#reading sentences like ‘a dark and rainy day’ and i sat there like. um there’s no images up there </3

[treecakes]

liked the notes of prev post people wondering how it works to not have pictures in your mind… idk idk it’s normal. i love imagining scenarios but in my head there’s no images i can’t explain how that works. there’s just no pictures it’s like. vague impressions only.

[shotofire]

Crystal Clear

Satoru Gojo x F!Reader

Overview: You meet the bizarre Gojo in a library. He shows you his eyes, and explains his profession. It’s a lot to take in at once

Warnings: Cursing, implied smut

-

Having Satoru Gojo as a friend was, well, different. The guy would always wear a black mask and never tell you why. Also he was so, mysterious. It’s cheesy to say but really, he seems to have many secrets. It was hard to not flood him with a million questions but you knew he would manage to avoid every single one.

Sometimes you wouldn’t even classify what you two have as friendship. There was no texting, calling, or hanging out of any kind besides at a little library in Tokyo. Not many went there, there’d be ten people on a good day. So the first time a tall white haired boy, who really stood out, walked in you were in a trance. He’d talked to you that day which you didn’t expect, but then again who expected someone like him to even come there.

“I’m trying to find a book on how to deal with stress, do you know of such a thing?” He’d scared you when he’d first walked up. It was like the guy was a ninja and moved light on his feet because you didn’t hear his footsteps in the silent library at all. “Uh, yeah I do actually.” The situation was so weird considering you could feel him looking into your eyes, but his were hidden.

Then Gojo began to show up every Tuesday night. You couldn’t help but wonder what his profession was for him to just have this time every single Tuesday. Sometimes you’d show up later or earlier than usual, and somehow he’d always arrive a few minutes after you. The man was light on his feet so at one point you thought he was following you, like you had a stalker on your hands or something.

One time, as if reading your mind, he had said, “I just have a feeling when you’re going to show up. It’s my special talent.” Honestly you believed him, the guy sometimes finished your sentences. Maybe he was a fortune teller of some kind.

Basically, that’s how the relationship went. Gojo would show up when you did, ask for your help to find a new book, and chat for a bit. He was a funny guy and had sly things to say but never made you uncomfortable. What you found odd though was he never read the books you helped find, they’d just sit on the table where you two sat and he’d talk your head off.

The man would sit with his legs crossed and one elbow propped on the head of the chair. His free hand would usually run through his hair every so often or tap against the wooden table. Majority of the time he’d only want to talk about you, and would avoid anything having to do with himself. Over time feelings started to come into play, and you hated yourself for it. You hadn’t even seen the mans eyes and the most you know about him is his name, yet you like him.

Gojo has this thing about him that you can’t seem to pinpoint. As if there’s something about him that draws you in, but you couldn’t let this get any deeper. He was a brick wall that wasn’t going to break anytime soon. You didn’t like the whole gaining feelings thing, so you stopped going to the library. The fact you could just look at him and think of him in so many ways wasn’t a good thing. If the guy was interested in you, he’d actually tell you things about himself.

Staying away from him seemed like a good idea. There was no way of contact besides the library, so the process of forgetting and getting over him should be easy, right?

Wrong.

You’d managed to keep away from the library, even though you love it there, but nothing changed within you. He’d still creep into your mind on a late night as if he was the only thing you could think about. His voice rung through your head like a bell, and everything reminded you of him. Even your bed made you think of him due to his frequent sly remarks.

“Did you sleep well?” he’d asked on a rainy day, observing the dark circles under your eyes. “No, my bed is shit.” His laugh had sent a tingle to your legs, which hadn’t happened up until that point. “I bet I could help make it comfortable.” A blush had been fast to creep onto your cheeks, and his smirk had your head spinning. You assumed he messed with you because a romance novel was always in your hands, there was no way he actually had interest in you.

Right now you are sitting on your couch wrapped in a blanket. It’s dark outside, and it’s Tuesday. It has been a few weeks since you’ve gone to the library, and you miss Gojo. You had moved to Japan recently with your family when he’d first came into your life, so he was sort of a refresher. Then he became too much for your hopeless romantic mind. Tuesday’s always consisted of you battling with you emotions.

It’s your day off from work, and you have nothing to do, and no new books to read. The sweet librarian was probably wondering where you were as well, she always let you have books longer than the due date. She’s even let you keep a couple. At this point you’d have to nail your feet to the ground to stop yourself from leaving. You needed something new, and you needed to see him.

Before you knew it the library was in sight. It was a short walk from your home and didn’t take much energy. Plus you enjoyed seeing all the nature things along the way. The lighting from the windows were dim as always, and it seems empty as usual. Maybe Gojo has already gave up on coming from you absences, and it’ll conform it’s just not meant to be.

Once you open the glass door the familiar smell of cinnamon fills your senses. Oh how you missed this place, it was like your second home. You grab more books than you could carry, and start to have trouble seeing where you’re going.

Someone takes a few novels from the stack, and before you can protest you’re left with a loss of words. It’s Gojo himself, but he looks different. His mask is gone snd instead replaced with black circle glasses, and his beautiful white hair is down instead of up. Also, his prominent collarbones are out on display. You can’t help but stare at him.

“Hi stranger.” Holy shit you missed the way his voice sounds. “Hey.” The nerves within you are moving around like butterflies. He turns on his heals with your books in hand, heading straight for the unspoken reserved table. You follow suit, eyeing his broad shoulders from behind. “Where have you been?” He sets the books down on the table and sits down, forming his usual position.

Why are you so nervous right now? This is Gojo, you know him. Well, actually you don’t. That’s the whole reason you needed to take time for yourself and figure shit out. But it’s not like you’ve never talked to him before. You feel as if he’s a random hot guy asking you for your number.

“Uh, just been busy.” Gojo knows that’s complete bullshit. Even if you had a million things to do you’d make time to come to the library, even if just to grab one book. Your eye contact wavers with him as you speak, so it’s a even more dead five away that you’re lying. “Busy, huh? Or have you just been avoiding me?”

It’s the first time you feel this towards him, anger. Why does he know you so well? Why can he read you like a book yet you have nothing to say about him. He sees the way your jaw clenches at his words, and he’s unsure of why. He may be smart, but he’s just as clueless.

“You know everything about me Gojo,” your eyes are narrowing, “yet all I know of you is your name and a few minor details. You won’t even tell me what you do for a living, or if you even have a job. I feel like you’re hiding too much, and honestly is makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like being around someone who could possibly be a fucking murderer for all I know.” He’d never seen this side of you, or heard your voice sound so frustrated.

It’s silent for a few seconds, but it feels like minutes. You’re breathing heavily, completely vexed. What was the point of being your friend if he didn’t want you to know anything about him? “I’m sorry.” His words surprise you, and your stiff face loosens. His finger is tapping against the wood in a anxious manner. Did your little anger moment effect him that much? You don’t say anything, not even sure what to say.

“I, um,” the boy was never at a loss for words but he sure is struggling right now. His mind seems to be moving a million miles per hour, as if he’s trying to find the right thing to say. Instead of saying anything, he grabs the hinges of his glasses. His fingers rest for a moment as you watch with wide eyes. Then he does it, he slides them off of his face.

Gojo’s eyes are like blue crystals. You’d never seen eyes so beautiful and captivating. Why the hell would he want to cover up such a unique thing about him? “Woah,” is all you can muster up. He has a small smile on his face, but you can tell he’s unsure of his own actions. “You have gorgeous eyes.” You’re trying to make him feel more comfortable. “Thank you.”

You two stay like that for a moment, just gazing at one another. The swirls of white in his orbs become more noticeable as you observe them, and the dark shades of blue. They remind you of the ocean as well. “Why do you cover them? They’re so pretty.” He puts his elbows on the table before resting his head in his palms.

“My eyes are extremely sensitive due to-“ he stops himself, and you notice, “they’re just sensitive and I prefer to cover them.” He was still holding back. You press your lips together in a line, and this time you’re the one who can read him. “You’re lying and telling the truth at the same time.” How the hell do you know that? He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying the wrong thing.

“If I told you everything about me you would call bullshit.” “Try me,” what you says surprises him, “how can you know that if you haven’t even tried?” You were right, but it was much deeper than you could ever antispate. There was a whole realm of things you didn’t know about, but again... he should still try. You are so willing to listen.

“I work at Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical High School.” You’d never heard of it, not once. Yes you were new to the area but you still knew most of the schools, considering your siblings went to a high school nearby. He sees the puzzled look on your face, of course you had no idea what it is. “It’s a school for jujutsu sorcerers.” You definitely weren’t catching on. It sounded like make believe, but his face was so serious.

He isn’t lying.

“My job is to exorcise cursed spirits that are active and posing a threat to anyone or anything. I am a sorcerer myself, I contain cursed energy that can be used to fight these spirits,” Yep, what he was saying makes no sense, “I know this sounds insane to you but i’m telling the truth.”

Even though it did sound like some big story, and made no sense to you, you still knew he wasn’t lying. The concept of what he’s saying is making you freak out a bit on the inside, but you try not to show it. “I believe you.” He didn’t expect you to so easily, yet you do. “Well, thank you. I know it’s all hard to believe, and you can’t see curses so I don’t know how to physically prove it to you.”

A small smile forms on his lips and he bats his white eyelashes at you, making your stomach do a small flip. “But we could talk more about it over dinner Friday night, if you would like.” Holy shit, your face is already red. Why does it have to heat up so fast? “Yeah, I-I would like that,” of course you just had to stutter. He stands up from the table with a sly smile on his face, “Awe you’re blushing. Eager to go on a date with me, doll?”

Date? Doll? Gosh this boy was trying to make you pass out with his words. “Personally, you have me eager for a lot of things. But i’m going to earn it with my gentlemen-ness, and telling you everything you wanna know.” At this point he was just trying to make your head spin and legs tingle, he likes the way your eyes sparkle at the thought.

Gojo gives you a small piece of folded up paper, “See you Friday.” He sends you a wink before walking off with his hands in his pockets. His parents really made a hot ass son.

You open the paper and are met with numbers, his number. “Oh shit,” you whisper. He’s expecting you to call him? The nerves set in, this is all so much. The guys a sorcerer, has beautiful eyes, just gave you his number, and wants to go on a date.

You’ve struck gold.

[peakywitch]

Little Hands - Michael Gray

PART TWO

MASTERLIST

word count: 2k

warnings: none (i think this one has angst?)

gif: @oberelias

It had been a year since Henry had told Y/N that he loved her.

It had been a year since they had kissed for the first time.

But a week had passed since his disappearance.

"He left." said Rosemary, her mother “And I don't know if he will come back, Y/N. I'm sorry, but I only know he's in Birmingham…” she sobbed “In a town called Small Heath.”

Y/N knew Henry would be back.

So every night during the rainy month of November she waited for him. In the afternoons she was with Rosemary, trying to calm the sadness of his mother and his little brother. At night she would stay up late, looking out the window of her room with cup of tea in her hand, waiting to see her boyfriend return from another town. To which, he had left without giving explanations. He disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving a simple note:

“I went to Small Heath. -Henry"

No goodbye, no explanation.

In the morning, Y/N woke up before the rooster from the neighboring farm. And by the time the rooster crowed, the tea was already poured into two cups. One for her, one for him.

 Meanwhile, Y/N did not lose hope. Henry wasn't like that, he was coming back. She was sure.

When the thirty days of her departure were marked on the calendar, Y/N had her birthday. She turned 17 on a beautiful sunny afternoon, it was the only day in November without rain or clouds. Her family, the Johnsons, and some of her friends filled her with happiness when they gave her a new dress. They had all collaborated. Y/N was the soul of the town, always giving smiles and taking care of flowers. So her relatives wanted to give her back a bit of that happiness.

The day was beautiful, laughter, cake, some flowers and the dress.

But when the day was done and her parents fell asleep, Y/N waited by the fire, with a slice of the cake for Henry. She had saved the center, the sweetest piece. Wrapped in a blanket, the fire burned in her eyes, as tears fell and she realized the truth: Henry would not return again. He was not there for her birthday, he would not return again.

When she opened her eyes, she saw that the fire was dying; giving her to understand that she had to go to bed. With rage in her soul, she threw the slice of cake into the fire.

“Burn in fucking hell, Henry Johnson. Burn for breaking my heart.”

When the calendar marked ‪January 16‬, Y/N opened her eyes, feeling worse than ever.

After a sleepless night from throwing up, her body was taking its toll.

"Honey?" her dad asked, knocking on her door "It's late, are you okay?" He was still behind the door.

"No." His daughter whispered, it hurted her to breathe.

"Eve!" the alarmed cry of her father was heard, calling for her mother "You have to come, Y/N is feeling bad!"

There was agitated little chatter, and then her mom peeked through the slot left by the open door.

"Sun? Are you okay, love?" Her mom asked curious and concerned.

"No..." Y/N cried.

Her parents entered the room, after asking permission. Her mother sat next to her, touching her forehead, and her father stood in the doorway, nervous.

“You don't have a fever, darling. What do you feel? What’s hurting? "

Y/N recounted the horrible night she had just had, her pains and asked if she was dying, worried.

"Will, would you leave us alone, please?" asked her mother.

He left the room, leaving his daughter and his wife together.

"Y/N, did you sleep with Henry?" her mother asked, concerned.

"No!" she blurted out nervously.

Yes. But she was afraid of punishment.

“Y/N, you don't have to be afraid. It is something natural and normal, as long as you wanted and he did not forced you, your father and I will be fine. "

Y/N sighed.

"Yes."

"When was the first time?" her mother was a teacher, but sometimes, if she tried hard, she could guess things just by looking at a person. She was trying now.

"I don't know..." she thought "A year or so ago."

"And when was the last time?" she asked.

“A few months ago, Mom. Before…” she couldn't finish the sentence. First it was out of sadness, but she realized it was out of fear.

His mother closed her eyes and exhaled.

Shit.

It was ‪January the 18‬, and it was ten in the morning.

Y/N was standing in front of the Small Heath Police Station.

She was showing off her new dress, as she hadn't had a chance to leave her small town.

She took a deep breath and coughed a little as she exhaled. The smoke was disgustingly heavy. She entered the station and found only one man, asleep. Well, apparently it was a quiet city if a policeman was sleeping.

What I do? Do I wake him up? Do I let him sleep?

Among so many doubts, a robust man with a gray mustache appeared.

"Are you lost, miss?" the lord spoke, presenting a strong Irish accent.

"Oh, excuse me, I..." Y/N whispered, doubtful and nervous.

"Let me introduce myself, I'm Inspector Campbell…and you are?" smiled the man.

"My name is Y/N, Inspector." She smiled.

"Well, Miss Y/N, what is a young lady like you doing at the police station in such a dark area?"

"Do you know Henry Johnson?" she blurted out, no introduction.

"Henry Johnson..."

"Yeah… um… He has dark blue eyes, a freckled nose, brown hair…" she tried to describe Henry.

"Does he have a mole on his forehead?" asked the inspector.

"Yes!" Y/N smiled excitedly. Then sadness washed over her: she had slowly forgotten how to describe Henry.

The inspector laughed.

"Don't you mean Michael Gray?" he asked.

"Pardon?" she asked, oblivious to the name.

"Watery Lane, house number 65." He said, while he wrote the address on a small piece of paper.

After a thank you and a goodbye, she heard the man scream:

"Stay away from the Shelbys, princess!"

 Y/N walked aimlessly for a few minutes, passing houses, horses, and drunken men in the street. Watery Lane seemed never to appear. And she was getting tired.

It was official, after wandering for ten minutes, she was lost. Her feet ached and she felt like she would never find Henry. Y/N looked around, she was in the middle of the street trying to get help. At the end of the street, there was a bar: "The Garrison" read the sign. Being eleven in the morning, how many people would be inside? Sure was closed. But she would loose nothing if she tried. Determined, she walked over to that dark bar and knocked on the door. She waited a few moments, since she did not want to annoy by entering as if it were her home. A tall man opened the door for her.

“Did you knock on the bar door, love?" asked the man, with curiosity and amusement in his voice. Y/N looked him quickly up and down, it was the bartender.

"Yes, I didn't mean to disturb, sir..." Y/N smiled, making the bartender laugh.

"Do not worry, love. Need help? I'm sure you're lost "

"Am I so obvious?" she asked embarrassed, the bartender laughed “Actually, I do need help. Where is...” she looked at the paper the Inspector gave her "Watery Lane? "

“You're on Watery Lane, miss. What number do you have written there? "

"Sixty..." she looked at the paper to corroborate "sixty five"

"Oh." The man became uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. His voice cleared "It's at the end of the block, on the right side, has the number on the door."

"Thank you, Sir." She smiled.

“Harry, miss. Harry." Smiled.

They said goodbye, and Y/N went to Henry's house. In a minute, she reached the black door, which featured two clean numbers. The knot in Y/N's stomach intensified, she was afraid. Because she knew the two results of this visit: either Henry stayed with her, or he left her alone. Again.

Determined but scared, she knocked on the door. Stepped back and waited a few seconds.

“Well, well, well..." smiled a boy "Did all my wishes come true?" the stranger's flirtation made her uncomfortable.

"Excuse me, is Henry Johnson here?" she asked, exasperated and almost hopeless.

"Oi, Michael, a damsel in distress is waiting for you." the boy yelled, without taking his eyes off the girl.

There was that name again. Michael. Y/N had too many questions.

"John, fuck off. I don't have any..."Henry appeared, pulling “John” out of his place at the door "Y/N...”

Henry paled, and Y/N looked closely at what he was wearing.

He had a perfectly pressed white shirt, a blue tie and a vest that matched his pants.

Henry closed the door behind him, leaving the house.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Was it disdain and disgust, what Y/N perceived in that question? No, impossible. It was Henry.

"Why did you left?" she answered with a question.

"I asked you first."

"Has your question been in your head for months?" Y/N asked angrily.

"No but..."

“You left us. All of us." Y/N spat with pain "Your mother cried every day, your brother...Henry, your brother...!"

"My name is not Henry, Y/N!" he yelled out of the blue.

“My name is not Henry, she is not my mother and he is not my brother. My name is Michael Gray, my mother's name is Polly and I have a sister who died in Australia. I...”he tried to continue to expand angrily, but Y/N cut him off.

“You, fucking idiot, you had a girlfriend. A girlfriend who waited for you every night with your favorite tea, waited for you every morning with fresh toasts and all afternoon hugging your crying mother. I waited for you until my birthday. I had saved you cake, your favorite part. I went to bed at three in the morning and got up at five everyday, so I could be attentive in case you arrived. But you never came, Henry."

"I am Michael!" he screamed, his voice raised with every letter he said.

"I'm talking to who my boyfriend was!" Y/N yelled in response “I don't know who the fuck is Michael Gray. But I know that Henry Johnson left me alone, and that he got pregnant. So I'm talking to Henry Johnson, not Michael Gray."

Michael clenched his jaw, and Y/N wiped away his tears with his shaking hand.

"What?" Michael asked.

"Four months. I thought you should know, Henry...Michael...whoever the fuck you are."

Adrenaline rushed through Michael's body, everything was shaking. Y/N saw in her boyfriend's eyes how he didn't know what to say or what to do.

"Get rid of him." he said.

"What?" Y/N asked, flustered.

“I won't be with you, get rid of him. It would be easier."

Nausea invaded the girl's body, making her dizzy.

“Everything is so easy for you. If you don't want something, you run away, right?" she laughed sourly, through tears of hatred.

They were both silent.

"Why did you left without saying goodbye? Or a letter...Michael.” the name escaped the girl's lips nervously.

"I didn't want to hurt you..."

Y/N laughed. While Michael was being honest, she couldn't help but get even angrier.

“So you decided to disappear. Disappear from the life of a seven-year-old who sleeps in one of your sweaters so he can stop crying to you. Disappear from the lives of your adoptive parents, regardless of all the effort they put into raising you. Disappear from my life, the person who loves you. Like nothing in the world."

"Y/N..." Michael began.

"No, you don't get to say anything. Because there is nothing to say anymore. Except I'm sorry, but you're not sorry. Everything is perfect now for you. Look at you." She smiled wistfully “You have the perfect outfit that you always wanted, so I imagine you have a job. And a good one, as you always dreamed of. "

"But you..." he began.

“But I” Y/N interrupted again “But I'm going to have a child of yours. As we always dream." Y/N laughed “I dreamed, actually. Because you had other dreams."

And just like that, she began to walk away.

"No, Y/N, wait..." Michael yelled, starting to run towards her.

“I already waited too long for you. I won’t wait for you anymore, never again.” she sentenced, without looking at him as she continued walking.

Michael's chest sagged as he watched her walk away. He entered his house again, with a heavy heart.

"Michael" said Tommy, Michael looked at him heavily "A word?"

Both men locked themselves in the major's office, Tommy stood still and Michael sat in one of the chairs.

“Arthur had a girlfriend, before he went to war. The day before...” said Tommy, lighting a cigarette" The day before our departure, they fought. Shit, it was hell for him. They were so, so angry about something that I can no longer remember, that he went to France without saying goodbye. You know how much of an arsehole he can be." Tommy was going through a drawer, took out a sepia photo.

"She died within two weeks of smallpox, he never forgave himself." Tommy handed him the photo as he sat down in his chair across from Michael.

“We kill men, bad men. Hell, we even torture some. But we never break women's hearts, Michael. Because it is dying in life. So bloody go, and fix all the shit you've done." Tommy said, with an angry tone in his voice, but still not yelling.

"She won't even want to think of me, she'll kill me with her little hands..." Michael smiled sadly, remembering how Y/N's hands looked like baby hands compared to his.

“If she kills you, she will bring you back. Or have you not heard how she waited for you? Go, bloody idiot. Go and don't come back until you come back with her smiling and on your arm.”

PART TWO

[ressyfaerie]

Fic request; (sorry if this isn't a personal headcanon of yours) Kai comes out as nonbinary & the team are largely accepting. Tyson takes longer than the rest to understand and pesters Kai with all his questions & general Tyson-ness. Doesn't have to be shippy but would be a nice bonus!

Oh I love this! I’ve read about someone's headcanon being Kai as nonbinary! As someone who also struggles with their gender identity this will be fun to write! I’m excited! But I understand this can be a sensitive topic for some people, so I’ll throw it into a readmore. It’s not my personal headcanon but writing this will be interesting and fun! I’m adding some Ressyfaerie flare so I apologize if it’s not exactly what you imagined! <3

The team had noticed Kai’s subtle attempts to experiment lately.

Wearing clothes that weren’t his normal style, the most surprising was the almost crop top Tyson immediately pointed out. Ray noticed the extra makeup he occasionally wore under his blue shark fins. His dark coloured clothes would occasionally be more pastel. He went to a school across town, so they didn’t see him most of the day; regardless they still noticed a change in his attitude. With each passing day, he became more comfortable with himself.

Today started off as any ordinary training day in the dojo. The team showed up after school and huddled waiting for Tyson who generally showed up late. Kenny opened his laptop in the corner, Hilary showed up with snacks attempting to bribe the team into showing her new blading techniques. Max and Ray stayed close, talking strategy or gossiping about what happened at school. Today Max wore a frilly green skirt overtop of white leggings.

“Hey! I was wondering where that went!” Hilary gasped when she saw it.

“Sorry Hil!” Max shrugged with a smirk.

“When I said you could borrow my clothes I didn’t mean keep them in your closet for a rainy day!”

“Hehe, sorry. I’ll buy my own, I’ll give your stuff back.” She glared at Max, “promise…”

They heard the door open. As good teammates they had all memorized the way their friends did everyday things, opening doors, walking, you name it.

“Here comes grouch of the year.” Max groaned.

“He’s been a lot better lately, give him a break…” Ray patted Max’s shoulder.

The door to the dojo slid open, Kenny looked up from his computer for a moment, “hey Kai!”

“Hey Kenny.”

Kai gave him a look that might have been a smile… or a judging glare… Who could tell at this point.

“Oh! Kenny smiled while pointing at Kai’s hand, “pretty colours!”

“Kai, I love them!” Max bounced over and grasped one of his hands inspecting the nailpolish. “Did you do them yourself?”

“Y—yeah… thanks.” Kai gulped.

Ray looked at them over Max’s shoulder. “Blue and red, good choice, any special occasion?”

“No. I just like doing them sometimes. It… makes me feel good.”

“Hey that happens to me too!” Max’s eyes shimmered.

“I haven’t worn nailpolish in public yet…” Kai looked to the ceiling and looked back down to the group. “I know it’s not normal.”

Ray chuckled, “it’s normal Kai.”

“What is normal anyways?” Max let go of his hand.

“You make a good point.” Kai nodded his head in response while looking at his hand.

The door to the house flung open, they could hear someone kick their shoes off and groan.

Tyson…

They all knew it was Tyson, but Kai worried about him. He was painfully aware that Tyson would have something to say about his new look, even though Tyson enjoyed doing much the same things, he always had to point it out!

The door to the dojo was thrown open, Tyson burst through, “hey guys!” Tyson grew a huge smile while looking at his friends. Then he looked at Kai and his mouth grew into a gasp.

Kai rolled his eyes.

“Look at you, Kai! Someone has been working way too hard to be a pretty boy lately!”

Kai sighed, and Max knit his eyebrows.

Max whispered in Ray’s direction, “I think I get it...”

After a while they drifted into their work. Kenny and Tyson analyzed something on his computer. Hilary badgered Tyson to show her a new move. Kai fiddled with Dranzer in the corner, Max nudged Ray, and they made their way to Kai.

The two of them sat in front of Kai, the hardwood creaked under them. Kai knew they wanted something, but remembered he was trying to be… nicer lately.

“What’s up?” Kai lowered the tiny screwdriver he was working with.

Max smiled at him.

“What is it?” Kai asked again, this time with a bit more attitude.

“You know you can tell us anything right, Kai?” Ray was pressuring him.

“Ray!” Max swatted his shoulder gently.

“Look, I’ve been uh…” Max folded their hands together fiddling with individual fingers. “For lack of better words, gender hopping for a while now. So I guess… What I’m trying to say is… I get what you're laying down.”

Kai blinked a few times, surprised Max picked it up so fast. He wasn’t sure if he was ready… but he knew his friends, he could trust them.

“I uh.” Kai started, then laughed a bit, “wow.” He fiddled with the small screwdriver on the floor, “you just… right on the money, Max.”

Max dropped his hand on Kai’s thigh. Kai wasn’t huge on touching yet, but Max wanted to give him some form of comfort.

“I’ve been thinking for… quite some time.” Kai started, he rubbed the back of his neck before continuing. “About my um… gender identity.”

The room grew quieter. Both Kai, Max, and Ray were aware the rest of the room picked up on the serious vibe and were listening in.

Max went to say something, but Kai continued.

“I know it’s more than what I want to wear, or makeup or nailpolish. Anyone can do that stuff... It’s more than that. That’s why I’ve been thinking so much.”

Max put both hands on Kai’s leg. Kai grinned.

“I think… I might be non-binary—” the room was quiet, “I’m not one-hundred percent sure but—”

Max cut him off, “it’s fine Kai.” Their face practically glowed from how proud Max was of Kai. “You don’t need to give us a list of reasons, we trust you.”

“Thanks.” Kai let a grin slip out.

“Wait, Kai, you’re gay!?” Kenny gasped.

“No...” Kai now worried that it was too soon.

“Kenny! Non-bnary is a gender thing not a sexuality thing!” Max educated his friend as best as possible in the short timeframe.

“Ooohhh , sorry.” Kenny blushed. “I’m not quite… on the gender train yet, but I’m trying.”

Kai gave Kenny a soft expression, “Thanks, Kenny. I appreciate it.”

Tyson turned around, Kai’s heart fell in his chest, “wait… So you’re not a boy, Kai?”

“What are your pronouns!” Max squealed over Tyson’s remark.

“Um.” Kai hadn’t really thought much about it, “like, anything really. He or them? I know you like them Max but I guess…”

“You don’t mind if we call you a boy?”

Kai shrugged, “I don’t feel like… dysphoric about it. Just that you guys know how I feel when you think about me… I think… that’s all I want.”

The room grew quiet for a moment. Max didn’t want to press the situation, but everyone had more questions.

“Do you experience a lot of gender dysphoria?” Max felt the sweat form in their palms, and relieved some of the pressure from Kai’s leg.

“Sometimes.” When Kai admitted it, he felt his shoulders become light. “But I think it really lines up with my trauma. That’s why… I’m still unsure. But I wanted you guys to know.”

“Thanks for telling us.” Ray patted his shoulder.

“I’m glad I did.”

Kai’s words rang through the dojo.

It was Tyson who got up first.

“Anyone want anything to drink? I’m going to go get a soda. Kai, you want anything?”

Kai was unsure what to think, he stared at Tyson, lost for an answer to a basic question.

“It’s not complicated. I’m not asking you to pick a gender or anything, just what to drink.” Tyson’s words seemed almost... angry.

Max ripped their hands away from Kai and spat towards Kai’s rival, “Tyson!”

“Whatever. I’ll get water I guess.” Tyson threw his hands in the air and left through the door outside.

“What is his fucking problem?” Max grimaced.

“He was never this upset when you came out.” Ray side eyed Max.

Ray and Max pushed themselves off the floor ready to go confront him. Kai got up, placing his arm in front of them.

“No, I think I should talk to him.”

Are you sure, Kai?” Ray wore a worried look.

“Yeah. It’s about time we talked.” Kai made his way to the door, opening it and sliding it shut behind him gently.

Outside the sun had just set. The backyard was veiled in twilight. The other side of the wooden deck across the gravel Tyson shut a door behind him, carrying a can and a bottle of water. Kai hopped off the dojo’s floorboards and felt the gravel crunch under his feet. He made his way to Tyson.

Tyson saw him, and sat on the edge. Letting his feet dangle while he looked over the yard as Kai approached him.

“What’s up?” Tyson raised his eyebrows and smiled sarcastically, then went back to a neutral expression.

“Are you okay?” Kai looked him up and down trying to find out what the problem was.

Tyson handed him the bottle of water with a friendly gesture. Kai took it, and unscrewed the cap, he chugged it.

Tyson opened the can, the only noise other than bugs and the slight splashing of fish in the pond.

“You know…” Tyson took a sip, “I like makeup, dresses, and nailpolish as much as the next guy. But I’m not like you guys.”

“That’s okay.” Kai sat beside him a few feet away. He leaned against one of the wooden beams, “we never said you had to be.”

Tyson scoffed slightly, “I get Max, I do. But you’re such a manly guy. Why?”

“It’s hard to explain if you haven’t felt it yourself but… It’s not just about wearing more… feminine things. There’s a mental aspect to it. And besides…”

Kai used his water bottle to gently bash it against Tyson’s leg, “I’m not that manly.”

“I’ve seen you in a suit…” Tyson shook his head while grinning.

Kai took a breath, “why does this upset you so much? You never had a problem when Max announced his gender reveal—”

“A thousand times.” Tyson finished his sentence.

They both laughed.

A few insects jumped off the pond and reflected the setting sun in their fluttering wings.

“Why does this upset you so much?”

“First of all, I’m not upset. You can do anything you need to do, Kai.”

“If you’re not upset, then what are you?”

Tyson gave him his full attention, the eye contact made Kai’s hair stand on end.

Tyson wasn’t answering, so Kai continued, “I’m still the same person I’ve always been. Nothing has changed, but now I can be more comfortable, and true to who I am.”

“I know that, and I’m proud of you.” Tyson shook the can in circles with one hand.

Kai was starting to lose patience now, “so what the hell is up?!”

“Nothing.” Tyson avoided the question while staring into the distance.

“There’s got to be something if you’re acting like this—so what the hell?”

“It’s fine, Kai. Let’s just forget about it—”

“No.”

Kai was stern, making sure to stay true to his emotional truth.

“Excuse me?” Tyson layed down the can with a loud thud.

Kai threw the water bottle beside him, still holding on to it, his whole body stood still in a white anger.

“You’ve been picking on everything I’ve been doing lately, pointing out every change, in my personality or appearance. You’ve been hypersensitive to me changing, now you have to tell me why!”

Kai’s intense words made Tyson raise his voice louder.

“Because! It’s so annoying! I was so confident in my sexuality but now—if you’re not a boy then I guess that doesn’t make me fully gay like I thought and now I have more soul searching to do! And that pisses me off!”

They challenged each other for a moment, until… Tyson noticed what he said, he could feel his face going red, and he drank out of the can while turning away trying to hide his expression.

Kai wasn’t sure if he heard him right, but what else could he have meant?

“Tyson…”

“Shut up.”

Kai let go of the bottle, it fell and rolled away from them, ignoring it he pulled himself closer to Tyson.

Tyson leaned away, his body felt like it was on fire out of embarrassment, he just wanted to turn and run.

“You don’t have to put yourself in a box. Just live. Figure it out as you go. That’s what I’m doing.”

Kai’s voice was—as always, honey to Tyson’s ears. Tyson shivered, unsure what to do or say.

“It’s alright, Tyson.” Kai wore no expression, but Tyson knew everything he wanted to express.

Tyson stared down at his blue and red nails, smiling at the colour choice.

“I’m proud of you for telling us about your gender Kai… and I’ll support you anyway I can.”

“Thanks, Tyson. That means everything to me.”

[ladynoirelf]

Dark Crystal Tik-Tok challenge: Walking in naked on s/o

Deet to Rian:

Deet peered into the room she and Rian, her body dripped wet from her shower and warped in a fluffy towel. She smiled as she watched Rian playing on the computer, headphones on and sometimes yelling at the boys in the mic.

Taking a breath, she slowly opened the door. The creak of the wood grabbed Rian’s attention, looking up from his desktop he watched Deet saunter next to him.

“Oh, hello” he greeted, lifting his mic so his friends couldn't hear.

“Hi~”

“You uh...just take a shower”?

“Mmh-hmm~”.

“Oh… You gonna-”

The soft landing of the towel cut Rian’s sentence to a halt, leaving him to stare at the beautiful nude body of his beautiful gilly. His breath hitched as she slipped into his lap, Rian had to slam his computer shut just in case the cam was on.

“Hey! Rian what happened? You disappeared”. Gurjin asked through the mic.

“Can someone help the orphan please! I'm getting killed over here”! Kylan’s panicked screeching feel deaf to Rian’s ears as Deet started kissing up his juggalr.

“S-Sorry guys I have to um...handle somethingseyoulater”!

Rian ripped the headphones off his head, wrapped his arms around his girlfriend before ripping the power cord from his laptop to force it off and hurried to the bed with Deet giggling madly in his arms.

 Rian to Deet:

“Did you get the gift package I sent you”?

“Yes father, but you don't have to send one every month”.

Deet watched her father on the other side of the Crystal-holo do some dishes. 

“Yes, I do. I don't want you using too much of those surface products. Who knows what they use in them, I was just reading an article about how they use fizzgig dung in some of their skin ointments and they even use…”.

Deet drowned out her father at the clicking of the bathroom door opening. Knowing it was Rian coming out from his shower, she stayed on the couch absently nodding as her father droned on about dung products and bone marrow shampoo. 

Suddenly, a damp towel flew over her head!

Deet whipped her head to see Rian standing smugly in the nude with his hands on his hips.

Deet’s mouth opened and closed like a Hooyim out of water, her eyes unsure of where to look.

“...so that's one of many reasons to avoid-oh my. Well hello there Rian~”.

Both Shadowling and Woodling looked in mortification to see Lath’N looking impishly at the exposed bits of his daughter’s boyfriend in the corner of the screen.

“Is it chilly in the house son”?

“FATHER”!

Deet threw the retreating Rian a couch pillow before pushing the floating crystal back in its slot to end the call. 

“Om my Thra, I’m so embarrassed”.

“YOUR embarrassed”!? Rian popped his head in the living room, pillow pressed over his groin. “I can't show my face to your father again”!

Both could only groan in embarrassment and shame.

 Brea to Kylan:

Brea made sure that her fluffy towel was good and loose before tiptoeing through the kitchen to sneak behind her boyfriend on the couch. Kylan sat oblivious to her sneakery, tending to his virtual farm on his handheld console. Brea mentally counted three before flinging off her towel and plopping her bare breasts atop Kylan’s head.

“Crushing titter attack”!

“Gyaa! Brea”!

Kylan nearly had his eye poked with an ample nipple. Shocked by Brea’s undress, he swiftly removed the sweater he was wearing and wrapped her up in it.

“For Thra’s sake the windows are open”! Kylan cried, gently pushing Brea away from the living room.

“We live on the 25th floor”.

“You never know, there might be some pervert with a telescope trying to see in here”.

“So you don't like it”? Brea coyly pouted, batting her lashes as she moved the sweater so her chest brushed against a blushing Kylan.

“N-N-No, no,no I do like it. I really like it”. He stuttered, looking to the ceiling in habit. Unintentionally giving Brea access to his jugular where she trailed placed her sweet kisses.

“Let's go then”. She cooed

“G-G-Go”?

“Bedroom” she kissed his bobbing Adam's apple “right now please”.

“...Okay”. 

Kylan dreamily followed his humming princess, leaving his game unsaved and console to die of battery loss.

 Kylan to Brea:

Normally, Kylan would try to avoid the group's challenges that required him to get chased, flirt with strangers and get nude. And after hearing how Rian’s challenge went horribly wrong, Kylan was definitely uninterested. 

But, he would have been lying if he said he wasn't curious to see Brea’s reaction. Since she took the lead most of the time, he figured it would be quite a suprise.

Curiosity got the better of him and now here he was standing outside his and Brea’s bedroom wearing only a robe. Taking Rian’s caution to heart, Kylan made sure Brea was nowhere near a cam or crystal-holo. He peeked through the crack of the open door to see Brea reading on her side.

With no cam-quartz insight, Kylan took a calming breath. Then pushed open the door with such force it slammed into the wall as he threw his robe off!

Startled by the noise, Brea jerked up to see a shaking Kylan standing before her with his cock out.

…

…

“So-”. Kylan was cut off with the shuffling of the comforter as Brea sat up to tie up her hair in a messy bun. Her eyes eyeing her target right in between her boyfriend's legs.

Kylan yelped in surprise as Brea pounced on him, devouring him right there till sunrise.

 Mothria to Gurjin:

“Darling”.

“Get your head in the game fellas were almost there”!

“Darling”.

“Come Kylan hit harder buddy you got this”.

“Daaaaaarling”

“YEAHEHEH! EAT SOG YA BASTARDS”!

“Gurjin”!

Said gillon winced at his love’s booming call, though he couldn't say he didn't deserve it. He muted his mic before removing his headphones.

“S-Sory about that lovemoth, I got caught up in the-ooooh”.

Pouting with her arms crossed, long locs untied and flowing freely to the floor, and bare as the day she was born. Mothria huffed as she turned her back to her boyfriend, her hair nearly hitting his awestruck face.

“You said tonight was my night”. She whined “but you’ve just been playing with the boys”. 

“Im sorry, I'm sooo sorry Lovemoth. Here I'll turn it off right now, and then” Gurjin pressed his lips to her webbed ear “then I'll lavish you in attention, okay? You forgive me, Mothy”? Gurjin wrapped his arms around Mothria’s waist, trailing kisses from her shoulder up to her neck.

She looked up with sultry green eyes.

“You promise”?

Gurjin kissed her, hard “I promise”.

 Gurjin to Mothria:

Mothria just wanted to rest, that's all.

After long hours on the breeding farm and running errands for Grigor, a nice relaxing weekend indoors was all she needed. It helped that the forecast was cloudy and rainy, perfect staying and couch potato weather.

So she sat on the couch with the bola and spear channel on high with some “Peach berry” frozen cream. Taking a bit of her tart and sweet treat, she heard quite rustling behind her.

Knowing it to be Gurjin, she simply contented to watch the contestant prep for their throw.

“Mothyyyyyy”.

Mothria groaned, knowing what was coming.

“LoveMoothhhh”.

She just wanted to relax, sex with Gurjin when its raining was not relaxing. She mentally urged herself to keep ignoring him.

“Mothriaaaa~”.

“How can I help you”?

“Look behind you”.

“I'm watching something”.

“Please”.

“This is a really good match”.

“And I'm really good looking, look my way lovemoth”.

“Nah, not falling for it”.

Mothria’s smirk of victory quickly plunged when Gurjin moved to stand in front of the TV. Ready to go for a romp.

“...Can you at least wait until I finish my snack”?

“You have five minutes”.

[torisfeather]

Flufftober 1 - Coffee Shop AU

Sanders Sides One-shot - Prinxeiceitmus

Prompt  by @vex-bittys

Available on fanfiction.net and AO3

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

Virgil loved rainy days, when the sky was dark and the rain was heavy outside the large windows of the coffee shop he worked at. A low rumble of thunder in the distance was the cherry on top. There were barely any patrons when the weather was that bad outside, and that meant he could wear his headphones and sit on the floor behind the counter, scrolling tumblr and glancing at the reflection in the conveniently placed mirror for any newcomers now and then.

Plus, if he missed them, Janus would alert him. Because Janus preferred to sit right in the open, clearly not working or scared of anyone noticing. At first, Virgil had been angry that the short man shared most of his shifts because they were not exactly the most compatible characters out there. But after Janus covered for him when he was stuck home for almost a week with a particularly bad depressive episode, he started liking him a lot more.

Anyway, it was one of those quiet afternoons when it felt like time had stopped and the world had gone to sleep at 3PM. The coffee shop's door was pushed open with the ringing of a bell, and Virgil sighed, putting his headphones and phone away and slowly standing up. He started reciting his speech, not even bothering to look at the customer right away. "Welcome to the Wolf's Den Coffee Shop, what would you like tod…"

He choked on the last word and hid it with a cough in the crook of his elbow. Two men had entered, actually. Two very good-looking men.

Their faces were very alike, except for a cartoonish mustache above the second one's lips that wasn't even fake. They were tall and fit, even under the coats they were wearing. Brown hair, damp with rain, sticking to their foreheads. Lovely green eyes.

Virgil realized with a start he had been staring, for several seconds now, and that none of them had said a word. Virgil hunched down and looked away. "Sorry, what would you like to order?"

There was a moment of silence, as the two men seemed to shake themselves awake and glanced at each other. The one closest to Virgil smiled and made a show of looking at the menu. "Well, let's see…"

He hummed as he read, tapping the tip of his left pointer finger to his lips, pressing a little too long on them from time to time. Virgil decided to look at the other man instead, who was staring at him again with a tense smile, like he was trying not to say something.

Janus walked up next to him, with a smirk that made him look like some anime villain. Took him long enough.

"Ahah!" The first customer said, startling Virgil. "I may have an idea! Can I request a custom order?"

Virgil frowned. "Um, well…"

"Sure!" Janus cut in with a wink, ignoring Virgil when he glared at him. "Anything for you!"

The customer grinned. "How about you surprise me, then? I'd love something hot and sweet, but apart from that, you can be as creative as you want with the flavors."

"I don't…"

"No problem, we'll whip something up just for you," Janus interrupted again. Virgil looked at him, then shrugged. Whatever was going on in his coworker's head, he wasn't going to get involved. Although, when he noticed how the customer winked back at him, he felt a pang of envy.

"What about you, sir?" Virgil asked the second man, who was now staring both at him and Janus with a twitchy eye.

"Nineteen expresso shots in a venti with a dash of fresh cu…"

"My brother will have a decaf," the first man interrupted loudly, covering the last words in the sentence. Which Virgil was actually kinda grateful for because he wasn't sure he wanted to know if he understood that last word correctly.

The brother nodded enthusiastically. "With salted caramel and cherries, no whipped cream!"

"Oookay…" Virgil said, taking notes. "A name?"

"I'm Roman, and that's Remus," the less chaotic of the two said.

"Alright, coming right up!" Janus said cheerfully as the brothers headed to a table and sat down.

"I'm making the decaf, you make whatever you think Roman should have," Virgil said, deadpan. Janus was the one who had agreed to this shit anyway.

The shorter man rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling, and they both got to work. Virgil sighed as he poured salted caramel sauce and cherries into the cup of decaf. The fruits rolled to the bottom like tapioca bubbles in a bubble tea.

"Which one do you want?" Janus asked as he added apple slices on top of a creamy pumpkin spice mocha.

"Which what do I want?" Virgil asked.

"Of the brothers."

Virgil's eyes widened and he gave Janus a dumbfounded look. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he hissed quietly.

Janus rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah, I totally didn't see you staring at them, and your white foundation is definitely thick enough to hide how red you are right now."

"I'm going to make your face red if you don't stop!" Virgil hissed again. "Both of them are out-limits!"

"Hmm, got it…" Janus just responded, still smirking as he finished the order.

He gathered the drinks on a tray and sent Virgil away to tally the bill. Virgil looked away purposely and tried not to stare when Janus walked up to the two brothers who'd been bickering quietly at their table by the window. But he couldn't help watching as Janus whispered something in Roman's ear, then Remus's, and waited as the brothers seemed to agree on something and wrote something down on a napkin for Janus.

That flirt… Virgil bit his tongue and looked away. Whatever…

Janus walked back to the counter with a satisfied face, waving around the napkin and the phone number on it. "Oh, Virgil~" he sing-sang.

"What?" Virgil said, trying to focus on the numbers he was supposed to ring up.

"We've got a double date with the brothers tomorrow night~"

"What?!"

Virgil missed a key but he didn't care right now. He spun around at Janus who was just watching him smugly, leaning on the counter.

"A date? Both of us?"

"Mhm, they seemed very interested too…"

"But… Who's dating who?"

Janus smiled wickedly. "… Yes."

[addictedtothis]

‘Cause all of me, Loves all of you

Annabeth started into the boy's sea-green eyes. He looked right back at her. He shyly handed her journal to her. "Thank you," she whispered silently, almost mutely. The boy smiled and stood up, then offered her a hand and pulled her up. The moment was magical as they stared into each other's eyes, saying nothing, but everything.

Unfortunately, her moment was up; She felt like she was Cinderella, and the clock had just struck twelve. Flustered, the girl spoke up. "Hi, I'm Annabeth."

The boy smiled kindly, still staring into the depths of her gray orbs, and replied, "Nice to meet you, Beautiful," he said, then blushed, as if he wasn't planning on saying that aloud. She blushed–something which she had been doing ever since she'd been accidentally knocked over by the swim team's captain. "I'm Percy."

"Uh," she jerkily pointed towards the doors. "I-I've got to go. See you around," she said, flushing because he'd called her beautiful.

It was only after Annabeth went home that she realized something: "The introductory sentence!" she yelled. Annabeth knew it was a bad omen to ignore the introductory sentence; Bad things happened to those who did. She knew it wasn't just some silly superstition.

That night, she cried herself to sleep.

"Grandpa!" the five-year-old called after she'd finished brushing her teeth that night. Annabeth's hair was half-dried from her shower, and her teeth were minty fresh. She was ready for her bedtime story.

"Are you ready, Daisy?"

Grandfather Chase called his granddaughter Daisy. He said she was pure, and innocent, much like the lovely flower.

She beamed. "Yes!"

"Alright," he chuckled, tucking the girl into her bed before taking a seat at the wooden chair next to it. The old man breathed deeply, and placed his spectacles on the nightstand. He leaned over, switching the night lamp on. Annabeth stared at her grandpa's old, wrinkly face, which was illuminated by a golden glow. He looked into the girl's gray eyes, which matched her mother's, and started his tale.

"Once upon a time," he started, with his rustic storyteller's voice. Grandpa Chase was from a small town in Britain, and though he moved to the United States decades ago, he managed to retain part of his accent. "A clumsy young lad went to an old library. He was working on a project for his college, when a gust of wind—" he blew into Annabeth's face, causing his minty breath to ruffle her golden hair. "—blew his papers away, making them scatter around. The boy was mighty disappointed; He'd worked long and hard to finish his assignment, but now, it was ruined."

Her grandfather sat silently for a while, making the mood mysterious.

"Grandpa? What happened then?" the young girl asked.

"Suddenly, a beautiful young woman walked inside. She helped the man collect his papers that were fluttering in the breeze. A few moments later, all of his things had been collected, but neither was willing to leave, as they stared into each others eyes . . . Alas, not all things last forever, Annabeth. The pair had to part ways, but not without a kiss to the cheek."

"Did they get married and have babies and live happily ever after?" Annabeth blurted out; she'd been reading way too many princess stories.

Grandfather laughed deeply, but it was sad. "They did get married, and they had a beautiful little girl," he sighed. "But they had to leave their baby daughter . . ."

"Where did they go?"

He tenderly stroked the curious girl's hair. "It was their turn to meet the Gods." He stood up abruptly, kissed her forehead and murmured, "Goodnight, Daisy."

Annabeth looked at the doorway long after he'd left.

                                                         ∞

The girl looked above Annabeth's head to read out her introductory sentence. Honestly, it had irked Annabeth for years when people introduced themselves without making eye-contact. Except for that one time, she thought bitterly.

"Hey! I'm Piper. Mind if I sit next to you?" the brunette–Piper–asked.

Annabeth looked up to read her sentence too. It read: (Smile) "Sure, Piper! I'm Annabeth."

Almost mechanically, Annabeth's fake smile slipped off her face, and Piper slumped into the seat opposite to Annabeth's.

"What made you come here?" Annabeth asked.

"Well, it was either introducing myself to a bunch of high-schoolers—" she pointed towards a large group "—or introduce myself to one college-age student."

Annabeth nodded sympathetically; She'd been in that position quite a few times.

"So, just a question," Piper spoke up after a minute; Annabeth looked up from her novel. "Our introductory sentences were pretty . . . chill. Like, what exactly is that supposed to mean? Are we friends? Rivals?"

Annabeth started beaming. "I don't know, actually. Doesn't that make it so much better?" She smiled genuinely. "So, are you in college too?"

"Yeah, I'm a junior at Harvard."

"Same!"

"Cool," Piper leaned forward in interest. "I'm majoring in communications. What about you?"

"Architecture," Annabeth smiled, showing Piper the blueprint that was spread open on the library table.

"Wow . . . what is that?"

"Just a blueprint for a project. I had to recreate a famous building. This is my take on the Parthenon."

Piper nodded appreciatively. "Are you gonna make a model, or something?"

"Yep."

"Hey, I'm heading to the diner for dinner," Piper laughed at her own joke. "Wanna join me?"

"Sure," Annabeth said, packing her things up.

Piper and Annabeth chatted some more. In a matter of minutes, it was like they'd known each other for years.

"Ow!"

Annabeth opened her eyes to see that she'd just crashed into someone and sent all of their things flying. "Sorry," she muttered, not glancing at their face.

". . . Annabeth Chase?" the person–a boy–said, making her look up in shock.

"How do you—? Oh, it's you," Annabeth said, her heart beating at a hundred miles per hour. She needed to get away ASAP. "Come on, Piper," she said, rushing to her feet and dragging her new friend out of the door, while he sat on the ground, looking at her retreating figure.

                                                        ∞

"What was that all about?" Piper demanded when they sat at the diner.

Annabeth tried to stop her hands from fidgeting around, so she clamped them together tightly. "He's . . . Percy Jackson," she said.

"Elaborate," Piper said, looking at her expectantly.

"We bumped into each other in high school, and forgot to say our introductory sentences," Annabeth explained, hoping Piper wouldn't ask for more. But fate was not on her side.

"So?"

"Piper . . ." she said. Annabeth knew why it was a bad omen. Her parents had experienced that first-hand, and her grandfather had seen it.

"Annabeth?" Piper's voice was gentle now. Annabeth felt relaxed; she felt like she could spill her heart to Piper; she felt like she could trust Piper.

She sighed. "I'll have to tell you everything from the top. My parent's died when I was a baby, so I lived with my grandpa. He used to tell me stories about them." She grinned a little, recalling his wispy, balding white hair and the wrinkles near his eyes which showed just how much he smiled. "My parents . . . they didn't say their sentences properly. Apparently, Dad told Grandpa that he forgot about his sentence, and so did Mom. Although my grandfather was concerned, he was happy for them. Later they got married, and I was born a couple of years later. Everything seemed great, until one rainy night. I was at Grandpa's house while my parents went outside. An hour later, the police called, informing him that his son and daughter-in-law were dead. It was a road accident."

"Oh, Annabeth."

"It's okay, Piper. I was a year old. I don't remember them." She smiled sadly. "So, yeah. Grandpa always told me never to forget my introductory sentences, but I did."

"You know," Piper smirked mischievously. "No one said you'll fall in love and make babies with Percy."

"Piper!" Annabeth was appalled, yet she couldn't help laughing. Nothing would happen, right?

                                                        ∞

She was walking home late one night, having just finished reading a book at the library on-campus.

"Annabeth!" a boy shouted.

Annabeth turned around to see a figure walking behind her. The darkness of the night certainly didn't help her nerves, so she started a light jog.

"It's me, Annabeth. Percy!" he continued, which made her start sprinting. But she soon got tired; Carrying a heavy bag wasn't easy whilst running. Shortly, he caught up to her.

"Woah! Slow down. Do you remember me?" he asked.

Annabeth counted to ten and ignored him, hoping he'd get the hint that she didn't want to talk to him and he'd leave. But he was probably the most oblivious person on the planet.

"I'm Percy Jackson . . . Goode High School . . . Um, we were seniors three years ago . . . Any of that ringing a bell?"

She didn't reply and chose to keep walking towards the dorm rooms.

"We crashed into each other one day, in the hallway—Oh! Is this about me calling you beautiful? I swear, I didn't mean to offend you or anything. I'm sorry."

She finally decided to break her silence. "Did you read that from your introductory sentence?"

"My introductory—? Oh, no. Is that a problem?"

"Introductory sentences are everything! They determine our relationship; we can't break the rules!" her breathing quickened; she didn't want to cause either of them harm, but her parents—

"Annabeth? Annabeth!" Her hands started shaking. The blood pounded in her ears. Annabeth had never been one to step out of line, but now, she'd probably broken the worse rule possible. She started gasping for air. She needed more oxygen, quickly. Annabeth slowly sank to the ground; she felt like she was drowning.

"Annabeth, breathe," Percy's voice said. He gripped her shoulders, helping her sit. His voice was shaky, but he tried to control it, like he was panicking too but was trying to keep calm for her sake. "Breathe." He breathed deeply, hoping she'd notice and mimic his actions.

"Are you alright?" Percy asked her a few minutes later. He handed her a water bottle and she took it gratefully. The boy sat on the pavement next to her.

"Yeah." Her voice came out raspy. She cleared her throat. "Yeah. Thanks."

"So . . . what happened?" he pried.

"Uh, panic attack. That happens sometimes, when I get too stressed," she admitted.

"Why?"

She gulped down some more water. "Huh?"

"I mean, what was the trigger this time? Why were you feeling stressed?"

Annabeth bit her lip. She really didn't want to have this conversation with Percy. Especially because it would seem like such a trivial reason to him. But once she started speaking, the words flew out of her mouth on their own accord.

"Oh . . ." he said.

"You probably think I'm a freak now," she muttered, mostly to herself.

"Nah. My parent's story is kinda similar, actually."

Annabeth's eyes shot up, and she rushed to explain. "I never—I mean—Not like, soulmates, or anything." She wrung her hands, frustrated at her inability to explain properly.

Luckily, he seemed to understand. "You were just concerned for us? Like acquaintances?" Was that disappointment in his voice?

She nodded. "I have to get going." She stood up. "It's pretty late. Bye."

"Okay," he said. "Should I . . . walk you to your dorm? Mine's near yours," he nearly begged.

"Uh-alright."

The walk home was silent.

                                                        ∞

"Listen up, Class," Professor Davis announced. "For this semester, we want you to work with the marine biology students to create underwater structures for marine organisms. You can make whatever you'd like. Be creative!"

Instantly, the class broke out into chatters of excitement.

"Silence! I'll be announcing the pairs only once!"

Annabeth leaned forward in interest; they'd never collaborated with students taking other majors.

"Liam O'Brian and Louis Thompson . . ."

"Annabeth Chase and Percy Jackson." Annabeth's head shot up, hoping it wasn't true. That night held the most awkward moments in history.

"Alright, that's all. Meet your partners after college today. From tomorrow onwards you'll be working together, after all, so meet them," Professor Davis said. " Oh, Charlotte Williams, please pass the instructions papers around. Thank you." He walked out of the class, leaving the students in a frenzy of questions.

                                                        ∞

"Save me, Piper!" Annabeth complained at the coffee store.

Piper looked at her amusedly. "It's just a project. What could go wrong?"

Annabeth glared at her while she sipped her warm drink, but it was hard to take a pouting girl with a foam mustache seriously.

"You know what happened, idiot," she muttered.

"Annabeth!" Piper laughed. "Everyone embarrasses themselves once in a while."

"You—"

"I could write a novel about the times I've embarrassed myself."

Annabeth stubbornly ignored Piper, and continued sketching in her little journal. She still hadn't wiped away the foam mustache, and Piper found it too endearing to wipe away.

What a mistake.

"Hey, Annabeth. We're working on that project together," Percy said when he saw them at the coffee shop five minutes later.

"Hello." Annabeth smiled forcibly.

"You have a little something . . ." he gestured to her facial foam while hiding a grin.

Absolutely mortified, Annabeth's eyes widened and she wiped the foam away. Meanwhile, Percy sat down at the empty chair at their table. "Hi—"

"Piper. Hey, Percy." she smiled. "I better leave you guys." She stood up.

"Piper, it's alright!" Annabeth rushed out, desperate to have her best friend there. Hopefully she'd save Annabeth from the future awkward moments she'd face. Or maybe not; she certainly hadn't told her about the foam.

"I have a class," she laughed. "Taata!"

Annabeth turned back to the boy that sat perpendicular to her. "So, the project. Have you read the instructions and guidelines?" she asked.

"No," he said sheepishly.

"Okay. Let's go over it now and we can meet up at . . . 5:30 every evening?"

"Sure." He nodded. "The library?"

"Yeah."

Their eyes met for a second too long. Annabeth was the first to snap out of it.

"Okay, the guidelines."

                                                        ∞

"How was it?" Piper asked. She was currently sitting on Annabeth's bed eating Cheetos and getting the orange dust everywhere, but Annabeth—who was usually a neat freak—didn't so much as glance at Piper.

"Fine," she said half-heartedly, while she typed away on her laptop.

"Whatcha doing?"

"I had this brilliant idea, Piper!" she said, making Piper jolt and the sudden change in her pitch. "If I do most of the project myself, I can meet him less. So, I'm researching about . . . water stuff." She went back into her trance.

"Annabeth, they put you guys in pairs for a reason!"

"Whatever, McLean. It's your turn to clean the house. Get off my bed and get the vaccum," she said. It was tit-for-tat.

Piper sighed; it was no use arguing with a determined Annabeth. Yet she shouted, "You know, he might want to actually do the project with you!"

"Or, I might just be doing him a favor!" the gray-eyed girl yelled back.

                                                        ∞

"Hi, Percy!" Annabeth chirped when they met at the library that evening.

"Hello?" He looked around, making sure she wasn't taking to another Percy. She usually ignored him when they met up.

"Guess what?" she beamed. Today, Annabeth was a ray of sunshine, and that honestly worried Percy. "I finished most of the project. You should take it home. Make a couple changes if you'd like," she waved it off, ignoring the boy's hurt expression.

"It was supposed to be a group project." He spoke slowly, as if he were talking to a young child.

"And your point is?" she raised an eyebrow.

His rage flared up, hot and angry. "What?—You know what? Nevermind. You can do the entire thing on your own!" He stormed past her and out of the library.

                                                        ∞

Percy scoffed as he sat down to do his own project. She was infuriating. Instead of manning up and facing her problems with him, she'd chosen to run away from them.

"Fine then. See if I care!" he yelled at the wall.

Percy looked at the instructions again. How in the world would he manage to do the architectural part? He placed his hands on his head and ignoring the migraine that was forming.

                                                        ∞

The next day, he walked up to Annabeth Chase and sternly told her straight on her (pretty) face, "We were supposed to do this together, whether you like it or not," and she nodded meekly, following him to the library.

As if.

This is how it went:

Percy: Hey, uh, Annabeth. D'you have a minute?

Annabeth: What is it?

Percy: Listen, I know nothing about architecture, and I'm sorry for how I reacted yesterday . . . Can we please do the project together? Please?

Annabeth: Fine.

He tried to ignore the way she said it, like she was disgusted but would help him anyway. He had a four months to get into her good books, anyway.

                                                        ∞

"Tell me again, why can't we use cement?" Annabeth asked. For a nerd, she sure had no idea about water. He wondered how she even thought about doing this on her own.

"It pollutes the water."

"Oh . . . then what can we use?" she asked.

Over the course of a month, Annabeth had slowly warmed up to him. They could even be considered as friends.

"Uh, concrete, acrylic and steel, I guess," he said after flipping through his textbook.

She absentmindedly nodded, sketching something on a piece of loose paper.

"Wait, so . . . ?"

And the cycle continued.

                                                        ∞

"Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase," the professor announced.

Annabeth held the model—she didn't trust him after their little rehearsal, where he'd nearly smashed the delicate structure—and they ascended the podium.

"Hello everyone!" Percy smiled.

"That was incredible!" Annabeth yelled, giddy with happiness. He laughed too; they had gotten an A+ grade and their project was considered as the best.

"Careful. You'll fall off the roof!" he said; she was teetering dangerously towards the edge of the roof. They were celebrating at one of Percy's favorite places—the roof on top of an old restaurant.

Annabeth didn't hear him above the sounds of the wind and her yelling, though. His instincts kicked in and Percy jumped up to pull her away from the end.

"Woah!" he said, wrapping his arms around the girl, who was just about to trip and fall. He'd underestimated their momentum though, and they fell on the roof, Annabeth's lips hovering just above his.

"Uh . . ." Annabeth said. She was staring at him, mesmerized by his warm features. The slant of his nose; the pink color on his nose; the blush that spread across his cheeks; the shy smile that graced his lips; his long, long black eyelashes; and the colors that swirled in his playful eyes. Luckily, she was able to compose herself and got off of him, laughing nervously.

Percy ran a hand through his hair, smiling awkwardly. "You wanna leave? It's getting chilly."

She nodded, choosing to look at her sneakers rather than at him, but he caught the blush on her face.

Percy and Annabeth silently walked towards their dorms. It was late at night, and Percy's thoughts drifted back to the night that he'd met her, shouting her name. He still remembered the way she gasped for air, her mind threatening to choke her.

It made him ask her: "Are you still scared about our introductory sentences?"

She looked at him; he'd just jostled her out of the thoughts of her own. Annabeth didn't reply for a while. "No, I guess. I didn't want what happened to my parents happen to us." She shrugged. "Plus, I never broke rules before."

Percy grinned at the way she'd pointedly said the word "before." He was guilty of making her break quite a few rules during the four months they'd known each other. They'd done some pretty epic things like skating in the dorm corridors and visiting the campus roof that was off-limits.

"Bye," Annabeth said—almost unwilling to leave—and it was then that Percy realized that they'd reached their dormitories.

"Bye, Beautiful," he said teasingly, but meaning it wholeheartedly.

He expected her to punch him, but what she did next was completely unexpected.

She pressed her lips to his for a second before pulling away, and blushing furiously, she ran towards her room. He stood there for a minute, frozen, like a statue.

                                                        ∞

"My little girl's in love!" Piper teased with tears—actual tears!—in her eyes.

"Shut up!" Annabeth complained, but didn't try to stop the infectious grin that adorned her face.

"Awww!"

Annabeth threw a pillow at her best friend's face.

Annabeth knew it was considered a bad omen to forget introductory sentences. But for once, she didn't care.

                                                        ∞

Decades later:

Percy and Annabeth had done many things together.

After Annabeth had kissed Percy, she waited to see if he'd ask her out, before doing it herself a week later, and almost screwed up Percy's romantic proposal—with roses and the whole shebang. They'd made an underwater castle of their own, basing it off their project. It had become a famous tourist spot. They'd gotten married, had kids, their kids had gotten married too, and they had become grandparents. Age hadn't taken a huge toll on either of them; Annabeth was still as fresh as a daisy, and Percy was still as handsome as he'd been forty years ago.

Now, they were lounging at the beach with Piper and her husband, Jason; The four of them had become lifelong friends.

The couple smiled at their grandchildren, who were playing in the sand, a few feet away from them.

"We've come a long way," Annabeth said, starting to get philosophical.

"Yeah," he agreed. A memory surfaced to his mind. "You know, introductory sentences aren't everything."

Looking at the smile on her face, he knew she remembered. "We can make our own rules."

Piper snorted, interrupting the tender moment. "Looks like you guys did fall in love and made babies, after all."

"What?" the boys asked.

"Nothing!" Annabeth said, but she was laughing like she knew what Piper was talking about.

Percy shook his head, and wrapped an arm around Annabeth's shoulder, enjoying the sunset, thinking about his life and love.

Fin.

~

So I wrote this story a while ago (November 1st 2020, to be exact) on FF.net under the name LittleMissPrincess. 

I’m really proud of this story -  😅 - so here I am, posting this on tumblr.

Thanks for reading. Byeee!

[ethereallchan]

Cloudburst - Chan

Genre: fluff, angst

Word count: 4.4k

Warning: none! unless you have a problem with rain, that is.

Chan has never been the one that took a liking on the rainy weather, but somehow he found a new reason to hate it even more now.

Chan never liked rain.

He thought that it was annoying, how their sounds hit the window's glass of his room and left him awake in the night where sleep already becoming a rare occasion.

The thunder and lightning didn't scare him, obviously. But one couldn't resist to get shocked whenever the deafening sound of electricity that seems like it ripped the dark sky came out of nowhere even when the spark of light before it already warned him. It still caught him off guard, and he hated the feeling.

Also let's not talk at how the rain almost ruined his precious laptop that contained the songs that he has been diligently working on when he decided to grab a quick drink near the dorm. He brought it just in case the sound of people bustling around the cafe could be his next base or effect in his next song (it didn't, the cafe was empty when he walked in) but ended up regretting his choice when the grey, ugly clouds accumulated above him as he wait for his drink, moreover hating his decision when the droplets of water trickled down the glass of the cafe's entrance.

That day, he ran back to the dorm with laptop inside his grey hoodie and a banana milkshake on his hand, which proved to be a hindrance as the rain slowly poured down at him. The sweet drink was filled with rain and he was forced to throw it away (into the garbage bin, obviously he's very aware of the environment condition within the earth) before he could even taste it.

Chan's hoodie wasn't as soaked as he thought it would be, but still his heart rate wasn't calming down until he checked that his laptop along with his music was fine. Since then, he despised the weather. Not to the point of hating it, but still a frown would be created when he saw the signs of rain.

These series of experiences, however, changed his whole perspective towards it.

The very first time Chan met you was when it was raining lightly. He was stuck on the bus stop, waiting for the next bus to arrive since he was too busy on working on his newest track that he forgot about going home. It was a brief ten minutes of him standing alone before the rain started to fall. 

Within the very first drop of water that hit the pavement beside him, he cursed. The boy was lucky the bus stop had a roof so he could protect himself from getting soaked before entering the dorm.

He was too caught up on his own world of despising the weather that he didn't acknowledge you running to the bus stop to shelter yourself from the weather. It was then until he realized that you struggle on reading the words on the bus schedule aloud to yourself that he spoke, "do you need help?" in Korean.

You turned at him, eyes blown wide as you didn't understand anything that this mysterious boy has spoken at you. The expression of horror on your face brought Chan upon the realization that you didn't understand Korean, but before he could repeat his question in English, your voice came out in a staggered, but still coherent "No. Um. Speak Korean" in a broken Korean.

He was smiling by the time you continue, "Next bus. When?" With English mixed in the simple sentence and hand gestures.

'cute', he thought to himself.

"In fifteen minutes" Chan replied in English, his smile hasn't worn off his face. "Where are you going?"

You breathed out a sigh of relief when you heard his accent, indicating that he was able to speak in a language that you would understand. "Oh my God, I thought that the last bus has already passed. I came from there" you pointed out on the only bus stop other than this one in the area, and a quite far one.  "And my translation app told me that the last bus has passed already so I ran here and apparently it started to rain as well" a frown was formed on your face but Chan thought that it fits you. He would want to see it more often.

"I'm glad that you're here, though. My phone was dead so I couldn't use it to translate" you smiled at him, "thank you very much"

Scratch that, Chan wanted to see your smile a lot more often.

"No problem," he shrugged, trying hard to hide the fact that his heart was rapidly beating against his chest, "but really, where are you going though?"

A blush crept up at your cheeks when you realized that you hasn't answered his question. Sheepishly, you explained that you were there for a trip with your family, but decided to explore the city on your own when it's nighttime. Your naive mind thought that you would survive with only a handful of cash and a translation app until you realized that your money wasn't enough to get you a cab and your phone battery gave out on you. 

The hotel that you were staying was where you would wanted to go, with the bus luckily would pass it. However it was proven to be difficult as you couldn't understand the language.

You rambled on with your frustration on your Korean skills, at how you could read the words but not understanding what you were reading. Chan couldn't contain his smile (he honestly felt like a creep for smiling too much at whatever words that you were saying) but he couldn't help it. At that time, the only thing that he wanted to hear was your voice. There was also the urge within him that wanted to pinch your cheek and gushed at how you were so cute at that moment, but he was able to contain himself.

The conversation flowed through with mostly him asking you about your trip in Seoul and how you were enjoying it, and him telling you more places to visit once he heard you talk about your mainstream destination. The bus rolled in when you asked him the best place to eat, in which he replied to his secret places.

Inside the bus was empty, as you would expect in the last buses. Both of you sat down side by side, with yours on the window's. Before you could even ask about more recommendations of places, the night view of Seoul got you speechless. Your mouth was agape as you silently adore the city lit up at night and how it was still alive in the far hours of night. You fished your bag for your Polaroid camera before realizing that you only have one stock of photo left.

Chan obviously noticed this, as he noticed everything from your widening eyes as soon as you saw the view from the windows, to your frown again once the dilemma of taking the last photo hits you. "Want me to take a picture of you?" He asked, "I'm not good at selfies but my shots of others are quite decent."

You laughed at his statement before giving him your camera. "Okay, I trust you, then." A smile tugged its way to your lips and he found it hard to not reciprocate it.

"I won't make you regret it." Somehow, deep within his heart he believed that he would've said the same thing if you actually trust him with your heart and not only your camera.

And your choice of believing him was proven to be a great choice when he took a picture of you right after calling you with a 'hey'. The shutter button was pressed when your eyes were wide out of shock of him calling you, and since the glass were behind you, the flash were reflected through it, making the night view wasn't visible at all.

Despite all that, you still thanked him when the photo came out. How it would be a memory of a night of Seoul etched on the back of your mind, inside the bus with the boy you didn't even know his name. Chan obviously felt bad, but you assured him that the moments leading up to this photo to be produced was a lot more better than the photo itself, and that you appreciated it much more. Like a token of this time, the memory that only the both of you would know and understand.

Soon the speaker inside the bus mentioned the name of the bus stop that was supposed to be your stop. Both of your smile faltered as you clearly enjoyed each other company, but it would be hard for him to exchange contacts knowing the fact that it would mess his training time, and you weren't sure that telling a stranger in another country your personal info would be a good idea despite his nice actions.

So none of you actually said anything about it. An acknowledgement of your situations were formed as a small silence before you thanked him for everything that he has done. The boy obviously shrugged it off, saying that it's nothing but both of you knew that this act of kindness was not something to be deemed as nothing. You could've walked by yourself to your hotel again, which wasn't a wise choice considering the time of the night.

He stood up to make a way for you to the door before you stop him, "at least, could you tell me your name?"

Chan knew that telling his name wouldn't be such a big deal since you didn't know that he was a trainee and it was not like his name was his most private information. However, the words that came out next shocked both himself and you as he said, "Let's put it to fate to find that out. If we meet again, let's tell each other our names."

It was shocking to hear, as you were not an avid believer of such things as fate and its red strings. However you found yourself smirking at him, "Okay, I'll believe in fate this time." And you did. There was a sliver of hope within your heart that believed that it would happen. That the both of you would meet again within your limited span of time that you would spend in this city. You actually wished that you would be given a chance to meet this mysterious boy that took the last Polaroid picture of the night.

And he believed it, too. As you found your way to the bus stop and turned around to wave at him, his realization of saying something so stupid that could cost him the huge disappointment of his young adult life hit him hard. Putting something as simple as names to the hand of something so unpredictable as fate was a risky decision that he didn't even know he would be brave enough to take.

Either he was brave or stupid, he didn't know. But what he did know was that he got down from the bus, and he didn't find himself hating the rain that started to soak by his sweater.

Instead, he looked up to the sky, squinting his eyes as he wouldn't want his eyes to be pierced by the rain. A grin on his face.

"Heh, you're not so bad." He said, before walking back to his dorm with the grin remained.

---

Chan would be lying if he said that he tried to went home at the same hour every night since the first encounter with you. In the next few nights, despite his usual tendency to went home very late at night to the point where he would walk to the dorm instead of taking the bus because the last bus already passed, he found himself checking the hour repeatedly in order to not miss the last one.

Maybe fate would be kind enough and let him meet the you again, he thought to himself. Maybe he would be able to finally say his name and finally finding out yours. The trainee sometimes would try and guess out your name whenever a girl's name was mentioned. Whether it was right or wrong, he did not care. It wasn't until Changbin pointed out that Chan's wasn't like himself that he didn't realize just how much you were clouding his mind.

It happened when the younger boy came to the practice room in order to deliver his rap part and a new beat when both of them realized that Chan hasn't been working on his part yet. Which was very odd in his part, when usually the thing that would happen is him asking them about their work.

"Are you okay?" The leader of the trio could hear concern evident on the voice of his junior, and he felt guilty for it. "Was something on your mind?"

He couldn't say that the reason was you, obviously. It would mean that he was slacking off to the point of him not doing his best when it was crucial that he should be working hard in order to be able to debut. He was always the one that told others that they need to focus, that they couldn't let anything stray them away from their ultimate goal as it would only going to be achieved when they put all their mind and soul into it. Chan had absentmindedly broke all of the rules with the mere meeting with you. And that was just once. He realized how bad his situation was if it continued, and how your influence could be an impact huge enough to fail his (and his juniors) goal.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, "Sorry, I'll finish the track by tonight."

A determination was set and that was to keep him in his track, to stay in his lane and not let anything else distract him, even if it means staying away from you. After all, it was not like he was going to sacrifice his entire trainee life for one girl he might not even meet again.

Changbin and Jisung got treated by Chan that night, much to the youngest surprise. When being asked about the motive to do it, the leader just shrugged it off and convinced them that he just felt like it. There was  a slight pang on his heart when he saw the two discussing about their music while munching away the chicken he has bought. He felt sorry for them, and he promised himself to work even harder. That night, he walked by himself to the dorm after finishing the track and started a new one.

And the night afterwards. Never did he wait for the last bus again.

But fate always had its own plan. On ways that a mere human being couldn't wrap it's own head around it. Fate that brought you to him, and was apparently also a fate kind enough to let you two meet again before you left the city.

It was the chilly night of Wednesday when almost all trainees of jyp went home early because they were given a day off the next day because of a national holiday. Of course, Chan was the last one to go (after the teacher scold him for staying too long when he's supposed to use the time to rest) it was on time for him to take the 2nd to last bus when he remembered that it was your last night in Seoul.

A conflict inside his mind was formed. Whether he left and basically gave up on the idea of meeting you for the last time, or at the very least, waited for you to come even if the odds were small. He decided that there's nothing to lose if he waited, and if he didn't get the chance to at least say goodbye then at least he tried.

One bus has passed and now he was waiting for the last bus to arrive or you to come. Either way, he waited. His left earphone was plugged in his ear as he stared to the street in front of him. The sound of the bustling city and traffic with the sound of music combined on his hearing brought him into a peaceful state of mind. He only checked his watch to see how many minutes that he needed to wait when you tap him on the shoulder.

"Hey, it's you." You couldn't help but smile upon seeing him, hands fumbled with the end of your jacket. "I thought I'd never be able to see you again."

Chan's jaw slightly dropped before mirroring your smile. He took off his earphone before saying, "Honestly, me too."

It was a small silence of both of you looking at each other when you blurted out, "Are you going to wait for the bus or do you want to walk me to my hotel?" If only Chan could hear the rapid beating of your chest and the constant convincing within yourself that you need to do in order to say it, he wouldn't think that you were that brave.

But he didn't, so he really thought that you were a very fearless person. He didn't find anything against it, too.

Chan looked around to make sure that no one he knew was near before wearing his black mask and nodded. "Let's go, then. This way you could tell me more about your trip."

In mention of your trip, you were ecstatic. Walking side by side, your Seoul experiences flowed as a main topic. And again, just like the first encounter that you two had, he didn't want to stop hearing your voice. The boy would constantly steal glances to look at you from time to time.

The conversation once abruptly stopped when the accidental meet of both of your eyes (with both parties constantly stealing glances) was inevitable. It was then that he could see you getting flustered now that you thought that you were getting caught for staring. Shades of red crept its way to your apple cheeks, your lips bitten to suppress the embarrassment and how your eyes darted to avoid his stares.

At that point he almost forgot  that he was a trainee whose future could be ruined if he's not careful. He felt like he was a normal boy who was having a date with his girlfriend as he was struggling to hold the urge to just hold your face between his hands and just kiss you slowly there. Right beneath the street lamps of the city. He wondered if your lips would feel as soft as it would look like. Or how would it feel to tug your bottom lip between his.

His self control and logic was his strong suit, fortunately. The boy simply smirked before asking you another question to continue the conversation.

"Did you went to the meat place I told you?"

"Yes! It was really delicious and we went there a couple of times!"

Soon they were approaching the hotel that you were staying in. Chan could see the disappointment that swam in your eyes when he told you that the destination was close. He was also bummed about it too and before he knew it, he pointed to the convenience store across the street, "Do you want to eat some ramen?"

Your stomach was full after eating a whole portion of meat that you felt it could explode by the tiniest bit of food added. But still, you nodded. Anything to buy more time with this boy.

It was Chan that ate the ramen, while you were simply watching him eating. He managed to persuade you to eat some of it with him with the reason of him not wanting to be fat.

"This is your idea!" You laughed when he pushed you his cup across the table.

He fake-frowned, "I did it to spend more time with you."

Heat crept back to your cheeks before it was his turn to laugh and wink playfully.

Quickly you shoved the noodle in your mouth, ignoring how his actions has accelerated the beat of your heart.

By the time he finished eating, the atmosphere changed. It felt a lot more heavy and thick with the smell of goodbyes. The walk by to the hotel took less than a minute but the way both of you dragged your feet onto the concrete stated that neither of you wanted this to end this quick.

"I can't let fate decide again whether I could know your name or not." You whispered when you arrive in front of the hotel. A whisper small enough for others (if there was any to begin with) to think that you were talking to yourself, but loud enough for Chan to know that it was directed to him.

Both of you didn't notice that the wind had become a lot more stronger with the night sky turning a lot darker because of the clouds. 'it's going to rain,' Chan thought, but he couldn't bring himself to hate on the weather just yet.

He wanted to tell you. He really did. But he was so scared and afraid of the effect that it could cause in the future. The image of him failing to debut alongside with Changbin and Jisung were the first thing that he thought of. How he might fail as a leader. Or the fact that his efforts were all thrown to vain because of his name being spoken to a stranger.

His instinct told him that you were someone that he could trust. That there wold be no way that you would make fake rumor or hoaxes about him that could potentially hurt him. But he didn't want to take the risk.

It felt like his heart was taking a jab, and despite it aching, he still said, "I'm sorry."

You didn't seem surprised, or even putting out any visible emotion at all, he noted. So he took it as his cue to explain, "I had time to think about it and I--I think it's not a really bad idea that you would remember me as a boy from Seoul without knowing my name."

He sighed, "Let me be a story that you could tell to others, a story of a boy that you met in Korea but didn't got the chance to ask for his name."

He felt that the silence that came afterwards choked him. It was painful to wait for your response and absentmindedly, he avoided your gaze.

"So you don't want to know mine?" You carefully asked, and he was to quick to answer with a rush.

"No, it isn't like that at all." He looked into your eyes and found that both of them were glossy because of the accumulating tears. "It's the only knowledge that I need right now but it's not fair for me to know yours and you not knowing mine."

You nodded your head in the end of his answer with a smile and he thought that you somehow already had the worst case scenario planned beforehand so it didn't caught you off guard.

He also thought that despite already being prepared of it, he knew that it didn't hurt any less.

"Okay, Seoul boy." Your smile didn't faltered, but it was almost painful to watch as a single tear slipped out from your eye. "If that's what you really want, there's nothing I could do about it."

The first drop of rain fell down.

"I just want to say thank you for everything. Your help, your recommendations." You paused, "The Polaroid."

Another one fell simultaneously with your tears.

"And thank you for becoming a memory kept within it. An 'almost' that would never happen, a story of my life that I wouldn't dare to forget. That very specific night will forever be embedded in my heart."

"Along with this moment, too." It was a faint whisper and he could feel himself almost breaking apart.

Chan quickly scanned his surroundings for any signs of people that might recognize him. He was not an asshole, he knew that it was painful and he hoped that you knew that it was really hard for him, too. The coast was clear, as it was midnight and it was almost impossible that people would notice what he's about to be doing.

So he stepped closer to you, mask taken off that you could feel his hot breath fanned your face. Both of his hands shot up to cup your cheeks before tilting it slightly upwards, his thumb softly wiped your tears from your face.

Brown eyes staring back at you ever so intently, he leaned in and you closed your eyes until you felt his lips on your forehead. He stayed still for a few heartbeat before pulling out, lips still lingered there. "I'm very sorry that this is the only thing I could do to say goodbye." Chan whispered.

You shook your head lightly, your hands went to his arms and squeezed it a little. "Don't worry, this story has a nice ending to it."

Chan looked down at you to find you already staring at him, your lips curved into a thin smile, your tears evident. "Goodbye, Seoul boy." You whispered for the nth time that night.

He closed his eyes and leaned in again, letting his heart took over. There was no hesitation when his lips touched yours, and it served as a small peck. But still, his lips lingered there that you could feel it brushing against yours when he whispered an equally heartbroken, "Goodbye."

---

It was raining quite heavily later onto the night. There were no deafening thunder nor a startling lightning. It seemed like even the weather itself knew that it shouldn't mess with Chan in this time.

Beneath the rain, he thought hard at how fate brought you back to him, and yet it's not kind enough to let you be kept by him. If he knew that it'd hurt him this bad, he almost wished that he didn't have to meet you at all.

Chan hated the rain even more now that the rain would forever be his token of memory that you were not meant to stay as his. But for now it was the only thing that hides his tears, and to that, he was grateful.

Please look forward to my future works and don’t hesitate to send me messages/asks!

-mee-nay (mine)

[alexabarnes]

Into the Water-Part Four

Pairing: Bucky x veteran!reader

Summary: When a boy falls into the harbor on an icy December day, Bucky meets ex-combat medic (y/f/n)(y/l/n). She is fighting to figure out life after the war. Something about her sticks with Bucky in a way he can’t shake.

A/N: Wooh! Hello Tumblr folks. Sorry I’ve been away for so long. I have had probably the worst writers block ever with this chapter and I just couldn’t get it to a point where I liked where I was going with it. Thank you @invisibleanonymousmonsters for un-writer’s blocking me with literally one sentence. 

Part Three // Masterlist 

“Buck, come on, you gotta call her.” Bucky sighed and set the weights on the gym floor. Steve racked the bar on the bench press stacked with enough plates to outweigh a freight car and walked over to Bucky.

Bucky looked at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, I don’t know, Steve. I just…” He trailed off. The words were there but he didn’t think he could say them. I’m not that man anymore. I’m too broken. Steve knew all too well what was happening in his head—those thoughts that never seemed to stop nagging at him, making him believe he was still the man Hydra made him, the man who was responsible for so much suffering.

“Don’t go down that road, Buck.” Buck sighed and seemed unconvinced, paranoid thoughts swirling in his head. Steve clapped his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Pal, as maybe the world’s leading authority on waiting too long, don’t.”

Bucky chuckled at that. Steve went back to the bench to do another set. In between strained breaths he yelled out, “Call her.”

“Yeah, whatever, punk.”

______

01:49 

The red lights on her alarm clock glared at her from her nightstand. To absolutely no one’s surprise Y/n was still wide-awake, alternating between watching the shadows on the ceiling, the minutes tick by, and the cars and pedestrians walking down the street below her apartment. Ranger was curled at the end of her bed, snoring softly as usual. 

It had been two weeks since she ran into Bucky in the hallway of the hospital and he hadn’t called her. She had pretty much given up on ever seeing or hearing from him again, but thinking about what he could possibly be up to was better than dealing with her usual intrusive thoughts. 

Y/n had started to drift off to sleep, her eyelids softly closing as the exhaustion took over, when a harsh buzzing on her nightstand jolted her awake. She rolled on her side and grabbed her phone. Blocked Number read on the screen. Y/n almost didn’t answer it seeing as it was so late, but a part of her hoped that maybe it would be him. 

“Hello?” Y/n said into the phone, her voice deep and thick from sleep. 

Silence. “Hello?” She said again.  

“Uh, hey, hi, is this y/n?” Her breath caught in her throat; she knew the voice. It was soft and sweet and shy.

“Bucky?” 

“Um, yeah, it’s me. I, uh, was wondering if you wanted to, uh, grab a coffee? With me?”

Y/n didn’t immediately respond, and Bucky felt his stomach drop. His chest squeezed in anxiety. Oh, Christ. I knew I shouldn’t have fucking listened to Steve. This was so stupid, oh god. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, it’s so late I probably woke you up, I—Jesus. I’m an idiot. Forget I—” 

“Wait, no, Bucky. You didn’t wake me up, I promise. Sleep’s not really my thing,” she chuckled wryly, “I’d love to go grab a coffee.” She smiled to herself in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. She couldn’t help it. 

Bucky just sat there in stunned silence with a goofy grin on his face before he snapped out of it and realized y/n was probably waiting on him to say something. 

“Um, well, I wasn’t exactly sleeping either. There’s a diner over on 72nd. Do you wanna meet me there?” 

“Yeah, Bucky. I’ll be there in 20.”

_______

Bucky sat in a booth in the far corner of the diner, back to the wall eyes facing the door. His heightened senses and his years as a soldier never allowing him to be in positions of vulnerability, so of course he took that seat, identified all the exits, and kept tabs on every person in the diner as he waited for Y/n. 

It was raining softly, small rivulets sliding down the large window panes. The neon lights cast soft light onto Bucky’s dark chestnut hair. An older blonde woman walked up to him wearing her diner apron and holding a glass carafe full of coffee. She smiled warmly at Bucky and refilled his cup. 

“You sure you don’t want anything besides coffee, honey?” She asked. 

“No, thank you, ma’am.” He said, giving her a soft smile. 

“Alright, well, you just go on and holler if you need anything,” she replied. He nodded and thanked her again. The bells on the door jingled against the glass as Y/n stepped into the diner and out of the rain. She wore dark wash jeans and a soft hoodie underneath her faded leather jacket. 

Her y/h/c hair hung in loose strands framing her face, dripping from the rainy walk over. Ranger walked dutifully by her side, wearing his service dog vest, beads of rain dripping off his fur. Y/n looked quickly around the restaurant, her gaze finally landing on Bucky. Ranger’s thin leather leash hung loosely in her hand as she walked toward him. 

Y/n slid into the booth across from Bucky. He smiled nervously at her.  “It’s good to see you, Y/n” 

“You, too, Bucky. I was hoping you’d call.” She smiled sheepishly and looked down at the table. 

“Sorry it took me so long,” he said. 

“It’s okay,” she replied, nodding reassuringly at him. 

“And it’s good to see this guy, too,” Bucky said, leaning over to scratch Ranger behind the ears. Y/n chuckled and smoothed Ranger’s coat. “How are you?” he asked. 

She smirked. “I-uh, yeah, I’m good,” she paused. Bucky just looked at her knowingly. “I heard the kid got discharged a few days ago. No lasting cardiac or brain damage from the drowning. Best case scenario.” She huffed out a short laugh of disbelief. “Guess those really do happen sometimes.” Bucky noticed how when she began to talk about the boy, she’d pull at the dog tags around her neck, making harsh angry lines blossom on her neck. 

The blonde waitress walked back over to the table. They both straightened up and looked up at the waitress. 

“Hey, there, hun. What can I getcha?” 

“Coffee, please, ma’am,” y/n replied. 

“You got it.” The waitress shortly returned with an empty ceramic mug, identical to Bucky’s, gently set it in front of Y/n and streamed in the piping hot black liquid. “Cream and sugar, honey?” 

“No, thanks, ma’am,” she replied. 

“You two sweet things let me know if you need anything else.” Bucky and y/n both smiled at the waitress as she meandered to other tables, refilling coffee and carrying loads of plates in her arms. 

Y/n and Bucky turned back to each other. It didn’t help matters that both y/n and Bucky were already naturally quiet. They both sat there, a little (a lot) unsure of what to do and what to say. Bucky quietly observed her; the way her fingers traced the rim of the chipped ceramic mug, the way her hair softly fell around her face, slightly hiding her eyes. What made Bucky almost laugh was that the silence wasn’t awkward or strained. It was like when she finally came into his presence they fell into a comfortable rhythm. 

Bucky tried to imagine what Steve would say, maybe even what he would say if he was trying to charm some dame back in the 40’s but it didn’t feel like him anymore. 

Bucky began to open his mouth to speak when another waitress meandering around the diner dropped a plate onto the diner’s tiled floors. Bucky watched it happen out of the corner of his eye, but y/n had her back turned. 

The plate shattered upon contact with the floor causing y/n to tense and immediately whip around in her chair, eyes wide with panic at the abrasive noise. When she finally registered it was just a plate hitting the floor, she slowly turned back around to Bucky, breathing heavily trying to calm down again. Ranger, of course, had stayed calm the whole time, his ears only twitching at the noise. He rested his head on y/n’s lap. She took another breath and softly patted Ranger’s head. When it registered to her that Bucky had just watched her ridiculous reaction, her chest squeezed in anxiety. 

“Jesus, I’m sorry. I probably looked like such an idiot over just a fucking plate,” she nervously laughed. 

“Y/n, it’s okay. I get it.” And the look in Bucky’s eyes as he spoke showed this deep sincerity and for the first time, she actually believed he understood. She settled noticeably after that. “How long were you in?” He asked.

“Eight years, couple of long tours. Bagram, Helmand, Kunar.” During his time with Hydra, Bucky had been, let’s just say, well acquainted with the Middle East so he knew the special level of hell those tours must have been. 

“What about you? I can tell by the way you carry yourself you were military.” Y/n knew the answer to this question already. There was no way she didn’t immediately recognize the Winter Soldier the second she saw him, but she wanted to see what he would say when he didn’t know if she knew or not. 

Bucky looked a little thrown by the question because service during World War II and seventy some-odd years as a prisoner of war doesn’t tend to compute for most people. He laughed wryly to himself, “well, uh, it’s kind of complicated, let’s just say a while.” 

“Bucky, it’s okay. I know who you are.” Bucky immediately tensed when y/n spoke, his eyes running over the exits, preparing to bolt. But Y/n reached across the table and covered his hand with her own, bringing his attention back to her. She was slow and deliberate because she knows how sensitive she is to touch, and she can’t imagine what it must be like for him. 

She kept her face calm and even. Bucky steeled himself for the inevitable response he always got when people recognized him: fear, disgust, hatred… but in her eyes he only saw an open calm, no anger or fear brewing beneath the surface. 

She smiled softly. “Bucky, I recognized you the second you pulled me out of the water. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to freak you out.” There were so many things she wanted to tell him. It wasn’t you; it wasn’t your fault. That blood is not on your hands. You are the world’s longest serving POW and to those of us who have served or have been POWs since then, your service means more to us than we could ever put into words. 

But she couldn’t say any of that. For so many reasons. Too much too soon, too intense, it wasn’t the right place or time and she wholeheartedly believed he wasn’t ready to hear it yet either. 

She could tell he was beginning to shut down, close himself off. She wracked her brain for anything she could say to get him to believe she understood at least a little of what he’s been through. Bucky looked tense, upset that he could never ever escape his past. Why did I ever think I could ever have something normal, easy, simple? I’m such a fucking idiot, he thought to himself. 

Y/n suddenly broke the silence, talking softly staring into her coffee, obviously very nervous about what she was about to share. 

“When I came back after my first tour, I remember flying home and walking through the airport in my uniform. A woman stopped me and thanked me for my service. I could tell she was just trying to be nice, but it made my stomach twist. There’s no way she could know, or anyone could really, for that matter. But people who’ve been deployed know that the last thing we feel when we come home is worthy of thanks for everything we saw and did over there. After all the things we lost, after everything I’ve done—” her voice shook a little, “why the fuck would you thank me?” She took a breath to steady herself before continuing. 

“I know people mean well, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. And being home, I thought I could wear my civilian clothes and blend in but so many people knew. Everywhere I went I felt like I had a glowing neon sign attached to me and everyone stared, and everyone judged, and everyone knew. It drove me fucking crazy. It’s like they all were walking on eggshells around me either out of some bullshit, misguided reverence for the image of the person in uniform they created in their mind or out of nervousness that one wrong word, one wrong look and I’d break like a fucking injured wild animal. After I came home, no one could just see me anymore, it’s who I used to be died the second I got over there.” 

She looked back up from her coffee, looking at Bucky’s face, his posture, any sign that maybe she got him to trust her just a little bit. He just nodded and they shared a look that said all they needed say to each other, a look of understanding that only those who have served in combat share. 

“After the whole mess in Vienna and after some very smart people,” he smiled to himself at that, “got all the shit that Hydra put in my head out and I came home, I felt the same way. Steve acted like he believed I was fine. He tried a lot to get me back out in the world, and act like I was still the same person I was before the war, but I can tell every time I flinch or react or—” he hesitated on these next words, rubbing his hands over his face, “wake up screaming, he still sees the Winter Soldier. He would never admit this, but I see the way he tenses up, the way he’s always hyperconscious, treating me like I’m made of glass. I love him to death, but it just makes you feel like…I don’t even know,” he trailed off. 

“It makes you feel like you will never be able to forget. It’s a constant reminder of who you were and what you did despite their best intentions. Because every time they do everything they can to be accommodating and sensitive, you’re reminded why they’re like that.” 

Bucky just breathed out a laugh mixed with a sigh of disbelief. “Yes,” he said, “that’s exactly it.” Y/n just nodded. 

Bucky smiled, trying to ease the weight of the air around them after what they just shared. “Y/n, you should really meet Steve.” 

“As in, Captain America Steve?” she asked, incredulously. Bucky nodded. 

“I think you two would get along well,” he said. Y/n giggled to herself.

The waitress came around again to fill up their mugs of coffee and they continued to talk. After that first stressful bit of their conversation, it’s as if both of them relaxed and the conversation began to flow much easier. Bucky got caught up in her, in the way her eyes would drift off somewhere far from the diner when she began to tell a story, in the way she subconsciously pulled at her dog tags and kept a steady hand on Ranger. He was enraptured by how gentle her voice was and how easy it was for him to talk to her despite never feeling comfortable enough to talk with anyone except for Steve. 

And so they talked until the sunlight began to break on the horizon, casting wisps of pink into the soft morning sky. 

_______________________

PLEASE let me know your thoughts or ideas for what you want to see happen in the future. Getting feedback from you guys motivates me so much to write. 

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Brianna writes a letter to Jamie for Claire to give him when she goes back through the stones.

Although Brianna Randall had never really thought about eighteenth-century handwriting, she found herself stuck on the subject.

Her mother was going back to James Fraser. It was a near certainty.

And she was fixated on penmanship of all things.

The shapes and the weight of lines.  

The flourishes on letters, unnecessary adornments.

The spacing and the slanting.

The connective tissue between the letters that make up words that beat like hearts on paper.  

The power in a written word’s horizontal and vertical occupation of paper – its size and weight and orientation saying:

Here I am. Pay attention to me.

Brianna thought about her father (Frank) holding her hand at the National Archives in Washington, D.C., when she was just a child.  He had lifted her up to his belly so she could see, his arms tight around her gangly body.  

She thought about those foundational documents now – the Declaration of Independence, the United States Constitution, the Bill of Rights.

She thought about her father (Frank) laughing in her hair when she said the handwriting looked funny and that the founding fathers should take penmanship lessons with her third-grade teacher, Miss Fink.

She hadn’t recalled that moment at the National Archives before. She hadn’t even been aware that it was a memory until she sat down to write a letter to James Fraser.

Her handwriting on a page – foreign and modern, neat and precise, compact and regular – breathed life into words that Jamie Fraser would never hear from her lips.  

Brianna wondered if Jamie Fraser would read her letter in his head using her mother’s voice – a low timbre, smooth and oozing bedside manner and grace, decidedly English despite years of living in Boston (the turns of phrase of her new life were there in some measure, but the accent and cadence remained decidedly English).  

Maybe he wouldn’t use her mama’s voice. Would he come up with something else entirely, maybe even read it out loud, not even speculating on the sound of her voice?  Brianna wondered if Jamie Fraser had ever even heard an American accent.  She questioned for the first time whether such an accent had even evolved into existence during his lifetime.

She took a long sip from a bottle of beer, steeling herself for the process.

Her pen was tentative on the yellow legal pad.

Dear Ja –

‘No,’ she thought, pulling the first sheet free and balling it up.  She started again, her pen a little surer on the horizontal line of the “D” in:

Dear Mr. –

“Mister Fraser?” she said aloud, furrowing her brow, pressing the pen deep into the dot after ‘Mr.’  She hated the sound of it – the formality both perfect and horribly misplaced all at once.  

She needed a salutation for a man she would never know but made up half of her: their blood pulsed in her veins and arteries, skin protected their bones (a genetic mash of James and Claire Fraser making up the marrow and the ligaments and tendons holding her together). Her muscles and viscera were created from him, her lungs and heart inside of her ribcage were working remnants of his own heart, his own lungs.

The ballpoint punctured the paper, bleeding blue into the next page.

“Well fuck,” she muttered, lifting the pen and ripping two pages from the pad – one piece was pierced by the tip of the pen and an unintentional deposit of ink   blotted a second piece.

Brianna started again, a lighter touch this time:

To the father I did not know I had –

She could have cried looking at her words, thinking about her father and again slipping into a pit of mourning for him –– her actual father, the man who gave and gave to her everything he had without hesitation, knowing she was not his.

She thought about James Fraser in more of a reverent way – the way she thought of the saints, canonized for good things, to inspire but never really to know firsthand.

She eased the page from the pad centimeter by centimeter. She focused on the quiet separation of the paper from the binding, the curling of the paper’s edge under her fingers.  

She swallowed hard and tried again:

To my birth father:

Her heart pounded, settled for now on a salutation before she continued.

Hi.

“What in the hell, Brianna?” she muttered, brow furrowing at the double salutation – the first hard-fought and awkward, the second just awkward.  

She decided to continue anyway.

I have started and stopped this letter at least half a dozen times now.

My heart is pounding and my palms are sweating because I have one chance to write to you. I know that I will never get to meet you. So that’s only one chance to say everything that I will ever need to say.

And that is a kind of pressure I have never experienced until now.

I guess we are damned to a lifetime of a one-off, one-way correspondence.

Me to you and nothing said in return.

As I write this to you, struggling with the things I need to say and the ones that I want to say, mama is in the next room. She does not know that I am doing this, but she will.

Claire Randall: Please stop reading this immediately. This is not for you.

Brianna traced the pen over and over the directive to her mother until the text was violent on the page – thick, blocky, dark, unmistakable in its prohibition.

The tip of the pen bounced on the paper and Brianna chewed her lower lip.  Her mind was working too fast – the thoughts underdeveloped, unharnessed, and flowing through her without any logical organization, blanks standing in for adjectives.

She wondered how to describe her life to this man and how to describe her thoughts on this entire mess.

Her brain was brimming with a series of filler sounds where words had been when she sat down to write: um, uh, hmm, mmmm.  

She decided to just let it flow – damn the consequences, and just get it out.  

My mama can tell you all of the following.  She was the one there, after all, but it is my story, too.

I was born on November 23, 1948, in Boston, Massachusetts.  

“Could just send him a copy of the birth certificate,” she muttered, critical of her opening sentiments.  

My mama tells me that it was cool the day I was born, a little rainy and windy. I was a long, skinny thing when I was born.  She can tell you the story of how I came screaming into the world better than I ever could if you want to hear.

What if he didn’t want to hear it? Brianna found her mind skipping – like the needle on a record player bouncing from place to place over vinyl.

Of course he would, she concluded.

She fixed her eyes on a philodendron growing wildly near the window.  It meandered from its stand to the ground in dozens of waxy green tendrils and spade-shaped leaves.  She wondered whether a clipping would survive the journey through the stones or if the science (magic?) of time travel would make it wilt until its dry roots were unable to grip the soil any longer.

I went to summer camp when I was little. I learned to fish, start a fire, use a bow and arrow, fire a rifle, row a boat, ride a horse, and make a friendship bracelet. 

I play tennis with my mom twice a week during the summer; I am better than her and I never let her win.

I love music but can’t sing. Since I learned of you, my mama has explained that my tone deafness is your fault. So thank you.

I attend a wonderful university – the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where I study history. I mostly focus on the history surrounding the founding of America (just wait; be happy you’re on the side of the ocean that you are).

She tapped the pen again – was it safe to send something back with any detail about what would happen in the colonies? What if someone found it? Her mother’s name, his name, were both plain as day in writing. Her brow furrowed and she scratched out the last sentence – her pen rolling over and over the text.

She remembered reading a book where a character explained that if you write the word “apple” over and over text, it becomes indecipherable –– more than if you merely cross out the words.  

Brianna wrote “apple” dozens of times, her wrist and fingers working by rote after the first few passes.  

She inspected the letter.

Nothing – not even appleappleappleappleappleapple – remained.

She took a deep brief, soldering on.

I don’t know how to tell you about my father – Frank Randall. I am sure that you will not take any offense to me calling him my father because that is what he was.

Was she sure that James Fraser would not take offense to that? Not really. She did not know the man.  

But this was a one-shot to get what she wanted out – truth, she decided.

When you let my mama go – to save me, to save her – you told her to find my father.  She did. And he accepted me and he loved me with all that he had.  He was better than good to me.  I was his entire world.  My mama used to say to my father (not jokingly): You think that the sun rises and sets on Brianna.

Looking back, she realized that she had been Frank Randall’s world. Claire Randall had been smeared along the periphery. The divide between her parents had only become evident to Brianna when she learned of Jamie Fraser.  It was startling to have the adult realization that her parents’ marriage had been largely loveless. Save the ferocity shared between them when it came to loving a daughter, and maybe a touch of what once was, they did not have a passion for each other.

Brianna did not know what romantic, passionate, consuming love looked like on her mother until a quietly assumed history crumbled – Jamie Fraser was alive and the permanent faraway expression in her mother’s eyes said, ‘I would walk through fire for this.’

Brianna finished off her beer and returned pen to paper:

I have known of you for twenty days – one day for each year of my life.  I know of you the things my mother tells me.  She wears rose-colored glasses when it comes to you.

‘There’s no way he knows what that means,’ she thought, considering and rejecting the inclusion of a footnote to explain the colloquialism.  

Brianna supposed that her mother and James Fraser would need something to break through the awkwardness that built over decades of lost time between them.

‘What better way for them to reconnect,’ she mused, rejecting at once the unbidden graphic image of what they would actually do upon reuniting.

I suppose all of this is to say that I owe you a debt of gratitude. You gave me life in more ways than one: you created me, you did what you thought you had to in order to let me live, and I am –

Brianna lifted the pen, tapping the end furiously against her front teeth – a rapid tappa-tap-tap-tappa-tap that she felt all the way up in her brain.  She searched for a word and settled on one after a few moments of contemplation –

grateful.

Know that I will wonder about you always – what you look like, the tone of your voice, what sound you make when you’re skeptical of something (my mama says it’s a “Scottish noise”), the nickname you would give me if you knew me fully, what it feels like to hug you –

Stopping, a darkness washed over her.

She would live her life never touching this man and he would never touch her. The closest he would get was pressing a hand to her mama’s growing belly, layers of skin and organs and muscle and fat and whatever protects a baby, separating them. Had he even been able to feel her move inside of her mama (the flutter of a life they created)?

She returned back, unable to continue with the line of thought.  She put a precise period down before writing again. She wouldn’t list anything else that they would never have together.

Take care of my mama.

At first, when she told me about the stones and about you and about your –

She listed words, picking one at random after swallowing down the others: love, marriage, relationship, life.

– life together, I was furious. I did not believe her.

It took time. 

I eventually did believe her. 

I am ashamed to admit to you, a complete stranger who is bonded to me by the very foundation of life itself, that my change of heart was not because I have some great faith in my mother. It was because I saw it with my own two eyes. I saw someone she claimed to have known in the past slip through the stones, gone into thin air.

She told me of you and how she told you of her history – that you believed her instantly, trusting her without hesitation, loving her enough even then to let her go and help her find her way back.  She told me that you released her and that she returned.

And I have to say, the story of your readiness to accept and love her made my own skepticism seem cruel.

That you could believe something like what she told you, hardly knowing her – without reservations, without question….

She read it, reread it, ran a fingertip over the dry ink and memorized it. The tip of her pen bounced soundlessly on the next line.  

The words came out of her; she did not realize they were true or inside of her until they were down on paper:

As her daughter, I questioned her, disbelieved her, thought horrible things about her – that she was lying to cover evasion, adultery. In my mind, she was a liar or insane, perhaps both.

Your ready acceptance of her story speaks legions about you, James Fraser. I may not know you, but I know the type of man you are.

And that is how I know that when she goes back to you, you will accept her, love her, cherish her like no time has passed.

Brianna’s mouth was dry, she tried to pull from her beer. Only a few, unsatisfying and warm drops dribbled down onto her tongue.

My mama has spent the last twenty years caring for me, nurturing me, loving me, healing anyone in her orbit.

My mama has been selfless, nurturing, and kind to me.  She has kissed my scraped knees, dried my tears, helped me blow out birthday candles, said my prayers with me at night before bed, baked cookies with me on rainy days, and said she was proud of me every opportunity she could.

Her heart was tight – collapsing.  Her mother was going.  Really going.

Take care of her, James Fraser. She is the most important person to me in the world.  

She is all I have left, and she is yours now. 

This is how I can repay my debt to you. 

You gave her to me, and now I can give her back.

Brianna was crying now, eyes red-hot and chest tight.

She held her breath, lungs burning:

Be patient with her. Love her fiercely. She can only love that way – with her entirety.  Love her completely.  Just as she does you – faults and all (she has a few; I’ve inherited many of them).

The sound Brianna’s breath made as she exhaled surprised her.

She wrote her conclusion easily, without pausing:

Love,

Brianna

She couldn’t face the prospect of rewriting – polishing, making less raw.  She couldn’t face the prospect of rereading – reliving the words with doubt.  

So she folded the letter carefully, sealed it in an envelope and wrote in neat, even handwriting across the front:

To: James Fraser, a father.

[mlnmoongle]

Love Speaks in Flowers

Genre:  Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Fluff and Smut, Eventual Romance, Awkward Romance

Pairings: TaoHun;

Rating: Mature;

Length: Chaptered - 1/12;

Note: WIP;

Warnings: Smut, Semi-public;

Summary: Sehun's mundane job as a florist clerk is the same day in and day out. Until one rainy morning brings a change in Sehun's life in the form of Tao, a tattoo artist next door, and Sehun's not sure he's ready for him.

First, thank you for reading and I appreciate any feedback!

A few things:

-  AO3 Link - This is planned to be a 12 chapter fic, however, due to school workload that might change to less. - I plan to update weekly or sooner. - Please give Sehun a chance. He's really not hateful, and it was hard for me to make him as such, especially towards such a bright and kind soul like Tao. Sehun has his reasons for being guarded!

Sehun yawned for what felt like the umpteenth time. He was at work and bored out of his mind.

He worked as a florist clerk at a locally owned shop downtown called Twenty Flowers. The morning shifts were usually slow compared to the afternoon shifts, but not this slow. No, today was special because it was raining. Normally a customer or two would come by early in the morning but it was highly unlikely that anyone would come in today because of the dreary weather.

To make matters worse, it was only a couple hours into his morning shift and Sehun had already completed whatever mundane tasks that were part of his opening morning routine so with no orders to arrange, no bouquets to set, and no customers to assist, Sehun was now burdened with the task to not fall asleep. Which, admittedly, he has been guilty of in the past. Sighing heavily, Sehun sat on the stool at the front counter. He placed his elbow on the surface to rest his chin in his palm as he stared half-lidded out the large windows that lined the front of the store and watched the rain pour down. No one ever came into the shop on rainy days, and if they did, it was either for pre-ordered flowers for a special occasion or someone desperately needed an ‘ I really fucked up and I’m very sorry ’ bouquet of flowers. But Sehun couldn’t blame anyone for not coming in because he wouldn’t even be out in this weather.

The rain was now coming down relentlessly. Sehun shook his head, “You would have to be a complete idiot to be out in this weather...” he scoffed, finally giving in and closed his eyes, still resting his chin in his palm. Sehun had practically dozed off when the door swung open with an ear-piercing chime and the loud rumble of the rain outside. Startled, Sehun sat up straight and blinked the haze from his eyes as he automatically started to greet the customer, “Hi, welcome to Twenty Fl --”  he started but abruptly stopped to stare wide-eyed at the completely drenched man who entered the store. Sehun’s mouth dropped open, his eyes wide as he watched the man entered the store. From head to toe, the man was soaking wet with water trickling down his legs, dripping off his hair, and right on to the welcome mat under his feet. The water was seeping into the welcome mat. Sehun’s eyes traveled back up to the man’s face who was smiling sheepishly as he took a couple steps forward, leaving small puddles in his wake, “Hi,” the man greeted as he wiped the beads of water off his face then brushed his damp blonde locks back. “It’s pretty wet out there,” he chuckled, pointing out the obvious and Sehun stared blankly at him, dumbstruck.

Blinking back to his thoughts with a sassy, "You think?" Sehun quickly got off his stool and moved from the counter and grabbed the nearest hand towel within reach and tossed it at the man. “You’re getting water everywhere,” he huffed, shaking his head as he trudged to the back room to grab a mop and bucket and ‘wet-floor’ sign from the storage closet. When he returned to the front of the shop, the man, or potential customer, had wiped his face and was currently rubbing the towel against his head to dry his hair. The man had moved to the front counter and watched as Sehun rushed past him. “Have you ever heard of an umbrella?” He asked bombastically, and really, he didn’t expect the other to actually answer the question but of course, he did. “Well I was only next door so I didn’t think I’d get this wet…” he chuckled diffidently, and it was then that Sehun looked up just in time to see the man wringing out his shirt right on the floor. “Uh, could you not…?” Sehun asked, gesturing to the newly formed mini-puddle at the other's feet. The other immediately dropped his shirt and held his hands up in defense. “Sorry, sorry. I figured while you’re at it…” he teased but Sehun just stared unamused for a moment before walking over to mop up the new puddle.

“So, do you greet all your customers like this or am I just special?” the other asked playfully, watching Sehun.

“Only when they create potential lawsuits,” Sehun shot back, wringing the mop out of the excess water into the bucket. When Sehun finished soaking up the puddle, he stood with on hand on his hip and the other holding the mop handle to inspect the floor, making sure he mopped up all the water. Feeling satisfied, Sehun didn’t bother rolling the mop and bucket to the back, he instead set up the wet-floor sign, rolled the cleaning items to behind the front counter where he stood. Straightened up his wide shoulders, Sehun stared at the other with a pointed look. “Well, I'm assuming you came for some flowers, right?” His smile was tight compared to the other’s genuine, friendly smile. Sehun had never seen this man before, or at least not that he could remember, but he knew would have recognized that angelic smile from anywhere. “Actually, I came to ask if you would like for you to get lunch with me sometime,” The other smiled hopefully. Sehun answered immediately, "I don’t think so.” “Why not?” The other asked dejectedly. He had shifted to lean on the surface of the counter with his arms crossed. “Because I don't know you?” Sehun replied, ending his sentence on an upward inclination and a raise of a brow.

“I’m Huang Zitao, but everyone calls me Tao,” Tao offered. “ Not what I meant,” Sehun deadpanned. Even though Sehun was clearly unamused, Tao laughed lightly. “Well, if we went out for lunch then you could get to know me,” he offered again. Sehun declined again, “I’ll pass.”

“Are you sure?” Tao asked, this time with a frown and knitted brows.

A stern “Yes,” was Sehun’s only response so Tao shrugged. “Alright. Well, it was a shot in the dark anyway,” he said casually.

The quick acceptance caught Sehun by surprise; he expected Tao to keep trying so when he didn't, the air around them went silent and heavy except for the muffled sounds of rain hitting the roof. Sehun finally broke the silence with, “So, are you going to buy anything or…?” it caught Tao off guard. “Oh,” Tao took a moment to glance around the shop; he eyed almost every plant and flower available before looking back to Sehun who was standing there with an expectant look on his face. “I would like some flowers,” Tao finally decided with a pleased smile on his face that contrasted Sehun’s deadpan expression.

Sehun forced himself not to smile by pursing his lips, “Well, do I have good news for you,” he quipped in a patronizing tone. This earned a light giggle from Tao that was by now music to Sehun’s ears, “Yeah, I guess that was kind of a given.” “Yeah," Sehun laughed lightly, “Well, what kind of flowers do you need?” “Um, let’s see...” Tao didn’t know a single thing about flowers other than they usually smelled good and made great gifts, well, for those without allergies anyhow. So, eyeing the room once more, Tao’s eyes landed on the first vibrant batch of flowers that came into view.  “How about some Lilies?” Tao asked, turning back to face Sehun, whose expression had softened. “I just need something for inspiration for an art piece I’m working on,” Tao started unprompted, because “I’m a tattoo artist,” Tao pointed behind him with his thumb. “I actually work next door at Electric Kiss .” “Oh,” Sehun said, glancing in the direction of the tattoo shop. Twenty Flowers was a corner store so Sehun had a clear view of the tattoo parlor right across the street. “But, I’ve... never seen you there before...?” “Does that mean you come by there a lot?” Tao asked with a smirk. Tao’s flirtatious tone and his damn, gorgeous smirk left Sehun feeling flustered as he combed his fingers through his dark strands before stammering, “No. Well---,” And forcing himself to stop mid-sentence. With a deep sigh, Sehun looked from Tao’s face and down at the counter which seemed to be the safer option before continuing, "Okay, yeah, I do but that’s because my best friend works there, so,” Sehun lifted his gaze, daring to take a moment to regard Tao’s appearance entirely. He finally took notice that Tao’s bare arms were decorated with intricate and beautiful illustrations in a deep black ink. The marks started at Tao’s wrists and snaked right up his arms to disappear under the hem of his sleeve. Sehun could still see a few of the designs through the thin, damp fabric that clung to Tao’s shoulders. He must have had some on his chest, too, Sehun thought as his eyes shifted to see if he could tell or not. Unfortunately, because of the tee’s logo, it was hard to tell if there were any tattoos on his chest or not. Regardless, the tattoos Tao had on his arms were absolutely gorgeous, mesmerizing even, and complemented his sun-kissed tan. Sehun was lost admiring the artwork when Tao asked, “Pretty cool, huh?” And Sehun’s face heated up (he was sure his ears were red, too) because he had been staring, and Tao knew and his cheeky grin was seriously just the worst. Still, Tao twisted his arms to show Sehun all the artwork that embellished his skin and idly explained some of the meanings behind the art but whatever he was saying went through one ear and out the other because all Sehun could focus on were the muscles on Tao’s arms that curved with his movements. Sehun moved his gaze to Tao’s face which he thought that would be safer, but he was wrong, it was worse because now he could see how annoyingly handsome Tao’s face was. Sehun had somehow failed to notice the soft curve of his smile that contradicted his edged cheekbones and sharp-lined and unnaturally vibrant blue eyes. Sehun hated how Tao was both beautiful and handsome even though he was drenched from head to toe. “Yeah,” Sehun cleared his throat, “They’re...gorgeous, actually,” he admitted. Tao grinned wide and proud, “I know. I designed them myself. I also have some on my back too. Here, Let me show you...” Tao turned away from Sehun and started to pull up his sodden shirt. “Wait, no!” Sehun yelped and reached out over the countertop, his torso pressed flat to the surface and gripped Tao’s wet shirt, halting Tao's movements. When he stopped, Sehun withdrew his hand immediately and could feel the familiar heat creep onto his face. Letting his shirt fall, Tao turned back around to see Sehun laid on the countertop and looking up at him. Tao stared down at Sehun in confusion as Sehun quickly removed himself from the counter, stood up straight once more and adjusted his apron, refusing to meet Tao's eyes as he mumbled, “Don’t do that here,” Sehun pressed his lips together tightly, instantly regretting the implications of his words. “Not here?” Tao repeated, an amused grin sprawled across his face. Tao leaned on the counter once more. This time he was close enough to Sehun as if he had a secret to share, and this made Sehun’s chest tighten. Tao was close. So close, and Sehun made a small noise of defeat when Tao added a flirty, “Then where?” “Oh my god,” Sehun exhaled. “Nowhere. Not here or anywhere else. I don’t want to see any more of your tattoos,” he stated in exasperation, “So please, just tell me what I can help you with so I can get back to work,” Sehun’s voice was curt from embarrassment, but he made sure his tone could cut diamonds. The playful grin on Tao’s face faded slowly as he nodded. “Alright, well, I’d like to buy some Lilies,” It was then that Sehun remembered that Tao already told him what he had wanted but Tao didn’t mention that. “What color? Or does it even matter?” He asked and Tao shrugged with a cheery, “Nope!” Sehun decided to avoid meeting the gaze of those striking blue eyes with busying himself by writing down the details of Tao’s order. It was unnecessary, but really, he couldn’t handle looking at Tao at the moment. “Okay. Then how many do you need?” Sehun asked. He could tell Tao didn’t think that far ahead because he looked stumped. After several seconds Tao finally answered, “A bunch.” Sehun all but slammed the pen on the counter and dragged his hand down his face, “That’s not an actual amount.” he grumbled, but with an exasperated sigh, Sehun walked around the counter to retrieve a few Lilies. Since the color didn’t matter, Sehun settled on red Lilies because those were his personal favorite when it came to these flowers, not that Tao needed to know that. Collecting the flowers only took him just a few minutes and Sehun returned to the front counter, still avoiding Tao’s eyes. “Dare I ask...but is that all?” Sehun mumbled and Tao laughed brightly. “Yeah. That’ll be all,” he confirmed, digging through his wallet for some cash. When Sehun took the money from Tao, his long, delicate fingers brushed against Tao’s hand. His skin was unfairly warm even after being drowned in the cold rain. Sehun pretended to not notice. As Sehun finished ringing up Tao’s order, he could feel Tao’s gaze on him. Feeling hyper-aware of his own movements now, Sehun became flustered and managed to fumble the money that resulted in dropping a coin or two onto the floor. Finally, he got his act together and Tao was all set to leave. “Alright, you’re good to go,” he confirmed, gaining a bright smile from Tao. “Thanks, and uh, sorry again about the flood,” Tao teased.

Compressing a smile, Sehun shot back, “Yeah, next time I’ll just make you leave.”

“Next time?” Tao smirked. This time Sehun did smile but rolled his eyes, “Yeah. Next time, as in if you return as a paying customer again and not a liability,” his tone had no bite to it and it made Tao giggle. “Okay. Sounds good,” Tao lingered for just a moment as Sehun busied himself with tidying up the register area. “You know,” Tao started and Sehun looked up, “You have a nice smile,” he stated easily as if he didn’t have a lick of shame in him. Sehun didn't respond but he was sure his traitorous complexion said enough. With one last smile, Tao finally turned on his heels and headed for the door, but before exiting the shop, he called out, “See ya later, Sehun!” And rushed out the door and back to the tattoo parlor. The rain was still coming down but not as hard as it had been earlier. Sehun heaved a relieved sigh when Tao was gone, however, unfortunately for him, Sehun couldn’t focus on anything other than Tao for the rest of his shift.

+++++++++ When Tao returned to Electric Kiss, Jongin was the first to look up at him with a broad smile, “How’d it go, Romeo?” he teased, and Tao gave him a tight smile, holding up the flowers. “Need these to woo Soo?” Tao joked but it lacked humor. Jongin looked concerned if not just saddened by his statement. “Did it not go well?” he pressed, giving Tao his full attention. Jongin was the only one at his station, assuming the others were on break, had the day off, or in the back rooms. Tao walked over to his own station and sighed as he gently set the flowers on his stand. He grabbed a towel from the shelf underneath the counter to finish drying off with. “It didn’t really go at all,” he replied, plopping down in his chair, drying his face. “Are you sure he’s...looking or interested in...?” Tao asked with a raised brow. “Yes," Jongin answered quickly, confidently. "I mean, yes. Definitely. I don’t understand…” he admitted, frowning, “We just talked the other night about him dating again…” Jongin’s lips pursed in thought. “I remember Sehun saying he was going to try to date…or at least start actively looking...” Jongin turned in his chair to face Tao completely, still pouting. “But maybe he didn't mean right now..." he finished softly and Tao shrugged, wrapping the towel around his shoulders as he sat back in his chair. "I’m sorry that didn’t go well though…” Tao sighed with a small smile. “It's okay. I still like him…Even if he’s kind of….” Tao paused for a moment to search for the right word.

“A prude? A snob?” Jongin offered and Tao huffed a laugh. “I was going to say fussy, but those work, too.” This time Jongin laughed, nodding in agreement. The silence that fell was comfortable as Jongin busied himself at his station. Tao picked up one of the Lilies, admiring the crimson petals and the dark dots that lined the inside of them. He breathed in the scent when he felt Jongin’s eyes on him. Tao blinked up at him as he slowly put the flower down. “What?” he asked.

“Did you ask for red Lilies?” “No,” Tao answered simply, but Jongin just back looked down at his machine with a knowing smirk. “What?” Tao demanded curiously, sitting up in his chair and leaning forward. “What’s so funny?” Jongin bit his lip and shrugged slyly, “Nothing. It’s just that red Lilies are Sehun’s favorite color Lily,” He glanced at Tao again, wiggling his brows. Tao’s own brows shot up as a florid complexion sprawled across his cheeks, and he looked back to the Lily he was holding. He tried to bite back a smile but hearing Jongin’s amused laugh only made him smile wider.

+++++++++

When Sehun’s shift was coming to an end, he began his usual routine mid-afternoon routine of cleaning, watering the plants and counting the money in his till. As he counted the bills, Sehun noticed a business card lying on top the register that he swore wasn’t there this morning. He stopped counting and picked up the card, looking it over. One one side it had Electric Kiss ’s logo on the top of the card along with a name, a few numbers (one being the tattoo shop number) and a random design underneath the logo. Sehun rolled his eyes as he tried to compress his smile as he figured it out. “Really?” he mumbled to himself flipping over the card, and as he expected, Tao had left it here. With his smile finally breaking in amusement, Sehun looked at the name on the card. In all caps, the name read: ‘T.A.O’ with the job title ‘Artist’ underneath. Sehun considered the card for a moment longer and then looked at the numbers listed. The numbers that were listed on the other side of the card were labeled ‘work’ and ‘cell’. Sehun tucked the card into his back pocket and continued to count his till. It’s not that Sehun was going to actually contact Tao, he convinced himself, he just didn’t want it lying around the shop. Sehun finished counting the till just as his coworker came in to take over his shift and he finally left for home.