#on one hand i cannot imagine december without snow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

baby, it’s cold outside

summary: for too long you’ve been cooped up. perhaps they will be the ones to change that...

word count: 12k

warnings: mostly tropey-wintery goodness, however: accident related trauma and nightmares, language, innuendo, brief suggestive content, absolute timeline inaccuracy but i don’t care!!!!, could also be described as queen x reader but we’ll ignore that

a/n: this is a little different from my normal, but i hope you enjoy this slow and gentle fic as much as i do. happy holidays, dear ones!!

also thank you to @dancingdiscofloof for your help with this one! (if you aren’t reading rove’s deaky fic, you are sincerely missing out.)

december, 1981. montreux, switzerland.

day zero.

in the aftermath of the accident, the cabin in the alps has been your saving grace. though the home is overly large for just one person and a cat, you cannot imagine living anywhere other than here. it is a balm to your weary soul, having nursed your broken bones and shattered spirit better than any modern medicine. it is here you began again, rising like a phoenix from the ashes, and it is here you will remain—happily.

you cherish the cabin and all the memories etched within the handcrafted walls and sturdy pine beams. each morning as you make your tea and scratch behind marmalade’s ears, you hear the laughter of your childhood echoing through time and space to reach you in the here and now. each evening as you shut off the lights and secure the doors, you smell your grandfather’s pipe smoke, though the artifact is tucked away on the fireplace mantle, now cold with neglect.

your mother, father, grandfather—they’re all gone now. it’s just you and marmalade. you’re content, though, even as you crawl in bed and snuggle beneath the covers night after night and wake up morning after morning with the promise of another solitary day.

truly, the isolation does not bother you. after the accident, it’s people—crowds and gatherings and meetings—who have become the irritant. wherever people congregate, so too does danger. you’ve experienced your fair share of hazardous situations, so you prefer the quiet mountainside now. there’s less peril, less chance for heartache.

each year, after the last of autumn’s leaves have fallen and snow begins to blanket the alpine hills, you tuck yourself away in the cabin until the end of winter. the larder in your basement remains well-stocked with all the essentials—human, feline, or otherwise—and the weeks come and go without issue. you play your records in the afternoons to fill the silence and watch the television as you eat your suppers. marmalade makes for a good conversational partner when the loneliness creeps in—and it does on occasion. still, the orange tabby cat, fat with laziness and all the love you have to offer, tilts her head when you speak and meows softly when you lift your eyebrows in expectation of a response. she’s all you need, really; but the infrequent calls you have with your boss do make up for your lack of human interaction. editing manuscripts can be done anywhere, and, so long as you meet your deadlines, your boss doesn’t care where you get the work done.

early in december, on a dreary evening, the radio encourages all listeners to batten down the hatches in preparation for a nasty snowstorm due to sweep through the mountain and the valley overnight. you look away from your mug of steaming hot cocoa and shoot marmalade a grin.

“sounds fun, yeah?” you ask her, wiggling your eyebrows.

from her place on the yellow laminate tabletop, marmalade pauses her grooming session. her paw hangs midair, the tip of her tongue hanging over her small chin. she drops her paw as you move to curl your hand beneath her stomach and lift her to your hip.

“i know you like snowstorms just as much as i do,” you say.

leaving the kitchen in favor of the open living room, you nudge the overhead light off with your knuckle. it flickers before shutting off, but soon leaves the cabin illuminated solely by the lights of the christmas tree in the corner. the cocoa trembles along the lip of the mug, so you step gingerly. your socks snag against the faded carpet, but you make it to the sofa in one piece. marmalade hops from your arms and curls herself on the far side of the couch, her tail tucked snug around her body.

knees against your chest, you sip your cocoa and bounce your eyes between the christmas tree and the bay window overlooking montreux’s city-center at the base of the mountain. both the lights of the tree and the lights of the city twinkle in the darkness, rivaling any of the brightest stars. tree branches scrape against the roof, following the path of the wind, and, if you squint hard enough, the first of the snowstorm’s flakes are visible through the pale beam of the floodlight outside.

a sigh rattles your chest, and you smile.

it’s a quiet life. some might say a lonely one. but even if they’re right, you wouldn’t change it.

not for anything.

day one.

you wake up late.

normally, you rise with your alarm and keep to a consistent schedule. it helps with the monotony of your life and stops you from wasting time lounging in the comfort of your bed. some days, though, you allow yourself a few extra hours, and the morning after a snowstorm seems the perfect day to sleep in a tad longer.

it reminds you of childhood—the mornings you listened to the radio beneath your bed covers, fingers crossed your school would be announced as closed due to inclement weather. when the inevitable joy came, you would snuggle back in bed; though by then, the glee of a surprise day off of school was all too much too bear, and you were up and moving within moments.

you smile to yourself at the memory, at the way your mother made pancakes every snow day, without fail. you miss her pancakes.

when marmalade pounces onto the end of your bed, meowing sharply, you sit up. “what? are you hungry?” twisting, you glance at the analog clock across your bedroom. “it’s only nine, marmy.”

she presses your foot with her paw, meowing again.

“fine.”

slipping from bed, you cross to your dresser and drag a brush through your sleep-rustled hair. as always, a sliver of cold seeps in through the skylight overhead, and you lift your face, smiling at the sight of snow obscuring the heavens. your smile only widens as you hurry down the stairs, elbows fighting against the arms of your robe.

the world is drenched in snow. you trip to the bay window, press your hand against the cold glass, and grin. a layer of fluffy white powder clings to every nook and cranny of the mountainside. hints of evergreen peak through as the only spots of color in an otherwise white world. even the sky reflects the dazzling brilliance of the snow, and you have to blink rapidly to keep from going blind.

marmalade’s bell collar jingles as she makes her way down the stairs. she stretches at the bottom step, meowing again when she sees you.

“okay, okay, miss impatient.” you shake your head as you turn from the window. “we have the whole day, you know? ‘s not like there will be much else going on around here.”

you turn on the radio as you enter the kitchen. a soft melody—“merry christmas darling” by the carpenters—sets you to a gentle sway as you pour marmalade’s food and set about making your own breakfast.

karen’s warm voice distracts you from the first knock on your door.

keeping marmalade away from the bacon in the cast-iron skillets hinders you from answering the second.

the third, though—the third knock makes you scream.

it’s not so much of a knock as it is a hand slammed against the outside of the bay window, dark eyes peering into your sanctuary, winter cap pulled tight over any discernible features save a thick mustache. you screech, dropping the spatula in your hand to the floor. marmalade drives for the grease-covered utensil, and you trip over her in your haste to hide in the narrow closet beneath the stairs.

perhaps he hadn’t heard you? perhaps he hadn’t seen the streak of multi-colored fabric as you rushed across the living room in your purple robe and bright yellow socks?

who are you kidding? the bay window offers a glimpse into the majority of your home: the small living room, equally as small kitchen, stairs leading to the bedrooms on the second floor. he probably even saw you fling open the closet door and close it. if he did make it inside, he wouldn’t have to search for long in order to find you.

you press a hand over your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut, at the sound of another bang against the door.

this—this was why your aunt in sheffield had pleaded for you not to take the cabin after the accident. she was so afraid you’d be murdered by a crazed hiker or wayward bear. you’d laughed at the thought back then.

but here you are now, cowering in your closet between a hoover and a winter coat, preparing to make her worst fear a living reality. you only hope marmalade enjoyed the bacon grease as a parting gift.

a muffled voice drifts through the walls after a beat of silence. “for god’s sake, we know you’re in there!”

we? your heart rate triples at the simple, two-letter word. we!

drawing in a deep breath, you root around in the darkened closet for a makeshift weapon. this is your home; you will defend it. or at least do your best to scare off the intruders with whatever fake bravado you can muster.

finding nothing, you inch out of the closet and crawl on your hands and knees toward the kitchen. you pause long enough behind the sofa to peer over the arm. another man has his face pressed against the window, his eyes narrowed as he looks over the room. he looks to his right, long curls bobbing with the motion. his mouth moves, but only garbled sounds meet your ears. while he’s distracted, you crawl into the kitchen and grab the cast-iron skillet. it feels hefty in your palm, and you judge the weight with a turn of your wrist. it could do some serious damage if handled correctly. flicking the oven off and dumping the burnt bacon in the trash, you curl both hands around the handle of the skillet and slink toward the door.

no one stands before the window as you make your way through the living room. no one bangs against the door. yet you can feel their presence on the other side of the flimsy piece of wood separating you from them.

you swallow hard as you grasp the cold doorknob, twisting the lock to the side.

steeling yourself, you grit your jaw, and, in one quick motion, throw open the door, brandish the skillet overhead, and roar like a lioness.

“oh fuck!” one of the four men on your front porch stumbles backward in surprise. his arms pinwheel as he loses his balance and drops to his backside on the snowy ground.

the one with the cascading curls can only stare at you with wide eyes and parted lips, stunned to frozen. for his part, the one with the mustache shields himself behind the one with the curls, shouting for someone named deaky to get her to understand.

it is the one with the straight, grecian nose and storm cloud eyes—deaky, you surmise—who speaks to you first. he holds his arms out in defense, his long fingers splayed wide. he glances between the skillet over your head and your face.

“we’re not here to hurt you,” he says. his voice is even and calm, though more unique than you would have originally guessed. you thought all bad guys had deep voices. his voice is too pleasant, and it sets you further on edge.

you deepen your frown, drawing in another breath. “isn’t that what they all say?”

he frowns. “i don’t know who they are.”

“thieves. murderers. criminals!” you lift your skillet slightly higher, and he flinches backward, hands raising a fraction. “i’m not afraid to use this!”

“i don’t doubt it!” he shakes his head, and his eyelashes flutter when a wayward snowflake catches in his vision. “really, though, we just want to use your phone.”

“my… phone?”

with an exasperated sigh, the blond who’d fallen to his rump in the snow shoulders past deaky. “yes, your phone. you do have one, don’t you? we need to get down this godforsaken mountain before our tits freeze off!”

deaky twists and scowls at his friend, hissing, “roger!”

roger waves him off with a dark look. “deaky, i nearly broke my ass with that stunt she pulled. i’m cold, my trousers are wet, and i want to go home. you’ll have to forgive me if i’m a little terse, you twat.”

the one with long curls and sharp facial features gently moves roger out from under deaky’s increasingly cold stare. he places himself between the pair, towering over the other two. despite his height, he holds his shoulders in a noticeable hunch, as though attempting to make himself smaller. he offers you a wry grin.

“sorry for startling you,” he says. his voice is soft and decidedly unthreatening; your tight hold on the skillet goes slack. “i’m brian. these are my friends—roger, john, and freddie. we’re kind of in a bind, and we’d really appreciate it if you lent us your phone. just for a quick call. then we’ll be gone.”

you glance between the foursome. though roger’s face is still shadowed by frustration, they seem harmless enough. maybe a little cranky, but mostly harmless.

unless, of course, that’s what they want you to think.

your aunt’s warning that you trust too easily plays in the back of your mind, and you consider that she might be right. you bite your lower lip, prepared to turn them away, when marmalade jingles her way into the conversation. she curls around your ankle, head lifted to stare at the four men on her porch. the bell around her neck sounds as she turns from side to side around your leg.

“you didn’t say you had a cat!” the one with the mustache—freddie—coos in delight. he crouches, clicking his tongue to gain marmalade’s attention. after a beat of hesitation, she inches forward to sniff the proffered hand. you watch, and when marmalade nuzzles her nose against freddie’s palm, the tension in your shoulders dissipates.

you sigh with a conciliatory smile. “well, if she trusts you, i suppose i will too.” stepping to the side, you nod to the living room. “come in and warm up.”

the men mumble various forms of gratitude and shuffle past you, sure to stomp their snowy boots against the welcome mat outside the door. they crowd around the low fire in the fireplace, and you hurry to toss a few logs on the dying embers. deaky takes the fire poker from your hand when you grab it from its place nestled along the extra pile of wood. his fingertips skim your knuckles, and you’re struck by how warm he feelings despite the weather outside. you meet his gaze, your eyes wide as you wait for him to explain.

“i can do that,” he says. “maybe you can show brian the phone?”

now that he’s shed his overcoat, you note the way his pale blue sweater brings out the pale blue of his eyes. he really is quite handsome. they all are, and it’s been a long time since you were in the presence of a handsome man, let alone four. who can blame you for being a little tongue tied?

you blink when you realize you’ve stared a bit too long. heat rushes to your cheeks, and you turn away, scanning the small room for brian. “right, yes. the phone.”

you find brian stood between the living area and the kitchen, his hands in his pockets, stiff while his counterparts make themselves comfortable. roger lounges on the sofa, his legs spread toward the fire. freddie sits at the kitchen table, marmalade snuggled beneath his chin. and with the fire now flooding the cabin with warmth, deaky drops to the single armchair facing the kitchen.

you motion to brian’s wet coat. “would you like to take your coat off, brian? you look awfully damp.”

he shakes his head. “i’m alright.”

you decide not to press and instead point to the phone attached to the wall. “the phone’s just there. do you need a number? or do you have what you need?”

“actually, do you have a number for the gondola lift?”

“yeah, of course.”

you step past him to pull open a junk drawer. apart from a winding, perilous road, the gondola lift is the only way down the mountain for the few people who live mountainside year round. you’ve gotten to know the owner and operator—jimmy schmits—well after your several years living in the cabin. he or someone on his staff is only a phone call away should you need travel assistance, and you prefer the gondola ride to taking your beat-up car down the rocky, poorly paved road.

you hand brian a small, cardstock business card. “that’s the number there.”

he glances down then gives you a tight smile. “thanks.”

turning to allow him what privacy you can in the cramped space, you glance around the room at the three pairs of eyes staring back at you. the laugh that escapes from behind your lips is decidedly nervous, wavering and forced. “sorry. i just—this is a bit weird for me. i would have dressed the part had i known people were coming over.” you suck in a breath and nod to the refrigerator. “have any of you eaten?”

roger opens his mouth to say something, but deaky hurries to speak first, leaning forward in the armchair. “yes, thank you. we ate early this morning.”

roger’s face contorts to a frown, and, in what you assume is supposed to be a surreptitious move, deaky kicks his friend’s shin to silence any further protest. you look away when deaky’s eyes find yours again, his gaze apologetic.

“i’ll just make some tea, then,” you mumble.

the quiet in the room is thick, save for brian’s soft voice coming from the hall as he talks on the phone. you keep your back to the three men as you prepare a kettle for tea.

you spend much of winter in solitude, and truly, you like it that way. this sudden influx of company has you on edge, especially considering your less-than-becoming attire, bedhead, and sleepy eyes. you don’t know what to say to alleviate the discomfort in the room, aren’t really sure if it’s your job to make them feel comfortable.

really, you aren’t sure about anything this morning.

as you wait for the water to boil, you lean against the kitchen counter and cross your arms over your chest. the fuzzy neck of your robe rubs against your chin as you duck your head, and you study the worn tile floor beneath your long socks.

“what’s your cat’s name?”

you look up. it’s the one with the mustache—freddie. his brown eyes are warm, and he scratches beneath marmalade’s chin as he waits for your answer. for marmalade’s part, she purrs happily in his arms, seemingly more comfortable with your guests than yourself. “marmalade,” you say.

freddie grins, and you can’t help but find yourself smiling back. “perfect name. yet we seem to be missing one important thing…”

“what’s that?”

“your name. if we’re going to intrude upon your cabin and make you uncomfortable, i think we should know who to send the gift basket to once we’re rescued.”

your brow pinches slightly in confusion. freddie speaks with a certain air that you can’t quite place—one of regality, you think. you glance at deaky across the room, and he moves his eyes to the fire as he gnaws on his lower lip.

you look back at freddie, give him your name, then say, “and you’re not making me uncomfortable.”

“please,” freddie deadpans. “i know discomfort when i see it.” he lets marmalade go, who jumps to the floor, padding her way from the tiled kitchen to the carpeted living room. he stands from the table and points to the stove. “the kettle is ready, love.”

you hadn’t heard the sharp whistle, so engrossed were you in your own thoughts.

“oh!” spinning on your heel, you flip the stove-top off and remove the kettle, the whistle dying to a light trill. freddie arranges a ramshackle collection of mugs along the counter, pulled from the spinning rack in the corner. “thank you,” you whisper, as you divvy out the hot water and he drops the tea bags into the mugs.

freddie gathers the milk and sugar, making himself both useful and right at home, which you find you don’t mind too much, though it surprises you how he moves with such ease and command around a home not his own. he must be comfortable anywhere and with anyone, and you envy him that.

he carefully sets the tea tray on the low coffee table in the living room. “how do you take your tea, darling?” he asks you, bending over, his ass pointed near the fire, as he makes to prepare your cup.

you skirt into the living room, shaking your head. “oh, you don’t have to—”

he arches an eyebrow, and his voice is firm when he speaks. “how do you take your tea?”

with a small smile, you lower yourself beside roger on the couch, careful to keep a large space between you. “more sugar than milk, please.”

freddie prepares your cup then passes you the steaming mug. your smile widens in gratitude as you take the warm ceramic from his hands. he prepares his own tea before dropping to the brick ledge of the fireplace. he waves his hand in dismissal at roger and deaky.

“you two make your own,” he quips. “you’ve thoroughly pissed me off this morning.”

from behind the lip of your mug, you pull your mouth into an amused line. your eyes dart to deaky, who is bent forward, frozen as he reaches for a mug of tea. he skewers freddie with an unamused look.

“this isn’t my fault, fred,” he says.

from beside you, roger’s deliciously high voice pipes up. “nor mine!”

“no, of course it isn’t your fault, roger. we wouldn’t dare accuse you of—”

before freddie can finish his sentence, brian returns from the side hall. you shift, turning your head along with the others to hear what came of his conversation with the gondola lift owner.

brian rubs the back of his neck, his eyebrows tilted upward in apology. “well, the gondola is down today.”

“all day?” you speak a little too quickly, and you wince, dropping your eyes to the pale liquid in your mug.

brian nods. “yeah—at least until tomorrow. i guess a tree fell after we were dropped off this morning and struck a line on the lift. and the road isn’t clear, so… we’re stuck.” he glances between his friends, the hunch of his shoulders growing as the weight of their predicament sets in.

“well…” you start. you lean forward to place your tea on a worn coaster. “i certainly won’t turn you out with nowhere to go.” for what feels like the tenth time this morning, you draw in a deep breath through your teeth to steady yourself. “i suppose you lot can stay the night, then. that is, if you want to...”

there’s a beat, a moment of heavy silence, before brian says, “we couldn’t impose like that.”

you frown. “where else would you go?”

roger snorts. “brian would sleep beneath a tree if he thought it might make your life a little easier.”

you glance at roger, uncertain if his words are more jest than jab. the half-smile on his face fades under your questioning gaze, and he shifts. “i just mean,” he continues, “that brian is the most chivalrous out of all of us. not that we have any ugly intentions—”

“roger.” it’s deaky this time, and he sounds more than a little perturbed. “stop talking.”

you hesitate before explaining your offer further. “it’ll be a squeeze,” you say. “but we can make it work. i would rather you spend the night here then wander around in the cold and freeze to death. my closest neighbor is four kilometers off, and she doesn’t have electricity. you won’t be able to find her cabin if it gets dark.”

freddie shivers, though you’re sure his backside is nice and toasty from where he sits close to the fire. “oh good god,” he mutters, bringing his tea close to his mouth. “you people are insane.”

deaky catches your eye, and his brow arches. “if you’re sure…”

you nod. “i’m sure.”

“thank you. honestly, you’re a life-saver.” brian’s shoulders seem to straighten as a smile eases the lines on his forehead. he offers you his hand, which you shake, as he says, “and i’m sorry, but i didn’t catch your name while i was on the phone.”

you give him your name, and he grins, nodding to his friends. “in case you forgot: i’m brian may, and that’s roger taylor, john deacon, and freddie mercury.”

there’s something vaguely familiar about the names, particularly freddie’s, but you can’t quite put your finger on where you’ve heard that lineup before. frowning, you glance between the four men, who stare back at you with expectant sort of faces, as if they’re waiting for the lightbulb above your head to illuminate. you run through the rolodex of names in your brain, but come up short.

“are you performers or something? i swear i’ve heard your names before.”

“we’re in a band,” roger says.

you cringe in apology. “i’m afraid i don’t know bands very well. my radio—i only get one station up here, and it’s mostly yodeling. christmas is the only time of year i can pick up anything worthwhile. got any christmas songs?”

“no, and i’m not sure we will.”

“what band, then? maybe i’ve heard of you on the off chance, but don’t take it to heart if i haven’t.”

freddie leans forward in expectation. “we’re called queen. ring any bells?”

you consider before nodding. “i think so. there’s only one song that comes to mind, though. another one bites the… something? dust, maybe?”

with a laugh, freddie slaps his hand against deaky—john’s knee. “that’s deaky’s song!”

you find yourself smiling—and easily—for the first time since waking. “really? i like it!” shrugging your shoulders in time with the bassline, you do a poor imitation of the song’s opening. beside you, roger laughs, shoving john’s shoulder when a flush creeps up his cheeks. “it’s fun!”

john nods once, mumbling, “thanks.” he drops his cheek to his hand, eyes falling to the carpet, and your smile softens.

you look away, sparing him further embarrassment. “so, i’m in the presence of royalty, i guess, but all i have to offer you is my parent’s old bed, which can fit two, a trundle mattress in my bedroom, and a military cot in the basement.”

brian squeezes your arm in reassurance. “anything will suit us fine. we’re just glad we found you.”

“i’m glad i can help,” you say, and even if it were for this moment alone, you’re glad you never listened to your aunt in sheffield.

day two.

you wake the next morning with a gasp, panic shooting straight to your heart when you roll over and see a man lying on the floor next to your bed. your first instinct is to scream, to call for help, but then the fogginess of slumber lifts from your mind. you recognize the man on the floor, and your defenses drop in relief.

you’d forgotten.

the previous day’s events seem more like something out of a dream than reality. four men—four famous men—appearing on your doorstep? getting stuck in your cabin after a technological malfunction? challenging one another to a game of rock-paper-scissors in order to determine sleeping arrangements? surely you’d made that up, a dream produced by an overactive imagination and too much time alone.

but no—the presence of one john deacon, asleep on the trundle bed extended from beneath your mattress confirms your current reality. you run your eyes over his sleeping face and note the stillness with which he softly snores, one arm tucked behind his pillow. he looks peaceful.

you hope you didn’t disturb his sleep during the night. ever since the accident, nightmares tend to plague your dreams. at least twice a week, you shoot out of bed, drenched in sweat and crying out in the empty darkness of your room. you can’t remember if you’d dreamt at all last night, but you’d shrivel up and die of embarrassment if any of your frantic kicking or mumbling had woken him.

“do you always stare at people when they sleep?”

“shit!” you crash backwards against the wall in surprise at the sound of john’s sleepy voice. your head connects with the paneled wood behind you, and you curse again, rubbing the sore spot on your skull.

“do you always have such a dirty mouth too?” he’s propped up on his elbow now, eyes gleaming with a mischief you hadn’t seen yesterday. his curls lay askew on his head, and his shirt—a flannel pulled from the depths of your grandfather’s belongings—swallows his torso.

continuing to rub your head, you frown. “do you always insist on asking so many questions this early in the morning?”

“only when people stare at me while i sleep.”

you drop your hand, wrinkling your nose in embarrassment. “sorry.” although the tip of your nose is cold, your cheeks feel warm with a flush. “i didn’t think you were awake, and i was… thinking. i wasn’t really staring at you.”

half-truth. maybe a quarter-truth. your four guests are handsome—each of them in their own right—but john… he has the potential to make your knees go wobbly should he flash you one of his secretive and elusive grins.

but, in all truth, you were thinking of other things as you’d looked down at him: thinking about the day and your work and how soft his hair looked and the strength of his nose and—

john rolls off the trundle bed. when he stands, he swivels his arms back and forth, stretching his back muscles. “’s okay. i’m getting used to it.” before you can ask him what he means, he points to the skylight in the middle of your room. “i’ve got a feeling we’re in for a rude awakening.”

your gaze follows his extended finger, and you huff when you see the skylight entirely darkened by a heavy layer of snow. yesterday afternoon, you had still been able to make out the sun’s rays through the unmelted snow leftover from the recent storm. now, the skylight serves more as an extension of your stippled ceiling than an opportunity to glimpse the night sky.

“must have been another storm last night,” you say, slipping out of bed.

you don’t miss the way john’s eyes immediately flit to your legs and your exposed thighs. your nightshirt falls to the middle of your thighs, a long pair of socks pulled over your knees your only leg coverings. his eyebrows shoot up his forehead, his lips slightly parted, but he looks away when you shift uncomfortably with the hem of your shirt. damn your mother for passing on her penchant for hot sleeping!

he gathers his clothes from a chair in the corner and nods to the door. “i’ll just go… change downstairs.”

your nod is too enthusiastic to be anything but embarrassed. “yeah, okay. i’ll be down in a moment. help yourself to whatever you find in the kitchen.”

john, holding his clothes to his chest, leaves the room in a hurry, his head down and eyes averted. when the door shuts, the lock giving a soft click as it slides home, you drop to your bed with a groan.

it might be a long day.

after fixing your hair and pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and sweater, you make your way down the stairs and into the living room. a chill hangs in the air, one much deeper than the general winter cold. it goes straight to your bones and makes your teeth chatter in your skull. shivering, you circle your arms around your waist, prepared to go start a fresh fire in the hearth, but something in the corner of your eye stops you.

your guests—all four of them in a line, their mismatched heights on full display—staring out the bay window.

“what is it?” you ask, bending to lift marmalade from the floor when she jingles her way over from the kitchen. “did it really snow that much?”

roger looks over his shoulder, and the disappointment shadowing his face gives you pause. “come see for yourself.” he drops to the couch with a defeated groan, cradling his forehead in his hand.

holding marmalade against your shoulder, you tiptoe to the window, the floor beneath your feet unusually frigid. you exhale at the sight of the fresh snowfall, and your breath clouds the windowpane. a thick layer of white powder covers the mountainside. as far as your eye can see, there’s nothing but pure white. it’s blinding in the morning sun, and you blink against the glistening snowflakes.

“it’s got to be at least one meter,” brian whispers. “maybe more.”

freddie shakes his head back and forth, gesturing to the side. “i can’t even see the bloody porch steps. they’ve been swallowed!”

john shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “no power either.”

you twist to stare at him in shock. “what? no power?”

he gives you the briefest of glances then returns his gaze to the window. “i checked the breaker. it’s all out.”

from the couch, roger groans again. “which means we are stuck for the foreseeable future. brian called the gondola and they couldn’t even pick up, so that’s out of the question.” he slumps further down the couch cushions. “i had a fucking holiday party planned for next week.”

“now wait a minute.” brian turns from the window and reaches over to give roger’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “the snow will clear up before then. it’ll just be a few more days. that is”—his eyes slide to you—“if you’ll let us stay?”

you glance between your guests before laughing in indignation. “you didn’t really think i’d turn you out, did you?” marmalade hops from your arms when you plant your hands on your hips. “honestly, i might be somewhat of a recluse, but i’m not completely rude.”

freddie skirts around john to place both hands on your shoulders and steer you toward the kitchen. “no one thinks you’re rude, darling. we just didn’t want to assume.” he jerks his head toward john. “now, john will start the fire and we’ll all get cozy and perhaps play a game of scrabble. roger found the board downstairs last night. how does that sound?”

you meet john’s eyes over freddie’s shoulder, and he smiles—ever so slightly, but enough to drop your defensive stance. you nudge freddie with your arm and nod. “scrabble it is.”

after breakfast, you are quickly bested in the shortest game of scrabble you’ve ever played. it seems your guests are quite the experts, so you leave them to their fun in order to complete a series of edits on your latest manuscript. from the kitchen table, you can hear them bickering over whether or not freddie’s addition is a dictionary defined word or whether or not john can go twice in one turn because roger knocked his letters from the coffee table.

the gentle hum of conversation—of life—warms your chest. it’s been a long time since your home felt lived in. for so long you have simply subsisted, moving from room to room to change the scenery, leaving the mountain only when necessary, never truly engaging with the outside world. it’s easier to live alone—there’s less risk in it, less wondering if today could be the last day you interact with a loved one because fate has some cruel trick up its sleeve.

but, damn, if having roger and john and brian and freddie grace your living room doesn’t remind you of how irritatingly necessary other people are to living a truly fulfilled life.

brian asks if he can prepare a light lunch, and while he does, you gather your work and set it aside. you have a deadline—the first of the year—but for the moment, you’d rather engage with others instead of shoving your head deep within the made-up realms of your novelists.

with a dramatic stretch, you raise your arms above your head and groan as the muscles pop in your back.

“all done, then?” freddie asks.

“for now,” you say.

he pats the open spot of the couch between himself and john, and you squeeze between them, tilting your socked feet toward the roaring fire. you find yourself still shivering slightly, despite the extra layer beneath your sweater and warm wool socks. if you remember correctly, your father had complained of poor insulation in the attic. you wish, perhaps a bit selfishly, he’d gotten that fixed before his passing.

“here.” john shimmies one side of the blanket draped over his shoulders around yours. “we can share.”

“thanks,” you whisper, grabbing the corner he offers and pulling it around your back. the movement draws him closer, the outside of his thigh pressed tightly against yours. he feels warm, though, like your own little space heater, and you resist the urge to lean into him for further comfort. instead, you focus your attention on freddie, who explains how he and his bandmates came to be stranded on a swiss mountainside.

“so, really, it’s roger’s fault that we’re in this predicament,” freddie says. “he was the one who wanted to go skiing.”

you tilt your head to the side, confused as you glance toward the front door. “where is all your gear, then? you didn’t bring any in.”

john sighs with a shake of his head. “we forgot that in the hotel.”

“no one is brilliant at five am, dear. except for maybe brian, but even he failed to remind us that the first rule of skiing is you need skis.” freddie shrugs his shoulders. “oh well. it brought us to you, didn’t it?”

smiling, you nod. beside you, john shifts a little closer. his free hand rests on his leg, but his pinky finger extends outward, brushing along the outer seam of your jeans. your grin widens.

“yeah, i suppose it did.”

day three.

it’s just past midnight when you tumble from the depths of your nightmare.

the accident—replaying—over and over and over. the twist of the car over the edge of the ravine. you, powerless, helpless as you watch from the safety of your grandfather’s truck. the crunch of metal against rock and tree and—

—and the ultimate knowledge that there was no way your parents could survive such a fall settling over your heart like a three-ton brick.

you jerk awake with a barely-contained screech. clamping your hand over your mouth, you squeeze your eyes shut, willing away the images that flash through your mind like some sort of cruel slideshow. blood and guts and screams and—

a warm hand on your shoulder, soft voice in your ear saying your name, pulls you back to reality. “hey. hey, wake up.”

your eyes flutter open, sleeve of your shirt caught between your teeth where you bite down hard. in the dim light of the room, you can make out the angles of john’s face, the line of his nose, pout of his lips. a soft glow—from the nightlight in the corner, you think—shrouds the curls on his head, giving him the curve of a halo.

your ribs shudders as you exhale. he looks like an angel, an angel sent to save you perhaps. never in your lift have you so badly wanted to embrace someone in relief.

instead, you drop the hand from your mouth and lean closer to the wall at your side, away from him. “huh? wha—oh… john, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to wake you.”

his grip on your shoulder tightens, and he ignores your apology. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing. just a nightmare.”

“some nightmare.” john’s hand slips from your shoulder to your elbow, and he rubs his cheek with his opposite hand. “you hit me.”

“fuck, did i? oh hell, john.”

scrambling to your knees, you frown into the darkness, searching for a welt or bruise blossoming on his cheek. it’s too dark to see clearly, though, and you sigh in defeat, hanging your head. embarrassment swells in your stomach, wrenching it side to side, and you turn your face away, hoping against hope that he can’t see the evidence of your fluster.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper.

more than anything, more than the embarrassment roiling through your system and the nerves wracking your chest, you find yourself feeling frustrated. two day—two days with queen in the house, and two days you’ve felt a magnetic pull towards john. maybe you’re just lonely and maybe you’re just reading too much into the stolen glances and brushes of his hand against yours, but having him here in the house with you? tossing your sideways looks when freddie says something that makes you laugh and helping you pull the biscuit tin from its place on the top of the shelf? you’d thought that maybe—just maybe—he might see something worthwhile in you, too.

but no rockstar could put up with you. surely, he must see that plainly now. your fear of crowds and loud noises and your night terrors—that’s not made for the high life. he would go once he got the chance, forget about you and you cat in the cabin on the mountainside. why you ever considered for a moment he would do otherwise further stokes the shame threatening to consume you.

you fiddle with the sheets and blankets gathered around your knees. “you can sleep downstairs, if you like,” you say in a rush. your grip tightens on the quilt binding, and you rub your thumb back and forth across a frayed string. “i won’t mind.”

john remains still and quiet for so long you think he must’ve fallen back asleep. but then he stands, and he gently nudges your shoulder.

“scoot over,” he urges, and you find yourself inching closer to the wall without a second thought. john slides into bed next to you, his body warm and strong. “is this okay?”

you nod because, truly, yes, it is okay with you. very much okay.

“when i was little,” he starts, adjusting the quilts around his chest, his ankle brushing your leg. “i had this dog, and any time i had a nightmare, he would crawl into bed with me, help it all go away. i know i’m not as fluffy as a dog, but… well, i thought maybe we might see if this helps it go away.” he pauses for a breath and asks again, “is that okay?”

“yeah, yeah, it’s okay.” your voice is a puff of air, and if it were any colder, you’re sure your breath would crystalize.

“good.” he settles deeper into your shared pillow, and you catch a whiff of your shampoo in his hair. it makes your stomach clench, not from embarrassment, but an entirely different emotion. beneath the covers, one of his hands slips over the curve of your wrist, and his fingers tangle with yours. he gives your palm a squeeze. “go back to sleep.”

you do—easily.

john’s heartbeat is steady beneath your ear when your eyes flutter open for the second time. you’d rested without struggle for the first time in a long time. your shoulders feel loose, your eyes free from heavy circles.

and it’s all because of john.

your cheek is firm against his chest, and the fabric of your grandfather’s flannel still smells like his cigar smoke, but there’s something else, something distinctly john, and it’s all you can do to not turn your face further into his chest and snuggle closer to his side. he’s warm, and you’re still cold despite the heavy blankets cocooning you. his arm is slung over your back, drawing you tighter to his chest, his face turned to the side as he breathes softly in sleep.

you should get up, go downstairs, and find something to eat, check to see if the power has returned. you’d rather stay here, in this quiet, still moment, until the rest of the world fades away and you are left with him and him alone. your wish isn’t meant to be, it seems, because just as you are prepared to lean further into john’s warmth and return to sleep, freddie bursts through the door.

you jolt upwards at the sound of the door slamming against the wall. john is right behind you, and his arm instinctively tightens around your back.

the grin on freddie’s face is positively shit-eating, and he puts his hands on his hips as he looks between you and john with something between pride and amusement. “oh! well, well, well, what do we have here?!”

“fuck, fred.” john releases his hold on you, moving to run a hand down his face to cover his yawn. “damn near pissed myself.”

“yes, i’m sure.” freddie chuckles to himself then cocks his head toward the open door. “make yourselves presentable. we’ve got decorating to do.”

he exits without further explanation, leaving a ball of confusion and uncertainty in your stomach and a proverbial elephant in the room. you fiddle with the end of your sleeve, wondering if john thinks the silence is as thick as you do.

“you seem to have slept better,” he says at last.

you turn, and his face is so near yours you could kiss him. instead, you just nod and say, “yes, i did. thanks to you.”

he shrugs, shaking his head. “i’m a selfish guy. i didn’t want to get hit again. seemed the easiest way to spare me the pain.”

somehow you know he’s joking. you know he slept as well as you because of your body pressed against his. you know he feels the spark, and he’s waiting for the moment to light the flame.

perhaps it’s the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles, or the quick wink you nearly miss, that tell you you’re not crazy, that he feels it too. or maybe… maybe he’s the other half of the string that’s tied beneath your ribs. the string is no longer stretched and pulled taut, but relaxed, made light by fate and nature conspiring to bring you together.

or maybe you’re reading something that isn’t there again.

you look away first, but can’t keep the giddy smile from your face. he makes your heart feel weightless. and after being weighed down for so long, you feel as if you could do anything.

john gathers his clothes and changes downstairs while you get dressed for the day. by the time you make it to the living room, brian hands you a warm-ish glass of orange juice and a bowl of cereal while roger tends the fire and freddie sits on the floor, marmalade sniffing around the open boxes of christmas décor at his feet.

unbidden, tears spring to your eyes, and you tighten your hold on the glass in your hand.

three christmases you’ve been alone. three christmases you’ve avoided the tried and true rituals of your childhood. three years you’ve missed this, the warmth of friendship and togetherness.

your heart gives a painful lurch at the thought of all you’ve missed out on, all you’ve neglected in order to save yourself from pain. only, perhaps you’ve driven yourself to much more pain, shutting yourself away on the mountain as you have.

john appears at your side, and his hand comes to rest on the curve of your neck, his finger tracing the edge of your jaw. “what is it?” he whispers, low enough so only you can hear.

clearing your throat, you grin up at him. “i’m just happy.”

his eyes scan the room before he dips his head and presses his lips to your temple. his grip on the back of your neck tightens as he lingers against your skin. your eyes flutter shut, and you lean closer to him, warmth spreading from the crown of your head to the soles of your feet. he releases you after a moment, nudging you forward with a hand to the small of your back.

you drop to the carpet beside freddie and take a bite of your cereal. “where did you find all this? i didn’t know i’d kept it.”

“i found it, actually,” roger says from his place in the kitchen.

“and you found the scrabble board too… if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were snooping around my house.”

“so what if i am?” roger shrugs. “i’m bored as hell without the tellie. there’s loads of stuff downstairs just waiting for me to snoop through.” he finishing tacking something to the archway of the kitchen before stepping into the living room, hands in his pockets.

“roger, stop your griping and sit down.” brian nods to the open armchair. “we haven’t had this much time off in ages. enjoy it while you can.”

“really, why do you keep all this marvelous stuff downstairs?” freddie asks. he sifts his hands through the box on his lap, filled with tinsel and ribbons your mother collected over the years. “you have a tree, but that’s it. your entire cabin could be dripping with christmas cheer if you wanted.”

“it’s just me,” you say. as if understanding, marmalade gives a petulant meow. you smile and scratch behind her ears. “and marmy, i guess. there’s no reason to go above and beyond if it’s just me.”

brian’s brow furrows in concern. “your parents? siblings?”

“my parents died about five years ago, my grandfather shortly after. there’s no siblings. just me.” rising from your place on the floor, you gather your empty breakfast bowl and the leftover plate sitting adjacent.

it’s quiet as you deposit the dishes in the sink. the story of your parent’s tragic accident and grandfather’s health decline has never been a mood booster; this you well know. still, you feel obligated to tell your guests. no—not obligated. willing. you love your parents and your grandfather, but you’ve neglected their memory too long.

you turn from the sink. “why don’t we put the decorations up? in their memory.”

freddie’s smile is soft, affectionate. he nods resolutely. “a lovely idea.”

brian puts a christmas record on the turntable, and the house seems to sigh in relief as life, happiness, and festive cheer fills the rooms after so long. roger tosses handfuls of tinsel upon the sparsely decorated tree, his hips swaying to the beat of the music, and freddie directs brian in hanging garland over the mantelpiece and around the staircase banister. you sit beside john on the floor, stringing popcorn along a piece of string. your hands are salty and warm from the popcorn, and his shoulder brushes yours as you work.

“you know,” he says. “my dad died when i was young.”

you pause, an unpopped kernel between your fingers. “really? sorry—i don’t mean to sound so surprised. i just—you didn’t say anything, so…”

he brushes your hurried apology away with a shake of his head. “i was eleven. changed me forever. i don’t really remember much of my childhood, you know, ‘cause of that.”

“oh, john.” though your fingers are slick with salt and butter and grease, you cover his hand with yours. he looks up from the half-filled bowl, and leans closer, his shoulder pushing against yours. “i’m sorry. that—no child should have to lose their parent at a young age.”

“i don’t tell you to feel sorry for me.” he removes his hand from beneath yours and continues to string the popcorn, but there’s no malice or hostility in his words—just truth. “i’m just saying it because i know how it feels to lose a parent early. it’s… devastating.”

you nod, twisting your mouth to side and looking away from his searching gaze. “yes, it is.” drawing in a deep breath, you face him again. “i think i dwell too much on the sadness, though. there’s happiness in their memory, and i forget that. but you lot helped me remember. you helped me remember.”

john ducks his head on a shy grin, his cheeks pink with blush.

heart tripping in your chest, you stand and return to the kitchen to refill the popcorn bowl while he drapes the first completed string around the tree. as the popcorn pops, you tuck your face near your shoulder, smiling to yourself. three days ago, you’d gone to bed thinking you knew what christmas would look like this year: desolate and lonely, with only your cat by your side and work to fill your days. how could you have guessed? how could you have known what nature would bring your way?

when you turn, the freshly filled bowl cradled in the crook of your arm, you stop short. roger, a sideway grin on his face, stands in the doorway of the kitchen. he jerks his chin upwards, and you follow his eyeline to the sprig of faux mistletoe tacked to the ceiling.

you roll your eyes. “so, that’s what you were doing. you really are a trouble-maker, roger.”

“come on, it’s tradition, love. just one kiss?” he opens his arms slightly, beckoning with a wave of his fingers.

you huff with mock indignance, but your cheeks warm at the thought of roger taylor wanting to kiss you of all people. the little you know of queen and their stardom is knowledge enough to tell you that roger has kissed far worthier people. they all have, probably. you—you’re just a country bumpkin, hardly interesting or captivating enough for his—or any of their—attentions.

that, at least, is what you would have told yourself three days ago. today, the thoughts tumble through your head, but you push them aside with a newfound sense of confidence. it doesn’t mean anything, anyway. it’s just a mistletoe kiss. and you think you’d regret it forever if you turned him down.

before you can stop yourself, you step forward, and roger rightly takes the movement as an agreement. he kisses you soundly, one hand feather-light in the center of your back. you don’t let the connection linger too long for fear you will lose yourself to the moment. roger is kind and charming, but he’s not… well, he’s not john, and the thought of john and whatever it is he means to you makes you pull away after a few seconds.

from their place in the living room, freddie and brian cheer, clapping in response to the good-natured fun. you duck your head, but smile all the same and drop to your spot beside john. you hand him the bowl of popcorn, but he doesn’t start stringing the new line. he just looks at you, his eyes roaming your face, barely so much as a frown pulling his brow tight or downward tilt of his mouth wringing his lips in a scowl. he just… stares, openly, without pretense, and you suddenly wish you’d turned roger down. though the feeling of roger’s lips still lingers on yours and the kiss wasn’t unpleasant in the slightest, john’s arms around your waist while you sleep leaves much more of an imprint on your skin. his soft breath when he sleeps, the perfect rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear—it all is so much better than a silly mistletoe kiss with roger.

a muscle ticks in john’s jaw, the only evidence of possible frustration. you look away and continue stringing popcorn along the line.

“i wanted to be the one to kiss you.”

at the sound of john’s mumbled words, you trip over a mislaid shoe in the middle of your darkened room. he’d gone to bed earlier than everyone else, leaving you and the others to play another round of scrabble until well after the sun disappeared. you’d considered following him when he made his exit and explaining your kiss with roger, but you’d decided it against it.

neither roger nor john could stake any claim over you or your actions, and you’d wanted to kiss roger. not to piss john off, not to push him away, but purely because you’d wanted to. maybe you wouldn’t do it again, not after seeing the crestfallen look on john’s face. but you’d done it, and there was no shame in it.

you grip the edge of the bed frame, bent at the waist, frozen in the way you’d tripped. “what?” the word is a sharp exhale in the already tense room.

“you heard me: i wanted to be the one to kiss you.”

you aren’t sure what to say, so the first thing that comes to mind slips from your mouth. “well… you didn’t.”

john huffs and hops off his spot atop your bed. the snow covering your skylight has started to melt in the last day or so, allowing slim rays of moonlight to pierce the darkness of your room. the moonlight coupled with your nightlight illuminates only the sharpest features on john’s face, and while any other evening you might think the line of his jaw or definition of his nose might be alluring, tonight, coupled with the scowl on his brow, you wish you could see him clearly. he stands in the center of the room, hands on his hips, and you straighten, run your fingers through your rumpled hair.

“you could have,” you whisper. “but you didn’t.”

“beneath the mistletoe?” he scoffs like the mere implication is an offense. ��no. that’s not what i meant.”

“what did you mean, then? you can’t just say you wanted to be the one to kiss me with no explanation. i’m not some plaything, john. you boys might be used to that, being famous or whatever, but—”

“no.” his voice is stern, commanding, resolute. you shut your mouth with a snap. “you drive me crazy, you know that?” he steps forward; you step back. “you think you’re so insignificant, that you’re not good enough for anybody.”

your frown and retreat another step when he advances. “i don’t know what you’re—”

he cuts you off as though your protest went in one ear and out the other. “you’re shy, sure, but you’re brave. i mean, dammit you live all the way up here by yourself, and you nearly fought us off with a fuckin’ frying pan.”

he sighs. but then his arm extends, his fingers hovering over your cheek. when you don’t flinch, don’t so much as move a muscle, he covers your cheek with his palm, his fingertips tracing the edges of your hair. “you’re a lot like me. we have a lot in common.”

your heart lurches—not out of pain or regret, but anticipation. a lump of excitement clogs your throat, and it’s hard to swallow, hard to think, hard to breathe, with john so near and his words so intoxicating.

“john…” your eyelids flutter shut, your head tilting into the warmth of his palm. “i—”

“i wanted to kiss you because i like you, not because you’re the only bird here, but because i like you and i think we have a lot—”

you surge forward on a burst of assertiveness. grabbing the edges of john’s night shirt, you drag him forward and slot your mouth over his. his lips are smooth, and once he registers what you’ve done, he responds with equal parts ferocity and tenderness. one hand bunches the fabric of your shirt at your waist, the other grips the back of your neck, holding you against him like you might be blown away by the wind at any moment.

after a moment, he pulls away, rolling his forehead over yours. “tell me to stop and i will.”

you kiss him again, chaste and fast enough to draw back and murmur, “don’t stop,” before losing your nerve.

john circles his arms around your back, then, resuming his careful but hungry attack on your mouth, your cheeks, your neck. you wind your arms around his shoulders, drawing him tight, and you don’t make it to the bed before collapsing to the floor in a heap of passion.

day four.

the power comes back on the next day, and by late evening, jimmy schmits from the gondola service calls to tell you everything will be back up and running by morning. your guests are pleased. they’re eager to get back to the comforts they’re accustomed to, and you don’t blame them. four days in an unheated cabin with rapidly spoiling food in the fridge is not typical rockstar accoutrement. still, they tell you they’ve thoroughly enjoyed their break from reality, and you respond in kind. it was as much as break for you as it was for them.

on that last evening, the lights are kept off for the final time. the fire in the hearth permeates the room with its light, though you don’t need its warmth as much now that the heater is back on. the christmas tree sparkles in the corner, and a few candles flicker in the kitchen and hallway. brian sits in the armchair, your father’s old acoustic on his lap. roger, of course, had found it buried in a spare closet, and he suggests brian play to close out the night.

you lean your back against john’s chest where he sits on the couch. his arm is draped around your body, his fingers running nonsensical patterns over your waist. the back of your head rests against his shoulder, and you feel like you could walk on water you’re so light. all the stress, the aches and pains you’ve carried for so long, have melted like the snow. john is to thank for that, as are the others, but mostly him. he’d pegged you quite right with his speech the night before: shy and unsure of yourself and entirely unconvinced of your own worth. but you’re on the mend, you think.

insignificant? you? no, not anymore. not when he looks at you and holds you close.

brian cringes when he gives an experimental strum of the guitar and something akin to a high-pitched whine hits the air. “oh wow. this hasn’t been played in a while.” he looks up, pulling his mouth to the side in a wry grin. “sorry,” he says when he meets your eyes. “i just have to tune it some.”

“go ahead,” you say. “do what you have to.”

brian adjusts the tuners at the top of the guitar before plucking and pulling the strings in time to a gentle rhythm. when he opens his mouth, he begins to sing. “have yourself a merry little christmas. let your heart be light.”

freddie joins him, scooting forward on the other side of the couch, marmalade snug in his lap. “from now on our troubles will be out of sight.”

when roger jumps in for the bridge, the trio’s voices mingle together in the air like pieces of a puzzle. each part is distinctive and unique, but no less important to creating the larger picture. you snuggle closer to john and feel the vibrations of his chest against your back as he hums, his finger tapping along your shoulder.

“once again, as in olden days, happy golden days of yore. faithful friends who are dear to us will be near to us once more.”

tears cloud your vision, and you tighten your grip on the arm draped over your stomach.

tomorrow your guests will return to their normal lives, lives of fantasy and extravagance. you will return to your hum-drum existence, and the holiday will come and go with little fanfare. but if this is the only gift you will receive this christmas—this time with the hodge-podge musicians that make up queen, this time with john—you will take it with no expectation for anything more.

you’d forgotten what it was like to live with joy and freedom, some semblance of your life prior to the accident. john, freddie, roger, brian—they’d helped you remember, and for that you are forever indebted to them.

clearing your throat, you twist slightly in john’s arms, enough to tilt your head back and let your eyes roam his face. he looks down at you, lips caught in a serene smile. you brush your fingers along the line of his jaw.

“merry christmas, john,” you whisper.

he hums in approval, grinning, before lowering his mouth to kiss you softly. “merry christmas, darling.”

six months later.

it’s hot out, the summer sun roasting you through the thick glass of the gondola. you could drive your car down the mountain, but you prefer the gondola. the gentle sway of the hanging car, the way the buildings in montreux slowly grow taller as you inch closer to the city—it’s all a part of the journey, and you enjoy it, find a comforting rhythm in the predictability.

today, you have an empty basket on your lap, your ankles tucked beneath the bench, as you make your way to the farmer’s market that pops up once a month. it’s a simple little thing, and you often only leave with a few ripe fruits and handful of fresh-cut flowers, but ever since your christmas with queen, you’ve been venturing out more. not enough to truly consider yourself a social butterfly, but you enjoy the odd afternoon at the farmer’s market or dinner in one of the pubs where you listen to the local bands play. you’ve made a friend—your first friend in ages—and heather only further helps to draw you out of your reclusive nature.

then, of course, there’s john. he helps too, always does.

when he’d left in december, he made no promises, and you didn’t expect him to. after all, you’ve only really been with him in person for four days; that’s hardly enough time to build a lasting sort of connection.

still, he calls when he can, and you catch up, but there’s no real agreement between you both. yet he continues you to encourage you to get out more, going so far as to ship you a bicycle you can ride the mountain trails on. he promises to come ride with you one day, but you won’t hold him to it. it’s the thought that counts.

for the first time in years, you’re happy, sincerely happy. you once thought that living by yourself, away from the world so you couldn’t be hurt, was enough to be content, and for a time, you were content. but then you’d been forced to remember, to remember how much you need others, and now that you can accept that, loneliness no longer pervades your home or your person. you walk with purpose; your smile comes naturally; your shoulders sway with ease.

it’s still a quiet life, but a much happier one.

you disembark the gondola with your eyes scanning the small list of items it would be worthwhile to buy—a new vase, a bouquet of flowers for the dinner party you’re hosting for heather and her siblings in two days, a necklace to replace the one marmalade broke—and you barely noticed when you bump shoulders with someone boarding the gondola car. you startle, though, when a hand wraps around your wrist and someone says your name.

you turn, lift your eyes, and gasp, your heart leaping to your throat. “john deacon!” it’s practically a squeal, and john shushes you with a fast hand over your mouth.

he glances around to see if anyone heard you or cares, and it seems the world is too busy with their own affairs to study john deacon and the girl he has pinned against his chest, his arm around her back and hand over her mouth. his eyes sparkle when he returns his gaze to you. “hush! don’t blow my cover!”

you swat his hand away, but don’t move out of his grasp. “what are you doing here?!”

he nods his head to the gondola car, now filled, the doors shut and prepared for departure. “i could ask you the same thing.”

you flush unwillingly and shrug your shoulders. “i actually leave the house now.”

“really?!” john releases his tight hold on your back, giving you breathing space, but doesn’t move his feet. when he speaks, his breath—recently freshened with a mint—fans your face. “i was actually on my way up to surprise you, but it looks like you’ve beaten me to the surprise.”

your heart, still lodged in your throat, skips a beat. “you were coming to see me?”

“’course i was.”

“i didn’t know you were in montreux.”

he nods. “we’re recording. should be here a month or two. just got here yesterday.”

you grin. your cheeks pinch in a slight ache, such unrestrained joy still uncustomary to your muscles. “and you were coming to see me?”

while you grin and reach forward to toy with the edge of john’s shirt, he frowns. “’course i was,” he repeats. “you say that like you’re surprised.”

“well, it was your intention to surprise me, right?”

“of course i would come see you if i was in town.” john nudges your shoulder with his hand then covers your bicep with his palm, squeezing lightly. “you’re my girl.”

you tilt your head to the side. “your girl?”

he nods, steps closer, and holds your other arm. “yeah,” he says, his voice gone deeper, gravely. “my girl.” this thumb brushes along the exposed skin of your shoulder, tanned by the sun. “i told you in december: i like you. the last six months have been… hectic, but i was always going to come back.”

tucking your lower lip between your teeth, you narrow your eyes as you wind your arms around his neck. the hair at the nape of his neck is soft as you play with it. “i would say really and not believe you. but i seem to remember someone telling me that i’m a lot more significant than i give myself credit for.”

john laughs, and the sound pierces your heart like cupid’s bow. “what genius said that?”

you shrug your shoulders, rolling your eyes. “i dunno, but i took it to heart.”

“did you? good. then maybe you’ll be more inclined to say yes when i ask you to come on tour with me, with all of us.”

“oh, you were going to ask that?”

“part of my surprise.”

leaning forward, you feather your lips over john’s. “ask me, then,” you whisper, grinning even further when you feel a shiver run down his back.

“come with us. come with me. let me take you around the world.”

the you of six months ago flares in your chest, telling you to say no, to stay home where it is safe. the you of six months ago tells you that john is just being nice, that he doesn’t see you as anything serious.

but the you of today…

the you of today just smiles and kisses john soundly. you move your mouth over his like he is your dance partner, like you were made for one another, and maybe you were. he tastes sweet, feels even sweeter against your body, and you wonder if this is what your parents felt like when they first fell in love. as your mother tells it, she thought your father had hung the stars in the sky, and when you pull back to look at john, the same thought comes to mind.

“so is that a yes?”

you nod. “i’d go anywhere with you, john deacon.” another thought pops to the forefront of your mind, and you fist your hand in john’s shirt with a frown. “but wait: who will watch marmalade?”

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #queen #queen fic #queen x reader #j writes

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marvelship-oneshots · 3 years

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TRAPPED TOGETHER (STUCKONY)

PART 1 OF 2

N/A AU where Steve and Bucky finally managed to move into their new apartment but it turns out that the landlord accidentally sold it to someone else as well. [2k words]

Bucky shut the door after his boyfriend finally managed to enter in their apartment. "It was about time" Bucky hissed, with a hand on his waist. Steve gently laid the boxes he was carrying on the floor, just wanting to let them go, but not knowing what was in there and essentially he didn't want to break anything. He looked at his boyfriend. "It seems to me that I was he one carrying all of those boxes" "Yeah, well, you're not the one with one arm" he said hinting at the empty sleeve of his leather jacket. Steve sarcastically rolled his eyes. "What? I carried one bag!" He said, holding the canvas bag that was hanging from his shoulder. Steve smiled and opened his arms, waiting for Bucky. Bucky put his arm around Steve's neck. Steve kissed his temple. "Home sweet home baby" "We did it, Stevey"

Bucky was putting the pillow into the pillowcase, holding one corner in his mouth, while Steve was laying on the bed trying to hold down every corner of the bed sheet when they heard the door shutting close. Bucky let go of the pillow, looking at Steve. "You heard that?" "What?" Steve asked without letting go of the sheet. "The door. Steve someone is in the house" Bucky whispered. Steve rolled his eyes and went back tucking the bed sheet under the corner of the mattress. "Steve, I'm telling you, someone broke in" "Buck, it's probably nothing" "Steeve!" Bucky whisper-screamed "Go check, pretty please" Steve got up and walked towards the door, Bucky following him as if he was a scared little children. "So much for being a soldier, huh Buck?" "Listen! You see? I have only one arm" Steve chuckled. "It seriously got to stop being the excuse for everythin-" The couple arrived in the living room and stopped. "I told you, someone broke in" whispered Bucky, hiding behind Steve. Bucky wasn't exactly tiny, or short, but Steve's shoulder were broad enough to hide him completely. "And you are...?" asked Steve, looking at the man from head to toe. He was short, very short, and rather slim. But everyone would seem tiny compared to Steve's massive figure. He had short brown hair and a nicely shaved beard. The man was wearing a tailored grey suit and an undone tie was hanging from his neck. He must have been older then the pair, but not any less charming. He was actually very handsome. "I'm Tony, I bought this apartment" Bucky and Steve looked at each other. "Uh, I'm pretty sure you did not since we bought this apartment." said the blonde, since Bucky was still partially hiding behind his boyfriend. "There must have been some kind of mistake. See, I signed the lease" said Tony showing the signed papers. Steve took the same documents that Bucky was handing him. "Yeah, we did too. See, apartment 4B" Tony checked again if he was in the right apartment and scratched his neck. "We'll call the agency in the morning" they agreed. "Uhm, I'll take the couch then" Tony said, looking at the two of them, imagining that they must have already settle in the only bedroom of the house. "Goodnight I guess" said Bucky, holding Steve's arm. Tony looked at the pair walk away. They were both handsome men. Strangely, the blond's physique was not the first thing that fought his eyes, it was the brunet's piercing blue eyes. Those were the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen.

"What?" screamed the trio in unison. "I'm so incredibly sorry, guys" "So, let me make things clear, you sold the same apartment TWICE, to two different clients?" asked Tony, slamming his hands on the agent's desk. The agent nodded. "And you can't refund one of us either?" "Exactly" Tony rolled is eyes walking it of the door.

"What are we gonna do Steve?" Bucky asked sitting at the kitchen table. Tony wasn't back yet. "I don't know, Buck, I don't know" "Happiness is just not for us, right?" Bucky shed a tear, Steve could hear his voice breaking. "No, no, no Buck, hey." Steve cupped his face with both hands, whipping the tear away. "Don't say that. I promised you that everything will be fine and I'll find a way out of this" Steve kissed his forehead. "I love you Buck" "To the moon and back" Bucky said, putting his hand over Steve's. The door shut close and Bucky jumped on the chair, not expecting any noise. "Uhm, hey, sorry guys" said Tony, wanting to become invisible. "Come in, it's your house too after all" finally spoke Bucky, for the first time. Tony sat at the table, on the other side from Bucky. "So, what are we going to do?" He asked. Steve and Bucky looked at each other. "We really cannot afford another apartment" the blonde said looking at his boyfriend. "Me too guys" replied Tony "Maybe having a roommate won't be so bed, right babe?" Bucky asked Steve, who looked at Tony waiting for his reaction. "I mean, it seems to be our best option" The three settled in the now shared apartment. The apartment was a one-room apartment with a rather small bedroom, but the living area was rather big. They decided that the couple would sleep in the bedroom and Tony would settle in the living room, on a sofa bed. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best they could take from the situation.

Week 1 It was 5:30 in the morning and the door closed shut and, hearing the noise, Tony woke up. He rolled in his bed, looking at whoever was going out. It was actually Steve, coming home from his daily morning run. It was December and outside it was still dark. And cold. "Why on earth would you do it?" Tony mumbled observing Steve shrugging his raincoat from the snow. Steve silently laughed. "Hey, I am the one who brings you donuts for breakfast" Tony smiled, getting in a more comfortable position to look at the blond man. "Mh yeah, you're an angel" Steve shook his head it's a small smile and walked out, towards his bedroom. "Go back to sleep Tony" Tony turned his head to follow Steve. He was wearing tight thermal pants and thigh t-shirt, too small for him, that was probably's Bucky's. "Bucky, you lucky man" he mumbled, pulling up the covers and gong back to sleep.

Week 2 "Shit shit shit fuck" Bucky screamed, throwing the lid of the mixer in the sink. "Language" Steve screamed back from the bedroom. Tony was reading on the couch and looked up, smiling. "Did he really say 'Language'? Bucky nodded, smiling. Tony looked at the brunet. He was all covered in the smoothie he was trying to blend. Tony walked towards Bucky, laughing. "Here, let me help you" Tony tried to reach for the towel to help Bucky clean up. Their hands touched. Slightly, but Bucky felt it and blushed. He felt his cheeks getting hotter and turned away before Tony would notice it. But he did. He thought it was cute.

Week 4 It was raining cats and dogs outside and the Steve was already late for work. He had to prepare for an important meeting and couldn't possibly be late. But obviously the rain was not enough, the car had to stop halfway out of the garage. Steve grunted and ran up the stairs back to his apartment, hoping that Tony would be awake already. Well, he wasn't. It was still early for night owl Tony but he really needed some help with his car. "Tony. Tony please wake up!" Steve put a hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony sat up abruptly. "What? Who died?" Steve rolled his eyes. "My car Tony, my car died" Tony laid back, pulling his pillow over his face. "If i knew a dead thing would get so much of your attention, I would have died three weeks ago" he mumbled, not knowing that Steve heard every single word. "Tony please, I need to get to work" Tony got up, grabbed his jacket and his shoes and walked out. "Ok Captain Handsome, I'm going. See?" When they reached the car, Tony opened the hood and started looking for what was wrong, bending over the engine. Steve, on he other hand, had a few calls to make, but he didn't even select the contact to call, being too busy looking at Tony's small body wielding whatever he was wielding. "If you wanted to stare at my butt you could have jut asked and I would have bent for you any time" Tony said, winking at Steve before heading back to their apartment.

Week 6 Tony was finally alone. For the first time in six weeks, he was the only breathing being in the house. Don't get him wrong, he loved Steve and Bucky's presence and he loved that someone was always there. But he also loved his freedom. When he lived alone -well, he lived with his parents, but they were rarely home- he could do whatever he wanted to. He found clothes constricting and whenever he could he ditched them- all of them. But, of course, he could not go around the apartment naked, he would seem weird at the eyes of Steve and Bucky. If they started ditching clothes as well, he would have considered reprising his old habit. The thought of the two soldiers in their birthday suit provoked a reaction that caused his pants to tighten around his waist. That was his clue to strip down of everything and feel the freedom he had incredibly missed. "Bucky? Steve?" he screamed, tossing his t-shirt on the floor. As no answer came back, he unbuckled his belt and let both his pants and boxers slip down to his ankles. Tony let out a long, loud sigh. He walked to the kitchen and took a glass, pouring way too much whiskey in it. He started walking around the house. At some point, when nothing interested him anymore, he finally decided that is was time for him to take a shower. Confident that Steve and Bucky wouldn't be home for a long time, the only thing he took in the bathroom with him, was the bottle of whiskey. Tony didn't know how long he had been in the shower. He was not even washing himself anymore. He was just letting the hot water run down on him. The bottle was now empty and he was definitely drunk, but he didn't care. When he felt it was the right time, Tony walked out of the shower and stood on the carpet, waiting for as much water as possible to fall on the ground, looking at himself in the mirror. The room was spinning around him, he needed to lay down. Tony stumbled towards the door, finally managing to open it. In front of the door, with a hand on the handle, was standing Bucky, half naked, with only a towel around his waist. It was a dream, wasn't it? Bucky looked Tony from head to toe, his mouth slightly open. "Tones" he whispered. "Buck" Tony whispered back, putting a hand on Bucky's chest, wanting to check if it was real or just another drunken hallucination. Bucky's chest was solid and unexpectedly warm. He couldn't take his hand away and Bucky couldn't move hie eyes from the shorter man. He knew it was wrong. He had Steve, he loved Steve, but since the first time Tony had touched him, he couldn't stop thinking about his hand all over hi body. To be honest, he wanted both Tony ad Steve's hands all over his body. Bucky was the first to wake up from that state of trance. "Uhm.. yeah, can I?" Shook his had, taking his hand away from Bucky. "Uh, yeah of course" Bucky moved from the doorway, giving Tony space to walk out of the bathroom, trying not to look at his naked body. While Bucky walked in, Tony stood still in the corridor, looking at Bucky's perfect body. "Uhm see yah, Tony" said Bucky before closing the door. "See yah" Tony whispered back one the door was closed and Bucky couldn't hear him anymore.

#marvel #tony stark #buckytony #tony x bucky #steve x tony #mcu stony #stucky #winteriron #winterironshield #stuckony

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psychedellic-phase · 4 years

Text

Fifteen (pt 14)

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I’m back at college but the next, and final 2 (!!) parts will be up within two weeks! AH! Thank you all so much for reading xoxo

Word count: 6.7k

Tw: angst, cursing, vomiting, mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“When I got home from Florida the house was even emptier. During the four days I was stuck in a hotel room drowning in my own tears and the minibar, you packed up the rest of your stuff and left. At that point, most of your things were in your apartment, all you had to get was some clothes and books. I wonder how long it took you to pack it all up, pack your life with me up. Did you stare at the walls and cry? The same way I did when I packed today? Did you take your time, go through each room and remember everything we did? Did you take it all in? Admire what we could have been? Were you even a little bit sad about leaving the life we tried and failed to build together? Or were you in and out in ten minutes? Did you shove your clothes in a suitcase, the same way you did in Florida, and walk out like it was nothing? Was it easy? Was it a relief? Were you happy to leave the key, lock the door, and never have to come back?

I know I was devastated when I found it.

It was in the dish we used to put our car keys and ID tags in. It was right by the front door. It was the first thing I saw when I got home. I walked in and dropped my own keys in the dish, and to my surprise I heard them clink as they hit into yours. At first I thought that meant you were there, waiting for me. I thought you were going to emerge from the kitchen with a wide smile and I’d run into your arms. So, I called out for you, yelling like an idiot in the front doorway, but I was only met with silence. The silence that signified the absence of you. The silence I had grown comfortable floating in.

I stared at the key for a while, trying and failing to remember when I gave it to you. I feel like I gave you it pretty early on; you definitely had one before Jacksonville. But I cannot for the life of me pinpoint what day I handed you the key, with the hope that you’d always have it. The hope that my home would always be your home because we only felt at home when we were together.

That damn key, sitting in a dish from Target was your way of saying that your home was no longer my home. It was your way of saying that you were done too, and the storm I had tried to control became a full on hurricane. I was sobbing, sitting against the front door and holding onto your key like it was the life raft that could stop me from drowning.

I’d give you this key as your momento, but I had to give it back to my landlord this morning. And now I have a new set of keys waiting for me in Seattle. Keys to a home that isn’t yours; only mine.”

Spencer sat on the couch now, appreciating the softness of it in comparison to the harshness of the dishwasher and kitchen floor. The boarding pass was burning into the kitchen table, his hands sweaty and trembling as he read and remembered.

He remembered every moment after the breakup more vividly than he normally did. Usually his memories were like film strips that he had stored on a shelf in the corner of his mind. He could pick the one he needed out, kick his feet up in the theater of his mind and watch them back, popcorn in hand. But these memories were different. Memories of you were burned in. His brain was branded with them. It wasn’t a movie he could choose to play or not, it was constant, like a sad song stuck in his head, driving him insane. He never stopped thinking about it, replaying every word, regretting every moment, every yell, every item shoved in a suitcase, every raindrop, every tear stained sleeve.

He hated himself for walking out. He hated that he could leave so easily, after his whole life was plagued with people leaving him too easily. He never wanted to be that man, especially to you. He surprised himself when he grabbed the suitcase, held you tightly one last time, and got in the elevator. He was ashamed to admit that the second those steel doors closed and he could no longer see you crying in the hallway, the first thing he felt was relief. He was finally alone again.

But then he realized he was actually alone. All alone. You weren’t there waiting for him to come back anymore. You were gone, and he was alone.

The whole flight home didn’t feel real, it was like an out of body experience. He felt like a shell of a person, a hollow body merely going through the motions as the events of the last three years played in his mind. How did those people who danced in the kitchen in the daybreak’s sunlight end up here? One of you on a plane to escape the other, who was no doubt drowning themselves in mini tequila bottles and crappy room service food. How did the people who swore to love each other through everything, end up as two lonely hearts wondering why promises and hearts are so damn easy to break.

The numbness first started up there in the sky, with nothing but gray stratus clouds to keep him company. The realization hit him up there. He was wrong. He couldn’t do this alone. He couldn’t be alone. He needed you; you needed each other. He thought about asking the pilot to turn around, take him back to that island so he could save this. He could pull the blue velvet ring box out of his bag and fix everything with just a few words.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he ate airplane peanuts and tried not to cry. When they landed and took the subway out as far as it would go and walked to your house. He hadn’t even intended to go there, it just happened. He started walking and his feet brought him there without his brain having any say. He stared at the front of the house, remembering the countless times he carried you over the threshold because you couldn’t stand. He remembered how he’d decorate for Halloween in September and how the day after Thanksgiving, you’d beg him to take out the boxes of Christmas decorations. He remembered how you insisted on listening to ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas,’ as he strung lights around the front porch and you made him hot chocolate.

The house he saw now was bare. There were no Christmas lights strung on the front step, like they usually would have been by December fourth. There were no statues of snowmen and no wreath. It was just a house that was so clearly devoid of any and all love.

He hadn’t thought about how the weather would be different there than in Florida, but the cold was comforting in a way. He didn’t bother changing. He stood in front of the house he no longer had any right to call his own, in flip flops, shorts, and a dress shirt. He allowed the cold air to bite at his skin until he was as numb on the outside as he was on the inside.

He unlocked the door with his key, and took his time moving around. He started at the front door, where he saw the picture of the two of you at Rossi’s and his hatred for the four walls he used to call home came back. You hadn’t changed much of the place. The ultrasound was still pinned to the fridge with a smiley face magnet. Old flowers were hanging from the wall, case files littered the table. It looked like home, it just didn’t feel like home.

He went through everything slowly, over several days. He started in the living room, where he saw the cave of blankets you’d no doubt been living in and the crack in his heart became a canyon. He should’ve been laying in those blankets with you, staring at the TV and listening to you drone on and on about how much you love Nick Miller. He hated that he wasn’t there with you. He climbed inside, in an attempt to make up for all the times he missed, and allowed the smell of you to envelope him. He dreamt of you.

When he woke up the next morning, he smelled you again and instinctively reached out to pull you close to him, but when he did his hands were met by a mass of blankets rather than your warm skin. He sighed, and went into the kitchen. There he grabbed his favorite mug from the cabinet, filled it up, and sat at the table as he read the newspaper. He imagined you next to him, bringing him the sugar bowl and laughing at the name of the obscure town on the top of the page.

“Where is Biwabik?” You’d say, pushing the sugar bowl over to him as he took two more spoonfuls.

“Minnesota,” he’d say plainly, reading about their local fireman’s bazaar.

“Oh, yeah, Biwabik, Minnesota,” You’d laugh and kiss his forehead before going upstairs to take a shower.

He finished his coffee while staring at the gray sky. He hoped it would snow, so when you came home you’d be greeted by your favorite weather.

He took a blisteringly hot shower and opened up your body wash just so he could memorize what it smelled like, just in case he never got to smell it again. The hot water defrosted his inner and outer numbness, allowing all his feelings to come to the top. The water mixed with his tears, the same way yours had with the rain. He was waiting for the day dream to end, all he wanted was to hear the sound of you opening the shower curtain, poking your head and asking, “Can I join?”

But that soothing sound never came.

He stood under the hot water until it went cold, and moved into the bedroom. He stared at the bed he used to curl up next to you in. He found it hard to even look at, considering the last time he slept in it he woke up to the sheets being stained in blood. He moved to sit on the bed, trying not to disturb the specific way you made it. He looked at the sticky note you had placed next to you. It was from him, saying ‘I went in a little early today, didn’t want to disturb you on your day off. I can’t wait to see you at 6. I love you, Love.’ He smiled, knowing you placed it there so it was the first thing that you saw when you woke up each morning. But then he remembered that you put it there because each morning you weren’t waking up next to him. This note was as close as you could get.

He looked through your drawers, smiling at the CalTech hoodie folded neatly on top. He decided to leave that one in the drawer. That way you’d always have a physical piece of him, even though you’d always have his heart.

He moved from there into the nursery. It was empty. A regular person would just think it was a green spare bedroom, but he knew. He knew which wall the crib was going to go on. He knew that the hook from the ceiling was meant for the mobile Penelope had made. He knew what should’ve been there.

Spencer spent three entire days in the house. He ate there, slept there, cried there. He felt all the feelings he’d been running from, and regretted that he hadn’t stayed with you to feel them together.

Rossi was right, the only way through this was to lean on each other. Spencer hadn’t. He leaned as far away from you as he could. He realized just how lonely that two-bedroom could feel, and he understood how you’d nearly gone crazy in there. He was there for three entire days, and felt like he aged fifty years. Somehow, he felt closer to you than he had in months, even though you were 1,074.6 miles away in a hotel room he should’ve been in too.

He talked to the moon each night, begging it to answer him. He didn’t know what to do. Should he let you go? Isn’t that the saying? ‘If you love something, let it go. If it doesn’t come back it was never yours in the first place’? Would you ever come back? Were you ever his? Was he ever really yours? Should he honor your wishes to break up? Should he pack this life up and leave without any closure? Without a proper goodbye? Or should he wait for you there? Kiss you the second you walked in the door and tell you that he was a fool, an idiot, that no one ever meant as much to him as you do? Should he fight for you?

But then he heard your voice ringing in his ears, “Don’t bother.”

“Don’t bother.”

And he didn’t. He packed his few things up, took one long, final look around with tears in his eyes, dropped his spare key in a dish, and walked home alone.

“You forgot a few things, of course. You forgot the watch. You forgot the CalTech hoodie. You forgot your favorite mug. You can tell it’s well used and well loved because there’s a permanent coffee stain in the porcelain around the top where you always let it sit because it was too hot to drink.

I gave you the mug my first day back to work. I couldn’t stand looking at it every time I opened the cupboard. I decided to be nice, give it to you as a peace offering before we started onto the uphill battle that was working together. I’d also like to consider this whole box a peace offering. I’m not mad at you. I don’t hate you. It’s the complete opposite, Spence. I love you too much to just watch you and not be with you.

Three weeks after Florida, Hotch called me in for another mandatory evaluation. And I passed. I passed because I went to the counselor. I talked to Dr. Stevens for an hour and a half every Thursday and Sunday morning. I’d go in and he’d give me a glass of water and we’d chat. Sometimes it was about work, turns out I have a lot of pent up grief from all the things I’ve seen, but usually it was about us. I think I spent at least an hour and fifteen minutes each week talking about us. I told Dr. Stevens about every memory I’ve included in these letters. I told him about all of it, from the day I realized I love you, to the day I realized that I couldn’t anymore.

It was hard, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I had to pour my heart out to someone who didn’t know me. I had to pour my heart out to someone who wasn’t you. I had to grieve the loss of a child and of a lover at once. But to my surprise, he helped. In a weird way, he seemed to understand. I know that’s just because it’s his job, he is literally trained to understand and help people with their grief, but I feel like he knew me. Not nearly the way that you did, but he knew me.”

A dark green monster formed in Spencer’s chest. The thought of another man learning about you in the way he had was enough to make his mouth taste sour. You let this other man into the most intimate parts of your brain, places only Spencer had ever gotten to go before. Did Dr. Stevens know you better than him? He couldn’t help the envy blooming in his chest at the idea. He wanted to be the person you poured yourself out to, and he had been. He wanted that back.

“I’m doing better. That’s how I passed the eval. A male grief counselor helped me through my grief, which you said wouldn’t work. And you were wrong. I must admit it gives me a little bit of joy to tell you that. For once, Spencer Reid, you were wrong. And maybe if you had just agreed to go with me, you would feel better too. If you had just agreed, we never would have had that fight. You never would have packed a suitcase and gone down an elevator alone.

I was right. For once in our lives, I was right, and you were wrong. I just wish it was about something more trivial than this.

My first day back was a Wednesday, about a month and a half ago. I was terrified. I hadn’t seen you since Florida and everyone knew what had happened. Hell, my first day back in DC after the breakup, Derek sat me down with a bottle of tequila and let me cry until the couch was underwater. I just knew it would be awkward and painful and sad. I knew that our friends would stare at us and ‘pick sides’ as if we had suddenly become enemies. I was scared to sit at my desk across from yours and have to look at you. I was scared of the feelings. I was scared of all the progress I’d made in counseling going down the toilet the second I laid eyes on you, and I was right.

I showed up that morning in my best pencil skirt and blouse and pretty red heels. I did my hair. I put on makeup. I tried to make myself look good, so then I’d feel good. I had to fake it, so you wouldn’t be able to see the real me. I caked on makeup to cover up the bags under my eyes from crying over you for weeks. I brushed my hair and strands kept falling out because my hormones changed and I couldn’t eat most nights. I wore black tights so you wouldn’t be able to see the bruises on my knees from the nights I drank and cried and ended up with my head in a toilet, knees bumping the cold tile floor; desperately wishing it was morning sickness, so you’d be close behind me, rubbing my back and taking care of me.

When I exited the elevator, everyone greeted me as usual. I got hugs from the whole team, but you didn’t budge from your desk. You were staring at a book that I know you weren’t reading because you weren’t turning the pages. You were listening to me say hi to Rossi, tell him I missed him, and I could swear eyes flicked towards me a few times when I hugged Derek. That’s probably just wishful thinking, because I wanted you to look at me. I wanted you to see me, see that I was “fine.” I wanted you to look at me because I couldn’t stop looking at you. You, who I fell in love with over these same BAU desk partitions. I saw the ghosts of me and you three years ago, young and happy, your hair curling over your eyebrow, your pursed lips, the way your tie was just slightly crooked. I saw the you I wanted. I saw the man I stared at with lovesick stars in my eyes as we filled out Hotch’s paperwork. I saw me and you and Jacksonville and Meridian Hill Park and everything that we could have been.

And I cracked.

You didn’t even have to speak to me, Spencer, and I cracked.

I dropped my bag on the floor next to my desk and ran to the bathroom to cry off the makeup. Seeing you felt like I was drowning but on fire at the same time. I swear time stopped for a moment when I exited Garcia’s hug and saw you across the BAU. And suddenly I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t remember a single coping mechanism Dr. Stevens showed me. I just stood there. Frozen. Trepidation. Regret.

I stared at myself in the shitty flourescent lights of the bathroom, tears washing away my concealer and exposing the dark bags that matched my blood shot eyes. I stared at the way my cheek bones hollowed out since I’d lost over twenty pounds. I stared at a person I didn’t recognize, and that’s when I realized that I wasn’t the same person you fell in love with over the BAU partition either. I wasn’t the chirpy girl helping you jump start your car anymore. I wasn’t the same girl who bought your mother’s favorite book just to try and impress her. I wasn’t me. You weren’t you. So how could we possibly be us?”

Hotch had called Spencer into his office that morning to tell him you would be coming back.

“Is this going to be an issue?” He said, Spencer fiddling with his thumbs in an attempt to hide from Hotch’s stare.

“No, no problem.”

Hotch knew he was lying, and Spencer knew Hotch knew he was lying, but he was nice enough to let it go.

He sat at his desk and opened that book on epicureanism with the full intention of reading it. He was going to immerse himself in that in an attempt to avoid you. But when he opened the cover, the letters all jumbled together like alphabet soup on the page. Then he heard the familiar clack of your heels, and he looked up, just for a second. He noticed how beautiful you looked, but he recognized the sadness in your body. It was the same sadness he saw in his own every morning as he struggled to find the will to move from his position in bed.

He hadn’t gone to a counselor and learned coping mechanisms, the only one he knew was avoidance, but how could he avoid you? How could he avoid the way your smell lingered even after you dropped your bag and bolted to the bathroom? How could he avoid staring at the way Derek wrapped his arms around you, wishing they were his instead? How could he avoid the persistent, twisted, aching heart in his chest? How had he managed to avoid you for so long? He saw you up close, in the place you fell in love, for just a moment and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to kiss you.

“When I got back from the bathroom, I knew you could see me. You could see the real me, the me you didn’t want.

I decided I wasn’t going to make this as painful for everyone else as it was for us, so I grabbed my bag, took the mug out and handed it to you.

“I, uh, I found this in the cabinet,” I said weakly, and you grabbed it, our fingertips just brushing each other, an action that usually sent lightning down my spine, “I know it’s your favorite one so I wanted you to have it back.”

“T-Thanks,” You cleared your throat, “I’ll go fill it up with coffee. Want one?”

I smiled through the pain, proud of myself that our first interaction went well, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You brought me a coffee, made correctly. Cream and one sugar. I took it from you with a fake smile, trying to force back the pain in my chest.

Derek watched that entire painfully awkward interaction, and he pulled me into his office after.

”You good? That was a lot back there.”

I whined, “No. I’m not good. I’m actually very bad.”

He sighed and pulled me in for a hug, “You’ve got this. You and Reid can handle it. We all know you still love each other.”

I started to cry into his chest, just softly. I didn’t need anyone else seeing how broken I was.

“Why did I think I could do it? I should just transfer.”

That was the first time I considered it out loud. The thought had been rattling around in my head for a bit, but saying it made it real.

Derek argued, “No, you don’t need to transfer.”

“Yes I do! Hotch said as much three years ago.”

“Just focus on getting through today, okay?”

I nodded, taking three deep breaths with Derek’s arms on my shoulders, keeping me grounded.

That’s when Penelope opened the door, poking her head in and telling us it was wheels up in twenty.

“You can stay here with me,” She said, coming over to hug me.

I shook my head, wiping away my last few stray tears, “No, I’ve been gone for far too long. I’m coming back.”

She smiled, “I’m so glad you are.”

We all went on the jet, Hotch insisting he’d brief us in the air. I sat at a window seat, next to Derek and across from Hotch and Rossi. You, Alex, and JJ sat opposite from us. I could feel the tension, the passing glances, the sides being chosen, the hushed voice you spoke in so I wouldn’t hear you or even look at you. I felt like an outcast in a plane full of my favorite people.

The case was in Las Vegas. Of course my first case back had to be in your hometown. Of course it had to be in a place that felt like a second home for me.

“Morgan, Y/N, take the latest crime scene,” Hotch ordered me, and I let out a nervous sigh that was much louder than I intended. You all turned to look at me, expressions varied from pity from Hotch to annoyance from you.

Hotch looked me up and down, “Actually, Y/N come with me to the precinct.”

“I-uh-okay?” I said, feeling embarrassed and small and useless and worthless. Because while you got to look at the bodies, I got to look at sweaty Vegas cops.

He didn’t think I could handle it. No one did. None of you thought I could, and guess what? You were right.

I fell apart. That entire case I was a wreck. My brain didn’t work right. I couldn’t profile, crime scene photos made me want to cry, I could barely even look at the family members.

I was actually useless there. I was useless because of you. Because the way the files smelled reminded me of you and I had to watch you talk to Alex and JJ and not talk to me and I had to watch the way you scrunch up your nose and the way your hair falls in your eyes and you brush it away. Because you had all the answers and I had none. Because you were always everything, and I merely accompanied you. Because you’re more of an asset to them than five of me would be.

And that’s why I left.

I left because after that case you stayed back for a day and saw your mom, and usually I would’ve been there with you. I left because that flight home was empty without you, even though you weren’t even looking at me. I left because I don’t know what’d I’d do if you ever got hurt and I wasn't the one sleeping in your hospital bed with you. I left because I cannot live in a life that I shared with you anymore. I left because I love you too much to stay.

When we landed in Quantico that day, I went to the bathroom again to cry. Derek followed me but I shoved him off. I locked myself in a stall and screamed one of those silent screams when you’re too angry and frustrated to even make a noise.

I stared at myself in the mirror again. I wasn’t okay. I hadn’t accepted that part yet. I’d accepted everything else except for the fact that I was broken, and no amount of hugs from Penelope or stolen glances at you were going to fix it. The only thing that would fix it was going as far away from you as possible.

I got my transfer papers from Hotch the next day.

He argued, told me to rethink, told me to take more days off, told me that it would all get better with time.

“Reid’s reasonable,” He said, “And if it’s time–”

“No, I know that I want to transfer. You said so yourself. If it got too hard, I’d have to go. Well it’s too hard, Aaron. I have to go.”

He sighed, “What unit? I can get you a place almost anywhere. Sex crimes? Back in organized?”

I twiddled my thumbs and sighed, “LA?”

“LA?,” He shook his head and gestured for me to sit down, “Sit Y/N. We need to talk about this.”

He went on a very convincing lecture then. He almost got me to stay, but the only person who actually could’ve gotten me to stay was you. At the end he reluctantly gave me the paperwork and told me, “I hope you don’t regret this.”

I really, really, hope I don’t.

The papers sat in a file folder on my desk for three weeks, taunting me. I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to fill them out yet. I’m not sure what I was waiting for. I think maybe I was waiting for you, or maybe I was waiting for it to get better. Waiting for it to not hurt every time I looked over at you or heard you laugh with JJ. But after three weeks, I realized that was never going to happen. It was never going to stop hurting me or stop hurting you, so I filled out the papers last Thursday, and five days later Hotch told me about Seattle. I immediately accepted, and packed up my desk.

Except for this, your item for this letter, my name plate. “Y/N Y/L/N Supervisory Special Agent- Behavioral Analysis Unit” doesn’t really belong on my new desk. The nameplate reminds me of pining over you across the round table and Emily poking my shoulder and telling me ‘just go for it!’ It reminds me of sneaking into your hotel room on cases and double-cheek kisses from Rossi. It reminds me of filling out paperwork to declare our relationship, and filling out paperwork to get away from it. It reminds me of us, all of us. It reminds me of my old life. The life I’d like to leave behind, so it’s yours.”

Spencer’s fingers traced the engraved letters of your name, one by one, his mind far away recalling that case and the few days when he stayed back in Las Vegas. He saw his mom for the first time since everything happened.

The first day he visited and the nurses told him it was a good day, one of her best days in recent history. He smiled sadly, knowing that what he was about to share would make it one of the worst.

He walked into her room, every muscle tensed. Diana smiled, wrapped her arms around him warmly and the first thing she did was ask for you.

“When I heard I was getting a visit I was thrilled! Where’s Y/N? Gosh she must be big by now.”

He avoided her gaze, as if he was a child avoiding being scolded, “Y/N isn’t coming.”

“She’s not?” She asked, and Spencer immediately regretted not telling her about the last two months sooner. He kept putting it off, not quite knowing how to break his mother's heart while dealing with his own.

“No, mom, and I think you should sit down.”

“Sit? Spencer, sweetheart, what is it? You’re worrying me.”

He sat down, knee bouncing and hands fidgeting just to release some of the pent up energy inside of him, “Y/N and I, we–we broke up.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, just as his always did, lips pressed into a line, “Spencer Reid you left a pregnant girl? I raised you better than that!”

He bit his lips, not knowing exactly how to say the words that came next, “Mom, Y/N, she–“ He stopped himself, correcting himself for once, “We lost her.”

Diana’s mouth fell open slightly, “Lost the baby?”

Spencer couldn’t do much but nod, the tears he had been forcing back for weeks flooding his eyes and running over like a waterfall. His eyes were shut, the shame of it all overcoming him.

The next thing he felt were her arms around him, pulling him close as he fell apart.

“Th-there was nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do,” he choked out between ragged breaths, “I-I should’ve been able to do something! I should’ve been able to protect her and I didn’t and now—”

She cut him off, her cold hands rubbing the tears off his hot cheeks, “Sometimes things just, well they just happen.”

He nodded, “And then Y/N…”

“Spencer, how’d you let her go?”

He shrugged, wiping at his nose, “I-I don’t know. I can’t believe I left. I just—“

His voice was getting rushed and his breath was getting quick, like he was drowning in tears and regret.

“Shh, stop,” She said, hands running through his hair the same way they did when he was a boy, “You’ve already lost so much, don’t lose her too.”

When he left his mother that day he took her words to heart. He wasn’t going to lose you too, he was going to make up for those two months. When he arrived back in DC, his first stop was your house. He knocked on the door, go-bag on his shoulder. There was no answer. He knocked again. And again. And again.

You never opened up.

He was expecting you to open the door and smile at him and invite him inside, but the door stayed locked, his key to it being inside. That night he stayed on the step until one in the morning, when he begrudgingly got in his car and drove away. The next night he came back, and the next, and the next, and the next, the door always staying shut. He left each time feeling more and more defeated.

He knew you were in there, he could see your shadow appear and disappear, and every night he’d stay until the January air became too much to bear. He swore he could hear you slide down the door a few times, sitting as close back to back with him as possible.

He went every night until one day, when he was laying against the cold door, half asleep and frostbitten, Derek appeared in front of him.

“Reid,” He whispered, voice sympathetic but also stern, “You gotta stop doing this. This isn’t healthy.”

Spencer stood up, his breath visible as he spoke, “I know.”

“She isn’t going to let you in.”

“I know,” he mumbled, fixing his wool coat and starting to walk away. Derek watched him as he made his way across the snow-covered yard. He turned around and called to him.

“Morgan! Just, just tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I miss her.”

Derek nodded, opening your front door and entering the place Spencer wished he could be: with you.

“I don’t know what happened to you in Vegas, but when you came back, you were different. At work you still avoided me like I was a rat with the plague, but then every night I’d hear you knocking on my door, begging to be let in.

“I love you,” you’d say, “I take it all back.” As if you ever could.

I’d sit on the stairs that face the door, head in my hands, trying to find the willpower to keep the door closed. Then I’d see your key, sitting in the dish you put it in, and it was easy to keep the door closed, because you’re the one who shut it.

You came almost nightly for a week. I’d always look through the peephole. I’d sit with my back to the door the same way yours was. I’d wrap myself in a blanket and sleep there, as close to you as I could, but I kept the door shut.

I know it’s terrible, but part of me wishes that we never met. That instead I stayed making espresso shots in Connecticut and never went back to this life. In this wish, Dave never called me. I never saw your dopey smile and immediately fell in love. Maybe then you wouldn’t be all I think about. Maybe then you’d get out of my head, because as long as I know you, I’ll never love anyone else.

But that way of thinking is behind me. Now, I see you as a lesson I had to be taught. I learned how to love, and how I deserve to be loved. I learned how to smile and laugh and really care about someone other than myself. I learned how to grieve and appreciate my life and I learned what real, true love is. I learned about soulmates and science and how to smile so hard my cheeks hurt. I learned how to let go.

But I learned hard lessons too; like that the Beatles were wrong, love isn’t all you need. You need passion and commitment and happiness and compromise. I learned that sadness can be a greater emotion than love. I learned that heartbreak is real and sometimes the people you love more than anything in this world can hurt you. And I’m grateful to you, for every lesson you ever taught me. I’m grateful for every single second I spent with you. I’m grateful for you, Spencer Reid.

Thank you.”

“Thank you”

He could practically hear you whisper it to him.

He found it funny that you were thanking him for breaking your heart, time and time again, because all he felt was regret.

He glanced up at the clock, realizing that he needed to leave now if he had any chance of making the flight to you. He haphazardly collected the letters and all the objects you gave him from where he placed them around the apartment. He grabbed a duffle bag, stuffing it with clothes and whatever things he thought he may need. He grabbed the ring box, debating for a moment whether or not it was too much, too soon. He decided to throw caution to the wind.

What is it Morgan says? Go big or go home?

Spencer was going big, and you were coming home.

He kicked the front door closed as he left, box overflowing with papers and the ring box burning in his back pocket.

Letter fifteen would have to wait.

Part 15!

—————————

Taglist

@l0ve-0f-my-life @aperrywilliams @helloniallslovelies @random-ravings @ajwantsapancake @andiebeaword @boiled-onionrings @frnks-stuff @icantevenanymore1 @mellifluouswildbluebells @rottenearly @sammypotato67 @blushingwueen @peaxhyjaes @justanotherfangurlz @juniorgman187 @mbowles23-blog @blameitonthenight21 @goldentournesol @rainsong01 @thelifeofadumbbitch @swimmingtrashwobblersludge @youre-a-wallflower-charlie @eldahae

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fic #matthew gray gubler #reid #mgg #cm #fifteen

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liladiurne · 3 years

Text

Brighter Than Bright - extract from chapter 14

Look at me, with chapter 14 already underway barely a week or so after posting 13. Isn’t that a good omen?

Once more, here is the beginning bit, because I don’t have anything at this point that wouldn’t spoil too much for you. I thought this would be perfect, because it announces a little what’s coming in the chapter without actually introducing the new characters. There is so much good stuff coming this chapter! I may share another extract before it’s finished, but we’ll see, because this is a bit longer than what I normally share, I think. Either way, I think this is going to be a long chapter!

This extract may change and differ a little in the finished chapter, as I tend to move things around when I edit. I have proofread this a bit quickly, so there may be some typos, which you can disregard because they will surely be fixed at some point. I hope you enjoy!

EXTRACT FROM CHAPTER 14

While Harry’s second heat does not last quite as long as the first one did, a few more days must pass before he feels strong enough to leave his bed. Charlie remains by his side throughout, drawing while Harry reads or sleeps. From the way he dutifully attends to Harry’s every need, constantly asking if he is hungry or thirsty or tired, it is evident that he still feels guilty at having left his little brother to such torment, regardless of how many times Harry has told him that it was probably for the best.

When Harry thinks back to those dreadful few days, he is filled with a combination of fury and shame. Perhaps worse than the memory of his suffering is the knowledge that, although he does not remember it, he seemingly called out for Mr Snape. Fanny said that the heat is meant to coerce him into mating, and he tries to console himself with these words. He suspects that this irrepressible, forceful longing does not discriminate between one Alpha and the other, and for this reason, he is nearly grateful that Charlie was absent. As he is so often reminded, he is not truly related to Charlie after all. If his reason can be so addled, if this strange instinct inside his chest, this part of him that does nothing but crave and crave, can resort to yearning for a despicable Alpha such as Mr Snape, Harry dares not imagine what could have happened if his brother’s scent had been nearby when he was in the throes of the heat. The oestrus has a mind of its own. If it can turn abhorrence into attraction, who knows what it can make of brotherly love.

Most of what occurs during the heats does not stay with him for long. He cannot recall much apart from the pain and some vague, feverish recollections of waking up and then sleeping again. He knows that he dreams, sometimes vividly, sometimes rather hazily, in wisps of thoughts and images, but all remembrance of what those dreams contain leave him swiftly as the fever fades. He is unsure whether these lapses in memory are caused by the fever itself or simply by the laudanum. Perhaps it is a combination of the two. But it is just as well that he cannot remember. Harry has no desire to know what feverish delusions might have resulted in him saying Mr Snape’s name.

At least he did not ask for Mr Malfoy. He does not think that he could live with such ghastly knowledge.

When Harry finally leaves his room for good, he finds that a thick blanket of snow has covered the world, thus putting an end to horseback ventures with his brother until spring. He is somewhat disappointed at having missed the last days of autumn, but as soon as he is well enough to leave the house, he heads outside with Charlie and the two of them engage in a great snow battle, to which even their father participates. Later in the afternoon, as the sun sets, they construct a great snowman in front of the house and dress him in a scruffy hat and scarf before retreating inside for some mulled wine.

Harry usually finds winter most inconvenient. As beautiful as snow can be at the beginning, it never takes long for him to miss the smell of the warm summer air, the loud humming of the cicadas, the wide, green expanse of his field. Unable to retreat to his habitual refuge under the shadow of the beechwood tree or to go on long walks by the river, Harry must spend most of winter confined to the house, forced to read every book he can find, often ones that he has already read countless times before. When he is truly unable to find entertainment, he sometimes sits at his desk and writes short little stories for his own amusement, or he plays with Hedwig, sprawled on the floor and throwing a ball of twine around for her to catch.

This year, of course, with Charlie present, there is no such lack of distraction.

On the first week of December, after a particularly heavy snowfall, Charlie spends at least an hour rummaging through the shed behind the barn until he finally unearths the old sleigh that Hagrid made for them years ago. It needs a little fixing, having been buried under some tools and refuse for nearly a decade, but as soon as it is good to use, it is attached to one of the draft horses’ harness. Once they are dressed thickly and warmly enough, Harry and Charlie settle on the sleigh, which is barely big enough to hold them both now that they are grown, and spend the afternoon being dragged around speedily through the snow, laughing and yelling and causing quite a raucous through the village, for which they are promptly scolded at supper. Their mother is not shy in expressing her disappointment at finding out that she has not, as she believed she had, raised respectable young men, but rather careless little ruffians.

As much as he loves the warmer weather, Harry is rather looking forward to the colder days, hoping that the river might freeze, because Charlie has also found their old ice skates hanging in the back of the shed. At present, however, the water still flows merrily, with no sign of stopping.

“It is so unfortunate that you were not here last winter. It was frozen for months,” Harry says regretfully one morning as they stare at the river, having taken advantage of the sunny day and the melting snow to walk alongside it.

“It is not cold enough yet. Perhaps in January.”

Harry shrugs. “It may not even harden enough for skating.”

“Do you remember that big pond in Hampstead, behind the marketplace?” Charlie muses, nudging Harry with his elbow to try and shake him out of his sombre mood. “It was always fit for skating. Do you remember? Grandfather would take us there when we visited in the winter.”

“I remember,” Harry says distractedly.

His mother never wanted him to go. She would insist that his brothers and cousins were too rough and that he would get hurt and that it would be better if he remained at the house with the girls. But Grandfather would not hear it. He had never once left Harry behind, even if it meant arguing ceaselessly with his daughter. It is true that the boys were terribly rough, however. Harry remembers how they darted around dangerously on their skates, crashing into one another at terrible speeds, and Grandfather was aware of the danger their carelessness posed for Harry, who was much smaller than they were. He would pretend that he was afraid to fall and hurt his old bones, and he would ask Harry to remain nearby and please not let go of his arm while they skated around the edges of the pond safely. Harry should perhaps have been upset at being subjected to this protective treatment while his brothers were free to play however they wanted, but he took a sort of pride at being kept close as the favourite. He still remembers how Grandfather’s steady hand would hold him up whenever he lost his balance or whenever the blade of his skate would catch into the ice and threaten to trip him. All of his brothers and cousins would get regularly hurt whenever they went out skating, but even if Harry had never been a good skater, he had never fallen once with Grandfather by his side.

“It must be nearly ten years since I last saw him,” Charlie adds disbelievingly. “Eight years, I believe. Yes, since I joined the military. It will be good to see him again.”

Harry turns to his brother in confusion. “Again? Are you going to Hampstead?”

“Yes. All of us shall be visiting for Christmas,” Charlie reveals with a grin.

Harry grips his arm suddenly, a bit roughly perhaps, but Charlie only laughs. “What? When was this decided?”

“I told Father that I would need to leave for a few days next week,” Charlie says in a more serious tone. “I was going to perhaps find a room in Hatfield, but he suggested I go to Hampstead. I have done so in the past, after I came of age, if you recall.”

Harry nods, looking away in embarrassment. When they were younger, Bill and Charlie both would visit their grandfather whenever the time for their rut was near. Harry has always felt a certain guilt over this, especially now that he knows how much easier it is to be at home during such a trying time. But they would both rather leave The Burrow than have Harry being sent away, even for a few days. Besides, Grandfather Prewett is himself an Alpha, and he was always in the best position to provide a comfortable environment for them.

“And so, I wrote to Grandfather, and he was the one who suggested everyone should follow suit after me. I shall be leaving on Monday, and Mother, Father and you should join us the week after. Everyone will come for Christmas as well. Uncle Fabian and Aunt Mable, with Catherine and Caroline. And Ron and Ginny. And Percy, Fred and George will certainly come as well. I believe even Robert will come with his wife and the children. Are you happy?” Charlie asks, quite unnecessarily, because surely it is obvious from Harry’s wide eyes and grin that he is ecstatic. “We shall have a big family Christmas, just like when we were little.”

“I am happy,” Harry can only mumble, holding Charlie’s arm tightly still and pressing his cheek against his brother’s shoulder. “It will be just like before. As if nothing had changed.”

Harry is nearly certain that his brother smiles sadly at this, but Charlie does not reply as they continue walking, the soggy ground squelching under their feet.

#snarry #snarryfanfic #myfics #ficextracts #brighterthanbright

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chilling-seavey · 3 years

Text

Passchendaele WW2 Extension - Returned and Reunited

December 6, 1945

Elizabeth understood the importance of privacy, especially when it came to her grown up children. But, at the same time, she knew the importance of providing comfort for those who were suffering. She didn’t intend to but while collecting Charlie’s laundry from his room, she found an old letter tossed on his desk. It was addressed to the air force base and dated almost three years earlier. She didn’t read it but the return address in the top corner was enough for her to know who it was from.

Charlie hadn’t talked about Mary since he had been home – honestly, Elizabeth almost forgot about her – but the obviously well read letter on the desk was proof that Charlie certainly hadn’t forgotten.

Evelyn was still living in her apartment in London so Charlie was the only child back at home now. It was kind of nice for him; getting a bit of extra care as he adjusted to life at home again. Daniel was incredible with him. He was so patient and gentle and calm and although Elizabeth knew Daniel was more than capable of it, it was nice to see him become more of his true self now that his family was safe.

Elizabeth loved her son and she loved that he was home but she worried about him. He was twenty-seven and had almost no sights on a life of his own yet.

“Charlie darling.”

He looked up from decorating the Christmas tree to glance at his mother’s call.

“How’s Mary?” Elizabeth asked gently.

Daniel glanced between his wife and his son as he wrapped the tinsel around the branches. Charlie bowed his head and shrugged as he set an ornament on the tree.

“We haven’t heard anything about her. Have you written her?” Elizabeth pressed on tenderly.

“No.” Charlie answered flatly. “She’s probably married by now. With a good man.”

“Whose to say unless you ask her?” Elizabeth suggested.

“Mama.” Charlie said sternly, looking up at her with hurt on his face, “I don’t want to ask. I don’t want to know.”

“Well at least tell her you’re home safe. I’m sure she would care to know.”

“Mama.” Charlie snapped. “Please, stop it.”

Elizabeth stayed quiet but her eyes lingered on the tears that were brimming behind her son’s long lashes. Daniel set a reassuring hand on her back and slunk past her to retrieve more tinsel from the box. They decorated the tree in near silence except for the quiet radio playing in the background across the parlour and Elizabeth’s mind stewed with her protective motherly instincts. She knew her son well and although he always put up a brave front, he always had been quite afraid of being vulnerable.

So Elizabeth got to work on her plan. She pulled out a piece of paper and set herself down at the desk in her room that evening, right away uncapping a pen and got to writing.

Daniel watched her for a moment as he changed into his pyjamas, “Who are you writing to so furiously at this hour?”

“Mary.” Elizabeth answered plainly.

Daniel sighed, “Lizzie.”

“Daniel.” Elizabeth said sternly and turned to face her husband. “Charlie’s miserable. He’s broken-hearted and miserable and I know he’s missing her and not knowing where she is probably just makes his hurt worse. I need to write to her.”

Daniel sighed and walked up behind her, setting a hand on her shoulder and leaned down to read what she had written. With a kiss to her cheek he stood back up and headed into bed, “Sign my name at the bottom too.”

Dear Mary,

You don’t know me by name but I realized that I must write you. I believe you had a relationship with my son, Charles, during the summer of ’41 while he was stationed at the RAF base during the war. He wrote to me about you a few times and I could tell he was head-over-heels. I know the war got in the way and you fell out on contact but I thought it was important to write to you and let you know that he’s home safe now. I am not sure if you are still at this address or moved on to another phase of your life by now but my dear Charlie is thinking about you often…he still has one of your letters and reads it every now and then. I would greatly appreciate if you could write me back (or call me on the telephone) with a reply whether you would be willing to see Charlie again or if your heart has already been claimed.

Kind regards,

Elizabeth and Daniel Seavey

Elizabeth mailed the letter the next morning before Charlie rose and she received a letter back in a matter of a few short days.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Seavey,

You cannot imagine my relief to receive your letter. I found myself crying often in fear that the worst had happened to my Charles, especially when peace was declared and months went by without any word. Oh goodness, I can hardly figure out what to write to you I am just so happy! I would love nothing more than to see Charlie again…that is, if he is willing to see me too. My heart has only belonged to him and there has not been and will never be another man for me! I would love to visit him as a Christmas surprise if that is alright with you. Please let me know a date and I will disregard my entire schedule for him!

With kindest, most thankful regards,

Mary Thompson, ATA

December 20, 1945

Elizabeth always cleaned religiously before holidays so her sudden intent on keeping everything spotless didn’t rise question in Charlie too much. Five days before Christmas, Elizabeth was in a mad rush to clean the house from vacuuming and mopping to dusting thrice a day. Maybe it was a tad excessive but Charlie didn’t mind a bit. He got himself dressed in his room, lingering on the photographs of him and Richard over the years still taped and fading on his bedroom wall as he buttoned up his shirt and tucked it into his trousers.

He sighed lightly and bent down slightly to see himself in the slightly too-short mirror on the wall to fix his hair and check his teeth. His mother told his to dress nicely for whatever reason and he knew better than to argue. The bottle of cologne on his dresser was lifted and spritzed once on his collar before he set it back down on the wood beside the framed picture of his late uncle and the one of his late brother.

There was a knock at the door and Charlie didn’t think much of it. He figured it was the Besson’s coming over for another visit or a neighbour coming to ask to borrow some sugar. His parents’ footsteps could be heard through the floor downstairs followed by a bit of muffled chatter. Charlie made sure the gold ring was secure on his right pinky and took a second glance at his hair.

“Charles Christian!” Daniel called from downstairs, “You have a visitor!”

Charlie, filled with confusion, opened his bedroom door and started down the stairs slowly as he straightened his collar for whatever guest was awaiting him. He hadn’t expected company.

When he reached the bottom stair and glanced over to the foyer where his parents were, he stopped dead. He took a moment to register who he was looking at, his next breath shaking in his chest as he stared at her for a moment. She was just as beautiful as he remembered although slightly older; her shoulder length brown hair tamed to perfection under her hat and light snow dotted her matching coat and melted softly in her curls. She dressed so poshly outside of her usual ATA uniform and Charlie felt tears brimming in his eyes.

“How’s my favourite pilot?” Mary asked as smoothly as she could, although her voice was trembling slightly behind her own forming tears.

Charlie took the final step onto the main floor and walked slowly and shyly over to her like he couldn’t believe who he was looking at. Elizabeth slunk around to Daniel’s side so they could step slightly out of the way of the reunited lovers and the parents watched with excited smiles as their son approached her.

He stopped just in front of her, memories washing over him in strong waves that had him choking out a sob – from her picture in his plane to his brother’s teasing over how infatuated he was with her. It had been years but it felt like forever.

Mary’s hand was cold from the winter air when she set her palm against her cheek but Charlie just leaned right into her small hand. He reached to wrap his fingers gently around her wrist and her thumb ran over his flushed skin. His other hand slid around the back of her neck and slowly but desperately pulled her lips to his. She could feel the passion behind his kiss, the yearning, the fear, the grief, the heartbreak, the relief, and everything in between. So much so that she threw her arms around his shoulders and pulled him impossibly closer.

Charlie’s hands gripped the back of her coat, finding their familiar harmony of their lips for a few more seconds before he was finally pulling back to breathe, pushing kisses over her cheek as he wrapped her up in his arms. He just breathed her in for a moment; her floral perfume and the smell of the snow unlike the usual scent of fuel and metal and leather that encompassed them on the air base. Despite the slight difference, he let himself melt into her arms and let a peaceful sigh fall against her neck as she held him.

“Charlie.” Elizabeth called gently. “Are you going to introduce us?”

Charlie smiled shyly, the same tight lipped smile that his father and his uncle had, and he dusted a kiss to Mary’s cheek before pressing his face against hers bashfully as he finally introduced her to his parents, “Mum, Dad…this is my Mary.”

Passchendaele Taglist: @stuffofseaveyy @randomlimelightxxx @hopinglimelight @jonahlovescoffee @bessonsbxtch @midnightpsychic @sbrewer21

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#✉#the otp #daniel seavey #why dont we

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s-s-s-s-t-a-r-s · 4 years

Text

headcanons for Claire meeting her future s/o during the Raccoon City incident! (feat. a bonus drabble) requested by @biethanwinters

Claire first met you at the gas station outside of town. You had dipped into the building for a quick snack run and to fill up your tank but instead stumbled upon the undead horrors inside. Claire stopped the clerk from tearing out your jugular—not quite love at first sight, but still an interesting way to initiate your romance.

You rode into Raccoon City on the back of Claire’s motorcycle. She made you wear her helmet as a precaution. Secretly, you were glad, as it hid the blush that crept across your face while you clung to the strange (but beautiful) girl’s strong core.

The conversation that you two shared on your way to the police station was bizarrely mundane. Music, movies, TV shows, etc. You also discussed your majors in college—she told you that she was studying social work out of state and had only come into Raccoon City to find her brother. You shared your own major and your reason for being there. You were surprised to find that the two of you had a lot in common.

Once you arrive at the station, you and Claire decide to split up to search for help and survivors. You express your reluctance to separate from her, both out of fear that you cannot defend yourself against the creatures and because you had grown quite fond of her. The last part, however, remained solely in your thoughts.

Claire sets up a gallery of cans in the library and teaches you how to properly aim and fire the standard issue police handgun. She explains that she learned her technique from Chris. She stands behind you and maneuvers your body to the proper position, talking you through each movement. The moment is surprisingly intimate. She jokes that, “Of all the crazy ways this night could’ve gone, I definitely did not expect to be giving a hot girl shooting lessons in a library.”

After you are comfortable with your weapon, you go out to search the courtyard while she looks for her brother. You return to her without any leads, soaking wet from the rain.

Claire sees that you are shivering. She insists that you take her leather jacket. She slips it over your shoulders delicately. She kisses you then, out of pure instinct. Thankfully, her intuition was correct, and you kissed back.

You are unofficially tasked with babysitting duty once you encounter Sherry. Claire does all the heavy lifting of your partnership—blowing out zombie brains, chasing after keycards, etc.—while you heal her battle wounds and keep Sherry far away from the fray.

All three of you agree that you and Claire make an excellent team.

You watch over Sherry after she is infected with the G-virus as well. Claire is determined to find the cure, though she cannot help but daydream of you on her journey. She imagines you and her having a family of your own one day—two kids, a dog, and a big back yard.

She knows she is jumping the gun, but the idyllic thought of a future with you gives her one more thing to fight for.

——

Claire pressed the back of her hand to the apple of your cheek. The rosy flesh there stung her skin like fresh December snow, though her touch lingered there for a moment despite the chill.

“You’re freezing,” she said.

She pulled away, a hint of fluster on her sweet face. You frowned as her warmth vanished.

“I’ll be okay, Claire.”

“Shut it,” she said, shrugging off her jacket. “And take this.”

Claire draped the expensive leather garment around your shoulders. The insultation immediately restored the heat that had escaped with the rain. You began to protest, though, until your mouth was halted by her own. She crashed her lips into yours, sloppily but determined. You jolted, but leaned into the touch, core aflame.

You drew back after a moment and met her blue eyes. A smile crept onto your lips.

“Well…that’s certainly one way to keep me warm.”

#claire redfield #claire redfield x reader #resident evil #claire redfield imagine #sherry birkin #redfield x reader #resident evil imagine #resident evil x reader #fic #resident evil fic #re2 #resident evil remake

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Note

#27 for the winter prompts strikes me as distinctly Sternclay NSFW

Here you go!

27 i run a hot chocolate/cider booth at the local ice rink and you always flirt with me but i didn’t think it meant anything because you seem to flirt with everyone

Barclay’s family has lots of traditions come winter, the same as most people he knows. But his personal one is manning the “Sip n Slip” at the Kepler skating rink. He started volunteering there when he was 16 and stuck driving Jake to and from hockey practice. It was something to do, and he liked cooking and making drinks, even if it was just powdered cocoa and simple cookies.

Then he was coming back every winter when the stand opened to help out, and when he opted to stay in Kepler to work as a chef, he still made time to volunteer. He’s thirty now, the stand a little cramped for both him and the other volunteers, but the smell of warm sugar cookies and too-sweet cider takes him right back to his teens.

The same can be said of the man currently at the front of the line; he looks like a rom-com hero, with his black hair slicked back and his stylish coat and scarf, and Barclay has not been this close to popping a no-reason boner in months.

“How can help you?” he leans on the counter, smiling.

The man gives him a stealthy once-over before replying, “I’ll have a coffee, please. And a kid’s hot cocoa” he smiles at the young girl holding his hand, “anything else, Ellie?”

“No.”

“I guess that’s all.”

“That’ll be two bucks.”

The man hands him a five, letting their fingers touch. He does the same thing when Barclay gives him his change. When Barclay sets the to paper cups in front of him he adds, “cream and sugar is over at that little table.”

“I’d say there’s plenty of sugar here.” It’s so smooth that Barclay is still blushing as the man and the little girl disappear into the rink.

Maybe he should start making people give him their names with their orders.

And their phone numbers.

-------------------------------------------

“Hello again”

Barclay bounds to the counter (as much as six foot three man can bound anywhere), “Hey! Coffee and cocoa again?”

“Just coffee, my niece isn’t with me.”

He does a mental fist pump; the kid isn’t his, so maybe that’s a sign he’s single. As he’s trying to work out a non-creepy way to get his name, someone calls from across the room.

“Joseph! There you are man” a stockier guy in a ranger jacket waves.

“First day of rec hockey” Joseph smiles, “wish me luck.”

“Good luck.”

Joe winks, and then he’s gone. Barclay starts a new batch of cookies, looks at the door to the rink every two minutes for the next hour and a half until the other man emerges, sweaty and laughing. He’s twice as handsome as before. When he spots Barclay staring at him, he waves.

The cocoa packet in his hands turns two separate pieces, spilling powdered milk and sugar on the floor.

---------------------------------------------------------

“Back again?” He forces himself not to sound too excited at the fact Joseph is once again ordering coffee from him.

Blue eyes take on a glint, “With you here, how could I stay away?”

He’s this close to asking Joseph if he wants to get coffee somewhere nicer when the man waves another friend over, bumping shoulders and hands with him as they talk.

Okay. Maybe he’s just demonstrative with everyone. That’s cool.

Totally cool.

---------------------------------------------------------

He officially cannot tell if Joseph is flirting. Yes, he stops by the stand every time he’s at the rink (usually twice, once when he gets there and once before he leaves), and when it’s slow he sits in a plastic white chair and chats with him, tossing in winks and smiles whenever he says something complimentary. He’s animated, charming, and Barclay is now the living, breathing definition of “hopelessly crushing” on him.

But Barclay’s seen him talk the same way with his friends and teammates, and even with the other adults waiting to pick their kids up from the same class his niece attends. Barclay’s caught no fewer than four hockey moms and two hockey dads giving Joseph the eye.

He doesn’t blame them; he spends the slow part of his shifts imagining what Joseph looks like under his nice coat. Or his work out clothes. Or the Bigfoot-themed holiday sweater he started wearing in mid-December.

However, for the sake of his own sanity and not making a burgeoning friendship weird, he decides to treat all of their interactions as platonic unless Joseph explicitly says otherwise. So when Joseph asks if he’d like to go skating on Saturday, Barclay agrees immediately and then focuses on not getting his hopes up.

Confusingly, Joseph tells him to be at Tenney Park at three in the afternoon, rather than at the rink. He arrives at five til one and discovers that the fully frozen pond is now a skating hot spot, complete with skate rentals. Barclay brought his own skates; his feet are large enough that getting a rental pair that fit is a crap-shoot.

Joseph is waiting for him on a bench, reading on his phone. He’s in his black coat, the one that makes him look like a secret agent on a ski vacation. The late December sun peeks through the clouds, and Barclay’s pretty sure a beam illuminates Joseph perfectly while a heavenly choir sings.

No, wait, there are some carolers down the street.

“I’m so glad you made it.” Joseph moves the pair of skates from the spot beside him and pats the cold stone. Barclay sits down, and they chat about the mystery series that Joseph got him hooked on. It takes twice as long as normal for him to lace up his skates, because whenever he glances to his right, Joseph is watching him with a smile and his fingers forget how to work.

They wobble over to the ice and step on. The first few strides are fine, but then he hits a groove followed by a small dip and almost falls on his ass. On a normal rink, it’d be a fluke. But there are no Zambonies in the wild.

“This is, whoahfuck, harder on lake ice.” He flails a second time, sticks a hand out for balance only for it to be caught by Joseph’s own.

“I like the challenge. But don’t worry big guy, I’ve got you.”

“Thanks, blue eyes.”

The nickname is a complete accident, brought on by the fact that Barclay is staring into his eyes to avoid reading too much into the held hand. The hand that Joseph doesn’t let go off, even as they move onto a smoother patch of ice.

All that rec hockey is paying off, because Joseph practically waltzes them around in circles, never bumping into anyone or losing his footing as they talk. They compare notes on holiday gifts and new years plans, and Joseph laughs when Barclay regales him with the story of the great babka debacle of 2014.

Barclay’s so caught up in their conversation that he misses an odd bump in the ice and goes sideways into the snow-covered grass to his left, taking Joseph with him accidentally. Joseph ends up on top of him, both cackling like kids at the chaos of the moment. Barclay shivers, snow sneaking under his coat.

“Wanna, uh, get some coffee to warm up?”

“Sure” Joseph smiles.

“Bet that stand uses the same mix mine does.”

“Oh, um, I was thinking we could go back to my place for it. I’m only a few blocks that way.”

There’s no way he’s missing a chance to see Joseph’s house (he has a bet going with Dani that it’s immaculate, while Dani insists Joseph could be a stealth slob), and so ten minutes later he’s pulling off his boots in the entryway of a one bedroom, first floor apartment. The walls sport several elegantly done cryptozoology posters, he spies a pile of cookbooks he recommended on the kitchen counter, and the whole place looks like it’s been tidied within the last day. He texts Dani a stealthy photo, then settles on the couch while Joseph moves about the kitchen.

God, he wants to go in there and wrap his arms around him, kiss him against the counter until they both see stars.

Easy, Barclay, easy. He cannot ruin a good day with a friend.

“I also have some wine, if you’d like that instead of, or with, coffee.”

He glances at the Kraken clock on the wall, “Sure, it’s late enough.”

Joseph walks in, now in just his sweater and pants, stopping to a light a candle before setting two wine glasses on the coffee table. He’s pouring as the sun sets, the change in light helping the room feeling warm and cozy.

“Careful, you keep up those romantic touches and I might think this is a date.” He teases.

Joseph looks up, wine perilously close to the edge of the glass, “wait, this isn’t a date?”

“Uh, I, uh, I, I didn’t want to assume, I mean, do you want it to be a date?”

“Barclay” Joseph sets the bottle down, “I asked you out to something outside of the normal way of spending time together, without anyone else present, and kept holding your hand. And I kept flirting with you.”

“I know, but you kinda flirt with everyone.”

A self-deprecating laugh as Joseph joins him on the couch “Some work habits are hard to turn off; I have to be good at getting people at ease with me, to like me, because then they share information more readily. I guess that could make it hard for someone else to tell the difference.”

“So, uh” Barclay’s fingers cling to the knees of his jeans, “does that mean I could maybe, uh, kiss you?”

Joseph cups his cheek, guiding him in for a gentle kiss on his still chilly lips. Barclay whimpers, spends a moment embarrassed by the noise before Joseph lets out a little growl and shoves him backwards, climbing on top of him and kissing him demandingly.

“‘Grrr’ to you too, babeAHhhhfuck” He rolls his hips as Joseph grinds down and sucks teasingly on his lower lip.

“Is, is that okay?” His black hair is coming loose from it’s gelled swoop, he’s blushing, and his eyes are wider than Barclay’s ever seen.

“Oh my god it’s so much more than okay.” Barclay groans, bringing his hands up to squeeze his ass and press them closer, “fuck, babe, do you have any idea how many times I wanted to drag you into the stand and, fuck, and cover your mouth so no one would know how hard I was making you cum.”

“Lordalmighty” Joseph jerks his hips, “why didn’t you?’

“Because I OH, oh yeah, bite there again, I wasn’t sure you liked me that way, and I really like you, and I didn’t wanna fuck things up.”

Joseph kisses his cheek, murmurs in his ear “Well, now that you know the truth, I want you to fuck me up, big guy. Think you can do that?”

Barclay growls for real this time, flipping them so they’re on their sides and Joseph’s back is pressed to the cushions of the couch. He grabs the dark haired man’s leg, hooking it over his own.

“Yeah, blue eyes, I think I can.”

With that he slams their lips together, grinding his hips hard as the couch springs wobble under them and Joseph tangles his hands into his hair. His hands make up for lost time, slipping under Josephs shirt, dipping below his pants, mapping as much as him as they can find.

“Barclay I AHlord, I have a bed you know?”

“We can use that next time, burned through all my patience not jumping you at the rink.”

He feels Joseph smile, “Fine by me.”

“Fuck” he drags his mouth down, Joseph laughing when his beard scratches his neck, “fuck there’s so much I wanna do to you. Bet it’s so fucking fun to fuck you after practice, bet you’re all worn out and wanna be taken care of.”

“Holy shit.” Joseph matches his pace, working his hips as best he can in time with Barclay’s increasingly erratic thrusts.

“Gonna keep you in bed all day, babe, suck you off so good you’ll beg me to come back tomorrow, gonna show you just how good I can treat you with this” he gives a sharper thrust for emphasis, “gonna, fuck, ohfuck, Joseph, fuckfuck” he cums hard, lifts his hand up to hold onto the top of the couch as the rides it out, Joseph moaning into his mouth and functionally pinned between him and the cushions.

“Fuck I, I didn’t mean to cum in my pants like it’s my first fucking time.”

“Don’t apologize, that’s the best thing anyone’s done with me in months. Now” he nips Barclay’s ear, “show me how creative you are, big guy, and get me off.”

“Hell fucking yeah.” Between the two of them they contort enough to get Joseph's pants open and down, Barclay shifting back slightly to slide his hands into his boxer briefs, the front of which is completely soaked.

“That’s so fucking hot, can’t believe you want me that bad”

“Nnnnnhuh” Is what Joseph manages in reply, his face pressed into the crook of Barclay’s neck, breath coming in short, warm bursts as he jacks him off. Barclay pays attention to which motions make him louder, which make him wiggle his hips with more force, and peppers the side of his face with kisses, wondering how the fuck he got so lucky.

Joseph gets less eloquent the longer Barclay works him over, sinks his teeth into the neck of his shirt as he cums, whole body taut and picture perfect as he does. Barclay pulls his hand away, flopping it over Joseph's hip as they lay panting, the dark haired man nudging them so he can rest against Barclay’s chest while the larger man thanks the lucky stars floating somewhere just above the ceiling for all this.

“Do you, um, want to stay for dinner? I have to do laundry anyway, so I can toss your clothes in so you don’t have to drive home like that” He ghosts a hand over the damp spot by Barclay’s fly.

“That an excuse to have me wandering around your place naked?”

“Not entirely. Your shirt is fine, and I think I have some underwear that will fit you.”

“Fine, half-naked.” He kisses the top of his head.

“When you put it like that, yes. This is both an excuse to have you half-naked in my house and to spend more time with you. Which might be my favorite thing in the world; seeing you at the rink was always the best part of my day.”

Barclay cuddles him closer, wrapping him in his arms to keep away any lingering ice in the air. “Mine too.”

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #taz amnesty #winter fills

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kissjane · 4 years

Text

AFRAID OF THE DARK / Short(ish) fic

#50 from this prompt list.

I’m scared but won’t admit it so you take my hand

It doesn’t matter how often he denies it, Lucas is afraid of the dark. And as if winter isn’t bad enough – cold, snow, ice, and happy families celebrating the holidays, reminding him he doesn’t have a happy family to celebrate with – it also comes with darkness. It is dark when he leaves his flat in the morning, and dark when he comes home again in the evening. Even if he leaves a small lamp on in the living room, he hates arriving at a dark house. He hates walking through the murky alleys. He hates climbing the dark stairway in which the lightbulbs are broken by kids playing soccer faster than the janitor can replace them. He hates everything about it.

And so when, after a particularly gruesome day at work – okay, he’ll be the first to admit he did make a small mistake, but it had in no way been bad enough to warrant the insults his boss had thrown his way –, he opens his front door and clicks the light switch, only to be met with a spark, a hiss, and the telltale click of all electrical appliances shutting off, he nearly sinks down against the door and cries.

He has candles somewhere, and flashlights, and his phone, but it is not enough. The December dark is too big to be chased away with some tiny flames and a flickering flashlight. This calls for drastic measures.

And so Lucas turns around, locks the door again, and braves the cold and the dark again to go over to Eliott’s – whose flat, when Lucas gets there, is brightly lit and toasty warm. Not that Lucas is surprised, because Eliott is the sun personified.

But Lucas’ luck has well and truly run out, it seems, because when Eliott opens the door for him, he is bundled up in a coat and a scarf and a hat, ready to go out.

“Hey, Lucas,” he says, surprise evident on his pretty face, “did I forget you were coming by?”

And suddenly Lucas is painfully aware that he should have called first. They are friends, Eliott and he, but they’re not at the ‘coming-by-whenever-unannounced’ level. And here Lucas is, standing on the doorstep, with this vague plan of asking Eliott if he can stay, because his electricity is not working. Stupid, he scolds himself silently.

“Uh, no, sorry,” he stammers out loud, “I just thought we could hang out, but you obviously have plans, so…”

He lets his sentence trail off. He always feels a bit intimidated by Eliott, who is so confident and charming. He wonders why Eliott would even want to be friends with Lucas, who is – well, just Lucas.

“Or you could just come with!”, Eliott exclaims, full of exuberance and enthusiasm. “I was gonna take a walk to check out the Christmas lights everywhere.”

Ugh. Lucas doesn’t really think voluntarily going out into the cold and the dark sounds like fun, and Christmas is just a commercial thing anyway, right? But Eliott is bouncing with hardly contained joy, and the alternative is a dark flat which may be warmer than the Paris streets, but has no Eliott. Lucas quickly balances his options against each other, and with a last look at Eliott, who has stars in his eyes and a wide grin on his face, he gives in.

And Lucas has to admit, wandering through the crisp winter air with Eliott, watching the Christmas displays, might not be the worst way to spend a December evening.

But then Eliott suddenly starts fumbling with a small, rusty gate, and he beckons Lucas to follow him. Lucas does so, after only a flash minute of deliberation – because well, it beats staying behind alone, right? But Eliott has moved way ahead, and Lucas doesn’t know where they are, and it is so dark. He hears noises he can’t interpret, and when he feels something against his arm – which, rationally, he knows is probably a branch moving with the wind – he can’t help but let out a high yelp.

Embarrassed, he claps his hand in front of his mouth, but Eliott must have heard anyway, because he retreats his steps hastily.

“Lucas? Everything okay?”

Lucas feels his cheeks burn, but he hopes Eliott won’t be able to see.

“You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?”, Eliott says, a teasing lilt in his voice, and shrugs.

“And if I was?”, he retorts with a clear challenge in the words.

“Then I would do this,” Eliott replies after a few beats, softly, and before Lucas realizes what is going on, Eliott has grabbed Lucas’ hand and holds it tightly.

“Come on,” he continues. Lucas wonders if he imagines the slight tremor in his friend’s voice. “It’s not far.”

They continue, and maybe Lucas’ eyes get used to the dark, or maybe it’s Eliott’s fingers intertwining themselves with Lucas’, but it doesn’t seem so frightening anymore. Lucas tries to make out Eliott’s face, but it is too dark to see anything but shadows. He lets his thoughts wander. He thinks about the day he met Eliott in the library, the older boy sitting across Lucas with an apologetic smile, mumbling something about no free tables. About how Eliott had come up to him in the park a few days later, ignored Lucas’ confused smile, and greeted him with a cheery “Hey, study buddy” as if they are long lost friends. About how after the fourth or fifth time Eliott had waved at him from across the hallway, he’d asked Lucas for his name, so he wouldn’t have to call him study buddy any longer. How Eliott had started following Lucas on Instagram a few days after that. He runs their whole short acquaintance through his mind, and then Eliott stops and opens his arms wide, as if to present something awesome to Lucas.

It is an old concrete tunnel, and Lucas shivers. It will be dark and cold and damp and he really doesn’t want to crawl in there, but in the dim light, he can see how excited Eliott is.

And then Eliott crouches down, opens his backpack, and starts placing tealights all over the place, lighting them one by one.

Lucas cannot help but stare, mesmerized, at the sea of light Eliott is creating. It drives away all the eerie shadows and is enough to illuminate even the furthest corners and crevasses. It is beautiful, all these tiny lights coming together in this warm glow. And when Eliott lights the last one and looks up at Lucas from his crouched position, his smile wide and his eyes sparkling, Lucas feels like another lightbulb suddenly flicks on above his head.

Because Eliott is beautiful. Lucas knew this, obviously, but it hits him like a sledgehammer all of a sudden – not just a quick, objective, passing appreciation of conventional beauty, but rather all the unique parts that make up Eliott and that etch themselves onto Lucas’ heart with a wistful ache. The flames reflect in his big eyes, and Lucas realizes that they are the warmest shade of grey he has ever witnessed, with blue swirls and green flacks like some sort of impressionist painting. Lucas closes his eyes for a second, blinded by the intensity of Eliott’s, and when he opens them again, Eliott has stood up, and the moment seems lost – but Lucas knows he will never look at Eliott the same again.

“Let’s sit,” Eliott says, and Lucas cannot refuse, and so they sit, leaning against the wall, surrounded by candlelight, and Lucas’ head swims with sudden realization.

It all makes so much sense now – why he wanted to go to Eliott when he needed light and warmth, when he needed to feel safe. Why he would follow Eliott into the dark without hesitation. Why Eliott’s hand soothes his fears.

And when Eliott looks at him with impossible soft eyes, Lucas feels like his heart might explode, and so he blurts out the first thing he can think of.

“I’ve always hated Christmas.”

Eliott startles, but then settles against the wall again, and his hand creeps closer to Lucas’. They almost touch, and the phantom sensation makes Lucas shiver.

“Are you cold?”, Eliott asks, and without waiting for Lucas’ answer, he pulls Lucas into a hug.

One heart-stopping moment, Lucas freezes, but then he settles into it, moulding his figure to Eliott’s, his head on Eliott’s shoulder. He closes his eyes, and wills himself to be calm. Breathe.

“I love it,” Eliott then says, and Lucas thinks Eliott means their new position, but he continues, “it’s so beautiful, with all the lights everywhere, and the decoration, and people celebrating together. The Christmas songs. The food. People trying to find each other the perfect gifts.”

Lucas shrugs, but doesn’t speak.

“Why do you hate it?”

And maybe it is because Eliott cannot see his face right now, or because of the strange intimacy in the candlelit tunnel, or because of his new-found feelings for Eliott, but either way, Lucas starts speaking, his voice low, but honest.

“It was never a cause for celebration when I was a kid. My family definitely wasn’t trying to find each other the perfect gift. My dad would be off from work, and he would fight with my mom all the time… And when I got older, my mom got worse, and my dad would just leave the house for days on end. And he became more and more disappointed in me – for not being in any sports team, or some other inane reason… He’d yell at me, yell at my mom. And then he left, and my mom was so depressed she couldn’t even leave her bed most of the time. It was so hard, taking care of her. I was just a child myself. And then she had to be hospitalized, and I lived on my own for a while, and things were tough. And at Christmas it just became even harder, watching everybody else be happy and cosy together…”

His voice trails off, and he laughs, small, self-deprecative.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be such a downer. I promise I’m not so gloomy usually. It’s just, well, I’m probably spending the holidays alone again this year, because Yann is going to celebrate with his family, so I’m not looking forward to it. But enough about that. Let’s talk about something else.”

Eliott is silent for a while, and Lucas regrets opening his mouth. Eliott brought him here to this magical place, and Lucas had to spoil it all by being such a negative Nancy. He is panicking, trying frantically to lighten the mood, to take back what he said, when Eliott’s voice suddenly reverberates through the tunnel.

“You could spend the holidays with me, if you want.”

Lucas lifts his head and stares at Eliott.

“What?”, he asks, certain he misheard. “Why?”

Eliott shrugs. Lucas looks at him, at his expressive face – is that uncertainty he sees in those grey eyes?

“Why not? I want to spend more time with you.”

“But we’ve only known each other for a few months… We’re not even all that close,” Lucas hears himself say, even though he wants to accept so badly. “Isn’t Christmas something to be celebrated with family?”

Eliott looks away, and his voice is low, but it echoes through the tunnel.

“We could become closer. I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

Lucas sits very still. Eliott’s arm is still around him, and he feels Eliott still after he speaks.

Lucas’ mind goes back to what he was pondering about earlier, as they walked hand in hand through the dark. About how Eliott had sought out Lucas time after time. About how he smiles at Lucas sometimes, as if Lucas holds all the secrets of the universe. About how he held Lucas’ hand when Lucas was afraid of the dark, and sheltered Lucas from the cold, and now offers to protect Lucas from his own bad memories and a lonely Christmas.

And Lucas forgets about December. Eliott is July – is warmth and sunshine and freshly made lemonade and the smell of cut grass and vanilla ice cream.

And when Eliott finally turns to face Lucas again, Lucas’ smile is wide and open.

“How close?”, he says, moving into Eliott’s space. He can feel Eliott’s breath on his lips, and his smile grows impossibly bigger.

And Eliott’s eyes are full of stars when he leans in, and shows Lucas exactly how close without words.

#I write things #Elu #50 cliché prompts #☯

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storynightlight · 4 years

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ZK Drabble December Day 1: Nightfall

Also on Ao3

Zuko was woken up by the sound of steps outside his room. Not daring to move he laid still on his side, facing the corner of the room where his dao swords rested. His breathing was slow and silent, his room was illuminated only by the moonlight and, so far, there was complete silence. He turned his head a little towards the door and, after seeing it wasn’t moving, sat up in the bed covered in animal pelts.

He briefly wondered if he had imagined things. After all, nights at the South Pole were considerably different from the ones at the Fire Nation and he still hadn’t gotten used to the cold environment of the Southern Water Tribe, no matter that it wasn’t his first visit. Maybe he was just exhausted from the trip and his mind was playing tricks on him as a result. Or maybe his council’s paranoia had finally gotten to him and he was now associating everything with assassination attempts even though he was miles away from the Fire Nation.

The return of the sound convinced him that he was not making things up. He slowly got up from the bed and stared at the door. The sound stopped once again which meant that the person had stopped in their tracks. Walking carefully towards the door he prepared himself in case the door opened and the person attacked him. He was grateful that he was good at stealth and, as such, had an upper hand when it came to surprising his opponents. He breathed slowly, his inner fire burning brightly to help him stand the cold, and watched as the ice door slowly opened.

As the person slowly walked into the room he reached for their arms and pinned them behind the person’s back. Holding their wrists together with his right hand and covering the intruder’s mouth with his left one Zuko pushed himself against the wall, keeping a tight grip on the person who he now could see was wearing a parka, probably to avoid being recognized. The intruder struggled against his grip and, in the frenzy of the moment, bit his hand causing him to uncover their mouth.

“Zuko, it’s me! Let me go!” the intruder spoke. And it that moment he realized that the intruder was a woman, a woman he knew very well, a woman who was going to kick his ass if he didn’t let her go. So, he released her immediately.

“Agni Katara,” he began, rubbing his hand where she had bit him. “what were you thinking, coming into my room like that?”

It took a moment for both of them to calm down completely. During their brief struggle Katara´s hoodie had come down and he could now see her bright blue eyes staring back at him while she absentmindedly played with her braid.

“Sorry Zuko, I jus didn’t think you’d be awake.” She looked at the floor while crossing her arms. “Were you having trouble sleeping? You know what…I should go. See you in the morning.” She headed for the door but was stopped by Zuko’s hand on her shoulder.

Zuko looked at her in the eye and sighed. “Katara wait, it’s fine now.”

“It clearly isn’t, I almost gave you a heart attack!”

“No, no you didn’t.” he lowered his hand “Why are you here though? Did something happen? Is everything alright with Sokka and Suki?”

Katara shook her head “No, everything is fine with them. Well, they have been more nervous than usual but it’s just because the wedding is near and you know how they are.” She explained, still having her arms crossed. It was clear she was still embarrassed by the whole situation.

Zuko nodded in understanding “I see. So, everything’s fine then?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. I came here, actually, because I want to show you something. And before you ask, no. It cannot wait until the day.” Given the tone of her voice, Zuko knew she wasn’t going to take no for an answer so he had no option but to tell her that he would be ready in an instant.

Once he had put on the parka and gloves that had been given to him upon his arrival, Zuko followed Katara outside the large ice building that now served as the house for Chief Hakoda and his family. The Southern Water Tribe truly had changed during the last five years and it had come a long way from the small village Zuko had once invaded while looking for the Avatar. It now looked more like a city in all of it’s prime and it had recovered quite nicely from the Hundred Year War. Zuko was happy to see the tribe at peace now even if his first visit there would forever haunt him.

Katara guided him outside the house and away from the buildings. Zuko at first wondered if they were allowed to go that far away from the house but knowing Katara, she would do whatever she pleased no matter what the others told her so he did not question where they were going. Besides, this was Katara he was talking about, the girl that had saved his life after he had protected her from his sister. He trusted her with his life so he doubted she had anything devious planned for him.

“Come on, we’re almost there.” She called out to him as she climbed a small snow hill. There was a certain excitement in her voice mixed with a little joy that made him wonder what was so exciting that she needed to wake him up in the middle of the night for him to see it. He watched as she sat down in the snow and beckoned him to accompany her. “Now Zuko, it’s nothing dangerous. You’ll like it, I promise.”

He followed her command and sat down next to her. The spot she had chosen was smart, it was quite far from the house but it was still dimly illuminated. The night was calm and, without anyone else near, it provided a sense of relaxation that he really appreciated, even though he was a firebender visiting the South Pole.

“Katara,” he began after some time had passed without the two saying a word. “don’t get me wrong but what exactly are we supposed to be looking at?”

“Shhh, it’s starting. Look!” she pointed to the sky and Zuko turned his head towards where she was pointing. And that was when he saw it.

It happened way to fast. Across the dark sky a streak of light suddenly appeared cutting into the darkness like a sharp knife. It appeared to have a life of its own since it moved so fluently through the sky in a way that could only be described as magical. The green light, bright and captivating, danced through the sky while changing colors. Yellow, blue, purple, the colors painted the sky in a way Zuko had never seen. There was nothing in the Fire Nation that could compare to this; it was as if the sky was alive right in front of him and had blessed him with this scenery. In that moment, he forgot everything. No Fire Nation, no council, no trades, nothing else mattered at the moment. The only thing that he could focus on was the dancing lights in front of him.

“Wow.” He muttered “It’s so beautiful.” He turned to look at Katara, who was watching the sky with her face full of wonder and admiration as well.

“It really is, isn’t it?” she wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. “I was hoping you’d enjoyed it. I know that nights here may be kind of difficult for you, having the Sun so far from you and with the nights seeming longer than what they really are. That and also the fact that ever since you arrived I’ve hardly seen you relax even though you were invited to Sokka’s wedding not as the Fire Lord but as Zuko, our friend. You have enough weight on your shoulders back in the Fire Nation but here you have nothing to worry about. I know your visit is short but during this time maybe you could come and look at the southern lights, it really helps.”

Her voice was so sincere and so caring, just like how she had always been. It appeared that some things just never changed and that included Katara’s caring nature. Never before had Zuko been more grateful for having such a wonderful person in his life, someone who would always have his back just a he would always have hers.

“Thank you Katara.”.

She smiled at him and turned her attention towards the lights once more. Watching her admire the colorful sky of the South Pole, Zuko couldn’t help but to smile.

#Zutara #zkdrabbledecember #Zuko #Katara #fanfic

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vanaera · 5 years

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Love at First Snow (jhs)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, yeah-”

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

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

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

Hoseok gives him a pointed look, unamused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that got to do with this?!”

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

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

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

“Then say it,” Jimin cocks a brow.

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

“Well, yeah,” Taehyung says honestly.

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

Hoseok gulps, a guilty sweat forming on his temple.

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

“Well, I don’t remember any movies—”

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

“That’s science and faith!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N slaps his hand away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because, why wouldn’t he be flabbergasted?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just decided I want to go home.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I’m not everyone.”

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

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

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

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

"But you already got lots of friends.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do-do you really mean that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way,” Hoseok’s jaw drops open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what did he say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How will we do that?”

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

“HOSEOK, DAMN YOU!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, I like you.”

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

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

“W-what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This pasta?” Y/N looks up at Hoseok.

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

***

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

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

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

Hoseok never fails to check up on her.

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

“About five hours now, I think?”

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

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

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

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

“Glad to be of your service, ma'am.”

***

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

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

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

With super duper mega love,

Hoseok 😘”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

“How does that work, Y/N?”

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

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

“Is that a question or a statement?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what is it?”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you stop for a second, Y/N?!”

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

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

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

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

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

“H-Hobi–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what?”

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

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

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

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

“Is it that bad?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What plans?”

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

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

Hoseok tilts his head, “What is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it does not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Epilogue:

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

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

“What decorations?”

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

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

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

“Where did you throw them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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