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ncssian · 3 years

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A Favor: Part Fifteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: NSFW!!😈😈 please disregard colorado window tinting laws for this chapter

***

Cassian has yet to regret getting Nesta that personalized record, despite the fact that she plays it everyday on repeat with a near obsession. Is this what true love is? Letting your girlfriend blast the same songs through your home again and again, and never tiring of it? Never tiring of her?

He doesn’t get to ponder on it, because while Nesta spends the week lazing pantsless around the house (“I’m getting ready for the party,” she states while he rubs her feet. “Spiritually and all that.”), Cassian has to figure out how to turn the cabin into an inviting space for forty wealthy guests.

All of Nesta’s shit gets shoved in the back of his bedroom closet. Personal items and framed pictures of the two of them are swiped off any surfaces. Lights go up around the house. Catering is secured.

By the time it’s all finished, the cabin has been stripped of all warmth and familiarity and turned into something chic and upscale, suitable for a small gala. Nesta stares around at the space when it’s done, her face revealing nothing.

Cassian points to the small sitting area on the second floor, directly above the open living room, that leads outside to the wraparound balcony. “We’ll be able to see fireworks from there,” he says. He turns to see Nesta’s face is still carefully blank, the way it is when she’s thinking too many things at once. “You sure you want to do this?” he asks. “It’s not too late to cancel the whole thing.”

She looks at him in horror. “It most certainly is. The party’s tomorrow.”

“Still not too late.” Cassian might not have that much power in the overall Night Court hierarchy, but for Nesta he could figure it out.

She smiles wanly but shakes her head. “We’re doing this, and we’re not letting it go to hell like last time.”

***

Nesta knows her sisters are aware that she’s on the guest list for the party (though she can’t imagine what Cassian’s explanation for that one was), but she still stiffens when she enters the cabin through the open door. Her eyes fall on various men and women that she’s never seen in her life, all glammed up and dripping self-importance, until recognizing Feyre and her boyfriend laughing with an older couple in a corner. The only thing that brings Nesta a little peace is that the snide woman, Amren, isn’t here tonight, having chosen to spend New Year’s with her boyfriend in California instead.

Nesta eases up when nobody takes notice of her, though a few nearby guests throw appreciative glances in her direction. She looks like a disco ball in her sequined wrap dress, and a freezing one at that. She shuts the door behind her, sealing the winter air out, but quickly pulls her hand away from the knob. It feels like the door isn’t hers to touch. She realizes that even though the cabin is her home, no one here except Cassian knows that.

Speaking of Cassian, she needs to find him. Nesta is not such an advanced creature that she knows how to survive in a room full of strangers on her own, and she no longer cares if anyone finds her clinging to Cassian weird.

She makes it three feet before she’s accosted by Morrigan, carrying her usual champagne glass like it’s an extension of her.

“Nesta!” she exclaims, loud and bright as ever. She smiles broadly, with too many teeth. “You’re here.”

Nesta blinks in response. She doesn’t understand how Morrigan benefits from this exaggerated excitement. Is it supposed to be insulting or polite?

“By the way,” Morrigan adds when Nesta doesn’t reply, “what exactly are you doing here?”

A heavy arm slides around Nesta’s shoulders, pulling her close. “I invited her,” says Cassian with a smile. “Because she’s my friend, and this place is practically hers.”

“Oh, I think that’s an exaggeration,” Nesta says sharply, trying to step away from Cassian.

He holds her closer. “No it’s not. We were roomies for over two months, remember?”

Morrigan winces, looking between the two of them. “Right,” she says slowly. “I keep forgetting that. Cassian is like this with everybody,” she says apologetically to Nesta. “Don’t take him too seriously.”

Nesta nods solemnly, wanting this conversation to be over. “I won’t.”

Her exit is made clear when the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it,” she says quickly, escaping from under Cassian’s arm.

Hurrying to the door, she swings it open.

Eris Vanserra stands looking irritated on the other side. He freezes when he sees Nesta, and then his face lifts into a smug grin. “Oh, this is too good.”

“So Cassian Madani was your sugar daddy all along?” Eris asks her later.

“Say sugar daddy one more time. I dare you.” Nesta stands near the stairs with her arms crossed, trying to pretend she isn’t associated with Eris. Which is more than a bit difficult when he keeps badgering her with questions, and Cassian is giving the two of them odd looks from across the room.

“I mean, what are the odds?” he laughs.

“My sister is dating his CEO brother.”

Eris throws her a look of surprise, but Nesta says, “How do you even know him?”

Eris sticks an hors d'oeuvre from a nearby platter in his mouth. “He manages security and logistics at every event Night Court is involved in. Can be a real pain in the ass to work with when I’m trying to get shit done for my dad’s company.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” she retorts.

They’re interrupted by Feyre and Rhys appearing before them, Feyre with her hostess smile and Rhysand with an inquisitive look on his face. Nesta can’t tell which one of them is more attached to the hip of the other.

“Eris,” Rhysand greets smoothly.

“I see you’re already acquainted with my sister,” Feyre says. Her tone is tense, either because she’s still pissed at Nesta or—even worse—she feels protective of her.

“We’re classmates,” Nesta says tightly. “Does it matter?”

Feyre tries not to look hurt. “No—I just didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.”

“Ladies,” a new voice says warningly. Cassian’s left whatever droll conversation he was stuck in and made his way over to them.

“Is the entire party congregating here?” Eris looks around himself.

“No, we are not,” Cassian says, all his usual friendliness gone around Eris. “I just came to ask Feyre to talk to the representatives from Spellbreaker before they pull all their money out of our latest operation.”

Feyre’s eyes go wide and her tattooed hand goes to her chest. “That’s not really my job—”

“Oh, come on, darling.” Rhysand slides a hand around her waist. “I’ll go with you; the art of negotiating is easier than it looks.”

Nesta nearly pukes in her mouth, but she maintains a careful blank face until Feyre and Rhysand are successfully out of sight. Cassian turns to Eris with a stony look. “You’re still here?”

Nesta sighs internally; this man has never hidden his feelings in his life.

Eris shares an amused glance with Nesta as if he’s thinking the same thing. “Is there anywhere else I should be right now?” he replies.

“Maybe in hell.”

Nesta claps a hand on Cassian’s shoulder and fakes a smile at Eris. “Tell your brother hi for me,” she says while pulling Cassian away. “I miss talking to a sensible redhead.”

“That’s because you have awful taste,” Eris calls after her. Nesta drags Cassian deep into the hallway, where no one lingers.

She releases him without flourish. “Are you doing okay? Because it seems like you’re having a harder time with this than I am.”

“I’m fine,” Cassian defends. “I was just hit with a terrible memory back there.”

“Like what?”

“That you’re friends with Eris.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. Friends is a very liberal term, but she won’t correct Cassian while he’s acting like this. “Thank you for helping with Feyre and Mor,” she says instead. “I didn’t need it, but I still appreciate it.” It’s a hard thing to admit, but she wants him to hear it.

“I was just trying to get you alone,” he says, leaning against the bathroom door. “I’ve been trying to get you alone all night.”

Nesta looks him up and down, from his white dress shirt and tied back hair to his uncharacteristically polished shoes. “For what?” she says warily. “If this is about a sex thing, don’t bother. There’s nowhere in this house for us to go without raising suspicion.”

Cassian pushes off the door with a dark look. “I wasn’t going to suggest staying in the house.” He holds a bronzed hand out toward her. “Wanna get out of here?”

***

Cassian doesn’t remember how he ever managed to fit all six-four of himself into the cramped backseat of his truck when he was fucking girls in college, but for Nesta he figures it out somehow.

Her pretty little dress is shoved down to her midriff, baring her arms and flushed breasts, and her skirt is bunched up high enough that Cassian can watch as he moves his fingers inside her. The glow of lights from the cabin lands on her perfect face as she throws her head back in pleasure, and he can only watch her in awe.

He laughs lowly when she whimpers and eases a third finger into her wet heat, in no rush to return to the party anytime soon. Let them all wonder where he and Nesta wandered off to.

But Nesta has far less patience than him; she pulls him in for a frenzied kiss and uses the distraction to slide her hand into his boxer briefs, palming his cock. He groans into her mouth as she pulls out the length of him from his unzipped pants, and it’s at that very moment that two voices interrupt their panting.

“Thanks,” a muffled female voice says from outside the truck. Cassian looks up through the dark tinted windows to find—Jesus Christ—Mor accepting a cigarette from Rhys. The two of them stand some feet away from the truck, unaware that anyone is occupying it.

“Some way to end the year,” Rhys is saying, watching the clear night sky. Nesta’s gone completely still beneath Cassian, not needing to get up and look to know who stands in the driveway. “Would have been even better without Nesta terrorizing Feyre at every turn.”

Sickness turns Cassian’s stomach at hearing such ugly words about Nesta come from his brother, but that sickness is quickly replaced by rage as Mor huffs a laugh. “She’s not that bad,” Mor says, taking a pull from her cigarette. “Though I could do without the attitude at every damn gathering.”

Rhys clicks his tongue. “She’s always been like that, even when the sisters were kids. It kills Feyre.”

Cassian glances down at Nesta, terrified of what he’s going to find on her face. But Nesta doesn’t look hurt or enraged like he expects. Instead, she’s listening closely with her brows furrowed, studiously intrigued.

Noticing Cassian’s attention on her, she meets his eyes and her breath hitches. A blush takes over her cheeks, and she clenches involuntarily around the fingers still deep inside her. Cassian realizes that his fury is written all over his face. And she likes it.

His anger at his friends flickers—or rather, transforms. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of Nesta. He sits up a bit straighter and kneels properly on the backseat, earning a curious look from her. Hunching so his head doesn’t hit the truck ceiling, he wraps his hands around her thighs and maneuvers her legs up, up until they’re hooked over his shoulders. She nearly chokes at the new position.

He adjusts them so his cock is pressed right up against her sex, and looks out the window again, where Rhys and Mor are still talking. It’s all idle gossip, he knows, but... “What do you think, baby?” He slides his length over her slick folds. “Should I go out there and defend your honor?”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta gasps, shaking her head.

“And it’s like when she’s not quiet as a brick, she’s being rude,” Mor rants outside, flicking her cigarette. “I know Cass is friendly with everybody, but I have no idea what he was thinking inviting her here.”

“Oh, she’s not so quiet when I have my head between her legs,” Cassian murmurs at Mor. He glances down at Nesta with a knowing smirk. “She’s not so rude when I give her the right incentive, either.” He pats her bottom lip with his thumb, the bright red lipstick smearing. “Isn’t that right, Nes?”

“Bastard.” Nesta squirms, trying to line up her entrance with the head of Cassian’s cock. She’s not even listening to the conversation outside anymore.

“I think he likes her,” Rhys says, his breath clouding in the freezing night air. If only he knew. “We don’t always use reason when it comes to people we like.”

“Maybe,” Mor ponders. “But I can’t imagine it going anywhere. They’re too different.”

“I disagree,” Cassian mutters. He finally gives in to Nesta’s efforts and pushes inside her, sliding to the hilt in one thrust. She claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her moan.

“There are plenty of things we have in common, don’t you think, Nesta?” He sets a steady rhythm with his hips, pumping in and out of her. “Like how well we fit together.” Her head bumps the car door with every thrust.

“You—you’re gonna rock the truck,” Nesta tries to whisper. Cassian hides his smile in the crook of her knee at the rare use of informal contraction. She’s adorable.

“We wouldn’t want that to happen,” he teases, leaning forward to take a pert nipple into his mouth. A whimper slips past her lips; she’s nearly bent in half beneath him. With this new, deeper angle, Cassian moves slow enough that Nesta feels every solid inch of him.

His loose hair falls around his face as he drops his head to the center of Nesta’s chest. It takes every bit of restraint he knows not to suckle at the space between her breasts, not to leave reddened marks there that everyone will be able to see when they go back inside. But damn if this position isn’t driving him crazy.

Mor, Rhys, everything beyond the haven of the truck falls away. He doesn’t know if anybody is still outside, or if people have noticed his and Nesta’s absence from the party. He doesn’t care, not as he swears and thrusts particularly deep into her tight warmth.

Even her hand can’t contain the sound she makes at that.

Cassian moves one of his own hands to the crown of Nesta’s head, creating a barrier between her and the car door. With his other arm, he locks her thighs into place against his chest, and begins slamming relentlessly into her.

“CassianCassianCassian—”

He silences her with a searing kiss, and flicks her clit with a calloused thumb. Nesta scrabbles at his arms, at the seat upholstery, as her orgasm crashes into her. Her walls milk his cock almost painfully, and with a few more thrusts he’s coming, too.

As he rides out his climax, he intertwines their fingers together and presses them to the freezing window. Outside, there is no one to see the handprint they leave on the fogged up glass.

***

Nesta needs a moment to catch her breath while Cassian zips himself up. Leaning against the hard truck door, she achingly fits one arm back into the sleeve of her dress, then the other. “I think I have a bruise from where that seatbelt buckle stabbed me in the ribs,” she mutters.

“Where?” Cassian looks her over, but she waves him away and reaches over to dig in the back pocket of the driver’s seat, finding a packet of makeup wipes she left there some weeks ago. She plucks out a wipe for herself and tosses the rest of the packet at Cassian’s chest, which is covered in her lipstick marks.

He accepts the wipes with a “thanks” and begins rubbing at his reddened mouth and neck. Nesta watches him instead of wiping at her own lipstick, taking in whatever the light of the moon highlights: his unbuttoned shirt, his loose hair that fell forward into her face while they fucked, his skin peppered with her marks.

He notices her stare. “What?” he says, smiling.

“Have you ever done that before?” She nods outside to where Mor and Rhys were standing ten minutes ago. It wasn’t exhibitionism since nobody had seen them, but it still felt... dirty.

Cassian snorts, starting to button up his shirt. “I’ve done far worse.” He meets her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten off to the sound of other people shit-talking my girl, though, so that’s new.”

Nesta blushes, and pretends to look around for her shoes to hide the reaction. She’s always known her bedroom experience was pathetically limited, but she’s just now starting to realize how much of that was Tomas’s fault. Not only was he boring when it came to sex, but he left her too hurt and untrusting to try anything with other men until Cassian came along.

Cassian nudges Nesta’s knee, and she finds him already holding her heels. Instead of letting her take them, he takes her feet and starts putting them on for her. “Clean yourself up,” he directs as he buckles a silver strap into place. “It’s almost an hour to midnight.”

Right. Cassian tosses her her panties, and she uses them to clean up the mess between her thighs before discarding them on the floor. “Don’t—” he tries to protest, but sighs and gives up. “You’re filthy.”

“You love it.” She picks up her forgotten makeup wipe to scrub at her smeared makeup. “Do I look okay?” She turns her face to him after a moment so he can check.

“You missed a spot.” He takes the wipe and rubs at her chin. “There,” he says softly, gazing more intimately at her than usual. “Beautiful.”

She most certainly doesn’t look beautiful right now, with the mess that’s been made of her face and hair. But he seems to believe it all the same.

I love you. The thought comes to her suddenly, unexpectedly.

“What?” Shock turns Cassian’s face.

Nesta blinks, realizing the words weren’t only in her head. “What?”

“You said—”

“I said ‘Let’s get out of here’,” she says quickly, swinging her legs down from the seat and reaching for the door handle. “Let’s go!”

She shoves out of the truck without waiting for Cassian and foots it for the cabin, breathing harshly like she just fell from a great height.

***

Nesta goes straight to the master bedroom to redo her makeup and pick up a new pair of underwear. She knows it’s cowardly to leave Cassian downstairs, stuck chatting with wealthy donors and unable to follow her, but she won’t let him confront her about the confession that spilled back in the truck. Not yet.

When she finally finds the courage to stick her head out of the room, she nearly jumps at the sight of Azriel leaning against the hallway wall.

“What are you doing in my brother’s room?” he says, as if he was waiting for her to come out.

The best lies are half-truths. “Avoiding people,” she answers vaguely, exiting the room fully and shutting the door behind her. She clears her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Snooping.” He pushes off the wall and slides his hands into his pockets. “It’s interesting; I don’t think I’ve seen you all night, and now I find you in Cassian’s bedroom of all places.”

What is this, an interrogation? “I’m good at blending in,” Nesta says. “Few people ever notice me.”

“And I’m good at observing,” Azriel retorts, dark amusement gleaming in his gaze. “Where did you run off to earlier?”

Nesta looks him up and down, too bored to bother answering him. “I’m going to go now.” She shoves past his shoulder and walks away, leaving him too stunned to follow.

She comes across Elain near the top of the stairs.

“Nesta,” her sister says in surprise. Her brown eyes flicker past Nesta’s shoulder, to where Azriel still lurks in the hallway. She looks back to Nesta. “I wasn’t sure if you actually came tonight. I haven’t seen you at all.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hanging around.” Nesta waves a dismissive hand. It’s like Christmas Eve never happened between them. That’s the wonderful and terrible thing about sisters, Nesta supposes: there are no apologies, only moving on and moving past.

“Well, you look like you’re doing good.” Elain seems distracted. “I wish we could talk more, but I don’t have time for a fight tonight.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Azriel says, who’s snuck up behind Nesta. “If it’s me you’re worried about, I was just about to leave.” He’s addressing Elain, but won’t quite look her in the eyes. He turns to Nesta instead. “Happy New Year.” And then he’s gone down the stairs.

Elain stands there looking torn, wondering if she should go after him or not, but then Nesta says, “Why do you assume I would start a fight?”

“I—”

“Because if I remember correctly, our last fight was started by you.” She crosses her arms.

Elain sighs. “I just said I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m asking a question in response to a comment you made unprovoked.” When Nesta is calm, she can talk circles around Elain all night.

Elain throws her hands up. “It was just a stupid comment! I said it because we argue all the time. I can’t remember the last time we talked without arguing.”

“September twenty-eighth,” Nesta snaps.

Elain’s mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. You got the loan for your flower shop approved and you called me to celebrate. I was happy for you.”

Elain shakes her head, but Nesta can’t read what she’s feeling. “You remember the most inconsequential things.”

It doesn’t sound like an insult, so Nesta shrugs. “Don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.” She turns to go on her way. Of course, Elain doesn’t stop her. She’s never been one to get in the last word.

***

It’s ten minutes to midnight and Cassian still hasn’t been able to get a hold of Nesta since she ran from the truck. He doesn’t know why she’s running from such a simple truth, but he doesn’t plan on giving her much more time to hide. He has so much he needs to say to her—

A hand comes down on his shoulder as he’s about to slip away upstairs to find Nesta. Cassian turns to find Rhysand there, wearing the serious face he only uses for work-related business. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Cassian is not in the mood. He already had to repress the urge to find Mor and Rhys and tear into them when he returned to the party, and now he’s not sure if he can manage a conversation with his brother without snapping. Without spilling everything he’s worked so hard to hide.

“Not now,” Cassian says, trying to act chill. “It’s almost midnight and I’m trying to catch the...” He trails off as his eyes catch on Nesta, who’s appeared at the second floor sitting area with Eris.

“...fireworks,” he finishes. He turns to Rhys. “Let’s go upstairs to watch.” Half the guests, including the rest of his friends, are probably already outside for the countdown.

He keeps his eyes on Nesta as he climbs the stairs. Watching as she takes notice of him and quickly turns away, smiling at Eris instead. She lets the dickhead place his hand on her back to guide her out to the balcony.

Rage and disbelief take Cassian by the throat. Hiding in another man’s arms to avoid him? Coward fucking move, Archeron.

She steps outside with Eris, and before Cassian can follow he’s stopped once again by Rhys grabbing his arm. “Cass, will you slow down and listen to me for a minute?”

“What is it?” he snaps impatiently. They’re stopped at the top of the stairs, and other guests flow past them as they head for the balcony doors.

Rhys inhales, getting visibly irritated. He says, “I got a call from one of our overseas partners the other day—”

“Rhys!” Feyre calls from the balcony doors, waving her arms at him. “Get your ass over here, it’s almost midnight!”

Rhys turns to his girlfriend, his face lightening. “Be right there, darling.” He gives Cassian a sharp look. “We’ll finish this later.”

Cassian only nods and whirls on his heel, nearly shoving people out of his way to get outside. To get to Nesta.

Up on the wraparound balcony and down below on the frosty ground, guests are lined up with their partners, wrapped up in coats and eagerly awaiting midnight. He barely feels the cold, but he knows Nesta must. He should have grabbed a coat for her.

“Thirty seconds to midnight!” someone announces, answered by loud cheers.

Spotting shining red hair, Cassian grabs Eris by the suit jacket and whirls him around. “Where’s Nesta?” he demands over the loud chatter.

Eris makes a face like he’s been manhandled by a filthy dog. “Clearly not with me,” he retorts, shoving Cassian’s hand off him. “She got all pissy and went that way.” He gestures at a faraway section of balcony where most of the guests are crowding, hoping for an optimal view of the fireworks.

“TEN!” Someone starts the countdown. Others quickly catch on.

“NINE!” Cassian heads in the direction Eris pointed, searching through the sea of glitter and gold for a glimpse of Nesta.

“EIGHT!” He hears his friends calling after him distantly, asking where he’s going.

“SEVEN!” He catches sight of Nesta.

“SIX!” He doesn’t know what he’s thinking as he navigates through the crowd, reaching for her. But he knows she’s shining brighter than the moon right now. He knows he’s been fooling himself since the moment she stepped into his cabin this past September.

“FIVE!”

He closes in on her, her back turned to him.

“FOUR!”

Let’s not go out of our way to hide this anymore, they agreed after Christmas Eve. Let’s just be ourselves around our friends and family, and they’ll find out when they find out.

“THREE!”

In Cassian’s defense, he’s simply being himself in this moment.

“TWO!”

He takes Nesta by the elbow and spins her around. She meets his eyes in surprise. “Cassian. I was looking for you—”

“ONE!”

He pulls her into his arms and kisses her.

***

a/n: punk 57 was a shit book but i gotta give it credit for the truck scene

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein

#nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic #nessian au #for some reason i’m not showing up in the tags??#i’m gonna kill everybody

237 notes · View notes

pickalilywrites · 3 years

Note

Halu! I love reading your rivetra fics especially the heart skips a beat <3 you're such a great writer! was hoping if you can try to write rivetra modern au during the pandemic? :D

here you go~ ah, i always take a long time to write now, but at least it was out before the pandemic is over ^^" (as much as i would like it to be over ...) i hope you like it ~

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Love in the Time of COVID-19

Rivetra. COVID-19 Pandemic AU.

9543 words.

Read on Ao3!

Levi Ackerman is hugely germaphobic and antisocial. For him, the COVID-19 global pandemic is simultaneously the worst and best thing that has ever happened. People have finally begun to wash their filthy hands, cover their mouths with the crook of their elbows when they sneeze, and wear masks over their mouths to slow the spread of airborne contamination. All non-essential workers have stopped going outdoors, which makes Levi look less like a recluse and more like a normal person.

Of course, even these basic precautions couldn’t stop the coronavirus outbreak from growing into a full-blown pandemic. Maybe if everyone were more like Levi — washing their hands for a full five minutes rather than the CDC’s recommendation of a measly twenty seconds, bringing around a pack of disinfecting wipes and wiping down everything he touches, and rubbing his hands with hand sanitizer at least three times after he touches anything — the world wouldn’t be in this mess.

The worst thing about this pandemic, however, isn’t the fact that people are taking the bare minimum precautions, but the people who aren’t taking any precautions at all. For every person wearing a mask, there are at least ten people outside not wearing a mask. Hell, there are even people dying in the hospital of COVID that are convinced this whole pandemic is a hoax rather than a mess of their own making because they refuse to wash their own hands. It’s because of these people that Levi has to be especially careful on the few occasions he leaves his apartment, stripping off all his clothes as soon as he walks through his door and tossing them in the laundry basket before he takes a shower with scalding hot water to kill off all the germs he may have brought home with him.

For the most part though, Levi doesn’t mind pandemic life. It’s a lot like his life pre-pandemic, but he disinfects everything twice as much as he normally did before COVID. As a data analyst, he hardly went into the office anyway and he didn’t bat an eyelash when his company declared that everyone would be working from home until further notice. With delivery services becoming more popular, Levi found it was easier to get things delivered to his apartment. Even his neighbors are bearable. People are too busy working to be a bother during work hours and by the end of the day they’re too tired to do anything except turn on Netflix until they fall asleep on the couch. Really, Levi doesn’t have a problem with anyone except the woman living in the unit next to him.

Prior to COVID, Levi wasn’t even aware of her existence. He sometimes heard about her from the chatty woman in the unit across from him. The nosy woman somehow miraculously knew when Levi (or anyone, really) would be coming out of their apartments, popping out and ensnaring them in a conversation that always seemed fifteen minutes too long.

The gossipy woman loved the person who occupied the unit next to Levi’s. Levi’s next-door neighbor had moved in a few months before the pandemic started and was never at home, the talkative neighbor explained, because she was an actress.

“An actress in the theater. Musical theater, darling,” the woman emphasized, her eyes as wide as saucers like being in theater was the most magnificent thing anyone could ever do. “Poor dear is never home though. If she’s not rehearsing or on a show, she’s working part-time jobs at the diner downtown.”

Levi didn’t think very much of it after hearing about the woman next door for the first hundred times. It wasn’t his business what other people did. Anyway, if the woman was hardly ever home, that was even better. Except now that there’s a pandemic and everyone is required to stay home, the woman is home almost all the time and if Levi hadn’t believed the woman had a career in theater, he certainly does now.

The woman likes to sing on the balcony after work hours. It’s considerate of her but somehow also very infuriating to Levi because he can’t complain that he’s working. She also stops at an appropriate time (usually 8 or 9 at the latest), so it’s not as if Levi can send in a noise complaint without feeling like a dick. He just has to grit his teeth and listen to his neighbor belt out “If I Loved You” from Carousel while he cooks dinner.

She doesn’t have a bad voice either. It’s just that it’s incredibly loud. He supposes if she were any quieter, she wouldn’t be any good for musical theater. Maybe his other apartment neighbors are elated to have a living Disney princess sing for them for free every night, but it’s grating to the ears if you’re living right next door.

He probably should have said something when she started singing more dramatic songs, songs that crescendoed and built into a climax that Levi could probably hear if he were living on the other side of the apartment. It’s those goddamn musical ballads that Levi hates the most. If it’s upbeat, at least Levi knows what’s coming but those ballads always have to build and build until the woman is belting out to the heavens.

Levi thought he could bear it. Surely, the pandemic would only last for a few more weeks or even another month or two, but new coronavirus cases kept climbing and Levi knew he’d be listening to entire one-woman musicals for the next year if he didn’t say anything. One night when the woman begins yet another musical ballad, Levi finally throws open the sliding door to his balcony and is surprised when he sees his next-door neighbor sitting cross-legged on her balcony, a pink floral mask on her face, and a guitar in her lap.

The woman stops strumming her guitar and looks up, her amber eyes wide with surprise. “Hi,” she says, voice slightly muffled through her mask. She waves awkwardly at Levi even though he’s frozen in place on his balcony and hasn’t made any move to greet her.

“Why are you wearing a mask?” he asks her as if he’s not wearing one too. It makes sense that he’s wearing one. He always wears a mask when he steps outside even if there’s nobody around. He knows most people don’t because they don’t see the point if nobody else is around, so why is she wearing one?

The woman’s nose scrunches up from under her mask while her eyebrows are knit in confusion. “We’re in a pandemic. Isn’t that why you’re wearing one, too?” the woman asks, gesturing towards Levi and then her own mask. She pauses for a moment as if thinking about whether or not she should continue. “Also, I heard you’re a huge germaphobe.”

“Who told you that?” Levi snaps.

“The lady who lives across from you,” the woman replies.

Ah. That explains a lot.

“But I don’t even come out here that regularly,” Levi points out.

The woman shrugs. “Just in case. It’s better to be safe than sorry anyway,” the woman says. “And it’s not like it’s a big deal to wear a mask.”

Levi’s not sure if it’s because he’s been stuck in his house for months, but he’s just fallen a little bit in love with this woman and it’s all because she said wearing a mask isn’t that much of an inconvenience. He doesn’t even know her name. After meeting for five seconds and realizing that she’s considerate for wearing a mask on the off chance that Levi might go out on the balcony, Levi’s starting to feel like a dick for coming out here to yell at her for singing too loud. She’s a lovely singer, really, and he should probably be thankful she’s not a part of a screamo metal rock band or something.

Levi fights the urge to disappear in his apartment. He slides the glass door behind him, trapping himself outside on the balcony and forcing himself to speak more with the woman. He’s not exactly sure what he should say. Should he ask her name? Compliment her singing? Ask her about how she’s handling quarantine? He sits down cross-legged facing her.

“What song were you singing?” he ends up asking the woman.

“Oh,” the woman says as if she’s surprised Levi’s still speaking with her. She looks skyward, trying to recall the name. “‘Please Don’t Make Me Love You.’ It’s from the Dracula musical.”

“Oh.” Levi hadn’t been aware that there was even a musical adaptation of the Bram Stoker gothic novel.

“Yeah, I know,” the woman says with another nose scrunch, her mask shifting upward from the movement. “There’s a musical for everything nowadays.” She hums a few notes and strums a few chords across her guitar. “But what about you? How are you spending your quarantine?”

“Me?” Levi repeats. “I just … am hanging in there.”

“That’s good,” the woman says. Levi can’t see her smile behind her mask, but he does see the edge of her eyes crinkle. She sets her guitar beside her and leans back on her palms. Her head tilts to the side and her ginger hair falls away from her lithe neck. “I’m Petra, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever formally met.”

That’s probably because Levi has never made the effort to be neighborly. In fact, the only reason they’re meeting right now is because Levi was going out here to complain about her singing, but he won’t mention that. Instead, he shrugs and says, “Levi.” It’s a lame introduction. Even he cringes at it, but Petra doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve never seen you out here, but maybe because I’m only on the balcony in the evenings,” Petra says. She picks idly at the guitar strings, letting their sound reverberate with every twang before she moves onto the next string. She stops suddenly and looks at Levi, eyebrow raised. “Oh, you didn’t come out here because it was too loud, did you? I know my voice is pretty … resonant, especially in a small space like this.” She winces apologetically.

Levi is thankful that his mask is able to cover the blush that is surely rising in his cheeks. “N-no,” he stammers. He sits up a little straighter as if this will somehow make him a less obvious liar. “I just … wanted some fresh air.”

“Mmm, makes sense,” Petra hums. Her eyes crinkle again and Levi’s heart does something weird in his chest. “Good to get some fresh air circulating in the apartment. I always have my air filter on nowadays too.”

Levi realizes with horror that she’s absolutely right. He usually keeps his apartment windows closed, opening them only in the early morning and the late evening for the fresh air. He hadn’t accounted for the lack of fresh air in the entire apartment complex. There’s no telling whose dirty air he’s been breathing these past months. Sure, he has at least one air filter in every room, but he can’t count on these machines to filter out every germ flying around the air. Why hadn’t he accounted for the poor air circulation through the building before this? He should have been keeping his windows open this entire time. The air outside is filled with germs as well, but the concentration of germs from other people who may or may not be spreading COVID within this apartment complex is much higher here than it is inside.

Levi stands up, grabbing the railing of his balcony for support. He feels a little dizzy right now and has the frantic urge to clean his entire apartment again even though he had cleaned it this morning. This time, he’ll be sure to deep clean the carpet.

“I have to go,” he tells Petra, but he doesn’t give her the reason. He doesn’t want her to think he’s an idiot for not thinking about air circulation sooner.

Petra raises her eyebrows as if she’s surprised and perhaps a little bit sorry to see him go. “Alright then,” she says. She picks up her guitar once more, strumming a few pleasant chords. “Have a good evening, Levi. It was nice meeting you.”

Levi pauses at the door. “You, too,” he says finally before he slips inside. He makes sure to leave the door open. The lack of barrier makes it easier for Petra’s voice to carry into his apartment. That’s not why he leaves his door open, of course. It's purely for the fresh air to come in, or at least that’s what Levi tells himself.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi does not know why the news of the woman next door intrigues his friends so much. He had casually mentioned her once on a video call with them and now they won’t stop asking him about her, constantly requesting updates on little tedious things like the songs she had sung the night before and if she still wears her mask. Even more surprising, Levi finds he can’t ignore their questions and answers each and every one. He tells himself it’s because he knows their curiosity will never be quenched until he answers their inquiries and it’s better to respond than to be bombarded with the same question a half dozen more times.

“So you guys talk to each other every night?” Isabel asks. She sits closer to her laptop and her face fills the little square with her name in the right-hand corner. Her hands sit in her hands and she has a thoughtful pout on her lips. “That’s a lot, Levi.”

“We talk to each other every night,” Levi points out.

“And you complained that it was a lot!” Isabel says, which is true. He would have been satisfied with weekly Zoom calls or even fortnightly, but Isabel had insisted that going so long without seeing Levi and Farlan onscreen would drive her mad. “But that doesn’t seem to be the case with this mysterious next-door neighbor.”

“She’s hardly mysterious,” Levi snorts.

“She’s right, though,” Farlan comments. He isn’t perched at the tip of his seat. Unlike Isabel, he’s less intrigued about Levi’s new relationship with his neighbor and more amused about the whole thing. “You’ve never been interested in people enough to have regular meetups with them even if it’s a ‘coincidental’ meeting on the balcony every night.” Levi despises the way Farlan uses air quotes.

“It’s very Romeo and Juliet,” Isabel says with a nod. There’s a silence at the other end and Isabel adds, “Because of the balcony. Except this time there are two balconies and nobody is dying. Hopefully.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “I just bump into her more often now that I go out to get fresh air now,” Levi explains. It’s a part of his routine now. Better to breathe good, clean (or at least cleaner) air than continue to breathe in apartment air that has been god knows where. “Which, by the way, you two should really consider as well. Who knows what germs are floating around in your apartment complexes?”

Isabel wrinkles her nose. “If that were a problem, I would have gotten COVID by now,” she points out, and Levi wants to groan. He doesn’t want to explain to her once more that, after exposure to the virus, contracting COVID is a game of chance and she’s just been lucky. There’s no telling how much luckier she can get as the pandemic continues.

“I’ll consider it,” Farlan says, and Levi is at least grateful for that. He taps his fingers on his desk. Farlan’s microphone is so sensitive that Levi can hear the tap, tap, tapping noise on the other end. “But that neighbor of yours … what do you guys even talk about every night?”

“I don’t know just … stuff, I guess,” Levi mumbles. He rubs at the back of his neck. He can’t quite recall what he and Petra talked about yesterday on their balconies. Their conversations always start out similarly with her asking Levi about his day and Petra asking about his, and by the time Levi retreats into his apartment he finds that an hour has already passed. After a moment, he says, “Well, she told me about how she was sewing face masks in her free time so that she could donate them.”

“Oooh,” Isabel coos. Her head is in her hands again and she looks starry-eyed. “This girl sure has everything, doesn’t she? Not only is she cute, but she takes COVID safety precautions seriously and she cares about other people? No wonder you’re so interested in her, Levi.”

Levi’s mind stutters for a moment. “When did I say she was cute?” he stammers.

“Is she not cute?” Farlan asks with a raised eyebrow.

Levi’s knee-jerk response is to say “no” just because he knows a “yes” will elicit more teasing from Isabel, but the question Farlan asks makes Levi realize that he’s never seen Petra without her mask off. Prior to this realization, Levi has never minded seeing Petra with a mask on. After all, they’re both still in a pandemic and, even if neither of them show visible symptoms of COVID, it’s possible that they could still transmit the virus from their minimal outings for groceries or other daily tasks that require them to leave the apartment. Now that he’s realized it though, he’s overcome with this strange desire to see Petra’s face behind the mask.

There’s only so much one can see of a person when they’re wearing a mask. Levi knows the top half of Petra’s face quite well: slender, expressive eyebrows, large eyes the color of amber, and even the dip of the bridge of her nose. Anything beyond that is a mystery to him, hidden behind the cloth of Petra’s mask. He doesn’t know what kind of nose she has, if it’s grand and shapely or sweet and button-shaped or adorably upturned. He doesn’t know the curve of her lips, if she has a well-defined cupid’s bow or thick, full lips the color of petals. Judging by the state of the pandemic right now, it’s unlikely that he’ll find out anytime soon and he can’t fathom requesting Petra take off her mask just to satisfy his newfound curiosity.

“I don’t know what she looks like,” Levi finally says.

Farlan snorts and Isabel erupts into peals of laughter.

“You’ve been talking to her for how long and you don’t know what she looks like?” Isabel titters. She’s even wiping tears from her eyes, although Levi doesn’t think the situation is that humorous. “It’s not like you guys are wearing hazmat suits when you sit on the balcony.”

“It’s not like I don’t know what she looks like at all,” Levi grumbles. “But we’ve been wearing masks this whole time whenever we’ve gone out on the balcony to talk to each other.”

“Aren’t your balconies, like, more than six feet apart? You guys could probably take your masks off and it’d be fine,” Isabel points out. She sees Levi open his mouth to speak and she rolls her eyes, giving him a dismissive wave of her hand. “Okay, fine, just wear your masks like the hypochondriacs you are! If it’ll make you feel better about the ‘sick game of roulette viruses play when infecting us,’ go right ahead!”

Levi scowls. He wishes he could kick Isabel out of the Zoom chat, but Farlan has forbidden Levi to do that after Levi cut short the first Zoom call he hosted and Farlan has been the host of their Zoom calls ever since. Thus, Levi has had to sit through various Zoom calls with Isabel mocking his informative lectures on infections and diseases. On the bright side, at least she remembers Levi’s lectures well enough to recite them back to him even if it is in a sarcastic tone.

In a tiny square on Levi’s screen, Farlan watches with an amused expression on his face.

“What?” Levi asks.

“You could ask her if she’s comfortable with taking her mask off,” Farlan suggests.

“I can’t just ask her that!” Levi splutters. He gets embarrassed at the idea of it — just outright asking Petra as if it’s as simple as asking her about the weather or what her favorite color is.

Isabel rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you’re asking her to take off her shirt or something,” she says.

If Levi’s face wasn’t red yet, it certainly is now.

“Ignore her,” Farlan says. “But, you know, it is just a mask and you keep yourself extremely safe and she adheres to the CDC guidelines pretty well from what you tell us. If you two are both comfortable with it, why not just ask?”

Because it’s exactly as they’re saying: it’s not like asking her to take off her shirt. In a way, asking her to take off her mask is infinitely more dangerous and intimate than asking her to take off any other article of clothing. COVID-19 is a virus that is spread through aerosol droplets from infected persons. By asking Petra to remove her mask, Levi would ultimately be asking Petra to lower her defenses to these droplets and increase her chances of getting infected. If Petra were to ask him to remove his mask, Levi isn’t sure he would be able to say ‘yes’ for these very same reasons.

It’s something Levi mulls over even after the call ends and Isabel and Farlan bid him adieu for the night. He thinks about it in bed, imagining a different COVID-infected universe in which he musters up the courage to ask Petra to lower her mask for him and she says yes, revealing a beaming smile behind her mask when she lowers it for the first time. For some reason, just thinking about her smile and how it might look — if she has bunny teeth that stick out, if she has a cute underbite, if her teeth are just a little bit crooked, if she bothers to put on lip balm under her mask or if she forgets and leaves her lips chapped — makes it difficult for Levi to sleep. He spends his night tossing and turning in bed, haunted by a smile he’s never seen.

The thought of Petra’s smile follows him into the morning and well into the day. It’s all he thinks about as he cleans his apartment in the morning, he writes line after line of code at work, and as he cleans it once more in the afternoon. It’s all he thinks about as he opens the door to his balcony for his evening chat with Petra. It’s all he’s thinking about as he sits across from her and she tells him about his day.

He’s not brave enough to ask her to take off her mask, but he keeps thinking of it. He watches the movement of Petra’s mask as her lips move beneath it. If he concentrates hard enough, he thinks he can see the trace of her mouth, can imagine the outline of her lips when she purses her mouth in a pout or when he thinks her lower lip sticks out as she ponders what to talk about next.

“When do you think we’ll be able to take off our masks?” Levi asks. He’s brave enough to ask this at least.

“Hmm,” Petra hums, and Levi swears he sees the shadow of her lips pressed in that thoughtful pout once more. It drives him crazy. “Maybe when enough people get vaccinated. It should be a few months? My friend mentioned it a little while ago. They said it’s amazing how quickly mRNA vaccines are being developed to treat COVID.”

Levi nods. He’s heard this as well when doing his own research, although the technical aspects of the vaccine and how it works to protect him against the virus are beyond him. Still, he trusts medical professionals more than he trusts random people on the internet swearing that vaccines are just a conspiracy theory.

“So if you were vaccinated and it was two weeks after your second dose … and you were only in the company of someone who also received their second dose two weeks ago … would you consider taking off your mask?” Levi asks. He doesn’t look at her, instead drawing circles on the floor of his balcony. He can feel the dust and grime coming off on his finger and makes a mental note to sweep and vacuum his balcony tomorrow morning.

“I’d consider it,” Petra says. When Levi looks up, Petra’s mask is shifted upward just the slightest bit and the corners of her eyes are crinkled. He wants to see her smile so much. “If the other person were okay with it, too, of course.”

“Of course,” Levi repeats, his voice a quiet murmur, and he leaves it at that because he’s afraid of asking more.

But he lets himself imagine that the vaccine will be out to the public soon and, once it is, he’ll finally have the courage to ask Petra if she’s willing to take her mask off. He lets himself imagine that she says yes. And he lets himself imagine that the first thing she does when she takes her mask off is smile.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi sits on the balcony with Petra at 1:58 AM. It’s the third night in a row that they’ve done this, sitting on their balconies with their masks on and the glow from their laptop screens illuminating their faces. Were Levi with anyone else, he would complain that this was an unreasonable hour to be up even if it is for the slim chance to snag a spot for a vaccine appointment, but because he’s up at this ungodly hour with Petra, Levi finds he doesn’t mind.

Technically, Levi doesn’t apply for a vaccine at this time. The rules are confusing, but he’s not supposed to schedule an appointment until certain other people have gotten their vaccines. People who are currently eligible are healthcare workers and essential workers. Petra, being a waitress in the food industry, is considered an essential worker and is thus eligible for the vaccine at this time. Is it irritating for Levi to watch other people get vaccinated before him? A little bit, but he’s glad Petra will soon get the vaccine. Unlike Petra, Levi works at home all day and is thus less likely to be exposed to the virus anyway. Even if he can’t book a vaccine appointment at this time, helping Petra book hers will help him prepare for scheduling his appointment when the time comes.

Petra yawns, using her elbow to cover her mouth even though she’s still wearing her mask. Levi feels horribly endeared watching her. She’s dressed in her pajamas — a cotton pajama set in black and white polka dot print and fuzzy cat slippers on her feet. Her hair is tied in a messy bun atop her head, stray locks of ginger falling around her face even though she wears a hairband meant to keep them away. Even as Petra continues to hit the refresh button, her eyelids droop and she looks as if she’s about to nod off to sleep soon.

“Abandoned slots tend to open up at 2 AM,” Petra murmurs to herself over and over. It’s like a mantra she keeps repeating, hoping that it’ll help her stay awake until she books herself an appointment. Levi doesn’t know how much it’s helping. “Abandoned slots tend to open up at 2 AM.”

“Should you really be staying up this late to book an appointment?” Levi asks. He hits the refresh button too, but the page remains the same. All appointments are full. “Don’t you have a morning shift tomorrow?”

Petra squints at him, concentrating as she fully registers his question. “Mmm, if I don’t get one at 2, then I’ll head right to bed.” Petra yawns again. As usual, she uses her elbow to cover her mouth. “I don’t know how people are booking their appointments so fast, but at least it seems like it’s a ‘first come, first serve’ type of thing. I heard it was worse at the hospital when they were first giving the vaccines out.”

Levi remembers hearing about it on the news and then hearing about it second-hand from Petra when she was talking about her doctor friend. There were some hospitals that determined vaccinations for their staff members by raffle, not even prioritizing doctors and nurses that were working first-hand with COVID patients. In the particular hospital that Petra’s friend worked at, COVID vaccinations were given out to higher-ranking doctors first regardless of whether or not they were working with COVID patients, which also caused a flurry of criticism from the hospital staff as well as media when the news broke out. The current system being used for front-line workers to get vaccinated certainly is inconvenient, but Levi doesn’t know what a better one would be.

“Just keep refreshing, just keep refreshing,” Petra says in a sing-song voice. She hits the refresh button robotically, but her eyelids are still drooping. Suddenly, she looks up, a little bit more awake than she was just a second ago. “Do you think my finger will fall off before I get an appointment?”

The mask hides the upward twitch of Levi’s lips. “I don’t think so,” he replies. He hits the refresh button and his eyes flicker to his screen. His eyes widen when he sees 10, 15, 20 spots open up at different pharmacies nearby. Quickly, he begins to turn his laptop around and points at the screen excitedly. “Wait, look!”

Petra takes one look at his screen and begins to tap around hers. She doesn’t even tell him that she sees them or thank him for alerting her because that would take a few extra seconds that might allow the appointments to fill up before she can claim a spot. Levi watches as Petra sits hunched over her laptop, the light from the screen allowing him to see how her brows are knit together in concentration as she types her information on the screen. She even has her insurance card ready beside her, filling in the necessary information easily. Levi doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone type that quickly in his life, and he normally hits 100+ wpm when he’s writing code.

Suddenly, Petra hits the enter key one last time and looks up. Her typing has halted entirely and she stares at Levi with a blank expression on her face. It’s difficult to tell whether she got the appointment or if all the available slots had filled up at the last minute. It’s just an appointment, one that Petra can probably book later this week if not tomorrow, but the anticipation is making Levi’s palms sweat.

“So?” Levi asks. He’s never felt like it was hard to breathe wearing his mask, but he’s feeling a little breathless now. “Did you get one?”

A beat passes. Then two. Then three.

Suddenly, Petra raises her arms, lifts her head, and lets out a yell that’s far too loud for 2 AM in the morning. It’s so sudden that Levi flinches, but he sees that Petra’s eyes are crinkled at the edges when she faces him again. “I got it!” she proudly announces. She’s swaying as she sits. She probably used all of her energy just booking that appointment. Considering how tired and sleep-deprived Petra has been for the past three days, Levi’s surprised that she hadn’t made a typo at the last moment and missed her chance.

He’s grinning from ear to ear, not that she can see. “That’s great. Good for you. When is it?”

“Tomorrow morning,” she says. Petra shoots him with an endearing finger gun and winks. It makes his heart flutter in the oddest way. She shuts the screen of her laptop and the blue light that was illuminating her face disappears. It makes it more difficult for Levi to see the lines and creases in her mask. It also makes it a little harder for him to imagine the smile hidden beneath the fabric covering her face. “I’m going to call in sick and come in for my appointment. I don’t care what my boss says. It’s better if I get the vaccine anyway even if I might get yelled at when I come in tomorrow.”

Levi furrows his brow. “Are you going to be okay the next day? The side effects …” His voice trails off.

“It should be okay,” Petra says with yet another yawn. She should really go to sleep, but Levi doesn’t have the heart to tell her to go just yet. “The side effects aren’t really an issue until the second dose, I hear. Although, some people who had COVID said the first dose kicked their butts. Since I haven’t had COVID, it probably won’t be a problem for me.”

“But you won’t go into work if you happen to feel adverse side effects?” Levi can’t help but ask.

Petra doesn’t answer for a moment, just looks at Levi for a moment before her eyes smile again. “You’re sweet,” Petra tells him, and Levi’s flustered. For some reason, he wants to deny it, to tell her that he’s just asking what any reasonably concerned friend would ask, but Petra speaks again before he gets a chance to. “Yeah, I’ll call in another sick day if I have to. Thanks for worrying.”

Levi is about to tell her that it’s not a problem. Of course, it’s not a problem because helping her doesn’t burden him in any way, but he bites his lip instead.

Petra stretches her arms above her head. She gives him another sleep smile, one that Levi can only see in her eyes again, and waves at him tiredly. “That was kind of fun in a hectic way. Thanks for staying up with me these past few nights.”

Levi fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt. “It’s so I know what to do when it’s my turn to make an appointment,” he mumbles. He cringes when he speaks. He doesn’t sound convincing at all.

“Then we’ll do it again when it’s your turn,” Petra says. She points her index finger at him. “It’s the least I can do after you stayed up with me. I should do the same for you.”

He tells her that she doesn’t have to, but Petra insists and won’t let him go back into his apartment until he agrees. They have an undecided date for when they book Levi’s appointment. Petra, ever the optimist, says that the system will probably be less hectic by the time Levi’s eligible, but Levi’s not so sure. Still, he feels quite content as he returns to his apartment.

Petra gets her vaccine tomorrow. Levi wonders if he should construct a care package for her when she comes back and leave it at her doorstep. Not anything fancy, he thinks, just the essentials just in case side effects hit: canned chicken noodle soup, tea and honey, Gatorade, and a small bottle of Tylenol just in case. That’s probably overkill though, Levi sighs. He can think about being nice and thoughtful all he wants, but he knows he’ll back out in the end because there’s a chance that he’s overstepping his boundaries. He should just play it cool. Play it safe. Just pop out on the balcony tomorrow night and ask her how it went, if she was nervous, if her arm hurts.

It’s fine. He doesn’t need to be her caretaker. It’s good enough that they’re neighbors, two people in a short-distance relationship of six feet (or more) apart, unlikely friends in this strange time. It’s too much for him to hope to find love in this time of COVID-19. It’s enough that they’re just two people helping each other stay safe from COVID and booking appointments together. Maybe in a month or two they can be friends who are fully vaccinated against the virus. Two people who still take precautions against the infectious disease but who can live life in a little less fear because their chances of contracting the virus are lowered to about 5%. Two people who can smile at each other without their masks on.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi gets his vaccine two months after Petra. Like many other people, he suffered few side effects from the first dose except for a sore arm the very next day. The effects of the second dose are far worse.

He was warned by Petra, who told him that the effects of the second dose were like getting hit by the flu virus and a truck at the same time. He was also warned by various anonymous persons on the internet that were kind enough to share their vaccine experiences on online forums as well as medical professionals that posted informative online videos on YouTube. No warning could have prepared him for how bad the side effects really were.

Levi feels the effects of the second dose ten hours after he returns home from his vaccine appointment. At first, his arm just aches and he feels slightly drowsy. He doesn’t think much of it, thinking that these effects are mild compared to what other people are experiencing. After a few more hours, his body feels terribly cold and his entire body is aching. Everything irritates him more than usual: the light streaming in from his balcony hurts his eyes, the rattle of the air vent is grating to his ears, and the pounding of his head makes him want to bang his head against the wall until he passes out. To put it lightly, he feels like shit.

Petra said she only felt some muscle pain and had a slight fever for a few hours, but Levi feels like he can barely walk. The night Petra had her second dose, she only came out for a few minutes to talk to Levi before leaving to sleep early, but Levi doesn’t think he can even manage that.

Lying on the couch with a blanket draped over his body and an ice pack on his head, Levi manages to reach for his phone on the coffee table and type out a brief text message.

Levi:

Staying in tonight. See you tomorrow if I feel better.

Petra:

🙁🙁🙁

I hope it’s not too bad.

Feel better soon!

I hope you feel better tomorrow 😊

Levi wonders what she means when she says she hopes he feels better tomorrow. Does that mean she hopes he feels better so that they can see each other tomorrow? Or maybe he’s overthinking it and she’s just being polite. It’s normal to say “hope you feel better” when someone is feeling awful, isn’t it?

He doesn’t want to think about this too much. He should just rest instead of mulling about what Petra’s messages really mean. With a sigh, Levi turns his phone screen off and leaves it face-down on the table so that he’s not tempted to check his texts every time he gets a new notification.

Levi settles down against the pillows on his couch and wraps his blankets around him. He’s already taken a Tylenol, but it has only managed to dull his headache and not get rid of it completely. His limbs still feel achy, although not in the unbearable way they did an hour ago. He wonders if he should eat something. He had downed a Gatorade when he first got home and then drank another bottle a few hours ago, but he hasn’t eaten much except for a slice of bread and half an apple. It would probably be best for him to eat something else, but he doesn’t have the energy to get up off the couch and prepare something. Even a packet of ramen feels like it would be too much for him to handle at the moment.

He tosses and turns on the couch until he finds a position that he doesn’t hate. He’s not sure how he’ll be able to sleep when he feels this uncomfortable. He thinks it’ll take him at least an hour or two, but he drifts off without realizing and doesn’t wake up until he hears the ringing of his doorbell.

Groggy with sleep and muscles still aching, Levi gets up from the couch, his blankets dragging behind him as he checks the door. When he looks through the peephole, he doesn’t see anything. He’s too tired to even be angry about someone ding-dong ditching his door and he’s too feverish to even wonder why somebody would ring his doorbell only to abandon his doorstep moments later. He’s about to walk back to his couch and collapse into another dreamless sleep, but the thought that he might have accidentally called for some takeout while in his post-vaccine delirium forces him to yank open the door.

There isn’t anybody in sight nor is there a bag of takeout. Instead, there’s a basket with a note on it. Levi bends down to read the neat script printed on the paper:

Hope you feel better soon! I made some food that might help since you’re probably not in the mood to cook for yourself. 😊

-Petra

Levi stands there and blinks at the basket of food, wondering if this is all part of his fever dream. Maybe he hasn’t woken up yet. Levi is sure he’s dreamed this all up, but his body hurts too much for him to be still dreaming. He’s about to go in and text Petra to ask her if she really had left the basket of food for him, but he looks up to see the apartment door across from him cracked open and his gossipy neighbor looking at him, only her eye visible. Startled, Levi quickly grabs the basket and shuts the door behind him with a slam.

He carries the basket with him to the couch, setting it on the table. When he picks up his phone, he sees he has over a dozen messages. Most of them, unsurprisingly, are from Isabel, but when he scrolls to the bottom he sees he also has one from Petra. He taps on that one first.

Petra:

Cooking post-vaccine sucks!! I know from personal experience 😥

Left you some goodies outside your door jic you don’t feel like cooking. I hope you enjoy!

If it’s from Petra, then it’s safe to inspect the package. Levi lifts the cloth covering the top of the basket and peers inside. He pulls out a colorful tumbler first. The container is a pretty and pastel peach color that fades to white at the bottom. On the side it has a label with the same neat handwriting the first note had. “Peach smoothie,” it says with the ingredients listed in smaller print at the bottom: peaches, banana, greek yogurt, almond milk, honey, vanilla & cinnamon. When Levi looks at the other containers, he finds that they’re labeled similarly.

It’s difficult to explain how Levi feels as he sits on the couch and eats the rice porridge Petra had packed. The porridge is still warm, steam escaping from the thermos when Levi had first unscrewed the cap. Earlier, he hadn’t been in the mood to eat, but now he finds he can’t stop as he shovels spoonful after spoonful of rich, hearty porridge in his mouth.

It’s warm, Levi thinks, and he continues to eat. He no longer feels the chills that had confined him to his couch and forced Levi to wrap himself in layers and layers of blankets. He just feels warm and content, the rich broth from the rice porridge filling his belly and warming him from the inside out. There are tender chunks of chicken breast that Levi devours hungrily and tiny pieces of julienned ginger that balance the porridge out with a kick of spice and just the tiniest bit of sweetness. Levi doesn’t remember the last time he’s eaten so well.

He feels … so content as he sits back against his couch, upright for the first time in hours. He nibbles on the apple slices had cut for him, making sure to admire the little rabbit-ears she had taken the time to carve into each one. In between sips of the peach smoothie, Levi ponders.

Is it normal for neighbors to make food for their neighbors when they’re feeling ill? Is it something good acquaintances do? Is it something friends do? The last one is possible, although Levi has yet to receive a care package from Isabel or Farlan. Then again, he wasn’t planning on sending them one for their second doses, although he’s seriously considering it after experiencing the second dose side effects firsthand. It could be that his post-vaccine delirium is causing him to imagine things that aren’t there: affection, fondness … love?

Levi downs the rest of his smoothie and decides to sleep it all away.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi does feel better the next morning, but he doesn’t feel entirely okay either. He feels … strange. While the symptoms he suffered from previously are now gone, Levi finds himself suffering from new ones. They aren’t as uncomfortable as everything he had yesterday — fever, body ache, chills, headache, to name a few — but they make him feel anxious nonetheless. He could be one of the few cases suffering from deadly side effects after the vaccine.

Like any person without a medical degree or a friend in the medical field, Levi takes to the Internet to find answers. He looks up all the uncomfortable symptoms he’s feeling: chest pain, heart palpitations, light-headedness. When he thinks he’s found a consistent answer among various medical sites, he immediately calls Farlan over Zoom.

“I think I’m dying,” he tells Farlan immediately after his friend picks up.

Farlan furrows his brow, his blue eyes filled with concern. “You mean … you didn’t manage to get COVID right before your second dose, did you?” Farlan runs a hand through his honey-blond hair, looking around his apartment for things he needs to drive over to Levi’s house: his wallet, keys, a first aid kit. “Are you okay? I’ll drive over there really quick.”

“No, no. Not COVID,” Levi says quickly. He rubs his hand over his chest. “It’s just … I’ve been feeling strange. I’ve been getting heart palpitations. Sometimes my chest hurts and I feel lightheaded. I think I might have myocarditis.”

Farlan blinks once. Twice. He takes a deep breath and then breathes out. Calmer now, he says, “I thought we talked about you self-diagnosing yourself with different diseases. Just because you’re a hypochondriac does not mean you’re qualified to make these types of calls about your health.”

“I’m serious this time!” Levi says. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? There are other people who have taken the vaccine and have developed pericarditis and myocarditis. I’m not being paranoid.” Levi admits to being quick to diagnosing himself with diseases in the past, many of which were probably impossible for him to contract in hindsight, but he doesn’t know why Farlan is scolding him for being careful about his health.

Farlan sighs. He leans back against his chair and rubs his eyes. “Alright,” Farlan says. He sits up. He doesn’t look angry anymore, just tired. “Tell me everything in detail this time and don’t leave anything out.”

“Well, I told you,” Levi says. “Chest pain and heart palpitations and dizziness -”

“And these all started right after you received your second vaccine?” Farlan asks.

“Yeah, I …,” Levi’s voice trails off. He pauses just a moment and realizes it’s not the first time he’s experienced these symptoms. He’s felt it once or twice before, these strange pangs in his chest and his heart fluttering oddly. “It happened before. When I was with Petra.”

Farlan smirks. “Well, congratulations. It looks like you’re not sick. You’re just an idiot,” he tells Levi and then adds, “and in love.” Before Levi can deny it, Farlan hangs up.

Levi is still spluttering at his screen when a message from Farlan pops up.

Farlan:

Ask her out.

Levi stares at the message even as a million little notifications from Isabel pop up asking him why he called Farlan without her. He thinks about the message. He thinks about asking Petra. He winces when the thought of it brings an odd, sharp pain to his chest, the same one he’s been feeling all morning.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Petra smiles when she sees him that night, her eyes crinkling the way they do when she smiles and her mask shifting upwards. Levi still doesn’t know what her smile looks like, but he’s imagined it every night for weeks on end.

“Feeling better?” she asks Levi. She leans against the railing, her arms resting on top. Levi stands his railing too, but he doesn’t lean against it the way Petra does. It’s perhaps the closest they’ve gotten in all the time they’ve spoken with each other. “The second dose is really something, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Levi mumbles. He wonders if he looks terrible, if his face is pale or cheeks flushed, if there are bags under his eyes, if he looks any thinner than he was the day before. He hopes he doesn’t look too horrible.

Petra rests her head on her arms, eyes looking up at Levi. “So what are you gonna do once your two weeks are up and you have the antibodies?” she asks. “I mean, don’t go crazy and crowd surf at an unmasked concert, of course, but maybe you could go out and eat at a restaurant if they have outdoor dining or something.”

“Actually, I was thinking of staying home,” Levi says. His palms are sweating already and his heart is doing that thing where it’s beating erratically against his chest. His head is feeling strange. There’s a chance that Levi might faint and fall off his balcony where he’ll fall four stories until he hits the ground. He almost doesn’t believe it when he hears himself say, “I was actually wondering if you wanted to eat dinner at my place once my two weeks are over.”

Petra’s eyebrows are lifted in surprise. Maybe if she weren’t wearing a mask right now, Levi would see her lips shaped in a perfect O. After a moment, she asks, “Are you really asking me to have dinner with you on your first night of being fully vaccinated?” Her tone is teasing. It makes Levi blush and he almost regrets asking her until Petra says, “I’d be honored. Do you want me to bring anything? I can cook pretty well.”

“If you really want to,” Levi says. He doesn’t know how he’s still standing. A part of him feels as if he’s still on his couch in a fever-filled haze, suffering from the effects of the second vaccine. There’s no way all of this isn’t a dream. Subtly, he wraps his arm around his torso and pinches himself in the ribs. It hurts too much to be a dream.

He’s two weeks closer to seeing Petra without a mask on.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The night of the dinner, Levi finds himself frantically running around his apartment. He took the day off work just to clean his apartment even though he cleans it at least twice daily already. This time, he’s taken the liberty of dusting off the corners of the ceiling and making sure to get all the dirt from behind the furniture. He’s even cleaned the inside of each and every cabinet, including the very top cabinets that are a bitch for him to clean.

It’s overkill, Isabel and Farlan told him. They told him to just treat it like a normal dinner, to just pretend as if they’re the ones coming over instead of Petra, but Levi can’t do that. The difference between Petra and his friends is just too vast. For one thing, he knows that Farlan and Isabel don’t mind a bit of dust, but he’s not sure the same can be said for Petra. Because is so careful in following COVID prevention guidelines, he’s sure she would appreciate the extra time he takes cleaning his apartment just for her arrival.

He couldn’t decide what to buy for dinner. He knows Petra had offered to bring some food over for tonight, but it feels rude to assume that she’ll provide a full-course meal. The problem with ordering food himself is that he doesn’t know what kind of food she likes. Mexican? Italian? Chinese? Indian? There are too many possibilities. He doesn’t know if she has any food preferences or allergies either, and he’s far too nervous to ask her. Levi doesn’t know how to cook for shit, so ordering takeout is the norm for him, but it’s different when you’re ordering for another person. In the end, he orders one dish from different restaurants hoping that at least one dish will be able to satisfy Petra.

Then there’s the question of what to wear.

“Just wear anything,” Farlan groans. He’s splayed out in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. He hasn’t looked at the past dozen outfits Levi has suggested. “Wear your all-black grunge number or a three-piece suit. I’m sure it doesn’t matter.”

“I can’t just wear anything,” Levi hisses. “What will she think of me?”

“You’ve seen each other at 2 AM with only pajamas on,” Farlan points out. He yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth. “I’m pretty sure you two know each other well enough not to mind the other person’s fashion choices.”

“You should wear those tight leather pants,” Isabel says. She leans forward in her seat, her head in her palm with her elbow resting on her knee. “With that see-through shirt. And put some hair gel in your hair. Also maybe put on some eyeliner.”

Levi blinks. “I don’t have any of those things.”

Isabel groans. “I know, your wardrobe is sooooo boring!”

He shouldn’t have asked Farlan and Isabel for their help. He ends up with a mask, a sky-blue button-down, his darkest pair of jeans, and more anxiety than he had this morning. Petra should be here any minute and he’s feeling strange again. The same symptoms as before plague him: dizziness, pains in his chest, heart palpitations. The chime of his doorbell is enough to make him jump out of his seat on the couch and almost fall on the floor.

Levi scrambles for the door, pulling it open. There Petra stands, mask on and a bag full of food she’s prepared for tonight. She looked nice more than six feet away when they were standing on their balconies, but she looks even nicer standing right in front of him. He’s about to say as much when he notices the door across from them open and his neighbor’s eye peep out from the crack. Startled, he pulls Petra in just as she’s saying hello and slams the door behind her.

He breathes a sigh of relief only for his breath to hitch in his throat when he realizes that he’s trapped Petra in between him and the door. They’re standing far closer than six feet apart. It’s closer than six inches apart. It’s even closer than six centimeters. He can count every strand of ginger hair on her head, every eyelash, every freckle sprinkled across her cheeks.

Startled, Levi stumbles backward and apologizes. “S-sorry,” he stammers. His cheeks are flushed red with embarrassment, the heat made worse with his mask on. “The woman in the apartment across from me was staring.”

“Oh, yeah,” Petra says. She looks behind her, although there’s no way for her to see the neighbor now that Levi’s door is closed. When she turns back, her eyes are crinkled. “She talks a lot, that one.”

“Yeah,” Levi mumbles. He stares at Petra. He can’t help it. There’s a smile hidden behind her mask. He can see it if he only asks. He’s closer to seeing it than he’s ever been. Soon, he’ll know what lies beneath. Cautiously, carefully, Levi asks, “Would you like to take off your mask?”

“Sure,” Petra says. She unhooks the elastics from her ears. She removes the mask from her face, looks at Levi, and smiles.

It’s more beautiful than Levi could have imagined: a dimple in her cheek, freckles sprinkled across her skin that her mask had always covered until today, and just the slightest overbite in her smile. It makes Levi’s heart do a weird flip in his chest, worse than he’s ever felt before. His palms are sweating and he’s feeling light-headed. He’s not sure he’s even breathing.

Breathlessly, Levi tears off his mask. “Can I kiss you?” The question falls from his mouth without him thinking. He’s about to take it back and apologize for being too forward, but Petra takes a step closer to him.

Her smile is dazzling, growing wider as Petra takes a step. Her eyes crinkle the way they always did on the balcony. “Sure,” she says and reaches to place one hand on the back of Levi’s neck before pulling him in for a kiss.

It’s perfect.

#rivetra #snk #covid 19 pandemic au #levi ackerman #petra ral #requests #asks #answered #anon #anonymous

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keep-ur-head-low · 3 years

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Ghost Quartet Animated Movie Concept

So I really fucking love Ghost Quartet and if I had even a scrap of artistic talent I would totally make animatics for it but for now, here are some concepts for a fully animated version of the live album.

In this hypothetical animation, each storylines has its own unique artstyle so that the viewer can distinguish the four storylines just a bit easier. Zero changes are made to the lyrics or song ordering, cuz the album is already perfection and altering it ruins the fun of it yknow

1. The Tale of Rose and Pearl

- This one’s easy. Give it a cool japanese-esque fairytale style, similar to Studio Ghibli’s The Tale of Princess Kaguya. The animation can start off super pretty and colorful and pastel in The Camera Shop, but it gradually gets more and more muted and dark as the album goes on.

- You know that scene in Princess Kaguya when the princess runs out of the palace and the animation style suddenly becomes all intense and unclean to represent her distress? Do that but when Rose goes on her “fuck your books” rant in Bad Men.

- Rose can have her sexy red cloak and a rose in her ear and Pearl can have a cool white dress and a pearly necklace. The Astronomer should have nerdy lil suspenders and The Bear is just a fuckin Bear

- The Telescope should just be the most psychedelic sequence ever, stars transforming into dancing characters and shit

- Not sure if Soldier and Rose would be in the same art style since it doesn’t fit in any other story, but the dancing would admittedly look beautifully somber and melancholy.

2. The House of Usher

- This one absolutely needs to be in black and white. Put in spooky lil glitch effects and a smaller, boxy aspect ratio to replicate being watched on an old television set tape. If not 2d animated, then maybe stop motion????? Corpse Bride or Coraline vibes could be awesome

- I’m thinking every time The Son is in the frame, a little wooden bear carving could be emphasized to visually represent his alternate self as The Bear.

- When Roxie rises from the dead, she flickers between her Roxie self and herself as Rose but in the Japanese fairy tale animation style. Crimson red blood streams down her robes and it’s the only color that ever appears in the Usher plotline.

- This shit needs to be terrifying

3. Arabian Nights

- I’m thinking this could have a geometric animation style like Song of the Sea or The Secret of Kells, but with the same vibe of what one may find in an ancient Islamic painting.

- In Monk, have young Scheherazade and Dunyazad’s dance be a visual parallel to the Soldier and Rose’s dance. Also show The Pianist playing the piano but not what’s behind the door ofc

- In Tango Dancer, when we meet ancient Scheherazade, she could be in a veil that stretches out infinitely and eventually wraps into the sky, with little cartoon stars inscribed into it that all glow when she describes her young and blissful self. Just go full surreal with it. Have the conversation between Rose and Scheherazade be an obvious visual parallel to the camera shop conversation.

- Have Shah Zaman’s room just be covered in bear stuff. Bear rug, bear paintings, bear statues, etc. I don’t know if it’s historically accurate but that’s the last thing Ghost Quartet cares about lmfao

4. The Subway

- This one’s definitely the least figured out for me. Maybe live action?!?!? I really hesitate to say that but basically this storyline needs to have a claustrophobic, indie feel to it that contrasts heavily with the other three. Perhaps a different, more modern cinematic aspect ratio?

- Not sure what The Pusher’s bear visual would be here. Maybe a bear tattoo or grafitti on the wall that appears whenever he’s on screen.

- The Victim’s monologue on the tracks needs to be intercut with Lady Usher’s final moments before Roxie bursts through the door. I have a very strong image in my mind: When she says “I let the train rip through me,” we get a split screen visual of Lady Usher kneeling on the floor in the left and The Victim kneeling on the tracks in the right and the camera zooms in on both until their faces match up.

- The Shop Owner’s outfit would be the outfit that Gelsey wears in the actual production. Maybe the same could go with the other three in this timeline.

- Hero could either be in this style or somehow in all the styles. Have visual train imagery be used constantly throughout so that it becomes all the more poignant when she gets metaphorically run over here.

- Have Midnight be in some random bar, and that’s the same bar where I Don’t Know, Any Kind of Dead Person, Four Friends, and Prayer take place in. These four are just drinking and having a blast, remembering the many lives they’ve gone through in this bittersweet song cycle.

#ghost quartet #dave malloy #musicals #brittain ashford #gelsey bell #brent arnold #my post

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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years

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S/O Overworks Herself ~ Mitsuhide, Nobunaga, Masamune

Exam session is draining me to hell, I need a break, and 12-16h of studying per day and no sleep ( thx insomnia ) ain’t fun...

-----

MITSUHIDE AKECHI

I mean, this guy is a functional mess too

Masamune mentioned on multiple occasions that Mitsuhide forgets to take care of his basic needs so he has to bring him food and lowkey force him to stop working and eat and drink

But that all changes as soon as he sees you’re doing the exact same thing as he is

Not that he would ever admit it, per se

But he cares and loves you more than he ever loved and will ever love anything and anyone in this world

Especially himself

So you, neglecting yourself???

Unforgivable

Will literally pick you up from your work desk and bring you outside, to a nice tea house that serves delicious warm food as well and will order all your favourite food

Doesn’t matter if you can’t eat everything in one go, he’s more than happy to take everything home

At least he knows he has good things to feed you

Also, if you think you can get away with working past the sleepy-sleepy time...You are wrong

He will make sure to hide all candles and will get you with him in the futon so you won’t be able to escape his cuddles

Will definitely tease you for being such a diligent and hardworking little bunny, especially if you protest to him stopping you from your work

Albeit, you know he’s right, but you still need to make sure everything is done perfectly, without even a speck of taint

In a very sweet and comforting voice - Something he doesn’t use too often - He will tell you that he’s concerned about your health and only wants what’s best for you

Really, he wants you to live a long life by his side, and what he’s most afraid of is for you to die before him, since he knows he’ll grieve for the rest of his days and it will mess him up big time

And while yes, habits are difficult to break, you’ll at least be more considerate of your work ethics and routines

But you’ll also keep tabs on his overworking

Despite him literally taking care of a whole country

Mitsu is more important to you than anything else in this world

-----

NOBUNAGA ODA

There’s NOTHING and I mean absolutely NOTHING that will stand between you and your health

Nobunaga is a stubborn ruler and he is a man who always does as he pleases, as long as he knows it’s beneficial for everyone

And, without a doubt, you being in top form is beneficial to you, his most beloved Princess

He half-wishes you’d just stay around and play with make up and play cards, play an instrument for him or dance for or with him

But he knows very well that doing just that is boring as all hell, and would go insane if he had to be put in that position

And he wouldn’t want his beloved firecracker to lose her spark

So he gives you the easier tasks that he does so you’d feel good about being there for him and helping him out with any little thing you can

Nobunaga feels his heart swell with pride whenever he sees you working so passionately just to help him out, and he will show you off and boast about how amazing his Princess is to literally everyone, on every single occasion

But the line is drawn when he sees you working more than him, staying all night to read books to get more informed about said topics, your skin paling, getting subtle dark circles around your eyes, and overall being more quiet because you’re exhausted physically and mentally, but also because you’re so focused on your work

No, no, no, my baby won’t be subjected to such slavery!

May actually lowkey make Mitsunari work more so he would make sure to spend more time with you outside of the castle, on picnic dates, to the theater, maybe a hot spring escapade or just walking around through the flowery fields nearby

He obviously has the best chefs to cook for him, so whether you want it or not, you will have to eat at fixed hours and sleep at fixed hours, the same as him, so you won’t feel that you’re not equal to him, or that he’s a hypocrite.

Will compliment and thank you for everything you’re doing, but will also kiss your forehead and almost beg you to take better care of yourself because he wants you to see him achieve the unification of Japan and he needs you by his side

Because your bright smile can help him fight anything in his path

So, from then on, he’d have you do things that don’t require too much dwelling, or that you can go around shopping, get yourself a nice thing too, or visiting some of the other warlords that you made friends with - Anything to get you out in the fresh air and warm sun

And he’d claim that he wants you to play card games with him, or that he wants to see your make up skills...

Or maybe even that he just wants to lay his head in your lap while you stroke his hair and hum a pretty pretty melody of love to him

Because he can’t stand how tragic and heartbreaking most of the songs are

And he loves you too much to ever allow anything to make his daring Princess sad

------

MASAMUNE DATE

Awwww, his lovely little kitten wants to spend more time with him so she decided to help him out with work~?

That’s the most lovely thing you could do!

Albeit, he may or may not just keep you on his lap, his chin resting on your head, one arm around you while with the other he writes whatever document he has to do

Then again, he’d also like to just stay there and watch you write what he tells you to write, just to admire your calligraphy

Oh, did I mention that he also had you write his name oh-so-beautifully on a scroll that he hung in his room?

But this kind of work isn’t exactly what he does too often, his expertise being in the physical field, training troops and all that

And after the many incidents that put you in danger so many times before when you were taken as a lucky charm on the battlefield...

He would make sure you are very well trained - By HIS standards - And he has high standards

But he’s never tough on you, since you’re his woman and he has such a soft spot for his little kitten

You can see, however, that he’s still worried, so in between the work you do from home, you go to the forest nearby to train and train and train until you can’t anymore

It doesn’t take Masamune long to realise what is going on, especially when he sees how overly exhausted you are, and how you basically fall flask in his arms like you have no energy in you

Which you don’t

So, instead of letting you train by yourself with no idea about what training ethics are, or how you should be training, he would come to the place where you’re training and bring you the heavenly food and tea he prepared for you and will properly instruct you on what to do and how much

Because overworking your mind and body actually works in your disadvantage

So he convinces you to live a healthier life style by taking everything in moderation, while also having a ton of fun

All while being together, because he wants to his kitten to laugh and be happy

If he ever sees that you’re even the littlest bit tired, he will pick you up bridal style, or put you on his back, get you home and it’s time for snacks and cuddles!

Also, more often than not, he will come up with intricate ‘training’ methods, including playing in the river, going horse-riding through the forest, crafting things, practicing archery, climbing trees and so many more

Because, in the end, no matter how scared he is of somehow losing you to the war, you’re still his beloved and would never be able to treat you like a soldier

You’re his cute little kitten and he will protect you no matter what

So keep on having your claws stuck in his clothes, and he will never let go either

#ikemen sengou #ikemen sengoku imagine #ikemen sengoku x reader #nobunaga oda #nobunaga oda x reader #nobunaga oda imagine #masamune date imagine #masamune date #masamune date x reader #mitsuhide akechi #mitsuhide akechi x reader #mitsuhide akechi imagine #ikesen #ikesen x reader #ikesen imagine

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 3 years

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tuesday again 10/5/21

this particular tuesday holds many problems for me but that’s enough about that! it’s media time!

listening two wildly different songs!

cairo by san fermin. this is inextricably linked with like the first ten days of the pandemic, where all i really did was go for extremely long rambles at godawful hours around campus so as not to interact with anyone else. but! i was driving to go check out a big free pile and it was soft and lovely out by the connecticut river, and it reminded me of [REDACTED FORMER HOUSE VERY FAR AWAY] in a way that didn’t hurt, and this song came on, and my brain just shut itself off for a bit. your own personal mileage with this song may vary.

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simping for the villain by boy jr. this is another song i found bc my sister curates the best tikkety tocks for me and i think this young lady is simply delightful!

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reading kenobi by john jackson miller. so i draft these posts on sunday night so i can think about filling any holes/let things percolate over the next day or so, and my one note here was “kenobi UGH”. i don’t care about these main characters who are not Obi-Wan and who are callously cruel for the hell of it and have nearly no redeeming qualities. how the fuck am i supposed to relate to these embittered people when you have no shown me how they got to be the way they are, JJM??? they’re just bad parents bc the desert made them do it?

the contrast of the Tusken parent is interesting bc she is a sympathetically flawed figure- a tactical genius struggling to hold together the last of her tribe but also consumed by revenge. however, JJM really trips and falls face first into also making her a noble savage as opposed to the rest of her simpleminded crew, bc she received the touch of genius from a jedi and that’s why she’s smart or whatever. terrible. also, Tusken culture and traditions as presented in this book are…not how any real people in our world live bc it simply isn’t sustainable. people have been caring for disabled people as long as there have been people. people are still useful even if they can’t hold a melee weapon. also, incredibly secondary complaint, an absolute dearth of the beautiful north african/afghan/vaguely arab-flavored flintlock-inspired rifles from the films.

this book lifts Quite a lot from jack schaefer’s Shane and the film The Searchers (1956, dir. Ford). this is essentially (from the first half) Shane rewritten with occasional deeply upsetting interludes by Obi-Wan, who apparently picked his name off a map when he (checks notes) legally registered his home.you are UNDERCOVER, my guy!!! there are very few bits from Obi-Wan’s perspective but the bits we do get of him trying to talk to Qui-Gon and failing are deeply upsetting, he’s such a gregarious person and exiling himself as self-flagellation for failing Anakin is very hard to watch. put more of that in instead of this banal will-they-won-’t-they subplot-that’s-a-main-plot between a widower and a divorcee.

JJM has had a terrible sense of pacing in everything i’ve read from him- infamously, The Lost Tribe of the Sith doesn’t really get going until three-quarters of the way through.i am not a particular fan of his prose, although i can’t really say any of the star wars books are enjoyable as a pure standalone product. you have to Really like star wars to read these fucking books. i do feel like this has made my own writing slightly better bc it is now easier to see certain pitfalls in my own shit. deeply embarrassing tho.

watching escape from new york (1981, dir. Carpenter). sometimes a woman simply wants to get weirdly faintly homesick for the big apple and see kurt russell pout and have a terrible horrible no good very bad day. i cannot tell you why my brain is this way, merely link you to where i privateered the film.

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dailymotion

playing fallow week bc i don’t want to talk about genshin in depth beyond: i finally got the mean ice pikewoman. thank u october

making rejiggering the kitchen. i am the person who uses the kitchen the least but somehow i am putting all of my effort into making that the most functional room in the apartment right now. hm. anyway bc three people (one of whomst is very into various sandwich toppings) all using one fridge is not a very good time, we now have a minifridge EXCLUSIVELY for condiments. it feels decadent and bourgeoisie in a way i cannot describe

oh also repainted this shelf i got off the side of the road, to live in this weird nook by our radiator/where the fireplace got ripped out when my landlord renovated. it has will have marble contact paper on the actual surface of the shelves bc tbh even after wire brushing the living hell out of it, the spray paint did not cover enough sins. pots and pans and things the radiator will not melt are going to live on here i think.

before/where it is now/from the kitchen door (condiment mini fridge on the left under the counter). that’s such a fucked up little corner, my god, also WOW the lighting in there is very yellow huh

nothing says “baby’s first apartment where it came unfurnished and she isn’t subletting” like some repurposed garage shelves i guess

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem

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sneakerdoodle · 3 years

Text

"(Not) Alone", Chapter 3

Rated: K

HELLO here are some FEELINGS

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PDF || ff.net

General warnings: trouble breathing; (states resembling) panic attacks; depression; familial tension, difficult parental relationships

You just wish there was still a place for you in the world.

If only the overarching symphony could accommodate the grating, pained sounds brewing in everything that is left of you. If only your song still belonged.

Even if you were still able to sound your heart, what is your lonely voice against the boundless dark around you? What is it without the crackling metal, without the thunderous echo, without the chorus of adoration pushing you forward, against the overwhelming threat of the cosmos?

Was it them who were a part of your song or were you a part of theirs?.. It seems to matter less now. You just wish it still held you up, anchored you; you wish it was still there to make your approach thick with gravity, pulling everything close. You wish you were still irreplaceable, front and center, the very rhythm of the march.

You wish desperately for the same security, promise of importance, to never, ever be left alone again. Just don't leave me alone again. Don't make me one of the many, forgettable, dispensable, easy to toss aside.

Not alone. Anything but alone.

Eya played a funny little joke on you, didn't she. Hilarious.

What an offer it was, to be given a chance on safety, to dig your feet firmly into the ground that had no choice but to cave. To be able to tighten your grip around the world, to hold onto your place in it as fiercely as your body would allow.

Why would you ever say no? Your every wish fulfilled so plentifully, all the comfort you had ever yearned for handed right to you, how could you ever stop? How could you possibly keep yourself from longing for more, for this to never be over?

Once the world started singing a new song, each heart alight, all equal, yours stood no chance. For the first time in your long, fearful life, it had the choice of control. It would never be able to change its tune in time.

The world made you scared. The world made you shake with the thought of the vast expanse of land, then sea, then bottomless skies, all profoundly indifferent to your pathetic little fate. The world never paid you much mind when you were stumbling through it, still just a kid, bruising yourself at every turn, giving your very best - yet never becoming special enough to draw another into your orbit, to be helped, to be loved.

The world seemed to have redeemed itself, by finally giving you every single thing you deserved. Guidance. Purpose. Adoration. It took you into its arms as the most incredible thing it had ever held within itself.

It took advantage of your every deep desire.

It threw you away with no hesitation once your part no longer served the whole. It branded your heart rotten for daring to want what it offered. It infected you with the bone-deep itch to matter, then flinched away in disgust once you tried.

You despise it with every fiber of your being. You hate everything that is alive and moving.

Your hatred is venom, and life rejects it. Life rejects you.

You wish to tear your bleeding, poisoned heart right out.

***

- Oh-hoh! Down already, muffin!

Kiwi lingers on the last step of the stairs, hand on the rails, an exhausted smile faint on their lips. They nod to Mom, then to Baron sitting in the big chair they watched him drag out of the bedroom and dust off just the day before. The mechanical morning greeting is dry and laboured, like their long-suffering neck has rusted through.

- Thought I'd have to go pester you more to get you out of bed, - Mom laughs, setting a teapot in the middle of the table. - Well, come help, since you're here!

Bard nods again, letting their mother's off-handed remark sink into the pit of their stomach – like swallowing an ice cube - and wordlessly makes their way over to the kitchen counter. Baron stirs and follows promptly, hulking behind his two family members. Bard feels incredibly awkward trying to maintain the appropriate amount of eye contact while handing him plates of porridge, which Baron accepts with another silent nod. Overworking one’s neck joints seems to be the most popular method of communication in the household these days.

Baron lumbers over to the table, and Kiwi follows, a bread basket filled with sugar buns and a little bowl of home-made jam in tow. They wince slightly at the sight of it. Rhubarb.

Mom places a round-bellied steaming teapot in the middle of the table and looks over it with a satisfied little hum.

- Don't let it all go cold, now!

Silently consuming the laid-out meal as Mom chatters over it is about the only experience Kiwi and their... dad can find any sort of solidarity in. Now and then, they exchange a wordless look, Kiwi reluctantly spreading jam on a sliced bun, Baron sending a spoonful of oatmeal behind his cheek. Although Baron's awkward silence has a distinct shade of guilt to it. That makes Bard wonder if they should feel worse about not engaging, too.

Mom watches them reach for another pastry and shakes her head with a laugh that is probably supposed to be affectionate.

- You're so hard to cook for, muffin!

Kiwi tries to mold their face into a noncommittal expression, but can feel it scrunch up around their tensely neutral smile as if they'd just bit down on a lemon. They glare at the bowl in Baron's hands with a weird mixture of resistance and jealousy. Not for the contents, for sure, they're more than comfortable with their preferences, but perhaps... for the freedom to casually share a meal.

Baron seems to intercept that look and puts the bowl down. The ceramic bottom taps against the table, a sound like a punctuation mark. He clears his throat.

- So...

Bard looks up at him, all but horrified. Mom throws a quizzical curious glance over the cup of tea she's holding up to her lips.

During the two weeks Kiwi has been staying at their parents' house, they have barely heard Baron utter more than a word, safe for the extremely awkward welcome the next morning after their arrival. Baron seems to be aware of that, too, shifting in his seat for a couple of seconds before continuing.

- I'm sitting in on some workshops and the community meeting at the Fa...- he stops and covers his slip up with a delayed cough, - the center.

He turns to Kiwi, full-body, brushing against the table in the process and causing the cutlery to clatter. Kiwi feels incredibly small.

- I thought that maybe, uh... - Baron rubs his knees, drying his palms. He looks about as nervous as Bard, if that is at all possible, -...you'd want to come as well.

Bard feels like choking, on food or tea, but there is none in their mouth at the moment. So instead they just glare, feeling their own hands become sweatier and sweatier. Spending a whole... day? With their wayward father, of all people?

- Oh-ho-ho, how wonderful! - Mom chimes in cheerfully. Of course, she does.

Kiwi barely has the bandwidth to ruminate on just how shamefully potent their annoyance is. They never voice it, but the sheer power of it still feels impudent, somehow. And they are growing more and more irritable, lately.

- A great day to go out, isn't it? - Mom continues, not helping at all. - It's about time you left the house, too, muffin!

Bard never even gets to reply. Mom moves on to packing the leftover pastries for the two to take with them, and urges Kiwi to have one more with his tea. Kiwi has trouble conceiving of eating anything at all, his stomach in the process of tying itself into several tight knots. He mumbles excuses inarticulately, speaking mostly with his hands that are held up in front of him in a politely defensive gesture. From time to time, he dares to throw a glance at Baron. The latter is stubbornly cleaning his glasses, bushy eyebrows lowered, obscuring his eyes in the lenses’ place.

This is going to be... a day.

Bard doesn't know what to do with their hands as they are walking down the street next to their... dad. Every usual gesture suddenly feels incredibly childish, and for some inexplicable reason, that feels... wrong. Far too... vulnerable? Is this how Miriam feels most of the time?..

Mom's not wrong, it... has been a while since they've been outside. Which makes her remark only more uncomfortable.

The first few days Kiwi diligently tried to engage. They checked in on all the neighbours; hung around the grocery store, sprawled over the counter as Tanya was detailing the stock on the large board behind it; took part in a cooking class at Beth and Katya's; clapped along to the live performances at the Pub. As their visit continued, however, staying in and endlessly re-reading old diary entries was becoming more and more of an easier choice. It got too wearing, desperately trying to enjoy Chismest's new, friendlier face despite the underlying sense of dread that greeted them every morning.

Now, walking down the streets in Baron's company, they smiled awkwardly at every surprised look or forced casual expression. People have been asking Mom if they had left already, Bard knows they have. Mom didn't fail to mention that.

The two walk in silence, neither of them really knowing how to even start to approach a conversation with the other. But Baron has apparently discovered an unsettling amount of gut to try nonetheless.

He clears his throat once again, and Kiwi feels their stomach drop at the prospect of having to handle small-talk.

- So... - Baron seems to be weighing his words in his mind, judging which ones would be best to follow with. Eventually, he sighs in resignation, the same low rustling sound from the other side of the wall. - Do you... like it here?

Bard is... at an utter loss of words. Does she “like it”?..

She likes what Chismest has become. She likes that every familiar face is now healthier, and happier. She likes that everyone is closer now, and caring. She likes that the children can play outside, without choking on poisonous smog.

Do they like being here? Do they like shutting themself in their room, glumly listening to the sound of snowball fights breaking out right under their window? Do they like the unexplainable, persistent sense of... being left behind...

Kiwi gulps down the sick feeling rising from their gut as all the dream sensations attack their body once again, and shakes their head in an attempt to snap out of it.

Baron seems to take that for their reply. His eyebrows move up a degree, and – weirdly – he seems smaller, for just a moment. The thought of letting a single person, let alone Baron, suspect they are the odd one out, fills Bard with panic. They leap into the energetic equivalent of a 180-degree turn and start emphatically nodding instead, trying to emphasize, somehow, that this is their chosen answer.

Baron seems incredibly confused as to what to make of it. He turns away and rubs the back of his neck before carefully, tentatively continuing:

- Y-yeah. Me as well. - He looks up ahead, wistfully, and adds quietly, barely audible: - Strange to think I'd kept myself from this for so long...

Bard shoots a look at Baron's face, conflicted. Are the two of them... relating? Is Baron just as conflicted over the sight of Chismest's thriving?.. They guess it would only make sense for him to be, given everything, but...

But... something.

Whatever the “something” is, it makes the poorly suppressed flurry of emotions within them intensify. They will not explore that. They are not going down that path.

Bard squeezes as polite of a smile as they can out of themself and turns away, looking right ahead. They seem to be approaching the grocery store.

Tanya sees the weird duo pass by the window and waves, bringing both of them to a stop. Soon, she is coming through the door, a little jar in her hands.

- Well hey there, - she seems to greet Kiwi specifically, only sparing Baron a wary side-glance. He does not waver under it. The step back he takes is almost demonstratively polite.

Tanya turns her full attention back to Bard.

- Haven't seen you around in a while, have I?

Kiwi shrugs with an awkward smile. Tanya shakes her head.

- Now, now, I ain't ragging on you. Just couldn't find a good time to give you this.

She extends her hand holding the small jar. Bard takes it into their palms, confused. The contents of it are beaming bright orange. The word “Marmalade“ is written in cursive on the brown label.

- Special delivery! - Tanya smiles warmly; her particular but welcoming demeanor is something Kiwi has grown to appreciate. - Got a whole crate of those, actually, but those pirate friends of yours insisted I keep one safe for you. No idea how they'd caught the wind of you staying here, - she shrugs, - but either way you're getting something sweet outta it.

Kiwi looks at the jar they are carefully holding in their hands, overcome. They suddenly find themself so tired and so fragile, the unexpected wave of gratitude and warmth make their eyes sting with the promise of tears. They look back up at Tanya, their smile for once genuine and heartfelt.

- Thank you 🎶, - they sing softly, struggling to find more words to express how much this is turning out to mean to them. Tanya interrupts it.

- Don't go thanking me, I'm just passing on. - She does the closest thing available to ruffling their hair: patting and flattening their hat with a similar hand motion. - Be good, hon.

She smiles one more time before heading back into the store. Kiwi squeezes their eyes shut, trying to covertly blink the budding tears away, then turns back to where Baron is standing. He seems to have been studying the paving for the last couple of minutes.

Bard takes a reluctant step towards the ex-factory building to signify they are ready to move on. Baron follows, looking at the jar of marmalade they are still clutching in their hands and attempting a slight smile.

- You have many... interesting friends.

Kiwi tries to smile with the same amount of genuine affection they'd just felt at the unexpected gift, but it comes out awkward and sour. They are suddenly very aware of not having said a single articulate word to their dad the entire morning. They clear their throat.

- Yeah!.. 🎶

Her voice is small, quiet, but it's... something, at least. It is bewildering to think about her recent encounter with Baron, the first one in years. It was so easy to challenge him, back when Kiwi had no idea who he was. Now, the overwhelming discomfort and confusion of having to interact with her long-forgotten... father... render her basically incapable of any solid verbal exchange.

They ascend the steps leading up to the entrance into the intimidating building that now houses the Community Center. Kiwi glances over the schedule as they pass it. Workshops, consortium meetings, training, public discussions... Chismest's busy schedule is a constant, at least.

Once inside the building, Kiwi and Baron take the stairs to the second floor of the factory, away from the narrow, menacing hallway leading into the ground. There is no low rumble echoing through it: the production lines are only brought to life to order these days. Bard tries their best to not feel like they are walking above the lair of a sleeping beast.

The two take their seats in a once-spacious conference room, seating rearranged and reimagined in a way that tiptoes along the thin line between ingeniously efficient and absurdly cramped. The room is gradually filling with people who recognize Baron, some giving reserved nods, few – more enthusiastic waves.

A tall dark figure leans into the space between them for a more conspiratorial greeting, murmuring something to Baron in low tones. Baron chuckles and pats the person's shoulder heavily, then turns to Bard. He is smiling; there is uncharacteristic and... frankly unsettling vivacity in that.

- You have met Vlad…,- Baron assumes, only somewhat sure, and Kiwi can finally recognize the tall person as the Clockwork Pub's bartender. They give a sheepish smile and a nod, and Vlad returns the latter, accompanied by a somewhat wistful look.

The sudden weight of a large, heavy palm on their shoulder, along with the pure emotional shock at this distinctly fatherly gesture, almost knock Kiwi's ghost out of them.

- This is my, – there is only a fraction of a beat before the final word drops, - kid.

Bard stares at Baron's face with enough dumbfounded intensity to notice the subtle signs of nervousness: the furrowing brows, the dry lips firmly pressed together. There is some relief in knowing he feels about as uneasy actually saying this.

Vlad nods, slowly, reflectively.

- I should have noticed the semblance, - he draws out, and, barely giving Kiwi time to recover from that, adds: - Good to have you back, young Bard.

Vlad takes an empty seat a few rows away, leaving Kiwi and Baron to sweat in the aftershock of the sudden f a m i l y m o m e n t. The weight of Baron's hand disappearing hardly registers. Kiwi mindlessly stares at the wooden desk in front of him. Vlad's “back” echoes in his mind, dressing in more and more foreboding tones with every encore. Is this it? Are they... staying?.. The thought makes their stomach churn.

They purposefully shift their attention to the people seated around them in an attempt to fight the sickness. There are at least a dozen conversations happening at the table at the same time, from confidential murmurs to loud exchanges interlaced with laughter. The room is bustling with sound and action, even with everyone sitting still.

A single voice rises above the neighbourly commotion, drawing it to a single focus.

- Hello, everyone.

Bard's eyes follow in tandem with everyone else's, and they shrivel up in their chair, wishing to make their body as small as humanly possible. At the center of the room and everyone's attention, there is Elara – the very person Bard has been avoiding since even before his self-imposed confinement. They hunch behind the desk, hoping to not draw her eye.

Elara glances around the room. Her eyes travel from one face to another, eventually meeting Kiwi's. He succumbs to agony as Elara gives him the same plain, honest look, accompanied by a subtle steady smile, before moving on.

- Thank you for coming. - There is a pause as the head astronomer and now community organizer considers what to say next, apparently less confident single-handedly orchestrating a public discussion. She turns to Elmer and gives him a quiet nod.

Elmer, fully in his element, clears his throat, preparing to project.

- Agenda for the day, - he shrieks out, enunciating: - updates on Chismest's research program; the public library initiative, session 1; trade and barter year plan; sustainability panel, session 3.

Elara throws another look around the conference room.

- Unless anybody has any last-minute pitches, - a second-long pause, - let us begin.

The public discussion turns out to be... draining. The many-voiced conversation ebbs and flows: one moment it is overwhelming with everyone’s impatience, people barely managing to not talk over each other; then it is tedious, the consortium mulling over the routine detail of the town's day-to-day functioning.

The worst part is that Kiwi can actually sense the rhythm of it, the rise and the fall; they recognize a skipping shifting rhapsody in the chain of interlinking exclamations, one prompting another; they feel the steady vital rhythm of cross-referenced numbers and well-practiced schedules. They feel the song of the moment.

It is like sensing the vague outline of a repeating dream, recognizing something that used to be vivid in their mind in a completely different state of it. Some part of them longs to join in, crush into the stream of collective life, move with it, be carried by it, naturally dissolving into the overarching symphony. But it is alien, it is a song they do not share with the rest. If there was a time when they knew how to join someone else’s celebration, – and they believe there was, even though it sounds like something from another life - it seems to have passed. Irrevocably.

Kiwi is pulled into the tidal wave only once, without any initiative on their part, as the sky-mapping project is being discussed. Elara's eyes stay on them, thoughtful, trying to puzzle them out, as she asks:

- Are there any news from Delphi? If you wouldn't mind sharing.

Kiwi thinks back to the letter entombed in the drawer of their bedside table, out of sight, yet still burning in her mind daily and making her shrivel up with guilt, then plunge herself into avoidance. They vividly re-live the sensation of crumpling yet another sheet of colorful paper up, failing to find the words for their reply. Their decision to stay (for a while? ...indefinitely? no, no, surely not) is already obvious. Why do they dread the idea of actually announcing it to Miriam so much?

Bard shakes the thought off, returning to the present moment, to the concerned, questioning looks of everyone who has just watched them zone out, lost in their own mind. They smile pitifully as they shake their head again, more emphatically. Elara nods, slowly, her eyebrows softly knitting together, and Bard makes a mental note to leave the room as soon as the meeting is over, sneak away with the crowd before they can be stopped and questioned further.

The conversation moves on, and Bard is left outside of it, rocked by irregular waves, thrown in this and that direction like old, soggy driftwood. She cannot follow the flow of the discussion, she cannot focus on the words bouncing from one end of the overcrowded room to another, and the unsteady rhythm she cannot keep up with leaves her queasy. She just wants to crawl back under her blanket, let it muffle all the sounds apart from her own breathing - and try not to think too hard about the latter, the tightness in her non-existent chest that haunts her every dream, the persistent pull somewhere out of cosmos--

Okay. She needs something to center herself. One single thing to focus on, to ignore the surrounding chorus.

Kiwi barely gets to think before their eyes stop on Baron's face – arguably, the worst possible subject for them to try to ground themself with half-through their unraveling. But Baron seems to feel out of place in the general harmony as well, and that provides Kiwi with a weird, uncomfortable sort of solidarity, another’s experience forcing itself on them through the sheer familiarity of it. At the back of their mind, they note how this feels sort of like being possessed by a ghost (again), but also… as if they are doing the possession at the same time?.. They could compare it to their nightmares. But they won’t. They are not thinking about those.

The chorus of the consortium is spontaneous, unpracticed, noisy. Kiwi thinks back to the rhythmic thumping of factory machinery, the unified movement of workers, in at nine, out at five. Up until recently, Baron hadn't heard anything but that steady march for more than twenty years. No wonder this is weird for him, too.

There is this specific hesitation to him, as well: how he frowns at something he feels the need to dispute, opens his mouth - but stops before producing any sound. He seems to be marking his thoughts on a piece of paper, but that hardly satisfies him, and he is left shifting in his seat restlessly, exhaling sharply through his nostrils.

All this fidgeting is much less subtle than he probably thinks. His immediate neighbours keep throwing looks in his and Bard's direction, some of them questioning, some incredulous. Associating with their father is not something Bard is generally excited about, but here, in the troughs of difficult history and unresolved hurt, the discomfort is all the more intense.

At one point, Baron leans on the desk with his entire lumbering frame, making it creak, and lets out a loud jingling sigh. The room goes quiet.

Heads turn.

People are looking at the imposing figure with overwhelmingly guarded expressions. Baron notices the kind of attention he has drawn to himself and fixes his gaze in front of him, visibly tense. Next to him, Kiwi is trying to slide under the desk undetected.

They think back to Tanya, to the look in her eyes when she saw Baron. They are suddenly acutely aware of how much of a pressuring, entitled presence Baron must be to many people in Chismest. Even those ready to give him a second chance must feel threatened when the person who once dictated their entire way of life tries to affect it once again, even as an equal.

Baron seems to be aware of this, too. He is demonstratively silent, barely even breathing when he raises his eyes, but there is a weird air of defiance to it. He looks around defensively, as if the room has just collectively reached for pitchforks.

For a moment, Bard sees him again the way they did some months ago, for the first time in many, many years. Prideful, self-righteous, towering over the rest of the world that simply does not know what is best for it.

Back then, that hardly had any effect on them, outside of Chismest's general depressing atmosphere. Now, knowing that this was their father, the very mythical looming presence at the back of their mind, casting its shadow onto every little misstep and every instance of rejection, a constant reminder of their insignificance... The thought makes Kiwi shudder. Nothing scares them more than the idea of this cold, dismissive look inevitably turning to them, saying everything that has previously only been implied.

Kiwi is sitting next to the scariest person this side of a life-sucking void outside of time and space, and all the eyes are on the two of them, and the rest of the word makes no difference between Baron and his lost, odd child, both of them glaringly out of place.

The longest few seconds of their life – not counting the world's impending end, they suppose - pass in deafening silence stretched so thin KIwi is scared it's going to burst any moment. Then the conversation slowly picks up, flows once more, avoiding the now isolated island of Baron's seat. Kiwi dares to look around from where they are half-hidden behind the desk. Have their neighbours to the right and to the left moved just a little bit further away?..

Elara's eyes linger on Baron's face just a fraction of a second longer, with some hint of rapport. Her chin moves ever so slightly in a secret nod intended only for him, before she turns back to the indignant speaker interrupted by Baron's display of frustration.

Baron himself spends the rest of their time in the conference room stone-still. Bard tries to mimic, hoping any further attention slides off of her if she blends into the background. Under the desk, though, her sweating hands are desperately clutching the marmalade jar.

When Elmer calls a break and Baron stands up, intending to leave, Bard all but deflates with relief. They do not have to follow him around, they know it. But, however deeply rattling it is to be around him, especially now, they feel a strange sense of obligation. Like the plan sprung on them over breakfast means both they and their parent are supposed to fulfill a certain quota before either is released from this weird, strained attempt on father-child bonding time.

Kiwi doesn't like this feeling. It's been a long time since they had to be someone's child, and they cannot remember the last time they were their father's. It was hard enough to balance their dreams and desires alongside Mom's off-handed but insistent expressions of all the regrets she quite openly held, about Kiwi's passions, their chosen path in life, their decision to leave and the lack of visits. This new, sudden and alien responsibility for yet another familial relationship feels only heavier with the weight of all the years Kiwi didn't have to bother with it, outside of the sleepless nights by the window or picking at their being in search of apparent faults.

Bard feels his fists clench at his sides as he sinks into a dark, glum state of low-burning anger. It was never his decision to put the two of them into this situation. Why must he feel any responsibility--

He is yanked right out of his thoughts as Elara's voice cuts through the background noise of moving benches and discordant steps.

- Oh, Baron. Good day. I was just about to find you.

Kiwi freezes, for just a second, then chooses cowardice. They look around, hurriedly, and slip behind Baron's wide back, trying to get lost in the crowd against all odds, pulling the glaring beacon that is their red feather hat off their head. Maybe it's their restless imagination, maybe it is the proverbial sixth sense, but they feel two pairs of eyes follow them to the exit. No one calls out, however, leaving them to their expeditious escape.

Outside of the conference room, Kiwi leans against the wall and lets out a long sigh, half-exhausted, half-relieved. The general commotion of the many groups of people moving up and down the hallways, of doors opening and slamming shut, is still hard on their frazzled nerves. They want to go home. They don't want “home” to be their mother’s.

They're not sure how long they stand there for until Baron exits as well, looking thoughtful, scratching his chin. He seems almost surprised to see Bard right next to the door and takes a moment to recollect himself. He clears his throat and attempts to... look cheerful?.. That does not quite work out, and eventually Baron gives up and simply sighs, despondent.

- I will not be staying around for the second half, - he announces with a glum expression. - You're welcome to, if you...

Bard shakes their head, and Baron nods, slowly, processing.

- Well... - he sighs again, then makes his way down the hallway, - this means I'm free to join a couple of workshops. - He looks at Bard, contemplative, then forces out: - Why don't you... try out any? See if there is anything you'd like.

Kiwi weighs her options. They need space, desperately. They do not want to aimlessly wander the streets, prompting polite conversations and letting the cold air freeze them all the way through. They would not be able to deal with the meaningful look in Mom's eyes right now, and it is coming if they return home so early, making their way straight to their room.

They just need a quiet corner.

They find it at the back of a room where a small-voiced, timid-looking person is delivering a lecture in low, unimposing tones. Kiwi leans against the wall, cradling their knee, feeling their eyelids droop with the weight of the past weeks of poor sleep, poor mood and general nervous exhaustion. They let themself node off, the incoherent scribblings on the board slowly blurring into even more meaningless shapes.

They sway on the very cusp of sleep and wakefulness, safe from the disarray of life and the cold thick terror of nightmares. There is an unsettling amount of comfort to be found in not having to deal with existing.

Bard places the marmalade jar on top of the bedside table. Their eyes linger on the handle of the drawer just below the board. Hesitantly, they curl their fingers around it and pull the drawer open.

Miriam's letter rests on top of a chaotic pile of paper and various craft supplies. It isn't folded, and the familiar words call out to them once again.

“Bard,

Kiwi,

Hey, you

Uh. Hi.”

A weak smile tugs at their mouth.

The rest of the letter burns with long-overdue, not very well-concealed urgency, kindling the background sense of guilt that is now pretty much constant.

“...haul boards around on my broom like a mule while everyone is hovering and asking me questions and RUSHING ME. There's a lot of people and

We're holding off 'till you're here anyway, so like, hurry up?? I don't... know what to do with all of THEM wanting something from me all the time, and Saphy's no dang help!!! I don't know why she expects me to... UGH, whatever.”

The haunting vision of Miriam shutting further and further down under the pressure, knowing Bard was supposed to be there next to her, feeling abandoned and alone, starts turning Kiwi's guts inside out once again. But still, there is a bitter sort of comfort in reading this hesitant message from their best friend, examining the familiar antsy corners of her handwriting. Kiwi reaches for it, fingertips hovering just above the surface of the paper. Their eyes linger on the last line, scribbled on rashly, almost like an afterthought. Which means she really meant it.

“...Miss you.”

There is a shout from down the stairs. Bard's hand jolts back.

- Don't take too long, muffin! - Mom draws out, rushing him to take his place at the dinner table. Bard throws one final glance at Miriam's name at the bottom of the page before leaving the room.

He will write back today. Totally! Probably.

It's hard to make their dinner go down when Baron keeps throwing heavy glances in Kiwi's direction. They try their best not to notice, but the unspoken tension pumps their body full of adrenaline. Bard wants to shift and fidget and move their limbs to shake out the pinpricks of restless nervous energy, but hesitates, not wanting to draw even more attention. She is stuck sending one spoonful of veggie stew into her mouth after another in a mechanical, almost robotic motion, only occasionally nervously glancing over to where Baron keeps staring with the air of inexplicable dread.

Once the table is cleared and the unspokenly mandated fifteen to thirty minutes of quality family time begin, things escalate.

Bard is absent-mindedly picking at the stray threads of the couch's armrest when a cough up above calls for their attention. Baron is towering over them, looking sulking and miserable.

Oh no.

Kiwi's head snaps in the other direction, grasping at the last straw of Mom's presence, only to see her thoughtfully leave the room. Of course. Of course.

As Bard feverishly ponders whether Ira's usual lack of consideration is reserved for turning their life into quiet misery, Baron sits down, a full seat over. Kiwi feels the couch sag under his weight and grabs the armrest, scared of getting pulled into this sudden gravity well. They are staring at their knees, desperately hoping this isn't going where this is certainly, absolutely, one hundred percent going.

- So...

Kiwi is now staring holes in the floor, hoping to compel it to open on command and mercifully swallow her whole.

Baron sighs, and out of the corner of her eyes, Kiwi sees his shoulders fall into a tired, resigned posture.

She keeps begging Eya to let her disappear.

When Baron speaks again, the words come out on the exhale, heavy, weary, bare.

- You saw me out there. I... - a pause, as he searches for words, while Bard prays for them to never, ever come, - I... made a great mess of things. Too many mistakes, for too long.

He lets the thought sink in, a silent acknowledgment of the weight of it. He wants Bard to know he means it. He thinks this is better. This is so, so much worse.

Baron continues, eventually.

- Now no one... really knows what to do with me. Myself included.

There's a mirthless chuckle, and Kiwi dares to throw a single glance at Baron's face, a bitter smile cutting hard lines into it.

Bard is silent.

Baron sighs once again, heavier.

- Despite that, what you did... what all of you did, and what you played a large part in... it brought me here, like everyone else. I don't quite know how to move on. But the world has decided it was…, - he hesitates for a second, - better off with me in it. I can't pretend to understand why, but it has.

The last sentence barely reaches Bard's ears through the sounds of blood pounding in them. He is suddenly flooded with panic, his body locking up, leaving him short of breath. No. No, don't make him think of that.

Oblivious to the fact that his child is suffocating, choked by terror, right next to him, Baron continues.

- I've hurt people. In more ways than I can ever hope to make up for. But I'm still... here. And it seems that the only right thing to do is to try, still.

Don't think. Don't think of the implication. Don't consider the fact that the world is trying to force you out of itself every single night. Don't think about what it means, that the man next to you, the one that had haunted the bigger part of your life with unspoken judgment, the one that terrifies you with just how easily he could destroy any semblance of peace you might've managed to gather, just might deserve a place in this universe much more than you ever did.

Is this really how it works? Their father, who spent decades hurting others out of the self-serving notion that he knew what people needed better than them, gets to stay with those he had wronged, while Kiwi is tortured with nightly reminders of what it would be like, to be left eternally alone, for daring to not have had an immediate, magical change of heart. They clench their fists in their lap, trying their best not to shake.

Baron notices, finally. There are a few seconds of silence as he staggers, obviously unsure how to proceed. Out of the corner of their watering eyes (no, no, no, this only makes this worse...), Bard sees him take his glasses off.

Baron rubs his eyes, wearily, then places a heavy hand on Kiwi's shoulder. They shrivel up and look over, sheepishly.

Baron meets their gaze. One would expect his eyes to be a piercing cold blue, to match the white in his hair and his general demeanor, inexplicably reminiscent of frost. Instead, they are brown. Dulled, shadowed by his furrowed brows, yet still... warm.

- Kiwi.

If only there were words in any human language capable of explaining why his father calling him by his name has just made Kiwi so disorientingly sick.

- Things are changing.

Please don't say that. Please.

- I would like to change with them, if I can.

Bard turns away from the eyes that look unsettlingly like their own and chokes down a laugh, too afraid it will come out as a sob. It gargles in their throat, weird and vague and embarrassing. The hand on their shoulder tightens in an attempt to comfort, and Kiwi wants to run miles away from themself.

- I know I have... hurt you. More than anyone else, perhaps.

He should stop. Can he please stop. Can't he see how hard Bard is trying to not think about-

- You don't owe me patience, or forgiveness. But I'm here. ...If there is anything at all that you need from me.

Silence hangs heavy over them, threatening to crash Bard's stiff, trembling body. This is the part where they are supposed to say something. “I understand”, or “I will never forgive you”, or “Why did you do it?”, or “Did you ever miss me at all?”. Instead, they can barely push a single gulp of air down into their lungs. They stopped trying to sing when they discovered it is barely possible to get a spoken word out in their family's presence. How come being under this roof always renders them voiceless?

Baron waits. Patiently. It is terrifying, to think that he will continue waiting, always ready for Kiwi to walk in through this very door, announcing she is ready to mend their ill phantom of a relationship.

He is waiting for an answer. Any answer. Give him something, anything at all, just make it stop.

Bard nods, slowly, shakily, praying that this faint acknowledgment gets them off the hook. He could not possibly want more. He does not get to ask for more.

Baron's hand lingers on their shoulder another second, before finally releasing. Kiwi deflates in relief and immediately jumps off the couch, their legs wobbly, knees weak. Their eyes slide past Baron's lost expression. Without looking at him, they give another frantic nod and tear off towards the stairs, grabbing onto the handrails for dear life.

Her room is swaying softly before her. Kiwi takes one unsteady step away from the door, eyes wandering aimlessly. They catch the open drawer with the letter inside it, and Kiwi feels like she is about to crumble. She grabs the handle with a weak shaking hand and shuts it in a jerky motion.

The marmalade jar rocks with the bedside table, then tips over and hits the floor. The thick glass thuds loudly against the wooden boards. It rolls into the corner.

Bard lowers themself to the floor next to their bed, shaken, nauseous. They pull their hat off and do their best to breathe.

The ceiling light overhead is swinging slightly from the momentum of the door slamming shut just a few seconds ago. Bard's shadow is shifting, the outline vague and blurred. It looks little like themself.

For a second, they could swear they recognize the shape of a long scarf obscuring the line of their neck.

#wandersong #kiwi wandersong #the bard wandersong #baron wandersong #my writing #(not) alone #it's been a whileeeeee i've been. busy >:3c #if you enjoy it do let me know 😌

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pascalpanic · 4 years

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Prom Date (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: It’s approximately 2030, and you were in the graduating high school class of 2021. Your boyfriend, Frankie, is slightly older than you and doesn’t know that you never got a prom, a graduation, any of it. Being the sweetheart he is, he decides that he needs to fix that.

Warnings: cursing, the tiniest allusions to Frankie’s drug problem and his ex-wife, cavity-inducing fluff

WC: 3.4k

A/N: Okay, this one goes out to the kids who don’t get the chance for prom because of COVID: that sucks. This is my fix-it fic for you! This takes place after the events of Triple Frontier mainly because I didn’t want to write Tom but as if it happened a number of years after it did in the timeline so it’s maybe around 2030 here and the heist happened in like 2028ish then? So Frankie’s the age he was then, separated from the mom of his kid, and getting maybe like 50/50 custody of her. Here’s my inspo for what Luna, Frankie’s baby looks like! Her mom is only briefly mentioned but that’s where the gray eyes come from, the brown wavy hair is all him 💖. Also, I think the nickname Thumper is adorable for little kids who have lots of energy (it was also my nickname as a baby) and so Frankie most definitely calls Luna “Thumper”. I also, naturally, have inspo for the reader’s dress and Luna’s, but the outfits are never described specifically so you can feel free to imagine what you want for their outfits! Additional note: I don’t understand children’s milestones so please just suspend your disbelief if Luna is doing something that’s not fitting for a kid of 22 months, oops. Biggest thanks to @lunasblipsandblurbs and @ilikechocolatemilkh for their help- there may or may not be two characters named after them in here ;) and as always, my trusty proofreader Miki (who’s a nerd and doesn’t have Tumblr)

Movie night was going as it usually did for you and Frankie Morales: the TV droned quietly in the background while you cuddled with him, sitting in his lap. The two of you chattered and made out instead of watching the movie. Somehow the conversation made its way to your high school experience. That was a long time ago now. Both of you were fully grown adults. Hell, Frankie had a baby, you were working on a Master’s degree, and the two of you lived in a house together. Your high school experience was far different from his, you two soon discovered. He had all of it; you had your junior and senior year during a pandemic.

Your boyfriend looks at you incredulously. “So you never had a prom?”

You shake your head. “I wish I did, but no. I cried so hard when they announced that it wouldn’t happen,” you admit with a sad smile. “My best friend and I still wore gowns and got dressed up, but we just took pictures in the park and ate Mexican food on the couch.”

“As much as that sounds like a blast, that’s so shitty,” Frankie chuckles and snuggles you closer to his chest. “Was all of your senior year like that?”

“Pretty much,” you nod. “Fully digital and everything. Didn’t even get the chance to go to my junior prom either.”

“Jesus. And you had the shit luck to be born into the one year where you didn’t get either?” He asks, rubbing your back and nuzzling his face into your hair.

“Class of ‘21, what a time,” you sigh. It was true- you were the one graduating class that the pandemic hit hardest. It had upset you at the time, but you had gotten over it by now. It was years ago anyway, that didn’t matter. “My luck can’t be that shit. I still have a pretty damn cute boyfriend,” you tease and lift your head, softly kissing his lips before breaking away and resting your head on his shoulder once more.

Frankie pouts down at you. “But you got all of that taken from you! Senior year was supposed to be the time to slack off and have fun. I took, like, two shop classes and one on basic aviation. Didn’t do anything,” he laughs.

“Even if I was at school, it wouldn’t have been like that for me, Frankie,” you chuckle softly. “I was taking a bunch of classes for college credits and everything.”

“I know, hermosa, you’re a nerd. Just play along with me this time,” he asks jokingly, jostling you around on his lap.

“Frankie,” you squeal and cling to him, laughing. “Fine. Poor me, I didn’t get anything from my senior year. It has haunted me and made my life a living hell.” You give him a fake pout. “Is that better?”

A smile covers his face as he looks at you. “Much better. Because now that you’re upset, I’m going to get to make it better. We’re throwing you a prom.”

You immediately frown. “Frankie, we’re adults now. Prom is not important to me the way it was then,” you try to reason with him, but you know your boyfriend. If he’s got a plan, you can’t get him out of it.

Frankie shakes his head and takes off his ball cap, setting it on your head teasingly. “Too bad. We’re having a prom for you, babe. You deserve it, a night all about you. Here, you know what?” He says, his face lighting up as another idea pops into his head. “We’ll do it for your birthday, since that’s coming up. We’ll have a birthday party-prom for you,” he says, absolutely beaming.

“No, Frankie,” you start to protest, but he cuts you off.

“Come on, it’ll be fun! We’ll dress Luna up, I’ll rent a tux, we can invite the boys,” he offers and the more he talks, the more you have to admit that this idea sounds like a blast. Your frown slowly eases into a smile as he talks. “Oh, you like it, this is happening,” he laughs and kisses your head, pulling you close to his chest. “Babe, will you be my prom date?”

“It’s not the most elegant of prom-posals,” you tease, “but it’ll do. Of course I will.” You nod and beam up at him. He kisses your forehead and the two of you return to watching the movie.

When the day, your birthday, rolled around, your first order of business was queueing the music for the night. Frankie had decided it was your night, and that made it that much easier for him to pin that responsibility on you. It was to ensure you liked the music that was playing, he had said, and he had half-heartedly meant it.

As you sat on the bed you shared with your boyfriend, bouncing his daughter on your knee, you filled out the playlist for the dance. “There better be some Fleetwood Mac on there,” Frankie says with a grin as he walks into the room, fresh from the shower. Luna, his baby, reaches for him excitedly and he picks her up. “And maybe something like Baby Shark for this one,” he teases and blows a raspberry onto her tummy, earning a giggle from his daughter.

You grin up at him and his little girl, laughing. “Luna’s only in it for the pictures, come on,” you say and tilt your head as you look at him. “But you’ll be happy to know that I put down The Chain as the first song of the night.”

“Yes!” Frankie exclaims and flops down on the bed next to you, Luna giggling as the two of them fall. She crawls over to lie between the two of you, enjoying being between her two favorite people. “Aw, is that your mama?” He chuckles, and you shake your head.

“Frankie, no,” you say and bite your lip for a second, looking away from the two of them. You know she loves you, and you absolutely adore her, but it hurts your heart that you’ll probably be nothing more than Dad’s girlfriend to her. “She knows that.”

“Hey, she knows the difference in you and Maria,” he shakes his head. “But that’s her mother, and you’re her mama, right niña?” he coos to the little girl and she giggles, burying her face in your stomach. It melts your heart. “Yeah, your mama.”

“My niña,” you murmur happily and pull her up to your chest, wrapping your arms around her. Luna relaxes happily as her head meets your chest. Frankie chuckles a little at the fact that your Spanish grammar isn’t entirely correct, but he doesn’t challenge your words. “Are you gonna tell me what your daddy is planning for tonight?” You ask her, teasingly nonchalant, before looking down at Frankie.

His face holds a little bit of a red flush. “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” he says, playing it cool.

“I know you too well, Francisco,” you tease and look down at him, rubbing Luna’s back gently. “You’ve got some kind of surprise plan for tonight, and I can’t tell what it is, but I know you’re planning something. You’ve got the worst poker face,” you laugh and cup the side of his face with your hand, enjoying the feeling of the stubble beneath your palm.

Frankie shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeats, but you can feel the way his skin warms with the lie. “I don’t have anything planned that you don’t know about,” he tells you quickly.

You simply smile at him and rub the side of his face. “That’s a blatant lie, babe. But I’ll let it slide, since I know whatever surprise it is will be a good one,” you chuckle and press your lips to his. He smiles back and cups your face too. Luna makes a noise of disgust and pushes the two of you away. You both laugh at her action and smile down at the little girl, a carbon copy of her father save for her eyes. She takes her tiny hands and puts them on either side of Frankie’s face, pressing a kiss to his nose. “Oh my god, Luna,” you laugh. “Am I not good enough for your daddy? Is he breaking up with me, is that it?” You ask teasingly.

“I’m getting you dressed up and treating you nice before breaking up with you, yes,” Frankie retorts sarcastically and rests his head on your shoulder, picking up his little girl and bringing her to sit between the two of you, perfectly fitting in the space where your thighs press against each other.

“You never know,” you shrug with a smile. Luna grabs your face and kisses your nose this time, and your heart melts. “Aw, thank you. We’re each getting some love, huh?” You ask the little girl and tug at her wavy brown whale-spout ponytail. “Well, I think you and I need to get all dolled up, don’t you think?” You ask her and she giggles excitedly, babbling an affirmation in her little speech pattern.

Scooting off the side of the bed, you kiss Frankie sweetly before picking Luna up. “Alright, Thumper,” you say with a mock groan. “Wow, you’re growing so much,” you say as you jokingly grunt at the effort of holding her. “You’re gonna be as tall as your daddy soon!” Luna protests that, giggling and playfully hitting your arm, mimicking what she’s seen her father do teasingly.

Frankie watches the two of you adoringly, his heart in his eyes. The two girls that matter most to him. “Hopefully not,” he shakes his head, chuckling and simply watching the two of you interact.

Frankie and Santiago did a wonderful job decorating, and the backyard is beautiful just as the sun goes down. Twinkle lights line the perimeter of the stone patio, and the night is a wonderfully warm dream, the colors of the sky absolutely stunning with tiny cotton wisps floating through. The boys are all dressed in their tuxedos, Frankie even omitting his traditional ball cap and putting some gel into his curls, and you beam as you and their dates take pictures of the four of them. They’re making the “delta” symbol with their index fingers and thumbs, naturally, since the Delta Squadron seems to be their favorite thing to call themselves. “You look like a bunch of sorority girls,” you call out over the already-blasting music, making Frankie’s face flush slightly.

“Santi’s hot as hell, but you sure got the cute one,” Lex, Santiago’s date murmurs to you, and you laugh at that. You wink at Frankie and he winks back, right as you press the button to take the photo. “Look at that, I mean come on,” she laughs and nudges your side. You two just met tonight, unsurprising since Santiago always brings new girls around, but you find her to be easy company. The Miller boys each brought a date, neither anyone you know, but the two of them stand separately. “And you, my dear, are just as cute as your daddy,” she grins down at the little girl holding your dress. “Okay, enough of these idiots,” she calls. “Time for couples’ photos! Moraleses, you first,” she says and scoots you (and subsequently Luna) towards the fence wall, decorated for the photos with fake vines, flowers and twinkling lights.

“We’re not-” you and Frankie both stumble nervously, avoiding saying ‘married’ or any word of the kind. You both give up as your eyes meet, and a smile falls across both of your faces. You give your head a little shake and the two of you dismiss it. The men disband from around Frankie and Luna runs to his side, him squatting down to pick her up. “Mija,” Frankie exclaims as she barrels into his chest, nearly knocking him over. “Don’t you two look wonderful, all matching?” he murmurs and presses a kiss to your lips before Luna groans and pushes your face away.

You laugh, both at his words and Luna’s actions. The toddler had insisted that the two of you match colors; your dresses were different, but the same hue, and you both had absolutely beamed at the fact that the two of you were dressed similarly, especially when she informed you that she wanted to look just like you. “And you, in your tux,” you smile and break away, straightening Frankie’s bow tie.

The group takes photos of the two of you as you converse and kiss, especially at Luna breaking the affection up with her tiny hands. You take pictures in different poses: where you stand now, Luna standing on her own, you and Frankie in the classic and cheesy prom pose, some with just you and him, him and Luna, just you and the little girl, who absolutely thrives under the spotlight given to her by the adults. Benny comments like she’s a model walking a runway, and she giggles, hiding her face in the tulle of your skirt. You keep an eye on the level of the sun in the sky, since Frankie’s mom is coming to pick Luna up later to allow the party to last as late as you want it to.

As the pictures are finished, you go to the ledge where you set your phone, starting the first song for the dance part. Just like you promised Frankie earlier, it’s The Chain by Fleetwood Mac. All of the boys holler excitedly as they recognize the song, grabbing their dates and starting to dance with them. Frankie picks up Luna and starts swaying her along to the slow beginning; naturally, with a father like hers, she already knows the tune and shouts along to the words. You walk over to the two of them, singing already, and Frankie takes your hand, giving you a little twirl. You happily follow along, grinning at his little girl resting against his chest. She’s tired already, and you’re not surprised; despite the excitement of getting ready, it’s past her typical bedtime. He sets her down and she runs off to find her Uncle Santi, dancing with him, and Frankie takes you in his arms, singing the lyrics at the top of his lungs with you.

As the song draws to an end, the second song comes on: a slow one, the song you and Frankie have always loved. His heart speeds up as he thinks about what he’s about to do. He signals behind your back to the older Miller brother, who finds his way to your phone and turns it down a little. You lift your head from his shoulder at the change in volume, clearly upset. “Will, why the hell did you turn it down?” you call across the backyard, and he simply shrugs, holding the best deadpan he can. Frankie pulls away from you, probably to go knock him upside the head, you assume, but the look on his face confuses you. “What?” you ask him, looking down as you notice Luna has once again attached herself to your leg.

Frankie takes a deep breath then grins at you, and your confusion is just as strong. You ask him the same question, tilting your head, and you notice that the rest of the couples have turned to stare at the two of you. “Mi amor, you know how much I love you, right?” He asks. You nod, a small smile on your face, still confused. “I adore you, with everything in me. The most important thing in my life, my little girl, she loves you just as much. I know I’m a difficult man. I’ve done some messed-up shit, been a junkie, been a recovering idiot basically,” he chuckles softly, “but you never care about that, just about who I am now. You’re so wonderful, so perfect,” he tells you, the softest smile on his face. Your heart starts fluttering. Where did this monologue come from? What is- oh, you realize, and the smile drops. His drops too and he pauses, but you grin again, even wider, and he picks up his train of thought.

“Do you have it, just like we practiced?” He asks as he looks down at Luna, who nods and giggles excitedly. She’s holding something, something she wasn’t before. “Buena, mija,” he nods and ruffles her hair. She hands the object to her father, quickly enough that you can’t see it, then runs off to clutch at Benny’s hand, leaning against him. Your heart stops in your chest as you see what he’s holding: a small, rectangular box covered in velvet. You go to say his name but the words die before they can exit your mouth. “Will you do me the honor,” he begins asking as he falls to one knee and taking your hand, “of becoming my wife, of letting me marry you and be with you forever?”

Tears well in your eyes at the love in your heart, your face hurting from how wide you’re smiling. He opens the box to reveal the ring inside, simple and elegant yet stunning, just like the relationship between the two of you. You go to tell him yes, to affirm the feelings inside, but your voice breaks. “Yes,” you say, your voice watery and cracking. You nod frantically and he takes the ring from the box, sliding it onto your finger. He stands and you immediately take his face in your hands, kissing him desperately and happily. You giggle into the kiss, and the men and their dates behind him break into whoops and cheers. You laugh as you break away, forehead falling to Frankie’s tuxedoed chest, before looking up through watery eyes and holding up your hand excitedly. Everyone cheers again and you laugh again too, hugging him tight. “Frankie,” you coo lovingly as you break from his chest and look up at him. “This is our senior prom. We’re just kids,” you joke. “You really want to marry me this young?”

That earns a belly laugh from him, shaking his head. “Shut up,” he teases back, spotting Luna’s excited bouncing. “Come here, Thumper,” he calls and waves her over. You both squat down and beckon her over, and she once again zooms into both of your arms.

“Mama and daddy getting married,” she squeals in her little baby voice and it melts your heart, her tone filled with contentment. You nod and squeeze her and her father tighter.

“We sure are, kid,” you laugh and stroke her head. “You’re gonna be my flower-girl-of-honor, right?” You ask and pull away from the hug. She nods excitedly.

“Flower-girl-of-honor?” Frankie asks and tilts his head.

“Well, she can’t just be my flower girl, Frankie,” you say as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s my daughter, right?” you ask her, earning a happy nod. She agreed.

Later, Frankie’s mom indeed came and picked up her granddaughter, absolutely beaming and telling you that she was glad her son finally got the balls to propose. You had both laughed at that, thanked her once again for watching Luna for the night, and returned to the dance floor.

The party seemed to last all night, you and your new fiancé and the rest of the attendees having the time of your lives. “Well, this is the best prom I’ve ever been to,” you tease, grinning up at Frankie as the two of you slow dance. He just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead and singing along to the words of the music playing. “Oh my god, it was a prom-posal,” you gasp as the pun hits you. “Jesus, why did I do that?” he groans sarcastically. “That pun is gonna haunt me the rest of my life now.” “Just like I am,” you sing happily, grinning so wide your nose scrunches. He laughs and shakes his head at that, but pulls you closer into his chest. “You just made a promise you’re not gonna wanna follow through on, Catfish,” you tease. “I’m gonna make your life so miserable.”

Frankie sighs at your sarcasm but smiles contently as he looks down at you. “I don’t think you could if you tried, hermosa,” he tells you before bringing his lips to yours for a sweet kiss.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #benny miller #william miller #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia

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taelme · 4 years

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Enemies-to-lovers!Jisung

request: - anon: Could you maybe write an enemies to lovers like the Chan one but with jisung?? It was so good 😔😔😭🥺💞💞💖💘💘💞💗💞💗💕💞 can it be fluffy and Angsty hehe 😖 maybe where they're both college students - anon: Can you do a Enemies to Lovers AU with chan!!! Where they're going to college and their families happen to be friends so they get an apartment together to save money, but the first time they meet it doesn't go well. Then yk, slowly w time they fall in love ahhaha... I love your writings btw!! 💓💞💓💝💓💞💓💝 (I recently sent the ask about the enemies to lovers au w chan that involved going to college.. since you literally just wrote an enemies to lovers au for chan if you want you can do my request (if u do it ahahha) with jisung!!) - anon: I really love how you write au’s/fanfictions. I just want to know if u can write something about han jisung?? maybe a cafe love story or another tattoo artist just like chan? or maybe a studio date night?

genre: enemies-to-lovers!au, college!au, roommate!au, tattoo apprentice!jisung lol (fluff, a bit of angst)

pairing/s: Han Jisung / Reader ( ft skz Bang Chan and nct/wayv/superm (lmao) Lucas )

word count: 18k

tw: I talk about like kind of sad stuff when jisung has like an artist’s block in this I guess

a/n: thank u anons for being so patient with this request!! I rly hope that I managed to do it well and that you guys are satisfied with the outcome n have fun reading it hehe, it was kind of inspired by the song sunshine!! by stray kids so I hope that it gives u the same good vibes I got from the song while writing this :( ok bye

If it were any other person standing in front of you, maybe you wouldn’t have regretted having an outburst in the café for the morning crowd to see.

The fight, or outburst (if you wanted to relieve him of any role in the exchange), had started rather simply. You were just having one of those days where it was raining outside, you were awake even before roosters were (in your opinion) and you had wanted nothing more than to just curl up in bed and sleep into the evening.

You had gone to grab your morning coffee, combating against the rain with your multi-coloured umbrella, as one does. Shoving the doors of the café open, you were met with shouts of names and storms of people squeezing to collect their orders. The whole ordeal would’ve made you pretty at ease if it weren’t for the coldness of your feet and the way your umbrella would cause someone to slip soon if you didn’t move.

Your shoes squelched against the shiny wood floors of the café, each step making you cringe as you waited anxiously to reach the front of the line, desperate to put an end to this experience. Thankfully enough, your order was pretty straightforward, so you’d collected it quickly, the small smiley face drawn on the cup by the staff serving to put you in a slightly less dreadful mood.

Stationing yourself at one of the empty tables you’d spotted by the exit, you set your still-dripping umbrella on the floor before you tried to get your tissues out to salvage whatever you could of your shoes. Shrugging off your coat, you’d draped it over the back of the seat.

Glancing at the time on your phone before you shoved your notes aside within your bag, you’d pushed your arm forward and opened your bag harshly, taking your box file out of your bag, almost nicking yourself against the broken corner of the file in your rush.

The next sequence of events happened quickly, and too ‘all-at-once’ for you to process. Upon taking out your box file, you’d heard a yelp behind you, followed by harsh footsteps and the splash of coffee on your box file.

Letting out a loud yelp of surprise as the person in question had stopped their fall with a loud thud of their hands against the pillar in front of you, they’d turned to you with wide-eyes, their eyebrows quickly furrowing into an expression that looked utterly ticked-off, their mouth already opening to speak.

You’d seemed to beat them to it, hurriedly grabbing your tissues to wipe down your file, checking for any brown-stains on your precious papers.

“What the hell,” you scoffed, casting a glance up at the boy. He had stood slightly taller than you, with rounded eyes and a defined nose, his lips pressed into a firm line.

He looked fairly young, from the way he dressed in brand-name basics to the way he was practically decked out in accessories. Call you biased, but if this was a senior or a child, you’d probably have let them off with it. But the way he was looking at you now was somehow successfully unnerving you, and you supposed admiring his annoyed features was about the last thing you should be doing at the moment.

“‘What the hell’?” He echoed your words, “who’s the one that chose to stand in the middle of nowhere to go through their damned bag?”

Your eyebrows raised in offence, your annoyance from before making itself known as you frowned, your grip on your bag tightening, “oh, and it’s my fault you have poor coordination?”

The boy had narrowed his eyes, mirroring your expression, his bracelets shifting on his wrist as he gestured at your umbrella on the floor.

“Your stupid umbrella was the reason I tripped in the first place,” he told you pointedly, strangely making you even more annoyed that he chose to attack not only you but your innocent umbrella too.

Your volume raised involuntarily with your frustration, “it’s so bright! It was basically screaming at you that it was there,” you defended, attracting a few customers attention with your outburst. You didn’t understand why you had to go through this so early in the morning when you were already irritable beyond belief.

The boy seemed to have noticed this as well, discomfort washing over him at the feeling of the crowd’s stares. Ultimately deciding he would rather give up the fight with the crazy stranger from the café and leave before he was late for his job at the tattoo studio.

“Whatever,” he huffed, leaving the café, the bells at the doors jingling loudly as it swung back.

Something about the apology just wasn’t enough for you, (maybe you just expected more because he irked you) but you were already late enough for class. Rolling your eyes, you’d slung your bag around your shoulder with a thump, gripping your cup in your hands tightly and picking your umbrella (that now had an evident crease in one of its panels) up before running to class.

Your mom had called you halfway through the day while you were on your way to classes, the gesture enough to make you huff good-naturedly at her insistence.

“Hello?”

“Hey, honey, is this a good time?” her tone was practically dripping with motherly concern, making you let out a breathy laugh, nodding even though she couldn’t see you.

“Yeah, It’s fine,” you told her, “but anyway, I think my umbrella’s broken. Some idiot at the café this morning practically destroyed it with their stupid combat boots.”

Your mom didn’t seem to pay much attention to your rant, cutting straight to the point that she’d called you for.

“Have you met Jisung yet?”

You sighed as you entered the auditorium for your next lecture, lowering your head slightly as you found a seat around the middle of the hall.

“No, not yet. I’m only going over to the house after my classes end, remember? But I heard my stuff already got moved there,” you explained to her, holding your phone between your ear and your shoulder as you took your laptop from your bag, setting it on the table gently.

“Oh, do you want his phone number? To make things easier for the both of you,” she offered, earning a disinterested hum from you.

 Your mom was more than excited about the fact that you would be 1. Not living in a residence within the school and 2. Living with the son of one of her friends from college. You figured your duty as her child now would be to appease her and at least try to live out her desires for you. Which in this case was sharing an apartment alone with some boy you didn’t even know. Maybe your mom was just a little more trusting than most.

You shrugged, “yeah, sure, just send it to me.”

Your mom let out a squeal, “I’m so excited for you to meet him, honey, he’s such a nice boy. You two are sure to get along. I’m so happy you agreed to this.”

Letting out a small sigh, you leant back in your seat as you held your phone with one hand, your other hand going to unlock your computer.

“I still feel like I’m imposing on them,” you hummed.

“Honey, it’s fine, Jisung’s parents insisted that you didn’t have to pay any rent.”

You hummed patronisingly, it wasn’t as if it was the first time she was telling you this, “yeah, uh-huh,” your attention was momentarily diverted by the tall boy that was standing next to you, gesturing to the empty seat with raised eyebrows.

“Sorry, is there anyone sitting here?”

Your lips parted, “okay, mom I gotta go I’ll call you once I’ve settled into the apartment.”

You did a once-over of the boy, who shook his head to get his bangs away from his eyes, giving you a wide smile. Gesturing for him to go ahead and sit down, he’d flopped down onto the seat with a sigh.

Letting go of his bag strap as he turned around, he gave you an appreciative nod as he opened his bag, pulling out a notebook and pen.

“First day, huh,” his voice was deeper than you’d remembered it to be from just seconds ago, his hand coming up to cover his growing smile as a little giggle escaped him, “I’m Lucas.”

“How’d you know?” You hummed, “and my name’s Y/N.” You swore you’d never seen a boy with such sparkly eyes before in your life.

Lucas shrugged, leaning his folded arms on the desk and turning his head slightly to observe you in your confusion, one hand shifting to play with his earring, “haven’t seen you around before.”

“You talk like you know everyone in the school,” you scoffed.

Lucas didn’t seem to sense your sarcasm, simply giving you a shrug, “possibly. And also because it’s my second time taking this stupid class so I should know an unfamiliar face when I see one,” he told you, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

Your eyebrows raised, hearing the doors at the bottom of the auditorium open, a short stocky man walking through and making his way to the speaker’s desk.

“Second time? Why?” You hummed, keeping your gaze on the man in anticipation for what he was about to say.

Lucas cast a glare towards the professor, “I thought he was boring so I didn’t really go much for his lectures the last time, you know, because I thought they weren’t graded. But he decided to include them as passing criteria way too late.”

Lucas pointed at the professor, his sleeve riding up slightly to expose a tattoo at his wrist. You were starting to wonder if everyone at this place had tattoos, the sight seeming fairly common from just your few hours in the school.

You winced, nodding, already getting the sensing that this man was someone you needed to be on good terms with.

“Alright, class, enough talking. From now on, I’m the only one that should be talking so I expect nothing but your full attention from here onwards.”

This was going to be a long lecture.

===

Your mom had texted you the Jisung kid’s number, and you’d dropped him a text saying you were on your way to the apartment, getting a reply from him that he was on his way there as well. You figured he seemed pretty polite, from the way he texted you, so you guessed that helped in making you dread the whole arrangement less.

When you’d reached, you’d ended up at an apartment building that looked fairly plain, walking in to the lobby and scanning the sparsely decorated notice board for residents, the last thing put up being a picnic for families that was 3 months ago.

Stepping into the lift, you’d noticed that though it was relatively well-maintained, it seemed rather dull, from the prison-grey lights to how the mirrors were covered for maintenance. Thankfully, your apartment itself was relatively well-maintained (you remembered your mom telling you the apartment was previously being rented out by Jisung’s parents), aside from the space being a little not-so conducive. But well, they were letting you live here for free, so you couldn’t complain.

Setting your things down onto the sofa in the living room, you moved to examine the respective rooms, frowning when you realised that whoever Jisung was, he’d taken the room with the bigger bed, his clothes either already hung up on the clothing rack or stacked up on his bed.

Walking into what you assumed was your room now, you tried to envision how you could make this space more conducive. From moving the bed aside to switching the desk out to the living room for more light, you tried out different permutations in your head, your time as an amateur interior designer cut short when you heard the rustling of keys at the front door.

Smoothing your hair down to make sure it was neat, you’d dodged the boxes of stuff as you leant over the sofa, curious to see what this Jisung kid would look like.

Jisung had done the same outside the door, making sure his hair and clothes were somewhat presentable before pushing the door open. And immediately wanting to close it back.

“You’re Jisung?”

“You’re Y/N?”

The two of you spoke simultaneously, disbelief and shock written over your features as you pointed an accusatory finger at him.

Like you mentioned before, maybe if the boy at the café this morning wasn’t Jisung, you would’ve regretted your actions a lot less.

Jisung gave you a look of disbelief, stepping into the apartment and folding his arms across his chest, his bag still hanging from his shoulder. He couldn’t wrap his head around how unlucky he must have been to have had such a bad encounter with someone he was about to spend probably his entire college life living with.

He sighed deeply, “now I don’t feel like paying the rent on your behalf anymore.”

You rolled your eyes, “your parents are paying the rent, not you. You have no say in it.”

Jisung made a sound of protest, shaking his head vigorously, his eyes widening in his aggravation.

“No, they aren’t. I told them to let me take care of it because I felt bad for them. But I don’t feel bad for you, so you’re gonna have to split the rent with me.”

Your lips parted, fumbling for a response.

Jisung’s expression was expectant, provoking you almost, “what? Would you rather get an apartment on your own? ‘Cause I’d be more than happy to let my parents know.”

You wanted to cry. It was already the start of the school term so staying in the dorms was out of the question for you already, the deadline having closed long ago. And you knew that finding another apartment in the school district that was within your budget was going to be a pain in the ass. So as much as you hated to admit it, splitting the rent with Jisung was your best option. You needed to get a job asap.

You rolled your eyes, “well…well then why do you get the bigger room?” You huffed, mirroring his stance as you folded your arms across your chest.

Jisung gave you a mocking pout, “simple, ‘cause I got here first,” he brought his hand up, inspecting his nails.

“You should be glad I’m not charging you extra for inconveniencing me,” he added.

Not being able to help but let a small gasp leave you, you were quick to respond, “inconveniencing you? You were the one that got coffee all over my file.”

Jisung shrugged, “potato, potato. Doesn’t change the fact that you made me late for work.”

You clenched your jaw, watching with a glare as he strolled past you, gesturing to the space in the living room which you’d been planning on using as a work area, “I have dibs on this space.”

You frowned, mumbling, “I wanted to shift the desk in my room out here, though.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Wanna consider moving out now?”

You inhaled deeply, brushing past him to grab your luggage that contained your clothes.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you huffed in annoyance as you walked into your room, his laughter echoing behind you.

===

“How can you say that? Jisung is a very nice boy,” your mother cried, making you roll your eyes, glaring at your phone from where you were hanging your clothes up.

“He’s the idiot that I fought with at the café, it’s not like I’m saying this without reason.”

You heard your mom sigh deeply, conversing with your dad about something in the background, “try to put your attitude aside for once, please, I’m begging you.”

You groaned, kicking your luggage aside before you made your way over to your bed, flopping down next to your phone with a loud sigh, wincing at the feeling of the springs in your mattress. You were so sure Jisung’s bed was more comfortable.

“It’s not me that has the attitude, it’s him,” you mumbled, sulkiness evident in your tone.

“Enough, Y/N," she said sternly, "If I hear anymore complaints you’re really gonna be in for it.”

You kicked at your blanket, “fine, goodnight. Love you.”

You hung up, staring at your desk as you contemplated on whether to move it into the living room now or tomorrow, distracted from your thoughts when you could hear the water running, not to mention the awfully loud sound of Jisung singing in the shower.

How thin were the walls? Your glare had shifted to your door now.

“Can you keep it down?” You shouted, hearing a silence on his end momentarily. Heaving a sigh of relief, you turned around in your bed only to hear him resume his singing, except this time, you swore it got louder.

Burying your head under your pillow, you kicked at your blanket, hoping this was the worst it could get. It wasn’t that bad, right? You could deal with simple shower concerts. Maybe living with him wasn’t going to be as hard as you thought.

===

Safely to say, you should’ve thought otherwise.

The very first time you realised you'd underestimated Han Jisung, was when you'd gone to the fridge to fix yourself something for dinner, only to find post-its on every single one of the items that read : 'property of han jisung! not for y/n'

You'd moved to look for something else to eat that was unlabelled, only realising then that he'd even gone to the (very petty) extent of labelling the snacks in the cupboard.

Huffing, you'd shrugged your coat on, grabbed your wallet and made a trip to the grocery store.

Cursing him in your head as you shoved your items into your basket, earning yourself looks of scandal from the elders who were for whatever reason still in the grocery store, though you couldn’t be bothered to look more amiable. You’d wanted nothing more than to throw out Jisung’s groceries, but of course, you were a nice person, so you wouldn’t do that. It seemed like you just couldn't get a break when your phone had begun to buzz in your pocket.

"Hey, mom," you hummed, trying not to sound too tired lest she started to drill you about resting. You brought your groceries over to the self-checkout aisle, heaving them onto the small platform with a grunt.

"Have you eaten dinner?"

You huffed, "we didn't have enough food, so I went to buy some groceries." Biting back your tongue, you rolled your eyes, scanning your items and bagging them angrily.

"How's finding a job been?"

You shrugged, Lucas had told you about various job openings nearby your house, (surprising you with how much he knew about the area) one of them you were looking into was a simple job at a café near your apartment. Thankfully, not the one that you'd had your little ‘encounter’ with Jisung at.

"Pretty alright, nothing too difficult,” you hummed, fumbling to pull out your card so you could make your payment, ignoring the stares you were getting from the people queueing up behind you.

"Alright, that's good to hear."

"Everything alright with you and dad at home?" you asked, shoving your card back into your wallet before slinging the bags onto your forearms, beginning to walk out of the supermarket.

"Yes, of course. Don't worry about us, we just miss you."

You sighed, something about the night air putting you in a drowsy mood, "me too. I never realised how much I liked living with you guys till now..."

"Don't tell me you're still having a hard time with Jisung," you heard her tone, your knew that this was her way of implying she didn't want to hear anything other than that you and Jisung's housemate experience was just peachy.

"Don't worry, mom, everything's... fine."

You'd tugged your coat closer to yourself, giving her whatever updates you figured she'd want to know before hanging up, enjoying the peaceful walk before you reached your apartment, figuring this was as much peace you were going to get before you returned to the apartment to be met with his stupid antics again.

And surely enough, the evening breeze accompanied with the sounds of faint conversation from the restaurants nearby had started to put you in a rather drowsy mood, making you start to contemplate if you were even still hungry, the lure of sleep starting to seem more tempting.

Reaching your apartment building, the lift lobby illuminated by a harshly bright lightbulb, you’d bumped into one of the ladies living on the same floor as you exited the lift on your floor, watching as her eyes widened in surprise, giving you a small smile as she enquired.

“Oh, are you the resident from apartment 19B?" you nodded.

If you were drowsy before, you sure weren't drowsy anymore.

You flinched slightly when her expression had changed in an instant, her once amiable expression now replaced with an annoyed glare.

"Can you please refrain from singing so loudly in the middle of the night? Some of us are trying to sleep."

Your eyebrows raised, shaking your head as you slot your keys into the keyhole, opening the door just a crack, "oh, sorry, that's not me that's my housemate—”

The middle-aged lady had narrowed her eyes at you, "you know, It's not ethical for someone as young as you to be living with a man when you're so young—”

"Okay, sorry, won't happen again!" you told her quickly in your attempt to appease her, shoving the door open and slamming it behind you, turning around only to see Jisung standing in the living room, dressed in loungewear with black gloves on his hands as he pointed at you in amusement, his shoulders shaking as he laughed.

"Aw, I'm not the only one that thinks it's not ethical for you to live here," he pouted.

You rolled your eyes, "I can't believe she thought I was the one singing," you huffed, going over to the kitchen to see yet more dishes in the sink.

Pointing at them with a look of disbelief on your face, "are you not gonna clean these either?"

Jisung turned around, looking at the sink with evident contempt, shrugging. He held his hands up to you, showing you that they were currently gloved.

"I'm a little busy, why don't you do me a favour this once? Consider it compensation," he grinned, making his way back to....your room?

"What are you doing in my room?" you asked, shoving the last of your groceries haphazardly into the fridge before you'd followed him into your room, shutting your mouth quickly when you saw that he’d practically set up a work station next to your desk, looking closer to find that he was using what looked like tattoo equipment.

“Practicing,” he shrugged.

You didn’t bother asking what his business using tattoo equipment was, simply huffing in exasperation, “and you had to do it in my room, of all places?”

Jisung nodded, pushing one of his sleeves up on his shoulder, revealing a rather big tattoo on his arm that was partially hidden by his sleeve.

“This is the only room with an accessible plug and a good enough space to work in.”

“Then why didn’t you just take this room as your bedroom?” You were dumbfounded at the way he was so nonchalant about his actions, the buzzing of the tattoo needle resuming as he practised on fake skin.

“I like to sleep in a comfortable bed,” he shrugged, leaning back to look at his tattoo.

“And you think I don’t?” You shot back, your hands going to your hips, his reply coming just as quick.

“Well, for $300 bucks above the rent maybe you can,” he smirked, using a tissue to rub at the fake skin, looking at you as he poked his tongue in his cheek, quirking his eyebrows before turning back to continue tattooing.

That night, you remembered asking Lucas if he knew who Jisung was, since he’d mentioned how he was pretty into tattoos, having a few of his own, his reply only making you wonder if the world was just small or you were just unlucky.

lucas wong

8:53pm - oh yeah I know him! he’s apprentice-ing at the tattoo shop I usually go to, he’s pretty good-

8:53pm - why? do u like him? I cld put in a good word for u-

You sighed deeply

8:53pm - no thanks im good-

Little did you know, the next time Lucas had visited the the tattoo studio, he’d spotted Jisung working on his designs at one corner of the room, going against your request and disturbing Jisung even despite how he looked like that was the last thing he wanted, too focused on the shadings of his chrysanthemum flower sketch on his tablet to have paid attention to Lucas' entrance.

“Hey, do you know anyone named Y/N?”

Jisung’s face scrunched up in distaste, looking up at Lucas and hoping desperately that he was joking, “don’t tell me… freshman Y/N?”

Lucas nodded, his eyes lighting up in excitement, “yeah! So you guys do know each other.”

Jisung made an uncertain sound, “I wouldn’t call it much of a relationship. Y/N’s my housemate.”

Jisung’s words had sparked a realisation in Lucas, the latter only piecing together your disdain towards Jisung with your stories about your ‘asshole housemate’

Lucas’ silence had caught Jisung off guard, making Jisung look up at Lucas expectantly, “sorry, you wanted to go get something to eat, right?”

Lucas nodded, masking his shock with a smile, recovering quickly.

“Wait, lemme go call Chan,” Jisung murmured, beckoning the boy who was currently snacking at the reception area.

“Where do you guys wanna go?” Lucas asked, earning a hum from Chan.

“I kinda wanted to get a smoothie,” Chan admitted sheepishly, though thankfully, Jisung and Lucas didn’t seem to have a problem with that.

 “Why didn’t you wanna go to the other café? They’ve got better smoothies,” Lucas wondered out loud, making Jisung snort.

“We’re only going there because Chan has a fat crush on one of the baristas.”  

Which was what ended them up at the café you worked at.

The moment they had entered, you noticed your colleague tense beside you, bending down to pretend to take something from below the counter.  

“Shit, they’re here. Oh my god, help,”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “who?”

“That cute tattoo artist guy I was telling you about!” She whispered harshly, standing up and greeting the boys with a smile, her heart eyes directed particularly at one of them with curly hair.

Only then did you realise Lucas and Jisung were there, receiving an overwhelming feeling of wanting to bang your head into the cash register. You already saw him enough at home, and now you had to see him at work too?

“Hi, how may I help you?” You smiled at the curly haired boy, casting a glare in Jisung’s direction, the boy looking equally as dismayed to see you here.

“Hello, can I get the berry smoothie?” He asked, and you stepped aside, letting your colleague ring up his order while you prepared his drink, giving it to your colleague to serve since she’d spent so long talking to him.

Lucas had mouthed a ‘sorry’ to you when he’d gone to sit at one of the tables with Chan, Jisung lingering at the cashier as your colleague went to the backroom to squeal.

“What do you want?” you wore a bored expression.

Jisung looked almost too focused, his eyes glaring at the laminated menu between the both of you.

“I changed my mind, I want a drink too.”

You suppressed your urge to roll your eyes, your finger scratching at the corner of the cash register, “you couldn’t have ordered it like five seconds ago?”

Jisung shot you a look, “yeah, well I didn’t want it five seconds ago.”

Inhaling deeply, you’d gestured to the menu, and now not only was your expression bored-to-death, but your tone was too, "what do you want?”

“I want an iced americano,” he told you, pausing before he added, “and ask your friend to make it. I don’t trust you not to spit in my drink.”

You gave him a sarcastic smile, “good call.”

Ringing up his order, you’d called your friend, dismissing any thought of ever having a normal encounter with Jisung.

Upon returning to his table, Chan had given him a look, "Lucas told me you know the cashier."

"Not the one you think is cute, don't worry,” Jisung sighed, glancing in his drink just for good measure.

Chan's eyebrows lifted in amusement, "so the one you think is cute?"

Almost instinctually, Jisung replied, "yeah," paying more attention to his drink than his words. Looking up when he heard Chan and Lucas struggle to stifle their giggles.

"What?"

Lucas clapped his hands together, his smile wide, "you just said Y/N was cute."

"No, I didn't, you did." Jisung shot back quickly. It was obvious that retaliation didn't always have to make sense for him.

Chan had a curious glint in his eyes now, the corner of his lips quirking up into a smirk, "I mean, you guys do live together right, and you've really never thought anything about her?"

“I did, I thought her nagging was annoying as hell,” Jisung shrugged.

 Chan narrowed his eyes at Jisung, an amused smirk on his face, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

Jisung gave Chan a pointed look, "I'd appreciate if you wouldn't stir shit, especially not in front of him." Jisung pointed at Lucas.

"You didn't answer the question," Lucas sing-songed.

Jisung scoffed, casting a furtive glance towards your direction where you were smiling as your colleague showed you something on their phone.

Jisung shrugged, it wasn’t as if you looked bad or anything, with his pride, he’d probably have told Chan that you were pretty if he squinted.

“Guess if they smiled more they'd be...decent."

 Lucas raised his eyebrows, enjoying the scene playing out in front of him very much, “decent, huh.”

Chan leant back in his seat, shaking his head at Jisung, "now I feel like I have to make you my apprentice for relationships too."

Jisung scoffed, regaining his usual confidence.

"If by that you mean you want me to stand at the counter giggling my ass off like how you did with that cashier then no thanks, I'm good on my own."

===

You'd tried your best to tolerate Jisung, especially after Lucas fed you some story about how he takes a while to warm up to people (which you totally bought).

This tolerance came in the form of things like waking up earlier to use the bathroom so the both of you wouldn't have to fight in the morning, or giving him reminders to do the laundry or clean the dishes but only doing them after he forgot the third reminder.

Jisung usually forgot to turn off the lights whenever he went to sleep (though sometimes he did it on purpose, not liking the eerie darkness of the house when the lights were off), so you would always end up waking from the glare of the lights that seeped into your room, stepping over the mess of clothes or socks (sometimes even shoes) in the walkways and turning them off for him instead of nagging him about the lights. See? Tolerance.

Call you a pushover or whatever, but you kind of prided yourself on how your well of patience seemed to run deep. Very deep. Deeper than the average human, you supposed, even.

However, days like the ones you were having now, just didn't seem to let you draw from that well of patience.

You'd started off your shitty morning when you'd slept through your alarm, needing your usual work clothes but realising that Jisung hadn't done the laundry, leaving you with no choice but to grab the nearest hoodie you could find on your bedroom floor and sprint to work.

If that wasn't enough, you'd landed cashier duty as punishment for being late, your social battery starting to empty not even halfway through the day. Your 'hi, how may I help you's slowly turning to 'what would you like's to eventually 'hi's and ending up with a small smile and gesture towards the menu.

It didn't help that Chan, the tattoo artist your colleague had an obvious thing for, had shown up halfway to try and strike a conversation with you about Jisung, much to no avail.

“Aren’t you wondering why Jisung isn’t here?” You remembered him asking, to which you’d shook your head.

“Not really,” you shrugged, earning a thoughtful hum from Chan.

“Really? You’re not even the slightest bit curious?”

You had shook your head at him then, remembering the way he looked so shocked to have made you even more curious about why he was asking you this in the first place.

By the time you were done with your work, you'd wanted nothing more than to just go home, take the longest shower of your life and curl up in your horribly uncomfortable bed. Except you couldn't even do that, because you had unfinished readings for your class the next day.

You figured if you sat yourself at your desk with no distractions you could be done sooner and go to sleep sooner, but your one distraction had just come home from the tattoo studio and was somehow getting on your nerves even more today.

Not only had he been acting as if he was the opera community's 'next big thing', he'd proceeded to seat himself on the sofa behind you, watching whatever show he was into loudly, seeming to find whatever the protagonist was saying to be too hilarious to just enjoy the show silently.

You figured you could handle that much, you know, having to live up to your preachings on tolerance, deciding to breathe deeply and suppress your urge to tell him to shut up, and soon enough, he'd disappeared.

But your joy was short lived, once again, when Jisung came back out, singing as he made a snack for himself and proceeded to eat it right in front of you, the smell growing more and more distracting.

Now, he was now lounging on the sofa in the living room, headphones on and connected to his laptop that rest on his stomach, but still typing away with his phone not on silent, the keyboard sounds distracting you from your reading. You figured, maybe your well of patience was just closed today.

“Hey,” you called. No response. If anything, the silence of the apartment had made his typing sounds even louder.

“Hey, oh my god, can you like put your phone on silent or something?" You tried again. Still no response, now, he was humming in between his pauses before he would type another burst of words on his phone.

Deciding you had to take matters into your own hands, you stormed over to where he was, your book still in your hands as you stood in front of him, making him turn to you with wide-eyes.

Pulling his headphones off of his head, he frowned, "what?"

“This,” you gestured pointedly towards his phone, “put your phone on silent, it's distracting me."

Jisung would've complied, though a part of him couldn't help but be annoyed by your nagging, his instinct prompting him to act defensively, “why don’t you just listen to some music or something? Then my typing sounds wouldn’t be a problem,” he told you dismissively, making you groan in frustration.

“I can’t study with music, it’s already hard enough for me to focus as it is.”

Jisung was annoyed, “It’s just a typing sound, what are you getting so worked up for? You’re always getting on my back about everything when I’m just minding my own business."

You let out a groan, "look, it's been more than a month, and i'm up to here with your shit," you held a hand way above your head for emphasis, any of your tolerance long gone out of the window (which he had also left open, making the apartment chilly and noisy).

Jisung's eyebrows knit in a frown, your outburst coming as a shock to him, "fine, whatever. I'll put my phone on silent, chill."

You shook your head, your gaze firm and unwavering, "no, I wanna make rules."

Rules? Jisung wanted to scoff. What was this, a second-grade classroom?

Jisung stared at you in shock, nodding dumbly. "Rules....oka-alright, yeah. Let's make rules."

You nodded firmly, "first of all, if you're gonna make food at ungodly hours in the morning, eat it in your own room."

"And the dishes, clean up after yourself," you added, gripping your book tightly in your hand.

“Stop leaving your shit in the corridors,” you continued, “and pack up your shoes it’s such a mess at the door way I can barely walk into the house,” you huffed, feeling as though with every rule you made you were finally letting your feelings be heard.

Jisung wracked his brains for a rule of his own, finding ways to regain control over the situation, "well, I have a rule too! You gotta stop nagging me to do shit," he sat up, setting his headphones on the sofa cushion.

You let out a tiny gasp, "excuse me? I only ask you to ‘do shit’ that you should be doing."

Before you could get carried away, you continued, "and as for the laundry—”

Jisung perked up, “okay, how about this. I do the dishes and you do the laundry," he suggested with a forced smile, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair, which fell back against his forehead gently.

"You know for a fact that that’s not the same, so we'll switch," you told him, "you do laundry on one week when I do the dishes, and the next week i'll do the laundry and you do the dishes. Fair, right?"

Jisung huffed, rolling his eyes, "whatever."

At the mention of laundry, Jisung glanced over at what you were wearing, frowning at the familiarity of his hoodie.

"Good, now that we have an agree—”

"That's mine," he pointed at your stomach, making you look at him in disbelief.

"Huh?" Your stomach? Your hands found their way to cover your stomach.

"The hoodie. It's mine."

You looked down at the hoodie you were wearing, a frown evident on your face. You didn't know what he was talking about, you had this hoodie since you were in high-school, it couldn't be his.

"No, it's mine. I had this since I was in high-school," you frowned, unsure if this was some sort of joke he was trying to play.

Jisung couldn't hide his amusement, letting a laugh slip from his lips, "yeah, so did I... which is why I know that that's mine."

You scoffed, "it was on my bedroom floor," you mumbled, seeing him nod patronisingly.

"Because I left it there," he told you, enunciating his words slower, shocking you when he'd reached over and grabbed you by the sleeve, raising your hand up for you to see.

"Look, this stain. It's tattoo ink. I would know because you're wearing the wrong hoodie. New rule, don’t wear my clothes.”

You stood silent, huffing as you removed the hoodie, leaving you in your shirt and sweats, tossing the hoodie at him in annoyance, the smirk on his face making you even more annoyed.

"Fine, take your stupid hoodie, I don’t wanna wear your stupid clothes anyway,” you huffed, “and you’re on laundry duty this week."

You didn't finish your readings that night.

===

You would like to think your rule system was working pretty well, seeing as you didn't find yourself butting heads with Jisung as often as before.

Halfway into the semester, you had grown busier with your assignments, which had managed to take your attention away from Jisung.

Though you were certainly more tired than usual, from attending birthday parties of friends to working, to rushing your readings during any free time you got (not to mention squeezing in any bit of sleep whenever you could), to rushing through your assignments just to meet the packed deadlines. But you couldn’t complain, this was typical for any college student you knew.

But of course, that didn’t mean you weren’t itching for a break, eyeing the semester break on your calendar that was fast approaching, letting yourself get carried away during classes with Lucas as you both planned on your pieces of scrap paper all the things you’d wanted to do during the break.

Similarly, Jisung had grown busier at the tattoo studio, and Chan had recommended him to a music producer that was interested in hearing Jisung's compositions.

Jisung was more than thankful that Chan had given him that opportunity, of course, but what was bothering him was the pain-in-the-ass creative block he was beginning to struggle with.

Not only was he struggling to find inspiration for a song he'd wanted to make, but the process seemed almost painfully slow, with how he'd fumble around with ideas that he would start on but eventually scrap, deciding that he 'wasn't feeling it'.

He'd started receiving commissions for tattoo designs, and you'd noticed he wasn't at home as often as he was before because he'd made it a point to coop himself up in the studio to try to churn out these design requests.

Fortunately, his customers were always satisfied (and he thought that was great, you know, with all the good words from Chan he was getting), but he wasn't.

Chan had seemed to sense this too, making sure to check in on Jisung more than usual during this period.

"Hey, I'm heading home a little earlier today, you'll be fine alone?"

Jisung's head lifted when he heard Chan's voice, pulling one of his earbuds from his ear as he nodded.

Chan glanced at Jisung's papers scattered around him, of half-done or halfway-abandoned sketches, giving him a look of sympathy, "don't work too hard, alright?" he huffed, glancing out of the window.

"I heard it might rain tonight, so make sure you get home before the rain hits, alright?"

Jisung waved Chan off, not paying any care to the impending rain as he bid Chan goodbye, continuing to tap his pencil on the table in his search for good ideas.

Maybe he needed to consult a lifeline.

"Hello, Lucas?"

The said lifeline was more than happy to hear Jisung's voice, having heard from you that he wasn't home as much recently, a part of him concerned as well.

"Hey, man, what's up?"

Jisung hummed, "wanted to ask if you had any ideas on what tattoos you think would be cool."

Lucas snorted, "you're asking me? You could draw a turd and i'd want to get it tattooed. Dude, you're too good, just go with your gut."

Jisung let out a whine, "my gut's not being very useful right now."

Lucas hummed, letting out an urgent grunt of surprise, "I know! Why don't you take a look at your older designs, maybe they'd give you some vibes or something."

Jisung shrugged, figuring this was probably the best advice he was gonna get, thanking Lucas before hanging up.

Picking up his tablet, Jisung had scrolled through his various sketches until he'd reached the very first few designs, sighing at the sight of the sketches, looking at his first sketch of a peony flower, with leaves dangling along the stem wedged between the budding flowers.

Jisung figured he wouldn't let his dissatisfaction subside until he tried doing a better rendition of the sketch, to refine the shading or the flow of the shape from what he'd learnt from Chan overtime.

Putting back his earbuds in, he turned his music up, beginning to work on the sketch, riding on the motivation he was afraid would disappear at any given moment.

Jisung was surprised at how fast he was done, ( only to look at the clock and realise he wasn't that fast and that it was already a little past midnight ). Removing his earbuds and going back to the sound of the whirring air conditioner and the loud sound of rain thumping against the gravel outside, Jisung knew he was done for.

He hadn't brought an umbrella with him, and the rain frankly didn't look like it was going to stop anytime soon, Jisung contemplated his very limited options.

Was a binder enough to shield him from the rain? Probably not. But was it better than putting down his pride to text you to come and pick him up? He thought the binder was better, honestly.

Deciding to try his luck anyway, he'd sent you a text.

Little did Jisung know, you'd dozed off on your bed while reading, the vibration of your phone next to your face having woken you from your nap, the sound of the rain outside harshly thumping against the window.

han jisung 12:37am -hello, housemate. it is your housemate, han jisung. its raining rly badly. wld u be so kind as to come to the tattoo studio with an umbrella for me pls :D-

You frowned in annoyance, your eyes barely open as you replied him. There was no way you were going to send yourself out in the thunderstorm like that.

12:37am - no. just wait until it stops raining-

Thinking that had settled your worries, you'd shoved your phone underneath your pillow, deciding you'd let yourself sleep in since tomorrow was a Saturday after all.

You should've known better, that this was Jisung, the 'i'm tougher than a little bit of rain' Jisung, so you should've seen it coming when you'd woken up to the sound of his incessantly ringing phone.

Rolling out of your bed with a grunt, you'd pushed yourself off of the bed, ready to confront Jisung about not answering his phone.

Walking across the corridor and pushing his bedroom door open, you'd been met with an empty room, frowning as you walked over to the bed, picking the phone up and stopping the alarm.

You noticed that he'd received a few texts from Chan, not being able to help yourself from reading them.

chan 1:20am - dude! why didnt u just wait for the rain to stop?- 1:22am - ure gna fall sick…-

Frowning, you made your way into the living room, spotting Jisung curled up on the sofa with his blanket at his feet, an instant feeling in your gut that something was wrong.

“Jisung?” You called, seeing his eyebrows furrow slightly.

In spite of yourself, you’d walked over to where he lay, your hand coming out to nudge at his shoulder with his phone.

“Hey, are you…alright?” You watched and waited as he opened his eyes slowly, blinking at you in a daze. There was perspiration beading at his temples despite the coolness of the apartment, giving you more reason to feel like there was something wrong.

As much as you didn’t like him, you couldn’t help but feel as though you were responsible for him, and it was kind of your fault that he’d walked back in the rain. You glanced at your brightly-coloured umbrella leaning against the wall, figuring there was something about this umbrella that always got you into trouble with Jisung.

You suppressed your hesitation, bringing a hand up to his forehead, Jisung not even daring to budge even an inch as you pushed his bangs back. The back of your hand pressing against his forehead gently, your breath hitching at the sheer heat of his body.

This was probably the most contact you’d ever had with him in your months of living together, and Jisung knew this too, not knowing how to feel about the concern you were showing him, feeling as though it was some kind of ridiculous fever dream.

“You walked home in the rain didn’t you?” You murmured, your feeling of guilt growing as you saw him nod at you.

You cursed inwardly, “do you have a thermometer?”  

Jisung shook his head, attempting to get up, “it’s fine, I can take care of myself, just give me my phone.”

You handed him his phone, ignoring his previous statement as you went into the kitchen in your search for any kind of medicine you could give him, cursing once again when you realised there was none. Trust the both of you to only care to buy groceries.

“We don’t have jack shit in this house,” you groaned, walking over to the bathroom, finding a cloth and a small pail to fill with cold water, bringing it over to the coffee table and setting it down next to the sofa.

“I’ve gotta go to work,” Jisung sighed, though he made no move to get up, a part of him just waiting for you to refute him so he could use you as an excuse to get off work.

You shot him a look, “no, you don’t. Shut up and lie down, I’ll go and buy your stupid medicine. If I come back and you’re not here I’ll kill you,” you warned, missing the way Jisung had complied happily, lying back down with his head on one of the sofa cushions.

Squeezing the water from the cloth, you may have slapped it a little harshly on his forehead, earning an annoyed glare from him.

Walking to grab your wallet, you cast one last look at his bored face, seeing him rush to close his eyes when he saw you glaring.

“I mean it, you better stay here.”

Jisung nodded, waving you off.

On your way to the pharmacy, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was a good thing that Jisung was sick.

In terms of your pros, if he was sick, he wouldn’t be able to annoy you, right? And him being sick meant that you’d basically had your desk and your bedroom to yourself, with him unable to practice tattooing in your room and use your desk as his sketching station.

In terms of your cons… well, you were planning on getting some rest today, and having to watch Jisung meant you would technically have to be near him, wouldn’t you? You were starting to wonder if that was even a con that he was basically giving you an excuse to laze around and watch tv.

“Hi, how may I help you?” The pharmacist asked.

You hummed, “uh…do you have those over-the-counter medicine and stuff for like someone with fever?”

The pharmacist nodded, pulling out the various boxes and pointing at each one, confusing you with the sheer amount of names she was listing, resulting in you just choosing the one you recognised your parents telling you to take whenever you were sick.

Making your payment, you swallowed whatever pride you had that was making you hesitate. You figured Jisung falling sick was karma for that text you sent him the night before, so you decided that you were going to see him recover for yourself.

Upon returning to the house, you’d shrugged your jacket off, making your way over to where he was, sitting on your heels next to where he was so you could gently peel the cloth from his head, replacing it with one that was soaked in colder water.

You’d drawn back slightly when you felt Jisung flinch as you laid the towel on his forehead, opening one eye to look at you, “that was fast.”

You rolled your eyes, shushing him as you took the medicine out, along with a glass of water you’d gotten from the kitchen, bringing it over to him with an expectant look.

Jisung took them from you wordlessly, swallowing them down as he averted his gaze from you, unsure why you were looking at him like some kicked puppy.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, reaching over to grab the television remote in an attempt to calm your nerves, “this is kind of my fault. Since I didn’t go over to the tattoo studio yesterday.”

Jisung took a moment to process what you said, wincing as he let out a (fake) cough, only serving to make you feel even more guilty than you already were.

“Are you actually…apologising to me?” Jisung’s smile was poorly hidden behind his hand, making you roll your eyes, your guilt ever-present when you looked at him.

Jisung sighed, deciding to let you off this once, “seriously, it’s no big deal. I didn’t expect you to come, anyway. I was just trying my luck,” he told you, making you frown, your mouth forming a slight pout.

“I was just being petty, I’m…” you trailed off, shaking your head, “yeah, whatever, I’m just really sorry.”

Jisung looked at you with a hint of a smile on his face, taking his lower lip between his teeth as he nodded. He wasn’t sure if it was his fever, or the way your gestures were exuding warmth, but Jisung swore just for a moment. A second, almost, he kind of thought you looked cute.

Jisung nodded, “I’ll let you know by the end of the day.”

You frowned, turning away from the television to face him, your back resting on the sofa slightly, “let me know about what?”

Jisung kept his gaze fixed on the television, bringing his hand up to scratch at his collarbone, hints of his tattoos peeking out from his neckline.

 Shrugging, Jisung’s gaze shifted to meet yours, “if your apology is accepted.”

You were sure that your mom would’ve just laughed in your face if you told her about your experience today, as you began to realise just how much you didn’t hate Jisung’s company when the both of you weren’t trying to fight each other.

In the few hours that had passed alone, you’d learnt much more about him than you had bothered to in your months living with him. You’d learnt that he was a music major, that wanted to pursue a career in music production, and that he’d gotten interested in tattoos when he’d met this kid named Changbin in his class, who introduced him to Chan for an apprenticeship.

As for Jisung? He was just learning that you weren’t as intolerable as he thought you were.

You’d ordered food for the both of you, Jisung having refused to eat porridge, and you were currently having an actual, comfortable conversation with him, the hallmark movie playing on the television long forgotten.

Jisung’s phone had started to ring, interrupting him mid-sentence as he told you about how the tattoo studio works, making you lean over to check who it was.

“It’s Chan.”

Jisung grimaced, “speak of the devil,” he scoffed. Shaking his head vigorously as you made to grab his phone, Jisung set his chopsticks down hurriedly to reach for his phone, only to grab air when you’d answered the call.

“Hello?” You heard Chan speak, an urgency to his tone.

“Hey, this is Y/N. Jisung is…not feeling so well right now.”

Jisung shot you a look, bringing his hands around his throat with his chopsticks held between his fingers, acting as if he was so sick he was about to pass out, making loud coughing noises in the background.

You couldn’t help but smile, scrunching your nose and waving him off in your attempt to get him to stop before he choked on his food.

Chan sighed, “Is he, now? Tell him I’m shifting today’s appointment to next Wednesday. Anyway, thanks, Y/N, bye,” he hung up promptly after.

You gave Jisung a grim look, setting the phone down slowly onto the coffee table, “Chan said he’s shifting your appointment to Wednesday.”

Jisung’s lips parted, almost forgetting his cheeks were full of food, tilting his head back to groan.

“Chan’s gonna kill me.”

“Why?”

Jisung shoved more food into his mouth, chewing slowly, “I totally forgot, I was supposed to do this girl’s tattoo today, but cause I’m, you know, sick,” he gave you a pointed look, “I can’t do it.”

“You do tattoos already? I thought you were still just…”

Jisung rolled his eyes, “what? Still just tattooing on fake skin?”

You nodded sheepishly, earning a sigh from him, though you didn’t miss the small smile on his face.

“I’ll have you know, I can tattoo people now. You know Lucas’ tattoo of the angel looking mermaid hybrid type thing?”

You hummed in thought, his description oddly specific yet successfully helping you visualise the tattoo, gesturing to your forearm, “the one he got here?”

Jisung nodded, “I did that for him.”

Your eyes widened, impressed at the scale of Jisung’s detail in his design, remembering how enamoured you were with it when Lucas had first showed it to you.

“Lucas’ been asking me to get a tattoo with him once the break starts,” you mentioned casually, earning a surprised hum from Jisung.

“Oh,” his eyes widened, as if he was still trying to process what you said, “really?”

You nodded, “still thinking about it, though. Haven’t really decided on what I wanted.”

Jisung scooped the last of his food into his mouth, giving you as nonchalant a shrug as he could muster.

“Well, uh, you know, if you want or something you could come one of the days during the break, I could show you some stuff I think you’d like.”

You nodded, the simple suggestion somehow exciting you.

That night, you’d gotten ready for bed, having made sure Jisung ate his medicine before he went to sleep.

Before you could move to switch the lights off, he’d stopped you/

“Wait, like…can you um… leave the lamp on?” You raised an eyebrow at him, but complied nonetheless, figuring this was your chance to repent while he was sick.

“Goodnight,” you murmured, stretching your arms above your head with a yawn.

“Yeah, night…” he murmured, inhaling deeply, “oh, and Y/N?”

You frowned, “uh-huh?” Looking at him expectantly, your breath hitched at the sight of the small smile that made its way on his face, the moonlight casting a calm glow in the room that mirrored his expression.

“Apology accepted.”

You smiled, nodding before you left. Hopefully this meant things were looking up for your relationship.

===

After that day, it was as if something in your dynamic had shifted, you found that Jisung was giving you lesser and lesser reasons to be annoyed at him.

Lucas had gotten a kick out of it when you’d told him about it.

“You guys finally realised it wouldn’t kill you to be nice to each other?” You remembered him telling you.

You would beg to differ, though, because with this shift in dynamic came a whole lot of awkwardness, especially when one of you had done something mildly nice for the other person.

Take this instance, for example.

You’d been sitting at your desk, trying to finish up on your essay that was due that week, not wanting to let your motivation subside without making full use of it (also because you knew if you didn’t do it now, you’d procrastinate and stress out when you realised you were behind time).

You’d been able to faintly smell Jisung’s noodles that he was cooking in the kitchen, making you sigh. You didn’t like eating things after you had your dinner, but you couldn’t lie and say that they didn’t smell great.

Expecting to hear his bedroom door shut and feel the smell of the noodles get fainter, he’d surprised you when he made his way over to you, setting a mug containing a hot drink on your desk.

Turning to him abruptly, he’d flinched back, looking at you with wide eyes as his hands flew up over his chest, making you laugh.

“I’m not gonna hit you, calm down.”

Jisung relaxed (albeit hesitantly), one of his hands coming up to grip the back of his neck, gesturing towards the mug with his other hand.

“Go ahead, I uh…didn’t poison it or anything,” a huff of awkward laughter left him.

You glanced from the mug to him, nodding slowly, “thanks.”

“Don’t, you know…sleep too late, and stuff,” he told you, earning a nod from you.

He nodded back at you, giving you a close-lipped smile before practically jogging back to his room, the door shutting a little louder than usual, a yelp of apology echoing after.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t try to to be nice to him either, but frankly, he wasn’t giving you many opportunities to do so.

 Jisung was still keeping his worries to himself, with his creative block seeming to have spiralled him into heavy feelings of anxiousness and a lack of confidence in his abilities.

You figured that things had been weighing heavy on his mind when you realised he’d been intentionally keeping the light on more often when he slept, or how the typing sounds of his keyboard would get more frequent as it got later into the night.

You’d even had Chan pleading for you to check up on Jisung every now and then once you noticed that he’d been sleeping a lot more and eating at irregular intervals. Listening out for his humming every now and then, you noticed the melodies seemed to have taken a more slow-paced, almost melancholic turn.

One night, you’d decided that if Jisung wasn’t going to give you opportunities to be nice to him, you would just create them for yourself. Making a determined trip to the kitchen, you’d boiled his favourite type of instant ramen, having seen how he made it so many times you knew just what to add in.

Padding over to his room, you’d knocked on the door before pushing it open slightly, watching him straighten up where he sat on his bed, setting his iPad down beside him, his thigh blocking it from your view.

“Hey, I uh…here,” you cut to the chase, Jisung was quick to find something to put under the pot on his bed, opening it and looking at you wordlessly.

“Figured the both of us could use a break,” you shrugged, oblivious to the way your words had stirred something within Jisung.

“What were you working on?” You asked, scooping some noodles into a bowl for Jisung and handing it to him.

He’d taken the bowl from you absently, his eyes widening at the mention of the sketch, unconsciously pushing it further behind him.

“Nothing, I was just doodling.”

Jisung had no idea how to explain that he had been trying to design something for you, something that reminded him of you. Because frankly, that was the only thing that seemed to be pushing his creative block aside at the moment.

“Can I see?”

Usually, Jisung would’ve fought you ( to the death ) before he’d let you see his unfinished designs, but there was something about your demeanour that made him feel like it was okay to show you. That it was okay to tell you that it wasn’t perfect because something inside of him just told him that you would understand.

In spite of any rational fibre in his being, he’d picked up the tablet, giving it to you as he continued to eat the ramen, his gaze never leaving your expression, oblivious to your scrolling as he was too busy gauging your reaction.

“These are all really pretty,” you told him, scrolling until you’d reached the bottom, clicking on one of the drawings and flipping the screen around to show Jisung.

“I love this,” you told him, earning a surprised hum from him.

He saw that you’d clicked on the sketch of the peony that he’d tried to refine that day he got rained on, wondering what made you choose that out of all his designs, since he was probably the least satisfied with that one.

“Are you sure? What about this one?” He took the tablet from you, scrolling back to the design he was working on, making you hum thoughtfully, eventually shaking your head no.

“I like the other one better,” you told him, earning a confused hum from him.

“Why?”

You scoffed, frowning at him, “why are you so against it? You’re the one that drew it,” you took the tablet back from him, holding it against your shoulder before shaking your head, setting it back down onto your lap.

“Besides,” you murmured, zooming in to admire the shading on the flower, “I think it’s beautiful.”

Jisung’s expression was unreadable, unsure how you had such strong appreciation for something he thought was his worst work, something about the way you praised it making a strange feeling that he couldn’t place build within his chest.

It was like before, the feeling of comfort, that he didn’t have to worry about any kind of creative block that could be thrown his way because you gave him a different perspective on his abilities.

You know, the cliché, hard-hitting feeling that ‘everything is gonna be okay’.

“Do you have anything happening during the break?” You asked, earning a shrug from him.

“I’ve gotta submit my song to Chan’s music producer friend.”

You perked up at the mention of Jisung’s song, “have you thought of what you wanted to do for it yet?”

Jisung shook his head, letting out a deep sigh, “it’s been kind of stressing me out, to be honest,” he admitted.

“I like…I don’t wanna give him something that doesn’t show what I’m capable of, you know?”

You nodded, “I understand…I wish I could help you but I don’t really, you know, know how,” you fidgeted with your fingers, hearing him grunt in dismissal.

“It’s fine,” he mustered a confident smile, “nothing I can’t handle.”

And for a moment, you really would’ve believed that he’d gotten it handled. Leaving him to continue with his work as you got ready for bed.

You had almost anticipated to hear typing sounds as you did every night these days. But unlike the other nights, Jisung didn’t very well feel like being alone with his thoughts that night, not even wanting to type them down. He craved the feeling of being okay, of feeling like he still had time and didn’t have to be anxious or feel shitty about his mediocre work.

So it had come as a surprise to you when you’d heard the gentle knock at your door that night just as you were about to drift into a half-asleep state, hearing the door open and watching as Jisung made his way hesitantly over to where you were.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You heard him let out a shaky breath, and you didn’t need to ask him further, giving him a small hum of approval as he’d pulled the small heated mat from under your bed and made himself comfortable next to your bed.

Jisung let his head hit the ground gently, a deep sigh leaving him as he closed his eyes.

“Do you want me to leave the lamp on?” You mumbled, hearing him hum.

“No, it’s fine,” he told you, strangely not feeling much of a need for it now that he had you near him.

The both of you knew better than to speak more, the silence seeming to have made you understand how he was feeling. And as he lay there, with your presence in the room, Jisung felt alright, and so did you.

That night, there were no typing sounds.

===

Contrary to yesterday, you'd started today on a good note. Having bumped into Jisung the next morning after he'd gotten ready, meeting in the hallway when you were still dressed in your sleepwear, you couldn't help but smile.

"Morning," he murmured, a small smile on his face as he gave you a little wave, leaving promptly to meet Chan at the tattoo studio.

You didn't have work today, and you'd arranged a meeting with Lucas to hang out, the boy not seeming to want to waste anymore time when he'd finally arrived at the mall, practically bounding over to where you were waiting at the fountain in the atrium.

"So, have you thought about it yet?" he asked you, extending a hand to help you up.

Frowning, your lips parted in confusion, "thought about what?"

Lucas gave you an unamused look, as if you should've known what he was talking about. Pushing his sleeves up to his elbows, he'd raised his hands as he gestured, "you know, about what tattoo you wanted to get."

You made your way to a bubble tea outlet that Lucas wanted to check out, pestering you to go with him as part of the things he’d wanted to do during the semester break.

You couldn't help but laugh at the realisation, feeling awfully giddy at the thought of yesterday.

It was just a simple interaction, yeah, whatever, but no one said there were rules on what could make your heart flutter and what couldn't. All you knew was that whatever happened yesterday, did.

"Yeah, I did," you confessed, huffing with a smile on your face.

Lucas didn't know whether to feel afraid or happy that you were so quick to decide this time, looking at you in concern, "okay...so, what did you decide on?"

You pursed your lips, your smile disappearing, "I don't have a picture with me, it's on Jisung's ipad. But it's really pretty, it's like this drawing of a flower," you explained.

Lucas' eyes widened, his hand coming up to cover his mouth in a poor attempt to conceal his growing excitement.

"Oh, it's one of Jisung's stuff?"

You nodded, not seeming to understand why he was so happy about that, "what?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, "you and Jisung seem to be on pretty good terms recently, huh.”

You scoffed, shrugging because it wasn't as if what he said was a lie.

Lucas leaned closer to you, "have you been smiling at him more these days?"

You frowned at his question, shrugging at him nonetheless, turning your attention back to the menu board, "yeah, I guess."

Lucas' giggles escaped him like bubbles, nodding at you knowingly, “perfect. You should definitely keep doing that.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “questionable advice, but I’ll take it. Anyway, when are you planning on getting it done?"

Lucas straightened up, lifting his phone slightly to check the date.

"I made an appointment for Chan to do mine next Tuesday," he told you, “have you asked your parents yet?”

You nodded, “they weren’t as supportive until they found out Jisung designed it, they just told me not to get anything I’ll regret.”

Lucas couldn’t miss his opportunity to tease you, “well, I’m sure if Jisung’s doing it, the last thing you’d do is regret it.”

Shoving him aside and ignoring the way he’d burst into a fit of giggles, you ordered your drink, and Lucas’ as well once he calmed down enough to point at what he wanted on the menu.

“Maybe you should text him and ask about when you can book him?” Lucas gestured to you with his drink, his leg bouncing absently as he looked around the small outlet, the group of high-school girls in their uniforms sitting next to your table giggling as he’d skimmed over their table.

“Do you think that’d be too much? Should I just ask Chan instead?” You glanced at him for a sign of approval, “but then if I ask Chan would it make Jisung think I don’t want him to do my tattoo?” You wondered out loud, your stream of thought proving to be fairly amusing to Lucas.

“Just text him, it’s not that deep,” Lucas sipped on his drink.

“Nah, you know what? I should just ask him later at home, I shouldn’t bother him when he’s at work,” you shrugged, earning a sound of dismissal from him.

“Texting him would be a lot faster, you know.”

You shot him a look, “why are you so insistent on me texting him?”

Lucas scoffed, “why are you so against it?” He shot back.

Giving him a look of feigned annoyance, you’d set your phone down onto the table, staring blankly as Lucas had turned it to face him, unlocking your phone and going to Jisung’s chat.

“How should I start? ‘hey baby’—”

Your eyes widened, about to snatch the phone back from him when he’d pulled it towards himself in time, shooting you a look of feigned confusion.

“What? Too mild?” He laughed.

Sighing as he calmed down from his laughter, he shook his head slowly as he typed out a message, “man, you’re so bad at this,” he murmured.

“What makes you say that?”

Lucas pressed something on your phone with finality, scrolling up as he showed you your previous texts with Jisung. Texts like:

1:09pm - dont eat my chips get ur own - or texts like

 10:11pm - keep it down! Im trying to study -

Jisung 10:11pm -well so am I!-

“All you guys ever text each other for is to ask each other to do things, how can you expect him to like you if you’re always telling him to separate his lights and darks?”

You took the phone back from Lucas with a huff, “leave me alone. And who said anything about wanting him to like me?”

Lucas looked as though you’d just asked him an obvious question, looking almost scandalised at your denial, “really? You went from ‘oh, I don’t wanna bother Jisung at work’ and ‘oh, heehee me and Jisung ate ramen together yesterday night’ to ‘who said anything about my big fat crush on Jisung’?”

You huffed, “that’s inaccurate.”

Lucas chewed on his tapioca pearls harshly, making sure you heard the smacking sounds of his chewing to unnerve you, shaking his head at you matter-of-factly, “it’s pretty much-what’s the word, ah! Verbatim. That.”

 You rolled your eyes at him, wondering how the high-school girls sitting next to you still managed to find Lucas an absolute dreamboat despite how intentionally ridiculously he was behaving.

The truth is, Jisung wouldn’t have cared if you’d ‘bothered him during work or not’. He probably would’ve jumped at the notification of your text.

After the night before, Jisung couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of comfort that flooded him at the thought of you. Finally getting enough inspiration to work on his song when he’d gotten home, even despite the pounding in his head and the sheer fatigue from the day that had passed.

Call him whatever you wanted, but Jisung couldn’t shake the feeling of reassurance he got with you, and it was a feeling he never thought he’d be experiencing as deeply as he did now.

From how familiar it was to hear your voice (even if it was asking him to fold the laundry), to how the smell of your perfume would awaken him on certain days, just in time for him to start his routine for the day. In small things, like how whenever he was looking for a break from work, somehow he’d find it with you.

He’d been working on his song for hours now, though he’d kept letting his gaze wander to the door in anticipation, wondering what was taking you so long to get home. He couldn’t help but wonder if you were still with Lucas, his imagination running wild with all sorts of scenarios that could have taken place to warrant you coming home so late.

Jisung brushed the thought away quickly after he found himself going to your contact on his phone, setting it down quickly as if it burned him. It was fine, you were an adult (he figured), you didn’t need him to hound you about a curfew.

Deciding to work on his lyrics for the song, he’d typed away on his laptop his ideas, his mind seeming to always gravitate to thinking of you as he read what he’d typed down.

Satisfied with the amount of work he’d gotten done for that day, Jisung had let his head lean back against the armrest of the sofa, his legs bent as he lay on his side, letting his eyes rest from all that staring at his glaringly bright computer screen.

You’d gone for a late-night movie with Lucas to end off your day, having gone home later than usual, though you didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if you had a curfew anymore.

You managed to reach your apartment as stealthily as you could, since the walls were really that thin and you didn’t want the old lady from next door to get on your back for being noisy when she was trying to sleep or whatever again.

Shoving your keys into the keyhole, you frowned when you saw that the lights in the living room were still switched on, spotting Jisung lying on the sofa with his eyes closed, his head lolling to the side as he dozed off.

Going into your room (in stealth mode, again), you’d set your things down quietly, deciding to take a shower and get ready for bed before anything else. Suddenly everything seemed to be a thousand times louder than you were used to. You were sure Jisung hadn’t been getting much quality sleep recently, so seeing him dozing off on the sofa had only made you want to ensure that his sleep continued uninterrupted.

Once you were changed into your sleepwear, you’d gone into Jisung’s room, taking a soft blanket from his cupboard and bringing it over to where he was, draping it over him till it reached his shoulders. You couldn’t help but find how peaceful he looked to be rather endearing, wishing you could do more but knowing there wasn’t much else you could do.

Jisung considered himself a good actor, because on the inside he was far from peaceful. He’d awoken at the feeling of being covered by the blanket, the back of your fingers grazing against his arm slightly.

His heart had fluttered, extremely, at the gesture, though something in him was yelling at him not to open his eyes, wanting to savour the moment for himself. It felt warm, a comfortable kind of warmth, the kind you would want to bask in for hours after being in the cold for so long. Something like a ray of sunshine.

Jisung was convinced he was going mad.

Switching on the lamp at your desk so that the living room wouldn’t be in complete darkness, you’d switched off the lights in the living room, bidding a silent goodnight to Jisung in your head before you’d gone back to your room, leaving Jisung dumbfounded.

===

“What did you say the song was called, again?” Chan had asked Jisung on Tuesday morning, looking at him with an endeared smile.

Jisung felt shy for some reason, pressing his lips together firmly as he averted his gaze from Chan, preparing his equipment as he waited for you and Lucas to arrive.

“Sunshine,” Jisung told him.

Chan huffed, his smile growing bigger, “I like that,” he hummed.

��What’s it about?” Chan asked, pulling his phone out to check for a text, “also, Lucas says they’re nearby.”

Jisung shrugged, “what’s it about?” He echoed Chan’s question, as if not knowing for himself either, something about him seeming fairly preoccupied, “it’s kind of hard to explain.”

Chan nodded in understanding, glancing at the way Jisung fiddled with the practice sketch he’d done of Y/N’s tattoo, twirling it around in his hands and anxiously glancing towards the door.

“Nervous?”

Jisung’s head shot up to look at Chan with wide eyes, “huh?…” he nodded slowly, “yeah, kind of.”

A small smile played at Chan’s lips as the boy had finished up the stencil for Lucas’ tattoo. “Is it because it’s Y/N?”

Jisung let out a nervous laugh, “yeah, duh,” he mumbled, “I mean, yeah, I’m nervous because she’s the one getting the tattoo but more like…”

Jisung shrugged, “I still don’t understand why she chose this out of all the designs I had.”

Chan raised an eyebrow, the jingling of the bells at the door followed by a loud guffaw of laughter signalling to him that the both of you had arrived.

“You should take more pride in your work,” Chan pat Jisung on the back, almost sending the boy stumbling with the sheer force behind the hit. Though Jisung couldn’t very well pay attention to the pain in his shoulder once he saw you with Lucas.

Lucas was quick to shove you towards Jisung, going over to one of the beds with Chan as they discussed the placement of the tattoo.

Jisung was almost uncharacteristically tense, leading you over to the station across from Lucas and Chan, holding the stencil up for you to see, “you’re absolutely sure you want this?”

You rolled your eyes, nodding, “yes, I’m sure.”

Jisung nodded slowly, albeit hesitantly, at you, “have you figured out where you want it?”

Lucas had perked up at that, butting into the conversation despite being across the room, “we were thinking between two places.”

Jisung hummed as he’d gone over to take the tablet containing a form for you to fill out before he got started.

You shushed Lucas quickly, accepting the tablet from Jisung with a nod of thanks, “yeah, I was thinking between here,” you gestured under your collarbone, “or here,” you gestured to your shoulder, just above your shoulder-blade.

Jisung nodded, “which do you feel more comfortable with? I think both are alright.”

“I was thinking maybe here?” You held a hand over the space under your collarbone, earning a nod from him.

“Alright,” he murmured, taking the tablet from you once you were done and quietly gesturing for you to lie down.

In your haste to get it over with, you’d almost completely forgotten about the placement of your tattoo, Jisung quirking an eyebrow at you and letting a huff of nervousness escape him.

“Sorry uh, I hope you don’t mind,” he murmured, pulling the collar of your shirt down to expose the area you’d wanted tattooed, making Lucas (who was watching intently) snicker from where he sat.

You’d felt heat creeping up to your neck, making you stretch your neck to look elsewhere, deciding to focus on the black pipes lining the ceiling, your shyness reducing your voice to a mere mumble, “yeah, sorry.”

Your nerves had built up even more with how tense Jisung was, even as he had disinfected the area and transferred what looked like a blue-ish outline of his sketch to your skin, making you almost want to writhe in your place with how nervous you were growing.

However, once you’d heard the buzzing of the tattoo gun, it was as if you were transported into your room, the familiarity of the sound making you less nervous, simply anticipating the pain that you’d associated with the tattoo to occur.

It was a wonder you hadn’t even been able to think much about the pain of the tattoo, though, because you were too busy trying to ignore Jisung’s proximity to you.

He was a stark contrast from Chan, who was making conversation with Lucas throughout the process, whereas Jisung had simply loomed over you, a tense knit to his brow and his lips pressed tightly together. Just by your expressions alone, people would have thought he was the one getting the tattoo.

This was only so because Jisung was struggling, with the smell of your perfume making him feel more awake than ever, and not to mention the pressure to make sure the tattoo turned out well that weighed heavy on him. Everything about you was so familiar, yet everything about the experience was not, and it was driving Jisung crazy with the amount of tension it was making him feel.

“Are you okay?” He asked, gauging your face for any sign that you were in too much pain.

You wanted to laugh, “This is like the fifth time you’re asking me that,” you told him.

“Can’t help it,” he told you, and you swore you saw his cheeks start to tint pink, “just wanted to make sure you were okay, you know…since it’s your first tattoo, and all.”

You nodded reassuringly, “it’s fine, just keep going.”

Jisung nodded, “I’ll be done quicker than you know it, I swear.”

You continued to distract yourself with the sight of Lucas across the room, Chan having to bring the needle back whenever Lucas couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“I’m sorry, It tickles,” you heard him tell Chan, making you have to stifle your laughter.

“Can I ask you something?” You decided that maybe talking to Jisung would help time pass faster (and less awkwardly).

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, shifting his chair slightly to get into a more comfortable position.

“How many tattoos do you have?” You asked, earning a long, reflective hum from him.

“I got a few in the time after college started, I would say about 5 or 6 now?” He shrugged, “and if you’re gonna ask me what’s their meanings…I don’t really know how to explain it, I just like the feeling they give me when I look at them.”

“I get it, it’s expression after all.”

Jisung nodded, his focus returning and making him let the conversation still. You didn’t like that, the feeling of awkwardness that returned with his silence, making you wrack your brains to find any sort of other conversation topic you could think of.

“Are you seeing anyone?” You wanted to instantly hide your face once you heard the words leave your mouth, Lucas turning to you with a wide-eyed expression.

Jisung sputtered, pulling the tattoo gun away from your skin, shaking his head at you.

“Uh, no, I’m not.” He narrowed his eyes at you, trying to regain his confidence in the situation, “why’d you wanna know?”

Now it was your turn to flush, averting your gaze, “oh, you know, just…curious, is all.”

Jisung smirked, “well, don’t go getting any ideas. I already like someone,” he told you, feeling as though he was dangling a carrot right in front of you.

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise, “really? Who?”

Jisung shrugged, “it’s a secret.”

You frowned, wanting to get back at him but not quite knowing how, deciding to go with the first thing you could think of, “well, I like someone too, you’re not special.”

Jisung hadn’t expected you to retort with that, narrowing his eyes at you, “wait, really? Is it Lucas?”

“Oh my god, no way, never.”

“Then who is it?” He met your gaze, making you stick your tongue out at him, mustering your best impersonation of him.

“It’s a secret.”

You had almost thought you were imagining things, but you noticed Jisung’s mood take a turn from there, seeming awfully pensive as he did the rest of your tattoo, the both of you having maintained a silence after your failed attempt at a proper conversation with him. He’d already begun to do the shading for your tattoo, so you figured he was really going to be done quicker than you thought.

You tried to distract yourself by glancing towards Lucas and Chan’s direction. Jisung could see you staring in their direction from the corner of his eye, wondering why your gaze kept travelling there when he was right in front of you.

“Is it Chan?” He blurted out, making your eyes go wide in shock.

Your smile grew, shaking your head, “no, definitely not.”

Jisung frowned, “who could it even be, you don’t even know that many people,” he huffed.

You sighed, trust you to fall for someone as oblivious as him.

“Do you want a clue?” You asked, earning a grunt from him.

“They’re very oblivious.”

Jisung frowned, looking as though he were contemplating, his tissue going over your tattoo slower as he thought. His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape in realisation, a gasp leaving him.

“No way, it’s not that Felix kid from your department, is it?” He looked as though he was hoping you would say no.

You fought to suppress the urge to roll your eyes, yet not realising you were smiling at him, “no, it’s not him.”

Jisung sighed, “oh, good. I know I always say I’m the best looking but he’s a lot better looking than I am, don’t tell him I said that.”

“Good?” You questioned, wondering why he seemed so relieved that all his options had turned out to be false. Jisung had realised he may have made things a little too obvious, shaking his head vigorously.

“Nothing, you’re all done, forget I said anything.”

He pushed himself away from you, his chair swivelling far back as he tried to calm the racing of his heart as you sat up and stretched, your body tired from being in the same position for so long.

“What time is it?” You asked, earning a grunt from Jisung, not knowing either.

Chan had chimed in from the other side, having been done with Lucas’ tattoo way before yours.

“It’s 4:24,” he told you. Jisung had been busy putting an adhesive bandage over your tattoo to pay attention to your reaction.

You spent 4 hours lying there and you only got like what, two conversations with Jisung? This was a new low, even for you.

 You were snapped out of your disappointment when Jisung had spoken.

“Uh… yeah keep this on for like three to four days?” He gestured to the bandage, your breath hitching as he hiked the collar of your shirt up so it wasn’t still dropping off your shoulder.

“You can still shower and everything so yeah…” he told you, reciting from memory after having been told this a thousand times by Chan.

You tried your best to pay attention, though you knew you’d probably forget by the time you were home, making him stand up mid-speech and walk over to the counter, pulling out a little brochure to hand you.

“Honestly, just read this, it has everything you need to know inside,” he told you, walking away briskly to compose himself at his station.

You’d made your payment to Chan at the counter, Jisung having pretended to be busy with cleaning up, making Chan flash you an amused smile.

“What?”

He shook his head, dimples appearing as he gave you your receipt, “You two are just too cute,” he huffed, earning a loud hum of approval from Lucas.

“Aren’t they?” The tall boy chimed in, making you scoff.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, bye,” you waved, seeing Jisung turn around to give you a wide smile before turning back around, practically collapsing onto the bed once you and Lucas were gone.

“Those were the most excruciating 4 hours of my life.”

Chan’s laughter could be heard as he made his way over to Jisung, giving him a pat on the back, “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Jisung let out a loud groan, “we were like this close!” Jisung brought his hand in front of his face for emphasis as he whined to Chan, “and I couldn’t focus at all I was so scared I was gonna screw up her tattoo because I kept zoning out,” he rambled, feeling as though his knees were about to buckle.

Chan shook his head with a feigned look of sympathy, looking at Jisung as though Jisung were his son, “I’m glad you’re feeling stressed.”

Jisung scoffed, shrugging Chan’s hand off of his shoulder and glaring at his mentor with a look of disbelief, “you’re glad? Aren’t you supposed to be feeling some sympathy for me? That’s sick, I can’t believe you.”

Chan wasn’t surprised at Jisung’s dramatic reaction, simply laughing as he shrugged.

“I’m glad because if you’re stressed, you’re gonna be pushed to do something about it soon. And then I can stop hearing you stress about it and just see the both of you together, instead.”

Jisung shot Chan a dirty look, “you’re mean, old man.”

Chan scoffed, “at least I’m not stupid in love.”

===

Jisung had been keeping himself fairly busy since then, the both of you having been busy with your own plans since the semester break had started. However, the both of you had somehow managed to enjoy suppers together, bonding over a (rather unhealthy) meal of snacks or instant food whenever it was late in the night and the both of you didn’t want to go to sleep just yet.

And speaking of sleep, you’d also noticed how Jisung had started to look brighter these days, seeming to have been overcoming that period of lethargy he was previously in.

Now, the brightness was heard in the songs he hummed, in how he smiled and laughed more whenever you were together. Even in how he'd started growing more comfortable with sleeping in the dark. You weren’t sure what exactly sparked this change in him, but whatever it was, you were glad it happened, yourself seeming to be all the more enamoured with this version of Jisung that had grown on you.

You’d planned with Jisung to have a day of celebration (or a pity party) once he’d submitted his song to Chan’s music producer friend.

Since you had work that day, you’d wanted to get up early to prepare breakfast for him, but you didn’t realise how late you were until you woke up and found that he had already left.

Making your way over to the kitchen to find some food for yourself after you’d gotten ready for work, you yanked open the door for the fridge, expecting to be met with all of Jisung’s snacks and cans of drinks that still had their post-its on them.

However, as you were scanning the fridge to see if you had anything you could eat, you spotted a different coloured post-it on a bundle of juice packets, peeling the post-it off of the packaging to inspect it.

‘y/n, I heard these are great to start the morning with, try them for me?’

You couldn’t help but smile, a hand coming up to your face to attempt to slap away the heat you felt in your cheeks, pulling out a packet of juice anyway.

You were starting to think the juice did have some sort of magical properties in them, because when you got to work, you’d been on drink duty, which was your favourite to do. Well, technically, anything other than cashier duty was your favourite but who’s keeping track here?

You knew Jisung's meeting with the producer was around the afternoon, so when Chan had shown up at the café alone, you didn't question it.

Now you were really glad you weren't on cashier duty today, giving your colleague more time to talk to Chan while he ordered.

"One strawberry smoothie for Chan?" you called to get his attention, seeing him stroll over to the pick-up point with a smile on his face.

"Sorry, Jisung's not here," he teased, sighing wistfully.

You scoffed, "yeah, yeah. I know where he is.”

“How’s the tattoo healing?” He asked, making your hand go up to your shoulder unconsciously, “It’s alright, looks really pretty now that it’s all healed.”

Chan gave you a thumbs up, opening the lid of his drink as he took a sip, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“Is he meeting your friend now?"

Chan’s eyebrows raised in confusion, “who?..oh,” he nodded in realisation, “yeah, just went to meet him. Honestly, if you asked me, he didn’t seem as excited about the meeting as he was to meet you for dinner.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “don’t put ideas into my head, old man.”

Chan simply gave you a shrug, “I’m not that old, you know,” he brought his drink up to his lips to take a sip, “and they’re only ideas if you’re in denial.”

You groaned, “go, begone, leave me alone.”

Chan giggled, nodding as his hand went up in surrender, “fine, I’m going. Have a good dinner later, Y/N,” he sing-songed.

Curse Chan for putting the thought into your head, now you couldn’t stop thinking about dinner.

Your shift only ended at 5:30, so that gave you just about enough time to go get groceries while Jisung prepared the things for your hotpot at home.

Deciding you would do what you were called to do, which in this case, meant to send Jisung a text wishing him the best of luck, you did as such.

2:31pm - hey, all the best for your meeting with the producer man!!-

Jisung’s reply had come quickly,

han jisung 2:32pm - thanks :( im waiting to see him now, I didn’t know there was gonna be a whole queue -

Setting your phone aside, you’d tried not to let yourself get too anxious while you waited for him to update you, busying yourself with washing dishes and even serving tables out of your sheer boredom due to the crowd starting to disperse at this time.

You waited, and you waited, you waited until the word ‘waiting’ itself felt weird to say in your head. You should’ve known better to have expected Jisung to update you over text, only receiving a text in the evening that read

han jisung 5:23pm - hey…i just finished meeting him…see u at the apartment?-

You’d texted him back, not knowing what to make of his text.

5:23pm - is that a good hey or a bad hey? -

Jisung hadn’t answered your question, his next text coming as more of a source of confusion for you.

han jisung 5:24pm - ill tell u in person -

“What happened? Is it Jisung?” Your colleague seemed to have sensed your inner turmoil, looking at you with concern etched in her features.

“Yeah, he told me he was done meeting the producer person…but he didn’t wanna tell me how it went,” you frowned, seeing your colleague hum in confusion.

“D’you think it didn’t go well?” She asked, mirroring your expression of uncertainty.

You typed out your reply to Jisung as you shrugged, “I don’t know, I’m hoping he’s just messing with me.”

5:26pm - my shift ends in like 4 minutes… I’ll go and get the groceries before I get back -

han jisung 5:26pm - okay, ill be waiting -

“All the best, then?” Your co-worker offered, giving you a look of sympathy.

“You too, enjoy the rest of your shift,” you returned her expression, sighing as you removed your apron, grabbing your bag from the back room before you left.

You’d tried your best to be quick in getting your groceries, making sure you’d gotten everything Jisung had told you to, your footsteps quick as you briskly walked to your apartment building.

Not knowing if it was because you hadn’t eaten in hours or if it was because you were just excited, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement in you, not so much because you were excited to hear how Jisung’s meeting went but more of because you were excited that you were going to see Jisung soon.

Finally reaching your apartment, you’d pushed the door open to spot Jisung coming out from his room, a towel on his head as he rubbed at his freshly-washed hair.

“Hey,” you breathed, a hint of a smile on your face, scanning his face for an expression as he glanced at you, his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose cutely.

Jisung had a whole plan for how he was going to surprise you with the news, he wanted to wait until the food was ready and when the both of you were seated across each other in the living room, wait for you to ask him about how the meeting went so that he could pretend to be upset about it.

And just like he’d seen in the romantic movie Chan was playing in the studio the other day, he would wait till you showed concern to give you a smile and tell you the good news, already being able to imagine the smile you would give him in celebration.

But seeing how you looked, a little bit breathless from rushing, carrying groceries in your hands as you looked at him with a smile that spelled nothing but relief, Jisung couldn’t help himself.

“He offered me a job,” Jisung confessed, his grip tight on his towel as he let his hand fall limp to his side, any perfect, fool-proof plan of copying the romance movie now long gone.

Your eyes widened, setting the groceries on the counter as you cheered, “oh my god, that’s great! I’m really happy for you!” You cheered, practically running towards him before stopping yourself halfway, realising you were almost about to hug him.

Jisung noticed you stop too, tilting his head at you as his hands had already begun to raise to welcome you into a hug, hesitating once he’d seen you stop.

“Sorry,” you huffed, shoving your hands into your pockets, taking a step back to create some distance between the both of you.

Jisung smiled, shaking his head, “don’t be.” Shocking you with his confidence, he’d taken a step closer to you, his arms going around your shoulders as he pulled you towards him, his head leaning against yours gently as one of his hands went up to pet your head gently.

“You really helped me through it, believe it or not.”

Your eyes widened, trying not to get too carried away with the way his hold felt too comforting for you to pull away, thankful that he’d let go first, his hands coming up to grasp your shoulders.

“You hungry? The soup’s almost done.”

You nodded, “can I uh…take a shower first? I’ll be quick I promise.”

You didn’t wait for him to reply before you’d escaped to the bathroom, too focused on showering quickly that you’d almost forgotten about the hug. Keyword, almost.

Once you’d changed into a comfortable shirt and shorts, you’d practically jogged over to the kitchen, seeing that Jisung had already taken out the ingredients to thaw the meat and prepare the veggies.

“Wow, who are you and what have you done with Jisung?”

Jisung turned around at your voice, rolling his eyes at your statement, flicking the water from the veggies at you as you dodged, “figured I’d do something while waiting, you know, make myself useful.”

You huffed, a smile on your face as you gestured for him to continue, “well, don’t let me stop you.”

“So how did the interview go?” You asked, watching intently as he brought the platefuls of ingredients to the coffee table, stopping you when you’d moved to help him get the pot of soup.

“It’s okay, you go sit down, I’ll do it.”

You couldn’t help the impressed pout from your lips, not wanting to let on that the gesture had made your heart flutter.

Once all the food was on the table, Jisung had taken a seat next to you, the both of you starting to throw your ingredients into the soup, Jisung turning to you looking as though he’d wanted to say something.

“What was I saying before? Oh, right,” he nodded, “I didn’t expect him to be so intimidating, I nearly pissed myself when I walked into the room.”

You’d burst into laughter, Jisung laughing along with you, “I’m not even joking. Chan gave me a completely different description of what he would be like.”

You’d tried your best to calm down from your laughter quickly, seeing him take a piece of food from the pot and place it into your bowl wordlessly, choosing to ignore the gesture for the sake of your heart.

“But I’m assuming he’s not that bad? Since he offered you the job?”

Jisung let out a sigh, “yeah, thank god he did, I was a stuttering mess. Even Iwouldn’t have hired myself.”

You let out a chuckle, “you’re lucky he judged you based on the song, then,” you teased, earning a harmless glare from him.

You’d scooped some food into your mouth, looking up at him to see that he’d already had his cheeks full of food, nodding at you expectantly.

“So does this mean you’re gonna work on that producer guy’s team?” You asked, earning a nod from him as he swallowed his mouthful of food with a wince.

“Yeah, he said I could intern at his company in the holidays and if everything goes well he’ll give me a contract once I graduate.”

You let out a low whistle, “wow, imagine all the exposure you’d get there…all the different types of genres and artists you’d be exposed to,” you marvelled, Jisung finding it amusing how you seemed more excited about it than he was.

You perked up in realisation, “speaking of which…I realised you’d never let me listen to the song yet.”

Jisung flushed, shaking his head, “did I? I swear I did,” he lied, making you shove him, a smile showing on his face as you did, nodding in surrender as he grabbed his phone from the coffee table.

“What’s it called?” You asked, seeing him nudge his glasses up with his knuckle, shaking his head to flick his hair from his eyes.

“Sunshine,” he told you quickly, not wasting anymore time and playing the song.

As he started to play the song, you were surprised at the light sounding melody the song had started with, the sounds of the city that he’d put inside, the feeling that you were…at home?

“Don’t look at me when you’re listening to it, I’m shy,” he brought a hand up to cover your face, making you yelp, your hands coming up to grab his wrist, pulling it away slowly as you grew more focused on the song, recognising his voice as he sang.

It wasn’t a love song, thankfully, you realised. You realised that the song revolved around a certain feeling of calm, with themes of getting away from the busy nature of your life and taking time for yourself, something you realised you and him both kind of needed.

You listened until the song had ended, looking at him with a big smile on your face, a smile that made Jisung want to cover your face in fear that it would make his heart burst with how giddy he felt.

“I love this,” you told him, “can you send it to me?”

Jisung scoffed, “no way, how do I know you’re not gonna sell it before I can get it copyrighted?” he huffed, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the table to support his head on his palm.

“I’m really impressed, how’d you get the inspiration to do this?”

Jisung shrugged, “my own life I guess, and the people that helped me get through that weird period of creative block that I was in,” he murmured.

You nodded, “well, whoever they are, you should thank them for me.”

Jisung nodded, facing the television as he contemplated in his heart whether to do what he wanted to do, turning to you with a small smile on his face, he nodded slowly.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Your eyes widened, not knowing what to make of his words. The song had started to repeat.

Jisung had shook his head, “I’m not just saying this because I like you or whatever—” he stopped himself with a small curse, “shit, that was not how I planned on telling you. Whatever, as I was saying…” he trailed off, his gaze landing on your tattoo, the neck of your shirt having started to slip off your shoulder slightly.

“Honestly, I really hated that drawing,” he told you, your gaze following his to look at your tattoo, looking back at him with raised eyebrows.

“This? Why? But it’s so pretty,” you insisted.

Jisung shook his head.

“It was my first design, and I wasn’t…you know, I just didn’t think it was that impressive, and all. Chan had told me to keep it in my portfolio but I was really close to just removing it.”

His gaze shifted to anywhere except your face, distracting himself by looking at the various things in the house, his gaze landing on the rainbow-coloured umbrella at the door.

Jisung sighed, shifting in his seat so he was leaning against the sofa now, his body angled towards you, making you unconsciously shift your body to face him as well, your breath hitching in anticipation for what he was about to say next.

“But then, you said you wanted it tattooed, and I honestly didn’t want you to get it but I had no choice, you know, blah blah customer’s preference first and all that bullshit,” he waved his hand for emphasis, “but then after I saw you with the tattoo more, I guess my perspective started to change? I mean, like, you kept insisting that it was so beautiful and all that..you know, seeing you with it kind of started to grow on me.”

Jisung paused, his gaze on a corner of the coffee table as he tried to find the right words to express how he was feeling, shrugging at you and just deciding to say whatever was at the top of his head and work from there.

“I guess it kind of made me love my work more, and like, trust myself, you know… because I realised how beautiful it could be.”

You looked at him wordlessly, your heart picking up speed at the tension in the room, something in you urging you to stand up, making you get up on your feet with no aim in mind.

So as not to look like a complete fool, your hands flew up to hug your arms, “oh, it’s a little um, chilly. Be right back,” you sprinted to your room, reaching in your cupboard for your hoodie and putting it on without a second thought, too preoccupied to notice how it stopped at your thighs and how the sleeves bunched up more.

Returning to the coffee table, you’d almost regretted your decision to put on the hoodie, feeling utterly warm from how flustered you were, especially with the way Jisung was looking at you with a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

“Sorry,” you murmured, averting your gaze as you tilted your head down, not expecting Jisung to tilt his head down as well so he could search for your gaze, making you scrunch your eyes shut, wrinkling your nose as you let out a huff of laughter.

“You can reject me, you know. I remember you said you already liked someone,” he told you, and Jisung meant it, not wanting anything but to make sure you were okay, and happy.

You shook your head, “I don’t want to,” you murmured, finally daring yourself to meet his gaze, your heart skipping a beat when you saw the way Jisung had smiled.

“I can’t say I’m not happy to hear that,” he told you.

Jisung had brought his hand up, lazily removing his glasses and looking at you finally, since now the other things in the house weren’t as clear in his vision, all that was important being that you were right in front of him, and he could see you clearer than anything.

“Why’d you take your glasses off?” You murmured, seeing him shrug, giving you a lazy smile.

“What? You scared I didn’t wanna see your face?” He teased, the flush on your cheeks making him give in almost immediately, “I’m kidding. I just didn’t feel like being distracted anymore.”

Maybe it was the atmosphere of the living room, or the lingering feelings the song had left in you, maybe it was even the way you felt like you were finally getting what you were waiting for.

Whatever it was, there was an overwhelming feeling of giddiness in you, especially with the way Jisung’s gaze had flickered between your lips and your gaze, and yet he’d made no move to lean closer to you, as if he was expecting you to move first.

Leaning closer, you’d let yourself glance down, getting distracted by the stain of black ink on the sleeve of your hoodie, only realising then that it wasn’t your hoodie.

“Shit, sorry I’m wearing yours by mistake again, it must’ve gotten mixed up,” you murmured, knowing it wasn’t your week to do laundry duty.

Jisung stopped you before you could stand up, pulling your hand forward so the only thing stopping you from losing your balance was his grip on your arm.

“I never thought I’d be saying this but, you can wear it.”

You’d sworn if your heart were any weaker, you wouldn’t have been able to last this long, Jisung seeming almost teasing with the way he’d inched closer at a painfully slow pace, so his lips were barely touching yours.

Just before he could pull back, you’d groaned in frustration, bringing your free hand up to cup the side of his jaw, meeting your lips with his.

And there it was again, the feeling of relief that washed over, knowing that this was very much happening, and that you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Jisung pulled away first, his pupils blown and his eyes giving away his surprise, huffing at you and folding his arms, increasing the distance between you.

“I’m only realising this now, what do you mean I’m oblivious?”

You rolled your eyes, “I’ll explain it again later, I swear.”

Jisung huffed, more dramatic this time, making sure you sensed his sulkiness (as feigned as it was), looking at you with a pout on his lips, “give me a kiss and I’ll forgive you.”

He puckered his lips, making you roll your eyes, though you didn’t hesitate to cup his face again, pressing your lips against his as your thumb brushed over his cheek gently, pulling away before he would’ve wanted. You couldn’t help yourself from laughing at the way he’d leaned forward, chasing your lips, frowning at you with a soft sigh when you’d straightened up.

“Can we eat now? The meat’s getting overcooked.”

===

lucas 11:30pm - dude I told u it would work if you smiled at him more cant believe u didnt believe me smh -

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