#there's several days while everyone mulls it over that are just spent listening to the two of them arguing loudly

[pyromaniac-cyndaquil]

Hello I am actually obsessed with the daytime future post (broken day AU? Like daybreak?). I adore light as vile in fiction because it's so different and fascinating. The dark hides horrors and plays on the fear of the unknown, the anxiety of knowing something could be after you. But daylight horror is in front of you, and you cannot hide from it. Violence and agony on full display. And of course the over abundance of a good thing becoming sickening, turning life into toxin.

Maybe the servants are Helioptiles/Heliolisks (they get Solar Power and are sun themed in general). If you want to replace Dusknoir, he could be a water type and that's part of how he rose in rank to be Dialga's personal servant. Inteleon could be interesting because of the spy motif, or Slowking for the intelligence, or a fully evolve water starter for the imposing vibes. Carracosta is a good option too.

OHHHHHH YOUR MIND, THIS IS EXCELLENT HELL YEAH

Light as a force that can be just as harsh and brutal as it can good is so underutilized and I agree, it's a super cool concept with a lot of potential for horror and cruelty!

Those are some super good ideas for the servants, intelleon and slowing are especially good 😭😭😭😭 I could see both being dialga's main servants - with slowking as the brain of their operations and intelleon as their (probably rather brutal) sniper and master of disguise.

I could see Intelleon heading back to the past to pose as an explorer in pretty much exactly the same way dusknoir does in canon - which then results in the very funny situation of having TWO separate renowned explorers in town giving completely contradictory stories while the townsfolk struggle to decide which to trust 😂

[berrynarrybanana]

Holiday Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses

A/N: This was meant to be a blurb, but I got carried away. I honestly don’t know how I feel about it, but I wanted to post some Christmassy stuff in between now and Deck the Halls, so here’s a little something. It’s basically over a thousand words of Harry pining for some girl he just met. That seems to be my favorite trope, yeah? Anyways, I hope you enjoy and I hope that you all remember that Christmas isn’t about what you have or what you’re able to give, it’s about spending time with the people you love the most. I’m always here for you all if you need me and I love you loads. Thank you! 

Word Count: 5.1K+

Warnings: A little smut, pining, flash forward, ofc

Prompt: “You’re wearing the Santa hat, whether you like it or not” | Taken from this post here! 

It wasn’t that Harry hated Christmas. 

He loved spending time with his family, drinking mulled wine and talking shit with his Mum and Sister on the couch until the morning light. He loved the Christmas cookies that everyone seemed to bake just for him. Every single one of his friends would wrap them up in cute, candy cane striped cellophane bags with a little bow as if they were worried he’d been deprived of sweets. He loved the warmth that enveloped him when he stepped into any building, dodging the cold winter winds and brutal snowflakes that hit his skin. He loved most things about the season, but he truthfully hated the actual holiday itself.

He hated the music, each song covered by about twenty different artists, (yet, they always sounded the same, somehow), playing on a loop on every single Christmas station. He hated how rude people were in the shops and on the road, as if their time was more important than anyone else's. He hated the stigma around giving expensive gifts, stressing over the perfect thing to get each of his friends. If he could, he’d give them all something homemade, but he was shit at doing anything crafty. 

His boots crunched against the snow as he walked towards his mother’s front door. 

He let himself in, kicking his shoes off before he removed his scarf and his winter coat. He could hear laughter from the kitchen, Gemma and his Mum giggling far too loud. They must have cracked into the mulled cider a little early, and truthfully, he was jealous. He’d spent the last four hours stuck in traffic listening to white Christmas over and over and over again. He shut the front door as Evie wrapped herself around his legs, her soft purring catching his attention as he glanced down at the black and white kitten. 

“Hiya, darling girl.” He crouched down, scooping her into his arms before he delivered a series of kisses over her head. “Daddy’s missed you, eh. Have you been good for your nan?”

She meowed in response, causing Harry to coo at her before he scratched under her chin. 

“That’s my girl.” He pressed another kiss to the top of her head before setting her back to the ground. 

He knew they would indulge in several cuddle sessions over the next few days, so he wasn’t worried about missing his one and only pet this holiday season. He walked through the house, finding his way into the kitchen where Gemma was tipping back a glass of dark red liquid, and his Mum was rolling out cookie dough with a bright smile on her face. What Harry wasn’t expecting, was the curly haired girl with a cookie cutter in her hand next to his Mum.

“Hello!” He called out, offering a smile as he walked over to the kitchen island. “I see we’ve started having fun already.”

“It took you forever to get here!” Gemma said defensively, picking up a chocolate kiss before tossing it at Harry. “Do you want a drink?”

“Something hot, it’s like the bloody tundra outside.” He shivered at the thought of the harsh wind, his eyes trailing back towards the new girl. 

“Stella makes the best peppermint hot chocolate you’ve ever had in your life.” Gemma groaned out, her eyes rolling back in her head. “She puts peppermint vodka in there.”

“I can make you one if you’d like?” Stella’s voice was soft and painfully american. “We’ve got a slow cooker full of hot chocolate.”

“If you don’t mind.” Harry gave her a smile as he pulled out a stool, sitting next to Gemma. “Nice to meet you, Stella. I’m Harry, by the way.”

“She knows who you are.” Gemma reached over, pinching Harry’s side. “Stella is a new transfer at work. She’s new to England, and we thought we’d show her a proper English Christmas.”

“Stella, love, you should probably find another family to spend Christmas with if you want a proper English Christmas.” Harry snorted. “Ours is half arsed at best.”

“We have a lovely Christmas, thank you.” Anne piped up, flicking flour in Harry’s direction as Stella laughed softly. “Don’t scare the poor thing off, we’ve just made her feel at home.” 

Stella turned her back, walking towards the stove.

“I suppose we do have a good time.” Harry hummed out. “I can’t wait to watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas for the millionth time.” 

“They’ve got an animated one now!” Gemma exclaimed. “We’re going to do a double feature.”

“Lovely.” Harry rolled his eyes. 

Moments later, a steaming mug of hot chocolate laced was placed in front of Harry. 

He looked down at the grinch mug before looking back up at Stella. 

“Thanks.” He offered her a smile, but she merely nodded back at him before taking her place next to Anne again. 

He watched her, sipping at his drink as Gemma and Anne chatted about some Hallmark movie that was meant to premiere at some point during the week. She wasn’t normally the type of girl that he dated, but he had to admit that she was beautiful. Her cheeks were round, a soft blush smeared over them that he assumed came from a makeup product. Her lashes were thick, and long, shadowing her hazel colored eyes. She had thick brows that seemed a little unruly, and plump lips stained with a plum colored lipstick that matched her smoky, purple eyeshadow. He wasn’t a huge fan of the plum color, but he had to admit that it brought out a lot of the warmer tones in her eyes and in her beautiful, brown skin. He also thought that it complimented the lighter strands in her curly brown hair that bounced about everytime she turned her head. 

He tried not to be too obvious with his curious gaze, but he couldn’t help it. He was almost mesmerized by her beauty, but he was more so confused by his attraction to her. She was far too quiet for his taste, her eyes cast down on the cookies she’d been cutting out for the last few minutes while everyone else chatted. 

He watched her place them on the tray carefully, obsessing over how they landed before she reached for the colored icing. He watched her pipe onto the little shapes, her tongue nestling in the corner of her mouth as her unsteady hands worked diligently on the cookies. 

This was a Styles family Christmas, and the Styles were a rowdy and messy bunch. He’d never seen his Mum or Gemma put that much work into sugar cookies before, and it was almost painful to watch her perfect each and every one before she slipped the tray in the oven. He watched her reach for the cheeky little chicken shaped oven timer that Gemma bought when his Mum fist moved into this house. In all of those years, he’d never seen anyone actually use it. 

“Did you hear me, my little turtle dove?” Anne brushed her hand over Harry’s back as he sipped at his cocoa. “They’re calling for a huge storm this weekend, are you packed for that?”

“I left some stuff here the last time I was around.” He turned his head, smiling back at her. “I think I should be fine if I get stuck with you lot.” 

“Good.” She nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I’ve missed you.” 

“Missed you too, Mumma.” He wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her into a hug. 

The warm scent of vanilla and musk greeted his senses, flooding him with comfort and nostalgic memories of cuddling with Mum on the couch. He missed having her around him. He missed having his best friend around to comfort him when he needed it the most. When he let go of her, his heart sank a little in his chest. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head before moving back to work on more cookie dough. 

“Why are you making so many cookies?” He asked, brows furrowing as he brushed his fingers over the sickly green mug with the cartoon characters face on it. “Do you plan on feeding an army?”

“No, but Stella suggested that we take some down to the local homeless shelter on Christmas Eve.” Anne smiled over at the girl. “That’s her family's Christmas tradition, and since she’s not with them this year, we thought we’d make it happen for her here.”

“Thank you again, for agreeing to this.” Stella smiled at Anne. “It really means the world to me, and I can’t thank you enough.”

“You’re a part of the family now, dear.” Anne teased. “Even if you’re not spending Christmas with us, this little tradition of yours has been officially integrated into our own Christmas tradition. We’ll always have a little bit of Stella with us during the Holiday’s now, eh.”

Stella laughed at that, reaching her arms out to wrap Anne in a hug. 

Harry almost felt a little jealous at how seamlessly she fit in here. 

“If you keep staring at her, she’s gonna want to run back to America.” Gemma nudged her elbow into his side. “We get it, she’s hotter than you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Harry rolled his eyes at Gemma as she smirked. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Okay, Casanova.” She snorted. “Whatever you say. 

**

Harry wasn’t sure why he was hard. 

He just wanted to close his eyes and go the fuck to sleep. 

After a long day of travel, and an even longer evening filled with Harry pulling down Christmas decorations from the attic, he just wanted to sleep. He wasn’t looking forward to taking the annual trip to the Christmas Tree Farm tomorrow. Since Robin passed, Harry was the only man in the family, which meant that he often had to do the heavy lifting. He found that most of his strength lay in his core, despite the amount of lifting he’d done to buff up his arms, and he wasn’t looking forward to tossing a tree on top of his car while everyone watched. 

Truthfully, that was the worry that should have been plaguing his mind as he lay in bed. Instead, his mind was lost in hazel colored waves that crashed on dark plum shores. He couldn’t stop thinking about Stella’s eyes or her perfectly shaped lips. He spent most of his night watching her drink from a wine glass, her cheeks turning a shade darker with each joke that she shared with his family. If there was one thing that he was shocked about, it was the dry humor that tumbled from her perfect plum colored lips. She was a funny girl, despite being quiet, and he laughed at every single joke she told without shame. 

As he shifted his about, trying to avoid any further thoughts about her lips, the tip of his cock brushed against the warm flannel of his pajama pants. He let out a throaty groan, reaching down to push his palm into the crotch of his pants to soothe the pressure building in his lower belly. He couldn’t jack off to the thought of Gemma’s new friend, it would be awful, and it would surely land him on the naughty list. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best not to picture her lipstick staining his lower belly, his upper thighs, and eventually...the shaft of his cock. But after a few minutes of trying not to think about it, that was the only thing he could see behind closed eyes. 

With an annoyed grumble, he dipped his hand into his pajama pants, tugging his cock out while his free hand pushed the band of the pants down his hips. He licked over his dry lips, making a mental note to buy some chapstick tomorrow as he gave himself one, swift stroke. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to moan as he brushed the pad of his thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. He was pathetic, dripping down his cock over a girl that he barely knew. He couldn’t believe that he was being that guy right now, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of a beautiful girl on her knees for him. He wanted so badly to have her there, whispering filthy words in that gentle tone she had, encouraging him to cum on her tongue. 

When he did cum, her name spilled from his lips. 

His chest was heaving as he came down, the tinkling of Stella’s laughter filling his ears. 

Seconds later, he heard her bid goodnight to Gemma before the door next to his own shut. 

He was totally fucked for this girl. 

**

The next morning, he didn’t expect to see Stella sitting at the breakfast bar when he came downstairs. 

He stopped in the doorway, his cheeks growing warm as he looked over her sweater covered back. Thoughts of her name tumbling from his lips last night flooded back as he looked at her. She was wearing a lavender colored, cable knit sweater, and her curls were tied up in a messy ponytail on top of her head. Most of the curls had fallen out, covering up some of her neck alongside her fingers. Her cheek was propped on her palm, her gaze focused on her laptop as she lifted a mug of steaming liquid up to her mouth with her other hand. 

Harry cleared his throat, walking toward the stove so he could put the kettle on. No one else in the house would be up for hours, but Harry couldn’t turn off his internal alarm clock no matter how he tried. He also hoped that he might find a moment of peace from the very girl sitting in his Mother’s kitchen. She haunted his dreams, her face playing on the silver screen in his mind all night long. He hated how infatuated he was with this woman that he barely even knew. 

“Morning.” She spoke up first, her voice scratchy and tired. “Did you sleep well?”

“Splendid, yeah.” He nodded, filling the kettle with water. “You?” 

“I’ve slept better, but that’s to be expected.” She said softly. “I spent a little bit of time on a skype call with my brother’s, so I was up longer than expected.” 

“But you’re up fairly early this morning, aren’t you?” He put the kettle on the stovetop before turning around, his eyes landing on hers. “Why’s that?”

“I wake up this early anyways.” She smiled at him. “I usually like to go for a walk in the morning to wake myself up.”

“That’s nice.” He lifted his hand, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “I usually like to go for a swim or a run in the morning, too.”

“Where do you swim?” She asked. 

“There’s a men’s swimming club not too far from my home in London.” He said. “It’s freezing cold, but you get used to it after a while.”

“Jeeze, you swim outside in this weather?” She lifted her head from her palm, her eyes growing wide. “I could never.” 

“It’s an acquired taste.” He chuckled softly. “What are you working on?”

“A new piece for my blog.” She said. “I started out using it as a diary of sorts, but people apparently love reading about the disaster that is my life.”

“I’m sure it’s not all horrible.” He hoped that he sounded encouraging and not rude. “You seem like a lovely, and positive person.”

“I try to be.” She shrugged, reaching for her mug. “I could say the same about you.”

“I try to be.” He smiled at her. “Would you like some breakfast?” 

“Oh, I was actually thinking of popping down to this little bakery Gemma told me about-” 

“Mandeville’s.” His heart picked up, a smile stretching across his lips. “Had my first job there.”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” She laughed, wrapping both hands around her mug as she leaned back in the barstool. “I figured I’d go grab some pastries for everyone. I know it’s kind of a busy day with the Christmas Tree Farm, so I thought it would be best if your Mum didn’t feel the need to cook.”

“She would love that.” Harry said. “Maybe I could go with you? We could both get our walks in, and I can see Mary before she hunts me down and drags me to the bakery.”

“I would love the company.” She smiled. “But enjoy your tea first, I’ll just be working on this until we’re ready to go.”

“Cheers.” He nodded, watching her eyes drop to her computer screen. 

She wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup this morning, and Harry almost wished that she was. 

He wished that she had covered up her beautiful, freckle covered skin so that he didn’t fall harder for her beautiful face. He wished that she was hiding away those little blemishes that made him swoon, because she was actually a human after all, not some angel sent down from heaven to torture him. He wished that she covered those beautiful lips in that plum lipstick again so that he could imagine kissing it off of her. He hated the feeling stirring inside of his belly, the butterflies a tell tale sign of his feelings. 

He had a crush on Stella. 

And there was nothing he could do to stop himself from falling for her. 

**

Stella’s gloves were precious.

They were a bright red, little snowflakes and reindeer stitched into them. 

She offered to let Harry borrow a pair of her gloves, claiming that she’d brought plenty of pairs for the winter, but he politely declined before shoving his hands in his pockets. She looked so cozy, wrapped up in her winter coat with a beanie on top of her head and a matching scarf tied around her neck. Harry wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and cuddle her so that they could both stay nice and toasty on their walk. He wanted to kiss her bare cheeks, paying special attention to each freckle on her skin as the winter sun cast over them. 

He was so infatuated with her that it was almost embarrassing. 

“I can’t even imagine what it was like, growing up in a place like this.” Stella turned her head towards Harry, the tip of her nose a little red. “It’s so picturesque.”

“It’s alright.” He gave her a small smile. “I always wanted to get out when I was a kid.”

“Of course you did, we all do.” She chuckled. “I think everyone should run away for a little while, it really gives you all of the tools you need to really appreciate your hometown when you go back. I don’t know that I’ll ever move back to my hometown, but when I visit it, I feel a little bit more appreciative of the pivotal role it had in raising me.”

“I feel the same way about Cheshire.” Harry nodded. “It’s a big part of who I was, and that helped make me who I am. I wouldn’t be the same without this place.”

“Exactly.” She said. 

“So where exactly are you from?” He asked. “I mean, obviously America-”

“Is it that obvious?” She asked, narrowing her eyes playfully, her lips pursed. “I don’t think it is.”

“It’s a neon, flashing sign above your head kind of obvious, love.” He snorted. “But I can’t place what your accent is.”

“It’s not really an accent.” Stella shrugged, turning her attention back to the sidewalk. “I grew up on the road for most of my life, but my family settled in Georgia when I was about twelve.”

“Interesting.” He said. “How did you like Georgia?” 

“I didn’t, at first.” She laughed. “I hated it so much. I loved being on the road with my family, traveling places like Hawaii and Los Angeles. When we moved to the south, I despised everything about it. It was so plain and boring compared to places we’d lived before. But like I said, moving away has made me learn to love it more when I go back.”

“How long have you been gone?” He asked. 

“About three years.” She said. “I lived in Amsterdam for a year, and then Paris, and now I’m here.”

“Which place is your favorite?” He asked. “Be honest with me, now. You don’t have to say London just because you’re trying to get on my good side.” 

Stella tossed her head back, laughing loudly. 

“I think it’s truthfully London, Harry.” 

His name sounded like honey falling from her lips. 

“Why is that?” He asked. 

“Because I’ve found my chosen family.” She turned back, giving him a smile that thawed out the chill creeping up from his toes. “Starting with Gemma, of course. She was the first person to take me under her wings, and I’m so happy that I have her in my life. Then I started to find other people, and we all became this really close knit group of friends that felt more like family than my actual family does. I don’t know how I’ll ever leave this place.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” He said softly. “Maybe this is home.”

Please don’t go, Stella. 

Stay here with me forever. 

Love me. 

“My contract is up at the end of the year, but we’ll just have to see how things go.” She said. “I might be convinced to stay.”

“Well, I guess I have a lot of work to do.” He chuckled.

“Why are you so keen on me staying?” She asked him, her brows raising as she gave him a knowing smirk. “Do you have a crush on me, Styles?”

His cheeks grew hot against the cold wind. 

“Alright now, don’t let that go to your head.” He grumbled, tucking his neck into his scarf as Stella’s smile grew wider. “It’s all your bloody fault, you know?”

“What have I done?” She laughed louder. “I’m just me.”

“That’s exactly it.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “You’re you, Stella.”

**

The Christmas Tree Farm was going well. 

That was up until Gemma decided that they absolutely needed to take a family picture in front of the big Christmas tree, Stella included. They had picked up a few little trinkets and such while walking around the market included in the farm. Anne picked up a reindeer headband with bells stitched in, plopping it on her head the second she found it. Gemma found an elf’s hat with little ears attached to the side, putting it on her hair before fussing with her hair. Stella found a crown made of poinsettias that she plopped on top of her curls, the red and gold working perfectly with her red lipstick and gold eyeshadow. Harry, however, wasn’t exactly in the spirit. 

“You’re wearing the bloody santa hat, whether you like it or not!” Gemma shoved it towards him with a frown. “If you stand next to Stella, you’ll like Mr. and Mrs. Claus!” 

“Shut up, Gemma.” Harry sneered, snatching the hat from her hands. “I didn’t tell you about that so you could throw it in my face!” 

“Well, I’m doing it for the greater good of our family photo!” She glared at him. “Put that hat on before I shove it on your head myself.”

“Fine.”

“Are you two alright?” Stella smirked, adjusting her crown on her head as she walked up to Harry and Gemma. “Santa is still putting people on the naughty list you know?” 

“If anyone’s going to be on the naughty list, it’s Harry.” Gemma tossed her arm around Stella’s shoulder with a proud smirk. “He’s being a pain in the arse.”

“Is the hat really necessary to the photo?” He groaned, dropping his head back. 

“Yes.” Stella and Gemma said at the same time. 

“Alright, alright.” He groaned, tugging the hat over his curls. “Are you both happy now?”

“Ecstatic.” Stella smiled brightly at Harry. “I think you look handsome.”

“I’m going to just point out…” Gemma pulled her arm from around Stella, tucking her hands behind her back. “That there’s mistletoe hanging from that piece of wood above your heads.” 

“Gemma-” Harry’s eyes grew wide. 

“And I’m promptly going to walk away.” She smiled at Stella. “Meet us at the tree in ten minutes.” 

“Gemma-” Stella held her hand out as Gemma walked away, her eyes growing just as wide as Harry’s were. “What a sneaky little elf.” 

“Tell me about it.” Harry shifted, adjusting the hat on his head. “Devious little-”

“Well, I guess we can’t break tradition.” Stella looked up at Harry, shuffling forward slowly with a little smirk on her lips. “I mean, what would Santa say if we didn’t kiss under the mistletoe?”

Harry licked over his bottom lip, his fingers twitching. 

“You really want to kiss me?”

“I might.” Stella’s toes were almost touching Harry’s now. “But the question is, do you want to kiss me?”

“I do, yeah.” He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I laid eyes on you, Stella.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” She raised her brows. “Now is your chance, Mr. Grinch, lay one on me.”

Harry lifted his hands, pressing them to Stella’s face hesitantly before he lowered his lips to hers in a soft kiss. It was a gentle peck, one that anyone would share underneath the mistletoe, but Harry wanted more from Stella. It seemed that she wanted more as well, her arms sliding around his neck as she pressed up on her toes. He let his hands fall to her waist as the kiss grew more intense, his hands holding onto her tightly as she brushed her tongue over his lower lip. He tried his best not to smile into the kiss, letting her have what she wanted by parting his lips. When her tongue slipped over his, he let out a tiny moan, gripping her hips tighter. 

“Get a room, you two!” Harry groaned, pressing his forehead to Stella’s. 

“Gemma, I swear to god-” Harry turned his head, whipping his santa hat off before he threw it in her direction. “Go bother someone else!” 

Stella laughed, ducking her forehead down to Harry’s chest as he rubbed his thumbs over her side gently. He felt her body shaking underneath his hands, his heart hammering in his chest when he realized just how close they actually were. He turned his head back, lifting a hand up to guide Stella’s chin up. He pressed his lips to hers once, twice, three more times before she pressed her palms to Harry’s chest. 

“We’ll never stop if we don’t move away from the mistletoe.” Stella whispered. “And I think Gemma might physically pull us apart if we miss that Christmas picture.”

“Let it be known that I’m only partaking in this picture because I want to stand next to you for as long as I can.” Harry smiled. “I think I have a little more than a crush on you, Stella.” 

“I think I have more than a crush on you, too.”

**

“Madeline, stop right there.” Stella let out a frustrated sigh as she looped her arm under the baby carrier, her eyes falling down to the sleeping infant. “Milo, promise Mumma that you’ll listen when you get to that age?”

“Give him here.” Harry brushed a kiss over Stella’s temple, his hand massaging her lower back gently. “You go catch up with speed racer, okay? I’ll be right behind you with the baby and the diaper bag.”

“Thank you.” Stella turned her head, puckering her lips out. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” He hummed out. “And our beautiful babies, even if one of them has a death wish and two left feet.” 

Stella snorted out a laugh, pulling her arm from the carrier before she stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I better go help her up the stairs.”

“Please, we don’t need a repeat of last year.” Harry smiled. 

“Yeah, I would like to avoid a trip to A&E this year.” Stella snorted. 

He watched Stella walk over to an antsy Madeline, her pigtails bouncing about as she jumped from foot to foot in excitement. Harry chuckled softly at his daughter, amused by her excitement. He was happy that she found so much joy in Christmas, just like her Mother did. He watched Stella hold a hand out, waiting for Madeline to take it before they both conquered the brick steps outside of his Mum’s house. When they got to the top, Stella lifted Madeline up, kissing over her cheeks as their daughter giggled. Harry lifted Milo’s car seat from the base, his eyes falling down to the six month old with hazel eyes and soft cheeks just like his Mother’s. 

“We’ve got our hands full with those two, mate.” Harry pulled the soft, wintery blue blanket up to Milo’s chin, tucking it around his shoulders so that he would stay warm. “Gonna keep us both on our toes, I know it.” 

Milo cooed up at him, causing Harry to smile wider before he ducked his head down to kiss his son's soft cheeks. 

“Let’s get you into Nan’s before you turn into a popsicle, my love.” Harry said. “Mumma won’t be happy if we have to spend Christmas thawing you out.”

As Harry made his way up the stairs, he couldn’t help but remember five Christmases ago. 

He was walking up the exact same steps on his own, unaware of the magic that was waiting inside for him. He was unaware that the girl Gemma brought home for Christmas would one day be his wife, and the mother of his two beautiful children. He had no idea that they would spend long nights together, planning their future and holding each other tight. He opened the front door to his Mum’s house, smiling at the sound of Madeline telling his Mother a story with animated gestures, her curly pigtails bouncing around as Stella tried to wrangle her jacket off. 

“And then Daddy told me we could get a puppy next year if I was good enough!” Madeline squealed out as Harry shut the door. 

He dodged the steely gaze he got from Stella after she heard the word puppy.

“Sorry.” He mouthed over at her, causing her to shake her head as she tried to fight off a smile. 

“You’re a menace.” She mouthed back. “But I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” He said it outloud, his heart soaring in his chest. 

Stella gave him a heart warming smile, Madeline’s coat still in her hands. 

Seconds later, Milo let out a tiny cry causing Harry to snap back into dad mode. 

He rested the carseat on the ground, carefully pulling his son out before pressing a kiss to his chubby little cheeks. As if Gemma could sense his presence, she barreled into the living room with her eyes set on Milo. 

“There’s my little man.” She held her hands out, wiggling them as Harry rolled his eyes. “You get to see him every day, Harry. Pass him over to his auntie.” 

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “Please be careful with him, I kind of like this one.”

“Piss off.” Gemma snorted out, sliding Milo onto her hip before pressing a bright red kiss mark into his forehead. “Has Daddy told you that without auntie Gem, you wouldn’t exist?” 

“Gemma-” 

“Can you believe that?” She looked up at Harry, a hint of something nostalgic and genuine sparkling in her green eyes. “If I’d never brought Stella to family Christmas, we wouldn’t have two beautiful babies to dote over every year.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what life would be like without them.” He whispered. “Thank you, Gemma.”

“Harry, I really didn’t-”

“Gemma.” He said her name sternly, pressing his palm to her bicep. “Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She said softly, her eyes watering. “Now, if you could do me a favor and bring a hot friend around, I’d really appreciate it.”

“I’ll see what I can manage.” He let out a wet chuckle, his own eyes watering. 

“What are we managing?” Stella wrapped her arms around Harry. 

“We owe Gem a favor.” He sniffled, turning head to press a kiss to Stella’s forehead. 

“Why are you crying, baby?” Stella frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all.” He pressed his lips to hers, softly brushing his nose against the tip of hers as his. “Just so incredibly grateful to have you in my life, that’s all.”

“You’re so sappy around the holiday’s.” Stella brushed her palm over his belly. “I love you, Mr. Styles.” 

“I love you, too, Mrs. Styles.” He said. “Merry Christmas, Darling.”

“Merry Christmas.” 

[justahumblebard]

Could I humbly request a fic or headcanons where Veth does the interrogating of a potential suitor of Caleb’s :-0

     It was a calm night in the Xorhaus. The inhabitants of the house peacefully resting in their rooms, all settled in for the night. Except for one goblin, Nott spent her time pacing back and forth through the room that she shared with Yeza.  A clever little goblin, she had noticed how close you had gotten to her boy recently and that put her on edge. It’s not that she didn’t trust you; no it’s just that Caleb is like her son and she feels the need to protect him. She knew how dangerous your life style was and she didn’t want Caleb to put himself in harm’s way over a crush. Her thoughts spiraling out of control as she paced across the room gnawing on her claws.

    “Veth, Honey what’s wrong?” Yeza asks.

     “It’s Caleb and Y/N. I think they are together.” Nott stops and turns to face towards Yeza.

    “Is there something wrong with that? They are both adults.” Yeza gets off the bed and walks over to his wife placing his hands on her shoulders.

     “Yes but. What if Caleb gets hurt? Y/N… They are one of the ones who take the brunt of the battle, what happens when they die in-front of him. What if Y/N turns out to be a terrible person and hurts Caleb.”  Nott begins to ramble.

     “Honey, they’re both adults. I think they know what they are getting into. They are both smart enough to know the dangers of the lifestyle you guys live. Maybe try talking to them if it is something that really is bothering you.” Yeza warmly rubs his wife’s shoulder.

     “You know what I think I will.” Nott replies confidently mind made up, turning and walking out of the room.

     “Maybe wait….” Yeza tries to stop her “until morning.” finishing with a sigh as the door clicks closed behind her.

     Night time for the two of you is generally peaceful. There is some skill required in keeping your relationship secret from the rest of the group. You had a gnawing feeling that some of them already knew, but the two of you like to pretend it was just between the two of you. Your relationship had Caleb had developed slowly and it was only after your misadventures as pirates that you realized that the feelings you had for the red headed wizard were mutual.

    The smell of smoke and incense fill your nose as you nuzzle into a warm chest listening to the steady heartbeat and gentle sounds of turning pages. Frumpkin managed to squeeze his way in-between the two of you gently purring accepting the pets that are given to him by his master.  Absentmindedly you trace shapes along Caleb’s chest. The image is intimate, the two of you snuggled up before bed you head resting on Caleb’s chest whilst he reads; both of you without the gear that you wear during the day, just two lovers getting ready for sleep. It is a comforting and familiar scene that has become a more frequent occurrence.

     A sharp knock however brings you out of your day dreams. The two of you jump at the sudden noise, panic rushing through your veins, you had been caught.  

    “Scheiße.” Caleb mutters under his breath.

    “Let me handle this.” You whisper to him.  

    “Yes?” you call out waiting for a response.

     “Y/N, can I talk to you?” Nott’s voice calls out; the hesitancy in her voice is audible to the both of you.

     “Nott?”  You mouth looking at Caleb with a raised eyebrow. Caleb shrugs equally confused, his blue eyes darting around the room looking around for an escape route.

     “Yeah give me a second.” you quickly hop of the bed and move with a purpose to grab your robe hanging on the back of your desk chair. Giving Caleb a confused look, you quietly slip out the door without opening the door the entire way and quickly shutting it.

     “Yes Nott.” You look down at the little goblin who was wringing her hands nervously refusing to meet your eyes.

     “YN… I need you to answer me honestly. Are you and Caleb having relations?” She finally looks you in the eye.

     “um.. yeah…Caleb and I are together.” You fumble to find the right words. Slowly you see the nervousness fade from Nott’s eyes replaced with determination.

    “We need to talk then.” Yellow eyes narrow at you.

     “Let’s head down to the kitchen then. Maybe some tea will help this conversation.” You try to diffuse the tense situation.

     The walk from your room to the kitchen is awkward; you can feel Nott’s eyes glaring into your back. You settle into the motions of making tea something that you had picked up from Caduceus. You leave out a heavy sigh, its best to stop delaying the conversation and just get it over with. You gently set the cup down in front of Nott, gently grabbing ahold of your own cup. The porcelain is hot against your hands, but the heat is familiar and comforting.  

     “How long has it been going on?” The question breaks the awkward silence of the room. Looking up from your cup you can see the serious look on your goblin friend’s face.

    “It started in Dark Tow, but nothing really happened until we were in Nicodranas.”

    “You kept it from us for that long?!” Not t’s voice raised up several octaves.

     “Nott, please.” You quickly shush her “please lower your voice.”

     “Caleb and I….” you let out another sigh “We were enjoying figuring out our feelings privately.  Without the rest of the Nein sticking your noses in a private matter, that and at the time we didn’t know where it would go.”

     “I know it sounds terrible, but we wanted to be able to figure it out ourselves, and not get teased by everyone else. You know Jester and Beau would have been all over our cases. I am sorry we kept it from you though Nott, I know how much you care about Caleb.” You reach over and grab her much smaller hand in your own and give it a gentle squeeze.

     “You know Caleb is my boy. I love him like I love my son. If you hurt a single hair on his head I will hunt you down and kill you slowly.” She narrows her yellow eyes at you.

     “Now are you taking care of him? He doesn’t eat if he is caught up in his work; you need to remind him to eat. Also if you don’t drag him to bed he won’t sleep.  Is he staying properly hydrated?”  Her questions come out at rapid fire.

     “Yes Nott I am taking care of him. We are working on all of those issues. You’re a good friend Nott. Not many people would look out for someone like you look out for Caleb.”

    “He’s my boy I have to protect him.” Her eyes and voice soften as her statement trails off.

     “I know, and we can both protect him.” You give her hand another squeeze.  

     “What if you get hurt though? What if you die? It will destroy him.”  She looks at you hesitantly.

     “Well we are trying to avoid both of those, but that is also slightly insulting to the powers of our two lovely clerics. I don’t want to hurt Caleb in any way, but we both went into this relationship knowing that we live a dangerous life style. We have discussed this together.” you let go of her hand returning it to your cup of tea taking a small sip.

     “Do you know about Caleb’s…” She trails off again.

     “About his past? Yes, that was a long conversation Nott, but it was one of the first ones we had while the whole thing was still new. Both of us put all of our cards on the table. We both knew what we had been getting into.” You take another sip of your tea. That conversation had ended in both of you and Caleb in tears desperately clinging to one another, it wasn’t a memory that you liked to revisit.

     “Are the two of you happy?” that threw you off.

     “I would like to think so. Caleb is one of the sweetest most protective people I know, and if I am going to share my life with someone I want it to be him.” You state after mulling over your word.

     “Alright. I will let you go back to bed. Take care of my boy Y/N. Remember if you hurt him I will hunt you down.” Nott quickly drains the rest of her tea before scurrying back to her and Yeza’s room.

     You slowly finish your cup of tea before placing it into the sink and heading up to your room. Caleb is lying down when you enter with his back facing you. You take your robe off before sliding into the bed and cuddling up to Caleb’s back wrapping your arms around him.

    “Everything alright Liebling?” Caleb asks sleepily.

    “Yeah, your mom just questioned me about our relationship and threatened bodily harm if I hurt you.” You place a soft kiss to his shoulder.

    “I’m sorry Liebling I will talk with Nott in the morning.” Caleb mutters out an apology.

    “Its fine she just wanted to know that I was taking care of you. She’s a good friend.” You settle in shifting closer to Caleb’s warmth.

    “Ja, she is.” Caleb relaxes further into your embrace.

     “Let’s sleep, we can talk about this in the morning.” Soft snoring brings a slight smile to your face. Gently you nuzzle your face into his neck and slowly drift off to sleep.

[that-scouse-wizard]

A Half-Demon’s Kiss

A/N: Hello everyone, welcome to my latest love in the HP fandom, the HPHL OC community, specifically, the relationship between Reuben Willows and Leila Hellebore that I and @whatwouldvalerydo have discussed. So here it is, I hope you all enjoy!

Word count: 1442

MC friends: Leila Hellebore (@whatwouldvalerydo)

Daniel Gibson (@catohphm) (mentioned)

Siobhan Llwelyn (@kc-needs-coffee) (mentioned)

Marigold Sterling (mine) (mentioned).

Fifth year, September

There was a mild chill in the air on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hardly a cloud in the sky as the sun shone brightly. Many fifth year students would be dreading the times to come for their O.W.L exams. However, one student sitting along the shore of the Black Lake held no such concerns for the moment. No, Leila Hellebore was on her own personal mission.

Teenage rebellion.

Growing up, she and her sister had been subject to their mother’s teachings. For Leila, she had been taught blood magic, that humans would not understand her demonic heritage, and that the only suitable partner was a full-blooded demon, lest her goals be out of her reach. 

Yet, she had come to realise her mother’s teachings were not entirely true. Over her time at Hogwarts, she made many friends amongst the humans here.

Firstly, there was Marigold Sterling, a fellow Slytherin who she had formed a bond with through their shared love of music. Her cello matching Leila’s piano in perfect harmony.

Secondly, Daniel or ‘Danny’ Gibson as he liked to be known. It was only the occasional good morning or hello from him at first but he had always been friendly towards her despite her aloofness. At last, she reciprocated his greetings and was now a trusted friend.

Thirdly, Siobhan Llwelyn, an enabler of her rebellious side. Oh the two had tried to keep to the lady-like roles they were assigned by society but the whole thing was so ridiculous both would now burst into fits of laughter at the very thought.

Lastly, there was Reuben Willows...

Oh Reuben, though he played the position of beater in the Quidditch matches they faced off against one another in, he was such a gentle giant. He had always goaded her in a friendly manner during Quidditch being on opposite teams, her much smaller height of four-foot-nine compared to his still-growing frame amusing him greatly. She had returned the banter gleefully and he became a friend.

He had been the first she had trusted with the secret of her half-demon nature in her third year. At the same time, had laid bare her feelings of fear on not being able to have a normal life. While surprised, in stark contrast to her mother’s belief, he had not judged her for it. If anything, showing such vulnerability had brought the two closer.

Then, he had confessed to having feelings for her in fourth year. On this very lakeshore no less...

She had panicked, pushed him away, yelled at him in an effort to convince him that she wasn’t good for him. That she was bad, tainted and how could a human like him find feelings for someone like her? She still felt a pang of guilt when she remembered the hurt in his expression that day. Regardless, he had respected her wishes and left her alone.

They had spent a couple of months not speaking to each other, maybe the occasional nod of acknowledgement but no words. The guilt and grief had eaten her up inside, she had missed their banter, missed their friendship, missed... him. 

At last, she had approached him, wanting to talk in private. Apologising for what she had said, and just wishing to going back to being friends. He had tearfully, but gratefully accepted her apology, both had cried with relief in the other’s arms from the months of not interacting finally being ended.

Everything had begun looking up.. until she had received word from her mother, she was looking for a worthy suitor for her. Without Leila’s input of course. Though, it wasn’t just that, her mother attempting to micromanage her life, “Show her the right path.” as she had put it. That involved severing ties with her friends and Leila would not allow that to happen, they were far too important for her to lose.

But Reuben was a slightly different case, the summer had given her plenty of time to mull over his confession. The more she thought about it, the more she realised she had developed feelings for her Quidditch rival as well. There was no denying he was handsome and strong, in more ways than one from what he had told her about his troubled home life.

But she admired his loyalty to his loved ones, his enthusiasm when he taught her about dragons, how he pushed her to be her best and so much more. She wanted to be with him, the fact that it would spit in the face of her family’s ideals was only an added bonus. She hoped he would still feel the same way...

Her enhanced hearing picked up footsteps on the sand a ways off behind her, breaking her from her thoughts. She turned to the source, unable to help her face curling into a smile that revealed her fangs. That got the expected reaction out of the Ravenclaw, smiling at her warmly a feeling of joy spreading through her. Though he looked confused, at the fact that she was sitting down on a chequered blanket with a picnic hamper at her side.

“Lei, what’s all this?” He asked, his brow furrowing. Wordlessly, Leila got up, taking his hands in in her own as her green eyes darted between his face and feet. She tugged lightly, attempting to get him to come with her, he didn’t budge.

“What are you playing at Lei?” He questioned, his tone still steady and calm but clearly trying to wrap his head around his friend’s odd behaviour.

“Come and sit.” She responded vaguely, pulling just a bit harder. In response Reuben pulled his hands from her grip.

“No.” He said succinctly, crossing his arms to stop his hands being taken again.

“Please.” She said, hoping that would get him. Though seeing how obstinate he was being was admittedly starting to grate on her nerves.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.” He retorted, Leila grumbled at that. She couldn’t exactly come out and say she wanted to kiss the fool now could she?

“Reuben,” She spoke firmly, “If you don’t sit down with me, I’m going to jump you and still have my way.” Her serious tone left no room for argument.

Reuben took just the slightest step closer, towering over her, “Try it.” He challenged. Unfortunately, Reuben had forgotten one crucial detail until it was too late.

Leila’s half-demon strength meant she could easily match him in raw power despite what her slim, petite appearance would suggest. He was knocked over flat on his back in his lack of preparation to brace as Leila lunged for him. He landed without injury, his fall cushioned by the soft sand, but now pinned beneath Leila. Her arms were locked straight, keeping his shoulders down as she straddled his waist. She lowered herself down towards him, causing her grey blonde hair to fall and brush lightly against his cheeks.

He couldn’t deny, the feeling excited him, his heart beginning to race as his steely grey eyes stared into the captivating forest green of Leila’s. Ones that he wanted to get lost in forever. Feelings that he’d sought to bury for the sake of preserving their friendship came roaring back to the surface as he felt his face flush red.

Leila smirked at his flustered but hypnotised reaction, lowering herself down even further, turning her head to kiss him. Reuben didn’t resist as her lips captured his own, in response, his began to to move in tandem with hers. His previously tense muscles relaxing as Leila’s hands moved from his shoulders to the back of his neck, pulling herself closer to him. His arms now free, Reuben placed his hands on her waist but dared not explore for fear of pushing things too far.

At last, they needed the air, Leila breaking their kiss. A gleeful smile making its way across her features, Reuben smiling warmly at the sight of her fangs.

“Are you willing to listen to me now? I really owe you an explanation, about this and... last year.” She stated, her face still inches from his and longing to kiss him again but knew it would have to wait for the moment.

Reuben nodded, “Yeah, I’ll listen.” Leila finally stood back up again, offering her hand to him. Clasping it tightly, she lifted him up effortlessly and without another word for the moment, Reuben let Leila lead him over to the picnic.

If this was why she had called him out here, they truly had a lot to discuss and Reuben was eager to hear every word.

[diary-of-deadweight]

Despite it all

summary: Virgil admires the reader from afar until Roman decides to tease him in the form in which he is best at, singing.

There he was, sat upon the staircase hunched over his phone despite what Logan and Roman have told him on several occasions.

‘Hunched posture isn’t good posture’

He couldn’t give a damn if his life depended on it, he made it seem as if he was occupied with either music or tumblr with his hood up over his head which made for great coverage for his wandering eyes that deviated from the phonescreen to the ethereal being sat upon the brown plush couch talking to Patton who was waving his hands animatedly, spitting words like bullets as if he was going to forget the story if he didn’t tell anyone right away.

He couldn’t help but feel drawn to you the moment he laid eyes on you, cliche he knows, so he tried to hide his sudden infatuation by distancing himself and acting colder the before as to save himself from suspicion and disappointment and chose to admire you from afar and as they say ‘the heart grows fonder with distance’ which could not be more befitting for this moment; he hoped that one day you’d look his way in the same way he looked your way, with adoration and admiration.

No body had ever shown him such kindness as you did even after all he has done, how he had treated you in the past, how he acted towards all of you and still you had the balls to treat him like you treated Thomas, Logan, Roman and Patton. He didn’t deserve any of it but he knew you well enough to know that you were stubborn and would probably scold him for berating himself and comparing himself to others like he did no matter the occasion but he couldn’t help the itching sensation in the back of his head that told him that you’d find someone else to fawn over and forget him all together which only distanced him even more from telling you the truth and even if he did it was a well known fact he wasn’t the most confrontational nor the one to take initiative which meant he’d have to rely on someone else to step up for him due to his heightened anxiety. Which would probably look sloppy and pathetic to you.

He watched on as you laughed at Patton’s dad jokes, completely immersed with the story about how Remus manage to trick Roman into thinking a Royal was in danger, only for it to be Janus in a sunset yellow dress with a black snake in the middle and a piss yellow coloured mop like wig upon his head. Needless to say Roman was pissed and a fight broke out between the two before Logan, with the aid of a reluctant Janus, stepped in to break them apart.

Virgil couldn’t help but smirk at the memory of Romans’ face going from confident to disbelief and finally anger in a matter of seconds. What? It was his fault for getting so riled up so easily that he was the one everyone goes after on April 1st for a quick win. He attention was drawn back to you when you started telling the patently side about how you spent a entire day watching Haikyuu season 3 Karasuno High vs Shiratorizawa Academy in hopes of catching up to everyone before season 4 ended, that and the fact season 5 of my hero academia wasn’t coming out into next year which gave you more open opertunities to re-read the manga.

He could listen to your voice all day if he wanted, it was warm, inviting, angelic, soft and comforting all at once. Lost within his daydream he didn’t sense the princely side to pop up beside him and start singing, “there you see them, sitting there across the way, they’ve clearly got a lot to say, there is something about them.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Virgil hissed between his teeth, glaring at Roman who just ignored him and continued, “you don’t know why but you’re dying to try you wanna kiss them.” The anxious male glanced at you in hopes you heard any of that, sighing in relief when you haven’t even finished your story yet. “Yeah you want them, look at them you know you do, it’s possible they want you too there is one way to ask them.”

“And by ask you mean to kiss (y/n) without concent, yeah no, you’re over your head princey and besides,” He trailed off, coffee brown eyes cast down to the floor, “ if there was a possibility that they do, which is small, why would they want me.” He truly didn’t believe he deserved you, you’re too good for him that he only fears that he’s only gonna let you down no matter what and he didn’t want that for you.

He cares so much about you that he’s willing to let you go knowing he was going to regret not having have asked for as long as he lived but if it were to make you happy, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Roman, by now, had stopped singing to hear Virgil pretty much spill his insecurities about perusing you and he couldn’t help but feel his heart ache for him as he reached a hand out and placed it on his shoulder, feeling him tense up before relaxing once more when he saw that Roman wasn’t gonna tease him any further.

“Hey now, how would you know how they feel about you f you keep getting in your own way,” He began, tilting his head to the side in question, “ they might hold you in the highest of regards and you don’t know it because you’re too blinded by the ‘what ifs’ and not the ‘possiblies’ and ‘could be’” Virgil was about to retort but Roman wasn’t having any of it, “ah, ah,ah my anxious friend,” he sang, “ I know what you’re about to say, you were about to say ‘well how would you know that’ and the answer is simple, I not only embody Thomas’s creativity, hopes and dreams but also his romantic side and I see the way they look at you when you’re not looking, they look at you with adoration and admiration on par with your own and it’s driving me berserk at how naive you both are but that’s not the point I’m trying to make and the point is Virgil that despite it all, the good, the bad, you have each other and that by itself is magical.” Roman finishes, patting his friend on the shoulder before standing up, “just think about it, alright?” And before Virgil could open his mouth to respond, he was gone, left to mull over his options before coming to a conclusion with a new found confidence he didn’t knew he posed.

He was gonna do it, he was gonna do what he’s been meaning to for a long while.

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 15//

Masterlist

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandareay-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05) *bold tags don’t work. Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list! 

Thank you all for your patience over the last couple of weeks, enjoy and stay awesome! ❤️

XXX

The remaining session left in our annual summit had followed and ended, for the most part, rather successfully. After Eris had taken his treacherous father back to the Autumn Court, we reassembled the next morning. Each High Lord and High Lady had sat evenly spaced around the reflection pool with our entourages and our human friends as well; Tamlin and his sentry Hart, being the odd ones out. Despite the memory of our first High Lord's meeting, and Tamlin's actions back then looming over us, he continued with his peculiar silence—staring at the reflection pool as our host officially began the meeting and Rhysand began informing the others of our dire situation.

"A coup? In the Night Court?" Tarquin had asked.

I nodded solemnly in return. "Keir, our steward of the Court of Nightmares, has spent the last several years plotting with an Illyrian camp lord named Kallon," I explained.

In the decade of summits we held, Rhys, Cassian and Azriel informed the others more about the Illyrian forces and their ways of life—which they hadn't known much about prior to the war. The latter of the trio emphasized their archaic lifestyle—and his disdain for it, while Cassian and Rhys detailed more on how the armies functioned. I remembered how Cassian's hazel eyes brightened with pride when he announced that he and I had been slowly training more and more females to join their forces over the years. At that moment, however, those eyes had been dulled and matched the grim line of his lips as he and Azriel sat a little taller at my explanation.

"Unfortunately, that camp lord has rallied half of the other camp lords and their armies to his cause," Rhys had continued.

Tension then settled over us as Rhys summoned the reports that Azriel had gathered over the last several weeks in his hands; Helion using his magic to replicate and pass them amongst the group.

"Half of your Illyrian forces have turned against you?" He asked us incredulously, though his gold-flecked eyes were stony.

I nodded grimly, holding my stomach protectively. "Unfortunately. In exchange, Keir has promised to support Kallon in separating the Illyrians from the Night Court," I managed; my throat going unexpectedly tight at the thought.

"Which is why we called this summit early," Rhys continued for me. "Not only does our intel inform us of the traitors in our court, but it also suggests that Beron has joined their ranks as well."

Everyone's resolve had been matched with this news; after the High Lord of Autumn's display having only been hours behind us at that point, we all knew that his newfound alliance was no longer a suggestion.

"What would you have us do?" Kallias asked carefully. His fiercely blue eyes searched for a way to help, but I knew the hesitation was still there as he placed a hand on his mate's knee.

Viviane squeezed his hand in return and trained sympathetic eyes at me. She knew better than the rest that a war brewing on the horizon was the last thing I, nor my mate, wanted to focus on with our youngling on the way.

"We only ask for the same help you offered during the war," I pleaded softly—meeting all of their gazes as Rhys took my hand. "Your armies, should we need them, because if Rhysand and I should fall, then-" my voice cracked a bit, and I squeezed my mate's hand.

"We believe Keir has orchestrated this coup, rallying what Illyrian forces he could through a young and untested camp lord, and now reinforcing old ties with the Autumn Court in order to take over my throne. He's always resented my family ruling the Night Court, even during my father's reign, and now he believes he can take it for himself," Rhys said.

"Make no mistake, my father is ruthless," Mor joined in—voice tight. "And I know he wouldn't just stop with the Night Court. Kallon is an idiot for believing my father would grant the Illyrians independence. The Illyrians, and whatever ties he's formed with Beron, he's using to his advantage. He believes them all to be fools and wouldn't hesitate to bide his time until taking over their court as well. Whatever deal he's struck with the High Lord will ultimately give him leverage in the end. Leverage over them, over the rest of Prythian, and the Mortal Lands as well."

Mor's warning to the others of her father's ambition resounded in my head for the thousandth time since the summit and I groaned quietly as I rubbed at my temples, staring out the window at the wide expanse of the estate's gardens.

"I have to admit, Feyre darling, the rest you've gotten over the last couple of weeks has allowed your mental shields to build back up nicely," came Rhys's warm-tenor voice from behind me. "It's too bad that I can tell just by the look in your eyes what you're thinking of; or rather, remembering."

I glanced at his muted reflection in the library window, mirrored in front of me, and scowled at the taunting smirk on his lips. "You can't even see my eyes from here," I retorted.

"Sure I can," he said easily, his reflection growing closer as he walked towards where I perched on a cushioned seat by the window. "Just like I can see that lovely scowl on your face."

I threw up my hand in a vulgar gesture, knowing he'd see that, and his laughter finally allowed my shoulders to relax as he curled in next to me on the window seat. I adjusted, stretching my back and curving a hand along the ever-growing line of my belly. In the weeks that had followed since the summit, my stomach had only continued with its exponential growth—which left Rhys infatuated. He rested a hand on it now as I moved to recline against his shoulder, returning my stare out the window.

"Your level of stress is beginning to concern me, my love," Rhys said quietly as he ran a hand along my stomach. "I know it's easier said than done, but I wish you would unburden yourself."

I sighed and closed my eyes as I allowed my body to fully relax against him, taking in a few cleansing breaths. He was right; in spite of getting full support from our friends in the other courts and in the Mortal Lands as well, I couldn't shake off my sense of unease. Even Tamlin, our unlikely ally, silently agreed to offer his armies—should we need it. Though he remained speechless as the others asked more and more questions on the intel we had gathered, he listened. At the end when the others offered what they could, he merely stood with Hart and said he and his armies were at our disposal—before they winnowed away without another word.

Perhaps it was his abrupt behavior, along with the lingering question of Eris's true intentions, that weighed on me. After Tamlin's departure, we had all been suspicious of whether or not Eris was truly on our side. There was no doubt that the High Lord of Autumn was our enemy, but we had yet to see if his eldest son was merely using his father as a pawn in this coup for his benefit alone.

"Come back to me, Feyre," Rhys murmured in my ear, knowing my thoughts were once again swirling with anxiety and pulling me away. "Come back to us," he said as he rubbed the swell of my stomach.

"We have the numbers; we have the allies and support we need. Now we wait, and while we wait, we can go back to focusing our attention on him."

I smiled as he kept sending soothing strokes over the fair expanse of my belly and turned my face into his neck. I breathed in his salt and citrus scent, relishing in his touch before I slowly opened my eyes to meet his.

"You're right," I said softly. "I shouldn't worry so much, but I guess I do because…" I trailed off, unable to think of the right words.

"You're nesting," he amended with a smirk.

I raised a brow, "Nesting? Madja said that wouldn't happen until much later."

During one of our previous check-ins with the healer, she expressed that in the last remaining weeks of my pregnancy, I would be overcome with a sudden instinct to clean and organize in preparation for the baby's arrival. This instinct was commonly known as nesting, and every expecting female had experienced it before giving birth. The healer also expressed that males cultivated a form of it as well, something Viviane alluded to when she explained that Kallias's male-bonded instincts would alert him of when her time was approaching and cause him to accommodate her and their youngling's needs on a primal level.

"True, but this could be a form of it," he explained, amused. "As a High Lady simultaneously expecting a youngling, it's only natural that you would want your court in the best condition before welcoming a child into it."

I stared down at my stomach, his hands laying idle on either side of it, "That's still months away…"

Rhys kissed my temple, "Yes, but it's rather transparent that the threat of a coup is what keeps you so troubled." I could feel the shift in his mood as he mulled over his words, but I turned in his arms and carefully straddled him—meeting his gaze so that I could put his mind at ease.

"This isn't your fault Rhys, it isn't anyone's fault," I reminded him. "Like you've told me so many times before, this is still an exciting time for us, and we're coming to a solution. One day at a time, and although I have my moments where I get lost in my worries, I know we're safe."

His returning grin was slow as he held my hips, and I leaned in to press a tender kiss on his lips in an attempt to quell some of the stress he now felt. "Let's concentrate on him," I said.

"And on you," he emphasized as he rubbed the tender spot between my pronounced belly and hip bone. I hissed a bit at the soreness as he massaged the area. "Are you feeling any better after this morning?"

I sighed as I recalled the new aches and pains I had been experiencing as of late. Almost a week ago I woke up with excruciating muscle pain in my hips and out of an abundance of caution, Rhys sent for Madja-who, unsurprisingly, informed us that yet another unfavorable exploit of pregnancy was plaguing me. On top of the lingering nausea spells, dizziness, and fatigue, I was now dealt with the unfortunate side effect of pain in my pelvic area. According to the healer, due to my ever-expanding womb, the hormones being released in order to make room were causing an imbalance in my pelvis bone—thus causing pain in my hip joints and back. Thankfully, there was no cause for alarm in regard to the baby, but it meant another ailment added to the list I already struggled with.

Fortunately, the healer gave us a list of different exercises to try in order to relieve the strain and tautness, and I was more than grateful that my mate was eager to help alleviate it.

"A little," I replied as he kept rubbing soothing circles into either side of my hips. I relaxed as I sat in his lap, allowing him to continue as I laid my hands on his shoulders. "It always feels better when you do that, though."

He offered a sympathetic smile as his hands worked, "I'm sorry you're so uncomfortable, Feyre. I thought this level of discomfort would come at the end stages."

I pouted, "So did I. Now I can't even imagine the mess I'll be then. You'll have to carry me around everywhere because I won't be able to walk." I lamented with a dramatic sigh.

"I'll be happy to oblige you then, and now, my love," Rhys said before placing a kiss on my still pouting lips. "But hopefully you'll have some relief before then."

"Probably not, but it's all right," I said as I glanced down at my stomach. "He'll be worth it…"

He grinned as the glimmer that was our baby fluttered between us, but after a few seconds his lips parted in astonishment as we both felt that flutter turn into a solid bump against his hand. It was small, so subtle that any other lesser being might've missed it, but it was clear as day to us.

"Was that…?" Rhys choked out.

I brightened, "He kicked."

His violet eyes stared at my stomach, amazed, before lining with silver as he beamed. "Our son kicks."

I laughed wetly and rubbed the other side of my stomach, trying to gently coax the movement to continue and we both concentrated on it until we felt another kick in return.

"He's kicking, Rhys!"

"He's strong," he said, voice warm as his hands ran over my stomach carefully. "Try not to kick too hard in there, son, you don't want to hurt your mama."

I smirked, "Are you scolding our son already, Rhysand?"

"Not scolding, just giving him a gentle reminder to take it easy on you," he said.

My heart warmed, but before I could say anything else, something from the window caught in the corner of my eye. I turned to face it, Rhys following my gaze, and gasped as I saw flecks of snow falling outside. Just minutes ago, the sky had been clear and blue, the sun shining as it normally did on a spring afternoon. Now, the expanse of the skies were lined with clouds as it snowed, but I noticed none of it stuck to the ground—still warm enough outside for the snow to melt as soon as it touched the earth. I turned to Rhys, confused at this sudden change in weather—unlike any I had ever experienced in Velaris, or Prythian alone for that matter.

"Viviane has given birth," Rhys answered my silent question. "Whenever a youngling is born into a ruling family's court, it affects all the others in Prythian. In this case, since this child was born into the Winter Court, we have snow."

I brightened as I turned back to the window, a sense of pride swelling in my chest and throat, "So, this means she had her baby today? And they're both okay?"

He stoked my side lightly as he nodded, "Yes, this is a sign that both mother and child are healthy."

I felt my eyes burn at the realization, the relief. Viviane had mentioned that bringing forth a youngling would be difficult, and if fae cycles were any indication for what labor pains might be, I couldn't imagine how excruciating it must've been to endure. But, seeing the light snow shower meant she and her baby had made it through without complication, and were both recovering.

"I can't imagine what it must look like in the Winter Court," I said.

Rhys chuckled, "I'm sure the snowstorm is quite impressive for them, but it'll be nothing compared to what will happen here once you give birth."

I raised a brow, "What happens in the Night Court? A full day of night for all of Prythian?" I quipped.

He flicked my nose with a smirk, "You'll see, smartass."

I giggled, "Wait, but I'm actually curious! What will happen here?"

Just as he was about to retort with another snide comment, Mor and Elain burst through the library doors. Mor squealing in delight as she twirled about the room in excitement.

"Viviane gave birth!" She sang, too distracted to notice when I moved off of Rhys's lap as gracefully as possible, my cheeks warm. Elain was on her heels, but she took in our position and quickly looked away.

"I know, Rhys just explained it to me," I said as I stood, smoothing out my loose long-sleeved tunic.

"Oh, I can't wait to meet her," Mor gushed as she took my hands in excitement. "Did she tell you the name they picked for her?"

I shook my head and Mor grinned, "Eira."

"Snow. How beautiful," Elain chimed as she came to our side.

"It is," I said as I looked out the window again, and it was then that I noticed Nesta standing by the window at the opposite end of the room.

Her arms were crossed over her abdomen as she stared outside, blue-grey eyes actually soft as she watched the snowfall. I was surprised until I remembered the speech she delivered over a decade ago at our very first summit meeting before the war—the condolences she offered on Kallias and Viviane's behalf for the loss of all those younglings at Amarantha's wrath. Her sympathy had surprised me then, and I wondered at the warmth in her eyes now—and what looked to be like a hint of sorrow in them as well.

"Eira," Rhys said as he stood nonchalantly from the window seat. "Seems pretty fitting as well," he said as he took in the sight of the snow falling again before coming to rest a hand on the small of my back. "Looks like we'll have to be equally creative when we pick a name."

I grinned at his insinuation and Mor groaned in exasperation. "Will you at least give me a hint? Are you leaning towards boy names or girl names?"

I shook my head. "Sorry Mor, but my lips are sealed. You'll know the baby's name when he or she is born, just like everyone else," I teased.

"But you already know what you're having, don't you?" Elain asked, and I could see the impatience in her eyes as well.

Though some had implied that our baby was indeed a boy at the summit a few weeks before, Rhys nor I actually confirmed this fact—much to everyone's chagrin; especially Mor and Elain's.

I shrugged and Mor rolled her eyes again. "You know if you don't tell us, we won't know how to decorate the nursery," she tried to argue; and my sister's eyes widened at the idea.

"Then we'll stick to a neutral theme," Rhys suggested.

I laughed at Mor and Elain's equal protests, but my eyes returned to Nesta—who had turned from her place at the window and exited the room as quietly as she had entered.

XXX

I later found Cassian staring up at the cloudy sky, wings tucked in tight as he stood in the middle of the training arena as snow continued to fall. I cleared my throat as I approached, and he turned to face me.

"You aren't here to try and insist I train you again, are you?" He asked, hazel eyes sparkling with mischief.

I rolled my eyes, recalling how in spite of Madja's recommendation, there had been days I still wanted to keep up with some of my training while still in the early stages. After seeing the toll my pregnancy was taking, however, Cassian adamantly refused.

"No, not this time," I said and motioned to the sky. "Did you hear the news?"

He nodded and picked up a stray dagger on the ground, "I know what it means. You should've seen the way the trees around here turned when Lucien was born. It was actually nice."

I watched as the lightness in the words he spoke didn't quite reach his eyes, noting the same strange sorrow in them that were in Nesta's. After she left the library, I had excused myself a few minutes later in order to try and find her—curious to know what melancholy suddenly plagued her. I had let Rhys know through the bond that I felt something awry with my sister, and that I was going to talk to her in the hopes that she might finally open up a bit more with me. However, while I searched for her, I instead heard Cassian's grunts as he vigorously sparred in the outdoor training pit. I watched from a balcony as he tore apart a training dummy to pieces, unusually aggressive, and waited until I saw him calm before coming out to meet him. There was something aching inside of him, and inside of Nesta, and though they continued to keep whatever bond between them private—I hoped I could find out why they were suddenly afflicted.

"It's good news then, isn't it? For Kallias and Viviane?" I asked quietly.

He glanced up at the sky again with a quick nod, "Yes, it is."

I softened as I saw the longing in his eyes, "Why do you look so sad then?"

He quickly averted my gaze, "What makes you say that?"

"Because the look on your face is the same look I saw on Nesta's earlier," I said gently.

He sighed and tossed the dagger in his hands into a crate by his feet. "I'm not sad, Feyre, and I can't always speak for your sister."

"No, I guess you can't." I said as I crossed over to a nearby bench and sat on it, wincing a bit at the pain it caused in my hips, but silently invited him to sit beside me regardless.

He obliged and sat on the bench, "You're in pain?" he asked.

I shook my head, "Moving around is just trickier now, because my growing stomach is throwing off...everything, apparently."

His lips widened into a grin. "Figures Rhys's kid would give you hell before it's even born."

We both laughed and I saw that same longing return in his gaze as he stared at my stomach. I hesitated before asking, "Have you ever considered having a child one day?"

Cassian's shoulders stiffened for a second before he sighed in defeat, knowing he couldn't evade this question. "I'll never have any offspring of my own Feyre," he finally said.

I blinked, surprised, and suddenly his look of sorrow and longing made sense—along with the same expression I had seen in Nesta's. Though unofficial, we all knew of the ties that existed between Cassian and my sister. Rhys and I figured that when they were ready to express their feelings—to share their bond, then they would. In the meantime, we all silently acknowledged it, but never said anything to try and coax a confession.

This revelation however, made me recall that in the decade since she'd been made, Nesta had yet to experience a fae cycle. Shortly after experiencing mine for the first time, I had briefly informed my sisters of what to expect. It wasn't long after that Elain had experienced her own and I had been there to coach her through the agonizing process. I expected Nesta to soon follow, but whenever I tried to inquire about it, she brushed me off. For years, I assumed that she just shut me out whenever her time came; until Elain revealed to me that our eldest sister hadn't had a cycle at all since before being made—when she was still a human.

Remembering this, and hearing Cassian's words now, my heart squeezed in remorse for bringing it up. I looked up at the sky as the snow continued to fall around us, "I'm sorry Cassian," I whispered. "I shouldn't have-"

He cut me off with a huff of laughter. "In my centuries of existence, I never gave it much thought. Rhys, on the other hand," he said, his gaze meeting mine again with solid reassurance. "When he came back from Under the Mountain, it was all he talked about,"

"I didn't know why at first, because we had always been too preoccupied to even consider settling down and having offspring. But after Az and I heard about you, met you, I knew you were the reason why. From the moment he came back from that place, when you both made it out of there, he envisioned a future with you."

My eyes burned as I squeezed his hand. "We wouldn't be here, expecting this child, if it weren't in part for you Cassian," I admitted with a sniff.

He laughed and pulled me into a one-armed embrace around my shoulders. "Those hormones of yours are no joke! It's kind of funny," he teased.

I scowled, "I can't help it. It's not my fault he's thrown me completely out of whack." I said, motioning to my stomach.

Cassian grinned. "He?"

I paused. "Don't tell Mor, or Elain. They're dying to know, but between you and me," I began, resting a hand over the apex of my stomach. "It's a boy..."

Cassian's eyes flickered with a mix of yearning and joy, and I noticed his hand twitch towards my stomach, but he stopped himself—hesitant.

I smiled, "Go ahead. You are going to be his Uncle Cassian after all, and according to Viviane he'll be able to distinguish our voices as he grows."

He blinked, "He can hear us talking?"

"Well right now he hears my voice the clearest, and Rhysand's. But over time, he'll be able to hear everyone else's, including yours," I explained.

He balked before touching my stomach cautiously with an open palm, "In that case, you should get used to my voice now, little one. I'll be training you once you're big enough."

I grinned playfully, "If you're going to teach him to fly, just make sure you don't drop him out of the sky."

"It was one time," he said with a roll of his eyes. "And I would never endanger a youngling's life, especially his. You hear that little one? Don't let your mean ol' mom or dad tell you otherwise. Uncle Cassian will take good care of you."

My heart warmed as he went on to have a conversation with my stomach, and I continued to answer any other questions he had about pregnancy and about my growing son—reminding me that this pregnancy was just a wonder to him, and everyone in our inner circle, as it was for Rhys and me. They were living through it for the first time, just like we were, and they loved our son just as fiercely as well. I then silently promised myself that during this period of waiting, I would spend less time worrying and more time with my family.

[creampuffqueen]

Just Like This | Chapter One

Summary: Rayla and Callum have been best friends since elementary school. Now, years later, Rayla is discovering new feelings for her best friend. The only problem: she's about 99% sure he doesn't think of her in the same way. Not willing to risk their friendship, Rayla continues to hide her feelings for Callum. How long until the truth comes out?

a/n: Hey everyone! Here it is, the greatly anticipated Rayllum high school au! Please please please reblog this, because Tumblr won't show this post in the main tags due to an affiliate link! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 3372

Warnings: Language

Read on Ao3

~~~~

Sunday, September 30th, 2020

Katolis Supermarket, 5:31 PM

“Who wrote this list?” Rayla complained loudly, stalking behind Callum at the grocery store, shaking the piece of paper in his face. Her fellow sophomore was pushing a cart around, eternally focused on the task ahead.

“Well, Claudia suggested it, but everyone else added on,” Callum replied, not even looking at her. Stopping in the middle of the isle, he grabbed a 12-pack of soda and loaded it in the cart. “What’s next?”

Looking over the extensive list again, Rayla frowned. “Uh, it says… ‘those little animal cookie things with sprinkles, you know the ones’.”

Callum finally turned to look at her, a wide grin on his face as they both said “Soren,” in unison.

“Jinx,” Rayla giggled, “You owe me a soda.”

“Okay… just take one from the pack when we get home?”

Both teenagers continued through the store, Rayla getting bored of walking and hanging off the front of the cart, laughing as Callum made a big deal of struggling to push them around.

She supposed they should be hurrying. Evening was approaching quickly, and soon all their friends would be over at Callum’s place to study. Callum had dragged her off to the grocery store to get snacks for their cram session, considering she lived only a street over and had a car.

“We’re all going to be sick by the end of the night,” Rayla sighed, loading more snacks into the cart.

“Well, at least we’ll be awake,” Callum, ever cheerful, turned his head around to grin at her.

At his smile, Rayla felt her heart give a small wayward flutter, though she squished it down quickly. Tonight was important; she needed to pass this test to keep her grade up, and it wouldn’t help if she spent the entire night mulling over how cute her best friend’s smile looked.

“Yeah,” She chuckled, trying to pull herself back to the present. Keep it together, Rayla.

They got their unhealthy amount of junk food, collectively winced at the price, bought it anyway, and set about loading it in the backseat of Rayla’s car.

In no time at all Rayla was driving, Callum reclining in the passenger seat. With the radio cranked up, neither felt the need to talk, content to sit in the comfortable silence.

It was hard to believe that they’d been friends for eight years now. Rayla could still remember the first time they met like it was yesterday.

She was eight years old, in second grade, having just moved to a new school after her parents left on a military tour and she went to live with her uncles. Her first day of school had gone off without a hitch.

That is, until she met Callum at recess.

Content to play by herself, Rayla had been making use of the free time by pretending to build a fort under the slide. While pretending to hammer in nails, she noticed a small group of kids nearby. Two boys and a girl.

While she couldn’t make out all the words, the body language she saw was more than enough. The bigger boy, a head of blond hair, was pointing at the smaller, brown-haired boy, and laughing. The girl, black hair tied in two pigtail braids, was looking between them, unsure of what to do.

Curious eight-year-old Rayla snuck up, for she’d always been good at sneaking, and listened in on the conversation.

“Soren, shut up, he’s going to cry!” The girl said.

“Oh, so little Callum’s a crybaby now?” The boy, Soren, taunted.

“I’m not a crybaby, Soren!” The other boy shouted, though he couldn’t hide the sniffle at the end of his sentence.

“Oooh, Callum’s crying! Who’s gonna help him, his dad? Oh wait-”

Soren didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Well, she thought as she sat in the principal’s office twenty minutes later, Runaan will be happy to know that I’m learning something in my karate class.

All four kids were in the office, sitting in chairs in front of the desk. Callum and the other girl, Claudia, were both still sniffling from residual tears. Soren, fresh from the nurse’s office, was holding an ice pack over a rapidly blackening eye.

The door opened, and in came the principal, shaking her head with a sigh.

“You three again?”

“We didn’t do anything!” Soren shouted, voice whistling through the new gap in his teeth. Oh yeah, she’d knocked a tooth out as well. “She started it!”

“Well you were being really mean to that other kid!” Rayla protested. She and Soren glared at each other from their respective chairs, accusatory fingers pointed straight out.

“I wasn’t being mean, I was just joking!” Soren explained, “Callum’s my friend!”

“Well Soren, what you said was really mean-” Claudia interjected, but the boy, who Rayla had learned was her brother, interrupted.

“Callum, you know I was joking, right?”

“Well…” Soren’s face fell as Callum dropped his gaze to his lap. “It did kind of hurt my feelings, Soren…”

“Wait, you’re friends?” Rayla exclaimed, glancing curiously between both boys. “I thought he was bullying you! And my parents and uncles always said you have to stand up to bullies and-”

“I’m not a bully!” Soren shouted. Voices began to rise between them again, and the principal was forced to interject.

“All of you, quiet down. I’m going to talk with you each individually, and we’ll see what happens then. Callum, come with me. The rest of you: play nice.”

In the end, Rayla got suspended for two days for fighting, and Soren got one day for bullying. Despite the massive lecture Runaan and Ethari subjected her to, Rayla couldn’t help but feel like she’d done the right thing in the end.

When she returned to school, she was surprised to find Callum approach her at recess, a little paper bag clutched shyly in his hands.

“Sorry my friends and I got you in trouble,” He said, passing the bag to her. Opening it, Rayla’s face split into a huge grin at the sight of two tart-things waiting for her, filled with jelly.

“Soren’s usually pretty nice,” Callum continued, “But he doesn’t know when to stop talking. If you hadn’t stepped in, he would have said something mean without thinking, I’m sure. So you kind of helped both of us, in a way.”

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome, I guess. And thanks for the tarts.”

She was about to turn away and enjoy her spoils, but then Callum kept talking.

“Do you want to come play with us? Me and Claudia are pretending to do magic, and Soren’s a knight. You can do magic with us, if you want.”

Well, this game was certainly right up her alley. “I’ll play,” Rayla conceded, “But only if I get to be an elf.”

Callum grinned broadly, pointing to where the two siblings were playing. “Of course.”

~~~~

“The snacks are here!” Rayla called into the house, arms laden with shopping bags. Callum shut the door behind them, similarly burdened with the case of soda.

The pounding of feet sounded overhead, and several heads poked over the stairwell to glimpse the pair in the kitchen. “Finally!” Soren cheered, racing downstairs to try and rifle through the bags Rayla was carrying.

“Not yet, you lump,” Rayla scolded, pushing past the senior boy, “We’ve got to get upstairs at least.”

“Thanks for going to get snacks,” Claudia called, and her thanks was echoed by the other kids there. Callum and Rayla both shrugged, and made their way upstairs to the game room, where they’d all be studying.

Sitting on the various bean bag chairs and couches, the rest of the study group cheered when the food and drinks arrived. Andromeda, Callisto, Ram, Skor, and Marcos all leapt up to snatch the snacks they wanted. When everyone was sitting again, food in hand, Callum gave a dramatic clearing of his throat, turning all the heads in the room towards him.

“So, uh, thanks for coming over. Hopefully we can all actually get some studying done, since, you know, that’s what we’re here for.” He fixed a firm glance on the two couples in the room. “Ground rules: no making out in my house, don’t be super messy, and also please actually study. Soren, no idea what you’re doing here since you’ve already taken this history class, but okay.”

The older boy shrugged, taking a big gulp of his soda. “Moral support. A welcome distraction.”

Callum clapped his hands together once. “Okay then. I actually made a schedule for this, and if we follow it, we can cover all of the sections by… midnight, I think. 11 pm if we work really fast.”

“You made a schedule for studying?” Callisto asked in disbelief. Andromeda laughed, throwing an arm over her partner’s shoulder.

“Yes, I made a schedule for studying, I think it’s going to be very helpful!” Callum defended, crossing his arms over his chest. Even talking with the other two people, his green eyes somehow still managed to find Rayla’s.

She met his gaze, just for a second, heart pounding, before she looked away again. “Well, guys, if Callum wants to make a study schedule, good for him. Let’s just get started; I really need to pass this test.”

“Since when have you been worried about grades, Rayla?” Skor snorted, reclining in a beanbag chair, dumping spicy chips into his mouth.

“Since I’m in four extracurriculars and if I don’t pass, I don’t play.”

“Try-hard,” Soren coughed from his seat. Rayla just flashed him her middle finger, eliciting wild laughter from the rest of the room.

“Guys,” Callum whined, “I’m trying to be productive-”

“Okay, let’s start,” Claudia said, placing a gentle hand on Callum’s arm. It took everything Rayla had not to glare at the other girl, biting back the unwarranted flash of jealousy.

That’s all in the past. We figured it out.

Usually, she could forget just how close Callum was with Soren and Claudia. But then, something like this would happen, and she’d be reminded that before he met her, it was the siblings who were his best friends.

Having known them his whole life, it was no surprise that he’d developed a massive crush on Claudia in middle school. And he never shut up about it.

His confession at the end of seventh grade had very nearly torn their friend group to shreds. He wanted to ask her to the end of year dance, and when Claudia accepted he was ecstatic. Rayla had been happy for him, and just hoped that when they started dating, they wouldn’t be weird about it and make her and Soren uncomfortable.

But as it turned out, Claudia only thought of Callum as a friend. When she told him, Callum was crushed.

Rayla could still remember opening up her front door to see her best friend standing there, tears streaking down his face.

“Rayla, I just- I can’t believe how stupid I am-”

She pulled him into a fierce hug, and didn’t relinquish her grip on him until his mother came to pick him up. At school the next day, nobody could stop her wrath as she stalked up to Claudia and demanded answers.

“How could you?! You know how Callum feels about you, and you led him on anyway!” Rayla shouted.

“I didn’t want to hurt his feelings!” Claudia insisted, “And I do know how he feels and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea-”

“No, I know what flirting looks like, and you led him on! He believed that you felt the same way!”

Claudia looked on the verge of tears, and some sick part of Rayla was glad for it. Let her feel bad for her actions, let her feel the same way Callum was feeling.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone’s feelings. I just… I don’t see Callum in that way.”

“Then why’d you keep flirting with him?” Rayla’s voice was dangerously low. Their shouting match had attracted a small audience in the school cafeteria.

“I…” She was at a loss for words.

“You know what?” Rayla snapped, “Save it for someone who cares. Explain yourself to Callum, not me. It’s him who needs the apology.”

The next few weeks were tense. Hardly any of them spoke to each other. Even though Soren was in high school and had nothing to do with the drama, he still sided with his sister, like Rayla knew he would.

Things worked out. Slowly, but surely, they worked out. But not without a lot of tears from everyone involved, a lot of yelling, a lot of accusations. Things worked out.

But even after Claudia and Callum were on speaking terms again, he decided to ditch the dance. Rayla, who never was going in the first place, was more than happy to offer up her couch for a night of movie watching and junk food eating. And sure, Claudia’s Instagram photos were cute, but for Rayla, nothing could beat the fun she was having with her best friend, right here.

Rayla was pretty sure that was when she’d started to fall in love with him. Or, more accurately, when she realized that she already had fallen in love with him.

However, confessing your love to your best friend after a recent heartbreak seemed like a bad idea. So she kept it to herself.

Which, she supposed, was how she found herself here, three years later, still madly in love with her best friend who was none the wiser, getting jealous over a relationship she both knew was purely innocent and also she had no claim over anyway.

Cool, Rayla, very cool.

Shoving down her stupid feelings, Rayla listened as Callum went over his plan for the evening. Review through chapter 2, take a 15 minute break, review through chapter 4, continue pattern until they got through all the chapters they needed.

The plan was met with a loud groan of complaint from Soren’s end. “Callum, why are you even doing this? You literally have a photographic memory.”

“Well, you guys don’t, so really I’m helping all of you!”

“I mean…” Rayla snorted, “Soren does have a point. Why are you so worried about studying, Callum?”

The teenage boy scratched at his neck awkwardly. “Well, uh, it’s kind of embarrassing, but… I’ve only skimmed for answers this entire time. I need to actually read the passages to remember it.”

Rayla just rolled her eyes. “Callum. Everyone on earth just skims for answers. We know you’re all goody two-shoes, teacher’s pet, but chill. You’re going to be fine.”

“How are you so chill, Rayla?” Callum demanded, “Weren’t you just freaking out, like, two seconds ago? Hello, Miss I’m-in-every-sport-imaginable?”

“Changing the subject!” Rayla declared loudly, “Open up the textbook, Callum!”

~~~~

“Time check,” Ram moaned from where his face was pressed into one of the beanbag chairs, “How much longer?”

“We’re at-” Callum attempted to respond, but was cut off by a yawn.

“Chapter six?” Rayla asked, though she wasn’t too sure herself. All the words were beginning to jumble together on the pages. At some point her notecards had gotten mixed up, and random dates and events were scattered all over the room.

“No, the time,” Ram complained. The other boy sat up, brushing his shaggy white hair from his eyes. “What time is it? My curfew is 11:30.”

Callisto grabbed their phone and took a glance. “11:15.”

“Ok, let’s review,” Callum suggested. However, the entire room gave a loud groan of complaint.

“My brain is melting!” Soren cried, dramatically tossing his head into Marcos’s lap. His boyfriend rolled his eyes at his antics, though he threaded his fingers through the other boy’s blond hair.

“Soren, you don’t have to take this test tomorrow!” Claudia snapped, “Don’t start whining!” The girl looked almost ready to start pulling her hair out.

“Alright,” Andromeda sighed, “My mom’s calling; she’s probably here to pick me up. Thanks for this, Callum. If I find a quizlet I’ll send it in the groupchat, okay?”

“Yes!” Skor cheered, “Quizlet is my lifesaver!”

“Pass me some Doritos, Rayla,” Callum muttered in quiet defeat. Rayla hummed in agreement, grabbing the chip bag from the pile of snacks nearby. Her friend was so tired that he didn’t even complain when she took a couple for herself.

One by one, the room began to empty. Callisto’s dad came to pick them up, Ram agreed to drive Skor home, and Claudia, Soren, and Marcos piled into Soren’s little car to drive off into the night.

That just left Rayla. And Callum. Alone.

“Place is a mess,” Callum sighed, taking in all the damage. Although they’d started out pretty clean, as the night wore on everyone got lazier and started just piling the trash where they were sitting. Crumbs spilled over the carpet, and empty soda cans rolled about.

“Let me help clean,” Rayla offered, “I mean, some of the mess is mine.” She gestured to the notecards spilled everywhere. Her mind was a bit fuzzy from exhaustion, but she was pretty sure she and Soren had started throwing them at each other at one point.

“No, it’s fine-” Callum sputtered, but Rayla just rolled her eyes.

“Let me help. Then we can both go to bed and you won’t get in trouble for the mess.” She left no room for argument, and started gathering up all the garbage and stuffing it in the empty grocery bags.

They worked in companionable silence, just tidying up the room. Rayla knew his house well enough to know where everything went, and tossed out all the garbage and swept up the lingering crumbs. Soon enough, the room looked nearly spotless again.

“See, fast!” Rayla chuckled. She glanced at her phone. “Just in time, too. Runaan’s asking where I am.”

Callum surprised her with a sudden hug, catching her off guard for a moment before she returned it, trying to calm her fluttering heart.

It’s just a hug. Friends hug all the time, don’t get all excited.

“Thanks for coming,” Callum said, a tiny bit breathlessly, “I know you were worried about the test and I wanted to help, sorry it got kind of out of hand.”

“You… organized this all… for me?” Rayla hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“Well, yeah,” He laughed, “Even though you probably didn’t need it. You know all the material really well.”

“Only thanks to you, and you know that,” Giving him a friendly punch to the shoulder, Rayla couldn’t contain her grin. “I do feel better prepared, though. I’ll pass. If my brain doesn’t turn to mush first.”

“You’ll ace it,” Callum assured her, “I’m sure of it.”

His green eyes were so bright. And his smile so genuine. Rayla returned it, albeit with less enthusiasm. “Thanks.” Her voice sounded stupidly high-pitched, even to her.

He held her gaze for another long moment before glancing down, at the buzzing phone in her hand that she hadn’t even noticed, too caught up in staring. “You should go. Get some sleep for the test tomorrow, huh?”

“Yeah,” Rayla breathed, “You too. I’ll see in English tomorrow.”

It was an effort to leave the room. To walk down the stairs, quietly so she wouldn’t wake his parents, and out the front door. To open up her door and get in the car, turn the key in the ignition.

The entire street was silent. That’s how it always was, she supposed. The first to arrive and the last to leave. A glance up told her Callum was staring out his bedroom window at her, watching her leave.

With a heavy sigh, Rayla put the car in reverse. Pulled out of the driveway.

She wasn’t naive. Callum had always been big on physical contact, and it had never meant anything more than he cared. She wasn’t willing to put her heart on the line like that, not when she was sure he didn’t like her that way.

Rayla was a risk taker. Always had been. But this? To risk the relationship she already had with her best friend? That was one risk she would never be willing to take.

~~~~

a/n: Poor Rayla! I would like to apologize to everyone in advance; the pining is not going to get better for a LONG TIME

Tag List: (comment to be added or removed)

@hipster-rapunzel

[ephemerlskies]

the eighth hour | ot7

⇢ pairing: hoseok x reader

[other members - namjoon, seokjin, and jimin]

⇢ genre: (long ass) one-shot, angst, partial fluff, thebreakfastclub!au, highschool!au, badboy!hoseok + fosterchild!hoseok, jock!jimin, nerd!namjoon, and seokjin as just your classic seokjin, childhoodfriends!au, friends to enemies to lovers

⇢ word count: 38.1k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, underage marijuana usage, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex, themes of bullying, themes of depression/anxiety, mentions of mental abuse, cliché high school tropes, mutual pining (as always), homophobic themes, mentions of physical violence, mentions of explicit pictures

⇢ summary: who would have guessed that five separate events could converge into one shared Saturday detention? what emerged as an even bigger, yet pleasing surprise was the bonds that could form despite the contractual bindings of the high school cliques that you, jimin, namjoon, seokjin, and hoseok were assigned to.

♪ playlist: apple juice - jessie reyez • around - niki • ivy - frank ocean • friends - bts • dont you (forget about me - simple minds ♪

a/n: holy shit this was super fun to write!!! i was going to make this a series but instead i just impulse wrote this as a super long one shot. anyway i hope you enjoy! <3 also the playlist really does match the ~vibes~ so i hope y'all give it a listen :)

8:00 - 10:00

You blamed timing. It had been the only scapegoat to somewhat reconcile your seething frustration, though there was always that part of you that scorned your own poorly executed decisions. Maybe if you hadn’t stopped to say hi and discuss something as unimportant as the temperament of the weather with your teacher in passing, or if you didn’t skip your semi-weekly coffee, or if you hadn’t spent as much time inspecting the new flyers pinned onto the bulletin board then you could have avoided this conundrum. Timing, however, was completely out of your control, making it ideal to place blame on. That and the troublesome deviant who had you being held accountable for actions that were not of your own doing. 

Jung Hoseok. Your once childhood best friend turned bitter and drifted towards a life of immorality and mild misdemeanors due to his series of unexplained personal calamities. 

Even the nonverbal idea of his name had triggered aggressive animosity in you. Well, it felt like hatred; the burn in your chest whenever you thought of him felt like hatred, but you never dug deep enough to figure it out. 

It was shocking that you could feel this despise with such severity, but Hoseok had that particular quality about him that seemed to make anything possible, though you could never quite place what that quality was. And of course, your path intersected with his at the exact wrong time and the exact wrong place. That particular quality had drawn a treacherous curiosity to influence you to linger a few seconds too long, another poor decision of yours. To top it off, the exact wrong person had caught you in this perfectly timed and unfortunate situation and convicted you on the grounds of guilt by association to land you a Saturday detention. Mulling over these consecutive misdirections was punishment enough to drag you miserably through the rest of the week; the detention waiting for you at the end of it was simply the cherry on top.

 Apprehensive questions had always been your mom’s go-to tick when it came to you. The car ride to school had been flushed with them being that this was your first detention, let alone run-in with authority, in your entire academic career and your annoyance to her queries was more fuel added to the already monstrous fire of regret. This had produced some odd concoction of eagerness to escape this interrogation. Though you had no real desire to start this long day, your mom’s questions were the closest to giving a reason to that.

Your mother pulled up two blocks away from the library where you would be jailed for the next eight hours, and she packed in a few more questions to delay your departure. You and she sat in the car, marinating in the discomfort, waiting for the minutes to tick by until eight o’clock arrived. Your mother looked to you with pity and guilt as if she were delivering you to a slaughterhouse, not aiding to relieve the guilt of your own harbor.

“It’s just detention, Mom. It’s fine.” And you wished you believed it as much as you wanted her to. 

“Did I remember to pack the apple?” 

“Yes.”

“And the water bottle isn’t leaking anymore, right?” Her worried voice and demeanor had not been subtle in the slightest for this question had been asked about eight minutes ago in this same car ride.

“No, mom.” The bite in your response had warned her to relent her questions. 

“Okay, I’ll see you at four.”

“I’ll see you.”

“I love you, ___.”

“Love you.”

Stepping out of that car, finally escaping from the perpetual, suffocating questions had you identifying the crisp Winter air as a comfort. The fog decorating the school’s roof and treetops looked like it wouldn’t recede. It was abhorrent, not being able to get a glimpse of the sun before an epoch of detention stole your last few seconds of freedom. 

Your deep inhalations had formed a few puffs of clouds mixing with the surrounding fog, and you began to prepare entry into the penitentiary that others called the library. Your heart had been pounding from the momentum of frustration with your mom’s doting. However, it hadn’t ceased even when you parted ways because of the dread of facing Jung Hoseok once again. 

If the thought of his name was enough to send you into a hurricane-like rage, you couldn’t imagine what type of disastrous storm awaited you being confined with him for the next eight hours. 

The walk down these couple of blocks was paced intentionally to stall the beginning of this tortuous Saturday. Your strides had slowed substantially as they carried you down the halls of your high school, past the bulletin boards that hammered more guilt upon remembering that was one of the fatal mistakes that led you here, then past the school’s cafe that drilled the regret even deeper in your bones. 

As you approached the doors to the library, you gripped the cold handle until it grew warm from your hand. A bit of time to breathe, compose and mask your nerves granted you half an ounce of dignity needed to open the door and step through the threshold. You walked over to the two rows of three desks and exchanged a cordial glance with the school’s renown football star, Park Jimin, seated at the front right table, in a manner that disguised your guilt with indifference. Then, you settled in the seat at the table behind his, finding this the optimal place to draw the least amount of attention.

The quiet boy sitting in the back of the rows had reacted with a noticeable surprise to see your face in this setting. He looked as embarrassed to be here as you felt, however, while you refused to show it, he draped it on his expression with little to no restraint. Both of you did not bother with the formality of a nod or smile, but a simple acknowledgment for the lack of proper acquaintance. 

Though you had never had a personal interaction with him, you still knew his name to be Kim Namjoon and that he was characterized by everyone who knew him as the nerdiest kid in school. Quite a cliché, though you had no reason to think he was anything beyond that since his rounded eyeglasses and turtleneck sweater certainly upheld the truth in that stereotype.  

The remnants of your intruded sleep felt heavy in your eyes which numbed your endurance to stay awake. Soon after the bothersome exhaustion almost conquered you into a sleep, a disarrayed body had fumbled through the doors snapping the heads of you, Jimin, and Namjoon towards him. He stood in front of the door, glancing back to it as if he were considering a swift escape from the concerned glares and embarrassment of the scene he had just made. And though there had only been three others to witness the progression of him rattling the handles, pushing against it with just enough force to unbalance him, and then nearly tripping into the eyes of his peers, it had been just enough to elicit a sizable amount of anxiety.

“Sorry, the door um…” He gestured towards it then towards the handle, then after bringing that same hand to his head to itch away his nervousness, “the door was jammed.”

None of you sitting in that book-filled jail cell cared, much less wanted to know the reason he barged in to interrupt the silence, but the way he fumbled through his words had been far too interesting and entirely ineffective in dismissing the unwanted attention. 

Jimin had found this particularly amusing as he choked down a few laughs as not to raze the other boy’s ego completely, but his efforts had just drawn more awareness that he was laughing at him. The lanky figure with red-tinted ears and cheeks scuttled with a low hanging head to the front table, next to the one Jimin was seated at, without another word as to avoid further demoting his dignity.

Dignity was a funny thing to everyone in the library. It was handled differently by each body during this Saturday detention. Some were trying to protect it, some had paid no mind to tend to it, some (you) were trying to pretend it was undisturbed, and one had felt the weight of his diminishing dignity as no heavier than a feather.

This one, the same one that tormented you with his mere existence, had shoved the door out of his way in a manner of excitement. He strutted through the room to suggest he had some sort of twisted pride to be here and that his dignity fluctuated from the various looks of disgust, annoyance, confusion, and attraction. 

Hoseok didn’t offer you more than a glance, although the scan of his eyes could hardly be counted as any sort of acknowledgment. In fact, he glared longer at Namjoon who had done everything in his power to surrender any dominance, already in scarce supply, and appear meek to avoid an altercation with Hoseok. 

The other boy, Kim Seokjin, who had previously made a fool of himself, waved at Hoseok expecting to make a quick friend through his naive opportunism. Hoseok responded by lurching forward with his fist raised level with his shoulder in an advancement of hostility. Despite Hoseok being about ten feet away from him and in no realistic position to actually hit him, Seokjin flinched. His juvenile bullying proved to be ineptly humorous to everyone else in the library, except Seokjin who successfully lodged himself deeper in embarrassment.

For some reason, you were agitated that everyone else’s presence but your own was enough to earn his attention. It was beyond reason to want this man’s eyes to meet yours, and yet when it failed to do so, there was an unmistakable disappointment sitting in the place where you wanted Hoseok to look. 

You knew it stemmed from the unsatisfied hope that he wouldn’t act like he didn’t know you once, that maybe he’d let the guarded past seep through and guide his eyes to rest on you gently, as they often used to do. But what did that matter? You hated him.

There was some shame that followed how you counted yourself lucky that he sat at the desk right behind you, giving you a perfect trajectory to shoot him a snide look. You hoped it would arouse guilt that he had been the reason you were here and that he couldn’t even present the decency of proper eye contact, though he most likely found it flattering from the way his lower lip slid between his teeth and a twisted grin formed. The quick avert of his wandering eyes had replaced the heat rising in your body with more disappointment.

“Hey, tool.” The voice behind you passed over your head to the target sitting in front of you. Jimin turned back to assure Hoseok was audacious enough to call him that name, “Yeah, I’m talking to you.”

“What do you want, dickhead?” Jimin had been over this conversation before it even began, but he still played into Hoseok’s little game. He too had succumbed to that particular quality of Hoseok’s that had many people wanting to argue with him. Nowadays, it seemed to be the only way to get a bit of his attention. 

“Ooh, dickhead.” Hoseok’s low scoff had interrupted him momentarily, and the toss of his feet on top of the desk and lean in his chair drained a bit of suspenseful tension into the air, “Those are big boy words. Someone’s been drinking their big boy juice!” His voice was caked in a sharp taunt that had Jimin’s fists contracting into themselves, leaving crescent-shaped dents in his palms from his fingernails.

“What’s your problem, dude? Just leave me alone. I didn’t even say anything to you.” Turning his body to face away was not nearly enough to evade Hoseok’s mission of infuriating Jimin just for the hell of it. 

The boy, layered in a black leather jacket over a red flannel, mounted the desk and jumped onto yours then Jimin’s with a racket of stomps that echoed between the shelves of books. You looked over to the spot on your table where his foot landed, grimacing at the dirt residue of his shoe print and the whiff of nicotine Hoseok left in his wake. Your attention, along with Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s, was soon shifting over to Hoseok who slumped into the chair beside Jimin, all in deep anticipation of what the delinquent would do next. 

Your focus was trained on his fingers that pushed through his hair, exposing his forehead, and if you weren’t so invested in his interaction with Jimin, you might have noticed the pesky butterflies flitting around your stomach. 

“Can I help you?” Jimin didn’t give Hoseok the satisfaction of another turned head, making Hoseok greedy and frustrated with Jimin’s passive protest.

“I just wanna know…” The glance he shot to you sent shivers through your body, but you knew there was some mischief in this look, “You and princess over there are fucking?”

“What the hell?” These words had escaped from your mouth before you had the chance to fully construct a more dignified response. Jimin looked to you in attempts to apologize on behalf of Hoseok’s foul tongue. Seokjin’s ears had grown into a much deeper red upon hearing these obscenities and Namjoon’s eyes had widened almost as large as his jaw-dropped mouth.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I don’t even know ___ like that.” Hoseok sat on the desk to face you with a smirk of such arrogance that it riled a combative sneer from your face. 

“So, you’re telling me, you’ve never slipped him the tongue, ___? I swear I could cut the sexual tension with a knife.” 

“You’re delusional.” Jimin cut in.

“Maybe. I couldn’t be as delusional as you, being concussed probably a hundred times from rolling around in the grass with your football friends.” 

“As if a loser like you knows anything about me or my friends!” 

“You like rolling around with your brain-dead guy friends?”

“What did you say?” What Hoseok was alluding to hadn’t been a reference to what Jimin perceived it as, though it had gashed against a rather sensitive spot. More so a personal, secretive spot and Jimin sewed his lips shut in fear to push Hoseok any further.

“Shut up, Hoseok! Everyone stop acknowledging him. He just wants attention.” Though what you had said was true, and everyone surely agreed on that, Hoseok had drawn in each of you and had you all completely wrapped around his finger in minutes. 

You seemed to be spooled around it the tightest as your eyes were now at war against his piercing glare. A small ten seconds grew into eternity when you were under his gaze and the canopy of memories it seemed to hold, and when it was torn away from you there was a sense of relief and exhilaration tilling through you. 

Hoseok would never admit to it, but your eyes had almost faltered his own, almost moved him to an obedience that would have him sitting down at his desk and shutting up. There was a bloated discomfort with his recollection of your power over him, especially uncomfortable with the fact that the years of distance hadn’t diminished it in the slightest. Nor had it given him the time to muster a tolerance against your gleaming eyes. This pushed him to look towards the nerdish boy sitting in the back.

“What about you, nerd? Ever gotten down and dirty? I’m sure you haven’t but maybe ___ could help you out with that.” Namjoon was stiff except for his hands that had been quivering the moment Hoseok began directing his torments towards him. Maybe it wasn’t the hollow comments that had angered you, but the fact that he still wouldn’t find the nobility in himself to face you when he disgraced your name in such explicit ways. Or the fact that each time he failed to meet your eyes, you only felt yourself wrapping tighter around his finger.

“You’re an ass, Hoseok.” Jimin muttered under his breath because part of him was too afraid to address him with full confidence. 

“Jealous, meathead?” 

“Didn’t you hear ___? No one cares for the bullshit that comes out of your mouth.”

 “Yeah, that’s the point. If no one cares, then I can say whatever the hell I want.”

Someone did care, not that he had the mind or attention span to notice how even in hatred, you felt natural to be at his side again. Or rather, in between the crossfires of Hoseok and Jimin’s deafening stare-off. The letterman jacket covering Jimin’s torso had instigated Hoseok to flick the flap of his collar against Jimin’s cheek. He was swift to knock Hoseok’s hand and now his anger gave him the motive to speak louder. 

“Don’t start with me again, asshole.” 

Hoseok performed a fake shudder in the face of the confidence born in Jimin’s tone. The two have now risen to their feet and inches away from their noses brushing against each other. Jimin’s hands had repositioned into the same fists of enragement while Hoseok called Jimin’s aggression and raised him with his arms folding across his chest. Seokjin’s nails were being fervently trimmed by his teeth and Namjoon shifted to the edge of his seat. It was clear neither of their prideful masculinities would allow for them to subside from this standoff. Who would make the first move, however, had yet to be unraveled and thrilled everyone to oblivion in the dimly lit library.

Again, your eyes couldn’t be ripped from Hoseok and how his white tank top had clung against his heaving chest. The way his cocked eyebrow and ego had the strength of a crazed hurricane, one that swept you up in its winds with no trace of mercy. Still, there was nothing that could peel your eyes away from him, not even the rampant air currents thrashing through the library. Your focus had nearly distracted you from displaying your shameful affinity towards his arrogance and intimidation. Internally, you were sure you would have been salivating profusely with the way your mouth hung open. On the outside, you only stared, leaving the rest of what that meant up to Hoseok’s imagination. 

Has it really been long enough to note that his shoulders broadened and his jawline sharpened?

Timing played its incessant role as the overly suspicious Vice Principal Donald Dickson walked in, ridding the library of what could have resulted in bruised eyes and busted knuckles. Jimin and Hoseok sat down upon hearing the tick of the door handle, before the supervisor fully walked through the door and set his eyes on this group of expectant students. A beat of silence clung onto the space between the five of you, now six including the Vice Principal, and Dickson took in the sights of what he perceived were cowardice troublemakers sitting in the desks before him.

“Hello, everyone. You’re here today because you did something wrong. A wrong that needs to be punished. And what better way to do that than wasting away your Saturday?” 

His words had been spoken from an embittered tongue, eager to thread more guilt into each one of you. Truly the only thing more distasteful than his mustard colored tie paired with a navy blue collared shirt was his arrogance. In seconds, he squeezed the excess space between the five students, cramming you all, almost unwillingly, into a team against him. The surplus of space, flushed out by his own demean, drifted him further away. He stepped closer to the desk, specifically to the leather-coated boy slouched in his chair and leaned forward intending to tempt Hoseok into picking a fight with him. 

“Welcome back, Hoseok.” 

Dickson's arrogance began to singe the air, making the space smell rancid as if something had been rotting in this library for months.

“Good to be back, buddy!” His sarcastic chide sat horribly with Dickson, feeling this pet name as a challenge to his authority. And if something as trivial as the word ‘buddy’ stung him so, he couldn’t have been less prepared for the comment about to spill from Hoseok’s mouth, “How ‘bout we go for dinner after this, Donald? Oh, actually never mind. Looks like you’ve been eating enough for the both of us.” 

Normally, his empty insults would have passed through Dickson’s head but he had been in a bad mood today. The heckling had sent him right over the edge and gave him the opportunity to take his frustrations out on Hoseok.

“It’s Mr. Dickson to you. And you just earned yourself another Saturday detention.” Said with the slam of his hand against the table. All but Hoseok jumped from the slap that reverberated through the halls. The underlying tactic to put his foot down, or rather his hand down, lost its effect on the one person it was meant for; Hoseok saw this as a reciprocated challenge and was always up for a way to reclaim his domain.

“Don’t be stingy, how ‘bout another one?” Doing the exact opposite of what Dickens wanted, testing his power even more, though to Hoseok his power was nothing more than a pathetic hunger for any sort of authority, something missing from his life outside of work. If bossing around children was the only outlet to feed this obsession, Hoseok saw to it to make this worth his while.

“Fine! You got one!” 

“Can’t wait to see you again, babe.”

“That's it! All your Saturdays for the rest of the month are gonna be spent here, with me. You happy now?”

“Over the moon.” 

“Hoseok, stop it.” Even though your plea had been a whisper, it was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. Hoseok snuck a glance to your disapproving face. You’d been surprised to meet his unworried expression, despite arguing with Dickson and sacrificing all his Saturdays for the sake of knocking the vice principal down a few steps on the hierarchical ladder. His attention to you was stolen by Jimin.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Jimin had his head facing down in compliance as if he were setting an example for Hoseok. Just minutes ago, they were at each other’s throats, but Dickson had this vulgarity in his threats that excelled in earning him the title as the most hateable person known to humankind, of a much higher rank than Hoseok, and that forged some unspoken solidarity between all of you. If it hadn’t been for Dickson, Jimin and Hoseok would have broken into an all-out brawl. Instead, it smoothed the dynamic between the two boys to a shielding defense of one another.

“Shut it, Park. Or you’ll get one too.” 

It took everything in your willpower to not scoff at Dickson’s insolence. You, personally, had quite a bone to pick with him as he was the exact wrong person that caught you, withheld the opportunity to explain yourself, and unjustly held you responsible for simply being in the vicinity of the crime scene. As much as you hated Hoseok, there had been nothing so compelling of your hatred than Dickson.

“Now, each of you will write an essay.” All five mouths groaned in response to this, “Yeah, yeah. You’ll write an essay whether you like it or not. You will sit here for eight hours, not say a word, not move unless it's to write your essay, and not even think about trying to leave.”

“What if we have to go to the bathroom?” This was a genuine question masked with innocence, however it doubled as a ploy for Namjoon to aggravate Dickson.

“Well, you’ll hold it!”

“Mr. Dickson, you’re definitely supposed to let us go to the bathroom.” You added.

“Even prisoners get to go to the bathroom.” A comparison laid out by Hoseok, quite fitting as Dickson seemed to treat you all lower than the dirt lodged between the ridges of his shoes. 

“You don’t tell me what I can or can’t do!” Dickson grew red in the face, a sight for the sore eyes of the five prisoners in this library.

“So, you expect us to hold it all day?” Jimin tossed his own objection in this dispute. 

“I expect you to do what I say, or do you three want to join your little friend next Saturday?” Dickson didn’t hold his tongue or restrain the volume of his voice that was barking this unreasonable demand. The wag of his fingers was as if he had truly asserted any real or respectable power over the five of you. Seokjin released the chuckle that had been brewing in his chest ever since Dickson began spouting his hollow threats. 

“Something funny, kid?” 

Yes, you’re making an ass of yourself, you thought.

“Nope just… thought of something that happened earlier today. Like, way earlier today, uh, a joke! It was funny, so…” Now you were all at the mercy of Dickson’s comical attempt to have students worship him. 

Jimin’s head had buried deeper towards his chest to mask the tears forming from holding his laughter behind his teeth, while Namjoon utilized the cover of his hand to fence in his. You and Hoseok had been trading off with noiseless snickers that exhaled as huffs of breath when Dickson had turned his back to check the time.

“It is eight thirty-two. You punks have a good six and a half hours until four comes, so I suggest you take the time to work on your essays. If you don’t finish, you’ll be back here next week to do just that. You’re going to write about what you did wrong, and why it was wrong, along with a long, thoughtful apology for what you did.” Dickson paced back and forth in the front of the desks with the sets of eyes, minus Hoseok’s, following his body. Two things stood with a backless stance in yet another empty threat of Dickson’s. One, there were not any grounds for Dickson to mandate another Saturday detention if the five of you didn’t finish an unrequired essay. Hoseok had the pleasure of pointing out Dickson’s other incorrect claim.

“Seven.” 

“What?” One could see the steam pouring from his ears and nostrils as he halted as if Hoseok’s retort acted as a hurdle placed in his path.

“We have seven and a half hours until four.”

“That’s what I said.” 

Jimin’s eyes had rolled back at Dickson’s inability to ever admit he was wrong, a trait only painting him into a bigger joke. You shook your head softly because the stillness you were trying to maintain was too overwhelming to handle, and this seemed to ease the second-hand embarrassment raging through you each time Dickson opened his mouth.

“No, you definitely said six. You said ‘you punks have a good six and a half hours until four’. Then Hoseok said ‘seven’ and then you said ‘what’ and then he said ‘we have seven and a half hours until four’ and then you sa-”

“Enough!” Dickson exclaimed.

Seokjin spoke innocently to give a correction to Dickson. His shallow grasp of social cues often had his well-intentioned actions trilling off his tongue with a sting to Dickson’s pride. Though, nothing had done more harm to Dickson’s pride than the prance of his half delusional authority before the eyes of those who had their own reasons for being stuck here. None, however, had been as lewd as the tyrannical reasons that drove Dickson here. 

“Watch your tone, kid.”

“Who else heard Dickson say six?” Hoseok asked after raising his hand high, followed by Jimin, Namjoon and you casting your concurring votes. Seokjin’s slow uplift of his hand was soon diverted to play off his affirmation as scratching his head. Hoseok’s smirk bloomed from the majority’s favor with him, and the one effortful but ultimately silenced support of Seokjin. 

“Looks like the Is have it!”

“Whatever! I’ll be back to check on you all in a couple hours. No moving from your seats. No talking.” He felt the slight of each of your hands, depleting his once esteemed title of vice principal to a speck of dust that did nothing more than agitate the noses of unimpressed students. The stiffness in all your muscles began to deteriorate from Dickson’s reluctant retreat, having you loosening the clench of your jaw. Watching Dickson wrangle the handle of the broken door before a gruff exit had assisted in soothing your nerves.

Not long after he left, not even a few seconds after the door closed, Hoseok felt an itch for not-so-civil disobedience and scratched a sweet relief to that by walking over to Namjoon, who had been scribbling on the paper that should have been filled with the assigned essay. He snagged the paper from the pencil once being grazed against it and jerked his hand away to evade Namjoon’s attempt at retrieving the stolen item. 

Everyone else’s attention had been forthcoming, and all found the contents of Namjoon’s paper much more worthy of their time than the essay was. Hoseok took a second for his own inspection as his lips curved to a quiet grin. Before Namjoon got the chance to explain it, Hoseok cruised along to the front of the room to behold to the rest of you the picture etched onto the paper.

“It looks like we got an artist on our hands.” Though it was heavy with teasing, there had been a cloaked adoration in Hoseok’s word. It was almost as if he were showing Namjoon’s talent off through the guise of badgering. You hadn’t known the man before you in the same way you knew him as a child, yet you still picked up on this through the lilt of his voice. 

It dawned on you then; no matter how many years past and how the roads of change diverted you in life-altering directions, there would always be a piece of the inner child in you. Small and fainter than the drop of a pin, but still there. You saw the kind child that Hoseok used to be still rummaging around deep within, trying to find its way to the surface.

Hoseok took notice of your perceptive glare that had differed from the others; your eyes always whispered something more that made him equal parts elusive towards you and troubled that maybe you’d been able to crack open his once impenetrable veil. The crusted formation of his toughened skin soaked in your eyes, making it softer and easier to see through. 

“Is that-” Your eyes squinted to focus on the detailing of the drawing, “Is that me?” The simultaneous glares of everyone onto Namjoon had caused a slight perspiration to fog the lens of his glasses. 

It was unmistakable, the face and shadowing were a near perfect imitation of yours, but the sharpness of each line exuded a striking tenacity quite the opposite of the demure front you upheld. A tenacity that felt indicative of a desperation for something; to Namjoon, it was clear in your eyes there had been a facet in your life missing which left you feeling robbed. This tore through you like lightning, leaving you to discover the source of what had been robbed of you. 

“Looks like I was wrong. The sexual tension wasn’t between meathead and ___, but bookworm and ___.” The blush on your cheeks wasn’t nearly as red as Namjoon’s entire face. “My sincerest apologies, please tell us how you and ___ fell in love. I wanna know every little detail.” 

He’d considered various routes of excuses, such as the picture wasn’t of you, or that maybe he’d absentmindedly sketched your features simply because you were in the same room but there would be no avail in either. He knew Hoseok wouldn’t accept that, backing him against the wall of shared curiosity between the other four, so Namjoon resolved that telling the truth was far more becoming of him than protecting the last of his dignity.

“To be fair, I drew almost everyone in the room.” He slipped a few papers from underneath his notebook, accompanied by an exasperated sigh, all depicting his own interpretation on his peers sitting before him. Each one held some unfeigned element of you all, not of intention though also not of coincidence, that drained the multiple facades to ineffectiveness until they were completely impotent. Everyone had gathered around Namjoon’s desk looking for their own picture, and neither Jimin nor Seokjin were prepared to face theirs.

“Yo, this is sick!” Jimin had his portrait between his fingers, eyes scaling the led sketch that accentuated his more flattering features. It was pleasing in the beginning but as he examined with more scrutiny that feeling had been sullied into fear. There had been a glint of worry in the eyes of Jimin’s drawing that had his once excited smile fading into a humbled concern of the growing nuances this small detail suggested. Jimin was just glad everyone else was concentrated on their own portrait so no one would be able to see this unsettling vulnerability strewn into the drawing.

Seokjin’s was a rather accurate paradigm of his eccentric expressions and attitude. To his surprise, this was given a more favorable look to what most people thought were awkward tendencies; it had become the focal point of the portrait as if there had been some unadulterated goodness in his heart that Namjoon seemed to be the only one to see. And below that surface of the painting, there was a tired expression bleeding through the excited one. All at once, his burdens seemed lucid and bare within the positivity intended to circumvent those exact burdens.

“I didn’t know you drew.” Jimin broke the silence with what he believed to be a keen observation. Namjoon found it quite daunting of him to act like this had been some revelation that the rest of you shared. 

“Well, you never asked. In fact, I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation.” There had been an edge ruminating within the words Namjoon spoke that blew through the air and raised a few hairs on Jimin’s neck.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that we’ve been in art class together all year and my art has just now caught you by surprise.” The accusations in his tone shriveled Jimin into a corner of odd mortification for his ignorance of those who didn’t run in his circle. What made matters worse was there could be no proper objection to what Namjoon said, as he looked around to each of your faces trying to recount any memorable interaction with you all. It would be more fitting to call the rest of you strangers than acquaintances, let alone schoolmates, and least of all friends.

“I-” All words had been brushed to a place unworthy of being verbalized. 

“Meathead has better things to attend to than talking to us lowlifes, Namjoon.” Hoseok cut off Jimin’s already lost train of thought. 

You and the four others were now positioned in a circle, though some sitting on the floor and others finding a seat on top of the desks, you were all in this circle, together. The outside world had given you all the freedom to choose who you talked to, what kinds of people you associated with. Perhaps too much freedom that amounted in severed connections and missed opportunities to meet those who might serve as beneficial to your life. However in this room, in the crowded library which held that freedom from you all and granted you an even better gift of contingency, there had been an irresistible gravitation to seek entertainment through each other and learn what would have gone unlearned if not for the five different mishaps that led the five individuals to this room.

“I never said you were a lowlife!”

“Oh, but you were thinking it. Admit it.”

“Are you ever going to stop talking?”

“Are you ever going to stop using the entire bottle of Axe body spray or do you want us to lose our sense of smell?” Namjoon and Seokjin were more humored by this comment than you had been. Not because you didn’t find it funny, and it was all too true to foster any denial from Jimin and anyone in a ten foot radius of the boy, but because you kept busy wondering how the transition of the once sweet-tongued Hoseok had developed him to acquire such a thirst for belittlement. Or perhaps, why he had undergone this caustic transformation.

“Oh, like you’d ever be caught with me or Jimin at one of your parties with all your hoodlum friends.” You shot him this retort aspiring to sour his praise from the two other boys.

“You wanna party with me, sweetness? I think I can arrange that.” It was surprising, the sarcastic offer, and it suggested that he wasn't the one who initiated the drift of your friendship. That had struck some chord with you because you were certain it was all his doing, and subsequently cleared your tongue of a witty retort that would shut him up. He shifted from his crossed legged pose to dangle his legs from the end of the table that sat behind where your back had been. The tip of his foot had nudged against your shoulder blade in a tease to which you hastily swat his dark boot away.

“Fuck off, Hoseok.”

“You’re the one who brought it up! Don’t be shy, I’d love to see you get plastered with me and my, as you call it, hoodlum friends.” He had been a few more light kicks away from you landing your hand against the side of his cheek. To his luck, your resolve had kept your hands folded in your lap.

“In your dreams.”

“I’d party with you!” Seokjin’s idealism had interrupted your exchange with Hoseok as his eyes, now raked with astonishment, moved to the boy sitting diagonally from himself.

“I'm sorry, did you say something?” Hoseok asked. Jimin’s fingers pinched the bridge of his nose while you had surrendered to the foot still digging into your upper back to turn towards Seokjin as well.

“Um, just that I’d hang out with you.” A bit of regret had a stutter leaking through his words.

“I wouldn't want to interrupt your bible study with my hoodlum parties.” Thickly layered sarcasm was just another social cue Seokjin was wholesomely unaware of, or perhaps he’d caught onto Hoseok’s aim to insult but didn’t care about it as much as you and the others had.

“I’m not even religious and I can handle parties! I’ve been to lots of parties.” He had fooled no one in the library with that statement. Seokjin’s volume had tapered off towards the end, filling the quiet of his voice with even more regret. There was a force out of his control that had him spewing the first thoughts that popped into his head through an unfiltered mouth.

“Bud, you are the human embodiment of an unwanted boner. Stiff? Yes. Annoying? Check! Something no one wants at their parties let alone in their pants? One hundred percent.” The rest of you, but mostly Jimin, had given up on taking the high road. This was made obvious to Seokjin and Hoseok through the contagious laughter afflicting the three of you, and even Seokjin couldn’t resist the smile tugging at the ends of his lips.

“Hey Hoseok, come look.” Namjoon’s beckon was said seconds before a few more taps of his pencil against the paper. It wasn't in his nature to call out to someone like Hoseok, but the need for him to face his painting had given his words the momentum to be spoken.

His approach had been a bit too unsuspecting; he didn’t think to craft a strong guard for seeing his portrait that he’d been waiting for. That had been a grave mistake. 

Hoseok stared at the page as if he had seen a ghost. Though it was not one of an unfamiliar face, the apparition had been the mirror image of him. With the glide of his pencil, Namjoon haunted the man with the impenetrable veil to a state of uncharacteristic lethargy. You were sitting right behind him, giving you the perfect vantage point to witness the picture of a man being stripped from his conceit. In the drawing, he was crying. This had nearly gone unnoticed from the obstruction of your vision by his shoulder. 

Nearly, but it was the first detail that caught your eye. It was eerily familiar, like Deja-vu. Even if the others were to see it, they wouldn’t have distinguished how this had illustrated a portrayal awfully close to the innocence of a younger Hoseok, of which only you had been acquainted with, and he immediately crumpled it to a ball before you were able to collect any more of the details to your memory. 

“What kind of shit are you trying to pull, huh?” His demanding question stripped the lighthearted atmosphere from the room. The cuff of Namjoon’s turtleneck joined the shriveled paper in his hand as Hoseok yanked him to a weak stand and an even weaker defense. 

Jimin compensated for Namjoon’s frailty with a firm grasp on both of Hoseok’s arms followed by pulling him away to stop what could have been a brutal beating. The paper had fallen from Hoseok’s hand which went unseen because he was struggling to free himself from Jimin’s strong grasp, which was cultivated through his athleticism.

“Bro, calm down!”

“Hoseok, stop being like that!” Your voice had his scowl now directing towards you, still maintaining the weathered clutch on your heart. There was no ambiguity in fear. One thing often scarce in Hoseok's eyes, but you saw it then. You knew his anger wasn’t of shallow disliking to the picture, but what it exposed of him that he was trying so desperately to mask.

Seokjin had taken it upon himself to see what triggered the fumed reaction from Hoseok by picking up the paper and stretching out the wrinkles enough for proper inspection. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why Hoseok would waste his temper on something as trivial as a few fictitious tears. With one more thrust of Hoseok’s shoulder, he escaped Jimin’s distracted hold and swiped the paper from Seokjin before anyone else had the chance to see it.

Hoseok wished you hadn’t seen it, as well as the other boy. The troubling fear in the painting, and how it reflected that particular quality onto him, though in an entirely new light. He wished it were gentler, the reflection; he wished it didn’t cut deep enough to carry a brutalizing truth. He wished it wasn't a reflection at all, that instead it was a misjudgment or an oversight. And he had no idea you saw past what Seokjin saw as just penciled tears on a paper. His shields of iron and skin were in no position to stand against your eyes. 

They never were.

“What the fuck are you looking at, freak?” 

“Hobi, don’t call him that.”

And with the utterance of the long-abandoned nickname, Hobi, it had sparked a sequence of memories to rattle through Hoseok’s mind. He was collapsing into himself, into the memories of you and your voice possessing exclusivity to the nickname that held a sentiment of which he’d almost forgotten. The scenes had tranquilized his boiling fury to a light simmer. Such nostalgia had that effect on his mind, as well as expelling the surroundings of the library from each of his senses and replacing them with sweet, untouched memories. 

The fragrance of fresh linen and lemon crowded his nose, the same way it would when he would walk into the comfort of your home. Long ago, when his arrival required no invitation, but was an expected, weekly affair. And during tough times, it grew in frequency. 

His nose would grow to associate the smells of linen and lemon with your home of pure safety, then into the arms of your mother whose delight had gone almost unmatched when she saw him. However, it never surmounted the ripples of joy you would feel when you were greeted with his arrival, and you believed you would never have to miss that feeling. This scent sailed him into the tragically estranged feeling of safety, now a malicious craving for it to return pooled in his chest; missing the feeling of safety he once had with you almost hurt more than the actual absence of it.

Though he wondered if it truly was the nickname ‘Hobi’ that swept him in a melancholic reminiscence, or the stark smell of fresh linen and lemon invading his nose. He wondered why it was that no other person had ever made him remember such insignificant details of his past that were too good to hold onto. He wondered if it really were the nostalgic scents and nickname, rather than the person who they reminded him of; all the good, safe things that left with you and your budding friendship. 

The muffled voices of those around him were just enough to crack through the tent of reminiscence.

“It’s okay to cry, Hoseok. We all know you just act tough but inside you care about what others think just as much as the rest of us.” That comment had been restitution for Hoseok’s previous jab at Jimin’s body spray misusage.

“Yeah, I cry all the time! Just the other day-” Seokjin chimed with agility from the quickly fading regret.

“Please stop talking. Please don’t make me punch you.” Jimin’s interruptive threat crammed back the thoughtless anecdote about to spill from Seokjin’s mouth.

“Wait, I’d actually like to see that. Seokjin, keep going.” To Namjoon, the idea of a boyish fight between the two sounded far more entertaining than whatever story Jimin had stopped Seokjin from sharing. “Why are you so afraid of crying anyway?”

“Yeah why?”

“Tell us, Hoseok.”

Consecutive questions such as these held a violence equivalent to assault in Hoseok's mind. He’d been cornered, his eyes that once couldn't bear to rest on you before now seemed to plead with yours for a salve from these bombardments. And you couldn’t tell if you hated him or the fact that with one look, he had winded you tighter around his finger.

“Hoseok is just mad because he cried during Marley and Me.” You said, quick to scavenge for a decent distraction. Your memory of watching this movie with him about ten years ago had been far too riveting to keep to yourself. 

In fact, you rationed it positively selfish to hoard something as enthralling as Jung Hoseok crying real tears, not like the ones on Namjoon’s drawing. And part of you, part of him too, knew this was done in favor of Hoseok to misdirect the rest of them from the actual root of his anger. Exploring the soul-bearing secrets he kept hidden beneath his thick skin was a venture overwhelmed by terror and discomfort. You felt this through that look glazing his eyes, and figured the Marley and Me incident was a worthy sacrifice to protect something far too fragile to tread on. The four of you were now swimming through a lake of laughter as Hoseok tried to suppress his annoyance, and especially his gratefulness to what you had done for him.

It began then, the struggle. He found the constant maintenance of keeping his skin intact over his heart forfeiting to your offer of kindness. As much as he tried to press the skin back onto himself, it would shed almost a bit too easily.

“What kind of heartless monster doesn’t cry at a dying dog? You’re all insufferable.” Hoseok stood up, turning away from the belly-aching giggles still erupting from you and the other three, “And I was eight years old. And ___ cried harder.” His trudge to the back of the room, away from the commotion of the drawings, was gorged in a strange distrust.

There was the possibility he had spilled one too many secrets with his long, catatonic silence after the way you called him that name. How you all had established a comfort to open yourselves to a partially amiable conversation together and that Hoseok felt like he was the one standing on the outside looking in. 

Thus, leaving Hoseok feeling betrayed, distrustful, and fumbling over where to place the blame. 

With himself, the full-fledged outing of his feelings that were ripped from his chest by his own hand without the consent of his mind. It felt unlawful, like he was unwillingly breaking his own rules. Or perhaps blame lied with the people who took one look at his leather jacket and paid zero caution when shedding a few layers of the deceitful front of his skin. What was left was the outer shell, the once impenetrable veil lying on the floor, and a man without his protective skin, open and raw and sensitive, though scared of vulnerability above all else. 

The rest of you followed suit to return to your empty chairs, ignoring how the air was damp with a complex rigidity that none of you felt equipped to handle. No one, least of all you, had been sure of what to do with the discomfort that sterilized the air with nothing but the sounds of five syncopated breaths, longing for some release of this silent torture.

You were sure of two things. 

First, you hated Hoseok and he showed his reciprocation of that through the flipped middle finger when you braved a glance back to him. Second, you concluded that the reasons pillaring your hatred for him had changed within two of the eight hours in this library. It was astounding, torn between being impressive and pathetic the way he’d roped you back into the sentiment of the young, inseparable children residing in the darker caverns of your hearts. 

The younger you that handed him a tissue and a shoulder to lean on, a gift of nothing close to judgement, when you had seen him crying at that sad movie. The younger him that in many ways held a strapping debt over your head for rescuing you from numerous bullies throughout elementary and middle school and a long spell of loneliness from your lack of friends in your younger years. The two mellow hearted friends attached at the hip, and the heart, that skipped along the steps of life as if misery and loneliness were nightmares lived out by those who didn’t have a person like Hoseok in their lives. They were locked away for quite some time and remained that way due to the abundance of freedom that this library had suspended. 

Because in the library, you couldn't run or hide.

Hoseok was sure of one thing, and one thing only. It was far clearer than the tainted air of the library along with the fogged arena of the outside world, and brighter than the way your eyes still outshined the shadow of his own pain; the irrefutability was beyond the depths of the ocean. 

His heart had been broken, pulverized to a dust, for far too long and it was because of how dearly he missed you and the safety that accompanied you. 

If you looked closely, you could see past his skin to his bones and all the secrets and scars carved in them.

 10:00 - 12:00

Timing. What you thought was an incarnation of the devil itself, seemed to torture you through today like it had a personal agenda against you. The five students and their endurance of boredom had been eroded from the minutes that felt like hours and the confiscated cell phones leaving you all to the devices of screenless misery. 

The silence continued stalking the air, still just as heavy and nuanced as before. You wondered why the quiet didn’t feel all that quiet. In turn, it was nothing less than an earthy rumble at this point, like the ground was ready to shake and knock every book from the shelves around you. Every time your eyes would meet with another one of your peers, they’d be instantly veered with a quick glance towards the ceiling or down at the blank papers sitting on the desks before them. Hoseok fell asleep long before you had the chance to read the hints of his mind that were lightly seasoned in his eyes, that seemed to have a way of avoiding you today. 

Still without some of his skin, and now the loss of his dignity joined. Because of that, he was tired and needed to sleep. It had more or less been Hoseok’s melodramatic efforts to recoup for the loss that put him in a moped mood; you not being in his life was the little secret that fringed his heart far worse than Namjoon’s portrait.

Maybe if you would have let him know that yours and the others’ dignities had been left at the broken door of the library then he wouldn’t be as mortified. At the time, you didn’t feel like it had been your job to do so which was retrospectively an all too uncompassionate choice. A bad choice. Far worse than the ones you made to lead you to detention.

Seokjin and Jimin had been tossing crumpled pieces of binder paper and shooting them in the trash can with high spirits, the heavy boredom of detention being cut through by their makeshift basketball game.

“That's fifteen.” A gloat followed Jimin’s victorious fist shaking but soon to be shut down by Namjoon.

“No, that was fourteen.” He held the paper where two sets of tallies were marked side by side under the initials J and S.

“What? I was counting too and that was fifteen!”

“Ha! Read it and weep.” Seokjin teased.

“Jin, shut up! You've made like three.”

Namjoon checked the paper and confirmed Jimin’s rebuttal with a thumbs up. Your resting head on the palm of your hand shook with laughter at the scowl plastered across the boy's face, which had made a habit of blushing a bright red in regret of his comments. 

Seokjin said nothing to this, instead proceeded to crumple four more pieces of paper now encased in his hand.

“Well now it's gonna be seven.” He had made this claim a bit too soon after the sling of his arm amounted to all four paper balls bouncing off the rim of the trash can and scattering onto the floor. Having all three of you laugh broke the fourth boy’s slumber, but he went about it calm. Hoseok’s eyes opened, quiet and slow, and none of you noticed he had regained his consciousness.

Dickson’s return had hushed the last bit of laughter along with the surprising enjoyment circulating through the third hour of detention. This time, Dickson was mindful of your collective vendetta against him which was why he had been armored with even more aggression than the last time. The mix of you four riding off the delights of playing with the little entertainment made available and Dickson’s heavily loaded disdain would make for quite a reactive outcome. There had been a lewd displeasure of finding littered papers along the floor adding to his frustration.

“Which one of you imbeciles were tossing around paper balls when you should have been writing your essays?” The unresponsive silence pushed him over the edge of annoyance, “Well?” 

His earth-shattering holler had fully awoken Hoseok who joined the unconcerned teens in this noiseless stare off. A yell or a whisper wouldn’t have made a difference by the means of intimidation since none of you could take seriously a man who missed the step of re-zipping his fly after going to the bathroom. The five of you were urged to point it out, though none of you felt the need to bury him even lower in all of your regards; he did that quite adequately and consistently on his own.

“We all just really want to do well on our essays! What you call paper balls were the triumphant efforts of remorseful students, sir.” Any resistance to Hoseok’s humorous antagonizations towards Dickson were depleted by the second round of his arrival. Namjoon demonstrated his agreeance with a snide head nod joined by Jimin who also nodded some proof to Hoseok’s lie.

“Really? Is that true, Seokjin?” 

“Yes, we all just want to better ourselves, sir.” Singling the evidently weakest willed student did not go over the way Dickson had hoped. He stood by Hoseok’s lie even if he couldn't bring himself to make eye contact with Dickson. There had been some unknown element of surprise that had Seokjin just a few steps ahead of Dickson and a few steps behind the rest of you. Still, he was far ahead of Dickson, whose temper seemed to be strained.

“What about you ___, any thoughts?” He asked you this as if there was any evidence for his disbelief. And he was right of course, to be disbelieving, but the derogation of his voice did render his correct assumptions as nothing short of foolish dictatorship. Again, there was space. It was the five of you, a dividing space, and then Dickson. 

Space is meant to be empty, or it is not space at all, and Dickson’s unwelcomed invasion into it had made him the target of five unrelenting students.

“My English teacher says writing multiple drafts before turning in the final product is a clear-cut way to do well on essays.” Your eyes weren't level with his. They had been glancing back and forth from the desk to the unzipped fly of his pants that were now unfortunately a foot too close in your peripherals. Provided you had nothing to lose, maybe another one of your Saturdays, but even that seemed to be worth pointing the zip, or lack thereof, of his pants. “Sir, your fly is down.”

He hastily corrected this and his authority had been running too thin from the jabs sent his way, diluting any call to action he made into a watered down whine. It wasn't enough to spread over himself or each of you, making his second retreat taking place faster than the one before. On his way out, he tossed three out of four of the papers in the trash and kept one to inspect. There was no draft of an essay written on the paper, and for once he was right and it felt awful. 

You would have felt bad, but no one could empathize with his fatal arrogance.

“You kids are a piece of work. I don't get paid enough for this shit. You better be done with these essays by the end or I swear.” And he didn’t finish whatever he was about to say before walking out of the library, hurried and belittled. Jimin was, of course, the first one to burst through the silence with giggles and the sound had doubled, tripled, and so on until all of you had been absorbed in a fit of laughter. Even Hoseok released a smirky chuckle, and felt attuned with you, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Jimin. 

For lack of skin, one could assume. Or maybe he genuinely liked the way he felt around you and those who were on this team that was too diverse to give a definite label.

“___, I can’t believe you actually said it. God, I was going to but I thought he would have cried.” Jimin pushed out this appraisal through gasping for air. 

“I couldn’t help it. It was right in front of my face! I think I have to go wash my eyes out.” You were rubbing your temples to massage away the increasing disgust upon picturing it.

“If anything, I thought Seokjin would’ve been the one to do it.” Namjoon said, keeping busy with another illustration.

“Nah, ___ handled that perfectly.” Jimin managed to level his breath by now.

“I wonder if your bite is as big as your bark.” Hoseok said, just to get another one of those annoyed glares, which seemed to be the only way he knew how to get your attention now. His affluence of communicating, especially to you, has been sloping off to quite elementary levels. Still, he did what he could.

“You wanna find out?” Your voice insinuating you wouldn't falter to his bereavements. Your eyes looked back to the smirk of satisfaction painted over his face, boiling a bit of frustration in your chest. Mostly, frustration with yourself for finding your eyes trailing along the length of his admittedly handsome face. Frustrated that, no matter how insufferable he was, you were undeniably attracted to him which made you struggle to suppress your own smile.

“Guys, look.” Namjoon held up a stick figure sketch of Dickson. It wasn’t nearly eligible to be considered a sophisticated piece or technically accurate to Dickson’s appearance. Though the elementary style of it had a stronger sense of accuracy than any proper portrait of Dickson would have. The grimace of the stick-figured Dickson and the detailed pants that included a dropped fly upstaged whatever ornate cross-hatched or contoured lines that had been applied to the four of your drawings. 

“You have a talent, you gotta give me some lessons sometime.” It felt like Jimin meant more of this. Perhaps he had been referring to what Namjoon had said before. As if he were realizing his range of friends left Jimin destitute in the terms of social circles and in some way, Namjoon had been entirely unique from anyone he’d ever met. He didn’t want to be another cart in a train of unexpanded minds due to a case of the status quo. 

Namjoon was alluring, to put it simply. Outside of his long undisturbed comfort zone.

“Well, you haven’t seen my art skills. I like to call myself the Van Gogh of our high school.” Seokjin did nothing but embarrass himself, but it had a normalcy you and the rest had grown used to. Now it was not just expected of him but looked forward to. Things were changing before the eyes of the five different faces with five different stories. Changing, yet at the same time, feeling as if things had been returning.

“Yeah, all you have to do now is cut off your ear!” Namjoon said sarcastically.

More laughter, more good feelings poured into the library that once felt nothing more than a temporary, barren jail cell and a source of guilt and boredom. It was full now. Full of something much warmer than before. 

You were looking at Hoseok, now with a little less hatred. Seeing him smiling, laughing even, had softened your hatred to something else. It was still painful, and just as hard to identify as that particular quality of his. Whatever blame you directed towards him hadn’t been as hampering as this new feeling you got when you looked at him. He felt your gaze, louder than the chime of a bell, and wondered if he had shed enough skin yet to look back at you. To be filled with fresh linen and lemon and all the pieces of safety latched onto the exchange of glances that were not of the seniors in high school, but the childhood friends that long ago shared one heart.

Sadly, he didn't look to you, not yet. Not when he felt unready and unaccustomed to the ripe, underlying skin covering him now. He couldn't be brave enough to risk disappointing you with how his gaze might not have measured up to how sorry he felt for being the loose cannon in your life.

 You looked at the clock that read it was twenty-two minutes until the third hour of detention. Watching time tick by had proven to slow it nearly to a full stop, so you took to the sights displayed by the library window. The fog was still heavy, trading the perimeter of the parking lot with thick invisibility. Somehow, you had acclimated to the unseen sectors of what was within the fog. You couldn’t see through it, all you could truly see was fog, but that was not as pronounced as what you felt and what you knew. There was, without a doubt, something beyond the fog; that was what you knew. And what you felt was consoled in knowing there was surely something, anything beyond the fog, thus leading your eyes to Hoseok, again. You looked at him, right at his face, at his thin skin, and knew there was something beyond the fog.

“Stop leaning against the table, you’re gonna knock it down.” Namjoon had been referring to the tower of dusty books gone unread for a considerable amount of time for anyone, even the librarian, to notice they were missing. 

What, you wondered, could be more captivating than the mysteries hidden between the fog? To Jimin, Namjoon, and Seokjin, the antics of stacking books was that and more. There were about ten, maybe thirteen books piling taller than Namjoon. Though it had the advantage of resting on the already raised table, it was still admittedly impressive since Namjoon was on the taller side. Jimin stood on the table with arms flattened and extended to steady his balance and to still his body from any shaking that could derail their handy work. 

“Yeah, Jin, stop leaning.” What Hoseok said was clean of genuine concern, made clear from how he’d bumped the table with his knee causing the pile to teeter side to side, yet not enough to actually knock it down. The other three boys held their hands toward the books as if the gesture would have actually saved it from toppling over.

“___, come over and help us steady the books! Hurry!” Seokjin’s request had you rushing over try and balance the stack wobbling nearly to a complete collapse.

“Do you guys wanna do something actually fun?”

If not for the almost bewitching inflection of Hoseok’s question, you would have maintained focus on keeping these towering books from falling. Though, he spoke with an implication that he possessed something that would whisk you away from boredom and you were still, a bit less unapologetically, reeled tight around his finger. So, your attention was spent on Hoseok until there was no more. Same with the others. All four eyes tossing an unrestrained marvel in place of a verbal answer to his question. The vigilant silence was enough to have Hoseok’s hand digging in the pocket of his leather jacket and pulling out a neatly rolled joint.

“No fucking way, we can’t do that in here… Right?” Although he wanted to sound doubtful, repulsed by the stick of weed between Hoseok's fingers, the question threaded along the end of Jimin’s doubt had a faint enthusiasm.

“Dickson’s stupid. We can just tell him it was a skunk.” 

“I think we should really evaluate our actions before we do them.” By we, he really meant Hoseok. Seokjin tried to act in place of a sort of parental guidance, though he knew now how unlikely his influence would take effect.

“You’re right. Let’s see.” He paused and inspected the joint pinched between his fingers, “I’m bored, in fact, we’re all bored. I have weed, I want to get high, being high is fun. My evaluation says we should definitely get high.” Mocking the frail advice from Seokjin, Hoseok evaded the logic behind what the other boy had presented with yet another sarcastic remark. No one else argued, even those who were strongly opposed to drug usage, because there would clearly be no avail in discouraging Hoseok. Not to mention, deep down, all your inexperienced hearts had a slight curiosity for the coveted thing in Hoseok’s hand. 

“That’s hardly an adequate evaluation, Hoseok.” Namjoon said, though he was already crawling with a rising inclination since a much less favorable boredom would have tormented him if he declined the offer. Jimin, Seokjin, and Namjoon drove through the traffic of worries and doubts and arrived at the destination where Hoseok was impatiently waiting.

“Fine, then I guess I’ll just enjoy this by myself then.”

“Wait! I’ll- um, I’ll go.” Jimin said and it was enough for Namjoon and Seokjin to admit defeat to their desires. Football season had not begun yet, neither the periodic drug tests, and there was a growing stress looming over them all that could be displaced by getting high.

The only one still fraught with a neurotic hesitation and clinging opposition that pushed back from the cohorts all in agreement was you. Marijuana had always deterred your fascination, even though you knew it was on the safer side of most drugs, and your virgin lungs feared it in the same way your stomach feared alcohol and your heart once feared Hoseok’s return in it. However, Hoseok had slithered his way back into your life and that wasn’t scary in the slightest. It was exciting and comforting, even, to be graced with his return and it made you question what else you had been missing out on.

“Alright. Dickson usually falls asleep around now because he gets tired after eating lunch. God, I hate that I know that. Anyway, this gives us the chance to sneak out to the second-floor bathrooms where there aren’t any fire detectors.” 

The timing of his plan mapped out a perfect escape, however timing was never one to do you any favors. 

As the others snuck past the ajar door to Dickson’s office, inside the vice principal was sure enough sound asleep, you remained in the library and watched the others, one by one, throw all caution to the wind. Hoseok’s stalled exit from the room was ushering you to a state of indecisive pacing. It was clear he was waiting for you, though Namjoon’s, Jimin’s, and Seokjin’s company would satisfy the quota for a proper smoking circle. 

“You don’t have to come if you don't want to. The offer still stands either way.” He spoke tentatively and his eyes were habitually resting on anything, your hands, your chin, your lips, the floor, and even the fogged window, but not your eyes. He could resist the magnetism of your eyes because he felt like he needed to, but surrendered to the way his feet carried him a few steps closer to you. Enough steps to work a fast beating into your heart. 

“I’m not going to pressure you. I wouldn’t do that, you know?” 

You knew he meant this genuinely. The only thing thus far that came out of his mouth without the stain of sarcasm. It was because of how genuine he sounded that made the rattle between your bones far more feverish than the shallow, meaningless jabs he’d made to and about you during today.

Why does it hurt when you talk softly? Why does what should feel like soft fleece burn like the friction of gravel against my skin? 

You branded these questions in the eyes unseen by Hoseok. It aches to know that you hated him all this time, and you just now realized his soft spoken voice had been reigned by you. Softly, like the inner child begging to be liberated from Hoseok’s protective skin. Softly, like when he said he wouldn’t do that to you, it came from a place in his heart ten years in the making and reserved wholly by you.

“I just…” His steps hushed you. The proximity of his body to yours had placed you in the eye of the hurricane, where it was quiet and calm and even softer than his voice. He radiated an energy that reminded you of something strong that was tired of being strong and on the verge of withering away; like a tall, old oak tree. Mighty, beaten down from the weather, and readying to lay in its tomb. 

You always were able to admit he was attractive. Anyone with functioning eyes could see that. The delicious sharpness of his facial features made for quite a face to look at. He was damn near perfect. But when did he become so beautiful? How did his sharp features soften to become delicate and lovely? The duality of this man was flexible, ranging from rough edges to rounded, gentle surfaces.

You believed his approach was to lead his quiet, soft voice to your ears because one had to be close - very close - for another to hear such a gentle tone. But he wouldn’t have achieved such closeness if it weren’t for the fortitude of longing and the smell of fresh linen and lemon that emigrated from you. Nor the gentleness of his voice could have been procured if the other three were still here. When it was just you, there was no reason to be anything but honest and gentle and close. Resistance was now undone by being with you and the timing of it all. It was peeling away more of Hoseok’s skin down to the bone and he allowed you to do this. Finding a place, the library, with someone, you, filled the hollow chasm of his chest with an oasis one could only classify as safety.

I want you to stay here with me. 

Wherever that thought surfaced from, whether it be the spirit of a younger you or the sentiment of the current you, it was too real to keep from choking back a few tears.

“___, I-” Before the words of an unbarred tongue expressed how he wanted to admit he missed you and lay out every reason for pushing you away in order to annul all the pain he caused both you and himself, Seokjin had peaked his head through the door quite similarly to the frantic way he previously exited it.

“Hey, are you guys coming or what?” His urgent whisper had melted the overwhelming feelings being exchanged through silent pauses and simultaneously reconstructed the wall that severed your friendship, or whatever you had with Hoseok. 

“___, you’re not coming?” Seokjin sounded friendly in his disappointment. If it weren't for the fact that what he was referring to was smoking pot then you would have joined simply because his tone had flipped into a sweet, inviting plea.

“No, sorry. I think I’m gonna hang back. Someone’s gotta keep watch for Dickson.” Hoseok exhaled with relief that you didn’t come. He didn’t want you to feel pressured and at least he could accomplish doing that.

The skin retraced its steps back onto Hoseok. And when you looked out the window, for you didn’t want to watch Hoseok leave you again, the fog was impervious. The tepid steps of his departure sounded similar to that of a ticking clock. Each tap moved time forward and Hoseok away from you.

When you looked back to the emptiness of the library, you wished you could follow him. It was too difficult. Not the walking itself, and joining them had only been one staircase away, but the following aspect of it. To follow him, to chase the man that left you like he did years ago, like a decomposed afterthought, was difficult because you feared to be met with dry rejection. You’d rather not venture off into the fog, and stay unharmed in the clearings.

 Hoseok should have, in the wise words of Seokjin, evaluated his actions before making any official commitments to them. His constant neglect of this crucial step had led him into quite disturbing situations, including this one.

It was a few minutes after the joint had been smoked to the stub of the filter. Hoseok tossed it in the toilet of the large stall they occupied. For the most part, the boys were silent and enjoying their highs. And Hoseok was silent as well, but his thoughts were under completely different circumstances. They were blaring around in his head with a sharp ringing.

The memory of you, his awareness of missing you, seeing you again, and finding that his ability to look into your eyes long expired had been a taxing precursor to getting high. It was a first to have his emotions heightened taller than a mountain because of his intoxication; most of the time it numbed his emotions and the world around him. Though, there is a first for everything and Hoseok was clamming up from all the guilt, loneliness, and longing ensued by the Indica making its way to his brain.

They were all talking by now, describing how they felt or if they were feeling any buzz at all. Namjoon was the first to be hit with a wave of high and he unceremoniously stood up to wash his hands because he insisted that he could ‘feel the germs crawling on his hands.’

Jimin and Seokjin were the next victims of the unspared joint. Jimin had been repeating the word “woah” until it was devoid of all meaning. 

Hoseok slipped under the spell last, but his high wasn't fermenting in the same light-hearted ways as the other boys’ highs. His harnessed a colossal weight that was an ounce away from being too much, from sending him into a fight or flight reaction. The stressor could only be the pent-up emotions that were billowing from his chest so wildly that there was no chance to inhibit or ignore it. Hoseok was not as high as the others, but high enough to send his dignity into the unreachable air. Soon, he couldn't tell if the discomfort in his skin was because of his high or his new discernment for this stifling barrier. 

The depth of this emotional hole was deeper than that of a dried well, and had left Hoseok to be somewhat of a benign lump to the conversation at hand.

“Guys, I think I’m peeing. I feel like I’m peeing. Am I peeing my pants right now?” Seokjin rose to a panicked stance, spinning and bending to check if there was any wetness seeping down the pant of his leg. Namjoon, who was still washing his hands, and Jimin had fallen into a debilitating laughter. Though even in a state of sobriety it would have perpetuated a hearty laugh, their elevated reactions were that of the high they were still riding, and based on Hoseok’s observations, wouldn’t be coming down from anytime soon. 

“Holy shit. Dude, just pee! we are literally surrounded by toilets.” It was a difficult task, but Jimin managed to squeak this out between his giggles. 

“I can't pee in front of you all! I get… I get pee shy.” They all noted, Seokjin was an exemplary companion to get high with. 

If Hoseok weren't entrapped in his thoughts of you, of fresh linen and lemon that seemed to be far more pungent than the remnants of weed wafting in the bathroom air, he would have tallied Seokjin as one of his go to smoking partners. Nothing deemed lucrative to distract him from what really mattered to him: 

Fresh linen and lemon and you, and his damn skin.

“You guys may make fun of me for my axe body spray but at least it’ll cover the weed smell.” Jimin gloated, hunchbacked and head lowered to check if the scent of weed clung to his clothes or hair.

“We’ve been in a closed room for like twenty minutes. Obviously, you’re not gonna smell the weed. ___’s probably gonna tell us that we smell like a walking dispensary.” Namjoon said with a chuckle. 

“Now you smell like Axe body spray and weed.” Seokjin hadn’t stopped patting down the inseam on his pants to make sure nothing was inordinately wet while throwing in an additional jab.

“We should be heading back soon.” The faucet finally shut upon hearing Hoseok’s suggestion. “You three go ahead first, I’ll hang back so Dickson doesn’t catch me with you all. God knows he would be way angrier to see me walking around with you three.” 

Namjoon dried his hands and nodded with red glazed eyes covered by partially deflated eyelids. Jimin stood up and yawned from the weed-induced drowse blanketing his own eyes and Seokjin’s eyes still scaled the expanse of his pant leg with hulking paranoia. 

In a line, they left the bathroom to house no one but Hoseok, the pungency of weed, and his memories. In Hoseok’s eyes, they were blindsided by one thing and one thing only.

 Ten years ago…

White faded to grey in the clouds hanging above your inattentive eyes. The sandbox with worn plastic digging tools and a red bucket was the only part of the world that mattered to you. Soon, everything else blurred into nothing. You liked the sandbox not for the majesty of castle building or the sandy canvas to carve the visions in your young, creative mind with the swipe of a finger, but because of its smallness and how there was no room for others to play in it if you were in it. That was undoubtedly a strange reason to enjoy a sandbox, especially since youth usually carried along with it a craving to meet the first friend you could find and stick with them through the trials and tribulations of elementary school. You were harder to please in the sphere of friendship, leaving you to take to the sandbox where there breached no worries of finding a companion. 

Your finicky little heart made you a feeble target for young, boyish bullies. The pleasure of picking on the loner of the grade often satisfied little boys of their brutish desires. You’d always been a bit docile, and perhaps too much for your own good. There was no need to fight back and usually their torments were no more damaging than paper cuts that would heal in less than one or two days.

Today, however, you were proud of the sand replica of the Andes Mountains, which was quite accurate in your own opinion. Having it grinded down to nothing, to a footprint of a bully’s unforgiving torture was the last straw. 

“What are you gonna do about it, loner?” One boy asked.

“Ha ha, good one!” The others cheered on his infantile belittlement.

You didn’t think words sanctioned a fitting reprimand for their actions which led you to throwing a handful of sand, aimed at their face. It wasn’t enough to do any physical damage, but it had been more than enough to elicit anger and fill the opened-mouthed laughs of the three other boys with the specks of dirt and other fine sediments. One boy cupped a clump of sand around a medium-sized rock and pelted your arm with it.

Hoseok, who had been sitting a few yards away, turned to see where the pained yelp originated. When his eyes laid on you and the way you had been rubbing a rock-shaped red mark on your left arm, he felt the muscles in his legs moving him before his brain told him to help you. Quite heroically, he leapt between the blockade of three boys and you, fists clenched and eyes narrowing to push the little roughness he had in his soft facial features against them.

“Leave. Go pick on someone else.” Hoseok warned with an edge that had two of the three boys tutting their heads down in shame.

“Oh yeah? What are you, ___’s boyfriend?” 

“I’m the guy who’s gonna beat you up if you don’t leave.” It had been the conviction in his voice that held all the power. The voice of an angel to you, and to them, the voice that made picking on the defenseless loner not worth the trouble. They all retreated to kick around dirt at each other giving Hoseok the chance to turn around and check your arm’s injury.

“Are you okay?” He sat down next to you, and to your surprise, there was just enough room for him in this tiny sandbox. 

“Yeah, it’s just a bruise. It’ll go away.”

“I’m sorry about those guys… I- I think they’re dumb jerks.” This little slight towards them was quite modest in comparison to how Hoseok spoke in his later years. It wasn’t intended to insult the bullies necessarily, but to show he was on your side. That you didn’t have to play in the sandbox alone anymore if he was lucky enough for your picky taste in friends to acquire a bias towards him

“Yeah, major jerks. They ruined my Andes Mountains.” You were shoving around some sand to piece together the broken sculpture.

“Why the Andes Mountains?”

“I don’t know. They’re cool! They’re super tall, have you seen them?” In some way, it wasn’t the mountains that were feeding your excitement and the discussion, though short, was much longer than anything you experienced before Hoseok. Not only did you ward off the few people that stumbled into your sandbox, but many kids began avoiding you altogether. 

“No, but I’ve seen pictures of other mountains.”

“I’ve seen them! They’re big and rocky and they go alllllll the way up to the sky!” Your arms shot up to mimic the mammoth Andes mountains. 

“I’ve never seen a mountain like that but I’ve seen a volcano.”

“Woah! Where?”

“It was on some beach. I don’t really remember.”

“You’ve been to the beach? I’ve always wanted to go! The beach is like one giant sandbox.” Hoseok chuckled at your fascination. If he could travel back in time, he would have befriended you long ago so you wouldn’t have to wish to go to the beach. You would have already been there - with him.

“It’s so fun! I found a jellyfish on the shore and threw it back into the ocean and it didn’t even sting me!” Now you had been laughing at his whimsical personality. 

“You’re weird… I like you.”

“Could I- Could I help you?” Hoseok asked this, already preparing himself to an untimely demise of his efforts to befriend you. 

You paused. Your empty arena of friends had gained a candidate well-suited for your liking. Even as a child, you knew the trope of ‘boys who bully you only do so because they have a crush on you’ was just a way to excuse the brazen attitudes of entitled little boys. Hoseok wasn’t like any of those boys. He was kind, he spoke gently when he asked to play with you. He fit into the sandbox with you and you didn’t mind the company. 

The answer was clear.

“Yeah sure. Grab a shovel!” You didn’t bother looking at him, though his eyes were immovable from you. 

“If you wet the sand it sticks together better.” He said, attempting to prove himself an asset to your sand mountain construction.

“I never thought about that. Thank you.” This piece of advice was the first of many gifts this boy would give to you. 

One could assume the rapid advancement of your affection towards him could be due to how easy it was for younger children to build attachments with one another. However, that could not single-handedly explain the way you already felt close to him and how when he wasn’t in the sandbox with you, the vast space was not comforting as it once was. Not in the slightest. It could not explain how you and him never fought over petty things such as sharing the red bucket or whose sandcastle was better. He, without fail, insisted yours was always best. How your fondness of him only grew whenever he handled you in a much more tender way than he handled the bullies, no longer coming around to throw rocks and mean words at you.

“Wanna have a playdate?” You proposed in an uncharacteristic lapse of valor. 

“Um…” The hesitance wasn't because he was opposed in the slightest to this offer, but the little details of his life that often got in the way of building normal relationships, “Yeah.”

“Yay! I just have to ask my mommy first. She will probably want to meet your parents.” You said while molding the sand into a pointed mound.

“I don’t…” He stilled his fingers against the dampened sand, hoping it would calm the fast pace of his heart. “I don’t have parents. I’m a foster kid.”

You didn’t give an immediate response, instead turning your attention over to the boy who was unable to move from mortification. It confused you that he felt ashamed of this, your young, well-intentioned mind unaware of the negative implications and stigmas that surrounded being in the foster system. You simply smiled.

“Well, that's ok! Mommy will just be happy I’m finally having a playdate.” You said, shearing away the depth to this aspect of Hoseok. He was surprised, and also comforted in the fact that him being a foster child was no bigger of a deal than the color of his hair or the size of his shoes. As if this trait of his was something normal. He felt normal with you, and his inexperienced heart couldn’t decorate the thankfulness he felt with the right words.

“I’m Hoseok, by the way.”

“I’m ___.”

And the rest was history.

With him, the world didn’t matter. The end of recess didn’t stalk your mind. The threat of mean boys had become unthreatening. The lonesome life that you were comfortable with now felt like pins and needles against your body. The idea of friendship that once felt like pins and needles was comfortable, with Hoseok. To think, you had been fooling yourself into believing you were okay with being lonely and that you would have never come to terms with the emotional poverty that being alone subjected you to if it weren’t for him. Because with him, you believed the byword adults would regularly preach ‘sharing is caring’. You nursed a considerable affection towards Hoseok to care for him and had now realized you had far too much space in your sandbox to not share it with him.

“Thank you for being my friend.” You said, in the wake of all the goodness of friendship he had introduced you to.

In sixth grade you weren’t worried about a new school or leeching onto a clique. The burden of belonging didn’t barge in on your life like it had most of your peers. You had the privilege of being best friends with Hoseok. He told you on the day of your fifth-grade promotion that middle school wasn’t so scary, not when he had you. There was nothing for you to do but trust in him, not because you had to, but because you wanted to and because you knew he would always be honest with you.

It was you, Hoseok, and the little sandbox against the world… until it was not.

Unlike the end of elementary school, the end of middle school was met with no such promises of the kindling allegiance Hoseok used to assure you of. You assumed it was because his consistency in your life now went without being said. However, you learned this was a terribly incorrect assessment.

The start of high school was when everything changed. The seasons cycled through right before your eyes, and you weren’t ready for the new semester of school that Autumn brought. What you had been even more unready for was the gradual disappearance of Hoseok from your life. When he’d been drawn to certain promiscuities and stopped coming over for the weekly visits and soon forgot the comfort of fresh linen and lemon. You wanted to ask him, or rather, plead that he wouldn’t drift. The only certainty in your life was becoming more and more unseen and, in his place, an evasive fog to renounce him from your vision altogether. There was nothing for you to do but let him go, not because you wanted to, but because you had to.

Because he stopped looking at you and forced a cold divide between you two without negotiation.

Eventually, you made friends though not nearly of the same caliber as Hoseok. Most of your connections felt shallow and a bit forced and you knew there was no way in hell you would have let them into the sandbox with you if you were a kid again. Not in the way you let Hoseok; you hated living with that knowledge.

It was horribly painful the way he tore the plant of his body from your life. He’d buried the seeds and began to fertilize your world with companionship and intimacy. He grew with every step that you grew, however the bud of your friendship hadn’t the chance to blossom before he ripped out every root tangled within the inner workings of your life.

He had abandoned you in the dark night of doubt and confusion and aloneness. Half of your broken heart was somewhat glad he didn’t tell you why he had done this because it would have been devastating to find out he simply didn’t like being around you anymore. That horrific thought that the need for you to be in his life grown to a rusted nonessential was second to aloneness in being the worst thing he left you with. The other half of your heart was dedicated to wishing he would walk into your life again.

Why would he do that to you? 

And more importantly, how could he do that to you? He knew there were no two things more fitting for each other than the two of you. So how could he dispose of the one thing that meant everything to you and leave it to rot in the soil with the rest of the broken, decaying promises? 

There was a reason, and he forbade himself from telling you. He was so ashamed of his bones that he decided to cover every fond memory and every scar that turned his skeleton textured with permanent divots with endless layers of skin.

The half of your heart that longed for him eventually merged with the other half that felt nothing but complete abandonment. The sandbox was of single occupancy once again. You hated him for that.

 Present day

Hoseok’s eyes were full. Not of bloodshot vessels along the whites of the eye and not of worry that Dickson would catch them. They were full, almost outweighing the irises, with none other than melancholy and tears. Real, wet tears. He could blink away the tears and wipe them on the sleeve of his flannel, but he couldn't disengage the melancholy, the utter sadness from infecting his eyes. 

Looking up at the tiled walls of the bathroom, there waxed a bitter disgust in his chest for going so long, far too many years, looking at anything that wasn't your eyes. His labored efforts to keep away from you, not even allowing himself the option to explain the purge of you from his life, was bitter. Disgusting. It filled him with more guilty tears. 

He wasn’t crying for himself or the pressing torture he had endured for the majority of his life. He was crying for you. He was crying for the fact that he couldn’t tell you all the reasons he’d left you and tarnished the purity of your smooth skin. He was crying for hurting you, he was not oblivious to it. 

Yes, he was crying. The portrait held a valid hypothesis of the future. An older Hoseok, crying for fear of losing you. For you.

He waited a few minutes longer, giving enough time to account for any sudden stops or distractions that might have been littered in the path of the other’s transfer back to the library. Hoseok stood, checking the mirror that the tears were dried, and the melancholy was clouded with a redeeming fog, and then made his way back to the library.

No one, not you, not even the thick skinned Hoseok could be immune to the commands of timing. It was unavoidable, the misfortune that timing would always sweep over the lives of you and Hoseok. Dickson was second to timing on being an unavoidable force of annoyance and persecution. Walking down the extensive, closed hallway gave Hoseok no possible divergent path to escape the hunt that Dickson seemed to be on. 

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here? I’m disappointed to say I’m not surprised to see you breaking the one rule I enforced.” The completely irrational and dictatorial rule that he had been referring to, of course, had Hoseok’s rejection of it written all over the way he strolled through the halls. 

Any number of excuses would have cushioned the blow of Dickson’s repercussive actions about to be set in a meticulous line. He could have said he honestly needed to relieve himself or that he was feeling nauseous and needed some air and a quick lap around the halls. But he didn’t want to make excuses for himself. 

Hoseok had been parading around this Saturday as if he had enough skin to protect him against the external forces of you, Dickson, even the other three boys. He was tired, reaching the apex of a tall cliff, climbing and climbing to what seemed like an abstracted end without the comfort of a hand to hold or a shoulder to lean on during this tiresome journey. And now, he just wanted to let his body fall down the agglomeration of his own barricades.

“I was smoking weed in the bathroom.” His defeat from trying and his apathy towards Dickson’s belligerent blows left him on the bottom of the cliff. There was no use in standing, in climbing again. No use but to fall and wait for the day to end.

Dickson took this vulnerability to his advantage. He was all too quick and far too eager to sink his teeth into the thin skin on Hoseok. As he was drinking the juices of all the power he felt entitled to, his thirst grew morbid, thinking the only way to quench it was to swallow every last drop of dignity from Hoseok’s body.

“You, Hoseok. You act like you’re top dog. You do whatever you want, whenever you want, and what does that leave you with? You’re never going to be satisfied. You’re gonna end up empty and broken just like the family you never had.” This was beyond crossing the line. Dickson had stomped over it, pummeled it into mush, spit his dirty hatred in it, and perverted every aspect of Hoseok’s life that had once been latched safely behind the line. “No wonder you’re such a troublemaker. You’re desperate for any sort of attention or authority because you never had the father figure in your life to set you straight. And even if you did, even if the world gave you every privilege and shortcut to living a better life, you would still probably be empty, broken, and useless to everyone around you. What are you gonna do? You’re gonna graduate in a year and I can safely bet you have no plans. You’re going to end up a nobody. A loser. Just another unwanted orphan.” 

The Hoseok four hours ago would kiss his knuckles against Dickson’s lip before he had the chance to finish grinding him to a pulp with those words. The Hoseok at twelve o’ clock, four hours older, was tired and swept in his anguish of losing you, or perhaps letting you go, or even worse, pushing you away. The tonnage of all these put his head into a haze and he couldn’t see Dickson, not that he wanted to. He couldn't see you, your eyes, even when he fell to his knees and begged the universe for that. He couldn’t smell fresh linen and lemon, only the faint memory of them which was quickly fading. The fog was surrounding, enclosing, imprisoning him but for what crime? For being the one who never seemed to be at the right place at the right times?

“Get your ass back to the library, Jung.” Dickson let this command roll off his tongue as if he’d been dubbed a place on a shiny pedestal. As if anyone in their right minds would have honored him for degrading the most fragile parts of Hoseok and shredding the sensitive skin of the man already fallen to the base of a cliff.

Wordless, visionless, Hoseok walked in a slump past Dickson to the library. Though, this book-filled prison felt safer than outside. Because it had you, it had the memory of your laughs and your eyes. It had the people who, though annoyed, still cared to give him more respect than he deserved. 

And everyone, especially you, were increasingly worried about the amount of time it took Hoseok to get back. The others almost settled on the conclusion that he had been caught and put in some sort of solitary confinement by Dickson. Toes curling and hands fisted, you prayed that he would return. You prayed and it cleared all the hatred from you, still leaving a few stains of resentment for him. You resented him, but hated? Not in the slightest. 

It was shocking, more so than your hatred of him, how in just four hours your animosity transformed into something tame and a little bit bruised and quite dramatically opposite of hatred. In hatred, one wants nothing to do with the other. In resentment, one seeks resolve with the other. You wanted him here and you wanted his eyes to make contact for longer than thirty seconds to make some sort of amends. 

“I’m guessing what's worrying you right now isn’t your essay?” Namjoon tacked a concern in his question and through the way he had been staring at the empty seat behind you, there was no doubt he was talking about Hoseok.

“I don’t know why I care. He’s the one who decided to leave.” The low hanging grin was the best ‘I’m fine’ face you could pull. It was no use against someone like Namjoon who, within seconds, painted a part of you gone unvisited by anyone, including yourself. “He probably ditched. He can never commit to anything.”

“Ouch. Didn’t know you took detention so seriously.” You and him were well aware that these questions were void of their surface meaning. The connotations strung onto his every word had encoded his knowledge of what was really going on and he was about to get it out of you. “You and him were friends in middle school right? I think I remember. You guys would always eat lunch together.”

You were about to correct him and tell him you’d actually been friends since the first grade, but you decided against it. What were you trying to prove by saying that, anyway?

“Yeah, well, that was a long time ago.” 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to pry.”

“No, it's nothing you have to be sorry about. It’s probably nothing he has to be sorry about either. It's just me setting my expectations too high and disappointing myself.” You paused to stilt the quiver in your voice about to crack through your words. No one had ever asked about what happened with you and Hoseok. No one had ever cared enough to even wonder. This was a first for you.

“I don’t see it that way. I think he’s lonelier than he lets on.” Namjoon wasn’t sure of what he was trying to prove, but he certainly harnessed more emotional intelligence than you had assumed. 

You suddenly felt guilty for doing the lazy thing of resigning him to a label, a slightly dehumanizing one at that, without even having one full conversation with him. 

“Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I don't know. I’m not sure why I said that, but I just felt like I needed to say sorry. You’re a good guy, Namjoon.” The grin bubbling from your lips was not a front this time. You were genuinely, profoundly touched by the way he’d shown you compassion about the Hoseok situation like no other did. 

“Thanks, I guess.” He chuckled at the randomness of it, but knew you meant well and that you fully knew why you were apologetic. Feeling seen past the stigma pinned on his back, he knew you only meant well.

Right when you were about to give up and mark this as another self-designed hope that failed to be upheld, timing came to your aid. 

For once, it did and it brought Hoseok with it.

“I just got chewed out by Dickhead.” 

Despite the sting, the way he rubbed against the raw wound left by Dickson, it felt better than admitting it hurt him so. To make light of his deepest cuts and sprinkle a bit of his own salt in the wound, well, that was what Hoseok specialized in.

Seokjin, still riding on the waves of his high, walked over to Hoseok and wrapped him in a hug as if he had been gone for days. Hoseok stood still, he didn’t return the hug, nor did he shove Seokjin off of him. It wasn’t because he fancied a hug from this strange boy, but more so he felt too awkward to move or even react.

“Dude, we thought you died. We thought he killed you.” Eventually, Hoseok gathered the resolve to lightly nudge Seokjin from his personal space. 

“Well, I’m alive so you can stop hugging me.”

“Hoseok, what happened? Did he get you in trouble?” You sounded far more concerned than the rest. You really wanted to know if he was okay, but you found that it filtered through your throat with an overly mild expression of that. Still, he caught this, along with every other subtlety in your voice, and wanted more than anything to tell you the truth.

No, he thought, He did something far worse. I would have rather taken a lifetime of detentions than to have been forced to witness the sickeningly honest criticisms Dickson threw into my already melancholy, tearful eyes. How he left that interaction unscathed and I was drenched in the pain of facing my truth.

But the words didn't come out. He didn’t feel like anyone would care about what he said anyway, and he didn’t feel like dragging you into more of his issues.

“He just got all worked up about his no leaving the room policy. The usual ‘how dare you go against me’ sort of speech. I honestly didn’t really pay attention.” His eyes trailed to the floor.

“What a dick. Sorry, man.” Jimin said while yawning, unrecovered from the Indica induced drowsiness.

“Yeah sorry, but I’m sure you got in a few good comebacks, right?” Namjoon asked.

“Yeah, for sure.” Hoseok would have otherwise been boasting about the way he fired back against Dickson. You were expecting that, and when it failed to come you knew something was wrong.

Namjoon had been drawing a new picture while he asked this. Absent-mindedly enough to not notice Hoseok’s shaken behavior. The sketch was of the five of you, sitting in a circle. It was laid back, with a touch of delight that shed the new bond forming between you all into a visible light. No one in that room would have guessed this Saturday to turn out the way it did, however none of you really cared for the alternative outcomes. You were all just glad you were living through this one. 

The one that was encapsulated by the painting, the erasure of circumstantial union by a wave of perfectly crafted comradery. This wasn’t some deep insight of Namjoon’s, not like the ones in the individual portraits he drew. This was not of blind guesses or improbable hopes. This was clear to him, to you, to everyone. 

There were no such distractions to clamor your notice of his timid mannerisms. The way he walked a bit too quietly to his desk as if someone had stripped him down to nudeness for all eyes to witness. And just like before, when he first walked into the library, he found his seat without a single glance in your direction. Though, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel frustrated with him. Not when his worries were more real and devastating than his portrait. 

This time it was different on two accounts. One, your ambition for him to look to you was not so you could relish in the guilt tripping stare he would be met with. The reasons you wanted him to look to you now was because you wanted him to know he was seen and was anything but alone. Whatever Dickson said or did was not a burden he had to shoulder on his own. And two, he didn’t sit behind you, didn’t try to avoid the unavoidable. He sat right next to you, in the scant space of your table, and there was enough room for him; even in the smallest spaces, there would always be enough room for him anywhere you were.

The scenery of him was bringing it all back. The sandbox, the mountains of sand, the young savior with the heart of gold. The love of having him by your side and the pain of his gutting absence. The roots of him were sliding back between your veins, once again seeking habitat for the bloom of friendship, or something more. 

Look at me, you wanted to say. I’m finally able to see you again. Can you see me? We’re all here, Hoseok. Jimin, Namjoon, Seokjin, and me. We’re all here, waiting for your eyes. Waiting to see the bones beneath your skin.

“Hobi, are you okay?” This time you made sure your whisper only touched Hoseok’s ears.

“I don’t know. I don't know anymore.” He couldn’t see you and he had no idea you had been waiting for him, in the fog, all this time. 

 One week ago

The text read that the study group you had been invited to join, courtesy of your friend Lisa, had a study session on the second-floor study room. It wasn’t to hang out, just to study, and you wished it would be more than that. At least a part of you did. The other part of you, the one still hung up on something that happened long ago and the same part of you that liked to play in the sandbox alone, didn’t care that most of your friendly interactions had been surface level. 

One day, you’d meet with a few friends for coffee, or another you’d meet up with a group to study, and the more you hung out with people, the less personal friendship began to feel.

Friendship without Hoseok began to feel like a business exchange, or a mechanical interaction that had become overproduced and of less quality. Like pulling the same lever repeatedly, until it became a boring chore. Not to say you didn’t appreciate it. Though shallow, trite, and forced, it was more than Hoseok ever gave you these days.

But the text made you feel lonely, like an add on or an afterthought. Simply someone to fill an extra seat at the table. You wanted to feel like you weren’t just going through life without connecting, but connections were placed at such a high standard, thanks to Hoseok, that they were hard to come by.

Your teacher passed you through the halls, you tried to avoid eye contact but that made it even more obvious you didn’t want to talk to her. You both exchanged a cordial greeting and flung a few thoughtless comments about the weather into the mix to prevent any awkwardness. It was raining, you said. The rain looked like it was going to clear up, but still looks foggy out there, your teacher responded. She walked to her office and you returned to reality. 

Your reality. Alone.

You stared at the bulletin board and the dozens of neon colored flyers for new clubs and campus organizations. Band? You were hardly the musician. Physics? Barely passing Chemistry answered that quickly enough. Chess? You’d rather be lonely. Maybe it was pathetic, but you wondered why there wasn’t a club for finding people. No underlying activity, no common hobby shared amongst the group, just a club to help a few lonely souls feel a little less lonely. For people who had a hard time meeting friends and an even harder time keeping them. Where was that club?

You walked past the school’s cafe, not needing the caffeine to wind yourself up over the impeding awareness of how alone you felt today. Monday. The day of reckoning it seemed. When you felt alone, as you did today, your thoughts could only gather memories of Hoseok to cheer you up. To remember that once you weren’t so alone, it definitely felt better than remembering you were alone.

You and Hoseok had been diametrically opposed ever since the gradual end of your friendship. He’d become somewhat of a rebel and you stayed humbled and quiet. The once parallel lines of your souls running along the span of seven years together had diverged, his line east and yours, west, by the time you hit the eighth year. 

Today, all alone, you decided to start walking east. Not that you were looking for Hoseok necessarily, you were simply hoping to find something, or someone. It was that decision, along with the various others, that had you walking east and trying to get home before the rain fell again. You could have been surrounded by a group of classmates by now, who were half discussing the contents of the next Statistics exam and half meandering about what they were going to do this weekend, but that wouldn’t change the fact that you felt alone. 

Just like the one who played in the sandbox, you’d rather be alone while feeling alone. Though solitary walks in the rain meant you weren’t of any access to distractions. You began to wonder, which was never a good thing in your case, why you felt alone? There must be something wrong with you. Everyone else seemed to get along with the idea of friendship no matter the depth of them. You had concluded maybe ‘sociable’ wasn’t programmed in your DNA because sometimes you found yourself absolutely hating the idea. But that couldn’t be true because there was a part of your life that you spent loving the idea. Not just the idea, but the real deal as well. What could it be then? What was the reason you walked alone this Monday afternoon?

There he was. The moment you saw him you knew he was the reason.

“Hoseok.” You hadn’t felt those syllables in that order fall from your lips for quite some time, only hearing it in your head made him seem nearly unreal. But he was real, so was his name.

He had a cigarette stuck between his lips, then soon his fingers, leaning on the seat of his jet-black motorcycle. You were walking closer to him, slowly, like the way one would approach a wild animal so not to scare them off. Your steps drew you back to first grade again, and proximity wise, you were just as close to him as you were in the sand box. However, your hearts hadn’t even been in the same country.

“Do you need something?” The worst part about what he said was the fact that he didn’t mention your name. As if your name hadn’t crossed his mind in four years unlike how his was practically branded between the wrinkles of your brain. As if, to him, losing you was nothing more than a check off of some to-do list, a chore, a burden he was just trying to get over with. So, it was absolutely pathetic what you thought immediately in response to what he asked.

I need you.

“You smoke?”

“No, I just like holding cigarettes in my mouth.” Your eyes rolled to this, feeling a shockwave disassembling the Hoseok you remembered in your head. He was entirely new, not the boy who liked to go to the beach and played with sand, and you had a hard time recognizing him with this new skin he wore and the fog that, as your teacher guessed, was thickly lurking through the air. 

“How are you?” You thought this was a dumb question because you knew he would answer with some short winded, meaningless ‘good’ or ‘fine’ or maybe he wouldn’t even say anything at all, leading to a fateful dead-end to this dragged out conversation. It was enough to make you equally eager and exhausted. If you could call what you felt for him with words, it would be hate. Probably.

His face looked paler than it had before, and his hands looked like it would feel like ice if you touched them. You used to touch them all the time, and they were warm and looked just as warm as they felt. If you touched them now, would they be as cold as his voice? Would he even let you?

“I’d say I’m quite annoyed that someone decided to interrupt my peace and quiet.” He flicked the butt of the cigarette to shave a few ashes off the end of the stick. You just shook your head at how he didn’t hide the way he dodged your questions with insincerity.

“Sorry, jeez... How the tables have turned.” 

“What?”

“Oh just that,” You paused to wonder if him asking what you meant was some subtle indication he wanted to continue talking to you but you settled your bets on that being wishful thinking. Besides, you hated him so why should you care? “Way back when, I remember the roles were reversed. You were the one interrupting my peace and quiet.”

“I distinctly remember saving your life.” To you, no matter how desperate it was, any sort of mild banter with him was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, treasured with the memories stored in your chest. This was certainly the case being that in almost four years, the little he said to you now was the most he’d probably ever say to you in the rest of your lifetime. You took what you could get, after all, beggars can’t be choosers.

“Okay, calm down, you saved me from getting sand in my hair and down my pants.” You laughed and took a subconscious step closer to him. Carefully, lightly as not to scare him away because Hoseok looked stiff and distant minded when he saw you move towards him.

The mumble was registered clearly by Hoseok from the way you watched his partial scowl transform into a barely intelligible smile. You saw it, despite how small it was, and you missed the way he looked when he smiled at you. You missed knowing why he smiled, since right now you had no idea what prompted him to curve his lips the slightest bit upwards. More than that, you missed being the reason he smiled. That was selfish, maybe, and far-fetched from the looks of the gaping distance he seemed to be as comfortable with as you were uncomfortable.

“Li-”

“You-”

“Oh, you go.” His and your eyes were both fixed on the cigarette twirling between his fingers. And though you haven’t talked to him in a while, you knew that the tapping and twirling of his fingers was one of his habits to soothe his nervousness. 

Was he nervous? 

You wanted to carve the part of your brain dedicated to overthinking, specifically when it came to Hoseok, out of your skull. You hated the fact that you overanalyzed his every movement down to the twitch of his ears more than the fact that you cared enough to do so in the first place, and you hated that more than the man himself.

“You shouldn’t put that stuff in your body.” From the way his eyes didn’t move from the cigarette, it felt like you could have said nothing at all. He brushed it aside as if he was never intending on listening to you in the first place.

No, you thought, not Hobi. He would care, I think. He has to care enough about himself to keep his body healthy. And for some reason, above all the other overthought thoughts, that one seemed to scare you the most. If he didn’t care about you anymore, and he didn’t care about himself, then did he care about anything at all?

“Mm.” His gruff response fit unfortunately well with his hand, the one with the cigarette, that was moving towards his mouth again as if it were some act of defiance against you. 

Your hand moved to curl around his wrist, which began a new set of overthought thoughts about how rough his skin felt against your hand. Soon, you found your thumb grazing softly along the underside of his forearm. It was you double checking to make sure this was the same skin as the Hoseok you knew before, an accidental gesture born out of instinct rather than methodic planning, something that, if he asked, you wouldn’t be able to explain. For the time being, you did everything you could to investigate where his new nihilistic attitude had bloomed from.

Before the ten second mark of this abnormal, slightly familiar contact, you channeled every neuron in your body to signal your hand to let go of him. He seemed blind sighted enough for you to snag the cigarette out of his hands and into your own.

“Do you want a hole in your neck?” 

“What are you doing?” He didn’t sound as angry as you expected him to be. Moreover, he looked worried which under sighted your awareness of the deft approach to reach for his cigarette back.

“Like I said, the tables have turned. Now, it’s me who’s saving your life.” 

Before you could throw it on the ground and flatten out the flame with your shoe, you braced for the unforced mistake of looking into his eyes and seeing nothing. All that was sitting in the socket of his eyes was a lusterless fog. You wanted to see his eyes more than you wanted him to care, which was an odd transition being that his care had been the top priority ever since freshman year. Your hands were gloved by warm cotton, but you would have taken them off to hold his hand and make them warm with yours.

“Hey!” You thought that was just in your head. Maybe the voice of reason to advise you from holding his hand because that would be extremely weird to do to an estranged friend. But it wasn’t a voice of reason that stopped you, it was quite possibly the worst person to stumble upon this encounter. “No smoking on campus!”

You turned around and saw Dickson’s manic expression then immediately turned to the cigarette that was in your hand. 

Shit.

“I can explain! It wasn’t-”

“Can it, ___! No excuses.” Dickson’s eyes trailed to the pack of cigarettes that the one in your hand was sourced from. He didn’t say anything, just shook his head and reached into the pocket of his blazer to pull out that notorious pink pad of detention slips. With nothing more than a smug grin flashed like bright headlights against you and Hoseok, one that you would grow to hate more than anything, Dickson turned and strut away with long strides and an elevated self-esteem.

“Looks like I’ll be seeing you this Saturday, princess.” He smirked. To you, it was a mockery and some sort of reprisal for taking his hand and his cigarette soon after. 

“Fuck you.” You turned away to walk a petty five or so yards away from him before some gravitational force pulled your head to turn back to him. To see if he was watching, perhaps waiting for you to walk back over to him but sure enough he’d kicked his leg over the seat of his motorcycle and started the engine long before you walked halfway towards where you were left to do nothing but watch him leave. He became smaller and smaller, hazier and hazier, and then unforeseeable in the fog.

You watched him leave, and you were almost sure you hated him.

 One week ago

[Hoseok’s POV]

It was enraging and inconvenient for the weather to fog up right as school let out. Hoseok had more trouble driving his motorcycle when there was too much clutter in the air that disoriented the view of the road. He rarely stayed on campus for longer than he needed to, but it looked like he needed to. On the brighter side of things, Hoseok didn’t have to return to his foster house that smelled of old, wet, rotting rags and sounded of strained but persistent screams of his foster parents. 

Even sitting in the fog, sucking in the burn of nicotine, was better than going back there. Days similar to these, days intruding his week more often than not, he found himself stuck between a place he wanted nothing to do with and a place he could envision through a pixelated glare that brought him warmth, quiet tranquility, fresh linen, and lemon. The arms that would meet his body and wrap him snug against another body, then the excited face of yours that met with his equally excited face. 

It was a shame he could only live out these delights through an array of distant artifacts far too old to expel the loneliness from his heart.

Monday was whirling him through a pool of memories he’d rather keep covered up; it was winter and there was no need to swim in such a pool unless he deemed the risk of freezing to death a tenable substitution for smoking cigarettes in the fog. But it was not a matter of whether he would willingly dive into the pool, rather it was whether or not he could keep himself from falling in or even being pushed in.

Hoseok hadn’t seen your face in nearly four years. Of course, he saw you around the campus, strolling the halls or sitting in the cafeteria. He hadn’t seen your face, however, the way he used to look at it before high school. When he was a child free to flagrantly admire what his heart fancied as beautiful, there was no remorse or guilt from the way his eyes brazenly printed the details of your face into his memory. The creases at the sides of your mouth, the ends of your eyes that were pushed closed by the force of your cheek, and the number of teeth visible when you would smile had been graphed out like a mathematical equation; he was of the few that could solve it between the interval of two seconds. He knew where the inner portion of your eyebrows began and how far down the tip of your nose rested on your face along with the lining of your hair scaling the top of your forehead better than he knew any geographical map studied in school.

Most importantly, he studied your eyes more meticulously than he had his own eyes. Not your arms, or hands, or even the support of your legs could carry as much as your eyes. Hoseok liked to look at them when you smiled because they held the softness of a blanket after a tiring day burdened by a snowstorm. He could see it so clearly, a vast cloth in your eyes made specifically to wrap around a body in need of warmth.

But when you were angry, they held the wildest fires that would burn down anything in their line of vision. No matter how difficult it was to look at your eyes when they were sad, he was familiar with the molting roses that made your tears look like wilting petals; it was unsurprising that even in sadness, you shed beauty from your eyes. 

To him, you were the most beautiful being he’d ever gotten the chance to see.

He loved seeing your face, even if the only way he could do so now was through the partially disfigured memories of his younger self. He was sad to say he had no current frame of reference to jar in his mental gallery of you. There was no way he could look at you on the will of his own because he was afraid to unsheathe the distance and repression set to protect you from him

There was no way, because he would have probably fallen in love with you all over again.

He was about to leave, but a gust of wind blew him towards the decision to smoke one more cigarette before surrendering to the house that smelled and felt quite the opposite of one place he truly considered his home. 

And then he saw you. Walking slowly, and you looked so frightened of him. In all fairness, there was no reason for you to look at him with anything other than repugnance and unease because he turned quite jagged over the years.

You, however, were a relic of the past. Like a highly revered piece of art in a museum of grandeur, with the flawlessly manicured, picturesque beauty that couldn’t be bothered with the touch of Hoseok’s calloused hands. He could only stare from behind the velvet roped boundary that kept his body from melting into the art of you.

“Hoseok.” Your voice doubled down on the apprehension that tensed your walk up to him. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, feeling it inappropriate to have such a foul thing in his mouth if he were to greet you. 

You looked so beautiful. So different from the thinly spread memories of your face; your cheeks had grown into maturation but still maintained a soft innocence. When he looked in your eyes, he did not see roses or raging fires or warming blankets, in fact, he could barely recognize them let alone see what they were holding. It hurt more than the smoke battering his lungs.

Get your shit together. Get away from ___. He reminded himself in an incriminating manner.

“Do you need something?” How he had the ability to keep his mind wrapped around you but spewed words forcing you away was beyond any comprehension. Nonetheless, he did it, simultaneously scolding and applauding himself for not reverting to the version of him that would have greeted you with a soft hug or loving smile.

“You smoke?” The disappointment packed into your voice put him at an odd with himself. 

Finding the frustration plowing through his chest, he processed these self-aggressions through a misdirection onto an unsuspecting victim. One he never thought deserving to be the target of his projected anger, but then again, it was the only way to hinder your warm hands from digging beneath his skin.

“No, I just like holding cigarettes in my mouth.” He exhaled relief, along with the rest of the smoke inhabiting his lungs, that you had rolled your eyes. His charade was fooling you into annoyance, keeping you just out of his reach where you belonged. 

“How are you?” Or maybe this act of his was not working as well as he thought, since you padded these questions down like you had nothing better to do. Hoseok began to feel worried, the brimming loneliness was about to unleash through the conversation you were, for some reason, trying to initiate.

If you were to go away, it would break me again. But, at least, it would keep my skin intact.

“I’d say I’m quite annoyed that someone decided to interrupt my peace and quiet.” He freed his cigarette from the ashes bunching at the end, hoping you would mimic this riddance. Maybe you would see he had burnt your body to an ash, and sooner or later the entire cigarette would fall away to black dust. If you saw that, would you finally have the sense to leave him?

He couldn’t stand looking at your eyes. To behold such beauty, suspended from any chance to have your body against his was nothing less that torture to him because he was so very cold, and you looked like you harbored enough warmth in your fingertips alone to cure him of it.

“Sorry, jeez… How the tables have turned.” 

Hoseok bit down against the side of his cheek hard enough to steal a bit of blood from his gums and to keep him from asking what your eyes were holding today, and if you would be so kind as to give him a piece of it to feed his empty, starving eyes.

So, he settled on:

“What?”

“Oh just that,” Hoseok panicked in the span of your brief pause. Could you notice he was asking for a bit of your eyes and warmth? He was fucking everything up as usual, he thought. “Way back when, I remember the roles were reversed. You were the one interrupting my peace and quiet.”

The jig had not been up yet, thankfully.

“I distinctly remember saving your life.” 

“Okay, calm down, you saved me from getting sand in my hair and down my pants.” When you stepped close to him, the film of fear once guarding your walk was scraped clean which led to more silent punishment for letting his selfish indulgences of your company get the best of him. 

His muscles couldn’t resist the smile bubbling under the thick skin on his lips. Not even skin, or fog, could hide the smiles that never seemed to run short with you. 

And it was the step, or how miserably trapped in the purgatory he felt, or how he smelled fresh linen and lemon exuding from your hair and clothes that pushed him into the pool of memories he’d been walking around, but avoiding submergence. 

It was deathly freezing. Now, he was fully submerged in the fluid-filled vat of your memories, however. It wasn’t the bone chilling frigidity of the water that had him reaching his arm out and gasping for air, but the enticing warmth of your body that stood above him, as if you were waiting for him to reach to your aid, for you to fill his depraved lungs with linen and lemon tinted oxygen.

“Li-”

“You-”

“Oh, you go.” He believed it was better that you spoke.

“You shouldn't put that stuff in your body.” 

The broken levers and switches and pulleys which made up the inner mechanisms of his body found your banal suggestions as the only surge of kindness his old machinery had felt for a while. He’d heard it before; the Health Education segments, the anti-smoking adverts, the doctor’s orations tunneling out of his ears as quickly as they entered. But your words were caught like traffic in his head, so much that it blocked all entry of a fiery retort to pass through his mouth.

“Mm.” He mumbled because you were right. He shouldn’t be smoking; he shouldn’t be doing a lot of things but some of his actions felt out of his control at this point of his life.

Unprepared could not describe the intense degree of shock Hoseok felt when your fingers wrapped around his wrist so attentively. He was reaching his arm out, waiting to be removed from the cold and isolated pool he’d fallen into (or perhaps pushed into by you), but he never expected his hand to be met. He predicted he would spend eternity reaching to no avail, left to drown in this chilling pond of memories that rendered him frozen in the world of the past. Instead, his body reunited with the dryness of the air.

Hoseok hoped you couldn't feel the embarrassingly quick speed of his pulse with your thumb that rested right against his artery.

“Do you want a hole in your neck?”

He would have responded with: Could it be any worse than freezing to death?

“What are you doing?” His expressionless visage, one labored with hiding his worry, had fallen away from his face. 

The way the cigarette looked in your hands had him nearing a faint. To him, it felt like an accessory, like a bracelet or a belt, like it belonged in his hands. But when you held it, the small stick looked like it was going to leave permanent stains of corruption along your skin. It was absolutely abhorrent in your fingers. Any second, your entire body would be lurking with his repulsive residue and he thought it would kill him before it killed you.

“Like I said, the tables have turned. Now, it's me who’s saving your life.” 

That was the tipping point for him. The surge of tender nostalgia. The last bid of persuasion he needed to grab your wrist instead and press his mouth against yours, warm and wet and gentle. And he would have done exactly that, he would have kissed you and offered his last breath to your lungs if not for the unexpected saving grace that arrived in the form of a bitter vice principal.

“Hey!” Dickson’s approach was followed with the inevitability of detention. Hoseok only knew this to be true because even when he wasn’t smoking on campus or doing something that would elicit a detention, Dickson always found a way of weaving in reason to prosecute Hoseok. “No smoking on campus!”

“I can explain! It wasn't-” 

“Can it, ___! No excuses.” Hoseok was in his own world now, counting down the seconds until the pink slip of detention would be presented in front of him on a rusty silver platter. When Dickson walked away, he found it fitting to begin breathing once again.

“Looks like I’ll be seeing you this Saturday, princess.” The mischief in his smirk bred the annoyance back into your chest, which was his goal of course. Before he got the chance to enact his sinful deed to close the space between your lips and his, he hopped on his motorcycle and wheeled himself to a safe distance. 

Cold and lonely, but safe.

He had the rest of the week to figure out how in the hell he was going to spend an entire day with you without looking into your eyes and breaking through the already vulnerable skin. 

 12:00 - 2:00

“Are you okay?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

About two minutes after Jimin’s head took a dive, landed against the solid wood of the table, and snapped back awake, he looked a bit confused and tried to reattach himself to reality.

“Does anyone know what time it is?” 

“Twelve ten.” You and Namjoon answered in unison like you had been keeping track of every minute that passed since eight o’clock. 

“Time isn’t real.” The still high and rosy cheeked Seokjin mumbled out through a cluster of thoughts bumping around the otherwise empty space in his brain.

“I’m going to punch you.” Hoseok said, feeling sensitive to irritation after the denigration he had just undergone courtesy of a washed-out vice principal.

“Hoseok.” Your tone was a punishing command that needn’t more than the one-worded sternness to make Hoseok huff lightly in adherence. 

“It’s been,” Jimin paused to count with his fingers, “four hours already? It honestly hasn’t felt like it’s been that long.”

“Well, you know what they say.” Namjoon commented this with no further explanation as if Jimin had any actual clue to what the other boy was referring to.

“What? What do they say?” Jimin responded, expectant for the explanation.

“I know. Is it that time isn’t real?” You tried not to laugh at Seokjin’s re-utterance of his thoughts that were polished over with an intoxicated glaze, knowing your approbation to him would further aggravate Hoseok into actually punching Seokjin.

“How are you still that high, Jin?” Namjoon said through a soft chuckle.

“I don’t know it’s kind of freaking me out now. Am I gonna be high for the rest of my life?” 

“No and no. It’s that time goes by faster when you’re having fun.”

“That’s rich.” Hoseok took it upon himself to point out the irony and wicked hypocrisy of the insinuation that Jimin was having, of all things, fun with the four of you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimin had almost forgotten Hoseok seemed to get the most satisfaction out of picking at Jimin specifically. 

Jimin wasn’t the easiest target since he was the furthest from a social pariah, Seokjin and Namjoon filled that slot, but he had both a namesake of being a star football player and a pyramidal structure of friends to lose from Hoseok’s unforgiving tongue. This made it much more satisfying to Hoseok.

“I just would have never guessed you would get off your high horse for a few hours to join the rest of us lowlifes. Consider me flattered.” This wasn’t the first or last sarcastic remark to whip tirelessly against Jimin however it was enough for Jimin to feel deserving of answers.

“Where do you keep getting this idea that I think of you guys as lowlifes?” 

“Oh, you wanna know?” Hoseok said, finding the clutter of denial Jimin had congregated around himself both ignorant and audacious. Even Namjoon and Seokjin found it astounding how gullible Jimin was towards his own refusal to admit an all too terrible truth.

“Please, enlighten me.” In the simplest terms, Jimin was in over his head to take on such a challenge with the amount of overzealous egoism in his voice. It felt like an affront, the ignorance shrouding him, to the experiences of the minnows that had to walk the halls with their heads hung low in order to avoid an unsolicited and traumatizing attack from the sharks of your school.

As much as Jimin didn’t want to acknowledge it, he was a shark, and the rest of you were minnows.

“Why don’t you tell everyone why you got detention?”

Jimin stiffened to a stone-like manner. It was petrifying to even move, let alone speak on behalf of his actions that led him here. He didn’t have his posse of dim-witted friends to protect him, nor the freedom of avoidance being trapped in the library. There was, for once, nowhere for Jimin to turn to other than the four faces of those deserving of his explanation.

“Well?” Hoseok coaxed.

“Damn, was it that bad?” Seokjin was worried he placed too much hope on Jimin’s shoulders. He wanted to believe Jimin was one of the good ones, or better ones at least. That out of his friends, Jimin would be the one to do the right thing because it would have been nothing short of betrayal if he relinquished himself to the cowardice of the ‘follow the leader’ mindset plaguing Jimin’s group of friends.

Perhaps it was the razing hues of the cheap fluorescent lights in the library, but there was a strange brightness illuminating this room in particular. Out in the halls, it was darker and easier to miss the faces of passing students. So dark that when you first stepped into the library, your eyes felt a slight burn and was forced to readjust to seeing with clarity for once in quite a long time. 

In the library, there was no way to miss their faces. Maybe if you closed your eyes it would have been easier and the burn of the lights infiltrating your retinas would be boiled down to a grazing sting but now wasn’t the time for closed eyes. The rarity of brightness and clarity was too good to return to the blindness of the halls and the fogged space of the world outside. It was safe to keep them open, just for now.

“Don’t tell me it was one of your dumb football friends who put you up to something.” You said as if you already knew this to be true. 

“They’re not dumb.” “What? Are you trying to defend them? Defend yourself?” Hoseok said and it was not caked in indifference or sarcasm. It was angry and driven by some demented sort of care for Jimin to take accountability for his actions; it was as if he knew Jimin was better than that but he wouldn’t admit this even with a gun to his head.

“No! It’s not that. It’s just…” Jimin had reached his breaking point. There was nothing left to hide. Not when the library was so damn bright that it singed his vision enough to well a few tears to collect at the base of his eyes. “They’re fucking cruel. I don’t think dumb people can be as cruel as them.” 

Jimin’s eyes were spaced out to the floor as if he had seen a ghost, or many ghosts in the form of the untracked amount of students that were swept into a relentless attack by those Jimin dared to call his friends. Those who he stood by, even if it cut through every moral instinct in his body. The most shameful ghosts were the ones sitting before him, listening attentively.

And the most haunting ghost of all was none other than himself. 

“Jimin, what did you do?” Namjoon, walking on eggshells or rather shards of glass, asked this of him apprehensively knowing how overwhelmingly displeased you all would be with his answer. 

“I didn’t have a choice! I-” The tears once held at bay on the bed of Jimin’s eyes had now been pushed over and down his cheeks from the guilt crowding the space where they once rested. “You know my friend Connor right? Well, I don’t know if I can call him a friend. Not anymore at least.”

The four silent nods didn’t give him enough time to construct the strong foundation of courage he needed to build upon this. However, Jimin had exhausted the last of his courage. All there was left for him, for all of you, was to be vulnerable. To be welcoming of his pain seemed to be the only source of strength to say what was needed to be said. What, for once, he felt like he could openly admit to. 

The library was bright. He began to feel seen because of it and the noiseless juncture gave him a chance to be heard.

“I, um, I made the mistake of leaving my phone out. God, I was so fucking stupid. I can’t believe I did that.” He took one deep breath to energize himself, “I, uh, I got a text from Kim Taehyung and,” 

Jimin had been instilling frequent pauses between what he was saying. Talking, especially to those whose opinions held a measurable importance to him, was the most difficult thing he had to do. Jimin spent over ten hours in the beating sun, extrapolated his muscles of their ability to move with the intensive workouts he had to do for training, ran over seven kilometers nearly every other day, and shoved an integral piece of his heart to a place of hateful and regretful shame for his whole life. But this, the uncomplicated act of talking had twisted into an unsolvable maze with Jimin placed right at the center.

“Connor looked. He- he fucking looked through my texts.”

The mention of Kim Taehyung, the only uncloseted person in your grade, had given you all the information needed to know why Connor looking through Jimin’s texts was not just an invasion of privacy but an infestation to the immunity Jimin built against how he loved; who he loved. The boundaries had been set and had been wrongly trespassed over, and to someone like Connor, that didn’t register as a violent act of homophobia. Jimin didn’t have to explain the contents of the texts for you all to know that it was far beyond platonic.

Suddenly, everything made sense to Hoseok. Being that he was the only one who knew what happened, but not as much to know the reasons behind it had him feeling almost as guilty as Jimin.

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I didn't know all that.” Hoseok had given Jimin an opt out, a shortcut to escape from the maze Jimin was still wandering through, which was his way of apologizing and clarifying he would never cross that boundary, the boundary that Connor ravaged with a hateful heart. 

Jimin turned it down. He turned down the shortcuts. This wasn’t a journey that would be accomplished by taking the easy way out. Sometimes, one must run right into the eye of the hurricane to be freed from the shackles of self-despair.

“No. I need to tell you guys. I don’t want you guys to think that...” Jimin pushed past the final wall, realizing the very mask meant to protect him was the thing that had been turning him into someone he couldn't recognize when he looked in the mirror. “I just… I want you guys to know.”

The low social status of the others in the room wasn’t why he felt like he could be honest. It wasn’t the fact that even if you all knew, it would have been diluted to an unverifiable and petty rumor because no one took what the delinquent, the loner, the nerd, and the freak said seriously. What motivated him, or more fittingly, what inspired him to be honest was your gift of listening, not just hearing to hear, but hearing to care and understand Jimin.

“I’m gay.” And he finally found the end of the maze. “I’ve never said it out loud before. It sounds weird coming out of my mouth.” What he expected was awkward silence, a few uncomfortable or disapproving grimaces, or a complete rejection of what he revealed himself to be. These expectations weren’t met, by the grace of God or more likely the grace of those who listened with care and understanding. And Jimin cried harder.

“I don’t think it sounds weird. I’m so happy you shared that with us.” You said in place of the expected rejection, and you smiled in the place of the expected turned back. “I’m proud of you for being so brave.”

“You are?” 

“We all are.” Namjoon added to the support.

No longer did Jimin feel the need to rely on the fractured confinement of the closet, but on the open, warm support of the four others and the brightness of the library. When he gathered the reactions for the four of you, the soft expressions directed towards him, he knew he was in a safe place. Even Hoseok, without outwardly smiling, gave him more acceptance than any of Jimin’s football teammates would have given him.

“No disrespect but what does that have to do with why you got detention?” Seokjin’s bluntness corralled Jimin back on topic, even if it wasn’t the most empathetic way of going about it.

“Oh yeah. Well, Connor started saying all this shit about telling everyone if I didn’t um…” It felt like the words coming from his throat weren’t hot air from his lungs, but jagged rocks scraping the sides of his windpipe, “If I didn’t beat Taehyung up then he’d tell everyone and leak our conversations.” 

“Would people finding out about you two be so bad?” Seokjin asked naively.

“You don’t understand. There weren’t just messages.” He had been fidgeting with the end of his shirt, engulfed by the regret of how he handled things. Though, his choices had made him a parcel between deciding on the lesser of two evils and this was never a fair advantage. “There- there were pictures too. He threatened to leak them and I… well, I thought I was protecting Taehyung from him, but I was being selfish. Weak. I was protecting myself.”

“Jimin, that’s not fair. Connor put you in such a fucked up position! God, how fucking dare he?” Your face was red with anger. Hoseok had been tracing the distress lines on your forehead and between your brows with reverence because it was too heartbreaking to look at the defeated expression tolling Jimin’s. “You know Connor also sent around my friend’s nudes after he was begging for them. He’s fucking vile.”

“There has to be something we can do to get him in trouble.” Namjoon had already been willing to risk having to voluntarily interact with Dickson to rat Connor out. However, Jimin objected strongly.

“No! Then word would get out. You don’t know half the shit my teammates say about gay people. There’s no way they would let me stay on the team. And my parents don’t have a clue. I have no idea how they’d react.” Jimin brought his forearm to wipe away the tears still spilling from his eyes. “I’m scared. I already lost the one person who I really cared about in this damn school because of that asshole. I can’t lose anything else.” 

“Why would you want to be on a team with people who hate gay people? Or be on the same team as the guy who literally blackmailed you into beating up your boyfriend.” Jimin didn’t take too kindly to Seokjin’s unthoughtful assertion. 

“You wouldn’t understand. I- I’ve built my life around football! I wouldn’t have any friends and my whole future is riding on my football career. God knows my grades aren’t enough to get me accepted into college let alone get a scholarship. You don’t understand the social pressure of not being a part of something.” Now, it was Jimin who made thoughtless assertions against Seokjin. “Someone like you just wouldn't understand.”

“Someone like me?”

“Do I have to say it?”

Internally, you pleaded with him not to say it. Namjoon already knew the hurtful assumptions Jimin had placed upon the four of you this whole time.

“Well, you're the one who brought it up.” Seokjin retorted.

“Say it, Jimin. Admit you think of yourself as better than us just because you're popular and on the football team.” Hoseok spat with a determined bite to his words.

“Fine! Someone like Seokjin is an outcast. It’s true, okay? It’s not my fault he doesn’t get the pressure that I’m under.” The admittance was torrid and vain but nonetheless true to Jimin’s prerogative. 

“Are you kidding me? You don't think all of us don't understand the social pressures of feeling like we don't belong?” He was never one to argue or get upset about things. He often felt like he had no place in ever standing up from the many instances when he’d been pushed to the ground for his entire life. 

Seokjin, and Namjoon too for that matter, have been casted as a sort of boot licker trapped in between the cogs of the social hierarchies in high school. Being at the very bottom, on the receiving end of the brute force from those who are lucky enough to be a part of something, hadn't been easy. They didn’t get the leverage to misstep or speak out, and their consequences had always been enforced with an expensive debt of hiding what was really on their minds. 

“You don’t think I see and hear the way people talk about me? I’m a freak, a low life, a joke. No one wants to be friends with someone like me. And yeah, I guess I am the joke of the school! The inside joke that everyone is a part of except for me. I've never had the fear of not belonging because that was a given ever since I started high school. At least you have something to lose. I never had that and I have to pretend like I’m okay with it all! I have to pretend that everything people say about me or make fun of me doesn't affect me. In fact, I feel like I have to constantly make a fool of myself because that’s the only way anyone pays attention to me! That's pathetic! If I didn’t, if I just shut up or if I-” His voice cut off momentarily from the lump impeding on his throat, “If I were to just disappear… or… if I were to die no one would care. And I have to pretend to be okay with that. But I’m not- I- I just hate it.” 

You didn’t have to look at his eyes to know he had also been crying. And he was right, everything he said. The way most people disregard him and when they do acknowledge Seokjin, it’s only to place hate or insults to titillate their sick amusement. It brought you to tears in the most gut-wrenching way, because part of you attuned to his loneliness. His feelings of unimportance, that if you were to fall off the face of the Earth one day, your tombstone would be just as undeclared and forgotten as your once beating hearts.

“Do you know how many death threats I’ve gotten in my locker? Yeah, they’re probably empty threats just to piss me off or scare me but they still affect me. I- I start to believe maybe I should be dead. I just… I just want to be seen.”

In some way, Jimin felt decided for just like Seokjin did. Decided by external forces that he should be manly, straight, and nothing beyond what had been expected of him. Though the oppression of heteronormativity chained around his neck was vastly different that the shackles that kept Seokjin at an arm's length away from ever making a true friend, there was a communion within the unwelcomed and pervasive loneliness.

And that kind of loneliness drives someone to a deep and unyielding kind of depression. The damaging isolation from having no one to tell you they love you when you feel unloved ricocheted against your insides, and it begins to feel like a hunger but a million times worse.

You couldn’t feed it on your own. You just have to wait for someone else to want to feed it, to want to love and accept you. But no one could wield such compassion when they were too occupied with fitting in, until now.

“I don’t think you’re a freak or a joke. I’d never make fun of you, and I would notice. If you left, Jin, I would notice.” Namjoon said to give Seokjin shelter and company in feeling out of place. He felt it too and it was heavy, crushingly heavy. 

“I think we’re all just pretending to be okay. Pretending that living and existing doesn't hurt and that every day doesn't leave a scar on our body in some way. Being alive when you are pretending is lonely because it isn’t you who’s living and existing. It’s the shell of you, and the real you has to watch from a distance. That distance is so lonely. And when you try to crawl back into that shell, and maybe become whole again, you just can’t. You’re stuck because you've been hurt too many times to feel safe in your own body. I’ve felt it, now I know Jimin and Seokjin feel it. Even ___ and Hoseok, I know you guys feel it too. I wish we could stop. I wish we didn’t have to pretend. If we could stay in this library, together, we wouldn’t have to. But the end of the day will come and we’ll all have to go back to pretending, won't we?”

A speechless agreement filled the air.

“I don’t. I don’t want to feel lonely anymore.” Seokjin said.

“Me neither, I don't want to go back to pretending. I want to be able to love who I want to love.” Jimin looked to Seokjin, scared and unsure of whether or not they could face the world again. Oddly enough, comfort surfed over fear and uncertainty because they were not alone anymore. To be in a state of apprehension with those who take time to understand one another lightened the load tenfold. If one can be lonely with other lonely people, then maybe they weren’t alone after all. 

In this library, bright and giving, they certainly weren't alone.

There was nothing to say or refute. Hoseok had in fact been pretending, his skin just as fake as the leather jacket covering him. Though now, unlike when he saw his portrait, he felt the absence of his skin to be freeing. He felt uncomfortable in his skin; he wanted it off completely. Being strong, pretending to be unhurt led him to come crashing down as hard as he did when he faced you again. You and all the mistakes he’d made and Dickson’s hostile attack in the halls. Perhaps weakness is a form of healing.

Letting the guard down just enough to let the kindness of another’s heart in. 

“Do you guys… to me, you guys are my friends.” Spoken with an intentional rephrase and delivered without an expectation that the four of you returned this projection of friendship, Seokjin felt less alone than he did in the dark of the hallways that, although physically narrow, were wide enough to have him walking through alone.

“You’re my friend.” You said this quickly, to not give any chance for silence to settle doubt. You were his friend, truly, more so than the friends you made to fill the Hoseok sized void in your life. “I don’t have a lot of friends either.”

“Me neither.” Namjoon said.

“I mean, I have a lot of friends, but I think it’s all bullshit. I think you guys are the only ones close to anything real.” Jimin said through a smile.

And though Hoseok had come to realize what it felt like to be seen, to have his bones exposed to the eyes of the understanding, there was still that adjustment period. Letting go of the habitual usage of rudeness and sarcasm as a defense mechanism against the rawness of being human with other people was not an easily dropped reflex.

“Wow, well this love fest was certainly something.” 

How could he do that? How could he reduce the trauma and bravery piled between the five of you to another crass, insensitive comment? 

“Oh, god. Can’t you just quit it already? Can’t you take anything seriously?” You were well beyond the brink of holding your tongue. Beyond the point of patience that was placating your owed explanation for Hoseok’s drastic change and unannounced desertion.

“No, that part of my brain died a long time ago. Sorry to burst your bubble, princess.”

“Oh, is that what your excuse is?”

The other boys sensed there was some unsaid history between the two of you which placed them as silent audience members, serving a watchful mediation to this long-awaited performance. 

“What’s your deal? Calm down, it was just a joke.” His insensitivity came from a place that grew used to pushing you away and stonewalling the idea of emotionality, yet another defense mechanism brandished to become second nature to him. And with the attentive eyes of the other three, there was no chance of loosening the skin and veered away from showing his bones. Hoseok knew exactly what ‘your deal’ was but he didn’t have the slightest idea of how much his feigned indifference packed more dirt in your wounds.

Or at least, you hoped he didn’t. It would have made it far worse to know he was aware of the way he hurt you. 

“What’s my deal? My deal is that you don’t care about anyone! You never cared about me and you made me believe that I could trust you. You’re just an asshole, when you get down to it. You have no heart.” You spat, feeling the heat rising just as quickly as your body which collected the strength to take a stand. 

He too stood up, facing you and it overspent the little energy he had to look into your eyes as you said these harsh things, unhidden in the library’s brightness. Of course, you didn't believe anything you just said. You knew he cared, or at least he did once, and that he had a heart, no matter how emptied of love it felt in his chest. His heart was there, beating slowly as if waiting to stop completely.

You were speaking through the frustrations of trying to reach out to someone who held their guard up stronger and mightier than a brick wall and seemed to want nothing to do with you. 

He didn’t know this. Hoseok was up to his neck in regret and guilt. He was tired, and his heart was weary from doing its job of maintaining his breath. A breath he didn’t feel worthy of harboring anymore. He had been tired for a while now and just wanted to be vulnerable, like the rest of you. However, no matter how many times he thought it over or talked himself into it, the skin just seemed to regenerate faster than it shed. 

He wanted to take you in his arms, never let go, tell you where it hurt and hoped you would love him there in the same way you would when you were young, and when his heart didn’t fully understand the hefty price of being the unwanted orphan who dragged misery into the lives of everyone associated with him. He wanted the sandbox, the Andes mountains, Marley and Me, the first grade, the aromas of linen and lemon, and you all over again. But he knew, he never stopped wanting that.

“You don’t know that, ___! You don’t know anything so how dare you make claims like that about me when you don't know half the shit I’ve been through!” He was screaming, though not so much in the literal sense. The high pitch of his voice was him trying to talk over the secrets that he kept from you. It seemed like the only thing that would drown out the loneliness itching to be liberated was his hurtful words. It sent you into a rage

“Then tell me! Let me help you or be there for you! Stop running away. For once in your life stop running!”

“Why would I tell you of all people?” The true meaning behind this was unclear through his spiteful tone and sandpaper skin. The one person he wanted the best for, he wanted to protect, wasn’t the person to dump all his problems on. Not you. Not your kind eyes and soft, warm hands and skin. He couldn't drag you under the bus with him and make you solve the unsolvable. To put you through that, it would have been better to drive a dull sword right through your chest. 

You wanted to slap him or shake him. Shake the secrets out of him and place him right under the bright lights of the library. You wanted to reach into his chest and pump the slowly dying organ with your own hand so he could keep on breathing.

“I hate you, Hobi. I fucking hate you.” You said this and you said his name. The name owned by your tongue that carried too much sentiment to mean anything of hatred. Both his name and your hatred flew through the thick fog surrounding Hoseok, but only one of those two met with his skin and melted it off his bones completely. 

“I hate me too.”

He couldn’t let you, or anyone see him cry. So he ran, just like always. Hoseok walked out of the library, right into the dark halls, but it was him running again. Running far away from you just like he did over three years ago.

It seemed like he didn’t reveal nearly as much as Seokjin and Jimin had. Even Namjoon, with the few words he’d offered on his place in the grips of loneliness seemed to be loads more than Hoseok gave.

But to you, it was enough. To you, his silence and grim avoidance told you everything you needed to know about Hoseok.

Dry eyes, dignity, skin, the defensive masks once mounded over your faces were nowhere in sight of this library. Becoming emotionally undone and disarmed was nothing more than becoming honest with yourselves and others. It came just in time before those mighty walls broke down to leave you all sitting ducks to the much harsher grasps of your peers’ judgements

It felt like symbiosis. The mutual giving and receiving between those who had been pretending, but were worn out by the last few hours of detention. To give the skin that covers and protects and hides the things unwanted by most of society. The things often put to shame or denial or negligence and root loneliness deeper into one’s body. And to receive a mindful ear that cares and listens, empathetically, to the words locked away, as well as a place where these insecurities and inner torments can be put to rest through the form of words.

No longer were these secrets kept. There was no one to shun or misunderstand or commit the crime of breaking the bones of those who stand out to fit in the mold of what was considered acceptable or worthwhile. 

Four out of five coats unworn, laying in the center of your circle, safe and understood.

The question remained, if and when the fifth one would be shed?

Namjoon broke the tense silence.

“Are you going to go after him?” 

If it was your freshman year, you would have been racing out of those doors before Namjoon had to ask. The you of the past would have climbed over the Andes mountains, the you of elementary school would have swam across the vast oceans to drag him back into your life. The you of the past, the one that had only a sandbox and Hoseok, would have gotten to the door before he had and blocked any exit from this room. 

But you were not in the past, and Hoseok was already gone. Namjoon had to ask whether or not you would go after him and that meant there was a chance you had given up, for good this time. There was a chance you wouldn’t go after him.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

 Five years ago

For the better part of a year, Hoseok tumbled through life without any cadence for feelings and emotions. He was an adolescent boy, after all, and each week brought a new challenge to his plate that left little room to focus on the chaos of his life and guidance of his heartbeat. This week, he set his sights on getting you to race him on your scooters down the steepest hill in your neighborhood. 

Dusk was orange and warm, sending its hues along the streets and faces who were under it like an important message one must read with the utmost care. Hoseok liked this part of the day specifically because the end of the hour would take his tired body into your home to eat dinner with you and your mom. He saved that for later and for now, he and you were occupied with scraped knees and tired knuckles from gripping the handles of your scooters, and a hill rolling down so far it seemed like it would take a lifetime to reach the bottom of it.

“Come on! We’ve been practicing for hours! You can do it!” His scooter was edging to slip off the slope and down the hill in eagerness. Yours stationed a foot behind with your helmet strapped snug around your chin and a grip around the handles so tight, you left the divots of each finger on the rubber padding. 

“What if we die?” You looked at the back of his head soon turned to become his face as he peeled away his determined glare to a soft reassurance. Wheeling back to align the front of his scooter with the front of yours, he was left to subside to the beatings of his heart, fed by the sun placing itself on the crest of your helmet and the luminescent rays drizzling like a serene waterfall down your face and body. 

He never thought about beauty much, being that he was no older than thirteen years, but seeing you under the aging sun had put it at the forefront of his focus.

“If we die… then you’re mom’s gonna be mad. So, I won’t let that happen.” 

“Hobi!” You swung your arm that braised the bone of his shoulder not without a laugh at his rather playful response to your worries. 

“Trust me. We don’t die. And whoever gets to the bottom first wins.” Your laugh served as a catalyst that quickened the pace of his heart. Whatever it was trying to tell him in this moment, it was surely of sizable importance being that it sent waves of warmth through his cheeks and down to his legs. The challenge now hadn’t been the epic scootering down the hill but putting his heart aside long enough to last the rest of dusk.

“Wins what?” You asked with intrigue.

“I don’t know. A piggyback ride all the way home.” Tired legs and a heavy head convinced you this prize had been worth the risk of falling, akin to dying in your perspective. Your head turned to the hill, looming over the intersecting street at the base of it, notifying Hoseok that backing down was no longer an option.

“Alright. Ready, set, go!”

Opening your mouth didn’t come with the expected release of terrified screams but laughs of thrilled enjoyment. The wind was cut through by your body, now rocketing down the gradient that felt much less steep than it looked, and you commended Hoseok for convincing you to tackle this seemingly trifling challenge. 

“This is so fun!” Your yelp was lost in the rapid descent, but Hoseok, a few feet ahead of you, had been in range of your acclaim. 

It was then when the young adolescence in his brain was overtaken by the guidance of his heart. His own tired body became alive and light. When you said this, the joy in your voice made the decision for him to discreetly apply pressure to the metal brake of his scooter with his heel, to realize he couldn’t make you carry him home. 

Not because it was tiring for you, but he wanted to see the look on your face when you won. He needed that smile and the warm blanket of your eyes that would heal his aching muscles and tired body. And it was your open-mouthed smile and celebratory hops, along with the showering glints of sunlight and the end of dusk that turned his loss into an incredible win. His covert efforts to draw this joy from you came from a place none other than pure love.

“I won! Hobi, I won!” Without a second to spare, you ran and mounted his back with legs wrapped tight around his torso and your arms snug, but not quite choking, his neck. 

“Alright, fair is fair.” Though, it wasn't fair. Not in the slightest, and Hoseok made sure of that. 

The feeling of your soft, jaded breath against his neck was energizing, and every so often you would give his body a tight squeeze when he was struggling to trudge back up the hill, as if to thank him. And you were because you knew he let you win. You squeezed him in your arms, keeping firm to the memory of him and this triumph gifted to you. Though, it was not as great of a gift as Hoseok was to your life. 

“Thank you, Hobi.” Your soft whisper was followed by an even softer kiss on his cheek, damp from the sun and the hill and the piggy-back ride. Soft enough to communicate to him the gratitude in your heart, which translated and directly manifested into his lungs now fanned of all the burning once inflaming them; his face sporting quite a bashful smile too.

He was not tired, not when he was holding you because it felt more like you were holding him. Like you were always going to hold onto him.

The neatly lined houses had little to no variation. Individuality in this small, suburban town was like finding that needle in the haystack. To him, your house was that shiny little pin. Your house was a home, and he saw that through the partly uncurtained windows that gave him a view of the scene inside. Most of the time, you were already seated by the sill, waiting for him to arrive. 

You and Hoseok had arrived at the base of your driveway, staring up at the small incline that looked like it was taller than the Andes Mountains themselves to Hoseok.

“You know how I said we won't die?” You turned to his lightly blushed cheeks upon hearing this to see he was smiling. “Yeah, well, I think I’m going to die.” 

His pearly whites cemented with metal braces and strands of his unkept hair stuck in the sweat of his forehead were sightly. You began to laugh, looking at the goliath hill separating you and him from a home-cooked meal courtesy of your mom, then back at the odd, awkward boy who had yet to discover the wonders of deodorant and properly fitted clothing.

Hoseok wasn’t all too desirable in terms of the traditional realm of attractiveness. His arms were lanky, unable to place themselves naturally at his sides without looking uneven, and his posture did him no favors either. And you took in all five foot five of him, before he hit a spur of growth, and thought he was the loveliest little thirteen-year-old in your grade and in the whole world. 

“Come on, you know my mom won’t allow that. I got you, Hobi.” You weaved your hand through his, pulling with all the force your muscles could exert to haul him up the driveway. You made it to the top and your hand didn’t let go of him. Your mind was trying to deny the twists and turns of your stomach and the fast pumping of your heart any credence. 

When all else fails, you must listen to your heart.

Both you and Hoseok discovered in your very young, inexperienced lives that hills and driveways and scooters and all the other trivial barriers were no match to hearts. 

It was in first grade that he knew he was going to be your best friend. It was by eighth grade he knew he loved you. So much he’d carry you with bruised knees and broken arms to the ends of the earth. 

 2:00 - 4:00

Hoseok’s memories of you became sort of a mosaic. The little pieces of you were, singularly, a bit insignificant in the time they were being experienced. Often overlooked, and taken for granted, he couldn’t realize the beauty they captured until he stepped back. With distance, he saw the full picture, the ethereal mosaic had brought him a far and lonely appreciation for the past. 

All throughout the day, he didn’t want to look into your eyes like he did the day you convened with him in the parking lot where he was smoking. His fluency of your eyes had unraveled with time, leaving him feeling illiterate in the language of you and completely lost. When he felt lost, he wanted his heart to guide him again, but it would instruct him to return to you and replenish the deserted friendship. However, from what everyone told him, even Dickson, he wasn’t worth the effort. 

You had been staring at the door opened and closed by Hoseok, waiting to be opened and closed by you. As if there were a part of you deciding on letting him go, you tapped your hand against the table synchronically with the seconds ticking by on the clock. The door had eroded the rest of the library away, along with the three sets of eyes staring earnestly at you.

“So, are you gonna go or what? We have like two hours left and God knows whether he actually stayed on campus or not.” Seokjin sliced the wordless atmosphere with heavy hopes you would make any indication of your next move. 

“Seokjin, shut up! ___, don’t feel pressured to do anything.” This overlaid Jimin’s pounding urge to hoist you up himself and throw you into the wiles of the halls.

“What? ___ clearly wants to find him.” 

“Well, he clearly doesn’t want to be found. He’s such a child, honestly, I shouldn’t waste my time.” You knew you only said this to try and talk yourself out of the decision which had been established by your beating heart the minute Hoseok walked out. The obvious desire to follow him had been expressed through the discomfort you felt for tearing your eyes away from the door; you were guilty, above all else. 

Each tap of your hand could have been a prelude to your inevitable pursuit of the man who, in fact, did want to be found. It was effortful but insincere to attempt leveling the scale between the two options of chasing or letting go; the opportunity of Hoseok was a weightier one than the life without him, executed through repetitive, passionless motions. You were bored, repulsed by the way you had lived out each moment of your life just to wait for the next and the next until your life was over. 

“Come on, you know that’s not true.” Namjoon added, “We’ll cover for you if Dickson comes back. I really think you should go.”

“Yes, please. Go.” Seokjin placed his desires proudly once again. 

“In all honesty, I think you should go t-”

“Enough! I’ve already gone down that path. All I ever got from it was unheard voicemails and ignored texts.” You were still looking at the door, and still trying to talk yourself out of it - and still feeling guilty.

“Love is hard, I get it. But-” You didn’t let Namjoon finish his well-thought out life lesson that would have coerced you into going after him.

“What? I don’t love him.”

“Ooo, ___ and Hoseok? Fire and ice. Rain and sun. Winter and Sum-”

“Seokjin, don’t you have an essay to write?” You cut his words down as well, finding none of their entertainment in your inner psyche appropriate. They were placing themselves in your mind, but to them it wasn’t so much of a locked door than a door wide open with its secrets spilling out faster than the tick of the clock and the tap of your hand.

“Well, he clearly loves you. I don’t know him that well, but I can assure you he doesn’t get like that around just anyone.” Whatever ‘like that’ meant, you were annoyed that you knew exactly what Namjoon was implying. It didn’t stop you from perpetual, stubborn denial.

“He doesn’t love me.” 

“Oh… Are you being- Is ___…? Are- You’re stupid.” Seokjin’s words crumbled to near incoherency due to his complete astonishment for your lack of judgment. Perhaps if your belief that he didn’t love you was a genuine judgment, then his assessment would have been correct; you were being stupid.

“Well, fuck you too!”

“What he means to say,” Namjoon’s pause was to shoot Seokjin a disapproving glance, “is that it's really obvious you guys are into each other. I don’t know your history but there are definitely some unresolved feelings.”

“If you’re not gonna talk things out with him, at least tell him to come back so Dickson doesn’t get him into even more trouble.” Jimin’s addition only vegetated your inclination to find him again. 

It made sense. It was rational, reasonable, and therefore possible. You couldn’t let him get in trouble. You were just doing him that small favor. In your head, it caked over the real reason; to know he still cared or to see his eyes looking back at you, and figuring out what was the wedge that drove you and him apart. Maybe this would somehow re-cultivate the half of your heart still hanging by the thread that tethered you to him.

“I-” You stood up, walking towards the door that was about to be opened and closed, and looked back at the three boys now favoring much more satisfied and slightly smug looks on their faces, “Oh, shut up.”

Jimin held his hand, palm facing the ceiling, in front of Namjoon who greeted it with a victorious high five. Seokjin held his pencil up to signify you that he could now peacefully start his essay, to which you smiled warmly. You couldn’t thank them out loud, because you had nothing to ‘thank’, or so you thought.

You were just making sure Hoseok wouldn't get in trouble. That’s all it was. Then, you opened and closed the door and began the chase again. This time, however, the fog that once hurdled your vision was easy to sift through with the loud beats of your heart navigating you through the moors of the hallways.

You turned left, then stopped to ponder on turning back and going right instead. Hoseok didn’t make this easy and you wouldn’t have expected anything less from him. Eventually, you just let your body wander the many halls for about ten minutes before you decided on furthering your search to the roof of the main building. 

There was a new revenue of motivation that moved your legs forward. Before, they were struggling to keep up with everything life hurled at you. Now, it was far more determined and self-assured because you were moving towards a goal. You wanted to find him, and this time everything you had faced, all the loneliness, self-blame, forced smiles and friendships couldn’t keep up with you.

The stairs proved to be quite a test for your determination, and you passed with flying colors, heavy breaths, and inflamed hamstrings. You were lucky to push through the door and find him standing, staring off into the expanse of the fog. Towering over the haze had you realizing the entire school had been submerged, not just Hoseok and you and the library. Everything was under that sheet of blindness except for, as of now, you and Hoseok. The roof served as a platform to look upon the fog and stand safe from the numbing effect it debilitated on those in it. You knew he heard you. The perk of his ear as you ungracefully fell through the door to the open air told you he knew you were there. 

You stood a few feet behind him, and he offered only the view of his back facing you. There was a line to be crossed if you were to go towards him, place your hand on his shoulder, and ask him to face you. Whatever line that was, you knew it was Hoseok who set it and you wanted to know why.

“It’s cold out here.”

He said nothing, but did provide the tenuous gesture to turn his head, giving you a side profile of his face. In turn, wiring through your eyes was the stains of what could only be deduced as tears along his cheek. 

“Aren’t you cold? Let’s go back inside, Hobi.” 

Hoseok couldn’t look, doing so would only invite you to join him. It would plot his every desire along the pavement and undress how much he wanted to have and hold you. But you were no one’s, least of all his, to hold.

“Dickson could be back any minute.” Your footsteps towards him raised the clarity of your voice. You were doing a fine job at hiding the real reason you came up to get him, both from yourself and Hoseok. It pinched his weathered heart that you had just come up to warn him about Dickson. 

“Okay.” He answered curtly to bitter the atmosphere and showed no sign of leaving. 

“Well, I’m not leaving here until you get your ass down there, so, you’ll be getting me in trouble too.” You crossed the line which felt more like walking over a burned bridge, and placed yourself next to him with perfect access to see his face.

He was even more beautiful standing above the fog. 

You leaned your elbows next to his on the ledge of the building. His eyes, glistening from the tint of resisted tears, plowed over the treetops peeking through the top layers of mist. It was difficult to tell whether or not he was listening when his eyes were busy whispering secrets to everything in the far distance and the close proximities. To everything but you.

“Why?” Hoseok’s eyes were nudging towards the direction of you. He wanted so badly to look at you, to brave a glance but he was so cold out here that he had frozen over into ice. 

In this ice, he couldn’t move or even breathe for that matter. Looking at you and not being able to move towards you was an unnecessary torture of which he'd rather not look at you at all. So, he remained in his calcified state, eyes edging dangerously close to you.

“Why what?” Your eyes moved away from him, to the fog instead, trying to see the ground below. “You’re staying up here, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m staying with you.” Hoseok was shocked that you said this with such decisiveness; it was difficult to decipher whether this proposition came as easily as it was said. The lonely glades of mist were entrenched by a new plurality, like a double-edged sword ready to cut through the veil of secrets. The more you would push through Hoseok’s skin, the more it penetrated your own.

“God! Why can’t you just leave?” He removed himself from the ledge, pacing over to the space in the middle of the roof. Thinking this would suffice the desperation for distance was a gross miscalculation. You too pulled away from the ledge that overlooked the foggy plains and placed your steps consecutively with his. 

“Don’t you see I clearly don’t want you here?” That lie tasted much more sour when spoken out loud.

“I don't! Okay? I really don’t. I don't understand… I- Why did you leave? What the fuck did I do?” Your voice had matched in elevation with your frustration; you were not referring to him leaving the library, but to his cold departure from your life over three years ago. And with that, was the unending pursuit of him. 

“___, you just have better places to be. So go! Stop staying with me. Jesus fucking Christ! Look at me!” His hands angrily emphasized his sharp features that would surely draw blood if you came too close. “You shouldn't be hanging around with someone like me.”

“Is that what this has been all about?” You stood paralyzed; your body was stunned from this all too underwhelming reason. You were hoping that this wasn’t it, there was surely a much more redeeming explanation for how he ripped your heart right out of your chest. The thought that this was the reason for the cut tie had cornered you in a fiery rage. It made you furious. “Are you fucking kidding me, Hobi? That’s what this is about?”

What better place to be than right here, with you? You knew he would not be generous in giving any further explanation, so this question remained in your head.

“Yeah, actually, it is.” A shiver riddled its way under his jacket. He turned towards you, finding that revealing the truth which cemented him into a miserable, solitary life was not as climactic as he expected. Nor did he expect it to be revealed in the first place.

But it was, unceremoniously, rolled onto the roof. He had nothing to hide anymore so he looked at you. Your eyes, that he could finally see since you were above the fog, were close to tears. Years and years of denial and repression compounding against your heavy heart now alleviated, but it was not the least bit rewarding. You thought he was absolutely delusional to believe the gesture that his abandonment was rooted in the effort to protect you, when all it did was hurt you.

“No I-” You swiped your hand against your cheek, though it was useless as tears soon replaced themselves on your face, “That’s so stupid. That’s- You think I care? I don’t give a fuck about what you look like or what you do, Hobi. Don’t you understand I-”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m not good.” His voice wavered through his throat, releasing more as a cry for help than an assertion of truth. 

“How could you say that?” You did him the favor of taking the strides towards him. The initiative fell to you and your body moved through instinct to close that distance Hoseok kept trying to re-establish. His body was weak up close; when there was no space or fog and the jacket draped over his body could no longer keep his skin collected along his bones, he was weak and it was far more relieving to see him vulnerable. 

“You were the best thing to ever happen to me. You were the only little first grader that wanted to be my friend and not just that. You showed me that someone could actually want to be my friend. You gave me so many years of happiness that would have been dreadful without you. I would have hated life without you. And I do! I hate life without you, Hobi. I’m so lonely.” You were unsure how you came to finally reveal every message your heart pumped through your veins and up to your brain for all these years, but you were glad it happened.

It wasn’t Hoseok’s lack of effort that kept all the good things he’s done under the rug of unimportance. It was the mounds of contempt the world held for kids like him. The stigma of abandonment and undesirability that was clamping down on any part of him brave enough to reach out, making it difficult for any feelings to be shown without irreparable harm or discouragement.

“You don't mean that.”

“I don't mean that. That’s it? That’s all you can say?”

It was, for the moment, all he could say. The feelings of unworthiness facilitated utter shame of himself like congruent figures now inseparable from each other and had molded a cage of confinement around Hoseok. His body was trapped under the scrutiny of everyone who expected him to fail, and one day he was afraid your eyes would join. That one day, you would look upon him with nothing of warmth, love, or admiration. Nothing of the eyes populated with blankets and storms and bountiful roses. 

“You’re so fucking persistent!”

“Why are you pushing me away?”

“Because!”

“Tell me why! You know I deserve it.” The conversation metered out with a lot less organization and structure, which was the result of many untouched feelings released between the two of you. The blizzarding words were combative and destructive as well as reparative and conjoining, but most of all it was grievously uncivilized.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Three years. Three fucking years, Hoseok. I’ve wasted three years of my life blaming myself for losing you. Blaming myself for being lonely. God! I'm so mad at you! I'm so mad at myself for still loving you!”

And there it was. The last stroke of courage slipping from your mouth into the words spoken through an unfiltered and unrestrained heart. It was beating fast right now as if it had been unmoving in your chest for the past three years. Finally beating again, you felt all the blood return to your limbs in waves of pricks along the expanse of your skin.

Hoseok was not ready to be cast into the shallow, yet inescapable oasis of your testament. The remoteness of the past three years had him crawling through an emotionless desert, purged of any source of water or food or nourishments to keep his thick-skinned body functioning. The moment he was presented with a bit of the revitalizing water, Hoseok, like many starving people, dove into it too much, too fast.

He felt the atrophied muscles in his legs gain traction to glide towards you. The force was a savage agent of his tightly packed emotions which erupted the moment you said you loved him. He loved you, he knew that now, and his body wouldn’t allow him a second longer to sit desolate and starved. 

Without stopping him, his lips planted roughly and passionately against yours. You were wrapping your arms around his neck before the logical sense of what was happening had been granted permission into your conscience.

Your heart, his heart, were guiding and deepening the kiss, only tangling you tighter into your dedication for him as much as it was twisting the confusion and unanswered questions into a larger, messier knot.

His tongue slid against your lower lip, assuming an entrance to slip himself into your mouth. Your jaw hung slightly agape and gluttonous at the way his lips spilled such tender movements against yours. His hands were running along your back fervently, holding your body firmly in place, like he was trying to keep his own body from disassembling. 

Your lips were moving messily against his, though unchoreographed, they moved with a near perfect synchronicity. Refinement had seceded to your hunger to taste him. His mouth was sweet and hot, gentle and forceful, loving and angry, and the light pinch of his teeth that took your bottom lip between them had you moaning lightly into his mouth.

Then, everything once expounding into inexistence flooded back into reality. You divorced yourself from him as every empty promise claimed their demands to be fulfilled. The push against his chest was strong and it had to be in order to dissect that long awaited act of closeness. 

“What the hell?”

A long interval of silence tormented the rooftop since Hoseok could only explain himself through guilty looks directed at the concrete floor. The surface upholding him was solid, of course, so it was strange that he suddenly felt like he was sinking into the ground below. His hand ran through his hair, trying to bring himself to words. To say anything or do anything other than take you in his arms and hold onto you so that his body wouldn’t sink beneath the roof’s malleable surface.

“I’m sorry.” And that was not good enough for you. Not when he kissed you like he loved you and didn’t let you fill three years with desperate, lost hopes.

“Sorry for what? For kissing me or for giving up on our friendship? Or for breaking my heart? Or for making me feel like I did something wrong or wasn’t enough for you? Or for making me think that everything built between us was just my imagination?” The list could have lengthened into an unplanned admittance of all the pain he caused you, however, it wasn’t the time for you to speak. 

It was his turn.

“I guess I was just…” Afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore, “I guess I just didn't see it that way.”

“Stop lying.” You said and could only hope he wouldn’t revert to his evasive and insincere responses. Your hand came to rise and press against his chest. There was nothing to testify what came over you in this moment, but you wanted to feel his chest and know his heart was still beating. That, like yours, it still sent life throughout his body with its consecutive pumps. It was. 

Ever so harshly pounding away at his rib cage as if it were trying to break free.

“I never… I never had anyone care.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t wanna drag you into my shit.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about?” Your hand moved from his chest to his chin, holding it in place so he couldn’t get the chance to look anywhere but into your eyes.

“Don’t be stupid, ___. My life isn't exactly picture perfect. From the beginning, my parents didn’t even want me.” He felt like he was being held emotionally captive by the years of trauma he had endured. Of the cycle of abuse and repression that crushed his will to feel anything at all. He was trying to break free. Despite all these facets of struggle, he spoke gently to you and it made your heart bleed empathy for his pain.

“Listen, there’s always that kid that everyone knows is trouble. Everyone knows that they’ll end up in a bad place. You know what I mean... That was me. I was that kid. I didn’t wanna drag you in that shit with me. You think I wanted to push you away? I had no other choice!” To you, he did have another choice. He could have stayed with you, but of course, he had no idea. 

Hoseok looked at you so sadly, with eyes begging to be loved and a voice softened by his tender, bruised heart. He felt so isolated. The imminence of his downfall became prevalent ever since he began to pay attention to the judgmental whispers of teachers and parents on open house nights when he showed up parentless, or when he was the last one at extended day care when everyone else’s parents came to pick them up from school. Paying attention to detail was the wrench thrown into his life, unhinging the naivety, and drilling in its place the knowledge that society had ostracized him for being an orphan.

Maybe it was because you loved him so much, and it was blinding. You didn’t see much of the world outside of the lens of Hoseok, but you didn’t feel the need to see such a place. Your figment of him was always in a good light; you couldn’t fathom shedding darkness or disappointment or repulsion anywhere near him. So, when he said this, you were completely oblivious of that dehumanizing label many teachers, parents, and fellow students grouped him under.

“I don’t understand.” 

“Of course you don’t.” He jerked his head away with a scoff. Though to no avail, your hand still mounted onto his chin.

“No I mean,” Your head turned down, attempting to process this information into coherency, “I don’t understand how anyone could see you like that.”

“See, this is exactly why I can’t be around you. I’d ruin you! You see the best in me and that's the worst thing you could do.”

‘Ruin you’? You still didn’t know what that meant.

“Were people really that bothered that you were an orphan?”

He said nothing. He simply looked at you as if you had pointed out an observation so universally accepted that it went unneeded to be discussed. Like it was a given to cast someone like him off, or to repeat his worthlessness until it was purged from a tongue bored of belittlement and moved onto the next victim of verbal assault. He was simply one of the dominoes falling into place. Falling on top of each forgotten and neglected child.

“You wanna know what Dickson said to me?” He paused, not to wait for your permission but to prepare himself to recount the hurtful things still pronging against his open wounds, “He told me I’m unwanted. He told me that I was going to end up some loser not even worth considering a part of society. Basically, I’m damaged goods, ___, and you shouldn’t be hanging around me. You actually have a chance to make something out of yourself. Don’t waste that chance on me. I can’t let you do that.”

“You know that's not true.” Your hand moved to his cheek since he slipped too easily away from your grip of his chin. You held him in place, you held him with you.

“Why shouldn’t I believe it? ___, think about it. I am pathetic. My own parents didn’t even want me. And my foster parents told me I was just a financial asset. That my only worth was their monthly foster parent check.” 

It was crushingly difficult to hear such punishing words coming from Hoseok. That he not only had to endure the unfeigned demoralization of those who saw his worth to be instrumental but that he had come to believe them. He came to resent himself for a choice that was not his to be made but still suffered every waking day for it.

“And I guess I thought you were going to leave me behind like everyone else seemed to do. Like everyone eventually just wants to get rid of me.” 

“What?” The core pillar of your relationship with Hoseok relied on his permanence in your life, so hearing him fear what didn’t once cross your mind took you back as well as your hand. “Hobi, how could you think that?”

He shrugged distantly.

“Don’t. Don't you dare.” Almost out of nowhere, your soft cries were emulsified by the dryness of the air and turned into a heavy sob. But, it was not out of nowhere. It was from somewhere deeply upset that you let him think so lowly of himself all these years. That maybe, you hadn’t fulfilled your job as his best friend. “First of all, don’t you dare say that about yourself and second of all Dickson is a piece of shit.”

“___, please don’t cry.” He was urgent in his request. 

Not over me. Don’t waste your wilting petals of tears over my corpse.

“You thought I would leave you? You weren’t protecting me from whatever inferiority complex you’ve carried around your whole life. You were protecting yourself.” 

“It’s not like that.” He stepped towards you, trying to ignore the wince worthy pain when you dodged him as if he were a bullet. “___, I love you.”

You were astounded by the signals so contrasting of each other that they led you to a plight of hysterics. You had to let out a flustered chuckle at the way he told you he would be heading left then turned right when you were already walking on the opposite path.

“I love you.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I love you.”

“You have a fucking horrible way of showing it.” Your arms folded over your chest and he realized it was his turn to keep your gaze locked with his. To chase you and to be put in the position that he forced you into three years ago. “I can’t understand you.”

“I was weak. If your hands were covered in blood would you walk up to something good and clean and force your stains on it? Would you leave disgusting prints of yourself on something so pure just because you were the only person in my life that didn’t see me as just an orphan?” Hoseok drowned himself in his words, but obtained and kept a soft hold on your cheeks with his hands.

 He was unable to register how distorted his perception of himself was in your eyes, feeling as though everything he said drowned his lungs with waters that almost choked him from speaking at all. 

There was a borderless delusion which fraught the comparison Hoseok just explained. It fell close to thoughtless and hollow, the way he reduced you to some virginal, helpless and unattainable prize on a pedestal; he subjected you to some paradigm of pristine stature that wouldn’t have the good nature to be anything less than empathetic for him. Though, you were not the image of purity or unmarred of pain and suffering; he was the reason for that.

“I'm not some little innocent kid. I know bad shit happens, but I’d never let that change the way I see you.” Filling the vacancy of your heart wasn't all too touching. You were distraught, distrustful, of everything in this world that led Hoseok to such a destructive mindset. To ruin the sweetest boy and subject him to undeserved misery. “You’re not just an orphan. You will not let that define you, you hear me? You are you. You are Jung Hoseok. To me, you will always be Hobi.”

The most frustrating part of this was tied between the fact that no real blame could be placed on one contender and the difficulty of understanding someone’s story when it went untold for far too long. Perhaps you had been pretending his pain didn’t exist because it was easier to see him as a stone-like, uncaring heathen. It was easier to cover your deep grief for losing him with hatred, but it did nothing to solve the division between you two; at the end of the day, you were still lonely and you still needed him. Wasting three years away to bitter resentment was nothing compared to knowing the truth of it all but having no power in redirecting yourself to compassion rather than anger.

“I should have been honest. I was scared.” He said. “I just thought I could never be enough for you.”

The fog was fully cleared. Your eyes panned from the edge of the roof to Hoseok’s needful gaze and down his addicting lips. All this time, he was just as alone and just as afraid, existing no less than a car ride away from you and still light years from ever being able to garnish his defeat with an admittance that he needed someone.

What more was there to say? Hoseok could have droned on about the way his foster parents stripped him of innocence and tossed him into the frigid hands of self-reliance or how he felt himself sinking into failure when the world of no mercy pulled him by the ankle and dragged his thrashing body through life without the guidance of someone who knew what was best for him. He could have explained how every unmet expectation put him against the world, in constant competition with not just everyone else but himself. Fighting against his need to be cradled and cared for with his resistance to tenderness enacted to thicken the skin on his body so the weaponry of an orphaned life, unearned glares of contempt and disapproval, and predisposed low regards wouldn’t dig as deeply. 

He could have relayed all his nights lost to wondering why he wasn’t worth keeping. Why a child without the slightest clue how to dress, or bathe, or speak, or trust was turned away by the very people who brought him into this world and had to figure out all these lessons on his own.

It was the depletion of his own self-worth that drove him to loosen his grips, and how that was not of apathy but instead caring too much to let himself get in the way of your opportunely life. Letting you go was a loss that came with a painful imminence.

He said none of this because you looked at his eyes and he looked at yours. Through the clean air, the ripe and unhazed space among reuniting stares, he saw what your eyes carried. It was an ocean. A place of immeasurable depth and complexity, never still and constantly giving the sand something to shelter and love. A wide body of life and water that replenished the seared collection of bones under the parched skin of Hoseok’s flesh.

In loving you, in gazing into you, he let the water diffuse his skin until he was skinless, fully bone.

“I never stopped.” You redacted the fact that you were referring to loving him, because the unsaid implications were communicated much more beautifully and accurately than what the entire collection of the English language could attribute.

“Me neither.” Hoseok paused, dropping his hands from your face to his sides knowing with full confidence you and your gaze would remain with him, “I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?”

“I hate living. It's terrible. Everything about my life is terrible and I hate it.” His face turned wet quickly. Seeing this brought a natural desire to hold him again and to cast off his despair with your loving touch.

“Am I terrible?” You asked, hoping your words would serve as that gentle caress.

“No, how- Why would you say that?”

“Because I’m a part of your life. You might have gotten rid of me once, but I’m here to stay. Am I so terrible?”

“No. You’re wonderful.”

“Can you look at me and tell me I’m wrong when I say I need you in my life just as much as you need me?” The stagnant exchange of undeterred eyes was a comforting overture. A beginning that was not quite new, but a dormant adventure ready to be reborn into fruition.

“No.”

“So, I’m going to tell you. Hoseok, I need you in my life because I love you. Because no matter what people may say, you’ve brought nothing but love and happiness into my life.” The words, like a needle and thread woven into him, stitched the fabric of his heart back to fullness.  “Do you understand? I believe in you. I will be there for you. That’s what friends are for.”

“You’re my friend.” It constituted both a question and an irrefutable statement.

“Yours.”

“Mine.” He smiled softly, a gentle disparity against his tears.

“Life won’t be so terrible. I promise. If we have each other. If we have people who care, life is not so terrible. You have me, Hobi, you have someone who cares.”

There was no profound revelation with what you said. Nothing that was original or unordinary; it was quite common to be told you were cared about. One could refine your words to about three, maybe four, with the same tact. But that is exactly what made it original and unordinary to Hoseok. Countless people said the words ‘I care about you’, trillions of times and in hundreds of different ways and languages. It was said over and over again but Hoseok was never familiar with the comfort of being on the receiving end. To be cared about, and to be told he was cared about was quite revolutionary, and a completely profound rarity to him. And to him, these words were invented by your caring tongue; the first utterance that transformed the radical concept of care into something plausible. 

Sometimes, that’s all one needs. To be told they are cared for. Sometimes it’s enough to clean the bone of its wretched, heavy skin.

“What’s going to happen now?” You and he had migrated to look out to the fog ejecting itself among the trees and stretching all the way to the horizon. The trees were sitting so close together yet far enough for fog to slide between them. You wondered if the trees knew that they weren’t alone. 

“At this point, it's up to you.”

Once again, it wasn’t said. The beautiful things were expressed through silence because it somehow fertilized the sincerity with greater effect. Verbalizing them would have tainted what was kept clean and loving inside the warmth and safety of your hearts. You never knew to have such a connection with someone where the most important things that should be said aloud were somehow louder when they weren’t. Somehow, with the gentle brush of his arms against your sides as he was embracing you from behind, it was louder than words.

There was a stillness encompassing every piece of this moment. A stillness of the air, of time, of the two bodies placed above the fog. You and Hoseok were arrested from reality, lounging in the freedom of each other’s presence. The bright orange sun permeated through the grey clouds, reflecting specks of light along the faces of you and him. Seeing your skin once again carrying soft ornaments of the sun’s rays returned him to the only place he felt like he belonged: your heart. Being taken away from the chaos of life, Hoseok felt that this Saturday fell within the bounds of eternity.

“Are we going to be okay?”

“Together, we will be. We have each other.”

You took his hand in yours, fingers sliding together. His attention was stolen by you, or maybe it had belonged to you this whole time and was simply being returned to its rightful owner, still soaking in the sweet rays of the sun. He had no facetious, obtuse comment to tack along the tenderness of the roof. For once, he was vulnerable. It felt euphoric, like his heart truly began to pump life blood into his body.

“Okay.” He readied himself for the new world he was about to embark on, though this time, it was hand in hand with you.

“Ready?” You took a few steps back, towards the stairwell, your arm pulling Hoseok along, “I got you, Hobi.”

He nodded, no longer afraid of the dark halls. His narrative was not a singular venture. There was a partnership, a force of love perhaps, that pushed him to step forward. 

Hoseok once feared no one would get to his bones; to see the skeleton of himself underneath the epidermal armor. After many years and many layers of skin, no one had attempted much less succeeded in exposing his bones that yearned to be seen by the eyes of someone brave enough to face this quagmire.

And by chance, by timing's watchful eye, you had done just that. Lovingly exfoliated each layer of skin, washing away the scars and bruises of everything they had endured, and held his bones bare in your hands. Standing in the glimmering ocean waves of your eyes, feeling his bones, purified of all grief, against the air and conflated four years’ worth of the lonely, blinding fog once surrounding him. 

Standing in the sandbox once again of double occupancy. 

“I love you.” The words cascaded off his tongue with the same grace and earnest of what being in love felt like. Hoseok couldn’t do a lot of things and had quite a bit of trouble expressing himself for these past few years, but his love for you was something that couldn’t be anything less than accurate and sincere to do his heart a bit of justice. 

“You said that already.”

“Are you going to say it back or not?” He pulled you in by your waist, leaving you no other option than to oblige the requests he flew into the air.

“I love you, Hobi. I do. I love you.” Your hands lifted to his face, and his cheeks were warm. Though soft skin covering it, you could feel his bones. They were being caressed, loved, touched by your hands. 

He closed his eyes, trying to remember the last time he felt this at home when he wasn’t in your home of linens and lemons. His face shifted to the side to press his lips into your palm.

“I love you.” He said again, seeping into skin, printing the words into your bones. Hoseok had to repeat it, just to hear you say it once more, to make sure it was all real. That it wasn’t just him that was melting into the art of you, but the art of you touching him, coalescing with him.

“I love you.” Tears of his face were brushed by your thumb and they didn’t feel like the sad ones shed before. They were a sweet and gentle ode to everything he’d ever wanted since the moment he asked to play with you in the sandbox.

You were crying as well, holding him in your hands. Holding him. You could not see the fog, the only thing rapturing every sense was Hoseok. Your lips pressed lightly against his, feeling him smile into the kiss, and that drowned out the crisp, punishing air that pricked chills against your cheeks. 

Hoseok knew he was going to be okay.

 The two of you made your way back to the library, greeted with three suspenseful eyes, trained against the doorway partly from apprehension that Dickson would return and partly from hoping you and Hoseok would make a swift return. They, too, cared and wanted to see if Hoseok’s skin had finally shed.

“Heeeeey.” Seokjin drew out his coy greeting to tease you and Hoseok for the all too noticeable gesture of holding hands. Jimin and Namjoon were captured in the physical intimacy that you two casually displayed as well.

“You two took your sweet time, didn’t you?” Namjoon said to the pair of smiling faces now returning to the table behind Jimin without further explanation. He was implying the long absence of you and Hoseok was not delayed through a reprimand from Dickson but by your own insatiable desires for each other. 

“I found this idiot on the roof. Took me a bit to convince him to come back down here, but I did it.” You turned over to Hoseok who was investing his efforts in rearranging himself back into an outwardly tough manner.

“Oh, I bet you had to do a lot of convincing, huh ___.” Seokjin’s comment was met with a light slap against his shoulder by your hand for his lewd teasing, and the way his fingers imitated quotation marks when he said the word ‘convincing’.

“Hey! I actually had to convince him. This man is very, very stubborn.”

“Yeah, ___ wouldn’t leave me alone so I didn’t have much of a choice.” He stared at his hand once being held in yours, trying to shovel over the smile simmering on his lips. Jimin shifted to face you and Hoseok, eyes squinting to slits from reading the overwhelmingly happy expressions on your faces.

“So, Dickson came back.” Jimin said, smiling widely.

“Oh shit. What did he say?”

“We all pretended that we could see you and he was the only one that couldn’t see you guys. It was hilarious, you should have seen his face.” Seokjin intervened with his own account of the story. Jimin turned to him and burst out laughing harder than when Dickson walked like a defeated soldier out of the library.

“He was like, ‘You kids need to learn respect. You mess with the bull, you get the horns’ whatever that means. But he didn’t even end up doing anything because he knew we wouldn’t snitch. But, damn, you should have seen his face.” Jimin’s hand covered his mouth during the process of him laughing and wedging in pieces of the story in between. 

“That sounds like the dumbest cover up ever, but I guess Dickson is somehow dumber than that.” The count of five smiles amounted to each of you hunching over with laughter at the vice principal’s idle reactions to the detentionees displaying a clear sign of insubordination. 

“He is. He really is that dumb.” Namjoon said during a pause from whatever he was drawing.

“Well, either way, I appreciate the effort. And Hobi does too, even though he won’t admit it.” His stubborn disavowal of expressing appreciation contrived through rolled eyes that then landed onto the four others accompanying his space. Though shadowed through his many apathetic modes of emoting, he found this Saturday detention not only bearable, but enjoyable. He found himself attached to other people after severing all ties from actual intimacy. Being connected and vulnerable was an easier way of going about his life. And, he didn’t realize it then, but he planned on keeping it that way. 

“Hey guys?” Seokjin tossed aside the Dickson debacle with this conversational prelude, “What’s gonna happen when we go back out there?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, absentmindedly reaching over to grab Hoseok’s hand at the mention of leaving the safe space of the library. He responded to you with a gentle, reassuring squeeze that eased the contraction of your worried muscles.

“We’re still gonna be friends, right?” The prospect fell into consideration as the five of you were moved to silence. After a few exchanges of ambivalent and uncertain glances, Namjoon worked in a soft smile to soothe the frightful thought of returning to the harsh reality. 

“Yeah. We are.” His confirmation spoke for the rest of your benevolent agreement. 

“Well, I better see you guys at all of my games.” Jimin set this expectation as a receival of the newly polished friendships, grooming quite a bit of fondness being that the four of you knew more about Jimin than his own parents. “And, we’ll be sure to go to Namjoon’s.... Art competitions?”

“Not quite, but I appreciate the thought.” Namjoon laughed. 

The commonalities that were once so obscured between you all had become clear by the arrival of the eighth hour. Though there were many obstacles placed to stint any form of connection between five polar adversaries, you all found a salve from the relentless feeling of loneliness through each other. Your essays were never written, finding Dickson’s call for another Saturday detention of probable cause. Even if you were to write an essay on what you did wrong and why it was wrong as well as why you were sorry, there would be no truth unveiled in it. You all found that living unapologetically had been a far more effective catalyst for growth and maturation than any half-hearted essay assigned by a man with no credentials to call himself a student administrator.  

There was that phrase, "down to the bone", that had hung over Hoseok's mind for quite a bit today. Some say it implies when you've spent all you had, and are left with the poverty of dry marrow. That, to him, was a mutilation of the phrase which he couldn't accept.

This colloquial, "down to the bone", could not be a reference to having nothing left. Not in his case at least. Not when he felt so full of safety with nothing but his bones under the home of your eyes and hands

Hoseok looked at you, then to the other three and knew things would be different. Eventually, things would get better, he just had to wait long enough for those better things to come.

You found each other, and that was all that mattered.

 A week later, you met up in the campus’ cafe with Jimin, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Hoseok discussing the rather insignificant topic of which contestant was going to be eliminated from the reality television show you had all been keeping up with. 

“Hey, did you guys ever actually write that essay Dickson told us to write?” Seokjin asked, knowing he had failed to do so.

“Nope.” Jimin said unregretfully, almost with a prideful twist.

“Of course not.” You replied.

“Well, I might have written something on behalf of all of us. It wasn’t an essay per say, more like a letter to Dickson.” Namjoon said smugly into the cup of his coffee.

“What? What did you write?” Jimin put forth the curiosity shared by the four of you.

“Oh nothing too special.” But, of course, if it was anything of Namjoon’s doing, it was something entirely special.

You decided not to further pry on the specifics of what was written, rather sipping your coffee and learning not to regret how the hot liquid burned your tongue. Those eight hours spent in the library gifted you with a wider perspective. Maybe you burned your tongue on this coffee, and tomorrow you might miss the bus to work. Or, sometime in the near future, there would be a new store in the mall that lured you away from the errands set to a schedule and you would have to rush back to work a few minutes late. You learned that these small misdirections in life happen, at the exact right time and the exact right place.

The grateful receive of every moment, deliberate or erroneous, was like a single grain of sand. One grain might pinch out some annoyance. Ten was too textured to ignore. Dozens and thousands padded down as a sandbox where two childhood friends could play. And millions of grains of sand, of gratefully received moments, cultivated a soft shoreline; a place where the deep blue tides had a comfortable bed to tumble onto when it was tired from the tempestuous ocean. Where the contents of the ocean could spill along the wet sand, and it would humbly the tired water’s offerings. A place where a mass of misty, opaque air could roll in, cover every inch of the ocean and would blind the eyes. 

But, never the heart. 

The hearts, joined since the first grade, were free of scars because of the plethora of love that continued to flourish even in your absence. Love always keeps the heart safe.

Timing was a fickle arbiter, always tearing you from one thing to the next and the next and the next, but somehow leading you to exactly where you were meant to be. It has a way about itself, inevitably delivering you into the lives of those you were meant to be with. 

With Jimin, with Namjoon, with Seokjin.

And once again with Hoseok.

-----

a/n: thank you so much for plowing through this long, angsty one shot! i am so happy to finally release this and hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed creating it. as always, i would love to hear feedback from you lovely readers! 

[chonzu]

This is the beginning of an idea I had where Atsuhiro survives the attack and ends up in Tartarus. I want to expand on it but I’ve worked on this for a few days and I’m happy with it I suppose! Spoilers for Chapter 294/295 ofc.

I apologize for the weird formatting, I’ve been working on mobile/iPad for a while now.

--

He loved the League. He would give his life for the League and their leader’s ideals and he knew that’s how it would end as he hit the ground, snatched out of the air by the blond child he’d barely seen once before months ago at the Yakuza base, and while the rest of that battle lasted barely more than a few minutes, Atsuhiro fell in and out of consciousness more times than he could count. He could not move no matter how hard he tried, but that was alright. If Shigaraki had gotten away, well. He couldn’t blame the kid for leaving him behind.

Atsuhiro let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

“Hurry! Go, get the Tartarus staff on site! Get...we need…....alive...”

If he couldn’t move anyway he wasn’t going to struggle—everyone was gone, surely, and the heroes were getting tended to, going by the muffled voices and sirens, and he’d accepted his death by now. As long as his sacrifice wasn’t for nothing, it would be alright.

He was roughly moved again, his mind fogging up more as a numb pain crawled up his side. His arm was restrained, locked down; his body was jostled until he was shoved roughly into the back of a cold vehicle onto a starkly-cold metal surface. Atsuhiro tried to open his eyes, but this was it for him. He let that darkness take him, hoping that the young boss, Spinner, and Dabi had gotten away.

-

His eye snapped open into quiet darkness, into what he guessed was a small and sterile room barely bigger than a closet. Machines hummed and chugged gently to his left and his right shoulder pressed against a cold concrete wall. He tried to speak but his throat was drier than a desert, leaving him sputtering and coughing until he’d caught his breath.

He couldn’t lift his right arm, a cuff had been attached to his wrist, his fake left eye and left mechanical arm had been removed, and he could only imagine what other types of straps were keeping him down on the bed that wasn’t very comfortable and they’d never given him any blankets or turned the heat up. He may as well exist in a dungeon and it wasn’t apparent that there were any guards near him at the moment.

With his wrist cuffed as it was, it blocked his hand from being unable to touch anything and he didn’t have any smart ideas to get out of this. Truthfully, he thought he was dead, but the straps were tight and deliberately made to keep him from moving his arm at all. The numbness in his hip and chest was almost too much but if he squeezed his eyes shut he almost couldn’t feel it. He felt a little lost and panicked without his left arm.

Remember, he thought. Remember. What got him into this place? A heist gone wrong? Did he steal something from a hero more high-profile than he’d expected? A more dastardly villain than he’d hoped? His work with the League often brought him to many unsuspecting places, but up until recently they’d been working on projects with...the Meta-Liberation Army.

Atsuhiro opened his eye. There’d been a war. That’s right, yes. He’d watched the boss get away, but he couldn’t remember anything after being grabbed by that sunny-haired kid he’d thought they’d gotten rid of a long time ago.

A few minutes into trying to relax, Atsuhiro realized that an alarm was going off on the machine and only got louder and worse the more he suddenly panicked. He pulled against the restraints to no avail. His heart nearly lept out of his chest when the door flew open, the room flooding with a fleet of armed guards and heroes silhouetted black against the harsh white fluorescent lighting that spilled into the room.

“Wh— what?”

A strong hand grabbed his face and turned his head every possible direction, to which he objected loudly and wasn’t heard. The doctor who grabbed him turned him to face them, their gaze cool and steady, but unfocused. He heard whispers from the front of the room that maybe they should stick a muzzle on him like one of their other prisoners, but the doctor handling him waved them away.

Atsuhiro was poked and prodded. “Please, come on. Take me to dinner before you start doing that. I’m /starving/.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen, Sako.” The doctor pressed their lips together, barely giving him so much as a look as they hummed, tapped a pen against their lips, and started to scribble on a clipboard. “Prisoner is awake, far too alert, and begging for food. I’d say we’ve done a good job here.”

“Fuck— what? Prisoner?” Atsuhiro struggled again. “At least tell me where the fuck I am!” Sharp pains in his side would have crumpled him if he didn’t have the restraints tied over his chest.

The doctor turned their back to him. “Prisoner is starting to panic. Sedate him."

They left in a hurry, coat a flurry of fabric behind them lime a cape, and Atsuhiro noticed the lines of drips going into his arm. He struggled more, but when what he assumed was an intern leaned down over a tray of medication he suddenly felt faint.

Before he fainted, Atsuhiro watched a fuzzy guard wave at him.

No, no, no, he thought. No. He couldn’t go out like this again. His eye closed however, and darkness claimed him once more when the door shut tightly and he fell into a fitful doze.

--

"Sako Atsuhiro."

His whole body tingled as he lifted his head. He felt like his mind was rapidly being overwhelmed by the sharp lights, solid metal room, and his arm held at a strange angle, while his body lagged behind him as if trapped in syrup. He had been given only enough pain medication to sit up and talk, but it made his mind fuzzy and he squinted against the harsh white lights of the room and the spotlights angled directly at him. Restraints kept him firmly against the chair, so he was unable to escape. He couldn't if he tried.

Atsuhiro cleared his throat, squinting. "Yes. Yes that's...that’s my name. How can I help you? Besides giving away all of our best secrets, of course."

The man who spoke to him seemed as nondescript as the next guy. Tall, short brown hair, quite a friendly face, business casual. Definitely not the kind of person who would be the main character in a show. A stack of papers sat under his hand. "It's just me in here."

"Okay? And the two hundred people recording this conversation?"

"I just want to talk."

"Well we certainly are! How's life treating you?"

"That's irrelevant. Sako, we have you listed for numerous crimes such as theft, destruction of property, child endangerment, involvement with the League of Villains and the Meta-Liberation Army, just to make a few. Just recently you were caught attempting to land an attack on our heroes.

"I don't really know what to say to that?”

The man hummed. "I understand. We’ll be keeping an eye on you, of course. You have a hip replacement and reconstruction scheduled soon. I’ll be visiting every few days.”

Atsuhiro resisted rolling his eyes. “Please, why are you telling me all of this.”

“Why not? You can’t escape, you can’t move.”

“I see. You know, it’s polite to at least tell someone your name? You seem to know me /quite/ well.”

The man pressed his lips together. He spent a moment writing down a few of his own notes. “I guess you can call me Tsukauchi.”

Atsuhiro blinked, mulling it over. He’d never heard of that name before. “Okay. Why are you bothering to fix me up?”

“The marble that you compressed was lost at the scene so there wasn’t a way to even attempt to assess what you’d lost.” Tsukauchi shrugged. “We obviously need you alive, which I’m sure you already know?” He raised an eyebrow and Atsuhiro pouted. “All prisoners at Tartarus receive /some/ kind of care. We aren’t heartless villains.”

“Yeah, and you use that care to keep us alive and trapped here and for what?”

“Sir, you were involved in committing mass murder.”

“Pah!” Atsuhiro straightened his shoulders. “So let me guess. Keeping me alive here is a worse punishment than death?”

“If that’s how you would like to see it.” Tsukauchi wasn’t looking at him, but seemed to be quite a good listener. “My time here is short today, but I’ll be back again shortly.”

“I look forward to it.” Atsuhiro gave the man his sweetest smile. Tsukauchi stared at him with a peculiar look, then looked down to gather up his notes.

He left silently. Guards crept out of shadows Atsuhiro hadn’t even realized were there and he was being dragged from the stage again. He couldn’t walk, oh no. He could barely /sit up/ and so he was roughly thrown into a wheelchair, the quirk-neutralizing cuff around his arm was adjusted, and straps tightened around his chest and legs.

The doctor who he’d seen numerous times by now and who he assumed had performed the surgery on him pushed his wheelchair along. They went down long passages, each holding cell specially designed to the needs and quirks of those they held. Atsuhiro’s own holding cell was only the basic one; cold, dry, with solid metal plates and a single bed. Because of the neutralizing cuff on his wrist, he wasn’t able to compress himself, and even if he was, there was a second cuff that held his hand at a specific angle and had a cage around it to leave him unable to touch anything. Without his right arm, he’d never be able to get it off on his own. Not unless he pulled some crazy gymnastics, which just weren’t possible with his injuries.

Apparently he was to be getting a slight upgrade to a different wing once his injuries had healed, but they gave a severe estimate of at least six weeks and an incomprehensible amount of physical therapy thereafter—if they deemed that necessary. After all, he was alive, and that’s really all they needed to question him.

Along the way, some of the captured prisoners gave him looks if they were able to look out of the windows on their doors or restrained in tight places facing the hallways for quicker analysis by guards and inspectors. Atsuhiro did not look at any of them.

[singledarkshade]

Magical Mix Up

Chapter Six

(Chapter Five can be found here)

Sitting in the Thermopolium, closest to the gate he’d entered the city through with some mulled wine and a selection of the day’s snacks, Rory watched the people outside in the streets trying to work out his next step. Being here was so relaxing, it was like being home in the strangest way. He kept hoping Amy would appear so he could show her the world he knew.

She’d never been able to understand, although she tried but all the memories in his head of this city and world he had known.

People left him alone, probably assuming he was a soldier returning from war, which suited Rory. He couldn’t work out if he was understanding everyone surrounding him because he’d lived a life amongst them or due to the TARDIS translation circuit. Shaking his head, he decided it didn’t matter, the fact he could understand people was the important thing.

Finishing his lunch, Rory knew he had to change and find somewhere to stay for the night. He was sure the nutcases who had abducted him wouldn’t leave until they’d managed to get him back. Which meant he might get a chance to get onboard and find a way to contact the Doctor.

The longer he sat, the more recognition he felt with this section of the city and he knew where to go for lodgings. Rory decided the soldier uniform was a good idea to hold onto for the moment. Most people wouldn’t pay him any attention dressed like this, which was what Rory wanted.

Realising he had spent a little too much time within the eatery, Rory finished his lunch and left the building into the heat of the day.

He walked slowly through the city, taking in the sights. His memories were stronger now, almost sure that he’d grown up near here. Or the Centurion had been told he had.

Lost in thought he stopped watching some children play, realising suddenly someone was standing beside him.

Turning he stared at the man, his double except he had a beard, wearing a Centurion’s uniform. More to the point, wearing his uniform. And Rory knew it instantly as there was a tiny blue TARDIS sewn into collar of his cloak.

“What the bloody hell?”

                               *********************************************

 “Are you sure I should be wearing this?” Rip asked as he looked at himself in the mirror.

Amy smiled slightly, “It’ll help you blend in, plus Rory will know it’s his so should listen to you if you find him first.”

Rip nodded before turning to Amy, “This is authentic. Or if not, it is the most incredible replica, because this has not been produced by any machine. The stitching is exquisite.”

“It’s a long complicated story,” Amy replied, “When this is over I’ll tell you it.”

Rip chuckled, “We could make a week out of swapping long complicated stories.”

Amy smiled.

Fixing himself so he looked presentable, Rip frowned in thought seeing a small flash of blue just under the collar.

“I put that there,” Amy whispered, “So any time he had to wear this, he always knew I was with him and we’d find one another.”

Rip rested his hand on her arm for a moment before stepping back, “Ready?”

“As always,” Amy grinned, “Come on, I’ll lead you back, so you don’t get lost.”

Walking through the corridors, Rip wished he could work out what was annoying him about the ship but couldn’t. Shaking it away as they reached the control room, the Doctor was waiting for them.

“Alright,” he said the moment they stepped into the room, “Let’s go find our Rory.”

Heading to the door he opened it and walked out, Amy just behind and then Rip stepped out. Turning to close the door, Rip frowned confused when he saw it looked like a wooden box. Stepping back Rip stared in astonishment before he walked around the entirety of the outside before turning to where the Doctor and Amy stood watching him.

“TARDIS,” Rip whispered, remembering the Doctor saying it before managing to breathe, “You’re a Time Lord.”

The Doctor nodded.

Rip shook his head, “It looks like my brain was scrambled a lot more than I thought. I should have picked up on that a lot sooner.”

“We all have bad days, Captain Hunter,” the Doctor noted amused, “Even the legendary Time Master.”

“You know…of course you know,” Rip let out an annoyed bark of laughter, “What else haven’t you told me?”

The Doctor shook his head, “Nothing. I just thought it was best for the moment. Time Lords and Time Masters normally didn’t mix.”

“Because we were told to keep far away,” Rip replied, “And having seen the inside of the TARDIS, I understand why now.” He took a slow deep breath and focussed himself, “Alright, we have time for me to be in awe later. We have Rory to find then my former team to berate for abducting him.”

“We’ve landed just outside the city gates,” the Doctor told them, “Your ship is beyond that hill, Rip and I’ll put the shielding up so look for that pattern on the wall.”

Amy frowned, “Are you sure splitting up is a good idea?”

“I know what I’m doing, Amy,” Rip assured her, “I worked alone for a long time making alterations to the timeline. I know how to move without being seen and I know this period. I’ll be fine, trust me.”

“Be careful,” the Doctor said, “And that includes when you find Rory. He is more dangerous than he seems, especially within this setting.”

Rip nodded before he headed into the city. One of his first training missions had been here but at least a hundred years ago. From what Amy and the Doctor had told him, Rory knew the city and how to act within it.

Checking the time, Rip decided to check the local eateries but before he could start in the right direction the man he was looking for walked in front of him. Dressed as a solider, lower in rank to the uniform Rip was wearing but unmistakably Rory Williams.

Seeing his duplicate in the flesh was a little disconcerting but he followed the other man who stopped suddenly where several children were playing. Watching the sight himself for a moment, Rip forced his memories away to focus on the mission. Rory turned saw him and stared.

“What the bloody hell?”

 “Rory,” his double said holding his hands up, “My name is Rip Hunter.”

“You’re Rip Hunter?” Rory demanded, “Okay, I understand why I was mistaken for you,” he shook himself, “How are you here? And why are you wearing my uniform?”

Rip smiled, “Amy and the Doctor brought me. They found me while looking for you and they’re searching the other side of the city.”

“Well, your friends are parked over the hill outside the gates,” Rory told him, “Although they are a bit clingy. I wanted to leave, and they put me in a cell.”

Rip frowned, “Yes, Sara and I will be having words about that. I can only apologise Rory.”

Shaking his head Rory shrugged, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“The TARDIS is outside the city gates,” Rip told him, “I promised Amy I would find you and get you there.”

“And I know what’s she’s like if you break a promise,” Rory smiled slightly, “We should head that way.”

Before they could take two steps, they heard crashing and yells from behind them. The two men watched a familiar man wearing a trench coat being thrown out of a window into the street. They watched as he was surrounded by the guards, tried to get away but was knocked out and dragged away.

“Of course,” Rip sighed, as they stayed out of the way “How hard is keeping a low profile and make sure you blend in?” he turned to Rory, “I know he’s one of the people who kept you in the cell, but he’s also a friend of mine.”

Drawing his sword Rory waited until Rip drew his and swapped them, “Okay. But only because I want to see his face when he realises that I’m not you.”

                                 *********************************************

 “Gideon?”

She paused from her work and took a moment before she turned to look at him, “Yes, Mr Jackson.”

Jax stood nervously, looking like the young man who had stepped onto the ship unsure of who he was and what his worth was.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I should have followed the instructions you sent.”

Gideon stared at him in silence, before finally asking, “Why did you not?”

He shrugged, “I thought it came from Cisco and he doesn’t know the ship or the AI systems as well as we do.”

“Hmm,” she mused as she took a seat on small ledge near the time core, “Did you know that Cisco Ramon and Barry Allen created the AI program?”

He stared at her confused, “Really?”

Gideon nodded.

“How was I supposed to know that?” Jax demanded, “No one told me. Not you, not Rip.”

“The message sent advised specifically I had given input,” Gideon reminded him, “Surely that would have suggested to you that I had reviewed and agreed to the steps.”

Jax shook his head, “You’d just gone through a huge change, we were told you were resting, and I know the systems.”

“That arrogance, Mr Jackson,” Gideon said sadly, “Has permeated this team lately. The feeling that you can do anything you want because you must be in the right.”

“And you’re telling me Rip wasn’t arrogant?”

Gideon shook her head, “Of course he was but he also understood how time works, how alterations to time works and knew he could only control a tiny part of it. This claim that you break things for the better, he was never that arrogant.”

“Is that why you’re claiming to be the Captain now?” Jax demanded, “Because we chose Sara.”

Gideon looked at him with steel in her eyes, “I didn’t. No one asked me, Mr Jackson but then I didn’t count before now, did I?”

Jax winced.

“The Waverider is mine,” Gideon told him, “And she will accept only my instructions now.”

Jax frowned, “Come on, Gideon.”

“This is my home, Mr Jackson,” she reminded him sharply. “For you all it is a place to come and have an adventure, but this is my home. Do you know what it is like to have your home treated like a hotel by people who have no regard for it?”

“Gideon…”

“You may have no regard for him anymore, but Rip Hunter was my dearest friend,” Gideon continued, “And no one consoled me for that loss. Before I looked like this, I was nothing to you but an information source.” Standing again she turned back to the engines, “Now we have to work to do.”

Jax watched her work for a few minutes before saying, “We found him.”

Slowly Gideon turned and stared at him, “What?”

“We found Rip,” Jax told her, “His memories have been changed again but we found him.”

Gideon dropped her tools and started out of the room, anger in her eyes.

 Sara stood watching Cisco and Zari discuss how they were fixing the computer, wondering if John had found their lost soul. She was sure once Rip was back then he’d give Gideon something to focus on and they could get back to normal, or as normal as things got.

“Gideon,” Jax’s voice came from the corridor just before the former AI marched through the door.

“Where is he?” Gideon demanded the moment she was face to face with Sara.

Sara glanced over to Jax who shrugged apologetically, before turning back to Gideon, “Rip escaped, and John is bringing him back.”

“Escaped?” Gideon’s voice remained sharp, “Why was he being held prisoner on his ship?”

“It’s our ship,” Sara stated before continuing, “And it was for his own protection. Rip’s memories were changed again, so we needed to keep him contained until we could get them back.”

Gideon walked away into the parlour, Sara moved closer and listened as Gideon stroked the wall.

“Why did you not tell me?” she whispered before turning and demanding, “Why did you not tell me, Miss Lance?”

“You’d just changed,” Sara told her, “I wanted to find a way to return Rip’s memories before telling you.”

Gideon nodded, “That makes sense. But I do not understand why you did not tell me when I arrived at the ship? As I am now in charge then I should be told everything.”

Sara folded her arms, “Gideon, you may run the ship, but I am still the Captain. I made this decision for my team and to ensure that you were focussed on repairs.”

Everything suddenly shut down, Cisco, Jax, Zari and Sara looked around before turning to Gideon who had taken a seat in the parlour.

“If you want to be in charge, Miss Lance,” Gideon stated, “Have at it. But do not expect help from me.”

[maddiethebull]

Hello sweetie, can I request prompt #15 with Luci, I don't know if I can add something else, but I would like it to be with MC who sings opera! Thank you!!

Hi! I’m not very familiar with opera singing so its a little vague, but I tried to incorporate it as much as i could, I hope you enjoy!! Thanks for making a request

Lucifer (Obey Me!) - Prompt #15 - “You’re sparkling like the sun.”

You were taking a peaceful shower after a long day at R.A.D. and you had a tendency to sing in said shower, so today, like plenty other days, you were. You sang your favorite song, loud and proud because the walls were thick and you were already so close to the brothers that it didn’t matter to you if they heard. You sang opera with all your heart (and lungs lol that shit’s hard) into the loofah, substituting for a microphone. You imagined you were on the stage at the Devildom’s yearly talent show, you were seriously considering signing up, but you didn’t know if you could. You wouldn’t want to get nervous and just mess the whole thing up, at least you could imagine everyone cheering you on, though. 

Meanwhile, in the next room over, Lucifer needed to find the jewel off of Diavlo’s crown that Mammon stole, ‘What an idiot.’ he thought. As he rummaged through Mammon’s room - basically a dumpster of clothes and random stolen items - he searched under his bed. 

When he couldn’t find anything, he sighed and sat down on the bed. Without the focus on getting back what was Diavlo’s, he heard you. He turned his head from looking down to looking at the wall which connected the two rooms. A smirk grew on his lips, he’d heard this song many times before as he was an opera fan as well, and you sang it so lively. He chuckled to himself and stood, putting his hand on the wall and leaning his forehead to touch it. He closed his eyes and just listened, he had too much shit going on that day and this moment provided such solace to him. Mimicking movements over piano keys accompanying the song, his fingers even began moving. 

“GET OUTTA MY ROOM LUCIFER!” A pillow came flying across the room, missing Lucifer completely, on purpose as Mammon would’ve said, but not really.  

“Ugh, Mammon.” Lucifer winced and raised his head, ‘of course this moment had to be ruined’ he thought. What a day he’d had. He let out a heavy sigh and proceeded to interrogate the demon on where the jewel was. While Mammon gave lengthy explanations of how he lost it, Lucifer’s attention kept being stolen by you. Feeling more lenient than normal, and seeing how he could just get another one to replace it, Lucifer simply gave Mammon a slap on the wrist and left. He headed to your room, for he didn’t want to stop hearing you. 

He leaned onto your bedroom door, listening to only his breath and a sweet voice still going strong. That was until you were finished in the shower and, unbeknownst to him, you were singing even after you’d gotten out. You got dressed and wanted to get some tea, so you turned the door knob and FLUMP, Lucifer was on the floor. You let out a shriek,

“I can fight you!” You put your fists up but then noticed who it was, 

“Wait, Lucifer?”

Playing it ice cool, he simply stood up and brushed himself off,

“Hmm?” he said with a calm expression. 

What do you mean hmm?? You didn’t particularly know how to respond, you opened your mouth several times trying to think of what to ask him but in the end it was futile. You decided to just ask if he wanted any tea since you were going to make it anyway. He agreed and followed you to the kitchen.

As you made the tea he had continued to hold his calm face, even though he was so extremely embarrassed. Pretty much all he was thinking was,  ‘Fuuckcufuckfuckfuuuuuuunkc I FELL OVER IN FRONT OF HER???’ You formulated a question in the time it took to make the tea and sat down with the two cups, handing him one. 

“So……. Why were you at my door?”

Lucifer almost choked on his tea, he really wanted this moment to be over, but he may as well tell the truth. 

“You were singing and I- well, I thought it was rather beautiful so I, um, listened to you.”

Now you were the one choking on your tea, he was listening to you? And he thought it was good? After the tea had gone down, you spoke, 

“Y-you thought it was good then?”

“Of course, if it were bad I would’ve told you. I imagine you already knew that.”

He was such a stiff person, and hearing compliments from him was a rare occasion, so even though you felt awkward asking him more, you wanted to hear more praise from the demon you were crushing on hard.

“So, it was really that good that you listened to me?”

He chuckled, “I believe I answered this question already, but yes. I found it to be a wonderful singing voice.”

You chuckled right back, “thank you,” you hesitated on what you wanted to say next, “you know, I was even thinking of signing up for the talent show, but I’m not sure, I probably won’t.”

He looked at you quizzically, “what’s there not to be sure about? You would make an excellent act to watch.”

You sighed and explained, “W-well. I just don’t know if I’m good enough. I’m scared of joining and people thinking I sound bad. And they would remember me from an embarrassing moment, you know?”

His smile faded, he hated when you talked yourself down like this. He couldn’t understand why you would even think that. You routinely did this to yourself, it was a bad habit to talk yourself down saying things like ‘oh I’m not that attractive’ and ‘I’m not smart enough to do this.’ Saying things he knew were completely wrong. You were, at least to him, extremely attractive, and you were also objectively smart. You were the most amazing person he’d ever met and here you were, being wrong about yourself yet again. He cleared his throat,

“You are good enough, surely. If anyone were to even think of making fun of you I would punish them accordingly for being dead wrong about you.”

You blushed, “Geez, Lucifer, you sure know how to talk sweetly for someone so intense.”

He snickered at your comment, “Thank you, I guess?”

You laughed, being with him made you feel so much less nervous about the whole thing. 

“You’re welcome,” you said with a gentle smile. 

That night you mulled it over endlessly, should you sign up? Was Lucifer just being nice? You tossed and turned the entire night thinking about being in front of a crows, you’d never done that before. You kept thinking about what he said to you, you loved seeing it when he spoke softly to you. Soon your focus shifted from the talent show to Lucifer. With calming thoughts of the times you’ve spent together, you eventually fell into a peaceful sleep. 

The next morning at breakfast, Lucifer revealed to you that he had taken it upon himself to sign you up.

“WHAT?” you shouted. 

After the commotion of you chasing Lucifer down and yelling at him faded, you realized that you had to get ready. The show was going to be next week after all, so you didn’t have much time. You rummaged through your clothes deciding what you should wear until Asmo came in and helped you pick out a dress to wear the next day. The brothers were being so kind about the whole ordeal. They were all excited to see you sing, Belphie even promised not to sleep during your performance!

“Hmmm,” said Asmo, “what about this one?” He held up a beautiful golden, floor length dress. It was the present Lucifer had given to you on your birthday that year and you never thought you’d get any use out of it so it was under a pile of clothes on your closet floor. It was perfect! You decided to wear that dress and Asmo helped with what shoes to wear as well. Day faded into night as you chose what song to sing and practiced and practiced and practiced. You wanted it to be perfect if you were going to do this. Even though it was nerve wracking, the week finally passed and it was the day of your performance. You got ready and headed to R.A.D. The brothers wished you good luck and Beel gave you a fortune cookie so you cracked it open and the fortune read, ‘Failure is an opportunity in disguse.’ Haaaaah. Okay. Beel repeatedly said sorry and Belphie couldn’t stop laughing. You decided to take it lightly, it was just a piece of paper so you laughed along with him and thanked everyone for their encouragement. With that, you left. 

At the show, the brothers were all in their seats. While Satan, Mammon, Beel, and Asmo watched every act in enjoyment, Levi, Belphie, and definitely Lucifer were only here for one person, you. The act before you came on. Lucifer sat in anticipation, he wished he could be there to comfort you since he knew how nervous you were about this. The act finished and your name was called. You walked on to the stage and stood rigidly. You looked in the crowd and immediately saw the brothers, you saw Lucifer, smiling at you. You took a deep breath. 

For any performers, we all know about the silence before beginning, its serene yet holds a certain amount of unsease. You felt all the eyes on you, staring, determining only by appearance, what your performance held. Was it going to be good, or would it be the opposite? You stole a breath to break the silence and, slowly, the piano music started in the background. It felt as if you could see the notes flying away off of the piano, like leaves in autumn. With your eyes closed shut, you began. Your voice trembled at first, but as the words and notes mixed together, you got lost in the feeling and began to really sing from heart. Lucifer looked at you on the stage, you were brilliant. He could picture you as an angel in Heaven, you certainly looked like one. The glimmer from your dress gave you a warm glow as you let out what Lucifer thought to be the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. He leaned forward, almost as if he were unconsciously trying to get closer to you, to touch the angelic figure on the stage. In awe, he whispered,

“You’re sparkling like the sun.”

“SHH STUPID!” scream whispered Mammon. Lucifer didn’t even want to take his eyes off of you, he wouldn’t dare to stop listening, he was fixed on you, completely fixed on you. 

When you had finished, you got a standing ovation, started by Lucifer of course. You stood there on the stage, so happy that you could cry. It had been a wonderful performance, and in the end, you had nothing to worry about, not with the help of the brothers and especially the encouragement of one (very hot and secretly loving) demon in particular.

—————————————————————————————————-

My prompt requests are open, so feel free to leave an ask

[totally-incorrect-theatre-quotes]

Festival of Lights (Fanfic)

With the help of several of my wonderful followers (including: @lgbt-fandom-fae @i-was-over-on-the-bench and anons) I was able to write a completely fluffy, angst-free, and hopefully accurately written short story about Lydia celebrating the first night of Hanukkah with Wendy, Wendy’s family, and BJ. 

I cannot thank my followers enough for teaching me about Hanukkah, as a non-Jewish person the last thing I would want to do is incorrectly write about the holiday!

______________________________________________________________

Lydia had met Wendy’s family before. She had gotten to know her parents and her two brothers pretty well in the past two and a half months and she didn’t know why she was so nervous about this particular evening, but when Wendy invited her over for the first night of Hanukkah she instantly worried she’d do something horribly wrong. She had an approximate idea of what Hanukkah was, her family celebrated Christmas when she was growing up but they taught her about other religions. She just wanted to make a good impression because this was the first major family event Lydia had been invited too and she didn’t want to ruin it with her ignorance of their traditions. 

“What can you tell me about Hanukkah?” Lydia asked BJ who was hanging upstairs in the attic with the Maitlands, “Wendy invited me over to her house to celebrate with her family and I have no clue what I’m doing, like I know it’s compared to Christmas but do I get her a gift? If I do what am I supposed to get her? If they pray do I join them or do I just respectfully stand there and listen because I’m not Jewish?”

“Kid you are making a way bigger deal out of this than it needs to be. It’s been a while since I’ve had a real Hanukkah but the worst thing you can do is this.” Beetlejuice gestured widely to her in general, “You freaking out about it is going to make everything so fucking awkward. Think about it, do you think this Wanda is overthinking what she’s gonna do when you invite her over to our humble abode for Christmas?”

Lydia shook her head, she hadn’t even considered Wendy mulling over the details of Christmas. It was just a casual thing in her family, they weren’t even super religious about it, when she was little they went to some church service with her grandparents but that was about it. Mainly it was just a bunch of fun little traditions and being with family. 

“Just follow her lead, and bring me home some latkes. I’d kill for some good ones, my mom was a shitty cook but damn could she make some good latkes.”

Lydia spent the rest of the afternoon casually scrolling through websites on Hanukkah traditions before quickly wrapping the presents she had gotten for Wendy and her family , with the help from Delia, and her dad drove her over to the Blackwood house. Wendy only lived about a ten-minute walk from her house but since it was the middle of December in Connecticut her dad insisted on driving her over. Lydia held the presents wrapped in blue paper anxiously in her hand when he rang the doorbell. Wendy greeted her excitedly with a big smile and pulled her into a welcoming hug. She grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen where Lydia could instantly smell the pleasant scent of potatoes frying on the stove, Wendy’s father yelping when some of the hot oil splashed up from the pan and onto his hand. Her brother Silas was sitting at the table playing a board game with her other Levi who Lydia was surprised was home, Wendy had told her he was in Oregon for a job interview. 

“Mom, dad! Lydia’s here!” Wendy yelled

“Oh, hello Lydia! It’s so nice to have you here, Wendy’s been talking about it all day, she’s very excited you wanted to-”

Wendy gave her mom a look Lydia often gave her family members when they were embarrassing her. She couldn’t help but snicker a little now that she knew Wendy was just as nervous about tonight going well as Lydia was, “I’m excited to be here too!” Lydia set her present down on the table where a few other envelopes and small packages were being stashed. 

Wendy’s father gestured for them to all sit down at the table and handed Lydia and Wendy a bowl of potatoes and asked them if they’d be willing to help him peal some more because he wanted to be sure they had enough ready so that Lydia could take latkes home for her family to try.  Lydia enjoyed the process so much that she ended up helping Wendy’s father fry an entire batch of them, and while hers were more so burned than golden brown he still said they looked delicious. She helped set the table for dinner and everything looked and smelled amazing. For dinner, they had rosemary chicken, latkes, and challah bread which Lydia promptly decided was the best bread that she had ever tasted in her life. Lydia offered to help with the dishes but her parents insisted that Silas and Levi would be more than willing to clean up for them, but judging from the looks they gave their sister it was obvious she must have paid them to do the dishes that night. 

For a while, the family just sat around the table chatting about what was going on in their lives and making polite chatter with Lydia who was now a lot less anxious now that the evening had gone underway. Though Wendy’s family was completely supportive of their relationship Wendy and Lydia kept their physical contact to a minimum, but still managed to hold hands underneath the table. Silas would always groan whenever he saw them doing couples stuff like hugging or holding hands, often teasing them by claiming they were already an old married couple. For a nine-year-old Silas was incredibly sarcastic, it often made Lydia wonder what it would be like if she had siblings but it had gotten to the point where Silas was like an honorary little brother. Lydia didn’t interact with Levi enough to have any kind of relationship with him so any conversation they had that night was pretty awkward in comparison to the casualness Lydia had with the rest of the family. 

“Okay so this part is strange but my family likes to have a contest to see who can eat the most of this one doughnut called Sufganiyot in sixty seconds. They are like super dense and full of jelly, it’s really funny.” Wendy was already doubled over laughing while she was trying to explain the rules, “One time my dad tried to stuff three in his mouth at once and he just got jelly everywhere on the table. It was a sticky mess for like two weeks afterward.”

“Do you have to tell that story every year!” he defended, “You were like six years old I don’t even know how you remember it.”

“Dad how could I forget! I wish I had it on camera!”

Lydia lost the contest miserably, she was only able to eat about two and a half donuts before the timer went off. Silas was actually the winner eating a whole five and three quarters which was extremely impressive considering the next closest had only been able to eat four She probably could have done better but she loved the tasted of them and didn’t want to just swallow them down without enjoying the flavor. Besides the fun part was watching the rest of the family try. Wendy ended up with jelly all over the one side of her mouth. Wendy’s mom, much to her embarrassment, tried to wipe it off before Wendy ducked under her arm and wiped it off herself with a wet paper towel. Silas, feeling extremely confident from him recent victory, challenged everyone to a round of dreidle which later turned into six rounds where chocolate coins Lydia learned were called gelt and small trinkets were added to the pot and the rules seemed to constantly be changing. It didn’t really matter who was winning or losing, she was just enjoying spending time with Wendy’s family. Even Levi was warming up to Lydia, playfully teasing her when the dreidle would land on shin. 

Lydia hadn’t even noticed how quickly the time had been flying by but when she glanced outside the kitchen window it was pitch blackout and the stars were shining in the sky. Wendy stood next to Lydia while the family gathered around the Menorah. Silas, Levi, and Mr. Blackwood were all wearing blue and silver yarmulkes on their heads and bowing their heads respectfully while they began to say the blessing of the evening. Lydia bowed her head respectfully and watched observantly as Mrs. Blackwood took the middle candle that Wendy whispered was called the Shamash and used it to light the first candle. While the first candle was being lit the family sang a blessing in Hebrew by the third repetition Wendy was coaxing Lydia to join them, while she wasn’t perfect with the pronunciation she managed to finish the song along with the rest of the family,  “Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tsivanu l'hadlik ner shel Hanukkah”

The Shamash had been placed back in the Menorah and Mr. Blackwood began to sing a blessing that Wendy explained quietly was called “hanerot halalu” which was customary to be recited after the candle of the evening had been kindled. The family smiled at the end of the blessing and Lydia couldn’t help but to feel to the volume of love in the household while they all stood around the now illuminated Menorah. While it was not a tradition she had grown up with it was a memory that she would forever cherish. She reached out fo Wendy’s hand and grabbed it in hers as her subtle way of thanking her for inviting her to join in the experience. After a few seconds, they all sat at the table again and exchanged presents. Levi and Wendy both got cards with a bit of money in the as well as a little bag of chocolates, Silas got a new video game and a dinosaur lego set. Lydia watched beaming as the family opened their presents from her, she even earned a smile from the hard to please Silas when he unwrapped a remote control car she had gotten him. She blushed when Wendy gushed over how pretty the necklace she had gotten her was. She immediately had her father help her put it on and was holding the blue pendant between her two fingers and grinning in glee. Lydia’s face turned even redder when she received a gift from Wendy’s parents, she and Wendy had already agreed to give each other presents on each other’s respective holidays so Lydia was thrown off guard to be getting a gift from the Blackwoods. She gently unwrapped the tissue paper and held the present close to her chest when she saw the little mason jar filled with gelt coins, her own dreidel, and a blessing written in fancy scrawl.

“I know you said you didn’t want a Hanukkah present because you’re not Jewish but my parents wanted to give you a memento to remember your first time celebrating.” Wendy smiled, Lydia rambled about how much she loved it and hugged everyone in the family. For another hour everyone sat around talking, laughing, and celebrating. It came too quickly when Lydia got the text saying he was in the driveway. The Blackwoods refused to send Lydia home empty-handed and they handed her a bag with leftover latkes and sufganiyot. Just like every time they had to say goodbye the two girls were incredibly dramatic, as if they weren’t planning on facetiming later that night, or had plans to hang out at Lydia’s house for Christmas. When they were sure none of the family members were lurking around the corner Lydia tugged on Wendy’s collar and planted a quick goodbye kiss on her lips and hugged her goodnight. 

The whole car ride home Lydia talked her father’s ear off about how wonderful the evening was and how much fun she had. When she got home she searched eagerly for Beetlejuice ready to tell him all about it, she found him in the kitchen ready to light his own menorah she and the Maitlands had gotten him when he mentioned how he missed celebrating Hanukkah. She was grateful that he hadn't finished celebrating for the night, she felt bad not being there on the first night with him but he told her that he honestly didn’t mind if she spent the night with “Williomehnia”, but she still wanted to be there for him too. Lydia joined them and surprised BJ when she sort of knew the words to the one blessing. She played dreidel with him and her family while they feasted on the food the Blackwood’s had sent home with her. She quickly ran upstairs to her room and returned with a silver-wrapped present and handed it to Beetlejuice who was pretending his heart wasn’t swelling with love when he opened it to find a stuffed bear wearing a Hanukkah sweater. 

Exhausted from a busy but amazing day Lydia went up to her room, snuggled up under the blankets with her cats and smiled as she thought about how a lot had changed for her in the past year of her life, and while for a long time she left like her entire family had fallen apart she was filled with pure love and joy when she thought about not only the family she had but the family she had found, and the family she had joined since she had met Wendy.

[illogicalhusbands]

The Game is Afoot - pt. 4

Bill Masters x Alec Hardy Masters of Sex / Broadchurch Crossover Link to Part 3

So sorry for the long wait! Both my co-mod and I have been extremely busy with our personal lives. I’ve come down with the flu and also had to deal with an emergency that led me to move homes so I’ve had my hands very full. But this update became unexpectedly long, so there actually will be one more part to follow! (Though I feel I’ve been saying that for the past two updates already). Also, wow 300 FOLLOWERS! I am FLOORED. Thanks everyone for the support! I hope the newcomers are all enjoying the content here. I’ll also be putting up a navigation page for the blog soon so it’ll be easier to find the fanfics and fanart that we make.

-

Everyone was staring.

It was one of those rare days that Masters had gotten him to agree to get something that vaguely resembled a complete meal for breakfast, yet by the time they had sat down Alec was quickly losing his appetite.

Pushing thin-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his nose, he pointedly ignored the sticky feeling of several pairs of eyes on him as he perused through the list of fifty or so names and phone numbers in his hand, taunting him.

“Holmes.”

Alec groaned. He was nowhere near cracking this case than he had been a week ago. There had to be something that he was missing!

“Holmes.” A hand shot out to grab his forearm. Alec looked up to Masters’ steel blue eyes lit up with… worry? “I know this serial burglary case has been driving you mad, but you look horrifying. Just, please, eat something.”

Alec blinked blearily at him. “I’m fine, Watson,” he said, mustering up all the vitriol that he could onto that last word.

“That’s doctor Watson to you,” said Masters, on the slight edge of teasing once again. “But in all seriousness, I am an actual doctor, so you better listen to me when I say you need to take better care of yourself.”

Alec snarled. “I bloody hate doctors.”

“And I’m sure they find you an absolute delight to be with.” Masters took a sandwich from Alec’s plate and held it up to his face. “Now, eat.”

There was something about the doctor’s tone that was so commanding, in a way that never failed to grab Alec’s attention. It was always paired by those cold blue eyes and set jaw. Alec could tell he wielded this weapon on more than one occasion. He could picture Masters talking down rivals or even superiors, looking every bit like the prim and proper man that he presented himself to be, the presence of danger in his eyes the only indicator of his vicious intent. Masters probably never had much difficulty in getting anything he wanted.

Damn, Alec thought, And why did this bastard have to be so bloody attractive?

Alec was able to hold down half of his sandwich. He managed to convince Masters that he would finish the rest at a later time at work. Masters looked doubtful, but that seemed to satisfy him enough.

The whispers restarted when they got up from their seats. Alec grit his teeth. Did this town have nothing better to talk about than what other people got up to? He took a deep breath and nearly prayed that Masters hadn’t noticed at all that the entire bloody town thought of them as an item and could not seem to shut up about it.

Masters walked a step ahead of him and opened the door. “Pleasure as always, Mr. Holmes,” he said with a smooth grin. Please, please please don’t notice how other people have been talking about us. Above all, please don’t notice how much I want them to be right.

Alec startled at the hand on his lower back, gently pushing him out the door. He tried to look more relaxed, but he could see Masters had taken note of it.

They stepped out onto the pavement. Alec lingered, not wanting to leave things awkward between them. They spoke at the same time.

“Look—”

“I’m—”

“You first,” Alec said.

“Holmes…” the doctor started, eyes darting around nervously. “You know what? It’s nothing. I enjoyed breakfast today. And your company, um… thank… you for that.”

Alec felt his cheeks warming. “Y-yeah? I mean, alright. It-it’s fine, I—” he could see Masters slightly pursing his lips. “You know people talk, right?”

“I imagine they do little else,” said Masters flatly.

Alec scratched the back of his head. How can he get his message across without sounding too presumptuous? “I mean they—ah, they seem to think that we… are together.”

Masters blinked. “But we are together.”

The blood in Alec’s veins turned to ice. “W-what do you—”

“Right now, we’re here. Standing. Together. Is there something so scandalous about that?”

Alec tried to look for any signs on Masters’ face that he was kidding, but there was none. His brow was furrowed in concentration, mulling over the oddity in Alec’s statement.

“O-oh, you meant—I mean, yes! Yes, we are indeed, um, together.” Crap! He’d completely misread the situation. He scolded himself. Don’t look any more like a bumbling idiot in front of him! What was he even doing? Bringing this up with Masters was a surefire way of sending him running for the hills. Alec internally sighed. What kind of respectable man would want to be associated with a “shitface” disgraced detective? If Masters had any idea that the people of Broadchurch had branded them as the town’s Couple of the Year, he’d never want to see Alec again, much less be seen with him. “I suppose I’m just worried about your um, privacy.”

“My… privacy.”

“Yes! You know how it is in here. Everyone’s always up in other people’s business and—oh, would you look at the time!” He raised his wrist and realized a bit too late that he’d forgotten his watch. “I best get going. This was…” There was no reason to look like a flustered schoolgirl, he told himself. “Great, uh… mate.” And before he could stop himself, his fist bumped dejectedly onto Masters’ arm.

For Christ’s sake.

Masters looked at his miserable excuse for social communication and thankfully said nothing.

“I’ll see you around.” Masters gave his arm a firm squeeze that sent electric jolts straight to his chest cavity and left.

Alec kicked the pavement—and inhaled sharply at the contact and the stabs of pain that coursed up his foot.

 -

Just to add a cherry on top of his already messy, bloody cake, a whole bag of bad news greeted him at work. Cold leads, no new suspects, and inconsistent witness statements. Alec spent the next six hours bent over files and data cards, shutting off all his bodily functions and channeling his energy into coming up with anything that might be able to make sense of this increasingly complex case.

“CCTV brought up nothing, sir,” said Miller, looking not much better than he did. “I searched all night-”

“But that’s impossible!” Alec rifled through his own notes, skimming across messily scrawled witness accounts. “You should able to find that red van on the corner of Ivy and Hodges. Without that, our entire case is just mere speculation!”

“I don’t know what to do, sir. I’m just astounded as you are.”

Alec groaned, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “We can’t be caught theorising, Miller! We need evidence.”

“Hang on, I’m working on it!” Miller put her hands on her hips, indignant. “Don’t have to make it look like you’ve been doing all the bloody work. You know how many all nighters I’ve put on in this office?”

“I’m not accusing you,” said Alec, rubbing his entire face, trying to keep himself awake. He could feel his mind floating off elsewhere and that was not good.

“All the while you were off gallivanting with Doctor Masters—”

“Do not bring him into this, Miller. He’s got nothing-”

“Oh don’t put that ‘we’re strictly acquaintances’ bullshit on me! I’m happy for you, really I am. And you definitely need to unwind more than all of us here.”

“It’s not bullshit. We’re barely even friends.”

Miller rolled her eyes. Her expression shifted drastically from the hopeless look she sported before. “At this point, it’s not even cute anymore. You’re just being very annoying.”

“Glad to see I haven’t lost my charm.”

Alec raked a hand through his hair, fighting through a pounding headache. “Masters has given no indication whatsoever of him… caring for… in that way. Just let it go, will you?”

A voice from the main entrance halted their conversation.

“Delivery for a… Sherlock Holmes?” The poor delivery girl was holding up a brown paper bag in her arms as she read the card with pure confusion on her face. She flushed. “Oh no. I-I think this may have been a prank. Is anyone of you actually-”

Miller shot a pointed look at Alec, who stood frozen with his mouth open.

“No, luv, not to worry! He’s right here.” said Miller, walking over to free the girl of the package.

Alec briefly snapped out of it enough to process what he was seeing. “H-how much is this?”

“Oh, no, it’s already been paid for by card, Mr. Holmes,” said the relieved girl. “Have a nice day!”

Alec still couldn’t move by the time Miller had brought the paper bag over to him.

“Go on, then. Open it! This is probably the only entertainment I’m getting today.”

Alec glared at her. “Entertainment. Really, Miller, we’re not a soap opera.”

“Hardy, I have had a very long week and things are very bleak right now with the case, so either you open this bag or I open your skull. Your choice.”

Alec opened the bag.

Inside was a box of takeout from one of his favorite Thai restaurants nearby. A sticky note taped on the top read—I’m aware we’re both busy. Consider this my way of buying you lunch. (Finish all of it.) W.

Miller had been reading over his shoulder again.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Alec said.

“I swear to god. I can’t deal with this right now.” Miller groaned loudly and cradled her head. “God, I need a coffee.” Alec heard her retreating footsteps.

Alec took out the food from the bag, staring at it as if it were on fire. What did all this mean?

The whispers came back full force. Apparently the entire office had a good view over what just occurred. It was clear the package was addressed to Alec, and they could only think of one person who it came from and they, unfortunately, were correct.

Alec grabbed the food and stomped over to his office, slamming the door behind him. He needed to put a stop to this. The situation was getting out of hand. If people got more ideas about him and Masters, it would ruin everything they had at present. Why, oh why did Alec have to always want more than he deserved? Why couldn’t he just be content with what he was given? Why did he have to develop shoddy feelings for the man?

He of course knew the answer to that. Masters was striking. He commandeered a presence in every room he entered. But more than his appearances, he was also interesting. Alec could never quite tell if he was a being a righteous asshole or just plain blunt. He’d only known Masters for five months, but the companionship between them grew with hardly any effort from either side. He was intelligent and funny, often without meaning to. Alec saw him and instantly felt the need to smoothen his suit, or fix his hair and just try his might at keeping up with the brilliance of this man, to impress him somehow. To make any sort of impression on him, really. He orbited around Masters, held in place by a natural gravitational force.

He absolutely cannot ruin this just because of some vastly exaggerated stories from the grapevine. Still, these people showed no sign of slowing down. He resolved to the one thing that was left for him to do: slam on the brakes.

He needed to avoid Dr. William Masters.

 -

The next day was barely any better. They had made no progress with the case, and both Alec and Miller were at their wits’ end trying to piece everything together. Alec hasn’t handled a case as harrowing as this in about a year. He stayed in the office all night so that Miller could go home and check up on her kids. Alec ran through more CCTV footage and transcripts from witness’ statements. He could feel the answer nearing him, almost within his grasp. He just needed to know which direction to take his hands.

Alec downed the rest of his tepid tea. He set the mug down. When did he get two mugs? It was only then that he noticed his vision spinning. He shook his head. There was no time for sleep when the truth was only millimetres away from his fingertips!

The vibrations from his phone woke him back up. He turned to look. Why was Masters calling at this hour?

“What?” His voice was gruff from disuse. He’d been alone in the headquarters for hours now.

“Ah, so you are still at work.” Masters’ voice was infuriatingly proper and formal, as always.

“Did Miller tell you that?”

“Ellie sent me a text saying you’ll be out all night. I see you’ve not had any luck on the case,”

Alec huffed. “Have you come to gloat?”

“Gloating’s not really my style. However, I will share with you the fact that I’ll be accepting an award next week for my groundbreaking research on improved strategies for in vitro fertilization.”

“That hardly sounds impressive, Watson.” It was very impressive.

“If properly adopted, they could increase IVF success rate by up to forty percent.” Alec could sense the excitement radiating off him through the phone. “Fertility treatments used to be so taboo, Holmes. But we live in an age where these conversations have been opened up in the vernacular. If these techniques—these conversations about the human body—could be made more accessible, imagine how many people can live without that social pressure burdening their shoulders, how many women would not be made to feel so-so ashamed of their bodies! This… This age is a turning point, Holmes, I can feel it. And I would like a part in it. Dabble my footsteps in it, so to say.”

“You’ll leave the most impressive footprints,” Alec found himself saying as a fond smile made its way over to his face.

“Will I?” said Masters, a little flirtatious.

There was no one around at the moment. Alec allowed himself to bask in it, his heart only a little bit broken. “Guarantee it. Be a goldmine for Forensics, I say.”

“Well, I’m glad you have so much confidence in me. Not very many people do.”

Alec took a glance at the clock. 2:17 A.M. and no signs of finishing work anytime soon. He took a deep breath—eyes opening in shock as the air rushed into his lungs like knives.

“Is everything alright?”

He clutched at his desk, making feeble attempts at normalizing his breathing, but the panic only grew stronger. His vision was blurring. Masters’ voice on the phone sounded much farther away.

The last thing he registered was the voice from the phone yelling out his name. His name. And then he blacked out.

TO BE CONTINUED

[the-regal-warrior]

Olympic Dreams Chapter Two

Okay, so here’s second chapter! Sorry this took so long, but I’m incredibly awful at sticking to any sort of writing schedule.

Just as a note: Sartaq and Fenrys absolutely refused to listen to me when I was writing this, and Dorian and Elide listened far too well, which is why their sections are longer.

Summary: Join all of our favorite characters from Throne of Glass as they take on the Olympics. And by everyone, I mean everyone. I literally have 14 main characters to work with. I might be in a little over my head. Watch as our characters experience life and relationships with the Olympic Games as their stage.

Warnings: Nothing is NSFW this time, but there’s a bit of minor groping and making out. Also, language.

.

Sartaq:

Sartaq huffed a breath, feeling his stress all but fading away as his stride lengthened and his jog turned into more of a run. He’d always been able to think more clearly when he was running, and even though this was his second Olympic Games, he could already feel the pressure piling up on his shoulders. He’d done fairly well in his first Games - after all, a bronze at his very first Olympic Games was no small feat - but he was favored to win the gold this year. 

Shaking his head as the pressure threatened to invade the clarity running always provided, he turned his gaze to the sky, taking in the puffy white clouds on the bright blue background. Distracted by the view, he rounded a corner and felt, rather than saw, as he went crashing to the ground as he collided with something that felt suspiciously like another person.

Groaning as his back hit the pavement, Sartaq was just drawing in a deep breath when the person he’d crashed into toppled down on top of him. Glancing down at his chest, all he could see was a head of straight dark hair sprawled across his chest.

“Shit, are you okay?” a female voice questioned, the irritation in it clear despite the fact that it was muffled by his chest. “Although, if you’d been paying attention, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“I’m so sorry. But I don’t know why you’re complaining - you landed on me. I had nothing to cushion my fall.”

“Well, you can be glad you didn’t land on me,” the girl all but spat, pushing herself to her feet and holding out a hand to help Sartaq up. “I’ve got ranking in an hour and I would’ve kicked your ass if I couldn’t compete.”

Accepting the hand she held out to him, Sartaq hauled himself off the ground, his mind whirling as he tried to remember the schedule of events for the day. “Ranking?” he questioned. “Wait, you’re an archer?”

“Yeah,” she responded, shooting him a look from the corner of her eye. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I just wasn’t expecting an archer to be running, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well,” she started, finally turning to face him. “I ran track all through school, and if archery hadn’t worked out I probably would’ve continued running in college.”

He finally recognized her as he took in her face. “The famous Nesryn Faliq, as I live and breathe. I have to say, your performance as a runner is quite inspiring to the team.”

“The team?” Nesryn questioned, a smirk lighting up her face.

“Oh, yeah, I’m Sartaq -”

“Sartaq Khagan, best steeplechase runner the Erilean team has ever seen.” At the shocked look he gave her, she added “I might not be on the track team anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention. I know who you are.”

“Aw, well, I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” Nesryn quipped. “I know every member of the team - like I said, I pay attention. Although -” she paused to give him a quick once-over, her eyes widening as she took in the defined muscles of his chest and his strong legs - “that pretty face makes you hard to ignore.”

Sartaq just winked at her, a lazy grin spreading over his face. “Okay, now I know you’re just trying to flatter me.”

“Maybe a little,” she grinned. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I do have somewhere I need to be.” Brushing a hand against his arm as she jogged around him, she added, “maybe I’ll see you around, Sartaq.”

“You can count on it,” he replied, turning around to watch her run off. Consulting his watch, Sartaq decided to finish his run earlier than planned and head over to the archery rankings instead - he wanted to see what Nesryn could do.

Dorian:

When his phone had started ringing at 3:37 in the morning, Dorian didn’t even need to look at the screen to see who was calling. He just picked it up, muttered a quick “I’ll be right there,” and pulled a t-shirt over his bare chest. 

Five minutes later he was letting himself into Manon’s room, his eyes quickly finding her despite the darkness of the room as he kicked off his shoes. She was sprawled on top of the covers in her underwear and one of Dorian’s volleyball hoodies. Her long hair had been pulled into a bun on the top of her head, though some pieces had escaped during the night and were hanging around her face.

“Hey,” she whispered, sliding over to make room for Dorian in the bed. 

“Hey.” He just pulled his t-shirt over his head and climbed under the covers next to her, pulling Manon underneath with him. 

Manon didn’t say anything else, just curled up against his side and pressed a open-mouthed kiss to his chest. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and listened to her breathing even out. 

She was asleep within in a matter of minutes.

~*^*~

It was that exact situation that Dorian was mulling over as he reclined against the headboard while Manon got ready for practice in the bathroom. Her alarm had gone off about fifteen minutes ago, the shrill sound of it completely shattering the silence of the room. 

The two of them hadn’t always been this close - in fact, for a while their personalities had kept them at odds. But, after they spent some time together, they realized they had more in common than they thought, and they quickly became friends. 

Dorian had soon learned that she often had trouble sleeping through the night - all due to some prior trauma that Manon wasn’t ready to share with him yet - and would usually call him whenever this happened. She’d always said his voice soothed her, helped calm her down.

Recently, however, her late night calls had turned into requests for him to come spend the night with her. It had started out innocently enough, just holding her like he had this time, but things were slowly changing. They hadn’t had sex - Dorian didn’t even want to think about what crossing that line would mean - and by no means had they even come close, but heavy make-out sessions were becoming really common. 

It was just as he was replaying their last little escapade that Manon came out of the bathroom, clad in only a black sports bra, a pair of black spandex, and black crew socks. Dorian couldn’t take his eyes from her as she stalked across the room, her white-blonde hair whipping around her as she flopped down on the bed, a groan rumbling into the pillow where she’d buried her face.

Chuckling, Dorian asked, “everything okay there?”

Huffing and lifting her head enough to talk, she growled, “no, no it’s not. I know it’s the Olympics and I should be grateful, and I am, but I hate early practices.”

Shaking his head at her, Dorian simply reached over, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her on top of him, her legs falling open around his as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “You’re a big girl, I’m sure you can handle it.”

Manon just whined, her arms wrapping around his neck. “I know, but I’m tired. And a later practice would mean we could hang out - you know, before your schedule gets all crazy.”

“No can do, witchling.” Dorian watched as Manon’s eyes lit up at the nickname. Many people had referred to her as a demon on the rugby pitch, but Dorian had decided she had to be a witch, because the way she took control of every situation was like magic. “Much as I’d love to, Nesryn’s got ranking today and I promised I’d go.”

“Well then,” Manon drawled, her fingers playing with his hair. “I guess you’d better make it up to me now, princeling.” A play on his nickname for her, Manon had decided that it was an apt name for him, given that everyone always spoke of him like he was royalty.

Smirking up at her, Dorian just tilted his face toward hers, allowing Manon to set the pace as her lips descended on his. It only took one sweep of her tongue for Dorian to open up to her, his tongue tangling with hers as she wove her fingers deeper into his hair. 

As their tongues moved together, Dorian slid one of his hands up her back and into her hair, pulling on the strands just enough for Manon to feel it. She groaned into his mouth, her nails scratching against his scalp as she kissed him harder. 

Slowly, almost like she didn’t realize she was doing it, Manon began rocking her hips into his, little gasps echoing from her throat as she felt him hardening beneath her. Dorian’s hands slid down to her ass, and he began helping her move against him.

True to form, they carried on like this for several more minutes, never going any further. This is how things had been going for a couple months now. They found themselves tangled up in one another, and they would stay that way until one of them remembered themselves enough to keep it from going any further. 

Manon finally pulled away with a groan, dropping her forehead against his. It took her a couple moments to get her breathing under control, but she finally managed to mutter “I have to go to practice.”

Dorian tightened his arms around her waist, his lips brushing hers as he replied. “You really do.”

She chuckled, swatting him in the back of the head as she climbed off his lap. “And don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“I suppose. Individual ranking doesn’t start until this afternoon, but team ranking is going on right now. I suppose I should go be a good friend.”

“Yeah, you do that.” Manon had managed to pull a t-shirt over her head, sliding her feet into her sneakers as she did. “Oh, and Dorian?”

“Yeah?” he questioned, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. 

“Lock the door on your way out.” With one final smirk over her shoulder, Manon was out the door, Dorian’s laughter ringing through the room.

Fenrys:

Fenrys grumbled his displeasure as the frisbee soared by his arm yet again. “You know,” he called as he turned to go located the disc, “I finally know why you took up soccer, Salvaterre - you can’t aim with your hands for shit!”

From his right, Aelin nearly choked as she tried to contain her laughter. “Is that the only appendage he can’t aim with?”

That had Rowan and Aedion doubled over with laughter, Lysandra doing her best to keep her glee from her face beside them. Fenrys nearly dropped the recently retrieved frisbee as he barked out a laugh, turning to face Lorcan to gauge his reaction. 

In what was known to be standard fashion for him, Lorcan was scowling, and, as was to be expected, Aelin was on the receiving end of that glare. The two of them had a fairly turbulent relationship - the only reason they really hung out at all was because of Rowan. Despite how Lorcan was a self-proclaimed loner, the guys on the team still considered him a friend. 

Fenrys just smirked at Lorcan’s expression, glad that he, for once, wasn’t on the other side of it. He and Lorcan, along with Rowan, Connall, Vaughan, and Gavriel, had been playing on the same team (The Cadre) for years, and no one else seemed to get under Lorcan’s skin quite like Fenrys and Aelin. 

“That was beautiful, Aelin,” Fen chuckled, tossing the frisbee to Lysandra. She caught it and flicked it over to Aelin, who was busy laughing at the displeasure still clear on Lorcan’s face. 

That laughter, however, quickly turned into a string of curses as the disc sailed right by her, landing five feet in front of Rowan. As he bent to pick it up, Aelin took off at a sprint toward him, determined to retrieve it before he did.

She crashed into him just as he stood up with it, the force with which she hit him knocking them both to the ground. They rolled for a minute before Rowan had her pinned, a smirk on his face as he stared down at her. 

Before they could do more than just stare at one another, Lorcan grabbed Rowan by the back of his shirt and hauled him off Aelin, the scowl still on his face. “That’s enough of that shit.”

“Yeah,” Aedion chimed in, “no one wants to see that.”

Lysandra smacked his arm. “Leave them be. They’re young and in love.”

Fenrys gave Lorcan and Aedion a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, Lys is right. They’re adorable.”

“Okay, spending time with Asterin has clearly made you soft,” Lorcan muttered, shaking his head at Fenrys.

“Agreed. As much as I love the support, that is definitely not the reaction I was expecting.” Aelin took the hand Rowan extended and stood, giving Fen a stare that clearly showed her confusion. 

“First of all, can’t I be happy that my friends are happy?” Fenrys fixed Aelin with a questioning look before turning to Lorcan with a hardened gaze. “And second, Asterin made me soft? Really? She’s more of a swaggering pain in the ass than I am.”

“Speaking of the pain in the ass, where is she?” Rowan slung an arm around Aelin’s shoulders, gently steering her in the direction of their dinner destination for the night. “I thought she was coming to dinner with us?”

“She was going to, but her coach made her stay after practice to condition her shoulder again.”

“That’s a shame,” Lysandra replied, linking her arm with Aedion’s and following Rowan toward the restaurant. “Is she still planning on coming tonight?”

“Yeah, hopefully she’ll be done by then.” Fenrys had started following the others, Lorcan close behind him. All this talk of his best friend had made him curious about how her day was going, so he pulled out this phone, only to see he had a missed text from her. 

Sorry I’m missing dinner, but I’m looking forward to tonight. See? Attached was a picture of Asterin - a typical gym mirror selfie. Except, in the photo, she had pulled her cutoff sleeveless t-shirt open enough to show that she had her swimsuit on underneath it. 

Chuckling, Fenrys just sent her a quick thumbs up before heading to dinner with his friends.

Elide:

“That was good, Lys!” Elide called across the pool, watching as Lysandra pulled herself up the ladder. “The entrance was great, but you need to tuck yourself tighter during the dive - it’ll look cleaner.”

“Yeah, I know. My prep was all weird.” Lysandra headed back to the ladder to the diving board, already knowing Elide’s next words before they were out of her mouth.

“Alright, well, let’s do it again.” 

“You got it, coach.” Lysandra grinned at her as she began climbing.

Elide just chuckled and waved her off, used to her friend’s antics. At twenty years old, Elide didn’t always feel like much of a coach - especially not to the twenty-one year old Lysandra - but it was the best way for her to still be involved in the sport.

At only fifteen years old, Elide had been one of the best divers in the world. She’d won back to back world championships, and was expected to win the next one, too. In fact, she’d been favored to win gold at the Olympics the following year.

Everything changed, however, when she had a bad training accident. She hadn’t gotten her jump right, and had been unable to tuck in her right leg in time. Her ankle had cracked against the platform diving board, and the resulting break was awful. If it had been treated in time, she most likely would’ve made a full recovery.

But her uncle, the man charged with raising her after her parents had been killed in a car accident, always claimed she was overreacting whenever she was injured, and had refused to take her to the doctor until she couldn’t put any weight on her leg at all, which had been several days later.

Unfortunately, some of the bones had already started to set in their broken positions, so the doctor had to re-break them to be able to fix them. Afters months of recovery and therapy, Elide was ready to get back on the board. She could handle the springboard just fine, since it was only three meters and it had some give when she jumped off, but the platform was a different story. She couldn’t put enough pressure on her ankle to jump, and since it was ten meters in the air, any wrong entry into the water caused even more pain.

As she had specialized in platform dives, Elide decided to retire from the sport she loved, before she had even been able to compete at the Olympics. 

She and Lysandra had been on the same diving team, and the girls had become good friends. When Elide announced her retirement, Lys immediately asked her to stay and help her train, which is how Elide had managed to become a coach at such a young age. 

Lysandra jumped off the board, her body twisting through the air in a complicated dive that was sure to score well come competition day before she entered the water cleanly. When she resurfaced, Elide brought her hands together in a slow clap. “That,” she called, “was phenomenal. Dive like that when you compete, and you’re sure to place.”

“Thanks,” Lysandra replied, brushing her hair back off her face. “So, does this mean I’m done for the day?”

Elide grinned and was about to reply when the doors burst open behind her, the sound of laughter echoing off the walls. Looking over her shoulder, she was met with the sight of Fenrys and Asterin jumping into the pool, having already stripped down to their swimsuits. Aedion, Rowan, Aelin, and Lorcan were right behind them, and the latter just shook his head when the resulting splash drenched his t-shirt. 

“Since there seems to be an overabundance of people in the pool all of a sudden - “ Elide cut a look at Lysandra, who had the decency to look slightly ashamed, although the smirk basically cancelled it out - “I guess you’re done for the night.”

“Wait!” Aelin, who’d stripped down to a strappy green bikini, was standing at the side of the pool. “One more dive, Lys?”

Her pleas were quickly joined by the rest of the gang, and Lysandra rolled her eyes at them. “Fine. But on one condition only.”

Elide, who had started tossing her stuff into her bag, froze when she heard Lysandra’s next words.

“I’ll dive if Elide will.”

Over the years, Elide had gained enough strength back in her ankle that she could handle one, sometimes two platform dives before her ankle started to hurt. Lys knew this, and she would often ask Elide to demonstrate particularly difficult dives for her. As such, Elide had started wearing her suit under her clothes to Lysandra’s practices, just in case she asked.

Which basically meant that she’d be going off the diving board tonight - Lys could be very persuasive. 

Not even bothering to argue, Elide just pulled her shirt off and shimmied out of her shorts, muttering “fine, but your ass can go first!” to Lysandra as they headed for the diving board. 

By the time Lys had reached the top of the ladder, everyone had found their way into the pool. She took her spot at the end of the platform to much cheering, and within seconds she was jumping off and twisting through the air, her dive somehow even better now that she had an audience.

Lysandra surfaced as Elide was beginning to climb, and everyone clapped as she swam toward them. By the time Elide had reached the edge of the platform, every eye was on her.

Taking several steadying breaths, Elide closed her eyes to calm herself. Deciding on which dive she wanted to do, she opened her eyes and flexed her ankle, making sure she would be okay to jump.

Deciding she was, Elide took one more breath before pushing herself off the board, her muscle memory kicking in as her body flipped and twisted through the air before straightening out right before she hit the water. 

Resurfacing long enough to catch her breath, Elide dove back under the water and began swimming toward her friends, trying to calm her racing heart as she did. While most of them had seen her dive before the accident, none of them, aside from Lysandra, had seen her dive since. 

Finally pulling herself from under the water, she was greeted with the sound of her friends cheering for her, Aelin immediately pulling her into a hug. The two had been friends for a long time, since Elide and Lys trained in the same gym as her. 

“That was amazing,” Aelin whispered in her ear, finally letting her go so Lys could pull her into a hug as well. 

She was passed around like that for a while, until finally she found herself next to Lorcan. The two of them had met a couple times before, but they weren’t exactly friends. As she settled herself against the wall next to him, he nodded at her and seemed to turn away, only for his gaze to land on her again.

To avoid meeting his stare for a moment, Elide took in her friends. Aelin was clinging to Rowan’s back like a koala, his arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Lys was trying and failing to wrestle Aedion under the water - his main goal was to keep his hair from getting wet. Fenrys was lounging against the wall, Asterin’s legs wrapped around his waist as she floated on her back in front of him.

Finally meeting Lorcan’s eyes, Elide raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

He flushed ever so slightly under her gaze. “That dive was impressive for someone who, as I’ve been told, can’t dive anymore.”

“Thanks,” she answered, her cheeks also heating. “I’ve found that I’m usually okay with one dive before my ankle acts up.”

“Well, you’re quite the impressive athlete. You hardly made a splash as you entered the water, and you’ve got a great form.” Elide started giggling just as Lorcan seemed to realize what he’d said and tried to correct himself. “I meant your diving form is great, not that your body’s great. Not that your body isn’t great! I mean - uh - you’re beautiful but - I’ll just stop talking.”

Laying a hand on his arm, Elide tried to control her laughter. “It’s okay, Lorcan. I knew what you meant. But thank you.”

He shrugged, his usual indifferent expression slowly shifting back over his face.

“Hey,” Elide continued, turning to face him, “do you follow diving? You really seemed to know what you were talking about.”

Lorcan shifted until his side was resting against the wall of the pool, and Elide realized how tall he actually was as he shifted closer so she could hear him over the sound of their friends - apparently Lys had managed to wrestle Aedion under the water, with Aelin’s help, and he had splashed them in retaliation. “I wouldn’t say that I follow it, but spend enough time with Aelin and you start to learn what a decent technique looks like. Plus I’ve been to diving events at the Olympics before, so I’ve been around.”

Elide nodded, the two of them falling into a comfortable silence.

~*^*~

Twenty minutes later, everyone had collectively decided to head out, knowing that they had to be in bed at a reasonable hour to accommodate their busy schedules. As Elide was climbing out of the pool, her foot got hung up on the last step, and she tripped, pain flaring in her ankle as she felt it begin to roll.

Before she could collapse completely, a strong pair of arms wrapped around her waist, and she twisted just enough to see who had caught her.

Lorcan.

“Thanks,” she whispered, gingerly putting weight on her ankle to see if it was okay. Determining that it was, she started walking toward her bag, and she felt Lorcan slide his arm around her shoulders as he guided her over the slick floor to keep her from slipping again. 

Once she’d reached her stuff, Lorcan nodded at her and turned to find his shirt, leaving Elide to throw her clothes over her suit. 

As she was slipping her bag over her shoulder, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw Lorcan standing behind her, a small grin on his face. He held a piece of paper out to her, and, taking it, Elide realized he’d quickly scribbled his number across it.

“Just, uh, just text me some time, and maybe we can do something?” His grin turned a little sheepish and a little unsure.

“Lorcan,” Elide replied, a grin spreading over her face. “I’d really like that.”

.

As always, I hope you all liked it, and I would love to know what y’all think! If you would like to be added to my taglist (either for just this story or my permanent taglist), just let me know!.

Tags: @highqueenofelfhame @city-of-fae @musicmaam @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @tacmc @tangledraysofsunshine @for3v3r-a-day @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @photofeesh @nish247 @lordof-bloodshed

[kweebtrash]

Messy (M)

Pairing(s): OC X Johnny (features other members)

Genre: College AU, Fuckboy AU

Summary: Fuckboys are basically good for one thing. You hit it and quit it- except when his voice draws you in, his body keeps you there, and dumb ass feelings linger making things particularly messy.

Warnings: drugs, alcohol

Word Count: around 16k

A/N: ‘they’ and ‘she’ are used interchangeably on purpose.

Messy Masterlist   Buy me a Ko-Fi    Other Stories

Three months didn’t seem like a long time, especially with how fast summers usually flew by, but it felt like ages since my last hook up. Most of the guys in my “little black book” were away for the summer while I remained stuck in my stupid college town, holed up in my tiny apartment, only going out to suffer at my mediocre job. Meanwhile, my roommate had Tinder hookups out the ass and was gone almost every other night. I guess I couldn’t complain too much. I had always been pickier than them and maybe, just maybe, I had gotten used to my steady rotation of boy toys. Sooner or later I would have to break the cycle especially since there wasn’t any guarantee that I would see them this semester. Half of them still lived in the dorms because of the exchange student program which sometimes but a hamper on our hookups. I would probably have to get a new bunch to play around with and maybe once in awhile I could hit up an old fling or two when i was really bored. But right now I was suffering and unfortunately craving what I hadn’t had in months. A vibrator or my hand could only do so much. With my upcoming class schedule I felt like i wasn’t even going to have time for hookups no matter how badly I wanted them.

it was the first weekend of the new semester and already I was having sad and pathetic thoughts about my sex life. Thankfully, they were interrupted by my evening alarm going off. Since last semester, I had gotten into the habit of listening to student radio every Friday at midnight. Normally I would never take interest in radio as it was boring, uninteresting, and doused with political commentary but one show had caught my attention.  It was pretty stereotypical; a steady rotation of songs, promoting local music shows, really annoying and irritatingly stupid comments and banter. Nothing too special- except for their voices. It was why I wasted many a nights in my room thrusting whatever instrument of pleasure inside me while I thought how good that voice would sound in my ear while the owner was fucking me from behind. I don’t know why I was so wrapped up in the way it sounded. I just knew the deep and husky tone was the most sensual thing I had ever heard.

I clicked on the radio app and gave it some time, letting the hosts mull over their introductions (the most annoying part) and settle into their planned topics. In between songs, i closed my eyes waiting for his voice to return before slowly creeping my hand into my pajama shorts. His laugh would send tingles throughout my body and I could always tell when he got closer to the microphone. I could hear his shallow breaths, soft clicks of his tongue, and that small hissing sound he made as he sucked air between his teeth when he was thinking about something. There was usually a little ‘hmm’ afterwards and i basically realized I had spent way to much fucking time thinking about it and way too much time jacking off to a disembodied voice that possibly could have belonged to someone ugly and no where near my type. Not that I had planned to meet him anyway but it would have been nice to put a hot face to the even hotter voice to fuel my wet dreams. The hour seemed to fly by and just at the tail end of their outro i came hard, his smooth chuckle fueling the quick circles I made to my clit while my other hand thrusted inside me. My back fell against the mattress, coming down from the small arch i made as I regained my breath. I sighed deeply, realizing i had to get up eventually to wash my hands. I exited out of the radio app and slowly peeled myself from the bed, tossing on my shorts to shuffle out to the bathroom.

My roommate, Quinn, was already sitting on the sofa in the living room, bowl of cereal in hand. “Did you jerk off to the radio show again?”

I threw my head back and sighed, cursing the day that I told them about my secret. Though we shared the same thrill of pleasuring ourselves to the pair of voices, I still felt a little embarrassed about it. “Yes Quinn. I did. Thank you very much for asking.”

“I mean, same. Got 3 out before the half hour mark.” They slurped the milk from the bowl and crunched away at the cereal, absentmindedly watching food shows on our modest sized tv.

“Jesus Christ.” I shook my head at their physical capacity, slightly jealous, but i guess i was more about quality over quantity. “We really gotta stop doing this. It’s kinda sad.” I half joked as i kicked the door to the bathroom partway shut and sat on the toilet.

“Not really. Besides I’m prepping for this semester.”

“Prepping for what? To sleep with everyone on campus?” I laughed.

“Precisely.” They responded in between another round of crunches. “Oh, by the way, Lucas just texted me about a party tomorrow. Well tonight. Want to go?”

“Who’s party is it?” I finished and washed my hands, shaking off the excess water as i headed over to the couch. I plopped down beside them.

“I don’t know. He just said it was some people he met over the welcoming weekend activity thingy. I guess they work for the radio station or something. Anyway, can we go? I wanna drink!” Quinn said.

“You mean, you want me to be D.D. while you and Lucas get hammered and I’m stuck dragging you two home again? No thank you.”

“Aww, c’mon! It’s not always like that! We let you have fun! Pllleeeaassseeeee! What if there’s hot guys there? Oh what if those radio guys are the ones Lucas met!” They gasped and stood up suddenly. “What if we could fuck the hot radio guys?!”

“Oh my god. How about we don’t and say we did? Besides, what if they're gross? I don’t have time for that significant of a let down.”

“Don’t be so mean. People with voices that hot are bound to be good looking.”

“Call me a shallow bitch because I hope to god so but knowing Lucas, they're probably some dumb frat fuckboys and I SEVERELY don’t have time for that. Regular fuckboys are fine, but fraternity ones are the devil.” I sighed and set my feet on the coffee table.

“Well you won’t know until you find out! Please? Please? Please? Please? Pleeeaasseeee?” They whined. “If all else fails you can just hook up with Lucas again!”

I groaned and rolled my eyes far back into my skull. “Fine! Fine. I will take you and Lucas to this party. But if ya’ll get drunk I am leaving you there. Point blank.”

“Ok. Ok. I promise I will try to not get black out drunk this time. I’ll behave.”

I scoffed, knowing damn well that promise wouldn’t be kept and I would still be dragging their ass home at three am with Lucas in my backseat. Suddenly I heard my phone ping from in my room, signaling that I had received a text message. I hauled myself up from the couch with a groan and grabbed it from atop my bed. Well, speak of the devil.

Dumbass Baby Lucas: wyd?

--

I woke up sometime in the late afternoon with Lucas’ arm strewn across my face and him snoring into one of my pillows. I pushed his arm off me and felt around the floor for my phone, groaning as I felt the soreness of my thighs which was  partly from the exertion and partly because i had to be squished to the edge of my small bed to accommodate Lucas’ giant frame. I managed to find my phone and turn the screen on, wincing at the bright light that illuminated my face. I sighed softly, realizing I had to get up at some point, take a shower, eat, and be at least semi productive. Otherwise I would stay home and just fuck Lucas some more and my body needed a few hours to recover before the party. Suddenly I felt his arm wrapped around my waist pulling me close to his warm broad chest. He was always such a cuddler.

“It’s 4 in the afternoon.” I mumbled.

“Yeah, so?” He replied, partly muffled as his lips were buried in the crook of neck and shoulders. “Party’s not until later, we have all day.”

“i would like to get up and eat something at some point in time. And shower. Which you should too. You smell funky.”

“Can we shower together?” I could feel the smirk imprinting my skin.

“You know damn well we cant. As soon as we get in there you won’t keep your hands to yourself and I wont actually get clean.”

“You know i hate keeping my hands to myself. Besides I missed you. You've been stuck here and I couldn't fuck you or Quinn all summer!”

“Boohoo, you big baby. You'll be fine without one shower fuck.” I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, yawning deeply. I shone my phones flashlight on the floor so I could guide my way to my room’s lightswitch when something caught my eye. “Lucas.” I growled.

He let out a childish groan. “Whaaaattt?”

“Didnt i tell you to throw the condoms IN the trashcan?”

“I did!”

“No, you didn’t. You threw them on the floor and now they’re all over my carpet!” I gave his bicep a hard whack. “Get up and clean it!”

He held his arm wincing at the sharp sting. “Ok! Ok! I’m going!”

I turned on the light and grabbed my robe, pulling it on and shuffling out to the kitchen. Quinn was attempting to make breakfast, the smell of burning bread and melting cheese in the air. They took one look at me and shook their head. “Why are you so grumpy? Your dry spell is over no?”

“Lucas didn’t throw any of the condoms in the trashcan that’s literally right beside the bed and they're all over the floor now.”

“Eww, like the used ones?”

“Yes. Cum and all. Go handle your dumbass best friend before I strangle him.”

“Ok, I’m going. Just watch my grilled cheese.” Quinn sighed as they put the spatula down and trudged over to my room. I looked over the grilled cheese, nudging it with the spatula and checking the underside. Way overdone. I sighed and grabbed a plate from the cabinet, sliding the sandwich onto it before retreating to our fridge. It was the end of the month which meant no food as always. The last of the cheese gone. I looked over at the two ends of bread left in the bag on the counter. Last of the bread gone. My stomach growled loudly and i slammed the fridge shut. I didn’t have money but if I begged hard enough I could convince Quinn to let me use their credit card to buy pizza.

I went back to my room, almost kicking the door open as I heard Lucas’ pouty puppy whine which was probably the result of not getting enough cuddles this morning. He was always so needy when he was sleepy. 

“How much money you got?” i asked.

Lucas had gathered the condoms in his hand, finally tossing them in the trash before wiping his hand on his thigh. “Uh...i mean like i got my refund check?”

“No I meant Quinn. How much money do you have on your credit card. I’m hungry, there’s no food, and I need pizza and another 6-pack. I’m running low since Lucas’ drank most of them last night.”

“I have enough. Don’t worry.” They replied.

“I’ll give you money for them i swear!” Lucas interjected. “Or maybe more head? For like a week straight?”

“Head doesn't get me tipsy Lucas. But you can still do that if you want.” I smirked before turning to Quinn. “Can you order it please? I want to shower first.”

“Yeah, yeah...i burnt my dang sandwich anyway.”

“Sweet.” I grabbed my towel from the hook behind my door and shuffled over to the bathroom, feeling the looming presence behind me. “Lucas.” I said sternly.

“I have to pee! Cant I pee?!”

I glared back at him. “Fine. But get out once you're done.” i tossed off my robe and stepped into the shower, yanking the curtain harshly so i could block his view of me. I was ready to have the cool water on my skin to wipe away all the sticky sweat from my body. It was already too hot today.

“Where's the toothbrush i keep here?” he asked after flushing.

“In the medicine cabinet” i grumbled. “Where it's always at.”

I set myself right under the spray of water letting it flow over my hair. My purple dye was looking more like a grayish lavender, making me frown. I was going to look like a hot mess at the first party of the year. Wonderful. Suddenly, Lucas’ hand was in the shower, holding my toothbrush and toothpaste in his fist. He scared the shit out of me but i took them anyway, grateful to get morning breath and the taste of his dick out my mouth.

“When does this stupid party start?” I asked between scrubbing my teeth.

“Whenever we wanna go.” He pulled back the curtain and stepped into the shower making me groan.

“What did i just say?”

He kissed my cheek before picking me up and moving me to the other end of the tub. “Whatever. You love me.” He stuck himself under the shower head while i leaned against the tiled wall in the cold spot.

“Hurry up and get out so i can finish.” I nudged him so he would move out of the trajectory of my toothpaste clouded spit.

“I will.” he said, stepping out of the way. “Quinn and I have got some catching up to do anyway.” He winked at me before leaning over to get the bar of soap in the shower caddy beside me. “You could join us if you want.”

“Not today. Too tired for that.”

“Boo, you're no fun.” He gave me a quick kiss but hovered a little longer by my lips.

“I think the ‘Oh fuck, Eri! SHIT! YES!YES!OH GOD FUCK YES!’ said otherwise, no? Loud ass.” I gave him a slower kiss this time, cupping his chin in my hand while his instantly went to my ass, grabbing it harshly and pulling me closer.

“Are you sure we cant have a little fun in the shower?” he whispered. He placed soft kisses all over my neck and chest making his way lower until he was onto his knees. I saw his brown puppy dog eyes look up at me and he knew i couldn't resist.

“Fine. But just a little bit, ok?” I held his head close as he dove between my thighs, sighing softly as he did what he knew how to do best.

--

Lucas practically ran to the back of the apartment building following the sound of obnoxiously loud music. There were sliding doors that were wide open letting people flow in and out of the first floor apartment to the community pool close by. Wafts of smoke circled the party goers as they chugged bottles of beer, laughing and dancing as they went. “Hurry up!” Lucas called out to Quinn and I. Quinn was a bit faster and more enthusiastic while I took my time, shifting around someone who was already too drunk to function. It was only 10:30 too.

I finally stepped into the apartment, instantly annoyed by the smell of cheap weed and the remixed versions of some top 40 hits blaring from a macbook and speaker hookup. Before i could even make a complaint Lucas was shoving a bottle of apple ale into my hand while Quinn scoped out the party for their next target. “I'm gonna go find the guys I met. I'll be right back!” Lucas screamed over the music. I nodded and waved him off, my eyes honing in at the free bar stool by the kitchen counter. Quinn had followed Lucas leaving me on my own as usual.

I sat down on the bar stool and sipped my ale slowly, having to pace myself in order to be able to drive everyone home. I rested my chin on my hand as i scrolled through my instagram, already yawning and wanting to go back to bed. Even though i slept for about 12 hours i had still spent the night tossing and turning and getting woken up to wandering fingers between my thighs. I took another sip and double tapped my screen, liking some random makeup pic. I barely even noticed the person slide beside me until a plastic shot glass was waved in my face. I moved my head back, surprised at the intrusion before I saw who was offering it. Fuuuuuccckk.

“Well if it isn't my favorite kitten. I didn't know you'd be here.”

“Hi, Ten.” I groaned. He nudged the shot glass towards me again and I took it, knowing i would need it for this conversation.

“Almost didn't recognize you without your collar on.”

“You took the leather one back home, remember?” I rolled my eyes and tossed the shot back, wincing at the burn. “I got stuck with the pink one with the giant bell. Which is not subtle at all by the way.”

“Who said anything about wanting to be subtle?” he took a sip from his solo cup and tapped his fingers on the plastic. “You're my kitten after all.”

“And you’re my puppy whenever you want to not be a brat.” I stole his cup and tossed back a heavy gulp. “What the fuck are you even drinking?” I asked, feeling the sweet and sour taste on my tongue.

“Jungle juice. Whatever favor the purple one is. Anyway...so what's your semester look like?”

“Want to see when I can pencil you in to fuck?” I stated flatly knowing that he wasn't one to beat around the bush.

“Yep.”

“You still rooming with Yuta?”

“What about Yuta?” An arm was tossed around my shoulder and i was pulled into Yuta's chest without warning.

“Is everyone i've ever fucked here??” i almost screamed. Yuta and Ten both looked around.

“Well, there's me, Ten, Taeyong, Lucas and uh….Jungwoo.”

My eyes went wide. “You're shitting me. Please tell me Jungwoo is not actually here.”

“Oh you better believe it.” Ten smirked. “You're number one heartbreaker, honey. Congrats on still being the source of his vendetta for almost the third year in a row.”

“More drinks please. I can't do this right now.” I rubbed my temples while Yuta just laughed at me. Ten retreated to the kitchen, wiggling his smaller frame through some people and filling up a cup with another flavor of jungle juice.

“Aww, Eri. Don't pout. He's just going to hate you for all eternity that's all.” Yuta dug his hand into the bowl of chips in front of me, shoveling them into his mouth. “So like…” He paused to chew and swallow. “When can i tie you up again?” He didn't even look me in the eye when he asked, just took another sip of his beer.

“Gee, i dont know. I had a dry spell for the entire summer and now suddenly everyone I've ever fucked is at this party and i have to get a planner for my dick appointments.” I kinda laughed, trying my best to loosen up. I especially couldn't resist Yuta's smile that made me feel as if the sun radiated from him.

“You complaining about how much you get laid now? When has that ever been a problem for you?” He leaned in closer, his lips dangerously close to mine. I pulled away before he could sneak the kiss that he wanted.

“i'm not complaining, i guess I'm just a busy person after all. Still got it.” I smirked as Yuta nudged me.

“We fuck you because of your devil vagina magic and because you do just about everything.”

“Ok, first of all, it's not devil vagina magic. Second of all, am i the one who had a fucking machine in his dorm room last year? No.”

“Yeah but you're one it got used on.” Ten interrupted. He set my cup in front of me while he and Yuta put me between them like some sort of kink sandwich.

“Yes, thank you for your input, Ten.” I could feel my cheeks flushing as I remembered that wild session that lasted over six hours.

“Dont you mean ‘sir’?” Yuta chimed in.

I set my head on the counter top and groaned. “Why do ya'll always have to torture me??”

“But baby, i thought you loved getting tortured! I mean that's why you end up up tied and gagged at our place right?”

I whacked Ten upside the head. “AGAIN THANK YOU FOR YOUR INPUT TEN. I don't need to be reminded about what we do.”

“Or maybe you do?” Yuta smirked. “Hows next friday sound?”

“Hmm, maybe not Friday. I think I want her on Thursday. What if you take her on Saturday?”

“I could do Saturday.”

“I'm so glad you both are taking what I want into consideration.” I said sarcastically. “Anyway, Thursday and Saturday is fine. Bring your best shit. We’ve got to start the year off right.” I slid off the bar stool, taking my drink with me and leaving both my doms behind. Playing hard to get and being a brat was my favorite past time with them. I didn’t even take a look back as I exited the apartment, though the temptation was definitely there.

Outside wasn’t much better. It was still hot as hell for the beginning of September and with so many people packed into a small space it made everything hotter. I could feel the sweat start to bead on my forehead. I fanned at my face wishing i had some ice in my solo cup. Across from the pool, I could see my one night stand Taeyong eyeing me though I tried my best to ignore his hungry stare. I also tried not to think about how he pressed me against the door of the empty student affairs office and fucked me so hard it had started to rattle. It wasn't bad at all. In fact it was incredibly hot but we just never talked about it after and I didn't crave him as much. It was a simple fling but maybe he didn't think of it that way. I had been mostly occupied with Ten, Yuta and Lucas for the rest of last semester anyway. Oh and that whole actually going to college thing.

I sunk back against the rough brick of the building, trying to ignore Taeyong and instead scanned the area to see if i could spot Lucas or Quinn. No luck with that.

“Did you come here by yourself?” I heard a quiet voice say beside me.

I looked over at the guy scrunched against the wall, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. He was gorgeous to say the very least. His jawline was from the gods, his eyes were the most perfect almond shape, and his flaming red hair suited his golden skin so well. As soon as i saw his lips pressed against the rim of his cup i knew i wanted to kiss him. “H-huh?” was all i could really manage to say and i hoped to all hell he didn't notice me staring.

“Oh, sorry.” He spoke a little louder. “Did you come here by yourself? You looked like you were trying to get away from the party.”

“No, i'm not by myself but my friends ditched me. I can't find them. I also ran into some...uh...people i knew but i needed a break from socializing.”

“I'm the same, but...were kinda socializing now.” He smiled at me and my heart skipped a beat for a moment. He was definitely going to be my next mistake. I took a long slow sip of my drink before it finally clicked in my head that I should actually introduce myself.

“I'm um-” Shit, what was my name? “Eril- Eri. Just Eri.”

“I'm Taeil. I haven't seen you around before. You go to our college, right?”

“Yep, suffering and in debt like everyone else. Im in journalism so maybe it's because im stuck at the way back of campus with all the writing buildings that we haven’t seen each other before. It's basically a dungeon. I'm trapped.” I let out a bit of nervous laughter which he reciprocated. I figured he was the shy type and I had normally stayed away from those. Too many reminders that I was a shitty heartbreaker. But he was cute and I liked his smile. That was what usually got me in trouble anyway. Taeil was a breath away from responding when the sound of Lucas’ booming voice interrupted us.

“ERI!”

“There you are, you ass.” I was at least relieved that he had found me. “You guys left me all by myself like always. Where the hell is Quinn?” I turned back momentarily to Taeil. “Sorry, i'm babysitting him. He's like a lost puppy.”

Taeil replied with a strained smiled and tipped his cup all the way back. Before i could even say anything else Lucas was dragging me away, his big hand around my arm preventing me from even trying to escape. I looked back at Taeil longingly which he returned with a confused expression. I mouthed another apology to him, hoping that i could maybe resume our conversation later (and get his number). Lucas pushed me into a ring of people, two of which i'd never met before. They were all passing around a blunt, the air surrounding them so thick with smoke that it was almost burning my eyes. I coughed and looked up at Lucas. “Why'd you bring me here?”

He put his arm around me and lowered himself to my ear. “That's Johnny and Jaehyun. The hosts of that radio show you love so much.” He said the tail end of that sentence with such a teasing tone that i just knew Quinn had told him about what we did when we listened to their voices. But now that voice was in front of me and my worst nightmare had turned into the best wet dream. I thought Taeil had made my heart stop  when I saw him but I was fucking deceased when I looked at Johnny. He was tall with shoulders like a goddamn linebacker. His biceps looked absolutely perfect to grab onto while he plowed into me. And though i wasn't much of a fan of smoking the way he exhaled from his full lips gave me goosebumps.

“Well, aren’t you going to talk to him?” Lucas smirked.

“And say what? Let me suck your dick?”

“I mean, it's what you want, isn’t it?”

“Shut up.” i said bitterly as I shifted my weight and stared into my mostly empty cup, trying my best not to drool over Johnny.

“Hey, i'm a good friend and I'm doing you a solid. You need to have some more fun. I mean with someone besides me. Though we can still do that later tonight, if you want.” He followed up his half assed flirtatious statement with a wink.

“For your information, Ten and Yuta are already lined up for next week. But i’m sure you'll come knocking on my door too.”

“Always. You still owe me and Quinn a threesome.”

“We'll see.” I shrugged and finally turned my eyes up. Johnny had been looking at me- or rather looking at my figure-his eyes mostly resting on my thighs. I adjusted the band of my thigh highs self consciously, wondering if he was thinking about my legs wrapped around him like i was. My teeth were starting to dig into my bottom lip as i tried to not focus on those thoughts. Our eyes met again and instead of saying anything he just offered the blunt to me, which i denied. He shrugged, and instead passed it over to Jaehyun who was more than happy to take another hit. Quinn was beside Jaehyun, seeming to already be plotting how to get Johnny's partner in crime into bed. I knew they would convince him soon enough and i'd have to find a way to get them out of his bed in time for us to leave. Lucas had resumed his nature as a social butterfly, ignoring me to settle into another conversation. Everyone had seemed to be paired off now except Johnny and I. He took a sip from the beer bottle in his hand, a quick flash of disappointment on his face as he realized it was empty.

“Fuck.” i saw him mouth. He looked over at me, leaning in close with his hand resting on my lower back. “Want another drink?” He said into my ear.

“N-no um...i'm good. Gotta drive back so...i'm trying to pace myself.”

“That fucking sucks. This is the first party of the year. You should be blackout drunk.”

“Yeah, i’m not a freshman anymore, so that's so not happening.” I chuckled.

“Come get another beer with me then?” he asked which i agreed to a little too eagerly.

He lead the way, wrapping his hand around mine so we wouldn't get separated from the constantly moving crowd. My hand seemed to disappear within his fingers which made me want to melt into a puddle. Big hands were an absolute weakness of mine. We flowed into the kitchen that was even more crowded now as someone had brought in a few more cases of beer and the last of the jungle juice was escaping the pitcher into used cups. Johnny reached into the fridge and got another bottle, pulling his keys out from the pocket of his basketball shorts and flicking the top off with the bottle opener keychain. We moved towards the back of the kitchen to have some room away from the crowd. He didn't say anything, just sipped his drink slowly as i watched his adam's apple bob with each swallow. A partygoer asked us to move so they could reach the trash can behind Johnny. When he complied I was suddenly between his 6 foot tall frame and the wall. His hand rested way above my head as he nodded towards the partygoer with a tight lipped smile. My fingers dug into my own cup, crushing the plastic ever so slightly as i looked up at him. I was rarely nervous to be around a guy no matter how much their smiles, sultry voices, or tall bodies affected me. I had to remind myself that men were toys to me, a way to feign confidence and still get what I wanted. No strings attached with the joy of playing hard to get and emotionally unavailable.

But Johnny was making me feel different and I hated it. I wanted to crush it like an empty beer can and toss it in the trash and never think about it again. Except now he was looking down at me and i couldn't help but notice how the fluorescent lighting of the kitchen caught his brown eyes and turned them into the color of warm honey. If i was a puddle before when he held my hand i was a river now creeping closer to being an ocean and losing a grip on myself.

“What's your name?” He spoke at last.

“Eri...just Eri. You're from the uh….radio show? Lucas told me about you. Well that you guys met…”

He shrugged. “Yeah, he's cool or whatever. He reminds me of how I used to be when I first started college. You friends with him or something?”

“To say the very least.” I laughed nervously and tucked a stray hair behind my ear. Johnny tipped his bottle over, spilling some of his beer into my empty cup.

“So you fuck him? He your boyfriend?”

“God no. I mean i do fuck him but he's not my boyfriend.” I took a sip of the beer, instantly regretting it. The disgusting bitterness reminded me of regurgitated piss in a bottle but my mind was making me keep up my aloof appearance and i forced myself to drink more.

“Cool…Thought i'd ask just in case.”

“Just in case?” I swallowed thickly, knowing exactly what he was insinuating.

“Mhm...just in case.” He lowered his head, reaching down to my level, and pressed our lips together. No other words exchanged, just the feeling of the soft skin on skin, melding together in a way that wasn't sloppy or rough but rather a slow and sensual torture. I wanted to push him away; i even pressed my hands against his chest but my body failed to do it. He stepped a bit closer, his bottle free hand coming to cup my chin as his tongue pushed past my lips. I resisted the urge to wrap my arms around his neck and instead kept my hands on his chest, feeling his muscles underneath his thin tank top. My nails dug into him slightly and i could feel the quietest of moans reverberate against my tongue. The way he overwhelmed my mouth had me being dragged back in, over and over, until i was breathless and lightheaded. When he finally parted from me, he stepped back as if nothing had happened. He resumed the need to quench his thirst, momentarily dragging his thumb over his lips and looking at it-presumably to check if i had left lipstick behind.

“What was that?” I asked, definitely confused about how he just kissed me and was acting like it didn't phase him at all while i was feeling like i was crashing down from cloud 9.

“What? Don't act like you've never made out with someone at a party before.” He said simply.

Of course I had, plenty of times but never with someone who's voice i had dreamt about for nights on end. Even though I had connected my fantasy to real life and he had kissed me, I still had to see him as just a voice. I had to keep him at a distance to avoid drowning in him. He also had solidified his stereotype of a party fuckboy only looking for one thing. I couldn't be too mad at him. My list of one night stands was ever growing as well but he was kinda being a douche about it. “I've done a lot of things at parties but-”

“Good, then you know how this goes.”

I wanted to deck him right in that perfect pouty mouth of his. And worst of all, it made me want to fuck him even more. My ability to respond was tossed aside as someone he knew came over and they exchanged loud greetings, slapping each others hands before caving into a ‘no homo' bro hug. His care for me seemed to have been thrown out, leaving me stuck in a corner. I quickly texted Quinn, hoping they weren't sucking face (or dick) as of yet and we could meet up. Johnny continued talking, his radio personality showing through more than when he was with me. I mulled over my next move- to ditch Johnny or wait until he was done talking to see if i could get another breathtaking kiss.

I gave my phone one last check to see if Quinn had responded before pushing myself off the wall and moving through the kitchen. My chest slightly brushed against him as i squeezed past. Taking a quick glance back, I caught him watching me from over his friend’s shoulder. I tossed my hair back and kept walking, smirking to myself a bit. He could chase after me if he wanted but i wasn’t going to wait. I made my way towards the sliding doors, ready to return outside when I was surprised to see another boy I knew. Luckily, he was one that I hadn't slept with. Instead, Doyoung was one of my good friends. Usually he was the one to reel me back in when I got lost in sex filled hazes and needed to concentrate on my life, my job, and school. Having me as a friend was never easy when you had to be the voice of reason. I had never actually seen him at a party let along drinking. I wanted desperately to go talk to him, especially since I hadn't seen him all summer, but he was sitting next to Jungwoo. I was too much of a coward to go down that road so I settled for a small wave, hoping that I might catch Doyoung’s attention instead. His big bunny eyes zeroed in on me and he waved frantically before making his way over.

“Eri! I missed you!” he said before squeezing me to his chest. I could feel the icy cold glass of his beer bottle between my shoulder blades as he held me.

“I did too but more importantly what are you doing drinking?”

He blushed and hid the bottle behind his back, feigning innocence. “Me? Drink? No way! This is uh...um...you know, soda.”

I poked his shoulder playfully. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You're supposed to be the good one.”

He shrugged and stared down at his shoes. “This was the first time i was ever invited to a party so I thought i'd at least try it. Who did you come with?”

“Lucas and Quinn, the usual. I was babysitting them but Lucas is bouncing around and Quinn has their eyes set on Jaehyun.”

“Jaehyun? The guy from the radio show?”

I nodded.

“Ah...tell her to be careful with him. I've heard some stuff about him and Johnny.”

“Oh?” I raised a brow, my interest peaked. “Like…?”

“That they’re notorious for sleeping around.”

“I mean apparently me too. Have you seen who is at this party?” I laughed.

“Yeah but you don’t have that much under your belt. I’ve heard that they’re like in the 30s or higher for the number of people they’ve slept with. They're kinda gross.” Doyoung made a face of disgust before he took another sip of beer. “Just please tell Quinn to be careful. I don’t want her getting hurt.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I wanted to hook up with Johnny. He would be even more worried and i needed to do my best to keep an eye out on him now that he was drinking. I couldn’t take care of three drunks all at once. I gave him another hug and sighed. “I promise i'll take care of them. And i need you to promise me you wont get too crazy with those beers.”

“You won’t see me passed out i swear! Anyway, come sit with us. We need to catch up.”

“Uh...Jungwoo's there. It's gonna be weird.” I said, nervously.

“No, no. It's totally fine. Besides Ten and Yuta are there too. Taeyong went to the bathroom for a sec. It'll be fine.”

He took my hand and lead me to the group that had taken over the sofa. Jungwoo left as soon as i sat down much to my dismay. I wasnt surprised though. Doyoung tried his best to make him stay but it didn’t help that Ten and Yuta started teasing me for being a heartbreaker. I rolled my eyes and hit them both while Doyoung tried to tell us to behave like he was our mom, making all of us laugh. Somehow hanging around the people I fucked made me feel better and less miserable at this party. It wasn’t so bad after that and our alcohol fueled antics lasted hours. It was full of flirting, a few neck kisses from Yuta, and cute smiles between me and Taeil once he joined our little group. Ten kept close to me, whispering about his plans for next Thursday. Every once in awhile i would catch Johnny circling around. He was keeping his distance from me but our eyes kept meeting every chance they got. He was making a show of wrapping random girls in his arms, smacking their asses, running his fingers through their hair or pulling them close for a kiss but never completing it. He was being a tease and i didnt know if it was solely for them or to be an asshole to me. We knew we had our eyes on each other. I had to admit the best part was having a bunch of guys lust over me while i pick and choose who i wanted for the evening. Johnny was still top tier in the back of my mind. Those basketball shorts barely left anything to the imagination and I was falling deeper into his thirst trap.

Around 3 am the party had died down leaving just a few of us behind. We had gathered by the pool this time, even though it was after the allowed hours, preferring the cool summer night breeze than the stuffy apartment. I sat on a lawn chair, my mind fuzzy and tingling with the small buzz I had going on. I had continued to down a few more ales, some bourbon, whiskey and 1 terrible harsh shot of vodka. Even though i knew i was going to feel like shit tomorrow and that i was supposed to be driving home, i couldn't help myself. For the moment i had forgotten about Johnny, especially since he was still dipping in and out of view. I had instead turned all my attention towards Taeil who was getting closer and closer to taking me home. His sweet demeanor was taking over and I loved the way his cheeks flushed and how his lips curled into a smile with every one of my coy laughs. He pushed his bright red hair back, pretending he wasn’t noticing how close i was getting to him. I listened intently to how Taeil was going to be a tutor for some core classes at the library and I made sure to put emphasis on the fact that i would be definitely needing his help sooner rather than later. His hand came to rest on my knee, slowly edging towards the band of my black thigh high. I joked about having a school fantasy and hoping he would punish me which sent his hand back to cover his face as he blushed harder. Oh, he was just too damn cute. I scooted the lawn chair closer and took his hands in mine, running my thumbs over his knuckles and wondering what his fingers would feel like down my throat.

“I mean, we dont exactly have to wait until next week. We could...have a little study session of our own tonight. I’m so terrible at math.” i giggled.

Taeil folded our fingers together and cocked his head to the side, leaning in just a bit. “Well i should probably tell you something first…”

“Tell me anything, Tae.” I closed my eyes and waited for his lips but instead i felt a harsh yank on the belt loop of my shorts. Taeil backed away again, releasing my hands instantly and looking up at the person behind me. I craned my head backwards to see Johnny looking down at me. He had yet another blunt in his hand, his eyes looking much redder than the last time I saw him.

“We're playing ‘Strip Never Have I Ever’. You want in?” He sniffed.

“What is ‘Strip Never Have I Ever?” Taeil questioned.

“Basically you say something promiscuous that you haven’t done and everyone who has done that thing takes off an article of clothing.” I explained.

“I think I should sit this one out. I'm not one for getting naked in front of strangers.”

“Come on Taeil. Dont you want to see her naked? Even just a little bit?” Johnny seemed to be glaring at Taeil now, a bit of tension rising between them.

Taeil scoffed. “I'm not like you Johnny. I’d rather take my time.”

“Still playing that innocent shit, huh?” Johnny took another toke, the fingers of his free hand still wrapped in my belt loop, pulling me back towards him.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Johnny scoffed. “Of course you dont.” He rolled his eyes. “You never do.”

“Johnny, your jealous side is showing again.” Taeil set his chin on his hand, a smirk tweaking at the sides of his lips.

“So…are we gonna stop this pissing contest and play or…?” I said, a bit annoyed at their tense banter.

“Yeah, sure babe.” Johnny said as he finally broke the glaring contest between he and Taeil.

I removed Johnny's hands from my shorts and stood up, focusing my attention to the other man. “Would you mind getting me another beer and whatever else is laying around, please?”

He nodded and stood up, giving me a sweet kiss on the cheek. “Sure thing. Save me a spot by you. I'll play just because you are.” He headed back towards the sliding doors leading to the apartment leaving Johnny and I by ourselves.

“Dont let him fool you.” Johnny said once Taeil was out of ear shot.

“Oh he's fooling me? Funny. I kinda heard the same thing about you. It also just sounds like you might be jealous.” I crossed my arms under my chest, looking up at him.

“Jealous is hardly the right word. But if you want to be disappointed tonight then go with him.”

“You dont think i’d find you disappointing? Not even in the slightest?” I teased.

“I know you wouldn’t be. I’m not fooling you on anything. You can see for yourself later.” He grabbed a hold of my hip and pulled me closer to him.

“How many girls did you use that line on tonight? The blonde? Both the brunettes? The girl with the orange hair?”

“How many times did you let Yuta kiss your neck? Or let Ten almost try and choke you in front of everyone?”

“He wasn’t going to choke me...that time. But i guess you were watching me as much as i was watching you.” I said, knowing it was the truth.

“I just want to get you out them shorts is all. Who do you think suggested the game?” He winked at me before heading over to our circle of friends who were drunkenly calling out for us to join them. Taeil came back then with some beers and a cup of whatever he had concocted. Our spot was between Ten and Johnny but I had noticed Doyoung swaying while Yuta tried to steady him. I went over to them giving my sweet boy the once over.

“How many has he had? I asked.

“Literally like three beers. He’s such a lightweight.” Yuta teased.

I hit his shoulder gently. “Be nice. Doyoung, do you want to go home with me later? You can sleep on the couch.” I pet back his dark hair as he giggled.

“Im cool, im cool, im coooooolll. I got this!” Doyoung pawed at my hand, willing me away from him. “I'm not a baby, Eri!”

“I'm just worried about you is all. Don't get too crazy.”

“Let him be, you party pooper!” Quinn chimed in.

“You hush! You're already sloshed and I’m surprised you're not already naked.”

“Isn't that what this game is for?” They replied.

I sighed. “I guess I will have three babies to take home tonight.” I booped Quinn on their forehead gently before sitting back in my spot. “Who's starting first then?

“I'll do it!” Quinn offered. “Never have I ever been tied up.”

“Oh come on! Really?!” I said as Ten, Yuta, and I booed at them. Of course we were the easy targets with all the shit we had done together. I tossed off a sneaker while Ten went to take off his collar.

“Nah-uh. Jewelry doesn’t count. Clothes only.” Taeyong interjected.

“Damn, dont be so eager to see me naked.” Ten tossed off his black v-neck while Yuta kicked off a sandal.

Quinn nudged Doyoung signaling him to go but he had such a bad case of the drunken giggles it took him minutes to compose himself and think of something. I resisted the urge to facepalm as i watched him. “Doyoung, honey. Go lay down.” I pleaded.

“No! I got it! Never have i ever s-smoked weed!” He burst into another round of giggles before Jaehyun scoffed.

“That's fuckin’ wack! Here.” Jaehyun took the blunt out of Johnny’s hand and handed it over to Doyoung. “Inhale and hold it in for a bit.”

“No! No! Dont you dare!” I blocked Jaehyun from passing the blunt over. “Hes already drunk from a few beers. He's gonna lose it from one toke. Just take off your clothes so we can move onto Yuta.”

“You first.” He snapped back at me.

I stuck my tongue out at him. “It doesn’t apply to me, jackass.”

“Well maybe if you smoked a bit too then you wouldn’t be so bitchy. Let him have fun.”

“Why dont you fucking eat my ass, dipshit.”

“Wait no, can you please do that to me instead?” Quinn said suddenly.

“Will ya'll shut up and get back to the game? Doyoung’s smoking anyway.” Yuta snorted before falling into a laughing fit himself. While i had been fighting with Jaehyun, Doyoung had stolen the outstretched blunt and inhaled deeply. I could tell the moment he felt the burning in his chest. His eyes watered as he sputtered and coughed. Jaehyun cackled as he took the blunt back, getting in a hit of his own.

“You sure you don’t want any, goodie two shoes?” Jaehyun offered again.

“Id rather not.” I flicked his snapback off his head. “There. One article of clothing down. Yuta, please go before I strangle him.” I scooted back to my spot, a permanent pout on my face.

“You need to chill out.” Johnny whispered as he leaned in close to me. “You’re so tense. You know what would help with that?”

“Having my friend returned home safely and not passed out in his own-”

“Never have i ever had office sex!” Yuta exclaimed.

My mouth hung open, the rest of my statement dissipating in the air.

“Oohhh he got you and Taeyong!” Ten laughed. “Take it off, baby! Take it off!”

“Did you two really fuck in an office?” Jaehyun asked, staring at Taeyong and I. “Where even at?”

I chucked off my other shoe and grumbled as Taeyong pulled his shirt over his head. “Office of student affairs last semester.” he answered.

“Well damn, student affairs is right.” Johnny laughed.

I shrugged. “Shit goes down in offices and so does Taeyong.” There was a chorus of ‘ooohs’ as Taeyong gave me the finger.

“Fuck off. I made the door shake, didnt i?”

“It was up against the door??” Taeil asked, surprised.

Dammit, I really didn’t need him to hear my history now. Yuta was out to get me, Doyoung was already fucked up, Taeil was going to find out all the dirty things I’d done with almost everyone in this group and it was only the 4th round. Ten cleared his throat as I dodged Taeils question even though he was poking my side to tease me.

“Settle down children, settle down. I got a semi decent one. It’s easier to think about what i have done instead what i haven't. Anyway, never have I ever had like slow or sensual sex.”

“What!? That's a fuckin’ lie. Even i've done that. What about your first time?” Lucas interjected.

Ten shrugged. “Nope. Not really. I wasn’t nervous so we just kinda...did it. So, come on. Give something up.” Most everyone lost an article of clothing. I was curious to see that Taeil had only lost a shoe during the weed round but didnt remove anything else this time around, which meant he was either just as kinky as Ten or a complete virgin. I didn’t see him as the latter so my interest was extremely peaked at this point.

“Aren’t you going to take something off?” I asked him, returning his teasing notion.

“I don’t kiss and tell.” He winked at me and i couldn’t help but giggle as I felt the blush start to creep back into my cheeks. I tried to hide it by busying myself with trying to get one of my thigh highs off and deflect my infiltrating thoughts of a kinky Taeil when i felt Johnny's hand over mine.

“Leave those for last.”

“What for?” I asked, barely looking back at him.

He smirked and rubbed his thumb gently across my thigh. “I like them. They look good on you.”

“You're going to have to do some better convincing than that.”

Johnny grabbed the collar of his tank top and pulled it over his head leaving him bare chested and my mouth watering. I drank in each muscle he had on his torso, wanting to kiss every inch of him and follow that cute little happy trail to what was under his shorts. I was silently begging to get more rounds in as soon as possible.

“Convinced yet?” he asked, cockily..

I rolled my eyes, pretending that it was such a hassle for me to leave my socks for last. However, I stood up and undid the buttons of my high waisted shorts, shimmying them down my thighs before kicking them behind me. I adjusted my lacy black panties, feeling all eyes on me.

“Why is there even a bow on the back?” Taeyong asked.

“Because my ass is a present, thanks.”

“Gimmmeeeeee!” I heard Quinn say, making grabby hand motions at me.

“No, you get it tomorrow, if you're good!” I joked.

“You guys are gonna fuck?” Jaehyun asked, looking at Quinn curiously. “Can I watch?”

“Nope sorry, that is off limits. For my eyes only.” Lucas said, beckoning for Jae to share the blunt he was still working on. He passed it over to Lucas who took it graciously.

“What do you mean for your eyes only? Share the wealth.” Jae said.

“How about no one watches anything. We’re not a damn spectacle. What Quinn and I do is none of your business. ANYWAY, Taeil your turn. Please go. Please.”

“Shoot. Uh…” He looked around at all of us trying to think of a good statement. “Um...never have I ever had a one night stand?”

“Really??? That's literally like...my entire life.” Lucas laughed.

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Never had a one night stand...pfft okay.”

Taeil just laughed. “Dont be mad because you're losing, Johnny”

“Yeah me and practically everyone else.” Johnny tossed off his snapback while i realized i had to discard my shirt. Technically, i didn’t but i decided to appease Johnny a little bit longer and leave the thigh highs for last. I pulled my crop top over my head, revealing my bare chest (who had time for fucking bras anyway) before pulling my hair over my shoulders to have a little bit of coverage. Lucas whistled at me, giving me a wink which made me roll my eyes. Johnny licked his lips, a smile on his face while Taeil tried to sneak looks without being too obvious, which he was failing at. I hugged my knees to my chest and realized that it was actually my turn to go.

I had to think of something i had never done. Not that it specifically had to be something sexual, but that was definitely more fun than ‘Never have i ever been to Korea’. “Oh! I got it. Never have I ever eaten ass before.”

“Boo, you whore!” Ten said, taking off his fishnet shirt and tossing it at me. I caught it and laughed, knowing that we were still neck in neck in the race to lose first. Quinn, Ten, and almost surprisingly Yuta discarded another piece of clothing. Only a few more rounds and someone would be naked. Lucas was coming up quick, only having his underwear (presumably) and shorts on.

It was up to Johnny now. I looked over at him as he switched his preference to a cigarette. I definitely was wondering what he was going to say. He exhaled slowly before speaking. “Never have i ever done anal.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Taeyong slurred a bit as he had been nursing his drink. “Giving or receiving?”

“Either or. Any anal at all.”

Quinn, Lucas, Ten, Yuta, and I pulled off yet another article of clothing. I wasn’t going to take off my underwear just yet so one thigh high came off. I set it in Johnny's lap, mouthing a fake apology coupled with a shrug. He tapped his ashes into an empty beer bottle and sighed. “Damn, was really hoping you'd take those panties off first.”

“Of course you were.” I snatched his cigarette from him and took a deep drag, frowning when i tasted the menthol. Ugh, fuckboys always smoked menthols. He let me keep it though, enjoying the disgusted face i made.

“Alright, Taeyong, Lucas is down to his undies. How are you gonna get him out of them?” Quinn asked as they leaned on Jaehyun's shoulder.

“Not that I want to see him naked but never have I ever had public sex.” He said.

“You fucked in an office!” Yuta protested.

“I meant like a park or parking lot or something!!”

“Well, there we go.” Lucas stood up and dropped his briefs before sprinting towards the pool, landing with a huge splash and getting water everywhere. “We better figure out who's runner up so I wont be in this pool by myself!”

“You're the idiot who jumped in there! Besides it's your turn!” Taeyong tossed a beer cap at Lucas who dodged it. I had to rid myself of the other thigh high for the public sex and i was definitely afraid of having to lose my underwear from what Lucas was going to say.

“Shit. Ok. Uh… got it! Never have i ever sucked dick before.”

Ten and I both collectively groaned as we were deemed the next losers. Johnny had the biggest smile plastered on, his eyes glued to me as i rested my hands on the waistband of my panties. I didn’t want to take them off and was hoping that everyone would magically forget that i had ever sucked their dicks before. Ten on the other hand was already tossing off his pants. Ten rarely wore underwear, if ever, so his pants were the last article of clothing he had on. Never ashamed of being naked, he joined Lucas in the chilly pool water.

“Eeeerrrriiiiii. Come on. Be a good girl and take them off!” Lucas teased.

“Shut up! Maybe i don't wanna!” i buried my face in my knees. I was already losing my buzzed feeling and embarrassment was taking over at the prospect of losing my last bit of clothing around 3 new people and my baby Doyoung.

“Dont be a wimp.” Johnny said as he dug his finger into the waistband of my panties and snapped it against my skin. “These definitely need to go.”

I didnt bother looking up, only swatted at his hand, trying to get him away from me. “Will you stop it!”

“Toss her in if she doesnt do it!” I heard Ten yell.

“What! Don't you dare!” I felt Johnny's strong arms wrap around my waist as he hauled me up easily. I kicked at him as i tried to cover my chest but he wasn't budging.

“One last chance, sweetness.” He said lowly against the sensitive skin of my neck. It was that voice...the one i listened to, the one i dreamt about, the one that turned me on in an instant. I shivered against him, suddenly taking in how warm he felt and the bulge in his boxer briefs pressing into the small of my back. I looked up at him, my breath a little heavier. There were plenty of chants and whistles especially since almost everyone was abandoning whatever they had left on and jumping in.

“Let me go! I have to check on Doyoung!” I half lied. I actually did want to check on him as he had curled up in a small ball and passed out.

“Dont worry. I'll take care of him. You two have fun.” Taeil said tensely as he hauled Doyoung to his feet.

“Oh we fuckin’ will. Bye Taeil.” Johnny smirked. I wanted to elbow Johnny for being a dick to Taeil. I tried to hit his chest but he just grabbed onto my boobs and squeezed them. I tried to pry his hands off me, telling him to let me go as Taeil passed us.

The redhead turned back to us. “Hey Eri.”

I looked up at him, mid-squirm. “Y-yeah?” 

“Don’t forget to come to the library, ok? Ill give you a good lesson.” He winked at me before leaving the pool area with Doyoung stumbling beside him.

My mouth hung open momentarily but i was finally able to shove Johnny off me. I covered my chest and smiled at him. “Um, you bet...see ya.”

“Are you gonna get fucking naked or keep making kissy faces at Taeil all night?!” Ten yelled before splashing water at me.

“Ass!!” I screamed. Suddenly i felt a hand on my back and i was pushed in, sinking into the deeper part of the pool. My body struggled to accommodate my lack of height and inability to swim. Lucas scooped me up against him and i was grateful he stopped me from choking. 

“I hate all of you.” I sputtered.

“We just love seeing you wet is all.” Ten chimed in sarcastically. I splashed water in his direction as Lucas still tried to hold me up. Ten stuck his tongue out at me. “Dont you have to go to the kiddie side of the pool?”

“Oh youre one to talk!” I said splashing at him again. “You little shit!”

“Why are you so angry all the time?” Taeyong said as he finally slid into the pool along with Jaehyun and Quinn.

“Dont you know, all she does is bite and scratch.” Yuta snorted.

“I haven’t had any complaints yet.” I shot back at him. “Lucas will you let me go? Im leaving you fuckers and going where i can’t drown.”

Lucas shrugged and let me waddle to the opposite end of the pool. I was hoping that my makeup wasn’t running down my face and making me look like a Dali painting. I was busy pressing my index finger to my lashes trying to make sure my mascara wouldn’t fall into my eye that i had hardly noticed that i couldn’t move any further. I was up against the side of the pool, a position i was apparently getting used to being in tonight with Johnny around. He had his hands on either side of me, that same smirk on his lips as he knew he had me right where he wanted. “You still haven’t taken off your panties.”

“Yeah well you haven’t taken your underwear off either!” I said looking down at his waist through the blue tinted water.

“I didnt lose. You did. And you have to play by the rules.”

“Hah. Playing by the rules didn’t get me where i am today.”

“Almost naked in a pool about to get fucked, you mean?”

“Precisely.” I replied, thrilled at his renewed interest. “But i'll give you the age old ultimatum. I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Done.” He reached under the water and wiggled out of his boxer briefs, throwing them poolside. I swallowed hard, my head tilting to the side as i saw him. “Off. Now.” he commanded.

I stood frozen for a second still staring until i felt his hands on my hips pulling the soaked fabric down, not waiting for my go ahead. I kicked my legs out of my panties and he set them beside his. “There, now was that so hard?”

“No but Im sure you will be.”

“Halfway there.” His hands slid down the curve of my hips to cup my ass and pull me closer to him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, almost afraid that he was going to somehow launch me back underwater.

“I take it you're an ass man?”

“I'm an everything man. I don’t normally go for chicks that look like you but…” He licked his lips as he looked down at me flushed against his chest.

“Well don’t i feel special! I’m not the fuckboy's type but he still wants to fuck me. Oh me oh my!”

“Well compared to your track record over there.” Johnny nodded towards the band of idiots that i had all slept with. “I say i'm not your type either, Ms. Kink loving, anal-having, office sex wanting fuckgirl.”

“Did you take a look at Lucas? You're both big and tall with hands that could…” I refrained from saying what was on my mind.

“Hands that could what?” He tilted my chin up and traced the outline of my bottom lip with his tongue before giving me a chaste kiss. “That could finger you so deep and hard that you cum in minutes?”

“W-well i-”

He gave me another kiss, tugging my bottom lip between his teeth just a bit and sucking on it. “Or hands that could bruise your hips as i fuck you from behind?”

“You really think you're that good?” I panted as I managed to find my voice again.

“So i’ve been told but the dozens and dozens of chicks that have been in my bed.”

“Well you've never had me in your bed and to be honest i'm the only one that matters.”

“Damn. Where was that confidence when you needed to take off your panties, huh? Or do you just like to be a cocky little shit when you're about to get some?” Johnny said.

“Ask Ten. He'll tell you I can be a bit of brat when I want to be.”

Johnny chuckled. “I can definitely see that. Gonna have to find a way to occupy that mouth instead.”

“I can think of a few ways.” I pulled his head closer to mine and closed that minuscule distance between us again. I was eager to make him stop talking and instead focus everything he had on kissing me. He hoisted my leg around his waist, digging himself deep between my thighs. His hand then slid up my leg until it gripped my hip, guiding me to grind against him. Barely audible sighs of pleasure were exchanged between us. Every parting of our lips was a chance for our tongues to collide while every closing enacted bites and warm sucks. His other hand slid down my stomach to my parted thighs, his thick fingers caressing what i wanted him to touch the most.

The first finger was tentative, easing in with languid rubs and curling every time my breath would catch in my throat from his kiss. The smirk against my lips told me he was toying with me, wanting to draw out my torture for as long as possible. He pulled one last kiss before moving his attention to my neck. My forehead rested around his shoulder, my hands pressed between his shoulder blades. “You like this, dont you?”

“You’re hotter when you dont talk.”

“What?”

I looked up at him and pressed my finger to his lips. “Dont talk. Just keep fingering me.”

His tongue clicked against his cheek as he shook his head in disbelief. He didn’t stop his fingers though, instead he pressed another into me as his teeth sunk into the sensitive skin of my neck. My teeth bit down onto my bottom lip, shielding my moan from escaping. I rolled my hips deeper, wanting him to prove exactly how fast he could make me cum.

Suddenly a huge splash doused us, making Johnny pull away from me completely. “What the fuck!?” He yelled, wiping the water away from his face. Lucas had a giant grin on his face while Ten and Yuta were making fake orgasmic sounds and screaming “Yes daddy!”

“Are ya'll really about to fuck in this pool in front of us?!” Lucas laughed.

Crap. I had literally been so caught up in Johnny i totally had forgotten we were basically putting on a show. I shoved Johnny away and tried to cover myself knowing full well those three idiots would give me shit for it later. I tried to find an escape route but i realized my clothes were strewn about and there were no towels in sight. I would have to rush out naked and try and gather everything while the boys continued their bickering. I walked up the small ladder and out of the pool, hustling to gather my clothes and tiptoe through the grass, hating the way the blades were sticking to my feet and the dirt was becoming muddy from my dripping.

I went into the apartment, awkwardly standing around since i didn't know which room belonged to him. I needed a damn towel asap. A breeze was flowing through the open doors making the pool water turn icy on my skin. “Tell me again why you fuck those idiots?!” Johnny shouted as he came into the apartment.

I shrugged. “Same reason we were gonna hook up. I’m horny and you’re hot. But right now I’m freezing. Do you have a towel?”

“Yeah,” He rolled his eyes and headed over to the door on the left, kicking things out the way as we stepped through. “Come on.” I followed him into his room. There were clothes everywhere as well as old condom wrappers, fast food bags, and empty starbucks cups. I stared at the mess in disgust then up at him as he handed me a towel. “Did you get that from the floor?” i asked.

“You wanted one, didn’t you?”

I stared at him, squinting slightly. “Did you get this from the floor?”

“It was from behind my damn door, ok? You gonna dry off so we can fuck or what?””

I rolled my eyes and took the stupid towel, drying off as best as i could. My hair was a mess and I pulled it up into a bun, still feeling the pool water drip down my neck. Johnny tossed his own towel on the pile of dirty laundry after he dried off and stepped closer to me. “Now where were we?”

I sighed. “I actually should probably get going. It's getting late…”

“And?”

“And i'm tired. I'm gonna have to fish out Quinn and Lucas.”

He licked his lips and pushed his jet black hair back. “You literally were begging me to keep fingering you in my pool. You think i'm gonna let the boys you play with ruin the mood? Come here.”

“They don’t matter right now but I-”

His hands were on my hips then, lifting me up easily. My body instinctively wrapped my limbs around him, shocked senseless at his first move. My mouth was suddenly dry as we were now on the same level and his eyes met mine. I was trying to say something, anything at all, but i was sure my mouth was just doing the motions and making me look like a gaping fish. He carried me over to his bed laying me down and spreading my knees apart. “We were here, right?” He asked as he rubbed his fingers through my folds, making purposeful stops at my clit and rubbing the smallest of circles before diving his fingers back down again.

My eyes fluttered closed and I nodded my head. My hips followed each languid stroke, wanting him to touch every nerve i had. I could feel the droplets of water from his bangs splatter onto my stomach, the iciness making me twitch as my skin started to heat up. His lips kissed away the droplets, his tongue tracing intimate patterns into my skin. I felt a small bite right above my hip bone and I covered my mouth with the back of my hand, keeping my decibels down. His eyes flickered up towards me, an expression of curiosity within them.

“You’re quiet.” He stated, almost surprised. “Aren’t you going to start moaning?”

“You haven’t don’t enough to make me moan.” I fibbed. “Remember what i said before? You're hotter when you don’t talk.”

“Fine. Whatever.” He moved himself slowly up to meet my face as his fingers dug into me, a steady beat of push and pull while his thumb focused those teasing circles against my bundle of nerves again. “I just figured you’d start screaming my name sooner or later.”

“Ugh, no thank you. You still haven’t proved any-” The end of my sentence turned into a sharp inhale of breath as he curled his fingers against my walls, pressing into a spot i could rarely reach on my own.

“What was that?” he smirked.

I gripped onto his bicep, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried to match his motions. I rolled my body with each curl of his fingers, bounced my hips with each harsh thrust, and arched every time he would graze against that devilish spot. I could feel him watching me beneath him, my chest heaving as i desperately wanted to cum already. My tongue parted my lips, licking them slowly before i caved in and moaned. At this point I was still determined not to say his stupid name or beg for that matter but he sure as hell was making it hard. I dug my nails into his tender skin just as his knuckles hit my entrance, filling me completely with the thickness of his fingers.

“Damn…” I heard him whisper amidst my whimpers and the sounds of him working through my slickness. His lips brushed against my ear, his warm breath tickling my lobe as that deep, silky smooth voice left him. “You're gonna look so good wrapped around me.”

That was the cheesiest and wackest line I had ever heard but that voice made my entire face flush and my body clamp down on him tight. That stupid voice. I hated what it did to me. I hated that it sent my mind reeling back to all the nights I had masturbated to it over the radio. I tried to protest but no words were coming out. He was working himself faster now, a rough cycle of ‘come here’ motions and thrusts that had me helpless. I arched my hips again, my toes digging into his calves as i was ready to fall into my orgasm. Then he pulled his fingers out, wiping them on the sheets, and leaving me out in the cold. He got up from the bed and went over to his dresser, rifling through his top drawer.

I glared at him, a rough and annoyed breath slipping out. Did he really just leave me hanging like that? I sat up on my elbows, seeing a flash of gold in his fist. “First of all, fuck you. Second of all, why did you stop, you shitty tease?”

“I had to get a condom? Im not gonna fuck you without one.” He tore open the package and slid the rubber on before making his way back to me. He was ready to resume his place above me but my heart leapt into my throat as I saw him fully.

“WHOA! PAUSE! PAUSE!” I exclaimed, outstretching my hands to keep a bit of distance between us. “Why didn't you tell me you had….all of that!?”

He shrugged simply. “It was kinda cold in the pool. Does it matter?”

“Yes it matters! That’s...!” I covered my face as I flopped back onto the mattress, trying to convince myself that it wasn’t going to be so bad. So far Lucas had been the biggest I had ever had and he was mostly length. Johnny was on a different level and i was convinced i was going to die from him scrambling my insides. I felt him ease my face back towards his before pulling my hands away.

“Chill. Im not gonna barge in there. I have done this a few times before, you know.” His eyes raked over my body as he licked his lips. “Just relax for me, baby. I swear i'll treat you right.”

I almost gagged as his tired old lines. “Yeah that's easy for you to say. You're not the one about to have your guts in your throat.”

“Jesus, if you want to puss out on me just tell me so I don’t have to waste my time anymore. I could’ve had someone else here instead.” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, i doubt it with the way you were begging me to keep my thigh highs on and sit by you.” I sighed softly. “Just….go slow. Or else i'll hit you.”

“If you do i'll kick your ass out. I dont care.”

I pouted and looked away, my cheeks still warm. “Fine….sorry.”

It was his turn to sigh before pressing his lips to mine way softer than he had before. The tip of his cock was already trying to sink into me and i forced my body to relax as much as possible. I focused on his lips, the way he felt against me, his hands rubbing up and down my hips and thighs, and the soft groans he was slipping into my mouth. He would stop every so often when i would wince or become too tight for him.

I adjusted myself beneath him, trying to gauge how much he had left until he was almost completely inside me. We avoided eye contact this time though his thumb was making lazy swipes on my hip. I did appreciate that he wasn’t so much of an asshole and took his time with me. It was actually pretty...cute. I wanted him to feel good, for us to feel good, while he fucked me. Feeling him already so warm and stretching me to my limits was starting to make me squirm in anticipation.

Minutes went by as he alternated between minuscule thrusts and sucks to all my erogenous zones, trying to turn me on more to pull my wetness around him. Eventually his thrusts became more fluid and less overwhelming as I finally adjusted. I pulled his head closer, licking his lips slowly before giving him a firm chaste kiss. “I want you to fuck me, ok?”

He nodded quickly, switching his tactics instantly. He took control of my mouth again, commanding my tongue as he pulled his hips back slowly. The returning thrust was a harsh snap and it made me sink my nails deeper into his flesh. He paused again, gauging if it was too much for me to handle. I shook my head and breathed out a shaky ‘dont stop’. He gripped the edge of the mattress just above my head, using it as leverage to work himself into a faster tempo. The pain was underlying the pleasure still but i didn't mind it at all now. I was faltering back against him, a cadence of mewls and strangled breaths tumbling from my lips. His teeth found my neck once more, nipping at the weak spot just beneath my jawbone. I slid my fingers up the length of his broad shoulders and neck to the soft fuzziness of his undercut before grabbing a hold of his longer tresses and pulling.

“Bite harder. I'm not fragile.”

“Oh now you're tough shit, hmm?” he chuckled before yanking my hand from his hair.  “You sure you don’t want me to keep going slow? Those sounds you make are pretty cute.”

“I’m positive, asshole. And i wasn’t making any sounds. It was just breathing or whatever. Shut up.” 

“Get on your stomach then. And don’t give me any complaints either.”

I swallowed hard, staring up into the dark pools of his eyes and trying to register a command I wasn’t prepared for. When i didn’t move fast enough he forced my hips down, my stomach meeting the mattress for a microsecond before I was pulled onto my knees. My thighs rested on the outside of his, my small legs struggling to accommodate fitting him between me. His hands made my wrists disappear in his grip and kept me pinned down firmly. The breath felt like it was getting knocked out of me as his thrusts were painting vivid stories of pleasure throughout my entire being. My skin was blooming with sinfully hard bites on my shoulders. A low short growl rumbled against my skin and for the first time i whimpered his name, wanting it to be the only thing that ran through my mind.

His name on my tongue only spurred him on further. His blunt nails made crescent marks on the underside of my wrist as my veins pulsated against the tender skin. He moved one of them from beside my head, guiding my hand down to the incredibly pleasure filled center he was invading. His finger tips folded over mine, leading me to resume the attention to my clit that I so desperately needed. My face pressed into the mattress as I wanted to muffle the acute sobs building in my throat. My idle hand bunched the fitted sheet in my fist tugging it from the corners of the bed. “Please...” The word escaped before I could even think to stop it.

“Please what?” He teased, that sultry voice making my entire body shudder. Of course he was one of those guys that got off on making me say what i wanted and inflating his ego. I pushed my face into the mattress deeper, not wanting him to see the begging look on my face. Johnny let out a stiff grunt before he pressed his hand into my spine, making my back bow more. His other hand tore my hips higher, the tips of his fingers finding the dip in my hip bone that never failed to make me squirm. My thighs quivered as he pushed into it more, the V of his waist hitting my ass repeatedly. My teeth grabbed at my lip again as my toes tried to steady my weakening form. I tensed, clenching around his thickness as the head of his cock tormented the deepest part of me. I felt him shudder, a strained groan coming from him.

“F-fuck...babe. Relax for me.”

Easy for you to say. I thought. You’re not the one getting railed in half.

He pressed harder into me, if that was even possible. Every ridge, every vein, riding against me. Little by little, he eased his hand from my hip to rest on my shoulder dangerously close to my neck. He was trying to steady himself, to reel back his control and resist the urge to cum just yet. He cursed under his breath as his panting was getting heavier. I tilted my head towards my shoulder, trying to urge him to grab my throat. Choking always got me closer to cumming faster than most things but he pulled away his hand quickly as if i had burned him. I looked back at him momentarily, about ready to ask if he would just do it but i saw the way his lip was caught between his perfect teeth, his eyes closed shut, eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheeks. It turned my stomach into a gooey mess of emotions especially after he let out a deeper groan, his chest tensing just a bit as his brows furrowed. “Johnny...”

He nodded, letting out a simple ‘mhm’ before pulling me up to his chest. He forced my head towards his, engulfing my mouth in a rushed heated kiss while both our hands melded together once more between my folds. I reached my other hand back to cup his head, twisting my fingers in his hair again. Our fingers were working faster together against my clit as he rolled his hips up into me, making us both teeter on the edge. He swallowed hard, pressing his forehead against mine as i felt him throb inside me. A warm feeling filled my stomach, making me shudder and whine as i followed his orgasm. I slumped back against him as i tried to regain my breath and stop my legs from quivering. I was definitely going to feel that tomorrow.

Only a few sparse moment passed before Johnny cleared his throat.“So…You good to leave?”

I blinked a few times in disbelief. I rarely stood over with one night stands but we had barely just finished and already he was kicking me out? My entire demeanor changed. “Yeah, I’m fucking good to leave. Just give me a sec, damn.” i hissed.

He pulled out of me slowly, leaving me to collapse onto his mattress. I heard him rummaging around his room, the flick of a lighter going off at some point. I was curled up on my side, my body betraying my will to move and not give him the satisfaction of kicking me out. I was trying my best to get but my eyes were fluttering closed. Johnny tapped my ass before shaking me by my hip.

“Up. Now.” He yawned deeply before crawling into bed. “You’re not staying here.”

“I know jackass.” I said, following up with a yawn of my own. “Two seconds though.”

“Two seconds.” He closed his eyes and folded his arm across them, settling beside me. I was getting up. Right now.

--

“Fuck!” I gasped as i shot up from my sleep. I had felt a shift in the bed beside me as Johnny had rolled onto his side. I realized that i had fallen asleep at his place. Shitshitshitshitshit. I wasn't supposed to stay here. I was supposed to get up after a few seconds, leave, pretend that i didn’t just have the hottest sex of my life and that i totally didnt want him again. Now my plan was ruined because it was probably around 6 am when we were done. I barely got any sleep and time was starting to feel like a joke that made me more disoriented. I looked at the wad of my clothes on the floor and slipped out of bed, hissing as my stomach clenched in pain. Great. Just great. I scrambled over to my clothes and pulled on my shorts and top, not even bothering with my socks. i stuffed my feet into my sneakers and hobbled into the living room.

Luckily, I found Lucas facedown on the couch. He had managed to pull his shorts on at least after the escapade in the pool. Quinn was curled up on top of him, still mostly naked. I rushed over, shaking them violently awake. “Let's go, let's go, let's go!” i whispered harshly.

Quinn woke up first. It looked like they hadn't been asleep for long. “Finally! I was waiting for you! You made me sleep over and i NEVER sleep over.”

“I’m sorry! I accidentally passed out. Trust me I didn’t want to sleep here either but Johnny wore me out. It took forever to get him mostly all the way in.”

“Well damn...how big was he?”

“Magnum size big. Lets go.”

Quinn clutched at their chest. “Ohh girl...that's a journey.”

“I know. Will you come on?! I don't want to be here any longer than you do.” I slapped Lucas on the back, watching as his head popped up.

“H-huh?”

“Get up. We're leaving.” He rolled over as Quinn jumped off him and started putting on their clothes.

“What time is it? I feel like shit.”

“Doesn’t matter. Up. Get your shoes on.” I sighed. It was like corralling toddlers.

Lucas was finally able to get up and i practically pushed the both of them out the door. Lucas was able to find a few more of his clothes over by the pool as we shuffled along, making our way slowly to my car. I needed to sleep for 80 years and hoped to god i would be able to walk normally later.

--

The Boys Group Chat

Johnny: whaddup

Johnny: i lowkey only remember like half of last night lol

Yuta: fuckin mood

Yuta: we got naked in the pool didnt we?

Taeil: yall did. I didnt. I took care of DY. He was passed tf out

Johnny: aww damn does that mean you didnt get to see me fuck that girl you wanted

Taeil: I saw you acting like a damn fool. I’m not too worried anyway. Im gonna tutor her soon enough👅

Ten: and use that tired ass ‘im a virgin line’? Lmao

Taeil: listen it gets me more pussy than you will ever know. Chicks dig that sensitive innocent guy shit. The library is my sanctuary

Ten: one day somebody is gonna call you out on that whack ass shit or find out that youre always lying about being a virgin

Jae: what you gonna do then? Youre gonna have to find some other shit to lie about lol

Taeil: no ones gonna find out. Shut up. It works every year

Yuta: im surprise u havent lost ur damn job yet tbh

Taeil: what can i say im good at what i do

Johnny: anyway wtf was that chicks name that i hooked up with? I cant remember

Ten: johnny ur a damn idiot

Johnny: what?????

Yuta: ur kinda going down a dark hole so good luck with that

Taeil: she doesnt seem that bad

Yuta: LMAO

Ten: 😂😂😂😂

Johnny: whats wrong with her? She postal or something? Aint u two fuckin her too???

Ten: well yeah but she’s a handful

Yuta: to say the very LEAST

Taeil: ok we get it. Shes kinky and has poor lapses in judgement to hook up with you guys over and over

Ten: im sure you’ll find out soon enough. Shes something alright

Johnny: what do you mean? Shes not gonna like key my car or something right? I dont have time for that shit again tbh.

Jae: i havent talked to the girl I fucked about her much but like i can probs get u her snap. Or ask lucas. I think hes up her ass too

Johnny: who hasnt she slept with???

Taeyong: oh are we talking about who i think we are?

Yuta: way to come in late lmao but ya

Taeyong: oh shit lol. i mean we went over this during truth or dare.

Taeil: you mean never have i ever

Taeyong: same shit. anyway out of all of us she hasn’t touched taeil (yet), Dy or Jae….well Jae might be in waiting

Jae: fuck no. Not my type at all. she seems too damn mouthy

Ten: i mean once you gag her shes fine lmaoooooo

Johnny: yeah she kept telling me to shut up

Johnny: and she barely like….screamed or moaned or anything

Johnny: it was all these tiny little sounds

Taeil: maybe you didnt give it to her good enough

Taeyong: no. Thats literally her. I was fuckin destroying her hips against the door and she barely made a peep. Idfk whats wrong with her

Yuta: i think shes made the most noise with me and thats probably because i work her hard enough but even then i cant get a scream out

Jae: meanwhile the chick i slept with wouldnt fuckin stop making noise.

Johnny: jae your ass is loud too. sounding like a monkey thats out of breath

Taeil: fuck🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Ten: lmaooooooo

Yuta: get WRECKT

Jae: fuck all of you

Jae: forreal

Jae: i cant stand yall

Jae: anyway maybe its good that shes quiet all you fucking get are screamers anyway

Johnny: i know! Especially that one chinese chick i hooked up like last semester. Jfc she wouldnt stop.

Johnny: Idk i didnt mind her not saying much i guess but it was just weird to me

Jae: bro u barely make any sounds either. All i be hearing are your girls

Johnny: 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️

Johnny: anyway wtf is her name lol

Ten: Eri you idiot

Yuta: just Eri lol Thats what she always says

Johnny: whats her @ on snap?

Yuta: fuck

Yuta: hold on

Taeyong: its mistresseri13

Jae: LMAO

Taeyong: 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️

Yuta: the bigger point is johnny fuckin suh KING of one night stands is whipped for a girl and actually wants to talk to her again

Ten: oooohhhhh true. U never hook up with the same person twice

Taeyong: i mean shes good but you really want to hook up with her again?

Yuta: ty uve been tryna hook up with her since the office thing dont lie.

Taeyong: stfu

Taeil: lmao. So now johnny's whipped for her. she must be good in the sack then

Ten: mostly shes just nice to play with. U can do almost anything with her

Lucas: why are yall blowing up my fuckin phoneeeeeeeee!!!!! im tryin to sleep

Jae: bro its like 4 in the afternoon

Lucas: yeah and? Im hungover af

Yuta: are u at the dorm?

Lucas: no. Babes making me pancakes

Taeil: babe? Babe who??? Who the hell did you get to actually cook for you?

(Downloading picture)

Taeil: is that Eri in the kitchen? in her underwear?

Johnny: excuse me

Jae: HAH

Ten: oohhh now johnnys gonna be jealous

Johnny: Shut it ten.

(Downloading picture)

Lucas: I get morning kisses too lmao

Yuta: are we sharing pics of her now bc ive got plenty.

Lucas: shes still my friend tho. Dont do that.

Ten: not like we all havent seen it before tbh

Jae: i mean i kinda wanna keep it that way. You can have her.

Taeyong: spoiler alert dumbass, we've all slept with Quinn too. You aint special. Shes literally at my place rn

Taeil: oh fuck is that what you've been doing?

Taeyong: lmaooo yeah. Working on a “project”

Taeil: thats what i kept hearing. Im leaving.

Taeyong: shes heading out now actually. Going back to her place. Jae ill tell her you said hi

Lucas: i guess johnnys not the only one whos jealous

Johnny: im not fuckin jealous. Im not even gonna snap her

Ten: uh huh

Yuta: yep sure

Taeil: yeah right

Lucas: well i gotta go eat pancakes and maybe eat something else later👅👅👅👅💦💦💦

Johnny: ew

Taeyong: thats probably why she'll ignore your ass lol

Ten: get that tongue in j-suh or else she wont ever text you back

[beccarooni]

Space Bros

(A.N: my first asgardians of the galaxy fic! Took me a while, sorry about the wait. This is mostly inspired by that thing about Chris Pratt being able to braid hair. Thanks to @woahthisguy for helping me out with dialogue!)

“No, one of us has to do something. This has gone too far already.“ 

"I don’t see what the problem is. The Angel-God should be able to wear what he likes.”

“Drax, you haven’t worn a shirt in…any of the time I’ve known you. Forgive me if I don’t take your sense of style too seriously.”

“For someone who can’t even reach the table, you-”

Quill leaned against the doorway, watching as the ‘friendly debate’ between Drax and Rocket once again got out of hand. That seemed to be happening a lot recently. Well, he supposed they’d always been a bit like that. And that was what he liked about them, really. Sure, the Avengers were great and all, but they were just so…serious. Serious about their friendships, their battle plans - it was all a bit of a bummer to witness. Which was partly the reason why he’d been so opposed to having Thor join them in the first place. When they’d first met him, he’d been a serious mood killer. Tall, dark, handsome, and an all round axe-wielding angst machine that made his team go crazy. 

And then the blip happened, and suddenly that guy was gone. To where, Quill didn’t exactly know. All he did understand was that somewhere between then and now, all of the anger and pain that Mantis had first witnessed had been shoved somewhere deep under the surface of the Asgardians skin. 

If he was being honest the whole ‘missing 5 years of his life’ thing was still freaking him out. He’d been dead for five years. Rocket had mourned for him, for the whole damn team, for five years. And then all of a sudden he was running out of a portal shooting weird space-creatures, and he was just supposed to deal with all that? 

Things were stressful, and all he’d really wanted to do was go to space, play his tapes, and pretend not to notice the way Rocket stared at them all- like he wasn’t sure if they were even real. 

But then Thor had asked to stay. He’d asked to come with them, just for a little while, and what was he supposed to do? Say no? 

He may have had his disagreements with Thor in the 20 minutes he’d known him, but that was the old Thor. The frankly kind of scary one. This one, with the longer hair and the wild beard and the laughter that seemed just a bit too close to crying - Quill could handle this one. He could understand him, tolerate him, maybe. 

And with their travels of course had come a bit of bonding, no matter how Quill had tried to prevent it. Thor was a likeable guy, with no shortage of crazy stories to tell. Granted, Quill had tuned out at first. Combat stories were all well and good, but when you’d fought a planet who happened to also be your dad, other things started to fall a little flat. 

But then, Thor had started talking about love. 

About a scientist with curly hair and brown eyes, and a giant with green skin and a crooked smile, and that had got Quill’s attention. He’d never been to Asgard - the Ravagers had scared him away from that golden fortress with tales of security systems that seemed straight out of Quill’s own personal nightmares - but even just listening to the man talk about love was like getting smacked in the face with a Shakespearean sonnet. 

Quill got that. He got love that was so intense it made your heart want to explode out of your chest. It was kind of devious, really. Thor had roped him into conversations and now dared to use his charm on him? To win him into a friendship? 

Disgusting. Illegal. Quill would’ve challenged him to a laser-gun based duel if Thor wasn’t the only person on the spaceship who would high five him no matter the occasion. 

But then the eventual day had come where Thor had decided to leave them. To go back home and check on New Asgard, and most importantly to see Bruce. Thor had said “For the first time in about 3 years!” With a sense of levity, and for the most part he’d been happy for him. 

And then Groot had asked what Thor was planning to wear for a 3 year space reunion. 

And then all hell had broken loose. 

All because Thor had gestured to a pair of sweatpants and a jumper and said the fateful words, “these are fine”. 

“Listen, I’ve met his Bruce, alright? Dude wears button up shirts and cardigans. That’s code for being a big green fancy man.” Rocket shook his head, clawing his way back onto the table to poke Drax in the chest.  “That means no sweatpants.”

“He’s a god!” Drax retorted, twirling a knife in hand which Quill was really hoping he wasn’t planning to use. “If I had a lover capable of tearing apart spaceships, I would bed him regardless of pants!”

“Oh my God, we get it Drax. You’re horny for Thor.”

Quill rolled his eyes, failing to hide the fond smile that was creeping over his face. Honestly - he’d truly picked some of the weirdest people in the galaxy to share his life with. 

But he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Maybe they’d never really admit to him being their captain, or see him as their leader. At least, not in the way the Avengers saw that dude in the spangly outfit. But maybe being the captain was more than that. 

Maybe being the captain was loving his team, as cheesy as it sounded, even with all their weirdness. 

Being the captain meant taking care of his crew. And with his eyes drifting away from the table, and down to the darkened hull of the ship, Quill began to suspect that there might be someone else that needed taking care of. 

He pushed away from the wall with perhaps a little more speed than he needed to (in all honesty it was more to avoid Drax’s next weird sex anecdote than with any urgency regarding their resident Thunder Dude, but no one else needed to know that), walking along the various rooms to get to Thor’s bunk. Prior to the asgardians arrival that room had been the designated 'Random Garbage’ room, and had become the largest victim of Rocket’s serious weapon-hoarding problem. It had taken a whole week, and several close calls regarding bomb explosions to clear the place out, and even longer to procure a bed suitable for someone who could summon lightning at will, and who was one bad dream away from conjuring a hurricane. 

He knocked on the door, casting his eyes over the Nordic runes that had been painted over it with a crooked grin. Thor had spent a decent amount of time teaching the guardians Asgardian, more specifically, Asgardian curse words. Not a mission went past now that wasn’t littered with words that would make the Allfather blush, and the not-so-subtle warning to 'Keep Out’ that was posted over Thor’s door was no exception. 

“Just a minute!” 

There was the sound of something smashing from behind the door, and the thud of footfalls followed until the metal panel was thrown open with a clang that made Quill wince - the Asgardian’s slightly flushed face staring back at him. 

“Oh, hello." 

Thor’s face brightened in something close to surprise, as if Quill was a neighbour who’d popped round for a quick chat. 

"Did you need something, Quill? I was just packing." 

"Thought you might need some help." 

He grinned back, peeking his head through the door at the chaos inside. Clothes were strewn over chairs and tables, random axes and swords piled precariously onto any surface that could handle them. And some that definitely couldn’t. 

"Ah, yes. That would be…appreciated." The Demigod clapped Quill on the shoulder in a brief show of thanks, guiding him forward into the war zone he’d created within the span of half an hour. 

"I must apologise for the mess. Had a bit of trouble trying to find clean clothes.”

“Yeah, join the club, pal.” He shook his head, nudging through a pile with his feet. “Spaceship living. Hard on the laundry, harder on the privacy." 

Thor chuckled from across the room, pacing about what little free floor remained as he watched Quill attempt to navigate through it. 

Now, Quill was no stranger to mess. His spaceship was frequently labeled as a blatant violation of any and all safety protocols that existed for rag-tag groups of space bandits (which, surprisingly, there were quite a few of). But something about this mess seemed…off. Clothes had been strewn about, not by laziness or necessity, but what looked like anger. And there were a few still sparking holes in the walls that were definitely made from fists. 

"You uh…” Quill rubbed at the back of his head, trying to think of the right words to say to get to the bottom of this. “You excited about going back?" 

"Hm?” Thor glanced up, brows furrowing as he mulled over the answer. “Well, of course. It’s been a while since I’ve seen everyone. It’ll be nice to catch up.”

“You’re not nervous?" 

"Nervous? Why would I be nervous?" 

Quill shrugged, lifting up a shirt that was still glowing red with embers before dropping it with a hissed curse. 

"Just seems like you’re a bit freaked out about it, is all. Which is understandable, I mean. I’d probably be freaked out too.”

“I’m not nervous.” Thor’s frown deepened considerably, a few stray sparks flying from his fingertips. “I’m…excited. Excited, happy, very happy to see them all again. Not nervous. That’d be stupid.”

“Not even about seeing Bruce?" 

A pause followed before Thor’s next answer, and for a moment Quill was worried he’d crossed a line. The dark shadow that crossed the demigods face was a sharp reminder of the Thor they’d first picked up all those years ago - the sad one, the furious one. The broken one. 

"I don’t -” Thor began, his voice breaking off into silence. He lifted a hand to his mouth, shutting his eyes briefly against what quill was sure were tears, allowing the tremor in his voice to settle before continuing. 

“I don’t know if I can face him like this, Quill.”

“Wait, like what?”

“Like this. This, all of this!”

Thor gestured to himself, his face set into a deep scowl as his hands clawed at his clothes, his hair - all with a ferocity that made Quill grimace in sympathy. 

He didn’t quite know how to handle this, and he was honestly a little nervous to even try. Petty arguments between friends, he could stand. Friendly touches and comforts were things that he could easily dispense, if he needed to. 

If Rocket was angry, he’d want to be left to cool off with a handful of machinery and some light music. If Mantis was sad, she’d want a hug, and something funny to make her laugh. If Gamora, or Drax, or Groot, or any one of his team members needed something, he knew what it was, and when to provide it. 

But Thor was new. Even after 2 years, he was new. 

He’d been about to open his mouth to offer him some privacy when Thor interrupted, his voice low and just so tired. 

“I only went to space to get better. I was supposed to be happy again, and I’m just…not. Coming back like this? Without changing anything about myself? It feels like I’ve failed him, and I promised myself I was done with failure." 

The clenched fists and hunched shoulders really weren’t giving Quill much to go on comfort-wise, but he was done with standing awkwardly at the sidelines. It was time to be the captain. 

Awkwardly stepping over the various piles of junk, Quill finally arrived at the demi-gods side, planting a firm hand onto his shoulder. 

"Look, I don’t know Bruce. Never met the guy, and I don’t fancy going back to earth anytime soon so I doubt I ever will. All I’ve got on him is what you’ve told me." 

And jesus, had he been told a lot. He thought back on it - on the descriptions of a smile that was rare but so, so bright. Of restless hands constantly moving from experiment to experiment, yet still always managed to find time to hold Thor when he needed it. Of someone who seemed delicate, but really was as tough as they came, who’d been through so much in such a short time but still dedicated every minute of his life to helping others. 

Thor had painted a picture of a scientist, and a giant, who loved with as much fire and splendor as a collapsing star. 

Quill smiled softly, tightening his hold in what he hoped was a comforting squeeze, but honestly Thor’s skin could take a bullet and barely even bruise so he wasn’t sure if he’d even felt it. 

"The only way you’d be failing him is if you didn’t come back at all.”

Thor sniffed, and Quill’s brain was screaming at him for a solid 5 second interval that ’you just made the God of Thunder cry, Quill. What the hell is wrong with you, Quill. You walk in to help him clear up his room and within the span of 5 minutes he’s started sobbing and you’re considering throwing yourself out of the airlock, Quill.’

But then he caught a small smile, shaky and ever so slightly water-logged, but present, and he allowed himself to breathe. 

Thor straightened his back, wiping at the sides of his eyes and trying his very best to drown out the crying with a Manly Cough. 

It didn’t really work, but Quill had enough sense in his brain to ignore that part, and forge forward with his role as emotional support captain. 

“But, I think the rest of the team would kill me if I let you go out without sprucing up your image a little bit.”

Thor raised an eyebrow, folding his arms protectively across his chest. "Did you have something in mind?“ 

"Well…" 

**

20 minutes later, Quill was perched on the edge of the bed, brows screwed tightly together in concentration as he stared at the copious amounts of blonde hair currently tangled in his fingers. 

He’d learned many skills as a Ravager. Breaking into vaults, impeccable aim with his blasters, and somewhere along the line a particularly long-haired ravager had taught him the art of braiding. He hadn’t used that skill in a long time, at least before the guardians had come along. Now it seemed every evening he was braiding back Mantis’s hair, and if he was being honest, he was getting pretty good at it. 

A small chuckle from Thor as he looked in the mirror confirmed his suspicions, and gave him a well needed ego boost. 

"This might be the peak of my career, dude.” Quill leaned back, pulling at a couple of loose strands, earning him a warning crackle of lightning from the asgardians fingers. 

“Seriously. Should I become a barber?”

“I think guarding the galaxy is a somewhat higher priority than hair styling.”

“Nah. This is way better. I feel like picasso after finishing the Mona Lisa.”

“What?” Thor turned slightly, prompting Quill to swat at his shoulder as he tied the final few strands into place. 

“I don’t know, I only got an 8th grade education. Leave me alone." 

Quill brushed his hands against his knees, admiring his now finished handiwork with a proud grin. 

"You do look kickass, though.”

“Agreed.”

Thor twisted this way and that in front of the mirror, fingers tracing their way along the length of the braid that just brushed his shoulder blades. 

He got to his feet, turning slightly to place his hands onto Quill’s shoulders in a sudden movement that made a rather undignified noise come out of his mouth. 

“Uh-” Quill’s brain short circuited for a moment, trying to come up with some snarky response and drastically failing to do so. "What are we doing?“

"When I first got here, we didn’t get along too well. And that was partly my fault - I think I came across as a little intimidating." 

”Oookay…”

“Which is ridiculous. You should value yourself more, Quill.”

Thor smiled, moving to pull Quill into what would go down in history as his most awkward, yet somehow most comforting hug he’d ever had. 

“Your talents are varied and I am in no competition with you. You’re a good man. And I thank you for your hospitality these past few years.”

“O-oh.”

Quill managed to stutter through, kicking his brain hard enough to get it to respond in at least some meaningful way, even if that was just reaching up to pat Thor on the shoulders before the two broke apart again. 

“It’s…it’s no problem. You know you’re always welcome here. Even if you make the team go a little crazy.“ 

Thor laughed at that, reaching up to scratch at his beard slightly, his eyes once again turning back to the mirror beside them. 

"It does look nice." 

"Yeah.” Quill nodded, reaching forward to brush an imperceptible smudge of dirt from their resident god’s shoulder. 

“It does." 

**

"Y'know, I’m gonna miss having Blondie around.”

Rocket hopped up onto Quill’s shoulder, watching from the viewing window as a large green gentleman lifted Thor clean off the ground, swinging him in a circle as the two clung together. 

“Where else am I gonna find enough electricity to power all of my stuff?”

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing him again soon." 

"We better. Some of this stuff is seriously unstable.”

“Rocket." 

"I mean, seriously. Like world ending." 

"Oh my God.”