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raplinesmoon · 1 year

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The House The Sea Built (KNJ x F!Reader)

Inspired by the Korean film Il Mare, and Namjoon’s album Indigo

pairing: rapper!namjoon x artist!reader

genres/aus/rating: strangers to lovers, angst, smut, magical realism au, time travel au, 18+

summary: It was meant to be a simple, yet practical request - leaving behind the seaside cottage meant you had to find a way for your mail to get back to you. But the response you receive from the previous resident, a man named Namjoon, dated two years in the past, is anything but simple. With extraordinary circumstances allowing you to write to each other, your tired souls find solace in your shared loneliness, and friendship blossoms. But what happens when that isn’t enough? When the ability to change life before and the future ahead becomes too tempting to resist? Will you and Namjoon find the fulfillment you crave, or will the aftermath leave you even lonelier than before?

warnings: lots of pov switches, heartbreak, references to mental health, drinking, swearing, lots of little coincidences, mentions of breakups, lots of Indigo references, Namjoon gets angry, minor accident and injury, Taehyung cameo, character d*ath, happy ending!, smut warnings: masturbation (m and f), erotic letters, squirting

word count: 13.8k

a/n: It’s finally here. This literally has to be one of the most intense labors of love I’ve undertaken, but I love Kim Namjoon, and Indigo, and this is the result of that love. I hope this fic can help you believe in the magic that exists in our mundane little world, and that it can help some of your loneliness go away, or just be understood, much like Indigo did for us when it came out. I hope you enjoy!

Present Day, 2022

What was it about saying goodbye that made it so hard? People always reminded you that you’d have the memories to hold onto, cherished moments engraved in the delicate fabric of your mind. Still, they seemed so fleeting, easily doomed to fade into oblivion as their delicate threads tore off and disappeared into the fabric of your mind.

Lost in your thoughts, you hardly notice the slip of your pen across the cardstock, leaving a garish ink stain amongst the neat print. Sighing, you decide it’s best to end your letter here, hoping the next recipient wouldn’t mind the evidence of your daydreaming staring them down on the page.

Shivering, you wrap your arms tighter around you, taking in the surrounding sea one last time. While there had been many clear blue days during your time at the seaside cottage over the past year, today was not one of them. Today, the fog was so dense the mist clouded the horizon as far as anyone could see, the only sign of the water being the gentle sound of the waves lapping against the shore. Your toes itched to take one last walk on the feather-light sand and to feel it squish between your toes, but you didn’t want to get your shoes dirty before making it to your new apartment.

A soft meow calls your attention, and you look over to see a pair of curious green eyes studying you from the shadows. Smiling, you slip the postcard into its envelope, reaching for the heavy box of art supplies - the last imprint of yourself remaining in the house, and rising to your feet.

“Alright Bokboki, it’s time to go,” you whisper softly, your boots thudding against the gangplank that kept the house elevated from the rising tide. Handing your box to the movers, you remember to pick up the card, holding it tightly to your chest with one hand, while scooping up Bokboki with the other. The wind whipped around your face, your hair flying in all different directions as you stepped back to take a look at your home.

Slipping the postcard into the rust-covered mailbox, you hoped the next resident would appreciate the place as much as you did. More importantly, though, you hoped they honour your request in the note - the letter you were expecting was too important to miss.

Climbing into the taxi with Bokboki, you wave a final goodbye to the cottage, turning your gaze away to await the promise of the new life that lay ahead.

. . .

Groaning you turn against the scratchy sheets of your new bed, temples throbbing with pain as you’re greeted by the rays of sunlight upon rising. You missed the dense fog of the house by the sea, allowing you to sleep in as long as you wanted. Here, in this lonely box of an apartment, you were a slave to everyone else’s clock, awakened by the unforgiving light that signaled it was time to have another productive day. You cover your face with the blanket, burrowing back into the sheets.

Five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

. . .

Those five minutes had unexpectedly turned into twenty, and now you were tripping over the boxes you had yet to unpack, slipping and sliding on the cool tile as you struggled to put your heels on and smooth down your hair. First impressions mattered when it came to finding work in your field, and you had to present the polished, sophisticated image that won the hearts (and the pockets) of most gallery owners.

Locking the door behind you, you see the woman from across the hall step into her own apartment as you’re leaving yours.

“How are you today?” you ask with a smile, only to feel the wind from the door slamming shut in your face. Dejected, you make your way down the staircase with your shoulders slumped.

Passing by the mailbox, you wonder if it’s worth taking a look for your letter, but decide against it. It had only been the first day after all. Who knew if Taehyung was even awake right now, halfway across the world?

Shaking your head, you ward off the intrusive thoughts in your mind, knowing that the letter would come, and all your worries would be eased. For now, you had an interview to go to.

. . .

The cold glint of the gallery manager’s eyes is all you remember, his booming laugh echoing in your ears, the sound seeming less like the jolly joke he intended it to be when he called your work unrefined, and more like a mockery that made your skin crawl. All you’d wanted to do was curl in on yourself in that moment, your feet itching to run to the corner and collapse. Instead, you’d politely wished him a good day, waiting until you were outside to let the first tears fall.

With your eyes trained on the ground as you walk through the brightly lit streets, you barely take a moment to notice the joyful spirit that permeated the air, couples and families all out for a stroll in the chilly weather, enjoying each others’ company. It only made you feel more alone as you ascended the stairs to your apartment, Bokboki’s soft meows greeting you upon opening the door.

Looking at your phone, you see a missed call from Hyung-seo, your best friend, asking if you wanted to hang out tonight. Slumping onto your couch, you try to figure out the best excuse, when your eyes came across the picture of you in Taehyung in the corner, cheeks red from the cold and arms wrapping each other in a warm embrace. Your fingers tremble over the phone buttons, hesitating but never daring to press call.

What was it about feeling sad that only made you want to be even alone? Humans were strange in that way.

Giving Bokboki a few scratches between the ears, you change into your pyjamas and brush your teeth. Tomorrow you’d go back to the house and check if the letter from Taehyung had arrived. You needed some kind of sign that things would be better from now on.

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon looks at the tree with its vibrant leaves hued in red, orange and gold, and a twinge of sadness goes through him. As beautiful as they were, he knew he’d only get to enjoy them for a short while before the wind lifted them up and away, and winter settled in on the coast.

He hadn’t actually been inside yet. The company had dropped off all his things in the cottage, but Namjoon had been too scared to step over the threshold, because that meant accepting this new phase of his life. One where as the world had shut down and gone to sleep, he hoped that people wouldn’t notice how he faded into obscurity, never to be heard from again.

Quite frankly, Namjoon was tired of being heard from. As a performer and a rapper, he was used to thousands of eyes on him every second, whether it was at a concert or even through his pictures on the internet. The mask that he’d chosen to don as his alter ego, RM, had become heavy, the strings threatening to snap and reveal the tired, fragmented soul that lay underneath. He’d chosen to intervene before anyone could see him, the real him. He didn’t want to disappoint them.

Staring out at the sea, the wind ruffles the strands of his hair, and he knows he should get a haircut. But then again, who was gonna see him out here anyway? At most, maybe Yoongi or Hoseok would stop by, or his parents. They were the type of people who wouldn’t care if his hair was a little bedraggled, or if he gained or lost a couple of pounds. They’d love him anyway.

The garish ringtone of his cellphone jolts him awake from his thoughts, and he pulls it out of his pocket to see Hoseok’s name light up the screen, hitting the answer button.

“Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok’s voice rumbles through the screen. “You said you’d call when you got there.”

“Sorry, just unpacking,” Namjoon lied, hoping Hoseok wouldn’t catch on. “The house is nice. Do you know who designed it? It doesn’t seem like it was built by some generic construction company.”

He knows Hoseok is rolling his eyes on the other side of the phone, babbling that it was some architect, but Namjoon’s question had been sincere. He wondered who could have wanted to hide from the world bad enough that they’d design a house on this isolated beach, where the winds were wild and the sun shone rarely, and how someone who he’d never met could have understood his desire to not be found so deeply.

“Thanks for the Kaws figurine by the way,” Namjoon gives out at small smile when thinking of Hoseok’s parting gift. “I’ll find a nice place for it.”

Hoseok’s infectious laugh echoes through the speaker, and Namjoon feels his gut lurch, missing his friend.

“You better send me a picture of what you’ve done with the place, and don’t forget to call, huh? Me and Yoongi-hyung are gonna hold you to it.”

Namjoon remains silent on the other end, staring out at the vast horizon, nothing and no one around for miles.

Hoseok clears his throat on the other end, his voice becoming serious.

“Stay happy, Namjoon-ah, talk to you soon.”

“You too, Hob-ah,” Namjoon finally musters before the line cuts dead, leaving him alone once more. Staring at the open door, his new life waiting for him inside, he rises to his feet, walking towards the house that was now waiting for Namjoon to make it a home.

. . .

The first thing he had to tackle was his massive collection of books, the numerous volumes waiting to be homed on the weathered shelves. He knew they wouldn’t stay tidy for long, with his habit of taking one down every day to read and somehow never putting it back. Staring at the walls, he tries to assess the light filtering in through the window, wondering where he could hang his paintings.

The entire house was blue, from the well-worn wood to the sunlight reflecting off the sea, casting a cerulean glow over the walls, matching the dark blue jeans he was wearing. Instead of being eerie, it reminded Namjoon of those dioramas of a ship in a bottle. This was now his space, his spot to look upon the world, instead of having the world look at him.

As he hung up the art on the wall, he stared at it, hoping it could look back at him, and offer him the inspiration to create he so desperately craved. Studying the strokes of the Lee Bae piece, the splotches and strokes only served to remind him of the dark abyss his mind had become.

It seemed silly, the job Namjoon had. Who the fuck cared about him and his silly rhymes when the world outside was falling apart? When lives were changing like they never had before? At least for artists, their works could live on to be admired and reflected on without the pressures of the context it was created. For Namjoon, context was all that mattered - how he dressed, what he said, who he spoke to. Never how he felt.

Turning away from the lone painting hanging on the wall, he feels his temples throb with the beginning of a headache. Unpacking could wait. For now, he craved the fresh sea air, the whole reason he’d moved away from the city in the first place.

The sand on the beach squished against his feet as he ran, feeling the wind blow through his hair, and Namjoon felt freeer than he had in months. Pausing by the oceanside, he panted, hands on his knees, and drew in his chest, screaming into the great beyond, his voice hoarse and tears streaming down his face.

. . .

Returning to the house, Namjoon paused outside the rust-covered mailbox. He probably should check if there had been any important communication from the label. After all, this break was not completely a break. At the end of it, Namjoon would still be pressured to show that the time off had been worth something.

Reaching inside, he’s surprised to find an envelope within, feeling heavy cardstock in his hands. Curious, he opens it, finding a generic greeting card. Who could have sent him this? He flips the page open:

Hello there!

I’m the person that lived in this house before you did.

I have a favor to ask.

I’m waiting for a letter, actually.

So if you get anything addressed to me, could you please send it to this address?

Wishing you lots of luck in the new place.

Thank you again.

My best,

____

2022.

P.S. those pawprints by the door? They were there before I moved in. I tried my best to get rid of them, but I couldn’t. I hope you can forgive me.

Turning the letter in his hands, Namjoon is confused. The stamp was dated 2022, but it was only 2020. Whoever sent it had to be playing some kind of practical joke on him. As far as the realtor had explained to him, he was the first to live in the cottage, the architect’s lost labor of love away from the city appealing to his desire to get out of his hectic life. And there were no pawprints anywhere.

He pulls out his phone, ready to search your name on Google, but hesitates at the last minute. He knew what it was like to have his privacy invaded, to live a life under scrutiny in the age of the internet. Your letter seemed well-intentioned and even if you were a stranger, perhaps he could just do this one kind thing for you without expecting anything in return.

Lost in thought, he almost misses the sound of a car crunching on the gravel outside, looking out the window to see a sleek black vehicle he knew all too well rolling up. Throwing his coat outside, he runs to it, a surprised expression on his face.

“Hyung!” he calls out to the two figures that exit, their expressions taking in the isolated area with nothing but the sea surrounding them. “What are you doing here?”

“So this is where you’re hiding from us,” Yoongi whistles, Hoseok nudging him in the stomach.

“We brought some of your stuff from the studio,” Hoseok says cheerfully, his heart-shaped smile piercing through the fog.

“Do you want some tea?” Namjoon doesn’t want to invite them in, but feels like he has to.

Yoongi studies him, his dark eyes glimmering, and Namjoon senses something is up. They’d known each other for too long to keep secrets from one another.

“This came for you,” he holds out a piece of paper. “It’s from Ji-hyeon.”

Namjoon flinches at the mention of his ex’s name, and instantly the walls he’d built up in his mind to keep them out of it crashing down, the bitter end of their relationship causing bile to burn in the back of his throat.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it,” he spits out, and he watches Yoongi glance at him. He knew his hyung blamed Ji-hyeon for everything going south, for Namjoon needing to get away, but it hadn’t been just that. There was more going, more Namjoon wasn’t sure he was ready to share with anyone.

“The house looks great,” Hoseok interrupts the tension. “You’ll have to invite us in some other time. Hopefully you can actually learn to cook and clean up after yourself.”

He puts a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, beckoning them to go, and Namjoon watches them leave, alone and finally able to breathe again. He hadn’t realized how stifling the presence of other people had become, even those closest to him. He just wanted to be alone.

Namjoon hears a whine from his side, looking over in surprise to see a kitten staring up at him with huge eyes, like it wanted something from him.

“Hey little goyangi,” he chuckles. “Who are you – Hey!”

The kitten stares up at him for a few moments longer, before running towards the house, knocking over the can of paint by the entrance, Namjoon chasing after it.

He walks in to see little black pawprints all over the entry, and is immediately reminded of the letter from earlier.

P.S. those pawprints by the door? They were there before I moved in.

Namjoon runs to his study, tripping over boxes on the way, desperately searching for where he kept his pen and paper. He had to know how you knew about the pawprints, and whether you really were from the future.

Sitting against the wall, he’s unsure how to start - responding to yes your request seemed so trivial, limiting the ability to ask all the questions he wanted answers to. Instead, he decided to take a simpler approach, speaking from his heart:

Dear ____,

I’m fucking lonely…

Present Day, 2022

Curling tighter into your coat, you take in the old cottage, still standing as proudly and as empty as the day you moved in, a lone display piece against the backdrop of the sea. You’d contemplated coming back for a little while now, not having heard from Taehyung or the new resident. Taking matters into your own hands, you’d been surprised to hear that no one new had moved in, lying to the realtor that you’d left something behind.

Key in hand, you open the door, greeted with the vast space that seemed cold and sad without the warmth of a human being and their possessions to fill it. Things had been rough lately, a few more visits with gallery owners and exhibitions not going the way you’d expected them to, and it made you remember why you loved this place so much.

Here, no one could remind you that you weren’t enough, that you’d have to try again. You were just free to be as you were, the ocean your silent partner. Throwing the sleeping bag onto the floor, you scoop up Bokboki, cuddling him in your lap. The two of you remain silent, watching the sky change and the clouds shift, until night falls and you drift off to sleep.

. . .

You open your eyes with a start, the hard wood that you’d fallen asleep on causing pain to explode across your back. Turning, you see Bokboki snoozing off right next to you, his tiny body moving up and down with each breath. The first rays of sunlight have begun to break through the window, and you know it’s a sign that the weekend is almost over, and you’ll have to leave soon.

Stretching, you wrap your sweater tight around yourself, slipping on your shoes to go check on the mail outside. The air is crisp and the fog dense. Slipping your hand inside the mailbox, you’re surprised when you feel an envelope in there, one that hadn’t been present at the start of the weekend.

Taking it out, you open the envelope to find a plain piece of paper, the messy scrawl of black ink all over the pages. Could someone have responded to the card you’d left? Your eyes scan over the page:

Dear ____,

I’m fucking lonely. Sorry for the abrupt introduction, but I just had to get that off my chest, and as you probably know, there’s no one around for miles. As much as I want to help you, since it seems like you’re waiting for something (or someone?) important, but I think you sent that letter to the wrong address. I’m the very first person who’s lived here. I apologize for not being able to help more, and wish you the best of luck with your search.

Sincerely,

Kim Namjoon

Glancing at the stamp on the right hand corner, you see that it’s dated from 2020, and your eyes widen. Was this some kind of sick prank? Whatever it was, you weren’t going to put up with it. You’d been pushed around and dismissed by too many people in your life to stand for it with some stranger.

Rifling through your bag, you find your small sketchbook and a pen, tearing off a sheet. As much as it pained you to rip what could house a potentially new piece of art, this warranted a response and warranted one now.

Listen,

I don’t know why this letter sent to you, but if you’re playing some kind of joke, can you please just leave it where you found it? Thanks.

___

P.S. you’re not seriously sending me letters from 2020, are you? That has to be a typo. Also, the weather is getting colder outside, please make sure to bundle up.

Stuffing the letter back into the mailbox, you feel tears prick at your eyelids. Why couldn’t anyone ever take you seriously? You weren’t just some doll or plaything to be tossed around and abused. You were a real person, with real feelings, and it seemed like no one ever got that about you. You didn’t know why you’d ended with another well-wish, now this Namjoon guy would just think he could use you again.

Suddenly, you feel a cold splish! on the tip of your nose, looking up to see a soft scatter of snowflakes descend from the sky. You feel Bokboki brush against your leg, and smile, your anger of a moment ago forgotten. The tension in your shoulders eases as you close your eyes and make a silent wish that despite the bumpy start, the incoming snow would treat you kindly, and perhaps all that you deserved would finally come your way.

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon shivers with his hands in his pockets, standing outside the mailbox once again. You’d sent another letter. He’d seen it on his way out to the nearby small village this morning, his empty fridge taunting him. While his fingers had itched to tear open the envelope, he needed time to sit and process whatever your response would be.

Opening it, his eyes fall at your cold response, the only thing keeping his frozen tears at bay your request for him to stay warm. Maybe you did have a heart after all. Sighing, he shoves the letter into his pockets along with his hands, breaking into a run as he ventures to escape the frigid winter air.

Shaking the snow from his hair, he strips off his winter clothes, teeth chattering from the cold. He walks down the hallway to the bathroom, stripping the rest of his clothes and filling the tub up with warm water. At the sound of the dripping, his new cat friend comes pattering in. Namjoon had decided to keep the curious creature after much contemplation. Just because he felt lonely, didn’t mean he wanted to be completely alone.

He sighs as he steps into the tub, the water instantly filling him with warmth. Closing his eyes, he reaches for his phone on the bench nearby. His eyebrows furrow when he sees dozens of messages from Yoongi and Hoseok, asking about how he’d settled in. There was another text too - one from the company’s head, asking how the progress on his new album was going.

Namjoon wanted to bang his head against the wall. He’d barely had a break and already, people were demanding things of him again. He wondered when this all became so painful - when the fame began to feel like shackles, when everything began to seem forced. Namjoon swipes on the message, deleting it for good. He wouldn’t let the pressure get to him again. If he wanted to write music, he would. If he wanted to make poetry, he would. If he wanted to throw paint against a canvas, he would. But no one could tell him what to do.

His phone clatters against the bench, Namjoon dropping it in favor of the wineglass that rests by the tub. Taking a sip, he sighs, the hot water restoring life to his body and the alcohol numbing his brain.

“I do wish me a lovely night,” he chuckles to himself.

Present Day, 2022

Dear ____

Like you predicted, the weather got colder. It even snowed! I’m afraid though, that with the wintertime cheer, I’ve gotten a cold. I don’t know what to make of this – I can’t tell whether you’re a prophet or a fortune teller or just someone who owns a lot of crystals. But somehow all of those are easier to believe than the fact that you’re from the year 2022.

Best,

Namjoon

Clutching the letter to your chest, you sigh heavily, unsure why you’d decided to keep writing back to the strange man who seemed to live inside the mailbox at the cottage. He seemed less harmless than you thought he was, his words so sincere, you could almost imagine the smile that lit up his face as his messy scrawl danced across the page.

Reaching across your desk for a piece of paper, you dig through your collection of pens, finding your favorite one. You smile as you pen a quick response, refraining from telling him I told you so about the cold weather. It seemed extraordinary to be writing to him. Although you still couldn’t fully wrap your head around the fact that he was from the past, you hadn’t realized how lonely your life had become.

Ever since Taehyung had moved away, you’d only had Hyung-Seo. The life of an artist was lonelier than people realized. There were no glamorous gallery openings or art parties in dimly lit rooms. Many of the other artists you came across were cold and unwelcoming, preferring to stick to their already existing circles, and showing no interest in you or your pieces. Hyung-seo was the only friend you managed to hold on to, but even she had her own life to worry about.

Maybe that’s why it felt so right to be writing to this Namjoon guy. You’d been denying it, but there was a void in your life - you had no one to talk to, no one who would really listen to you. Even Bokboki couldn’t say anything back. But Namjoon listened to you - he wrote to you even when you’d been rude, searching for ways to prolong the conversation. And his words, despite how brief they were, made you feel just a little bit less lonely.

. . .

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon guzzles the last of the beer, the rush hitting him while he waits for Hoseok to come out of the convenience store. Pulling his mask up and his hood over his head, he looks down at the ground, hoping no one recognizes him at this hour. He didn’t have the capacity to deal with a fan sighting right now. In fact, he’d been hesitant to agree to Hoseok’s offer of hanging out in the city at all, preferring the peace and solitude he’d come to associate with the beach house.

He had a love-hate relationship with the place, the tall buildings and masses of people in the street only serving to make him feel lonely. For a place full of people, the city was full of sorrow. In the days he’d lived here, Namjoon’s only solace had been bike rides on the river, the briny smell of the water being the impetus that had spurred him to move out to the oceanside in the first place. While he missed it, he didn’t miss the feeling of being a wanderer, not having a place to belong in this vast metropolis.

Hoseok comes out with his haul of snacks, the two of them ready to head back to his apartment. In the car, Namjoon reaches into his pocket, fingers brushing against the last letter you’d sent, and he has a spark of realization. The address you’d been writing him from was near Hoseok’s place, maybe five or ten minutes away. Maybe he could finally meet you, the mysterious woman who occupied most of his thoughts and activities these days, the one who made him feel a little less alone in the world.

“Can we take a detour?” Namjoon asks suddenly, prompting Hoseok to look at him with raised eyebrows. “I have somewhere I need to see.”

Hoseok nods silently, and Namjoon is thankful he doesn’t question him. He gives the directions, and Hoseok drives, coming to a stop a few minutes later. Namjoon can stop himself from bolting out of the car, running up to where he know you live—

Only to find a construction site and a half-finished apartment complex, and his face falls. Taking a look at the exposed beams and the planks of wood, it finally hits Namjoon that you’re a real person. A person who’s going to live here. He wonders what you look like, what you do for work. He wants to know more about you, know where you are in the world, and when your paths will cross.

“Why are we at a construction site?” Hoseok comes up beside him, concern etched in his features for his best friend.

“No reason,” Namjoon sighs. “I just thought there’d be something else here. Let’s go.”

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon looks at the kitten, studying it with the utmost scrutiny. A tortoiseshell coat, and striking green eyes, and a little triangle patch of black hair in the middle of its head.

He hadn’t known the little guy was supposed to have a name already, but now he’d just found out: Bokboki. Namjoon is unable to speak, sitting there stunned with his little companion after reading the letter you’d just sent, ranting about how you’d spent the entire day just lounging around with your cat, whom you’d found when you moved into the house.

Namjoon hadn’t seen many other cats strolling around the beach, and since this one seemed to have a particular connection to the beach house, he realizes that in some strange twist of fate, the two of you owned the same pet, the fortuitous connection between you two only building and building. So, you really were from the future.

You’d sent him something else besides the letter, something that had shocked Namjoon even more than the revelation about little Bokboki. The piece itself is tiny, printed on a sheet even smaller than the one you’d written your letter on, but it’s nothing short of stunning. The simple flowers, not unlike the ones he’d seen growing by the beach, are shaded in different hues of blue. He can see where the acid caused the paint to stratify, feathery strokes running over the page, and the once vibrant flowers are now washed out to nothing but white, obliterated by the dark midnight of the background. In the very corner lies a small signature, and Namjoon realizes the neat scrawl is of your name.

You were an artist. Just like him.

Namjoon feels a pang within his chest, unable to reason why the tiny painting you’d shared affected him so. You hadn’t said anything about it, hadn’t bragged or even gone into detail about what it meant or why you’d chosen to paint it, or send it to him. And yet, Namjoon felt as if through this painting, he knew more about you than he had through the course of all your letters sent to each other.

You understood him. You understood what the pressure to create was like, how hard it was to condense the vast world around you into a set of lyrics, or a single painting, and to still invoke a full-bodied spectrum of emotions. He wondered if you understood the burnout too - when art no longer felt like freedom, and more like a set of shackles. How when what once made your heart beat no longer touched it at all, it felt like dying your very first death.

He doesn’t realize the tears have fallen down his face until he sees the paper he’d picked out to write back splotched with wet spots, and he sniffles.

Scrolling through his library of guide tracks until sleep makes his eyes heavy, Namjoon glances over occasionally at the painting, at a loss of words for how he could even begin to repay the beautiful gift you’d shared with him.

. . .

Dear Namjoon,

Are you for real? A still life that does not stop, keep my flower blooming again. It’s like you wrote this about my painting!! But how could you, when I hadn’t even sent it to you yet? The song was amazing by the way, even though I had to go out and buy a CD player to listen to it. You’re very talented. You should release it! I’m sure it would go viral on Spotify.

I had an inkling you were an artist too. That’s why I sent you my piece. I’m glad you appreciate it, even when others don’t seem to. But enough about me, I want to talk about you! Your music is so addictive, I can’t stop listening to it. Do you like making songs? I know sometimes it can be hard to create things and not see them get the appreciation they deserve, but I have full faith that if you were to share your talent with the world, you’d find an audience for it (okay maybe the audience would just be me, but isn’t that reason enough?). It seems we’re living in a strange thread of time right? Our previously separate lives are intertwining, thread by thread, and I can’t help but think that there’s something bigger going on. But I’ll save you from my rambling. For now, I wish you good luck with your songwriting!

Sincerely,

____

Namjoon stares at the letter, his eyes rimmed with red from tears and a lack of sleep. He wants to pull at the threads of his hair and yank them from his scalp. When he’d scrolled through his guides on a whim, choosing to send you a CD burned with Still Life, he’d never expected this reaction. He had never meant for you to hear it, or for anyone to hear it for that matter. It wasn’t the kind of music anyone expected from him, or the dark, sexy kind of song that made any money, and so he’d let it sit on his computer, abandoned.

Until now.

Namjoon wants to tear up the letter into a million tiny pieces. How dare you say that to him? How dare you give him this fragile sense of hope, knowing any moment, this cruel world could snatch it away? You were wrong. In this day and age, no one was actually interested in music. Sure, they blasted songs through their headphones on the way to work, or while running outside, or in the clubs, but did anyone actually listen to what the artists were saying? No. The lyrics remained lost in the back of their brains, no one ever stopping to think about the conversation that he was trying to initiate. Everybody talked about him, but no one ever talked to him.

Finding another piece of paper, Namjoon nearly rips through it with the force of his pen scratching across the surface.

Dear ___,

You asked me if I like making music. I don’t know anymore. I just don’t know.

Present Day, 2022

Dear ___,

We’d like to thank you for your time spent applying to our gallery. Unfortunately, we regret to inform you…

You toss the letter in the trash before you can even read the rest, covering your mouth to stop the tears from spilling out while you were in the middle of the street. It hadn’t been a good week for you. Not only had Namjoon written you an abrupt response, leaving you to wonder whether he was angry, but you’d finally gotten the letter you were waiting for from Taehyung. Except, instead of the response you’d expected, you’d been greeted with nothing but a big red stamp - return to sender.

You shove your hands in your pockets, staring blankly ahead as you walk wherever your feet will take you, uncaring of people scolding you to get out of their way or to watch where you’re going. Eventually, you find a bench, plopping down on it with a sigh, only to be met with the rude stare of some old man who promptly gets up and leaves. You weren’t good enough for anyone it seemed.

From across the bench, you can see a rusty telephone booth, a relic you thought didn’t exist anymore, and an idea sparks in your brain. A very bad idea. But your mind is powerless to stop the way you rise, feet walking towards the phone booth.

The door creaks when you open it, and you give the buttons of the phone a cursory tap, just to make sure they still work and you aren’t about to have your credit card eaten. Although it wouldn’t matter much if it was - it’s not like your name was worth much. Dialing the last number you knew to be Taehyung’s, you wait as the dial tone rings and rings.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice answers. “Hello?”

“Who is it?” a deep voice rumbles in the background, and you slam the phone back onto the receiver, your heart beating out of your chest.

Running out of the booth, you don’t stop until your feet carry you all the way home.

. . .

Shoving your coat and your shoes off, you strip off the rest of your clothes, throwing them against the wall with a thud. You want to scream. You want to break something. But you have nothing of value. Nothing that would equal the pain and the heartbreak you feel right now. All you have is yourself. And you’re completely alone.

You slam the door to your room shut, ignoring Bokboki’s soft meows, and collapse to the ground, sobs wracking your entire body. You lay there with your head against the door, wondering why the world had chosen to be so cruel to you, to leave you so lonely.

That was the hard part about getting older. When you’d been in high school, everybody had told you your adult years would be the best of your life, with so many milestones to look forward to - getting a job, entering a relationship, getting married, buying a house, having kids. And that you’d have so many people by your side to witness it all. But the reality was, none of that was true. Instead, you felt more like you were wading through the wide open ocean, with no one around to see you struggle to keep your head above the surface.

You muster enough strength to get up, stumbling over the desk, head in your hands as you stare at the piece of paper you’d chosen out to write your next letter to Namjoon. Tracing your hand over the edge, you pick up the pen, beginning to write.

I thought falling in love would make me so happy. But all it did was break me inside. It gave me fleeting happiness, only to snatch it away and laugh in my face, telling me that I’m not enough. That I will never be enough. Why though? Why does it have to be me who feels so lonely? Why do I have to go through this pain? Am I not worthy of being loved? Am I undesirable in some way? Once, just once, I wish I could love someone and have them love me back. And not in the transient, fleeting kind of way. No, I wish I could be loved, wholly and completely. I wish to know what it feels like to have someone who’ll sleep beside me every night, to wake up warm instead of freezing. To feel another pair of lips against my own, to have those lips both soothe me and undo me. To feel someone’s fingers inside me, bringing me to highs I can never reach alone. To know someone else’s body as well as I know mine, to lose myself in them completely while we make each other come.

As you write, an image flashes in your head, one of a faceless man. You have no idea what he looks like, but you can hear his voice. It’s the same voice that writes to you nearly every day, that hears your deepest thoughts, and you want him to know your darkest desires.

Your fingers slip underneath the waistband of your panties, warmth pooling in between your legs, and you resist the urge to rub your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure between them. You let out a staggered breath when you swipe through your folds, fingers sliding easily against the wetness that has begun to pool, and your hand rises to circle lightly around your clit.

You let out a moan you didn’t know you’d been holding in, closing your eyes and leaning back against the chair, your legs spreading on their own as the deep voice in your mind continues to talk to you, to repeat what you’d written in the letter, and you feel yourself clench involuntarily thinking about the faceless man in the back of your mind.

Sinking a finger inside of you, you grind your hips, your throbbing clit catching the palm of your hands. You tremble at the wet noises you can hear, accompanied by the soft staccato of your whines, and your thumb circles back around your needy bud, increasing the pressure, the pleasure rapidly building as you slide in another finger, fucking yourself against your hand.

It takes a split second for your walls to tighten around you and the taut knot in your stomach to snap, your body convulsing as your slick spilled all over your fingers, soaking your underwear and the chair below.

You open your eyes, huffing breathlessly as you remove your sticky fingers from inside of you, your heart pounding in your eyes. Looking down at the piece of paper, you shove it to the side, shame flooding your entire body at the debauched fantasy of Namjoon you’d just gotten off to. He was your friend, not some cheap rebound attempt. Your fingers tremble as you grab the pen, trying to write another letter to him to quell your racing thoughts, hoping calm would find you again after the storm that had just ensued.

. . .

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon shouldn’t be reading this. This clearly wasn’t meant for him. But wasn’t it? You’d put the letter in the mailbox, knowing it’d go through to him, knowing he’d read the very words that had his face flushing red and his cock stirring underneath his grey sweats. He felt like a total perv, getting hard when you were clearly vulnerable and sharing something personal with him, but he’d be lying if he hadn’t thought about how you looked, how you felt, how you tasted.

It’d been too long since Namjoon had sex, and he’d forgotten how strong and persuasive desire could be, leading him to do the most fucked up things. Namjoon reads the letter again, and again, and again, wondering if you touched yourself while you wrote it. Wondering if that’s why the words sounded so rushed, so frantic, spilling out of you like he’d never heard you speak before. He wonders who could make you feel that way, and jealousy stirs in his chest when he realizes it’s most likely someone else. Not him.

Still, it doesn’t stop him from tugging his sweats down, his hard cock springing out, and he wraps one hand around it, leaning back against the bed. His eyes close as he pumps himself, imagining you behind his eyelids - your lips, your breasts, your pussy. But also your smile, your eyes, your hands. And Namjoon aches to touch you, to touch anyone, to banish the deep-rooted loneliness within his heart.

A bead of precum escapes the tip of his dick, and Namjoon slides it around himself, stroking harder, and faster, thrusting into his hand imagining it was you instead, just like you’d wished for him to do. Underneath him, the bed begins to creak, and Namjoon lets out a low groan, throbbing as he bucks his hips in time with his hands.

“Fuck,” Namjoon growls as he explodes, curses falling from his lips as he slumps into the bed, chest falling and rising with heavy breaths. Sparks tingle under his skin, Namjoon’s body coming alive like it hadn’t for months.

At the same time, the guilt settles in, and he feels as though a lead weight is pressed against his chest, crushing his lungs until he can’t breathe. He feels sick inside for taking your moment of vulnerability and using it for his own selfish gains. The gross feeling remains even after he’s gotten up and cleaned himself off, his head buried in his hands when he sits at his desk.

Grabbing a piece of paper, he begins to write, words of apology flying off the page, hoping it’s enough to excuse his depravity, that you’ll forgive him, that you’ll still want to write to him. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you didn’t.

Dear ___,

I’m sorry you’re feeling this way. I don’t know if you meant to send me those vulnerable words, but if you did, I want to thank you for thinking that I’m trustworthy enough to share them with. I know nothing I say can completely heal the sadness within your heart, but maybe I can offer some wisdom from my own up-and-down experiences with love.

The reason we’re so tormented in life is because love goes on, not because it goes away. But even after we lose that love, the life of a person who’s been in love is more beautiful and vibrant than that of someone who’s never experienced love at all. Cheer up. Everything will work out the way it’s meant to.

- Namjoon

Namjoon stares at the letter for a few moments, unable to believe the poetic words that had just left him in this moment of shame when he’d been struggling to write for months. His brain churns with an idea, and he opens his mixing software, grabbing the notebook he uses to pen his lyrics, and beginning to write.

If love ain’t for us

I’ll be satisfied with this

I don’t need your touch

I just need your love

Come closer, come closer

Present Day, 2022

Perusing the piece of paper, you wonder if Namjoon’s been drinking the past couple of days. He’s never opened up this much to you, preferring to keep your interactions surface level and friendly. But his last letter hadn’t been just friendly, it’d been poetic, reassuring you that love was worth it. You wonder if he’d been thinking of someone specific when he penned the words. Now, with this next letter, you finally had your answer.

Dear ____,

It was Ji-hyeon. Ji-hyeon was their name. I thought we had it all - the perfect chemistry, thought we wanted the same things. But I was a fool to think that love was for me. I’ve been trying so hard to let the memory of the breakup go, but it haunts me every day. Every day, a little piece of me chips off and withers away when I realize that I’m losing myself. I’m losing my sanity. I’ve ceased to be a human and instead become a prisoner to this industry. To making music. And I just want to let it all go. To quit. That’s why I moved out here in the first place, to find some peace away from the hectic city. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t. I can’t let it go because music is who I am, art is who I am. And it breaks me because the pull of creative expression will always overtake anything, or anyone in my life. I can’t live normally, as much as I yearn to. I can’t love anyone.

- Namjoon

You clamp your hand over your mouth to stop the tears from falling, Namjoon laying himself bare on the page, and your heart hurts for him. Not only because of his sadness, but because his loneliness is the same loneliness you feel, both of you wandering souls in this unforgiving world.

Watching your clothes spin in the washing machine, you think of Taehyung, and how he was your Ji-hyeon. Except, it was different. You’d known love, you’d known happiness unlike Namjoon had.

Grabbing your notebook, you scribble across the page, telling him that it doesn’t have to be that way, that real love is like the beauty of an amazing art piece. Something can be both beautiful and full of love, it doesn’t have to be full of ugliness and heartbreak for it to inspire you to create. Pausing, you think back on a story from a while back, deciding to divulge it to him.

The watercolor I sent you? It’s from two years ago, I was painting a whole series on wildflowers in cyanotype. But I went through so many different renditions, so many different drafts, that I ran out of my favorite watercolors, the . I ran to my favorite store, hoping, praying that the creative streak I was on wouldn’t leave me, that if I just had those watercolors, I could keep going. I could make something of myself. But they weren’t there. Someone had bought them just moments before I entered the store, the last set. After that, I just gave up. I was strapped for money and couldn’t afford another set, let alone the time it would take to scour the city looking for them. I haven’t touched the paintings since.

. . .

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon throws his coat over his shoulders, stopping only to scratch Bokboki between the ears before he runs outside, stumbling into the taxi as he frantically tells the driver to take him into the city. The roads pass him by, the serene landscape becoming dotted with more and more buildings, more people as the minutes go on. He asks to be let off at a random intersection, tipping the driver generously before he’s off running again.

There were a million art stores here. Surely one of them had to have the watercolors you were looking for. Namjoon didn’t want you to become like him, paralyzed and unable to do what you enjoyed. No, he wanted better for you, and he’d make sure it happened, so your beautiful wildflowers could see the sun’s rays once again.

Finding one on the corner of a narrow street, he slips inside, greeting the store owner warmly before heading to the back wall full of paints.

His eyes scan through the rainbow of tubes and pans, until he sees them, the Kuretake ones you’d talked about in his letter. And there was only one left. Grabbing it, he rushes over to the cashier, paying for it, and running back out into the cold air, excitement coursing through your veins when he thinks of how happy you’d be when you saw him.

On his way out, he brushes against a shoulder, apologizing to the woman he’d accidentally bumped into. She gives him a polite smile before continuing on her way inside, and Namjoon smiles back, continuing on his way until he can hail a cab.

When he reaches back home, he slips the colors in the mailbox, and waits.

It’s a few days later when your response comes back, your joy evident in the way the ink bleeds across the page, telling him you’d sobbed happy tears when you saw the watercolors. You’d immediately gone to start another painting, and Namjoon feels joy bloom inside his chest at the kindness he’d done for you.

Reaching inside the mailbox, he’s shocked when his fingers close around something soft and wollen, pulling it out to see a scarf, indigo in color. The deep blue and violet fabric warms him instantly, as well as the note attached.

They say indigo is the color of intuition and perception. This scarf helped me find wisdom when I was struggling. I hope it does the same for you.

Present Day, 2022

It was a stupid mistake.

Looking at the letter again, you roll your eyes. Men. They could be so emotional sometimes, and yet they’d blame women for not having control of themselves. A small smirk makes its way onto your face as you read Namjoon’s sheepish request, asking that you send him a new tape recorder, since he’d destroyed his in a fit of rage before moving to the cottage.

Part of you wanted to laugh at his impulsiveness, but the other part of you felt sorrow for all the work he’d probably lost, just because of one rash mistake. You didn’t want him to feel sad. You wanted him to feel empowered to create, to make music again. And so, you set out on your quest to find one. The winding city streets took you on quite a journey, passing by various cafes and bookshops and parks, but you didn’t let yourself get distracted. You were a woman on a mission.

Your search finally took you to a little electronics store on the outskirts of your neighbourhood, and you look through the various tape recorders, wondering which color Namjoon would like. You wonder if he’s finally ready to start making music again, and smile when you think about being able to hear his songs again.

Paying for the tape recorder, you gather your things and walk out into the street, headphones in your ears. You’ve just stepped into the intersection when you hear a scream, feeling something slam into you from behind, sending you hurtling to the ground. Your ankle twists out of position as you topple over, and pain explodes across your entire leg as you hit the ground, scratching your hands.

Lying there, your mind chooses not to focus on how much pain you’re in, or the fact that you’re now bleeding. Instead you hyperfixate on the tape recorder that lies a few feet away, wondering how you were ever going to help Namjoon make his songs now.

You don’t know how many moments pass like this.

Waking up, you hear the beeps of a blood pressure monitor, pain trickling from the back of your head down to your ankle. You’re not in your room. It’s a hospital bed, and across from you, you see Hyung-seo looking at you with concern, jolting up out of her seat when she sees your eyes are open.

“Here, drink some water,” she offers you a cup, and you accept, the liquid soothing your parched throat. “You sprained your ankle, please take it easy.”

“Hyung-seo,” you croak to her, still worrying about the tape recorder and Namjoon. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

. . .

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon can’t stop running. He’s probably run further down the beach than he should have, the house disappearing until it’s ceased to be a speck in the distance, disappearing completely from his view. He stops himself, bracing his hands on his knees, and heaves in a few deep breaths, suddenly realizing he forgot to feed Bokboki before he went out.

He hadn’t been able to think straight for the past few days, opening the mailbox every couple of hours anticipating a tape recorder and another letter from you, but instead, he found nothing. At first, he was worried that something had happened to you. But as the days went on, an ugly feeling settled inside Namjoon’s chest. One that convinced him that you were ignoring him, that you’d purposefully grown tired of your interactions, and now wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe you’d found someone new.

Namjoon stumbles towards the ocean, feeling the waves lap at his feet, soaking through his running shoes. Fury floods his mind when he thinks of how open, how honest he’d been with everyone in his life, sacrificing his own damn mind to make them happy. And now, he didn’t even get the same back.

He wades deeper into the water, his waterlogged feet meeting resistance, and screams, his hands pulling at the strands of his hair. And then he screams again, louder this time. But no one is there to hear him.

It’s at least an hour before he returns to the house, shoes soaked with mud. Before he goes inside, he decides to peer inside the mailbox, knowing it’ll probably be worthless. As he opens the rust-covered door, his heart sinks with guilt when he sees a letter from you, and the tape recorder he’d so anxiously been waiting.

He wants to punch himself for his impatience when he reads the note, explaining that you’d met with a small accident and had been in the hospital for a couple days. His heart aches with concern for you? Were you okay? Did his selfish request cause you to get hurt?

Closing the door behind him, Namjoon looks at the tape recorder, wondering if it had even been worth it to ask for it from you. Would it really get him to work on his album? Or would it just taunt him as another reminder of his failures in life.

Sighing, he clicks the play button, ready to make the most of it no matter the outcome. But then he pauses. The sound of the tape is faint, but he can hear a voice on it. Your voice. You’re singing. Your voice is raspy, sounding unpolished, yet also rings clear and sweet. You riff a little melody, adding words that sound like a lullaby and Namjoon feels a pang in his chest. You sound so beautiful.

You end the brief recording with a laugh, apologizing for wasting space on the recorder, and telling him he can delete it. But Namjoon doesn’t delete it.

Bent over his desk, he takes the sincere melody and crafts it into a beat of his own, his low voice joining yours in perfect harmony.

With numerous thorns

The morning that comes and goes

In my own way

I'm gonna anesthetize myself, yeah-yeh

Present Day, 2022

Ride the A1 bus all the way until the second last stop.

When you get off you’ll find a tree-lined street on both sides.

If you cut through the patch of trees on the southwest, and walk exactly 1,632 steps, you’ll stumble upon something extraordinary.

I hope you like walking.

Holding the piece of paper with directions to your chest, you fight off a sheepish smile, heart pumping loudly in your ears as you think about Namjoon’s directions for your little “date”.

It wasn’t a real date, you see. The two of you had decided to send each other on adventures in your own time, but Namjoon had called it a date. The thought made you absolutely giddy. You hadn’t been on a date since Taehyung. As strange as it felt to be going somewhere on your own and calling it a date, it felt like Namjoon was with you, his spirit trapped in the letters of the page, leading you to somewhere wonderful.

You count your steps carefully as you walk, the trees lining your path on both sides, just like Namjoon had said. You marvel at their height, the blue sky peeking out from the canopy of their lives. Continuing to count each precise step, you look down at the ground until you reach 1,632. When you look up, you suck in a breath.

It’s a field full of wildflowers, the vibrant colors peeking through the grass like the twinkling of stars in a midnight sky. Your smile widens as you run into the field, laughing at the smell of the beautiful blooms, tracing your fingers along their delicate petals.

Finding a spot to put your bag down, you pull out your notebook, and begin to sketch, the wind ruffling your hair and Namjoon’s field of flowers keeping you company.

. . .

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon steps through the gallery, keeping his head down to avoid being recognized, sipping the coffe from the café you’d told him to go to before ending up here.

I think there’s an artist you’ll like, your letter had read, and Namjoon, like the smitten fool he was, was powerless against his own two feet as he immediately set off in search of the mysterious paintings.

He hadn’t meant for the word date to come out. It just had. He knew you were lonely like this, and even though he couldn’t be there to erase your loneliness in person, he figured sending you to the wildflowers would be the next best thing. And it was. You’d excitedly written back, explaining that you’d come back with at least a dozen new sketches, ready to paint and turn into cyanotype. Namjoon had leaned back in his chair, his grin wider than the ocean, his heart pounding in his chest and his palms becoming sweaty when he thought about your smile, and remembered your beautiful laugh from the tape recording.

The gallery isn’t busy this time of day, but he avoids talking to anyone, instead making a beeline for the corner you’d talked about. When he comes upon it, his jaw drops open in shock.

The strokes of the piece are ragged, burnt umber and ultramarine blue blending into a series of minimalist lines, the points where they blend creating a black deeper than any night sky Namjoon had seen.

Moving closer, he studies everything, from the worn canvas, to spots where the paint appears thicker in one area than another. The simplicity of the piece blows Namjoon away - the honesty portrayed within, showing him that he doesn’t need to be flamboyant or ostentatious to make an impact. Minimalism spoke words.

Glancing down at the artist’s title card, he sees the name. Yun Hyong-keun.

Namjoon comes home and fires up his computer, looking up interviews and more about Yun, mesmerized by the artist’s perspective on life, emphasizing his own humanity before his duties as an artist.

After his research, Namjoon pens a thank you to you for showing him the work. Coming up on the end of the letter, a bold thought crosses his mind, and he dares to write it down.

___, I’d like to meet you in person if that’s okay? Can we meet here, on this very beach? I’ll give you a day, closer to your time, so you don’t have to wait. How about December 13, 2022 at 3:00? Let me know if that works.

- Namjoon

Present Day, 2022

You slam the dress onto the countertop, the cashier looking at you in surprise.

“Aren’t you going to try it on?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Nope, just pack it up, please,” you implore her, blushing at the bold red fabric you’d picked out. Namjoon couldn’t miss you in this.

You were losing it. The date he’d given you was in three days! Not nearly enough time to prepare. How was it fair that he got a whole two years and you only got a couple of days. You wanted to meet him, but you also weren’t ready. You wondered what he’d be like. If he’d be the same as you imagined him to be, or different. Whether his voice would sound as deep and melodious as the strings of a cello, or if he had short hair or long hair. In any case, you were sure he’d be wonderful.

The next couple of days pass by in nervous anticipation, with you talking nonstop to Bokboki about your hopes and fears for the foretold meeting. You re-read all the letters you’ve shared with Namjoon before bed, wanting to impress him with how well you know him.

When the sun rises two days later, you rise bright and early with it, hopping in the shower, making sure your hair is styled to perfection, and not a smudge of makeup is out of place. You feel shy putting in so much effort, but you didn’t want Namjoon to think you were a slob. Finally, you slip on the red dress, amazed at how it fits like a glove.

Studying yourself in the mirror, you can’t help but notice that your skin looks brighter, your cheeks rosier, your hair shinier. You look like life has found its way to you once more, imbuing you with an overall glow that hadn’t existed since before you broke up with Taehyung. Your cheeks flush when you realize Namjoon is the reason for the glow, and you shake your head, banishing all your intrusive thoughts from your mind before slipping on your coat and running out the door.

It feels like the cab ride to the beach is longer today, your leg bouncing up and down in anticipation. When you finally see the beach come into view, you ask the cab driver to stop then and there, not even waiting for them to take you all the way up, instead throwing a handful of bills you hope will cover the ride.

You leap and sprint down the beach, until you reach right behind, the house, where Namjoon said he’d be. Looking around, your face falls. No one is here. Not wanting to give up, you spend a few minutes combing up and down the beach, looking for another human in sight. But there’s no one.

Returning to the house, you let out a soft gasp when you see a man there, his messy black hair blowing in the wind. Dread fills you as you realize you don’t even know what Namjoon looks like. But maybe this was him? You decide to tread carefully.

“Excuse me?” you ask him, and he turns to study you, his eyes reminding you of Bokboki, looking right through you. “Are you here to meet someone by chance?”

His polite smile turns into a grimace, and he shakes his head.

“Whoever your Tinder date is, it’s not me, I’m afraid,” he says.

“Why are you here then?” you question him, looking around at the abandoned beach. “No offense, but this isn’t exactly a tourist hotspot.”

“I had a friend who used to come here, said it inspired him to make art about the woman he loved,” the man says sadly, and you decide not to press on, giving him his privacy.

“Hey!” you hear from behind you, looking to see him waving at you. “Good luck with whoever you’re looking for. I hope you find them.”

. . .

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon wants to yank at the strands of his hair. He pushes his glasses back up onto the bridge, looking at your letter. He’s so fucking confused. He can imagine your small tears dripping onto the paper when you returned home from the beach, disappointed that he didn’t show. But Namjoon is bewildered.

He wouldn’t have missed meeting you for the world. There was no single excuse, no event, that could have caused him to miss such an important day. Unless, of course, it wasn’t up to him.

Namjoon takes a walk outside the house, descending the stairs to the beach, the indigo scarf you’d given him wrapped tightly around his neck. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and sending a wish out in to the vast world, a wish for your paths to finally connect.

It hadn’t hit Namjoon until he procured the bouquet of wildflowers in excitement for your date, going to the very field he’d shown you. His excitement had been palpable, until he’d returned home to Bokboki staring him down, and he realized he still had two years to go, and the flowers were going to wilt.

His chest had ached with the realization that it would be a long time before he ever met you, and even then, your meeting wasn’t guaranteed. Running a hand through his newly cut hair, Namjoon was struck finally with the revelation that had been creeping up on him through all these months - he’d fallen in love with you. He couldn’t pin it down to a specific moment, but rather the momentous collection of all the times you’d talked to each other. He was in love with you, despite having never seen your face or talked to you in person. His heart was many things, but it wasn’t a liar.

Which is why it broke him to think that he may never have a chance to tell you how he felt in person. That you’d never realize the depth of his feelings, because maybe your paths weren’t meant to converge. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to show the world his love, in the chances that maybe one day, you’d see it and come looking for him.

Fingering the scarf, he looks at its mellow hue, so like the sea before him, and a single thought occupies his mind.

“Indigo,” he whispers. His new album would be called Indigo.

Present Day, 2022

Sipping on your coffee, your ears perk up when you hear a voice behind you, one you hadn’t heard in a long time.

“Seojin, I’ll make it home for the engagement party, you have nothing to worry about,” Taehyung’s deep voice fills your ears, the hairs on your arms coming to stand up as he talks to someone on the phone. Your coffee cup falls out of your hand, tipping over and spilling onto your shirt.

“Shit!” you curse as the hot liquid burns you.

“___? Is that you?” you hear Taehyung’s voice call out, and you turn away, gathering your things and hiding your face.

You hear footsteps come up beside you, Taehyung’s tall figure looming over you, and you inhale the scent of his cologne, closing your eyes.

“It is, isn’t it?” Taehyung looks over at your turnt figure, reaching out an arm to pull you to face him. You can’t even look him in the eyes, instead looking at the floor. You want to tell him to go away, to fuck off, but you feel powerless and weak.

“Can we talk?” he says softly, and you don’t know why you nod. Maybe it’s finally to get the answers you’ve been searching for ever since you decided to wait for his letter in the mail.

You follow him listlessly to a table, looking out the window while he orders another coffee. Looking at your disinterested figure, you hear him let out a heavy sigh, before beginning to speak.

“It wasn’t easy being abroad, having to study there all alone,” he begins, slipping off his coat. “At first, your letters gave me something to look forward to. But then I got tired of feeling so alone. I grew close to one of my colleagues, who was by my side the entire time. We’re getting married soon. I’m so sorry ___.”

Looking up at him, you know he can see the bloodshot look in your eyes, tears threatening to spill over the edge. You don’t say anything, throwing your coat over your shoulders and running out of the cafe, your feet aching in your heels until you’re all the way home.

Slumping onto the floor, you lean your head against the window, watching the rain fall softly outside. Bokboki piles into your lap with a soft meow, and you stroke his head, continuing to watch outside. Opening the drawer to the coffee table, you reach inside, finding the framed photo of you and Taehyung, your smiles taunting you from the other side of the frame.

Things had been so simple back then. You’d loved each other, you’d wanted to spend the rest of your lives together. So why hadn’t it worked out?

Immediately, your thoughts drift to Namjoon, and how you hadn’t been able to connect with him. Were you just doomed to be alone for the rest of your life?

No. You get up, traveling to your desk to pull out another piece of paper. You could change this. You could fix things between you and Taehyung. You could cure this crippling loneliness you felt. And you knew just the person to ask.

. . .

2 years ago, 2020

I thought I could forget him. But, from the moment I heard his voice, it all came back to me. The fact that he loves someone else, and the fact that I’m aware of that, and I still love him, brings me more pain than I can ever admit. I’m sorry that I’m asking you this, but please help me. Please help me not to lose him. I’m sorry, Namjoon.

Namjoon stares blankly at the letter, unable to process the words on the page that you’d written. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and clears his mind of all the thoughts currently at war with one another. He couldn’t think about what you’d just asked of him. He didn’t want to think about it, knowing his heart would splinter even further at the fact that you loved someone else. Someone who wasn’t him.

Leaving the safety of the beach house, he decides the fresh air will help him clear his head, catching a cab to the city. When he bids the driver goodbye, he wanders aimlessly through the streets, people all around him, and yet Namjoon can’t stop thinking about you.

You, who was never meant to be in his life except as a fleeting presence, as transient and ephemeral as the trains that stopped at each station, before continuing on their journey. He knew now that your paths were never meant to cross, and that he had to make his own way in this world, as alone as he’d been before he met you.

The dreadful realization hits him that he needs to leave the beach house - he couldn’t stay there any longer. It was too full of memories, ones he’d made while writing to you, and as painful as it was to forget them, it was time to let go.

He decides to catch the bus on his way back, standing alone at the stop, until suddenly, he’s joined by another person. Turning around, he sees a woman next to him. Her eyes meet his, and widen at his indigo scarf, looking closely at it. Namjoon coughs, and she averts her eyes. Something about her seemed familiar, but she was probably just another stranger. Namjoon wants to talk to her, to be able to talk to someone else besides you. He opens his mouth to make a comment about his scarf, but is interrupted when a tall, well-dressed man swoops in, his arm wrapping around the woman.

The bus chooses that moment to arrive, and he watches the two of them climb on, the women looking back at him with a frown on her face when he fails to join them, his feet glued to the ground.

Not wanting to wait for the next bus, Namjoon walks towards the nearest cab, falling asleep on the ride home.

When he’s finally in the safety of his room again, he decides to write you again, knowing this will be the last letter he ever sends you. Because he loved you, and he wanted you to be happy with who you loved, he knew it was time to let you go.

Present Day, 2022

Holding your portfolio in your hands, your fingers tremble with excitement as you get off the bus, stepping right onto the street where Cypher Labels was located. You’d had a creative breakthrough, and someone finally wanted to hire you!

You would write to Namjoon and tell him the good news, of course. You bite your lip, worrying about him. You hadn’t heard from him since he sent the later saying he’d help you reunite with Taehyung. You had nothing but immense gratitude and affection for him in your heart. He was truly a good person, and you hoped only the best would find him in life.

Do you remember the very first letter? You wished me luck in the house the sea built. This time, I wish you luck. I hope I can help you find what you’re looking for.

You step into the offfice, and the only two people there are two hushed men whispering to each other. At the sound of your heels clacking against the floor, they look up. The shorter of the two studies you curiously, and you can’t help but feel like he��s familiar. Maybe it’s his eyes which pierce through you.

“___! It’s you, right?” the other one gives you a heart shaped smile, his bubbly demeanor immediately putting you at ease. He beckons you to take a seat at the third chair.

“I’m Hoseok, and this is my business partner Yoongi. We’re so glad you could make it. Your artwork has us very intrigued.”

You blush at the compliment, holding your portfolio to your chest.

“Do you mind telling me a little bit about the album and the project itself?”

Hoseok looks over at Yoongi, his face suddenly falling, and Yoongi gives him a tilt of his chin.

“This project is, uh, it’s special to us,” Hoseok says softly. “It’s for a friend that we lost. He used to work with us here at the label, and we were so excited when we got the drafts from him. He’d been struggling to make music, but he moved out to the beach and began talking to someone, and he finally told us he was ready to share the music inspired by his time out there with the world. The album is called Indigo, named after a scarf he was given by the woman he loved, who inspired most of the pieces on the album.”

Your face pales at Hoseok’s description. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be true.

“We lost him in a car accident nearly a year and half ago. He was on his way to meet someone.”

“W-what was his name?” you manage to choke out in a whisper, and you see Yoongi’s nostrils flare at the tears that have collected in your eyes.

“His name was Namjoon.”

You’re up and running out of the studio before you can even process the news, sobs pouring from your body as you keep going, unable to keep the tears at bay.

Namjoon had loved you. He fell in love with you through the letters he wrote, and now he was gone. Gone after he was on his way to meet someone. You do the math in your head, and realize a year and a half ago was the day in Namjoon’s life after you’d written to him, asking him to help bring you and Taehyung together.

Your heart clutches in your chest, and you double over in pain. The album had been for you. It had all been for you, every little thing Namjoon had done. And now he was gone, and he’d never know the truth.

The truth that you’d realized after reading Namjoon’s response, after hearing his willingness to sacrifice his own happiness to ensure yours. That you’d fallen in love with him too.

Sniffling into your sleeve, you pull out your phone, calling a cab. When it arrives, the driver asks you for your destination, and you hesitate, not able to give the address to your apartment. That’s when it hits you. You could change things, just like you’d asked him to. You could write him a letter and deliver it to the mailbox, so hopefully, he wouldn’t go out that day to meet you and Taehyung. You could save him, so that he’d have a full and complete life like he deserved, even if it would never be by your side.

Giving the driver the address to the beach house, you pull your sketchbook out of your pocket, scribbling furiously on the paper.

Namjoon, please listen to me. Please don’t go to wherever me and Taehyung are, I’m begging you. Please listen, please stay home.

The driver zooms towards the beach, sensing the urgency caused by your tears, and you nearly sob in relief when you see the house coming into view, not even waiting for the car to come to a full stop before you’re running towards the mailbox. Panting, you struggle to breathe against your tears, shoving the letter in the mailbox, hoping, praying that you’re not too late.

You collapse on the ground, whispering a silent prayer against the sand, hoping it wasn’t too late to show him your last act of love - saving his life.

Namjoon’s timeline, 1.5 years in the future

Namjoon never thought he’d return to the beach house, resolving to abandon it the moment he’d let go of you. But then he’d gotten the mysterious letter in the mailbox, telling him to stay home, and he figured he had to go investigate. Coming up upon the rickety house, it’s the exact same as he left it - the worn wood and creaky boards of the walkway. The sea around hasn’t changed either, the waves as calm as the day he’d moved in.

Except for the boxes. Namjoon’s eyes widen in surprise when there are a dozen or so boxes outside the door. Someone was finally moving in. Namjoon clutches the letter and waits by the mailbox, suddenly frozen. He didn’t know why he’d come here. As much as his feet wanted to turn back, he couldn’t.

He hears the door open, and a woman steps outside, wearing the same indigo scarf that he had around his neck, and in an instant, he knows it’s you. You’re even more beautiful than he could have imagined, and now he’s finally found you.

“___,” he calls out to you, and you look up to see where the deep voice is coming from,lips parting when you see Namjoon making his way towards the door.

You stare at him in silence for a few moments, and Namjoon is worried you don’t recognize him, that in this timeline, he means nothing to you, and his heart curls into itself, preparing for the inevitable heartbreak.

“Namjoon?” you whisper. “Is it really you?”

“I got your letter,” he shudders with a sob, holding out the piece of paper. He feels a raindrop splash on his head, and then another, before the heavens open and it begins to pour soaking you both.

Namjoon stays where he is, marveling at the fact that you’re finally here, right beside him. You step towards him, reaching for his scarf to pull him towards you, your lips pressing gently against his own. His arms come up to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him, his lips parting to engulf your own in a more passionate kiss, his cold fingers stroking your warm cheeks. Despite the raging storm around you, Namjoon finally feels at peace, the two of you finally finding your shared moment of forever, here in the house the sea built.

A/N pt. 2: Well now I’m fucking sad. But in all seriousness, I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. And again, I hope it can provide some comfort. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

taglist: @miscelunaaa @luaspersona @whoisbts @blumenfeld @rapmonie2047 @little-dark-empress @lovemepie67 @ggukkieland @joonsytip @namjooningelsewhere @chrisellaxxjung @jub-jub @outro-kook @kamilamb @coffeedepressionsoup @fujinogf @wecanpretendit @lovely-joon @rkivian @rebloginfics @firesighgirl

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public-transportation-tournament · 1 year

Text

Round 1!

The TCAT, Tompkins County, NY, USA vs Seattle Center Monorail, Seattle, WA, USA

M1 (or Millennium Underground Railway, but also known as "the small underground" by locals), Budapest, Hungary vs Grande Recife, Recife, Brazil

London Underground, Greater London, England vs Rotterdam Metro, Rotterdam, Netherlands

Beamish Tramway, Beamish Museum, Beamish, England vs Catbus/Nekobus, Sayama Hills, Saitama Prefecture, Japan (My Neighbor Totoro)

The New York City Subway system, New York City, NY, USA vs Corviknight Flying Taxi, Galar (Pokémon Sword and Shield)

Buenos Aires Underground (Subte), Autonomous City of Buenos Aires, Argentina vs Monte Toboggan, Funchal, Madeira, Portugal

The Stargate Network, throughout the Milky Way and Andromeda Galaxies (the Stargate franchise) vs the Deepsea Metro, Inkopolis Bay (Splatoon)

CAT, Perth, Western Australia vs SkyTrain, Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

Brolly Rail, Nevermoor (Nevermoor by Jessica Townsend) vs Métro Ligne 4, Paris, France

Tyne and Wear Metro, Tyne and Wear, United Kingdom vs the REM, Montreal, Quebec, Canada (upcoming)

Jeepney, the Philippines vs Sea Train, Water 7, connecting it with St. Poplar, San Faldo, and Pucci, as well as the Judicial Island Enies Lobby (One Piece)

The MTR, Hong Kong, PRC vs the Omnibus, New York, NY, USA (1832)

SeaBus, Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada vs Wuppertaler Schwebebahn, Wuppertal, Germany

Ice Highway, the Nether Roof (Minecraft) vs Battle Subway, Unova (Pokémon Black and White)

WY Metro, West Yorkshire, United Kingdom vs Tunnelbana, Stockholm, Sweden

MRT (Moda Raya Terpadu/Mass Rapid Transit), Jakarta, Indonesia vs An Luas, Dublin, Ireland

RIPTA (Rhode Island public transit authority) (it’s buses), Rhode Island, USA vs Bakerloo Line, London Underground, London, England

Mount Vesuvius Funicular Railway, Mount Vesuvius, Italy (opened in 1880, destroyed by volcanic eruption in 1944) vs AquaBus, Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

Yarra Trams, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia vs SEPTA (southeast pennsylvania transportation authority), Pennsylvania, United States

Cable Cars, San Francisco, California, United States vs MAX Light Rail system, Portland, Oregon, United States

Amtrak, United States vs Fenelon Place Elevator, Dubuque, Iowa, United States

Ninky Nonk, Night Garden (In The Night Garden) vs Prague Metro, Prague, Czech Republic

Polar Bear Express, between Cochrane and Moosonee, Ontario, Canada vs the Crosstown Express, Robot City (Robots (2005))

Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority (the T), Greater Boston, Massachusetts, United States vs Worcester Regional Transit Authority, Worcester County, Massachusetts, United States

Kakola Funicular, Turku, Finland vs Angkutan Kota (Angkot), Indonesia

Galaxy Railways, the Milky Way (The Galaxy Railways (銀河鉄道物語, Ginga Tetsudō Monogatari)) vs The Ride, Ann Arbor, Michigan, United States

MST Trolley, Monterey, California, United States vs People Mover, Magic Kingdom, Walt Disney World, Florida, United States

Public Transit Victoria, Victoria, Australia vs Carmelit, Haifa, Israel

The L, Chicago, Illinois, United States vs Leadhills and Wanlockhead Railway, South Lanarkshire, Scotland

Personal Rapid Transit (PRT), Morgantown, West Virginia vs Helsingin seudun liikenne/Helsingforsregionens trafik/Helsinki Regional Transport, Helsinki, Finland

Gondolas, Venice, Italy vs the Trolley from the Trolley Problem (Philippa Foot came up with it originally, but in media it was also presented in "the good place")

Zahnradbahn Stuttgart (die Zacke), Stuttgart (Marienplatz to Degerloch), Baden-Württemberg, Germany vs Detroit People Mover, Detroit, Michigan, United States

Warp Pipes (Super Mario Bros.) vs SCMaglev, Yamanashi, Japan

Transport Canberra Bus Network, Canberra, Australia vs Stagways, Hallownest (Hollow Knight)

Roosevelt Island Tram, Roosevelt Island, New York, NY, United States vs NJ Transit (Northeast Corridor), New Jersey, United States

Sunrail, Orlando, Florida, United States vs Bay Area Rapid Transit, Bay Area, California, United States

Purple Route (Charm City Circulator), Baltimore, Maryland, United States vs Alderney Ferry (Halifax Transit), Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada

Millennium Line, Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada vs MARTA, Atlanta, Georgia, United States

Dual Mode Vehicle (DMV), Asa Coast Railway, Shikoku, Japan vs Lynton and Lynmouth Cliff Railway, Lynmouth, England, UK

Hovercraft, Portsmouth - Ryde, UK vs Funiculars, the Questionable Area (Psychonauts 2)

WildNorWester, Sodor (The Railway Series) vs Shinkansen, Japan

Métro de Paris, Paris, France vs Metro do Porto, Porto, Portugal

Deutsche Bahn, Germany vs UC Davis Unitrans Bus System, Davis, California

Vaporetti, Venice, Italy vs Harbour Bus, Copenhagen, Denmark

#hopefully i did the links right

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lambtotheslaughterr · 2 years

Text

Awake

A Rafe Cameron Mini Series

PART TWO

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 4K

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

PART ONE

SERIES MASTERLIST

[THIS SERIES WILL CONTAIN INACCURATE MEDICAL CONDITIONS. I HAVE CERTAINLY MADE THIS DISEASE UP & DO NOT CLAIM ANY OF IT TO BE ACCURATE. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. 18+. MINORS DNFI]

a reminder that Rafe uses the alias Adrian in this story

It was hard to believe that a month had passed since you moved into your first apartment. City living proved to be everything you imagined to be. Though you lived in a more residential area of downtown, it didn’t hide the noise of the city on the weekends. When you would be up during your normal midnight hours, you’d hang by your corner window in the living room, listening intently to horns honking, the rumbling of an el train, a clamor of voices as people walked up & down the streets. It became your ritual.

Your mom joined you on your second weekend in the apartment, aghast at the sight of your mattress in the living room. She convinced you to move it into the bedroom after she ordered you a bedframe. It was a vintage one with brass piping as the headboard. It was a classic look & fit well with the aesthetic of your apartment, a pleasant clash of the times.

That weekend you & your mom spent most of the time holed up in your apartment, putting the living room together. During the day while you slept, she would go shopping with a list of items you had in mind for you apartment. Another downside of your disease is that it kept you from being able shop like a normal person, but you figured it’d give your mom something to do. When she would return, followed behind by movers she hired on the spot, you two would unpack furniture & assemble them together. Then when nine p.m. would roll around, your mom would go sleep in your bedroom while you messed around the living room to any which way you liked.

The night your mom left, she booked a later flight so you could see her off at the airport. It was for her sake. But you didn’t argue. You knew it was tough for her, god you couldn’t imagine. Your only daughter having been in an accident that stole her livelihood then watching as she embarked on a solo adventure hundreds of miles away. You understood it, you just couldn’t feel it.

“Call me if you need anything. Even if it’s three in the morning.” She said to you, her hand cupping your cheek gently. Her eyes were glossy as she held back her tears. You were thankful they never fell.

“I will, mom. Promise.” You returned, allowing yourself to enjoy the warmth of her palm.

Then she was off. The taxi ride back to your apartment was only a 40 minute drive. It was late at night & you rested your head against the seat, taking in all the sights of the city. When the driver dropped you off, you paid & tipped then began making way for the front of your building.

You were about to enter the code to gain entrance when the sounds of a piano filled the air. Your heart soared. Leading up to your mothers visit, you had told her about the faceless piano playing maestro that kept you company during your waking hours. Every night since the night you moved in, the music never failed to come. But much to your sadness, the whole time your mother was in town the piano sounds never came. It was something you were looking forward to sharing with your mother, her being a classical musician herself. But the maestro was quiet all weekend.

Yet there you stood at the entrance to your building after seeing your mom off at the airport & the music had begun. You stood there, hardly moving, hardly breathing as you let the notes sway your head gently from side to side. It eased you, made you feel safe. You opened your eyes & stared at the building across the street. Still, you couldn’t decipher exactly which unit it could possibly be coming from.

Your hope to make friends with the mystery player died early on when you realized that they probably didn’t ever leave their apartment at night, & that was the only time you could. So, you surmised that listening to their playing would have to be enough. And indeed it was.

It was a slow night at work. You sat at the island in your kitchen, your laptop open in front of you & the headset you wore made your ears bend in discomfort. Your apartment was dark, save only for a crystal lamp next to the sink. After living in the apartment for a month, you slowly came to prefer your apartment being lit mainly by the lights from outside.

You watched as your screen waited to be connected to the next caller, your left hand mindlessly stirring the spoon in your mug of tea to the left. It was almost five in the morning, you’d have to be going to bed soon while the rest of the world got their days started. It was mid-October so it didn’t start getting light out for another hour or so.

After ten more minutes of silence, you decided you would clock out for your shift but just before you could hit the end button on your laptop, your headset rang, indicating a call connection.

“Thank you for reaching out. My name is _____. May I ask your name?” You began, your voice soft & welcoming.

“Do I have to use my real name?” An even softer voice asks on the other end, her voice shaking.

“‘Course not. What can I call you?”

For the next twenty minutes, you spoke with a young woman whose best friends boyfriend assaulted her. It was a story you heard often—assault—but it never got easier to listen to. She cried a lot & you extended your help in any way, offering up resources & phone numbers to affordable counselors. She was receptive to them but you could hear in her voice she just needed to tell someone what happened to her, she had been hiding it for over a year.

“They’re getting married next summer.” She told you, “She asked me to be her maid of honor.”

Your brows furrowed in a frown, understanding the turmoil this faceless stranger would face as she stood next to her best friend, watching her get married to the man who hurt her.

“Has anything like this happened to you?” While it wasn’t unusual to share your own experiences in this job, in fact it was sometimes encouraged depending on the perceived stability of the caller, you always struggled in offering your own experiences. You couldn’t remember them. So, you always turned to the only one you knew well enough about.

“I’ve not been through what you have, no.” You replied, “I was in an accident two years ago & now I live with long-term amnesia.”

You heard her sniffle on the other end, the tone in her voice piquing interest as the focus was slowly turned onto yourself, “Like, you don’t remember anything before?”

“Right.” You inhaled sharply.

“What happened?” She asked, the shaking in her voice was still there but you knew if you spoke about your trauma & how you’re still overcoming it, it may help her too.

“I used to live on an island & I really liked to swim.” You began, “One day, I went out during a storm, thinking I was stronger than five foot tall waves. And I wasn’t. At some point, I got caught in a riptide & thrown around. Was found on the shore a couple hours after then woke up in the hospital not knowing who I was.”

“But how did you lose your memories? I always thought you had to hit your head or something like in the movies.”

“It’s not known for sure but the wounds on my head & body suggested I was repeatedly thrown against a cliff face until I got swept to shore.” You shared, recalling when you were in the hospital bandaged up & the doctors couldn’t accurately pinpoint exactly how you hurt your head. But there was no other alternative.

“Oh my god…” Your caller gasped, “That’s horrible.”

“Fortunately, I don’t remember it.” You assured her, “And I’m doing okay now.”

“That’s good…” She replied, her voice growing faint, tired. You sat in silence for a moment longer, then she spoke again, “Will I be okay?”

In this job, you couldn’t make promises but you could encourage, “I think if you want to be okay you will be. Now, I’ve given you a few phone numbers for counselors & resources. Those are there only if you decide you want to use them, okay? Otherwise, you can always call back here & we will always listen.”

“Can I request you?” That was a question you got every now & then, & it always ached when you had to answer it.

“Unfortunately no. We’re given calls based at random.” You heard her sigh dejectedly, so you reassured you, “I swear to you, though. We are all here for you. Any time, any day, okay?”

“Okay.” Her voice cracked, “Thank you for listening to me, _____. And I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

A small smile graced your lips at her condolence, “Thank you for opening up to me & sharing you story. You will overcome this.”

The following night, around nine, you decided to return to the food carts for your dinner plans. You had been cooking a lot in the last month, wanting to not waste the size of the kitchen, but you deserved a night off. After wrapping a scarf around your neck & slipping into a pair of black boots, you exited your building.

You were crossing the street towards the building where the piano maestro lived. As you walked in front of it, your neck craned back so you could stare up at the face of it. Had you been looking ahead like a normal person you could’ve avoided the collision you found yourself in but no such luck.

With an oomph, you abruptly walked into what felt like a wall. Suddenly, your jacket was soaked down the front of it, whatever that spilled was now all over your clothes & shoes.

“Oh my god!” You gasped, the coldness of the chilled liquid forcing your skin to erupt in goosebumps.

“Oh shit, shit!” A male voice sounded, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Shaking the excess drink off your hands, you allowed your eyes to fall to the person before you as they kneeled to the ground, a wad of napkins in their hands as they wiped at your boots. From where you stood, you could tell he was around your age. His hair was a light brown & styled like he just got out of bed. Though he was bent over, you could tell he was tall & on the leaner side.

“No, it’s okay. Really.” You reached out, unsure if you should touch his shoulder or not. Instead, you stepped back so he would stop wiping at your shoes, “Really. It’s okay. I wasn’t paying any attention either.”

The man finally raised his face, his eyes meeting your own. You felt your heart flutter in your chest. You hadn’t expected him to be so good-looking. His eyes were a grey blue that were filled with curiosity, as well as guilt. You smiled at him, “It’s an old jacket anyway. Shoes, too.”

He rose to his full height, which was well over you, so you’re forced to draw up the length of his body until you land on his face. His brows furrowed, “Are you sure? I mean, I can run up to my apartment really quick, give you a free jacket for the mess. It’s not a problem.”

You laughed the offer away, “Please, it’s not necessary. I’ll live.”

Finally the regret left his eyes & he traded you a smile of his own. One that had your cheeks flushing. Dropping your gaze, you stared at your feet momentarily before you made out a wrapper that fell out of his bag.

“Yummy Mummy.” You voiced. It’s the name of the food cart you were just on your way to.

“Yeah.” He said, his eyes looking at the remains of his uneaten food, “Late dinner.”

When you moved to the city, you knew your chances of making friends or any semblance of a connection would be slim. Yet there you were, standing outside your building with the perfect stranger who also happened to be eating from your favorite food cart. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Actually, I was heading there now.” You told him, “Let me buy you dinner? Since I made you drop yours.”

“No no. That’s okay, I got leftovers upstairs.”

You crinkled your nose in disgust, “Bleh, so do I. But I also told myself that I deserved a night of someone else doing the cooking for once so please. I insist. Otherwise I’ll feel guilty for the rest of the night that I sent a man home with an empty stomach.”

He laughed, his mouth opening to show off a set of straight white teeth. The smile didn’t fall from his face as he looked you over innocently before he shrugged once, “Alright. You have a convincing argument. But really, I just can’t be the reason someone as cute as you goes home feeling bad over a blind idiot like me.”

The use of the word ‘cute’ made your stomach flip & you drop your gaze again, “Great. Well, shall we?”

“After you.” He returned, gesturing with his arm in the direction of the food carts. “I’m Adrian, by the way.”

You tell him your name, thinking to yourself that his name fits him very well—handsome, charming.

“So, Yummy Mummy, huh? What’s your usual?”

“I’m boring. I get their beef burger & fries.” You said, “But it never fails.”

Adrian nodded in agreement, “That it never does.”

“What about you? What’s your go-to?”

“I’m a shrimp sandwich guy myself.” He tucked his hands into his jean pockets, his eyes remaining on you as the two of you walked side by side.

“Shrimp? This far inland?” You tried to hide your distaste, jesting “I wouldn’t trust it.”

Adrian bit his lip in ashamed agreement, “I know, I know. But it makes me think of home. So when I miss it, I go get my shrimp sandwich.”

“Oh?” You arched an eyebrow, “Not a city rat then?”

“Hell no.” He retorted, a half-hearted smile gracing his lips, “Seaside, born & raised.”

“Me too!” You’re surprised by your enthusiasm, especially since you loathed the island now, seeing it as a cage. But the excitement in meeting someone unexpectedly, especially at this time of night who happened to be a very good-looking man & is also from the coast made you feel rejuvenated.

Your elation made him grin widely, “No shit? Where from?”

You rolled your eyes, waving your hand in dismissal, “Just some little island off the coast of North Carolina. Nothing to write home about.”

He frowned slightly at the statement but quickly washed it away with a shrug, “That’s too bad. I would’ve never left my home town if I didn’t have to.”

There’s a hint of sorrow in his voice. You wanted to ask more, having grown accustomed to hearing peoples stories thanks to your job. But before you could, Adrian’s eyes looked ahead & widened with eagerness, “Here we are.”

Following his line of sight, you realized you’ve made it to the food carts. Yummy Mummy’s purple & green cart just off to the left of the small square.

Adrian & you get behind another couple just as they finish ordering. He stepped up & ordered for the both of you. It’s not what you expected but you had to admit that you didn’t mind. You reached into your jacket to pull out your cash when Adrian produced a card, handing it to the cart attendant.

“Hey!” You exclaimed, subconsciously slapping him in the arm, “I was supposed to pay for your dinner.”

Adrian smiled down at you, accepting his card back, “Well, now I’ve paid for my dinner & yours too. What are you gonna do about it?”

His eyes narrowed playfully in a challenge, a look that you couldn’t help but concede under, “Fine. But next time you let me get the goods, got it?”

“I like the sound of ‘next time’.” The flirtatious tone of his comment forced a soft, awkward laugh from you.

This was something you & your therapist had spent a great deal talking about: dating. Men, sex, relationships. And what all that would mean in your rebirth. What she told you was that it would ultimately be your decision on what, & who, they knew. If you were open about your accident early on, you’d have to anticipate for them to grow curious about who you were before. If you waited some time to truly get to know them before you told them, you would likely be more comfortable sharing what you knew with them but always risked growing resentment at who you were before. Then of course there was the third choice: never tell them. But with that, then they would never really know you, & you would never be able to bring them home, unless you had your friends & family lie & that was already out of the question.

All of the conversations you had had with your therapist raced through your mind as Adrian led you two to a nearby table.

“Hey, are you okay?” His question breaks you free from your mind. You shook your head, offering an apologetic smile, “Yeah, sorry. Just tired, is all.”

“Long day?” He asked, which forced you to chuckle slightly at the irony in his question. Your day was only just getting started.

“Hardly.” You replied, “No, I, uh, just finished getting settled into my apartment so I’m feeling the effects of moving now.”

“So you just moved here then, too?” Adrian’s brows furrowed in disbelief but his smile smoothed it, “Damn, we have a lot in common.”

“You too?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, but shrugged, “Well, I’ve been here since the beginning of September apartment hunting, but I moved into my place not too long ago.”

“Is it creepy if I ask where you moved into?” You teased, not expecting him to answer. He leaned across the table, lowering his voice despite no one being close enough to hear him at a normal level, “It is but I like em a little creepy.”

You snickered, shaking your head to hide your reddened cheeks, “Oh, whatever.”

Adrian laughed gently at your blushed state. He opened his mouth to say something else when your order number was called out. You went to stand up but he briefly touched your arm, telling you stay. You chewed your lip in thought as he walked away, closing your eyes in an attempt to slow down the beating of your heart. You had just met the man & now you were acting like a school aged girl who was experiencing her first crush.

In a way though, you realized that that is exactly what was happening. For the past two years, much of your social interactions have been with your family, friends, therapist & staff at your medical appointments. You couldn’t recall a time where you spent any significant amount of time with someone whom you didn’t know so well. Adrian would, technically, be your first real friend in your rebirth. Your eyes strayed to him as he took two paper plates from the cart attendant. Just looking at him made your heart race. Adrian would be your first crush too, it appeared.

When he returned to the table, he placed down a plate before you & one before him. You thanked him, reaching for your burger but paused when you realized it wasn’t your beef burger. Looking at Adrian’s plate, expecting to see him about to eat your food in a case of an accidental swap, you saw that his food was the same as yours: a shrimp sandwich.

“Uh, Adrian.” You said, “I didn’t order this.”

“I know.” He nodded innocently, “I did. I figured the only way I’d allow you to pass judgement on my prized shrimp sandwich would be for you to have it yourself. Besides, maybe you miss home a little bit, too.”

You knew the action was innocent & filled with sentiment, but it still made you uncomfortable. Adrian bit into his sandwich, oblivious to your hesitation as you stared at the shrimp hanging out the sides of the pita bread. Part of you wanted to reprimand him, tell him that you didn’t miss your home & you viewed your home as cage & that’s why you left. You wanted to tell him that you appreciated the gesture but it upset you that he didn’t ask you beforehand. You wanted to say all of this but never uttered a word.

Adrian’s eyes fell to your food, finally taking notice that you weren’t touching it, “Is everything okay?”

No, you wanted to say, this isn’t okay. But you reminded yourself that he didn’t know any better because he didn’t know you. Not yet anyway. It’s been a long time since you’ve made a new friend & you didn’t know how easy it potentially was to lose them. So you forced a smile on your face, nodding. Bringing the shrimp sandwich to your mouth, you took a bite, loathing the taste that flooded your mouth.

“So, thanks for dinner.” You said. The two of you were just about to round the corner to where your building lied in wait.

“My pleasure.” Adrian smiled down at you, his eyes glistening in the darkness of the dimly lit streets. Again, your chest felt hallowed out by the beating of your heart.

“But remember, I get the bill next time.” As well as what I actually wanted, you wanted to add but didn’t. Adrian rolled his eyes but nodded, “Okay, okay. I’ll be sure to leave my wallet at home.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at him to which he laughed. You joined him but slowly stopped as your building came into sight.

“Well, I guess this is goodnight.” You sighed, saddened that it had to end, “You didn’t have to walk me home, though.”

Adrian’s brows furrowed in confusion at your statement. He stopped in his walk to look at you, “I thought you were walking me home.”

You chuckled awkwardly, mirroring the expression on his face, “No, I was walking home & you were walking with me.” You pointed behind you towards your building.

“No way.” Adrian’s lips parted in mild shock but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

“What?” You asked, utterly confused by his reaction.

“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, neighbor.” He returned, crossing his arms proudly.

“Don’t tell me…” You hinted, which would honestly be too much in common for your tastes in a single night, but when he shook his head once, you felt slightly relieved.

Adrian pointed up. You follow the motion, your eyes meeting the face of the building across from your own as you the two of you stood under it. The piano maestro’s building.

“You live here?” You asked, your voice coming out almost hushed as you stared at the building in awe.

“Sure do. Top floor.” His eyes were still on you when you dropped your own to meet his.

There was no way he could be the faceless piano player. The building had to have at least 50 units. What would the chances be that you’d meet the stranger who kept you company at night? You opened your mouth, about to ask him if he was indeed the maestro but Adrian beat you to it, a warm smile gracing his features.

“Would you like to come up?”

Part Two of the Awake series. I cranked this shit so fast (I usually edit as I write but tonight that was fortunately not the case).

Gave some background on reader's accident as well as finally intorduced Rafe/Adrian!

Please talk to me! Let me know what you think by liking, commenting, reblogging, or dropping an ask. Send me the love, it feeds my writing.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this second part! I look forward to continuing it.

Just a heads up that I do work full-time & go to school full-time so I am busy but just know that I am always writing so I can update on here when I can. I will not forget about you. Promise. Just please be patient>.<

Thank you for reading!

oona<3

PART THREE

Requests are currently CLOSED

Read this post on why doing more than liking a tumblr writers work is essential to our content creation.

[my love language is words of affirmation, it would make my day if you could comment your thoughts, reblog with tags, or drop an ask that shows your support. thank you for reading tumblr writers, we appreciate you]

taglist: @totallynotkaibiased

if you want to be added to a tag list, comment whether you want to be tagged for a character, a series, or in general, otherwise it will be dismissed.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron #outer banks fanfiction #dark!fic

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dyrewrites · 1 month

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WiP Questionnaire

Brought to you by @theprissythumbelina (whose answers are far more interesting than mine)

I am tagging @starbuds-and-rosedust and @aziz-reads (because I don't think I've seen you guys do this one >.>)

--I have done this one for Before Deluca--

So I am answering with one of the others, that I need to get back to and revise for the tenth time, which is Weald and Wen

1. What is the first part of your WIP that you created?

The characters have been around since I was about eleven or twelve, so let's say they're the first part.

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

3. What are your favorite characters that you made? Why?

Instead of my usual, "the sad pretty tree man" answer, I am giving you all of them. Because I do love all of them.

Delgrij, because he is a big, complex and tightly wound ball of sad.

Mitra, because she is a hard little ball of cheery insanity.

Faerai, because she is a tough ball of sad and angry with a gooey center of loneliness.

Parnamyr, because he is absolutely horrific and means every bit of awful he does but he loves as hard as he hurts.

4. What other pieces of media do you think your fan base would share?

I have no idea, I never know with this question. What are fans? If I get a single one I will love them forever.

5. What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

Finishing it to a publishable level. One might think the awful what happens in it (there is a lot) and that did hurt, and taught me things about myself, but no. The biggest struggle is considering it finished and ready to share with more than a handful of people.

6. Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

There are! Aside from the Fyrni, and the Auru, who are animal people of a type (and the Fyrni shadows which are very cat-like). There are critters about that get a little love, namely the olhm; which are essentially snails but more, more snail. Some are about cat-sized, and some are so big their shells are hollowed out so they can be used as transportation (do not fret, this is not painful for the olhm, they are quite happy being taxis).

There are also gnu, which are roughly dog-sized lizard-like things with two heads and no eyes and coated in poison. they are not nice, but maybe they could be if someone took the time to tame them. Skitters are another critter, but not so much an animal as a spider-like menace, they're roughly the size of an average human head, near-translucent in color and eyeless with big mandibles and too many super skinny legs. They are a bad thing to see large numbers, for where they gather mama isn't far behind and we don't want to meet mama.

But the best animal is Infae, who is a nuru. He is kind of like a bat, moth, cat...thing? He's albino, which is usual for the type of nuru he is (there are others but he's the only one with any attention paid to him). He is mostly blind, which is not usual for his species, but it is how he was born. He navigates using an impressive form of echolocation and his incredible sense of hearing and smell (he can smell emotions and intent and other things not important right now). Behavior-wise, he is a big sleepy boy who loves snuggles and maybe scares a bit too easy.

7. How do your characters get around? (Ex. Trains, horses, cars, dragons, etc.)

Mostly on foot, but towards they end they ride on a Mover, which is a giant olhm that slimes down the face of the massive rock the forests the story takes place in grow from.

8. What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

Waiting for beta feedback and trying to read it again on my own, to edit typos and whatnot.

9. What aspects (tropes, maybe) of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

Maybe the found/forged family aspect? A lot of time is paid to the main characters and getting them together, so I would hope that.

10. What are your hopes for your WIP

That I can actually get it published and out there and at least one person buys it and enjoys it. As a side hope, that it breaks someone would be real fun...but I am a bit of a bastard so.

->blank below<-

1. What is the first part of your WIP that you created?

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

3. What are your favorite characters that you made? Why?

4. What other pieces of media do you think your fan base would share?

5. What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

6. Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

7. How do your characters get around? (Ex. Trains, horses, cars, dragons, etc.)

8. What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

9. What aspects (tropes, maybe) of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

10. What are your hopes for your WIP?

#writeblr #tag games #wip questionnaire #weald and wen #Spotify

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meirimerens · 1 year

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Someone had the thought that he whittled his own whistle. Things so I could definitely see Notkin Making Things

you knooow them things are handmade... of the 3 pendants the ocarina one i think was either a gift/from his previous life (maybe his mother's?) and either one or both of the whistles (i think at least one of them is a birdcall whistle) were made by him. i'd venture to say the bigger one because it's more "crude" of form and doesn't have the notch around the mouth piece.

my top 5 ideas for what notkin Does once he's grown up is. in no order.

he's the taxi. he's this guy

(yes i'm putting horses in town-on-gorkhon again. COPE.) he's here to bring people and things coming from the train into town. also doubles as like. mover service within town. i think sticky likes to hail him down like. "TAXI!!!" and he's like "i know damn well you won't pay me get the hell away". but still lets him hop in and sticky pays him in burakh's food leftovers the day after (-> barter/exchange/trade economy)

2. leather tanner of some kind... a part of the town is literally named "The Tanners" + huge importance of bull leather within the town's culture so. leather tanner/cutter

3. as an aside/addition to tanning leather, Making Things out of leather. this i think he does more as a "for him" thing, like he makes his own shoes with the leather he tanned, but he only knows how to make shoes because one of the shoemakers taught him in exchange of helping that guy's wife move her mother's wardrobe from one house to the other in his little horse taxi. ykwim. (->barter/exchange/trade economy)

4. considering he hauls people and cargo from the train station and back i think he could do like. cargo packin? helps with packing the meats that are exported by the trains. closing wooden boxes with hammer and nails (fingers constantly having nail nicks and cuts you know the drill). + cargo loading? his ass is moving boxes

4. not applicable in canon but like in my mind's eye so thoroughly i can see it i can so see it in a more modern (not necessarily present-day modern but like. 1940s and onwards) his ass can be a mechanic he so so is a car mechanic. wrenches and motors and shit. knocks on your engine and goes yeah that's the distribution belt. i see it i so clearly see it

i think he'd have wanted to be a vet but he's too sensitive about animal pain and death to be one.... the vision is powerful

#you know it brother #ring ring (answers)#anonymous #notkin lore #i see it i do

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wpbcarandlimo · 2 years

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Palm Beach Airport Car Service | Palm Beach Limousine After arriving at FLL, you’ll have to cover the 15-minute drive between the airport and the city center. Palm Beach Airport Limousine is an affordable chauffeur and transfer service operating at FLL and more than 150 other airports around the world. Let us handle your important airport transfer in Fort Lauderdale, and you’ll have a better chance of experiencing a wonderful start to your trip. A West Palm Beach Car & Limo | Corporate Car Service reservation means never having to worry. Our team uses today’s most advanced tools to keep track of your incoming flight and check for delays, and we always allow a full hour for you to make it landside after arrival. Choose Blacklane for your next trip to Florida, and enjoy the comfort that comes with trusting in your ride - the ideal ground transportation for Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport.

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Orlando International Airport (MCO ) And All Local Airports. West Palm Beach Car & Limo | Corporate Car Service Palm Beach Airport Car Service | Palm Beach Limousine.

FLORIDA CENTRAL, SOUTH & NORTH

Palm Beach Airport Limousine offers the Highest Quality Chauffeurs for local and Long Distance Service. Our Chauffeurs are located throughout Southern Florida, they are local and the best in the area! Fully Vetted! We offer Service throughout most of Florida.

Traveling to Florida can be fun for business or vacation. South Florida can have beautiful weather all year long. Palm Beach Airport Limousine offers the best client services and can relate with all of our clients from the most exclusive celebrities to the one-time tourists.

Airport Transfers

Hourly Service

One-Way Service

Long-Distance Private Ground Transportation

We always believe in NO SURPRISE charges!

Travel time is an estimate ONLY!

Call for more info!

PREMIER SEDAN

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3 PASSENGER

3 BAGGAGE

Hourly $89.00

Minimum 4 Hours Required

SERVICE BY:

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BUSINESS SEDAN

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4 PASSENGER

5 BAGGAGE

Hourly $65.00

Minimum 4 Hours Required

Palm Beach Airport Car Service | Palm Beach Limousine

Florida's

Safest & Most Reliable

Ground Transportation by Palm Beach Airport Limousine

AIRPORT TRANSPORTATION

Travel to any major airport or private aviation, West Palm Beach Car & Limo | Corporate Car Service can bring you to or from the airport with the Highest Class Service & Best Chauffeurs!

HOURLY AS DIRECTED

Travel for fun or tourisms. Go Shopping or for a few drinks. Have you chauffeur available to you for the entire time, standing by just for you!

Long-Distance Private Ground Transportation

West Palm Beach Car & Limo Service is the best option for Door-To-Door Private Ground Transportation.

We specialize in Corporate Travel and Long-Distance Transportation.

We have offered Long-Distance Ground Transportation since we established in 2013, with our clients expectation of reliability and safety!

Palm Beach Airport Limousine will run on your schedule and offer an all inclusive rate with NO SURPRISE FEES!

Door-To-Door: No need to drag your baggage

VIP SEDAN

Luxury sedan car service, Executive sedan car service, Corporate sedan car service, Limos, Limousine

3 PASSENGER

3 BAGGAGE

ICE COLD WATER

Hourly $89.00

Minimum 4 Hours Required

LINCLON TOWN CAR

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3 PASSENGER

ICE COLD WATER

Hourly $65.00

Minimum 4 Hours Required

LUXURY SUVS & CORPORATE CAR SERVICE

LUXURY SUV

Cheap airport limo, corporate limousines, Executive limo, Limo service in west palm Beach

Passengers:- 06/07

Baggage :- 06

Hourly :- $89.00 in Town

Minimum:- 4 Hours Required

EXECUTIVE SUV

Executive Black Car, Executive suv, Miami Airport Limousine, Fort Lauderdale Airport Limousine

Passengers:- 06

Baggage :- 05

Hourly :- $119.00 in Town ( Super Bowl 2021 for Rates will be change at the time of the reservation, after Middle of January)

Minimum:- 4 Hours Required ( At Super Bowl Time Minimum 10 Hours)

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VIP LUXURY SUV IN PALM BEACH— WORLDWIDE AIRPORT CAR SERVICE | MIAMI AIRPORT BLACK CAR SERVICE

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Passengers:- 06/07

Baggage :- 06

Hourly :- $119.00 in Town ( Super Bowl 2021 Rates will be change at the time of the reservation, after Middle of January)

Palm Beach Airport Car Service | Palm Beach Limousine West Palm Beach Car & Limo | Corporate Car Service Palm Beach Airport Limousine

Minimum:- 4 Hours Required ( At Super Bowl Time Minimum 10 Hours)

WORLDWIDE AIRPORT CAR SERVICE IN PALM BEACH, FORT LAUDERDALE AIRPORT & MIAMI AIRPORT

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Passengers:- 14

Hourly:- $149.00 Plus 20% Gratuity ( During Super Bowl 2021 rates will be $00.00 and Minimum 10 Hou)

STRETCH LIMOUSINE

Palm beach stretch limousine, Miami Airport stretch limousine, Fort Lauderdale Airport limousine

Passengers:- 10

Hourly Rates:- $129.00 plus Gratuity 20%

( Super Bowl 2021 Hourly Rates $00.00 and 10 Hours Required)

WE CAN HANDLE ANY SIZE OF THE GROUPS WORLDWIDE AIRPORT TRANSPORTATION

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PARTY BUSES:-

20 PASSENGERS, 29 PASSENGERS

HOURLY RATES:- $179.00

MINIMUM HOUR:- 5 HOURS REQUIRED

PALM BEACH AIRPORT CAR SERVICE | MIAMI AIRPORT BLACK CAR

PALM BEACH AIRPORT TRANSFERS | MIAMI AIRPORT TRANSFERS | FORT LAUDERDALE AIRPORT TRANSFERS

The Palm Beach Airport Limo & Car Service in South Florida Provide Airport Transfers Service within Short Notice in Palm Beach Airport and it’s Surrounding areas. We provide Airport Car service Within 30 minutes in Palm Beach County, 30 Minutes Notice in Fort Lauderdale Airport & 45 Minutes in Miami International Airport. Palm Beach Airport Car & Limousine is the Best South Florida Corporate Airport Transfer to Boca Club, Delray beach Transfer, Wellington Transfer, Palm Beach Transfer, West Palm Beach Transfer, Palm Beach Gardens Transfers, Jupiter Transfers or any other city in south or north Florida Airport Transfer Service. West Palm Beach Limousine Service has verity of luxury vehicle in our fleet & largest airport car service fleet in Palm Beach County. Palm Beach Airport Car Service provide Airport Transfer service for discount rate and 100% online reservation system with auto rate calculator, like Uber & Lift. Our rate lower than Uber & Lift or other Airport car & Limo Service in South Florida. Call us- 📞561-386-1719 or Book Online. Palm Beach Airport Car Service | Palm Beach Limousine Experience Everything Car Service of South Florida Has To Offer

A full black car service transportation company with years in the industry we are ready to provide impeccable service. We value our customers which is demonstrated through our highly rated reviews on Google, Yelp, and TripAdvisor. Our professional drivers are ready to drive you to the airport, seaport, out to an event or any other destination you may have.

West Palm Beach Car & Limo | Corporate Car Service: Looking to Hire a Corporate Car Service? Here are 5 Things To Consider

The choice to hire a corporate car service for your chauffeured transportation is a big one that shouldn’t be taken lightly, especially considering employee’s safety. You want their experience to be a pleasant one and for them to arrive to their destination safely, comfortably and to receive a five-star service. Hire a Corporate Car Transportation Service to ensure your employees are focused on the purpose of their trip, not the logistics of their trip. Additionally, when the travel arrangements are made with a professional car service, the chances of travel delays or cancellations are less – you know your employees will get to the airport on time.

We are your best corporate Palm Beach Airport Limousine. Unfortunately, there are some transportation companies that are not as professional as business travelers need. Some companies provide inconsistent service, do not hear your particular needs and ultimately fail to yield acceptable car service. To avoid a corporate car service disaster, it’s important to know what to look for in a company before contracting with them. Keep reading for 5 things you should ask when looking to hire a corporate car service.

Is it a Professional Corporation Car Service Company?

Is the company properly registered for corporate transportation?

You should ask if the company has the proper license with the Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration. Especially in light of the latest news, you will want to verify that the vehicle has passed required inspection and that the inspection is current and valid. If setting up a corporate account, request and obtain license and registration proof from the company. For corporate car service taking you or your employees across state lines, check that the company meets all regulations and compliance requirements for each state. In some states, the vehicle can be stopped and immediately impounded if it is found to be out of compliance.

What level of insurance does the company carry?

Do they have strong Corporate Transportation reviews?

How are the chauffeurs trained?

Are the drivers properly licensed as a chauffeur for Corporate Transportation in Florida?

What type of vehicles are in the fleet?

What happens if there is an accident or the vehicle breaks down?

Are References Available and a Guarantee for the Corporate Car Service in Writing?

Any professional company should willingly provide references upon request. Look for both personal and corporate references. Get everything you need and that is offered in writing. The more specific your requirements, the further in advance you should star to reserve your car service. When doing so, insist on a written contract that clearly states all details of your reservation, and be sure you understand all terms and conditions of your agreement.

When you hire a transportation company, you’re trusting them to transport you and your loved ones, friends or employees safely around town. Deciding on the right corporate car service should get easier with the tips mentioned above. Consider booking our Palm Beach Airport Limousine service that offers the highest luxury and comfort. We look forward to serving you!

PALM BEACH GARDENS LIMOUSINE SERVICE & AIRPORT CAR SERVICE | SHUTTLE SERVICE IN GARDENS

The Best Palm Beach Gardens Airport Limousine & Car Service is provide Airport Limousine Service in Palm Beach Gardens Florida and it’s Surrounding areas By Palm Beach Airport Car & Limousine.

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Palm Beach Airport Car Service is your know Airport Car & Limousines

Company in Palm Beach Gardens Serving over 7 years. Airport Black Car Service, Airport Shuttle Service, Airport Limousines Service, Airport Transportation Service, Airport Taxi Service in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida, USA. The Best Airport Car Service By West Palm Beach Limousine Service. BOOK ONLINE West Palm Beach Car & Limo | Corporate Car Service | Palm Beach Airport Car Service | Palm Beach Limousine | Palm Beach Airport Limousine

MIAMI AIRPORT LIMOUSINE & BLACK CAR SERVICE | BOCA RATON AIRPORT CAR SERVICE | BOCA RATON LIMO

West Palm Beach Car & Limo Service is your Reliable Miami Airport Transfers Service, Palm Beach Airport Transfer Service, Fort Lauderdale Airport Transfer. Palm Beach Airport Car Service are very well known about Miami Airport Pickup and Drop-Off Service From Miami Airport To Any destination in South or North Florida or anywhere you wants to go. Our professional chauffeur has enough knowledge about south or north Florida you want to go & you can take advantage of it without any cost. West Palm Beach Limousine Service provide service without any day off. # Palm Beach Airport Car & Limousine #Bocaratonairportcarservice #Bocaratonairportlimousinerental #Bocaratonairportshuttleservice

FORT LAUDERDALE AIRPORT LIMOUSINE & BLACK CAR SERVICE

West Palm Beach Car & Limo Service is your Reliable Fort Lauderdale Airport Transfers Service. We are very well known about Fort Lauderdale Airport & it’s Surrounding Areas. Fort Lauderdale Airport Pickup and Drop-Off Service From The Airport To Any destination in South or North Florida or anywhere you wants to go. Our professional chauffeur driver has enough knowledge about south or north Florida to g you, and you can take advantage of it without any cost.

SERVICE:-

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Palm Beach Airport Car Service

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WORLDWIDE AIRPORT LIMOUSINE & AIRPORT TRANSFER SERVICE

West Palm Beach Car & Limo Service Offer Nationwide & Worldwide Airport Black Car Service, Airport Limousine Service, Airport Shuttle Service,Party Buses Service with our Airport Transfers Service in South Florida, USA, Canada, England, Italy, Germany, France, Belgium, Brazil, Chile, Argentina, Netherlands, Norway, Israel, China, Japan, Malaysia, UAE and many other country.

Give us call for your corporate airport transfers, Executive airport transfers, Birthday Limousine, Wedding Limousine, Business meeting Transportation, seminar join, Hourly Black Car & Limousine, Concert attend in South Florida or other Airport Transfers Service, Executive Airport Transfers, Palm Beach Airport Transfer, Fort Lauderdale Airport Transfer, Miami International Airport Transfers also check our airportcarsservice.com the best Palm Beach Airport Car & Limousine Service By West Palm Beach Limousine Service in Palm Beach County. Our Palm Beach Airport Car Service provide Airport Black Car Service, Airport Shuttle Service, Airport Limousines Service, Airport Party Buses 24/7. BOOK ONLINE and you can have Auto Rates Calculator with verity Vehicle Selection with our Airport Black Car Service By Palm Beach Airport Car & Limousine Service. Palm Beach Airport Car Service | Palm Beach Limousine West Palm Beach Car & Limo | Corporate Car Service Palm Beach Airport Limousine | Vero Beach Limousine | Port Pierce Limousine | Palm Beach Gardens Limousine. Call us:- (561) 386-1719

BETTER YET, SEE US IN PERSON!

We love our customers, so feel free to visit during normal business hours. We West Palm Beach Car & Limo Provide Airport Taxi, Airport Black Cab, Luxury Black Car for Executives, Corporate Sedan and SUVs, Airport Limousine, Airport Shuttle and Limos for your Birthday, Wedding or any other Occasion. We are here to help you 24/7.

Our Very Popular Location in Palm Beach International Airport ( PBI) and Palm Beach Gardens. Give us opportunity earn your Trust on Transportation Service in South Florida.

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WEST PALM BEACH CAR & LIMO SERVICE | DIAMOND LIMO

West Palm Beach, Florida, United States

OFFICE NUMBER:-1 (561) 386-1719 Email:- [email protected]

24 HOURS SERVICE

Open today

12:00 am – 12:00 am

WE ARE OPEN 24/7 AND READY TO SERVE YOU. PLEASE GIVE US CALL FOR YOUR INSTANT PICKUP SERVICE, OR BOOK YOUR RESERVATION ONLINE.

DROP US A LINE!

GET DIRECTIONS

ABOUT OUR AIRPORT CAR SERVICE

There's much to see here. So, take your time, look around, and learn all there is to know about Palm Beach Airport Car & Limousine. We hope you enjoy our site and take a moment to drop us a line. There is another important thing we are only the Company “West Palm Beach Car & Limo Service is Licensed, insured and Permitted Company by the States of Florida and providing services under “Diamond Luxury Transportation” Airport Car and Limos, checkout us on TRIP ADVISOR Some of the people use our name and reputation so, please make sure when you call to the company ask for their

VH- Number, State Permit Number And Consumer Permits Number.

Palm Beach Airport Car Service & West Palm Beach Limousine Service is the same Airport Car & Limousine Company and best reliable airport car service in south Florida.

Thank you for Using Us.

OUR SERVICE AREAS

PALM BEACH AIRPORT LIMO & AIRPORT CAR SERVICE

There's much to see here. So, take your time, look around, and learn all there is to know about us. We hope you enjoy our site and take a moment to drop us a line. West Palm Beach Car & Limo Service Provide you on time- every time Palm Beach Airport Car service. West Palm Beach Car & Limo | Corporate Car Service - We understand the level of dedication, passion and customer service it takes to for your business to be successful. It’s what’s kept us at the forefront of the black car and limousine industry for over three decades, and what you deserve as our carservice guest.

Our fleet is equipped to meet our clients’ needs for corporate limo transportation, and help your business succeed. We use only late-model, luxury vehicles in our fleet, representing the limousine industry’s new standard for corporate black car services, and we continually improve our selection of sedans, limos and SUVs to suit the tastes of our guests. All vehicles are equipped with complimentary Wi-Fi and cell phone chargers, keeping you in contact with clients and colleagues wherever you travel with Palm Beach Airport Car Service | Palm Beach Limousine

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#1 CORPORATE AIRPORT CAR SERVICE IN PALM BEACH

SOUTH FLORIDA #1 CORPORATE AIRPORT CAR SERVICE SOLUTION

Thanks to the unique efficiency of our booking technology, our select nationwide network of premier car service affiliates and our 24/7 West Palm Beach Car & Limo | Corporate Car Service “customer service team, West Palm Beach Car & Limo Service offers travelers the dependability of premium cars with professional drivers at up to 30% off standard rates.

We’re on a mission to make the journey better.

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West Palm Beach, Boca Raton, Fort Lauderdale, Miami, Palm Beach Gardens, Jupiter, Hobe Sound, Jupiter island, Stuart and surrounding areas

Limousine Car Service, Hotel and Airport Transportation

BEST FORT LAUDERDALE AIRPORT BLACK CAR SERVICE

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