#wao ​they’re holding hands:>

[janjamming]

Shelter from the (acid) rain! ₍. ̯ .₎ ☂◟(ˆ⌣ˆ ৲)

[ravensilversea]

Title: You can take them out of the mafia (but that doesn't make them civilians)

Author: Raven_Silversea

Rating: T

Pairing: Hibari Kyoya/Kurokawa Hana/Sasagawa Ryohei

Prompt: Rain Day: Retired Assassins AU / Opposites Attract

Tags/Warnings: Post-Canon, Retired Assassins AU, Established Relationship, Attempted Break-In, Fights, Attempt at Humor

Summary: In their defense, the guy chose the wrong house to break into.

Ao3

There's a moment where they're all looking at each other. Ryohei holding a plate that he's in the middle of drying, Kyoya elbow-deep in the kitchen sink washing dishes, and the man dressed in black who just broke the window in the breakfast nook and is currently perched on the windowsill. 

“Wao,” Kyoya says. A bloodthirsty smile slowly spreads across his face as he turns off the water and reaches a hand towards Ryohei.

Ryohei hands Kyoya the towel and sets the plate on the counter. It's one of the nice plates with a yellow flower design along the edges, and Hana would be very disappointed with them if they broke yet another piece of the set. He cracks his knuckles, grinning broadly at the man still frozen in the window. “You EXTREMELY chose the wrong house,” Ryohei says.

In the intruder’s defense, he very quickly attempts to back out of the window and run. Unfortunately for him, Ryohei is much faster and grabs him by the shirt collar, yanking him out of the window and sending him skidding across the floor.

Before the man can stand, Kyoya slams a tonfa into his face. There’s a crack! and bright red blood spurts from the man’s nose. He reaches up to staunch the blood with one hand, the other reaching for the countertop as he begins to stand.

This time it’s Ryohei sending a left hook directly to the man’s ribcage, and he falls flat on his face with an “Oof!”

The pattern continues. Intruder attempts to stand and escape, maybe retaliate against the unending attacks. Kyoya and Ryohei smack him back down with increasingly strong attacks. At some point, the yellow flowered plate is thrown at Kyoya, who dodges, and the fight stops long enough for them all to watch as the plate shatters against the wall.

The man attempts to inch his way across the floor to the broken window while Ryohei and Kyoya examine the plate shards. Then Kyoya turns. “For your crimes,” he says slowly, “you will be bitten to death.”

Before the man can do more than whimper, Kyoya slams a tonfa down on his head. The man slumps.

Kyoya and Ryohei stare down at the broken, bleeding man unconscious on their kitchen tile. The wind blows in through the broken window, lilac curtains billowing out. Throwing knives stick out from the lemon wallpaper, a blood trail spans across much of the floor, and the yellow flowered plate is only one of the piles of glass shards needing to be swept up. Not even the cabinets escaped the fight with one door hanging on by a single screw and squeaking in the wind.

A key turns in the lock, and the front door opens. There’s a moment when they’re all looking at each other. Ryohei holding a frying pan ready to swing, Kyoya with his tonfa held loosely in his hand, and Hana, who had just come home from a business trip to Italy, still carrying her suitcase. 

“You. Are. RETIRED!” Hana yells, slamming the door shut behind her. “Why can I not leave the two of you home by yourselves for a week?!”

The intruder groans, and Ryohei smacks him back into silence with the frying pan. Hana pinches her nose with a heavy sigh. “Take him out the back and drop him in front of the police station,” she says. “I’ll make sure there’s a warrant for him in their system.”

Kyoya hums appreciably and picks the man up by his shoulders while Ryohei gives Hana a thumbs up. “Right on! You can tells us all about your EXTREME trip when we get back! Welcome home!” He picks up the man’s legs and together they shuffle towards the back door.

Hana waves a hand dismissively as she pulls her laptop out and settles down on the couch. “Yeah yeah, good to be back. Hurry home, menaces, I want some cuddle time before bed.” The shuffling sounds increase as her partners pick up their pace. She shakes her head with a soft smile, preparing the warrant as promised. 

The back door slams shut, and Hana props her feet up on the coffee table. Ah, it’s good to be home, even if she has to deal with her menaces’ mess. Again.

[shiningwonderland]

Camus (All Star)

Translator: Mimi (Twitter: _mimisaurora)

Proofreader: Raz (Twitter: agnadance)

Chapter Six — Majestic Song

…Hmm…?

My vision is warped.

My head hurts as though it is splitting open. 

T…That…?

Haruka: This is….

I fully awaken.

I feel as if I have been dreaming for a while.

…I lift my heavy body to sit up in bed and look around, only to find that I am not at the inn I had been staying at a moment ago.

A chandelier hangs from a familiar ceiling.

There are candle stands on the wall, a fireplace….

Haruka: Is this Camus-senpai’s room? How…?

I try my best to think straight, but I just can't make sense of what is going on.

Haruka: Right, I was attacked at the inn….

I suddenly feel the cold again and shiver.

I then notice that I am in his bed. 

Haruka: Ehhh!? Why am I…?

Disoriented, I hold my head in my hands. 

It is then that I sense something moving on the corner of the bed. 

Haruka: W-Who…?

I ask, frightened, when he looks up at me….

Alexander: Wao?

Haruka: A-Alexander…!

Alexander: Bark! Bark!

Alexander barks happily in the direction of the stairs when he sees me conscious.

Camus: …You’re awake.

I hear footsteps ascending the stairs, and soon Camus-senpai stick his head into the room.

Haruka: Ah, S-Senpai. Sorry, I’ll be… out of your bed in a second. 

Camus: You are talking nonsense. A sick person should not be moving about unnecessarily.

He speaks, exasperated, and lightly presses his finger against my forehead.

I had been trying to stand, but am easily forced back down into bed.

Haruka: U-Um….

My head sinks into a large pillow, and a white towel is placed over my face, hiding my bewildered expression.

Haruka: S-Senpai…?  I can’t see….

Camus: Wipe yourself off if you're awake. You're sweating like a pig. I'll leave you a change of clothes, call me when you're done, I'll be waiting outside for now.

Haruka: Uh. Um, a-alright….

He was no longer there by the time I removed the towel from my face.

Haruka: Oh… I really am sweating….

I find myself drenched in sweat. 

It was like I had just come down from a high fever, my silk pajamas stuck to my skin.

Haruka: Huh…? Do I own pajamas like this…?

They look familiar, but they are too big for me, the length and the sleeves too loose.

Actually, I don't think they’re mine….

Wait… These are… maybe….

Haruka: C-Camus-senpai!?

Camus: What’s wrong!?

Camus-senpai again goes to look inside in response to my sudden outcry.

Haruka: U-Um. That. T-These pajamas…! They’re yours….

Camus: Is that what this is about? Well, I can't just touch your belongings without your permission. I simply used my own things instead.

Haruka: Uh, but, y-you see… When did I even change my clothes…? I don't remember doing that at all….

Camus: You have been unconscious this whole time. You passed out at the inn and developed a severe fever. You don't remember?

Haruka: I really don’t. Well, then….

Select the phrase!

How did I change into these…?

Haruka: How did I change into these…?

Camus: I changed you into them.

Haruka: Ahhhhhh!!

I pull the covers over my head without so much as a second thought.

Haruka: I-I’m very sorry for making you go through all that trouble, but, you know, my clothes, I….

I don't know what to do, I have no idea what I'm even saying, and my face is growing redder by the second. 

But, that means, if he changed my clothes for me he….

I feel a whack on my head through the blanket, interrupting my thought.

Camus: You fool. I would never bear ill intentions toward someone who's sick.

Haruka: S-Sorry….

He holds out a pair of pajamas to change into when I peek back out from under the covers.

Camus: I'll make you something to eat. Get dressed and wait for me.

Haruka: A-Alright. But….

Camus: I’ve already figured out your taste, and I will not make you anything too sweet.

Haruka: T-Thank you.

I bow my head. His back turns to me as he begins to leave the bedroom.

He suddenly stops just before exiting the room.

Camus: Rest assured.I made sure not to look at you. 

Haruka: W-Wait….

*Haruka*

He leaves the bedroom before I can say anything else.

Since then….

I was sick for two days, but thanks to the care I received from Senpai, I felt much better by the third.

He lent me his spacious bedroom, thinking that my usual bed would be too cramped, and I was grateful for his kindness, devoting myself to recovery.

But….

He would not tell me what had happened at the inn in the meantime.

And also….

What even happened to the whole idea of us no longer living together?

I am almost completely recovered by the morning of the fourth day. 

Camus: Hm… No fever. You should have no issue getting up now.

Camus-senpai sits on the bed like always, places his hand against my forehead to check my fever, and then stands with a content smile on his face.

Haruka: Yeah, I already feel a lot better. Can I… ask about what went on at the inn now?

I want to know about the people who attacked me, and about what Cecil-san had said at the time. 

The doorbell rings at the front door as I ask about it.

Camus: Alright… Let’s discuss everything that’s happened, then. It looks like Aijima has just arrived too.

Cecil-san is indeed the one who came to visit, just as Senpai had said.

Cecil: Muse! I was so worried. I see you are all better now!

He presents a bouquet of bright red roses in his arms, his face beaming.

Cecil: Haruka, my light. I offer these roses to you. May the scent of its blossoms heal you soon.

Camus: Hmph. You brought trouble. Who do you think you are to bring flowers?

Haruka: Um, I…. 

Camus: You fool. How many times have I told you that sick people should lie in bed like the sick person they are?

Senpai grumbles his complaints as he places Cecil-san's bouquet in a vase, putting it on a side table.

Then both of their expressions grow serious.

Haruka: Well, then… What happened to the Queen?

I believe I had heard Cecil-san say there was a coup d'etat at Silk Palace moments before I lost consciousness that day.

Cecil: The Queen has been cursed by those who oppose our marriage, and has been encased in ice.

Haruka: No, how could they…? I thought the Queen was just as opposed to the marriage?

Why should those on the same page curse her for it?

Camus: Those seeking power in our country do not all have the same values. There are parties that favor this marriage, and those that don’t.

Cecil: They are all enemies to the Queen. In Japanese, it is called Mitsudomoe.

Protesters, fearing that the marriage between the Queen and Cecil-san would put supporters in power, resorted to aggressive measures.

Cecil: The protesters were also the ones to attack you at the inn. Their intention was me, but they made a mistake.

I was wearing Cecil-san's jacket with the hood up at the time of the attack.

They mistook me to be him because I had been walking with my head down. 

According to Camus-senpai, the assailants who managed to escape past him had already left Japan.

I shiver again as I remember how cold I had felt then, and Cecil-san looks ready to cry.

Cecil: You have been put in danger because of me. I am deeply disturbed. I am just so grateful that you are safe…

Haruka: I am safe. I will completely recover soon.

I smile when I tell him, and Cecil-san beams back at me.

But… the Queen….

The ice curse is so powerful that they are now looking for any way to save her.

Cecil: Da Ruma, my magic teacher, has gone to Silk Palace from Agna as well.

Cecil: The most reliable way to break a curse is to track down the caster and ask them how to undo it….

Haruka: Then, the culprit responsible for the Queen’s curse hasn’t been caught yet?

Senpai looks incredibly bitter when I ask.

Camus: They haven’t. Because… I am the culprit.

Haruka: WHAT?!

Haruka: It was you? W-What in the world do you mean?

Camus: I mean to say that I was framed… It’s abhorrent.

The culprit’s purpose was to take away the Queen’s freedom and gain power.

They needed to frame someone to avoid being identified as the assailants, so they went with Senpai who has been away from the country for some time.

Cecil: Camus is the Queen's most loyal vassal. They must have felt that he was in the way.

No one has yet found the real culprit.

It is being kept secret from the rest of the world that the Queen has been frozen, which means Senpai is still safe so long as he stays in Japan.

Though if he were to return to the Silk Palace, he would be treated as a criminal, preventing him from even returning to check on her, despite his concern.

Haruka: Unbelievable… He's been in Japan all this time, and yet they accuse him of something so false…!

Camus: A blood relative of mine is at the forefront of the opposition. It would be easy for them to doctor something up if they wanted to.

Camus: I would never dare to raise my blade against Her Majesty. That I would suffer such humiliation…!

He looks absolutely distressed. Senpai, who cherished the Queen more than anything else was being treated as a traitor.

It must be a feeling far worse than we could ever possibly imagine. 

Haruka: Camus-senpai….

Was there anything I could do to help? I couldn’t even find the words to ask despite feeling this way.

After that, Senpai and Cecil-san continue to have serious discussions with each other for some time. 

All I cad do is just watch.

I realize now more than ever that the world in which these people live is so very different from mine. 

That night….

I am unable to sleep, probably thanks to having stayed in bed during the day, so I am wide-awake.

I feel like I am in a daze, but I’m not sleepy. 

As I am opening a book, I hear Camus-senpai ask, "Are you awake?”, in a whisper.

Haruka: Ah, yes. You can come in.

A moment passes until he peeks inside.

Camus: …I knew it. A fool ignorant to your own recovery. Go to bed at once.

Haruka: Alright. But, I’m okay now. Uh, actually….

Select the phrase!

Will you please keep me company?

I feel kind of lonely....

Senpai's brow raises. Then, he very grumpily sits down in the chair next to the bed.

Haruka: U-Um… You don’t have to if you don’t want to….

Camus: I myself am not so wicked as to refuse the wishes of a recovering person.

Haruka: R-Right… Sorry….

Then ensued an awkward silence.

Camus: ….So… there’s… that. Is the solo song coming along?

Haruka: Y-Yes. But… At a time when your country and your beloved Queen is going through such a crisis….

I wonder if he is even still willing to sing my songs.

With what's going on in his country, I'm sure this isn't his priority right now….

Haruka: In these trying times… is it okay for me to write the solo song?

Camus: What are you talking about? Debuting is your dream, is it not?

Haruka: That… Of course it is! Uh…. But right now your issues are more important than mine.

While I am at a loss for words, he starts to utter something for a moment, stops, and then opens his mouth again as if he had decided on what to say. 

Camus: It isn’t for you. It's for… me.

Haruka: Huh?

He looks away from me with a furrow between his brows.

Camus: I… want to see your song completed.

Senpai…

Haruka: Do you really?

Camus: I wouldn't lie about something like this. Now, if you understand, stop worrying over such inconsequential things and compose! But you are still recovering from your illness, so don't push yourself!!

Haruka: A-Alright!

I straighten up in bed and he leaves the bedroom, looking a little embarrassed.

Time passes slowly but surely over the next few days as we wait for news from the Silk Palace.

It is a week later that Cecil-san visits Senpai's house again. 

Cecil: You two! I believe we are on the verge of finding a way to rescue the Queen.

Haruka: Really!?

I can't help but lean forward.

Thank goodness….

Imagine how delighted Senpai will be if the Queen is saved. It will certainly clear up any suspicions surrounding him.

However, Cecil-san doesn't look too happy. 

Haruka: It’s… not very good is it?

Cecil: Yes and no. I received a call from Da Ruma-san. Camus may be able to help the Queen.

Cecil-san explains that although there are many people the Queen has shared her power with in Silk Palace…

The pocket watch belonging to Senpai, who served as her immediate vassal, contained the strongest magical power of all.

Cecil: He says that if Camus can harness its magic, the Queen may be saved.

Camus-senpai's expression darkens when he hears this. This seemed like a very good idea, so why...?

Camus: I see. However, I will be hunted if I return to my country. Delivering the pocket watch to Her Majesty would prove challenging.

Haruka: Um, is it possible to send just the pocket watch to the Silk Palace?

They quickly shot down my idea. 

It was explained to me that the magic instrument can only be wielded by its owner, so it would be useless without Senpai there as well.

Cecil: So, will you be giving up, Camus?

Camus: Do not disparage me, fool. I would never forsake my master.

Senpai responded in his typical, undeterred tone, but his brow furrows in thought.

Cecil-san doesn't say anything either, and a heavy silence falls over the room. 

I wonder if there is any way to do this. Camus-senpai suddenly raises his head as we ponder.

Camus: ...Aijima. Are you not willing to travel to my country and see Her Majesty?

Cecil: I am the Queen’s fiancé. I could go, of course, if I wanted to, but...

Camus: You would be a state guest if you visited the country. And if I were to blend in as one of your attendants, I would be less likely to be checked, and less likely to be identified as being me.

Cecil: I think… we can do it. But that does not change the fact that it is dangerous.

Cecil: Besides, it could worsen the relationship between Agna Palace and Silk Palace if we were discovered.

Cecil: I am the prince of Agna Palace. I cannot do anything that is detrimental to the country. I must pretend that I do not know you, if you are found.

Should the opposition find out about Senpai, it will be assumed that Cecil-san and the others knew nothing about it and that Senpai had slipped into the group on his own.

Even if Senpai is arrested, Cecil-san will insist on being completely unaware.

Cecil-san stated he would not cooperate unless Senpai can agree to these conditions.

It seems callous at first, but Cecil-san’s face shows how anguished he is.

Although they argue with each other all the time, Cecil is clearly frustrated that he is unable to fully support Camus.

Camus: Hmph. That's good enough for me.

Cecil: Understood. …I will make the necessary arrangements.

Camus: …Please.

Once Cecil-san contacts the Silk Palace regarding his intention to visit and puts some groundwork in place in Agna Palace, he will return home and prepare...

I watch as the conversation goes on and on, again unable to say anything. 

I wonder if my anxiety shows on my face. Camus-senpai laughs a little.

Camus: Don't worry. We will rescue Her Majesty and be back in time for the Song Festival. It won't impede on your debut.

Haruka: No… That’s not…. Got it.

He is going back home. I realize it's dangerous, but I can't do anything to stop it.

This time things are up in the air, but even if they can rescue the Queen, with her marriage to Cecil-san still happening....

Senpai will surely return to the Silk Palace again for the Queen’s sake.

I hold my tongue, and Cecil-san smiles kindly at me.

Cecil: You, who are so kind, are concerned about Camus. Do not worry, I will help him as much as I can for your sake.

Camus: Bastard... That’s quite a big mouth you’ve got there.

Cecil: Truth is, I don’t want to help you at all. You should watch what you say. You'll be caught soon enough with that attitude….

Cecil-san thinks a little and then gives a short laugh on what he says next.

Cecil: Come to think of it, this means Camus will be my servant when I go to the Silk Palace. It is a little funny.

Camus: Hng…. This is only temporary. Do not get ahead of yourself, you rascal. I suggest you get yourself prepared for the visit.

Cecil: Urg… But what role should you technically play? It must be someone who does not talk to many people….

Cecil: Oh, yes! I will take my pet black panther with me. Camus, you will be his caretaker.

Cecil's face instantly brightened. 

B-Black panther…?

Cecil: My panther is only nice to me, so do your best, Camus!

Camus: Oho. I had no idea you liked pets. …Come, Alexander.

Alexander: Bark bark bark bark!!

Cecil: Nyaaa! N-Not dogs!

The two of them go on to cause a scene and look to be having a bit of fun, but it is as if... they are intentionally trying to lighten the mood to counter the gravity of the situation.

I laugh a little as I watch them, but my heart… still feels uneasy.

The day of their departure grows closer and closer now that things have kicked into gear.

Meanwhile, Camus and I spend most of our time at home writing the solo song.

I want to get as close to completion as possible while Senpai is still in Japan.

We don't talk about anything unnecessary, we simply play the music together and work on the song.

I feel that if we speak to each other, we might ruin something important...

Then one day…. 

I had finished playing the piano and was thirsty, so I reached for my glass of water.

Haruka: Huh…? It’s warm. That’s weird.

I added ice just a few minutes ago and now it's completely melted, as if the water were warm...

Haruka: Camus-senpai, did you happen to cast some kind of magic? The ice in my glass melted...

Camus: Not at all. I do not use magic for anything other than emergencies. Besides, my nation's magic can freeze water, but not the other way around.

Haruka: I see…

Maybe it's the heating inside? 

It is a little odd, but the solo song is more important to me right now.

The days pass in the meantime—

Until at last, the two of them were set to leave tomorrow.

The room was filled with the smell of sweet chocolate.

Strawberries, pineapple, bananas, kiwi, French bread, marshmallows….

On the last evening together, after a light dinner, we enjoyed Senpai's favorite chocolate fondue for dessert.

I figured I'd do something special and have him eat plenty of his favorite foods today.

Camus-senpai brings the chocolate fondue to his mouth with an expression that, at first glance, is no different than any other day, but a closer look reveals that he is happy.

He wouldn't want the taste of his meal to be ruined, so tonight I put no sugar in his tea.

I am certain that I am the only one who knows this, having lived by his side for so long.

Camus: This chocolate tastes different from the usual kind. Any secrets?

Haruka: You could tell? I put a little premium brandy in it.

Haruka: And this one is an interesting recipe using black sesame seeds.

Camus: Which one… Hmm. This richness is addicting. Well done.

Haruka: ...Thank you. I'm happy you like it. You won't be back in Japan for a while, so I thought I'd make you something that you can only eat here.

Haruka: There's plenty more to come.

Alexander finishes his own meal and curls up, asleep.

Things are going so smoothly that it is hard to believe Senpai will be gone tomorrow.

Camus: I've already arranged to have Alexander taken care of. I'll take him tomorrow on my way out.

Haruka: Actually, about that…. Can't I take care of him? …In this house?

I take a chance and offer my idea.

It is something that has been on my mind ever since it had been decided that Camus would be returning to his home country.

Haruka: I want to wait for you to come back here in this house with Alexander. …Can I?

He looked a little surprised.

Camus: I… don’t mind. It’s better to have someone house-sitting so the place can stay maintained. But…

He looks at me as he puts the fondue skewer on his plate.

I  still, just as I was about to skewer some strawberries.

Camus: Haruka. I would like to ask you something. …Do you…?

Haruka: Yes?

Camus: ….

Haruka: Um…

He shook his head as though he himself was convinced.

Camus: Nevermind… It’s fine. In any case, how is the solo songwriting going?

Haruka: Right. I think it's coming together pretty well!

Camus: Well, all the better. I can't leave Japan without regrets unless I have a girl as foolish as yourself win the Song Festival.

Ah….

Senpai is definitely intending to go back to his country after the song festival.... 

Back to the Queen….

Haruka: I… Once you’ve rescued the Queen and the song festival is over…. Will you ever come back to Japan?

For a moment he is at a loss for words.

Camus: So long as Her Majesty desires it.

But….

During times all four of the Senpai worked together on music, and during live performances, Camus-senpai radiated and appeared to be having a lot of fun….

Select the phrase!

You’re not upset by this?

Haruka: You're not upset by this?

Camus: I shouldn't consider my personal desires on a mission I was given.

Haruka: But…

Camus: It’s not a question of liking or disliking. I will obey an order, even if it means committing a wrongdoing.

Haruka: Really… Even if it’s… wrong…?

I hadn’t questioned that Senpai would do whatever the Queen told him to do, but even then….

Haruka: What if you do something bad and everyone around you gets hurt?. They may dislike you… and may not forgive you….

Senpai is really a kind man. I wonder if he would still then obey the Queen.

Camus: Such is the nature of doing evil. One should not expect to be forgiven when they have chosen that path of their own volition.

Haruka: But….

He shakes his head, looking a little perplexed.

Camus: Her Majesty is someone who has been stripped of all her freedoms, taken from her family immediately after birth, confined to the inner palace, and cut off from all contact with the outside world.

The Queen leaving the palace would mean the destruction of Silk Palace.

That is why the people around her thoroughly cut her off from the outside.

Camus: She accepted it. She said her people should be happy despite being deprived of all that she had.

Camus: How can I, a knight, not support such a Queen?

I was the closest in age among the aristocratic children, so I was often invited to the palace to talk with her since I was a child. 

I have served by her side most of my life, and I can’t say I’m afraid to admit we are like siblings, but I know all about Her Majesty's pain and suffering.

In truth, I want to give her the freedom to walk out of the palace and to be happy with the president. I want to eliminate all of her political enemies.

But I can't do any of those things, so I will instead grant all other wishes she has.

For so long we've lived together like two people bound by a cold chain.

Even if someone were to show me that there are warmer bonds in the world and this chain were to be removed for me…

I will never be free on my own. If I were ordered to do evil, I would play the perfect villain, no matter who I hurt.

Bubbles floated up and disappeared in the pot of chocolate ahead of Senpai, who spoke rather frankly.

Haruka: But, but… What if the person hurt by what you did were….

Select the phrase!

What if it were Cecil-san?

Haruka: What if it were Cecil-san?

This conversation was supposed to be hypothetical, and yet his face darkens.

Camus: Aijima. He'd get hurt by my betrayal because of his naivete. Forever believing in me, his wounds may continue to grow.

Camus: However, Aijima is not as vulnerable as one may think. He truly possesses the qualities of a King. Should there be a fight, he would ultimately win.

Haruka: And still…?

Senpai nods.

I find myself speechless again, but he looks back at me with kind eyes.

Camus: Do you take me for a fool?

I couldn’t say anything.

Camus: And yet, I will not betray Her Majesty.

Haruka: But, then…. Then what exactly happens to your pain?

He gives a short breathy laugh. He looks straight at me with eyes as beautiful as crystals.

Camus: You… know nothing of sin.

Haruka: I….

Camus: I am sometimes baffled. I suppose it's because you and I live in different worlds.

He then proceeds to explain.

If we had met before he paused his search for a retainer, and then, if the Queen had not said she’d “live as Haruka Nanami”, but instead had said she would borrow a vessel to use and still live her life as the Queen as always.

And then…

If had all of this happened before the night we played music together,

He believes I might have become a spiritual vessel.

Camus: Do you get it now? I'm not the kind of man you need to be worried about.

Haruka: ...Even so, I'm sure you'd still help me out in the end.

Camus: I… can’t win with you.

He sighed and gave a perplexed laugh.

Camus: No more what if's. All of this chatter is getting us nowhere. …Let’s eat. It’s getting cold.

Haruka: But…

He stuffs a chocolate-covered strawberry into my mouth as I open it to say something.

Haruka: Nn…! Nnn.

I chew the large strawberry the best I can, and Senpai’s eyes narrow at me for a moment.

Camus: I have never once prayed to a god, but now I want to try…. Strange, isn't it?

Haruka: You want to pray?

… What is he saying…?

He chuckls as if he had read my thoughts.

Camus: Wishes are best left unspoken, right?

He doesn’t say anything more after that. I guess that concludes the conversation this time.

It's not like I had anything to say either, so I return my attention back to the chocolate fondue.

The chocolate pot is almost empty. It'll be over when we're done eating….

We eat very, very slowly.

Take one strawberry. Put it in your mouth… and eat it.

Haruka: Um, do you want more?

Camus: No, that's good. I'm content.

Haruka: Alright…

He looks at his empty plate and mutters, as if to himself.

Camus: Sweets are a rarity where I come from. The next time I'll have something like this will be during the song festival….

Silk Palace is a very cold northern country, so there aren't many sweet options available, and certainly not as many sweets as there are in Japan.

It was such an insignificant comment. But… I stilled.

Camus-senpai is going to a country completely different from Japan.

I was suddenly very aware of that very obvious thing—

I felt a touch on my cheek, and when I brushed it with my finger, I found a drop of water.

Huh…?

Am I crying…?

I could see Senpai looking back at me with wide eyes.

Camus: H-Hey, what’s wrong?

Haruka: Ah… N-No… N-Nothing. It’s nothing….

I hastily rub at my eyes. Worrying him is the last thing I want to do.

But the tears won't stop. I rub and rub and rub, but they just continue to flow, one after the other.

He hurriedly gets up from his seat.

Camus: C-Calm down. You.…

Haruka: I’m fine… It’s fine… so….

I wanted to laugh today, to leave him with happy memories as I say goodbye.

So why on earth am I crying? I try to convey to him that I will stop crying soon, but my voice fails me.

I felt guilty seeing him so confused. I am so ashamed of myself….

Camus: R-Right, I, ever the merciful one, will grant you a wish. Name anything you want. So stop crying. When you cry like that…

I shake my head. A wish… I couldn't possibly tell him what I wish for.

Because I absolutely cannot beg him to please not go…

“Anything,” he repeats.

Hearing that… a thought suddenly occurs to me.

Haruka: W-Well… Then… May…. May I ask… what your full name is?

“Camus” was all that I knew. I never learned his real name despite having spent so much time together.

If we're not going to be able to see each other, at least I'll know his name.

Senpai appears a little taken aback, asking if that was really all I wanted.

Camus: My name is just Camus. We have no concept of surnames in my country. A name is something special to identify an individual.

He told me as I finally stop crying that when someone refers to a "household" like an earl's family, they use the name of the territory they occupy.

He teaches me what the earl's territory is called, but I can't pronounce it in Japanese.

Camus: I received this name as a sign of allegiance the day I was first granted an audience with Her Majesty. Any name I had before that was abandoned.

I see….

He even got his name from the Queen.

I thought I had calmed down, but an ache blooms in my chest once again. Everything about him really is….

Camus: T-There's no need to cry. I said I'll be back in time for the song festival. Do you really find me that unreliable?

Haruka: No…. T-That’s not… it.

However….

When I can say nothing more, Camus-senpai ponders for a moment and then quietly speaks.

Camus: Then, will you name me too?

Haruka: What…?

Camus: A name for a man who will come back to you. If you assign me a name that possesses your feelings, that will become my existence.

Camus: For as long as you call me by that name, I will always honor my promise to you. What do you say, will you name me?

Haruka: Y-Yes….

I didn't quite understand what he was saying, but I nod my head anyways.

I can name him. I can call him by a name that wasn’t given to him by the Queen.

He laughs a little and asks me what name I would like to use.

Haruka: If I could think of a name for you….

Select the phrase!

A name inspired by ice crystals

Haruka: I… find you to be like ice crystals. So I'd like to give you a name inspired by them.

Those intense and beautiful eyes are like crystals.

His dignified strength and his appearance, icy but never melting,  remind me of crystals, too.

Camus: I am like crystals…? A little unexpected. But I don’t hate it.

Haruka: Then again, you can be a little scary sometimes, kind of like a blizzard.

Camus: Want to say that again?

Haruka: Sorry… But….

I start apologizing, but then notice he is smiling at me.

I relax, and then think of a name that combines the two words.

Once I say the name I came up with out loud, it feels right, as though it had been his name from the very beginning.

Senpai nods his approval.

Camus: Hmph… It’s a good name….

He reaches for a quill pen and writes the name I have just spoken on a piece of paper.

Then an “R”. And then a “Camus”.

At last, he picks up his pocket watch and slides it over the name he's just written, causing the letters to twinkle like stars.

Camus: Very well. This is my name from now on. Her Majesty's obedient sword, the man who will keep his promise to you. It became longer, but this is better.

Haruka: Um, that “R” you put in the middle…?

Camus: That is a highly classified term. Nothing I will tell you about.

He chuckles a little and lightly pokes me on the forehead.

Camus: All right. Now, do not tell anyone my new name. Do not record it in any form. The only person allowed to address me by that name is you. Don’t forget.

I nod my head, not asking any questions, but knowing he is talking about something important.

It was almost like I had just completed a very sacred ceremony.

Haruka: I understand. I will not tell anyone.

Camus: That's good. You take care of Alexander and the house while I'm gone. I will be in touch with you, so make sure you have the solo song finished by then.

Haruka: Yes. Absolutely.

I nod again.

As our gazes lock again, I feel something palpable between us.

Though he doesn't say anything out loud, I'm sure it isn't just my imagination.

The next day, it is just me and Alexander in Senpai's house. 

He may be gone, but the workload remains the same. Solo songwriting takes up all of the spare time I could afford and it keeps me busy every day.

Cecil-san, true to the schedule, comes back to Japan after a few days.

Camus-senpai disappears immediately after entering the Silk Palace as planned, and could not be heard from again until Cecil-san's return.

I was told that only DaRuma-sensei could be contacted from time to time, so there is nothing to worry about.

But….

If the Queen can be rescued, Senpai will have to return to his country.

He will only be in Japan for a short amount of time….

So I must welcome him with the greatest song I can write so as not to waste that time.

Haruka: I have to do my best.

I’m… not worried at all.

It’ll be fine. I’m fine.

I face the music sheet today, determined as ever.

I devote myself to work every day in an attempt to overcome my anxiety of not being able to see Camus-senpai.

Then one day, Kurosaki-senpai stops by the tower.

Ran: Hey. Is it true the idiot’s really gone?

“The idiot” is probably Camus-senpai….

Haruka: Y-Yes. He went back to his home country for a time for some personal reasons.

Ran: Tch. We're way too damn busy thanks to him dumpin’ his unfinished work on us. 

Camus-senpai was a popular idol and always had his hands full with work.

I had heard that the three other senpai were covering for him because of his sudden absence in Japan.

Haruka: Um, thank you for covering his part of the work. 

Ran: You’re not the one that needs to be thankin’ me... but that’s fine. Now, I got this for you from the old man.

Kurosaki-senpai brusquely pushes the envelope into my hand.

Haruka: This is from the President…? What could it be?

I believe Kurosaki-senpai is referring to President Saotome when saying “the old man” here.

Ran: It’s a CD of traditional songs from the idiot’s home country. He said, “I’ll be Very Very Happy if you reference it for his solo song”.

Haruka: T-Thank you. This is much appreciated.

Kurosaki-senpai furrows his brow when I bow to him.

Ran: Y’know, I don't get why the boss who's always preachin' about "solving every problem on your own is the only way to be an idol" would give you somethin’ like this.

Ran: That Camus guy must be in deep shit.

Haruka: That’s… Well….

I couldn't tell Kurosaki-senpai about what's going on at Silk Palace right now, or stuff about the President and the Queen.

I choke on my words, and the older man awkwardly shrugs his shoulders.

Ran: Well, it's none of my business. …By the way, can I come up for a sec?

Haruka: S-Sure.

Ran: Sorry ‘bout that. Just forgot somethin’ at the potluck.

Forgot something? What was he talking about? I don't think Kurosaki-senpai had anything with him that day.

Curious about what he could have left, I invite him into the house.

Kurosaki-senpai, who had followed me into Camus-senpai's bedroom, heads straight for the teddy bear next to the desk.

The teddy bear Kurosaki-senpai had been looking at the day we had dinner.

Ran: I knew this was it…. No doubt about it.

He looks at the teddy bear for a while, but eventually turns his attention back to me.

Ran: Y’know, this actually belongs to a kid I know.

Haruka: I had no idea….

I figured it was related to Kurosaki-senpai.

Ran: I have no clue how it got here, but the kid really cared about this thing. Can I have it back?

Haruka: I….

What should I do? Camus-senpai had mentioned that he didn't buy it with the intention to keep it, but that he would eventually donate it to the right place….

Haruka: Well, it belongs to Camus-senpai… and he’s scheduled to be back before the song festival, so why don't you ask him about it?

Ran: Hm… Sure. But, is the guy really coming back?

Haruka: Eh…

Ran: I don't always get what he's saying, and his attitude is terrible, but I knew he wasn't the kind of guy who would just bail on his job.

Ran: He must have known the world isn't so forgiving that he would be allowed to just go back to his own country on short notice. This is why he suddenly disappeared instead, isn’t it?

Haruka: That… That’s….

I had no words.

He left the country promising to get in touch with me, but I haven't heard from him or from Cecil yet.

The Silk Palace is now a dangerous place to be for him. My worries only continue to grow more and more. But….

Haruka: …He will return. He keeps his promises.

After that, he will return to the country again, and even if he never, ever comes back when he leaves again….

Haruka: He said that he will definitely return. So he will.

Kurosaki-senpai's words, a mere few words, upset my already tense heart and bring tears to my eyes.

But I decided to trust him and wait, so I can't cry here.

I clench my fist.

Ran: Ah… Um….

Kurosaki-senpai turns away from me a little and scratchs at his head uncomfortably.

He haphazardly takes the teddy bear and presses it against my chest.

Haruka: Kurosaki-senpai…?

Ran: It’s… I'll let you borrow it ‘til Camus gets back.

Haruka: Huh?

Ran: If you hold on to that bear when you're in a bad spot, it'll do wonders to help you feel a lot better… or at least that’s what the kid who owned it once said.

Haruka: I….

Kurosaki-senpai kept averting his gaze and won't look at me.

Is the “kid” he keeps referring to perhaps…?

Ran: Alright, I’m out. Call me when Camus gets back… Sorry to bother ya.

Before I can ask him anything, Kurosaki-senpai turns himself around and leaves.

I still don't hear from Camus-senpai after that.

Cecil-san also worried and repeatedly contacted him from Agna Palace to see how he was doing.

There is no news of Senpai. It is as if he had vanished.

He might be in danger. It might be that he's been captured by people who are working against the Queen….

Battling the dread that keeps crawling back, I devote myself to my compositions.

It is only when I am immersed in songwriting that I can forget my anxieties, and can feel close to the person who stands beneath a distant sky.

I also make the effort to smile and be as positive as possible, because looking depressed will make me feel as such.

Do what I can now, as best I can.

I don't have time to be worried.

I need to be able to say that I've been doing a good and admirable job while he was away.

Haruka: Good morning! I brought the BGM samples you mentioned the other day!

Today, at the agency, I have a meeting with Tsukimiya-sensei. I greet him loudly.

Ringo: Oh! You're early. That's great! And you’re so chipper this morning.

Haruka: I'm giving it my all!

Ringo: Hey…. Haru-chan. Have you heard from Camus-chan yet?

Haruka: I… still haven't. But he's the kind of man to do things at his own pace.

I answer Tsukimiya-sensei with a smile and grab the USB from my bag.

I think I was able to create exactly what I had envisioned this time around. And once I get Sensei's opinion….

Ringo: Haru-chan. Aren't you worried that Camus-chan is missing?

Haruka: It's all right. There are still a few more days left.

Ringo: Right… But remember to take it easy. You've been doing way too much lately.

Haruka: It's perfectly fine. I trust Senpai, and I am also a professional. I would never take on a job that I can't do.

I respond with a smile and try to flex my arm.

...I lack the muscles to do it… but I'm sure I got the message across.

Tsukimiya-sensei giggles.

Ringo: Haru-chan, you’re all grown up.

Ringo: You know, that night we all had dinner, I was still skeptical. I used to think you two were lying about being in love.

Ringo: But.... You two really do have feelings for each other.

My heart jumps at his words.

Haruka: I’m… not so sure about that. Right now, Camus-senpai and I are just business partners.

Ringo: Oh? Is that what you're going to say now? What you guys say and what you guys end up doing are completely different.

Haruka: You… think so?

Ringo: The day Camus-chan left for Silk Palace, he asked me to look after you. It surprised me. He's not the type to talk like that.

Ringo: I was a bit concerned with Camus-chan's tendency to reject others, but now that he has someone as important as you, I'm glad.

Haruka: I see….

He’s wrong.

The Queen is Senpai’s “important person”.

Not me….

Haruka: Sensei! Let’s start the meeting.

I shake my head to clear my mind and smile.

I… decide not to think about it anymore.

I think of nothing else. I simply have to trust Senpai.

At least that's what I've been trying to tell myself, but when coming back to the empty tower I can't help but grow restless.

Haruka: I shouldn't… think about it.

I was sitting at the piano unable to do anything for a while, so I shake my head.

Haruka: Or else… he'd call me a fool if he saw me in such a pathetic state.

….

I wish… he would.

I know Senpai is genuinely thinking about whoever he's talking to, even if his words are mean.

I can only fondly remember the mean words he'd say.

I want to see him. I want to hear him. At the very least, I want to know if he’s safe.

Haruka: No, no, I can’t, I have to stay positive.

I shake my head again, take a deep breath, and face the keyboard.

There still is no contact with Senpai as the song festival approaches.

Most of his song is already finished, but it's all pointless if the person meant to sing it doesn't listen to it.

The lyrics are still tentative, just as I thought they would be.

I'm sure it’ll be fine. As long as we can get in touch with him at least one time before the song festival, he will be able to perfectly perform the song. Even after looking at the music score once.

I… want to believe it’ll be fine.

Just as my pent-up anxiety begins to become overbearing, I am invited to join Cecil-san at a coffee shop.

Cecil: Haruka. I am glad to see you are doing better than expected.

Haruka: Yes. It’s thanks to everyone’s help really.

Sensei, my other Senpai, and my classmates all took care of me in some way.

Haruka: So, um,... Cecil-san, why’d you call me over today…? Is there something wrong… with Senpai?

Cecil: Yes. It is not good news. I do not know if I should tell you right now.

Haruka: Please do. Whatever it is, I want to know.

I beg Cecil-san, who seems hesitant, to tell me.

Bad news is better than no news.

He struggles with it for a moment, but eventually gives in and goes on to speak.

Cecil: …It appears that the Queen's power has weakened after being kept frozen for so long. As long as things continue as they are now, the Queen will not be able to hold on much longer.

Haruka: No… If the Queen is gone, that means….

I believe that the Queen is protecting the Silk Palace from a blizzard. If she no longer has her powers….

Cecil: That country will freeze over without the Queen. Fleeing the country is the only way for the people to save themselves.

He shakes his head sadly. 

Cecil: I want to be of use for you, but I do not have the ability to sustain two countries. I’m sorry….

Haruka: B-But as long as the Queen is freed, there’s nothing to worry about.

Cecil: Yes. However, DaRuma-sensei has said he has already tried Camus’ pocket watch.

And yet, the ice still didn't melt, then….

My anxiety is paralyzing, leaving me speechless.

I doubt there is anything that can be done about it. I can't believe there is nothing else that can be done but to just hope for the best….

Eventually, Cecil-san and I leave the coffee shop with heavy hearts.

I am stressed when I return to the tower that evening.

Lost in my thoughts, I roll the aurora borealis-colored stone I received for Christmas over and over between my fingers.

Camus-senpai….

What could he be doing right now?

Haruka: I want to see you….

I suddenly remember the new name I had given him that night.

The stone in my hand glows the second I do.

Haruka: Uh….

I am so startled I almost dropped it.

Is this the light that Senpai always used to communicate with the Silk Palace...?

I heard it a few times, the noise static in my head.

Could it…? Is this really connected to the Silk Palace?

Haruka: Camus-senpai?! Is it you?!

Camus: Quiet down, you fool!! What time do you think it is!?

Haruka: Ahh!? I-I’m sorry!

I nearly leapt to my feet at his sudden outburst.

Haruka: Um, but it's still only afternoon.

Ah, wait, that’s right. There’s a time difference.

Haruka: Sorry… I wasn’t thinking.

I bow my head to the glowing stone, and this time he laughs at me.

Camus: Hmph. You sound to be doing well.

I couldn’t believe it….

It really is Camus-senpai’s voice.

That self-assured voice I've been longing to hear for so long.

He sounds so much the same as always that I have a hard time getting over the fact we hadn't seen each other.

It brings tears to my eyes.

Haruka: You sound like you're doing good too….

Camus: Of course. I don't have "failure" in my dictionary. But you seem to be doing well.

Camus: I figured it would be lonely being alone in that house in the woods….

Haruka: It is. I miss you!

Camus: Hng….! Hm. That's also an honor.

…He laughs.

Haruka: Um, are you safe?

Camus: That's a terrible question. I wouldn't be speaking to you now if I wasn't safe. Is everything alright with you?

Haruka: Y-Yes. I'm doing great.

It was true. I held a heavy heart just a few moments ago, but now it is as light as ever.

Haruka: I am perfectly all right, so please do whatever you need to do.

The words come to me naturally, no bluffing.

Haruka: So, how are things going over there? The Queen, the opposition…

He informs that he is currently in a secure location and will soon be able to track down the opposition.

But… the Queen is still frozen.

Haruka: I see….

I feel my lightened heart grow heavy again.

If she doesn’t survive this, then he….

Camus: Don't sound so miserable. I will save her.

His words remind me not to lose hope.

The cause is still unknown, but apparently the Queen's power does sometimes grow stronger.

Somehow, he explains, an ally from somewhere has been sending magic that can break the curse.

Haruka: Really!?

An unknown ally. Who in the world could it be?

It doesn't really matter. As long as they can help the person most important to Camus-senpai….

Camus: The curse may be broken, but there's still the matter of her marriage to Aijima….

His tone hardens. Despite being unable to see his face, I could tell he was having a hard time.

Haruka: You….

Select the phrase!

What will you do if the Queen gets married?

Haruka: What will you do if the Queen gets married?

Camus: What will I do? Would I not continue to serve her?

Haruka: No, that’s not…. I mean… would things stay the same if the person you love got married to someone else…?

Camus: Wait. What are you talking about…?

What…?

Haruka: Uh, well, you love the Queen, right?

Camus: Of course. I devote my love and loyalty to my country and to my master.

Haruka: Then, it must be hard to see the most important person in your life get married….

Camus: Hm…?

What…?

Camus: ….

Haruka: Um….

He gives a big sigh after a while.

Camus: ...I think I have an idea of what you're trying to say. You are mistaking my loyalty for romantic affection.

Haruka: Huh?

Camus: To illustrate.. Ah, yes. This situation is akin to seeing my sibling, esteemed teacher, boss and the likes getting married.

Haruka: But, the Queen is a woman and….

He explains in dismay that "a master is a master regardless of gender," and this time, lets out a smaller sigh.

Camus: Okay, listen carefully. I value Her Majesty more than my own life, but that is purely out of a sense of obligation.

Camus: If this were the marriage of the woman I am in love with, I certainly wouldn’t be able to take it. But when it comes to Her Majesty, her happiness is my happiness. …Get it now?

Haruka: Y-Yes.

He… isn’t in love with her?

I am so confused that all I can do is nod along.

Camus: Hm. Good then. Have you finished the solo by the way? Play it for me if you're at home.

Haruka: I-Is that okay…? You're not in the best spot right now....

He laughs again when I ask.

Camus: You're funny. How can I, however talented I may be, sing the song at a music festival without hearing it once? I have already written the lyrics. Now let me listen.

He laughs, saying that he has sung the song several times by himself, but it would be useless without the accompaniment. 

Haruka: A-Absolutely! I’ll be ready in a second!

I can't let his feelings go unanswered. I hurry to the piano.

SONG: "TITLE" (S Rank)

I finish playing the piano, and for a while he remains silent.

I wonder what's going on…. I hope he hasn’t gotten disconnected or something….

Camus: Right… Your piano playing. I don’t think I’ve listened to it for a long while now.

When he, at last, speaks it is very, very gentle.

Camus: It sounds like it took a lot of trial and error. I look forward to hearing it in person once I’m in Japan.

Haruka: Y-Yes. Thank you!

Camus: Then, I will sing along this time. Play it again.

Haruka: Got it!

I turn to face the piano once more.

His voice rang out, with the piano, from the white light.

His clear, majestic vocals bring the song to life.

Camus-senpai is amazing.

When I was working on the song alone, I just couldn't help but think something was missing.

The addition of his voice completes the song like the pieces of a puzzle fitting together.

What I wouldn’t give to be able to actually hear him sing this, rather than just through some magic transmission…..

I can't wait to hear his real voice in person.

The song finishes, and I take my hand off the keyboard with reluctance.

Camus: … Hmm. There are some things about the singing that concern me.

Haruka: Yeah. Um, I would like to make changes to the verse. And also, the last part could be a little….

We then work together on the song.

We take our time talking it over and I play the piano over and over….

It is ironic how I can more comfortably talk now with Senpai when he is in a far away place than I ever could when we were in the same country.

Haruka: …Ahem.

I give a small cough. I guess I was so caught up in the conversation that I got a little thirsty.

I reach for my glass of water, which I had left by my side, when….

Haruka: Huh…?

Senpai asks what was wrong.

Haruka: Ah, it’s nothing. It’s just the water in my glass got warmer.

I had only just filled it, so it should still be cold. I wonder why it isn't….

Thinking it over, I have no idea how it could have happened at all. The heater doesn't even hit this spot directly….

Camus: …It is strange. But a lot of surprising things happen when you're involved.

Haruka: R-Really…?

It was far more surprising to me, finding out that he could use magic….

Camus: A very odd thing indeed. I, for example, would like to hear your music again…

His voice is soft. I can almost envision his serene expression through the white light.

Camus: People accuse me of being a liar, but only when I'm singing your songs do I feel like I'm being honest.

That makes one wonder why…. Hearing that warms my heart. This isn't like me….

Haruka: Um…

Camus: Hm…? It’s….

I bite back the words I was about to say when I hear Senpai's nervous voice from the white light.

Haruka: What’s wrong?

Camus: The ice on the windows is melting. This shouldn’t be possible, it’s below freezing outside…. …No way.

Senpai cut himself off, as if he'd noticed something.

Camus: …Senpai?

What's going on? It's frustrating not being able to see what is happening on the other side.

Camus: Haruka. I want to check something. It's something Aijima mentioned before. If the music you write might be….

Just as he is about to say more, there is a loud thud in the background.

Camus: What?! No way they’re here…. Ugh….

Haruka: Senpai? Are you okay?!

What happened?! All I can hear are the sounds of a struggle.

Haruka: Senpai!!

I rise to my feet, but there is nothing I can do but call out to him.

Camus: Don't worry…. I’ll be back for the song festival.

As soon as he says that, the magic stone splits in two in my hand.

Then, the white light and sound disappear.

Haruka: Oh no….

I stand there, stunned.

In my hand is a broken stone that has lost its luster, split in two. 

Regardless of how many times I call out to him, he no longer responds.

I then tried to connect the two halves, but no matter how many times I call out his name, I can’t reconnect with him.

Time passes quickly with me being unable to do anything about it.

There is no word from Senpai and no news from Cecil-san's side either.

However, it is understood from satellite images and other sources that the climate around the Silk Palace has been disturbed.

Cecil-san mentioned that this is probably a sign that the Queen was growing weaker and weaker.

As long as Senpai rescues the Queen, I am sure she will recover. I spent the days watching international coverages with that thought in mind.

But, the climate is not recovering and there is no news from the Silk Palace…. 

Finally, the day of the Song Festival arrives.

The weather this morning is bad. 

The wind howls unsettlingly, as though threatening a snowstorm.

This may have been the result of the poor weather in Silk Palace, further away.

I manage to calm Alexander, who has been restless all morning, before leaving him at a daycare and heading for the festival venue.

The song had been completed during the talk with Camus-senpai, and the arrangement was ready.

But the singer is missing.

Thankfully, the President had arranged for him to perform much later in the show, but I had no way of telling him that.

All I can do is wait.

I wait for him near the entrance with the broken magic stone and the perfume bottle that he used to communicate with, hoping that he will arrive soon.

I practically start praying.

The crowds buzz with excitement before the event even begins, considering that it is the Shining Agency's biggest event.

The weather looks to be getting worse, but the guests' enthusiasm shows that they don't seem to care.

The staff rush around in a hurry. The audience's faces glow with anticipation. It is like they are all in a different world.

I anxiously wait for Senpai amidst the crowd’s growing excitement….

And, at last, the song festival begins.

One after another, the professors, my classmates, and Shining Agency's prized idols perform their greatest songs.

A surge of lights color the auditorium. The applause. The cheers. The singing.

This dream stage gains momentum at an accelerated pace.

And still, Camus-senpai does not appear. Time is running out fast.

I can't wait any longer, so I assure the staff that I will return soon and run to the back entrance of the venue.

I knew that staying there would only make me feel worse.

I had just run out the back door and down a nearby street when my cell phone rings.

Haruka: H-Hello!

Huh…? Alexander… went missing!? Yes, yes. Understood.

The call is from Alexander's daycare center, who are panicking after noticing he disappeared when nobody was looking.

Haruka: Oh no… Where could he have gone at a time like this?

He's a smart boy, so I'm sure there is nothing to worry about. 

Is what I’d like to think, but….

Haruka: Ah….

I notice an approaching figure and turned to see Cecil-san, who had just finished his performance.

Haruka: Ah, Cecil-san. Good work today.

Cecil: Haruka. Have you heard from Camus?

Haruka: The magic stone is broken, so he couldn't contact me even if he wanted to.

I shake my head and Cecil-san's face darkens as he goes to stand next to me.

Cecil: Don't worry. If you believe in him, he will make it. I will wait for Camus with you.

Haruka: Thank you…

He smiles at me in an attempt to cheer me up through my inevitable anxiety.

Cecil: Please be assured. Camus may be a very arrogant man, but he is also a man of his word.

Cecil-san remarks that many problems occurred during the master course, but that Camus-senpai had solved them all.

He immediately adds on afterwards though how Senpai is a truly evil and corrupt man.

I had to laugh a little at how annoyed he looks.

Cecil-san grins, too, and then quietly looks up at the sky.

Cecil: If Camus promised to make your dream come true, then he will keep that promise.

Cecil: I may be able to entrust Camus with you, too….

Haruka: Cecil-san….

He shakes his head slightly and then smiles again.

Cecil: For now… Let’s wait for Camus.

Hearing someone approach again, we turned around.

Ringo: How's it going, Haru-chan? Do you think Camus will make it?

Haruka: Ah… Tsukimiya-sensei.

Kurosaki-senpai and Kotobuki-senpai arrive after Tsukimiya-sensei.

Ranmaru: Word's that there's a traffic jam on the highway. Idiot must've gotten caught up in it.

Haruka: Kurosaki-senpai….

Um, thank you. For the bear. 

The teddy bear I borrowed from Kurosaki-senpai has helped me tremendously, bringing me comfort.

Haruka: I never got to thank you properly.

Kurosaki-senpai frowns and gestures as if to tell me not to say anything else, so I silently bow my head.

Ringo: I could have picked him up if he’d called me.

I check my phone again, but there is still no call.

Then somebody else comes our way, but it isn't Camus-senpai this time, either.

Mikaze-senpai, who has just finished singing, has walked over to avoid the fans' attention.

Ai: They added more MCs and stalled for as long as they could. You should be grateful. Though, by the looks of things, it's going to be for nothing.

Haruka: That won’t happen. He’s absolutely….

He said he would be back. I'm sure he'll make it.

Ai: You say that, but we can’t deny the facts…. What a hassle.

Ranmaru: Tsk… We'll have to cover his ass again. And the money’s still gonna be the same. He’s gettin’ punched when he gets back.

Ai: It's not enough. He needs to pay up a lot more for this….

Reiji: It’s fiiiinneee. Myu-chan is a nice guy who does what he needs when he needs to. Now, what should be the penalty for being late?

The three of them begin to have a very loud discussion regarding the possible punishments they could give to Camus-senpai.

There is no doubt that this was their way of showing their concern.

But….

Senpai and Alexander are….

Ringo: Time is running out. We can't afford anymore breaks on stage. Instead, we're going to have someone else--

Cecil: Please wait a second. I hear something…!

All of us raise our heads at the same time. Is that... the sound of footsteps?

There is no mistaking it. They get closer and closer. It is….

Ai: This kind of sound is not normally heard on a public road… Oh my. How utterly absurd.

Everybody looks at each other and quietly clear the path in front of me.

The sound is getting louder and louder. It must be very close.

Before I can catch myself, I’m running as if being drawn by the noise.

Haruka: This sound, the sound could be….

I press a hand against my chest and look around.

In that moment一

A large white shadow jumps out from the nearby forest.

Camus: Hmph. Sorry to keep you waiting.

I can't believe it….

The man I’ve been itching to see is now right in front of me.

This… isn’t a… dream….

Haruka: Senpai…

Oh, um…. Welcome back, Senpai.

Camus: Right… I’m back.

Haruka: Uh… I….

Camus: What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

Haruka: I’m fine…. It’s….

He still seems unreal, like an illusion. I don’t know what to do with myself.

His gaze meets mine and I’m left speechless.

His beautiful eyes look at me, and he smiles.

Camus: Don't believe your eyes? Well… touch me and confirm for yourself.

He holds out his hand to me.

Reiji: Kyah!! So dreamy, Myu-chan!!

Haruka: Oh….

We are surrounded by everyone in the next second.

Cecil: Camus… I think you are being ridiculous. But, I am glad you could make it.

Ai: Now even Cecil of all people is saying you're being ridiculous. Where did you get that horse?

Ringo: Isn't it nice? An Earl’s white horse. How lovely.

Kotobuki-senpai, Mikaze-senpai. Cecil-san, Tsukimiya-sensei, and…

Ranmaru: Hey. Lookin’ good now, lap dog.

Kurosaki-senpai.

Camus: Hmph. Shut up, you stray.

Sparks begin flying between the two. Camus-senpai grins happily for a second and then looks at me.

Camus: Haruka. Come.

I catch his outstretched hand and he effortlessly pulls me up onto his horse Together we ride toward the stage.

Haruka: Ah. I-I….

Camus: Hm. We haven't seen each other in a while, and yet you're still so tactless.

Haruka: I-It’s just. Everybody was concerned about me, and….

The strong arms cradling my body reinforce the fact that he is indeed here.

This is Camus-senpai. I really wasn't dreaming. 

I am so overjoyed that I still find myself in disbelief.

He sits me down sideways in front of him.

Camus: Hold on.

Haruka: Y-Yes, sir.

He holds the reins with one hand and steadies me with the other.

I have never ridden a horse before, so I cling to him tightly.

The horse's footsteps echoes throughout the area.

I can feel the vibrations every time the horse's hooves kick against the ground.

I look up at his gallant face as I hold on tight.

His long hair blows in the wind. His face is chiseled. The usual wrinkles form between his brows. And then there are those crystal eyes.

The pounding of my heart is drowned out by the pounding of hoofbeats, so I know he can’t hear it.

Haruka: U-Um, about Silk Palace…. Did you save the Queen? And the opposition….

Camus: The traitor has been captured.

Haruka: Really?!

Camus: Her Majesty's power waned, and in their frustration they ran away. I have tracked down every last one of them and settled my years-long grievance. Hehehe….

Senpai cackles, and then his smile immediately drops.

Camus: Her Majesty, however, is still frozen.

Haruka: No way…!

Um… is that fine? Leaving the Queen….

I can hear music playing in the hall. 

It'll be Senpai's turn soon.

But….

Camus: The thing is, I have to sing for my country, too.

Haruka: W-What does that mean…?

We arrive backstage and Senpai stops his horse.

He lands smoothly on the ground, takes my hand and lowers me down.

Camus: Haruka. …Call me a fool.

Haruka: P-Pardon?

Camus: Curse me out. I must admit I’ve been an idiot. …Call me a fool.

Haruka: ...Ah…. Uh…. You… f-fool.

I reply timidly, and he smiles.

Camus: Good. The answer is quite simple. We need your music to save Her Majesty.

Haruka: You mean the song I wrote…?

He goes on to explain further, seeing my confusion at the abrupt change in subject.

The previously unknown ally was myself and Senpai.

Haruka: I… don’t get what….

According to him, 

It was actually DaRuma-san, Cecil-san’s magic teacher, who realized it in the end.

DaRuma-san noticed that the Queen’s powers would strengthen whenever Camus-senpai sang my song.

In Agna Palace, there is a legend saying that if one can sing a song written by the muse with love and sincerity, with the help of the goddess of music….

That song can evoke divine miracles and break curses.

It is true that Cecil-san often tells me my soul possesses the Muse.

Does the song I wrote really have that kind of power…?

Camus-senpai continued to explain that our song warmed the frozen Queen.

Once our song is completed, the Queen will be freed from the ice.

I can’t believe him. But how wonderful it would be if what he said were true.

I have always wanted to find a way to help him. It frustrated me that I was so useless.

I was hoping that at the very least, my music could comfort him....

To melt the ice with the warmth of our song. If such a miracle were possible....

Camus: That’s how things are looking to be. Now, you know everything.

Haruka: But… That… It’s unbelievable… That… I….

I become overwhelmed, I have so many questions I want to ask, and….

Camus: Haruka. Hey.

As I stand there helplessly, Senpai looks back, a little dissatisfied一

Haruka: And, you know, the whole "with love and sincerity" part….

Camus: Hey! We can talk about this later!

He hugs me immediately after he speaks.

Haruka: Huh? C-Camus-senpai…!?

It catches me off guard, but soon I feel the warmth of his body and that warmth makes it impossible for me to move.

Camus: Everything’s a mess... Enough of this. Let's make this reunion a joyous one.

Haruka: Y-You’re… right….

He’s warm….

He’s real. It really is him.

His chest is right at the height of my ear, allowing me to hear the soothing sound of his heartbeats.

Camus: You're warm.... It's so cold in my homeland. I can't believe I've been able to endure it for so long.

He speaks next to my ear.

Camus: I… can't live without this heat anymore.

Haruka: Senpai… I….

I can't think of anything. 

All I want to do is this, always.

I close my eyes for a moment.

I can feel only his warmth.

However, his hands suddenly move away, and at about the same time, loud applause echoes from the stage.

The person scheduled before Senpai appears to have finished their performance.

Haruka: Camus-senpai… You’re next.

Camus: Go to the auditorium. I will sing to save Her Majesty… and most of all, I will sing for you and me. 

Let the sight of me be etched into your memory.

Haruka: Of course!

Senpai flips up the hem of his coat as he steps out onto the stage. 

The world changes in that instant.

He picks up the microphone, and just like that, he takes command of the moment.

Camus: …. Kneel before me.

Chapter End

[sehodreamsthoughts]

ok i love both scenarios but im going INSANE !!!!!! at the idea of being their gaming rival but they can’t handle u being better than them so… dubcon, noncon incoming…

i’ve played a lot of FPS/shooters, (not that i’m good at it), but idrk what type of games they play but just bear with me.. i just imagine that u all play together or even better, u compete against them often online.. but also i’m just thinking that u all live together or in the same building or smth… let’s go with the same building.

plsss🤭🤭 so they come over to play or smth maybe cuz now i don’t know how to imagine u all in the same room HELP anyways u agree to a bet that the winner gets to ask one favour of each of the losers, anything, and yeah u know where this is going.

so u win. of course. and they can’t have that, so while ur explaining how much better you are than them and they were stupid ! to even make a bet with u about it, jake slips himself behind you grab your forearms and pull them behind your back while heeseung takes his belt off and you’re confused for a min… heeseung hands his belt to jake to bind your wrists and you start to clue in :(

with you restrained, they’re free to do whatever they want with you. they’re sore losers :(

i like the idea of them teasing you, taking ur clothes off and abusing your nipples, making you gag on their fingers, and fingering your poor cunt but not letting you cum :( you’d be so ashamed n embarrassed, whining and crying and refusing to give in to what they want u to do, which is tell them they’re better than you, and that you’ll be a good little slut for them :(

ur breaking down soon enough though, and asking them to let you cum, no, ur begging them to let u cum, it hurts too much :(( jake is fondling ur breasts and biting on ur neck🤭🤭 and heeseung keeps slapping ur clit when you clench around his fingers, signalling you’re close to cumming but commands that u don’t

and then cuz im insane, they’d make u take both of them at the same time, ignoring your cries and screams, and you can’t even hold onto them for comfort because they tied ur hands up :( telling u that they’re ruining you for anyone else, you’ll never be able to be satisfied by just one cock ever again, and you know it’s true :(( leaning into heeseung’s neck and whimpering their names, letting them bounce u on their cocks and moaning for them, you’re making such a mess all over their laps and when they cum inside u it just feels too good even though u all just came, ur craving it to happen again

- 🥟 anon

I'm praying because that was... Wao

The detail!!!!

I suck at playing those games (I tried to play a couple of times because I had fun with my brothers but men online were just really mean to me and I quickly stopped 😭)

But yeah you winning and both of them being sore losers, they would let you yap until they get fed up of you rubbing how much better than them you are and something snaps when you try to ask for the favor (maybe they helping you talk to their friend Jay?, "I've been meaning to get his number for a long time") so they, listening to what you want, know they can't let you just do whatever you want.

In the end, you're their girl, even if obnoxious, loud and insensitive while playing, you belong to them, and they won't let any low rank boy taking you from their hands.

They use you, hurt you a little, and make you repeat what they want, almost like washing your brain into wanting them, because you want to cum, right?

They love to see you squirming, crying, begging to stop torturing you and just let you cum, and they want to make you feel good, but your little clit looks so pretty overstimulated, throbbing under their gazes, a sight no one but them should have the privilege of seeing.

When you're finally about to cum, so close that you're leaking down drops of your wetness, they stop everything, finding the best position to slip inside, forcing your insides to accept them, and getting your orgasm just by the little pressure of their members filling you, they leave clear that no one but them, could give you that amount of pleasure.

[fantastic-bby]

Enchanted

Pairing: (AFAB, NB)Reader x Minho

Word count: 20.4k

Genre: Fluff | Romance | Idiot to Lovers | Slow burn | Modern Royalty AU | Figure Skater AU | College AU

Summary: Minho spots you one evening at his parents' events and, suddenly, it's as though he starts seeing you every; at his university and even at his figure skating tournaments. He can't help but feel some sort of attraction towards you and wonders who exactly are you...

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol | Aristocrats | Reader has to mostly hide being non-binary | There's a lot of rich people | Minho has no filter

A/n: What's up bingos, I've risen from the dead with a long fic wao I'm ngl Taylor Swift's Enchanted was what inspired the whole thing kekw. This is the softest and most mundane thing I've written in a while considering the fact that I've been working on [REDACTED] ever since I post Han Jisung's Crappy Guide, so have fun and I hope you guys enjoy OwO

Masterlist | AO3 Link

Minho looks around the bustling hall with a slender glass of champagne gingerly held between his gloved fingers. His posture is as straight as it can be and his dark red suit is neatly hugging his frame as he stands in the corner.

The domed ballroom is filled with his family members and friends of his parents, music from the live orchestra bouncing off of the golden walls and beams. Minho wonders why they invested so much in such a grand and golden ballroom when his parents could have easily gone for something more modern.

He’s never truly appreciated the gatherings his parents would hold—they were always too grand for his liking—but that’s what Minho was forced to grow up with. Modern royalty didn’t exactly mean much, but Minho was blessed enough with old money from the importance of his family line; which also meant that he was constantly being watched by the public eye and protected by both the government and his personal bodyguard.

“Minho, could you at least try to be more social?” his mother sighs when she sees him.

“I don’t know what to say to them,” he confesses bluntly. “I’m not close with them, mother. There’s not much for us to talk about and we’re not interested in the same things.”

“I don’t mean your cousins; they’re all as pretentious as your aunts and uncles,” she snorts. “Your father invited a handful of his business partners tonight and we thought that getting to know them will be good for you.”

Minho looks around once again, his eyes only now noticing a handful of new faces. He lets out a somewhat impressed huff when he sees a woman standing in the other corner of the room, a dark red dress hugging her figure as she politely raises manicured hand to shake hands with another businessman. Minho recognises her from an ad for some high end makeup line.

“You have the face of a model, Minho. Give it a shot,” his mother says as she pats his shoulder gently.

“I don’t care for modelling, mother,” Minho says right before he takes a sip of the champagne. “You know that.”

“Models can work up until they’re fifty, but athletes usually only last up until they’re in their mid thirties.”

“And that’s enough for me,” he argues. “Ice skating is something I enjoy. I would like to continue doing it for as long as I’m allowed to.” The woman purses her lips into a straight line with a sigh.

“As long as you’re happy, darling, but please try to socialise. Your father’s already thinking of getting you to meet some fine women from some of his friends.” Minho’s eyebrows furrow together, head whipping to look at his mother in pure shock.

“No, I refuse,” he immediately states.

“You know how he’s like—”

“And I refuse,” Minho shakes his head. “I don’t care. I’m not marrying some girl that would help with business.”

“I’m not keen with the idea either, okay? But your father is the one in charge,” she grumbles as her arms cross over her chest. “Marrying off my only son just for the sake of business—it’s ridiculous. I told him that I don’t want him doing that and that I surely wouldn’t force you to do that, but he won’t have it. If you’re not in a relationship by the time you’re twenty-five, he’s going to start pushing for your betrothal.”

“Must I find one so soon, mother? I don’t think I’ve even met enough people that I’ve truly felt attracted to,” he grumbles.

“With time, Minho. Just… don’t be like your aunts and uncles,” she advises, “with me as your mother, I will not tolerate any inbreeding.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You’re excused for the night if you’d like to be in your room instead,” his mother says just as she takes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, flashing him a gracious smile when he stops momentarily. She turns back to Minho and her smile changes into one more loving, “the first day of your new year is tomorrow. I’ll just tell your father that you’re preparing for your classes.”

“Thank you, mother.” Minho lets out a sigh of relief that he hadn’t known he was holding the entire time, his now empty glass of champagne being handed to the next waiter that walks past them. “I’ll… try your suggestions, but I won’t make any promises.”

“It’s alright. I trust that you will find your way on your own time, my little prince,” she chuckles.

“I’ve asked you so many times to not call me that,” he cringes when she tries to kiss him on the cheek.

“It doesn’t matter how old you get, you will always be my little prince,” his mother smiles. “Now, I won’t be occupying you for any longer. Rest up. The chauffeur will be waiting at eight a.m. sharp to take you to campus. Goodnight, Minho.”

“Goodnight, mother.” Minho bows to her, wondering why he has to hold so much formality towards his own parents.

He turns around and makes his way towards the large, mahogany doors to the left of the room. Minho keeps a smile on his face; one that he always has on whenever he attends formal events. Slipping past all of the guests, Minho looks around slightly until his eyes make contact with someone that he’s not seen at any of his parents’ gatherings.

Minho’s movements immediately halt when you turn around and catch his gaze. You have on your own smile that he presumes is fake, but the corners of your lips drop when you see him and Minho’s able to catch a glimpse of sincerity behind your empty expression. Despite knowing that he’s never met you before, Minho can’t help but feel some kind of recognition when your eyes meet.

Your off-shoulder ball gown is light blue, the dark blue accents that frame your torso in a way that makes it look like a corset and the skirt elegantly reaching your feet. He catches a glimpse of your heels underneath, noting the way they glimmer whenever light reaches it.

You stare at him for a moment before being preoccupied with a prince that he’s seen only a handful of times, the professional smile immediately making its way onto your face when you face the black suited man.

Minho stares only for a moment longer before he continues on his way out of the ballroom, but your presence occupies his mind for the rest of the night. You look like you’re around his age—early 20s, perhaps 23 as he is. He feels like he’s seen you before. There was some kind of recognition that seemed to flash in your eyes as well when you made eye contact, but Minho has a feeling that you only recognise him from seeing him in figure skating tournaments.

He lets out a relieved sigh once behind the doors of his bedroom, his shoulders slumping forward and his back leaning against the dark wood. Minho works quickly on pulling the velvet blazer off of his shoulders and neatly hanging it on one of the many coat hooks that line the wall of his room. If he had the energy to, Minho would typically hang it in the large walk-in closet and in the section where he’d hang his used clothing, but he can’t be bothered to.

Minho just wants to lay down and allow sleep to take over. Once free of the suffocatingly heavy outfit and his slacks tossed aside in the corner of his room, he changes into the loosest of his shirts and shorts, plopping himself onto the queen sized bed and moaning the moment his sore back hits the soft covers.

“Fucking finally,” Minho sighs to himself. He picks his phone off of his bedside table, lazily scrolling through the many messages from his friends.

Sungiezz: Dude Get this: there’s apparently a new royal in our university

Seungmo: Yeah haha But it’s all word of mouth Not too sure about it until class starts tomorrow

Sungiezz: Have any ideas of new princes or princesses in town? You’re the only prince in the area that goes to SKU Maybe you know them

Minho: Dumbass Just because I’m a prince doesn’t mean that I know all of them -_-

Sungiezz: You never know!

Seungmo: You know Ji said the same thing about the gay guy in our class He asked if he knew his cousin because he’s gay too

Minho: You’re actually I can’t believe you, Sung, why the hell would you say that to someone???

Sungiezz: For what it’s worth, he said he did!

Seungmo: Not every gay person knows every gay person The logic applies to Minho Just because he’s royalty, it doesn’t mean he knows all of the other royals

Sungiezz: God, you guys suck Haven’t you guys ever heard of Six Degrees of Separation? It’s supposed to mean that everyone in the world is only six people away from you!

Minho: You’re such a special, special, child

Sungiezz: I’m serious!!!!! You guys never take me seriously, sigh

Seungmo: We trust psychological theories But not from you LOL

Sungiezz: Whatever I’m going to bed

Minho: Aww Sungs, we were just kidding hehe But I wanna sleep too I’m exhausted

Seungmo: Another event?

Minho: They have one every week It’s fucking exhausting

Sungiezz: You know, for a prince, you’d think that you would have more of a filter

Minho: Suck my dick

Seungmo: Don’t bother his royal highness any longer, Sungs You know how cranky he gets when he’s tired

Minho: You know how tired I get when you bitches decide to treat me like a prince Hey Siri, play Choke

Sungiezz: Haha Very funny, Minho

Minho: Choke. I’m going to sleep

Sungiezz: Goodnight, Minho

Jisung: Night night <3333333333333

Minho puts his phone on his bedside table with a fond smile on his face. He’s never felt more connected to anyone other than Han Jisung and Kim Seungmin; the only two students that he’s made friends with on-campus. He’s never actually felt like he ever needed more than one or two friends purely out of keeping himself safe.

Minho’s extroverted, yes. He’s good at socializing, yes he is—but Minho’s social life and his personal life are strictly kept private for the sake of privacy and trust. Too many people have befriended him only for his status and for the lavish lifestyle that he lives. Too many of them were only in his circle because Minho thought that money could buy him company.

Seungmin and Jisung were always different.

They never treated Minho any differently than they treat each other and they only come to his house to play with his cats. They never care for expensive dinners at 5 star restaurants, they never care for any of the expensive souvenirs and trinkets that he gets from travelling, and they never care for his status. The pair only asked about his bodyguard the first time, but after that, it was normal for them and they hadn’t minded it since.

To them, Lee Minho is Lee Minho. He’s not a prince; he’s just some guy that they became friends with at college. The pair were already joined at the hip when Minho met them, but they pretty much sewed him to themselves after meeting him. The two take him to the dodgy diner on the South side of town that have the extremely good double patty burgers, they take him to the park to run away from geese, they take him to the beach on weekends where Jisung’s allowed to take his car; Minho’s never felt any different from the two.

Which is why he loves them way more than he would ever outwardly admit.

Two knocks at his door followed by a soft, “your highness?” Makes Minho squeeze his eyes shut in frustration. “It’s Soojin. The queen has asked for me to prepare you a warm towel. Her majesty said you may be feeling a bit stressed with the new semester starting.”

He forces himself out of bed and trudges over to the door, pulling open to reveal the blonde holding a silver tray with a single white towel roll sitting on it. Her long hair is neatly tucked into a bun that’s mandatory for all of the housekeepers in the mansion and her black suit is as spotless as it was in the morning.

“Thank you, Soojin,” Minho mutters as he takes the towel. “Tell my mother that I’m fine. Just tired.”

“As you wish,” the woman bows before he closes the door. With the white fabric in his hands, Minho sighs before deciding to use it anyway. He returns to his bed, climbing underneath the covers and gently laying the towel over his face, and slowly drifting off to sleep.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

After a lapse of judgement, Minho watches with his arms crossed over his broad chest, watching as Seungmin chases Jisung around the campus park with two books in his hands. The prince had assumed that Seungmin wouldn’t have a manhunt for Jisung after mentioning the film student’s raging crush on one of the students in his class, but Minho was so terribly wrong.

“I was just joking!” Jisung cries as he hides behind Minho, the younger’s hands gripping onto the prince’s shoulders to use him as a human shield against Seungmin’s fit.

“I told you to stop talking about that,” Seungmin groans as he throws the smaller of the notebooks in Jisung’s direction. The book smacks against Minho’s chest, a grunt leaving him at the contact.

“Cut it out, Seungmin,” Minho laughs with his hand reaching out to keep Seungmin at a distance and Jisung shifting him from side-to-side. “If you keep this up, you’ll be sweaty by the time we get to my place—and you know how my mother feels about you smelling.”

“I’m—Are you saying that I smell?!” Seungmin scoffs loudly.

“To be fair, that woman has the nose of a bloodhound,” Jisung claims.

“Please, never refer to my mother that way ever again,” Minho sighs.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologises. Seungmin lets out a sigh of his own as he crouches down to pick up the textbook he had tossed at the two, gripping it along with the thicker ‘Introduction to Film’ books.

“Watch that mouth, Jisung. The monarch may not matter that much anymore, but they’re still protected,” Seungmin hisses.

“It’s alright,” Minho gives Jisung a pursed lip smile, “it’s not his fault.” He raises his hand to ruffle Jisung’s light brown hair until it sticks out messily. “So what do you guys wanna do now? I have a few hours before I have training. We can head over to my place and hang out in the games room.” He pauses for a moment to glance at his bodyguard who stands a few feet away from the ground, dressed in a plain black t-shirt and jeans. “Let mother know that I’m coming home early.”

“Yes, your highness,” Aki nods right before pulling his phone out. Minho has had the same bodyguard ever since he was a child, the heavily built man having watched him grow up and knowing exactly what his habits are. The only thing that Minho minds nowadays with Aki is the fact that he fails to be casual with the young prince.

“I don’t want the games room—I want your Dori,” Jisung laughs.

“Can you believe it? All of the consoles and all of the games you have in the games room, yet Jisung chooses to hang out with your cats instead,” Seungmin chuckles.

“His cats are cute!” he defends himself. “And they give me a lot of attention.”

“If it’s worth anything; the cats don’t give just anyone attention,” Minho claims.

“Hell yeah! See?! I passed the kitty vibe check!” Jisung cheers.

“Am I allowed to play darts?” Seungmin asks.

“You can do whatever you want. The games room is my responsibility.” Minho smiles when he sees the two of them smile, his heart flipping at the sight of his beloved friends.

But something else catches his attention for a moment.

There’s a sense of being watched that overcomes Minho’s mind, his arms uncrossing as he glances to the side. His smile drops when he makes eye contact with you. You’re glancing at him as well with your hand loosely wrapped around the strap of your black backpack.

You look completely different than from the night that Minho had seen you; a plain white t-shirt, black jeans and a pair of canvas sneakers. You laugh at a joke coming from one of your friends, a smile that reaches your eyes pulling at your lips. Minho breathes out a laugh when he sees how different you seem in and out of formality.

You bow your head slightly when you realise that he sees you and Minho returns the exchange, his own head lowering slightly before it raises to see you smiling.

“Who are you nodding at?” Seungmin asks.

“I found out who the other royal is,” Minho mutters.

The two immediately whip their heads in your direction, obviously staring at you and not even leaving a single wonder about who they’re staring at. You give them a smile as well before turning to your own friends.

“Who is that?”

“They were at the event the other night,” he continues as he starts pushing them in the other direction. “I don’t really know where she came from because it was the first time I saw her.”

“Do you know her?” Jisung presses.

“Other than just making eye contact? Not really,” Minho shakes his head.

“She seems pretty chill,” Seungmin says as he glances over his shoulder once again to look at you.

“Stop making it so obvious,” he scoffs when he lightly shoves Seungmin’s shoulder. “Some royals don’t like being stared at in public—”

“Like you!” Jisung points out.

“Exactly,” Minho nods, “and some of them can be extremely pretentious. They act like they’re above everyone else; royal or not. A few of them even tried to step over me and I gave them a reality check.” He slings his arms over both of their shoulders, walking in between them. “They seemed pretty cool when I saw them at the event, but you can’t really be too sure unless you talk to them.”

“I wanna head to the bowling alley,” Seungmin states suddenly.

“But I have a bowling alley at home,” Minho points out. “And it doesn’t smell like old socks and I can ask the chef for snacks.”

“Do you have any of those mini meringue pies that your mum makes?” Jisung questions with an excited look in his eyes.

“We don’t have meringue pies, but we have songpyeon…?” His statement comes off as more of a question, head tilting in wonder as he tries to remember what was the last kind of dessert he had recently. “Yeah, I think we have songpyeon and maybe some mooncakes. Mother really likes them, and she makes sure the pantry’s always stocked with them.”

“What about Doritos?”

“I’m taking you to a king’s mansion and you want Doritos?” Minho laughs.

“I don’t get Doritos at home,” Seungmin claims with a shrug. The eldest of the three stares at him with his jaw dropped. “What? I like them.”

Minho blinks a few times before breathing out a laugh. Out of everything that Seungmin could ask for at his home—and Minho truly has everything—and all Seungmin wants are Doritos that he could easily buy from the 7/11 at the campus cafeteria.

His smile changes into a fonder one before he shakes his head with a chuckle, “if we don’t have any, we can pick some up on the way home.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“Do you know him?” Hongjoong asks when he notices you staring at Minho and his friends.

“I briefly saw him at a ball the other night,” you hum.

“He’s the only royal that goes to SKU—well, now there’s two of you now that you’re here,” Yeji claims.

“The entire university’s already heard of the princess who just joined our campus, you know?” Chan points out.

“Please don’t refer to me as such,” you state while glancing at the music student, his mouth immediately closing shut when he sees your eyes. “I didn’t know he was a student here. I had heard about another royal attending this place, but I hadn’t realised it was him.”

Your only friends so far consist of Hongjoong, Chan, and Yeji; all three of them taking different courses but were nice enough to take you around campus when you suddenly showed up out of nowhere.

“He seems pretty cool,” Hongjoong says with a sigh. “But that’s only what I’ve heard.”

“Jisung and Seungmin are pretty nice. Jisung once gave me the last cookie in the bakery because I was having a bad day,” Yeji chuckles. You bow at Minho, smiling when he returns the greeting.

His friends obviously turn to you as well, which makes you laugh slightly and smile at them. You and your friends watch as Minho suddenly grabs them by the shoulders and pushes them in the direction of the campus gates.

“What was that?” Chan laughs.

“I think he knows that I might not like other people staring at me,” you guess when you notice one of them turning to look at you, only for Minho to push him once again. “Royals don’t like being stared at. Some of them think people are not worthy of looking at them,” you sigh and turn back to your friends, “I think it’s good that he does that. If I were someone who minded, it would’ve turned out messy had his friends stared at me for any longer.”

“I still find it so interesting that you talk so formally,” Hongjoong points out, earning a smack on the shoulder from Chan and a glare.

“It’s fine, Hongjoong,” you chuckle, “the way I speak is habitual and it avoids any sort of conflict in public. Should I bump into a royal that demands respect, I would have to speak this way. I prefer not having to argue with anyone.”

“What’s the deal with royals and… you know…”

“When you’re born into a family such as Minho and I, you grow up with mostly your family around you. If they think being a royal is worthy of being pretentious, then they’ll act pretentious and spit on anyone that they think is lower,” you explain. The thought lingers in your mind for a moment longer before you shake your head and smile, “let’s move on. I don’t like dwelling on the issues with royal families.”

“We’re heading to the cinema room after this and we might crash at Chan’s place, do you wanna join?” Yeji asks.

“I have plans tonight, unfortunately, but we can always plan for another time,” you sigh. “I have dinner with a royal family from another region. Something about a betrothal.”

“Betrothal…?” Her words trail off, all three of their faces painted with shock as they stare at you.

“As a female born royal, I have the, oh so lovely, fate of being married off to a prince from a different region. Thank God that my parents have no interest in,” you raise your fingers into the air to quote, “‘protecting the family line’ and are decent enough in letting me choose my suitors rather than choosing them for me.”

“What does that—Oh…” Chan’s face contorts into one of disgust, his nose cringing. “I didn’t realise that was still a thing.”

“You’d be surprised, but every family has their differences,” you answer with a shrug. “What are you all watching anyway?”

“Hongjoong’s trying to convince Chan to finally watch Hereditary,” Yeji hums.

“I refuse to watch that on my own,” Chan scoffs while feverishly shaking his head. You tilt your head curiously, silently asking him to explain further. “I-I don’t like horror movies,” he admits sheepishly, “never been a fan of them. I’m more scared of them than I actually say that I am.”

“Hereditary is good,” Hongjoong snickers. “I also think that maybe Chan needs to step out of his shell and explore the array of horror movies.”

“I’m easily scared, Hong,” he grumbles, strong arms crossing over his broad chest as he shoots a glare in Hongjoong’s direction, “you know that. The only way I watch horror movies is with my friends so that I can distract myself with their reactions instead.”

“You got scared the last time you saw Jeongin scream at a ghost prop during Halloween,” Yeji laughs.

“Have you heard that man scream?!” Chan throws his arms into the air, “he screams like he’s possessed! Anyone in the right mind would be scared of his scream!”

“Jeongin’s one of Chan’s juniors,” Hongjoong explains softly while Yeji and Chan start going back and forth, “he’s got a huge set of lungs on him and he casually screams like someone’s trying to break into his apartment.”

“That’s interesting,” you chuckle.

“Every holiday, we get themed events. Halloween’s about the time where the performing arts club have haunted mazes or haunted houses that all of the students can attend and participate in. I’ll admit quite proudly that I’m in charge of a lot of the performing arts events,” he continues, “if you’re interested, we usually get to dress up around that time, too.”

“Oh? I’ve never been to a costume party before,” you admit, “my old university didn’t indulge in events like that and my high school wouldn’t either.”

“Really?” Yeji ceases her argument with Chan to turn her attention to you. When you nod, she lets out an excited gasp and claps her hands together, “we can help you make a costume this year!”

“We can think of something cool that maintains your dignity,” Chan nods.

“What do you guys usually dress up as?” you ask.

“Last year, my friend Changbin and I went dressed as WWE wrestlers.”

“Don’t those men only wear tight briefs and knee paddings?”

“Yep!” he nods proudly.

“Chan and Changbin went around the place with their dicks almost falling out.” Yeji clicks her tongue in disgust. “It was hardly a sight to see.”

“I can’t imagine the secondhand embarrassment I would feel,” you laugh.

“Precisely,” Hongjoong giggles. “Don’t worry, (Y/n). If they do that again, you can just stick with my friends and I. We usually dress like celebrities from the 80s.”

“Ooh,” you gasp slightly, “I’m curious to see how you would pull off a Prince costume.”

“Oh, Hongjoong does old pop celebrities so well,” Yeji gushes. “You should’ve seen him in his Freddie Mercury costume last year. He looked wonderful! And he even had a stand microphone that he brought around with him!”

“What do you usually dress up as, Yeji?”

“I go with whatever I feel like usually,” she admits with a shrug. “Last year, I went as Regina George from Mean Girls.”

“That feels very in character with you,” you joke, causing Yeji to gasp loudly. Chan’s hand slaps over his mouth in shock while Hongjoong chokes on nothing, his hand raising to Chan’s shoulder for leverage as he coughs violently. Your face cracks, lips pursing to contain your smile when you see the gobsmacked look on her face.

“God, I really like you,” Yeji laughs.

“She could spend the rest of her course with us, right?” Chan chuckles.

“I’d prefer if you wouldn’t refer to me that way,” you quickly interject. “I-I don’t appreciate the use of feminine pronouns, but I have to present as a female to protect my parents’ image in public.”

“Oh,” his smile drops. “My bad.”

“It’s fine, you couldn’t have known,” you reassure him with a smile. “I only tell this to people that I’m close to.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Hongjoong shakes his head.

“I trust that you wouldn’t or else you could be arrested for defamation towards my family.” Your words come out smoothly, as though it’s such a normal, everyday thing. His eyes widen immensely, mouth opening and closing at a loss of words. “It’s a joke,” you chuckle, “they don’t really care about our identities and what people call us, but they do care if it happens at a mass level for no reason. I doubt they would put much effort into protecting my name unless my parents were to get involved and I would rather the public don't find out I'm non-binary.”

“That’s totally fine, (Y/n),” Yeji reassures you.

“Now, I have about three hours before I’m supposed to be at home, so shall we get some lunch?” you suggest while clasping your hands together in front of yourself.

“We can get something to eat from the Chinese stall in the cafeteria,” Chan suggests. “I just know you’re going to like their szechuan dumplings.”

“I’ll trust your judgement,” you smile and allow them to lead you to the cafeteria.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Minho thinks he’s going crazy. He already felt like he was going crazy from the way you were suddenly showing up at his parents’ events and at his university—but at his skating tournament?!

“Keep your head straight, Minho,” his coach warns when she sees his thoughts going elsewhere. “This tournament determines whether or not you’re eligible for international tournaments.”

“Y-Yeah, sorry coach,” he immediately apologises, turning his head away from your presence in the other side of the room and with the female skaters.

“I understand the nerves, but we can’t allow that to disturb your routine, your highness,” Kara continues. “Would you like something to calm them down?”

“No it’s fine,” Minho shakes his head. “I can do this.” She places her hands on both of Minho’s shoulders, her fingers massaging his taut muscles. The massage does little to quell his raging nerves, but what does help is when you turn around and make eye contact with him.

Your eyes squint slightly when you try getting a clearer look of him before they widen in shock and your lips part. You look just as surprised as he is at each others’ appearance, but once again, you’re disturbed by someone else; the woman who he assumes is your coach.

You nod politely when she asks you something, the older woman bowing slightly before she walks away from you. You turn your gaze back to Minho, your face relaxing when you realise he’s still watching you and you nod your head like you did when you saw him on campus.

Minho, as he did then, returns the nod and flashes a small smile when he raises his head. You wave at him this time, your hand raising into the air with your fingers splayed out; the act only making him smile more and wave back.

“Who are you waving at?” Kara asks when she turns away from one of the contestants currently skating, light brown hair slipping from her ponytail and framing the sides of her face.

“It’s a princess from another region,” Minho mutters. “I’ve seen her about three times before.”

“Spoken to her before?” his coach asks, but Minho shakes his head.

“Never really felt the need to.” He glances at Kara, only being faced with a very confused and almost judgemental look on his face.

“Minho, if you don’t make a move on her, then I might as well because she’s gorgeous,” Kara scoffs.

“You should see her in a ball gown,” Minho absentmindedly mumbles. His eyes widen at the confession, cheeks turning bright pink when Kara lets out a loud gasp and smiles.

“So, you do have a thing for her?”

“No, I don’t,” he grumbles and tries his hardest to ignore Kara’s teasing pokes and laughs. “Kara, please,” Minho whines, “I don’t want to think about that. I don’t even know her—and knowing other royals, she could easily be a pompous asshole.”

“But you’ve never spoken to her before,” she remarks.

“But I’ve known enough of them to be wary,” he counters.

“Minho, give her a chance,” Kara rolls her eyes, quickly catching herself and clearing her throat. “I can’t do that in public; my mistake.”

“I couldn’t give a rat's ass whether or not you're formal with me.” Minho rolls his eyes with an exasperated sigh leaving past his lips. “It irks me how I can’t have relationships with people who can joke around with me.”

“It’s not exactly easy to be so casual with you, you know,” she sighs, voice lowering to a whisper, “I’m not exactly fond of the immense formality, but your parents insist and you have a bodyguard who follows you all over the place who tells them everything. I appreciate having at least some middle-ground with the people I train. I like at least being able to treat them like a friend.”

“For what it’s worth, Kara,” he turns to her, “this is exactly how most of the people I make friends with talk to me.”

Kara’s lips purse into a straight line, sympathy painting her features when Minho turns back to the skating rink.

“Well, I’m up after this,” Minho claims as he starts tying the shoelaces to his dark red skates. He pulls his white jacket off and lays it on the bench beside him, the sequins of his dark red leotard shining in the light. “I’ll be fine, Kara,” he reassures her. “I’m used to it.”

“Doesn’t make it any better…” she trails off, eyes flitting away from him before she shakes his head. “We can talk about this later—I have faith in you, Minho. Just do it the way you practiced and you’ll do spectacularly.”

Kara pats him on the shoulder once and gives him an encouraging smile just as his name is announced through the speakers, cheers coming from the crowd of the audience that either loves him for his skating or for his status as the region’s royal bachelor.

Minho makes his way up to the edge of the rink, letting out a mouthful of air to calm himself down further. His heart pounds in his chest and in his ears, his teeth grinding together anxiously as he takes his first step on the ice.

The cheering only gets louder when he skates to the centre of the rink and raises his arms into the air, taking his first position before the music starts.

Minho loves competing for many things; the main reason being how fair the judges actually are. His parents have never tried meddling with his tournaments, which makes his efforts in perfecting his sport even more worth it. Every jump, every spin, and every glide—Minho’s trophies and medals are purely from his own efforts;

Never his status.

For a moment, he catches your wonder-filled eyes watching his routine intently. Minho wonders whether you compete for the same reasons. Most royals that are more laid-back prefer picking up competitions that are completely fair and that give the contestant equal opportunity to win; purely their own skill and willpower.

Minho lets out a breath of relief and closes his eyes as he carries on with his routine, body feeling free of all of the stress and anxiety from his family and from school. He truly feels free whenever he’s on ice and allows the metal blades to glide him along the ice and move as though he’s made of water—as though he has no resistance in his body at all.

When the music ends, Minho’s kneeling on the ground at the end of his routine. He stands up and raises his arms into the air with his chest heaving out of exertion, legs somehow not trembling like they usually do whenever he finishes his routine.

The commentator announces the end of his performance and Minho skates back to the side, not without glancing over his shoulders to see you clapping and smiling widely, nodding your head at him, the small act sending a sense of pride rushing throughout his veins along with the adrenaline.

“Minho, you did so well!” Kara cheers, bouncing up and down while clapping. “I’m going to be so upset if you don’t at least get bronze for this—you did amazing!”

“Thank you,” he thanks her in between breaths. “I felt amazing, Kara.”

“That’s always a good sign,” she smiles. “Now, get yourself hydrated! Your routine is difficult and it takes a lot of strength. I can’t have you collapsing on me.”

Minho nods, swallowing thickly as he tries to catch his ragged breath and follows her to the benches.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Minho’s in his regular corner of the ballroom. He wishes that he could chug down the rest of his wine without anyone noticing, but he’d rather not drunken himself at his parents’ event. He lets out a sigh when another flock of princesses giggle as they walk past him, waving their hands at him and fluttering their eyelashes.

You look as amazing as he thought you did last time, but your dress isn’t blue this time. Instead it’s burgundy; elegant as he falls to the floor and covers your shoulders completely. The long sleeves reach down to your forearms and your heels are black.

Your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes in the way it does whenever Minho sees you on campus, but he knows exactly why you’re not genuine. Your head turns to look at him, the way you always do and smile at him.

The only difference this time is that Minho places his half drunk glass of wine onto the passing waiter and walks towards you. He doesn’t know exactly what it is that brings himself to you, but all he knows is that it’s partially his own will and partially the attraction of something completely different. Your lips part in slight surprise, but you bow to the guest you’re talking to and excuse yourself to turn to Minho.

“We’re finally introducing ourselves,” you chuckle when he stands in front of you, back straight and with one arm bent in front of himself.

“We always seem to be in each others’ radius, so I decided that we should actually get to know each other,” Minho says politely with a smile. “I’m Lee Minho,” he introduces himself with a bow.

“(Y/n).” Your hands fluidly extend to the sides as you return his greeting with a curtsy. “I wouldn’t have expected you to be a figure skater had I not seen you at the tournament,” you point out.

“Neither had I,” he admits, his smile fading away when he realises that it’s far too loud for him to hear you. “Mind if we move to the balcony? It’s a bit too loud in here.”

“I was hoping you’d ask,” you sigh in relief and allow him to lead you to the open balcony, the sound from inside the ballroom immediately fizzing out when you’re outside. The buzz is softer, easier to block out, and makes the perfect environment for you and Minho to properly talk to each other.

“I was very surprised to see you at the skating rink,” Minho starts as he leans his arms against the concrete balustrade, “at SKU, though, I heard news of another royal joining the campus, but I hadn’t known about you until I saw you for the first time in this very ballroom.”

“My parents had sent me to a finishing school across the country until I had asked to be transferred to a university that was more… of the current generation,” you explain. Minho’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, his bottom lip jutting out slightly. “It isn’t the sort of finishing school that you would expect it to be. It catered more to royal traditions and mannerisms that were fitting for all genders. The syllabus was forced to change in the 90s, which I’m admittedly very glad for.”

“Why transfer to SKU this late?” Minho questions curiously.

“I had asked to be transferred to a university closer to my family. I hadn’t fancied the distance between us if I were to stay at the finishing school, so I chose to come back,” you admit while setting the glass down on the smooth concrete.

“And my parents’ events?”

“My parents decided it would be good for me to socialise with other big names, but I can’t exactly say that I’m enjoying myself,” you chuckle.

“I don’t exactly enjoy myself here either,” Minho confesses with a laugh. “I’m not a fan of half of the personalities that fill this room. I’m going to safely assume that you’re not like them.” He glances at you with a teasing look on his face and you quickly shake your head.

“Oh, God no. I would most likely break my own hand than act like them,” you scoff. “Half of them act as though I’m no more of a royal than they are, and the disrespect I get from looking like a woman—” you cut yourself off to roll your eyes, “it’s baffling.”

“You know, I’ve never quite understood that either. You’re just as significant as they are and your status is the same as theirs; why be disrespectful just because you wear a dress?” he grumbles.

“You seem like you keep secrets well,” you claim after looking him up and down, “I don’t consider myself a woman. I use gender neutral pronouns.”

Minho turns to you in surprise, “a royal admitting that they’re non-binary?”

“Only to those that I feel will hold the secret,” you clarify.

“But you’ve only known me through glances and the current conversation; how could you possibly have judged me from that?”

“A mere feeling,” you hum with a smile. Minho’s eyes narrow for a moment as he takes your words into consideration before he smiles as well. There’s a strange relief that floods his chest at how open you are despite the recent introductions.

“Careful there, your highness, I might just start calling you The Royal Enby,” he jokes. You let out a hearty laugh, your hand reaching out to smack his shoulder lightly.

“If anyone in that ballroom were to hear, they’d have both of our heads!” Minho laughs as well. His hand holds onto his shoulder as he does, sighing after he laughs. “Never mention this to anyone,” you warn.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he chuckles.

You keep your back straight and your hands clasped in front of yourself as you look out. It’s still early enough that the Sun still hasn’t completely gone down yet and the remaining sunlight blends in with the night sky.

“I have spent so many years of my life locked away, holding expectations with only a single word tied to my name,” you mutter. You turn to look at Minho, who’s intently looking at you. “I have only known what it was to be referred to and to be seen as royalty, which is something anyone would expect to be as heavenly; constantly being put on a pedestal as though you’re a doll of the most skilled craftsman, but I found myself hating that. I realise now that you’re the first royal I’ve met who also feels this way.”

Minho doesn’t say anything upon hearing your words at first. He lets the thought settle in his mind for a moment before nodding.

“Birds of a feather flock together,” he shrugs. “I’ve spent most of my life surrounded by cousins who thought that they were better than me—cousins who thought that they could push me around just because I was younger than them. After a while, you grow tired of all of the arrogance and the aristocracies.”

“Do you wish that sometimes you were born to a family that wasn’t of royal blood?” you ask.

“Of course,” Minho nods. “And… of course, I am grateful for the opportunities I was blessed with and the luxury that I was very lucky to grow up with… but sometimes I wish that maybe I was born into a life that was less high profile. Everyone talks to me a certain way, everyone treats me a certain way—they treat me as though I’m made of glass—as though I’m so fragile.”

You feel your heart aching, resonating with Minho as he speaks.

“Every sports event while I was growing up was, ‘make sure the prince doesn’t get hurt!’, or, ‘ the prince isn’t allowed to play! It’s too rough for a boy of his status!’,” he sighs. “It’s tiring.”

“It makes you feel like an alien,” you finish for him. Minho glances at you and lets out a deep breath, nodding sadly.

“I always wondered why the other kids at school would never play with me. They were so scared of the ‘big, scary man’ that would follow me around the block,” he continues. “I realised in high school that no one wanted to be friends with me because they were scared of fucking up—oh,” Minho gasps. “Excuse my language.”

“Excused,” you reassure him with the wave of your hand. “Profanity has never been an issue with me.”

“You just speak so proper that I worry about slipping my words every now and then,” he chuckles. You shake your head and give him a reassuring smile, urging him to continue. “Well, kids at school were so scared of accidentally hurting the ‘porcelain prince’ that no one wanted to be around me. The only ones that did enter my circle were only there because I had money; and lots of it. I stopped making friends after I realised that,” Minho confesses softly, the thumb and index of his left hand picking at the skin around the thumb of his right. “The only people that overlook my title are Jisung and Seungmin.”

“I assume they’re the ones that you are always around on campus,” you say and Minho nods.

“They don’t care about my status. They don’t care about my family. They see me as another person—another human—and they treat me like another student. They come to my house,” he turns around and raises his arm to refer to the ballroom, “to play with my cats and to eat Doritos.” Minho breathes out a small laugh, “I hadn’t known what it was like to actually be friends with someone until I met them, but please don’t tell them this. They’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of spilling,” you laugh. “I trust you to keep a secret of mine, thus I’ll keep one of yours.” Minho smiles.

He glances into the ballroom when the music becomes louder and the talking becomes softer, a small announcement from his father echoing throughout the room and out onto the balcony.

“I would like my son to be the centre of the waltz tonight,” he announces.

“I think we need to head back inside,” you sigh. Minho purses his lips into a straight line before straightening his posture and taking a deep breath. The two of you make your way back into the room to listen.

“Prince Minho had won a gold medal at the national figure skating tournament last week,” his father continues from the indoor balcony that oversees the entire ballroom, “to celebrate, I’d like him to lead the waltz.” Applause breaks throughout the room, all eyes turning to Minho who smiles and bows in gratitude. The prince prepares to make his way to the center of the room, but his father’s voice stops him. “Would you like to choose a partner, Minho?”

He freezes in his movement, looking up at his father who all but nods. A small sense of frustration runs throughout Minho’s thoughts, his stomach churning at the idea of having to choose a partner to dance with.

Until he sees you watching him with a supporting smile on your face and bright eyes. Minho locks his eyes with yours and you immediately understand what he’s asking of you, to which you nod.

“I choose her highness, Princess (Y/n),” Minho announces with his hand extended in your direction. You push past the crowd and take his gloved hand in yours, letting him pull you close enough for him to whisper, “thank you.” The lights dim when the music starts and Minho has his hand resting on your waist. “Do you mind if I keep this fast paced?”

“I do enjoy a bit of a challenge,” you chuckle. Minho raises an eyebrow, seeing the glint in your eyes before he raises your other hand in the air and steps his right foot forward. Your left foot moves backward when he does and you continue on with the dance that moves slowly and in time with the music.

Until the rhythm picks up.

Minho gives you one look before he twirls you and catches your waist. “Too fast?”

“Not fast enough,” you remark. His lips curl into a smug smile as he pulls you back into him.

“Looks like we have to catch a faster tempo.”

Your dance quickly turns into a game—a game of Minho trying to see how fast you can go and of you trying to prove that you can keep up with him. Your feet move quickly even with your heels, swiftly moving back and forth with his own feet as giggles leaving the both of you every time you both come out successful.

“You’re one tough cookie,” Minho jokes.

“It takes more to crack me down, your highness,” you counter.

A pair of figure skating royalties who know exactly how to move with the rhythm of the music; two gold medalists who dance around each other fluidly like water. Minho twirls you away once more, your hands stopping you from going too far, before he pulls you back into him with your faces inches apart and your hand against his chest just as the music comes to a halt.

“Impressive,” Minho laughs, breath hitting your face.

“Finishing teaches you many things. One of those being how to waltz,” you chuckle.

“Are you sure it’s not because you’re a gold medalist figure skater?”

“It could possibly be that as well. I have many talents, Minho.”

He looks at you with a wide, genuine smile on his face.

“I think we’re going to get along just fine, (Y/n),” Minho claims.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“I’m fucking exhausted,” Minho groans as he throws himself onto the couch behind you. You glance over your shoulder at him, tearing your attention away from the textbook you were reading to give the young prince your attention instead.

“I’m going to assume that you had World Economy today,” you chuckle.

“It’s painfully boring,” he sighs. “I understand what Professor Alina was saying, but dear God that woman is boring.”

“I simply can’t wrap my head around why you picked up Economics when you have no interest in it,” you absentmindedly say while you let your pen move around to highlight the important terms in your textbook.

“I simply can’t wrap my head around how you can tolerate something as boring as Literature,” Minho retorts.

“I find it rather interesting, thank you very much,” you sigh as you fully turn yourself around, arm slinging over the back of the wooden chair to look at him. “And might I remind you that you’re the one who chose something that you don’t enjoy while I chose my own degree.” He silently mocks your words which makes you throw your pen at him. “It’s a bigger wonder as to how I’ve tolerated you these past few weeks,” you shake your head while turning back to the library desk to pull out a new pen from your pencil case.

“I know, I’m such a pain in the ass, aren’t I,” he cries. “‘Woe is me, Prince Minho is such a bore. He’s not the handsome bachelor that I thought he was’.”

“I might just start referring to you that way if you carry on,” you hum.

“Oh, come on, you love me,” Minho claims while sitting up right.

“Of course I do, that’s why I’m friends with you.” He stares at the back of your head, scowling when he realises that you’re no longer paying attention to him.

Minho stands from the library couch and moves in front of your desk, arms crossing over his chest. You don’t pay him any mind and keep your attention to your book instead. He lets out a huff when you don’t look at him, but you still ignore him. Minho purses his lips together and knits his eyebrows together, huffing once again; louder this time.

You learned a week into your friendship that when Minho wants attention, he will do everything in his power to make you give him the attention without outwardly asking you for it. Which is exactly what he was doing right now.

You finally give in with a sigh and look at him without raising your head, “yes, Minho?”

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m analysing Shakespeare sonnets.”

“What’s so interesting about them?”

“Minho, please,” you groan and set your pen on the table. “Could you please just allow me a few minutes to focus? I have an assignment due in a few days and I can’t focus when you’re constantly bothering me.”

“But I’m so bored,” Minho whines loudly.

“You’re acting like a child.”

“Because I’m bored!”

A hiss from the student librarian immediately silences him. You turn to Lia and give her an apologetic wave, but she reassures you with a smile.

“Chan, Hongjoong, and Yeji are planning to watch a movie in an hour,” you say while turning back to Minho, “if I promise to bring you, will you please allow me the hour to focus?”

“Yes, yes, I promise,” Minho nods feverishly, his voice lowering after the warning from Lia.

“Good. Now, sit on the couch and be patient.” He nods once again and plops himself down on the beaten and worn out leather, politely sitting as he waits for the hour to pass.

But Minho is Minho.

And you also learned quickly that Minho isn’t a patient man.

Barely even ten minutes pass before he sighs loudly from behind you. You squeeze your eyes shut in frustration and squeeze them with the thumb and index of your left hand. Attempting to ignore Minho’s whining and moaning, you plug your ears with your headphones and play music to block out the outside world.

Even that proves fruitless.

Minho crouches down beside your chair and rests his cheek against the table, tugging your earphone out and making you hiss at him in annoyance.

“Can we go do something fun together, please?” he asks politely.

“Where are Jisung and Seungmin?” you ask while turning to him.

“They both have classes,” Minho claims with a pout.

“Don’t you have any other classes?”

“Not anymore for the rest of the day,” he shakes his head.

“So, I’m the unfortunate soul you have for the rest of today?”

“Precisely.”

You sigh as you glare at him before you completely give in. You place your pen in the centre of the book to mark your page before shutting it. Minho lets out a victorious ‘yes!’ at the realisation that he’s won while you put your things into your backpack.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“(Y/n)?” your father calls, his footsteps getting louder as he approaches the living room. You immediately stand up and turn to the entrance. “Aila mentioned that you have a friend over?” he asks just as he pushes open the door. His eyes widen at the sight of Minho standing a distance from you with his hands clasped in front of himself. “Oh. Prince Minho. I hadn’t realised you were friends with (Y/n).”

“We’re in the same university, sir,” he explains while bowing slightly.

“No formalities in this house. My daughter may have been sent to finishing school, but it’s only because we wanted her to be better with the rest of the family,” your father explains.

“‘Them’, father,” you correct.

“I hadn’t realised that you already told the prince.” His eyes are apologetic, but you reassure him with a smile. “Well, make yourself at home, your highness. If you’d like to spend the night in the guest room, I could always inform your parents since we’re quite close.”

“O-Oh, no, it’s fine,” Minho quickly shakes his head.

“Minho was bothering me while I was in the university’s library, so I brought him here to keep him occupied with the dart board while I study,” you explain with your hand gesturing to the books splayed across the coffee table. Your father’s lips part in realisation, amusement flashing across his face for a second.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He clears his throat to stifle his laughter when Minho’s face turns red. “If you need anything, just let any of the housekeepers know. And—uhm—if you’re hungry, there’s a box of chocolates in the mini fridge.” Your father extends his hand towards the silver fridge in the corner of the living room. “Do help yourself to it, your highness.”

The moment your father leaves the room, Minho scurries over to the fridge and pulls the small, golden box out and returns to the couch.

You look at the box of your chocolates and sigh softly. You turn your attention to your books for the nth time today and start reading the notes, your attention instead being caught by the box of chocolates slowly being slid towards you.

“Sorry,” Minho apologises with a mouthful of chocolate. Your head turns to look at him and you give him a soft smile.

“I’m sorry for being really snappy today. I’m afraid the workload has been getting a bit more taxing than I had initially imagined, you mutter as you push it back towards him. You sigh softly when you see the way Minho looks at you like a child guilty of breaking something, chocolate staining the corner of his lip as.

“I’m sorry for being really annoying,” Minho apologises. “I don’t blame you for acting like this.”

“I wouldn’t blame you either,” you chuckle. “Economics truly is a bore. I would end up as frustrated with it as you are.” He smiles slightly and pushes the box back in your direction.

“Thank you for tolerating me.”

You take one of the chocolates out of the box and pop it into your mouth, “thank you for sharing.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Minho pulls up outside your home, Jisung and Seungmin glancing at the mansion before taking a double-take. It’s the same size as Minho’s mansion, but somehow it looks even more grand than his. The outside is white and pristine. The driveway surrounding the large fountain in front of the building is lined with rose bushes and a perfectly green garden.

“Holy shit,” Jisung breathes out when he sees the garden.

“I know right,” Minho chuckles while turning the engine off.

“How in the world…” Seungmin trails off, his voice a whisper as he steps out of the car with Minho and Jisung.

“It’s bigger than yours,” Jisung claims.

“Shut up,” Minho snaps, his eyes holding the familiar mischievous glint that makes Jisung snicker. “Remember; their friends are here too. We’re gonna have a little movie night, courtesy of their parents, and you guys can’t say dumb shit in front of them,” Minho warns as he locks the door and leads the two up the stairs. He pauses in his footsteps and turns around, “I do not care that you guys sometimes hang out with them, but please don’t say anything dumb.” Jisung and Seungmin share a look and nod obediently.

“Remind us how you guys became so close again. I feel like you two never actually went into it but we hang out with (Y/n) and their friends every few weeks now.” The prince glances at Jisung and shrugs.

“It just worked. It probably helped that we always seemed to be in each others’ circles, but we never actually spoke until a few months ago,” he explains just as he rings the doorbell. “It felt like I kept seeing them everywhere and I just… approached them when I saw them when they were at one of my parents’ events.”

“So the stars just aligned?” Seungmin questions just as the door opens to reveal one of the housekeepers.

“Something like that,” Minho shrugs.

“Are you here for her highness’s gathering?” the man asks.

“Yes,” he nods.

“Her highness is still in her bedroom. I can take you to the cinema room where the rest of her friends are waiting.” The trio follow the man throughout the mansion, Seungmin and Jisung with their eyes glued to the ivory interior and almost bumping into one of the giant pillars in the entrance hall. “Do patiently wait until her highness arrives,” the housekeeper says as he pushes open one of the large sets of doors.

The entire room is the same ivory walls with subtle gold accents, a large black couch lining all sides of it and a projected screen hanging from the wall at the right side of the room. It’s huge for a cinema room. The centre of the room has a floor that looks more like panels than tiles.

“Why does it look like that?” Seungmin questions when he sees it, completely missing the three of your friends perched on one end of the couch.

“I think it’s best if you wait for (Y/n) to explain that,” Hongjoong chuckles. The film student whips his head up at the sound of his voice, his cheeks flaring when he realises that they’re all watching him.

“I have a feeling I know what it is, but I’m not going to make a guess until they’re here,” Minho hums as he plops himself on the opposite end of the couch. “Haven’t spoken to you guys in a while,” he says while watching the three. “How have you been?”

“I feel like the urge to drop out just keeps getting stronger and stronger,” Chan jokes with a laugh.

“Oh, that sounds amazing right now,” Yeji groans while throwing her head back. “What I’d give for just a whole year of no assignments and no extra year of studying.”

“Maybe we should all just drop out,” Jisung suggests. “A pact where we all just hide in (Y/n) and Minho’s houses.”

“You know, my parents most likely wouldn’t notice if you guys snuck around our mansion. They barely even spend time anywhere other than their chambers, the dining hall, and the ballroom,” Minho snorts. “They wouldn’t even notice if a whole family of five moved into the mansion.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a very big ‘maybe’, Sung,” he chuckles.

“I’m taking that chance and I’m staying over for a few days to see how long before it takes your father to notice I’m there,” Jisung giggles mischievously as he plops his head down on Minho’s lap.

The doors open and you step into the room in a black hoodie and sweats.

“Oh! You guys are here!” you gasp in slight surprise when you see Minho and his friends. “No one told me that you already arrived.”

“The guy who let us in just told us to wait for you,” Seungmin says as he sits down beside Jisung. You give him a weird look but quickly brush it off and sit yourself in between Minho and Chan.

“You stink,” he states when you look at him. You scoff and immediately stand back up, “no! I was joking—sit back down.”

“I thought so,” you huff and sit back down. You look around the room, noting the fact that Minho’s usual bodyguard isn’t around. You think through the options in your mind before you look at him in surprise, “you drove here?”

“Yeah,” Minho nods. “They didn’t think Aki needed to follow me since I was coming here.” You breathe out an ‘oh’. It was always relatively surprising for you whenever Minho was without a bodyguard.

“Hey, (Y/n)?”

“Yes, Jisung.”

“Why does the floor look like that?” You look down at where Jisung is pointing and towards the panelled floor.

“Could everyone lift their feet off of the floor, please?” you ask and look between everyone in the room who obliges, bringing their legs up and sitting cross-legged. You reach towards a small black remote beside you and press the red button on it.

The room goes silent as everyone patiently waits for something to happen, when there’s a vague sound of metal whirring and the panel splits in two, pulling apart to reveal a pool.

“What the fuck?!” Jisung gasps as he shoots upright.

“The leather of this couch has been coated with a waterproof coating for this very reason,” you explain, “my parents were unsure on whether or not it was a good idea to have this in here with how it would be rather difficult to maintain, but they decided to go on with it. I would’ve asked you to bring along your swimming wear, but I hadn’t thought of you even noticing the pattern being a bit off.”

“Are we allowed to dip our feet in it?” Chan questions. His question doesn’t even feel like he’s asking for permission with the way he’s already rolling up his sweats.

“Feel free to,” you nod, “the black cabinet on the wall is filled with towels. You can use them if needed; just remember to leave them in the white cabinet right beside it.”

“This is so cool,” Hongjoong breathes out a laugh as he slides down the couch to let his feet dangle in the water.

“What are we watching?” Seungmin asks when he sees you reaching for another remote.

“I was planning on a more lighthearted film for Chan’s sake, but I decided on A Quiet Place because Hongjoong insisted.”

“I’m never paying for your lunch ever again,” Chan grumbles as you start the movie.

“You’ve never paid for it anyway,” Hongjoong argues.

“Hush,” Yeji hisses, which effectively silences the pair.

“Have you watched this before?” Minho whispers, but you shake your head.

“I don’t actually watch movies unless there are other people watching with me,” you say softly.

“Really?”

You nod your head, yes. Minho pulls away slightly and simply stares at you for a second before he returns his attention to the movie. He doesn’t want to disturb the silence, but he’s curious to know more about you. If you don’t watch movies that often on your own, then what do you watch? Or do you just not watch anything at all?

The movie carries on in silence. Chan disturbs after the first minute or two to ask for your permission to submerge himself into the water with only his boxers on, to which you grant it to him.

The first scene where the monster appears on screen causes Chan to jump and scream, the water splashing all over the couch and on you, Yeji, Seungmin, Jisung, and Minho.

“Dude?!” Minho gasps.

“Sorry! Fuck!” Chan squeaks sheepishly as he gathers himself and scooches closer to Yeji’s ankles. You wipe the droplets of water off of your face, silently laughing to yourself when you see how shaken up he’s gotten from barely even the first twenty minutes.

“Not joining them?” you ask when the movie hits the half hour mark and Jisung slides himself into the pool with Chan, looking close to passing out.

“I don’t really like being in water without any kind of swimming trunks,” Minho says while shaking his head. “Maybe another time.”

You lean closer to Minho out of instinct from the movie’s eerie music and ambiance. The prince barely questions it and slings his arm over your shoulders, pulling you closer to him as he grabs the dark blue blanket sitting beside him and drapes over your curled up frame.

Mere months of spending time together and the two of you had gotten closer as friends. Your hovering touches turned into more welcoming hugs and cuddles when needed. The others barely minded your skinship since you were relatively more open to it and so were Minho’s friends.

But the moment you’re comfortably curled up in Minho’s side, Seungmin glances at the both of you for a split second. He notes the way you have your head on his shoulder and the way Minho barely bats an eye at the way you had silently leaned up to him, but Seungmin stays silent and turns his attention back to the movie.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“Do you have any plans for this weekend?” you ask as you hand Minho a bag of potato chips.

“Why?” He takes the bag and gives you a curious look.

“Hongjoong, Chan, and I are planning on taking (Y/n) to the beach this weekend. It’s been getting hotter and we all need a break from all of our assignments,” Yeji says as she rolls over on your bed so that she’s laying on her stomach and facing the two of you who are sitting on a pair of beanbags in the corner of your room.

Hongjoong, Jisung, and Chan have busied themselves with the dart board hanging on your wall, screaming and cheering every once in a while whenever someone lands the darts.

Seungmin’s perched at your desk chair, comfortably sitting on his own with one of your books in his hand. He had taken a liking to your bookshelf of old literature and browsed through it for a few minutes before deciding on a collection of William Blake poems.

Yeji has been on your bed and scrolling through her phone for the past two hours. Every once in a while, she raises her head to show you a funny meme that one of her other friends, Felix, had sent to her.

You and Minho sit on your bean bags with your own laptops and a shared bag of potato chips. You’re finishing one of your assignments while Minho binges Bojack Horseman on his own. It’s not silent, but the environment is comfortable enough for you to be able to focus, undisturbed and willingly pulling yourself away to see what the others are up to.

“Uhm… (Y/n)?” You look away from your laptop only to see Yeji sitting upright and looking at her phone with uncertainty on her face. You hum in response and she hands you the gadget. On the screen is an article with pictures of you and Minho at a mall with ‘SKU’S NEW ROYAL COUPLE?’ headlining the top in big, bold letters.

“This is nothing but tabloid, Yeji,” you reassure her as you return her phone. By now, you’re already used to the kinds of articles that would be written about you and the people around you. It’s happened to any member of the royal family

“What was it?” Minho asks.

“It’s another rumour about us,” you sigh, focusing your attention back on your assignment, fingers clicking away at the keys of your laptop. “Tabloids never worry me. They’re nothing but rumours.”

“These guys have nothing better to do,” he hums. “If they can’t force royals into a scandal, they can make rumours on our public relationships. Since we aren’t as important anymore with modern government, royals are treated like celebrities.”

“Should they find anything they can make an article about that will give them clicks and views, they do as they wish. It’s the reason why I pay no mind to them; nothing but rumours,” you lift your head and smile at Yeji, “nothing but lies.”

“So… you guys are totally cool with these things?” Yeji asks.

“Something like that,” Minho nods as he diverts his attention back to his Netflix. She looks between the two of you before shrugging and laying back down.

“Minho.”

“Yeah?”

“Could you read this, please? Let me know if it sounds alright.” He obliges without hesitation, switching his laptop with yours and letting you watch the rest of the episode while he reads through the entire essay.

“Do you guys have any tournaments coming up?” Hongjoong asks as he plops himself right beside Yeji, assumingly because the dart game started to get boring.

“Not until the New Year,” you shake your head. “My coach thinks it’s better that I focus on my academics.”

“I have one in the summer, but it’s state level,” Minho says.

“Minho’s training only gets more intense towards the month before, so we have plenty of time to hang out before then,” Jisung hums as he throws himself right onto Hongjoong’s back, the performing arts student screaming when he does.

“Oh no…” you trail off when you watch the chaos erupt.

Jisung won’t get off of Hongjoong’s back, Yeji is trying to avoid being hit or grabbed by Hongjoong’s violently swaying arms, Chan is so very desperately trying to pull Jisung off and Seungmin has finally pulled his attention away from the book he was reading.

You, Minho, and Seungmin watch from your own spots as Hongjoong cries out with his arms flying all over the place. He grabs Yeji by the ankles and she exclaims at the sudden action, unfortunately being pulled into the mess while Chan moves to try to pull her away.

“Hongjoong, let me go!” she cries out while kicking at his hands.

“Get him off of me!” Hongjoong groans while still trying to push Jisung off. “Why are you so heavy?! I swear you were so small last year!”

“I gained a lot of muscle this year, dude,” Jisung giggles as he finally decides to pull himself up. “You have funny reactions.”

“I hate you,” he pants.

“Be nice to my Jisungie,” Minho hums. He had been completely unphased throughout the entire affair and kept most of his attention to your essay. “It’s good,” he says as he finally hands switches your laptops.

“Really?” You take the device and read through the first paragraph yet again.

“Yeah, I haven’t read Beowulf but it makes sense. Speaking of, what’s the deal with that guy?” Minho laughs.

“Beowulf’s in a silly mood,” you joke as you save the file before closing your laptop. “Now what?”

“Well, we came over here to bother you while you were doing your assignment, but you’re done with that now,” Yeji hums.

“And we couldn’t even bother you,” Chan adds. “You never give us attention whenever we try to bother you.”

“You guys don’t try hard enough, that’s why,” you laugh. “Either that, or I’ve simply gotten too used to Minho bothering me all of the time.”

“I once made them so frustrated that they took me here and their father gave me their chocolates,” Minho laughs while closing his own laptop and puts it away in his bag.

“You were so very annoying that day,” you grumble.

“Minho annoys everyone,” Seungmin laughs from the other end of your room. He stands up with a small grunt and makes his way to your expansive bookshelf to put away the book exactly where he had taken it from. “I’m not surprised that he’s the most likely to break your focus out of all of us.”

“Hold on—since everyone’s not focused on anything else now—beach this weekend?” Hongjoong suggests, pushing himself upright to look around the room. “We can get an AirBnB around the area, leave Friday evening and come back Sunday evening.”

You turn to Minho when you feel him brushing your elbow and give him a questioning look. “What do you think?”

“It should be fine if I tell mother and father that you’re joining. They can always refer to your parents if they don’t trust me,” you say.

“Your bodyguards are also completely free to join, by the way,” Hongjoong continues. “But I’d feel bad if they didn’t at least join us at the beach, so ask them to bring their own swimsuits too.”

“Would you even be able to convince Aki to join us in the water?” you snort as you turn to Minho.

“I can barely even convince that man to eat lunch with me in the campus cafeteria sometimes,” he rolls his eyes with a laugh. “Although, I’ve noticed that he’s been a bit more casual ever since Lyra started joining us.”

“Lyra is casually formal, I think. She still speaks and acts very formally, but somehow she does it in a way that comes off as more casual than what I believe people are mostly used to,” you explain. “For my entire childhood, my classmates and teachers hadn’t found her that intimidating unless she needed to be.”

While Minho’s bodyguard had failed to become more casual with him, your personal bodyguard had a brighter aura to her. She was bubbly and jovial, extroverted and social enough to make friends with anyone. Her connections were valued to your parents and her initiative and determination in keeping you safe was what made them choose her to care for you ever since you were a child.

“Aki could not be casual around me to save his own life,” Minho jokes, “I’ve asked him a million times to be more casual with me, but he doesn’t want to.”

“Trutfully, Minho, you are rather intimidating,” you state.

“They’re not wrong,” Jisung nods in agreement. “You are very intimidating. The first time Seungmin and I saw you, we were more scared of your face than Aki.”

“Mhm, we can vouch for that,” Yeji hums.

“What?” Minho scoffs in disbelief. “I’m not that intimidating.”

“You truly are,” you shake your head. The prince looks at you with shock written all over his face. “One of the reasons I hadn’t approached you myself was because you always looked so bored during events.”

“Okay, but that’s because the events are actually boring,” he defends.

“Your face tells the people around you that you’d like to set the entire ballroom on fire, Minho—I truly would not be surprised if that’s the reason Aki is scared of being casual with you.”

“Is that true?” Minho looks around the room and all six of them nod. He has to admit that he feels slightly deflated at the revelation.

“I hadn’t meant it as a bad thing,” you reassure him, hand reaching on to hold onto his forearm gently. “I think it’s a charm that you can use to keep bad intentions away.”

“You think so?”

“Of course I do,” you nod.

“Dude, haven’t you noticed that the worst people on campus still haven’t approached you? You’ve been here for the past two years and you’d think that the ‘It’ group would’ve tried making friends with you, but they haven’t,” Hongjoong points out. “They’re all scared of you.”

“Even the campus devil is scared of you,” Yeji claims.

“Why did you guys approach me then?” Minho asks, eyes diverting to Jisung and Seungmin. The pair share a look before shrugging in unison.

“You seemed like a cool dude,” Jisung admits.

“There wasn’t anything wrong with you. You just looked scary,” Seungmin claims.

“We just assumed that gave yourself a resting bitch face because you’re, technically, seen as a celebrity. Either that or you were just born with it,” he adds. Minho turns back to you, but you only smile in response.

“It’s not a bad thing, alright?” you reassure him as you squeeze his arm gently. Relief floods his chest at the reassurance you give him.

Minho lets out a sigh and smiles, “so… beach this weekend?”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Arriving at the AirBnB, you and Minho were quick to make your way to the bedroom you decided on sharing. The first thing you noticed in the process of unpacking was the fact that Yeji, Jisung, Chan, Hongjoong, and Seungmin still hadn’t arrived yet, which led to Minho calling Jisung to check in on them.

“How much longer are you guys gonna take?” Minho asks into the phone as you start unpacking your bag. “Four hours?!” The exclamation tears you away from your bag for a moment, but you decide to only listen instead of completely turning your attention to the conversation.

“... it’s Chan’s fault for not checking his tires…” Jisung’s voice is vaguely heard by you and it makes you look away from your duffle bag to look at Minho, your hands stopping and resting among your clothes.

“Jeez, alright,” he sighs. “(Y/n) and I are already here, so we’ll probably hang out around the beach before you guys get here. Yeah, it’s no problem. We’ll find something to eat, too. We did a small grocery run before we got here. Yeah. Yeah—dude, seriously, it’s no problem… a little bit. I’m starting to think that we should’ve taken the same car. Yes; I know that you guys are all living in the dorms, but I’m just say—Jisung—I’m just—God! Fine! Just let us know when you guys are nearby.”

Minho hangs up the call and taps on his screen a few times before he locks it and places it on the bed. He plops himself beside you and starts unpacking his own bag.

“Four hours?” you repeat.

“That’s what he said,” Minho nods with a sigh. “It’s fine. It’s still bright out, so we could just head on over to the beach now and watch the sunset.”

“I’m not opposed to that,” you claim as you start searching for your swimsuit. “We can convince Lyra and Aki to join us in the water. “

“You could probably convince Lyra, but I’m not so sure about Aki,” he chuckles.

“Did you ask him to bring swimming wear?”

“I did, but it’s not a promise as to whether or not he actually did,” Minho says as he rummages through his bag. “By the way, what do you want to eat? I doubt they’ll actually be here on time for dinner.”

On the four hour trip to the beach, Aki was kind enough to stop by a grocery store to buy food for everyone. Three hours into the tripand Lyra had convinced him to stop at a Family Mart along the way to buy snacks for everyone.

“You never know,” you hum, “but in the chance that they don’t arrive by then, we can always cook something for the four of us. Whatever food is leftover can be shared with the others.”

“But what do you want to cook?”

“We can run through what we bought at the grocery store and figure something out later.” You zip up the top of your bag and stand up, “now, I’m going to change in the bathroom, so you can change in here, and we can talk about food afterwards.”

“Alright,” Minho nods.

You disappear into the bathroom and leave the prince to his own company. It’s not much of a surprise to your friends that you two chose each other as roommates the moment the options were given; especially after Seungmin asked for his own room because, according to him, ‘Jisung talks in his sleep’.

Yeji chose to share a room with Chan only after he promised to keep his shirt on and Jisung chose the couch since he sleeps pretty much anywhere and everywhere.

When you had brought the plan to Lyra and Aki, they both had chosen their own rooms on both sides of yours and Minho’s. They didn’t want to share a room with the both of you for the sake of your privacy but preferred being in at least the same area just in case anything would happen—in which you reassured them that the chances of anything going south were low.

Minho pauses for a moment in the middle of putting his swimsuit on. Your phone had lit up on the dressing table of the bedroom and your lock screen is a picture Chan had taken while you were at a Christmas party the year before. His hand drops from zipping his suit up halfway as he takes a step closer to pick up your phone.

It was one of the first times you had ever been to a party that wasn’t formally prepared by another royal family, and you and your friends went back to Minho’s place for the rest of the night where he had gotten drunk and threw you over his shoulder.

The memory is fresh in Minho’s head despite the few months that had passed. He remembers the night so fondly mainly because it was the first time he had truly seen you so happy.

Minho’s attention is so fixed on your phone that he doesn’t even hear you stepping out of the bathroom and staring at his back in confusion. “Minho?”

“You have this as your lock screen?” he asks as he turns around. You stare at the image for a moment before it finally hits you on which picture you had saved as your lock screen.

“Yeah,” you nod while approaching him and taking the device from his hands, “it was one of the best nights of my life—how could I not?” You look at the picture as well and laugh, “don’t you remember Yeji spilling her drink all over Hongjoong? He was more upset over the fact that she accidentally stepped on his shoes over the fact that he was drenched in alcohol.”

“Yeah, I do,” Minho laughs. You pull your phone back and smile at the image as you sit at the edge of your bed. He feels his heart warming, smiling fondly as he sits beside you. “Do you actually remember what happened after I threw you over my shoulder because I completely blacked out after that.”

“Well,” you sigh as the memory runs through your head. “Seungmin threw a cushion at you to put me down right after Chan took the photo. You almost dropped me. You had gotten frustrated with how you weren’t able to speak properly in your state. Jisung had to convince you to put me down safely.”

“I have a very vague memory of me trying to throw you out the window,” he wonders.

“Yeah, Jisung had to make you put me down safely after you tried to throw me out the window,” you clarify with a chuckle. “All was fine. After you put me down, you laid down on my bed and started mumbling about the suit you had accidentally spilled champagne on before falling asleep.”

“Was I that wasted?”

“You were worse than Yeji on her birthday,” you joke. Minho gawks at you.

“No way…”

“You really were, Minho,” you giggle.

“No fucking way—worse than Yeji?”

“Quite so. I had never seen you acting as extremely as the way that you did—it was very entertaining,” you claim.

“I think you’ve all turned me into the equivalent of the jester,” he snorts as he lays down. “Nothing but a laughing stock.”

“You have to admit, Minho, you’re quite entertaining in general,” you say as you turn around and place your hand on his knee. “You know that you’re more than just a jester. You’ve given me many things since we’ve met.”

“Such as?” Minho gives you a cheeky look. On one end, he wants you to fuel his ego, but on the other, he’s genuinely curious to know what kind of a place he has in your heart.

“Well, you’ve taught me how to chug alcohol like a lunatic, you’ve taught me how to make fun of funnily dressed royals, and you’ve taught me how to truly discipline my focus during assignment season.” His face contorts into a scowl and you can only smile at his reaction. “On one hand, I’m joking, but on the other; Minho, you’ve taught me how to be more casual with people. You’ve taught me things that I had spent so many years failing to figure out. I hadn’t had that many friends before this, but by meeting you, I have few that I hold so dearly.”

“Does that include me?”

“Yes, that includes you,” you roll your eyes, amused. “I hold you dearly, Minho. Very so. We’ve only been close for a few months, but I can admit that you are the most interesting person I’ve ever met.” Minho keeps his eyes trained on you without saying anything, silently urging you to continue; not because of his ego, but because he’s genuinely curious. “You’re… different,” you say, “I’ve met royals before who prefer a more laid-back and casual lifestyle, but you’re the only Lee Minho I’ve ever met.”

“The one and only,” he smiles. You hadn’t realised that your hand had been on his knee the entire time, your thumb tenderly rubbing over the skin exposed from his swimming shorts.

“You’re my best friend, Minho,” you admit softly. A strange feeling runs throughout Minho’s gut. He’s never heard anyone outright admit to him that they see him as their best friend; Jisung and Seungmin had their own way of doing it, but it was never vocal. He slowly sits upright and takes your hand in his, clasping the other over it.

“And you’re mine, (Y/n),” Minho smiles. Your smile softens into an adoring one as you take your hand out of his. For a moment, he feels disappointed from the sudden pull, until you wrap your arms around his shoulders to pull him into a hug.

“I intend to keep you around for as long as I am able to.” Minho lets out a contented sigh as he wraps his arms around you as well, burying his face in your shoulder.

“(Y/n),”

“Yes, Minho.” You don’t pull away from him, but he feels the way your head turns towards him slightly.

“I—” Minho, unfortunately, gets cut off when there’s a knock at the door.

“Your highnesses,” Lyra calls from the other side “We’re packing food to bring to the beach; would you like us to bring the sandwiches you bought from Family Mart?”

You pull away from Minho too quickly for his liking, standing up to open the door completely. “That would be lovely, thank you, Lyra,” you nod.

“Oh, also…” The bodyguard takes a step into the room and quietly closes the door, leaning her back against the wood as she looks at Minho. “Aki would never admit this to you, but he is so excited for the beach.”

“Is he?” Minho’s eyes widen in surprise.

“He told me that he loves the beach, but your family doesn't visit it that often. This is his first time in a while and he’s absolutely thrilled,” she snickers.

“I would kill to see him playing in the water,” he breathes out a laugh.

“We must move quickly, then,” you urge as you take Minho’s hand. “Lyra, pack the basket. We won’t tell Aki anything.”

“As you wish,” Lyra giggles right before she leaves the room. You tug Minho towards the door after she leaves but he stops you, pulling your arm back and trapping you in his embrace.

“Thank you,” he hastily breathes out as his arms tighten around you. “Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for tolerating me. I seriously cannot thank you enough.” As Minho holds you, he doesn’t realise it, but he’s praying that you love him as much as he loves you.

But Minho himself doesn’t even realise just how much he loves you.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“No,” you state simply. Minho bites his lip in an attempt to contain the cheeky look on his face as he chases after you.

“Come on! It’s a grand idea, (Y/n)!” You shake your head at his persuasion, walking away from the park and away from him.

“I refuse,” you state.

Minho had a thought, and when this man has a thought, he thinks he’s a genius. But Minho also doesn’t really think that often in general, which makes his thoughts even more of a rare and more of a spontaneous occurrence.

“We’ll be matching at the Halloween party! Don’t you want to match with your best friend?” He grabs onto your elbow and pulls you towards him while you let out a frustrated whine.

“Minho, please, I would like to not embarrass myself.” You look at him with pleading eyes and a pout, “I just want to look nice this year.”

“You looked nice last year. Now it’s time for you to look ridiculous with me,” Minho giggles with both of his hands holding both of your elbows to stop you from moving away from him.

Admittedly, you would’ve said yes to matching outfits with Minho. The only problem is that Minho is Minho.

And Minho doesn’t choose normal costumes.

“Please, please, please—pretty please!” You stare at him in shock because Minho is bouncing while he pleads.

“Minho—”

“It’ll be so fun, (Y/n), please!” Minho’s hands lower to hold yours as he continues bouncing, “we’ll look so cool.”

“We’ll look atrocious!”

“No, we won’t!”

“How do you dress up as pee?!”

“I never said you had to dress up as pee!”

“I sure am not going to dress up as shit!” Minho’s jaw drops.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out and you give him a confused scowl in response. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear.”

“Anyone spends enough time with you and their filter completely flies out the window,” you snort. “I’ll suggest an idea; we can dress up as a knife and a fork. I can be the fork and you can be the knife because you like playing with knives.”

“That’s so basic,” Minho scoffs as he takes a step back as though he’s offended that you have the audacity to suggest something like that. “I want something out of the box—something different! Something that’ll make everyone stop and stare at us like, ‘wow, they’re really weird’.”

“That doesn’t mean it has to be related to bodily fluids,” you deadpan. You pull your hands away from Minho and turn your back to him as you continue walking towards the university cafeteria.

“I just think it’ll be funny!” he persists, jogging until he’s following right beside you. “How about this; we can do something that isn’t gross, but it has to be fun.”

“I want it to be cute,” you add.

Minho rolls his eyes but nods nonetheless, “fine, it can be fun and cute.”

“And I want to be the cooler part of the pair.”

“Dude!” You snap your eyes in his direction and glare at him, the look only making him gasp and take a step back. “Who would’ve thought that you, (Y/n), is as cold as you really are.”

“You bring it out of me,” you hum with a mocking smile that you drop not a second later and continue on your way.

“Salt and pepper?”

“You’ll end up being salty about having to be salt.”

“Ugh, then what about Timon and Pumba?”

“Are you admitting to being a furry?”

“(Y/n)!” Minho finally whines out and stomps his feet on the ground like a child. You pay his tantrum no mind and just hold onto his hand as you bring him along.

“Halloween is not for another month, Min. We still have plenty of time to figure it out,” you reassure him with a sigh when his tantrum ceases.

“We’re going to need time to make the costumes and everything though,” he huffs.

“We can buy them online,” you state.

“That’ll still take weeks for it to arrive!”

“Minho, you’re overreacting and you’re making it a bigger deal than it has to be,” you groan as you throw your arms around the place in frustration. You stop walking and turn all of your attention towards him, “I don’t think that Halloween should be that big of a deal! It’s just a costume party.”

“You’re the one that’s overreacting!” Minho claims loudly. “I just wanna do something nice that the both of us can enjoy and have matching costumes!”

A hand rests on your shoulder and you turn your head to see Lyra’s face right beside yours, “your highness, people are watching.” You spare a glance around you to see the amount of students that are actually watching your argument and, from behind Minho, Aki raises his baseball cap to give you a warning look.

“Minho,” you clear your throat and place your hand on his shoulder, “shall we have this discussion in the privacy of one of our homes instead?” You truly can’t bring yourself to understand why Minho is being so difficult. With the way he actually looks frustrated to the point where he’s close to tears, you worry that he might just have a breakdown in the middle of campus.

His eyes frantically look around campus before stopping on you. You knit your eyebrows together in confusion, hand slowly extending towards him. Minho takes a deep breath before he wraps his fingers around your hand.

“It’s okay,” you whisper as you pull him with you. “Lyra, prepare the car.”

“Yes, your highness,” she bows her head before rushing off.

“Minho, we’re going to my place,” you say softly. Minho looks into your eyes, relief seeming to flood him as he nods.

“Okay,” he whispers. You pull him towards you and he obliges, silently following as you guide him to Lyra’s car parked in the driveway to campus. Minho doesn’t say anything throughout the forty minute drive to your house and he doesn’t say anything until you bring him to your room.

“Are you okay?” you ask once you’ve closed your bedroom door.

“I think I’m stressed out,” Minho admits shakily as he avoids eye contact with you. You don’t miss the way he swallows the lump in his throat or the way his hands keep anxiously clenching into fists only for his fingers to stiffly spread out to repeat the process.

“Is it because of all of the assignments?” He shakes his head. “Is it your parents? Are they trying to push you into another proposal?” Minho shakes his head yet again. You purse your lips into a straight line, eyebrows furrowing as you try to figure out exactly what’s going on. You resort to sitting at the edge of your bed and patting the spot beside you.

Minho obliges and sits beside you, your thighs barely touching from the lack of distance between you two.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. “I just feel so… stressed out and anxious for no reason.”

“Well, you don’t exactly need a reason to feel that way,” you reassure Minho. “You can feel whatever you want—you don’t have full control over your emotions.”

“I know that,” Minho claims. “It feels like there’s a lot on my mind right now.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“I wouldn’t know what to say, though,” he sighs. “It feels like there’s so many things that I don’t know exactly what’s causing it.”

“That’s alright,” you reassure Minho. Your hand rests on his knee, squeezing the fabric of his jeans gently in an attempt to maybe calm his nerves. “We don’t have to talk about it then. We can find something to do to calm your thoughts.”

“I don’t want to do anything,” Minho mumbles as he falls backwards and lays on your bed.

“Come here,” you urge while patting your thigh. Minho looks between your face and your thigh before obliging, adjusting himself so that his head is comfortably cushioned by your thighs. You start to softly comb your fingers through his hair and sigh, “you have too much in this strange head of yours, Minho. When was the last time you actually took the time to relax?”

“When you have the amount of assignments that I do, there’s barely even time to sleep,” he jokes with a laugh, but his laugh quickly dies down and his face changes. “I’m very tired, (Y/n). I should’ve turned down the tournament last month. I feel like I haven’t had the time to catch up because of it. Even Kara thinks I shouldn’t have.”

“What did Kara say?” you ask.

“When I told her I wanted to do it, she was really hesitant,” Minho starts, “she said that she was worried I would burn myself out. I just told her to let me do it because I really wanted to be in that tournament… I don’t think I was giving myself enough time for anything.” You hum in response, letting him know that you’re still there and you’re still listening as you continue to massage his scalp. “I don’t know… Maybe I should stop skating for a while—at least until I’m done with my final year.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

Minho sighs as his eyes look away from you and towards the ceiling, “I honestly don’t know, (Y/n). I don’t think I do, but if I keep skating as often as I do now, I might not be able to focus on school.”

“What if you just don’t skate for the next year?” you suggest. “Forget all of the tournaments between now and 12 months from now and only skate casually. Use it to relieve your stress or when you feel you really want to.”

“One year sounds decent,” he wonders.

“That’s what I’m thinking of doing as well. It’s a bit tiring trying to balance skating and assignments,” you confess. Minho’s gaze meets your eyes once again and the look makes your hands pause in his hair. His brown eyes bore into yours, his habit of blinking multiple times suddenly becoming more prominent the longer you look at him.

You’ve always thought that Minho was extremely handsome, but now, as you look at him, you realise that he may just be more radiant than you initially thought. Your hand lowers to his cheek as you smile fondly.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows knitting together in slight confusion when you don’t say anything.

“Nothing,” you say while shaking your head. “I was just thinking about something.” You pull your hand away from him and lean backwards. Minho’s lips part when you do, almost asking you to bring your hand back, but he quickly stops himself. “So, what’s the plan for Halloween?”

“Jisung wants to have a mega Halloween birthday party.”

You look at him in confusion, “wasn’t his birthday a few days ago?”

“Yeah,” Minho nods, “but he and Seungmin want to have a Halloween costume party for their birthdays, so they’re having a follow-up birthday party of sorts.”

“That… sounds more in character for Jisung than it does for Seungmin,” you point out.

“They work hand-in-hand,” he shrugs with a chuckle, “Jisung’s the mastermind, Seungmin’s the catalyst, and I’m just the enabler. Jisung comes up with wild ideas and Seungmo would pretend he has nothing to do with it when he’s the one making the idea come out worse than the original idea.”

“I see now why you three make such an interesting group of friends.” You let out a small laugh, returning to your previous act of running your hand through Minho’s hair. The prince closes his eyes, relishing in the comforting feeling of your hand that seems to wash away all of his stress and all of the doubts he had before.

But it doesn’t take away the initial cause of his stress.

Seungmo: I’m just saying that you’ve been treating (Y/n) differently

Minho: As in??

Seungmo: Minho I really think that maybe you need to start addressing what kind of a relationship you have with them before one of you gets hurt You’re more accepting to skinship and they can comfort you in seconds

Minho: I treat them like that because they’re my best friend

Seungmo: Then why do you push Jisung’s skinship away? Isn’t he your best friend too?

It was a mild argument that he had with Seungmin earlier in the day, but the idea had lingered in Minho’s head for longer than he initially wanted it to.

Did he really see you in a different light than what he thought he was?

“You’re thinking again, Minho,” you claim quietly. “Let go of your thoughts for a moment.”

“I’m trying,” he mumbles as his eyes open to meet yours. “It’s easier said than done.”

“I worry about you. I’m sorry if I came off as too strong just now,” you apologise.

“It’s alright,” Minho reassures you with a smile. “I knew you were messing around, but I don’t know why I was getting so upset over it. I’m sorry.”

“You know that I’ll always forgive you for these small things,” you claim, your hand lower to cup his cheek with your thumb tenderly running over the skin of his cheekbone. “It takes more than that to scare me off.”

Minho smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he does. You feel a sense of warmth running throughout your body at the sight of his smile. It’s different from the ones you’ve seen before and it fills you with a strange feeling of comfort and safety.

“Thank you,” he thanks after a moment of silence between you two. “You make me feel safe.” Your heart jumps, your lips parting slightly. “I feel like I can tell you everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Minho nods. He’s overcome with a sense of pure adoration when he sees the way you smile. His hand hesitates for a moment before it reaches up to your face where he allows his fingers to graze over your cheek.

You both stay like that for a moment before Minho’s snapped out of his trance and is hit with the crashing realisation of what he’s doing. He clears his throat, swallowing thickly as he sits upright.

“Thank you,” Minho repeats. Disappointment fills your mind slightly at the lack of his closeness, but you push it down and smile instead.

“If you ever need anything, Minho, I’ll be here,” you say.

“I know.” He returns the smile, ignoring the single raging realisation that maybe Seungmin was right.

Maybe Minho loves you differently than he had initially thought.

But he can’t help but feel that you don’t love him that way.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Another event and Minho’s at his regular spot. He had spent the past few months thinking over the relationship that he has with you and after an earful from Seungmin and Jisung, Minho stopped denying the fact that he was in love with you.

He had spent whatever time where he wasn’t with you to think it through. When did Minho even fall in love with you? Why did it take him so long to realise he was falling when his friends had caught on to it before him? He shakes the thought out of his head and straightens his back; Minho can’t afford to be lost in his thoughts during an event.

He surely can’t afford to be looking and staring at you the entire evening either, but that also begs the question of where are you?

Minho hadn’t seen you at all in the past two hours since the event had started and he hadn’t seen your parents either. Were you not attending? Surely if you weren’t, you would’ve let him know beforehand to avoid him constantly looking for you.

But why was Minho so eager to look for you anyway?

He’s used to not talking to anyone for too long the entire night. Even whenever you were around, Minho would spend most of his time hovering around you and following you wherever you would go, but tonight feels different.

Is Minho finally ready to let you know that he loves you?

A whole year together and Minho finally realises just how much he does. He had spent so long mistaking his feelings for platonic love, but he hadn’t realised that he was actually falling in love with you.

Minho had taken your advice of not skating for a while. He told Kara that he wasn’t going to participate in the national Winter tournament and opted on focusing on his school at least until he didn’t feel like he was close to burning out. Right after he had spoken with the coach, Minho felt a weight lifting off of his chest and his first instinct was to tell you about it.

Which only added to the suspicion of his feelings.

The longer Minho thought about it, the more he realised things that he wouldn’t have done if it were anyone else. He wouldn’t have shared a room with anyone if you had chosen to share a room with someone else. He wouldn’t have let anyone hold him as close as you do—and he surely wouldn’t have let anyone touch his hair the way you have.

So Minho is finally going to confess to you. Because right now, all he wants is you. And all he wants is to have you around him. He wants to be able to hold you and tell you just how much he loves you; Minho wants to hold you and call you his.

He wants you to be his to love and he wants to be the one you love.

So Minho stays at his usual spot in the ballroom, angling his head to look above everyone else in an attempt to find you. He feels his heart pounding in his chest. What if you weren’t as in love with him as he thought you were? What if he was reading your signals wrong?

Minho prays that you aren’t in love with someone else. He prays that, even as a royal, you aren’t betrothed to a prince from another region for the sake of a business relationship. He spots the back of your head from a distance, excitement rushing through him as he starts pushing past the crowd and towards you. He catches a glimpse of the black ball gown you’re wearing and the silver clip pinned into your hair, thinking that you look as enchanting as you always do.

Until he hears your laugh. Minho freezes in the middle of the crowd and stares at you. You’re smiling as you talk to a prince that he somewhat recognises; he’s come to his parents’ events a handful of times. Minho feels his world crashing down when he sees the way you’re genuine. All of the fake and polite smiles have disappeared and you look happy as you talk to the prince.

Minho stays in his spot, unable to move as all he sees is you. Maybe you are in love with someone else. His bottom lip trembles, eyes stinging with tears that he forces back as he turns on his heel. Minho makes a beeline towards the entrance to the ballroom and shoves his way past the large wooden doors, the heels of his shoes aggressively clacking against the marble floor. He needs to get away.

He feels like skating.

Minho walks towards the back entrance of the mansion, grabbing a pair of worn out skates that he keeps only for when he’s skating in the man-made frozen lake in his mansion’s backyard—courtesy of his parents. He doesn’t bother grabbing a coat and ignores the way the cold bites at his ears and the tips of his exposed fingers as he storms towards the ice.

He throws the dark blue blazer off and lets it haphazardly fall to the ground, leaving him in only the white button up that definitely isn’t warm enough in the low temperature. Minho shoves his feet into the softened leather of his skates, hastily looping the laces until he’s secure enough to skate.

He doesn’t even bother with stretching as he kicks off, gliding to the centre of the lake. Minho doesn’t follow any routine. He jumps and spins as he pleases. Without any music, he feels more freedom in his movement and in his thoughts. The image of you laughing and talking with the prince stays embedded in his thoughts, the tears that he was so desperately trying to force back coming in at full force and Minho lets out a choked sob as he stops for a moment.

He takes a deep breath, letting out a loud groan of frustration as he wipes away his tears with the back of his hand before he continues. Minho can feel his muscles struggling. Without any stretching and with the lack of warmth, he feels his muscles stiffening faster than they usually would, but he ignores it in favour of trying to at least relieve whatever pain he feels.

Meanwhile, from within the mansion, you bid your friend goodbye. You forgot to let Minho know that you and your family would arrive late for the event and you had left your phone in the car rather than in your purse like you usually would. You look around the ballroom in search of the young prince, but you feel disappointment filling you when you can’t find him.

You purse your lips together with a sigh. Where could he be?

“Excuse me,” you softly call when one of the waitresses approaches you. “Is Prince Minho attending this event?”

“You just missed him, your highness,” the woman says as she lowers her head slightly. “Prince Minho left the mansion almost half an hour ago. Some of the housekeepers have said that he might be in the backyard of the compound.”

“Backyard?”

“Yes, your highness,” she nods. “I can have someone show you the way if you’d like.”

“It’s fine—thank you.” The waitress bows her head slightly before moving past you. You head for the entrance to the ballroom, requesting your coat from one of the staff before you make your way down the white walls and towards the backyard. You have spent long enough in Minho’s mansion to navigate your way through the many hallways without needing much help and you quickly find yourself pushing through the glass door leading to the outside.

You let out a verbal shiver when you feel how cold it’s gotten and wrap your arms around yourself as you start wandering around the garden. The sound of skates scraping against ice makes you turn your head in the direction of the lake, your lips parting when you see Minho kicking himself off into the air as he spins.

Your steps slow as you walk towards the lake. Ice sculptures line the path towards the lake, a large Christmas tree to your right and wreaths hanging from the lamp posts that light up the long path. The closer you get, the more you see Minho in his element. He glides across the ice with less control and more fluidity.

The garden looks magical; as though it’s some sort of winter wonderland, and with Minho making use of the lake, you could say that it’s a scene out of a movie.

Minho spins once, twice, before he catches sight of your frame slowly approaching and loses his balance. You let out a loud gasp when Minho falls onto the ice with a loud thud and a pained grunt. Your first instinct is to laugh, a small giggle leaving past your lips.

He looks cute.

Minho blushes furiously at the sound of your laughing, but it’s barely obvious from the way his cheeks were already red from the cold. You take a step closer to the ice when you see him wobbling as he stands.

“What are you doing out here on your own?” you question.

“I needed to clear my mind,” he mumbles. Your smile drops when you hear the ice in his voice, his eyes looking at his hands as he brushes ice off of them.

“I was looking for you,” you say.

“Well, you looked like you were having a grand time with the prince.” Minho finally looks at you, but his eyes are blank as he looks at you, completely void of emotion.

“What prince…? Oh! You mean Seonghwa? We’re just friends, Minho,” you reassure him. You step onto the ice cautiously; your heels aren’t exactly made for walking on ice, but you manage. “Seonghwa and I used to be close when we were children, but we haven’t had much time to catch up since I left for finishing school.”

“I don’t believe you,” he huffs.

“It’s the truth,” you argue softly. Minho looks away from you and sighs. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“I-I don’t know—you looked happy talking to him, (Y/n). You looked like you were in love with him,” he claims.

“Nonsense,” you laugh in disbelief. “Why would I be in love with Seonghwa?”

“With the way that he looks, I really wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Minho, I don’t love him,” you retaliate when you get closer to him.

“Why not?” He still avoids eye contact with you, looking at anything else but you as his fingers nervously rub against the palms of his hands.

“I love you,” you confess. Minho’s breath hitches in his throat and his eyes immediately lock with yours, his habit of blinking constantly becoming more and more constant. Until he breathes out a laugh and shakes his head.

“No, you don’t.”

You let out a scoff, “what do you mean?”

“I mean that you don’t, (Y/n),” he states. “Why would you even be in love with me when you have someone like Park Seonghwa in your circle? Everyone wants him. Why would you be any different?”

“Because he’s like my brother,” you retort. “Seonghwa and I grew up together; I’ve gotten sick of his habits already, but he’s not you.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I don’t believe you.”

You look at him in disbelief, anger starting to rise in your chest. Or was it the crushing feeling of Minho rejecting your confession purely out of jealousy? You shake your head—it doesn’t matter. “Whatever,” you spit, “if you’re going to act like this, then I’m going back inside. It’s too cold out here.” Your voice waivers as you speak and Minho doesn’t miss the way your eyes gloss over as you cross your arms over your chest, turning around to walk away from him.

Panic rises and he chases after you, “n-no, (Y/n).” Minho reaches for your wrist when you start walking faster.

But the world has funny ways of bringing you two together and you lose your footing against the slippery ice, stumbling forward. You shut your eyes when you fall, bracing yourself for the impact, but instead, you’re met with warmth and the soft feeling of Minho’s chest. Your eyes open to see him staring at you with wide eyes, heavily breathing as he looks at you in concern.

“Are you alright? Y-You’re not hurt, are you? God, I’m sorry—y-you shouldn’t even be on the ice in the first place,” he rambles as he helps you stand up right. “I’m sorry, (Y/n). You’re allowed to walk away if you need some space, but I’ve been so on edge lately because I just wanted to tell you that—” Minho’s cut off when he feels your lips against his, eyes widening even further as he tries to process what you’re doing until you pull away and stare at him. “That… I love you.”

“You have a funny way of expressing your feelings,” you chuckle as you raise your hand to his cheek. “I wanted to tell you tonight, but I forgot to let you know that I was going to be arriving late and by the time I got here, you were nowhere to be seen.”

“I wanted to tell you tonight as well,” Minho claims, returning the chuckle with a sheepish smile, “but I saw you with Seonghwa and I just assumed that you were probably engaged or in love with him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you say while shaking your head. “My parents aren’t so eager in arranging my marriages. They’ll only suggest it if I’m getting older and I don’t seem to have anyone of interest. I realise that I’ve been in love with you for quite a while, but I didn’t know whether you even loved me back.”

“No. No, I’ve been in love with you for so long,” Minho quickly reassures you. He holds onto your hands and pulls you closer, “my dumbass didn’t even realise it until Seungmin pointed it out. I was denying it because I wasn’t sure if you liked me back either.”

“I guess we’re both idiots,” you giggle. Minho bites his lip, eyes shifting to your lips for a moment before he leans in. He takes in the way you kiss him back, arms wrapping around your shoulders as he deepens it for a moment. The lingering taste of champagne and chocolate left on your lips becomes more and more intoxicating until Minho wills himself to pull away.

His breath comes out ragged from both the cold and the kiss, eyes staring into yours lovingly, “I love you. You have no idea how good it feels to finally tell you this—I love you, (Y/n).”

“I love you too, Minho,” you smile. “And as much as I’d love to be here for longer, you’re not wearing a coat and your parents will definitely be looking for you.”

“Let’s head back inside,” he suggests as his hands lowers to hold onto yours. He carefully guides you back to the edge of the ice and crouches down to untie his shoelaces while you fetch his blazer from the ground, draping it over his shoulders. Minho mutters a ‘thanks’ as he stands up, smiling at you as he holds your hand with his skates in the other.

As you start walking down the path leading to his mansion, you catch a glimpse of white slowly falling in front of you. Minho catches it as well, the both of you stopping to look at the sky only to see snowflakes gingerly floating down.

“The first snowfall,” Minho breathes out in awe.

“Quick, make a wish,” you excitedly gasp. Minho turns back to you and his heart melts at the sight of you with your hands clasped together and your eyes shut. When you open them again you look at him with curious eyes, “did you wish for anything?”

“Of course I did,” he nods.

“What did you wish for?”

“I can’t tell you,” Minho scoffs playfully as he takes your hand once again, “it won’t come true if I do.”

“Whatever you say,” you laugh. Minho pulls you closer so that he’s able to stuff your hand into the pocket of his blazer, holding it in the newfound warmth. He glances at you as you look around the garden, watching the snow falling with pure adoration in your eyes at how magical and enchanting the garden looks.

Minho would never tell you his wish out of fear that it wouldn’t come true. Even if the jinx is fake, he wouldn’t tell you at all. Minho doesn’t want you to know just how much he loves you.

He doesn’t want you to know just how much he wishes that you’ll be by his side forever.

[crystalrequiem]

The Voice that Urged Orpheus

[Part 2/6(?)] [TRC] Summary: Kurogane is very hot, reasonably paranoid, and adds tallies to his running total of failed proposals. Tags: Kuro/Fai, Canon Universe, Post-Canon, Warnings:  suggestive thoughts and implications (nothing graphic), So fluffy you may cry, Is it still slow-burn if they’re already in a relationship? because that’s basically what this is. [Part 1] [Part 3]

Hello again. Wow! the reaction to this was WAY stronger than I thought! I really appreciate all the love and feedback. It’s really kept me going. Hope you like this one as well! Still planning on eventual citrus content of some sort. we’ll see when we get there. This thing has the loosest outline I believe I’ve ever written.

He doesn’t manage to ask before the end of the night. They retire to their shared room, and Kurogane tries fruitlessly to summon meaning in the shape of words. Of course, alone with no one to interrupt them he has an even more difficult time staying focused on talk. Fai interrupts his thoughts with every breath—a gorgeous distraction he wants to lose his wits to again and again. Kurogane winds up forgoing verbal communication mid-sentence, finally overwhelmed by the sight of his love bathed in moonlight. Fai’s… enthusiastic response suggests he may have battled similar frustrations throughout Tomoyo’s soiree. So, he doesn’t regret putting the discussion off a second time.

But then he can’t ask in the next day either. Or the one after that. Somehow, every time he tries to mention ideas of certainty and forever, his tongue locks in place and he loses his footing. Or worse, he knows what he wants and how he means to ask, but someone or something steps in before he can complete the thought. Before he knows it, they’ve already moved on to the next world and he still hasn’t managed to broach the subject for more than two phrases of a sentence.

Gods, it shouldn’t be this hard. “Hey mage, can we settle down together after all this is over?” or hell, even something as simple as, “I want to know what you want from this,” feels beyond him. He keeps running it over in his thoughts—over thinking it. He starts to worry less about his own proposal, and more over Fai’s imagined response. Things like ‘marriage’ don’t even exist consistently across every world, and he doesn’t know how such customs were handled in Celes. Maybe there’s no point to putting a name on their relationship and he’s just complicating things unnecessarily. Or maybe—

Kurogane shakes his head, as if that will empty it of the tangled logic that plagues him. Dithering over what to do isn’t something he makes a habit of. No sense trying to guess at what Fai will say—He wants to ask, so he’ll ask. Simple as that. Whatever comes after… comes after.

For now, he has to keep his focus. This new world they’ve landed in doesn’t bear any familiar faces, and they have no idea what sort of dangers it might hold. In architecture and climate it reminds him of Clow, though the air boils even hotter here. Unfortunately, it doesn’t share a language with Sakura’s home. Whatever basis for its elegant, connected scrawl, Syaoran can’t read it and it looks nothing like the letters of Nihon or Celes. They find themselves in the uncommon and unenviable position of illiteracy, without local currency or any obvious way to earn it. On the other hand, strangely shaped humanoids and talking creatures wander the streets feely, so at least they don’t have to hide Mokona.

Or…. He doesn’t think they do. As far as he can tell, the traveling clothes they got from the Kingdom of Clow echo the styles he sees on the street, and he spots hair and skin colorations of nearly every shade in the milling crowd. Still, they garner stares from everyone they pass. His fingers twitch, itching for the hilt of a sword.

“Ah, so you’ve noticed too,” Fai murmurs, dropping back a step and leaning his way. Mokona maintains an obliviously cheerful soliloquy perched on Syaoran’s shoulder, but the kid looks tense. Good. He might have to try to figure out some kind of awareness training regimen otherwise.  

“Hard to miss,” he grouches back. The mage hums in agreement, his face a placid mask for his hardened gaze to hide behind. “Should we skip town?”

“Not yet I think—I’d rather not sleep in the desert if we can avoid it.” Fair enough, he supposes. Still, the eyes on the back of his neck make his skin crawl, and he marches forward tense as a strung bow.

Wide swaths of pale fabric stretch between the rooves of the white-washed abodes overhead, granting a measure of merciful shade to the market-goers.  Even so, the heat is enough to swell his joints and set his shoulder aching where it joins the prosthetic. He does his best not to give any hint of his discomfort to their audience, but the effort takes its toll.

By the time they find something that looks like a curio shop, even the manjuu has noticed the stares and the burning desert sun sees all of them wilting in the heat. Syaoran lifts the sheet that serves as the store’s front entrance aside and they step into the cooler space with a collective sigh of relief. Kurogane pauses just a moment longer in the doorway to watch for followers, but despite the plentiful staring it doesn’t seem they’ve picked up a tail.

“Wao~ so much to look at! Mokona wants to touch everything—”

“Maybe not everything? We have to be careful, okay?” He heaves a tired sigh at the kids’ antics and leans against a narrow space of wall just at the door, careful not to jostle the wrong arm. The room is deceptively large and stacked with rows and rows of shelves. It appears to be empty. Not so huge he won’t be able to tell if they get into trouble, but large enough he can afford to hang back and let his arm rest a while.

“How about you just don’t touch anything.” He grouches to the empty air they leave behind. If they hear, they give no indication. With a tch, he shakes his head and turns back toward the center of the room, only to catch Fai’s narrow-eyed glare. “…what?”

The mage doesn’t say a word. He simply reaches up, taps once on Kurogane’s shoulder, and watches nonplussed as his whole body recoils in pain.

“Stubborn man,” Fai murmurs. Frustration colors his voice, but the look on his face is so fond it pulls at Kurogane’s heart.

“You’re one to talk.” He takes a deep breath and tries to smooth his expression back to something unbothered. Looking at his worried jerk of a partner helps. Fai’s hair is a tangled mess, even pulled back. Wisping strands escape the hold of his ribbon and stick to his face, glittering with sweat and already just a touch too pink. His fair skin certainly won’t do him any favors in this world… “I’m fine. It’s just the heat.”

“Is that all?” Fai grins and looks both ways, makes sure that no one is there to see before he starts weaving a spell. His hands are a blur of motion, tracing familiar characters in blue and white.

It probably says something that Kurogane doesn’t even think to duck away or put a stop to whatever the mage plans to cast. When did he start trusting Fai so completely? He can’t point to an exact moment. He just knows it feels strangely natural to watch without worry as Fai’s spell lights the space between their bodies, cradled between them like a secret.

“When are you going to learn to ask for help, Kuro-sama?” Fai chides just as he traces the last rune, and his charm snaps into place. Magic sinks into Kurogane’s cloak. He doesn’t usually have much aptitude for sensing the stuff, but like most things, he’s tuned to Fai. It flashes like ice water through the fibers of his clothes, leaving an echo on his skin that sees him shiver for more reasons than one. “Not too cold, I hope? It’s supposed to give you something on the cool side of normal. Maybe—” This time when he feels Fai starting to pull the magic forward, he stills his lover’s hands with his own.

“It’s fine, I’m just—” Just. Just what? “Somehow still learning how amazing you are.” True, but embarrassing as hell to say out loud. “Distracted by how hot that was,” also true, also embarrassing for different reasons. “Glad you’re here,” “shocked you can always read me so well,” and “trying to figure out how to ask you to marry me,” all slide firmly into the mental trash.

Kurogane sets his jaw, shakes his head and starts over, shifting his hold on Fai’s hands until the two of them stand linked like a pair of dancers about to begin. The distant sounds of Syaoran and Mokona speaking together somewhere nearby drift muted and muddled through the air—a quiet reminder that he has other things to worry about. They still don’t know whether this world is safe. That hasn’t changed. He takes another second’s breath, wishing he could convey this messy tangle of sentiment bundled in his chest, and mutters only, “thanks.”

“Yeah,” Fai sighs, seemingly caught in the sincerity of the moment. Minor sunburn makes him no less beautiful when he smiles, quiet and slow, like dawn breaking. They waste a good handful of seconds staring into each other’s eyes like fools before Fai re-discovers his senses. “Or—I mean you’re welcome! Of course. You’re always welcome. I only… wish I could do more.”

The way his gaze drifts towards the false arm as he talks leaves a sour taste in Kurogane’s mouth. There he goes again, blaming himself for a decision that wasn’t his to make. It shouldn’t be so frustrating. In all fairness, if it weren’t Fai saying the words—if he didn’t know exactly what foolish paths the mage’s mind sees fit to walk, it wouldn’t frustrate him. But he does. And it does. More than that, it frightens him. Left alone with his demons, Fai has a nasty habit of abandoning the will to live. He can’t let that happen again. He won’t, embarrassment be damned.

Kurogane growls, veins surging with an angry heat Fai’s charm can’t cool. He pulls his idiot in closer, determined not to let Fai’s doubts fester.

“You do enough,” he blurts, but even to his own ears it sounds like a chastisement and not the reassurance he desperately wants to communicate. Swallowing frustration, he tries to clarify for his wide-eyed audience of one. “You do—you are enough. More than enough. No matter what. even if you never cast another spell in your life.”

In the breathless moment that follows, he watches tears form, heart twisting in his chest as they gather and darken Fai’s long eyelashes. He wishes he could eradicate them at the source—somehow convince Fai of his own worth despite the long years of tragedy that constantly tell him otherwise. Kurogane doesn’t know if he can, but he knows he wants to try. He’ll keep trying forever if that’s what it takes.

He frees the fingers of his good hand from Fai’s and lifts them to brush away the first tear track that snakes its way downward, heart so full of love that it aches. He could say it now, he thinks. He really, really could. His lungs fill with air, the words flow from thought to throat and he opens his mou—

“Sorry about that! Had to take care of a few things in the back. Welcome to The Enchantress! What can I do for you?” A third voice mixes with Syaoran and Mokona’s conversation and Fai falls back into his careful persona with a jolt. He pulls away, stepping backwards so quickly he nearly careens into an over-stacked shelf. Damnit.

“Fai?” Kurogane wants to reach out and steady the blond, but not at the risk of startling him worse. Nearby, he can hear the kid stumbling through the process of introductions and asking whether they might sell a few items. He knows they need to head over there.

“Sheesh, Kuro-wan, you can’t just spring things like that on a guy.” Fai’s cheerful tone rings hollow. He doesn’t look back until any evidence of tears have been scrubbed thoroughly from his face. “I’m fine,” he lies. Kurogane just stares, one eyebrow raised in clear disbelief. “Alright! Alright, you… Later. Okay?”

Later. Sure. Why not? He huffs and trails in Fai’s wake through the shelves. The pain of his shoulder lessens with every second as the spell works its magic and helps him cool down. Kurogane curses his own stupid inability to communicate and wishes he knew how to weave charms for emotional hurt.

[insidethegiftbasket]

Stats Club 101 - Counting and Basic Rates

Evan’s Note: Hey, look at this! Another new contributor. We’re growing faster than Ortiz’s ass after the steroid needle hits it. Anyway, everyone say hi to AJ and yeah, go ahead and make another one more when you bring cupcakes to class next week. 

———

While Evan, Sam, and now Julio are breaking down players and series previews, I’ll be focusing on the NUMBERS! and SCIENCE! that surround baseball. Before you even think about yawning, let’s be clear: you’re a baseball fan. You do like those things in this context; you just don’t realize it. Hopefully I can help demystify the decimals and acronyms and spinning and launching, making it a little less scary and giving you a new perspective with which to think and talk about our beloved sport.

First up: The first installment of a dive into baseball statistics. 

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It’s no surprise: baseball is numbers-heavy. Likely because it can be mostly described by discrete and well-defined events, baseball lends itself to digits upon digits upon digits. The spectrum of fan acceptance of this spans from those developing modern sabermetrics, to those who blame the Inevitable and Imminent Downfall of the Sport (100+ years and counting!) on anything outside of “traditional” stats. In-between you have everyone else: fans who don’t care either way; those who care a little either way; those who want to understand but find it all so damn intimidating; and even those who think they get it but carry major misconceptions (looking at you, r/baseball and your abuse of ‘regression’).

Well regardless of where you sit, Welcome to Stats Club! We’re gonna take a close look at the classes of baseball metrics, where they come from, and how to interpret them. Before we kick things off you should know of a few key rules:

The first rule of Stats Club is: Stats are not bad. 

The second rule of Stats Club is: Stats are not bad!!

But seriously, statistics are tools. Saying a specific stat is fundamentally bad because it doesn’t tell you something it wasn’t designed for is like saying a screwdriver sucks because it can’t hammer nails. The formula is what it is: what’s potentially bad are the inferences you draw from it. 

For example, suppose I make a measurement that is the total number of apples and oranges in my fruit basket: I call it 'wAO’. It’s very specific, sure, but it’s still carrying information. And although it only counts those two fruits directly, you may be able to infer what’s happening with the rest of my fruit supply if you know how much my basket can hold; e.g. a low wAO may mean I have bananas and kiwis too. But if you’re wrong, that’s not the fault of wAO. Rather, your methodology is flawed by not accounting for your own assumptions. Keep this in mind as we step through baseball statistics, especially when we get into sabermetrics.

A third thing to be aware of is: unless stated otherwise, baseball stats are not predictive. They are records of the past, and we assume things will stay mostly the same going forward. But this is an assumption, and depending on what we’re talking about it can be a pretty bold one.

Part I. The Counting Stats

<Hits, home runs, RBIs, strikeouts, innings pitched, etc…>

Ah, it’s the most basic category: the stuff you can literally count. Counting stats get scoffed at because of how simple they are, but they’re at the core of everything that follows. After all, you can’t build a model of player production without having raw data to throw into your equations.

As I mentioned earlier, baseball is a nice sport from a statistics perspective because it can be almost completely described by counting stats, which are descriptions of discrete events. A batter does or doesn’t reach base; a pitcher either gets a strikeout on 3-2 or he does not; and so on. Compare to, say, soccer, where it’s not so easy to cleanly describe and quantify the details of player performance.

I say almost completely described because fielding remains a challenge. Errors are an attempt, but errors are a divisive counting stat because they’re uncharacteristically subjective for baseball. Like with soccer where we’re trying to measure continuous and complicated events, advanced analytics are really the only way to quantify fielding in any detail. But we’ll save that discussion for a later post.

Part II. The Rate Stats

<Batting average (BA), On-base percentage (OBP), Slugging percentage (SLG), etc…>

Counting’s great, but raw numbers can get large and unwieldy and difficult to interpret. We solve this by normalizing them, i.e. dividing the count by some standard unit. Then we get a rate, or measure of how often something has occurred (remember: baseball stats are not inherently predictive). BA is the rate of hits per official at-bats; OBP is the rate of reaching base—hits and walks and hit-by-pitch—per plate appearance; and so on.

For pitchers, Earned Run Average (ERA) is earned runs per inning pitched times nine, which just scales the rate to an entire 9-inning game. There’s also Walks and Hits per Inning Pitched (WHIP) which says what it is right in the name. On baseball-reference you’ll find SO9 and HR9, which are strikeouts and homeruns per inning, respectively, also times nine for the same scaling as ERA (for whatever reason pitchers get their rates expressed as whole numbers while hitters are stuck with fractions).

Let’s illustrate the first two rules of Stats Club by looking at the much maligned BA. It’s perfectly reasonable to measure how often a batter reaches base via a hit. Hits are exciting! There’s a crack of the bat, the ball goes into play, and the fielders scamper to unsuccessfully throw the ball in before the batter-turned-runner can reach. Not to mention, making contact with a small 90mph projectile and placing it where it can’t be fielded may be the hardest thing to do in all of sports, so getting a hit is always an impressive feat. 

But none of this is to say hits are the only things that matter. If you’re trying to get on base you don’t really care how you do it, and from that perspective a walk is just as beneficial as a single (even if Nick Johnson’s knowledge of the strike zone is slightly less dramatic than a clutch Gio Urshela double down the line). Thus the problem is not in BA being what it is, but rather in old-school baseball minds deciding it is the be-all, end-all of offensive measures. So definitely celebrate high batting averages, but don’t use it to definitively say one player is better than another. There are more appropriate tools for that.

Part IIa. OPS and Other Fun Rates

On-base Plus Slugging (OPS) is technically a rate, but it’s unique because it rather unceremoniously—but somehow very comfortably—smashes two other rates together: OBP, and the intimidatingly named SLUGGING PERCENTAGE (SLG), which is bases per at-bat. 

The idea behind adding the two is straightforward. In baseball you want to generate runs. And you do this by either getting on base or by hitting the ball so you get a lot of bases. Hey, that’s OBP and SLG! So if we add the two together we get a number that kinda captures a player’s rate of run creation. Hence, OPS.

There was a time when I ignored the first two rules of Stats Club and hated this number. Since the same hit is captured in both OBP and SLG, isn’t it double counting? And wait a second, OBP and SLG have different denominators; you can’t just add them! But as I went through my career I realized I was overthinking it: OPS is fine. Between 9am and 5pm on weekdays I’d call OPS a basic heuristic. A heuristic is a broad concept: it refers to any good-effort way to get a solution or estimate to a problem. Heuristics are explicitly not meant to be optimal or perfect: they just need to be justified by the designer. And OPS can be justified! Aside from the conceptual idea of run creation, it can be shown that OPS tracks with—and even has some level of prediction for!—actual runs scored. So there you go.

But be aware that even given that, we’re still inferring things about run creation from OPS. Inferences still rely on assumptions and interpretations and there was a desire to get more precise. Stats guys wanted a more refined tool to directly measure production. One of these tools is called weighted on base average (wOBA), but we’ll discuss that later when we dive into advanced metrics.

Batting Average on Balls in Play (BABIP) is another fun one. BABIP also has its description in its name: it’s like BA, but instead of hits per at-bats, it’s hits per balls-in-play (i.e. it ignores strikeouts and HRs). BABIP is used to gauge the statistical un/likehood of a hitter’s performance. The logic is as follows:

Major league ballplayers have a baseline level of fielding skill. That is, there are zones in which any competent player should be able to field a ball and record an out. That means there are also zones where that fielder won’t be able to make a play, and thus the batter—if he places it there—will get a hit. 

Given all that, we can expect a ball in play to be a hit about 30% of the time. If a hitter’s BABIP is far below .300, the implication is that fielders are making spectacular plays. And since spectacular plays are spectacular for a reason, the hitter is probably getting “unlucky”. Or perhaps he’s hitting into crazy shifts. Either way, a good hitter will adjust his approach and/or benefit from defenses being less spectacular. As a result, the expectation is that in due time he will see his BABIP regress upward towards .300. And if his BABIP goes up, so will his BA.

On the other hand, if a BABIP is far above .300, it implies the hitter is getting lots of bloop hits, which he certainly isn’t planning. Or maybe he’s beating defensive alignments, which any competent defense will recognize and adjust to. Whatever the reason, we’d expect his BABIP to regress down towards .300, accompanied by a drop in BA.

(BIG NOTE: Player skill is a factor here too! Elite hitters will be better at finding those gaps and can maintain a BABIP of around .350, while the worst hitters may sit as low as .260. If we know a player’s true BABIP after seasons of playing, we can have a good guess of how his BA may trend based on BABIP.)

For a while BABIP was THE indicator of statistical un/likelihood (or un/luckiness). This is why we curse the BABIP gods when one of our guys is “robbed” or when a team--probably the Rays or mid-aught Angels--bloops us to death. But thanks to Statcast, BABIP has been given a partner. Because Statcast logs everything about batted balls, we can, in real time, know exactly how often that type of contact (launch angle, exit velocity, etc.) has resulted in a hit vs. an out. No more inferences required! You know this stat as expected batting average (xBA). But more on that later.

Remember: Stats Are Not Bad. This is some cool synergy between classic rates and new-age Statcast. Use xBA for real-time analysis, but turn to BABIP when trying to project long-term trends.

Part IIb. Time to Normalize…Again!

Rate stats exist to make counting stats more readable, but it’s still not obvious what rate is a good rate. This is something you had to learn when you first got into baseball: you weren’t born with the knowledge that a .330 BA may win the batting title, or that a 5.36 ERA for a starter is disappointing. Rate stats are a useful tool but they don’t tell if a rate is what you want.

Enter the “pluses”, mainly OPS+ for hitters and ERA+ for pitchers. These are essentially the raw rates normalized by the league average rate, times 100 (so it’s not a fraction) with a few other adjustments. This gives a direct comparison to everyone else in the league over that period of time. If a pitcher has an ERA+ of 101 it means he’s in the middle of the pack, whereas an ERA+ of 205 means he’s 100% better than the league average pitcher. Similarly, an OPS+ of 90 says a hitter’s inferred run production is 10% worse than the rest of the league. The pluses are my favorite to look at because they’re nice clean numbers that quickly provide a lot of information.

Baseball-reference iterates on this with tOPS+ for player splits. This is the player’s OPS for that split, e.g. the month of April, normalized by his OPS for the entire year. This lets you quickly check out fluctuations over months, counts, and other situations.

Ok, two caveats here. First, the pluses are also adjusted by a “park factor”, which is a number that describes how pitcher- or hitter-friendly a stadium is. If two pitchers have the same ERA but one plays in an extreme hitters park, he will have a higher (i.e. better) ERA+ because the park factor adjustment accounts for how he has to work harder.

Secondly, because of how OPS+ is calculated—it actually sums what you could call OBP+ and SLG+—an OPS of 90 doesn’t exactly mean 10% worse than league average OPS. That’s why, in the example above, I said 10% worse run production instead. And now we’re bordering on more abstract concepts that may require additional tools to describe...

———

--And that is a good place to end today’s lesson. To recap: we started with counting to collect raw baseball data, and then we normalized those counts to get rates. To easily compare those rates we normalized again, but with a twist: to be a fair comparison we needed to adjust for the quirkiness of the various ballparks. And that’s not exactly something you can just count. You need a model, and more specifically, a model that checks out.

Furthermore, what about our sharper version of OPS? How do we more accurately and directly measure run production? And since errors are a weirdly subjective stat, and because hits themselves depend somewhat on defense, is there a way to meaningfully evaluate a pitcher’s performance while somehow ignoring hits and runs? 

The search for answers to these questions gave rise to the advanced metrics, or “Sabermetics”. wOBA, FIP, WAR and others are newer heuristics that use the history of baseball stats to develop models of performance. Next time we’ll dissect a few of these to better understand what exactly they’re telling us.

— Extra Credit —

< A place for footnotes and other remarks for the nerdiest nerds >

Throughout all this I’m going to use the statistics meaning of regression, which means a trend. The concept of regression towards the mean refers to trending towards a true average. It does NOT mean “To arbitrarily get worse”! Baseball fans routinely mess this up and it leads to very bad analysis! Much more on that later.

Isolated Power (ISO) is a rate like SLG, but it only counts doubles, triples, and HRs and gives them weights of one, two, and three, respectively (It can also be calculated as SLG minus BA). As you can guess from its name and its components, it’s a heuristic used to capture power hitting.

Here’s a fun quirk. A player’s OBP is always higher than his BA, right? Not necessarily! Check it out:

Two players with identical BAs for this game but very different OBPs. What’s happening here? It’s the sac flies! Since SFs count as a plate appearance but obviously not as getting on base, they go into the denominator of OBP but not the numerator. So if a player has more SFs than BBs, it won’t affect his BA but it will bring down his OBP. Of course, no actual major league player should have more sac flies than walks over any meaningful period of time, so this is mostly an early season quirk.

[i-w-p-chan]

Horizon, Prompt 27-28

Note: the two prompts are connected :D also, genderbender!

Disclaimer: Don’t own~

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#27| Love…

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“Would you like to have some of our specialty cookies, too?” Sawada Tsunahime, owner of the bakery, beamed at Adel and Enma while holding out a tray of heart shaped cookies, “They’re on the house!”

Adel carefully kept her face neutral and didn’t clutch boxes of sweets and deserts that she held just a little bit tighter, “No, thank you.” She subtly nudged Enma, in the shin with a foot.

“You’re drooling, Enma,” Adel hissed at her pseudo-little sister-slash daughter, before returning her attention to Tsunahime, “I’m afraid we’re on a strict budget today.”

“Oh.” Tsunahime’s bright expression dimmed a little before she forced it back up, “Maybe next time?”

“Maybe,” Adel responded neutrally and dragged Enma out of the shop.

“We’re on a strict budget?” Enma gave Adel a dubious look, “We’re never on a strict budget whenever we come to get sweets for your girlfriend and you know it.”

“I’m just looking out for you. You’re already a mess, no need to display how much of a love slave you are to Tsunahime.”

Enma sputtered.

.

#28| …Potion

.

Tsuna put the tray down and sighed.

“Failed? As expected.”

Tsuna jumped in place from shock and whirled around to meet a pair of gray eyes observing her with a detached expression.

“Hibari-san!” Tsuna hissed at her girlfriend and pouted, “Don’t surprise me like that again!”

“Or else what?” Hibari scoffed before striding forward and snagging the tray and eying the heart-shaped cookies, “No more cookies for me? That’s not going to work.”

Tsuna pouted harder, “Give me a break! Adel refused to take the cookies and dragged Enma out before I could convince her to take them!”

Hibari took a cookie and scrutinized it, “I told you before that Adel thinks you slip love potions into the things you make for Enma.”

“But I don’t!” Tsuna wailed, “They’re filled with love!”

Hibari raised an eyebrow, “You found a way to turn love into an ingredient? Wao.” Hibari followed her statement by chewing on the cookie.

“Don’t tease me!” Tsuna put her face in her hands, “Maybe I should have just made the cookies cat-shaped! Not even Adel could have dragged Enma-chan away from them then!”

Hibari made an interested sound and shoved another cookie into her mouth before sneaking off with the tray in hand.

“Hibari-san! Those are for Enma-chan!”

.

End

[road2nf]

Jensen McRae | The Road to Nerdfighteria

DFTBA. If you are not subscribed to the vlogbrothers YouTube channel, and if you never have been, you might not know what that stands for. It’s an initialism (because acronyms are pronounceable, fact c/o of a vlogbrothers video) that stands for Don’t Forget To Be Awesome. It is the official (or perhaps unofficial) motto of the nerdfighter community. (Nerdfighters are people who are fans of vlogbrothers, the content creators therein, or the community therein. I think that’s enough definitions for now). When I was 14 years old, this book called The Fault in Our Stars came out. A good friend of mine was kind of obsessed with the author, this slightly sub-middle-aged white guy named John Green, and she insisted that I read both The Fault in Our Stars and Looking for Alaska, this John Green guy’s first book. I was a reader in childhood, having developed nearsightedness due to my predilection for reading in the dark after my bedtime by flashlight (at least that’s the explanation my mother gave me). However, recently I’d found myself frustrated by books. I would tear through middle-grade chick lit (that’s the best way I can describe these terribly formulaic books with dull characters and contrived plots that always involved two straight/white/able-bodied/middle-class best friends falling in love) when I found it, but other than that, I wasn’t reading as much as I used to. I can’t really remember what I did with my free time. I guess I was writing songs? I think I was mostly playing The Sims 3. I digress. In any case, I was in ninth grade and on the precipice of Maybe Being Cool, and this friend was one of the cooler girls in class, so I bought TFiOS (hip shorthand) about two months after its publication and read it over spring break in ninth grade. I read it in one three or four hour sitting, and I cried. Like a lot. It was the first time since early childhood that I could remember a book moving me in such a poignant way. I was attached to the characters, I was absorbed by the plot, and the language! The LANGUAGE in that story was so compelling. I was picking up on subtext and metaphors in a way that I’d only ever done when I was forced to in English class. The book had reinvigorated my love for words in stories that no other book could have. Then I took a brief reading hiatus. The second half of my ninth grade year was me continuing to ascend the social ladder, however slowly. I still joked that I was a dork, but the truth of the matter was, I had friends from every rung. I was sociable with tech geeks, theater nerds, football players, and cheerleaders alike. I felt like people had stopped looking through me like I was invisible. It was largely due to my presence on the school newspaper, which drew both the ambitious popular kids and the ambitious nerdy kids to its ranks. Also, I had a boyfriend. We never kissed or held hands or even went on dates, but we hung out every day at school and told people we were dating. This was enough to get me at least a bit of social buying power. (I promise this is all relevant to the story). Then, at the end of freshman year, I realized that I was sick of having a boyfriend who did not kiss me or hold my hand or go on dates with me, and also didn’t answer my texts or calls once school let out. So I called his house and dumped him over the phone. I spent the summer feeling sorry for myself, turning to the Internet and its thriving subculture of fame and infamy. Whenever I get heartbroken in real life, I fall deeply and inconsolably in love with fictional characters and/or celebrities who are too old for me. That summer, it was Jack and Finn Harries, Dan Howell, and any other British 20-year-old who made funny sketches and made me feel like I was loved, even though they were thousands of miles away, several years older, and had no idea who I was. It was during this summer that I discovered a channel featuring two much older men named Hank Green and John Green (yes relation, they’re brothers). Their videos were all at least somewhat informational, whether they be about politics, science, literature, or just about the personal lives of the men who made the videos. About five videos in, I realized that John Green of the vlogbrothers was John Green of TFiOS fame. I was elated! There were hundreds of videos on the channel going back to 2007. In between reading self-insert fanfic about the Harries twins, I would watch vlogbrothers videos, reminding myself to read John’s other books when I got the chance. When I returned to school, all the work that I’d done to become popular seemed to dissolve before my very eyes. Sophomore year was when we switched campuses, to the Upper School, and all the actual popular kids were going to parties with upperclassmen and trying alcohol and getting into real relationships. I was stuck in the past, pining over boys who only hung out with me so I would help them write their essays and obsessing over Tumblr and YouTube. I was also experiencing turbulence in my personal life unlike any I’d ever had before. It’s so clear to me now that I was afraid of the social rejection and emotional darkness in the real world, so I holed myself up online, laughing while handsome young Brits wore wigs on camera and rewatching John Green speed-talk his way through a fake television show he titled “Hitler and Sex.” In the midst of this Internet-ing, I read that other John Green book my old friend had mentioned, even though she’d already begun the slow and painful process of outgrowing me (the death knell of our friendship was when she told me about having sex with her boyfriend in her car and my response was some combination of a prudish, judgmental face and an exclamation of “Ew!”). Looking for Alaska leveled me just as profoundly as TFiOS had, and with no social life to worry about, I was hungry for more. I read the other books that John Green had talked about on his channel–Fahrenheit 451 and The Great Gatsby, plus other works that his recommendations had led me to, like Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, The Taming of the Shrew, and one of my all-time favorites to this day, Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut. I was reading a book almost every week, downloading them to my iPad and going back to my old habits, reading by dim light long after I should have already gone to sleep. My schoolwork wasn’t where it needed to be, but I was thriving. Awakened, even. Though my junior year marked another ascent into minor popularity, I crash-landed my senior year, coming off a painful rejection from a summer romance and a position in student government that should have won me acceptance but largely isolated me from everyone but my fellow council mates and steady friends. College applications were stressing me out, I felt alienated from even my immediate circle, and I was worried about my social future. Though I was accepted to the only two universities I applied to, I felt inert and emotionally itchy. I descended back into what I knew best: books. I read more Vonnegut, bizarre stories by delightful authors like Graeme Cameron and Douglas Coupland, and of course, my current #1 all-time, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz. After my brain literally exploded from reading Oscar Wao in all its sprawling, multilingual, multigenerational, magical realistic/science fictional glory, I devoured Díaz’s two books of short stories, Drown and This Is How You Lose Her. I vividly remember those days in the spring of 2015, using my seemingly endless multitude of free periods to sit in the sweaty, iron-hot bleachers, nose burrowed in a book, ignoring the festivities of senior year around me. I was happier alone, laughing at Kurt’s crude drawings and Díaz’s matter-of-factness about love and sex, experiences I’d still yet to have at 17. I graduated, and I went to USC, where within a month of starting school I met Junot Díaz and got him to sign my copy of Oscar Wao. I dealt with the Usual College Stuff, like homesickness (from half an hour away…I’m weak) and social anxiety and academic adjustments and figuring out what the hell it actually means to major in popular music. I stopped judging people for drinking alcohol and having sex, I stopped being afraid of parties (though I’m still terrified of boys…and rightly so), I stopped being disappointed in my real life because it doesn’t follow a neat narrative (or at least I do it less now). However, I never stopped reading, and I never stopped watching vlogbrothers videos. I am a faithful nerdfighter, because that online community and John’s books have seen me through some dark times. Somewhere in the last five years, I read An Abundance of Katherines (not my favorite), Paper Towns (used to be my favorite but TFiOS ranks supreme at the moment), and Will Grayson Will Grayson (absolutely ACES but technically cowritten with David Levithan so to me it is in a separate category). I’ve watched thousands of videos from vlogbrothers and Crash Course. I went to Vidcon in 2014 and met John in person for about five seconds, handing him my business card and a #JustinCarrWantsWorldPeace luggage tag before he was escorted to his next event by security. My love of language has blossomed into three young adult manuscripts, two feature films, a handful of short films, and hundreds of poems, songs, and essays. Though my inner and outer lives have changed substantially since I first wept onto the pages of TFiOS, I’m still anxious, and often. I’m still terrified of romantic rejection and I still put myself out there frequently and embarrassingly. I’m still a bookworm and I’m still a writer and I’m still a nerdfighter. And I think I always will be. John Green and his books have a special place in my heart. So when he announced that his first new book in almost six years is coming out this fall, I was overcome with emotion. Turtles All The Way Down isn’t just a book. It’s a historical artifact from the future, a piece of my past hurtling towards me from the opposite direction. When I think of John Green’s work, I think of my cringey adolescence, my weirdly small glasses and then my weirdly big glasses, my difficulty with my weight and my stunted social development. I think of the hours I spent reblogging fan art and GIF sets of real people that I’d mythologized into characters by watching their YouTube videos for so long. I think of my transition from Cute Little Girl to Awkward Bookish Teen to Real Human Woman. I was 14 when I read my first John Green book. I will be 20 when I read Turtles All The Way Down. The chasm between who I was and who I will be then is huge. Un-crossable by anyone but me. Right now, we’re a little less than four months out from the release of Turtles All The Way Down. Not much is known about the book, and I’d like to keep it that way. I’m feeling those tingly “no spoilers!” feelings I felt when I was in high school and enamored with the purity of an untouched literary experience. But as much as this book’s impending release is inspiring a unique kind of nostalgia in me, it’s also reminding me that I cannot go back. I cannot return to the innocent girl of 14 I was when I first heard John Green’s name, and I can’t get back the years I spent/lost/lived in between then and now. I can only move forward. I can only grow up. This book, in all likelihood, will not live up to my expectations. It will not change my life. It can’t, because though it will be my first time reading this particular book, it won’t be my first time becoming infatuated with literature. I’ve done that already. I may love this book, but there is a difference between falling in love with someone new and falling in love for the very first time. Before I met books with sweaty palms, dress askew, tongue heavy in my mouth. So…come here often? Now, each story is met with a knowing smile, legs crossed at the ankles like they’re supposed to be, no lipstick on the wine glass. Your place or mine? Before this book comes out, and I form any opinions about the content or the style, I would like to extend a heartfelt thank you to John Green. If not for his careful handiwork, if not for the immense trust that he puts in his young readers, if not for his heart-wrenching stories, I might never have been drawn to great books the way I am now. Thank you for caring. Thank you for writing even when your illness handcuffed you, tried to make you stop. Thank you for making videos about hard topics and silly ones. I may grow up, but I will never outgrow you and your words, John. Keep publishing books, and I’ll keep reading them, no matter how old we both get.

via @withfeelingoncemore

[pikapegasus]

Would you do 57 "This is probably a bad time, but marry me?" + 82 "OH MY GOD I'M GOING INTO LABOR. WHAT DO WE DO NOW?" with Starmora? :)

57. “This is probably a bad time, but marry me?” // 82. “OH MY GOD I’M GOING INTO LABOR. WHAT DO WE DO NOW?”

TIME FOR SOME STARMORA BABIES WAO ✨✨✨ well, just one for now, but we’ll see……. ;)))

send me a ship + a number!!!

It’s been a day.

Not an outright horrible day, but a chaotic roller coasterof a day that doesn’t appear to be slowing down any time soon.

First of all, it’s been years. Literally. Years, since their mission for theSovereign, where Rocket decided to steal some batteries, becausewhoop-dee-fucking-doo, right?

But the gold bastards, of course, still haven’t forgiven the team for it, despite them saving thegalaxy numerous times (which means saving the Sovereign, too, hello),and now Peter’s running around the Milano like a chicken with its head cut off,to help Rocket pilot the thing andhelp Gamora.

Because, uh, her water just broke, or something.

Judging by the way the liquid just kinda pools at her feet all at once, it’sdefinitely not “or something”—that’s definitely the telltale sign of her bodysaying, hey, it’s time.

“Are you kiddingme?” is all Gamora has to say (or, really, yell)on the matter before Peter grabs towels to help her clean up (both herself andthe floor) and ushers her to their room.

Thankfully, Drax, literally the only fully knowledgeableperson on shit like this, stays with Gamora while Peter helps Rocket fighttheir way through the Sovereign fleet. Groot’s also with her for extrasupport—as well as ensuring she doesn’t get thrown around from their crazypiloting.

He rushes back to her every five minutes or so, and shelooks a little bit more flusteredevery time. On what he counts to be his eighth trip back, he takes more timewith her, giving her a hand to hold while clinging onto his bedpost with theother to anchor himself as Rocket maneuvers the Milano in his Rocket-way.

“Hey, hey, babe,” Peter says softly, but loudly enough to beheard over the sounds of the fight. “As soon as we get out of here, we’re goingto be parents!”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says hastily, with a little nod, squeezinghis hand. Everything’s a bit overwhelming right now, and even though Gamora’sjust playing the waiting game, he can only imagine the thoughts running throughher head. “We’ll have a baby.”

It’s happening, a dream that had, for so, so long, beenunattainable for both of them, and watching at Gamora look up at him, a bitpanicked, but with a small smile, in the midst of the literal battle they’re in right now, Peter can’thelp himself.

Then the ship totally does a barrel roll, and Peter managesto stop both himself and Gamora from getting thrown around the room, andeverything is just a giant disaster. Theship levels out with a loud, hasty “Sorry!”from Rocket while he’s piloting the thing alone.

Before Gamora can say anything, Peter presses a quick,reassuring kiss to her lips, as if to apologize for the circumstances she hasto bring their kid into the world in, and his heart just fills with so much love at the thought because, holy shit, they’re going to be parents very, very soon, and he gets to do it withGamora by his side.

This is the eternity Ego could never give him.

“Hey, uh, this is probably a bad time,” Peter says slowlyafter pulling his lips away, “but marry me?”

“What?” She just kind of stares up at him in a daze, as iftrying to comprehend his question. Though, there’s also a lot of shit happeninginside her body right now, so she’s probably not as coherent as usual.Fortunately, according to Drax, they still have time, as long as the contractionsdon’t—

“OH MY GOD, I’M GOING INTO LABOR!” Her grip on Peter’s handincreases exponentially, like, themost exponential value that’s mathematically possible, and Peter can’t help butcry out in surprise. “WHAT DO WE DO NOW?”

“I never said that.”

Peter looks up at Gamora from his seat. She’s just givinghim her patented tired, exasperated look, with an eyebrow raised and a frown.

“It was implied.”

“I was much calmer than you’re describing. You were the one freaking out.”

“Fine, guilty as charged,” he relents with a shrug. “I wasfreaking out, but you were freaking out, like, at least a little.”

“A little,” she concedes.

“Anyway,” heresumes telling the story, looking down at the bundle in his arms, “you chose avery impractical time to come, young lady.”

“We’ve never had especially good timing.”

“Yeah, your mom’s right on that one. Good timing doesn’treally run in the family.” He gently pokes the baby’s nose with his indexfinger, grinning when she simply continues to sleep. “No reaction. You totally sleep like your mom.”

He looks back to Gamora, in the hospital bed, just in timeto catch her eye roll. For someone who had to push out a baby hoursearlier—which is totally something Peter both never wants to see again, yet would also be fine with seeing again, because, holy shit, the idea of Gamora andhim having multiple kids—she has asurprising amount of energy.

“If she can sleep easily through the night, that’s notsomething we should question,” Gamora says. “That would be a blessing.”

“Let’s pray for that, then,” Peter murmurs, glancing down atthe newborn. Honestly, he’d never thought he’d hear the name Meredith Quill ever again, except withinthe privacy of his thoughts, but now he’s looking at Meredith Quill, hisdaughter. He smiles, cradling her more closely to his chest. “I love her somuch already, Gamora. I didn’t thinkthat was possible.”

“I think that’s part of being parents,” she says softly,settling her hands in her lap.

“This must be what my mom felt,” he reflects. “And what yourparents felt, too.”

“I wish they were here,” she admits quietly, reverently.

And he nods, sighing. “Yeah. Me, too.”

Back in his life on Terra, his grandpa had been a constantpresence throughout his life. Though Peter was much, much closer to his mom, he appreciated his grandpa for being there.It had just been part of growing up, in a way, spending time with the parent ofhis parent, being spoiled and loved unconditionally by another person.

But little Mer won’t get that same privilege, from either sideof the family.

“Hey,” he speaks up suddenly, looking up at Gamora. “Youknow what this means, right?”

“That we’re now officially parents?”

“Well, yeah, that,but…” He pauses, glancing between Mer and Gamora. “You’re not the last personof your species anymore.”

Looking down at Mer, his genetic influence is obviouslypresent: she has a light, Terran-colored skin tone like his (though he swears there’s just the faintest hint of green) and hair of acolor somewhere between his brown and Gamora’s black.

“I mean, she’s technically only half, I suppose,” he continues, meeting Gamora’s eyes, “but still…”

Gamora’s just staring at him now, her eyes glossy and widewith a kind of shock he’s never really seen before. He quickly stands up andleans closer to her, handing over Mer with a small smile.

“There are now twoZen-Whoberi people out there,” he murmurs, holding up two fingers.

She nods, hugging Mer close to her chest. Though hisknowledge of Zen-Whoberi culture is poor at best (Gamora’s only direct knowledgeof her culture comes from memories of a lost childhood so long ago, so he’s notsure how much of her lifestyle now comes from her home planet), he knows theremust be some things she can pass ontoMer.

They both look down at Mer, watching her in a comfortablesilence for a few moments, before Gamora finally says, “Thank you, Peter. Forgiving me this.”

“You did all the heavy lifting here,” he reminds her,pressing a quick kiss to her temple, “so, really, thank you.”

The silence resumes.

Then, perhaps, a minute later, “Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s get married.”

*~ taking a moment to appreciate the fact that I now get to write about a canon interracial relationship having mixed babies oh my fucking god I’m ecstatic pls send more starmora baby/fam prompts ~*

send me a ship + one of these prompts about your ship sharing a bed!!!

[romanl294-blog]

INTEGRATION!

From April - July we are on site integration - which many volunteers call site restriction. You aren’t allowed to go to other volunteers’ sites, you are expected to sleep every night at your site, and your main focus is to integrate to the community and begin thinking of ideas for future projects. Let’s just start off with I have A LOT of free time, so those of you in America who would like to learn more about Ghana or what I am currently up to, please feel free to get in contact with me through Whatsapp or Facebook Messenger - we are only 4-8 hours time difference (depending where in the states you are) and trust me, I’m completely relaxing right now. 

Since arriving to site, I haven’t been in the Journal writing mood. So I guess I will just accept that I have a journal entry for every day during training, but not throughout my entire service. On the plus side, I am completely in love with my community and feel like I am extremely lucky. Here are some things I’ve been up to/experiencing:

~~ I’ve read 7 books, finished the entire 6 seasons to Game of Thrones, season 2 of Animal Planet as well as North America version, some cool random movies, and still somehow have been completely visible by my community. Seriously…. That’s just how much free time I’ve had. Here are the books I’ve read, let me know if you’ve enjoyed or read any of them:

1. Water for Elephants by Sata Gruen

2. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz

3. The Cure for Death by Lightning by Gail Anderson-Dargatz

4. Hyperbole and a Half by Alie Brosh

5. The Vanishing Year by Kate Moretti

6. In a Dark, Dark Wood by Ruth Ware

7. The Door to December by Dean Koontz

~~ I walk around my village close to 3-7 hours a day. With a population close to 6,000 I am always encountering new paths, new houses, new faces and new environments. I’ve been struggling with correcting my name, not sure I will ever be called correctly but currently these are the names I go by; Sister Marie, Sister/Madame Aku, Sister/Madame Lisa, and Sister Lisamarie. Many of you know that II do not like going by Marie. I’ve tried to explain to them my name is ONE word… for some reason it isn’t working. Aku on the other hand is because I was born on a Wednesday. Based on the day of the week you were born, you get different names. Unfortunately they are based on sex, female vs male. Here’s what you would be called based on the day you were born in Ewe:

Monday aka Dzoda

     -Female: Adzo

     -Male: Kodzo

Tuesday aka Blada

     -Female: Abla

     -Male: Kobla

Wednesday aka Kuda

     -Female: Aku

     -Male: KoKu

Thursday aka Yawoda

     -Female: Yawa

     -Male: Yao

Friday aka Fida

     -Female: Afi

     -Male: Kofi

Saturday aka Memleda

     -Female: Ama

     -Male: Kwami

Sunday aka Kosida

     -Female: Esi

     -Male: Kusi

~~ I’ve made friends with the Chief of my village, assemblyman, and opinion leaders. They all are always happy to see me and I attempt to speak to them in our language as I do with everyone in my village and they love it.

~~ I have joined women in peeling casava and also have had small boys help me with weeding my yard. Both hard labor, both causing blisters to these soft New Yorker hands I have.

~~ I made a permagarden at my house! Again with a lot of help from the children and my friends. All out hands were badly blistered. I couldn’t have done it without them. I have many seeds for tomatoes, thyme, cilantro and more! I cannot wait to start planting and share with my community.

~~ People know me not only in my village, but the neighboring villages as well because I like to go on long walks and just introduce myself to everyone. I seem to know more people than even some of the nurses at my clinic know. They’re always impressed when we walk around town or go to the market and people call my name to say hi.

~~ I’ve been getting a better hold on cooking for myself. You have no clue how much harder it is - cooking everything from scratch, being aware of the nutrients you may be lacking, and the market having very limited foods are just a few of the struggles you face. It’s not that easy.

~~ I’ve attended multiple funerals. In Ghana funerals are Friday-Satuday. Here’s their breakdown:

     -Friday: The music and gathering begins around 4PM. The body arrives around 6 and someone has to clean and dress the body. Everyone at the gathering is expected to stay there dancing, interacting, eating and etc. until day break!

     -Saturday: At day break you are expected to go home, bathe and return to the location. You will have a church service followed by more music, traditional dancing, eating and all around celebration. Then they bury the body.

     -I haven’t done the entire staying up all night (latest I’ve made it to is 1AM) and etc. but I’ve attended most of the gatherings and have their traditional dancing and some songs down. They always get excited when I come, and everyone loves that I dance and try singing with them.

~~ I’ve eaten and cooked with multiple different people, and have become close with some neighbors, women, and children in my village. Which has helped tremendously with learning the language as well as feeling more safe in my community. I’m a little sad because many of the friends I’ve made that are my age will be returning to college in August so I won’t see them again until December. I’ve realized that I’ve really grown to care for the people in my community. A Little girls mother sent her away for school and when we were saying bye I had to hold back my sadness and tears. This is after only 2 months of being at site, I can’t imagine how leaving back to the states will feel!

~~ LASTLY, but certainly not least, I have had my Welcome Ceremony! The community has officially accepted me into their village and have told me that I am now from our town, not America. Haha

 Dancing, talking, and amazing conversations about family dynamics, cultures in America, differences between our funerals/celebrations and just overall acceptance by my community has made me feel like the luckiest volunteer so far who was perfectly matched. Of course I still have my moments of missing home, wanting to be alone, being frustrated with being called a Yevu (White Person in Ewe), and small awkward/uncomfortable interactions but hey what’s an experience without it’s ups and downs. I make everything I do at site an accomplishment in my head, because let’s just face it, I’ve completed two month of service and have 22 lefts to go. Some people don’t even make it this far.

[barbosaasouza]

‘Night of the Indigenous Devs’ Offers Insight into the Works of Five Indigenous Creators

Night of the Indigenous Devs will bring several creators together to talk about their games as they’re played on the big screen.

In Toronto this Friday, October 25th at the TIFF Bell Lightbox Cinema 3, you’ll be able to listen to several indigenous creators talk about their inspirations, ideas, and the design behind their games.

Six games will be shown at the talk. When Rivers Were Trails follows a displaced Anishinaabeg in the 1890’s, Don’t Wake The Night has you playing as a ghost that must act as an impartial judge, Terra Nova is an experience in first contact, Hold My Hand has you trying to overcome challenges while holding hands (and learning when to let go), Wao Kanaka is a puzzle/exploration game of Hawaiian characters and traditions, and Full Of Birds is a digital indigenous art gallery that explores where indigenous art comes from and the spaces in which it’s displayed.

The evening sounds like a lovely look into indigenous artwork and games, offering a lot of information and insight into the minds of several creators.

For ticket purchases, or to learn more about the Night of the Indigenous Devs, you can click here.

The post ‘Night of the Indigenous Devs’ Offers Insight into the Works of Five Indigenous Creators appeared first on Indie Games Plus.

‘Night of the Indigenous Devs’ Offers Insight into the Works of Five Indigenous Creators published first on https://superworldrom.tumblr.com/

[fantastic-bby]

Enchanted (Teaser)

Teaser details

Pairing: (AFAB, NB)Reader x Minho

Word count: 2.1k

Genre: Modern Royalty AU

Summary: Minho spots you one evening at his parents' events and, suddenly, it's as though he starts seeing you every; at his university and even at his figure skating tournaments. He can't help but feel some sort of attraction towards you and wonders who exactly are you...

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol | Aristocrats

Publish date of full fic: 8th December

Overall word count: 20.4k

Full fic genre: Fluff | Romance | Idiot to Lovers | Slow burn | Modern Royalty AU | Figure Skater AU | College AU

Full fic warnings: Mentions of alcohol | Aristocrats | Reader has to mostly hide being non-binary | There's a lot of rich people | Minho has no filter

A/n: What's up bingos, I've risen from the dead with a long fic wao I'm ngl Taylor Swift's Enchanted was what inspired the whole thing kekw. This is the softest and most mundane thing I've written in a while considering the fact that I've been working on [REDACTED] ever since I post Han Jisung's Crappy Guide, so have fun and I hope you guys enjoy OwO

Masterlist | Full fic | AO3 Link

Minho looks around the bustling hall with a slender glass of champagne gingerly held between his gloved fingers. His posture is as straight as it can be and his dark red suit is neatly hugging his frame as he stands in the corner.

The domed ballroom is filled with his family members and friends of his parents, music from the live orchestra bouncing off of the golden walls and beams. Minho wonders why they invested so much in such a grand and golden ballroom when his parents could have easily gone for something more modern.

He’s never truly appreciated the gatherings his parents would hold—they were always too grand for his liking—but that’s what Minho was forced to grow up with. Modern royalty didn’t exactly mean much, but Minho was blessed enough with old money from the importance of his family line; which also meant that he was constantly being watched by the public eye and protected by both the government and his personal bodyguard.

“Minho, could you at least try to be more social?” his mother sighs when she sees him.

“I don’t know what to say to them,” he confesses bluntly. “I’m not close with them, mother. There’s not much for us to talk about and we’re not interested in the same things.”

“I don’t mean your cousins; they’re all as pretentious as your aunts and uncles,” she snorts. “Your father invited a handful of his business partners tonight and we thought that getting to know them will be good for you.”

Minho looks around once again, his eyes only now noticing a handful of new faces. He lets out a somewhat impressed huff when he sees a woman standing in the other corner of the room, a dark red dress hugging her figure as she politely raises manicured hand to shake hands with another businessman. Minho recognises her from an ad for some high end makeup line.

“You have the face of a model, Minho. Give it a shot,” his mother says as she pats his shoulder gently.

“I don’t care for modelling, mother,” Minho says right before he takes a sip of the champagne. “You know that.”

“Models can work up until they’re fifty, but athletes usually only last up until they’re in their mid thirties.”

“And that’s enough for me,” he argues. “Ice skating is something I enjoy. I would like to continue doing it for as long as I’m allowed to.” The woman purses her lips into a straight line with a sigh.

“As long as you’re happy, darling, but please try to socialise. Your father’s already thinking of getting you to meet some fine women from some of his friends.” Minho’s eyebrows furrow together, head whipping to look at his mother in pure shock.

“No, I refuse,” he immediately states.

“You know how he’s like—”

“And I refuse,” Minho shakes his head. “I don’t care. I’m not marrying some girl that would help with business.”

“I’m not keen with the idea either, okay? But your father is the one in charge,” she grumbles as her arms cross over her chest. “Marrying off my only son just for the sake of business—it’s ridiculous. I told him that I don’t want him doing that and that I surely wouldn’t force you to do that, but he won’t have it. If you’re not in a relationship by the time you’re twenty-five, he’s going to start pushing for your betrothal.”

“Must I find one so soon, mother? I don’t think I’ve even met enough people that I’ve truly felt attracted to,” he grumbles.

“With time, Minho. Just… don’t be like your aunts and uncles,” she advises, “with me as your mother, I will not tolerate any inbreeding.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You’re excused for the night if you’d like to be in your room instead,” his mother says just as she takes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, flashing him a gracious smile when he stops momentarily. She turns back to Minho and her smile changes into one more loving, “the first day of your new year is tomorrow. I’ll just tell your father that you’re preparing for your classes.”

“Thank you, mother.” Minho lets out a sigh of relief that he hadn’t known he was holding the entire time, his now empty glass of champagne being handed to the next waiter that walks past them. “I’ll… try your suggestions, but I won’t make any promises.”

“It’s alright. I trust that you will find your way on your own time, my little prince,” she chuckles.

“I’ve asked you so many times to not call me that,” he cringes when she tries to kiss him on the cheek.

“It doesn’t matter how old you get, you will always be my little prince,” his mother smiles. “Now, I won’t be occupying you for any longer. Rest up. The chauffeur will be waiting at eight a.m. sharp to take you to campus. Goodnight, Minho.”

“Goodnight, mother.” Minho bows to her, wondering why he has to hold so much formality towards his own parents.

He turns around and makes his way towards the large, mahogany doors to the left of the room. Minho keeps a smile on his face; one that he always has on whenever he attends formal events. Slipping past all of the guests, Minho looks around slightly until his eyes make contact with someone that he’s not seen at any of his parents’ gatherings.

Minho’s movements immediately halt when you turn around and catch his gaze. You have on your own smile that he presumes is fake, but the corners of your lips drop when you see him and Minho’s able to catch a glimpse of sincerity behind your empty expression. Despite knowing that he’s never met you before, Minho can’t help but feel some kind of recognition when your eyes meet.

Your off-shoulder ball gown is light blue, the dark blue accents that frame your torso in a way that makes it look like a corset and the skirt elegantly reaching your feet. He catches a glimpse of your heels underneath, noting the way they glimmer whenever light reaches it.

You stare at him for a moment before being preoccupied with a prince that he’s seen only a handful of times, the professional smile immediately making its way onto your face when you face the black suited man.

Minho stares only for a moment longer before he continues on his way out of the ballroom, but your presence occupies his mind for the rest of the night. You look like you’re around his age—early 20s, perhaps 23 as he is. He feels like he’s seen you before. There was some kind of recognition that seemed to flash in your eyes as well when you made eye contact, but Minho has a feeling that you only recognise him from seeing him in figure skating tournaments.

He lets out a relieved sigh once behind the doors of his bedroom, his shoulders slumping forward and his back leaning against the dark wood. Minho works quickly on pulling the velvet blazer off of his shoulders and neatly hanging it on one of the many coat hooks that line the wall of his room. If he had the energy to, Minho would typically hang it in the large walk-in closet and in the section where he’d hang his used clothing, but he can’t be bothered to.

Minho just wants to lay down and allow sleep to take over. Once free of the suffocatingly heavy outfit and his slacks tossed aside in the corner of his room, he changes into the loosest of his shirts and shorts, plopping himself onto the queen sized bed and moaning the moment his sore back hits the soft covers.

“Fucking finally,” Minho sighs to himself. He picks his phone off of his bedside table, lazily scrolling through the many messages from his friends.

Sungiezz: Dude Get this: there’s apparently a new royal in our university

Seungmo: Yeah haha But it’s all word of mouth Not too sure about it until class starts tomorrow

Sungiezz: Have any ideas of new princes or princesses in town? You’re the only prince in the area that goes to SKU Maybe you know them

Minho: Dumbass Just because I’m a prince doesn’t mean that I know all of them -_-

Sungiezz: You never know!

Seungmo: You know Ji said the same thing about the gay guy in our class He asked if he knew his cousin because he’s gay too

Minho: You’re actually I can’t believe you, Sung, why the hell would you say that to someone???

Sungiezz: For what it’s worth, he said he did!

Seungmo: Not every gay person knows every gay person The logic applies to Minho Just because he’s royalty, it doesn’t mean he knows all of the other royals

Sungiezz: God, you guys suck Haven’t you guys ever heard of Six Degrees of Separation? It’s supposed to mean that everyone in the world is only six people away from you!

Minho: You’re such a special, special, child

Sungiezz: I’m serious!!!!! You guys never take me seriously, sigh

Seungmo: We trust psychological theories But not from you LOL

Sungiezz: Whatever I’m going to bed

Minho: Aww Sungs, we were just kidding hehe But I wanna sleep too I’m exhausted

Seungmo: Another event?

Minho: They have one every week It’s fucking exhausting

Sungiezz: You know, for a prince, you’d think that you would have more of a filter

Minho: Suck my dick

Seungmo: Don’t bother his royal highness any longer, Sungs You know how cranky he gets when he’s tired

Minho: You know how tired I get when you bitches decide to treat me like a prince Hey Siri, play Choke

Sungiezz: Haha Very funny, Minho

Minho: Choke. I’m going to sleep

Sungiezz: Goodnight, Minho

Jisung: Night night <3333333333333

Minho puts his phone on his bedside table with a fond smile on his face. He’s never felt more connected to anyone other than Han Jisung and Kim Seungmin; the only two students that he’s made friends with on-campus. He’s never actually felt like he ever needed more than one or two friends purely out of keeping himself safe.

Minho’s extroverted, yes. He’s good at socializing, yes he is—but Minho’s social life and his personal life are strictly kept private for the sake of privacy and trust. Too many people have befriended him only for his status and for the lavish lifestyle that he lives. Too many of them were only in his circle because Minho thought that money could buy him company.

Seungmin and Jisung were always different.

They never treated Minho any differently than they treat each other and they only come to his house to play with his cats. They never care for expensive dinners at 5 star restaurants, they never care for any of the expensive souvenirs and trinkets that he gets from travelling, and they never care for his status. The pair only asked about his bodyguard the first time, but after that, it was normal for them and they hadn’t minded it since.

To them, Lee Minho is Lee Minho. He’s not a prince; he’s just some guy that they became friends with at college. The pair were already joined at the hip when Minho met them, but they pretty much sewed him to themselves after meeting him. The two take him to the dodgy diner on the South side of town that have the extremely good double patty burgers, they take him to the park to run away from geese, they take him to the beach on weekends where Jisung’s allowed to take his car; Minho’s never felt any different from the two.

Which is why he loves them way more than he would ever outwardly admit.

Two knocks at his door followed by a soft, “your highness?” Makes Minho squeeze his eyes shut in frustration. “It’s Soojin. The queen has asked for me to prepare you a warm towel. Her majesty said you may be feeling a bit stressed with the new semester starting.”

He forces himself out of bed and trudges over to the door, pulling open to reveal the blonde holding a silver tray with a single white towel roll sitting on it. Her long hair is neatly tucked into a bun that’s mandatory for all of the housekeepers in the mansion and her black suit is as spotless as it was in the morning.

“Thank you, Soojin,” Minho mutters as he takes the towel. “Tell my mother that I’m fine. Just tired.”

“As you wish,” the woman bows before he closes the door. With the white fabric in his hands, Minho sighs before deciding to use it anyway. He returns to his bed, climbing underneath the covers and gently laying the towel over his face, and slowly drifting off to sleep.

[teeky185]

The Thai football boys and their coach began their first day back home with their families since they were rescued from a flooded cave with a trip to a Buddhist temple on Thursday to pray for protection from misfortunes. The 11 boys and the coach kneeled and pressed their hands in prayer to the tune of chanting monks. They were joined by relatives and friends at the Wat Pra That Doi Wao temple, overlooking Myanmar on Thailand's northern border. The remaining member of the Wild Boars football team - Adul Sargon - is not a Buddhist and did not attend the ceremony, meant to extend one's life and protect it from dangers. The team has already said they would ordain as Buddhist novices to honour a former Thai navy SEAL diver who died in the cave while making preparations for their rescue. On Wednesday evening, the boys and coach faced the media for the first time since their ordeal, describing their surprise at seeing two British divers rising from muddy waters in the recesses of the cave. It would be another week before they were pulled out of the Tham Luang cave. Members of the rescued football team take part in a religious ceremony Credit: AP "We weren't sure if it was for real," 14-year-old Adul said. "So we stopped and listened. And it turned out to be true. I was shocked." In one poignant and emotional moment at the news conference, a portrait was displayed of Saman Gunan, the Thai diver who died. One of the boys, 11-year-old Chanin "Titan" Vibulrungruang, the youngest of the group, covered his eyes as if wiping away a tear. "I feel sad. And another thing is I'm really impressed with Sgt. Sam for sacrificing his life for all 13 Wild Boars to be able to live our lives outside happily and normally," he said. "When we found out, everyone was sad. Extremely sad, like we were the cause of this that made the sergeant's family sad and having to face problems." The Wild Boars had entered the cave on June 23 for what was to be a relaxing excursion after football practice. But rain began, and water soon filled the cavern, cutting off their escape, and they huddled on a patch of dry ground deep inside the cave. Coach Ekapol "Ake" Chanthawong said the trip was meant to last one hour, simply because "each of us wanted to see what was inside." The boys hold a portrait of Saman Gunan, the Thai SEAL diver who died during their rescue Credit: AP When the hour was up, they were pretty deep inside and already had swum through some flooded areas in the spirit of adventure. But in turning back, he discovered the way was not at all clear, and he swam ahead to scout the route, attaching a rope to himself so the boys could pull him back if necessary. He said he had to be pulled out. Ekapol said he told the boys: "We cannot go out this way. We have to find another way." The boys told reporters of their reactions at that point. "I felt scared. I was afraid I wouldn't get to go home and my mum would scold me, said Mongkol Boonpiam, 13, prompting laughter. Ekarat Wongsukchan, 14, said they decided "to calm ourselves first, to try to fix the problem and find a way out. Be calm and not shocked." The group had taken no food with them and survived by drinking water that dripped from the cave walls, Ekapol said, adding that all the boys knew how to swim, which had been a concern for rescuers. The boys inside the cave Credit: AP Titan said he tried hard not to think about food. "When I'm starving, I don't think of food otherwise it'd make me more hungry." Adul said they were digging around the spot when they heard the voices and Ekapol called for silence. He recounted how Ekapol told them to "'quickly get down there, that's the sound of a person, or else they're going to pass on by,' something like that." But he said his teammate holding the flashlight was scared, so Adul told him "If you're not going to go, then I'll go." "So I quickly took the flashlight, and quickly went down, and I greeted them, 'hello,'" Adul added. Psychologists had vetted the journalists' questions in advance to avoid bringing up any aspects of the rescue that might disturb them. The dangers of the complicated operation, in which the boys were extracted in three separate missions with diving equipment and pulleys through the tight passageways, were not discussed. Doctors said the 13 were physically and mentally healthy. Although they lost an average of nine pounds during the more than two weeks they were trapped in the cave, they have since gained about six and a half pounds on average since their rescue. They were treated for minor infections. The team bow before novice Buddhist monks during the ceremony Credit: AFP Asked what he had learned from their experience, 13-year-old Mongkol Boonpiam said he felt stronger. "I have more patience, endurance, tolerance," he said. Adul said it had taught him "not to live life carelessly." While many of the boys wanted to be pro football players when they grow up, at least four of them said they hope to become navy SEALs, so they could help others. All expressed their apologies to their families. "I wanted to apologise to my parents. I know that I will get yelled at by mum when I get home," said Pornchai Kamluang, 16. Ekarat said sheepishly he wanted to apologise to his parents because while he told them he was going to a cave, he told them the wrong one. "I told them I was going to Tham Khun Nam," he said. "I didn't tell them I went to Tham Luang. So I was wondering how they found us at the right cave." 

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines https://ift.tt/2LaVor8

[clusterassets]

New world news from Time: Thai Soccer Team Spends Their First Day at Home With Families Since Rescue

(CHIANG RAI) — The Thai soccer boys and their coach began their first day back home with their families since they were rescued from a flooded cave with a trip to a Buddhist temple on Thursday to pray for protection from misfortunes.

The 11 boys and the coach kneeled and pressed their hands in prayer to the tune of chanting monks. They were joined by relatives and friends at the Wat Pra That Doi Wao temple, overlooking Myanmar on Thailand’s northern border.

The remaining member of the Wild Boars soccer team — Adul Sargon — is reportedly a Muslim and did not attend the ceremony, meant to extend one’s life and protect it from dangers.

The team has already said they would ordain as Buddhist novices to honor a former Thai navy SEAL diver who died in the cave while making preparations for their rescue.

On Wednesday evening, the boys and coach faced the media for the first time since their ordeal, describing their surprise at seeing two British divers rising from muddy waters in the recesses of the cave. It would be another week before they were pulled out of the Tham Luang cave.

“We weren’t sure if it was for real,” 14-year-old Adul said. “So we stopped and listened. And it turned out to be true. I was shocked.”

In one poignant and emotional moment at the news conference, a portrait was displayed of Saman Gunan, the Thai diver who died. One of the boys, 11-year-old Chanin “Titan” Vibulrungruang, the youngest of the group, covered his eyes as if wiping away a tear.

“I feel sad. And another thing is I’m really impressed with Sgt. Sam for sacrificing his life for all 13 Wild Boars to be able to live our lives outside happily and normally,” he said. “When we found out, everyone was sad. Extremely sad, like we were the cause of this that made the sergeant’s family sad and having to face problems.”

The Wild Boars had entered the cave on June 23 for what was to be a relaxing excursion after soccer practice. But rain began, and water soon filled the cavern, cutting off their escape, and they huddled on a patch of dry ground deep inside the cave.

Coach Ekapol “Ake” Chanthawong said the trip was meant to last one hour, simply because “each of us wanted to see what was inside.”

When the hour was up, they were pretty deep inside and already had swum through some flooded areas in the spirit of adventure. But in turning back, he discovered the way was not at all clear, and he swam ahead to scout the route, attaching a rope to himself so the boys could pull him back if necessary.

He said he had to be pulled out.

Ekapol said he told the boys: “We cannot go out this way. We have to find another way.”

The boys told reporters of their reactions at that point.

“I felt scared. I was afraid I wouldn’t get to go home and my mom would scold me, said Mongkol Boonpiam, 13, prompting laughter.

Ekarat Wongsukchan, 14, said they decided “to calm ourselves first, to try to fix the problem and find a way out. Be calm and not shocked.”

The group had taken no food with them and survived by drinking water that dripped from the cave walls, Ekapol said, adding that all the boys knew how to swim, which had been a concern for rescuers.

Titan said he tried hard not to think about food. “When I’m starving, I don’t think of food otherwise it’d make me more hungry.”

Adul said they were digging around the spot when they heard the voices and Ekapol called for silence.

He recounted how Ekapol told them to “‘quickly get down there, that’s the sound of a person, or else they’re going to pass on by,’ something like that.”

But he said his teammate holding the flashlight was scared, so Adul told him “If you’re not going to go, then I’ll go.”

“So I quickly took the flashlight, and quickly went down, and I greeted them, ‘hello,'” Adul added.

Psychologists had vetted the journalists’ questions in advance to avoid bringing up any aspects of the rescue that might disturb them. The dangers of the complicated operation, in which the boys were extracted in three separate missions with diving equipment and pulleys through the tight passageways, were not discussed.

Doctors said the 13 were physically and mentally healthy. Although they lost an average of 4 kilograms (9 pounds) during the more than two weeks they were trapped in the cave, they have since gained about 3 kilograms (6 1/2 pounds) on average since their rescue. They were treated for minor infections.

Asked what he had learned from their experience, 13-year-old Mongkol Boonpiam said he felt stronger. “I have more patience, endurance, tolerance,” he said.

Adul said it had taught him “not to live life carelessly.”

While many of the boys wanted to be pro soccer players when they grow up, at least four of them said they hope to become navy SEALs, so they could help others.

All expressed their apologies to their families.

“I wanted to apologize to my parents. I know that I will get yelled at by mom when I get home,” said Pornchai Kamluang, 16.

Ekarat said sheepishly he wanted to apologize to his parents because while he told them he was going to a cave, he told them the wrong one.

“I told them I was going to Tham Khun Nam,” he said. “I didn’t tell them I went to Tham Luang. So I was wondering how they found us at the right cave.”

July 19, 2018 at 10:28AM ClusterAssets Inc., https://ClusterAssets.wordpress.com

[hellolittlefoxie]

I sat in the car and check the time, it was only nine thirty in the morning.

So early, I thought to myself.

I guess when you’re so excited to see someone you just can’t help but get ready early, and leave early just in case there’s traffic, or something goes wrong along the way, but this was a little too early.

How long am I gonna wait here for if they’re going to Porto’s. I guess I can nap. Or even better yet, just gonna enjoy this cloud porn.

I sat in silence for a bit before I got your message, rip nvm they just told me they got a table for dimsum.

Wao, what luck, I guess I don’t have to wait that long. Guess I’ll go roam around then.

After a quick detour to grab some lemon tea with lots of stares and awkward smiles, I found myself standing about five inches above the next tallest person in the lobby.

Some more stares and awkward smiles ensue.

Until finally I’m met with smile that wasn’t awkward but comforting instead. A quick hug and I fall in line right behind you as you guide me through the restaurant, to sit at a table with mountain views and everything but a few bites of dum sum left.

It suddenly felt stuffy and suffocating in the room. Greeting everyone at the table, and taking a seat next to you. I don’t mind meeting new people but I’ve never been one to be in a situation of meeting family members. Usually because I’m always kept a secret from family or kept to a minimum of “Hello,” “Good bye,” and “Thank you for having me.” I could already tell you were on edge and it only made me more self conscious. I can take full responsibility for fucking up, but in my defense I did offer to share twice and you didn’t answer. But still I apologize for my outspokenness, just bare with me as I try to adjust to this new situation.

Standing outside though was a relief and I felt more at ease talking to everyone. Still amused by the family dynamics of having so many cousins who are older than you. And after a few hugs and handshakes good bye, I really hope you get to hang out more with your family, they all seem like wonderful people.

My day finally began with you as we drove to Pasadena, a few remarks on our past week and a talk about what had been bothering me. I honestly didn’t want to talk about it because I felt so petty letting something bother me so much, but honestly I felt like a burden to you the day before and the few hours before seeing you. Hearing you talk about how you don’t hang out with your cousins, or Brandon, or Aaron enough, made me feel selfish for just wanting you the whole day and hearing you make plan after plan just made me frustrated that 1. I wasn’t going to be able to have you to myself 2. I was getting in your way of making the best of this weekend. But I’m glad I told you through broken thoughts, and sentences because even I was just trying to understand myself, and I promised myself I would work on talking to you about the small things like that because I have a bad habit of internalizing things and letting them grow inside until they become twisted and ugly. But you reassured me that it wasn’t the case and it was just my negative thoughts. You gave me a smile and squeezed my hand and everything was okay again.

We walked though Old Town, with your hand in mine.

I love how small my hand feels in your.

It was a small comment but it stuck with me as we walked through the store with glass trees, and cinnamon laden candles and through the rest of our walk as we admired old Tower of Terror looking apartment buildings and drooled over garlic cheese bread which you didn’t even get to eat later.

As we drove through San Marino, a neighborhood you’re probably getting very familiar with, it hit me as we drove through the fall painted trees, and silver white clouds above that having you back in LA felt a little to unreal. Everything seemed so perfect, like a picture I didn’t want to stop staring at in fear that if I blinked the moment would be gone

I think about you.

You think about me too.

It was probably the 17th time we listened to the song, but it’s just that type of song you want beamed into your brain because it’s so good, something about the lyrics plays with your heartstrings and you can’t get enough something playing with your emotions that way.

We then found ourselves sinking into a couch that’s definitely seen some better days, but the fact that we were ten feet deep into it added more charm to our conversation of your architecture course and how you pay extra attention to how things are laid out and how FTB (fuq dat bish) isn’t your typical boba shop, how you can actually adjust your sweetness (I’ll take the L this time, sorry again), and how Wong Fu does a lot of their shoots here. My taste buds were happy, my stomach was full, and my nose was runny from the popcorn chicken so we then decided to keep our day going driving back home, over the mountains, onto Mountain Ave to deliver some baked goods from you to my parents. A happy reunion with awoos, and barks filling the air coming from my parents, us, and the doggos outside. A chill session in my room filled with kisses here and there to heighten the tension, a head bang session to seven lions and a very special plur from you and I could barely contain how happy I was to just have you chilling here in my room sharing stories about my trophies with no big plans or anything in mind. Just us two enjoying the moment and whatever it brought.

After some failed dog training and a shot put contest it was finally some alone time with you, a semi turned up speaker to hide the bed squeaks and bedroom noises, with a little help of the most aesthetically pleasing lighting and sunset and it was an intimate session straight out of a fanfiction, with the lighting and blinds leaving tiger patterns on our skins and the setting sun filling the room with the softest of lightings until we found ourselves laying in the dark holding each other underneath the blanket.

I love you.

I love you too.

It’s the quiet moments like this that leave you thinking how love isn’t always the fast beating, pupil dilating fervor people always write about. It’s these moments that make you realize love is a decision. A decision to love the person for all that they are, for all their flaws, their vulnerabilities, for their passion, dreams, and everything else. I laid there feeling your warmth, your skin, your hair next to me and I thought to myself, this was an easy choice to make.

It seemed like the universe was once again smiling down upon us later that night as Freefall played in perfect sync as we rounded the corner and the downtown skyline filled the horizon. Seeing the skyline at night always manages to hype me up and this time I really had to remind myself to breathe as we rushed to make the closing time to get some dessert from some hole in the wall bakery.

Stressing to find parking, and sprinting all out to make it right as they were packing up to taste some way too sweet pastries but one of the most refreshing new drinks I’ve tried in a while was well worth the rush. But again, anything small with you is great and as we walked back to the car I started missing you even more than I already was even though we still had a couple more hours left together. But I wasn’t gonna let my sadness make this moment bittersweet so onto The Chandelier Tree we went. I told you my story about always running by it and never knowing it was there, and even after visiting it for the first time once I was in college it never really left much of an impression to me, but seeing you standing in front of the coin machine (that somehow also takes card) and seeing you send pics to your mom about this random quirk in LA and all of a sudden a new memory is made, and something that I easily overlooked before takes on new meaning. Taking failed selfies, trying to find the perfect angle for your potato of a phone, having a stranger ask us and no one else to take a pic of us and it’s like this tree in LA was suddenly my favorite spot.

But my favorite spot in LA kept changing that night because it turns out my favorite spot that night was wherever we happened to be. As Said the Sky underwhelmed us, we let the city lights pick us back up, going out of the way to find a lit up house, and being extra af just so we could pretend to be bougie and window shop Rodeo Dr. Giving you the grand tour of Sunset, Beverly Hills, and taking you a new way to the airport before letting our night end as it has before. With a prolonged hug, a kiss good bye, and another bittersweet I love you in terminal 6. I couldn’t help but patiently wait to be able to see you for as long as I can before you truly disappear until next time. Another lonely drive home, and it’s another countdown until the next time I see you.

14 more lunches.