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missinghan · 5 years ago

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radiant ⤖ han jisung

❖ genre : college!au ; love-hate relationship!au ; frenemies to lovers!au ; fluff

❖ word count : 10k.

❖ warning : explicit language & mentions of alcohol

❖ summary : you've made a mental note to yourself never to make dumb bets with J.One again because who knows you'll fall for Han Jisung over two cups of boba?

one.

College.

That specific morifying seven-letter word can literally make someone jump off a cliff. Like straight up, Lucifer would rather drink and bathe himself in holy water than to join one of the world's most traumatizing systems. Where knowledge is being drilled into people's mind like a tattoo, and it's not even a cute one, one that you most likely will regret later.

Man, what a life.

After highschool, most people thought they were ready, physically and mentally. That's not true. Did you really think that you're ready for monotonous lectures, for back-to-back assignments with ridiculous deadlines, for cramming forty slides of the PowerPoint presentation from your professor the night before an exam just because your brain cells decided to say 'fuck it' in the middle of the lecture ?

No one's ever ready for living to torture themselves.

Not even Hwang Hyunjin. Hyunjin, the boy you grew up having him right by your window. Hyunjin, that one kid in class who would always hand people his homework whenever they asked for it. He's too kind for this world, for his own good, you often say that to yourself but Hyunjin isn't really all that great.

He too takes pain in turning in assignments to the T.A and dreads his 9am classes tremendously. But, since he's got a rich ass uncle who has some spare apartments lying somewhat near college ( as long as he preserves the place and invites someone over to help paying the bills ), he doesn't have to deal with the struggles of living on campus.

And you, just happen to have the honor to live with him. Well, more like temporarily to see how things will work out later. You despise living on campus anyway.

"What's with the long face ? Did Minho ramble about his cats again instead of working ?" Hyunjin walks into the living room before dropping his keys into the gold-accent bowl that he previously purchased from a garage sale. It's quite convenient, actually, the keys never end up under the couch or some random drawers again.

You look up from your laptop screen, sparing him a glare and focusing back on your assignment. Being a media major is equivalent to taking lots of notes and a shit ton of reading which is a pain in the ass. Meanwhile, a theatre kid like your roommate has his midterms and finals as setting up plays for school's events. Pfft, privileged people.

You don't hate-hate the idea of going to school like some people, in fact, you genuinely love learning, but you're in desperate need of another word for 'child labour' to be applied to this ... situation.

"Ohoho.. It's way worse, trust me, you don't wanna know." You lean your head sideways on one of the pillows, words slightly slurred with your cheek being pressed against the soft surface.

Hyunjin raises his voice from the kitchen area. "Did he confess his love for you or something ?"

"Jesus no ! You know he's not into me like that." You almost screech and sit straight up. "We were supposed to finish our project that's due this Friday. And guess who else was there ? Another chick showed up ! I swear that I wasn't hallucinating, he brought a new one home every other day. She said she was just 'a friend'." You make the quote-on-quote sign with your fingers to emphasize.

You pull on your own hair dramatically with all your might, hissing under your breath just by recalling it. "And whenever we had a twenty-minute break every hour and a half or so, she keeps brushing herself against him, acting all innocent about it. I was deadass pissed off—"

"Woah woah, I don't think it's that—"

You throw your hands in the air helplessly, suppressing the urge to throw a tantrum. "It is that bad, Hyunjin ! The chick doesn't know how to take a fucking hint !" Whatever, Hyunjin is probably too tired to wait for you to finish complaining about some random classmate drooling over Minho because they do that all the time anyway.

"Damn." He sips on his apple juice. "I should come over next time. Might be a not-so-shitty, watered-down version of 'Fifty Shades of Grey'."

You shoot him a glare, closing your laptop shut. "I instantly regret moving in with you."

"Why ?" Hyunjin pouts and plops himself next to you on the beige-colored couch. He reaches for the remote on the coffee table while obnoxiously sipping on the box of juice.

"Because apparently, you love weird, gross, mushy noises as much as Minho does." You answer flatly, burying yourself deeper into the white fuzzy blanket. Actually, no. Living with Hyunjin isn't as bad as you're trying to make it sound.

He might not cook, but he knows some decent restaurant with reasonable prices. He might be all over the place sometimes while panicking over an upcoming exam but at least he keeps his space organized ( unlike Han Jisung, whose closet is a perfect resemblance of World War III ).

Hyunjin throws his apple juice into the nearby bin while scrolling through the 'Romance' section briefly. And sharing the same Netflix account is probably the best decision you two have ever made. "What's worth-hating here ? No smelly kids, no not-having-enough-personal-space problem. There's good food, a cute, quirky roommate which naturally equals good company. You're living your best life right now. The only downside to this is that you have to deal with my questionable sleeping habits."

Fine. Hwang Hyunjin is cute, and a total heartthrob to the entire school. You won't be surprised if every single male student hates him with a passion ( which they do ). Not to mention, all of your female classmates would be more than happy to finish all of your assignments within two days as long as you hand over his number. Although they might want to reconsider due to the fact that this good-looking boy is also that person who records his alarm by yelling at the top of his lungs into his phone speaker.

But, a good friend wouldn't do that, because even God doesn't know what those creepy girls would do once they had their hands on his phone number. This is also why you always get dirty looks from everyone just because you just happen to be his plus-one for everything.

And Hwang Hyunjin only needs a plus-one when Seungmin decides to hate him on that day ( which is almost everyday ). So there goes your reputation. You're probably nothing but a mediocre girl who just doesn't know when not to be all over her hot best friend in the people's eyes.

Hyunjin snaps his head towards the front door when the bell rings then proceeds to turn back to his roommate, showing those ridiculously adorable puppy that naturally implies as 'Get the door for me, will ya ?'. And although all you want to do is to slap him with your laptop, you still stand up nonetheless. You undo the chains and slides the lock over before swinging the door open.

"Hyunjin, I was wondering if you wanna come see us perform this Saturday. You know, at the school's mini music festival. 8p.m. Got two tickets to spare. You can get yourself a plus-one or something." And before you - with an obnoxiously loud tone, the leather jacket and Balenciaga cap - is Changbin, who sassily brushes past you and makes a beeline towards the couch, where Hyunjin is man-spreading, wrapped up securely in his white fluffy blanket.

He lazily sits up from his previous position, receiving the tickets with half-open eyes. "I'll go. As long as 'Wow' is on schedule." 'Wow' is 3racha's first and most definitely last attempt of a love song but somehow, it's managed to get itself a special place in Hyunjin's heart. Well, more accurately, everyone's heart.

Changbin cocks an eyebrow. "It's first on the list actually." He then turns to you with a smirk spread across his lips. "Whatcha say, Y/N ? We all know your favorite line is 'Excuse me noona, do you have a boyfriend ?' from the lovely J.One." He refers to one of Jisung's lines in a love song which he wrote at the age of 16, Changbin wasn’t even 18 himself then. Good times. And now literally every girl is more than ready to throw themselves at him anytime, anywhere. Chan really didn't lie when he proclaimed 3racha as 'hot'.

You shake your head with a timid smile tugged on your lips. "I don't think so Bin, I'm having midterms on Monday, J.One can be saved later as my midnight snack whenever I wanna grill his ass for pestering me during the golden hour aka 3a.m."

Midterms sound good enough for an excuse because everyone would literally kill keep their A-s on those report cards. But unfortunately, you can't just play on the infamous SpearB that easily because apparently, being roommates with Hyunjin has absolutely nothing to do with improving your awful acting skills.

Just then, the most inappropriate, insufferable, infuriating, and other synonyms for 'annoying' clapback clicks inside Changbin's brain when an imaginary lightbulb pops up at the top of his head. "Man, you two are really out there banging each other in secret—"

And out the door he goes before you feel the need to personally stitch up his lips with your terrible sewing skills from elementary school. You close your eyes and takes in a deep breath, shutting the door behind your back while Hyunjin is too busy laughing his ass off on the couch.

This is getting to the point where you don't even need Han Jisung to be here to have the urge to strangle him, because his trash friends are no help at all.

two.

You step onto the bus with your earbuds on, right hand dropping the bus ticket into the glass box that's neatly placed right beside the driver's seat. Another day, another 4 hours of lectures and 2 continuous shifts which is another 5 hours at the café on campus, in which, sucks. But, what makes it even suckier comes right in three, two, one..

"Two people please !" A disturbingly obnoxious voice chirps right behind you. Just then, a figure dashes through the couple who are currently throwing daggers at him with their eyes. Not this again. You groans to yourself before sliding an extra ticket into the box because you definitely know better than to mess with a cranky bus driver. That boy over there really gotta pay for that shit.

Then, you take a seat beside the window, deciding to ignore the pest who just made you spend an extra ticket for his ride. You really should have taken another bus instead of the 325. Suddenly, a hand reaches towards one of your earbuds and pulls it out quickly. A puff of air hits your left eardrums like a rush of electricity, causing you to jump a bit.

"Can you stay still for a good span of 10 fucking seconds ?" You deadpan and and snap your head around. And before you - with slightly damp fringe covering his warm brown orbs, cute button nose and peachy lips ( gross ) - is Han Jisung. More accurately, the bane of your existence.

Jisung chuckles loudly at the big scowl on your face as he angles his head to take a proper look at you. You look like you just rolled out of bed, literally, not even metaphorically. Sweatpants, flannels and sneakers are the way to go if you're gonna be on your feet all day running around to serve sleep-deprived students and professors. Of course you look like a complete bum, it's 9a.m. What did he expect ?

"Aw." He pouts. "Where's the fun in that then, little cub ?"

And when Jisung reaches a hand out to pat your head, you frowns at his particularly ridiculous nickname for you and slaps his hand away. He watched the new remake of 'The Lion King' before the new semester started and cried like a total baby when Mufasa fell off the cliff, said Felix. Honestly, you wouldn't blame him because those devastating thirty seconds remain to be the most heartbreaking scene that Disney has ever invented. But still, the nickname is painfully unoriginal.

"Man, I hope you bombed your midterms or something." You speak up flatly, a slightly better retort lingering at the tip of your tongue but you're far too tired to argue with him anyway. And not to mention, your previous statement is completely useless because if Hwang Hyunjin is that kid who works his ass off to get good grades then Jisung is the complete opposite of that. He can sleep through ten lectures and still get a minimum of 90% on his exams. The perks of being a prodigy since newborn, can't relate.

Jisung feigns a painful expression, scrunching his nose up in fake agony. "How supportive of you, so incredibly validating." He cocks his head upwards carelessly, giving you a full view of his side profile.

Okay. Despite his annoying personality and questionable nicknames for everyone then Han Jisung is kinda attractive. You get it, you get it, Hwang Hyunjin is attractive but this prick is another kind of attractive.

Whenever he screams his heart out at the mic on stage, there are literal silver and gold specks floating in his eyes like an explosion of stardust scattered across the whole universe. And the way he conveys his emotions into his lyrics to perform an entire song on stage is just tremendously remarkable. No wonder all the girls always come rushing in when J.One is on stage.

Wait, were you thinking about Han Jisung or J.One ? But no, Han Jisung is J.One. It's just that J.One is slightly cooler than Jisung because he doesn't pester people until they have a cardiac arrest. Whatever, your brain is already yelling for retirement.

"You are coming to watch my performance right ?" Jisung suddenly leans over, your noses almost touching. Being the idiotic person that you are, your body immediately locks itself in place, hissing slightly at the current proximity. Great, now what ?

"Ooh." A low whistle escapes his lips. "You were too busy checking me out. It's okay, that's understandable. Not everyone can have a close-up of J.One's out-of-this-world visual." He flips his imaginary long hair and you make a gagging noise.

"I was not !" You exclaim upon embarrassment, cheeks turning into a bright shade of coral. "There's just something in your teeth."

"Uh huh, I doubt it." Yeah, he would never buy that. Jisung smiles at you cheekily and once again, Han Jisung has proved that he's the kind of guy who has the particular type of smile that makes you want to knock their teeth out. Although you can't help but fall for it nonetheless. Very typical of you. "So, are you coming or nah ?"

Your heart tingles a bit, and you feel like you can just pass out right here right now on this stupid bus in the middle of this stupid conversation with his stupid boy and his stupid smile. "No, I have my midterms on Monday. Guess who's pulling all nighters again ?" You push his face away because if not, you might as well just explode and make a fool of yourself.

"Ahhhh, why not ?" Jisung whines as if there's no tomorrow. "It's not like you enjoy drowning yourself in Kang's 40 slides of 'History of Media 101' anyway." Now, for once in a fairly long time, the bastard finally said something that wasn't complete bullshit. And you're starting to reconsider your decision because although Han Jisung is undeniably insufferable, J.One can make it up with his dope performances. But then again, you really just don't want to see his face on Saturdays.

Suddenly he rolls himself over again, his lips drawing a devilish smile. You can tell already from the dangerous look in his eyes, it's not going to end well.

"Are you in for a bet ? If I win, you'll have to go. But if you win, I'll do whatever you want me to, for an entire week. You're basically the privileged one here, don't even deny it."

three.

Changbin wakes up from his long nap to find Chan having his eyes glued to the laptop's screen as if his life depends on it. It makes him wonder how long his friend has been working on the rearrangement of all their songs for this Saturday's music festival.

"I see that you're making quite the progress." He grunts slightly before sitting up straight. The small faux leather couch that their school has in the band practice room isn't exactly the most comfortable thing to sleep on. But after what seems like an eternity in the lecture hall, tolerating the professor's rant then Changbin wouldn't even mind sleeping on the floor.

Chan slowly peels his eyes away from the screen and blinks numerous times so that he won't potentially go blind. He looks over at Changbin's slouch figure on the couch, tapping away on his phone and smiles dumbly at some memes that Minho just DM-ed to their group chat.

"Damn right, I just finished chopping up the bits of back-up vocals. I feel like my back is so fragile that it might break in half if I stand up." He runs a hand through his mop of black hair that's nowhere near the definition of 'doable' and yawns into his other palm.

He peeks over his shoulder to see Hyunjin and Felix sleeping while leaning against the mirror, Minho laying on top of Jeongin as he chuckles creepily at his phone. And Woojin is too busy singing his heart out with his guitar in the corner to notice Seungmin capturing everyone in their greatest glory, meaning when they're all a hot mess.

Changbin swings his legs over and slips into his black Adidas slides, walking over to Chan in a sluggish manner. He crouches down a bit while squinting his eyes to take a proper look at the laptop screen. Chan indeed has finished most of it, no wonder he looks ( and probably smells ) like trash. "I'll give you a hand, just send these over to me after when you got home." He says, giving his friend a pat on his back.

"Yeah sure," Chan puts a hand over his mouth to cover up another yawn. "By the way, where the fuck is Jisung ? He hasn't been answering my texts all morning."

Changbin gives him an indifferent shrug. "He said he would be on campus all day on Thursdays since he has classes and work right after- hold on he's texting me."

[ 5:23pm ]

piece of shit : where are you guys ?

baby changbin : band room, clearly you never listened.

[ 5:24pm ]

piece of shit : yeesh, I was busy you ass. texting y/n and all.

baby changbin : it was fucking 3a.m. !

[ 5:25pm ]

piece of shit : whatever, we'll be there in two.

He pauses for a while and lets the words sink in. Why "we" and not "I" ? Since when this was a plural thing ? Did all of those lectures and serving sleep-deprived students fuck up his brain cells ?

Wow, now Changbin feels bold to assume that Han Jisung even own brain cells. And before he can show the texts to the rest of his friends to make fun of Jisung while he's not here, the glass door swings open. Hyunjin and Felix jolt up in surprise at the same time, almost bumping their heads together at the creaking sound.

"We got you kids boba, wake up wake up hurry hurry SCHNELL !" Jisung screeches loudly when he pushes himself through the front door, accidentally making you bump your forehead into the dull glass surface.

You follows him inside with a big scowl on your face, quickly passing Changbin the plastic bags. Yes, you can hear the polar bears crying in the distance loud and clear but unluckily you only have two hands for ten cups of boba.

"Why boba all of a sudden ?" Minho looks up from his phone in boredom as Jeongin is utterly dying underneath, slapping his palm repeatedly against the floor in exhaustion.

Minho feels ( kinda ) bad for him and decides to roll himself over, setting Jeongin free from his miserable state. "Did you two go on a date or something ?" The youngest one's features morph into a frown, eyeing the two up and down in caution when he crosses his legs together.

You make an unimpressed face and glares at Jisung, who's currently hogging the entire black couch on his own. "Who the fuck would make their date carry everything then ? You tell me Jeongin."

Woojin stands up after craning his neck and shakes his head in disapproval. "My greatest disappointment, Han Jisung, would do that unfortunately." He walks over to Felix and Hyunjin to get himself a cup from the bag.

"Let's be honest, you'd still date him even if he does that anyway. I haven never seen any other girl who has the courage to personally rummage through his disastrous closet just to steal a hoodie." He takes a sip and smirks at the black hoodie that you're wearing. Woojin thinks you should definitely give yourself more credit because personally, he can't be bothered to step into Jisung's room, much less his closet.

You're still slightly confused for a moment there but quickly look down and almost gasp in realization. "I can explain—"

"Don't worry Y/N, if he ever mistreats you, you best believe that he's not gonna see tomorrow's daylight." Felix supplies unhelpfully over a mouthful of boba. Since when did he become such a nuisance ? But he's not entirely wrong because if no one volunteers to skin Jisung alive when he leaves you with a broken heart then Hyunjin will literally disown him. He doesn't care if it's legal or not because even a law student like Woojin would be on his side in this.

You hold up your hand defeatedly. "The jerk purposely left it on my couch back at the apartment. And Hyunjin didn't want to return nor wash it so I was obligated to do that myself. Eventually, the hoodie just ended up on a hanger right behind my bedroom door. Not to mention, I was running late earlier and had nothing to wear." You finish your sentence, realizing that your roommate has been giving you a 'wtf' face all his time.

"Out of reasons already ?" Chan chirps, raising a dark brow.

Okay.

In your defense, it's a goddamn good hoodie. The material is actually really nice that you might accidentally fall asleep if you wear this to class. You didn't mind the design on it either, kinda boyish but very funky, almost hippie looking. And last but not least, the smell of it is intoxicating, leaving you yearning for more. That's also equivalent to Jisung smells nice ( ew ) and your cheeks automatically heat up at the thought of feeling like he's hugging you whenever you wear it.

You frantically try to explain with expressive hands. "Look, guys—"

"You're going this Saturday !!" Jisung's voice suddenly booms behind your back as he declares loudly like it's the most worth-knowing thing in the whole wide world. The guys trade confused look with each other, not knowing what nonsense their friend is babbling about. Whatever, they don't have to either way. "You're going, you're going, you're going !"

You look over at Hyunjin's cup in disbelief, completely full and untouched. Meanwhile, Felix has already finished his drink in between the 15-minute conversation. You blinks and quickly comprehends the new amount of information, you lost the bet. Which means...

Screw midterms.

four.

Screw the music festival, you’re not going anywhere.

“How’s this ?” Hyunjin steps out from his room with a white dress shirt tucked inside his skinny jeans. And you hate him even more now because your roommate looks totally #boyfriendmaterial in every outfit that he’s been trying for the past half an hour. Really, Hyunjin should give himself more credit for his looks because you bet girls would still throw themselves at him even if he showed up to school looking homeless and all.

You look up from your phone in boredom. “Looks good to me.”

Upon your flat reply, Hyunjin shoots you a glare. “Good ? It only stops there at ‘good’ ? Then which item in my closet appeals to you as ‘spectacular’ or ‘breathtaking’ ? Should I just hire a personal stylist or something ?” He wants to snap at you but ends up whining like a elementary school kid that’s not allowed to drink his favorite soda from the vending machine.

“Dude, eat a chill pill.” You frown slightly at his particularly dramatic ass ( tsk, drama majors ) and decide to put your phone down. “You’re going to a music festival, at uni. Not attending some kind of award shows for celebrities.”

Hyunjin snickers before clicking his tongue. “And you’re planning on wearing that ?”

Your roommate is stressing himself over being overdressed for an event. You, on the other hand, haven’t even made up your mind about an outfit yet and your plus-one is picking you up in less than 30 minutes. And you’re still here, on the couch, in your pyjamas. Call it madness but personally, you wouldn’t mind wearing this to the music festival. Music is technically art in some kind of shape or form and only uncultured swines judge those who prefer being comfy over fashionable.

Come on, it’s art. Your pyjamas can express yourself in some sort of way right ?

“Stop shitting on my Mickey Mouse sweatpants as if it’s something straight out of the 1910s.” You protest, urging to throw the jar filled with gummy bear on the coffee table at his precious face. Mickey is definitely not going anywhere since you guys have been bonding since middle school.

Hyunjin pauses in the middle of his track going back into his room. Suddenly he turns around and smiles at you creepily. “It’s Jisung, isn’t it ?”

Yeah, no. Most definitely not. Still not him. Nuh uh. Okay… Maybe it’s because you don’t want to embarrass your plus-one because he’s also a total heartthrob. Maybe, it could be something about the fact that you’re afraid you’re not gonna look as good as your roommate. Or maybe it’s something inside the can of Redbull that you downed last night while rewatching the last episode of ‘Goblin’. You don’t even like Redbull.

Shit, you’re running out of excuses already.

“Actually, I was thinking that it’d be better if I didn’t show up.” You confess timidly, scared to meet Hyunjin’s confused expression.

When you gather enough courage to look up, he looks absolutely unimpressed and partially disappointed. “And you’re just gonna rain-check on Choi Yeonjun like that ? Changbin’s not letting this slide, I’ll tell you that.” He shakes his head in disapproval, this time turning on his heels to walk towards his bedroom door.

Something inside your stomach is tickling, as if it’s trying to tell you that you’re about to commit some kind of unforgivable sin if you don’t go to the festival. And just when you’re about to ignore it and wrap yourself up warmly on the L-shaped couch like the lazy bum that you are, your phone buzzes.

[ 4:24pm ]

yeonjun | I’ll be there in five.

five.

Only losers go to a music festival without a plus-one.

Hyunjin is one lucky bastard because Seungmin is tolerating his ass for the day. Meanwhile, Woojin is too busy pestering Felix to let him sneak into backstage looking for Changbin. And by now, everyone probably knows that Minho is secretly obsessed with Jeongin since he's decided to stick himself to the youngest like the spoiled parasite that he is. But that's not the point. Point is : you're terrible at navigation so you're obligated to get yourself a plus-one.

And he just happens to be Choi Yeonjun, that one business major who's secretly a dancer that left everyone's wig flying to Africa during last year's prom. You two have walked past each other before between periods and since he's an acquaintance of Changbin, he'd always wave back at you with the sweetest smile. You see him as a fun person to be around, kinda like a sunshine.

But what you didn't know is that, if your group of friend's chaotic energy is 3000, then Yeonjun alone is already on another level.

"Why the long face Y/N ? Enjoy the music, relax, let the night set you free !" Yeonjun chuckles at the frown on your face as he swings an arm over your shoulder. You can already tell that he's getting a bit tipsy from his tinted red cheeks and his breath smells like beer. Never knew the guy couldn't go heavy with his alcohol. Much like your roommate himself.

You peel the red plastic cup away from his hand to abandon it on some random table, dragging him away from the bar before his friend - Beomgyu, offers him some kind of sketchy looking drink. The kid is only a freshman and you feel like you should strangle the person who permitted him to be the bartender for the night.

"Alright, that's enough beer for you." You tell him mild-seriously, partially because you don't want him to end up knocked out in the middle of nowhere and partially because you can't contain someone who's drunk, not even yourself. "Let's find Soobin, I bet he's running around campus looking for your ass."

"What do you mean he's looking for my ass ? He's at home playing stupid boardgames with stupid Taehyun." Yeonjun slurs, shaking the haziness away furiously before fluttering his eyes upwards. "Look !" He squeals a little bit too loudly for anyone's liking. "It's your boyfriend !"

You abruptly put your index finger on his lips. "Shh shhh ! Han Jisung is not my boyfriend ! Watch your mouth, please, I beg." You hush him and glance around to look for any signs of Hyunjin or Felix popping out from a random bush to make fun of you. "We're barely friends, why would you think that we're dating ?!" You cry dramatically, cheeks burning with a bright shade of pink.

The blue haired boy makes a thinking face, which you think it's undeniably cute, before pointing towards the stage. "Because he's looking at you ?" He says cluelessly, giggling while clapping happily like a seal.

You unconsciously lift your head to eye the stage. Time seems to stop when you realize Jisung has been staring at you all this time. His expression is unfathomable. Your heart starts thundering loudly inside your rib cage, so loud that it overcomes the loud EDM music in the background, so loud that you're afraid he might hear it even when he's so far away.

In this light, in the middle of your chaos, there is Jisung. And he's absolutely otherworldly, radiant, dazzling, coruscating. Gosh, you can go on forever if your brain cells allow you to.

The moment he breaks eye contact, that's when you're pondering over who is it that your heart is beating for. Han Jisung ? Or is it just J.One ? Because you've seen Jisung as a total pest who never takes things seriously, who always makes you pay an extra ticket for his ride to uni, who spontaneously sends you derp pictures of him in the middle of a lecture. But no matter where you go, he would constantly pop up inside your mind out of nowhere. Like a phantom.

Suddenly, Chan's voice booms through the speaker, making you jump. "The performance of 3racha will be delayed due to technical errors. We apologize for this inconvenience." You stand there dumbly, blinking numerous times for his words to sink in. The question here isn't really 'what?' but 'why?'. 3racha take music very seriously and they're not the type to slack off any performances even if it's just for a school's small event.

You snap your head back to the stage, Chan and Changbin are talking to a technical staff, an apologetic smile blooming on their faces. But wait, where the fuck is Jisung ?

"Told ya !" Yeonjun hiccups into your ear. "What kind of non-boyfriend will cancel a performance just to come and see you like this ?" You should have gone with Hyunjin, you really should.. You bet he's not even half as drunk a Yeonjun right now since all Seungmin drinks is kombucha.

Unexpectedly, and also expectedly, you find yourself staring at Jisung, who's speed-walking towards your direction, like a complete dumbass. There's fire flickering at the back of his irises, burning intensely onto you. His brows are knitted together, his jacket hanging slightly over his shoulder, teasing you with a flash of his biceps. You also notice how the microphone is still there, in his hand.

Did he fucking leave the stage just to see you ?

Jisung breathes out a puff of smoke from the chilly air. "Y/N, got you."

Your heart actually feels like it’s hanging on the edges when your name rolls off his tongue so tenderly. "And you are ?" He looks over at Yeonjun with an almost disgusted expression, his hand instinctively reaching for yours. You don't blame him either way because Yeonjun looks like he just made it out of one of the world's most traumatizing lunatic asylum with shitty security. And Jisung wouldn't let you walk around with a crazy guy attached to you like a total creep. Not when he's monitoring.

“Y/N’s plus-one ?”

“Well that makes two of us.”

Yeonjun holds his hands up as if he's being held at gunpoint. "Easy, dude, I'm leaving. I'm leaving. She's all yours." He laughs, sounding almost too nervous to be true because Jisung is somewhat scary whenever someone gets on his bad side. Just ask Highschool Hyunjin.

"You're wasted as fuck, what makes you think that I'll let you go home alone like this ?" You say, flinching slightly when you feel Jisung tightens his grip on your hand. He cocks a brow as if he's testing you.

"Nah, I'm not going anywhere. Just gonna swing by the bar, Beomgyu probably came up with something to knock me out." Without a proper goodbye nor a hug like his normally playful self usually does, the blue haired boy turns on his heels to walk away from the scene. And you exhale deeply out of relief, not because you hated Yeonjun's company, you might actually hang out with him again. Just not where there's alcohol.

Jisung still hasn't let go of your hand yet, and surprisingly, you don't want him to. "I take that as you two aren't dating ?" He questions, studying your features more closely. You're really pretty, he thinks. Jisung has never once hesitant about using the word 'pretty' for you and he's not afraid to show it either. It's just that you never bothered to notice.

"No ? Hyunjin decided to ditch me for Seungmin and Yeonjun's a mutual friend through Changbin so we texted, and he picked me up after when Hyunjin left." You give him a weird look, confused by how pissed off he looks right now. "And I take that as you're jealous ?"

Jisung laughs humorously, his voice doused in dry sarcasm. "Huh, funny. Last time I checked, you were supposed to be backstage with me since you lost the bet, not clinging yourself onto some hot guy from Changbin's Biochem 101." Of course Jisung is pissed off. How could he not when you're all smiling and laughing with another guy, when he has an arm over your shoulder, holding you so lovingly, so tightly ? Another guy that's not him.

You widen your eyes at how ridiculous he sounds, almost in disbelief. "Excuse you ? Since when 'being backstage with you' was even a thing in our bet ?" Yeah, completely unheard of. "And I was not clinging onto him, I'll have you know that he chugged on a bottle of Hennie and ended up wobbling around like a fucking toddler !"

Your voice is getting louder and louder by the second, chest heaving up and down in anger because he is in fact, being extra insufferable tonight. You haven’t seen him acting like this since he officially declared cold war with Hyunjin back in junior year highschool.

"Oh yeah ? Then what ? You liked that ? It makes me sick to the stomach seeing you giggling at one of his stupid jokes. You seemed so fucking comfortable even when he's this close ?" Jisung tugs in your arm to pull you closer, his cool breath fanning your forehead. Your cheeks unknowingly feel hot, but you're not going to admit it to his face. "You're completely okay with this ?"

You grimace a stiff smile. "Of course I am." Oh boy were you wrong.

"Even now ?" He places his hands over your shoulder to bend down, angling his face so that the tip of his nose is brushing over yours. His gaze pierces right through you, leaving you completely stripped and vulnerable. And you hate every single part of this. You hate how you heart is swelling, how his touches burn like fire, how much effect he has on you with such minimal effort.

Jisung says with a devilish smirk blooming on his lips. "Hmm ? I don't know Y/N, you look pretty burnt up to me."

"It's because of the heat—" You instantly regret what you said when it starts to rain. Droplets of water repeatedly tap against your skin like clear champagne. A cloud shadows over you two and another splatter of rain comes along. Goosebumps rise on your skin at the cool sensation as your limbs lock themselves in place. Jisung has never broken eye contact with yours since then, specks of good and silver floating in his eyes like a brilliant explosion of a supernova.

Just when you thought your lips was gonna collide, something unexpected happens. Jisung takes off his jacket and swings it over your shoulders. He gently holds you by the waist as he hurries you inside, your gaze never once leaves his features. He's saying something but you can't quite catch it, it's hard to concentrate when he's being all affectionate and sweet to you like this.

You are far too busy telling your heart not to explode.

six.

Felix stomps over to your table and slams his tray of food down aggressively. Everyone peels their eyes off what they’re doing for the time being, throwing a weird look towards him. With a satisfied smile on his face, Felix drops his notebook onto the table. Changbin glances at him with an expressionless face, almost yawned in boredom. “And how did it go again ?” He drawls tiredly as if he has heard the same joke over and over for an entire week.

“You know that feeling when you feel like you’re completely detached from your own body and just stare at yourself from above ? I was up there, mind blank while my mouth couldn’t stop blabbering about what ever the fuck was on those slides. I ditched my Flashcards, completely untouched, 5 minutes has never flown by so quick. Boom, the professor didn’t even think twice about giving me an A.” Felix leans back on his chair comfortably after wrapping up his story.

Seungmin scrunches his nose at his friend. “Yeah sure, it’s an A. Big fucking deal.” Kim Seungmin basically has a full scholarship straight to college in the middle of his senior highschool year, you can say that he has the right to be unimpressed.

Minho shrugs indifferently, scrolling through his feed to kill some time. “It is for Yongbok apparently, give him a break. You know he hardly gets any when his brain only consists of Seo Changbin and Fortnite.”

Felix hisses at the older boy like a cat when you accidentally step on its tail, threatening to gouge out one of his eyes with the plastic fork on his hand. Minho being on his ass 24/7 just makes college that much more of a hellhole. He can’t help but roll his eyes in annoyance because no one is even trying to spare a ‘Good job’ or ‘Good for you’. He might actually need new friends, Felix ponders.

But wait, something’s missing.

Jisung didn’t even try to make fun of him. And he never missed a single chance to pester him or call him out every time he’s all giddy over good grades. In other words, his secret life as a potential nerd has been foiled thanks to Han Jisung. But apparently, girls find it hot when a nerd is secretly a dancer.

He looks over to his friend and frowns furiously. A hood thrown over his head, eyes glued to his laptop screen, Jisung looks extra antisocial today and Felix can feel something’s off because he would be jumping around, yelling into your ears by now, not making a PowerPoint presentation. “What’s wrong with you two ?” He asks, noticing how you’re also acting strange.

You’re mindlessly scrolling through Twitter, and stop abruptly at a new post from @j.one. It’s a picture of Jisung grinning while gripping on a microphone followed by a caption “Always have so much fun performing w/ my bros, @spearB & @cb97 - photo by @princehwang #SocialSaturday”.

You almost snickered, feeling the need to change it into “#TBT”. Not only because this photo was taken months ago for a summer music festival nearby Uni, but also because this bright side of Han Jisung no longer exists. He hardly talked to you since Saturday, ignored you when you made eye-contact with him on the hallways, didn’t even ask you to pay for his ride.

Basically, he’s making a fuss out of nothing. But you wouldn’t say that it feels good not having him call you ‘little cub’ 50 times a day or send you random messages during a lecture like ‘go out with me ?’. You never take them seriously anyway because he can’t like you just like that, right ? “Ask him, not me.” You raise a brow towards Jisung, earning a glare from him as a reply. “I’m not the one who’s being petty over me going to a music festival with Choi Yeonjun.”

Jisung sighs dramatically and shuts his laptop close. “Is that all you got ?” He inquires sarcastically as if he’s gonna set you on fire if you dare to try him.

“That’s what I said the first time we played Mario Kart together, isn’t it ? I totally kicked your ass, to the curb.” You protest as the blood running through your veins slowly boils. If it weren’t for Hyunjin to hold your shoulders in place, you would have thrown hands at Jisung.

Jisung slams his hands onto the surface of the table harshly, almost knocked the whole table over. “Yeah, that’s why Chan never lets you drive because you’re exactly the reason for all of our wild turbulence. Because you suck at driving !”

You feel like you’re being held in a chokehold, literally and metaphorically because you can’t even drag Jisung down to the very bottom of Hell when you’re fully capable of doing that. Not before you kill him with your bare hands.

“I mean one of us had to have the guts to drive everyone back after a party where y’all got fucking wasted. College parties are so lit, they say. Who the fuck does three keg stands in a row just to run around the neighborhood shirtless later on ?!” You clatter loudly, earning a ‘wtf’ look from the students at the opposite table.

“Who wants another milkshake ? It’s on me.” Woojin interrupts the two of you, already pulling out his wallet in a rush.

Jisung’s ears automatically turn red, and you smirk at the sight of his pink cheeks upon both embarrassment and anger. “What did you just say ?”

“Ten milkshakes it is.” Chan drags Woojin out of his seat and the two of them helplessly walk towards the canteen cashier from across your table. He’s already given up, you can tell. Because if not, he would just personally hang Jisung upside down on a tree ( his natural habitat ) so that he can cool down before he said something he’d definitely regret later.

You push Hyunjin away and stand up right, staring at Jisung dead in the eye. “What’s wrong ? Cat got your tongue ?” Are you finally getting back at him ? Is this how victory taste like ?

“Say that again and I’m gonna— ugh ! Christ, I hate you !” Jisung sounds like he’s on the verge of exploding and you’re absolutely enjoying every single moment of this.

You mock him in amusement. “You’re gonna what ?”

“I’m gonna fucking kiss—“

Before Jisung could finish his sentence, Minho pulls his friend backwards and Jisung once again lands on his bottom, onto the wooden bench. “Okay, I don’t wanna ruin the heat but at least spare some of your sanity for the sake of publicity, yeah ? You know, if you guys wanna make out that bad, there’s always a restroom.”

Sanity ? For the sake of publicity ? Well, that changes everything. “WE’RE NOT GONNA MAKE OUT LEE MINHO YOU FUCKING BASTARD ! DON’T MAKE ME KNOCK KNOCK UPSIDE YOUR HEAD, YOU FILTHY PIECE OF SH-“ You’ve come to a decision that if Han Jisung doesn’t end up somewhere six feet under the ground, then Lee Minho - aka his best friend - is taking his bullet for today.

“Woah woah, Y/N, easy girl, easy.” Hyunjin holds you back with both hands. Okay, he gets why Jeongin doesn’t want to come over whenever you and Jisung are breathing in the same room now.

Jeongin scrunches his nose as he obnoxiously chews on his tuna sandwich. “Yeah, you guys need to cool down a little bit. You know, just chill out. That’s enough for your ‘friendly banter’, let the others enjoy their lunch in peace, will you ?”

You and Jisung continuously give each other death stares for the rest of your lunch break. Even when Chan and Woojin come rushing back with five cups of milkshakes each, even when it’s your favorite flavor in the entire world, it can never put out the fire of wrath that’s burning furiously deep inside. All you want to do is to have Han Jisung down on his knees and beg you for his life like how King Stefan did to Maleficent. The only difference is that Jisung actually doesn’t have a daughter.

Is that too much to ask for ?

seven.

[ 2:35pm ]

yeonjun | hey, I need to talk to you…

yeonjun | nearby café after school ? I can just wait if you’re getting out late.

You read the message on your way out of the lecture hall and widen your eyes. The hour displayed on your screen reads ‘3:45pm’. You immediately push your way through the crowd of sweaty students and run down the hallway like a psychopath. God, Yeonjun has been sitting alone at the café like a complete fool just because of you. Now you feel like a terrible human being.

“Woah, where are you going in such a hurry ?” Hyunjin yells at you loudly when you brush past him and Jeongin.

You hastily shout back at him before continuing to run. “Don’t wait for me ! Just spare me some left over !”

When you arrive at the café, you feel like you should give yourself a pat on the shoulder because you don't think you’ve ever run that fast before in your entire life. Not even for the marathon competitions during middle school.

And the café looks somewhat different today, something smells weird too, you notice. Then you realize that they just repainted the whole thing, replacing the old teal blue color into a warmer brownish color. The walls and windows are decorated with fairy lights, like a cherry on a sundae, it’s perfect for the upcoming winter break. Because students aren’t just gonna come here for the caffeine, they’re gonna hog this place for themselves sooner or later to get at least one aesthetic photo for the holiday.

You quickly spot Yeonjun sitting alone in the color while having his headphones on, slowly dozing off to the music. His cup of iced macchiato remains untouched with water dipping on the sides. A pang of guilt hits you almost instantly when you start walking towards his direction. As you sit down on the opposite seat, Yeonjun suddenly startles and shakes his sleepiness away.

“Hey, I’m so sorry, my phone was off all day.” You say with an apologetic smile on your face, feeling the guilt keeps piling onto your shoulders. “You could just leave or something, I wouldn’t be mad.”

Yeonjun removes his headphones and laughs slightly, scratching the nape of his neck. “It’s fine,” He waves his hands at you to tell you that everything’s okay. “I really need that short nap after all. God, I was dreading my neuroscience assignment all day. But hey, I really need to talk to you, that’s why I was so determined to wait.”

“Don’t even, Yeonjun. You could have just gone home and rest.” You shake your head at him in defeat. You swear to God, he’s too kind. “What’s so important that you wanted to talk to me so badly ?” You ask while flipping through the menu. The weather has been pretty chilly lately, it might be nice to have a hot chocolate.

Yeonjun’s ears turn red at your words and he starts to dart his eyes around, scared to meet your eyes. “I— uhm, look, I just—“ He stammers with tinted pink cheeks, which you find ridiculously adorable. “I just wanted to say sorry for what happened on Saturday.” He manages to squeak out and you have to hold back the urge to laugh. “I shouldn't have drunk that much beer, right ? You should feel lucky that I left you with your boyfriend because I may or may not have thrown up all over Beomgyu. He almost kicked me off a cliff, I’m not overexaggerating, I swear.”

That’s not true. Yeonjun should be the one who needs to feel lucky because not only didn’t Beomgyu leave him on some random sidewalks, he personally called Taehyun to bring him extra clothes and had an Uber to get them three back home before midnight. He knows Beomgyu is too utterly soft for him to murder him in his sleep anyway.

You smile at him before waving the waiter boy over to punch in your order. “Choi Yeonjun, it’s fine, really. You’re so much fun to hang around. But next time, no more beer for you, get it ?” Upon your teasing, he lets out a nervous chuckle. And little did you know, he’s planning on telling you something much, much more horrendous. “And how many times do I need to tell you that Jisung is not my boyfriend ?”

“Just not yet.” He corrects you, and you’re stuck between the ideas of strangling Han Jisung and throwing Choi Yeonjun off a cliff. Or maybe both. “You guys caused quite the scene during lunch break. You two bickered like an old married couple. Not to mention, you’ve probably ended up on everyone’s social medial by now.”

Your eyes widen in terror. A tape of you, and Han Jisung yelling at each other at the top of your lungs is on the Internet. Since a young age, you’ve come to realize that nothing on the internet ever really goes away. And that thought scares you shitless. Great, now everyone will think of you two as that one loud couple who always argue over stupid things. “I’m so fucking screwed— give me a sec, someone’s texting me.”

[ 4:12 pm ]

han | where are you ?

y/n | why would that matter ?

han | you’re on a date right ? with him.

y/n | han jisung are you watching me ? wtf you creep !?

[ 4:13pm ]

han | do you like him ?

han | just answer me honestly for once.

y/n | so you ARE jealous. hah, busted.

But wait, why would he be jealous ? That makes no sense.

[ 4:14pm ]

han | so what if i’m jealous ?

Your heart stops as a small ‘huh?’ escapes your lips. Yeonjun looks at you with a confused expression, almost develops a mild interest in what made you so flustered. But he guessed it either way because it’s too obvious who’s the only person that has this kind of effect on you.

han | i was the one who asked you out first, it’s not fair !

y/n | ...

y/n | hey, are you drunk ?

[ 4:15pm ]

han | i’m as sober as i can be, enjoy your pretty little date y/n.

When everything’s already a mess, when you’re at a loss for words, Hyunjin’s abrupt call is something else more than just fuel to the fire. “Y/N ! Have you seen Jisung ?” Your roommate sounds alarmed on the other end and your stomach automatically twists into a knot.

“No, I haven’t seen him since lunch… why ?” The uneasy feeling has been ghosting your gut since you received the questionable texts from Jisung, and you’re afraid to hear what Hyunjin’s gonna say next. “What’s wrong ? What happened to him ?” You bombard him with questions after questions, fiddling your fingers nervously in fear.

Yeonjun quickly senses something’s off and reaches his hand outwards. He places his hand over yours gently, rubbing little circles to remind you to calm down. There are a thousand bad scenarios running through your mind like lightning of what could have happened to Jisung. What if he’s about to do something stupid ? What if he’s hurting, and no one ever asked ? What if… it’s all because of you ?

“Hyunjin, just fucking answer me !” You almost snapped, finding the silence on the other line extremely disturbing.

He replies breathlessly, as if he’s already given up. “He’s gone.”

“What do you mean he’s gone ?” You can’t believe your own ears at this point.

Hyunjin sounds like he’s about to have a mental breakdown. “Changbin said he hadn’t been home when his shift was supposed to end at 3. Chan said he wasn’t on campus either, nor the band room. We’ve checked everywhere, not his house, not the usual boba place, not even his favorite get-away spots. He ran away, Y/N, no one knows why. And I’m scared..” Your heart instantly drops to the pit of your stomach.

Not even his favorite get-away spots.. We’ve checked everywhere.

But Jisung would never tell them about all of his get-away spots.

eight.

Jisung unlocks his phone and sees several missed calls from his group of friends along with endless texts but his eyes only linger on some particular ones.

[ 7:23pm ]

y/n | can we just talk this out ?

y/n | this is so fucking childish of you.

y/n | I don’t care if you want to kick me out of your life.

y/n | I’m coming for you.

Jisung doesn’t know whether he should be crying or laughing. Basically, he’s emotionally restrained.

Because apparently, life is preposterous. One moment you’re laughing while being pissed off when he annoys the heck out of you. Then later you would ditch him to have yourself wrapped around another guy’s arms. Hours ago, you were on the edge of pushing his limits into the unknown and now you’re being all concerned and worried about him. He feels mildly exasperated partially because you’re playing with his heart, and partially because he allows you to do that.

He has been watching you from behind all this time. He always has so much on his mind that keeps him awake at nights but never really knows how to convey his feelings for you into words. Maybe that’s why J.One can only write love songs in vain. So being the genius person that he is, he thought ( and still think ) that the only way to approach you was to make fun of you. He can only call you questionable nicknames all day because he doesn’t have the heart to actually call you ‘babe’ in a genuine way. He would always end up spitting out something less than appropriate or stick his nose into your business because he can never fathom the courage to say a simple ‘I love you’. Yes, Jisung knows that he’s a coward for making such excuses but the thought of putting his heart into someone else’s hand scares him shitless. Not that he has never gone through a heartbreak before but the scars never really go away.

Honestly, Jisung has never thought that he would end up liking you this much. He still vividly remembers the day that you two met for the first time. It was freshman year highschool, he got signed up for a role in the drama club at the time being thanks to Hyunjin and suddenly he saw you sitting alone in a corner, struggling over a piece of prop for the set.

Even when it’s the awkward phase, you took his breath right away like ‘whoosh’, leaving him utterly speechless when your eyes collide. From then on, you’re the ‘nothing’ that people ask him about whenever he looks like he’s spacing out. You’re the only thing that keeps lingering in his mind, impossible to forget. He finally understands why people are always so giddy about their crush because once you like someone, everything changes. Like how your smile seems to be even brighter than the Sun, how your goofy laugh feels like music to his ears, or how every little thing that you do affects him way too damn much. Woah, he understands why his group of friends said that he’s so whipped for you now.

Jisung doesn’t know what to think or what to feel anymore. He really doesn’t. He hates how you keep switching between ‘the Y/N who hates Jisung with passion’ and ‘the Y/N who genuinely worries about Jisung’. It drives him nuts not knowing how you really feel about him. Jisung swipes his index finger upwards and presses the ‘Airplane Mode’ button from the Control Center settings. He can’t afford having Chan or Minho screaming directly at his ears after when he ran away like that. Maybe he is childish after all.

“Han Jisung !”

Jisung snaps his head backwards to find you standing there, disheveled hair, hands supporting on your knees with a glint of fierceness in your eyes. With the dim source of light from the Moon, you’re glowing under all of the sentimental glory that leaves him completely flustered. He’s really predictable, he thinks. Of course you’d know that he would end up choosing the park where he used to hang out with Seungmin since kindergarten. It’s also where he bawled his eyes out after his first breakup, having you rub little circles on his back and tell him that everything’s gonna be alright.

“What are you doing here ?” He asks soullessly although his heart his yelling at him to fall into your embrace.

“I told you, didn’t I ?” You say, breaths growing more even by the seconds. “I’m coming for you, I don’t care if you’re gonna kick me out of your life because I’m not allowing that.”

Jisung snickers, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “You rain-checked on Choi Yeonjun just like that ? Aren’t you afraid that he’s gonna break up with you tomorrow after finding you that you’re rummaging through the entire city to look for me, an absolute bastard who never leaves well enough alone ?”

You shoot him a stern look, brows slightly furrowed. “You didn’t let me finish, how rude. I’m trying to prove a point, don’t you see ? If I really didn’t give two fucks about you then why would I be here ? If I was really dating Choi Yeonjun then I could have just stayed at home and cuddled with him until Hyunjin kicked him out of our apartment. It’s been almost three hours, Jisung. Three fucking hours. I was running from place to place like a psychopath, got lost on some random streets, just to find you. Yes, just for you.”

He squints his eyes at you skeptically. “And your point is ?”

“I care about you.” You don’t even need to consider anything at this point and that has Jisung’s jaw dropped to the ground. “I could never hate you, even if I do, I can’t hate you for the rest of my life for my own good. Even when you call me ‘little cub’ fifty times a day, even when you make me pay for your ride, even when we almost threw hands at each other during lunch break, my feelings for you never change. Not even one bit.” You state confidently, taking long strides towards him.

Jisung looks at you with a blank expression, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know Y/N. You’re a fucking hot mess. For all I know, you second-guessed most of your decisions in life. What if you decided to pull—“ That’s it, you’re not enduring his ‘what if’-s bullshit any longer.

Without a word, you grab Jisung by the collar and pull him flush against you. When your lips collide with his, it feels like you’re being sent to the Moon and back continuously. Sparks of joy, lust, and mixed emotions ignite inside his heart when you trace your tongue over his then it explodes like a firework that lights up the eerie darkness effortlessly. Jisung slowly gives in and melts into the kiss, his hands snaking around your waist to hold you closer, feeling your warmth radiating off on his flannels. You’re the first one to pull away, hands trailing behind the nape of his neck. “I can say that giving away my first kiss is enough to prove that the only thing I’ve never second-guessed was liking you.” You say breathlessly, trying to ignore the rouge on your cheeks.

“I am your first kiss ?” He widens his eyes slightly.

You scoff at him while trying to act casual. “Be grateful at least you brat.” Jisung chuckles softly at you, slightly taken aback at your bold action as the feeling of your lips on his chills him to the bones. “Point taken.” At that moment, you quickly realize how his warm brown eyes hold their own galaxy with the stars shining so brightly that makes your heart swell. At that moment, you also realize that Jisung is your Sun because his smile alone can light up the whole celestial sphere. Meanwhile you’re his Moon because no matter what happens, you’ll always be here to brighten him up on the darkest of days.

And you both know that as long as you have each other, you will forever be radiant.

938 notes · View notes

ghostsofmemories · 5 years ago

Text

Ocean in the Woods - Update #2

So, if you missed the first update or want a quick refresher (because it’s been over 3 months... wow), here’s the first update, which has a link to the WIP intro if you want to check that out.

Progress has been very slow, but hopefully now that I’m not in such a rut with a million things to do, it’ll move a little bit faster (no promises, though).

So basically, chapters 2, 3, and 4 are complete and I’ve worked my way up to 10k. It’s a little disappointing considering my original goal was 20k by the end of June and we’re already a few days into July and I only got halfway there, but I already knew that goal wasn’t realistic.

Chapter 2 is called Side Affects of Burnout and is sort of a bonding chapter between Arthur and his younger brother, Aiden. I like this chapter well enough, but I think I put this too early in the story and didn’t do enough to drive home the fact that Aiden and Arthur have a strained relationship before having them bond. However, I’m not all that worried about fixing that because no one is ever going to read this book. I was considering putting it on Wattpad in the beginning, but I’m actually perfectly content with, uh, not doing that.

With that said, here are some fun little excerpts from Side Affects of Burnout, featuring Lance’s intro to the plot (not very many of the excerpts are well-written, I kind of gave up on editing as I went a couple weeks ago and have some passes to do before I keep going):

I had Lance in my first period, and I knew he wouldn’t notice that something was off with me. Usually, he was pretty oblivious to the rest of the world (in a very well-intentioned way) unless someone told him something was going on. He was the odd one out in our group of friends: the only one who checked the typical boxes. Cis, straight, and white. The rest of us were oddballs in school, but Lance was the oddball in our hearts.

He was folding paper airplanes out of post-it notes when I walked into the classroom. His hair was sandy blonde, uncombed, and he was wearing cargo shorts with a Darth Vader t-shirt. I was almost positive he had seen a maximum of two Star Wars movies.

“Hey,” he said, “what’s up?”

“The usual,” I said. “Sky. Clouds. Trees.” I sat in my chair next to him. Mr. Nelson didn’t assign seats, but everyone always sat in the same place. We were drawn to routine.

“That’s good,” he said, nodding, “if the sky is still up, then the world’s doing alright.”

I started out the story with Lance being somewhat of a comic relief, but I think I’m already beginning to feel some tension building up in regards to everyone labeling him as oblivious and stupid. He’s really sweet and I think he notices a lot, but just doesn’t say much about it. Here’s another section where everyone quips at Lance for being a himbo:

“Afternoon, lady and gent,” he said, sitting across from Maya and nodding at each of us respectively.

“It’s actually 11:30am,” Maya said, stealing another fry from my plate. “Labels and time in general are useless if you refuse to use them correctly.”

“Smartass,” Lance said through a bite of his sandwich. “I was just trying to be nice.”

“And I was just trying to spare you the humiliation of realizing you were wrong on your own,” she said. She started bouncing her leg after she was done stealing my fries, not knowing how to do nothing.

“He wouldn’t’ve realized on his own, Maya,” Ollie said, setting their tray down across the table from mine. “He doesn’t wear a watch or check the time.”

Vanessa, as usual, wasn’t far behind. “Lance, can you even read the time?” She was joking, of course. We always joked with Lance that way.

“Of course I can,” he said, sitting up straighter, “I just choose not to.”

And now, some of the Big Sad with Aiden and Arthur:

But the silence wasn’t horrible. I didn’t ask him to give back the water bottle I’d handed him, and I didn’t ask him why he’d been crying, and I didn’t ask him how he was tired enough to fall asleep sitting up (I also didn’t ask him to move when his head ended up on my shoulder). I wanted to be a good brother. I didn’t always need to know the details.

I love them so much and I’m kind of desperate to explore their relationship more, but so far all this book is teaching me is that I do not know how to manage all these subplots alongside the major plot of killing a monster. I’m pretty sure this’ll be the last fantasy book I ever write. Here’s a snippet of a one-sided conversation while the boys are waiting for water to boil so they can make mac n cheese.

“Hey, you can talk to me,” I said, trying to be gentle and quiet without letting my voice get pitchy. He didn’t look up, but he nodded again, his face lost in his sweater sleeves.

It was different, seeing him like this. I was so used to the Aiden that was always either smiling or sarcastic. I probably hadn’t seen him sad since he was a little kid, scraping his knees on the driveway and losing the watch he got for Christmas. He would breathe fast and panicky back then, when something went wrong. Now his breathing was slow and controlled, albeit shaky.

So yeah. At the end of this chapter, Aiden sees a girl out the window (who is Ocean, but he doesn’t know it yet) and he goes to talk to her and bring her water, and we move on to Chapter 3: River Runner. In which Ocean basically guilt trips Arthur into helping her fight the monster she brought there.

“I wasn’t mad about you not understanding my problems,” she said, standing up to follow me. I ignored her and kept walking. “I was mad at you for just sitting there and not knowing what to do besides ask stupid questions. I’m mad because you know there’s something wrong and you don’t care.”

“Why should I care?” I asked, walking faster. She would follow me all the way back to my house if she wanted to. “I don’t even know what’s going on. I don’t know you and I don’t care, so handle this on your own.”

“I don’t know how to do it on my own!” she shouted, cutting around a tree and walking beside me. “I don’t exactly dedicate my life to putting myself in danger and fighting evil creatures and saving the world.”

“So why do you expect me to do it at a ten minute’s notice?”

“You’re impossible.”

“All of this,” I said between my teeth, stopping in my tracks and closing my eyes, “is impossible. You—I was never supposed to meet you. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me.”

“Well it did. And there’s no taking it back now,” she said, stepping toward me. I opened my eyes, then. She was right about my height, maybe a little bit taller than me. “There is no supposed to. There’s only did and didn’t, do and don’t. And you have to decide which one you’re going with, because there is a right answer. And if you choose the wrong one, I’ll find someone else. You’ll be the boy who did nothing.”

I didn’t like how she could twist words and use them to make me do things. I didn’t want to help, but I didn’t want to do nothing.

“Fine, then.”

Pretty much all of River Runner is these two idiots yelling at each other, minus the part where Ocean is trying to open a portal. I won’t be putting an excerpt of that because it’s still extremely messy and that scene needs to be rewritten.

I only just started Chapter 5: Her and the Sun, but I’m liking it so far. There’s a lot of Maya in this chapter, including another mini description of her. Maya might be my favorite character in the book, honestly. I’ll leave it to Arthur to explain why.

She was crazy in the best way a person can be, I think. Where my mom would call me a little over the place, Maya would be in a thousand places at once. She was everything and everywhere and she could be everyone, too, if she could be.

For almost as long as I could remember, Maya and I were partners in crime. She led us into dozens of disasters and got us out of each one, too. Like when she helped me shave my head after I told her I was trans (but before I told anyone else) and told my parents there was a huge wad of gum in my hair.

“Trust me,” she told my dad, fourteen with huge eyes and hair that could compete in size with anyone else’s in the neighborhood, “my sister tried to fix it and this is a huge improvement.”

Maya’s sister is a hairdresser, at the time, but she had no idea what we were up to. Maya was just so convincing that no one bothered to check in with anyone else.

So, that’s pretty much it. Not my greatest writing, but at this point any words are good words, you know?

Click here to buy cool stuff my friend and I designed, where 100% of the profits go to the Black Lives Matter organization!

Click here to read my most recent poem

Taglist (send an ask/message if you’d like to be added): @brooklyn-etc @coffeeandcalligraphy @my-lifes-one-big-critical-fail @kozyisa-tries-to-write

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thecleverdame · 6 years ago

Text

East of Nowhere - Year One

Sam x Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary: You and Sam are strangers trapped in a desolate mountain town where you live alone, isolated from the outside world, for five years.

Warnings: language, violence, smut, talk of past trauma

Words: 10k

Beta: ilikaicalie

This story is complete (44k) and available now on Patreon for a pledge of 2.50. >>CLICK HERE<<

YEAR ONE

Day One

The day is turning to night and the fireplace is your tiny sun for the evening, casting long shadows over the rug. The flames curl and sway, flicking this way and that, crackling as they burn the dry wood.

The sun is setting as you sit across from Sam in the empty lobby of the hotel. His knee keeps bouncing as he runs a hand over his mouth. He’s searching for the next step. You’ve spent the whole afternoon wandering aimlessly around this little town and have yet to find a working phone or another person.

“My brother will have realized something is wrong by now,” Sam offers, turning his hand palm up. “He’ll be looking for a way to find me or at least get in touch. He’s good at it, we’ll be ok.”

You get the distinct sense he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

“That’s great.” You’re apprehensive. “But, this is some real Twilight Zone level shit. If we can’t even find another human being, what makes you think he’ll even know where to start?”

“This is kinda what we do,” Sam’s eyebrows draw together, “We deal with things that are, ah, supernatural in nature.”

“Oh.” You nod agreeably. He awaits a response but you don’t really have one. You’ve always kind of believed in ghosts and now you’ve been transported to a ghost town in parts unknown; almost anything seems plausible. “So, what do we do?”

“Well, I think we need to hunker down for the night.” As if on cue, his stomach makes a gurgling sound. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m starving.” You’ve been too focused on current events to let your aching tummy control you, but now that he mentions it, you are starving.

“We have to go back the grocery store anyway. We need to get all the salt we can find, we’ll grab something to eat while we’re there.” Sam stands.

“Then what?” You hesitate before rising from your seat.

“We lock ourselves in a room and wait until morning. I don’t know what’s out there in the dark, but we’re not gonna wait around to find out.”

The two of you race across the darkening street just as the sun sets beyond the horizon in a blaze of ominous glory.

“Hurry up.” Sam impatiently ushers you through the unlocked glass doors of Tolliver’s Family Market. You scurry inside, staring at Sam as he pulls the doors shut behind you. “We gotta be quick. I’ll get the salt, you get food.”

“Why do we need salt?” you hiss.

“I’ll explain it to you once we get back to the room.”

“Okay.” You don’t have the energy to be your normal obstinate, inquisitive self.

Every item in the store has been carefully placed on the shelves, each piece of inventory fully stocked and seemly allocated with care. You look around for a basket or bag and end up pulling a small canvas backpack off the wall.

Food first. That’s what Sam told you to do. You’re not normally one to take orders, but these are extenuating circumstances. You dash down the aisles until you find what you’re looking for, stuffing a couple of boxes of granola bars, some jerky and two apples into the pack. You make your way to the cooler and grab two bottles of water. From there, it’s onto toiletries. Spying the travel section, you collect tiny bottles of shampoo, toothpaste, and deodorant. Finally, you come to the last row, finding neatly hung novelty t-shirts, sweatpants, and socks. You grab two of each, guessing Sam’s size, before dropping to your knees to stuff it in the bag.

“You ready?” Sam barrels around the corner, effectively scaring the shit out of you.

“Jesus Christ, give a girl some warning,” you pant, heart galloping in your chest. “I think I got everything.”

“Great.” He offers you a hand but doesn’t let go once you stand, instead he hauls you back to the hotel.

“Slow down a little,” you plead, jogging to keep up with him.

He doesn’t, just grips your hand tighter and as you scurry behind.

You scramble up the stairs and proceed to run smack into his back. He’s completely stopped in the hallway, looking from one room to the other.

“Be careful.” He throws you a critical glare. “In here, this room has two beds.”

You follow Sam inside, breathing a sigh of relief when he closes and bolts the door. Hovering on the edge of a bed you watch as he wedges a chair under the handle. He moves fast like he’s secured a room a million times before. He checks the lock on each window, before pulling the curtain shut.

“Help me with this part,” he beckons to you, after inspecting the bathroom. He takes out a box of table salt and hands it to you. “We’re going to make one long, unbroken line of salt around the perimeter of the room.”

“Why?” To say you're skeptical would be an understatement.

Sam takes a deep breath. “Can we talk and pour at the same time, please? What I’m about to say is going to sound crazy.”

“After today, nothing seems crazy to me.” You take the salt and begin to lay a thick line from the frame of the door, following the line of the wall.

“Okay, well, all this - I mean the town and us ending up here - it might be a demon. They can’t cross salt lines.” Sam glances over his shoulder to gage your reaction.

You stop for a moment, pursing your lips in thought. “You’re right, that is fucking crazy.”

“Look,” Sam scoffs, “you wanted to know and I’m telling you. I don’t have time to ease you into this. Demons are real, so is a lot of other stuff that would give you nightmares. The sooner you accept it, the sooner we can work on getting out of here.”

“Jeez.” You move closer to him, having worked your way around the room. “I’m doing the damn salt thing, aren’t I?”

“Sorry, it’s just, something like this happened to me before. It was a long time ago, but it didn’t end well.”

“When you say didn’t end well you mean…”

“People died.”

“So, you woke up in an abandoned town and demons were trying to kill people?”

“That’s the gist of it, but it was different. It doesn’t feel the same; that was a ghost town, literally. This place is fucking Pleasantville.”

“So...maybe not demons?”

Sam side-eyes you suspiciously, trying to determine if you’re making fun of him, but you’re not. You’re too tired, emotionally and physically, for that.

He makes his way around the room, checking the salt lines and gives a nod of approval. “Looks good.”

You dump the contents of your backpack onto your bed and tear open the box of granola bars, tossing one to Sam. You’re well aware that since you woke up in this place, you’ve been running on pure adrenaline. Once the initial shock wears off, you’re afraid you might have a breakdown.

There’s silence while you both eat, simultaneously lost in your own thoughts. You tell yourself you’re going to find a way out of this, that you have a whole life that doesn’t suddenly just disappear. Jack, your boyfriend, will realize something is really wrong. He’ll call your dad and they’ll have people searching for you by tomorrow.

Yeah, you’re going to be fine.

“Assuming we make it through the night, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” you ask, ripping open another fruit and nut bar.

Sam takes a long gulp of his water and looks from the covered window to you. “We get out of here. We find a car or a bike or we walk, but we get the hell out of dodge.”

“That sounds good to me.” You accept that he knows way more about this than you do. You may not be a hundred percent on board with the whole demon theory, but you’re astute enough to know there’s something otherworldly at play.

“You can try to get some sleep if you want. I’m gonna stay up, keep watch for a while and make sure everything is copacetic.” Sam moves to the other bed, stacking two pillows behind his back.

“You think it’s safe for me to take shower?” you ask. “We’ve been running around all day, I feel disgusting.”

“Sure, you should probably leave the door open.” You raise your eyebrows and Sam rolls his eyes at your reaction. “Not all the way, but just don’t latch it.”

“I won’t lock you out, scouts honor.” You hold up two fingers and a tired smile flashes across his face.

You’re thankful that this mystery town has hot water as you step under the showerhead and pop open a small bottle of shampoo. This has, hands down, been the strangest, scariest day of your life. There’s a part of you that’s thinking you’re going to wake up at any moment. This all seems like the plot of a Lifetime movie; trapped in a ghost town with a long-haired, well-toned, ghostbuster. Your tired feet and creeping headache assure you that this is definitely not a dream. How or why it’s happening you’re unsure, but at least you have Sam.

At least you're not alone.

You towel dry your hair and brush your teeth in the steamy bathroom before slipping on the sweats you took from Tolliver’s. Combing your fingers through your wet hair you pad back into the bedroom. “It’s your turn if you-”

You stopped mid-sentence to find that Sam’s asleep. His mouth is hanging open as his body lists to one side. You toy with the idea of waking him up, but it seems like if something really wants in, it’s gonna happen one way or another. You turn off the overhead light and crawl into the scratchy sheets.

Just as you’re beginning to think that you should stay up and take his watch, your eyelids fall heavy and you follow Sam into a dark, dreamless slumber.

Day Two

“Hey.” You feel a hand on your shoulder, shaking you awake.

This is typical Jack, trying to get you up for a run at some ungodly hour on a Saturday morning. You’re not interested.

“Jack, stop.” You push the heavy arm away, twisting in the sheets.

“Uh, it’s not Jack. Come on, Y/N, we have to get going.” Sam pulls the covers off your body and a rush of cool air forces your eyes to flutter open.

You get one look at Sam sitting the edge of the bed and you rub your hands over your face. “I was hoping yesterday was a dream,” you mutter as he hands you a small cup of stale hotel coffee.

“Sorry, we’re still here in the middle of it. Get dressed and we’ll try to get the hell out of here, huh?” Sam’s ready to go, he must have woken up a while ago. You have a sip of the coffee, it’s no Starbucks but it does the job.

“Yes, please.” You roll out of bed and make quick work of dressing. You pull on yesterday’s jeans and light sweater you arrived in. When you emerge from the bathroom, Sam is ready and waiting with the small backpack slung over his shoulder.

There’s a beat-up old Chevy Caprice back in the garage behind the bakery. Sam hotwires it, clenching his fists in joy when the engine rumbles to life. You’re suddenly nervous and sweaty, fidgeting as Sam pulls onto the main street, heading towards the signs reading: Thanks for visiting Shadow Hill. Come back and see us again soon!

You drive down the road, the car sputtering as you head out of town, venturing down a narrow paved road lined with tall, thick pine trees. Sam glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s wrong? This is good right?” You shift, looking to him.

“Yeah, it just, it seems too easy.” He comments hesitantly, looking in the rearview.

“We shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” You sit back in your seat, looking up over the trees to the looming mountain face that seems to be on all sides.

As if on cue, the all too familiar main street comes into view in front of you and Sam slows to a crawl. You’re both quiet as you creep past the sign that reads: Welcome to Shadow Hill. We hope you make your home with us!

“Sam.” You breathe, reaching for his arm and scooting closer to him. “We just came from here. I mean, we didn’t even make a loop. We’re coming back in the same way we left.”

“It looks that way,” he confirms looking in every direction as if expecting an answer to drop from the heavens.

“It’s not possible. How is this possible?” For the first time in your life, you don’t have anything else to say. Your heart starts to beat fast in your chest, that sweat you felt earlier now pouring from your forehead.

“It shouldn’t be possible, but it’s happening here, wherever we are.” Sam shifts the car into park and looks to you. “Hey, don’t freak out on me, we’re gonna figure this out. You ready to walk?”

“Yes, let’s go.” You follow him out of the driver’s side door and immediately begin power walking away from the sign, heading back out of town. Sam’s walk turns into a jog. You don’t complain as you trot behind him, happy to put some distance between you and mother fucking Shadow Hill.

It’s not even fifteen minutes later before the welcome sign appears again. The moment you see it you start to panic, truly fearful for the first time.

“Am I dreaming? What the fuck is happening?” Your breath starts to stutter, your whole body turns clammy and you feel the world spin as your legs give out, sinking toward the ground.

“Hey, hey, hey. I got you.” You feel Sam’s hand under your armpits as he catches you, lowering you down, crouching beside you. “There’s a reason this is happening and we just have to find out what it is. We’re going to get out of here, I promise.”

“You can’t promise me that. You don’t know what’s going on. We’re trapped here, I mean really trapped. Oh my God, my parents must be so worried right now.” You lay back on the asphalt, reaching out to either side as if it might ground you. There’s a fizzing in your brain, making you lightheaded. “I’m scared.”

Sam’s scared, too. He is scared out of his mind and starting to worry that this is more than a demonic prank. This place isn’t cursed, warded or guarded, it’s a completely self-contained reality, like a life-sized snow globe.

“No matter what happens, we’re here together. We’re going to take care of each other.” Sam grabs your shoulder, forcing you to pay attention. You let him pull you up into a sitting position. “You and me till the wheels fall off. Got it?”

“Yeah.” You nod, leaning forward, resting your head on his shoulder. You’d put money on the fact that he’s done this whole calm a girl down thing before, because he’s damn good at it.

After you’ve pulled yourself together, you make the short walk back into town. This time you’re in no hurry so you saunter, equally defeated, side by side.

“We should stop into the grocery store again, pick up a few more things,” he suggests as you approach Tolliver’s.

You shrug and meander behind him into the store. “I’m going to get some Power Bars or something. I can’t do any more granola and raisin.”

You grab a bag of chips from the end cap and pop open the bag, crunching as you walk. If you’re the only people here, might as well make your own rules. When you get to the aisle where you shopped yesterday, you freeze, doing a double take. “Sam!”

He’s skidding around the corner in two seconds, chest heaving and ready for a fight. “What’s wrong?”

“Look at this.” You point to the shelf. Sam stands beside you, tilting his head.

“What am I looking at?” He whispers.

“These boxes. Yesterday, I took two of that kind and one of the raspberry. Now, they’re stocked again, like I never removed anything.”

“Huh,” Sam trails off into his own thought, walking away from you. You follow him to the condiment section.

“The same thing with the salt, I must have taken five or six boxes and now it’s fully stocked.”

“This is good, right? Someone must’ve been here.” You’re only hopeful for a moment. The grimace on Sam’s face makes you feel sick. “You think someone’s fucking with us?”

“I don’t know. I think if we do have company, they’re doing more than playing a joke. Let’s check something else.”

Sam runs out of the store and toward the Pines Hotel. You sprint behind him, following blinding at this point.

When Sam pushes open the door to the room you shared the night before, the beds are freshly made, sheets pulled taught over the mattress. Even the trash you threw in the bin has vanished.

“What the hell…” you gawk, leaning on the door jam.

“This isn’t good.” Sam motions for you to come inside, locking the door behind you. “Why would anyone make the beds?”

Shadow Hill resets itself every day, at different times. This is an undeniable fact you come to understand after many sleepless nights of surveillance.

Crouching behind a potted plant, you clamp a hand over your mouth as you watch the magic happen. In the blink of an eye, every trash is empty, dirty plates magically appear clean back in the cupboard, and fresh food restocks in each business, restaurant, and home.

It’s old sorcery, something powerful that even Sam has trouble wrapping his head around.

Day Thirteen

“So, what are you going to make with all this stuff?” You look down at the list he carefully wrote out as you pull four wires out of a plastic tube labeled ‘2N 3904 NPN transistors’.

“We’re gonna make an EMF detector.” Sam’s disembodied voice explains from several aisles over. “They can detect electro-”

You cut him off before he can finish. You’re not a rube. “I know what an EMF detector is. I've watched more episodes of Ghost Adventures than I care to admit to.”

“Good, you get the basic idea. We need to know what we’re dealing with and we don’t have gear, so we’re gonna make our own.”

“And you can just do that? Make one of these things?” You add a coil of magnetic wire to your basket and bring it to Sam where’s he’s sitting at the counter. His tools are neatly laid out, he’s done this before.

“Every hardware store has the stuff to make one, you just have to know some basics. We’ll be out of here in no time.” He plugs in a soldering iron as you pull over a rickety stool from the cash register.

“You always make your own stuff?”

“We used to have to make everything ourselves. Ghost hunting is more fashionable these days, we get a lot of tech from Amazon, believe it or not.” Sam offers you a grin and gets down to work, attaching thin wires to a circuit board.

“And this is what you and your brother do - full time. Hunt ghosts and monsters?”

“Pretty much,” he shrugs.

“I’m going out a limb here, but I’m guessing there’s not big money in ghostbusting. How do you support yourselves?”

“We have a few unconventional methods,” Sam presses his tongue between his lips in concentration as he squints at the circuits and begins soldering. “By unconventional, I mean illegal.”

“I suppose you gotta do what you gotta do.” Chuckling you spin on the stool, legs dangling.

“What do you do?” Sam looks up, realizing for the first time that he really knows very little about you. With everything that’s been happening, small talk hasn’t been high on the list of priorities.

“I’m a high school science teacher, physics or chemistry, depending on the semester. ”

“No shit.” Sam laughs. There’s a look of genuine surprise on his face.

“What? I don’t look sciencey enough?” You gesture to yourself dramatically.

“No, you’re just younger and way more attractive than any teacher I ever had in school,” Sam comments, glancing up to catch your reaction.

You blush and so does he.

“I do have a high attendance rate,” you smirk.

“Did you always wanna be a teacher?”

“Hell no. I don’t even like kids that much,” you laugh. “I’m a botanist at heart. It’s all about the plants for this geek. My dream is to work in a museum. When I was a kid, I wanted to work in the botany department at the Smithsonian. But, life happens and you end up grading papers and handing out hall passes.”

“I was gonna be a lawyer, but that was over a decade ago. Now, I live in an underground bunker with my brother and perpetrate credit card fraud. Life’s funny that way.” Sam tucks his hair behind his ear, gesturing for you to pass him the batteries.

He switches a button and a little red light comes on. You clasp your hands together, genuinely dazzled. “Very impressive work.”

“Thanks.” Sam looks happy with himself. “Let’s see what we can find.”

You spend the better part of two days investigating every inch of each building, house, and shrub.

But there’s nothing.

Either Sam’s EMF skills are a little rusty or there’s nothing in Shadow Hill giving off ghostly vibes. It throws Sam for a loop, there’s a couple days where you can see that this turn has shaken him to the core, but he doesn’t wallow for long. And before you know it, you’re a sidekick in this real life mystery.

Day Twenty-Nine

Sam tries everything from witchcraft to Ouija boards, even a few things that you think he might just be making up.

He’s busy grinding herbs, reading from a ritual he wrote out for himself the night before. It’s taken the better part of four weeks. He’s drawn out, in painstaking detail, a design that you’ve been tasked with copying onto the floor. You drag the chalk slowly, connecting the final symbol and sit back on your heels.

“Tell me again what we’re doing?” You haven’t forgotten, but you need to hear him say it again.

“We’ve been over this a hundred times,” Sam sighs, brushing off his hands. “This is the most powerful summoning spell I know.”

“And we’re summoning...an angel?” You try to hide your disbelief.

“Yes.” Sam watches a skeptical look wash over your face. “Look, I know this sounds insane, but if we can send up a message, maybe Cas will be able to hear us.”

“Cas being an angel, that you’re friends with?” Sam raises his eyebrows in confirmation. You’re making an effort to believe him, you really are, but angels? It sounds too crazy. But then again, being trapped here would have sounded crazy to you a month ago. “Sorry, no more doubt. I’m all in, put me where you need me, Sam.”

“Over here.” He points to the ground. You move to the other side of the circle, watching as Sam lights the herbs on fire in the small, stone bowl. He pulls a knife out of his pocket and to your horror slices up his hand, dripping blood into the bowl.

He recites a series of phrases in Latin and the ground begins to rattle like an earthquake tremor. Sam reaches for you, pulling you beside him in anticipation of unknown events and then, suddenly, everything goes silent.

“Is that it?” You peak out of one eye, tucked under Sam’s arm.

“Yup.” He’s breathing heavy, trying to hold back an all too familiar look of disappointment.

“Did it work?” You question, as he wipes his bloody palm on his jeans.

“We’ll find out.”

Three Months

The Shadow Hill Library and Information Archive is a red brick, Victorian-looking building sitting self-important at the top of a hill. Sam pushes open the heavy swinging door and wanders into a room with a tiled chessboard floor and about fifty shelves fanning out from a central reception area.

You hate the library - the boring, mind numbing, lifeless library. You’ve spent too many hours in this fucking library, you want to pull your hair out every time Sam suggests going back.

There is row after row of neatly lined up books with their spines facing outward, colour coded with dots, the fiction section is arranged in alphabetical order. You meander past the young adult and children's sections with low shelves and floor cushions, to approach the more adult area with towering shelves rising high to the ceiling. The area Sam is looking for is unmarked, but surrounded by comfortable leather arm chairs and tables for quiet study. At first the muffled stillness of the place makes it hard to concentrate but you get used to it.

You’re lying on the long wood table, staring up at the ornate ceiling, sprawled out between musty books and the unorganized sea of Sam’s notes. If you’ve learned one thing over the past three months, it’s that he’s a machine when it comes to research.

Before meeting him, you considered yourself to be fairly intellectual. You wrote a couple of impressive research papers in college and enjoy a good book here and there. But Sam - Sam takes it to a whole new level. He has a laser focus that’s all-consuming.

Sam’s eyes shift to you, he’s been sneaking undetected glances for a while now. Your shirt is riding up and there’s a strip of exposed skin across your lower stomach that’s been distracting him for an hour. He thinks you probably feel as soft as you look; he even has a whole scenario in the back his mind about what it would feel like to touch you there for the first time.

You shimmy, pushing a notebook out of the way and he fakes enthrallment, turning an unread page.

This place is starting to give you cabin fever. It doesn’t help that he won’t let you out of his sight, it’s been close quarters for way too long. Every little thing he does is starting annoy you. You’d give anything to pee with the door shut all the way.

“I can’t do this.” Raising your arms straight over your chest, you clap your hands together.

“You aren’t actually doing anything.” His attention flickers up from his book. “I thought you were taking a nap.”

“Sorry, I can’t sit here all day and stay focused. All the mumbo jumbo in these books is running together. I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

“Well, first off you, you’re not sitting. You're lying down. Second, we’re looking for anything related to this place and how we got here. There’s gotta be something, an old wives tale or a bedtime story. We just haven’t found it yet.”

“I am really trying to pull my weight here, but I’m done for today. If I read another word, my brain is going to melt.”

“You haven’t even picked up a book,” Sam snips.

“And I’m not about to. I want to get out of here as bad you do, but I can’t function all cooped up like this. I’m dying here Sam, I’m withering away.” You dramatically, place the back of your hand to your forehead.

Sam rolls his eyes playfully, giving in. “Yeah okay, I could use a break.” He dog ears the page and closes the book. “Wanna take a walk?”

“Yes, God yes.” You roll up enthusiastically, swinging your legs to the ground. “Bet you can’t catch me.”

And you’re off.

Sam grins as you bounce down the steep stairs of the library, eager to be outside in the sun. His eyes settle on your ass, then up to the curve of your hips. His mind wanders for a moment before he pulls it back out of the gutter.

Shadow Hill may be a prison, but it’s a beautiful one.

He follows you, watching you head toward the small park at the center of town. It’s amazing to him that you manage to stay so upbeat despite everything that’s happened. You just wake up morning after morning with a smile on your face, roll up your sleeves, and dig right in. You told him once, months ago, ‘You can be a victim of the situation or you can get to the bottom of it and figure shit out. I’ve never been a victim.’

Sam’s glad that it’s you who ended up here with him, even if you drive him crazy.

It’s mid October. When you two first arrived here, the trees were clothed in green until just a few days ago, then all of a sudden there was a riot of colour. It was as if the season jumped into the park instead of fading in as it usually would and all was that more magnificent for doing so. Upon the soft mud are the acorns - from green to pale brown. The night air is getting colder every evening and soon the days will follow, winter is on it’s way.

Sam smiles as you turn to him, waving for him to join you at the swing set. “I’m too big for this thing, Y/N,” he laughs, trotting over to you.

“I know, but I need someone to push me.” You tease, kicking off the ground, swinging backward. Sam gives you a mighty push and you swing high, making your stomach flutter. A laugh of genuine amusement escapes your lips and he chuckles with you.

“Hold on, the last thing we need is you falling and breaking an arm.”

“I know what I’m doing! I used to be a playground professional back in elementary school.” You pump your legs, trying to go higher. This is what you needed, just a moment to forget about these fucked up circumstances. You both need a little levity.

“Let’s eat at the pub tonight, they have all the stuff for burgers. I’ll cook.”

“It’s a deal.” Sam smiles wide, going in for another push.

Six Months

“So, you’re telling me that werewolves, freaking real-life-howl-at-the-moon, claw-and-fangs, I’ll-eat-your-heart-out, werewolves really exist?” You raise an eyebrow, gesturing wildly with your beer.

You’re wrapped in a heavy blanket, sitting in a lawn chair on the roof of Anderson’s Toy shop, the tallest building in town.

This has become your new favorite place after Sam pulled you up here one night to see if there was better view of the town’s perimeter. He sure as hell found it. It’s getting colder but the view is worth it. Besides, after a few beers the chill fades away.

“Yup, one hundred percent real.” Sam’s face falls a little as he peels at the label on his bottle. Being alone with one person for this long brings out a brutal honesty in each other. “A long time ago I met girl, a woman, She was a werewolf and didn’t even know it. She was a good person and I-I had to fucking shoot her. It was awful.”

You watch him shift in his chair, readjusting his hips. You’re getting to know Sam’s body language pretty well. “You slept with her, huh?”

“I really liked her.” Sam avoids the question, shooting you a nod of his head. His eyes tick in your direction. “That was hard situation. One the of the worst. I’ve had to do a lot of shit I didn’t want to.”

“What about vampires?” You continue on for his sake, moving away from the murder of former lovers.

“Oh yeah, lots of them.” He muses.

“Thirty Days of Night or Edward Cullen vampires?”

“Definitely not Twilight. There’s nothing romantic about them...but they’re not all bad, like anything else I suppose,” he shrugs, shaking hair out of his face.

“This is unbelievable. Vampires are real and Sam Winchester knows who Edward Cullen is.” He glares at you, raising the bottle to his lips.

“I could tell you stories about some of the things Dean and I hunted that would blow your mind. Djinn, shapeshifters, witches….dragons.” He points at you for added effect, clearly enjoying the look on your face.

“Shut up, dragons?” You shake your head as he affirms his statement. “You’re shitting me.”

“I swear,” he chuckles placing a hand symbolically over his heart.

“So, it’s just you and your brother, hunting dragons and banging bar chicks, huh? Sounds like an 80’s movie.”

“I never said anything about bar chicks,” Sam smiles taking a swig of his beer. “It’s a lot of time on the road, shitty motels, bad pizza, heartburn. It’s isolating. You don’t really get the chance to have relationships or friends. But it’s the family business.”

“If it doesn't make you happy, then why do you do it?”

“Because someone has to.” He shrugs. “I tried to quit, more than once, actually. It took me several tries to realize that people die either way. If someone died because I wasn’t there to help, I couldn’t live with that. I have to try.”

You sigh, looking at him with a gentle affection which makes him rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say anything,” you wave your hands in mock defeat.

“You were about to.” He corrects you, grabbing another beer and twisting the cap off.

“Sam, you’re just...a good guy, a really good guy.” The light is fading now with the sun setting, but you can see the blush flourish in his cheeks.

Sam has the kind of face that stops women in their tracks. You guess he must get used to that, the sudden pause in a person's natural expression when they look his way, followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile. It doesn't help that he’s so modest with it; you imagine it made the girls fall for him all the more. Despite all the opportunities that undoubtedly came his way, you get the distinct impression that he’s a man who prizes the subtle details of a person and thoughtful conversation above lipstick and high-heels.

He’s handsome alright, but inside he’s also beautiful.

“Tell me about Jack,” Sam interjects, with a self-satisfied smirk. He knows it’s a topic that gets a rise out of you. There’s something slowly simmering between you and Sam, something neither of you are ready to acknowledge. “Jack, the high school drama teacher...”

“You just love to say that don’t you?” You swat at his arm while shifting in your chair to face him. “Jack is….up front, what you see is what you get. He’s kind and he thinks about other people. He’s a really handsome guy and a great teacher, he cares about the kids. He’s cheesy, he wrote me a poem for our six month anniversary.”

“A renaissance man,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

“I hate poetry,” you admit, laughing to yourself. “But, he was so damn proud of that God-awful poem that I had it framed.” You pause for a minute, recalling the moment. “Jack is a thoughtful guy, but he never took the time to really know me.” You hesitate, your thoughts morphing. “Sam, if I ask you a question, will you be totally honest with me?”

“Of course.” He sets down his bottle, face falling serious.

“Do you think we’re going to get out of here?”

Sam’s brow furrows as his fidgets. Every other time you’ve brought up the topic, he’s replied with a self-assured answer, but now he’s faltering. He sucks in a breath as if he’s getting ready to pull off the band aid, “I don’t know.”

“Me neither,” you mutter, tipping back your drink. “What do you think your brother’s doing right now?”

“Honestly?” Sam rubs the back of his neck. “Either he’s losing his mind trying to find me or he’s given up.” His voice grows quiet.

“I used to go to my parents’ house every Sunday for dinner. I babysat my niece, took her to soccer practice twice a week. It’s been half a year, by this time, us not being there is their new normal. Someone else does all the shit we used to do. I worry that maybe we’ll end up being just a memory.” You kick at the empty glass bottle near your feet.

Sam reaches over, his hand covering yours. He doesn’t say anything because honestly, there’s nothing to say. So, you sit in silence, hand in hand, as the moon rises over the horizon.

Eight Months

It’s at this moment, after the better of a year, that you go over the deep end. You jumped right into this real life mystery with Sam and held your own emotions at bay for the sake of keeping your own sanity, but now that facade is crumbling. You’ve made no progress and the once bright hope of getting out of this place seems less and less certain everyday.

You wake up early. Sam is still sleeping, belly down and open mouthed on the other bed. He’s snoring gently, somewhere deep and seemingly peaceful. You quietly dress, forgoing pants but finding a thick sweater and pair of his clean socks. Sneaking out of the room, you pad down to the lobby, where the ever-present roaring fire is crackling with life as snow falls outside.

The front bay window looking out onto main street reveals the likeness of an unfinished painting; so much of the canvas still perfectly white, as if waiting for the artists hand to return. The morning light struggles through the murky clouds and is losing the battle. The wind howls, piling snow in drifts, glazing the pane with ice-white dust.

Blustery winter mornings like this remind you of your dad and reading books in front of your grandmother’s fireplace. You wonder if you’ll ever see him again, ever hold his hand or hear him call you babygirl.

You have your full breakdown when you realize that you can’t remember Jack’s face. You have a vague idea of what he looks like, but you just can’t fill in the details anymore. They’ve become a silhouette, almost as if they walked out of a photograph and only left behind a black outline. There is an ache that comes and goes, always returning in quiet moments like this. You settle into the armchair closest to the fire, tucking your feet under you.

Your heart breaks. You grieve.

Eyes dripping with tears, your walls, the walls that hold you up and make you strong, simply collapse. Brick by brick, they fall in salty drops fall from your chin, drenching your shirt. Perhaps these tears will help wash the memories out. You press your head into your hands sobbing, crying out as your chest trembles and heaves with raw, painful emotion.

You cry for your mother and father who you know will have gone out of their minds looking for you. Family has always come first, they know you’d never just pick up and disappear by choice. After this long, they will only assume one thing, you’re dead. There’s no other reason for you to vanish without a trace.

Then there’s Jack. You’d been dating a little less than year, but the relationship progressed fast. You’re thirty and he’s a bit a older, old enough to not want to waste any more time. He was so serious about you, perhaps a little more than you wanted. You’re pretty sure he was going to propose and you’re fairly sure that you would have said yes. That was then, and then seems like a lifetime ago.

Now, all these thoughts rip at your insides as you grieve for a life that’s certainly moving on without you.

You don’t hear Sam come down the stairs until he startles you by placing a hand on your leg while dropping down to his knees in front of you. You blink with heavy tears trapped in your lashes. He’s still half asleep, his eyes heavy, hair wild and mussed. His mouth twists in displeasure at your pain.

He doesn't say anything, he just grabs your elbows, pulls you forward, wrapping two strong arms around you. It’s been so long since someone touched you like this. The feeling of his embrace combined with the comforting smell of a man hits you like a narcotic. You melt into him, pressing your nose into his neck while tears continue to fall. You weep, hands clutching at his shirt.

Sam holds you in silence until your despair recedes and your breathing is even and hot at the skin of his neck. His hand are moving in long, slow trails up and down your spine. You feel his touch moving from your back to your side, stroking as his palms catch at the hem of your sweater. His finger accidentally slips under, a simple mistake, just a quick touch of skin on skin that awakens something deeper.

Your breasts are crushed into his chest where you feel his pounding heartbeat. Taking a deep breath you inhale his scent. Your hand slides up his arm and shoulder, stopping to caress the base of his neck before combing your fingers into his hair, sliding over his scalp.

Sam draws a quick breath, pulling his head back just far enough to look up at you. Your raw eyes don’t leave his. He’s so close, you lean forward, your nose pressing into his, lips just a shy moment from connection.

One of his big hands moves from your side, cupping your face as his thumb trails along your jawline, then up, hooking your bottom lip under his finger. You lean in to kiss him and he moves back in tandem, sitting back on his haunches.

“We can’t,” he mutters, closing his eyes momentarily as if he’s trying to reset himself.

You wipe your hands through your hair then over your face, instantly embarrassed. The silly idea that he might want you the way you want him seems ludicrous.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you quip, scampering out of your chair and up the stairs.

“Y/N…” you hear Sam call after you, but you don’t stop.

You bound into the room, stripping quickly before stepping under the shower, where you sit down in the bottom of the tub under an unrelenting stream of hot water. You think about Sam and the way his hands felt on you. Your stomach twists in guilt as you remember how badly you wanted Sam to kiss you, to hold you and...well let’s just say you’ve thought about Sam doing a wide variety of things to you.

You don’t know it, but you’ll look back on this as the moment you let go of the life that came before and move forward, here with Sam.

Sam has dreams about you. Well, actually they’re nightmares.

He dreams you’re gone.

It’s always the same, he wakes up with his heart pounding in his chest, desperate to make sure you’re still there.

In these dreams Sam blinks awake in the dark of a bedroom, reaching for you out of habit. In his version of events, you should be in the bed next to him, sleeping peacefully with your sleep warm cheek pressed into the edge of his pillow, but you’re not. His hands fall on cold sheets.

This is when the panic starts.

He searches what should be the usual places, the bathroom, the lobby, the cafe across the street, but you’re nowhere to be found. He runs from building to building, calling your name. It’s dark and he doesn’t have a flashlight, so he stumbles and trips through the night as the desperation builds.

He finds himself on Miller’s Path, a bike trail that leads out of town, twisting deep in the thick, pine woods. Following the trail under the moonlight, his eyes adjust so that he can run faster...he knows this is the way you came. He can feel you.

He tumbles into a clearing and there you are. You turn to him, as your thin white nightgown billows in the winds, wrapping tight around your body. There’s a ball of white light growing in the air just above your head.

“What’s happening?” Sam asks, his eyes wide. “You shouldn’t be out here, not without me.”

“I’m sorry Sam,” your face falls, “but I’m leaving. They said I can go home, but I have to do it now.”

“But…” Sam stutters. “But, what about me? Can I come with you?”

You shake your head adamantly as if you’re explaining yourself to a child. “No, you have to stay. Only one of us can go and it’s me.”

A surge of confusion and fear rises in Sam, his chest feels too tight and he can’t breathe. He fights back the tears threatening to spill. This can’t be happening, you wouldn’t leave him. “If you go...I’ll be alone.”

“Yes, for a very long time, maybe forever,” you confirm, matter-of-factly.

“Y/N, please don’t leave me here.” He moves toward you and you step back in tandem, closer to the orb.

“I have to go, people are waiting for me.” You reach out toward the light and look back at him.

“Don’t.” He pleads, his arm outstretched. “Stay with me.”

“Why would I?” You shrug emotionless, turning from him and walking into the light.

There’s a blinding flash and when Sam blinks you’re gone and he’s alone in the clearing, in the town, in this place.

Eleven Months, One Week

You’re lying on your back with Sam beside you, sprawled out in the middle of the main street on a scratchy wool blanket. You squint through a handheld telescope, just two crazy kids in the middle of the road, stargazing and drinking scotch from the bottle.

“I think that’s a planet.” You hand him the lense, pointing to the general area of the sky that’s housing a large, orange light.

“Where?” Sam’s mouth falls open as he searches for your spot.

“To the right,” you reach over and push his wrist in the right direction. You’re careful to only touch his sleeve.

There’s been no skin-on-skin contact for a couple of months now, except for when you nearly fell down the steps at the hotel. Sam caught you by your forearm, nearly hissing. He’d shaken his hand as if you’d burned him - you don’t talk about those things. In fact, Sam goes out of his way to avoid acknowledging any of the feelings between you.

“I see it, I don’t think that’s a planet though. Probably just space junk.” He side eyes you, teasing and waiting to see if you’ll take the bait. He drops his shoulders and gives you an ‘I told you so’ face. “We should get some astronomy books from the library, see if we’re even looking at real stars.”

“You don’t think they’re real?” This kind of thought never occurs to you. You’ve reached a certain level of acceptance for this brave new world.

“I don’t know, it’s possible.” Sam sits up on his elbows, taking a swig from the bottle. His tolerance level puts yours to shame, but tonight he’s drunk. He makes a sour face and swallows. Shaking his head, he turns to look down at you, “I wanna ask you a question.”

“I don’t know if I like the sound of this,” you’re only half teasing. “It’s just you and me Winchester. I’m an open book.”

“This scar…” Sam reaches out and runs his fingers over the light scar just under your collarbone. You flinch from the contact, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Touching, or lack thereof is an unspoken rule ever since the almost kiss that created a steady, constant tension. “You rub it when you’re tired. How’d you get it?”

A line appears between your brows as you grimace. He’s delving into uncomfortable territory. He pulls his hand away and right on cue, your fingers replace his. “I, um…”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Sam drops his head bashfully and starts to stand. “It’s none of my business.”

“Sam, sit the fuck down.” You sigh, grabbing his elbow, pulling him back to the ground. He falls unceremoniously beside you with an oompf. “The short version is I dated a guy a while ago, Alex. I thought he was great but I was painfully wrong. We were together for a couple of years but we just...grew apart. I broke up with him and he didn’t take it very well. Actually, that’s being too generous, he went batshit crazy. After a whole series of crazy stalker shit, he broke into my apartment and tried to kill me. This scar is where he stabbed me.”

“Jesus,” Sam mutters, wiping a hand over his face in distress.

“One of the things you don’t know about me, Sam Winchester, is that you’re sitting next to the Willcome County Take Back The Night women’s self defense instructor. I might not be Chuck Norris, but I still broke his nose and kicked him hard enough in the nuts that he had to have surgery.”

Sam winces, involuntarily scrunching up his nose. “Good. You should’ve done more than that.”

“You might be right.” You agree. “It messed me up for a long time. It took the better part a decade to trust anyone like that again.”

“I woulda killed him.” Sam surprises you with that one, he doesn’t even try to hide the disgust in his voice. “I’ll never let anything like that happen to you.”

You roll onto your side, propping your head on a hand. You’ve known him long enough now to understand that Sam needs to protect people, it’s part of his DNA. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“You better.” When he’s been drinking he’s bossy, he likes to have the last word.

“Your turn. I want to ask you about something.” You scoot back up to get a better view of his face.

Sam gulps and looks down at you. “Okay.”

“Sometimes you talk in your sleep. You call out to people. It’s mostly Dean, but sometimes there are other names.”

“Who?” Sam looks back up at the stars, clenching his jaw.

“Sometimes Jess...and every once in a while Amelia.” His upper lip twitches as those names rattle out of your mouth.

“Oh.” Sam shifts onto his side, mirroring your position. “Really?”

“Yeah. Amelia not as much, but when you do say her name it doesn’t sound like it’s a good dream. I wonder about you, about Sam the guy, instead of Sam the hunter.” When he doesn’t answer, you give him an out, “you don’t have to tell me.”

“Y/N, sit the fuck down.” He repeats your earlier words with a sad smile. Despite the heaviness of the topic, he’s thoroughly enjoying the roll reversal. He never misses a chance to poke fun. “They were two very different people.”

Sam pauses and you think he’s struggling for words. In reality he’s wrestling with the idea that he’s had these feelings for three women in his life and he’s about to tell you about the other two.

“I met Jess in college and she was it for me. The moment I saw her, I knew I wanted to be with her. She was smart and beautiful, she saw so much good in me. She believed I could do or be anything and she taught me how to believe in myself. She called me out on my shit. She was a force of nature. In a different world, we would have gotten married and had a couple of kids.”

“What happened?”

“She died.” Sam purses his lips, studying the palm of his hand. “It was brutal, really violent, something no one should ever have to go through. She died because of me, ‘cause she was with me. It took me a long time to forgive myself for that. If I’m honest I don’t know if I ever really have.”

“God, Sam, I’m sorry.” You want to wrap your arms around him, hold him the way he did for you. But you can’t, not yet.

“And Amelia, she was...Dean was gone when I met her. I just wanted to be with someone, to make a connection. I forced something I should have left alone but in the end I left because it was the right thing to do. She wasn’t mixed up in any of this shit. Once you know about this world, you can’t opt out.”

“Did you love her?” You’re feeling bold tonight, but he’s offering answers to questions that have been burning a hole in your brain for months now.

“Yeah, I did.” Sam responds without hesitation, making eye contact with you and never looking away.

“So, what about now? Is there a woman waiting for you back home?”

“Now-” Sam shakes off the sentimentality as he grins at you, tipping back the bottle. He’s done talking and you’re not about to push further. “Now I have you. It’s safe to say at this point I’ve spent more time with you than any other women in my past, including my mom.”

“You know you’re right. I’m just now fully realizing what a lucky guy you are. I am wonderful company.” You take the bottle from him and take a sip, face souring when the burn hits your throat. “I mean, I smell good, I’m hilarious, I can cook, I can put up with the mess you leave in the bathroom every morning.”

“You’re a real gift.” Sam chides. He pats his thighs and looks around as if there could possibly be some new distraction. Nothing is ever new in Shadow Hill. “I’m done for. I have to go to bed before I end up spending the night out here.”

You follow his lead, standing and collecting the blanket.

As you wander back to the hotel, Sam wraps an arm around your shoulder. There’s been more physical contact tonight than you’ve had in months. There’s such a comfort in this closeness, that you lean into his side, soaking up as much as you can.

“What would I do with you?” He chimes, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist. He gives you a squeeze and your heart picks up a few beats.

“Crash and burn.”

His whole body tenses up, his arm going limp as he moves away. “Let’s go to bed. I need to sleep.”

One Year

“What’s going on?” At Sam’s request you’ve covered your eyes as he leads you by the hand across mainstreet. The bells rings as he opens the door of Anthony's Italian Cafe.

“You’ll find out, don’t peek. Be careful here, there’s a step.” He guides you through the maze of chair and tables.

“Don’t let me trip.”

“I won’t. Okay, you can take look now.” Sam taps your wrist and you open your eyes.

There’s a table set up by the kitchen, a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers in the center, flanked by dishes filled with wonderful looking foods. “What’s all this?”

“It’s our anniversary. One year in Shadow Hill.” Sam grins hesitantly, trying to gage your reaction. “I figured it could be a sad, dramatic thing or we could celebrate the fact that we made it this far.”

“Sam.” You drag out his name, digesting his words. A year. It’s been a whole year.

“Too much?” He offers when you don’t say anything else.

“No, not at all. It’s exactly what we need.” You let him pull out your chair for you and take a seat. “This is where you’ve been all day?”

“I have to warn you, I’m not the best cook, but I think we have my version of all your favorites here. Mussels, lasagna, caesar salad and garlic bread.” He proudly shows off his spread as you uncork the wine.

“This is very impressive and incredibly thoughtful.” You raise your glass, clinking it to his before taking the inaugural sip. Before the night is done, the two of you will finish three bottles and half a pan of lasagna, despite the taste.

You eat Sam’s bland Italian cooking and tell him how much you like it. By the time you get to dessert, two pieces of cheesecake he liberated from the Sweet Shop, you’re fairly drunk and thoroughly enjoying yourself. Sam’s telling you a story about Dean trying to do laundry that has you in stitches, laughing with honest amusement as he chuckles right along with you.

“I hope I get to meet Dean someday. I’d like to see the man behind these stories. I feel like you’re exaggerating.”

“Trust me, if anything, I’m downplaying it. If we ever get home, he’s the first person I’ll introduce you to.” Sam’s smile fades as he plays with the stem of his wine glass. “I’ve been thinking. I’m not giving up on finding a way out of here. I never will. But we can’t stop living either. I feel more and more like we’re treading water, in a perpetual state of limbo.”

“I know. Our lives remind me a goldfish I had when I was a kid,” you admit. If you’re honest you gave up on any chance of going home a long time ago. “What does that mean for you, to start living? Please tell me it means we can finally move out of the hotel and into one of the houses?”

“We can definitely do that.” Sam chews at his lip, before shifting his eyes to you. “I don’t know why it was the two of us that ended up here. I don’t know if there’s some grand plan or this is just random chaos. The one thing I do know is us. I have...certain feelings for you...and I think you feel the same way...” He looks to you, hoping for a confirmation.

“I do.” You answer softly, setting your glass down as he continues. There’s a nervous pressure pushing at your chest.

“It scares me. It’s just the two of us here and that makes this a tricky situation. If we fuck up what we have, if we try for something more and it doesn’t work out, we're stuck with each whether we like it or not.” Sam finishes his wine and pours himself another glass, avoiding your stare.

“That’s true.” You sit back in your seat trying to deduce where this is going to end up.

“It’s important that you know tonight, this dinner, wasn’t some grand romantic gesture. Tonight was about us as friends, Y/N. I haven’t...” he pauses as his voices shifts up an octave. “I haven’t ever had the chance to just be, to just talk to someone without hiding part of who I am or what I do. You accept every insane thing I tell you. I don’t know if it’s this place or if we’d have this connection outside of Shadow, but I’m thankful for this time with you.”

His voice trails off and you reach across the table, grabbing his forearm, squeezing. “It’s not just Shadow Hill, Sam. No matter what happens, we’re going to take care of each other.” You speak back to him the words he told you that second day, when you were crumbling and terrified. “Whether we’re here or back in the real world, we don’t change. It’s you and me.”

“‘Till the wheels come off.” He finishes.

This story is complete (44k) and available now on Patreon for a pledge of 2.50. >>CLICK HERE<<

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#East of nowhere #series #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfic

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cherrybracelets · 6 years ago

Text

Miracle - Part 3 (A Joe Mazzello x Reader Fic)

link to part 1

( warnings: swearing, pregnancy, mention of blood, hospitals, labor / word count : 3.1k )

(tag list : @joemazzelo @denimmay @mazzelloplots @mrsmazzello @borhapqueen92 @jiswoogannon @deakyspuff )

(note from me; this was originally supposed to be almost 10k words by the time i was done but i decided to split it in half so sorry for the cliff hanger but the next part is done so i’ll post sooner than usual!!!)

“Okay, what about chicken wings? Are babies feeling chicken wings?” Joe spoke into your large belly, holding various take out menus in his hands. You shook your head and let out a large sigh.

“No, no no.” You buried your face into your hands and felt your face getting hot. “I am so done being pregnant Joe. I want some tequila. And a god damn macchiato. I’m over it. I want them out.” Tears were flooding down your face, and Joe moved closer to you on the couch, wrapping an arm around your neck.

“Hey, babe, it’ll be okay. The C-Section is just two weeks away, now. It’ll be here before you know it. And I promise the minute they’re out of your uterus we will buy a giant bottle of Jose Cuervo and have ourselves a night!” Joe kissed the side of your cheek and you let out a slight laugh. You looked at your belly, and set a hand down slightly on it.

“Oh, babies. Mommy can’t wait to see you. I’m not mad at you, I’m just tired. Don’t take it the wrong way.” A few more tears fell from your cheeks, and Joe handed you a tissue to dry your face.

“They know you love them, don’t worry about that.” Joe smiled up at you, and began flipping through more take out menus. “We have to order food here soon, I’m starving momma, you have to tell me what you want. Anything you want.”

“The only thing that doesn’t make me want to completely die is that taco place. Do you think if I order fish tacos just this once it will be okay?” You pouted at Joe, who just shook his head slightly.

“Do you wanna risk it? I could call Dr. Maxwell if it’s really important to you, but everything I’ve read says-“

“FINE! Just get me whatever will be safe for the babies. And extra guac.” You rolled over on the couch and laid your head down, closing your eyes. How was it possible to be this tired all the time? And have to pee this much all the time? Joe squeezed your hand and went into the other room to call and order your food.

You rolled on your back and laid your feet up on the couch. Your ankles were swollen and you hadn’t shaved your legs in a weeks. And Joe, god bless him, was still so heart eyes in love with you. No matter how much you complained or cried or vomited. You even peed the bed once, a few weeks ago. He was just so in love with you. You didn’t get it, at all. You were a large blubbering disgusting mess. But you had his two babies inside of you. And you were the love of his life, according to him. He couldn’t want anything more than this.

You really didn’t deserve Joe. He did everything and more for you. And you were a lot to handle right now. He ran out in the middle of the night to get Dill Pickle chips for you. He painted your toenails, booked massages for you, cooked you dinner, divided up your medicine you had to take each day. He was nothing short of a perfect husband, and he would be nothing short of a perfect dad.

In all honest, you were terrified to have these babies. You wanted to be a mom, of course, but compared to Joe you weren’t even close to being a good parent. He knew everything, was so overly prepared. Every time he brought up a fact you didn’t know, or reminded you you had to buy something you had no idea about, you felt a little less and less like a parent.

You weren’t mad at him for being such a good dad. You knew he had wanted this since he was like 16. You just felt scared. And you didn’t want to tell Joe because you didn’t want him to think any less of you. So you talked to Ben. You and Ben had a standing phone date every Thursday at 3pm. Joe was always out for at least two hours then, it was when he had his “Dad Class” as he liked to call it. Ben was able to reassure you for a couple days that you would be the best mom in the world and the babies would love to have you. But the feelings would creep back in again, and you’d call Ben. And the cycle kept going.

Because the babies were scheduled to be here in two weeks, you began flying all your friends and family out to you who you wanted to be there. Ben was the first to join you. Since he was both yours and Joe’s best friend, you needed him here before anyone else. As much as you couldn’t wait to have your parents and siblings, and Joe’s family as well, you knew they’d drive you up the wall eventually, and needed a little R&R before you had to deal with that shit show.

Joe came back into the room, picking up your feet and sitting under them. He began to rub your ankles slightly, and you let out a sigh of relief. Fuck, he was good. You didn’t even have to ask.

“Food is ordered babe. Should be like 45 minutes, they said. Also, Ben will be here tomorrow. Do you wanna drive to the airport with me?”

“Absolutely not. I love Ben, but sitting in a car for an hour with no bathroom sounds dangerous. I’m not letting you see me pee myself a second time. I already have night mares about it happening before.” You laughed and Joe rolled his eyes at you.

“Babe, you’re carrying humans? Literally two people are inside of you. I don’t think you should be judging your body that hard right now. It’s doing something miraculous. That’s all I’m focused on. Pee away, sweet girl.” Joe laughed, and you kicked him slightly with your foot. You felt a baby shift inside of you, and sit directly on your bladder.

“Ugh! I had just gotten comfortable. Why do you enjoy torturing me so much?” You sat yourself up and waddled to the bathroom to pee. Getting up after sitting was probably one of the hardest things you had to do, so you always took an extra few minutes to just sit and relax on the toilet. When you finally decided it was time to get yourself back up, you wiped and your heart stopped. Blood. It wasn’t a lot, but it was blood. Blood that shouldn’t be there.

You quickly walked into the living room, your face white and your heart pounding. “Joe,” you whispered, looking at him gleefully sitting there on his phone.

“What’s yo babe?” He looked up at you and immediately noticed your face. He stood up and ran to you.

“I think I need to go to the hospital. There’s blood.” You looked down at your belly, and placed a hand on it slightly. It didn’t hurt, but you flinched a bit when you touched yourself.

“Okay... it’s okay. It’s probably nothing, (Y/N). Let’s get in the car and I’ll call Dr. Maxwell on the way over. Just breathe. We have two beautiful healthy babies. They’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Joe kissed you on the forehead and you nodded. He grabbed your ‘Emergency Hospital’ bag out of the closet, and took your hand. He had called his driver to come pick you up. He wanted to be with you the entire way and didn’t feel comfortable driving.

Once you got sat in the back seat of the car, Joe called your doctor and held your hand tight. Your driver was aware of your situation, and did not hesitate to drive a little faster than he legally should have. You stared at the back of the seat, almost in a bit of shock. You had come so far with your babies, you absolutely could not lose them.

“We’re headed there now, yeah,” you heard Joe mutter into the phone. You had been zoning in and out of the whole conversation, but listened in to that part. Joe was nervously biting his thumb nail and tapping his foot

“Okay, we’ll see you there. Should be about ten minutes.” Joe ended the call and looked up at you, smiling. “He’s already at the hospital with another patient, so he’ll be there when we get there. He said it shouldn’t be anything to worry about, since we were just there a week ago and everything looks fine. But we’re doing the right thing by going, just checking up.”

“Okay... okay,” you shivered a bit, and Joe instinctively put his arms around you. He laid his cheek against your head and rubbed your arms with his hands. He kept muttering ‘Everything will be ok’ and ‘We might just meet our kids a bit earlier than expected, and that’s totally okay’. His calming voice and demeanor helped you breath a bit steadier.

“We’re here.” The driver said to you, looking between the open space behind him. Joe smiled and thanked him.

“I’ll go get a wheelchair, stay here okay, don’t walk.” Joe hopped out of the car and slammed his door. You sat there, waiting, a sick feeling growing in your stomach. The sound of the door opening made you jump out of your dazed thoughts.

Joe grabbed your hand and helped you sit down on the chair. He wheeled you around and through the doors of the hospital.

“We’re here for Dr. Maxwell. The Mazzellos. He said he would tell you we were coming.” Joe spoke with a swift and intense tone of voice. He was scared, too. He didn’t act like it, but you could tell. And somehow that made you feel a bit better.

A nurse came out to greet you, and bring you back to a private room. Joe pushed your chair, following her down a few hallways. Eventually you got to a tiny, beige colored room. Ugh, you hated hospitals. So dull and boring. Made everything a thousand times worse.

“I’ll let Dr. Maxwell know you’re here. Get changed and get comfortable, there’s a call button on the side if you need anything. I’ll be back in a few,” the nurse smiled at you, and touched your arm lightly. Joe helped you stand up and change into a paper gown. You flopped onto the bed and under the covers.

“Do you feel okay? Does anything hurt?” Joe was playing with his fingers, a nervous habit he had had for as long as you were together.

“Not really. Maybe a bit of cramping, but I figured it was just pregnancy gas. My heart is a bit fluttery, too, I guess,” you sighed, and placed a finger to your wrist to feel your pulse. It felt fine, but what did you know about an irregular pulse.

Joe and you sat in silence for a bit, you laid your head back on the bed and closed your eyes. It could be a UTI, or a kidney stone. Maybe a bladder infection? All of those weren’t good signs, but they weren’t the babies, which was all you cared about.

“My favorite couple, how are you?” Dr. Maxwell burst through the door, his glasses down to the tip of his nose, carrying files in both hands.

“Well, considering where we are, we’re not doing too good,” Joe laughed a bit when he spoke, a quiet, nervous laugh.

“I’m sure everything is just fine. The very first thing I wanna do is get your blood pressure, and do an ultra sound to check up on our little friends. Once we do that, we can rule a lot of things out and figure out what’s going on here.” Dr. Maxwell smiled at both of you, and jotted a few things down in his files. The nurse from earlier came through the door with a blood pressure machine. Another nurse you hadn’t seen yet followed behind with an ultra sound.

“Can I have your arm, please?” The nurse asked. You stuck out your arm and rolled up your sleeve. The doctor and other nurse were on the opposite side of the bed, starting up the machine. The plastic cuff around your arm began to tighten, making you a bit uncomfortable. The nurse stared intently at the screen, waiting for the results.

“Doctor, the blood pressure is pretty high. Much higher than regular according to her charts,” the nurse reported to Dr. Maxwell. He looked over at the machine and squinted his eyes. He took a deep breath and looked down at his files again.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Go call Dr. Pieri, please.” The nurse nodded, and walked swiftly out of the room after detaching you from the machine.

“Is everything okay? That didn’t sound good.” Joe ran his hands through his hair, and leaned back in his chair.

“That’s not great, but it could mean a number of things. Let’s just look at the babies before we get nervous.” Dr. Maxwell lifted up your gown to reveal your swollen belly. The nurse squirted a bit of warm gel onto you, and Dr. Maxwell began to use the scope. He pushed down hard in certain areas, and it made you wince a bit. You saw the little blobs of baby on the screen. Although you really didn’t know how to read once of those things, they looked okay.

“You see that, right there,” Dr. Maxwell pointed to something on the screen, and the nurse looked intensely at it. She nodded at him and wrote something down in the file.

“See what?” Joe stood up and yelled a bit. He was letting his anxiety get the better of him now.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Just seems like one of your babies is ready to come out now and doesn’t wanna wait any longer.”

Your heart dropped as you looked over to Joe. He shook his head a few times and closed his eyes. You looked back at Dr. Maxwell, who was still looking at the ultrasound with intensity.

“Baby Boy here is pushing on the placenta a little bit harder than he should. It’s starting to rip a bit, which is why you saw a little blood. It’s not too bad yet, at all. But you need to get them out of you now before it causes more problems.” He set the scope of the machine down and faced you directly.

“I don’t understand... we were supposed to have two more weeks,” you felt your body shaking, and you looked at the screen trying to find a reason this was happening.

“Well, sometimes babies decide they didn’t like the date you chose. Especially multiples. But everything will be okay. They’re going to be a little more premature than I would like, but Dr. Pieri, the head of the NICU here, is amazing. He will make sure they’re getting the treatment they need.”

“Will they survive?” You had to ask. You couldn’t handle burying another baby. Everything seemed to be spiraling out of control right in front you. Two hours ago you were ordering tacos on your couch and now you were going to have two tiny babies who were supposed to stay inside of you. They needed more time to grow, your body had so much left to give them. You started crying, an ugly loud cry. You felt your heart beating faster.

“The chance of survival is extremely high. They’ll need to be here for a while but I don’t foresee any problems like that. I’ve been in this situation more times than you can count. Things will be okay.”

“I don’t know I’m ready to be a mom.” You looked up to Joe, who had a similar nervous look on his face.

“Well, I hate to tell you this, but it doesn’t seem like you have much of a choice,” Dr. Maxwell laughed, and patted your hand. “I’m gonna go book an OR. Stay put.” Dr. Maxwell and the nurse walked out of the room, discussing your files.

“Joey... I cant do this today. I was supposed to have two more weeks. I’m not ready to be a mom.”

“Of course you are, my love. You’re going to be the greatest mom in the entire world. You already are.” Joe kissed you on the forehead, and started to tear up a bit.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You placed your hand on Joe’s cheek and wiped away a tear from his cheek.

“I just can’t believe I’m going to be a dad today,” Joe smiled down at you and let out a small laugh. “I’m gonna be a dad. We’re gonna be parents.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Nothing will go wrong, I feel it. They’re strong little babies. They’re Mazzello babies. They’re gonna be totally okay.” Joe kissed your belly, and smiled up at you. Joe was so confident all the time, you didn’t know how he did it. He could say anything and instantly make you feel better.

Joe decided to call both of your families and Ben, letting them know the news. You could hear him excitedly telling everyone it was time for the babies. You took a deep breath and looked down on your belly.

“Alright guys, I guess it’s time for you to leave mommy. I’m gonna miss having you in me .... kind of,” you laughed a bit and took a deep breath. “I’m a little nervous to meet you. I hope you like me. I know you’ll like your dad. He’s amazing.”

“Alright, you guys, the OR is prepped. Is everyone ready?” Dr. Maxwell has changed into a pair of scrubs, nurses standing behind him.

“Okay, baby. It’s happening. We’re gonna have our babies.” Joe held your hand and kissed your lips.

Dr. Maxwell had you and Joe change into the appropriate OR attire. When you were ready, he wheeled you into the room with Joe following excitedly behind.

You laid on the bed, Joe sitting beside you squeezing your hand. You looked at all the doctors and nurses scrubbing in around you. Metal tools and IVs everywhere. Your heart began beating quickly and beats of sweat formed on your forehead.

“Ok, I’m gonna start to put you under anesthesia now, okay (Y/N)? You may begin to feel a bit loopy, but I promise you everything’s gonna be okay.” Dr. Maxwell had a nurse begin the place a mask over your face. You began to breathe in a gas, and everything went a bit fuzzy.

You focused on Joe’s face, zoning in and out. The room around you went out of focus, but Joe’s face didn’t change.

“We’re gonna be parents, Joey,” you murmured, and Joe smiled brightly at you.

“Yes we are!”

#bohemian rhapsody #borhap #joe mazzello #queen #joe mazzello fanfiction #joe mazzello x reader #taylorwrites #miracle #joe mazzello fluff

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camwritesbooks · 6 years ago

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↝ NANOWRIMO 2018 WRAP UP; Cursed Queen

Okay, so this is ten days late, I’m sorry. The past few days have been a much-needed chance to get back some energy and sort out my headspace. But here I am now to talk about how happy I am with how NaNoWriMo went this year! As some of you will know I set a goal of 20k words and didn’t *quite* make it (but that was a very specific choice made with my mental health in mind, I may add). However, I did get 18.5k, which is more than I’ve ever written for a WIP and the most I’ve got down in 2 years. My plan from now on is to attempt 10k a month and finish Cursed Queen by the middle of next year. I’m not sure that will happen, but I will try.

This November, I made some great strides with Cursed Queen and my WIPs in general. I sorted out the overall plot of the first book and fleshed out the main characters as well as creating some new ones! I’ve just fallen in love with my shiny new OCs including Sasha, Petro, Mira and more. I’ve also come to adore the villain, Kaliannisse, and all her evilness. I just can’t wait to keep writing more of her (including the novella I have planned that tells her backstory). Del and Merrin and Kieran have become so much more precious to me too.

Thank you to all those who have supported me, left comments on my NaNo updates and shown me and my blog love recently, especially during this past month. I doubt I would’ve managed to get this far without the continued kindness you guys give me. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Below the cut I’ve put the *entire* first chapter, not something I’d usually do, so uh... check that out if you want! I know it’s a bit shit, but it’s the start and I’m proud of it!

wip(s) page • characters • intro post • del & merrin edit

Read the (totally unrevised and kind of crappy) Chapter One below ↴

chapter one; Del

I can smell smoke. Somewhere in this forest, something is burning. There are a lot of things it could be. A lightning storm raging on the other side of the nearest hills might have set a flame, or perhaps some fire bubbled out of the earth in the valley. Either way, it’s not a good thing.

I follow the trail back around, skirting the cliffs. I have a slightly unsettling feeling that I’m not alone in the forest, except that’s impossible. Nobody ever comes up here. Still, I swear I can hear what sounds like bracken crunching under feet some distance behind me.

“Merrin?” I call into the forest. My brother is the only one who might be out here, though even he doesn’t know how to get to this side of the plateau. Besides, he’s busy preparing for this evening. There’s no reply – all I can hear is the faint rustlings of wind in the trees. I probably imagined the footsteps. My nerves are just high because of the council meeting tonight.

I pause, resting a hand on the stone cliff beside me. The smell of smoke is growing stronger. If there is a fire, it could be close. After a moment of hesitation, I break into a run. The trees melt into a blur of brown and grey around me as I follow the track I’ve followed so many times back to the village. Wind rushes through my shoulder-length curly hair. Scrambling over smooth stone, I cross the crevice that cuts the plateau in two. I run and run until I’m gasping for breath. I stumble out of the trees and onto the wide open land of the plateau. The edge of the cliff is within sight, and beyond it is the mountains – two great ranges coming down on either side and converging in the middle, all of it lit up by golden late-afternoon sun. From up here, they seem so surmountable. I look out behind me and in the far distance I can see a small plume of smoke rising above the rocks and trees. There must be a fire somewhere. It’ll probably burn out before sunset though, so I’m not really worried.

I follow the curve of the plateau, breathing in deeply as the wind buffets me. Everything is beautiful up here, in this moment. I can pretend that I’m not hungry and slightly ill and that the people down in our village are all slowly dying. From here, I can see all the world I’ve ever known – the mountains, the valley, the great cliffs of the plateau. I can try to imagine what lies beyond the snowy hills or behind me, on the other side of the cliffs. I have only ever seen desolate tundra in that direction, but I can’t believe that it goes on forever.

Two or three years ago, I discovered a way from the smaller part of the plateau – the part the rest of the village knows of – and the forest-covered stretch of rock and earth beyond it. A deep ravine between the two sections, but I found a place where the walls of the trench caved in and you can get across safely enough. I didn’t tell anyone about it because there was little over there worth gathering, so it didn’t seem unfair to keep it as my place. If I did speak of it, the village leaders might not even let me go there anymore, saying I was too weak and thin to make it anything but a danger to me.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to think forward to the rest of the day. The town council. The ceremony. I have a nasty sinking feeling in my stomach every time I think of it. Within a few hours, I will have nothing or everything. Merrin will have everything – the town leaders like him. But they never really liked me.

I climb down the crumbled part of the plateau cliff, following the path carved there by hundreds of journeys. From this side I can see my village with its dark-tiled roofs and great town hall in the centre. A part of me doesn’t want to go back tonight, and I’m almost thinking of just turning around until I spot Merrin standing at the base of the cliff, glaring at me. His arms are crossed.

“Hey,” I say sheepishly as I land on the flat ground.

“Where’ve you been? The council meeting is about to begin,” he says. I shrug. “I was… around. I couldn’t deal with everyone staring at me.”

“They were staring at me and Sasha too, and Lorrie and he’s not even a part of it! Father was worried about you – people were saying you weren’t even going to show up.”

I feel bad for considering doing just that. “Of course I was,” I say. “I couldn’t miss this.”

“You know nothing bad is going to happen, right?”

For you, no. The story’s very different for me. There isn’t honestly much between me and Merrin, but that’s not how the town leaders see it. Sasha’s their golden girl, but they love Merrin too. Who they don’t love, is me. I’m too thin, too sick, too slow. Anything I do right is never enough. Which is why tonight, at the town council, Merrin and Sasha will be made full citizens of the town – adults – and I won’t.

I follow Merrin back towards the village, lurking behind. The streets are empty, which tells me I’m later than I thought. Sasha is waiting for us outside the town hall. She doesn’t have anything to worry about, the town leaders like her.

“What took you so long?” she asks, grinning.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say, throwing up my hands. “I lost track of time.”

“No issue, nothing starts till we go in,” says Sasha.

Merrin gives my hand a quick squeeze. “Well, shall we?”

I enter alongside Sasha, tucking my hair behind my ears nervously. Sitting at the great table at the end of the room is the town council, the rest of the town crowded around in the hall. The town meeting happens once every moon but today will be a special one because the ceremony is happening today. Me, Sasha and Merrin. Next year it will be Lorrie and possibly me again, if I don’t pass today.

“Ah,” says Ren Bell-Lu, the leader of the town council, as we enter. “Here they are.” I don’t like Ren very much, he was never kind to me.

We follow Merrin to the front of the crowd and people move out of our way. Silence falls over everyone. My father meets my gaze as I pass him and I look away quickly, feeling a heaviness on my shoulders. I don’t want to disappoint him.

Ren leans forward as we arrive before the table, smiling. “Sasha, Merrin and… Del,” he says, disapproval on his face as he says my name. “You are brought before the council today to be judged. You have all reached the age of eighteen and are now given the chance to be full citizens of the town. Are you ready?”

The three of us nod.

Ren raises his hand, making the sign of our village – palm facing the sky; middle, ring and pinky finger together and index finger curled up to meet the thumb. “Then, we shall begin. Merrin, step forward.” My brother steps out from beside Sasha, hand on his heart. “Merrin, do you accept the responsibilities of adulthood and swear to uphold the traditions of this town, forever and always until your death?”

My brother grins as he speaks. “I do.”

“Do you stand by your name?”

“I do.”

Ren dips his head and Merrin returns the gesture, stepping back into line with Sasha and me. My hands are shaking as Ren’s gaze moves to Sasha.

“Sasha, step forward.” Sasha moves towards the table, her long blonde hair swishing. “Do you, Sasha, accept the responsibilities of adulthood and swear to uphold the traditions of this town, forever and always until your death?”

Sasha’s eyes sparkle. “I do,” she says solemnly.

“Do you stand by your name?”

“From this day forth, I wish to be Sasha Blue, if you will grant it,” Sasha says. A flurry of whispers rushes around the room. I can’t remember a time in my life where someone requested another name. Of course it would be Sasha. I suppose she deserves it.

Ren looks surprised but recovers quickly. “Due to invaluable service past, present and future, we grant you this name. You are now Sasha Blue.” He and Sasha nod to each other before she steps back into line.

Ren’s gaze moves to me and I feel my cheeks burning. “Del,” he says tightly with none of the respect he showed Sasha. “Although you have proven herself to be a competent member of this town, we do not believe you are yet ready to be a full citizen.” I cringe. “I’m sure,” he continues, “by next season, you will be successful.”

But you hope I won’t be. Horror and shame melts over me. I can’t bear to look at Merrin or my father, fighting to keep the tears out of my eyes. I saw it coming, but some part of me didn’t want to believe it.

Ren looks away from me as if I never even existed. He starts going on about the crop yield this month and I try to merge back into the crowd.

Sasha follows me, furious. “How can they do that?” she hisses. “It’s completely unfair!” “Yeah,” I say dejectedly, staring at the floor.

“I wouldn’t have taken another name if I knew they were going to do that to you,” she whispers. I shake my head. “No, you deserve it. It’s a lovely name.”

Ren seems to have stopped talking and chatter begins to sprout up around us. “Thanks,” Sasha says, “I’m glad you like it.”

“How did you choose it?” I ask, trying to direct the conversation away from me. I just want to pretend that none of what just happened took place.

She shrugs. “It’s not that deep, I just like the colour blue.”

Liz Bell-Lu, Ren’s wife, appears at Sasha’s side, who happens to be her niece. Like Ren, Liz was one of the lucky few people who received a second name. Ren Bell and Liz Lu married several years ago and have ruled this town ever since.

“Ah, Sasha, congratulations on the name!” she says in her usual simpering tone. “Del, I’m sure it’ll be your turn next time.”

I do my best to force a smile.

“All you need,” Liz continues, “is just to put on a bit of weight, dearest. You are such a skinny little thing.”

Sasha looks embarrassed but I shake my head at her. The last thing I need is to be on Liz Bell-Lu’s bad side.

“Well, we’ll see,” I reply with as much charm as I can muster.

“Your mother was quite the same, if I remember correctly,” Liz goes on, completely unaware of herself. “Thin as sticks and always rather ill. I’m surprised she lived long enough to bear a child!” She laughs as if making fun of my dead mother is somehow an appropriate thing to do. Sasha grabs my arm and drags me away with a hasty, “Let’s go talk to Merrin!” We make our way across the room. “I’m so sorry for my aunt,” she says once we’re out of Liz’s hearing.

“It’s okay,” I say.

“It isn’t, though. Nothing tonight is okay.” Sasha sends a death-glare in the direction of Ren, who’s speaking with another member of the town council.

I sigh. “Look, I’m sure they’re right and next year I’ll join you and Merrin as full citizens. It just wasn’t going to happen this year.”

“Excuse me everyone!” calls out a voice and the room falls silent. Standing on the elevated platform before the town council table is Vrin, the oldest person in our village. He’s one of the most knowledgeable people in the town and spends his days transcribing old texts and tutoring children. He taught me how to read and write which I’m decent at, but he also showed me healing herbs and survival which I took to immediately. He taught Merrin and Sasha too, though unlike nearly every adult I know, he always liked me best.

“My good friends,” he says, raising his arms. “It is with the greatest joy that I announce to you that I have finally completed the translation of the old books.”

The crowd applauds – this has been Vran’s project for years.

“Aha, thank you,” Vran says, smiling, “but that is not all I have to say. I discovered in the texts the existence of another town – a city – beyond the mountains to the north.”

What? A heavy silence falls across the room.

“I will read to you the passage, if I may,” Vran continues, squinting down at some papers he holds. “We passed by the city of Veneficia on our journey into the continent. We were greeted warmly by the High Empress, who provided us all with rich meals and supplies for the road. This place is heavenly – the streets are lined with strange shops and market stalls. The people here are endlessly kind to us and I am honestly sorry that we must leave soon. I hope one day we shall return. The city is located at the west end of the mountains ranges and we aim to move only eastwards from now on.” Vran looks up, clearly delighted with the effect he has had on the room. “That is the final entry in the book we found underneath the floor of this very hall. Somewhere, only weeks away, is a city of people who could help our town,” he continues, punctuating each word. Whispers start up throughout the crowd.

“You think it’s true?” Sasha murmurs to me.

“I don’t know, Vrin’s pretty smart so I can’t imagine he’d get this wrong,” I say, not taking my eyes off the stage. I’m grateful to Vrin for finishing his translations coincidentally at this time to take the focus off me. Besides, this is the first time our town has had something actually newsworthy to talk about.

Ren steps back up onto the stage, raising his hands for silence. “Vran and I have spoken extensively on this matter and we agree that while our town is one of beauty and tradition, we would do well to remember that a hard winter is on the horizon. If we can find this city, it might be of great advantage to us. Before I continue, are there any questions?”

“Who wrote the book?” calls out someone.

“Someone who was a part of a group travelling in these parts. We know very little of them, but they are a trustworthy source,” Vran answers.

“How do we know this city is still around, if it’s even there in the first place?” asks Kit, who’s a few years older than us.

Ren and Vran share a quick look. “We don’t,” says Ren, “but if it is, the resources there could save lives. We will not be abandoning our home here, only looking for some stability. We will be sending around 7 or 8 members of the town on a journey to find the city. And that is why we’re here today.” His eyes scan the crowd and rest on me for an uncomfortably long time. “Em will be leading the group and will take Orla and Gram with her. Petro too will go.”

I look around to spot the people he mentioned. Em leans against a table, grinning, her lackeys Orla and Gram standing to the side. Petro is expressionless, standing in a corner with his arms crossed. I’m not surprised they chose Em, she’s one of the most respected young people in the town. Petro is a bit of a strange choice, but maybe he put himself forward.

“As for the other places in the group,” Ren continues, his voice hardening, “there will be some places for volunteers. However, I think it only fair that people get the chance to prove themselves after past failures.” He looks at me. “For this reason, the fourth member will be Del.”

My heart stops.

Thanks for reading! I hope you all have a good day and a fulfilling 2019. The future is bright <3

#thank you all again!#and sorry for the crappiness and unedited-ness of the chapter #nanowrimo 2018 #nano update #cursed queen #del #merrin #<3 #queue

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agreatperhaps12 · 7 years ago

Text

First 10k of the *WIP* MadUndergradScientist!Hamilton AU

“Here’s the thing,” Angelica said, as soon as John had taken the seat across her desk.

This, John thought, did not bode well. ‘Here’s the thing’ was an ease-your-way-into-the-conversation phrase if he’d ever heard one, and Angelica Schuyler didn’t get to be an editor in chief by mincing her words.

“I have your assignment for this semester’s feature,” Angelica said.

John cast his eyes down on the closed lid of his laptop, as though he could see through to the screen where, just moments before Angelica called him into her office, he’d been dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s of three feature pitches in preparation for the first editorial meeting of fall semester. “Okay,” he said slowly, ignoring the twinge of indignation in his gut, because it wasn’t like Angelica to assign her senior writers stories. She must be dead set on whatever she had in mind. “What is it?”

“A profile.”

John frowned. The student magazine occasionally ran short student profiles, but John didn’t know of anyone who’d ever merited a two-thousand-worder. “Who?”

Angelica plucked a pen from the cup next to her desktop keyboard and twirled it between her fingers—a tense tic John had only ever seen her exhibit on the eve of press days. “Alexander Hamilton.”

She fixed John with a querying look, as though this name might mean something to him. It did not. John did a head-shake-plus-shrug.

“Hamilton’s a senior in the neuroscience department,” Angelica said. “You can see him pictured in a few of the banner photos on the university site. He’s supposedly some sort of undergrad superstar.”

John flipped open his laptop and Googled the name. Sure enough, the first result was a page listing Alexander Hamilton among the members of the Washington Group in the neuro department. Hamilton’s icon showed a boy with doe-big brown eyes, dark hair pulled back in a painfully tight knot, and a deadpan expression. The brief profile didn’t tell John much more than Angelica already had: same year as John, neuroscience major, involved in research on “neural plasticity in the visual cortex.” Whatever that meant.

“Apparently, he’s coauthor on some soon-to-be-published paper, which he’ll present at a conference in a couple months,” Angelica said. “And apparently, it’s a pretty big deal.” Angelica lifted her hands, palms up, as though to say that the logistics of scientific academia were just one of the great mysteries of the universe she couldn’t be bothered to fully understand.

“How did you hear about him?” John said, copying Hamilton’s information from the school site into a Word document and returning to Google. A cursory scroll through the first page of results turned up LinkedIn and ResearchGate profiles, but no social media accounts. Odd.

“Eliza,” Angelica said. “Hamilton came into the Writing Center during one of her late-night shifts sometime last year, all worked up about getting a draft of this research paper in good enough shape to show his…lab manager, or whoever—”

“His PI,” John corrected unthinkingly, as he scanned the fifth page of Google, which still held no sign of a non-professional web presence for Alexander Hamilton.

“His what?”

John glanced up. “His PI, like, principal investigator? Washington. The one who leads the research group.”

Angelica blinked. “Why do you know that?”

John shrugged, not much in the mood to discuss his own principal investigator of a father, who could never understand why John would deign to do something like journalism, why he couldn’t be more like Henry, whose graduate research on molecular machinery actually made all that undergraduate tuition a worthwhile investment—

“Anyway,” Angelica said, “the first draft of that manuscript must have been truly awful, because he kept coming back for Eliza’s help for months, and you know Eliza. Never one to leave a stray out in the cold.” Angelica rolled her eyes, albeit fondly. “So now the paper is actually slotted for publication in…” Angelica checked her computer. “…Nature Neuroscience. He’s presenting the work at a Society for Neuroscience meeting in November, Eliza says.”

John quirked an eyebrow. “Did you say his paper is coming out in Nature?”

“Nature Neuroscience,” Angelica corrected. “Why?”

“Because it’s—” John stopped himself just in time from saying “high impact.” That would have made John sound like his father, and that would have made John hate himself a little bit. “It’s a pretty well known publication.”

John switched over to Google Scholar and found Alexander Hamilton’s name tacked on to some half-dozen publications since 2014. He whistled.

“Glad you find your subject suitably impressive,” Angelica said with a wry smile. “This piece should be an interesting new challenge, given the, ah, science-y angle.”

This was true. John had showcased club service trips, investigated frat expulsions from campus for brutal hazing rituals, spotlighted a group of students who attended the Women’s March on Washington—but nothing, as Angelica put it, remotely “science-y.” Which, John thought, a prickle of excitement in his stomach, actually injected a new kind of thrill into the work. Maybe he’d finally produce a piece that even his quantum physicist father would deem substantive (compared to “all that teenage fluff” John usually wasted his time on).

“The thing is,” Angelica said, and John could tell they’d reached the crux of her initial reticence to assign this story, “Eliza says Hamilton can be a piece of work.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Piece of work” was basically Eliza for “total dickhead.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Angelica confirmed gravely. “She’s come home a fair few nights ranting about his ego, his stubbornness, his neuroticism.” Angelica waved her hand in an et cetera gesture.

“I can handle it,” John said easily. Egoists typically made the best interviewees; it was the self-conscious ones with whom extracting quotes was like pulling teeth. And John could practically list “tolerating intolerably stubborn people” on his résumé, after living with his father and brother for eighteen years. As for neuroticism, there was plenty of that to go around right here in the newsroom.

Did Angelica really think so little of John that she didn’t think he could handle a difficult subject? He’d managed to wring several good quotes out of tight-lipped administrators when the Kappas had gotten booted off campus. That had taken a good amount of grit. Why was she babying him about this?

Something of John’s stung ego must have shown on his face, because Angelica shrugged. “A five-page spread on this guy is going to require a lot of interviews and observation days. I want you to attend this conference in November, too, since it’s only a two-hour train to D.C.”

She eyed John a moment longer, and her expression softened. “Look, you’re a thorough reporter and the best writer we’ve got on staff,” Angelica said matter-of-factly. “The nuts and bolts of his research are going to get tricky. I wouldn’t entrust the story to anyone else.” She paused. “But you’re also a Nice Guy, John, and I don’t want you getting steamrolled.”

That, John thought, may have been the sweetest thing Angelica had ever said to him.

“If I can’t wrangle a difficult source, then I’m probably not cut out for journalism,” John said.

“He gets a rise out of Eliza, John.”

Point taken. Still. John stood up before Angelica could keep piling on more reasons for him to be apprehensive. It was going to be fine. “First draft deadline?” he said promptly.

Angelica spun her chair to inspect the calendar tacked on her back wall. “First draft…Let’s say, first of October. No offense, but if this piece is going to have a bunch of science-y stuff in it, I expect revisions to get hairy. We’ll want to have something solid by the time you get the conference news hook in mid-November, so we can go to press the next week. Okay?”

“Okay,” John agreed, hovering by the door. “Oh, and Angelica?”

“Hmm?” Angelica hummed around the pen cap in her mouth as she scribbled John’s deadline on the calendar.

“So you know, for when you’re editing, the technical word for ‘science-y is ‘scientific.’”

Angelica twisted around to fix him with a flat look, but John saw the corner of her mouth twitch. “John?”

“Hmm?”

“Close the door on your way out.”

John grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

Outside Angelica’s office, the student newsroom was uncharacteristically quiet for a Wednesday afternoon. Only a few of the people who seemed to reside there from September to May were scattered about: Lafayette in the digital editing corner, dual screens illuminating his face blue, Peggy lip-syncing whatever was playing in her earbuds as she stocked the printer, Aaron hunched over his copy chief desk, doing god only knew what, since there was no copy to edit yet.

Granted, it was only the first week of classes. The inaugural editorial meeting of the school year wouldn’t take place until Friday afternoon—complete with pizza to bribe everyone into attending. There was no real reason for any of them to be here, yet, except perhaps Angelica, who also needed to prepare for her first meeting with the student newspaper staff, for which she was the campus life section editor (and who John knew to have a rolled-up sleeping bag tucked under her desk).

Still, to see the newsroom—usually thrumming with deadline-driven energy—so empty traced a tickle up the back of John’s neck.

John rolled his shoulders and wove his way through the maze of cubicles to Lafayette, who was so transfixed with his work that he didn’t appear to notice John’s approach. It wasn’t until John stopped up short in front of Lafayette’s desk, reached an arm over one of his monitors, and waved his hand back and forth across the screen that Laf jolted back and looked up—glare melting into a grin when he saw it was John.

Lafayette pulled his enormous headphones down around his neck so that John could hear Hannah Montana’s “Nobody’s Perfect” blaring through. It was probably a sign that John and Lafayette spent too much time together—or too much time working on the magazine—that John knew the next song on Laf’s “Frantic Photoshopping” playlist was “Chop Suey,” followed by “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.”

“Salut,” Lafayette said cheerfully. “How was your meeting?”

John, still a bit put out by Angelica’s apparent lack of faith in him, said, “Fine.” He was aiming for airy, but must not have quite hit the mark, because Lafayette’s brow furrowed. “What are you working on?” John said quickly before Laf could ask any more questions. Lafayette couldn’t possibly have magazine work yet. John bent over his screen to get an upside-down glimpse of what he was editing. A flyer of some sort.

“Herc is helming bio club this year,” Lafayette said, “so he asked me to design some meeting advertisements for the student center.”

Ah, of course. Lafayette would do just about anything for Herc, his randomly assigned freshman roommate and effective other-half ever since. They were about as inseparable as two people could be, when one lived in the communications building on the eastern edge of campus and the other hardly left the bio building on the west side.

“I thought Herc had decided not to do that,” John said. He distinctly recalled Hercules announcing last spring—when the then-president of bio club was pestering him relentlessly to take her place once she’d graduated—that he’d sooner declare himself a Flat Earther than assume any more extracurricular responsibilities for the fall. He was already captain of intramural ultimate frisbee and team leader for a contingent of RAs (in the freshman neighborhood of campus, no less).

“Oh, you know Herc,” Lafayette said, eyes back on his computer screen, rolling his earlobe between his left forefinger and thumb—his version of the Angelica pen-twirl. “Quand le service appelle…”

It was times like these that John especially resented his father forcing him to drop French sophomore year of high school to pick up AP statistics. He simply nodded as though he understood and agreed; John had learned early on that if he asked Lafayette for translation every time Laf unthinkingly slipped into French, most of their conversations would progress like a car in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Herc must be nearly fluent by now, John thought.

Laf deftly traced his cursor along the edge of a cartoon cell to carve away the image’s background. “I’m actually meeting Herc for dinner in—” He lifted his eyes to the clock on the upper corner of his screen. “—Fifteen minutes, if you want to join.”

“Sure.” John hadn’t actually seen Hercules since he’d been back at school.

“Fantastic. Let me just finish this,” Lafayette said, eyes on his editing.

John set up shop with his own computer at the cubicle next to Laf’s and opened a new email. Dear Alexander, he wrote, paused, then backspaced the name.

It was tricky business, addressing student interviewees. John never knew how formal to make his first emails. Of course, Alexander Hamilton must be around John’s age, so it wouldn’t be a total faux pas for John to pull a “Dear First Name,” here. But if Angelica was right about Eliza being right about Hamilton’s overinflated ego, then lacing his first email with a bit of flattery probably couldn’t hurt.

Besides, the memory of Hamilton’s straight-laced lab profile picture gave John the impression that it was probably best to err on the side of professionalism.

Dear Mr. Hamilton,

I’m a reporter for the student semesterly magazine, and I’m writing an exposé about you and your work. The story will have a particular focus on the research you will present at the Society for Neuroscience conference later this fall.

My first-draft deadline is October 1. I would like to schedule a preliminary meeting with you to arrange interviews on days that I could shadow you in the lab. I’m available any afternoon this coming week, from Monday, September 4 to Thursday, September 7, after 4 p.m. If any of those windows matches your availability, please let me know the best time and place to meet you. If not, please suggest a couple alternatives that suit your schedule.

Thanks very much for your time. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely, John Laurens

Sent. John snapped his laptop shut. Now all he had to do was wait.

And wait, and wait, and wait, apparently, because the rest of the week passed with no word from John’s interviewee-to-be. Each time he opened his inbox, John’s scanned the cache of new emails for the name “Hamilton,” and his stomach did an uncomfortable flip each time he found nothing.

John usually liked to give his sources several days’ leeway on getting back to him. Especially amidst the flurry of first-week-back activity, he could understand how his email may have gotten lost in Hamilton’s inbox. But at Friday’s editorial meeting, when Angelica asked how his reporting was going—with a look, like she knew John was spinning his tires—the words that tumbled out of John’s mouth were, “Great. Got an interview lined up for next week.”

The buoying sensation of satisfaction that momentarily swelled in his chest at Angelica’s impressed expression deflated just as quickly when the snide voice in the back of his mind (which sounded an awful lot like John’s father) said, Liar. As soon as the meeting adjourned, John sent a hurried email to Hamilton.

Dear Mr. Hamilton,

I’m writing to follow up on my previous message about scheduling a time to meet this coming week. Thanks!

Sincerely, John

He also sent an email to Professor Washington to request an interview. John wasn’t sure how well the head of a whole lab might know one of his lowly undergrad underlings, but if Hamilton was as prolific as Google Scholar made him out to be, John expected they must at least be familiar with each other.

Deciding that he couldn’t wait for Hamilton’s reply to start his reporting, John spent much of the following morning in the library, printing off copies of journal papers coauthored by Alexander Hamilton and trying to slog through the first few pages. Honestly, though, reading even the abstract of each was like trying to clear a forest trail with a table knife. John constantly had to pause in reading to look up words he didn’t recognize and scribble their definitions in the woefully thin margins. Or highlight words that, when he Googled them, he could only find used in similarly dense, indecipherable academic articles.

By lunchtime, John was resigned to the fact that his only hope of understanding Alexander Hamilton’s work lay in Alexander Hamilton himself. Deeply unfortunate, given Hamilton’s continued silence.

John did get one pleasant surprise on Saturday afternoon in the form of a reply from Professor Washington.

Dear John,

I’d be happy to speak with you about Alexander. He’s one of my best students, and I’m glad his work is receiving some recognition.

I’ve attached my office hours for the semester. Let me know if there’s a time that works for you, and I’ll block it off. Thanks.

Cheers, Dr. W

Pleased (and relieved) as John was to get this response, he couldn’t help his incredulity at the fact that Hamilton’s professor had bothered to get back to John before Hamilton himself.

John told himself to be patient, though. His own inbox was flooded with messages, from university bookstore advertisements to welcome-back messages from various school administrators, not to mention syllabi and first assignments from professors. Hamilton probably just needed the weekend to catch up on his cyber-correspondence.

...Or maybe not, John grumbled to himself on Sunday night as he sat in the library with Hercules and Lafayette, trying not to check his email for the third time since they’d sat down an hour ago.

“What’s up with you?”

“Hmm?” John glanced up at Hercules from the “How to file a FOIA” webpage his glazed eyes had been trying to focus on for the past twenty minutes. It was deadly boring.

Hercules pointed his highlighter at John’s hand, which John now realized had been drumming an agitated staccato against their tabletop. Oh.

“Sorry,” John said, folding his hands together in his lap.

“It’s okay,” Herc said, exchanging a glance with Lafayette, who had looked up from his own work. “You’ve just seemed...tense lately.” Hercules hitched a lightly teasing smile on his face. “And It’s too early in the semester for you to be this stressed about work.” Like he wasn’t one of the hardest working people John knew.

“I’m waiting for a source to get back to me,” John said, rubbing his eyes.

“Ah,” Hercules said sympathetically. Although he had no first-hand experience with this particular type of sitting-idle stress, he’d known John long enough to know that awaiting email replies made John feel as though someone was wringing out his stomach like a rag.

Awaiting email replies was, in John’s opinion, the absolute worst part of reporting. He’d never been the type to enjoy group projects, as he hated depending on anyone else to get his work done. But since he literally could not write stories without sources, journalism sometimes felt like one long, group project. The kind where he couldn’t be angry at anyone for not getting back to him promptly, because they didn’t even know they were in his group until he emailed them, and then they were doing him a favor by agreeing to help at all.

John gave a long-suffering sigh and checked his inbox again. Nothing.

“Who is it?” Hercules said.

“Oh, just some—Actually.” John sat up straighter in his chair. It was always a long-shot asking anyone if they knew anyone at a state university as big as this, even if they were both life science undergrads in the same year, but Hercules seemed to know everyone. “Alexander Hamilton. He’s a neuroscience student that I’m profiling for my feature this semester. Know him?”

Herc turned to his laptop, presumably to go social-media-spelunking for a photo of Hamilton. “Name rings a bell…” he murmured.

“You’ll have to look him up on the school site,” John said. “He doesn’t have a Facebook or a Twitter, as far as I can tell.”

“Weird,” Lafayette said, stroking the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “Wait, I thought at Friday’s meeting you said you’d already scheduled an interview with this guy?”

“Ah, yes,” John said. “That. That was a lie.”

“Why?”

John couldn’t help glancing around, like Angelica might suddenly appear over his shoulder. “Because Angelica made it clear that she thought I’d have a hard time pinning this guy down,” John said.

“Why did she—” Lafayette began, but was interrupted by a drawn-out, “Oh,” from Herc.

John’s stomach twisted tighter. “What ‘oh’?”

“I definitely know this guy,” Hercules said. “Or, I don’t know him know him. We were in the same recitation group for a couple of our intro classes. He’s…” John waited for Herc to settle on the right word. “Kind of a dick. And when I say kind of, I mean he is. A dick.”

Lafayette barely suppressed a snort. John slumped in his chair.

“Like, he’d show up late all the time and interrupt the TAs and just generally had an air like he thought he was better than the rest of us,” Herc said. “Everyone kind of hated his guts.”

Well, that made two-for-two negative Hamilton reviews from a couple of the most sociable people John knew. Fantastic.

When he caught sight of John’s expression, though, Herc hurried to add,

“Disclaimer, this was all freshman year. Loads of people come into college as cocky little bastards, right?” Hercules shrugged. “He’s probably chilled out by now.”

John didn’t bother to correct him with a thirdhand account of Eliza’s experience, because Hercules was now looking slightly guilty for dialing up John’s apprehension.

“Yeah, probably,” John agreed, and started sending off another follow-up message to Hamilton.

By Monday afternoon, John’s anxiousness had morphed into outright irritation.

“Go stake out his lab,” Lafayette suggested over lunch, watching John stab grumpily at his salad.

John chewed his lower lip uncertainly. “You don’t think that’s too…aggressive?” The last thing he wanted to do was actively chase Hamilton away.

“You’re the one taking the investigative journalism course,” Laf said with a shrug. “Aren’t you supposed to be practicing aggressiveness?”

John shoved a forkful of lettuce in his mouth in lieu of responding. Lafayette grinned.

“Laf’s right,” Hercules said, which did not count, because Herc tended to agree with most everything Lafayette said. “You could probably do with some practice, in the assertiveness department.”

“I can be assertive,” John said indignantly, pulling his shoulders back a bit.

“Sure you can, John,” said Herc, a little patronizingly, at the same time Laf said, “I would not endorse you for assertiveness on LinkedIn.” Herc gave Laf a light thwack on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

They were right, of course. Pushing people around just wasn’t in John’s nature. Growing up, it had been John’s father and brother who were the unstoppable forces, and it was John’s only hope was to be as immovable an object as possible.

Still, John figured he didn’t really have anything to lose, at this point. He could do homework just as well in a hallway outside Hamilton’s lab as he could do in the library. So John rechecked the Washington Lab’s room number online and made his way to the neuroscience building at quarter-to-five.

The lab turned out to be in a subbasement, where the halls were mostly silent sans the hum of overhead fluorescent lighting. As John drew closer to his destination, he could hear the faint sound of voice spilling out of Room 0014’s open door. Bingo. John drew to a halt just outside.

He was looking into an office suite, the walls of which were lined with half a dozen shut doors. John’s eyes swept over the couches with pilled cushions shoved up against the white cinderblock walls, the kitchenette area with three coffeemakers on the counter, the large round, wooden table in the middle of the room stacked with textbooks and binders. And then, there was a smaller classroom desk jammed in one corner, piled high with open, dog-eared books and loose papers, and had more stray papers slipping out of its cubby.

There were also two men at the far end of the room, standing shoulder to shoulder with their backs to John, working something out on a whiteboard.

John rapped his knuckles against the open door and they spun around with identical expressions of surprise. John supposed people in subbasement labs didn’t get many unannounced visitors.

“Hi,” he said, glancing between the two men. They both looked at least a couple years older than John. Graduate students, he presumed. “Sorry to bother you.”

“There aren’t any classes down here,” the taller of the two said shortly, probably taking John for a lost freshman.

John bristled. “I know,” he said evenly, which of course was untrue. John had never set foot in this building before, but. Irrelevant. “Is this Professor Washington’s lab?”

“The offices for it,” the shorter guy said shrewdly. “Washington isn’t in right now, though.”

“I’m actually looking for Alexander Hamilton,” John said. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with him for several days, but he hasn’t returned my emails.”

To John’s surprise, Taller Guy let out a rather dramatic scoff. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Fucking Hamilton.”

“Fucking Hamilton,” the other agreed.

“So…he does work in this lab,” John said, stepping into the room.

“Unfortunately,” Taller Guy said flatly.

“Do you know when he might be in?”

Taller Guy shrugged. “Most days he’s here nine to three.”

“Oh,” John said, internally cursing himself for not showing up just a couple hours earlier. “Guess I’ll come back tomorrow morning, then. Thanks.”

“He means nine p.m. to three a.m.,” Shorter Guy corrected, and at John’s appalled expression, added, “Yeah, the kid’s basically nocturnal.”

“Fucking Hamilton,” Taller Guy muttered again.

“Can non-neuro students even access the building that late?” John said.

“Probably not,” Shorter Guy said unhelpfully.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. It was like Hamilton was actively trying to make this as difficult as possible for John. “Fucking Hamilton,” came out of John’s mouth before he could stop to censor himself—and, remarkably, elicited a smirk from both graduate students.

“That’s the spirit, ah—what’s your name?” Shorter Guy said.

“John Laurens,” he said.

“James Madison,” Shorter Guy said with a thumb pointed at his chest, then jerked his head at Taller Guy. “And Thomas Jefferson. Third-year doctoral candidates.”

“What do you want with Hamilton, anyway?” Thomas said, in a tone of veiled interest.

“I’m a writer for the undergrad student magazine,” John explained, “and I’m profiling him for our fall issue.”

Thomas snorted. “Just what Hamilton needs—media attention. Washington already lets him think he’s god’s gift to neuroscience.”

“Well, he’s not going to get any media attention if he’s impossible to reach,” John said, dropping into a chair at the round table and propping his chin on crossed arms.

“Yeah, he tends to ghost like that,” James said, voice much warmer now that it was clear John was no friend of Hamilton’s. “Very annoying, that.”

“You guys work with him?” John asked.

“Not on the same research project,” James said, “but we work with mouse models, too. There’s only a couple of surgical stations in the lab, so coordinating experiment time is key. And difficult, when some little undergrad shit won’t respond to any of our group messages. Even Washington has trouble getting in touch with him sometimes, and Hamilton practically kisses the ground Washington walks on.”

“When he’s not kissing Washington’s ass,” Thomas added.

At least, John thought wearily, it sounded like Alexander Hamilton was an equal-opportunity asshole, and that he probably wasn’t ignoring John’s messages alone…although John couldn’t decide whether that improved or worsened his prospects for completing this assignment in a relatively timely or painless manner.

Well, if John couldn’t get ahold of Hamilton himself just at the moment, he could at least start background reporting. “Did you say surgical stations?” he asked James, casually slipping his reporter’s notebook out of his back pocket and tugging the golf pencil out of its wire spiral.

“Yeah, for inserting electrodes into the mice’s brains,” James explained, giving himself bunny ears. “So we can measure their brain activity during experiments.”

John scribbled away. “What kind of brain activity?”

“We look at what’s going on in the hippocampus,” James said. “Learning and memory. That kind of thing.”

“What about Hamilton?” John asked.

“He looks at vision stuff,” James said, with a marked decrease in interest with the subject change, just as Thomas said, “You can see his stuff out in the hall. We should probably get back to…” and jerked his head at the red-stained dry-erase board.

“Right, right,” John said, disappointed that he hadn’t been able to get at least a sentence of plain-language description of Hamilton’s work from them, but recognizing this as his invitation to leave. “Thanks so much for your help. It seems like you’re doing some really cool work around here.”

This turned out to be just the right amount of cajolery to make James smile abashedly and allow, “Look, we’re probably going to bounce before Hamilton gets in, but if you want, you could leave him a note that you dropped by.”

James pointed at the overflowing corner desk. “That’s his stuff, if you want a post-it to slap on top.”

John raised his eyebrows at the incredible one-man mess.

“Yeah,” Thomas said dryly. “We had to quarantine his clutter to that desk. Not that that keeps him from re-infecting the big table with his junk every few days.”

“You know what, I think I’m good on the whole post-it thing,” John said. For one, John wasn’t at all sure Hamilton would notice a single sticky amidst his heap of papers, and for another, there was no way John was stepping foot outside the neuro building before he saw Hamilton in-person. “I’m gonna check out the posters. Thanks again.”

James flicked him a tired salute and Thomas raised a hand in farewell before they both turned back to the whiteboard and left John to his own devices.

Out in the hall, John walked back and forth, snapping photos of all the posters with A. Hamilton listed as coauthor. The jargon-laden posters were nearly as indecipherable as the papers, but the diagrams did help. A little.

When he was finished, John meandered down the hall in search of a comfortable place to wait out Hamilton. Finding none, he eventually sat down with his face against the wall and opened his computer on crossed legs. Looked like it was time to file some more FOIA requests.

The tedium stretched on, uninterrupted—sans James and Thomas loudly debating something down the hall—until eight o’clock, when John’s ears pricked up at the ding of an incoming email. Hamil—? No. Eliza. Possibly the first time in John’s life he was ever disappointed to see a message from Eliza.

Hi John!

I’m writing the first draft for my first American Lit essay and wanted to see if you’re still interested in being rough-draft-peer-review pals this semester, even though you’ve abandoned me to take Brit Lit instead :( I hear Prof Schmidt’s essay due date sched is p much the same for both classes. We could set up an email exchange? Please say yes! I missed your feedback over the summer. Let me know :)

Also, want to meet up sometime this week?? I missed your friendship during the summer!!! Hehe.

John grinned. Eliza was the only person he knew who could use triple exclamation points un-ironically without sounding either sarcastic or simpering. He’d missed her practically heroic levels of cheer over the summer, especially the days he was confined to his gray-walled cubicle for eight straight hours. He replied yes on both counts, suggesting the next day to meet up. Maybe she could give him some tips on Hamilton-wrangling. Speaking of…

John glanced up and down the hall—even though he knew he would’ve heard the footsteps of anyone approaching before they turned either corner—then pulled out his phone and texted Lafayette that he’d be home late tonight and not to wait up.

John was startled from light sleep later by—finally—the sound of soles smacking against linoleum at a brisk clip. John lifted his head off the wall and blinked rapidly, clearing his blurry vision just in time to see someone turning the corner and starting to walk down the hall toward him. The someone was about John’s height, with his hair tied back taut, his head bent low over a textbook. So low, in fact, that he didn’t seem to see John at all. As the boy approached, John glimpsed the earbuds jammed in both his ears, and heard the boy muttering lowly to himself. Whether he was murmuring along to his music or reading aloud, John couldn’t tell.

Was it—It had to be, right? The hair alone, but. John couldn’t see his face, so he couldn’t quite be sure.

When the boy drew level with the door of Room 0014, he stopped walking before he even looked up, as though his feet had carried him to this precise spot my sheer muscle memory. John watched him dig in the chest pocket of a baggy trench coat to withdraw a jangling key ring. The boy held his open book against his chest with one hand while maneuvering the key ring with his other. It was only now that John realized James and Thomas must have left and locked up shop sometime after he’d drifted off. John checked his watch. Nearly eleven, now. He looked back up at the boy, whose self-talk had taken on a distinctly disgruntled tone as he fiddled with his keys.

Definitely Hamilton.

John stood up and slung his bag over one shoulder, just as Hamilton gruffly shoved open the door and practically tumbled over the threshold.

John followed. He could still hear Hamilton mumbling when he peered through the doorway. Hamilton had already spilled a cascade of work materials from his backpack onto the round table. John watched him doff his trench coat, under which Hamilton was wearing a ratty gray hoodie. This struck John as slightly odd, given that it was only the first week of September and still quite warm out, even when the sun was down. Most academic buildings were air conditioned to the point of frigidity, but still.

John was tempted to pull out his phone and note every detail for potential placement in his story, but right now he had smoke to catch.

“Excuse me,” John said as politely as possible in his still sleep-thick voice. No response. John rubbed the sleep from his left eye. He just wanted to go home.

“Excuse me,” John said, a little bit louder now, but Hamilton just kept rummaging through the bunch of papers he’d dumped out, talking under his breath. Oh, for the love of—

John shook his head and schooled his exhausted, irate expression into something resembling “professionally determined.” Contrary to what Angelica and everyone else seemed to think, John was not so much of a pushover that he was incapable of doing his job. He marched up to tap Hamilton on the shoulder.

Hamilton flinched violently under John’s touch and spun on his heels, planting his palms on the table behind him to look at John with wide, almost fearful eyes.

John, for his part, was so shocked by this overwrought reaction that the stern expression fell from his face and he leaned back, hands up. He could see now that Hamilton, who was panting as though John had dunked his head underwater rather than touched his shoulder, still had earphones stuck in his ears. Ah.

For a hairline moment, the sight of Hamilton made John’s chest ache. The school site photo hadn’t done justice to the bruise-dark circles under Hamilton’s eyes or the slight concavity of his cheeks. The boy looked so supremely disturbed to find an unexpected face in his personal space that the next words queued up to leave John’s mouth were, somewhat ridiculously, ‘It’s okay.’

But before John could say anything, Hamilton’s panic-stricken expression pinched into an ugly scowl and he wrenched out his earbuds to snap, “What the hell is your problem?”

What…what the hell was John’s…Seriously?

“My problem?” John said, the pitch of his voice rising higher than was perhaps dignified. “Why didn’t you email me back?”

“What?” Hamilton spluttered. “Who are you?”

John opened his mouth but stopped up short. Right. In their conversational kerfuffle, he’d skipped clean over introductions. Which only made him angrier at Hamilton, honestly. John was a stringent eleven-to-seven sleeper. So this conversation was happening way too late for him to have his head on straight. He crossed his arms. “I’m the journalist who’s been trying to get in touch with you for a better part of a week.”

“Journalist?” Hamilton said. He was tapping his foot against the tile agitatedly. Annoyingly.

John exhaled slowly through his nose. “Yes. For the student magazine.”

“Oh. That.” Hamilton’s tone was distinctly disdainful now, but John noticed his hands to a weird…jazz-hand-like tremor, where they were hanging at Hamilton’s sides, like Hamilton needed to physically shake the excess energy out of himself.

“Yes,” John said again, levelly.

“Yeah, thanks, but no thanks.”

John stared at him. Contrary to the rest of Hamilton, which appeared in constant erratic movement, he didn’t seem to need to blink as much as the average person, giving his gaze a somewhat unnatural intensity. John’s eyes felt dry just looking at him, although that might have been residual stickiness from falling asleep in his contacts earlier. God, he wanted to go to bed. “What do you mean ‘no thanks’?”

“No. Thank. You,” Hamilton repeated, enunciating each syllable with mocking precision. “Go find someone else to write about.” He made a little shooing gesture with one hand, which John saw was covered with black pen ink in truly horrendous handwriting.

John tamped down on the urge to grip Hamilton’s shoulders and give him a good, hard, shake. “I can’t,” he bit out. “My editor assigned me to write the story about you.”

“Well, I can’t help that, can I?” Hamilton gave a kind of half-smirk and sank into a chair. To John’s supreme irritation, he shifted in his chair to hunch over the table and start picking through his papers, as though the conversation were finished.

John was far from finished. He yanked out the chair beside Hamilton’s and planted a hand over the page Hamilton was reading. Hamilton jumped. John felt the corner of his mouth twitch and immediately felt disgusted with himself. He wasn’t the kind of person who delighted in others’ moments of weakness. He wasn’t his—

He could be a Nice Guy and still do his job.

So John peeled his palm off Hamilton’s paper—embarrassed by the perspiration that made it momently stick—and muttered a “sorry.” Which Hamilton did not acknowledge.

John inhaled, exhaled, and said gently, “Why don’t you want to do it?”

Hamilton was back to leafing through his papers. “I don’t need to explain myself you,” he said. “You’re the one who came to me.”

If John wasn’t very much mistaken, Hamilton’s tone had tilted toward satisfaction, there, which gave him an idea. Time for a little ego-stroking. “When I publish the profile, it will make the lab look good,” he said. “Could score you some points with the other students and your P.I. He seemed into the idea when I emailed him for an interview.”

“When I publish my research, it makes the lab look good,” Hamilton said shortly. “That scores me plenty of ‘points’ with Washington.” No comment on the graduate students, though, John noted.

Now that they were sitting down, John could feel Hamilton’s leg bouncing under the table. Did this guy ever sit still?

Meanwhile, Hamilton was wearing an expression like, Is that the best you’ve got?

“Still, it must be tough, being the only undergrad in your lab,” John said casually. “The profile could only boost your…scientific street cred around the department.”

Hamilton’s eye twitched, but he said quite evenly, “I was the youngest student ever to join this lab and the youngest student in the department ever listed coauthor on a paper. I’m currently the undergrad with the most publications to his name and the highest GPA. Not too worried about my ‘scientific street cred,’” he said, crooking his fingers in pejorative air quotes.

“Has James Madison or Thomas Jefferson ever been the subject of a five-page magazine spread?”

John knew he’d played an ace the moment Hamilton’s leg stopped bouncing.

“My reporting wouldn’t take up too much of your time,” John hurried on. “I know you’re extremely busy.”

Hamilton wasn’t look at him now, but John could see him chewing the inside of his cheek. “Did Washington—” he began, in a tone much softer than the one he’d been using with John, and then cleared his throat. The leg jitters started back up again. “He…seemed okay with it?”

“Absolutely,” John said promptly. Come on, he thought. Come on. “He agreed to an interview next week, and it’d be great if I’d already had one interview with you beforehand. Even better if I could shadow you in the lab first.”

Hamilton looked up sharply. “Shadow?”

“Uh, yeah,” John said. He could feel Hamilton pulling back and rushed to say, “Just observing you work in the lab. Seeing you in your element.” John should really also see Hamilton in his element outside the lab—attending a club meeting, playing a sport, something—but this didn’t seem the moment to raise that point. John would have to casually slip it into conversation at a later date, once he’d pried a little bit of trust from Hamilton’s nail-bitten, twitchy hands.

For the moment, Hamilton still looked extremely reluctant to let John hover over his shoulder, no matter how professional his purpose.

“All the time I would spend with you is to make sure I paint a detailed, accurate picture of you and your work,” John said. Come on, come on.

“I—”

John caught Hamilton’s eyes flick over to one of the office doors and followed his gaze. The nameplate read: “George Washington, PhD.”

Hamilton let out a long-suffering sigh and then said, “Okay.”

John had never felt such relief over such an unenthusiastic response.

Before leaving Hamilton alone, John walked him through the basic outline of when John would need him before the first-draft deadline: a couple hour-long interviews, plus answers to fact-checks and follow-up questions that John would send along by email, a few days to shadow in the lab, a couple other scattered meetings here and there.

“I thought you said this wasn’t going to take much time,” Hamilton grumbled as John flipped his monthly planner to the “October” page.

“It’s all going to be spread out over a month,” John said, trying for reassuring and sounding exasperated, even to his own ears. It would have been even more dispersed, John thought, if Hamilton had responded to any of his emails—but, again, probably not the time to raise that point.

“In the meantime, is there anyone else you’d recommend I contact for outside interviews, besides Washington?”

Hamilton squinted. “Why?” he said, because of course no part of this could be easy.

“I need outside perspectives to flesh out the profile,” John said. “People who know you well, like friends.”

“Nope,” Hamilton said, deadpan.

John’s turn to squint. He couldn’t tell whether Hamilton was saying he didn’t have any friends worth contacting, or whether he didn’t have any at all. The latter seemed unlikely, even for Hamilton. Maybe he meant he refused to allow John to contact his friends.

“Family?” John tried.

Hamilton just kept wearing that inscrutable expression.

“Look, if you don’t come up with a short list, at least a couple of people—professors, anyone—then I’m going to fall back on Jefferson and Madison,” John said.

Hamilton wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, fine, fine. I’ll think up a couple names for you.”

John smiled, triumphant. He was getting pretty deft at using the carrot-and-stick of Jefferson and Madison’s disparagement, along with Washington’s approval, to nudge Hamilton in the right direction. John licked his forefinger and flicked the page over to his November calendar.

“Oh, and I’ll be attending the Society for Neuroscience with you,” John said, marking the 11th through the 15th with a little star in the corner of each box.

“What? Why?”

“Because when we release the magazine at the beginning of December, it’ll be good to have a recent news hook for the story,” John explained.

“I thought the the story was due at the beginning of October,” Hamilton said.

“The first draft,” John said with affected patience, “is due October first. Then it goes through revisions with my first editor, then a top editor, then through copy-edit—” “Okay, okay,” Hamilton said, shaking his head irately. Just as thoroughly unconcerned with the annals of journalistic publication as Angelica was with scientific publication. “Got it. Anything else?”

“Er.” John scanned his mental checklist once more. “I don’t think so.” He tore a page out of his reporter’s notebook. “I could write out a lit of the details for you—”

“Email,” Hamilton said, waving his hand dismissively.

“Would you actually read this one?” John said dryly.

Hamilton paused. “I read your other emails,” he said, before continuing to flip through pages of what looked like intro-level homework assignments.

John stared at him for a few seconds, no idea what to make of that, then decided the only thing to say was, “Okay.” He stood up and pushed his chair in. “I’ll be in touch, then.”

Hamilton lifted a hand in farewell without lifting his eyes from the papers.

The following morning, John met Eliza at the community garden behind the freshman dorm where she was an RA. Eliza had volunteered in that garden practically from the moment she set foot on campus—which meant that John had volunteered at that garden for almost as long.

Eliza had become John’s first college friend in their shared English class, first semester freshman year. This was back when John was even more reserved than he was now, back before he’d met Laf and Herc, back when he was fresh out of an all-boys high school and it was something of a novelty to have a girl sit beside him in class—let alone ask him, apropos of nothing, how his summer had been.

So on the first Saturday morning that Eliza texted John, bright and early, with an invitation to plant seeds and pull weeds behind her building for a couple of hours, there was really nothing for John to do but say yes. Fast-forward three years, and now he had his own pair of mud-encrusted gardening gloves.

“John! Over here.” Eliza popped up from behind a row of tomato cages that were bursting with greenery and heavy, red fruit. She waved him over, and John meandered through the squash, zucchini, and pumpkin patches. Eliza brushed the dirt off her ankle-length skirt and wrapped him in a hug.

“How are you?” she said, pulling back but leaving her hands on John’s shoulders to look him up and down.

Not having grown up with a mother, John couldn’t say for certain, but he got impressions from books and movies, at least, that this was a very motherly move.

“I’m good, thanks,” John said, smiling semi-self-consciously under Eliza’s critical once-over. “How can I help?”

“Got your gloves?”

John pulled them out of his back pocket.

“Good man.” Eliza beamed at him and wiped the sheen of sweat off her forehead with a forearm. “We’re just weeding today. Come on down, the dirt’s fine.”

John sank to his knees in the soft soil beside her, savoring the feeling of cold damp through his jeans. He’d missed this. “How was your summer?” he asked, yanking out his first weed with vigor and adding it to Eliza’s already impressive pile.

“Too short, as always,” she said, wistful. “Working in the Writing Center is so easy over the summer. Hardly anyone comes in. So I played a lot of Bananagrams with the librarians and did some pleasure reading, some pleasure writing.”

Eliza exhaled sharply to blow a stray wisp of hair off her forehead. “Peggy stayed on campus, too,” she continued, “working as a counselor for some high school STEM camps that ran throughout June and July. It was so nice to have the company.”

Even though he’d been friends with all the Schuyler sisters for the better part of three years, it still bemused John greatly to think that anyone could enjoy the company of their siblings as much as they did.

As if on cue, Eliza asked, “How was your summer at home?”

John’s hand slipped on the plant he was trying to uproot. He tightened his grip. “Work was okay,” he said, knowing full well this was not the question Eliza had been asking. “I got assigned a few stories to fill in for out-of-town staffers, but mostly I did a lot of coffee-grabbing, file-cabinet-reorgnizing, and other assorted grunt work. At least I got paid, though.”

“And you made professional connections,” Eliza pointed out, waving a weed at him.

John decided not to say that he wasn’t sure how much any of those professional connections from his small Kentucky town would matter out here on the east coast, because this was just Eliza’s way: eyes forever fixed on the bright side. John could have told her he’d been working down in a coal mine all summer and she’d probably say, What a great adventure! What great exercise! What amazing camaraderie you must have forged with your fellow miners! What excellent creative nonfiction fodder!

“Sure,” is what John said instead. “Glad to be back at school, though.”

Eliza’s expression shifted toward sympathy, now, because she’d read enough of John’s angsty nonfiction pieces and poems in their creative writing classes over the years to know that John’s relationship with his father was, well, fraught. Effectively nonexistent at best, confrontational at worst, and usually hovering in some weird middle ground full of awkward dinner table silences and pointed car ride questions about John’s class schedule and post-grad plans.

“It is nice to have everyone back,” Eliza said smoothly, apparently guessing that John had nothing else to say on the subject of summer that she didn’t already know. “Although I’ve hardly seen Angelica at all since classes started.”

This was saying something, John thought, given that Angelica was rooming with Eliza in her two-bedroom RA suite, this year.

“Most evidence of her presence, some days, is the trail of empty coffee mugs she leaves around,” Eliza said.

“Lots of late nights in the newsroom already?” John said.

“Yup.” Eliza rolled her eyes in the same fond way Angelica had, when she’d lamented Eliza’s ceaseless patience with Alexander Hamilton. “That girl works too hard.”

John could hardly argue with that. Angelica, though a year older than John and Eliza, would graduate with them this spring, because she’d taken two gap semesters after sophomore year to work journalism internships in Manhattan. Every summer, she’d helped teach journalism workshops for high schoolers at a university back in her California hometown. And since their junior year, she’d served as editor in chief of the student magazine and campus life section editor of the student paper. For as long as he’d known her, Angelica Schuyler had exhibited the professional development momentum of a freight train.

Angelica and Alexander Hamilton would probably get on like a house on fire, John thought.

“That reminds me,” he said, giving a particularly resistant weed a ruthless tug, “I hear I have you to thank for my current Alexander Hamilton assignment.”

Eliza looked over at him with a concerned pinch in her brow. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Angelica told me she’d commissioned you to cover Alexander. Is he behaving himself? He can be a handful, can’t he?” Like a hand-wringing mother at a parent-teach conference.

“I’ve only met him once,” John said. “Had to corner him in the lab because he wouldn’t answer any of my emails. He was…prickly.”

“Oh, yes,” Eliza said again, nodding knowingly. “He tends to do that, too.”

Whether she meant Hamilton going off the grid or being a prick, John wasn’t sure. Maybe both.

“Don’t worry. He’ll warm up to you,” Eliza said, with all the confidence of someone saying the sun would rise the next morning. “Hamilton is prickly, but—but like a hedgehog is prickly. Soft underneath.”

John threw her a dubious side-eye.

“He is,” she insisted. “For instance, last spring I bought a bouquet of lilies for the Writing Center’s front desk to spruce the place up a bit, and when Alexander’s paper was accepted for publication, he sent me a bouquet of lilies as a thank-you for all my help.”

“Eliza,” John said, trying not to overstep, but being familiar enough with Eliza’s careless, easy sort of beauty to know that she often didn’t know how much other people tried to flirt with her, “are you sure it wasn’t just because he, you know. Liked you?”

Eliza actually threw her head back to laugh at that. “No,” she said decisively, tugging off her glove to wipe the corner of one eye with her knuckle. “No, definitely not. I mean, it was Alexander. The thank-you note was formatted like the business letters they teach you how to write in elementary school—complete with the library’s street address under my name, and the Washington lab’s address under his. Printed out and signed with his full name.

“Also, I haven’t seen him since. I hope he’s not working himself too hard,” Eliza added, almost as an afterthought.

From John’s fifteen-minute interaction with Hamilton, he could pretty much guarantee that was not the case, but he couldn’t bring himself to dash Eliza’s hopes. “Seems like he can be a bit of a workaholic,” he said.

“Maybe even more than Angelica,” Eliza said gravely. “Whenever I would ask what he was doing over a weekend, or something, he’d just say he was working in the lab.” Eliza stood up and maneuvered her way through the shrubbery to find a yet unweeded patch of earth. “I just felt so bad for him, sometimes, because I don’t think the people in his lab are very nice to him.”

“Maybe he’s not very nice to the other people in his lab,” John said, keeping his tone carefully neutral, as it was clear Eliza had entered full mother hen mode, now—though it still remained unclear to John why she’d taken Hamilton, of all people, under her wing.

“Maybe not,” Eliza agreed, somewhat testily, “but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Alexander defending himself when he’s being bullied by grad students.”

That gave John pause. He hadn’t given much thought to the possibility that although Hamilton, Jefferson, and Madison were all clearly throwing punches, Hamilton may be punching up, and the others down.

“He tries so hard,” Eliza went on, shaking her head. “He’s probably the most prolific person I’ve ever met. He’d come into our writing center sessions with dozens of versions of whatever section of the paper we were working on that night. It’s amazing how much he gets done, even when he’s having such a tough time of it.”

John was on the brink of asking what exactly that meant, but the seriousness of Eliza’s tone implied it was not a problem professional enough to be pertinent to his profile. John could picture both Angelica and his investigative journalism professor with hands on their hips, telling John that as a journalist it was his job to pry. But there was a difference, John thought, between demanding official statements from school administrators and nosing unnecessarily into another student’s personal life.

So when Eliza said “enough about Alexander” and abruptly changed the scheduling their essay rough draft exchange, John decided it was probably for the best that he didn’t have the opportunity to ask any nosier questions.

#fic things #the lams fic #wips #after losing a fair few documents this week #feeling especially paranoid/protective of WIP documents #also posting to put a pin in this for later #as a self-promise to finish #hamilton things

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twentysomethinginorlando · 8 years ago

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Star Wars Half Marathon Episode III: The Half Marathon

New Post has been published on https://twentysomethinginorlando.com/star-wars-half-marathon-episode-iii-half-marathon/

Star Wars Half Marathon Episode III: The Half Marathon

You would think the second day of doing anything would be easier than the first. You have your stuff together, you know what you need, and everything should go smoothly, right? Wrong. I don’t know why but getting up for the Half is always worse than the 10K the day before. Instead of having all of my outfit in one place, part of it is usually in the dryer and things are scattered all over from where I dropped them the day before because I was too tired to go looking for them before bed. I decided to leave my wrist sweat band behind since I forgot to wash it and it got too tight to be comfortable the day before, and added one of my old Star Wars Weekends name tags. None of this helped me get ready faster, but they seemed like good ideas at the time. I even set my alarm five minutes earlier, but I still got out the door Sunday about ten minutes later than I did Saturday morning.

This time I paid no attention to where I parked and they were already letting us make our way to the buses. I recognized a voice to my left directing everyone towards the red balloons and I immediately headed her way. It was Katy, one of my friends from my college program when we worked at the Jungle Cruise. She broke off mid-sentence and yelled my name as loudly as she was giving directions, drawing laughter from everyone around us. We hugged and I told her I’d look for her at the finish.

It was about the time I got on the bus I realized I had made a critical error. I had forgotten my snack! I usually always bring two packs of peanut butter crackers and eat them on the drive in, or at least a granola bar. I had absolutely nothing, and all my cash was in the car that was now being left behind at Epcot. Oh boy.

Captain Phasma somehow made it out of the trash compactor.

DJ Elliot

I jumped in line for Captain Phasma as soon as I could. She was the only one left that I had never met, and apparently every character with a helmet talks now. I should have checked the wait times first and gone for Darth Vader because by the time I was out of her line, Vader was up to a 75 minute wait. It was about 4:15 and the characters were being pulled at 5 am. No way would I have time. I didn’t feel like waiting for Boba Fett or BB-8 again so I went over to the stage to watch DJ Elliot and Disney Parks Blog Guy do more trivia questions. There were lots of Disney Photopass Cast Members milling around, but a lady asked me to take her picture. She handed me an android and there was no camera button anywhere on the screen. I’m an iPhone girl and I was very confused. She insisted I just hold down on the screen and I did, multiple times.

She went to check the photo and it wasn’t there, instead she ended up pulling up a close up of herself in a bikini that she then could not get to go away. That was right when the Stormtroopers showed up on stage and I wanted to watch it and try to film them, but she wanted me to try again.(Like waiting until the Stormtroopers were done would have made a difference!) We tried again and the same thing happened. Getting fairly irritated at this point, I asked her if she could make it have a camera button so there would be something to push instead of tapping the screen and hoping it worked. Finally it took and she was happy, just as the Stormtroopers left the stage. She thanked me and went to join the Cast Member group photo they just announced. So no Stormtroopers video for Chelsea. (They repeated the show while I was in the starting corrals but I was too far back to be able to see it and my phone would not pick up the screen at such a distance.)

This time I was smarter and used the bathrooms in the runner only section. The line was not much shorter, but better than the one I waited in the day before. I headed for Corral F. I have never been in such a high start corral, and I was only one from the back because of their new mini wave procedure. I will say I do not like it. The corrals are HUGE and I get it is probably less work for Disney, but it’s impossible to get to the front of your corral and would be very easy to get separated. I also had issues on the course because I usually look at the corrals on the bibs of runners around to gauge where I am in the pack. It’s a little harder when everyone has either Corral F or G. Normally I can look and tell if I’m in trouble when I’m in Corral I and I see a bunch of Corral Ks around me.

Photo by Andria.

My friend Andria had been doing all three races as part of her Kessel Run Challenge and we hadn’t seen each other yet, but we were in the same corral today! (Why wouldn’t we be, practically everyone who wasn’t a first timer was in this corral…) She texted me where she and her boyfriend were and I went wandering to find her, I walked straight past her when she saw me. We were both talking about how unprepared we were and how we were probably going to die. I am so mad at myself for not being clever enough to say, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Even once our corral started moving, making it to the actual starting line took quite a while because of how many people there were. I was quite surprised by the amount of fireworks they were shooting off with each wave, I feel my other races have been one little burst where this was more like a fifteen second show.

youtube

The three of us crossed the starting line together. I saw one person with a stroller that got pulled off to the side, but another stroller that kept going. I thought strollers were not permitted so I am not sure how they made it into the corral in the first place. Over to my right I saw the line of Guest Relations Cast Members in their plaid and reflective vests and saw my friend Jeff standing there. I’ve seen him at almost every race I’ve run and today followed our tradition exactly. I yelled, “HI JEFF!”, and he yelled back, “HI CHELSEA! HAVE A GREAT RACE!” It was about that point I noticed Andria was behind me and I tried to slow up for her, but I lost her in the crowd a minute later. I looked at her boyfriend, “I think we lost her.” “Yeah, this happened yesterday. I feel bad but my legs are just too long.”

I kept pace with him up until we reached the marching band in the same spot it was at the 10K. My pouch came loose and I ran with it in my hand for a bit, but I had to stop to readjust. I have never had it come off before! I started running again immediately after, but he was already gone.

R2-D2 was in the same spot he was in for the 10K, this time with a much shorter line. I stopped fast and cut sideways to reach it, trying not to run directly in front of anyone and cut them off. His line moved quick and I probably did not wait for more than seven minutes, but it gave me enough time to realize something horrifying. In my heart I believe R2-D2 is a real droid and he’s beeping and buzzing all on his own, just like there is only one Mickey Mouse, but obviously I know he has a little help from technicians. Just usually you can’t see them. They had the R2-D2 operator sitting off to the side in plain sight! Come on, Disney, I know there’s no kids on the course since you have to be fourteen to run, but that’s no excuse! I was horrified, but I got my picture and went on my way.

Beep boop.

Pay no attention to the woman with the box.

Every burst of fireworks is comforting for me on a race, it means there’s another group of people in front of the Balloon Ladies. I heard the last one a little after the first mile marker, just as I made the turn down Bear Island Road. My strategy this time was a mixture of trying to put distance between myself and the last corral while still saving energy for running through the parks. I also knew it was only going to get hotter and that would slow me down.

The next photo op I came to was on my right, the Endor speeder bikes. I kept going since it was meant for two people and I’d look sort of sad all by myself. This stretch was a two lane road with trees on either side, and right at the two mile marker was my favorite effect I have ever seen on a RunDisney course. There were lasers flashing overhead with smoke, sound effects, and strobe lights so it was like you were running through the battle on Endor, complete with Ewok cries. I didn’t want to stop to get my phone out, but RunDisney included a video of it in their high-light reel from someone’s Twitter account.

A little further on, there was a Cast Member on the left at the end of the line yelling, “Ewoks over here!” I stopped and turned hard, and then had to double check with the girls in front of me, “She said Ewoks, right?” (Really Spellcheck, you recognize Ewok as a word but not Ewoks?) They took about ten minutes and I had to resist the urge to hug them. Race characters are not quite the same as park characters, it is more of a “smile, click, go, next!” Meeting. Plus, I was sweaty and I did not wish to get sweat on an Ewok.

There was a photo spot that was more of a scene and not characters, where you could pose in the trash compactor like you were trying to brace it. I probably should have stopped but I was worried about time and I had lost track of who was around me. I had seen the three hours and thirty minutes pacer group earlier but not in a long time. (There are multiple pacer groups and you can sign up with them to follow to hit your target time.)

The course then took us into the backstage area of Animal Kingdom, where we ran past the vehicle storage for the train and the rhino house. Where else can you see a rhino on a half marathon? We entered into the actual park between the Maharajah Jungle Trek and Kali River Rapids before turning left and heading towards Expedition Everest. I picked up the pace, it’s so much easier to run in the parks than the open road. There’s usually people cheering and it just gives you an energy boost. I swung into the restroom by Chester and Hester’s Dino-Rama just before we went backstage again. Why use port-a-potties when you can have real sinks? I took a wet towel and wiped my face down. I did not think of the heat and increased sweat it would bring when I decided to leave my sweat band behind. I also grabbed a Pokestop real quick because I was unsure when I would get another opportunity.

Just backstage were two Stormtroopers and a little further down were the Emperor and two of the red guards. Behind them were members of the 501st so I am not entirely sure if the Emperor was an official Disney character or not. We came out into the Animal Kingdom parking lot and the course looped around towards the bus parking before heading back out towards the main road. There was a couple with signs off to the side that made me giggle. One had a picture of Darth Vader and read, “You don’t know the power of a Mickey Bar.”

There was another photo station half way through the parking lot, and had I understood what it was better, I would have stopped. It was the ice cave with the Wampa with a Lightsaber above you to reach for. I didn’t realize you were supposed to turn the picture upside down.

I feel like there were more water stops on the course than there actually were on the map, probably due to the high temperatures and heat advisory. Just past the next water stop was Vader’s chair, and at this point we were about half way there, just past mile six and the 10K marker. This is usually when the race starts being a little less fun. I don’t know how, but according to my runner tracking I had the exact same time on this 10K as the 10K the day before, right down to the second. Apparently all my running more than equaled out my stopping.

A little ways down the road I encountered a guy I have seen at previous RunDisney races, dressed in Gryffindor robes and holding a sign that reads “I AM NOT AT THE WRONG PARK! Hogwarts Running Club”. The Hogwarts Running Club is a non-profit organization that puts on “virtual” races themed around Harry Potter and all the proceeds go to charity. A virtual race is one that can be done anywhere, at any time, and the medal shows up in the mail. I have only done one of their races myself, and I intend to do more in the future even though I’m not counting them towards my 30 by 30. The more races I run, the more of their runners I see.

I got my first scare about time as I went up the hill on Osceola Parkway. Through the trees I could see the Animal Kingdom parking lot where we had come through and the back part was empty. I tried not to panic. The last runners still had to be at least a mile behind me, right?

I made the turn onto World Drive and, as C-3P0 would say, thank the maker there was the food stop. It’s not food per say, but a Cliff gel shot. I had never used gels in my life before RunDisney and as of yet have never eaten one off the course, but after not eating anything before the race I was running out of steam. Normally there are volunteers shouting what flavors they have but this group was just sitting at their tables. I tried to read the flavors as I went, looking for vanilla, but I couldn’t find it. Determined not to backtrack, I just took the one at the last table. I should have gone back. Mocha was disgusting and I made a mess when I accidentally bit part of the packet off with it.

It was only about a mile down World Drive to the turn for Hollywood Studios, but it seemed to take forever. The sun was high in the sky and everyone was basically at a walk. This turned out to be the most exciting part of the course for me, however. A few months ago, I noticed what I thought was a pedestrian bridge from Hollywood Studios across World Drive and ever since I’ve been very curious about what it could mean for Star Wars Land and Toy Story Land. It looks like a long box which is why I thought it might be a covered bridge for guests, with sides so no one would see the cars below. I would be walking right underneath it and finally able to get a good look. I stared at the sides of it as I slowly realized I was not staring at a bridge, I was staring at a RIDE TRACK! It looks like a coaster or something that a vehicle would be anchored on rather than driving over, and there is definitely construction going on the other side of World Drive so I’m thinking it could be transportation Hogwarts Express style. I couldn’t see a way back and there was only one track that I could see, but I am super excited about this.

Just past the ninth mile marker, the course became the same as the 10K course the day before, heading up the long ramp and into Hollywood Studios. The only good part of this was that, once I made it to the top, I could look back and see how many people were behind me. I didn’t need to worry anymore, I could barely make out the end of the crowd and there were still probably stragglers behind them!

Photo by Disney Photopass.

Darth Maul was right inside the turn into the backstage area like he was the day before, but with a much shorter line. I guess that’s the good thing about seeing the same characters twice. I came up into the Fantasmic stadium but this time the 501st were no where to be found, and outside Tower of Terror I encountered some very confused guests in the park for Extra Magic Hours. Running down Hollywood Boulevard I ran across a manager I used to work with, who is usually in Fantasyland during races with a box of kleenex. (No, seriously, I’ve seen him like four times and he always has kleenex which is super helpful.) I pointed at him and yelled, “You’re in the wrong park!” As I ran by, he shouted back, “Yes I am!”

There were no Stormtoopers in the park itself this time, but I found two as I made my way backstage at the front of the park. I managed to pick up a run and keep it up as I headed into the area in front of Hollywood Studios until the course narrowed as we turned towards the Boardwalk. It’s too tight to run, and to all those people who like to try to keep running and yell “EXCUSE ME!” at everyone, I want you to know everyone around you thinks you’re a jerk.

AWR or Deathtrooper.

We made our way under an overpass and they had red light effects with Vader’s breathing playing, a simple but nice addition to what would otherwise be a rather bland part of the course. This time we took the long way around the Boardwalk, but at this point the wood was at least dry so I could keep a fast pace. Near the Abracadarbar were spectators holding signs that read, “I AM PROUD OF YOU PERFECT STRANGER!” More people were on the other side with snacks for those needing a little more energy, and I just think it’s really cool that people get up that early and do this kind of thing. One day I would like to at a race I’m not running. Near the end of the Boardwalk were the 501st and I stopped for a photo with a Deathtrooper, and then I stopped to stretch my calves while I got my phone back in my pouch.

The last water stop was backstage at Epcot and I realized we must be going around World Showcase instead of out the front like the 10K. Going over the bridge from the U.K. to France there was a very hoarse Cast Member cheering, “You’re almost there! You got this! I may be losing my voice but I ain’t losing my faith in y’all!” I powered through most of the park with a quick stop in Japan for a final selfie. There were tons of Photopass photographers out on both sides.

Finish photo by Disney Photopass.

I made my way out at the front of Epcot again to find more of the 501st waiting but at this point, I was not stopping so close to the thirteenth mile marker. There was a Disney Security guard yelling encouragement as I rounded the turn and as soon as I saw the Finish Line I moved into a dead run. I went as hard and as fast as I had left in me and crossed the Finish Line just short of a sprint, and had to pull up hard so I didn’t hit the woman who stopped in front of me. (Hint: Don’t stop right at the Finish Line. Run through it!) I headed towards the volunteers handing out medals and this time found a wonderful woman who put it around my neck instead of handing it to me. Yay! Then I got a cooling towel and I have never been so happy with the swag at a race in my life. The Princess Half you usually get a bag and sometimes it’s a mylar blanket if it’s cold. The congratulations texts started coming in and I pulled out my phone to check my time. I knew what my Fitbit said but since I always start it before I actually cross the start line I never trust it so I go off the runner tracking. 03:24:33, while not my best time is definitely not my worst. Especially since I did zero training and stopped for several photos and the bathroom.

The medical crew were in the middle of the Powerade and water stations on a megaphone encouraging people to drink and offering to open the bottles for anyone whose hands were too full. They were out of blue Powerade so I wound up with yellow. Bleh.

I headed down to the Challenge Medal tent where they checked my face against the picture they took at the Expo and made sure the bib number was correct before I was presented with my Challenge Medal. I looked enviously over at the Kessel Run Challenge and Coast to Coast Medals, someday! Then I got my snack box and headed out towards the characters. There were so many people relaxing on the ground and I understand recovery, but there are photos to get!

I hopped in line for Kylo Ren for about thirty seconds before I changed my mind and went to Darth Vader’s. Kylo Ren is in the parks and Vader is not, so I decided to wait out the forty minutes. Andria came to find me to say good-bye and show me all her awesome medals (she did the Kessel run, I swear I’m not jealous…). I kept an eye out for Katy but didn’t see her anywhere, and at this point I was too tired to look for her. The photo with Vader was super quick, but I got what I wanted and headed out. I stopped to try to take a picture with the banner, but was struggling to get the sign and the medals in the selfie. Thankfully a lady saw me struggling and offered to help, then I took a group photo for them. I started to head to my car and was worried it would take me a while to find it since I didn’t pay attention to where I parked, but thankfully enough of the other cars had left the parking lot so Cupid was easy to spot. (Yes, my car’s name is Cupid.) My fan club was waiting in the car for the perfect photo with all three medals.

I came very close to falling asleep on the drive home, but then of course once I showered, I couldn’t sleep so I resumed my Star Wars movie marathon. I finished Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones already so I moved onto Revenge of the Sith. I then watched Rogue One again even though I watched it like a week ago, and I passed out sometime during A New Hope. I’ve got more blisters than I’m used to post race, but I’m not as sore as I expected. As of right now, I don’t have another race until November for the Wine and Dine Challenge. Maybe I’ll actually get on my training schedule this time!

Probably not.

#disney #rundisney #running #star wars #Adventure Report #Running

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topicprinter · 8 years ago

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PREVIOUS POSTS & CLIFFS - Skip if you've been with us the whole journey!Part 0I'm going to start a dropshipping e-commerce website with a large number of items & a (hopefully) unique value proposition. I'm using this as a test post to see if you guys would be interested in taking the journey with me.Most importantly: I'm not now, nor plan to, sell anything or benefit from this directly by any means. I won't be posting my website, linking to my blog, or offering a course at end (if I start making money). The reason for these posts will be: to gather my thoughts into words, to regurgitate what I'm learning (teaching is the best way to learn new concepts, etc etc) and most importantly to get input from you guys. I'm hoping people may learn from what I do, mistakes I make, things I read/summarize, etc. and that I can learn from your guys' experience.My rules for myself & my customers - I won't use dropshipping from overseas as an excuse for lack of quality. I will only put up items that I have faith in because of reviews, orders, and vendors. I will spend the time to make sure my customers are not "fooled" - upfront on shipping times, easy returns, etc. I will not con people for the sake of making a sale. With transparency & honest interactions I hope to limit my returns/problems & keep recurring buyers as well as take pride in my products & websiteQUESTIONS ANSWERED:I have a question. I've seen some dropshipping sites based on franchise merchandise. Harry Potter, Disney, etc. Are there legal risks? Is there any risk of being shut down or sued?Question - if you ship from aliexpress, how long does it take for your customers to receive the product? A week, a month?How will you address the fact that most customers will probably feel cheated when they order something from your website and then it turns up as a package from some "random" Chinese retailer ?Part 1First and foremost: thank you all for your kind support in this thread... not only the responses, but the dozen+ messages. Some of you just wrote to say you're interested, some even offered to help out. I'm grateful and hope you all keep along with me on the journey - rain or shine.The idea: I debated whether to get specific with you all or not, but.... here goes. If you can do the idea better than I will, congratulations :) The website will be a variety of items curated into collections for gift giving. For example - a curated list of items for college graduation for someone who is into automobiles. This custom curated list will include car tools, unique car items (one real example: an anti-glare sun visor), maybe a battery charger, etc. This gives me two target markets - for the gift giver, and the gift getter. It will have a request feature ("wishlist") but will be marketed towards gift givers ("hey sister of a college graduate, no idea what to get your brother? check out what our staff recommends"The problem(s): it's broad. But what's the biggest problem I forsee? Gift giving isn't always thought ahead of time. It's not something you plan a month in advance (because, you know, dropshipping). Shipping times, shipping problems, shipping times, shipping problems. We'll tackle it. Our marketing will have to be top-notch.Marketing PlanApps & ProgramsChoosing ProductsFinancialsQUESTIONS ANSWERED:Newbie here. Question for you: why did you start your business with shopify? Why not sell your product on amazon first, build up some sales $, then expand into your own webspace? The way you're doing it seems very daunting to someone who has never done this before (me).How do you decide on product pricing ? Do you have a formula you use ? Does it take into account the possibility of returns and the upfront cost of purely the operating cost ? Id love to know more of what kind of margin you shoot for and how you take everything into account to come up with a price.I have a question about how drop shippers become successful at all with the shit turn around time. Unless it's a really niche item I can't get anywhere else I would close any website so fast if I saw 20 day shipping time.Part 2The Website: is more or less finished. I have about 20 products left to finalize (choosing pictures, editing description, etc.) & finalizing some of the categories.The Legal Stuff: This is the major sticking point before I'm ready to launch. A lot of you guys mentioned that my idea of using an LLC & a DBA was overkill and I looked into it further. I decided on bypassing the LLC for now, and just starting as a sole prop w/ a business bank account & credit card and using a DBA. When/if we start making some money, we can move to an LLC (not a single-member one though because it's pretty useless, as far as I've read). I decided against an LLC due to the tax, record keeping, etc. & the fact that in my state the fees for an LLC are about $500 minimum.The Marketing PlanQUESTIONS ANSWERED:Will you reach the merchants from aliexpress before placing an order or you will just place the order without contacting them directly? How do you know they are up for dropshiping? If a client want a refund, they will send the item back to china, you get to pay them (the client) then you ask for the money from the merchant? I really want to know how refund works in this business.How do you know that your customers won't realize you're drop shipping and then order directly from your supplier for a cheaper price?I have a question about how drop shippers become successful at all with the shit turn around time. Unless it's a really niche item I can't get anywhere else I would close any website so fast if I saw 20 day shipping time.1 - WE ARE LIVE, LADIES AND GENTLEMENThe website launched earlier this week, once I finished up all my paper. Here's a cliffnotes on what I did before launch -DBA: Registered DBA instead of using an LLC or starting a new company. We're gonna start as a sole prop and see where we go.Mailbox: I purchased a 3 month plan @ the local UPS for a large sized box for returns, paperwork, and to be able to register for official paperworkBusiness Bank Account: I went with Chase. Easy and smooth. I'm even considering moving my personal accounts over because I liked the experience so much better than my ~15 years of experience with Wells Fargo.Business Credit Card: I applied for and got the Spark Business Card from Capital One. They offer 2% cash back and $500 cash bonus. Got a $10k spending limit off the bat. Thank you Dad for teaching me about maintaining good credit @ 16 years old. I did however run into one problem with Capital One.... they made me go to visit a branch in person to be able to authorize my card. They're only open 9am-4pm on weekdays, and the closest one to me is 50 miles away. That was a shitty day. Totally unncessary... but I guess fraud protection brings about weird things.Sales tax: Did a little bit of research, talked to a few friends, shit is confusing. First filing date is next year, so we got some time to work it out. For right now, Shopify is taking care of determining the sales tax for customers in my stateAliexpress account created, all social accounts made, products finished & updated, and the website framework is complete.2 - What the Website Looks LikeHomepageHomepage2CategoriesProduct PageTracking PageAll the pictures are free use stock photos from https://unsplash.com/3 - Wait - we have sales?Of course we have sales! Unfortunately.... they're all from family :( During the first few days of launch, I wanted to work on the tracking pages, practice ordering from Aliexpress, looking at the e-mail templates for ordering/shipping/payment, etc. We have a variety of outcomes....Order 1: 2/3/17 (2 items)Item 1: Processed (purchased on Aliexpress) 2/4/17, shipped 2/6/17 from China, arrived in USA 2/9/17, expected delivery 2/11/17 = ONE WEEK TURN AROUNDItem 2: Uhoh. Processed 2/4/17...... quiet. Quiet. Nothing from vendor. Where is it? Messaged vendor 2/7/17.... bummer. Cancelled. I've heard about some vendors who put ePacket as an option but do not actually offer it. This company had TONS of orders & good feedback, as well as the top star rating, but still had this issue. Kind of scary. For the future, if this comes up again I will tell the customer that the item is backordered and the ship date will increase, and ask them if they prefer to receive a refund or accept the increased shipping time. I will then be removing the vendor and all their products off my list.Order 2: 2/5/17 (1 item)Item 1: Processed (purchased) 2/5/17, shipped 2/6/17 from China, arrived in USA 2/9/17, out for delivery 2/10/17 = FIVE DAY TURN AROUNDSo....Ordering via Aliexpress using Oberlo is a BREEZE. Orders easily, uses customers address, pays easily, leaves pre-written note, attaches information to Shopify when order is placed, and easily updates tracking. All done via the Chrome extensionUsing three different vendors, I had three vast experiences. The first item processed & shipped reasonably. The second item I heard NOTHING until I reached out, and then had the epacket issue. The third item, I got a message from the vendor very quickly saying they received the order and will be shipping soon - processed quickly and no problems.4 - Wait.... wtf is this Merchandise section?You may have noticed in the screenshots of the new MERCHANDISE section. I know this T-shirt Dropship Thread by /u/W1ZZ4RD got lots of hate on this subreddit (the people on /r/juststart were much nicer....) but I ran across it and I was inspired. I see why a lot of people are skeptical - he's selling his b2b software, he's not talking much about how to actually MAKE the sales, and he seems to have an invested interest in teelaunch. I looked into it heavily and here's why I decided to pursue a similar (if not same) approach to add to my website:Yes he's promoting his b2b program. He doesn't shy away from it. He answers all the questions in the thread, and knows what he's talking about. I can appreciate the honesty, and I definietly appreciate that he's still answering questions 1 month laterThe biggest hiccup people will have is finding a designer - I already have one. My best friend is a designer, and we've decided to work on it together. He designs on his spare time, and we'll split up profits from merchandise. I don't need to do any work on that end.The biggest deal for me: my products felt sparse. I had ~230 products at the moment from Aliexpress, but each of the categories felt light because it's spread so thin. I found this opportunity to be a GREAT way to increase my inventory list easily - and without maintaining a huge 500-750 product list from Aliexpress.The fulfillment & following up could not be easier using teelaunch. I have found their customer service & information lacking, but as long as they follow through with their promise of fulfillment I have found it great so far. I've placed one test order for myself, and the app deals with the fulfillment, the payment, shipping, e-mailing, tracking, etc.Using a second sales channel on Amazon will be a great way to boost income - I hope. Since it's pretty easy to transfer information from Shopify to Amazon now that they're integrated, I think there could be a lot of space for additional income streams. Unfortunately, I could not post any of the Aliexpress items on Amazon (for obvious reasons), but custom merchandise I can. Let's see how it goes.Here's a screenshot: http://ift.tt/2lyhT8a - I'm still working on adding all the items to Amazon as well as to the website itself. This will be a continual process but one I have great hope for.5 - So what's next?Over the next month, I will be introducing a few new products from Aliexpress, lots of custom merchandise products (whenever I get designs from my designer, basically), and then spending the majority of the time on marketing & advertising now that the framework is set in place. The plan:$100/month on Google Adwords (plus a free $100 thanks to Shopify's coupon thing)$100/month on Facebook Ads/Facebook Likes$100/month on the remaining ad spend - Reddit? Instagram? Social Influencers? Etc.Now that the majority of the website framework is done, the next post will cover the marketing plan & advertising. I will include my plans, my ads, my results, what I've learned, ask for advice, all that good stuff. I'm looking forward to analyzing the ROI and sharing the results with you all.The last remaining part of the website to do is SEO - keyword analysis, content creation, backlinking, etc. That will be a continuous process that I will explain further along w/ the marketing in the next postHere's a few links I'll be reading and using over the next month.... http://ift.tt/2ltlAjB http://ift.tt/2lyexCb http://ift.tt/2c2kClY http://ift.tt/2l0vFUE - Financials & AppsBusiness Expenses so far (approx 2 months):DBA Register: $23.00DBA Newspaper Posting: $23.00Shopify Theme: $58.00Namecheap Domain & Email: $14.06 (1 year)Instagress Payment: $9.99 (1 month of "time", mostly for testing)UPS Mailbox: $150.00 (3 months)Shopify: $106.88TOTAL: $384.93..Monthly Costs Moving Forward (including Shopify Apps):Mailbox: $50.00Amazon Professional Account: $39.99Shopify Monthly: $29.00Consistent Cart App: $4.99Fomo App: $19.00Oberlo App: $29.90 (/u/kalvel please give me free stuff)Trust App: $0.00HelpCenter App: $0.00MailChimp App: $0.00SocialShopWave App: $29.00 (these guys had the best wishlist app, and their customer service was AMAZING. they helped me for hours via chat. I love them. /u/Kalysbek you are a baller, thank you.)TaxJar App: $19.00Teelaunch App: $0.00Trackr App: $0.00TOTAL: $220.88/month..So, let's try to make $250/month profit to start off with. Cool?THE END. Please let me know any questions you have, any suggestions you have, any advice you have, and let me know if you guys like the layout of the posts. More info? Less info? More screenshots? More explanation? More TL;DR? Let me know.P.S. I will respond to posts & messages as fast as I can, but please be patient. Thanks. Thanks for your kind words, thanks for your help, and thanks for your love.

#/r/entrepreneur #reddit

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