antsy for a chat. Or a fuck. Whatever. You’re expecting a few words to turn into a few kisses, and then a few more, and then another rude awakening. You can’t tell if you’re excited about that or already guilty.

So much guilt. Can never get away from the guilt.

You’re thinking about it the whole ride over, through empty streets and hour long red lights and mocking stop signs. It’s so quiet. You can’t get over how quiet the world is when your head is so ridiculously loud.

Through all that, you can’t come up with a single thing to start with.

You used to pull into the parking lot and come up with a nice snarky comment to start the evening out with. Just like that. You’d walk in and mull it over and decide it was perfect then tweak it just so right before saying it.

And you’d get a rush of satisfaction from his reply and his smirk and his dimples.

Not tonight. Tonight you think the whole way over and can’t think of a single thing to say. Nothing to start with, nothing to end with, nothing to tell him or yell at him or sob at him. Nothing. Zero, zilch, nada.

He’s working out when you get there. Shimmering in the moonlight with his shirt off, throwing punches at the punching bag and bouncing around and panting breaths. It comes to you, then, what to say, and you say it.

“Oh, how the turntables…”

He stops and stills the punching bag with his hand and turns to look at you. He doesn’t look particularly uncomfortable. Maybe a little unsure. Mostly smug. His eyes are the only things giving away his uncertainty.

“Didn’t think you’d show up,” he says.

“No faith in me, huh?”

He smiles. “None at all.” He takes off his gloves and stretches, flexing for you, and you let your eyes rake over him shamelessly. “Didn’t bring a book with me,” you muse, setting your bag down. “Then we’d really be, uh… swapped…”

“Shame.”

Your eyes lock. There’s a beat of silence, and you let it linger for a while. His eyes are so expressive. Green, so green. Even greener up close. “So are we gonna talk about it?” you ask after a second.

“Talk about what?”

You debate punching him. Hard. You could break his nose. Get a little blood gushing. Maybe he’d talk to you then. “It’s rude to answer a question with a question, Styles.” He leans against the wall. “Is it?”

“It’s a sign of weakness, actually.”

He raises a brow. “You think I’m the one at a disadvantage here?”

“Aren’t we both?”

“Do you regret it?”

You’re playing along now. “Do you?”

“Would you do it again?”

You hold his gaze, walk closer. “Isn’t that the same question?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. He grins.

And then he kisses you.

Dammit, you think through the euphoria, he somehow managed to win.

***

It’s not that you expected that it would happen again. It’s not like you were hoping for it to happen again, or even like you were dreading it would happen again. It was one of those hope for the best, prepare for the worst situations.

Three in the morning, and your watch buzzes against your wrist.

Groaning, you sit up and gather your clothes. You get dressed, slip out, and drive home. One icy cold shower later, you’re wishing you felt regret. You wish you were guilty, or upset, or embarrassed.

Instead, you picture those dimples and grin.

You ignore him when you go to the gym for your session with Des. You work out, get your heartrate up, push away all thoughts about Harry Styles, and leave. The ball is in his court, you decide, and you’re not one to steal. Or maybe you are. You’re just too stubborn at the moment.

It feels good to be rid of him, even if it’s just temporary. It takes a few days, a few days of you ignoring his more and more frequent glances, a few days of you leaving as soon as your session’s over, a few days of you parking around back so he can’t corner you out front where he reads.

Then he follows you. He does corner you, only at your car rather than at his tree. He’s leaned up against it when you walk out, and you sigh when you catch sight of him. A sigh of irritation. Because you’re annoyed. It’s not a sigh of relief, obviously, or a sigh of happiness.

“Waiting for me at my car?” you say, walking up to him. “I’m a little creeped out.”

Harry looks up at you, brows raised. “She speaks!”

You fiddle with your keys. “Yeah, she’s been known to, here and there.”

He bites his lip, looking at you thoughtfully. “You know, I don’t know where you live.”

“Wow, you managed to get even creepier.”

“I said I don’t know where you live,” he says, smiling a bit.

You open the door, lean against it. “I heard you.”

“I was gonna visit you. Bring flowers or summat.”

“Flowers!” you gasp. “A creep and a liar. How romantic.”

He smiles even more. “You didn’t show up for a while.”

“I’m glad you noticed.”

“I was getting worried.”

You cock a brow. “Is worried a synonym for horny now, or…?”

His smile curls into a smirk. “That too.”

You nod, mocking sympathy. “Right, right, you poor soul.” You clear your throat, sliding into the driver’s seat, and close the door as you turn the key in the ignition. “Well!” you exclaim, rolling down the window so he can hear you. “I’m gonna drive away now. Nice talking to you.”

He puts his palm on the door, leans against it, muscles flexing. “My mate’s coming into town,” he says. He’s looking at you. So intense. “Yeah?” you ask. “Are you into that?” His brows jump, teasingly, but then he’s shaking his head.

“Nah, I just… He’s a good lad, you know? And he needs a place to stay.”

“Your dad lives with you, Styles, and I don’t think he’d like to hear -”

“He’s not staying with us.”

You scoff slightly. “You think he’d wanna stay in my little -”

“No,” Harry interrupts, “he’s staying in a hotel.”

Your eyes narrow, wondering if you know where he’s going with this. You stay quiet.

“And, uh…” He breaks eye contact, which makes you suspicious, and looks out towards the gym behind your car. “I wanna make sure the place he’s staying is nice.” He looks back at you, just a hint of a smirk in his eyes.

“Styles,” you begin slowly, and then he clears his throat, cutting you off again, and leans back, off your car, standing up straight. He’s looking at the gym again. “I think you need to come with me to test out this hotel he’s staying at.”

You laugh. You laugh, throwing your head back, being dramatic about it, and say, “You did not just go through all that just to get me in a hotel room with you.” Harry meets your gaze, finally, and grins. “My back’s getting sore for all the wrong reasons.”

“Christ almighty, you absolute bastard.” You put on your seat belt, shaking your head with a huge smile on your face. “Fuck you, Styles,” you say, putting your foot on the pedal, “and call me when you figure out a date.”

***

Apparently, the date is a week later.

And a week later, it feels so nice to wake up on a bed. All the satisfaction of the night before and a perfectly comfortable bed to wake up in. You’re more content than you should be, and you have to hide your smile the next morning after round - four? Five? Whatever. The first of the morning. And last, apparently.

He’s pulling on his pants, fixing himself in the mirror, and you’re staring at him and thinking. Thinking about what to say, when to say it, how to say it, whether you’re a wimp for wanting to say it. “So we’re really not gonna talk about it, huh?” you finally say.

He hums a “Hm?” and meets your gaze in the mirror.

You glare. “Gonna make me spell it out?”

“Spell what out?”

“Again with the questions,” you mutter.

“Right, well, I wasn’t trying to be smart,” Harry starts, and you can’t help cutting in, “Are you ever?” He purses his lips at you and turns around. “Tell me.” You’re almost impressed, and then he adds, “Is that better?”

You breathe a sigh, clearing your throat and turning on the dramatics again. Sitting up, you sit on your calves and clutch the blanket to your chest. With your best puppy dog eyes, you gush, “What are we, Styles?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Mortal enemies,” he says under his breath, turning around again to put on his shirt. “Yeah?” you say. “All blood and guts?” He smirks at you in the mirror. “I think I felt your guts last night when -”

You laugh and cut him off. “Oh, alright.”

A second of silence, and he goes a little more serious. “I hope you know I don’t do relationships,” he says quietly. Your brows jump. “And I thought I was the dramatic one.” He sighs, turning around to face you. “I’m not being dramatic.”

“The hell you aren’t,” you say with a grin.

He frowns. “We’re not a thing.”

“Good,” you tell him. “I’d kill you.”

“You have to tell me if you ever get into a relationship,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

“We’re done if you start dating.”

You scoff a laugh. “Um? No shit?”

“And we can’t tell my dad.”

Shaking your head, you hold up a hand. “Hold on, back track. I’ll tell you if I ever start dating, and you tell me if you ever do.” He shrugs and replies, “That’s easy. I won’t date.” You frown. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re a prick,” you say, impulsively.

“Which is why I won’t date.”

“Some people are into that.”

“Are you?”

You bounce your eyebrows. “Clearly.”

“And yet you don’t wanna date me.”

“Fuck no.”

“Point proved.”

“Fuck you.”

He grins. “Fuck me yourself.”

You laugh, incredulously, and flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Alright. It’s off if either of us get into a relationship -” You hold up a finger when he starts to talk and push on, “And your dad can’t know.”

“I’m not paying for this hotel every time you get horny.”

You sit up and scoff, “Every time I get -”

“Every time we want to spend quality time together,” he amends, a sweet smile on his face. You grin and lay back again. “My apartment’s small,” you say. “But there’s a bed.” Harry hums, sitting on the bed, and you turn your head to watch him pull on his shoes.

“Anywhere that’s not the gym floor is fine with me.”

“Ooh, you’ll get to see where I live,” you say. “Should I be scared?”

“For your bed, maybe.”

You snicker and mutter, “You’re gross.”

“So are you.”

“A match made in heaven.”

Harry makes a noise of disagreement. “Hell.”

You smile, reaching over to fiddle with his shirt. “Purgatory.”

“You’re awful.”

“And you’re gross,” you reply with a shrug.

You can see him biting back a smile as he stands up. “Right. And - nobody can know.”

“Yeah, yeah, we won’t tell your dad.”

“No, I mean - other people, too.”

You raise a brow. “Who cares?”

He frowns, turning away to grab his coat. “They might get the wrong idea.”

You breathe a laugh and sit up, stretching a bit. “Yeah? And what’s the right idea?”

“Anything but whatever the hell’s happening here.”

“Wow, I’m offended.”

“Should be. Fuck you.”

Childishly, you stick your tongue out at him. “Fuck me yours-”

“And now we’re just going in circles,” Harry interrupts. He grabs his coat, and you realize he’s fully dressed, and you’re a bit startled. “Don’t be late for the gym,” he tells you. “My dad’ll get suspicious.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, well, heaven forbid your dad -”

“Just don’t be late.”

“Interrupt me one more time, Styles, I -”

He smirks, opens the door, and leaves.

You groan and fall back onto the bed again, then sigh happily.

This situation with Harry, you think, is absolutely terrible.

***

He is so cute.

Just the most adorable.

All smiles and big green eyes and soft curls you want to run your hands through.

“I think I love you,” you murmur drunkenly, and he laughs.

He’s got a nice laugh. Sounds like music. “Think I feel the same.”

You lean into him, pressing kisses against the column of his throat. “I really think I love you, Harry,” you whisper, and he clears his throat, going a bit stiff. “Jack,” he says. “It’s Jack.”

“Oh,” you giggle. You look up at him. “Your eyes are green,” you tell him.

He smiles again, and he doesn’t have dimples. “That they are,” he says.

You’re at some bar. Two weeks after the hotel meet up. Harry’s been to your apartment about a million times, but luckily, the bed’s still in one piece. Here, there’s music going, and you have a few drinks on the table in front of you.

A few guys bought you drinks. Jack did. He was nice about it, though. He’s such a gentleman. He offered to buy you food, brought you to a table and talked with you while you ate. He pulled the chair out for you.

He nudges at your cheek, pressing his lips to your skin. It’s all wrong. But he’s a gentleman, and boy, are his eyes green. You sway a little to the music playing. He kisses you more. It feels nice.

You turn so your back is to his chest, and he stops with the kissing. He holds your waist, not too low, so respectful. What a gentleman. With those green, green eyes. “I wanna make you feel good,” he whispers in your ear.

“Yeah?” you say, giggling a little.

He kisses your throat, so lightly, so nicely. “I wanna take you home.”

You pout at that and turn around, wiggling your hand at him. “Oh, Jack,” you say, “I’m married!” He frowns, pulling away a little bit. “What?” You show him the ring on your finger, only half processing that it’s on your middle finger and you’re essentially flipping him off.

Your gaze focuses. “Oh,” you say, outloud, lowering your hand and inspecting the ring. It’s Harry’s, you realize. He left it in your room last week, and you wore it so you wouldn’t forget to give it to him the next time you saw him. But you forgot.

“I forgot,” you murmur.

“You forgot you’re married?” Jack scoffs incredulously.

“No!” you exclaim, looking up. “No, no, I’m not - I’m not married. Not at all.”

He relaxes, but he still looks skeptical.

“I just - it’s complicated.”

“I didn’t know,” he says, backing away. “I don’t want to get in the middle of anything.”

“You wouldn’t be,” you say softly.

He laughs awkwardly. “Um… Yeah, well, it seems like I would be.”

You’re not sure what to say, and eventually settle on a weak, “I’m sorry.”

“Right.” He clears his throat. “Me too. Well, it was nice… it was nice meeting you.”

You look up, shaking your head. “Wait, you don’t have to…”

“I think I should,” he says. “Yeah, so - bye, I guess.”

“Bye,” you say softly. “Bye, bye…”

***

What a headache. So much pain.

You groan, rolling over onto your stomach, and look at the clock.

“Shit.”

You’re late. You’re so, so late. Des will be pissed. You haven’t been late for a session in almost two years. You scramble out of bed, downing a painkiller and stumbling around your apartment until you’re changed and about ready to go.

The medicine kicks in on the way, and you’re almost sentient by the time you get to the gym. Harry gives you a weird look on the way, and a bit of a memory flashes through your head. Vaguely, you worry about having confessed your love to him.

You have a session though, and you already have enough on your plate dealing with an angry Des, so you force it out of your head. Des is upset. He gets over it. You throw punches and get your feelings out and set a ring on your finger to the side. You’re not sure how it got there, but it looks like Harry’s. Shit, you think, maybe there really was a declaration of love.

He’s reading against his tree, and you ambush him on the way out. “What did I say last night?” you ask, a bit breathlessly. He looks surprised and replies, “What do you mean?” You sit down next to him, getting your breath back.

“Be honest,” you say.

A smile tugs the corner of his lips. “Aren’t I always?”

“Never. But I didn’t - you’re not -” You huff. “Are we okay?”

The smile drops, and so does your heart. He looks down. Oh, no, you think miserably. You really did. You said you loved him, drunkenly, and ruined your entire relationship. Friendship. Situationship. You’re getting another headache just thinking about it.

“Well, actually… I was thinking… maybe we should take a break,” Harry says quietly.

Your heart drops even further, and you blurt, “I didn’t mean it.”

His brows furrow. He looks up again. “What?”

“I don’t love you.”

Harry blinks, dramatically, and actually laughs. “What?” he repeats.

“What I said last night. I didn’t mean it. I was drunk.”

His brows go down again. “I didn’t… I didn’t see you last night.”

You hold up the ring. “Are you sure?”

He grabs it from you, smiling a bit. “Yeah. Positive. I’ve been looking for this for about three days.” You bite your lip. “Oh,” you say. He looks at you, confused yet again. “If not me,” he says slowly, “who were you with?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “I don’t remember.”

“You slept with somebody?”

“No. I woke up alone. Just a - an awful headache.”

He clears his throat, looking away. “Right, right. Well, you can. Obviously. I don’t - I don’t care. At all. But I was thinking…” He looks down at the ring, at his lap, frowning. “I think we should lay off it a bit.”

“Asking for some space?” you ask, and you’re half joking, but your voice is a little weak.

He looks up. Softly, he says, “Yeah.”

“Wow,” you laugh. “You’re breaking up with me and we’re not even together.”

“I’m not breaking up with you,” he says quickly. Too quickly. His face tinges red, just a bit, and his gaze falls to the ring. “I think… I think we should have another rule. We can only see each other once a week.”

You whistle lowly. “Wow,” you say again.

“Stop with the wows,” Harry mutters. “I get it. You’re impressed.”

“It’s hard not to be.”

“Right, yeah. I’m very impressive.” He’s still looking down. There’s a beat of silence.

“Alright!” you say after a minute. “Alright, well, I’ll see you around, then. I’ll get a calendar.” You stand up, dusting nonexistent grass from your legs. “I’ll doodle your name around each week. What do you say, Fridays? Wednesdays? When’re we doing this, huh?”

“I don’t know. Whenever.”

“Geez, try not to sound so excited.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Alright!” you repeat. “Goodbye.”

You stand there for half a second, expecting something, anything, and then walk off.

***

He’s not at the gym.

Midnight, a little after, and he’s not at the gym. The lights are off. Ridiculously, you’re not really sure what to do. You give a few half hearted punches, and then leave, feeling like an absolute idiot.

He ignores you the next day during your session at the gym. He works out, parading his toned muscles around the gym and grinning at the instructor to flaunt his dimples. Then he walks out, so he’s gone by the time you’re done with Des.

A week, and he hasn’t said a word. The worst part is that you don’t even know what you did wrong. He’s just scared, you tell yourself. He’d been spending almost every night at your apartment. He’ll come crawling back. He’ll kiss you and tell you he loves you and then you’ll date and everything will be happily ever after.

It’s all lies, of course, because you don’t even know if you’d want a relationship, if you’re ready for that, if you could stand that with him, if you love him - but it’s kind of nice to fantasize about.

You go to a fight one night. You watch. You watch the money, the fighting, watch the happy, painful, bliss on the winners’ faces and hide in the crowd. People recognize you, ask when you’re going, and you say… You say you’re not.

You can’t.

Maybe tomorrow, you say.

But you don’t come the next day. You stare at your ceiling, hot, and watch the fan. Around and around it goes, and you don’t move. You think. You think, and sweat, and eventually get up and take a cold shower.

The next morning, Des isn’t in the back room. You ask the receptionist where he is, and she shrugs. Tells you she has no idea - call him. So you do. You call, and he sounds upset, and he says to come upstairs.

You’ve never been upstairs.

You know where the steps are, though, and you walk up and into the hallway and see Des leaned against a door. “What’s going on?” you ask immediately. “Are you okay?” Des nods, sighing heavily. “I’m fine, but Harry’s - he’s got into a fight.”

You almost laugh. “A fight?”

“Yeah, he…” He sighs again. “A client came in here earlier, hours ago. He was going on about some fight he’d gone to last night, talking about what happened, about… well, about you.” Your eyes widen. “What?”

“Said you wouldn’t fight,” Des goes on quietly. “Started going on about how you can’t… He said you can’t -” He shakes his head. “This is him, mind you, he said not only can you not fight, but you’re a wimp about it, too.”

You can only gape.

“I was gonna kick him out, I was, but Harry… Er - well, they started shoving each other, bloody idiots, and then there were punches and we pulled them apart but they still… Well, he’s got a bit of a shiner.”

“But he’s okay?”

“He’s fine. Mostly.” He eyes you up, looking curious. “Haven’t broken his heart yet, have you?” This time you do laugh. “Sorry?” you ask, and Des smiles a bit. “Boy’s been looney about you for ages, you know. Since the second you stepped in here.”

“I…” You’re not sure what to say. “Um… Why… why are you telling me this now?” you ask, and Des grins. “Wanted to see how guilty you’d be.” You frown, confused, and echo, “Guilty?” Des nods, looking almost smug. “Most people are guilty when their lie’s found out. They’re even guiltier when they realize the old man they’ve been lying to has known since the start.”

“We’re not… lying to you…” It sounds even lamer out loud than in your head.

Des hums. “Course you’re not.” He pats you on the back and clears his throat, turning away. “I’m going out, now. It’ll be for a while. Don’t hurt him anymore, thanks.” He disappears down the steps, and you squeeze your eyes shut. Guilty, yes, and embarrassed.

Whoops.

You open the door and see Harry on the bed, an ice pack on his face.

“You look like shit,” you say.

“So do you,” he replies without looking at you. “At least I have an excuse.”

“Ooh, wasn’t expecting that one,” you tell him, walking closer. “None of the ‘you should see the other guy,’ huh?” He turns to glare at you, and you grimace at the black and blue around his eye. “Ouch,” you murmur.

“Yeah.”

“I’m supposed to be the one getting beat up,” you say softly, and you’re pushing a curl out of his face before you can stop yourself. “You’re too pretty to get your face smashed in.” Harry rolls his eyes and turns away again.

You lean down, impulsively - you’re not thinking today, apparently - and start to kiss his hand, resting on his stomach. He winces, pulling away, and you see his knuckles are bruised. “That hurts,” he says.

“Sorry, sorry,” you say, and go for his cheek -

He hisses your name and bites out, “That hurts too.”

“Well, Christ, Styles,” you scoff, “where doesn’t it hurt?”

He glances at you, a flicker in those green eyes, and points to his temple. “There’s not too bad,” he mumbles. You have to bite back a grin. “Alright,” you say, and you press your lips to his skin. His eyes flutter shut.

“And… and here’s not awful.” He points to his jaw almost grudgingly, and a bit of a laugh slips out of your lips as you pepper a kiss across his jaw, over his chin, and then pull away. He opens his eyes at the loss of contact, pouting a bit.

“How ‘bout here,” he whispers, and he points to his lips.

“You’re a bastard,” you whisper back, and then you kiss him.

Suddenly he’s better, because he’s smiling and reaching up behind your neck to gently pull you closer. Then he’s sitting up, onto his elbow, his hand nudging you as if he wants you to get on top of him.

“Thought everything hurt,” you murmur, complying anyway.

Harry shrugs, smiling more, and says,“The medicine just set in.”

“I hate you,” you tell him.

He sighs, sounding happy, and kisses you deeper. “The feeling,” he says, “is mutual.”

***

His name is Charlie. The bartender. It says it right on his little gold name tag, which blinds you every few seconds when the light hits it just right. He’s pretty nice. You’re getting drinks for yourself and for Harry, who’s supposed to meet you in a few minutes. He’ll probably be late.

“Come here often?” Charlie asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You raise a brow. “Yeah. Yet somehow I’m still surprised at how unoriginal you are.”

Charlie laughs, sliding your drink across the counter and getting started on Harry’s. “Oh, no, no, I just meant… I feel like I’ve seen you around.” You give a neutral hum in reply, swirling the ice in your drink around.

And then you hear your name called from behind you, and you feel yourself smile as you turn around and see Harry walking in, waving at you. He’s not late. How nice. “Hey, you’re with Harry?” Charlie asks, sounding surprised, and your smile drops to a frown as you remember he’s still there.

“Yup.”

“Wow,” Charlie says under his breath, his back to you as he mixes Harry’s drink, “he sure goes through dates fast…” Your brows jump. “Excuse me?” Charlie turns around. He looks stunned. Slowly, he hands the drink to you. “Um… Nothing. Sorry.”

“Did you see him here with someone else?” you ask, regretting it immediately.

“Yeah, just last week,” Charlie replies. He makes a face. “They were all over each other.” And from the next expression that floods his features, he, too, regrets his words immediately after they leave his lips. “But, uh - that’s not my business!” he says hurriedly. “That has nothing to do with me. Okay! Well, enjoy your drinks.”

He walks away just as Harry comes up behind you.

“Well, hello,” he says softly, lips feathering against your ear.

“Hey,” you say, handing him his drink.

Your tone is a bit sharp, and Harry pulls away a bit. “Thanks,” he says. “Er… you alright?”

“I’m fine. So is, uh, Charlie here.” You point at Charlie’s receding figure.

“Yeah?” Harry says, an amused smile curving his mouth as he takes a sip of his drink.

You clear your throat, fiddling with your glass. “We were just talking about you.”

His smirk is so handsome. And irritating. Right on the line between the choices of kiss him and smack him. “Oh?” he says. “All good things, I hope?” You shrug, letting your gaze drift around the room. “Not necessarily. He, uh… he said you came here last week with someone else.”

The smirk disappears. He looks down, coughs slightly. “Said that, did he?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, patting him on the chest. “Yeah, yeah he did say that. And now, I’m saying that, uh… that you’re drinking alone. I’ll see you around, Styles.” You walk away, just the slightest bit of anger seeping through your skin.

***

Antsy. Antsy, antsy, antsy.

The fan is spinning.

That damn fan.

You can’t look at it anymore. You roll out of bed, put on some clothes. No sweatshirt, no pants, just shorts and an athletic top. It is freezing fucking cold outside, you realize with a grimace, which isn’t new information but somehow still surprises you.

Soon you’re running, slowly, jogging, and already you feel better.

Really, you shouldn’t be upset. That’s what keeps spinning around your head. You shouldn’t be upset. You should’ve expected this. You did expect this. Obviously he was sleeping with other people. He’d been honest about it from the start.

Regret, anger, misery. Turn it into money. A little cash, a little pain, a little gain. You’re filled with regret as soon as you step inside. People notice you and look startled, and then expectant. They seem to close in on you.

You’ll fight tonight, right? Give it a good show? There’s a new kid in town, better show ‘em who’s boss - don’t lose your throne, rookie - c’mon, prove Des doesn’t train losers - does he? Does he? Are you? A loser? Gone soft, have you? Are you ready? Ready to go?

And brrrring, you’re off.

It feels so good. You’re so numb it doesn’t even hurt. It’ll probably hurt later, though, and you’ll probably regret it, but not now. Now you’re just happy, grinning through the blood, probably looking psychotic.

It’s unmatched, this adrenaline rush. Can’t get it anywhere else.

Well, maybe -

Bang. Right to the nose. Damn, that hurts, but losing hurts more - one, two, three, around the back, pull, pull, make it hurt, like they hurt you, like he hurt you, fuck it hurts so bad, and…

And we have a winner!

Outside, it is so, so cold.

***

Cleaning yourself up is therapeutic.

It doesn’t happen until the next morning, but it’s pleasant.

You miss your session with Des.

***

You spend a lot of time at the park. At the library. Anywhere but your apartment, where he can find you. You ignore his calls. You change his ringtone so you can bop along to the song while you let it ring out.

When you go to the gym at one in the morning, about a week later, you actually look a little worse than you first did. Less bloody, less fresh, less swelling but more black and blue around your eye and cheek.

Harry bolts up when he sees you. He starts to step forward, then hesitates. He hovers by the alcove where he reads, glowing like an angel from the light behind him. He looks so nervous.

“You look awful,” he says softly.

You clear your throat. “Thanks.”

“I was worried. We were both worried.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Harry sets his book down. The nervousness fades away, and he leans against the wall next to him, leveling your gaze as he crosses his arms across his chest.

“You fought again,” he says.

“I did.”

“Because of me?”

You look at him, sensing a shift in the air. “What am I supposed to say?”

“The truth.”

“You’ve got quite the head if you expect me to say yes.”

“And you’ve got quite the nerve if you expect me to believe no.”

“You just think the sun revolves around you, don’t you, Styles?” you ask with a scowl.

“Who’s to say it doesn’t?”

“Christ,” you mutter. You huff a sigh, breaking eye contact and turning away.

He lets the quiet loom for a moment, probably basking in it, and then says, “You’re upset about the bar, aren’t you.” He doesn’t even phrase it like a question. “I’m not upset,” you reply under your breath. “I’m not even surprised.”

“Good.”

“Yeah?” you say tersely, meeting his eyes again. “You’re pleased by that?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. You know why?” Finally, a bit of venom creeps into his words. Part of you is relieved to hear some sort of feeling in what he’s saying. “Because I’m allowed to do that, to go on a date. This isn’t a relationship. I can fuck other people, you can fuck whoever the hell you want.”

“Have you?”

Harry frowns some more. “I just told you I did.”

“Before that.”

He opens his mouth - and then closes it. “Have you?”

You can’t help but smirk a little bit. “No.”

“Well, you could’ve. You can. It’s not a rule.”

“Maybe it should be.”

Your words hang in the air for a second, and you can see Harry turning them over in his head. His eyes bounce between yours, mouth set in a hard line. “We’re not dating,” he says lowly. “I hope you get that. We’re not together.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I don’t date.”

“Except for the one last week.”

His jaw clenches, and he turns away from you. “That doesn’t count.”

“How come?”

“Because -” He huffs a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Christ. I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer, Styles.”

“I don’t know,” he repeats irritatedly.

“Er,” you say, imitating a buzzer. “Still wrong.”

“Fine,” he practically growls, turning on you. “Because I was only getting over you.”

You smile coolly, ignoring your racing heartbeat. “Ding, ding, ding.”

Harry shakes his head, turning away again. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes,” he sighs, “I do.”

You raise a brow. “And, uh, Harry,” you say, “why’s that?”

He glances at you. A million different emotions flash across his face, echoing in his eyes, in your heart. And then, suddenly, his features soften. “You know why,” he murmurs, and your brows jump.

You blink at him, startled. “What?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, biting his lip as he takes a small step towards you. “You know why.”

You shake your head, backing up slightly. “I - I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“C’mon,” he murmurs, closing the distance. “Gonna make me say it? Gonna make me spell it out?” You watch him, hold his gaze, look into his eyes, and your breath catches in your throat as you start to understand.

“Yeah,” you tell him a bit breathlessly. “Yeah, I’m gonna make you spell it out.”

“I,” he starts, and now you’re taking a half step towards him, “l… i… k… e… y… o… u…”

You can’t help the smile that breaks across your face. “You’re a good speller.”

“A lot,” he adds.

“And now, uh… Now put it all together for me,” you say, milking it.

“I like you,” he whispers, so close now. “I like you a lot.”

“I like you, too,” you admit.

He traces his finger against your cheek, so, so gently. Your eyes close at the contact.

“You’ll break my heart,” he says, leaning in.

“Not if -” You’re having trouble speaking. “Not if you don’t let me.”

He’s speaking almost against your lips now. “As if I’ll have any say in the matter.”

You open your eyes, smiling just barely. “I’ll be nice.”

“You could never.”

His eyes are so, so green. “You’d be surprised.”

His finger slides under your chin and he gently presses up. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Your eyelids flutter shut. “I’m anything but predictable,” you whisper.

He doesn’t reply, just kisses you, and you smile against his lips.

Maybe things will work out after all.

***

la fin 💜

i wrote this FAST haha like in a day or two but lemme tell you i've never felt this way about anything else i've written... like obvi i don't post things i hate slkdfj but like i LOVE this fic. not to sound narcissistic lmao but i'm so in love w this fic it's insane. that being said some feedback would literally make my entire day!!! week!!! life!!!!

anyway thank you for reading ily <3

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#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles story #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles

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in-tua-deep · 3 years

Note

idk if you still do au ideas but what if delores was a real person in the apocalypse? how it woul dbe done i have no idea but i love all your aus and thought it would be cool

okay okay I don't tend to go for real!Dolores aus admittedly because I find her much more compelling as what she is: a reflection of five himself and a symptom of his crushing loneliness

but i started thinking about it and you know what?? i think five deserves a little socialization, as a treat

so say like, 0.5% of the population is resistant to abilities. Allison would really struggle to rumor them, Five wouldn't be able to jump with them, and, most importantly, whatever the fuck Vanya's ability does has like, reduced damage or something

and the og apocalypse isn't the moon apocalypse, so let's say that it was pure waves of Vanya's powers that fucked over the earth

so 0.5% of the population survives the apocalypse. though, let's be honestly, the real number is a lot smaller than that. People who might have survived Vanya's initial power wave (miraculously) did not survive buildings crushing them or survive the car/plane/bus/train/other transportation crashes or survive being left alone when they are too young to reliably look after themselves, or the variety of other problems that come with 99.5% of the population dying at once

So, Five arrives in the apocalypse and is met with ruin and fire and a whole lot of dead people. He finds his siblings, but it doesn't matter. They're dead. He doesn't even recognize them at first, these strange grown-ups who he identifies not by their faces but by the umbrellas on their wrists that match his own

As he realizes the full impact of his situation, he hears a voice that says, very succinctly, "holy shit!"

It's a girl a few years older than Five himself, maybe 15 or 16, and she is very excited to see another survivor.

And here's where I u-turn this au around bc i'm not all that interested in real!Dolores, but I would be down to talk about Five meeting survivors in the apocalypse, because if Dolores is real I don't buy no one else survived.

So Dolores shows up and see a Literal Child crying over the corpses of his family and assumes that Five is a fellow survivor, and she immediately grabs him up. Five is incoherent with grief at this point anyway, so he doesn't even protest when she basically hauls him away from the bodies. She's babbling at him, but he doesn't really hear anything she's saying

And then she takes him to her dad

(Why not, let's have the 1% potentially be a heritable thing)

and her dad, let's call him just some dad name. like Rick. it has been a fucking WEEK for him, okay. he had his daughter with him, his ex-wife is on the other coast for her work, and by some miracle he survived the apocalypse and so did his child, and he's been wracking his brains trying to figure out what the fuck to do next

and then his daughter shows up with a traumatized thirteen-year-old in tow

now rick is a good dude. he's a dad. they get out of five that his name is five ("what the fuck" dolores mouths to him over five's shoulder and rick can't help but agree) and the bodies he found were his siblings ("Dad and Ben and Vanya weren't there though," this child cries desperately and rick feels his own heart clench in response, "They might still be alive!")

"We can look for them." Rick assures his new adopted child, because he is an adult in a fresh apocalypse and this kid has presumably lost everything he's ever known (more than rick even knows at the time)

and they do. They each get wagons and they go out and find supplies and look for other survivors. Five is... surprisingly helpful and also surprisingly docile as he is able to rely on Someone Else to give orders while he attempts to (dissociate) process what the fuck has happened

and here's the thing: Five prides himself on being independent, sort of. He's independent for a child soldier, but he's used to taking orders from a male authority figure and Rick happens to be just that

The first time that Five does something dangerous and Rick yells is a revelation

(Rick isn't sure if he hopes that Five's dad is alive or not, because if they find that man alive then Rick might just kill the jackass himself. Also like, Five is bizarrely knowledgeable out survival skills, like way too knowledgeable about it, which is helpful for them but also very concerning)

they find a newspaper and Five finds the article that mentions his father's recent death ("Huh. Heart attack." Five says, and there is no emotion in his voice)

(Years later, years later, Five and Rick talk. "I don't think I wanted to find him, either." Five admits, softly because Dolores is asleep, "I think I was more scared of finding him alive than I was of finding his body. He would've been so mad at me, I think.")

this newspaper is how Rick and Dolores find out about Five being Number Five, Umbrella Academy Missing Person

"Dude, what the fuck." Dolores says, wide eyes, "You're like, thirty?"

"I'm thirteen." Five says, and then checks the date on the newspaper again, "Also I think I would technically be 29 if I lived through all of it, 'cause it's April and my birthday is in October."

"You... time travelled?" Rick asks, which is honestly the more relevant question, "Can you go back?"

And Five just,,, crumples on himself. Because he tried, he tried really hard. It didn't work. "I'm gonna figure it out. I'm gonna go back, I'm going to save them."

That, Rick thinks, is a lot of weight to put on one person's shoulders, but especially the shoulders of a child.

"Alright." Rick says, because what else can he say after finding out his new child has superpowers and is from like, 2004? "What do you need?"

("Oh my god I have so many memes to teach you." Dolores says later, reverently. Five blinks in confusion and Rick mentally prepares himself for the recitation of so many vines)

And it's easier, somehow. Five sometimes feels like it's a betrayal, but he settles into apocalypse life with an ease that surprises him.

He lets Rick fuss over him and help tie his scarf securely around his head every morning before he sets off on supply runs with Dolores. And they're kids! Five has never had a friend before, and Dolores is funny and smart and she's struggling just as much as he is.

"I don't know if my mom's alive." She says to him, in solidarity when he checks the face of every corpse to see if they're Vanya.

Five is practical in the way only a child soldier can be. He's economical with the room in their wagons, carefully examining what might and what might not be useful.

Dolores, on the other hand, constantly takes up space with what Five sees as useless shit.

"Excuse you," Dolores says, shoving a game of monopoly, the entire discworld series, and a pack of glitter gel pens into her wagon, "These are absolutely vital apocalypse supplies."

She challenges him, plays with him in a way no one ever has. "I bet you I can find more batteries today than you can," She grins at him, "Winner gets to pick dinner first?"

"You're on." Five says, directly before Dolores pulls two packs of 24 AA batteries from behind her back, like a cheat.

Dolores makes him take a ten minute break when they find a playground that has been mostly not-destroyed. They rummage around kids backpacks and mother's handbags for some good loot, too numb to corpses to even be bothered all that badly about the corpses they belong to.

"I'm getting on the swings." Dolores says when Five starts making noises about moving on, "I haven't been on a swingset in ages."

"What's the point?" Five grumps.

"Don't be sour because you can't swing as high as I can!" Dolores laughs, getting higher and higher as the swings creak ominously.

Five grumpily gets into the other swing and grudgingly kicks himself back and forth until Dolores takes pity on him and teaches him how to properly move his legs and body to get higher and higher.

Dolores jumps from the swing seat and lands with a flourish and smile. Five jumps out of his seat and then jumps, warping right in front of Dolores and making her yell and hit at him in outrage. Five smiles the widest he has all week.

This is how Five grows up in the apocalypse, with Dolores teasing him into taking breaks and leaning over his shoulder to look at his math and scandalizing him by stating that she'd only just started on matrices in her own high school math class.

Every night they huddle around Rick while he picks up whatever book Dolores picked out that day because it is a travesty that Five has never read hunger games or whatever, and then they read together because it would be a genuine blood bath if they all took turns. The first time Five accidentally mentioned a spoiler and Dolores genuinely considered murder was the birthday of this tradition

Some days the air is too smoky or there are dust storms or it's just plain too dangerous to go out, and they all stay in. Dolores regales Five with stories about public school, and Five tells them about his siblings.

Then they all cry

"I shouldn't be crying." Five sobs.

"Shut the fuck up," Dolores sobs back, "You literally watched me lose my shit over remembering my shitty eighth grade dance and listened to me sob-sing toxic for like four hours."

"In fairness I also wished you would shut up then."

"Let me hug you or I will start singing songs that I only remember the chorus for again you absolute fucker."

"I could always sing some -"

"No, Rick/Dad."

And Five grows up. Rick shows him how to shave very carefully in front of cracked mirrors. Dolores teases him every time his voice cracks. Rick tells Five in no uncertain terms that he loves and cares for him, and that Reginald was a little bitch. There are a lot of heartfelt conversations around that, honestly. Rick telling Five that he and the siblings deserved better, that they were children and deserved to have a childhood.

And that he has faith in Five. Rick and Dolores both do, they bring him back paper and pens and pencils and chalk and anything Five can use to write equations. They poke around any libraries for books on theoretical mathematics and quantum physics. Rick and Dolores go out scouting for food while Five stays home and can work longer.

They also make him take breaks, make sure that he's looking after himself.

They're a little better off than OG!Five when it comes to food, because some animals survive. Enough that Rick figures out how to hunt. Five is the first one to each bugs, and even though Dolores makes faces they all start eating bugs as well.

"Pretty sure there's loads of cultures that eat bugs." Rick says grudgingly, wondering if he should try stirfry the cockroaches and if that would improve the taste. "There's even, uh, cricket flour or whatever, right?"

"Plus you eat like, five spiders a year when you're asleep." Dolores says cheerfully, just to watch her dad's face scrunch up in displeasure.

"That doesn't sound true, but I don't know enough about spiders to dispute it." Five mutters, and Dolores gives him such a proud look that it makes him roll his eyes.

They're in their thirties when Rick dies. He's out foraging and hunting, and the rubble he's standing on gives way and he ends up with a gash in his leg. He manages to stop the bleeding, but the world is filthy and they don't have any antibiotics.

He gets an infection.

"It's okay." He tells both of his kids, "It's okay. I'm just so glad that you guys have each other, y'hear? I'm so glad."

"It's not okay." Five says, voice thick and choked, "It's not."

"Yeah, well, you're going to figure out how to go back, right? Go back in time and save everyone. Then I'll have never died, right?" Rick smiles, "And even if you don't, I'll be waiting for you on the other side and we'll see each other again anyway."

"I'm going to fix it."

"I know. I have faith in you, Five." Ricks says honestly, and that's more than Reginald ever said.

They sit quietly together while Dolores is out scavenging. They've been taking turns sitting with Rick.

"I won't remember you, in the past, will I?" Rick says rhetorically, but Five answers anyway.

"I don't think so."

Rick hums, "Well, doesn't matter. If you need help in the past, you come to me, y'hear?"

"You won't remember me."

"Doesn't matter. You come find me, and you tell me your crazy story until I believe you, and then I'll help you." Rick says firmly, "You're family. You're my son. Timelines? Don't matter. If you need help, with anything, even if it's just with - with filling out a bowling team or something -"

"I have never been bowling in my life and you know it." Five interrupts, but it makes him laugh just a little bit which was clearly Rick's intention.

"Well who knows what you'll get up to in the past! You'll be able to go bowling, you know. Get to wear those uncomfortable shoes. Hey, you go far enough back maybe you can go to Dolores's tenth birthday party and put me out of my misery."

"Was she bad at bowling?"

"Oh, she was wiping the floor with me. No contest."

"Honestly, that sounds absolutely accurate."

"Shut up, bowling just wasn't my sport. Regardless, the point was that I'm giving you a free pass to come and get me. Because I know you, I know how you think." Rick brings up his hand to tap his finger against Five's forehead, "You get it into your head that you need to go it alone, take it all on your shoulders. I'm telling you that if you do that I'll somehow manifest my memories and come smack you over the head for being stupid, you hear?"

"I'm not dragging you into anything." Five says firmly, "I'll have my siblings."

"Who were also children." Rick points out. "And dragging? Dragging is such a strong word for a volunteer."

"A volunteer who won't remember volunteering." Five shoots back.

Rick just shrugs, and then winces when the movement jolts his bad leg. "Five, I'm going to be honest with you here. And sappy. Can you handle a bit of sappiness for a minute?"

"No."

"Well too bad. Can't leave a dying man, you'd feel too bad. So you're stuck with me. But you listen good, okay? Because you aren't dragging me into anything. Whatever life you have, I want to have a part of that. Because you're my son. Wherever you are, whatever you do, I want to help because you're family. What you'd be doing by leaving me out of it is depriving me of someone I love, depriving me of knowing one of the best kids I've ever known."

"Shut up." Five says, choked.

"Nope, it's sappy time." Rick states, "Maybe asking you to come find me is selfish, but I don't care. No matter what version of me exists, I want to be in your life."

"My life is a walking joke, why would you want any part of that?"

"It has been my privilege to watch you grow up. To help you. To be here for you. Of course I'd want to be there to watch you grow up the rest of the way."

"But -"

"Shut up, just let me tell you that I am so proud of you. You never give up, and your heart is so big. You love so much and so loudly, and it's been the highest honor of my life to be included in your family."

Five pauses for a moment to collect himself before simply saying - "You're the best dad I've ever had."

Rick snorts, "Considering my competition, I'd sure hope so. That bar was so low old Reggie was practically limbo dancing with the devil. Now get over here and give an old man a hug."

They don't bury Rick, when he dies. They don't have time and the ground is too hard and they don't have the heart to move him. Instead the pack everything up and seal him in the shelter they'd lived in.

Dolores pulls out a bottle of ancient nail polish and painstakingly writes Rick's name on the wall with his birth year and an approximate current year. They aren't 100% sure though, since time blends together out in the apocalypse, but it's something.

They continue by themselves. They get older.

Dolores jokingly calls him her husband because the way his face scrunches up makes her cackle. They see other people very occasionally, usually passing through. Usually groups. Dolores and Five get to flex their hosting skills, though more than one group declines their cockroach stirfry.

("It's a family recipe." Five says with amusement in his eyes that usually manages to drown out old grief.)

"Jeeze, that kid couldn't have been older'n twenty-three." Dolores complains, "Makes me feels positively ancient."

"They wouldn't have known any world 'cept for the apocalypse." Five muses, pouring some boiled water into wine glasses because they might be living in the apocalypse but they can be fancy.

"Do you ever think about that?" Dolores asks, turning to him with no judgement, just curiosity. "When you go back, you'll be like, erasing them from existence."

Five shrugs, "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe this place will just split off into an alternate timeline."

"Maybe none of this is real." Dolores says, amusement coloring her voice. "Maybe you aren't talking to a real person at all. Maybe this is just a symbol of your insanity and cracked mind."

"Dolores, I literally have a scar where you stabbed me. Did I somehow manage to stab myself in the back?"

"Scraped you, I scraped you. By accident."

"So you maintain." Five says haughtily, swirling his water in his wine glass like a pretentious prick.

"I could totally be fake. You don't know my life."

"I know way too much about you, Dolores. Like, way way too much." Five scoffs, because Dolores and him have literally no secrets from one another at this point. Five even knows the truth behind what happened at Janet Scranton's thirteenth birthday party. Like, he said, way too much.

"Maybe you made it up. Maybe that's why you know so much."

"Dolores, I'm going to be honest with you right now." Five presses the tips of his fingers to his chin, "If you were a figment of my imagination, you would be so much better at math."

"Hey!" Dolores squawks indignantly, "I didn't even get to finish high school you pretentious prick!"

"Neither did I!"

"You didn't even go to high school, you brat."

"I'm fifty-two I think I've outgrown 'brat.'"

"Tell that to your attitude." Dolores says haughtily, "You're still younger than me."

"Won't be when I go back in time." Five says cheerfully, completely ignoring Dolores's venomous look.

"That's cheating."

"Sucks to suck." Five says loftily, taking another sip of his water.

Sometimes they talk about The Plan, with capital letters. What Five is going to do when he goes back in time, depending on when he pops out. Is he going to adopt his siblings? What about Reginald?

"You don't think I could kill Reginald?" Five says, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense.

"I think you should let me do it. I'll even give you control of tonight's music if you do."

"What are you doing to do? Bite his ankles? What if you're like, seven or something?"

"All the better to get away with it since I'll be too young to convict or whatever."

"Pretty sure that's not how the law works."

"How would you know? Just for that I'm playing Istanbul on repeat again."

"I don't know why you think that's a threat. That song slaps."

It takes a few more years before Five is close enough that the Commission comes to interfere. Because that's what I think happened - Five was getting too close and they stepped in because they might as well distract the man as much as they can with missions, right?

So the Handler shows up. And she offers Five a job, telling him that they have the ability to travel through time. And Five - hesitates.

"Give me some time?" Five asks, and the Handler graciously gives him 24 hours.

And he and Dolores talk it over, because now that his goal is more in sight than it has ever been and Five is scared.

"What are you waiting for? You have the chance to see your siblings again." Dolores says patiently.

"Yeah," Five says, and what he doesn't say is clear. But I won't see you.

"Five." Dolores says, and she cradles his face between her palms like he is something precious, "I have had so much time with you already. More than I would have ever. We have been so lucky, to have this time. How can I demand more than what we have already been given?"

"When have you ever not demanded the world, Dolores?" Five asks, his own hand coming up to cover Dolores's own.

"We've had decades together, Five. We're getting old. I was always going to lose you, one way or another. Nothing lasts forever."

"I don't want to lose you."

"I know. But if I had to choose a way, if I could decide where our story ends, this would be it. Letting you go, because this way you get to live. You get to see your family again. You get to save the world. I could ask for nothing more than for you to get your happy ending."

Five removes Dolores's hand from his cheek so that he can cradle it between them, "I'm happy here with you. I've never been happier. Isn't that silly? That I was happier in the apocalypse?"

"I bet killing Reggie would make you happy." Dolores laughs rustily.

"One day you're going to see the mysterious disappearance of a famous billionaire in the paper and feel a twinge of satisfaction and now have a clue why." Five laughs as well, shaking his head.

Dolores pats Five's hands, "Five, look at me. We've had our time. And you're going to give me even more of it. More time with my father. More time with my mother. I'll never know it, but you'll have saved me."

"What if this is - what if this is an alternate reality? What if I leave you here alone?"

"Then you'll be saving a 15-year-old girl from the same fate as me. Because as much as I love you, as much as I have loved this time we have had together, this is still an apocalypse. This should never have happened, and if you have a chance to go back and prevent it, then I want you to take that chance with both hands."

"Even if it means leaving you alone?"

Dolores smiles at him, "I'm not going to be alone. Far too many creepy crawlies in the apocalypse for that."

"Shut up, I'm being serious."

"Hmm." Dolores hums consideringly, "Maybe I'll head North, to that new settlement that last group said they'd heard word of. Sure they'd find some use for an old woman who's survived this long in the wilderness."

"You can have my half of the record collection." Five says, pulling her against him into a hug that she easily returns.

"As if I wouldn't have stolen them as soon as you left." She scoffs, but it's a little wet, and Five pretends his own eyes aren't leaking tears.

When The Handler comes back, Dolores gives him another hug. She also slips something into his pocket - some photos. They'd taken it a year into the apocalypse, when Dolores had found an ancient looking polaroid camera and towed it home despite Five's protests about practicality. The photos are worn and faded at the edges, but the smiles on Five's little apocalypse family's faces are undeniable.

"You'll have to see if they magically fade when you change the timeline." Dolores whispers to him with a grin, "Like in the movies."

"Okay." Five whispers back.

"You have the list of movies to watch, right?" Dolores says. Five rolls his eyes and nods because he wrote the list last night into his Vanya-book while Dolores hovered over his shoulder and critiqued his handwriting.

"And you promise to try a proper non-expired twinkie at some point?"

"That I do not promise. I think even looking at one would make me lose my lunch. I have twinkie-trauma."

"Shut up and get going." Dolores says, because the Handler is starting to tap her foot impatiently.

And off Five goes to become an assassin. Though - he's much more gentle this time. He's careful, he doesn't kill children and he usually takes jobs that don't require killing at all. He distracts and manipulates events as much as he can without killing.

He's actually much more well socialized, thanks to Rick and Dolores. Less feral child and more determined man on a mission.

Which is why he's so frustrated when he finally, finally manages to get the equations to work and falls through and falls - directly back into his stupid thirteen-year-old body.

"Shit." Five says, loudly, and revels in the surprised look on his siblings faces.

He strides into the kitchen, and they all follow him like ducklings. They look exactly the way they did when they died.

"Wow this is actually way harder than I thought it would be." Five muses, looking at their dead faces. But as Dolores would say, life is hard but you have to keep on trucking sometimes. "Whatever, what's the date?"

"Five, where have you been?" Diego demands, looking irritated. It makes Five snort in amusement.

"The future. The past. If you want like, an exact list of dates you'll have to hold your horses. I spent like, two weeks in Peru once. No souvenirs though, unfortunately."

They look taken aback, like they didn't expect Five to have quite this much sass. Oops. That is definitely Dolores's influence. Or maybe he was always a little asshole. In fairness, what teenagers aren't tiny assholes? He has an excuse.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Diego's eyebrows are furrowed in anger. It kind of takes Five aback for a second, because he remembers a Diego who stutters when he argued.

"When did you learn the fuck-word?" Five asks, raising an eyebrow before her can help it, "Grace ought to wash your mouth out with soap."

Diego immediately goes red, "Shut up!"

"Wow you're so easy to rile up. Aren't you like, twenty-something? Actually, I could figure out for myself how old you are if you gave me the date."

"I'm twenty-nine." Diego growls, like that was the point.

"Haunting!" Five says cheerfully, because that means there is way less time than he would like, narrowing his time down to a six month window.

It's extremely funny how his cheer makes all of them make faces.

It's Klaus who leans forward, "Why do you need to know?"

Klaus's face is open and curious and - (looks exactly like he did when Five found him all those years ago) - and Five can't help but answer him. "The world end on April 1st, 2019. No it isn't an April Fools joke, yes I have heard that joke like a million different times. I just want to know how close I landed so I can, you know, start working on how to fix that."

"Woah woah woah, roll it back." Allison says, holding a hand up, "What?"

"The apocalypse occurs on April 1st, 2019." Five says, slowly. "I have traveled from afar to prevent this from happening, because like, everyone dies."

"Everyone?" Vanya says weakly from the side.

She's clearly expecting to be ignored, so Five turns his head to address her directly by wiggling his hand back and forth a little. "Sort of. Like, not too many people survive at all. A handful of the human population, you know."

"But you survived?" Diego recovers admirably, if bitingly.

"Well, no." Five says rolling his eyes, "Wouldn't you just know it, Klaus here has managed to figure out a new ability!"

Everyone turns to look at Klaus, who immediately holds up his hands like he's being arrested or something, "I did not!"

"Wonderful! Now that we've established that I'm alive -"

"Why should we trust a word you say?" Luther says for the first time, looking pensive.

Five blinks, genuinely taken aback. "Because... I'm your brother? Because I can clearly and obviously time travel? Like, yeah, it would have been more convenient if I'd arrived in like, my old-body for proof-purposes, but like. I mean. Thirteen is still a pretty convincing age to be to prove time travel considering if I hadn't, I would be like, almost thirty."

"Roll it back again." Allison says firmly, "What do you mean by 'old body'?"

"Great question!" Five says pointing at Allison and smiling. Everyone looks at him weird again, and Five takes a moment to wonder if they've ever experienced positive reinforcement. Knowing Reginald, probably not. "Wait! Is Reggie alive? Wait, no, answer that in a second. Uh. When I time traveled I fucked up my body I guess, I was like, old. White hair and wrinkles-type old from spending decades in the apocalypse. But I fucked up the calculations and got booted back to my thirteen-year-old body, I guess. How, I have no idea."

"What?" Vanya says, still equally weakly.

"You have no idea how fucked up time travel is." Five whispers conspiratorially to Vanya, loud enough for the whole table to hear, "There are so many ways to die. Or permanently tear a hold in space time. But like, with life as we know if ending soon-ish, I figured I couldn't possibly fuck it up worse than it already was, y'know? Speaking of, anyone have the date again?"

"Wait, what was that about dad?" Luther asks, very focused.

"Oh, you still call him dad? Big oof." Five says automatically, because apparently his verbal filter is shot to hell after living with Dolores. It does make Klaus bark out a too-loud laugh.

"What does that mean?" Luther asks aggressively.

"It means Reginald sucks and doesn't deserve the title of 'dad,' what did you think I meant?" Five asks, and now both Diego and Vanya and both cracking smiles, though Vanya is covering hers with a hand.

"Have some respect for the dead." Luther growls, standing up and looking very large and threatening.

Five sways back, craning his head up, "Woah there big buy, sit down before I injure my poor growing spine looking up at you. Jeeze, did Reggie force feed you steroids or something? I wouldn't put it past him but like, I just want to know he at least went over the side effects of the drug with you. Also like, thanks for narrowing it down. Also terrifying! Seriously though, exact date please because if I have less than 24 hours I am going to break down crying and that is a threat."

"I love this Five." Klaus says reverently.

"March 21st." Vanya offers, finally.

"Wow! Terrifying!" Five says, clapping his hands together, "Hate that. Ten days, huh? Well, who wants to get on board the save-the-world express?"

Klaus immediately flings his hand in the air, Five points at his brother appreciatively. "Yes, excellent! I'll take the volunteer in the lovely skirt as my first team member. Any other volunteers?"

"Danke!" Klaus simpers, grinning widely like this is the vest entertainment he's had in weeks.

"I'm not just going to stand here and listen to you badmouth dad and boss us around." Luther slams his hands on the table.

"Well not with that attitude." Five snarks.

Diego raises his hand, "I would like to join team fuck dad as well."

"We can certainly debate team names later." Five says, nodding wisely as Luther gives some sort of scandalized gasp.

"Honestly, I just want to see where this is going." Klaus confesses.

Five shrugs, because he doesn't really care about the reason. "Don't you want to prove me wrong them? Prove what a well-adjusted young man Reginald Hargreeves raised?"

"Shut up." Luther grinds out, looking a moment away from throwing a punch.

"If this is all true, I have to get home." Allison cuts in, looking concerned, "I have - I have a daughter."

"I mean, if you want to give Claire a world to live in then I'd stick around, but that's just me." Five shrugs.

"You know her name?" Allison asks, obviously taken aback.

Five is almost offended, "Uh, yeah. I have her photo as well. Y'all get on like, a bizarre number of gossip magazine covers did you know that?"

Allison manages to outdo herself in terms of being taken aback once more.

There's a beat of silence, and then Five turns, "Vanya? You in?"

"Me?" Vanya blinks, looking shocked. "What can I do?"

"Yeah, what can she do?" Diego asks, crossing his arms and suddenly looking grumpy.

It baffles Five, who scrunches his nose, "Uh, like, a lot? I assume? I mean. I'm going to be honest here, just looking at y'all right now is a lot. In more ways than one! Hashtag trauma and all that, but like, name a single one of you that wouldn't be the most obvious person in the room as soon as you walked into it. Except Vanya, who somehow manages to look like a well adjusted adult, by some miracle."

"Did you just verbally say the word hashtag?" Allison asks, looking so deeply confused.

"More concerned about the trauma he tacked onto there, but y'know, to each their own." Klaus immediately cuts in.

"You think I'm well-adjusted?" Vanya asks, looking oddly touched.

"I would like to direct your attention to Diego's leather pants-scowl combo and Luther's general aura of daddy-issues." Five says pointedly, "I can practically smell the tragic comic book backstory in this room. If I'd jumped back a decade earlier this would have been Batman's wet dream of orphan selection."

"Alright! Game plan!" Five says, waving Diego's knife in his hand.

Diego's hands immediately go to his weird harness looking thing, "Hey!"

"Give me just one moment to get the tracker out." Five rolls his eyes, "Then I'll give it back, I promise. Also if someone could ask Grace for like, some antibiotics that would be good."

"What?" Allison asks, directly before Five stabs himself and there is suddenly panic at the table.

"Relax!" Five says, allowing Diego to remove the knife from his hands. He doesn't need it anyway and his hand immediately drops down to root in the wound.

"Five what the fuck!" Diego yells, but Five just pulls up bloody fingers and waves the tracker into Diego's stupefied face.

"What the fuck is that, Five?" Allison demands, looking very shaken.

"I literally just said it was a tracker." Five points out, "Now, I think our first team activity should be voting on whether we destroy it or take it out to bumfuck nowhere and ditch it to confuse the Commission."

"What the fuck is the Commission?" Diego barks.

"Man. Maybe I should just hit up Rick." Five muses, "This is going to take so much explaining."

"Who is Rick."

"So much explaining."

#survivors au #well adjusted five au #five actually has some social skills!#and an idea of what an actual parent looks like as well #klaus absolutely adores this version of five #who quotes vines and uses gen z slang with the best of them #five has been reliably informed that public education is worse than the apocalypse #but he's also pretty sure working with his family is worse as well #five: i have so much trauma lol #klaus: oh big same #vanya: mood #five is somehow the most well adjusted hargreeves #and the most responsible #he doesn't legally exist and he doesn't pay taxes but somehow he has his shit together #five showing up at rick's house: you don't know me but i know you in the future #rick: what the fuck #five: don't make me bring up bethany midler from highschool because you gave me so many embarrassing stories to convince yourself with #rick: okay okay i believe you and you are???#five: your son from the future lol what's up dad want to help save the world #five arriving back at the manor like: WHAT'S UP LOSERS RICK IS NOW YOUR DAD TOO BC GOD KNOWS Y'ALL NEED AN ACTUAL FATHER FIGURE #klaus calls rick a dilf and five kidney punches him hard enough that klaus can't even properly introduce himself #it's better for everyone that way #delores: 15 and ready to fuck someone up #delores: i'm not staying with this weirdo (diego) while you go off with my dad #five threateningly: don't make me bring up what really happened to dad's good suit in 2012 #delores: i will stay right here #rick: wait WHAT happened to my good suit #five: unimportant don't you want to save the world #long post #far tua long

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