#this was meant to be a lot better but im withering away so | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reidswritings · 4 years

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lay me gently

word count; 4.9k

warnings; 6x18 spoilers (but just the end of it), drug usage, overdoses, medical talk, curse words ,,,, and i think thats ittttt

author’s note; welp this took foreverrrr for me to write because i was worried i didn't do it justice. but i guess im pretty okay with how it turned out!! so i hope you enjoy!! also italics are flashbacks!!

Y/N reaches for him. She reaches for him to try and make it better, to try and make sure he isn’t going to break into a million pieces right in front of her. She reaches for him because it makes her feel better. She reaches for him but his hands stop her, larger ones wrapping around the smaller ones. He has a rough grip on her— tough, but not hard enough to leave a mark or hurt the pretty girl. No, he’d never hurt his Pretty Girl. His grip was solid as if he was holding her to him; like if he let her loose she would drift away.

His voice comes then, wrecked, “Y/N, please.” It’s a cry for help and it breaks her heart, she decides as he continues, “Please, don’t make this into something it’s not. Stop, Y/N, stop making this a thing; I’m not sad. I’m fine.”

He was not fine, but she conceded. That was the last time she saw him; that was three weeks ago. Well, not the last time she saw him, but definitely the last time she spoke to him. The last time she heard his silky smooth voice, the last time she saw the lovely brown eyes that always had a silly undertone to them. The last time she watched his kissable lips as they moved forming the words she didn’t want to hear. She missed him, she missed him more than she knew possible.

She knew something had happened, but she didn’t know all the details; he never gave her the full story. She often thinks back to the night before that last one— the one where her boy ran away from her. To the one that changed everything. To the one that was the beginning of the end.

A knock at her door had her dropping the books she was carrying, letting them fall to the floor in a unforgiving heap, loose papers falling from in-between pages— she knew if Spencer had seen, he would be rather disgruntled and scoop them up and place them back in their rightful place before doing anything.

Faster than she could fathom, her feet were rushing her to the wood, pulling it open. She knew he was coming, JJ had called— said it was a bad case, said that they had lost a good friend, said that Spencer had lost it. She had said that he was wrecked.

JJ was no where near correct—yes, he was in fact wrecked, but the boy Y/N was staring at was not Spencer Reid. This was someone else. Someone she couldn’t recognize; someone she had no business knowing. Someone she didn’t want to know, frankly.

The boy in front of her was barely holding himself together. It looked like he was having trouble standing, like he was going to fall into a pile any second; his hand was holding onto the wood frame, knuckles white. His face—the once beautiful, laugher filled face—was tuning a sickly shade of green. The girl before him was worried he was going to vomit, though that would be the least of her worries. Spencer let out an ugly sob, arguably the worst thing she had ever heard. Her heart broke for him, she moved to touch him and he jerked out of his daze, now looking the worried girl in her eyes.

“Em— Emily, she— she’s gone. Y/N, I can’t— I can’t, I didn’t— I never said goodbye.” His hand dropped from the door and he swayed, she reached for him again. He pulled away, moving past her into the dimly lit foyer. If they were in a different scene, she would admire the yellow cast that was turning her Pretty Boy into an even more beautiful version of himself. She was so in love with him, it hurt somedays. His hands were as wild as his words, as wild as his eyes; Y/N didn’t recognize the man in front of her. He was manic and she was panicking.

“Spence,” she began, not knowing where to go from there. She let the words flow, letting her instincts take over. “Spencer, hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, just take a breath. It’s gonna be alright. Calm down—”

“Calm down?” The manic boy whirled on her, eyes wide and wild. His voice sounded just like it always did, fast and smooth. However, this time, it held undertones of anger, sadness and denial. It was like he wanted to turn back time, wanted to forget that she was really gone, that he would never speak another word to his good friend. “You want me to calm down? Y/N, I-I don’t even know how to do that right now. Everything feels so. . .”

He had paused, not knowing how to explain his feelings. He couldn’t put it to words, she could though. She supplied him with the words, “Fuzzy?”

He paused then, letting his breathing slow, “Y-Yeah.” The boy’s breath hitched again and Y/N hoped he wouldn’t launch himself into a panic attack. He nodded, rubbing his eyes with his long fingers, hard. “I don’t know what’s real. Everything is happening so fast; it feels like I’m in slow motion and everything is just— everything is just rushing by. Y/N, what do I do?”

Y/N’s mind was blank. Y/N’s mind was blank and she hated it. She hated it more than she’s ever hated anything in her whole life. She hated that she didn’t know what to say, how to help him. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, no words escaping her lips. So, instead, she moved forward and wrapped him in her arms and said, “It’s gonna be okay. I’m right here for you.”

He took comfort in her arms, and for a moment, just a moment, he forgot where he was and what was happening. He forgot that one of his best friends had just died. Upon remembering, he jerked away from the girl he had begun to fall in love with. He pushed away, closing his arms around his body; closing himself off from the world— from her.

In his disheveled mind and blurry eyes he saw his neighbor, his girl, his pretty love, open her mouth presumably to comfort him again. But he didn’t want it. He didn’t want anything from her, from anyone. He held a hand up effectively shutting her up; he took the opportunity to take his exit.

The boy practically ran as he left in his hurry; the door slamming in to the wall, leaving a mark— not that Y/N cared at the moment. Her breath was in her throat, watching him leave her apartment and rush into his own across the hall. She felt her lips move, saying his name in a plea. A plea to let her help, to let her in. A plea for him to not shut her out.

But all she was met with was the door slamming and the lock sounding.

That was almost three weeks ago. Three weeks of forbidden glances and almost words. Every time he had seen her turn the corner to their adjacent doors, he would turn the other way, walk back into his one bedroom, he’d take the stairs or the elevator— just to avoid talking to her. He avoided talking to her because he knew. He knew she would see right through him; he knew that she could read him better than the seven profilers that he called his family. She was better than the best; she was better than the BAU, and that was saying a fucking lot.

She saw it on his face; she saw the pain and frustration. She saw the internal fight; she saw it all and she just wished he’d let her in. She saw it for weeks. For three fucking weeks she saw the way he hid within himself and withered away. She wondered what it was; she wondered what he was doing to himself.

She wished he’d talk to her. Open up to her. Share his pain with her. She wished that she could have her boy back. There was one day that really bothered her; it was just another day of the week, a boring Wednesday. It was just another day of coming home and hoping not to run into Spencer Reid; she was beginning to break with each passing look. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could handle the stranger facade, the cold shoulder, the longing for each other. It was too much.

Against her hopes, she did in fact run into the handsome man. He was standing in front of his door, a duffle at his feet and his messenger bag slung across his body. He looked tired— more tired than she had seen him in the passing weeks (it made sense that he stood there. he must’ve been on a case, she hadn’t seen him in a few days). His hands were fumbling, shaking, with his keys before sticking them in. He just barely turned the key, hadn’t even heard it unlock yet.

His hair was unruly and Y/N wished she could just. . . run her fingers though it and fix it, like she used to. His eyes were bloodshot and lidded, fighting to stay open. Y/N took note that he looked like he was swaying, like he was about to fall asleep. Like he was dead on his feet. He looked pale, sick; almost like he was getting over a cold, but Y/N knew better. She knew better. This wasn’t a cold. Y/N had stopped at the end of the hallway; a deer caught in headlights. Spencer had heard her shoes come to a stop and he turned; another deer, another car.

He coughed, wiped his nose and said, “Y-Y/N?”

The boy swayed some more, hand flying out in front to steady himself. He heard her gasp and his once clouded mind became sharp. she knows. she knows. she knows. she knows. she knows. she—

“Spencer?” It was simple. That was it, one word, his name, and he was running into his apartment after struggling to unlock it for a few seconds (ones that really felt more like hours). She didn’t sleep that night. Her mind was too plagued with thoughts of Spencer Reid. She knew if she did try and sleep she would fall asleep only to be woken by her anxiety surrounding the Pretty Boy.

Y/N wasn’t dumb. No, in fact, Spencer often said she was one of the smartest people he knew and that meant a lot considering that he worked with seven brilliant minds, as well as being a certified genius. She knew what was happening to the boy across the hall. That Wednesday confrontation had confirmed it for her. She knew.

She knew and she was planning on having a one on one intervention. She would’ve asked his friends to be there too but she had heard (from Spencer) that they weren’t very present the first time he had this problem— so here she was, on her own. That was what brought her to his door, she had knocked only to be met with silence. She knew he was home, she knew he was in there. Being neighbors with a guy who you’re simultaneously in love with and worried about gives you a lot of perks— one of them knowing where he is at all times, in the most non-stalkerish way ever.

She knocked again. Silence again. She hoped he was just ignoring her. She hoped that he was just in the shower and hadn’t heard either knocks. She hoped that he was doing anything other than the intrusive thoughts her mind was throwing at her. She hoped, she hoped, she hoped. Y/N knew what she had to do. Spencer had given her a key to his place—for emergencies. She knew that it was an invasion of his privacy, but she had to know. She had to see him; had to see that he was alright. She had to. So, with her heart in her throat, threatening to jump from her body any second, she put the key in the lock and twisted, pushing the heavy door open.

And god damn it, she wished she would’ve poked her nose in sooner, because slumped on the couch was a very drugged up version Spencer Reid. She would’ve given anything, everything, to not have to have him in this pain, to not have him dealing with this. Her heart stopped, upon seeing the unmoving form, and she wanted to die.

There sat (sat being a loose word) Spencer, his usually buttoned shirt was laying open, showing his uncharacteristically toned stomach. The sleeve that was on his left arm was rolled up, his rubber tourniquet tightly on his upper arm and there were a few track marks in the crook of his elbow. His left hand was loosely balled into a fist and his right held a needle that was more than likely in his arms minutes before.

Y/N was in shock. She couldn’t move, couldn’t take her eyes off the sight in front of her. The boy who she had come to love was no longer present. The usually Pretty Boy’s head was leaning on the back of the ratty couch, eyes barely opened and unfocused. His long hair was matted to his forehead in sweat. His breathing was shallow and coming out in rough puffs; she could see how much he was struggling with the task. The neighbor girl was worried that he would stop completely if she didn’t do something.

She moved forward quickly, her hands pulling at the rubber, throwing it on the ground. Her hands moved to his face, cupping his head. Her fingers expertly wiped at the sweat, moving it off his skin. “Spence? Hey, Spencer, can you hear me?”

His unfocused eyes landed on her, blinking slowly a few times—too slowly— and his mouth opened and his brows furrowed slightly. “Wha— what’s hap’nin’? Y-Y/N?”

He moved weakly against her, pulling his face away and then his arms. He tried to push her away, fight her, but she was significantly stronger than him. In another life, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed— would’ve thought it was off putting that the girl he liked could easily over power him. But alas, its not and she is. He grunted out against her, whining; he felt limp against the sofa again, eyes unfocused and confused— too tired to move, to fight her. His body was defying him, giving up.

“S-Spencer?” With no response, she pulled out her phone— a moment of clarity. She could do this. She could do this. She could do this. Calling the emergency team was a hard thing to do, explaining what happened, who he was, where they were— it was hard, but what was harder was seeing him be placed on a stretcher and loaded into the back of an ambulance. The hardest thing, though, was not being able to go with the brown eyed Pretty Boy.

If you asked her, years from now, what she remembered from that night she’d always say watching the love of your life be pulled away from you with no guarantee that you’ll see them again is the worst pain imaginable and I’d never wish it on my worst enemy.

The lovely people that came to Spencer’s rescue had told her that she unfortunately wasn’t allowed in the back of the rig— something having to do with regulations and legal things. She didn’t argue, she didn’t have the energy to. The girl, who was suffering the effects of shock, pulled out her phone again. She knew Spencer wouldn’t have wanted her to, but she didn’t know what else to do and he wasn’t there to stop her. She let her fingers dial the number that just happened to call her three weeks earlier.

The voice on the other side answered quickly, a cheery tone to it. Y/N distantly wished that she could also share that feeling— she wished she didn’t have to rip the happiness away from the beautiful blonde she had come to know. She wished that JJ didn’t have to listen to the words about to spill from her lips. Y/N wished that Spencer never stuck the needle in his arm. She wished that things were different. She wished and wished and wished until her head hurt.

JJ met her at the hospital sans Will and her boys— probably a good idea on her part. Especially considering the state that Y/N was in. The usually posed girl was now disheveled, her hair was sticking up unnaturally (from pulling at it in anger, confusion, sadness— all of the emotions, really), her eyes were puffy from crying and JJ could tell that the girl in front of her was in another world. Y/N was sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs provided by the hospital and her leg was bouncing at an alarming speed. JJ knew she needed to get Y/N’s mind off the boy; she needed to do something.

The hospital was noisy yet also controlled. It was like everyone who was talking was miles away, that they were trying to keep their voices down in fear that she would burst and lose it.

“Y/N?” It was soft, Y/N realized. She recognized the tone and connected it to how Spencer usually addressed her. Logically, her mind knew it was not Spencer and that it was a girl’s voice that had began but her heart and lips knew otherwise.

“Spencer?” Full of tears and hope, Y/N’s voice called out first, just as soft. Then her eyes moved up, hoping to see the curly haired boy, and were (unfortunately) met with her pretty blonde friend who was squatting in front of her. She was hovering— Y/N didn’t like that. She felt closed in but she didn’t have the heart (or the energy) to tell her to give her some space.

JJ could see the hope drain from the girl’s body. “Just me, sorry.” The blonde patted Y/N’s knee before taking the seat next to her. “How you doing?”

Anger. That was what flowed through Y/N’s veins at the question. “How am I doing? I don’t know, JJ. How do you think? I just found the guy I love passed out, on the brink of an overdose! All because you guys couldn’t—”

She cut herself off with a gasp; she took it too far, she knew that. She also knew that it wasn’t anyone’s fault— no one except Spencer’s. She knew that. She was just so scared for her boy.

The girl next to her was taken aback; JJ’s mouth hung open, eyes wide. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to say something— anything. JJ knew it wasn’t her fault, she knew that. She wasn’t the one that gave him the drugs, she didn’t encourage him to take them. Maybe Y/N was right though, she wasn’t there for him like she should’ve been. She left him to grieve on his own. She may not have encouraged him but she sure as hell was at fault. She may not have stuck the needle in the boy’s vein, but she might as well have told him to do so.

JJ’s mouth opened again, words soft and regretful, “Y/N, I am so sorry. You’re right, I should’ve been there for him. I don’t—”

Y/N took a breath, calming herself, “No, JJ, I-I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from. I know it’s not your fault. Spencer did this to himself.”

The girls waited together in silence after that. The only sound being the many people rushing around the building and the small conversations of the people around the two girls and the heavy breathing from the aforementioned women. They comforted each other— not with words but rather with their body language. Y/N and Jennifer held hands, willing the other to stay calm, until a doctor approached them, solemn look on her face. Both girls stood up, hand in hand. Y/N’s nerves skyrocketed, she felt like she was going to pass out. If the doctor didn’t give her any good news, she was sure she would. Her thoughts were moving a mile a minute and she was willing the doctor to speak, tell them what happened, tell them something good.

Why wasn’t she talking? Why is she looking at her like that? Why won’t she stop smiling like that? Why won’t she tell her what’s happening?

“Y/N,” The doctor, who had once given her name but was now forgotten, began before her eyes looked between the blonde agent next to her and then to Y/N. “Can we talk in private?”

Private? Oh god. Oh god. Oh god, that’s not good. Private is never good. “Uh— You can say in in front of her. It’s okay.”

A sigh came from the doctor’s lips, hands folding in front of her. “Y/N, are you sure?”

“Yes—!” A sigh from Y/N. A beat passed and then she tried again, softer this time, “Yes, please, just tell me what’s happening.”

“Okay. . . Well, when you brought Mr Reid—”

“Doctor Reid—” Both horrified girls corrected simultaneously. It wasn’t important, they knew that. Of course they knew that. It was important to the bedridden boy though, and they knew he’d correct the doctor if he was here. So, they did what Spencer would do and corrected her.

Another sigh from the woman in the scrubs, “When we brought Doctor Reid in, he was experiencing an overdose, as I’m sure you know. He was also having trouble breathing and had a seizure while on the way in.”

The doctor paused, waiting to see if either girl had any questions. Neither did, but both felt their hearts stopped. Y/N felt the tears return to her eyes, she felt like she needed a minute. The broken girl let her hand slip away from the blonde’s and sat back down in the dirty chair. She placed her head in her hands and did some breathing exercises. She distantly heard the woman continue talking, “We were able to stable him and he’s resting now. He might be a little groggy but you can probably take him home in a bit. I can take one of you to see him, if you’d like.”

Y/N’s body and mind sharpened at that. She could see him? He was fine? She felt JJ’s presence next to her again, a hand was placed on her back, rubbing. “You should go first.”

“What about you?”

She smiled a soft smile (one that she was sure was taught to her by Spencer), eyes wet, “I’ll check in with him later. Go ahead.” The young girl didn’t need another word before she was up out of her seat, following the doctor. Her heartbeat was in her ears; she wondered if the woman next to her could hear it. It didn’t matter, she ultimately decided. They stopped in front of a half closed door; the doctor opening it to let the girl in. She must’ve expected her to rush in, because she started to swing the door shut. But Y/N was frozen, eyes locked with the Pretty Boy, that is until the door almost hit her. The girl mumbled a small, sorry before making her way fully into the room.

The boy she missed so much was leaning back into the bed, his arms at his sides— he looked uncomfortable. He was awake and that surprised Y/N; she had half expected him to be asleep. She wasn’t ready to confront the boy yet. His eyes watched her move around the room; she was pacing, hands shaking the nerves out. He could see that she was wrecked and he knew he was the cause. He wanted to turn back time, he wanted to make sure she never had to deal with him like this. The boy opened his mouth then closed it. He didn’t know how to make it better. He wished he did, but he really didn’t.

Maybe Emily was right, he thought and his heart broke for his lost friend all over again, my genius IQ really does get slashed to 60 when I’m looking at a pretty girl.

Y/N, after a few minutes, came to a rough stop and turned to him, a fire in her eyes. An emotion that he had never seen directed at him before— it scared him. Her voice came then, angry and wrecked, “Spencer Reid—! What— Why?!”

He had no answer for her, so he just slowly lifted his hands in a shrug and said, “I’m sorry.”

She let out a sigh and then laughed bitterly, “You’re sorry? Spencer, I-I don’t even know where to begin. . . you could’ve talked to me, you know?”

A cough and a sniff, then another sigh. He knew. “I know.”

“I was so worried. Spence, I— I thought you were gonna die. Do you want to die, Spencer— is that it? You were trying to kill yourself?”

“No!” It was rushed and harsh. It hurt his throat causing him to clear it before speaking again, “No, I don’t want to die, Y/N. It was an accident, ‘m not suicidal.” The boy threw his head back against his pillow in anger. He wished that she could just know why he needed the release. It made sense to him; he wanted her to understand.

“God!” She threw her hands out, angry, “Spencer, fuck. An accident?! You accidentally shot up? You accidentally got yourself addicted to Dilaudid again? God, Spence, seriously?”

She was angry, Spencer knew that. She had every right to be, but he was also feeling attacked. He was just so, so tired and irritated. He needed a minute, he needed a breath and Y/N asking him all these questions was not helping him whatsoever. “What do you want from me?!”

The angry girl was taken aback and it showed. Her whole body language changed, she took a few discombobulated steps backward as if she had been pushed and her mouth fell open at the question. Spencer immediately felt horrible— he wanted to take it back but it was too late. The words had already been said.

“What do I want?” The words were soft, a tone of hurt to them and despite himself, Spencer nodded. “Spence, I wanted you to talk to me. I wanted you to not shut me out! I didn’t want this; I didn’t want you to fucking overdose because you’re too stubborn to talk to me. Spencer I—”

Tears filled his eyes as he asked, “What? You what?”

“Spencer. . . I-I love you, you know that. Spence, you know that. I know you do.” The boy’s tears fell as he nodded. His words were caught in his throat. He sniffed, he did know. His heart fluttered at the confession. They weren’t official; they hadn’t had the talk. They were just two kids dumb in love. She continued, heart heavy. “But I swear to god, Spence, if you keep down this path you will loose me. I will not be apart of this; I will not watch you kill yourself.”

A beat of silence passed. Then he spoke. It was soft and small, a tone of anxiety accompanied it. “You’ll leave?”

“Don’t make me the bad guy, Spence,” She grunted out, a nervous hand running through her hair.

“Y/N— I-I don’t even— I don’t know what you want me to say.” The broken boy admitted, trying to sit up. Y/N moved forward, sitting next to his legs. She grabbed ahold of one of his hands, lacing their fingers together.

“I want you to tell me you’ll stop. Spencer, I want you to tell me I won’t find you like— like that again.” The girl was looking down, away from Spencer, but he knew she was crying. He knew her too well. He knew that this was breaking her. But he had to say it, even if it would break her heart.

“I don’t know if I can.” He cried, hand squeezing hers. She met his eyes then.

“Spencer, please.” She knew it was selfish of her to ask, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t imagine a world with out him.

“I don’t think I’m strong enough, Y/N/N.”

“You are. You are, I promise.” She nodded at him, hope flooding her veins. “And I’ll be there when it gets too hard.”

She felt him squeeze her hand again before he spoke, fears lacing his wrecked voice, “You will?”

“I will, Spencer. I promise. I just need you to try. Just try and I’ll help with the rest.”

The boy nodded, tears falling from his beautiful brown eyes— the ones that Y/N was more than in love with.

She didn’t lie that night; no, she stuck with him throughout it all. She was there when the cravings got so bad that he was in physical pain and tears stung his eyes. She was there for him when he woke up from nightmares. She was there to rub his back when he vomited all his food into the toilet and when he was so frustrated because he couldn’t be trusted to hold a glass, let alone his gun, before it slipped through his weak fingers. She was there when he wanted to die and when he was so uncomfortable that all he did was cry in her arms. She was there for it all. She had kept her promise and stayed there for it all— just like he would’ve if the roles were reversed.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg

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morizoras-cave · 4 years

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The Story Of Many (Request)

Chris Evans x younger sister!reader

Genre: Angst, fluff

Request Description: reader is Chris Evans younger sister/co-star and she is staring in a role that is very emotionally draining (like Tom Holland in Cherry or Zendaya in Euphoria) and the role gets to much for her mental health and Chris comforts/reassures her

Warnings: child abuse (in reader’s role), depression, anxiety, pills

(A/N): some of you guys started sending requests and im super duper excited!! hahaha,, i just realized that some of your actually read my shitty authors notes oh shit

It was rare that you and your family could all be there for dinner, and it was always rather enjoyable. Your sisters of course had their own lives, and things to take care of. Chris and Scott, your older brothers, always had busy schedules, requiring them to be far from home. Now you had joined that circus, as you had also turned to acting.

Naturally, being the youngest in the Evans family, you’d gotten a lot of attention. Although, you felt like you had gained popularity on your own, and you were proud of your accomplishments.

Lately, you’d been filming a movie surrounding the topic of child abuse. You played one of the teens that were being abused, and there were some pretty heavy scenes in it. It was meant to showcase the toll it takes on a kid. And it had certainly taken a toll on you.

Being a very method actor, it was hard for you sometimes to get out of that headspace. The mind of a tortured child, someone who no one loved, and someone who lashed out at others because they had nothing else.

You’d secretly started taking some antidepressants, just for the time being. You just couldn’t bear going home from set and crying yourself to sleep, or numbly watching television until 3 AM. But you didn’t want to let your family worry. It would all stop when you were done with the move anyway.

“Y/n?” Chris’ voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He was looking at you with those protecting blue eyes, worried as always. Your other siblings and parents were still talking, completely unaware of the bubble of seriousness that had entrapped you and Chris. “You okay?”

You nodded simply, picking up your fork to grab some of your untouched food. Chris didn’t seem convinced.

“You’re just not very talkative lately..” he mumbled, piercing his own food. “How’s the role? What are you working on?”

“Uh, it’s a movie about child abuse. To shed more light on it. I play one of the kids,” you saw flatly. You avoided diving into the more sensitive parts of your role, afraid that you might shatter in front of your brother. For once, you didn’t want to be the younger sister, you just wanted to be Y/n Evans.

When you told him what it was about, something seemed to click with Chris. He had certainly experienced something along the same lines as you, and said with a small smile of understanding: “I get it. Those roles can really mess with your mood. Don’t let it affect you too much though.”

That was all you and Chris said on the matter the rest of the dinner. You tried to enjoy it as much as you could. Everything just seemed so dull and gray. When dinner was over, you scurried to the bathroom. Soon everyone would leave and go to their respective homes.

You looked in the mirror and something, the part of you that could’ve enjoyed dinner, just withered away. So many kids couldn’t enjoy a dinner with their families. So many kids had terrible parents, parents who despised them. Parents who did horrible things to them. You closed your eyes, leaning over the sink. As tears dribbled down the drain, you felt like nothing but an unloved child, broken and with a head in a storm.

Shaking, you reached out your hand to grab your pills. They rattled in their plastic bottles.

“Y/n?” it was his voice again. Chris. Panicking, you sniffled trying to compose yourself. You sniffled, knowing he could hear it from the other side of the door, let go of the pill bottle and wiped your tears. Looking in the mirror, you knew it was still painfully obvious, and the thought only made you want to cry more.

“Y/n,” he repeated, “Open the door.”

He had that voice, that serious one that he only used when those boys pranked you in fourth grade, or when you fell from a tree and hurt yourself in kindergarten. He wanted to protect you.

Ashamed, you opened the door to the bathroom, and Chris wasted no time striding in.

“Y/n..” he mumbled, embracing you in a hug and pressing your head into his chest. You gasped and cried again, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered.

There was nothing better than being hugged by your brother. His arms just blocked you off from all the harm in the world, all the hurt children, and the evil parents, and the pills. Your breathing calmed slowly.

You stood like that, so peacefully, until you felt him move his arms from you. You flinched at the sound of rattling pills. You pulled away, taking a step back.

Chris looked hurt. Betrayed. He clenched the pill bottle in his hand, shaking his head, utterly speechless.

“Y/n, you can’t not tell us about this. You- You.. Does mom and dad know?” He was outraged, eyes glistening. You shook your head in shame. His hand clenched the plastic container harder, knuckles whitening, before he threw it angrily.

The container hit the wall with a rattle, and then bounced back onto the floor, lying there alone on the reflective tiles.

“It’s just this role. God, it’s been.. It’s been so tough on me. And this is the story of one family! But at the same time it’s the story of so many families. I just go there and act these things, and I feel like I’m rotting away, Chris. I don’t know what to do!” You yelled, lip quivering. Your knees buckled and you feel down on the tiles. Chris jumped to help you, but you scooted away, hugging your knees and hiding your head. You felt pathetic.

You heard shuffling and then felt a hand on your knee. His thumb brushed over it gently and calmingly.

“Look.. Roles can do that to you. I’ve never experienced it like this, but.. It just means that you’re a phenomenal actor, trust me. What’s not so phenomenal, is that you’re bringing these feelings with you home,” it was only in moments like these, where you could really appreciate Chris’ voice. He had a way of always sounding so calm, like he knew precisely that everything was how it was supposed to be.

“Chris, I can’t.. I don’t know how to keep them away,” instinctively, at the sound of your vulnerable voice, Chris wrapped his arm around you again, pulling you into him. You sat on the bathroom floor together.

“I think the best thing you can do, is talk to a therapist. They’ll be able to teach you how to put those things away better than anyone else. I promise you it’ll be worth it, N/n.”

You nodded, agreeing with him. It was so crazy, you thought, how your problems seemed to melt away, when Chris got his hands on them. He rocked you back and forth, and for once, you were so content being his little sister, just because he would help you like this, just because he could.

“Should I set that up for you?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, and I don’t want to hear no nonsense about any pills anymore, alright?”

“Alright.”

Once that was declared, you just sat there, you just stayed, peacefully, and you knew for the first time in a long time, that everything would be all right. With Chris by your side, everything would be okay.

#Chris Evans #Chris Evans x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #avengers cast x teen!reader #avengers #avengers cast x reader #avengers x reader #avengers x teen!reader #captain america x teen!reader #marvel #marvel x reader

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yeoldontknow · 4 years

Text

The Edge of Summer

Author’s Note: happy birthday @kyungseokie !! this has been sitting in my wips since january when i attempted to write this for his birthday. and that...came and went like a lightning bolt so here we are. im finally tossing this into the wild! wanted this up an entire hour ago but my internet died so T~T HAPPY BIRTHDAY I LUV U! Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader (oc; female) Universe: this is an installment to the Did You See universe however Kyungsoo does not have a full story. this will be the only story centering on him | you do not need to read the other stories to understand, enjoy, or appreciate this one Genre: friends to lovers; fluff; romance; angst; au Summary: As summer comes to a close, your friends make the annual trek to the lake house for one last hurrah. You’ve done this before - countless times, but this year Baekhyun brings his new girlfriend along with him and this, of course, means some plans have to change. You just have no idea how much will change by the end of the trip. Rating: PG-13 Warnings: some strong language; a lot of lust; baekhyun being the worst wingman to exist; it gets pretty spicy by the end but like..only if you squint? just playing it safe yall Word Count: 13.1K

It is only when Kyungsoo’s hand falls delicately into his lap, fingers grazing your thigh with the aimless of touch of nonchalance that you decide:

If you make it out alive, you are going to kill Baekhyun.

Three hours into the road trip, and you think the conviction of this decision carries with it the bitterness of gunpowder and the relief of satisfaction, two distinct feelings entirely befitting the situation you have found yourself in. A five hour journey is long enough on its own, time blurring seamlessly around you in the close confines of a car - but, when pressed against Kyungsoo like this, against the strong muscles of his arms and thighs, feeling the heat of his warm skin radiating into yours, five hours is centuries of pining. These hours are too long for anyone to survive, the weight of yearning compressing your lungs into phantoms of their former glory, breath too quiet, and too slow, afraid of disrupting the fragile pretense of peace.

Being this close to him, this close to the embodiment of your pining, carries the same impact in your bones as a cataclysm, and so you grimace in dismay, silently aware that you might not even live to make good on your silent promise. Baekhyun will live another day and you will wither amongst the remainder of your desire, buried with yet another promise you failed to keep.

Somewhere in an alternate universe, you are happy, and this happiness comes easily. In a different life, you are comfortable, riding in Chanyeol’s car with him, his girlfriend, and Yixing, listening to the playlist Chanyeol had enthusiastically curated for the journey. You would be laughing, talking, teasing - or, perhaps, none of those things, instead luxuriating the jovial warmth that always seems to bloom in their company, the kind that overtakes you without warning, mind unfocused and hazy with thoughts of freedom.

Instead, your back presses into the middle seat of Junmyeon’s old car, knees and thighs aching with the effort of making yourself small between Kyungsoo and Yixing. Glancing to your right, you eye Yixing’s placidly neutral expression, his unfazed smile as he teases Sehun, reaching forward to ruffle his hair from behind the seat. Briefly, you envy him, his loud laugh and the way things are always uncomplicated for him - the way he always gives over out of love, even if he has the briefest moments of internal protest.

At 8AM, Baekhyun insisted he bring his new fling on this vacation. It was important, he said, his eyes pleading with you and Yixing, the puppy dog expression you'd grown used to fixed securely in his cheeks and pout. Chanyeol’s car would be the couples car, and so it was important he be there to set the mood. Yixing had eyed him amicably, biting the inside of his cheek with an endeared sense of amusement, complaining only because the plush seats of Chanyeol’s car were far more comfortable and because it would insight a brief riot in Baekhyun that served only to amuse him further.

And he conceded almost immediately, an ever supportive wingman, winking at Baekhyun before excusing himself to gather his things.

You, however, protested valiantly, arms crossed over your chest and heart unmoved. Baekhyun pleaded, promised french fry dates and to do your dishes for a week - even though he does not live with you, even though you actually enjoy doing your dishes, and, still, you protested, lips pursed and eyebrow cocked in disdain.

But, standing gracefully in the doorway, the sunlight gliding over his shoulders, craving an angle against his jaw you found almost holy, far too magnificent to be human, Kyungsoo laughed. The deep honey chocolate of his tone brought gooseflesh to your skin, teeth biting down on your tongue to keep your spine from trembling; your favourite laugh, and one he so rarely gives only to you. Behind him, Chanyeol’s tall frame lingered by his car, calling for anyone to get in so he could make his departure, and you think Kyungsoo’s bemused, affectionate smile is really what you agreed to.

Hours of his smile, even if it was put out, even if it was a barely there glimmer of fond annoyance, even if it faded almost as quickly as it came - this is what you agreed to.

Even if it meant letting your own heart break, and mend, and shatter once more, chest tight with the burden of proximity.

‘I can feel you looking at me,’ he mumbles, just softly enough that only you can hear the dulcet nature of his voice, teasing and sharp.

Shifting beneath your gaze, his arm nudges gently into yours, soft and supple and smooth, the cotton of his white shirt reduced to little more than rough muslin in comparison. He keeps his head turned as he looks out the window, one hand in his lap while the other holds his chin in its palm, trees and grass streaking past beneath an endless expanse of blue sky. Sunlight pours through the window onto him, casting shadows along his jaw and cheeks that somehow make the curvature of his lips ever more pronounced in profile.

Around you both, conversations live and die, the rippling cadence of Yixing’s laugh losing its edges as you continue to stare, unblinking, at the hard edge of Kyungsoo’s jaw.

‘Is there something you want?’ At this, he directs his attention to you, your dry mouth and unwavering gaze, hand still cradling his chin as he regards you expectantly.

His eyes move over you slowly, taking their time getting acquainted with your features in this light. You feel him where you never feel anyone - all over you, yet ephemeral and nowhere at all, this kind of touching a mystery that runs deep. In a single moment, he is both above and beneath you, walking over the map of your skin and treading just below the surface, the blood in your veins rushing to your heart in celebration. The air in the small car becomes thin, lungs tight and breath constricted. Your hands curl into fists, pressing nails into the muscle of your mount of Venus, but it is not in frustration or fear, rather, instead, the only way you know how to suppress this insurmountable adoration.

By stopping the surrender before it starts, you do not even have the choice to give in.

Perhaps, in the same life in which you are riding in Chanyeol’s car you are also bold, brave enough to give him the best words, the most beautiful words, the ones you keep perpetually beneath your tongue, waiting. How would he look in the aftermath of honesty? What smile would you be given? Would you even survive? You’re unsure, the aspects of such a reality hidden from you now, and so you swallow thickly, giving moisture to your voice to ensure you can speak, even if it is not entirely brave.

‘You’re blocking the window,’ you lie, surprised that you sound so confident, so calm, when the border between your bodies has been so ruefully challenged.

Eyes squeezing closed, they press into crescent moons as his cheeks rise up along the bones, and Kyungsoo laughs, genuinely amused by the absurdity of your statement. So unlike the booming force of Chanyeol’s laugh or the high pitched delight of Yixing’s, Kyungsoo’s low and deep giggle is a thunderclap in the center of your chest, an endless roll of electric pleasure along your nerves. The force of it has him jostling into your side, shoulders vibrating through the humor, and you feel yourself bristle, wholly unprepared. This moment of contact brings with it the absence of thought, the absence of protest, running far deeper than you imagined it could. In a single moment, your longing threatens to unmake you, wanting more of his pleasure, more of his joy, certain nothing is as sacred or magical as this.

Offering you a sardonic, yet amicable smile, he leans back into the seat, making himself as small as possible to take up the least amount of space. Tucking his arms into his sides, he moves away from the window entirely, and releases a hiss of breath through his nose. One eyebrow cocked in question, he pouts, the fullness of his bottom lip sticking out childishly.

‘Is this better?’ he asks through grit teeth, though his smile is tucked in the corner of his lips as a secret; dawn just about to break over the warm glow of his skin.

In this position, his shirt becomes constricted and stretched over his chest, shoulders, and abdomen, revealing the deep contours of his torso. The mid-morning sun casts him in gold, making a home of the pores of his skin and revealing amber flecks in the chocolate of his eyes. Immediately, your tongue becomes heavy, the taste of light filling your mouth, the taste of him and the heat of your unbridled wanting. Even with the smallness of space he has created, gaps between your bodies revealed where he has since retreated, the warmth between you both is a fire that refuses to die, and, in the aftermath of his simple question, you feel yourself flush.

‘Yes, much,’ you nod, hoping your expression is cordial and unmoved. Because it is true. You find you enjoy this view far more than the one before. ‘Now, if only you can stay like that for two more hours.’

Once more he laughs, enjoying your teasing banter as he relaxes into his previous position. All over again he relaxes into you, comfortable and content, strong muscles of his thighs vibrating into your legs as the car bounces over a bump on the highway. It frustrates you how swiftly the butterflies in your stomach wander into your heart as you watch him, stuttering in its rhythm as a stubborn reminder there is no escape, no fail safe to liberate you from this craving. If anything, the closeness you must endure over the length of this trip is only furthering your desire to shorten the ever present distance between your hearts.

‘Why did you give Baekhyun such a hard time this morning?’

His question interrupts your thoughts, words soft yet his tone carries with it a deceptive bite.

Narrowing your brow, you almost snort in surprise. ‘Because it’s ridiculous. Changing everything around at the last minute,’ you explain incredulously. ‘It’s ridiculous.’ Settling back against the hardness of the middle seat, you stare straight ahead, casting your unfocused gaze out beyond the windshield. ‘I can’t believe you’re even asking, as if you wouldn’t do the same.’

In the years you have known him, there has never been a moment where he allowed Baekhyun to get away with anything - not least without an argument or some form of protest. Moving Kyungsoo from one opinion to the next requires a fair amount of convincing and explaining, and, usually, results in his profound frustration until he gives over just to end the conversation. This morning, Kyungsoo said nothing, and his laugh, his smile, and his acquiescence is more out of place than your childish protesting.

Chuckling, he turns back to the window beside him, nodding slightly. ‘You’re not wrong,’ he muses in agreement.

Silence befalls you both, one that does not contain walls or barriers but is gratified. Kyungsoo comfortably nestles into his position, ready to maintain this pose for several more hours, and you turn to look at him, bewildered.

‘That’s it?’ He seems both completely satisfied with your answer and disinterested in continuing the conversation, and your mind races with a confusion so thick you think your hands could break it. ‘That’s all you wanted out of that?’

Tossing you a placid smile, he nods once more. ‘That’s it.’

Searching his face for answers, you translate his words over and over, breaking them down into their smallest pieces to grasp at what lies beneath. ‘Did you ask just to get a rise out of me?’

He keeps his eyes on the world outside, basking in the gold of daylight. It refuses to let him go, the sun, like always, pretending it is you.

‘Maybe so.’

It’s after you’ve dropped your bags in your large room, the one with the bay window overlooking the lake, that Kyungsoo asks you to help him make lunch.

You’re not entirely sure where the others have gone, and you find yourself in the open kitchen hugging yourself, looking around the mess for some way to busy your hands. Too many insulated bags and groceries line the counters, the chaos of them inciting a productive sort of stress, the kind that makes you ready to sort and fix, in your veins. Kyungsoo moves around the room with a confident ease, and for a moment you envy him; the answers already seem to live in his actions, not a single moment of question as he clears space and makes room.

Outside, you hear the deep baritone of Chanyeol’s gleeful howl as it heads towards the lake. Baekhyun’s voice follows, higher in pitch but just as eager, and in the silence of the room you hear Kyungsoo chuckling to himself. The smallness of his smile is betrayed by the light in his eyes, his own happiness a private paradise he shares only with those who choose to look.

And even before you had any control over it, before your mind could remind you that you value yourself and your solitude most, you had chosen him. You will always choose him.

‘Do you want to help me cut the vegetables?’

He doesn’t look at you as he asks the question, unloading the set of knives he brought for the week with careful motions. The silver blades seem to gleam in the midday sun, and you recognize them as the ones you bought for his birthday the year previous. He hadn’t asked for them, hadn’t even suggested you buy him anything, but as you passed the culinary shop window, mesmerized by their sharpness, their danger, their promise, you wondered - would they be a present or a plea? An offering of his happiness or yours, a moment of union between you both in which he would feel joy and you would be the cause of such magnificence.

They’re well worn now. Even from where you stand, you can see the streaks along the blades from multiple sharpening sessions, and as he holds them you can see the hidden strength that lives in his hands. His hands, rough and powerful, yet still more fine than sand and warm as maple. You have never told anyone about your admiration for the elegant length of his fingers, the peaks and valleys of his knuckles, and the way they seem to hold you, transfix you, satisfy you simply because they are proof beauty is not a face or a voice, but an art inherent to all things living. You suppose you will never tell anyone, his hands a poem for you alone.

Peering up at you curiously through the length of his lashes, he patiently waits for your answer and, for the second time today, you feel him. He is becoming an invasion, your defenses drawn down over the many hours beside him, the length of your thighs still tingling from his touch, and you are so aware of him the ripeness of this attention causes you to shiver.

‘Why are you asking me?’ you ask softly, taking a few tentative steps towards the island where he stands. Everything about your motions, your words, is careful, tender, mindful that this kind of question is fragile. ‘You never let people help in the kitchen.’

He stills as he lifts his head to appraise you, unabashedly taking you in and holding you under the ferocity of his gaze. Any other man and you would call this entrapment, but you are used to giving him everything, used to his penetrative stare and the way he always, without fail, seems to witness every flawed and contradictory piece you try to keep buried.

‘Because I want you to,’ he says, as if wanting anything is simple.

Aimlessly, you nod at his response, scanning the island counter as you approach with your arms hanging limply at your sides. You’ve surrendered to him without your own permission, but you are not terribly dismayed by this. He asks for help and speaks of wanting as though it’s an easy request, yet the tension at the back of his throat, minimal and almost imperceptible, implies this is something big and bold and frightening for him to say. For as long as you’ve known him, you both have been difficult, anxious, battling yourselves more than you battle the world around you, and so you do not comment on this ask - do not comment on the emotion of it - because you could still be wrong, and he could still take it back.

‘Aren’t you the one with the chef’s license?’ you tease, coming to stand beside him, unloading the food and organizing them into piles to be moved to their respective cupboards or shelves. ‘Wouldn’t my peasant hands ruin your julienne?’

‘Har har.’ The sound of his sarcastic laugh makes you blush, looking over your shoulder as you tuck unneeded cold things into the refrigerator. ‘And no,’ he continues once you’re beside him again, ‘I don’t need things to look pretty today, I just need them to taste good.’

Handing you a knife that fits perfectly in the palm of your outstretched hand, your eyes meet for a moment that is long enough to generate a spark. It blossoms within your blood, the mark of friendship and the mark of love blurring together the same way grief so often follows joy, weaving together to create something tender and something reverent. You look at him, and this moment feels eternal.

‘Besides,’ he mumbles, moving to guide a bunch of scallions, some tomatoes, and freshly peeled garlic on to the cutting board he has laid out for you. ‘Sometimes the most beautiful things in the room are the ones with flaws.’

Entirely unsure what to say to this, you simply bob your head with a noise of interest, a feigned motion of understanding. He does not seem to notice the way his words pierce you, cutting at wounds you have long since done your best to hide from him, and you are glad his smile endures. From the corner of your eye, you watch him carry on, cutting into an onion with little pomp and circumstance, the ghost of his words a phantom that chooses to haunt only you. Your hand trembles only slightly as you move the garlic into position, and you grip the handle tightly to keep your motions steady and even, gathering all your strength to root into the base of your joints.

Moments slip past you freely, moments where you are silent save for the deep inhalation of breath that fills your lungs as you watch him cut. Your friendship with Kyungsoo is still relatively new, in your eyes - two years on and still there are details of his life, his history, his character that elude you. Still, you know him well enough, likely somehow have always known, that he is complicated and oftentimes impossible, unfathomable, thinking too hard about every nuance and detail that colours his choices.

But when he cooks, when he is in the act of creation, making a whole reality to be touched and tasted with his bare hands, you find he has never been so certain of anything. As he turns the onion, halving it swiftly before quartering it, there is no doubt in his actions, no hesitation, and he seems to relax into this confidence, mind wandering freely because there is no room for its criticism.

‘To The Lighthouse or A Room of One’s Own?’ he asks, unprompted.

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you begin slicing the garlic into small pieces as you consider his question. ‘To the Lighthouse.’

You're unsure who started this game, the habit of asking one another questions on your preferences, something that feels so fundamental to your relationship you imagine it is genetic to the very fabric of its existence. It no longer matters who started it, you think, only that it has persisted without ever fading, something you look forward to whenever you're together. Baekhyun finds this game rather comical, often wondering why you even bother when you both know so much about one another at this point old topics must be rehashed. But each time, every time, he says this Kyungsoo simply looks at you with an expression that could stitch together the stars and you know, together, that he is wrong.

Even if a topic is revisited, the answer is always different. In this way, you ensure that you know one another and you still never stop knowing.

Kyungsoo hums at your response. ‘Why?’

This is yet another unwritten rule of the game: for whatever you choose, you must offer a quote or a reason, the one thing you cling to that makes the choice feel superior over the other.

Three months ago, he loaned you both these books, and you had finished them rather quickly. The day you returned them, your fingers grazed as he took them from you, the resulting tremor of this touch leaving your hands caught in a fire that would not cease for days. He didn't ask what you thought beyond if you'd enjoyed them. You suppose he'd been saving it for this moment.

Pressing your palm into the flat of the knife, you compress a clove of garlic and dig deep. You'd given your answer automatically, on impulse, and hadn't truly considered the fact that you must quote the line that made your breath catch and your very bones quake. It hits you now that he's read these words, felt this kind of swooning even if there is distance between your twin heartbreaks; eyes kissing the same page long after one another has departed.

‘It was not knowledge, but unity she desired,' you begin, focusing intently on chopping so as not to lose your will, 'not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself - which is knowledge.’

His knife falters in cutting the onion, the blade slipping against the wood of the cutting board as you finish speaking. Glancing out of the corner of your eye, you watch the juice spread beneath his perfect slices, his lips parting slightly as he takes in a slow hiss of breath. Steadying himself, he gathers his composure and begins chopping once more, nodding in agreement.

It is your turn to ask a question, but you take this moment of silence to watch the light from the wide kitchen window nestle between his cupid's bow, understanding with your whole chest why the moon fought so hard to claim the sun.

‘Are you okay?’ you murmur, keeping your tone quiet and gentle, concerned yet distanced, not wanting to embarrass him.

‘Mhmm,’ he hums, flippantly avoiding the question.

‘Dexter or Supernatural,' you inquire, moving your pile of minced garlic to the corner of the board as you gather the bunch of scallions.

‘Dexter,' is his confident reply.

'Have these already been washed?' you divert, and he glances to your hands, nodding. Lining them up, you continue.‘Why?’

Sighing, he unwraps a large cut of fish from its paper packaging, considering his choice. ‘We all make rules for ourselves,' he quotes. 'It’s these rules that help define who we are. So when we break those rules, we risk losing ourselves and becoming something unknown.’

Amidst your meticulous slicing, you feel yourself bristle. In the choice between the two, you agree - Dexter would be your first choice. Yet, you had not expected him to pick this quote, this particular choice carrying with it the weight of your identity. Your understanding of yourself and your needs has always been wrapped up in these few lines, your desire for rules and control the very thing that allows you to relate to the world. Everyone you know finds things both disruptingly and disturbingly true about themselves through their relations with other people, through their relationship to their surroundings.

You relate to yourself and to them through the rules you have cultivated, based on your experiences of others rather than their integration into your life. You want to break free from this, aware that this is only yet another way you stand to complicate your understanding of everything, but you rely on it.

And, it seems, so does he.

He is soft and sensitive, and yet conversely so rigid, operating within his own rules. To step outside would be a great unmaking, and, for one blissful moment, you find there is no space between where you end and he begins. In this understanding, you are both slinking toward a new reality.

Glancing down at your cutting board, you pout. The scallions will be uneven.

Kyungsoo swallows with a low cough, clearing his throat. ‘Neruda or Siken.’

A wide smile blooms across your features, this question perhaps one of the easiest he has ever asked. ‘Siken.’

Using your knife, you push the chopped scallions to the top of your cutting board and slowly roll a few of the tomatoes down to the center. Your smile falters, already picturing the mess of squashed pulp that will come from this. Years of cooking for yourself, but still your hands are too heavy for delicate things. With a small sigh, you angle your knife over the ripe curve, the skin so smooth you think your knife might slide right off without any incision at all.

As you start to press your knife down, Kyungsoo stops you.

‘Try like this.’

Coming to stand behind you, he takes your hands in his, joining you in holding the knife and holding the vegetable, the touch from his fingers feather light and, conversely, heavy as steel. Your breath halts its journey in your lungs, blood too warm and stagnant in your veins, your heart faltering amidst this disruption. The heat from his chest radiates into your back, meandering down your spine and into your legs, all over your nerves until you wonder if there is anything left of you, any part of you he has not touched.

He makes being near him feel like a season, full years and days lived in the wake of a breath; your every breath heavy with him, and the things your heart yearns to offer him. Every second full of an exhale transmutes into the precipice of a life well lived, because he is there and smiling and sharing the world with you even if he is not sharing the ardor in your lungs. Kyungsoo is the fifth season, a season unto you, an oncoming wind between the border of summer and autumn, between the heat and the chill, neither a warming nor a cooling but a possibility of both all at once.

You know this. You have always known this. But, recently, in the days you find yourself absent from him, your heart unmakes the memory of these small euphorias, unpossessed and eternally lonely, unwilling to cling to that which it cannot keep. And so you are whelmed and unmade by the totality of him, forced, now, to stitch yourself into someone entirely new, someone who knows how it feels to be close.

He guides your right hand forward, easing the knife slowly along the tomato until the base is what presses into the skin, not the middle.

‘Why Siken?’ he whispers, and he is close enough his breath tickles at your ear, cascading down your neck and into your shoulder. He spills over you, and you tremble, knowing he feels you but he says nothing, polite enough to maintain your pride.

He asked you a question. You know he did, and it takes work finding words when he is doing his best to consume you like this, your eyes watching as he, and you, together, slice a tomato into thin circles. The rhythm he creates with your twin hands is steady, even, almost musical in the way you can anticipate the sound of it, and it grounds you just enough to remember you are about to give absolutely everything away.

If he does not know yet, if he has not known, you suppose he will know now. But he asked. And so you will tell him.

‘Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us,’ you whisper, matching the volume of his voice. You know he will hear you. You wonder if he will feel you. ‘These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we will never get used to it.’

Kyungsoo eases the knife down one last time, and keeps it there, pressed against the cutting board as the slice drops mutely against the other pieces, the juice from the vegetable seeping deep into the wood. His thumb moves slowly over yours in small circles - you’d like to call them reassuring, but as he steps closer behind you, as his other hand moves his fingers over your knuckles, you wonder if there is any reassurance to be found here.

In love, in lust, the solidarity you have found in your hobbies and your, almost selfish, avoidance have dissolved, leaving you exposed to the full extent of his soul. No, there is no reassurance in this liminal space, the moment in which you will either become unbreakable or tragically unrecognizable threatening your very sense of self. Had you known when you met him that it would feel this way? Had you known that loving him would be not unlike a benediction?

The problem, you think, is that even if you had known, nothing would have stopped you. In every life, in every choice, you love him like a beginning and an ending, your heart incapable of knowing much other than craving him.

His hands drift away, peeling off your skin, slowly, as though he is reluctant to leave. Turning until his nose is tucked into the hair just above your ear, he inhales deeply, hands coming to over just above your hips. The energy between you is a live wire, your mouth running dry and your tongue coming to wet your lips, feeling yourself grow parched. Kyungsoo takes a long breath, filling his lungs with nothing but you, before he exhales and whispers into the shell of your ear.

‘Can you handle it?’

You’re not sure if he means the quote or the rest of the tomato, not sure if he means if you can handle this, with him, or the rest of your existence without him. You aren’t entirely sure of much other than the force of your attraction, the sheer power of it, and the way you think it will fuel your every thought until your bones become ash, this love a windmill in your chest.

‘I think so,’ you mumble in affirmation, glancing over your shoulder to offer him a small expression of encouragement, hoping you look convincing.

His eyes have grown dark, the chocolate of his irises tempered with an impenetrable black, and a flush spreads across his cheeks so warm and pink you would think he’s been sugared. Immediately, you regret seeing him, the lust in you becoming a sea, the swell of it so deep and so strong, you fear you might drown in it, in him.

‘Actually, I’m feeling a bit warm.’ Side stepping along the island, away from him and out of his orbit, your words are rushed and hurried. Running a hand through your hair, you look at him, pleading. ‘Are you okay to take it from here?’

‘Yeah, are you okay?’ he asks furrowing his brow, concern evident in his voice.

‘I’m fine,’ you nod, looking everywhere but his face. ‘It’s fine. I just need to dip my toes in the water to cool off. Text me if you need me to come back?’

He laughs, watching you affectionately as you turn away from him, heading to the sliding door that leads to the brilliant green grass of the back yard. ‘Okay,’ he calls, his voice following you out.

You know that he will not.

You know that there is a barrier that stands between grief and loving, a door to walk through in which there is a boundary between the knowledge of love and the acceptance of it. He opened the door. You stepped through, momentarily basking in the reverence of it, only to leave, shutting it behind you, likely forever, to wallow in the ever comforting loneliness of wanting.

‘Are you joining me?’

Chanyeol’s girlfriend sits on the dock, leisurely swinging her feet in the water as she cranes her face into the sun to watch your approach. Covering her eyes with her hand to block the sun, she offers you a curious smile as you slide off your sandals and sit heavily beside her. Leaning back on your hands, you let the sun warm your neck and chest in contrast to the cold lake water that laps lazily over your feet and midway up your calf, pressing your fingers into the rough oak. The water’s chill walks up your skin, soothing the tension in your nerves that lingers from Kyungsoo’s breath, smile, lips, and voice.

In the distance, Chanyeol’s laughter mixes with Yixing’s and Baekhyun’s. Just beyond their small circle, Sehun and Jun canoe in amusement, the paddling of their oars a relaxing rhythm amidst the chaos that surrounds them. Baekhyun’s new girlfriend swims close by, her laughter jubilant yet reticent, still testing the limits of her comfort. Eyes still closed, you tilt your head to the side, remembering how you felt the day you were integrated into this group - shy and uncertain, the closeness of the bonds surrounding you both frightening and awe inspiring.

Chanyeol made it easy, as he always does, but, strangely enough, Kyungsoo made it easier. Even without loving him, without the intense desire to be near him, you would have chosen his company over all the rest. He said your name like it was something special, like he was careful with it inside his mouth - like it mattered. He wanted your opinion on everything, wanted your thoughts, wanted your voice first. You’ve lost count of the parties, the gatherings, the movie nights, the drinking games, and as a result all the times you’ve wound up next to him, tucked into a corner just talking and just learning.

Kyungsoo made it easier than all the rest, simply because he demanded you at his side.

Opening your eyes, the light seems to sparkle in the places where it kisses the water, putting a glimmer against your skin.

‘How did you do it?’The words taste bitter and heavy against your tongue, and you find yourself grimacing as you speak.

Chanyeol’s girlfriend, the Countess as he likes to call her, turns to face you. You feel her eyes move over your profile, patient despite her confusion. ‘Do what?’

‘Tell him you loved him.’ Chanyeol dives under the water only to break through the surface behind Baekhyun, dunking him with a gleeful howl. Would it have been easier to manage your feelings with someone so vocal? Someone with such little restraint? Sitting up, you press the base of your palms into your eyes and release a mournful sigh. ‘How did you own up to it?’

‘Well, I didn’t have to do much,’ she laughs. Looking at her, the expression your features decide to wear feels plagued by uncertainty but she does not see you. Her gaze has drifted to where Chanyeol swims, to his broad form and his musical laugh, her own expression softened beyond measure. She smiles as she speaks, unbridled in her admiration. ‘You know Chanyeol. He’s the least discrete person and also not terribly patient.’ Tossing you a knowing grin, she giggles affectionately and you cannot help but laugh, her happiness naturally contagious. ‘The beauty of those things is he figures out what he wants immediately and then acts on it only after he’s decided it’s to his benefit. He’s very discerning that way.’

Humming, you glance down at your legs and lean back on your hands once more, pouting. ‘Did you know, though? All that time, did you know?’

‘No,’ she shakes her head. ‘I suppose, looking back, there were always signs,’ she concedes quickly, ‘but we’re so similar, I would go between thinking it was just our way of communicating and connecting to thinking it was flirting, but only when I was alone. When I was with him, I just wanted to enjoy being with him.’

‘How?’ You don’t mean to sound so incisive or desperate, but the feel of Kyungsoo’s hands still nestles deep within your skin, and you can sense him there even after he has departed. You are certain that you will spend the rest of your life with him pressing against parts of you long dormant and long ignored. ‘How do you do that? How did you not lose your mind being so close to him?’

‘That’s giving me far too much credit,’ she laughs, body jostling against yours in her amusement.

On instinct, as though the very sound itself is a siren call, Chanyeol ceases his movements and turns to see her, the teasing smile he’d been sporting with Yixing fading into one of contented devotion. In a single instant, the mere sight of her smooths away all his edges. There is something unspoken, yet eternal, lurking in the depths of his eyes, his yearning a boundless loyalty that declares her as his treasure.

‘I always wanted to be close to him, and I was always on the edge of my sanity. But..’ her speech dies slowly, voice tight with emotion. Considering her words, she holds his stare and refuses to look away, seemingly adrift with him. Instinctively drawn to him, she leans forward slightly, the bones and the core of her pulling her to him as best they can. ‘He makes me happy. In the purest, most simple sense of the word he makes me happier than I’ve ever been able to really...attain, if that makes sense.’

She looks away from him then, turning to regard you rather seriously. ‘Happiness has always been a choice I have to make, but it’s also something that is elusive.’ All too easily she adopts the austere tone she so often uses when giving you advice - words stern and slightly cold, though still doing her best to remain supportive and encouraging. ‘When I’m with him, he sustains it. I’m not stressed and I’m not anxious, I just get to be. You have no idea how unbelievably peaceful that is. If I spend my time with him overthinking, it rushes me to a feeling, to a place we don’t need to be in. I don’t want to overthink, I just want to be with him.’

She takes him in once more, all the tension seeming to leave her muscles as her eyes touch what her hands cannot, visibly comforted. ‘More than anything, I just want to be with him’

Fundamentally you understand her statements, your heart responding and reacting to the sentiment with little input from your mind. A language has started to develop within you, the kind that seems to be spoken by Chanyeol and the countess, a language that exists where words fail entirely. There are no words to describe the way you yearn for Kyungsoo, not a single syntax that could contain his grace, his imperfections, the breadth of his very soul. There are no words, yet you comprehend all of it - you feel all of it, the very act of this understanding a transgression against your sense of self.

Shaking your head, you groan, doing your very best to stay the same, to stay guarded. ‘That’s too much to think about.’

Chuckling, she pokes you in the shoulder. ‘I know this is about Kyungsoo.’

Waving her hand away, you hurriedly hush her with a loud hiss, looking to the group and back again. Running your fingers over your arm, you massage the slight pain with a small frown. ‘They might hear you,’ you whisper, aghast.

She snorts. ‘They’re too absorbed in whatever competition Chanyeol has created. And it’s not like this is a big secret. But okay. I’ll be quiet..er.’

The blood in your veins seems to chill, matching the temperature of the water at your feet. Eyes wide, you whisper, ‘People know?’

‘Yes,’ she nods, like nothing has changed, like this single fact is the most inconsequential thing in the world. ‘I’m pretty sure everyone knows, except for Kyungsoo which is shocking.’

With a groan, you fall back onto the dock. Heated by the direct sunlight, the wood sends heat through your shoulders and spine, an otherworldly compassion that does its best to ease your tension. Draping your arm over your eyes, you sigh. ‘Must you always tease me?’

‘Yes. It’s my duty.’ Patting your leg gently she offers little condolence, her voice a sarcastic lament.

In the ensuing quiet colours move amidst the darkness behind your eyes, sunlight infiltrating the small gap between your arm and the bridge of your nose, and providing a kaleidoscope of purple and green. Lilacs and lilies are carried in the rustling breeze, the opposite side of the lake decorated with a field of flowers, its tall grass and array of blossoms just as dense as the hunger in your blood. If you were alone perhaps you would weep over this, the inward nature of this secret desire fueled by the feel of his fingertips and his laugh and his breath on your neck - it is enough to consume the very heart of you, leaving nothing in its wake.

To give in to this would be to render yourself unrecognizable.

‘Have you ever wondered who you would be if you weren’t trying to think your way through feelings?’

A groan of discontent bubbles in your chest, her question simultaneously full of good intentions while still demanding you confront the change occurring within you. Like always, she insists that you take control of it, that you become a participant in your very unmaking - that you surrender to it, as though the only thing you must endure is yourself. How much of this can one survive, you wonder. How much of a person can survive the devastation of wanting?

‘That’s not entirely helpful.’ You know that you are whining - you can hear the cadence of your unease seep through the last of your syllables. But this cannot be helped, you think. Your great resolve has been terribly weakened.

She inhales, preparing to reply, only to be interrupted by the sounds of splashing water making its approach. Removing your hand from your eyes, you lean up slightly and squint through the changing light to see Chanyeol, his arms breaking through the water as he swims to the dock. Pressing his hands onto the wood, he lifts himself up to linger between his girlfriends legs, getting both you and she wet. You roll slightly to the side in surprise, doing your best to avoid more water getting on your clothes, but she just leans forward, the stars and the moon shifting through her eyes she takes him in.

‘My love,’ she giggles, kissing his nose. As she pulls away, he follows after her, leaning forward for more, but she is already looking behind him, brow furrowed. ‘Aren’t you in the middle of some kind of challenge?’

‘Yeah,’ he laughs, folding his arms on the dock and resting his head as he gazes up at her. ‘We’re trying to see who can knock Jun out of his canoe first.’

Cocking an eyebrow at him, you smirk. ‘Isn’t that dangerous?’

‘He’s got a life jacket,’ he shrugs, entirely nonchalant. ‘Anyway, I need a good luck kiss.’

Running her hands through his hair, she lets her fingers toy with the tips of his ears as she speaks. ‘You know you’ll win even if you don’t get one.’

His eyes flutter closed under her thoughtful touching, swooning into her orbit as he hums. They stay like this for a moment, awash and enraptured with one another. Their world is foreign to you, a place of belonging where they live only with each other, and more vulnerable and brave than you could ever comprehend.

When he looks at her again, there is a silent communion that passes between them, words and conversations living and dying on their breaths without any speech at all.

‘Still,’ he pouts, and she understands, instantly pulling him up as he raises.

The prelude to this kiss is just as intimate as the act itself, and you look away, gazing over your shoulder back to the house, back to where Kyungsoo cooks, alone and possibly lonely, abandoned because you have not yet learned how to truly hold the sun in your hands. In truth, you are too fond, too enamored, too lost in him to remember yourself when you are with him; and you are too comfortable, too in control of your emotions to forget yourself, remembering all your flaws and the way they will inevitably be highlighted, all the light in the universe culminating in him and illuminating everything, including you.

Chanyeol swims away once he is satisfied, and you swallow the words that have threatened to rise in the back of your throat. In considering Kyungsoo, you have once again considered the reality of love - they have made you consider love, and there is something easy about the conversation you had before he arrived, so you do your best to return knowing, depressingly, she will not let you escape.

‘You both are assholes you know?’ you tease, nudging her gently.

She watches him hungrily, lips red and swollen, before she looks at you once more, distracted. ‘I meant what I said.’

‘You’re not helping,’ you groan, exasperated.

‘Only because you want to apply logic to your feelings.’ Having collected herself once more, her spine straightens, words full of authority. ‘Sometimes, feelings don’t make sense and sometimes they just are. Who are you when you aren’t thinking about how you feel?’

‘I don’t know,’ you shrug, defeated. ‘I can’t know because I don’t even understand what you’re saying. What do you mean by don’t think about how I feel?’

‘Yes, exactly!’ she says, far too enthusiastic for such a non-committal answer.

‘You know I understand even less now, you know this right?’ you murmur flatly, looking back to the water.

Gaze unfocused, your friends are a blur of action far away from you. Their colours merge and mix while you try to surrender your conscious mind in favor of feeling. Every breath you take is full of him, every inhale and exhale an ode to the way you both see and feel him without ever looking at all. The first summer you met him, everything was pure happiness. July was oppressive in the way it kept you perpetually warm, but you thought you would forget him, that the feeling would fade - this kind of craving dies with summer, the twilight of the season bringing forth a reality too harsh for summer’s fruit.

But he has not left you. Not once. Not even a little.

‘How does he make you feel?’ she tries, taking a different approach to her questioning. ‘Don’t think about why you feel it, just think about what it is.’

To you, the question is inherently frightening, the tendrils of it dripping down into the cage of your ribs and tightening, finding all the places the ache in you is the most special and the most tender. The question is frightening, but it bears an even more frightening answer - a frontier and the unexplored desert of truth.

‘Safe,’ you admit, acknowledging, horribly, that while you are safe with yourself, you are, perhaps, even more safe beside him; his aura, a temple. ‘He makes me feel safe.’

When you look at her once more, you’re certain you are something pathetic, but she simply takes hold of your hand and squeezes it, the reassurance of her touch a threat to the dam of solitude locked inside your chest.

‘Then,’ she begins, almost too soothing and too sweet for you to stand, ‘the next time you’re with him, let yourself be safe and nothing else. I think everyone wants to know who they are when they’re safe, without question.’

The problem, you think, is that you have always known who you would be if you let yourself go. The problem, you think, is that you have known and done your best to spirit it away, aware that to feel as much as you do, about everything, would render someone monstrous.

To be free and open and safe with him is to be hungry - not the absence of yearning, but the sheer, irrevocable abundance of it.

'Listen, the Baroness needs your room.'

Baekhyun corners you in the hallway long after the sun has set. Cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, the wine from dinner and the beer from the fire pit still linger in his bloodstream, giving him the sort of dazed, sleepy appearance that usually makes you soften towards him. Leaning against the wall for support, his closeness allows you to smell the smoke and ash from the bonfire on his clothes, and if he had posed any other question, said, quite possibly, anything else, you would have ruffled his hair and given him a hug, wanting to be close to him.

Instead, you rear back slightly, so bewildered you are certain you have mental whiplash.

'What?' The word comes out quickly, more an exclamation of sound than an actual word. ‘The who?’

Baekhyun shrugs, sheepish. ‘You know how Chanyeol calls his girl the Countess, Jongin calls his Duchess.’ He sways as he speaks, a sign of his drunkenness or a sign of his shyness at the question, you cannot be sure. ‘I’m trying this one out for mine.’

Humming, you nod. ‘That’s very nice. And no.’

'Come on,’ he pleads, already starting to whine. ‘You can share with someone else, but she really needs your room.'

Crossing your arms, you mirror his pose and lean against the wall. The dim light of the hallway puts shadows under his eyes, making his expression look far more forlorn than it likely is.

'Absolutely not,’ you say, sternly. Twelve hours later and you are in the same position as this morning, protesting against the unfairness of his requests. ‘I paid for that room out of my own pocket. She can't just come on this trip and freeload. Besides, didn't you bring her on this trip to get laid? What are you going to do, astral project through walls?'

'No, not really, I mean maybe but not exactly,’ he stammers, doing his best to piece his argument together. Too tipsy to mask his meaning with the smoothness of words, all he can do is suffer the truth of his emotions. ‘It’s not exactly like that but I can't make it that obvious.’

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, exasperated. 'Baekhyun, it's already obvious.'

'Don't you know there has to be finesse to this?' The barely restrained emotion in his voice dismantles the playful tone he has done his best to adopt, the intensity of his desire not something to be trifled with.

But so too are you unafraid of a challenge, your mind already made up, your heart already enclosed in your room with the lakeside view.

'What are you, seven?’ you laugh, incredulously. ‘I think she knows exactly what you're looking for out of this, it's why she's here at all.'

'It's not that obvious,’ he pouts.

'Literally, why would anyone agree to go on a vacation with a bunch of strangers and one guy they only kind of know?’ you challenge, unable to fathom any other conclusion. Even in the beginning, when Chanyeol would invite you out, your proclivity for quiet nights at home always had you leaning toward spending the evening with a book until he would mention Kyungsoo’s name. The sound of the word alone would draw you out, his name dissolving the essence of your loneliness if only for one night. ‘She's here for the same thing as you, just get it over with.'

'I don't just want to fuck her!' he exclaims in a loud whisper, both your eyes widening at his admission.

In the aftermath of his outburst, there is a looming silence in which you are uncertain what else there is to be said. It weighs down on you, on your shoulders and on your heart, the uprising in him so unlike his usually soft and sweet demeanor. He has never been one for committing, never been one for avoiding what he wants either, and so this limbo between wanting her to be his while also keeping her at arm’s length puts a throb in the center of your temple.

Squeezing your eyes closed, you dig your nails into your arms. 'I'm so confused about what's happening here.'

'I really like this girl.’ It’s the most careful Baekhyun has ever spoken, as if he is just as perplexed as you by the sheer tenacity of his emotions. Hearing himself say the words seems to put a colour in his cheeks, deepening the shade of his blush beyond alcohol, beyond the kiss of the afternoon sun. Baekhyun grows almost weary in his relief, glad that he has said it out loud, to someone. ‘I don't want to just make it about that one thing.'

Resting a hand on his shoulder, you offer him a sympathetic smile. Over the years of your friendship, you have watched him fall in love several times a day, with so many different things, his heart an atrium that endlessly nurtures romance and affection. It’s rare for him to settle on one single person, and even more rare for him to act on it.

'I respect you,’ you say slowly, pressing your thumb into the strong flesh of his arm in solidarity, ‘but I still paid money for that room, so it's not happening.'

'I'll pay you back for it,’ he tries, starting to sober beneath your perpetual refusal.

'Baekhyun -'

'Kyungsoo's room has two twin beds,’ he blurts out in a rush, all his words condensed on a single breath. Feeling yourself pale, the axis of the world seems to shift beneath your feet, your vision suddenly blurred and unfocused, dizzy, and he takes your surprised silence as volition to speak. ‘It's like a pleasant surprise! You can share with him.'

Even in the dark, you can see the mischievous glimmer in his eyes, the sparkle of an ulterior motive lurking in the depths. It would not be the first time he attempted to be your wingman, would also not be the first time he would fail at such an endeavor, and your hand slides away from his arm, falling limply at your side. You watch him, slack jawed at the horror of it all, stomach dropping all the way down to your toes.

'Baek, no.’ It is your turn to plead, amazed your voice even makes a sound with how dry your throat has become.

'Oh, come on!' Baekhyun has the audacity to laugh, slapping your arm congenitally as if his encouragement is enough to placate you. 'I'm trying to help you!'

Sarcastically, you snort. 'You're helping yourself and clinging to the hope that it would ever be about me.'

Somehow immune to your admonishment, he simply wiggles his brow salaciously. 'You know you like the idea.'

'Fucks sake, I should never have told you about this,’ you hiss, crossing your arms over your chest once more. ‘I got drunk one time and now you think you can play matchmaker.'

Baekhyun sighs, shrugging his shoulders. 'Listen, I already told her she can have your room -'

Rearing back, you blink rapidly, appalled and bewildered. 'What the fuck?'

'And Kyungsoo already agreed to letting you stay in his,’ he continues, ignoring your seething disdain as though this is simply a negotiation about where to go for breakfast.

Blood rushing away from your cheeks, running to service your overactive heart, you simply stare off into the distance, beyond Baekhyun, beyond the house altogether, to a time in history when you would not have to spend the evening sharing his air. 'I hate this.'

'I know.’ It’s his turn to rest a hand on your shoulder, his expression somehow far less sympathetic than yours had been. ‘But if this is the only way for both of us to get what we want, then someone has to put some fire under your ass.'

Shaking your head, you do not allow him to come into focus, mumbling with scathing contempt. 'Wow, I actually hate you.'

'You move at a glacial pace.’ Assuming the conversation is over, he removes his hand from your shoulder and turns away, no longer giving you any opportunity to complain. ‘At least now we all can say we tried.'

Hurriedly, you follow after him, pushing off the wall and gathering the strength to move your things from your lakeside room to Kyungsoo’s, the phantom memory of his skin on yours awakening once more.

'Why are you still talking?’ you call after him.

But he just tosses you a sly wink over his shoulder, laughing to himself as he heads down the stairs.

‘I can hear you overthinking from across the room.’

The light from the moon creeps in through the sheer curtains covering the window, Kyungoo’s voice filling the space, dancing on the rays, with a tired rasp. He’s worn himself out - laughing, yelling, drinking. Somehow, the sound is thick and heavy, sinking down and deep into places long left untouched, your body wired by the sound of him alone.

'Just go to sleep,’ he chastises, turning over in his bed.

It is only the two of you contained in this small space, twin beds side by side, close enough you can hear his breath. Pressing your head against the pillow, your mind has become divided in two, living in two places at once - this moment, and your time spent with him in the kitchen, doing its best to rationalize the difference. Cooking with him, he was all over you, hands on yours and chest against your back as if he was learning how to make a home of you. It was different then, almost too tactile to comprehend but the sun through the kitchen and living room windows somehow made the world seem wide.

His touch had a distance, a space - even if you could not see it, you could sense it, the light finding its way through, reminding you there is a line between your body and his, a line between simply touching and truly feeling.

Now, in the dark, everything, even the gap between your mattresses feels close - too intense, too raw, to real. The darkness is oppressive, like that, a brief moment in time in which you are aware of the edge of things. Resting in the center of your bed, you are aware of the edge of your limbs, the absolute limit of your body. In the room, you are aware of the edge of your bed and the way there is just enough distance between yours and his for a single person to stand. In his bed, you are aware of the edge of his lips, and the way his breath cascades over them, facing the window to kiss the moon.

And you are aware of the edge of your resolve, threatened and thinned to breaking by the way the light casts him in silver, illuminating all the parts of him you find sacred.

‘You’re wide awake too,’ you say to the ceiling, not allowing yourself to see him. ‘I guess that makes us even.’ Biting your lip, you close your eyes and sigh. ‘I’m not the only one who can’t fall asleep,’ you finish quietly.

Kyungsoo laughs, warm and rich, utterly intoxicating, no trace of irritation in his words as he speaks. ‘Okay,’ he muses. 'How about this.’

You hardly have time to knit your brow together in thought before he begins singing, the rich honey of his tone turning the room into amber. He doesn’t often do this, a talent he likes to keep to himself. Sometimes, when he is drunk, he can be convinced to be the start of a song, not the result, but even this takes an equal amount of convincing as it does bottles of beer. But you have found, over time, that the talent itself is not so secret - hidden, but not entirely forbidden.

When he is with you, somehow you always hear his music, your ear always finding and listening to his voice first. You have found there is not a single moment he is without music, the way he speaks a melody unto itself, but when the sun goes down and the others go to bed, and it is just you and just him, and the dying embers of a fire that blazed too high, he sings with you.

He sings, often, just to make you smile.

'Oh, dear god, is that supposed to be better?' you laugh, skin tingling with adrenaline and a down turned corner of your cheeks as though you are saying goodbye to a time in your life when things were safe.

Kyungsoo interrupts himself, and even though you do not see him, even though you cannot yet bring yourself to look, you know he is beaming. 'I'm not going to stop until you sing along.'

He continues singing and the joy in you sets itself free, liberated like a terror. You would be frightened if this moment were perfect, would feel the world dissolve around you, his voice a nightingale leading you to perish. You would retreat from all of this, except -

'I hate this song,’ you sigh, flopping your arms atop the mattress to signal your unrest.

'I know,’ he persists, turning in the bed to face you. The darkness does little to hide the intensity of his focus. If anything, it feels heightened, the angles of your profile burning beneath his scrutiny. ‘But you know it.'

In spite of yourself, you close your eyes and let the bliss send shivers through your veins. When you are not looking, held in the darkness of your own making, your body becomes otherworldly, something entirely outside of yourself, someone you don’t recognize. How far have you crossed? What line have you transgressed and ignored, blithely meandering into the irresistible territory of passion? It’s all over you now, your smile full of teeth and your mind empty, save for his melody and the advice of Chanyeol’s girlfriend:

Who are you when you are not trying to think through emotion?

It happens in the limbo between who you are and who you want to be, the room suddenly a cathedral devoted to your wanting. With your eyes open, your love takes a verbal form, this voice yours yet better, enhanced and empowered, and you sing because you no longer can help it. Nowhere near as confident or stable in your notes, your voice does its best to hold onto the words, finding the center of the notes almost too late before it’s time to move to another, but, strangely, you don’t find yourself blushing. It is not, you think, that the darkness has made you less inhibited, rather that with a song you hate and a smile at your lips, you simply don’t have it in you to mind.

'There it is!' he celebrates, raising his arms off the mattress and clapping.

Pressing a hand to your forehead, your shyness in the dark somehow even more amusing, you cackle. 'God, this is terrible.'

Adjusting his pillow, he hums. 'Exactly.'

The aftermath of your twin voices seems to reverberate around the room, long after you both have fallen quiet, the echo bouncing off your skin. This kind of euphoria could only be brought by him - his intelligence, his stubbornness, his perceptive intuitiveness. With only the echo and the memory sustained, your breath becomes unsteady, reminded that this place, this room, will no longer just be a place but a sanctuary and you will no longer just be you, but you will, forever more, be his.

'Sometimes,' you begin, words a whisper that you know he will still hear, 'you're funny.'

'It's just something I'm trying.' Such a simple statement, one full of humor and sarcasm but one with a texture that makes you press your tongue to the back of your teeth as he says it. He sounds tired of running - from himself, from all the great complexities he finds in the world, but not from you. 'Just something I want to try for a little while.’'

'All the time.’ Your own words are abrupt, clipped at the end of their syllables as you rush them out, needing him to hear the correction - to not miss it, not for a second. 'You're always funny, all the time.'

For a long while he considers your statement, and, in the absence of sound and conversation, the air in the room becomes thick, sluggish in your lungs. Your fingers curl into the sheets, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling because now, if ever, it would be terribly dangerous to turn to face him. At least, you presume, he finally knows. He must know, the layers of this confession wholly befitting the hallowed energy that lingers between you.

Swallowing thickly, you let him take his time, forcing yourself to be patient. The darkness has brought everything together, the gap between your beds somehow closed, as though he is right next to you, even unreachable as he is.

'You're the only one who sees me that way,’ he says finally, and you hear the care laced in his voice, doing his best to articulate his appreciation.

You want more of him, more of this sound, more of everything he keeps tucked away where prying eyes cannot follow. You want all of him, his very existence an addiction.

'It's because I see you.' This time, you are more brave, more confident, and there is a pleasing dissonance to your voice, the old you starting to become devoured by the new.

Tonight tastes different on your tongue. Something about the moon and something about the sun, about the way you have spent too long in the light with your private luxuries shrinking ever further away, has allowed you to gather blossoms of starlight, their twinkling mysteries putting a hope in your joints that has never dared to trespass until this moment. All your life, the darkness has been a shroud and a veil, a cloister keeping you contained only with your yearning thoughts and your inadequacies, an invasion that has wormed its way within you for too long. It leaves you now, spilling outward and shimmering in the moonlight, leaving you free and empty, with room to nurture a burning flame.

Kyungsoo remains completely still, and you have the passing thought he does not move for fear of causing your retreat. 'And what do you see?' he asks softly.

Fingers pressing deep into the feather comforter, you hum. 'It depends.'

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, the very sound a ripple of thunder in the night. 'That doesn't sound reassuring.'

Taking in a deep breath, you hold it in until your lungs hurt, smothering the doubt, the fear, and the inexplicable notion that this will fail until you can convince yourself you are indestructible.

'It depends on how long I let myself look, and depends on what you feel that day.’ Furrowing your brow, you tuck the inside of your cheek between your teeth. This should be sufficient, but he is so much more than a summation of looking, a summation time. He is something that is held without time, something you wish to behold eternally, even long after you are dust. 'It's not that you're mercurial,’ you continue, doing your best not to cringe at the clarity in your voice, ‘it's not that you're not consistent. I think I just see other things because I take my time looking.'

How would he look if you said these things to him in the daylight? What would the midday yellows and oranges reflect if he looked at you, and let himself be seen? Would you tell him your looking extends beyond admiration, beyond mere affection, and into the shuddering truth of love? To say all this in the sunlight, what would become of you?

You think it’s for the best that you will never have the answers to these questions, the night the only thing clinging tenderly to your pride, protective and secure.

'And do you like what you see?'

His voice is full of bashful apprehension, the rustling of his own sheets a symphony to accompany his tentative questioning. He shifts restlessly, hopefully, and you feel the sound with your whole body.

Licking your lips, you press onward, getting used to breaking the darkness - getting used to feeling raw and open. 'That also depends.'

'On what you see?'

Unable to help yourself, you finally turn to your side and look at him, eyes adjusting almost instantly to trace the nuanced details of his face, the moonlight painting silver shadows along his features. You’ve been lured to him, driven to see him now that he is asking to be seen, wanting your eyes on him; the very question begged you to look, and to take your time looking. Incrementally your longing grows, a swell in your chest that challenges the very depth of the lake, rushing through you until it cannot be contained.

'On whether you want me to like it,’ you clarify.

Leaning up to support his head on his hand, he looks at you and the hunger painted over his expression is enough to have your fists curling into the mattress. It stirs in you the need to be consumed, to be loved by his mouth and the palms of his hands, the greed in you not unlike an uprising. The flush in your neck spreads over your chest, your shirt constrictive and tight, suddenly no more room for you and all this impossible craving. Even still, Kyungsoo still remains calm, a king in the world of pleasure, looking at you as though you are a gift for feasting.

'I think people always want to be liked in some way, don't you think?’

A low growl lurks in the back of his voice, tone dropped down an octave to find gravel you have never heard before. All month, the nights have been uncharacteristically cool, heralding the slow death of summer as it bleeds into autumn, but you are heated. His gaze lives beneath your skin, now, a fire that refuses to burn out.

‘And,’ he carries on, as though you remain unlit, ‘I also don't think your opinion of me should depend on me. That's for you to make.'

Lips parted, mouth wanting to take him in, you mirror his pose and lean up on your arm. Slowly, you shake your head. 'That's not what I meant.'

The rasp in your voice surprises you both, and he smiles at the tension he has created, excited at the prospect of snapping it.

'Then what did you mean?' he presses, and you would rejoice at the sensuality of it, at the way the fullness of his lips shapes the words, but the appetite within him is like a hand at the center of your throat.

'I meant whether you want me to like it...' The admission drifts away, the choir of blood in your heart on fire with the weight of honesty. But you are glad for this burning, the fire that eats at you every bit his as it is yours. 'Whether my opinion matters.'

'Your opinion matters.' Kyungsoo doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t allow room for ambiguity or dishonesty. His eyes narrow, penetrative and demanding, keeping you still. 'You matter.'

Unfurling your hands, your fingers press into the sheets as though they are his shirt, his hands, his skin. The angular brutality of him has unmade the careful concealing you have spent years constructing. Hours ago, you had admitted that Kyungsoo makes you feel safe but now you are realizing the peril of letting him in - realizing you are the torment and the danger, little more than the ghosts of your desires. Now, you are starved for him, your tongue a desert aching to be drenched.

Tossing the sheets to the side, Kyungsoo moves his legs over the bed and rises to a stand, taller than you’ve ever seen him stand. Steel keeps his spine straight, shoulders rolled back in pause as though his mind is catching up with his limbs, before he crosses the small space and comes to sit on your bed. You don’t trust yourself with him this close, not anymore. Not after you have learned to love, not only him, but the very act of loving him.

Shifts closer to you, close enough he could touch all of you, not just your legs, your hips, your waist, your chest, but so too your face and your lips - close enough you can taste him on the air. With your lips parted, every breath you take is full of him, tongue wet and heavy with his flavor.

‘What are you doing?’

‘We aren’t like the others,’ he says plainly, fingers toying with the sheets beside your hands.

Your eyes drop to his hands, avoiding the power of the intimacy you find in his expression. It feeds into the room, your tongue coming to lick your lips and he takes in a shuddering breath, the very sound sending a jolt of desire between your thighs. Taking your silence as permission, he continues to speak, the very anguish of his words exhausted at the prospect of not having you.

‘We don’t…’ Taking a deep breath, he glances around the room, searching. ‘Flirt,’ he settles, though even this word does not seem to satisfy him. His gaze on you is hard, urging you to look up and see him, to meet his eyes and witness him. When you do, you’re certain you could smell his very heart, your blood suddenly full of his seductive magic. ‘At least, not like they do. I don’t make speeches and you don’t surrender, not unless you’ve been given explicit proof that it’s safe. That you’re right.’

It’s as though he looks down into you, deep enough that his gaze means to caress your ribs, your bones, wrapping himself around your spine until all your senses belong to him.

‘You see me.’ His teeth glide roughly over his bottom lip, nipping it quickly before releasing it, the blood beneath the skin rushing to make it more plump than it was before. ‘And I see you. I have never stopped seeing you. I’ve not wanted to stop seeing you, finding you, learning you since the day I met you.’

If you are the devil lurking in the dark, the hungry one with eyes of greed then he is the lust, the one who has torn through you and pulled out the language you have only just started to understand. The moment that follows is enormous, a moment in which you realize love is not only the act of feeling but the act of seeing, of being seen. He describes you as though he knows you, as though he knows the clawed and ugly parts of you that threaten to tear the fabric of your existence apart, and as though he loves even what he sees in those.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so aware of gravity, of the way language is not only a syntax but a physics, and of the way he has slowly inched closer and closer, your vision full of only him. With your eyes adjusted to the dark, you come to see yourself as a hawk, able to find yourself in his eyes, able to see yourself as he sees you - pupils dilated and not allowing you the privilege to remain invisible. In feeding on him, you feed on yourself, and so, too, you suppose does he feed on you, on himself, on the carnal savoring of your longing, united.

‘What are you saying,’ you whisper, certain he hears you, certain he hears your plea to be explicit.

‘I’m saying,’ he begins, lifting his hand to cup your chin. He holds it in his hand and pulls you close, his breath on your lips a fever, the feel of his bones pressing into yours sparking a voracious desire to be devoured, ‘if you are thinking of taking a risk, you are safe.’

His truth is a dawn breaking over your skin, spirit sanctified by the permission he grants you. Before you can even comprehend your actions you press your hands into the mattress and give yourself the momentum necessary to close the distance between your lips. The sheer force of the kiss gnaws at you, his free hand coming to wrap around your waist to pull you close. Flush against him, you think you are powerful enough to eat the moon, to eat the sun, to have him and keep him buried beneath your tongue.

He moans against your mouth, the sound of it shuddering against your chest and vibrating through you. Your own arms wind around his neck, fingers toying with the soft hair at the nape of his neck, unable to mind that this new position is awkward and difficult to sustain. You have managed much worse, have contained whole stars in the center of your chest for years and still have survived - you think you can manage the slant of your waist as he holds you against him, unforgiving.

Running his tongue along your lips, he asks for permission you are eager to grant, slipping his tongue against yours in a tentative stroke of possession. In your mouth, he is the blunt edge of a knife, cutting you deep enough that you think no other hands, no other lips will have their fill of you - no one else will have their fill and still find themselves engorged with an unconquered thirst. Sucking his bottom lip between your teeth, you nip the flesh to a swell that feels warm and plump.

He smiles against you, pulling his lip away and you smile too, his voluptuous mouth a blessing.

‘You’re wrong,’ you murmur, grazing his lips as you speak.

Insatiable, he kisses you again, stealing what he can of you until you are breathless. ‘How so?’

Moving one hand from his neck, you cup his cheek and laugh, a sound he eats with his own chuckle. ‘We are exactly like the others.’

Author’s Note v2.0: i do not own the quotes from Virginia Woolf - To The Lighthouse; Dexter, the TV show; or Richard Siken - Scheherazade

tag list: @yehet-me-up @wonderlustlucas @junkfoodwriting @taestfully @heatofmyexoheart @majci @ahgishaman @softly-savage-mint-yoongi @lamichellee

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periminkle · 4 years

Text

Orphic | 04

After moving into your own place, it seems life is finally going your way; the path to independence leading you to a quaint suburban town where even the grass seems to grow a little greener. Although a shocking encounter leads you to believe that perhaps appearances can be quite deceiving.

pairing: hybrid!jk x reader (first person)

genre: hybrid au, angst, fluff

word count: 7.6k

rating: PG-15

warnings: swearing, descriptions of blood and cleaning wounds, mentions of cannibalism (o.o)

author’s note: mMMm setting deadlines is effective but exhausting, so the pacing of this might be a bit weird? also im def not late bc it’s still sunday in some timezones so ;))

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I stared intently at the grungy nick in the otherwise spotless wall, mind racing a mile a minute.

The better half of the last hour had been spent pacing back and forth, gaze unmoving from the unconscious man in fear of missing the twitch of a finger or the flutter of an eyelash. His complete stillness persuaded me to check on his pulse frequently, glad to feel the faint, yet steady, beat beneath layers of smooth skin.

When I received a second call from my cranky saviour to inform me that he was nearly here, I forcefully sat myself down and practiced that infamous square breathing that every zen yogi swore by. By the persistent bouncing of my knee, it was evident that the yogis had failed me.

Rain was pounding down in thick sheets onto the pavement outside and at this point I was convinced the world had it out for me, using every trick in the book to further complicate this surely doomed rescue mission. Nonetheless, I optimistically hoped that the incoming storm would soon subside.

My unfortunate lips dealt with the brunt of my merciless canines, rendering the skin raw by the time a distinctive series of raps against the sturdy door caught my attention. It was the very same pattern in which I’d regularly knock on the door to the cleaning storage, craving the company of someone other than the three musketeers I’d gotten to know better than my own blood.

Although I ordinarily would be enthusiastically welcomed and greeted with nothing less than a wide, heart-shaped grin, the circumstances now were undoubtedly exceptional. Thus, the crinkle between his brows and the disgruntled glare fixed on my sheepish smile were to be expected.

Needless to say, Hoseok was not impressed.

“What the hell?” the typically friendly janitor barked out, huffing out his frustration at having his slumber disturbed. “You do know that it’s almost two in the morning right? How did you even get in here? Why couldn’t this wait for tomorrow?”

His hair stuck up in a multitude of different directions, evidently having rolled out of bed, slipped on a jacket and came to my rescue. The wrinkled, blue horse character on his pajama set eased some of my nerves at the familiarity of its nose, in the shape of Hoseok’s smile that was, understandably, nowhere to be found with the current circumstances.

I gripped the distressed male by his lithe shoulders, imploring him to slow down. “I’m not coming in tomorrow. Listen, this is gonna sound absurd but—”

His eyes drifted past my smaller form and I firmly shook at his torso to prevent him from spotting the other man. “Hey! Eyes down here.” A hint of curiosity bled through his agitated exterior when he focused on my stern exterior once more. “You can’t freak out, okay?”

Hoseok shrugged his approval, murmuring, “Yeah, I get it, directly disobeying the head researchers is pretty satisfying and all, but did you really have to drag me into this? Especially when you know I start early on Saturdays?”

At the reminder of his strict schedule, I withered marginally as I originally hadn’t intended to involve him at all. A shameful appreciation began to eat away at my conscience, grateful for his presence in spite of my outrageous request. I wouldn’t know what to do if Hoseok hadn’t come through and in my eyes, he remained an angel who was too good to be true.

“I’m sorry, I promise this is really important.” I brought my arms back to my sides, glancing down at my feet in order to organize my swirling thoughts. “I wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t an emergency.”

What I didn’t notice while lost in my reverie was Hoseok’s rebellious stare, wandering over the injured man’s form. “What the fuck?” He gently shoved me aside, stumbling deeper into the laboratory. When he was planted by the stranger’s table, he repeated, “What the actual fuck?”

My head tipped back in exasperation, disappointed that not even my last minute backup strategy was going according to plan. “Hobi, please.”

I could practically envision the gears whirring in his head, a natural reaction considering the mutant in front of him. When he finally craned his neck back to me, he mumbled with wide eyes, “Say sike right now.”

“Stop talking for two seconds.” I groaned, marching up to position myself between the janitor and the table in an attempt to calm him down. Immediately upon noticing his trembling digits, I reached out to clasp them within my own quivering hands. “Listen, this experiment they’re conducting? From what I know, it’s all some screwed up excuse to inject animalistic characteristics of their choosing into humans. And their track records point to a lot of predator species.”

“Predators? Wha—why would they even want to create a predator-human hybrid?” Hoseok took a tiny step back and out of the fear that he would flee, I fiercely clamped down onto our conjoined limbs.

“I don’t know yet,” I faltered. “But, honestly, I couldn’t care less because of how unethical they are in their approach to this project.” At his puzzled expression I somberly gestured to the unmoving lump in the corner, willing myself to postpone any tears for a safer location.

Hoseok must have connected the dots at the midnight black shade of fur peeking out underneath the fabric matching the colour of the hybrid’s ears and tail, as his stare hardened and his breathing began to even out from the rapid pace it was at before. “I’ll need more details later on, but let’s get him out of here first.”

At his command, I retracted from Hoseok's hold, scoping out the rather barren area for something other than the masses of files and papers strewn about. “You think we can carry him together?”

Simply comparing the difference in size between the stranger and Hoseok, there was no doubt the copious, hulking mass of muscle outweighed my friend’s slimmer figure. Our combined strength would have to somehow prove formidable against his bulky body.

Hoseok’s grimace spoke volumes about his faith in that idea, although there wasn’t much of a choice considering the alarming time crunch and our limited accessibility to other parts of the laboratory. Due to my blind confidence in the ostensibly foolproof scheme I constructed, the only cameras shifted were directly located in the path from the front entrance to the changing room to the upstairs lab.

Oh, how I was regretting that naivety now.

Using an abandoned stretch of fabric that had been stuffed into one of the drawers I rummaged through earlier, I covered his immobile body with the thin cover to provide some decency and act as a layer of defence against the torrents outside.

While Hoseok stood directly behind his head, leaning forward to loop his arms underneath the hybrid’s triceps and around his chest, I grabbed each of his ankles, cradling them to my abdomen. Even with our best efforts to avoid any of his wounds, there was no way to avert the countless scratches and bruises that littered every inch of visible skin. We counted on the sanguine belief that he wasn’t conscious enough to feel any of it, reluctant to use any tranquilizers when we weren't aware of how much juice they’d already injected him with.

“On the count of three?” Hoseok asked.

With a nod, I tightened my hold and widened my stance. “One, two,” after taking a generous inhale, I heaved, “three!”

The two of us managed to maneuver the stranger down the length of the dingy hall before we were forced to gently place him onto the ground, desperate to grant our aching muscles the break they demanded. Currently, construction was being done on the elevator, which meant that the flight of stairs was the next obstacle to be tackled.

I lost the brief, but fierce, battle of rock-paper-scissors and endured the frightening prospect of marching down the stairs backwards—in the dark. All because Hoseok was unwilling to sacrifice the slightest bit of his comfort for the both of us to step sideways.

It was safe to say the stairs themselves took ten minutes to clear.

On the first floor, we were able to cross over to the main entrance in a breeze thanks to the spacious nature of the lobby. After scurrying to Hoseok’s car and laying the hybrid in the back seat, I returned to the lab to dutifully lock up the front door and jogged back to the vehicle.

Hoseok sent me a befuddled brow lift from the front seat when instead of the passenger’s side, I hesitantly stood a stride away from the driver’s door. “He’s fine, hurry up already so we can get out of here.” He motioned to the space beside him with the flick of his chin, his bed head dancing along with the movement. “It wouldn’t look too great if anyone caught us right now, especially with the man-cat knocked out cold in the back. Plus, the lab just radiates spooky vibes at night, look at my goosebumps!”

“Okay, okay, give me a second,” I grunted, opening the door to the back seat as I bowed inside to avoid a painful meeting with the roof of the vehicle. While gripping the back of the stranger’s skull with one hand and his upper back with the other, I lifted his torso and slipped inside. Tenderly, I placed his head on my lap.

“What are you doing?” Hoseok stared at me through the mirror, evidently unnerved by my proximity to the man. “He could literally wake up at any minute and there goes your throat!”

“Or he could get juggled around from your shitty driving and open his injuries again,” I countered, “which I think is a lot more likely, no?”

He scoffed, taking full offence to my jest. “Never mind. I hope he throws you out the damn window for calling my driving anything less than spectacular.”

The rush of excess blood coursing through my veins as a result of my overactive heart pounded in my head, nearly loud enough to block out the boisterous revving of the engine echoing throughout the empty lot. Tires squeaked against the pavement, jolting the hunk of metal into action as we sped away.

“Where were you thinking of leaving him?” he asked, taking a breath before mumbling, “that is, if you thought about this at all.”

“Hobi!” My jaw dropped dramatically at his not so subtle jab, shaking my head as I commented, “You’ve been hanging around Yoongi too much lately. I mean, all this sass couldn’t have come from nowhere.”

He slowed down behind the only other car in sight, flicking on his signal to turn. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not, I was just commenting on your drastic change in behaviour,” I rebutted, crossing my arms across my chest at his determination to aggravate me tonight. “For your information, I actually planned this out for weeks; who do you think got the key card to the upstairs lab, the keys to the building itself, moved all the cameras—

Despite the leather seat between us, I knew he was sporting a sly smirk, for his conceit was bleeding through his supercilious tone. “And who begged me for help halfway through this ingenious plan?”

My jaw clenched shut, astounded at his cheeky retorts. At first, I was unsure of how the relationship between the jovial custodian and the chilly facade that Yoongi donned among strangers would progress, but judging by the sheer number of occasions in which I’d walked into a room with the two chatting away—gummy smiles all around, it seemed to be advancing better than expected.

“Whatever, you came anyway.” I sank back into my seat, careful not to disturb the comatose man peacefully resting on my thighs. Hopefully he was narcotized enough to remain oblivious to the various disturbances around him and would only rouse when the sun made an appearance.

Hoseok blithely sneered, pressing harder on the pedal as he spun the steering wheel to the right. “Yeah, well it’s kind of hard not to when you claim that Hyunho’s going to sue your ass for thousands of dollars.”

“And was I wrong?” I recalled our earlier conversation, where I hadn’t yet mustered up the courage, much less the patience, to confess to the details of my crimes. In a panicked state, I simply presented the consequences which would follow Hoseok’s absence—Hyunho’s wrath.

“No, now you’re just gonna get your ass handed to you by Namjoon and Yoongi,” he countered. “But I guess you’ll save some money while you’re at it.”

Merely the thought of their reactions to my late night escapade made me want to shrivel up in a ball. “Who said I’m going to tell them?”

“You’re not telling them?” The car slowed as he gradually came to a graceful stop behind a red light, turning his torso to face me with the help of his hand on the central console. “You know better than to release the man-cat, he’ll just get caught again.”

Rolling my eyes like a petulant child being scolded, I muttered, “I’m not releasing him.”

“But you can’t deal with him on your own either!” he snapped, the lack of sleep shortening his tolerance. After a pause to regain his senses, Hoseok rapidly shook his head and twisted back to focus on the empty roads ahead.

"Listen," I gritted out between my teeth, my own temper flaring. “I think you’re forgetting that I was well aware of the fact that I would be housing some kind of animal for a while, just didn’t know he would be this big.”

“Or this dangerous? This costly?” His firm grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles turning white as his emotions boiled over. "You’re not prepared to deal with him, I'll just take him back to my place."

A puff of air escaped my throat at his ridiculous solution, stating, "You live with your sister. There's no way she won't find out."

"Like you're any better off," he quipped, staring me down through the rearview mirror. "You live alone. If he were to do anything to you, we’d be none the wiser about it."

"Well, we can't risk anyone discovering his existence. There's no other way.” By watching the stranger’s chest rise and fall with each elongated breath, I was able to simultaneously avoid Hoseok’s prying eyes and collect my own thoughts.

While impatiently waiting for his arrival back at the lab, my mind had trudged through copious possibilities, overwhelmed with the pressure to choose the right one. Eventually, I came to the disconcerting conclusion that, be that as it may, the most secure option remained to bring him back to my place.

I reassured, "Don’t worry, I cleared out my bedroom so that there’s nothing in there that could potentially be used as a weapon. We'll secure him down, lock the door, and I'll camp out in the living room."

"Y/N, we don't have any clue what this guy is capable of,” Hoseok stressed, worry colouring his voice as he sharply gesticulated with his free hand. “Hell, look at him! He has cat ears, Y/N, and do not get me started on his tail.”

I stole a glance at the accused appendage in bewilderment, unsure of why that aspect was at the forefront of Hoseok’s concerns regarding the mutant boy. “What’s wrong with his tail?”

“My point is,” he accentuates, “we have no idea what we’re dealing with here. What if he has some kind of monstrous super strength and his diet consists of human flesh? He could probably rip right through any restraints and bam! That'll be the end of you."

I held my tongue at ridiculing his absurd speculations when some sort of man-cat hybrid was currently strewn across the back seat of Hoseok’s run-down Corolla; a dim display exposing the current, ungodly hour of the early morning.

“Do you have any better ideas?" Although my question was met with radio silence, we steadily continued on the potholed path headed away from my house. I spoke up again, "Where are you taking us?"

"We're going to Namjoon's place, and we're gonna think of a better alternative all together."

"Hoseok," I seethed, fists clenching next to my thigh. "He'll make us take him back. We're already too far in to go back now."

The car jerked violently due to the bumpy road and being suddenly reminded of the wounded boy, I shot out to grab at his thin waist in order to nail him to the seat. Despite my best efforts, crimson liquid soaked through the thin blanket and I cursed under my breath.

"I can't leave you there alone with him!"

"Please, we'll be careful." A beat passed as I greedily inhaled the fresh air flowing in through my open window, gathering ideas to negotiate. "I'll stay awake the whole time and I'll text you every hour."

Regardless of my pleas, the car kept at its incessant pace to Namjoon's apartment. Sweat began to accumulate at my temples at the unsure fate of what censure awaited me. To distract my nerves, I gripped the fabric that covered the man’s body, tugging it over his shoulders to rest just below his chin while pressing a bunch into his side in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

Past the low hum of the vehicle, a gentle utterance met my ears. I lifted my head to inquire whether the sound was merely a figment of my fatigued imagination when Hoseok repeated, "Every half hour."

My eyes widened, darting to examine his stoic expression from the rearview mirror. "Yes! Yes, yes of course. I can even do every ten minutes if that’s what you want." I shrugged my shoulders, pointing out, "I'll be up all night anyway."

"No, I'm good. Unlike some of us, I don't deserve to be punished for my crimes and would like to salvage the little sleep I can get," he declared as he performed a U-turn at a wide intersection.

My grin expanded exponentially at the change in direction. "Suit yourself."

I allowed my thoughts to clear, tracing a clear droplet on the window as it raced to engulf another, merging into one, larger globule that ran down the smooth expanse until it was out of sight. Unknowingly, I mindlessly carded my fingers through the stranger’s dampened strands; more so for my own comfort than for anyone else.

Before I knew it, we’d arrived at my quaint cottage and with the addition of another individual residing under its roof, the place seemed tinier than ever. Hoseok and I shuttled him over to my bedroom as gracefully as we possibly could, aiming to avoid whacking into any obstacles along the way.

Other than his lengthy legs knocking into two door frames, we were clear.

The second his back met the rigid mattress, we collectively released a weighty exhalation from the excessive exertion that strained both our physical and mental states. Although the chances of the stranger waking up now were low, seeing as he was out like a light throughout the whole journey, I hurried to collect the sturdy ropes that I purchased in advance.

“Ooh, you’re into some kinky shit, huh Y/N?” Hoseok quipped, taking the material from my hands.

My eyes rolled back at his stupid antics, glaring at the pleased crinkles forming next to his drooping eyes. “Ha ha, very funny. Now help me tie him up, so I can kick you out of my house.”

“And what’re you gonna do to him when I leave?”

Snatching the rope that he stole from me, I shoved Hoseok to the side by pressing against his firm bicep—which definitely carried more than his fair share of the hybrid on the way here—and grumbled, “Guess If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.”

Hoseok burst into a short fit of contagious laughter, invoking a couple quiet giggles that I was unsuccessful in fighting down. As he raised the stranger’s arms to the bed frame, I looped the braided, nylon material snug around each of his wrists. Along the way I checked to ensure that the restraints weren’t too tight before moving onto his ankles to repeat the process. Luckily enough, his height stretched the entire length of my minuscule bed with his feet dangling off the ledge.

“Tell me you brought more tranquilizers in case?” Hoseok asked immediately upon securing the last knot. Throughout a tedious explanation on how foolishly lax I was behaving with the hybrid, he went back to inspect my handiwork, tugging the ends of the cords closer together into a grip that nearly cut off the hybrid’s blood flow.

Over his nagging, I sneaked a victorious grin as I displayed the syringes I’d nabbed from the lab. He spent a few more minutes fiddling with various safety measures consisting of the pepper spray he stealthily retrieved from my purse, the bedroom door’s lock and an air horn that he remarkably pulled out of his coat’s pocket. Although it was questionable if the blaring sound would awaken even my closest neighbours due to the sheer distance between our houses, I didn’t dare attempt after imagining old Sangmin marching over here on his rickety cane to bark my ears off.

Refusing to bother expending effort on pondering over the rationale behind Hoseok’s little magic trick, I blithely shooed him out before any more ridiculous objects could be plucked out of his jacket.

The last straw was his finger approaching the sensitive button on said air horn. Unwilling to face the consequences of his brash actions, I slammed the front door closed behind Hoseok, the space suddenly void of his rowdy antics. I wearily blinked the drowsiness out of my eyes, the stillness and tranquility of the early hours slowed my heart rate from the fast paced, action packed night.

My sock-clad feed padded their way back to the bedroom, snatching my phone out of my black hoodie to fiddle around with an app that I discovered upon moving out. In order to relay my continued existence to my family, I scheduled texts to be sent every week, which would prove useful at this time as well. Knowing my own forgetful nature, one update to Hoseok would slip my mind, and either four, furious men would burst through every available entrance or I would have the whole police force upon my front steps in minutes.

To prevent such a disastrous event from taking place, I tampered around with the settings and added the fretting male to the list.

I halted in my tracks when faced with the mundane sight of the four walls where I spent most of my sleeping hours, not a hair out of place other than the addition of the injured hybrid on my dirtied bed. The crimson stains jolted me into action, retrieving my brand new first-aid kit and finding it hilariously ironic that the dressings were going to be used on the very same criminal that broke in to steal such supplies.

In order to fight off any cold that could have possibly slithered its way past the weak barrier draped over his body, I peeled the flimsy, sodden cover off and replaced it with a puffy comforter. Traversing through the storm that continued to rage outside definitely put a strain on his already weakened state, and his pale countenance wasn't very reassuring.

I slid the blanket down to access the sullied wound at his rib cage and grabbed a couple pads of gauze to firmly press onto the area. Thankfully, some blood had already begun to coagulate around the edges, so I didn’t have to wait too long for the trickling stream to cease. With a clean towel, I wiped the surrounding skin to get a better look at what I was dealing with, grimacing at the bruises forming galaxies across the jagged edges of ripped skin.

He was in worse shape than either Hoseok or I could have predicted. At this realization, the fleeting worry that he might succumb to the severity of his wounds grew, festering a nasty doubt in my mind.

Deciding whether to clean the laceration commenced another strife within the whirlwind of emotions inside my head, but I poured a few drops of antiseptic onto a cotton ball anyway, fearful of infection. As I tried my best to carefully dab the soaked material across his wounds, I peered up at his face to search for signs of consciousness.

My eyes involuntarily softened at the small cuts littered across his neck, travelling past his jaw and over the slopes of his hollowed cheeks to his forehead, which was partially hidden under his dark locks. When the cotton was thoroughly besmirched with a blend of bright crimson and a muddy brown, I drenched another and advanced up to other regions after the more serious lesions were taken care of.

A closer look at his sinewy torso allowed me to examine the scars scattered all around, mostly clustered around his upper arms. Absentmindedly, I wondered whether their appearances were linked to the cruel methods of the laboratory. How had he gotten within their clutches in the first place? For how long was he suffering under the justification of being an experiment?

What were they trying to accomplish with him?

My mind raced with all the different possibilities of what could have brought the hybrid into this situation in the first place, and before I knew it, I was pushing back the disheveled strands on his forehead to clean the last of his cuts. There were definitely more on his dorsal side, but I wasn’t willing to undo his restraints and flip his hefty weight over on my own. I would either wait until he woke up or ask Hoseok to stop by again after his shift.

In my current position, I was close enough to feel his warm breath fanning across my skin, observe the tiny brown mole under his lip and how utterly breathtaking this man was underneath the cuts that marred his skin. He was undoubtedly attractive at first glance, although I wasn’t able to appreciate his masculine features while under the stress of saving him.

Once every laceration in my reach had been disinfected to the best of my limited abilities, I swiftly bandaged his side again and stuck Spider-man themed band aids onto the smaller cuts in memory of the Hello Kitty ones that decorated his body earlier. I settled back on the chair, admiring my handiwork and fighting back the looming threat of dormancy that approached with every elongated blink. My head leaned back as I crossed my arms, thinking that a little snooze never hurt anyone.

I was blind to the cocoa orbs drinking in the darkness.

The bright light streaming in through the numerous cracks between my blinds prodded my eyelids apart, pupils struggling to adjust past the groggy haze of an unexpected slumber. Rather than revelling in the bountiful energy supplied by a restorative nap, an obnoxious cramp in my neck made its presence known alongside the bleak, obstinate tingle of dormancy that lingered within every tightened tendon, pulsating throughout my entire body.

Although the pain gradually ebbed away after I rolled my head around in wide semicircles, I knew from experience that the ache of sleeping in an uncomfortable position would linger.

Gold streaks were painted on the hardwood floor as a result of the sun’s harsh rays, a stark contrast to the dusk of a few hours ago. As I began to fuzzily recollect the memories from yesterday, I spotted the growing number of discrepancies between the room I’d seen before I closed my eyes and now, from the open door to the ruffled sheets, devoid of any sign of life.

Fortunately, I seemed to be in the same position, seated on the tough chair that I snoozed off in a few hours ago. However, I found it odd that it was particularly difficult to do much else than squirm around, and that was when I realized the problem lied in the nylon material tied around my wrists and ankles, binding me to the furniture.

A cold dread washed over me, much like a freezing bucket of ice being poured over my head. The hybrid escaped.

Well, at least he didn’t exact his fallacious revenge on my sleeping form.

“Awake?”

I squeaked at the whiplash that followed the movement of my head twisting a second too quickly, intent on identifying the furtive speaker. My eyes widened exponentially at locating the muscular hybrid, black ears twitching at my cry and tail swishing in curiosity. Being clad in only boxers, I shifted my gaze away out of instinct, a fiery blush overtaking my features despite having ogled the man’s ripped physique before.

It felt completely different when he was unconscious and my only intent was to treat his multitudinous wounds though.

He slowly blinked, clearly finding my astonishment puzzling with the bewilderment laced in his orbs. Waving a large palm in front of my face to get my attention on him, he calmly said, “No hurt.”

The tight rope that currently hindered my motion was definitely the same one that had been previously occupied with restraining the hybrid to the bed. Yet the very same male stood in front of me, free as a bird. “H-how did you get out?”

Instead of answering verbally, he extended his defined arms out to the side, imitating the position he was tied up in, then robustly swinging both limbs towards one another. So he broke through those thick, durable ropes with sheer strength and willpower. Comforting.

The tranquilizers laid scattered across the floor, much too far to even consider reaching them.

“Where’s your blanket?” I questioned, suppressing the tremor in my voice as I found it outrageous that my throat was still intact at this point. There was no guarantee that he wasn’t harbouring any motives to rid the world of my presence, but the fact that he wasn’t actively making any moves to rip my heart out was a good sign.

The mop of dark chestnut swayed along in the same direction that he tilted his head over to; a habit revealing an emotion that I couldn’t place on the stranger. “Warm. No like.”

His broken English revived a flurry of trepidation. I recalled the night of the break-in, the terror and hysteria that I’d buried away under the incorrect pretense that a burglar never hits the same house twice.

I didn’t know if that sentiment applied to kidnapping the criminal and using your place as his hideout, as well.

As I noisily gulped, I felt his stare dart to my esophagus and in a wild panic, my wide eyes met the doe-like curve of his own. The hybrid edged closer to my trembling form before treading past me, out of sight. I closed my eyes in preparation.

This is it. Goodbye world, it was pretty shit while it lasted.

I heard the rustling of fabric behind me and silently applauded the man for thinking of a quick and easy suffocation to reduce the amount of clean up afterwards.

His bare feet slapped against the floor, trekking over to my front again. When a couple seconds passed and none of my airways were blocked nor was there any piercing pain to be felt, I cautiously cracked an eye open to see the stranger standing there, the puffy blanket from before wrapped around his broad shoulders.

“Good now?” he inquired with a bunny-like smile.

My jaw dropped slightly as I nodded, attempting to formulate a sentence but coming up empty. The stark contrast between the brawn enveloping his body and his innocent features threw me in for a loop. This must have been part of his grand scheme to ruthlessly murder me—lulling me into a false sense of security before executing me on the spot.

Outwardly, the hybrid appeared to possess more human features than his animal counterpart, leading me to wonder which instincts ruled over the other. Was he more level-headed and rational or was he unable to suppress his bestial instincts? Did he get sudden, violent mood swings or go on occasional, bloodthirsty rampages?

The lack of knowledge I had regarding the man, who had somehow gained the upper hand through his brute strength, was worrying. A tinge of regret for not skimming through a few files on said hybrid before Hoseok’s arrival made me softly curse under my breath.

As I shifted in place, I was reminded of my own predicament. “So, uh, any chance you’ll let me go?”

With his broad grin still on full display, he made his refusal clear by shaking his head back and forth. It was worth a try. “Not fair. I tied, now you tied.”

His childish logic caught me off guard and a bark of laughter shook my stiff shoulders, marginally relaxing at the prospect that he might postpone the bloodshed for a later time. The mystery laid in how he could distinguish my harmless intentions from the head researchers’ diabolical ones. Maybe it was the lab coat?

I made a mental note to never wear my own lab coat in front of him.

A grumble snapped me out of my reverie. I observed the stranger’s startled features as he glanced down at his abdomen, then, unabashedly, back up to my face. Recalling his screams of horror back at the lab, the barbaric treatment he received there was indisputable and based on his raging stomach, I guessed that it had been a while since he’d eaten anything of substance.

Of all times, Hoseok’s ridiculous words of the hybrid’s diet consisting of human grade meat played back through my brain and jitters erupted over my limbs, wanting to please the man before he was picking his teeth with my freshly cleaned bones.

“Hungry?” I prodded, pushing other priorities to the side in favour of feeding the rumbling beast.

His dark orbs immediately lit up with pure, unadulterated glee. The hybrid gracefully tied the ends of the fabric around his neck like a cape and rounded closer to me with mirth written across every crease on his countenance.

Unsure if his giddiness was attributed to the assumption that I was offering up the meat lining my organs, I squirmed in protest, attempting to cause a ruckus in order to spur his excitement towards another source of protein in the fridge.

Not having much choice in the matter with my limited range of motion, I watched in worry as he scurried out of sight again. “Hey, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here and—”

Despite being prepared for his unpredictable nature, a yelp flew past my lips when I was effortlessly lifted into the air, chair and all. His forearms caged my thighs as he gripped the bottom of the seat, hot pants of air blowing onto the back of my neck from his position.

His elation was practically tangible as he flew past the open doorway and sped off through the foyer. He must have ventured deeper into the house while I was blissfully unaware, since his strides towards the kitchen were filled with nothing but confidence in every step.

Hastily, I spat out, “I’m not that delicious, trust me! My budget’s been pretty strict this month, so I’ve just been eating junk, and I don’t imagine that’ll taste very go—”

The force holding me upright loosened when we reached the fridge, permitting my feet to find the floor. “Dee-lee-shiz?” He tried to imitate, turning to point straight at me.

“No! No, no, not delicious.” I corrected, violently shaking my head.

His outstretched arm retracted to his side, staring like a hawk at my chin tipping towards the metal cooling box behind him, and I repeated, “Delicious.”

As he flung the door to the refrigerator open, nearly ripping it right off its hinges, he yelled, “Dee-lee-shiz!”

Utter fascination at the chilled temperature and the rather meager array of food etched onto his features, sending relief through my veins. I encouraged him to ravage the tenuous stock of food while simultaneously rejoicing at successfully having deterred him from eating me alive.

Packs of eggs, blueberries, condiments, and essentially anything within his reach was hauled out, forming a growing heap on the countertop. When a zucchini found its way into his grasp, he took one puzzled look before chomping down on one end. I wasn’t too sure how raw zucchini would taste when eaten as though it were a cucumber, but he seemed pleased enough to take another bite that resounded throughout the space with a loud crunch.

I reclined back into the stiff chair, content on observing the ravenous hybrid empty my fridge and taking an occasional nibble on snacks that piqued his interest. Although, his grab at the bundle of raw chicken was when I decided to voice my concerns. “Ah, that has to be cooked!” At another tilt of his head, I explained, “You could get sick if you don’t cook it.”

By his furrowed brows, I deduced the concept flew over his head, but he threw the package onto my lap anyway and peered down expectantly. “Cook.”

“You tied me up, remember? I need some mobility to cook.” I tugged at my subdued arms to demonstrate my current inaptitude.

He hummed in thought, enveloping his lower lip between his lengthy canines as he weighed the pros and cons of being able to consume the meat by setting me loose. Finally, after clearly expressing how torn he was between his hunger and his teasing, it seemed that he’d come to a conclusion when he latched onto my left forearm.

Just as I was about to jib that I was no longer on the menu, a searing pain ripped across my wrist. I hissed through my teeth with my fists clenched as I teared my tender arm out of his grip, protectively cradling the limb to my chest.

He flinched away from the sound, taking a step away from my defensive form. At the sight of my disgruntled frown, he withered into himself, chin to his chest while I examined my sore wrist, whimpering at the edges of the flaming red, torn skin. I was a second away from viciously reprimanding him for the bruise that was more than likely to form by tomorrow, but one look into his guilty, fearful eyes made me pause.

With his strength, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he possessed the ability to do much worse, which didn’t seem to be his intent from all the fretting—ears tucked into the crown of his head and tail hanging low. As he seemed to be repenting without a chiding needed on my end, I redirected to a softer approach. “It’s fine, just be more gentle next time, okay?”

“Mm,” he complied weakly, his prior enthusiasm having substantially deflated. Before I could dismiss the topic and entice him with more food, he knelt down to my ankles, gripping the rope with both hands this time as he effortlessly tore the material apart, careful not to graze my legs in the process.

A shiver crawled down my spine at the display of power, mentally noting that there was probably enough strength in his fingers to flick my stunned form across the room; yet the man proved his duality by proceeding to grab one loose end of his makeshift cape and gently tie it around my unscathed wrist. “No run.”

Surprisingly enough, I hadn’t made it a break for it as soon as I was liberated. Although I sustained minimal injuries, he expressed his remorse and made no moves to consume my flesh, which was another good sign. As more time passed, he was revealing to be more and more of a passionate bunny stuck in a wrestler’s body.

After all, I hadn’t gone through all the trouble of kidnapping him just to sprint at the slightest sign of trouble. I confirmed, “No run.”

Some of his original ardour reappeared at my acknowledgement, along with a faint giggle that evoked a tiny smile on my own face. I figured that with his minimal experience revolving around homemade dishes, simply slapping on some salt and pepper to flavour the meat with a side of boiled vegetables would suffice. Thus, I took the package from my lap and got to work.

Cooking with another, rather useless, individual essentially attached at the hip was difficult, to say the least. In the beginning, the man fired question after question, curious about every ingredient and spice going into the dish, but after realizing that he lacked the correct vocabulary to obtain the information he sought, he became a silent observer.

Basically, he followed me around like a lapdog while munching on another zucchini to occupy his restless hands.

After pulling him around left and right, occasionally giving a soft tug on the blanket when he would unintentionally zone out, I finally threw all the components into a single pan, deciding to serve a simple stir-fry. With only the expanse of the puffy fabric between us, I was constantly elbowing the hybrid while mixing the ingredients together, which I considered a redeeming form of payback for his carelessness with my arm.

While the mouth-watering scent of lunch wafted around, he extended the wrist connected to mine, sidestepping over to the island to fish for a bag of baby carrots before coming to stand next to me by the stove. Spotting my stare, he flashed another blinding grin and I couldn’t help but imagine long, bunny ears extending off the top of his head, his slender tail replaced with a fluffier ball of fur at the back. That seemed to better suit his ardent personality.

The chicken gradually changed colour as the exterior of the vegetables softened, and I brought the meal along with the chair by the fridge over to my tiny two-person table, prompting him to take a seat in front of the steaming plate. I expected him to ravenously dig in and devour every crumb, yet he refused to move a muscle, staring out the glass doors to the backyard and into the forest instead.

“I hurt.” He stumbled over his words, somberly bringing his gaze to my cocked brow. “No mean to hurt.”

Thinking back to the scuffle that seemed eons away at this point, I flashed a reassuring smile his way, explaining, “I get it, you were injured. Um, I was kind of mad at first because you broke my door and everything,” I offhandedly gestured towards the broken contraption, “but I forgive you.”

“No.” He clenched his jaw, analyzing the surface of the table as if the words he was searching for were etched on the surface. “Now. Sorry now, too.” To drive his point home, he delicately grabbed the arm not wrapped in the blanket, streaks of red decorating my wrist like a tight bracelet.

I hummed my understanding. “Ah, I told you it’s fine already,” I reassured, patting his hand.

Content at my acceptance of his makeshift apology, he began to dig into the chicken. His nose twitched at the unfamiliar taste, but he made no complaints. Anything was better than nothing, in the end.

I let him enjoy his food for a bit before asking, “Did you have a name? Something like J3?”

His eyes went back to scanning the outdoors, the sound of his chomping coming to an abrupt halt when he spotted a sad lump on the porch.

“Bud?” he inquired, the light glimmering in his irises.

The nickname stumped me, as I had difficulty imagining Hyunho or Minzy affectionately calling their experiment ‘bud’. “What are you talking about? Is that your name?”

His finger poked out to the cylindrical pile of tuna outside, then back to himself, “Bud.”

Befuddled now more than ever, I tried to laugh it off and nodded my head towards the plate again, silently advising him to continue eating.

Unfortunately, he didn’t seem too keen on evading the topic, whimpering in frustration at either my lack of understanding or his incapability of properly communicating due to the language barrier. His unending appetite was going to be put on hold for this. As he stood up, the chair behind him screeched, and he clutched on to the blanket, pulling me towards the back door.

Refusing to allow history to repeat itself, I rushed ahead to slide the hairband off and pushed the door open, allowing him to slip through. I figured that when the man drifted off to sleep tonight, I could replace the rapidly decaying tuna in hopes that my kitty would visit again.

While I was lost in thought, he undid the knot connecting the two of us and sprinted into the forest.

His back disappeared within the thickets fencing the towering maple trees and I froze in place, my jaw going slack in an ugly mixture of bafflement and betrayal, believing that he had simply taken advantage of my hospitality then ran off. Although, all attempts at making sense of the hybrid’s actions were cut short when familiar noises of horrifying, crackling sounds met my ears, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

When the underbrush twitched, leaves fluttering from the movement of an animal hidden within their cover, a sinking feeling entered my chest. And that was the moment I met the vibrant, emerald eyes that had dug their own space within my heart.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #jungkook hybrid au #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagine #this chap gave me an aneurysm and a half

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darling-blurbs · 3 years

Text

The Cyro Archon is interesting so I’m developing her into my own character until I finish genshin impact. Let it be known when the Cyro Archon actually appears and her story comes to light, I’ll just fix the story a bit. Ok? Ok

So her name is going to be Esther since most of the gods use their vessels names even though Esther is actually her name before she became a god.

Her powers are like Elsa’s. She doesn’t have total control when she is overly emotional so when she was heartbroken, she hardened herself. Onto more of the story part of my character.

“I’m the- was. I was the Love Archon but I was not meant to be that. How can someone be the Archon of something they can’t even do right?”

The Archon War (I haven’t gotten to the reason for it so I’m making stuff up a bit here) was there. Esther hung out with a certain god for years before this. Ever since they were young. Esther was the daughter of the current Cyro Archon so when her father decided to leave for the war, she did as well. Leaving her palace in the sky to see her friend again only to see her crush falling for a mere mortal. She was fine with it for the moment thinking that it was only going to be fleeting but once the god took the boy as a vessel, she was furious and heartbroken to a point where her body started to grow ice patch’s to contain her fury. She had part of a fire in her. One of her parents had a Pyro vision so her power more was conflicting with each other to a point where she exploded.

She killed many civilians that day and even her parents were killed in her rage. The archons ran while she withered in pain. She hated them but over the 500 years, she forgave them for their pieces. One she didn’t forgive was the bard. She still loved him. After all the Love Archon cannot stop loving the Archon of the one thing she wanted to have most of in the world. She turned cold though. Hateful. Her heart never opened up again other times few others. Childe, Hat Kid (as she called him) and the rest of the Harbringers were her confidents. She confided in them about her hate for the bard which translated to one of her female harbringers to almost murder him

The lovely mondstadt festival. The one day in the year that both of the Archons think of their lost lover. For the Cyro Archon, she watched the bard from a distance and giggled when he did his love advice remembering when he used to listen intently when she talked about the concept. What she didn’t know was that the Anemo Archon knew she was there. Her aura was always familiar but he was too scared to find her and didn’t know who her vessel was. Later, in the end of the event if the traveler walks into the tavern after midnight there will be a cutscene. Venti is seen laughing with others and the traveler when someone walks in. No one notices other than paimon. The figure looks at the group under their hood and a smile crosses their face before putting a bag of mora on the table saying to pay the bards bill and it’s from an old friend. Once the figure is at the door, they turn around and puts their hand on the frame. Paimon can see their features. Icy blue eyes that seem In love with the said bard. Ice creeps up on the place where their hand was put before walking out of the door.

Immediately when the door closed, paimon starts to shake the traveler as the man working the bar shouts out. “Your mysterious friend bought your tab again Venti! You gotta tell her to stop someday!”

Venti seemed to sober up fast and run out the door. There stood the cloaked figure whose back is turned. The wind starts to pick up as it got more cold seem by how the townspeople started shivering and puffing out white clouds. The figure looked up at the moon before Venti spoke up.

“You don’t have to do that anymore.” The figure chuckles.

“The moon looks pretty tonight don’t you think...” she pauses before saying “Barbotos?”

She turned and her icy blues met his green eyes. His seemed lost and desperate while hers looked at him like one would look at a boy who slipped from their grasp.

Paimon gasped as they stared each other down. “Why would you do that Esther-“ “don’t call me that. You don’t deserve that title to call me by.” The figure stood her ground. “Did you make this festival to rub in the heartbreak?” She laughs under her breathe. “You even took the mortal’s skin! Is that how you wanted to turn me down? Say you didn’t want a relationship because you didn’t want the ties but fall for a mere mortal after fighting with them for a day?”

The air got worse with every passing second. The wind was slowing down with Venti’s sadness but the cold was getting unbearable. “I didn’t do that. I would never leave you!” Venti tried to contradict but was only met with more laughter.

“When my father died, you only cared about the well-being of everyone else! You didn’t even come and find me-“ “That’s because I didn’t know who your vessel was! This festival was going to be a gift for us but you decided to try and end the world!”

The figure’s feet was freezing the streets before she breathed. “This was a mistake. I should have never came back here.” She spun around and started to walk away. A portal opened up but Venti screamed wait.

She turned around. Her icy eyes steeled. The smile and anger gone from her features. Only the stoic female remained. “Don’t leave me again.”

“You left me,” she said before turning to the portal and abyss mages appeared as the portal closed.

Kaeya watched her leave as well as the traveler come in the tavern dejected. “Im guessing Venti didn’t tell you anything and just said he wanted to sleep? Of course he is protecting her still. Sometimes I think their just both oblivious.”

“What happened? No better question. Who was that?” Paimon asked.

Kaeya chuckled. “The person you just met was Venti’s ex lover. Someone he was dumb enough to lose. The Cyro Archon.”

The traveler gasped as well as Paimon. “That’s the person trying to kill us? The world for that matter?”

Kaeya glared at the flying fairy. “Watch your mouth pixie. She is my- close friend. I do a lot of spying for the inside and everytime I’m there, I realize that heartbreak can do a lot to a person. If we would destroy the world for the person that held our hearts, what would one do if they shattered it and stomped on it?”

Kaeya is actually part of the Cyro Archons army. He fell for the young goddess and actually is on both sides because he supports both side of the story.

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deadpuppetboi · 4 years

Note

count the ways !

Oh, here I go, making edgy stuff again-

It wasn't suspected, really, it wasn't.

Millie got a buzz from her phone, just as she did she immediately felt a wave of dread wash over her as she picked it out of her pocket and looked at the message.

It’s here. Get out.

Millie looked over at the crowds of people around her, she was suddenly dizzy, turning around left and right, up and down to have to see where he was. It was that anxiety she had that wouldn't let her go and the only other person that would be the girl that clung onto her wrist and dragged her out of the crowd. Hannah took Millie away and sat her down on a random bench, her free hand on her phone she immediately texted the group chat.

Where is it?!

Around the corner, it's getting closer, nearby the Ferris wheel.

Hannah looked up from her phone, beyond the many arrays of people she saw the all too familiar black top hat floating around people’s heads. The sudden laughter reaching far and wide was already the topping point, the 14-year-old huffed as she grabbed Millie’s arm and ran off with her towards the other side of the carnival. Millie was tripped over herself, the tears that ran down her face clouded her vision as Hannah guided her towards safety.

’For once, this fucking thing couldn't handle this day out of all days to have to leave her alone?!’

Hannah thought, stopping by a corn maze, she thought twice before a booming voice echoed in the crowd.

”I HeArD Th-tHErE WaS A B-biRtHdAy gIrL SoMeWhErE Ar-ROuNd hErE!!!”

Shit!

Another buzz, Hannah didn't look at the text but she just gave the seemingly bored teenager a bunch of tickets and ran into the maze. Millie went along, her hands wrapped tightly around the other’s arm, she heaved in agony as they both ran off. They didn't know where they were going and honestly, this wasn't even a good idea, but it was the only way to have to confuse this thing and get out of here safely.

They made a somewhat dead end and an open pathway towards another path when Hannah checked her phone.

What the fuck are you doing?!

Hannah bit her bottom lip.

Doing something stupid.

There was an echoing laugh from afar that made Millie whimper.

And smart, just go to the Ferris Wheel, call me or text me, I don't care, just guide me and Millie out without that thing seeing us.

Hannah turned off her phone and buried it deep into her pocket, she looked at Millie for a moment before she turned around and ran with her. She honestly didn't know where she was going and she was terrible at mazes, but this was the first thing she could think of. She turned two rights and one left before her phone buzzed, she hid behind a patch of corn before she looked at it.

I'm on the Ferris Wheel, I'm about to go up, Brooke will be by the maze wither by the end or start to see you guys.

Hannah raised her glasses up to her face, she noticed for a moment that Millie was looking over her shoulder to read the text. She gulped, even if the text was a signal of hope it still meant that they had a long way to go before the could really make it out alive.

”Don’t worry, we just have to lose him in here and when the coast is clear we leave, just not through the corn, he might hear us and get to us quickly.”

Millie sniffed as she dried up the tears from her eyes, she wanted to say something but the clash of metal footsteps made her instantly shut up.

”I K-NoW YOu’rE A-RoUnD HErE S-OmEwHeRe! C-OmE ON OUt!”

That sounded close, too close.

Hannah ran off again, Millie on her trail as they took as many turns and twists as they could get. Hannah’s phone buzzed right when Millie’s own did as well, Millie checked her phone with Hannah leading the way.

”Dylan said to take two rights and go straight ahead.”

Hannah nodded and did what she was told, unexpectedly passing by a few passersby who looked confused by the two teenagers running for their lives. It didn't matter, what mattered more was getting out of this corn maze and getting the Hell out of here alive and well. The sound of the metal footsteps were nearby, God knows how far this maze stretched but Hannah wasn't taking anything for granted and did what Dylan was texting.

Another buzz, two buzzes.

”Stop, he's close, go left.”

Hannah tool a sharp turn left, no doubt making poor Millie almost trip herself in the process but by now they had to get used to this.

Another round of laughter.

”W-HeRe a-rE Y-Ou t-wO?! I J-UsT W-AnT T-O G-IvE T-T-ThE B-IrThDaY G-IrL H-Er b-iG B-IrThDaY S-UrPrIsE G-IfT!”

Counting Millie’s last birthday gift being a broken leg no one was taking a chance to have to think this one was any good. Hannah was about to take a right until she saw a glimmer of white from the corner of her eye, she gasped and turned the other way.

Another buzz came from the teenager's phones, Millie checked her phone and gasped, pushing Hannah farther forward, now she was taking the lead. Hannah didn't have enough time to comprehend why when she looked behind her, the image of the white and purple bear running towards them was coming fast, his footsteps not missing a single beat as he laughed his obnoxious laugh. He was close, so very close, close enough for his very hand-only hand to have to grab at Hannah’s braid if it wasn't for Millie yanking the girl towards the right and for the bear to crash against the corn stalks.

Hannah finally gasped, her breath held in for a long that it hurt finally brought her back to reality. She looked towards Millie as she turned three rights and a sudden left, finally pausing to catch her breath. The two teens caught their breath a bit, just for a few seconds as they looked down at their phones. Dylan had texted them multiple times on where to go, a lot of the messy and in upper caps but it all ended up in.

The ride is about to end for me, just go ahead three rights and four lefts and you should make it out.

Hannah held her breath as there was a sudden wave of dread that hung over her, Millie caught wind of this a second earlier so she grabbed the other teen’s wrist and pulled her away. They took three rights and four lefts without fail, no mistake whatsoever but they suddenly paused. With their eyes widening and the air getting sucked into their lungs they crossed a dead end.

It didn't make any sense, Dylan had to know where the end was, this had to be a mistake!

Unless he types anything wrong or maybe his glasses we're overdue which they could be, the teen girls felt their throat tighten up as they saw the sign hanging to the corn.

You made it to the end, congratulations, now you just need to find a way out!

Bullshit! This was complete bullshit!

Hannah turned around to have to run off but Millie was stuck on her two feet, her legs shaking and tears running down her face it took a moment before Hannah saw it too. The bear, with it’s splitting faceplates, glowing blue eyes, and it's ever so damning height overtook the teenagers as it giggled in excitement.

”I F-fOuNd y-oU...”

It took one step.

Millie was already sobbing, hiding her face in Hannah’s sweater the poor teen could only stand there and watch.

Another step.

”oH, i-t's t-iMe, I-T'S T-ImE, o-h, I-T'S A-LrEaDy t-iMe f-fOr t-t-tHe s-uRpRiSe!”

The creature giggled, it's faceplates moving about in excitement as it got closer, the two teen girls stepped away slowly right up until they hit the corn behind them. The bear giggled again, raising its nub like arm up, the sudden wrapping and twists came alive and out came a metallic hand from it. Hannah didn't have time to question it before it reached over its own stomach and then opened its hatch.

It was dark from the inside, the wires and metal plates weren't comprehensible from the full moon above or even by the lights at all. Hannah noticed Millie look up a little from her sweater only to whimper and look down again, trembling so hard that Hannah too was trembling with her.

”tHeRe’s r-oOm f-fOr o-OnE M-OrE P-ErSoN I-N T-HeRe, Y-Ou knOw, N-OtHiNg b-bUt a f-eW P-OpS ANd t-TwIsTs a-rOuNd y-oUr bOnEs t-o m-aKe t-hAt h-HaPpEn, R-IgHt?!”

It laughed again, getting so close that t finally reached over not towards Hannah but to Millie.

”ThE B-bIrThDaY GIrL A-aLwAyS G-gOeS FIrSt!”

There was a scream right after, not from Millie, not from Hannah, but from the bear itself.

It immediately flung into hysterics, it's whole body convulsing violently with sudden shocks until it finally fell down to the ground, stomach still open and eyes dimmed to a dull black.

Both Hannah and Millie looked up in pure confusion until the sight of a blond-headed girl greeted them, her pose strong and brave she held a tase gun in her hands. Brooke gave another shock towards the mechanical bear, making it convulse all around again until she felt satisfied enough to have to bring the case right back and put the case on it for safety. The two teens were still in shock, both their eyes and mouths hung open before Brooke finally spoke up.

”See, I told you carrying a taser around would be handy!”

Both the girls ran over to Brooke and hugged her tightly, making her give a small laugh and hug them back. The three girls instantly ran off through the corn, pushing away what they could to finally get out of there and see where Dylan was. Dylan was parked up on bike by the parking lot, he looked so relieved to have to see everyone alive and well.

The four teens then exchanged hugs before they finally went off towards Dylan’s house, Brooke on Dylan’s bike, and Millie on Hannah’s, they all rode off into the night.

A movie night was a better way to celebrate tonight anyways...

#fnaf #five nights at freddys #fnaf novel #fnaf novels #fnaf book #fnaf books #funtimes #funtime freddy #fnaf funtime freddy #fnaf millie #fnaf dylan #fnaf hannah #fnaf brooke harrison #millie fitzsimmons #this is what happens when I love a story too much and I ramble about to for too long #yay for edge

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citrinekay · 4 years

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a prompt: holden's thinking of running a marathon or something, and it gets bill thinking about just how young holden is and some insecurities appear. what's their future like? wouldn't holden be better off with someone who could actually match his rhythm? sorry im just a sucker for some age gap h/c!

Hey don’t apologize! I live to serve and create the content this fandom wants and deserves - it also helps that this turned out really cute and sweet and I like it very very much. Thanks for the prompt! 💕

Golden pink sunset stretches across the sky, making the red rubber of the track glow a burnt orange, the grass a glistening, knife-edged green. The summer heat has slacked off into a comfortable warmth that’s accompanied by the slight breeze that cools that faint sweat on Bill’s brow.

He glances down at the stopwatch as Holden emerges from the glowing haze of sunlight, running at a steady clip around the final curve of the track before he reaches the starting point again. Dressed in track shorts and a gray Academy sweatshirt, he’s sweating harder in the July heat than Bill’s stationary position could ever hope to achieve.

Bill squints against the sunlight, once again baffled by how much Holden enjoys this activity. Wendy had first suggested some type of exercise to him to help deal with his anxiety, and Holden had taken to the task like a fish to water. For the first few months, he would come out where to the Academy track to run for his own enjoyment, but now that he considers himself an accomplished runner, he’s taken to training for a marathon at the end of the month. The preparation is taking up a lot of time, much more than Bill had expected; and his only recourse to steal as much private time with Holden as possible is to park his ass here beside the track with the stopwatch.

As Holden drops down out of his run into a jog, and finally to a staggered halt, Bill jabs the timer on the stopwatch.

“How long as was that?” Holden asks, his voice hoarse and fractured.

“Seven minutes, twenty-five seconds.”

“Shit.” Holden whispers, leaning forward to clutch his knees.

“You’re unsatisfied with running a mile in seven minutes?” Bill asks, incredulously.

“And twenty-five seconds.”

“I thought a marathon was about endurance not speed.”

“It is. It’s a personal goal.”

Bill leans over to grab the water bottle from the grass, and tosses it to Holden.

Catching it against his chest, Holden straightens and takes a stumbled step backwards as he lifts the bottle to his mouth.

Bill watches him quietly, half-appreciating the sweat drenched ringlets plastered to his forehead and the way his throat glistens in the fading sunlight.

“Well, I know one thing for sure. You’d leave me in the dust.” Bill says.

Holden drags the bottle away from his mouth, leaving his lips slickly pink. He swipes a hand across his dribbling chin, and saunters closer to where Bill is seated on the folding chair in the grass.

“You could join me, you know.” He says.

“Running?”

“Yeah. Anyone can do it.”

“What? So I can get out there and humiliate myself? It wouldn’t be pretty.”

“Well, no one starts out an expert.”

“Holden, we practically live together.” Bill says, gesturing to himself. “You are fully aware of what I can and cannot do.”

Holden rolls his eyes. “Oh, Christ. Is this about the other night when I wanted round two and you weren’t up for it?”

Bill scowls, “Okay, you didn’t have to drag that into it.”

“You were about to.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Fine.” Holden says, capping the water bottle, and tossing it in the grass. “I’m going to do one more lap around the track to cool off and then we can go.”

“You want me to time that, too?”

Holden casts him a snide glance before spinning around and taking off toward the track again at a steady jog.

Bill frowns watching him sprint into the melted glow of the sunset, his body shimmering like some moving work of art beneath the colors of the sky. It’s easy to forget that he’s going to be thirty-two in a few months, technically middle-aged, when he’s so virile and energetic. It’s like he has a bottomless well of initiative and drive, and his body … Well, Bill has been witness to all of the things his beautiful, toned, young body can do and endure. Running a seven minute mile is just the tip of the iceberg.

Bill tries to set aside his insecurities as Holden circles the far end of the track and starts back towards the finishing line. He isn’t self-absorbed. He cares about his appearance insofar as it pertains to personal hygiene and professionalism. His current job doesn’t require extreme physical feats like running a seven minute mile or even running at all so why should it matter? Holden has his own personal goals and hobbies that he doesn’t necessarily have to share. It shouldn’t matter, but he knows why it does.

When Holden comes off the track again, Bill hands him the towel to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Ready to go home?”

“Yeah.”

Bill gathers their things, and leads them across the yard, through the student parking, and all the way back to their lot in front of the BSU building. The walk is long and silent, some disagreement rippling underneath that he doesn’t feel like addressing. Once they reach the car, Bill rolls down the windows, turns on the stereo, and lights a cigarette. Holden leans toward the breeze, the sweet tang of perspiration blustering in the air alongside the summer breeze. Bill figures they’ll both just let it go, but ten minutes into the drive, Holden turns back to Bill.

“Is something the matter with you?”

“What? No.”

Holden’s hands fidget in his lap. “I can tell when you’re pissed. Why don’t you just say it?”

“Holden, I’m beat. It’s almost eight and we’re just now going home after working for ten hours and-”

“Oh, is that why? Because I’m forcing you to stay out late?”

“You’re not forcing me.”

“I told you that you didn’t have to come. I can work a stopwatch on my own.”

“Yeah? Then what do you need me for?”

The hasty retort slashes coldly through the humid air, leaving them both simmering in choked silence for a long moment. Bill flicks cigarette ashes out the window, annoyed with himself. There’s no basis for this argument, but they’re having it anyway.

“I don’t know what your fucking problem is.” Holden mutters, “Are you just mad that I have an interest that doesn’t involve you?”

“No, of course not. You’re allowed to have your own hobbies-”

“Oh, you’re allowing me to have this hobby. How generous of you.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

They fall into silence again, but Bill can sense the electric hum of anger and the threat of hurt feelings arising.

Just fucking apologize. He tells himself, trying to tamp down the bubbling insecurities that seem to multiply with every exchange. But his jaw stays stubbornly clamped shut.

The next ten minutes pass in stifled silence until they reach Bill’s house. Holden’s car is parked in the driveway where he had left it over the weekend when a sleepover turned into a five-night affair. Bill figures that little foray is about to end right here.

He throws the car into park, but lets the engine idle as they sit quietly, stewing.

“Okay.” Holden says, finally. “I’m sorry I brought up the other night - the round two thing. That was uncalled for.”

“It isn’t that.”

“Really?” Holden asks, his gaze swinging across the car to strike Bill with withering severity.

Bill takes a slow drag of his cigarette and focuses on the yard darkening in the impending dusk.

“Bill, I have never had an issue with your age and my age, and-”

“Please, just stop.” Bill says, holding up a hand. The humiliation is already curling up his chest in fiery fingers, clutching at the back of his throat with debilitating force. The fact that he can’t suppress it is just as bad as the initial flinch of insecurity.

“Fine. You don’t want to talk to me?” Holden says, impatiently. He unlatches the door and shoves it open with his shoulder. “I think I’m just gonna go home, and you can call me when you get your head out of your ass.”

Bill flinches as the door slams shut behind him, jarring the entire vehicle. He watches with a sickening feeling dropping to the pit of his stomach as Holden storms around the hood of the car towards his own vehicle.

Get out and stop him, you stupid fucking idiot.

Growling a sound of frustration, Bill rips off his seatbelt, and climbs out of the car just as Holden reaches the hood of his Nova.

“Wait.”

Holden’s determined pace cuts to a halt. They stare at one another in the falling dusk, a quiet standoff that Bill knows Holden won’t be breaking; he’s waiting for Bill to speak and be honest.

Drawing in a deep breath, Bill puts his head down, and closes the space between them in a few strides. Holden turns slowly to face him, not resisting as Bill catches him by the hand.

“I’m sorry.” Bill says, quietly.

Holden nods. Still waiting.

“Come on.” Bill says, scoffing against the clutch of emotion in the back of his throat. “Don’t tell me you never think about it.”

“I mean, yes. Objectively, I’ve thought about it because it’s a basic, indisputable fact.” Holden says, “I said I don’t have an issue with it.”

“Look, these past few months have been great.” Bill says, “But I think it would be a little selfish of me to not encourage you to think about your future. What do the next ten years look like? Don’t you want someone who can keep up with you? And are you going to be happy with this decision when our age difference really does start catching up with us?”

Holden’s brow furrows. “That’s a little pessimistic, don’t you think?”

“I’m just trying to be honest.”

Holden glances away for a moment, his eyes squinting against the fading light. Bill can tell that he’s seriously considering the conversation, and that acknowledgement alone eases some of the tightness in his chest.

“You want honesty?” Holden says, his voice softening as he shifts his gaze gently back to Bill’s.

“Yeah. Always.”

“Fine. Then this is the truth - I don’t care about our age difference, or round two. Some days I don’t even care about round one. That’s not what this is about, and it’s a little reductive to say that it is.”

Bill lets out a sigh and glances away, but Holden presses closer, cradling Bill’s chin in his hand to guide his eyes back up.

“I know what the next ten years look like.” Holden murmurs, “Maybe not exactly, but I do know one thing - you’re here, with me. Whether you are running down a track with me or I’m pushing you a fucking wheelchair.”

Bill chokes on an unbidden laugh as Holden’s mouth stretches into a fond smile. He wraps both arms around Holden’s waist, suddenly not caring whether someone driving down the street could see the intimate embrace. He just wants to make this moment last - the moment when Holden melted the last of his fears and insecurities.

“Okay?” Holden whispers, clutching his cheek tighter. “I don’t want someone else. I want you.”

Bill nods, trying to find a reply in the tangled knot of relief and joy in the back of his throat.

Holden kisses him quickly on the mouth, a swift, reassuring gesture that the whole street might have seen, before he wraps his arms around Bill’s neck.

Bill buries his face in Holden’s neck, impressing the warmth of his body and his embrace down into his quivering soul. When he draws in a deep breath, he can smell summertime and sweat on his skin.

Clearing his throat, Bill draws back. “Do you, uh … do you want to get a shower first, before you leave?”

Holden chuckles softly. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Okay, let’s go in. It’s really warm out here.” Bill says, wiping sweat from his own temple.

Holden clutches his hand as they climb the steps to the front porch. As they reach the door, he whispers, “Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t really want to leave.”

Bill purses back a smile. “No?”

“No. Can I spend the night again… and possibly use your washer and dryer for my work clothes?”

“Of course.”

They share a quiet smile before Bill unlocks the door and lets them inside. Holden’s fingers curl tighter around his hand, drawing Bill down the hallway towards the bathroom without another word. They move quietly, deftly through the house, muted anticipation rising. The sun has already set, golden light touching the door for the last time tonight.

#bill x holden #mindhunter #my writing #Anonymous

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aggresivelyfriendly · 5 years

Text

Summer’s Child

Summer’s Child Chapter 5- Angel of The Morning

Hey doll’s, its been a little break from all the gorgeous content, and im withering on the vine! Where oh where is the music. (Just Kidding, Jeff, take your time Harry-not really, but ok....) Special thanks to @emulateharry, and my true loves- @dirtystyles and @bleedinglove4h

May 1969

He just wanted to wear his dad's good suit. That's all he wanted. It would have made this simpler and definitely lessen the humiliation he was feeling.

Harry was stood in the Sears suit department watching Jillian make ugly faces at all the drab suits.

"Not one of them can be a color?" She'd looked at Harry standing there holding several checked jackets and sighed.

"I'm really fine with grey or blue." He'd shrugged. Those were colors. And as for the plaid in his hand, his dad had several tweed coats he was pretty sure he'd grown into. He was as tall as him now, maybe a hair taller. Or his hair ''twas taller. And a little broader. His posture was just band, mostly because he wanted to fold in on himself like a dinner napkin a lot of the time. Like right now. Not only was he going to Prom as her and Will's third wheel. He was going to stand out like the star in a play if Jillian got her way about his attire. He was really more of a background character.

Harry was elated when Jillian just huffed and took all the jackets out of his hand and gave him the blue suit. He'd been eyeing it for a while now. It was not navy, decidedly, but it was blue. Blue was safe, but it had small details he liked, the lapels and the flares leg. It was, well, groovy would be Jillian's description, was.

"You sure your don't want to try on the green suit?" She picked up the mossy suit one more time.

Harry wasn't sure what the difference was between a blue suit and a green one, the green just seemed, loud. "I think it's a little much." He narrowed his eyes behind his glasses at the fabric.

"But it's corduroy." She smiled like that made the difference. It did, just not the way she thought it did.

"Maybe that's why I think it's a little much." He inclined his forehead at her.

"I think you play it too safe." She shrugged.

He very much did play it safe. Not just with clothes. But, "the pants of the blue one are belled." That seemed relevant and like she needed a reminder.

Jillian trilled her musical laugh. "Oh, alright, I dig it. We have reached your limit on cool. Go try it on." He walked into the dressing room and could hear her giggling outside.

"What are you plotting?" He nearly tripped over his own pants, thankfully since he couldn't afford a suit and extra pants, when the corduroy hit his head.

"I wanna see you in it. You're gonna look groovy. Your eyes will be green like jade man!" His heart soared. "Trina Lewis said she's just noticed how pretty the color was the other day, when you were cleaning your glasses." And it sunk.

"Who's Trini Lewis?"

"She's in English with us. And Trina, doof." She laughed. "She moved here last year. Kinda quiet really curly blonde hair, brown eyes."

"Where does she sit?" He didn't care, he was simply stalling.

"She sits one back and two over from me, so three from you." That's why he'd never noticed, he looked forward in class, certainly no further back than Jillian.

"Why are we talking about Trini—"

"Trina." She giggled.

"Trina, any how?" He stepped out in the blue suit expecting to continue sparring with her.

She was quiet. It was strange, so Harry only caught a glimpse of himself before he redirected his attention to her. Jillian's eyes always took up a bit more than their fair share of her face, or he focused on them most to avoid looking at her mouth.

Sitting on the round tufted avocado stool, they were shooter marble big. And her mouth was caught on whatever explanation she was gonna give about the blonde in their English class. Trini? It was hard to remember anyone else's name when she was looking up at him, especially like that.

Something broke when she blinked, the moment, his heart, it was hard to say. "What?" He finally asked to break the tension. The hairs on his arm were standing on end.

"Nothing," she swallowed loud. "where are your glasses?"

"Oh, I took them off to get my sweater over my head, forgot to pop them back on."

"Your hair looks different too. I um," She fidgeted with her hair, "I, um, didn't know it had gotten so long." It sounded like a compliment, though the words weren't complimentary exactly. He'd take it. He wasn't sure about the way she was gazing at him; it looked like she'd been staring at the sun, like when you see black spots because you stared too directly.

Seemed fair, he often felt like he watched her like the moon through a telescope trying to map her geography.

His hair was longer than normal. It seemed fashionable, though he still did it in his usual fashion, so no one had noticed, he just pushed it back after showers. He wasn't sure it was worth it, the growth. Plus, his hair was getting hard to pomade so he was just about ready to cut it.

Harry was pretty sure he'd let it go until it touched his shoulders now.

Jillian loved long hair, he knew it. It was a very uncommon sight still in their small town. It might have been his unnamed motivation.

"Yeah, I thought I'd try it." For California. But he still hadn't had time to share with her. They hung out, not as much as they used to, and her mom was having a long stitch of singleness, so Jillian slept at home. He hoped to tell her. He'd hoped to continue planning together. He wondered if he hadn't been able to get it out because he was afraid she'd changed her mind. Time had passed, and well, Will. Will was still around, but Harry still hoped for forever. And that meant California, just the two Of them. Her eyes said maybe

He had a little hope, maybe they could find some sweet romance after all.

"It looks really nice." Jillian finally said. Her voice a little higher than normal. There was a pause. "You know, I thought you'd grown out of your curls." She gestured to the mirror and rushed through the next question. "Do you like the blue?"

Harry realized the mirror was still there and looked at himself. He looked really tall in these bell bottoms. He supposed he was kind of taller than most of the boys at school. He'd need a boot, maybe with a bit of a heel, he may have a loafer that would work. The shirt was a bit ruffly. "I like the blue, maybe not the shirt. The pants are groovy." He put his leg up to let the flare open. "Do people grow out of their curls?" He ran his hand through his hair, ruffled it up. He could feel her eyes and it was such a nice boomerang of his feelings and attention on her; he preened a little.

"Should I try the green?" He walked a few steps closer to peer at his eyes. He never really thought about their color, he supposed they were really green. He was partial to blue, blue eyes and the blue sight. He hunkered down next to her, sitting on his heels, and bumped her shoulder. "Or have we found the one? Though I'd prefer a different shirt."

She kept her head forward and he was slightly miffed she didn't slide her forehead over his. He thought about breathing her condensed breath on his bench seat in January a lot. That was a sense memory, it smarted that it was coupled with silently committing to friendship for life. If she would just turn to him now, maybe....

"I think the shirt makes it, but the flares are far out enough for me. You should try the green, at least see how it looks." He rolled his head to the light and stood up. She wasn't gonna breathe on him, despite their earlier moment.

He sighed. "Ok." Once he got in the room he looked at his choices. He was already exhausted, and this was his first suit. "How many dresses did you have to try on?"

"Oh, I'm gonna wear the dress you bought me. The pink one?" She sounded nonchalant on purpose, it didn't quite work.

"Are you supposed to do that? Rewear dresses to big events?" He had money from his dad for the suit. Started checking price tags. The blue was more than the brown. But the green was most expensive.

"I just really like the dress."

He barely had the shirt on when he stepped out. And Jillian swallowed once her gaze reached his face while he was buttoning up. It had started at his navel where his fingers had fumbled. He needed to see her face. He felt like there were things she wasn't saying. He knew there were, but if she bit her lip or cut her eyes away quick, he'd know she was lying.

She did the second when he got the jacket on. "Listen, go get some dresses. Look at the sale racks, or we can try Mel's again."

"The pink was a treasure find, Harry."

"There's gotta be a better thrift shop here in Syracuse. We could try another one. I'll get the blue instead of the green, then I can use the difference in cash to pick it up for you?" He just felt like she needed a new dress.

"I don't care if people notice Harry." Did he? Maybe. He already heard troubling things about her. The high school rumor mill was very busy trying to figure out what Will was doing with Jillian 8 months on. They figured he hadn't gotten what he was after. What Jillian was trying to get outta Will was less discussed. Everyone assumed his family's money and social status, but Harry confused them further.

Jillian still rode to school with Harry often, or had since they'd made up, and she occasionally ate with him in the library. The supposed triangle made people feel sorry, for him.

He'd heard back up boyfriend a time or two again. It always felt like a slap. May always feel that way.

But that wasn't Jillian, that was just high school dicks.

"Don't you wanna look? It couldn't hurt."

"I'll look, if you wear the ruffled shirt." She turned her face sideways, her cheekbones shone fetchingly, even in the harsh department store lighting.

"You drive a hard bargain. But I'll do it." He wanted to reverse their positions of the last hour. It seemed like she saw him anew today. He looked at her new with each day. In pretty dresses couldn't hurt, they were memories he could hoard up like treasure. Her in her prom dress, his date or not, smiling at him and pleased with herself.

"That's not the whole bargain. I also want you to ask Trina to the dance."

"The dance is in a week!" He squawked and was getting back into his own clothes. He forewent the sweater vest. He was hot from all the changing so much his hair was definitely curling up from the damp, so he just pushed it back and over. "Won't that offend her?"

He had no excuses for why he left the glasses off. He'd never even realized how green his eyes were, either.

"Nah, she's not got a date, it'll give her a reason to buy a dress. She wants to go. She wants to go with you." They were walking out by now. The line had been minimal and they'd only done quick pleasantries while they were embroiled in their current debate.

He opened her car door. And she slid in and reached over to unlock his. Harry thought about it as he walked around. He was sure Trini was nice, Trina, and it would save him from an awkward dynamic. When they were all around each other, Will mostly ignored him, but Prom was long compared to moments at Dairy Barn or in the halls. That may be nice.

The problem was, he wanted to go with Jillian. Even as the strange tripod that she, he and Will had developed. She was changing their dynamic. It was disappointing, but he was sure she envisioned some double date scenario. A partner of his own may distract him from her and Will kissing. Or whatever. He could see the merits of the idea more and more. Harry was ready to agree, but needed to confirm the terms.

"So," he looked at her across the bench seat. He felt taller when she looked him in the eye today. He was gonna have to put the glasses on to drive, but he was gonna wait until the engine purred to life. "If I ask Trina to the dance and wear that ever so slightly cheaper suit with the ruffled blouse."

"It's not a blouse." She insisted.

"It's a blouse." He kept talking, over her interruption and through his grinning teeth. "Then we can search some thrift shops and find you a dress? A new one?"

She chewed her lip. Jillian wanted to say no, but she also wanted him to go with Trina, or she really liked the blouse. He wasn't sure which. "Yes." She said and screwed up her mouth like she'd eaten a load of salt and vinegar chips, which he loved and she tolerated. She'd liked the Worcester chips his dad got when he went to New York and found a specialty shop much better. They could get them next month before or after The Beach Boys show.

He'd also heard there was gonna be a big music show nearby this summer. Maybe they could go? He'd ask her after he got her in a dress. Though questions usually preceded gowns.

"I would shake your hand, but I'm driving." He looked at her grinning. "Can you be trusted?"

She just stared at him and he was confused by her mood.

"Can we listen to the radio?" She leaned forward without him saying yes. That was the obvious answer. They sang together, always. He headed to the area around the university. He remembered there being a charity shop there with good stuff.

She was singing softly to "The Zombies." He got caught up in the moment of it, and his voice dropped off the chorus. She could carry it. The lyrics carried his away. This was a season; winter was ending and they were headed for years long spring. He was just about to tell her. All his plans. He wasn't sure why he hadn't yet. Every time he went to share, he found himself saying something else. Like he was sure that forever didn't extend past August and she was really just shining him on until she could leave. That she was gonna marry Will in a year and have a baby, like so many girls they knew, or the worst. That she wanted California on her own, and only faux planned with him to placate him. He hated being placated.

He really hated thinking these thoughts.

Maybe that's why he said, "what color dress you gonna get?" Instead of anything important, everything important.

She looked at him then, in that way she had. Like he was made of glass, but she'd only reply to the reflection, blurry on top. Not what she saw deeper. He appreciated that she didn't force candor, it seemed she always knew without him saying.

"When you thrift shop, you can't be as picky. It'll do if we find something that fits and is somewhat appropriate."

"Appropriate?" He laughed.

She rolled her eyes. "For a dance."

"I feel like it's the only time they let you guys dress in anything remotely inappropriate." He glanced quick to catch her expression. He had the mirror, but in motion was better. "Remember last year when they got you for that mini skirt?"

"Ugh, it was not that short."

He bit his laugh off. It was pretty short. He zigged to a new subject. "How's this place look?" He gestured at the store he had in mind. The front window was full of shawls and bell bottoms, a tie dye tapestry peaking out behind.

"Far Out, Hardy!"

"You haven't called me that in forever." He jumped down and lit up further when she slipped her arm through his. She was touchy like when they were younger today. After her dad left, well, it was nice for it to be back.

"You haven't earned it! When was the last time you found me pretty Beetles?"

"I find you Beatles albums."

"Not as good," She shook her head and bowed like the Hare Krishnas in Central Park when he opened the door for her.

"That's not what you said when I found Sgt.Pepper early for you."

"Well, maybe that one should have gotten a Hardy."

"Your giddy scream was enough." They'd made it to the dress section while they were bantering.

It looked like a pastel bomb went off. There were a lot of flounces. Jillian stayed away from the most complicated pieces and chose darker colors. It surprised him.

The black dress was drab and everything was so low cut, she'd claimed even on prom night they'd kick her out.

She might have even been right, he was almost hyperventilating and shifting his erection to his waistband after that dark blue one shift dress. He didn't know people who weren't Cher wore necklines like that. Jillian was not shaped like Cher. Harry had wandered to distract himself from seeing her in anything else that would make him feel like he ran the hurdles in gym. It was in a random spot he found her dress. It was white, with ruffled cap sleeves and little hippie flowers. The front wouldn't get her kicked out, but it would set his heart to racing.

Will's too.

But it was too beautiful to not bring it to her.

Jillian's eyes widened, it was his favorite face, when he surprised her with something she loved. She was the great gift giver and he tried to get on her level every birthday and Christmas. He'd succeeded a few times, The Beach Boys tickets, the headband that looked just like the one the girl on the cover of Life had worn when they put out the issue on hippies. Her bike when he'd fixed it after she thought it was broken for good at 11.

This was better. Because she slipped the dress from his fingers like it was worth rubies, not $4 as the tag said. She held it lightly, but immediately walked into the dressing room. His eyes widened in a mirror image of her in Sears when she walked out of the dressing room.

"Wow." Was all he could muster. "You look....."

"Yeah?" It's groovy?" She looked like she believed it, and just needed him to back her, like he always did.

"It's far out, Jill." He called her that when he was overcome. Or she was crying. She looked a little misty. He swallowed over the lump in his throat. "You can wear some flowers in your hair too. You'll look so pretty. I'll go look for some."

He found some fake potted plant for .25 and took off buds. He wasn't sure how she'd do it. But he could see the halo of white flowers around her face. It was a window to his future. This dress, flowers in her hair, the alameda county court house.

"How's this?" He held out the handful of flowers and she looked up. He wanted to receive that benediction again and again. Harry didn't know she liked getting flowers, he'd never given her a living thing as a gift. He would now. He'd bring her real flowers home when they had a place. He liked learning new things about her.

"Perfect, they're perfect." She took the buds and pulled her hair up messily, the silky tresses falling through her fingers and the band she had. The hard green parts of the fake petals stuck in between and stayed for put for enough seconds to get an idea of what she'd look like Saturday. Harry stood behind her and gazed in the glass with her.

His heart pounded, and if she was facing him, he was sure he wouldn't be able to keep from kissing her.

"Do you think Will will like it?"

The bubble filling where his heart should be burst. He rubbed over his chest to warm the ice that comment induced, and did what best friends do, "How could he not? You look like an angel."

"An angel of the morning?" She grinned. He wanted to return it. They'd sung it en route. Before the suits. It was hard to smile back though. She always looked like an angel in the morning, especially in the morning. But, was she asking because of Will? Because he might see her just after dawn?

"An angel at anytime." He assured her. Will was staying in New York. And they were going to California. He was gonna give her the dream, he reminded himself. God he loved her and was so scared she was gonna spend the night with Will. Like really spend the night, not just share a bed, no matter how small.

It was prom. There was a strange expectation. Lots of the boys had been talking about the hotel rooms they'd gotten. The dance was all the way in Syracuse, at the college. A couple groups were staying in the dorms or frats with older siblings. He hadn't heard Will talking about hotel rooms, but Steve was, and his plans for it. Though to hear him tell it, he'd had his girlfriend in his truck many a time.

It always made Harry grit his teeth.

Especially when Steve talked about Jillian's tits and Will smiled and laughed. He'd seen Will give an approximation with the cupped palms of his hands and say, "She goes crazy," and lick his lips that time.

Harry couldn't tell that to Jillian, about Will talking about her like that, not without ulterior motives. It was her decision anyhow. And he couldn't bring himself to ask about it. They didn't talk about her and Will, not really, just surface stuff. Though he spent plenty of time worrying about it, and loathing himself for it. Fear and loathing in New York.

"Um, I think this is the one. I'll go pay." He reached to the top of her back and took the tag off. His finger tips coasted over her skin for just a pleasant second. He ignored the chill bumps that rose. He must have startled her. "You look beautiful." He said as he left.

He was blinded by her smile and nearly crushed the little handwritten tag on his way to pay for that dress for her to go to a dance with someone else.

But he dreamed of her wearing it with real flowers in her hair and saying loving words and long term vows to him as sunlight broke through fog.

The week was a bit of a blur. Trini, no Trina, said yes, she squealed and hugged him. There were tests and end of year activities, and it felt like the ending of a movie you knew had a sequel. He was really excited for the next chapter.

He felt like a new man. Looked it, too. He was only wearing his glasses in class and had let his growing hair loose. His physics teacher didn't recognize him on Wednesday. Which made him both really confused and a little smug.

His da had stopped him on Saturday. "You lost your glasses then?"

Harry'd quirked his head to the side and pulled them from his jean's pocket and slipped them up his nose.

"No?"

"Good. You wear them to drive?"

Harry had nodded.

"Good. It's nice to see your mother's eyes." And he'd taken his mug of tea and hid out from all the emotion in his study.

That was when he was leaving to get Jillian from the early shift at work. They were getting ready at his house, he'd drop her at Will's and then find Trina's house on the way. Shouldn't be too hard, their town only had one stop light.

He gave her the bathroom. The spicy smells coming from under the bathroom door where new and altogether pleasant. He knocked. "New perfume?"

"Um, yeah. Will bought it for me. Its Opium."

"It's nice." He complimented and leaned his forehead as softly as possible against the wood grain.

"It's alright. I miss my Love's." He'd bought that one birthday, liked the powdery scent . It just seemed like Jillian to him. He missed it too.

She'd been in the bathroom, long after he was in his suit. The new look was easier, he didn't have to pomade his hair and try to subdue it. He just let it curl around his ears and neck and forehead. He needed to get in to splash on some after shave, for scent, he'd never really needed to shave. Harry didn't want to rush her, but..... He listened to small movement and soft sighs. He was just about to say something, then.

For a second, he thought he heard a sob. "You ok?"

"Yeah, yeah." Her voice was thick. "I keep having to redo my eyeliner. I wanted to try that Sharon Tate thing. It's hard. I'm frustrated."

Over explaining, not a good sign. "Can I come in."

"Um no, I'm in my underwear."

Harry groaned, but bit off the sound. "Did something happen?"

"My um, my mom, she didn't come home last night. I guess I'm a little worried." Her voice sounded close. Like they were both speaking through the hinges.

"Do you want to go by and check on her? Or.." he squared his shoulders. "Or we can drive by the bar?"

"That's, that would be really good, Harry." She opened the door and he almost fell in. Jillian peeked at him, and their faces were so close. "Thanks." She kissed his cheek and her breath smelled sweet. Even over the strong perfume that didn't fit her.

"We need to hurry then. I don't want to be late to Trina, seems rude." His voice was sheer, thin as the overlay of her dress.

"K, I'll hurry."

"Leave the eyes alone." They were misty, it would run. "You look perfect."

She nodded and smiled. Then closed the door softly. He could feel the grain of the wood on the heel of his hand when he placed it there.

She came out 10 minutes later. He wee'd and splashed on his scent. Well, His dad's.

He was trying to push down the ruffles when he came out.

"Stop that!" Her laugh tickled his ears like questing fingers under blankets. She re ruffled him.

They needed to get out of here, all her casual affection was affecting him. He couldn't take it.

It was worse when his dad insisted on pictures, like they were going together, like she was his date. Like it was his dream.Standing behind her, with his arms around her waist, her unfamiliar smell going to his head and her bum resting too close for comfort on his pelvis, he focused on his anguish, and the periodic table, so he wouldn't embarrass himself.

"You guys look lovely. That will be a framer." He swore his dad was crying, in a very British way. He was fussing about behind him with the camera at his desk.

"We're going da." He tried to get his attention. Get him to turn around. So he could check his hunch.

"Oh, quite right. Wouldn't want you to be late. Have a good time. Don't worry about curfew." Harry's mouth dropped open. "Enjoy yourselves."

He was keeping his eyes firmly on the road. Though he could feel Jillian's on him. His dad looked, funny. He had never seen him so emotional. He let his mind run on that while the seat he'd for her parent. Jillian got uncomfortable and quiet when her mom let her down. He let her feel it. He'd snap her out of it after they figured out what exactly was going in. He kinda knew where she was.

Jillian's mom wasn't at their house.

But her beat up pick up was outside the VFW she sometimes called work.

"Look, she's just down the pub. It's ok. Do you want to go in so she can see you?" She really should. If only to shame the devil for probably not even knowing it was prom.

Jillian scanned parking lot. Her gaze stuttered over a black camaro at the end. It looked very familiar, but Harry couldn't place it.

He went to switch off the engine. Jillian grabbed Harry's wrist to stop his motion. Another casual touch that felt committed, and said, "no, I don't want to be late for Will."

"You don't think your mom would want to see you?" She didn't deserve it, but it would be merciful.

"If it was important to her, she would have helped me get ready, instead of not even coming home." Her face had the blank look it got when she shut down. Jillian wasn't always merciful.

He knew better but, "But."

"No, Harry. Let's go." He eased his foot off the break and obeyed.

She didn't touch him again, just kept her hands folded on her lap. There was a corsage on the seat. It wasn't for her.

He watched her walk into Will's, but didn't see the corsage, a pink set of carnations, until he and Trina arrived at the dance.

He wasn't sure why he was surprised, but Jillian and Will sat at another table altogether than him and Trina. At first, embarrassingly, he felt close to tears over it. Suddenly, his dad's reaction made sense. He wished he had a desk and camera to fuss with. He consoles himself with reason.

It made sense, both Will and Jillian on court, it was closer to the stage, he reminded himself. He told himself this while he put a smile on like a kid pastes cut outs on a test page.

They didn't win, and he didn't like who he was that he felt a swelling in his chest at it. Despite Jillian's crestfallen face. It was one of the few moments he was surprised about one of her reactions. A few months ago he would have been surprised she cared to win at all.

It was the second to last dance when he saw Jillian coming towards him. He had to admit, he had had a lovely time with Trina. They could be good friends, even if he hadn't been in love with someone else, he believed he would have felt the same.

He hoped.

"Trina, do you mind if I cut in." She'd tapped his date's shoulder. He'd kept turning his date from 'take time to know her' to 'angel of the morning.'

Both described Jillian to him. But he was glad she got to dance with him to the latter.

He spared a second's thought for Trina, but he was pretty sure she felt the same, about them being better suited as friends. She was chatting with Simon, from history, he thought. Then dancing.

He had tunnel vision he guessed. For lessons at school. For Jillian now. For California in three months. "You having fun?" He opened with, as formal as his ruffled shirt.

"Yeah, I guess. I'm a little sad we lost." She screwed up her face in a way that told him she was as surprised as him.

"I saw that!" He made a face at her.

"I know. I'm surprised too. I didn't even know I wanted to win."

"Well, I've won. Since I get to dance with the prettiest girl here. Real prom queen."

She blushed. She rarely did that near him. It somehow changed the color of the lights above and her dress below. Everything glowing a soft pink.

"What's going on after this?" Harry wasn't really sure of after dance procedures. This was only his second. The last one she'd left separately, and this time they hadn't attended together.

"Oh, some party upstairs." Jillian explained.

"Here? At the hotel?" Wow, some people lived completely different lives.

"Yeah, I'll bet you can come. I'll ask Will." She offered.

He wanted to go, just to extend this night, with her and that dress and the rose glow. Even if it was with two other people between them.

"Yeah, ok."

Which was how he found himself watching Steven Adler get increasingly drunk and obnoxious.

"Hey, what's your name?" He'd asked about an hour into hotel time.

"Harry, Harry Styles."

"Who invited you?" He said like the words meant nothing to him. Although he'd suggested at one point they, meaning the football team, tape Harry's butt cheeks together, to see if he lived up to his name. Apparently it would hurt a lot more if he was hairy Harry.

They'd surrounded him in the shower. He hadn't been Hairy enough to bother, and the dick jokes had run to awe. He didn't have a comparison.

Steven has known his name two weeks ago.

After that, Harry kept himself to himself. He hadn't seen much of Jillian. But Trina seemed happy, hanging on the couch with a beer in her hands and chuckles in her mouth.

An hour later, Trina was ready to go. And truly, Harry was too. But, he needed to see Jillian first. To make sure she wanted to stay, here, at the hotel, with Will. Where everybody had an agenda for after the dance.

He was going from room to room in the hallway the athletes had seemed to have planned to take up. All the doors were opened and people spilled out. None of them Jillian.

It took him 20 minutes of panic to find her. She was coming out of the last room. Her cheeks were tear stained, and her eyes were bloodshot. Grass maybe was his first thought. He knew she'd been experimenting, that they had talked about.

"Harry!" Her voice broke with relief and over a sob like wave.

"Jillian!bWhat's wrong?"

She just shook her head. There were too many people around.

"Where's Will?"

Her chin lifted then. "In his room, alone." The last word was so final he just paused, and moved into a new paragraph.

"Let's find Trina. So we can get out of here?"

Jillian bit her nails near the elevator bank, looking toward the end of the hallway and back to the room across from it where Harry had left Trina. He could feel her eyes on him as he searched.

Luckily, his date was where he had left her. Talking to classmates and smiling drunkenly.

"Hey, you ready?"

"Yeah, let me grab my purse. Everything cool, man?"

"Yeah, fine. Just late." He demurred.

The ride home nobody spoke. Too tired or caught up in their emotions. It was half an hour and the girls were drooping on each other's shoulders when he reached Trina's.

She was past the turn off for Jillian's, and he hoped nobody noticed. He tried not to think much about it. But, he wanted to ask his best girl where she wanted to go. And he wanted to know why she'd not been in the party rooms, why she left Will, and most importantly why she'd been crying?

He hugged Trina at the door, and they decided to go bowling together the week after. "You should ask Jillian." Trina had said as he headed down the walk.

"Yeah, if she's off, and not with Will." He'd shrugged as he turned back with his hands in his pockets.

"No, Harry." She leveled sober eyes on him. "You should ask Jillian, whatever it is you need to ask her. Forget Will." She suggested and grinned drunkenly before swaying through her door and closing it too loud for 2 am.

Ask Jillian. Forget Will.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #summer’s child #chapter 5 #angel of the morning #tripod writing #cult fic #vintage #retro fic #1960’s #1970’s

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talvin-muircastle · 5 years

Text

Story: Im

Another from my old November Habit, this from 2012. It is one of the stories of which I am most fond, and I hope some of you will enjoy it as well.

Men speak of the Elven Language, as if all the Elves in the world speak only one tongue without variation. But you are of the race of Men, and so I shall say simply that her name was Darlaia, and in the language of the Elves spoken by most of the inhabitants of the Kingdom in which she dwelled, her name meant “Patience.” She was accounted by many a wise counselor to the Queen of the Wood, but the Queen thought at times she took her virtue to the extent of a vice. So it was that one day the Queen sought Darlaia in her bower. “Your Majesty, you honor me this day. How may I serve?” The Queen held a swaddled infant in her arms, which was a strange thing, but she was the Queen, so Darlaia did not question it. “The King of the humans who live to our west has been slain, and a usurper has taken his place. Most of the old King’s family has been slaughtered. There will be chaos on our borders, and soon axes shall be ringing in our forest, for the usurper will not be satisfied with one realm alone.” “Majesty, we can safeguard our borders with our bows and our blades, and the humans will settle down in time. They always do! Patience will serve.” At this, the Queen smiled, and the sight of it caused a flutter of fear in Darlaia’s bowels. “Patience will serve? Yes, indeed, she will. See you this infant? It is a human child, and with the death of his kin he is King of the humans to our west. His birthname was Huber, but while he dwells among us, we shall call him by the name ‘Im’. You shall raise him.” This was unheard of. Darlaia opened her mouth as if to protest, then thought better of it. She took a deep breath and considered her next words carefully. “I know the tongue spoken by that family, and ‘Im’ is no word in that language, nor in ours. I find this puzzling, my liege. As for raising him: what do I know of raising a human boy?” “You counsel patience, as usual. Yet I tell you that this time it will not work: the usurper is of a faction that is greedy and powerful. They need our woods for bows and engines of war, and they will have them or die trying. Even if they fail in the end, the cost to our realm will be high. So we must raise up this boy to reclaim his throne, and we must make him our friend. As for his name, and the raising of a human child? You must learn Im, Patience!” The Queen was fond of puns, riddles, and other tricks to force her Court to consider things in a new light. Yet she was the Queen, and so the child’s name was Im, and Patience would raise him to be a King. To Elven eyes, humans grow like dandelions in the spring: quickly there, quickly changing, quickly gone. Im grew into a thoughtful, obedient child, yet full of energy as if his short life meant he must use all the energy in years that an Elf would consume in a lifetime measured in centuries. Darlaia found her own patience challenged more than once, yet she was also fond of the child. She taught him the bow and the blade, and a bit of the arts that Men call “Magic”. He learned harp and flute, and he sang well, though the speed at which his voice changed challenged teachers used to a more gradual deepening. The Queen his sponsor, Darlaia his teacher, and the usurper his foes: the other Elves of those Woods received him warmly and called him friend. Too quickly—so quickly!—he reached three hands of years, and where her natural children had yet been beginning the exploration of their world at that age, Im was her height and a bit. He had gained much muscle, for teasing elf-maids have as their wont to climb trees, and amorous elf-lads had best be able to keep up. No elf-lad he, he had nonetheless learned to climb with the best of them. At wrestling and swordplay, he was no master, but he could hold his own against the recruits of the BorderGuard, and that was no small thing. With a bow he would never match an elf, but few humans would match him. The Queen came to them in that year, and she had with her Men in armor that clanked and rattled in the coolness of the forest. They wore the symbol of the old King, and while their number was few, they had the look of veterans. “Huber, whom we call Im, these are our friends, and you are their King. You must go with them now and reclaim that which was taken from you as a babe.” Im looked at these strange humans. He had met others like himself before this: Darlaia had seen to that early and often. These men were unlike the young Elven Warriors with whom he joked and sparred and flirted, and quite unlike those Elders he had been taught to revere. He looked at the scars on their faces and on their armor, and his eyes noted the manner in which they carried their weapons. Then he looked at Darlaia. “Darlaia, mother of my heart, is this to be?” She was saddened and fearful, but she said, “It is for this you were placed in my care, though having had that care of you, I am loathe to give it up. Yes, son of my heart, it is to be. You are their King, and your duty lies before you.” So Im went to the camp of these Men, hidden just beyond bowshot in the edge of the Forest, and at night they crept out to do mischief to the Usurper, and by day they rested under the trees while Elves kept watch. Im’s skills earned him respect in battle, and his calm, educated voice earned him respect in their councils. Yet after his first battle he crept away to seek Darlaia’s counsel. “Mother of my heart, I have killed another like myself.” Darlaia knew real fear then, for she thought that the son of her heart had become a Man. Then he continued, with tears in his eyes, “It was a needful thing, yet it saddens me. I would sing to his spirit, and I wish that you would join me.” Then she knew that he had become, not a Man, but an Adult, and she cried with him and sang with him. For Elves love Life, and they take it only reluctantly. Yet when they must take it, they do not hesitate, for that which must be done must be done swiftly and skillfully, and this was the way in which Im had been raised. More Men flocked to the banner of Huber, called now Im even by his followers. The day came when the Usurper was slain by Im’s arrow, and the rebellious Lords of Men submitted themselves to his terms. Then Im declared that henceforth he would be known as Imdar, to honor she who had raised him. The Queen came once again to Darlaia. “You have done well, and now I give you another task. Go you among the maidens of our Kingdom, and find you one who would willingly tarry among the humans for one of their generations, and be Wife and Queen to Imdar.” Again, this was unheard of! “My Queen, you would mingle our blood with theirs?” “Better it should mingle in the womb than mingle in the grass. If we are to have time for Patience, we must have ties of blood.” Darlaia bowed her head in acquiescence, for she knew that Im would grow old and die, and what of his descendants? It would shame them all to do war on the sons of an adopted son, and so those sons must have cause to look to the Woods for kin. She chose carefully, speaking to all the Elven maidens who were newly adult. Some she dismissed as too flighty, some as too serious. Some had connections with powerful families who might seek to use the alliance to their own ends. Among the huntresses she found one who said, “Im! I miss him greatly. He was gentle, and he made me laugh. Would that more humans were like him.” So in white silk and silver elven mail, with a coronet upon her brow and a good strong bow and swift elven arrows she went to Imdar, a suitable Elven Bride for a King. Imdar was gladdened to see the friend of his youth, unchanged in such a brief time, and he took her to wife and bore many children with her. Then there was peace in the land, and even in his lifetime the people began to speak of him as “Imdar the Good”, and Darlaia was pleased to hear it, for she had feared he might become “the Great”, and those never ended well. Darlaia attended the births of all the children herself, and laughed when Imdar, silver hairs creeping at his brow, chided her, “Darlaia, Darlaia! Patience, Patience!” when a child did not come to term when expected. Half-elven births were difficult to predict, and Darlaia would trust none other than herself to midwife. Then, too soon—too soon! She watched as the Knights of two Kingdoms shouldered the bier of a King, his young, lovely bride weeping behind, all his children and grandchildren behind her. He was laid in the earth after the Elven custom rather than given to the fire as Men had done before. She kissed his withered cheek and stroked his hair one last time before they lowered him down. “Im, dear Im. You taught me the value of impatience, for had I been patient, I would have missed knowing you, my son. Be patient for me, now: we shall meet again someday.” And on some nights, when the moon is full and the human and elven youth are chasing one another through the trees in the games of love, from one bower can be heard a woman weeping for her son still. [I wanted to do a love story of some sort. I wanted to do something about a female Immortal—most stories focus on the Eternal Testosterone Brigade. And I knew I wanted to do Elves, which fit nicely with the others. I can’t even say I worked on this story a lot: I fretted for days trying to come up with a good finale for this project, and I had nothing until the morning of Black Friday as I was heading out to handle some light shopping. Then it just…appeared. Perhaps I should have been more patient?]

#My Writing #Elves #Fantasy #Who Wants To Live Forever #When Love Must Die?

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noir-porker-parker-holland · 5 years

Text

Crash!Bang!

Roger Taylor x Reader

Wc: 2.9k

summary: ROger and reader can’t stand each other but something happens to the reader that makes roger realize something

------

Being John's best friend meat going to the studio a lot. You were also an intern sound technician you had to work with the guys to achieve the shoulder d that they wanted. That meant you actually had to speak to the man that you despised.

But the feeling was mutual between you and Mr.Taylor.

You don't actually know what made him hate you, but after a while of putting up with his shitty attitude, you gave him a taste of his own medicine.

Truth was, you didn't hate him. You had actual feelings for him. But he didn't and you knew this. But the fact that he hated you didn't help your case.

“Y/n my dear how did that sound?” Freddie asked. “Um, that was great Fred,” you said. “I think we should add more spice to it.” “What do you mean?” He motioned for you to come into the room.

“We could add a bit of a solo from wither Brian or Roger.” He said. You shrugged. “Whatever. I mean it is your album. I'm just the bitch that helps make it sound good.” You said crossing your arms and walking back to the room. But you heard something come out from Rogers mouth that made you want to kill him. “You got that right.” He said. You turned around as he said it. “What's you say?” You said, your tone dripping with sass. “I said.” He came out from behind his drums and walked over to you. “Oh no,” John said quietly. “I said, you got that right.”

You scoffed, “care to elaborate on that previous comment?” You said. “You called yourself a bitch, and I well agreed.” He said simply. “Well if I'm such a bitch then maybe I shouldn't be helping your band with your album all the fucking time.” You said walking to the door. “Emphasis on the your.”

You walked out the door and immediately regretted not bringing your coat. But you were dramatic and didn't want to ruin your moment. You leaned on the wall and closed your eyes, sighing. You heard the door opened and out came Deacy. “Y/n, come back inside. It's cold out here.” He said.

“If you promise he leaves.” You said. He scoffed lightly, “come on you know I can't do that.”

“I don't even know why he acts like that with me. Want have I done? All I've done is been your friend and your fucking sound tech.” You said kicking the wall slightly.

“He just in a bad mood.” Deacy tried to argue. “No. He's always been a dick to me and I never knew why. I tried being civil but I wasted two fucking years trying to do that. It doesn't work, he hates me!” You shouted. Roger leaned on the wall and heard your entire conversation. He slipped back inside undetected by you and Deacy.

You and Deacy walked back into the studio and Freddie was in the control room giving Roger a hell of a time. You opened the door quite roughly and Roger left, bumping your shoulder in the process. You sat down and started to mess with the control board.

It was getting late and people were getting tired. “I'm tired I think I'm going to head home,” Freddie said. And Brian and John nodded in agreement. “I'm going to say need to finish this last solo.” He said as you stood up. But swiftly sat down. Deacy cane over and hugged you apologetically. “Bye y/n/n.” He said before walking out. You wave at him and waited for Roger to do his thing.

You mentally cursed yourself for carpooling with Deacy today. You didn't have a ride. “Well fuck.” You said as you walked out into the cold Roger hot on your heels to leave. “What? Too cold for a person straight out of hell?” He said not caring how much of an impact it had on you. “I carpooled with Deacy and well now I don't have a ride. Looks like I'm going to have to walk.” You said starting to head in the general direction of your apartment. “Bye rog-” you started but was cut off by him. “I can just take you home.” He offered. You shot him an incredulous look, “why?” You asked not sure as to why he was being so nice. “Because Deacy would kill me if I were to let you walk around town by yourself at midnight.” He said. Ah so he wasn't doing this on his own accord. You nodded slightly and opened the door of his car to sit down.

It had started to rain when you were recording but stopped. But it seems as though it resumed. You leaned your elbow on the door and propped you head up. Closing your eyes for just a second.

The next thing you know bright lights were heading straight towards you and Roger was swerving the car out of the way and mouthing 'im sorry’.

----

You opened your eyes and saw the white walls enclosing you.

You felt an unbearable pain in your stomach and looked down to see it. Your wrist was wrapped up in a cast and your stomach had bandages wrapped around it. You head had various cuts, all of which you found out able later. When you vision finally clears you saw a head of blonde hair holding your right wrist leaning his head on the bed.

“Roger?” You croaked out. His head looked up at you. His eyes widened at you, “y/n I'm so sorry. I didn't see the car and when I did it was too late and it was so slippery I'm so sorry-” he rambled but was cut off when you spoke. “It's fine. But what the hell happened to me.” You asked. He sighed, and looked so tired. The fact that he was actually empathetic towards you was beyond what you thought he'd ever think about you. “Well your wrist is shattered. You have a very deep cut on your stomach due to glass being stuck there. And you have a bunch of small cuts on you head so they patched you up and you aren't going to leave for a couple days till your cut on your stomach heals to the point where you're able to go home.” He said. He had tear streaks on his face which confused you. Was he crying because of his injuries or because his car was fucked up? “God I'm so sorry.” He said holding your hand squeezing slightly. “ You lifted your hand and stroked his face slightly. “Why were you crying?” You asked bluntly. “They said that we're were bleeding a lot and we thought-” He started but got teary.

A stray tear fell down his cheek and you wiped it off. “We thought you wouldn't make it. But I couldn't nor would I forgive myself if you did.” You didn't know how to feel about him crying about you almost dying. “If you hated me, then why would you cry over me dying?” You asked. “I don't hat-” Roger was cut off my Deacy coming into the room. Roger quickly wiped his tears and walked out of the room. You followed him with your eyes but soon got distracted when Deacy started to cry because you were awake. “Oh my God! You're ok!” He said cradling your face and kissed your forehead. The rest of the guys said what they said and left to give you some rest.

But they left you alone. You didn't want to be alone. You wanted someone to distract you from your never ending thought about Roger. What was he going to say??

The door opened and Roger walked in. He sat down where he had been earlier. “So.” He said sitting down next to your bed. “so.” You echoed. “you never finished your sentence.”

He sighed. “Y/n my intentions were never to make it seem like I hated you. I don't exactly know why but I know it doesn't justify why I treated you like that. I'm sorry. The crash really out it into perspective.” He said holding your hand and trying to hold back tears. “If anything were to happen to you, I don't know what I would do. I realized that I need you in my life even though it may not seem like it.”

A stray tear fell down to your cheek and he was quick to wipe it off. “That doesn't give you a reason to treat me like dirt. Every comment you said made me feel like I was at home.” You said. And he could feel his heart drop into his stomach. You never had a good home life. Your dad was a drunk and your mom was constantly at work which meant either verbal or physical abuse from him. You had told the guys and you thought Roger did care but the fact that he felt like a dick when you said that told you that he did. “I'm sorry .” He whispered not trusting his voice. You sniffled. “Y/n, I liked you since the moment I met you and I know there would have been better circumstances to tell you this but I'm not very good with timing.”

You looked at him, and put your hand on his face. “I like you too.” You said quietly. The cheeky glint in his eyes was back and you could say you put it there. He leaned in to your face since well you couldn't. He saw that you didn't move back and he had to as just to make sure, “are you sure?” He asked.

“As sure as I'll ever be.” You said closing the distance and placing your lips on his. The kiss was nice and soft. As were his lips. Yours were chapped and cut but his was soft and plump.

You pulled away and Roger smiled. “You're a good kisser.” He said making you blush. “and I promise to be here till you get your stitches out.” You put your hand on the back of his neck and pulled him towards you again.

----

Roger had been there for about two weeks and you thought it was time he go and sleep on his bed. You were one day away from getting your shitches you couldn't be happier. The stitches were the only thing preventing you from leaving. You had spent the night alone and it was cold. You didn't have Roger's warmth to hold onto at night. Though you missed it, you knew he had to have a night of good rest on his own bed.

In those two weeks you and Roger had established a relationship together. It was nice. He had a soft side for you that nobody else knew about. Though he hasn't said it, he loves you.

----

The day went by quick and now they were taking out your stitches. Roger had said he was going to be here so you figured he was late. The entire process of taking out your stitches hurt. Not going to lie, you wished Roger was there so you could hold his hand.

You sat on the bed changed and ready to go when you realized he wasn't going to come. You checked yourself out and hailed a cab to go to the studio, where you told the boys you'd meet them.

You opened the door to the studio and all eyes went on you suddenly. “hey guys.” You said smiling but that smile soon faltered when you saw a girl wrapped around Roger. And Roger looking like he was having the time of his life. Deacy, Freddie, and Brian sent you an apologetic look as you walked into the room they were in. Roger looked up and saw you, the smile previously occupying his face soon fell. “Y/n?” he said pushing the girl off of him. “Roggy!” She whined, sounding so fucking annoying. You cringed. “I think it's the for you to leave Cassie.” He said. “My name is Carly!” She said. “Oh sorry.” He said not really sorry. “Roggy! Who is this bitch?” She shouted. “The sound tech, sorry to bother you. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to day the day off. It's been a hell of a day.” You said walking out not acknowledging Roger or Roggy, as Carly likes to call him.

To hoped in a can and mentally cursed yourself for thinking he'd change. You were two weeks into the relationship and he had already found a new girl to fuck. He couldn't go two weeks without a fuck. You walked up to your apartment and you were so glad you took the day off as soon as you hit the bed.

There was a knock at the door that interrupted your amazing sleep on your bed. You got up, ad walked into the door opening it slightly just in case you needed to slam it in a certain someone's face.

No, it was a person you need to see. Deacy. You opened the door and Deacy came in. You launch yourself into his arms and he laughed at how you were acting. Truth be told you missed him. “Deacs I missed you so much.” You said squeezing tighter. While you were hugging you didn't realize that the bad had waltzed right on into your apartment. You let go of Deacyy when you heard a man clear his throat. You turned around and there stood two men and the man of the hour. You smiled at two of them and didn't even care to acknowledge the third one. “what are you guys doing here?” You asked. “Darling you left. We wanted to make sure you were ok? You just got your stitches out today. We're just worried.” Freddie explained. “Oh you remembered. Ah yes, today was the day I was supposed to come home to my friends and Roger.” You said, you knew you were acting petty but it felt good.

The guys stifled a laugh at your pettiness and Roger's sad look never seemed to fade from his face. “Darling, me John and Brian are going to get you lunch if you don't mind. Excuse me.” He said to the other two leaving you and Roger alone.

“So did you sleep with what's-her-name?” You asked bluntly. “No. She just kept kissing me and I just didn't push her off.” He said truthfully. He didn't want to have sex with her because he was waiting for you. Instead he just made out with her. You nodded and sat down on the couch. “I hope this doesn't change anything between us. I still really like you and I hope you still do too.” Yes because when you're in a two week relationship kissing the next whore doesn't change anything. “I still like you but I should've known I guess.” You said. His heart dropped and he could feel himself tear up, he mentally cursed himself for ever letting that chick ruin his chances with you. “Y/n I'm so so sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you at the hospital. I'm sorry you had to see me with her. I'm sorry for being such a dick.” He wiped his eyes quickly and took a deep breath. “Are you lying to me?” You said. Though according to him, he did kiss her you still really liked him. You had liked him for awhile now. And considering that he is mentally beating himself up because if it, maybe he was sorry. The shook his head, “I don't know how you'll fix it but I forgive you. Even though you can't keep it in your pants.” You said teasingly. The smile on his face grew and he was overloaded with joy. He strode over the you and kissed you. Holding your neck with his hand and yours holding his, you both relished in how it felt to be in each other's arms again. “God I love you.” He whispered on your lips.

Your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. And you knew he could hear it. “You don't have to say anything. I just want you to know I love you.” He finished. You looked up at him and pulled him back down to you and kissed him passionately. “I love you too.” You told him.

You both pulled away, grinning like idiots. You were both so caught up with the kiss you didn't even realize that the guys came in. “Whoop dee fucking Doo, they got back together.” Freddie said looking at the encounter. “Stop devouring each other's face and devour this food. It is not going to do it itself.” You both turned and walked to the table hand in hand forgetting that bitch that also screwed over your relationship. But jokes on her you still got him.

---

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