#when you grow up with almost none of your friends speaking english at home you learn

[howtodrawyourdragon]

Nonsense

@soulmateseptember

Summary: Written for Soultember 2023. Set before Httyd 1. A soulmate. Everyone has one, but not everyone is lucky enough to meet theirs. The only thing you have to lead you are your first spoken words. Despite growing up surrounded by a tightknit village, Hiccup feels alone. And as his First Spoken Words sound like nonsense to him, he fears his soulmate, too, will be as out of reach as the acceptance and love that he seeks from his father and his tribe.

Warning: /

Rating: General

Characters: Hiccup

Pairing: Hicctooth (platonic)

Words: 530

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: First Words

Author’s Notes: My only prompt written for Soultember 2023.

Enjoy! :)

XXX

Nonsense. The words sound like nonsense to him.

Ever since Hiccup figured out it were his soulmate’s first words to him that he could hear inside his head, he’s been trying to figure out what they’ve been saying.

Soulmates know they’ve found one another when the first words they speak directly to each other matches the ones they’ve been hearing in the backs of their minds for their entire lives. They’re literally referred to as; The First Spoken Words.

Unfortunately for Hiccup, he hasn’t been able to figure out what his mean. He’s tried to look into sagas, requested book after book from Trader Johann, talked with seafaring merchants that have come from far off places and dared to sail up to the Barbaric Archipelago despite the Dragon Scourge.

None of them have been able to tell him anything so far, not even the language he’s hearing.

In a bout of anger, he throws another book at the wall. It lands on his desk, causing some of his pencils and papers to fall to the ground. It makes quite a bit of noise in his quiet house, but he finds himself unable to care. He’s home alone, his dad has left on another quest to find the Dragon’s Nest.

Sitting on his bed, the 14-year-old, just shy of 15, pulls his blankets around himself. As if concealment will somehow hide him away from the world. As if it’ll somehow shield him from the apparent fact that he can’t even decipher his soulmate’s first words to him.

He doesn’t even know what language they’re spoken in. By now he knows English, French, Gaelic, Latin, bits and pieces of a few others… But none… none seem to match the things he’s been hearing for as long as he can remember.

The odd sounds that echo endlessly in his mind, begging to be solved. They’re just growls. Growls and what sounds like a screech. They make absolutely no sense to him. They sound so animalistic, he can’t hear a single word. He would almost think his soulmate a dragon if not for the fact that this was completely impossible.

Though how ironic would it be? The embarrassment of Berk’s soulmate, his soul’s life partner, can’t even be the right species. They can’t even be on the same side of a war that’s been going on for the past 300 years.

He feels so alone. In a tight knit village of only a little over a 100 people, there’s no where he truly belongs, no one who even wants to hold a normal conversation with him. Not unless it’s to talk about how he should change literally everything about himself before anyone would consider him worthy of “normal conversation.” No friends, his father is always as far away from him as he possibly can… In a place in which no one seems to want him, he thought he could at least have his soulmate with him.

Apparently, he thought wrong.

Still hiding away, wrapped in his blanket, he lies down. His heart aches as he’s plagued by his First Spoken Words, knowing he’s never going to find out who- or what- they belong to.

[unhingedhearties]

Sometimes A Photo Is Just A Photo

Erin and Ben are apparently back in Canada and were hanging out with Chris and his girlfriend/ fellow Hallmark actress.

Let's see how the infants handle it.

The "I'm Done With The Show" brigade is still stalking WCTH related posts.

"Damage Control". Boy, I hope a certain group of Hearties don't latch onto that phrase and repeat it over and over on this post like they tend to do when they can't come up with an independent thought.

This feels like it should be common sense, but don't ever "love" someone you've never met with "all your heart".

Oh look who it is. foxyinspiration right on cue to prove she doesn't have a thought in her head. Sadly I've already referenced the movie Screamers on this blog so I've got nothing besides hoping she ends up like Private Ross.

God forbid a woman do anything, right? Seriously, you're going to look at a photo where Ben's making a face like that but focus on Erin laughing "too hard".

Also, there are still people who don't believe Erin and Ben are a couple. Amazing.

37 freaking responses. Ugh… let's break these down. Without cheating, guess how many times they claim "damage control".

Private people are never allowed to go out with friends or show up in pictures on someone else's social media site. Are Chris and Julie actually private people or has the unhinged section of the Hearties fandom driven them to be more reserved and distant on social media? Just my opinion-thanks for your feedback though.

Some sanity prevails.

I try really hard to not make comments about people's grammar. I come from a large family of people who's first language isn't English. I learned English at a young age but it's still my second language. I get it. Having said that, what the hell are you trying to say? Also, judging by your profile picture, you're a middle aged woman. You are way too old to be speaking in hashtags. Grow up.

I don't know, maybe one of these two couples are new parents and have a small child at home that limits where/when/how they're able to go out? Maybe one of these two couples live in another country and only meet up when they have a movie that's filming near the other couple? Maybe… wait a minute. Hasn't Chris been in group pictures with Erin and the other actors? I don't obsess over the actor's personal lives so I don't know when he started dating Julie, but maybe they weren't together at the time so that's why she's not in those pictures. No that makes too much sense. Surely the reason Chris and Julie haven't been in a lot of photos with Erin and Ben is because… something to do with their character arcs from the last five seasons… but those seasons had different show runners… Look, none of this makes sense right now but I'll figure out a way to make it work. I'll start with my own conclusion and work backwards to justify it.

Stop making sense, you're upsetting the zoo animals!

Damn, I might be clairvoyant. markrymill said almost the same thing I said. Aaaaaaand of course she ignores all those points to accuse Erin of hiding comments. If Erin was actually wasting her time hiding comments, why are yours and all the other mindless parrots comments still visible? Maybe they got reported for being spam or harassment.

Say the line, Bart!

"a Governor's position that doesn't even exist in Canda!" Oh no! A historical inaccuracy in When Calls The Heart!? Wait, are we in favor of that or against it? Fans keep changing their opinion on that point. And like any of the people watching WCTH care about Canadian history. "Supposedly given a hero's arc yet he doesn't get the girl?" Women are just trophies for men to collect. Lucas is set up to maybe have an actual exciting storyline where his character does something for the greater good of society, but who cares. He didn't get the pretty decoration. It's amazing that these people will complain about the quality of the stories and writing but then say dumb stuff like this. Chris might have the chance to do something really good with his character besides look over a balcony and sip tea from a dainty cup but his own fans want to stop that.

Listen up Team Smooth-Brain. I want you to follow along so grab a safety pencil and a circle of paper: For this to have been set-up, Erin would have had to fly out to Canada, taking Ben with her. She would have then had to call up Chris and Julie, hope that neither of them were working that day, convince them to not only go out to lunch, but tell them to get a baby-sitter for their however many months old baby. Instead of picking a restaurant with decent lightning she picked this florescent nightmare for her staged photo. She then told everyone to smile, took the photo, and posted it to her Instagram page to… what exactly? What was her plan to control people's reactions? Because the people who are fine with WCTH were going to write the same generic "lol so cute to see you guys be friends" comments they were always going to write and the people who stomp their feet like toddlers who didn't get the toy they wanted were going to write the same "this is all fake damage control trying to control the narrative Chris is being forced at metaphorical gun point to smile in these photos" CSI bullshit they post on every one of her photos.

I hear Chris was offered a roll on a new show called Grease: Rise of the Pink Ladies. He should quit WCTH and devote all of his time to that instead.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! :D

"they are trying to manipulate us again. Not gonna happen 😢" I didn't know Hallmark had MKUltra agents on their marketing team.

#AnyoneButNathan

I hope When Calls The Heart gets another show runner and I hope they break Elizabeth and Nathan up and pair Elizabeth with a woman. Any woman*. I hope this show keeps going for however many seasons it takes to get a lesbian relationship with a major character.

*Except Fiona or Faith because those two are destined to be together and you can't convince me otherwise.

"Erin you're posting too many Kevin photos. It's rubbing salt in the wounds of heart broken Lucabeth fans who have PTSD just like those people currently in warzones and it's totally not tone-deaf of us to say that." "Erin you're posting all these photos of Chris to try and manipulate us into watching the next season. It's very cruel and sadistic of you." "Erin you're not fooling anyone by posting both Chris and Kevin photos. We're not falling for your damage control."

[xaracosmia]

ꕥ — WELCOME TO EXO COSMIA, ENA SHINONOME. 🌑

ꕥ — OOC INFORMATION;

name / alias: erika age: 26 pronouns: she / her ooc contact: fugionaras @ twitter + tumblr other characters in xc: mitsuri kanroji, raiden ei, & michael afton

ꕥ — IC INFORMATION;

name: ena shinonome age: 18 pronouns: she / her series: project sekai canon point: up-to-date with the english server (as of what lies behind / what lies ahead) app triggers: none

personality:

ena’s something of a blunt person. she hardly minces words when it comes to getting her point across and has no problem with stepping in and talking someone down if they try to do it to her friends or her first. her hard headed nature and strong will often lead her to getting a hint argumentative with even her closest companions, but it’s never out of malice.

deeper beneath that is someone who cares more than she initially lets on. ena can often catch onto when someone is feeling under the weather and works in her own way to find a way to help.

entrenched in so much of ena however is a sense of frustration. those around her are far above her in talents and can succeed at anything they do without so much as a little effort. her perfectionist nature comes out most when she’s in comparison with others, becoming sarcastic and biting and jealous when certain topics are broached.

she hates it, however: the part of her that seeks recognition and endless praise feels shallow in her mind. even when it’s understandable to want someone to see your hard work, it leaves a terrible taste in her mouth to announce it aloud. combatting this isn’t easy and even on some days where the compliments from her selfies can lift her up, all it seems to do is bring her down harder when the comments stop coming.

something your muse struggles with: her self-esteem. battered by those she looked up to, ena finds it difficult to deal with criticism and negative comments on her art in particular.

your muse’s greatest strength: her honesty. while it comes off as incredibly blunt or harsh, ena’s not one to lie when it comes to her true feelings on something. speaking her mind is the route she will always go.

history / background:

ena’s aspiration in life came from looking up to her father. a professional artist and well-loved for his work, he was the pinnacle of what she wanted to grow into. coming home from middle school, she got his attention and asked about what school she should go to in order to pursue her dreams.

all she was met with was a harsh response; “ you don’t have the talent to become an artist. ”

it’s the argument that ensures that drives a wedge that remains to this day in their relationship. ena shuns her father’s advice and angrily rejects his words, but the damage is done and they’ve lodged into her heart. there’s no reason to bother following in his footsteps because she isn’t good enough and never would be.

she’ll show him. she’ll show him and everyone else in the world of artist that she has what it takes.

her art teacher doesn’t make it any better. criticizing her despite all of the effort she put in only to praise her classmates endlessly wounded her spirits. what was she doing wrong? why did he think so lowly of her work? why? why? why?

( the rejection from the school she wanted to attend almost stings more. )

ena doesn’t give up. she wouldn’t call it that, but her attendance at school dips severely until she resigns herself to night classes only. while this doesn’t necessarily improve her records, ena does make an effort to go. it’s one day when she’s contacted by a musical composer known as “K” to the wider internet and kanade yoisaki to those within the circle. she compliments her illustrations, praises them in a way no one has before.

it makes her heart swell. it’s hardly a question of whether she would accept K’s offer.

while unable to come up with a proper name, “enanan” is what she winds up with. the music circle is known as “nightcord at 25:00” or, when shortened, “N25” and consists of 4 people. there’s k, enanan, “yuki” the lyricist, and “amia” the the animator of the their MVs. in accordance with their name, they meet up on an app known as nightcord to diligently work on their craft together at 1 in the morning.

for ena, this is what can keep her motivated. the friendships that have come from this circle, the praise from comments on the videos featuring her art, a chance to show her skills to a wider audience… she’s happy here. if nothing else, she would love to remain with N25 for as long as possible and grow with them.

powers / abilities:

none!

inherent abilities:

none!

items / weapons:

untitled song. a strange file that appeared on ena’s devices. she uses it to transport herself to the empty SEKAI, a place born from mafuyu’s feelings.

drawing tablet. her main tool for artistry when it comes to producing illustrations for niigo.

art supplies. paints, charcoals, watercolors… an entire selection of them along with the normal brushes as well as some cups used specifically for paint water.

plushies. a wide collection from various sources, namely herself as well as ones gifted to her by her own friends or her brother’s friend.

starting ability: none! starting item: drawing tablet!

  ꕥ — EXTRA;

[gently pats her head] this lesbian can fit so many issues

her plushie collection is WILD i think she should have 100 squishmallows to sleep in

what if you and your brother were both the gay sibling what then

this feels like the longest personality section i’ve ever written somehow

listen to i nandesu and infinitely gray and nomad and–

discord id: BLANK CANVAS.#8272

passcode: my friend spent 400 dollars on you

[chopper-witch]

Tbf fakest part of Ms. Marvel was the perfect translation from Urdu to English. Nothing is ever that smooth. That’s fake as fuck.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Could I request a Jaskier x female reader where the reader is a princess who during daylight, is condemned to be a bear, after being cursed by an evil sorcerer At night she become a human again. Which the curse can only be broken by a man (who would be Jaskier) who pledges his heart solely to the reader (something like true love’s kiss). Please and thank you!!!

Bruin

jaskier x reader

masterlist

Warnings; mentions of witcher killing, mentions of death and angst, curses, nudity, some fluff, implied smut

“G-Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice shivered, as he saw a great mountain of brunette fur, wading through the long grass, heavy breathing exhibiting from its wet snout. “There’s a bear!”

“If you’re that scared, try to speak quieter.” The Witcher’s speech remained monotone, as he continued walking, leaving the bard to catch up with his hardy footsteps. “We need to leave before nightfall, that is when the true monster is unleashed from the bruin vessel.”

“You kill monsters, we’ll be fine.” The bard waved off, though he was terrified, and Geralt was all but convinced with his dismissal. “We will, won’t we Geralt?”

“It’s bad luck to remain out here at night, it’s an old wives tale, however, no one survives the night out here. Not after the disappearance of the princess of Arafell.” Jaskier remembered that tale, he had even seen the princess at a banquet once when they were both young in age.

Neither of them had the opportunity to converse with one another that evening, it was the night she had ran away. and he certainly had regretted never asking her dance. Before that though, they had often strode through the gardens hand in hand, conversing on the beauty of the petals that veiled around the stems, and she, unlike most people, listened to his descriptive forms of poetry. Back then, he had been shy, and not to mention, she was of sought after royal blood. That evening was the last that anyone from the kingdom had ever been seen, after the slumber of eternity wept over their souls. One thing he severely remembered though, was that she loved dandelions.

The princess had ran away, leaving the king and queen in search of someone that could find her, and thus they hired a private sorcerer to complete their wishes. But instead of seeking out the lost girl, the old man took the gold and the lives of old, wallowing the land in distress that clambered into a delving of madness.

A shout bellowed from the bear, and Jaskier found him to “How long will it be til we reach the borders?”

“The bad luck will loom over us Jaskier, we will not make it out of here in the span of the next countless hours. There will be a moon in the sky, but perhaps we’ll be able to seek out cover in the old guard’s tower.”

“Where are we Geralt?” The brown haired poet feared to be met with the answer “What makes you think that we’ll survive the night?!”

“This is what remains of Arafell.” Stated the white haired hunter, as he continued to plod through the thick foliage beneath his dark boots. He stepped on the dull green life form, not encouraged to pursue any further into the depths as he heard the destination that they were travelling through.

“Arafell, great.” Huffed the irritating bard, clutching his lute as he spoke the haunting name. “There’s no need to be afraid, when you’re in the land of torn bodies, because the witcher is by your side. He’ll slash and dice, protect the mice, from the darkness that falls from above. The people are dead, I am filled with dread, in the land of Ar-afellll.”

“Stop singing.” Whenever there was any fault present in their adventures together, Jaskier had a tendency, wallowing similar like a pie without filling to sing. It shrouded Geralt with epitomised frustration, his betrothed follower sure knew how to pull his strings, it was as though he were a moral lute, a practice run of socialisation for the noble’s son.

“Sorry.” Apologised the traveller, with a shrug encompassed by a spark of coldness affecting his posture. There was a breeze, filled with the pinching of icicles in the air, and it clawed through his clothes, clashing with the meat blanketed warmth of his bones. “It’s just- we’re in bloody Arafell, or what remains of it, and you are so calm. Have you maybe perhaps forgotten what happened here?!”

“No. I was here when it queen Ara and her kingdom fell. And that bear has lurked every inch of these demolished castle lands searching for scraps, and if you cannot tell, it is almost night fall, and she has come up sufficiently short of anything, for all these decades.”

The listener frowned, bears did not live so long. It was a curious prospect, it remained loyal to these grounds, although it was empty. There had to be a reason why, a pattern that supposed why it, or she as Geralt had divulged, remained to lurk in the midst of the overgrown forestry. And then another thought (yes, Jaskier had the ability to do that despite what his protective travel mate may have wondered), hit him, like a bolt of lightning.

“Um, Geralt, where is the bear?” He gulped, hearing the rustling of the thick foliage metres behind them. The moon scourged the sky with its global presence, inducing another shot of ambient fear through Jaskier’s veins. “It was-“

“Shut up a moment.” It was almost impossible half the time to silence Jaskier, but this time, he actually obliged the command. Geralt drew his sword, the one that glistened a predominate silver and was made from the compound, clutching the handle in his vice and skilled grip, as his feet took him closer to the imposter that was imbedded within the weeds.

“Oh.” Jaskier covered his eyes, he couldn’t look as Geralt pointed the weapon at the beasts throat; a whimper escaped it as Geralt took a step back, alerting his companion. “Kill it Geralt, it’s a bear, it’s going to kill us.”

“It was a bear.” Geralt elaborated as he watched the beast transform and lose its course coat of brown fur, turning into a less monstrous beast. It was only a girl, with unruly and wild hair that was matted in all directions, her face contorted into fear. “Of whom are you, my lady?”

“A witcher.” It trailed from her lips as a whisper, her tone alerting Jaskier that it indeed was not a bear, rather it was a woman, laid on the forest ground, in nothing but her own layers of skin. His eyes widened for a moment, until he earned an elbow in the rib from his friend for his long and convicted ogling. “I have only heard legends but...

“You speak english?” Jaskier wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, hinting at his subsequent misunderstanding of the situation. “but you were a bear?!” This was all growing more confusion with each passing second, there were too many angles of the world.

“I’m cursed.” It was an easy consequence to admit, for the lady of the worlds already lived through them. “Each day, I am forced to pad about in the brute body of a bruin, a sorcerer brought by darkness himself to this dimension damned me to this abomination, his name was-“

“Lament.” From hearing that name, the woman on the ground was taken aback as the women, trying to prevail some decency, attempted to cover her breasts with her arms, as she crossed her legs over one another. “Your parents sent me to find you, lady. I came up empty handed in my search for you, there was no trail that I managed to find, nothing that would point in your direction. And that night, as I returned with short of nothing of any news of your whereabouts, Lament was there.”

“He killed them all, didn’t he. My family?” The answer didn’t require any verification from Geralt, the solemn, yet usual expression on the Witcher’s face was all the confirmation that she needed. “Of course he did, he’s a poisonous shadow, when he finds something he wants, he takes away its home, so that it can’t run back to the hearth whence it came from. I regret every running away from home...”

“Wait a moment.” This was all beginning to add up in some mind boggling way. Jaskier flitted his gaze aside for a moment as Geralt pulled a fine blanket from his luggage, knowingly seeing the movement out of the corner of his curious eye that she was pulling the material that conducted warmth over her shoulders, and across her sachet of flaunted skin.

"Shut up Jaskier." Instantaneously stated the bard, whom had returned his cerulean gaze back upon the y/h/c woman, depositing a composition of interest to her form.

"You're the princess of Arafell, aren't you. Y/n, it's you, isn't it?" Y/n's expression was one of shock; how did this man know of her identity? She understood how the witcher did, though with considering he was condemned with the duty of finding her. The brunette man was slightly familiar, and so he revealed why that was. “it’s Julian.” Jaskier held his hand to his chest, almost hurt that you didn’t recognise him, but it had been years, so many, none of which had been kind to you. “My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz.”

“Dandelion!” The reprised title spun from y/n's tongue, remembering the nickname that she had given the now gentleman all those years ago, when he was nothing more than a persisting boy that made her flash an unashamed laughter in the midst of poised quality showrooms of noble gatherings. "I remember you." She dwelled on the fact, if she weren't clothed in only a shrill and frayed blanket that was pebbled with small dots of soil, from where it had been laid on the ground, y/n surely would have jumped up and spun her arms around his 'sexy goose' neck.

"You've got to be kidding me, it is just my luck that the pair of you know each other." Geralt crossed his arms, shaking his sleek silver head, being deprived of attention as he spoke. "Is there any way to get yourself out to get you out of this prospected curse of turning into a bear, y/n?"

"To be betrothed to a man, confirmed with a kiss resonating true love, though, nobody with any sense would put themselves in that position for me, there is no wealth to my name anymore, nor is there relevance with my heritage, for there is nothing that remains, as you have confirmed for me. This man must certainly be one of a kind, for he has to pledge his loyalty solely to me, forbidding himself from ever being with another woman again."

The mention of a lack of sense reminded Geralt of one man in particular, and he was stood right beside him. But it couldn't have been Jaskier, of all people, and- Geralt found himself overcome with dread as the bard stepped forward, crunching his shoed feet into the withered grass, closer to the rediscovered princess.

"I have waited my whole life to see you again." Oh god, here he went, Geralt thought. "When we were younger, I was infatuated with you, and here we are, united again in a union. If my betrothal means nothing then you will remain in this shrine of gloom, but to me, it would mean everything to me."

"Y/N come on, have some sense, it-" There was lack of reason for Geralt to continue speaking, as y/n sprung up, the blanket flowing down from her shoulders, baring her body cold to the crisp air, as her hands clasped both sides of Jaskier's face, and pressed her lips to his.

The witcher cringed, turning away as the pair practically ate the other's face, like starved animals that had been distanced for many years, which in their case was true. "Do you know if the curse is broken, is there any indicator if so?"

A hum fell from y/n's mouth as Jaskier's hand traced the curve of her spine, causing Geralt to scoff. That was the only response he earned, and to a high stake, it disgusted him. "I think I'm just gonna let you two have some time to yourselves, I guess we will see in the morning if you're being mawled by a bear you flippant."

And thus he walked away, leaving the two to pursue their primitive instincts, under the blessed moon, and on the routed curfew on the dark and dead land of Arafell.

[random-imagines-blog]

Post Red Part ii {Viktor Krum x Reader Oneshot}

Sequel to : Post Red Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2385 Summary: When you go to Hogwarts to support your school in the Triwizard Tournament, an unfortunate familiar face makes an appearance. More than once.

Your first glimpse of Hogwarts was spectacular. The ship erupted above the water, and you were finally able to see where it was that you were going to be staying. The glorious castle managed to look beautiful, even through the foggy September morning. You looked towards Viktor, who was sitting beside you, leaning his head to try to look out of your window. “Can you believe this is going to be home for the next year? I’m so glad that my parents let me come with you rather than stay alone at Durmstrang,” You spoke to him in your home tongue. Though you would be having to get used to speaking English more and more regularly, with all of the English students. You looked out the window again, your heart leaping in your chest. This was almost as exciting as going to the World Cup had been.

“It is a little small,” Viktor said, arms crossed in front of him. His loyalty was obviously to Durmstrang, and its own towering peaks. But you were used to his gruff behavior and just ignored him, focusing instead on the sights that were around.

You had no plans of entering the Triwizard Tournament. You were just there as a part of reaching out to other schools, building a sense of community, making friends, trying to see things from another’s perspective. So you did not go in with the dramatics of the seventh year boys, but rather lingered and stepped in after the displays, making yourself at home at a table with a Snake motif. It’s not as if you and the others were going to be noticed once Viktor had come in at your headmaster’s side. All eyes were on him, and conversation immediately erupted upon seeing his face. That grouchy Viktor face.

He slipped in across from you as the Beauxbatons students came through, and immediately started to put food on his plate. There hadn’t been a wide variety of food available on the ship that brought you here, so you were starving, loading your own plate up high. But you paused when you saw that Viktor had. He was looking down the table with a glare in those dark eyes. “Is that-?” He questioned with a motion of his head.

You looked down in the direction that he was staring at and it became very apparent just whom he was glaring at. Draco Malfoy. How could you forget that name when he had drilled it into your head during the World Cup? You couldn’t forget that head of silver hair either. You wrinkled your nose and nodded a yes. It was. Viktor started to stand, but you reached out and grabbed hold of his arm, fork dropping onto the table with a clattering sound. It had happened just as the Headmaster of Hogwarts had paused in his speech, and many eyes went to you and to the Quidditch Star. Or at least the ones that weren’t there already. You smiled uneasily and took your hand off of Viktor’s arm. “Not here,” You muttered.

“He disrespected you, he deserves to be punished,” He said, still standing, still glaring, despite all of the attention on him. Draco, on the other end of the table, looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. It almost seemed worth letting Viktor go, to see that expression on his face when he would come hulking over. The young boy must have put two and two together. He recognized you, and that’s why there was that fear. “Y/N...”

The teachers were looking at you as well. Only Karkaroff would be able to understand what you were both saying, since it was still in your native tongue. He looked furious that you two were causing such a ruckus, and it made your cheeks redden in shame. “Please. Later.”

Viktor finally seemed to notice all of the eyes on him, still standing, fists down on the table. He held a hand up to excuse himself and sunk back down onto the bench. You let out a breath of relief, and Dumbledore continued on with his speech about unity. All Viktor was thinking about was uniting his fist with Draco Malfoy’s face, no doubt. While you focused on uniting this amazing food with your stomach.

-

Viktor had been chosen as Durmstrang’s Representative in the Triwizard Tournament. You were both proud and deeply worried about him, but promised that you would help him along every step of the way. The first task was dragons, as he had found out from Karkaroff. He was growing distracted with trying to figure out ways of defeating a dragon, fighting a dragon, winning over a dragon, that he had nearly forgotten about Draco Malfoy. But Draco Malfoy had not forgotten about you. How you had turned him down, humiliated him in front of his father and the Minister of Magic. And he managed to catch you alone as you were heading back to the Durmstrang dormitories after a study session in the library.

“No bodyguard to protect you this time,” He said with a smirk, pushing himself away from the wall that he had been leaning against. There was no reason for him to be in this hallway, so far as you knew. So this crazy kid must have been waiting for you. He made you feel extremely uncomfortable for the second time in months.

“I do not need a bodyguard,” You said, in slow and careful English. “I need to get to my room.”

“Let’s go then,” Draco said, standing beside you. “I’ll go with you. I’m still waiting on that apology.”

“An apology? I’m waiting on one too, from you. You have been a pest since the World Cup. I would hate to have to report you to Karkaroff.”

You could have sworn that he grew a little paler, not that you thought it was possible with how white his skin already was. That made you feel a little better. Your headmaster as an intimidating man. “You won’t be getting any apologies from me, when you have been the little tease-”

“You’re one to talk about little, fourth year,” You taunted, since clearly being polite, and being avoidant wasn’t working. So you had to make sure that he wanted nothing to do with you. “If you do not leave me alone, I will tell Viktor, and the rest of Durmstrang, and Karkaroff - and they will all believe me about the annoying gnat you are. And then the word will get to Beauxbatons. Do you really want those pretty ladies laughing at you? If not, then you better back off.”

Malfoy took three steps back and you let out a breath in satisfaction. You hurried forward, slipping into the shadows of the castles to make your way back to your dorm. Once you were safe in there, you decided to write a letter to Viktor and tell him what had happened. Malfoy seemed like the sort of boy who liked to retaliate, and you wanted to be prepared in case he got any ideas. Maybe you did have a bodyguard after all.

-

Viktor started going with you everywhere, even after he was chosen as the Durmstrang Champion. It really was almost like being at your own school, and things were normal. Viktor was the person in this world that you were closest to, even more so than your parents. Nobody from Durmstrang batted an eye when you say beside each other at meals, or went for jogs together or went to the library. There was some people from Hogwarts and Beauxbatons who wanted to know about your relationship with the handsome Quidditch star; Viktor always answered them by putting his arm around your shoulders and grunting. He wasn’t a man of very many words, this Viktor Krum.

Whenever Malfoy was around, Viktor went in full shark mode, like he had when you were taken to the bottom of the lake and he had to rescue you as one of the tasks. He snarled and bared his teeth at the boy, and you usually ended up having to drag him away before he would put the blonde in the hospital wing. You always told him that he wasn’t worth it, and that after Viktor would win the Tournament, they would go back to Bulgaria and would never have to think of that rat-faced bastard again.

English slang was really starting to rub off on you.

When the Yule Ball was announced, you thought that perhaps Viktor was going to ask the cute, brunette fourth year that was always in the library, but he hadn’t. He asked you. And you, of course, had said yes. Not only just because him being around you had scared off any other potential suitors, but because you knew you would be comfortable enough around him to actually dance and have fun. Just another day, but he would be letting loose in front of other people as well.

You dressed up. And so did he. Though he definitely looked good - most Quidditch Players did, it was in their fitness regiment, he looked especially great tonight. And by the smile on his face, you thought you must have made a pretty picture yourself.

“Are you prepared to dance, Mr. Krum?” You asked in your native tongue, slipping in beside him and walked towards the winter-wonderland that the Great Hall had turned into. You waved and smiled at your friends, none of them surprised at who you were with. In fact, bets had been taken for who was going to ask who. Very few people lost a few galleons that night. “Because I am so ready.”

The Ball was a blur of fun, punch and music. Your feet were sore from all of the dancing. As were Viktor’s, because he did most of his sport above the ground. You definitely wore out your dancing shoes, and would have to awkwardly tell your parents that you needed a new pair for formal events. Once you explained that it was because of Viktor, you were sure you would have no problem getting more.

But the ending of the night wasn’t as fun, and it was because of that Ferret, Malfoy. He was pushing every last button that you had, which meant that he was poking at Viktor’s as well. All it took was one smug comment to his friends about how you had been ‘all over him’, trying to get all cozy during the World Cup, and Viktor saw red. You hadn’t seen that kind of anger in him before.

He went straight after Malfoy the way that a bull went after a matador. Nose blowing smoke. If he had horns, Malfoy would have been pinned to the wall by them, without a doubt. But as it were, all Viktor had was his brute strength - he didn’t even think about magic. Straight in with a punch to that self-approving face. Malfoy went down like an under-inflated balloon, sinking under the weight of that hit. But that didn’t stop Viktor - and neither did the other fourth year Slytherins trying to have their friends back. You even got involved, trying to pull Viktor out of the developing dog-pile.

It didn’t take long for the chaparones to notice that there was a fight going on, and you were all torn apart from each other by magic. You were now against the wall, feeling like someone had just cast petrificus-totalis on you. Your eyes rolled to find Viktor, only to see that he was beside you, with a bruise developing over one eye. One of those boys must have got him good. You wished you could see how they had come out of the fight. Viktor was sure to have given out twice as good as he got.

“What is the meaning of this?” Professor McGonagall, one of the teachers here at Hogwarts, demanded to know. “A champion? Taking part in a physical altercation?” She looked between you and Viktor, and then to the three Slytherins.

“My fault,” You said, giving up on the struggle against the magic. “I - tripped - fell on boy - Viktor defend me.”

Your English was still a bit rough, but that seemed to be working in your favor. You didn’t have to use as many words if they thought you didn’t know them. But obviously you were going to jump in and lie so that Viktor wouldn’t get in trouble. This tournament meant as much to him, if not more, than Quidditch did. You weren’t going to let him get kicked out just because of some rat-faced boy.

“Well,” McGonagall said, fixing her robes. Your mood perked just a little. She wasn’t even going to ask for the boy’s side of the story? She barely even looked at him now, except to give a hard stare. “20 points from Slytherin.”

“But Professor-”

“And be thankful that it isn’t more!” She said, and with a wave of your wand you were all set free. “I suggest you spend your time on different sides of the Ball this evening.”

“We will, thank you,” You said with a nod, taking Viktor’s hand and pulling him to the left side of the room. “You need to learn how to control your temper, or you  might get kicked out of the tournament. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking he needed to shut up,” Viktor said. All of the good mood had been sucked out of the both of you by the encounter.

“I hope he learned his lesson,” You said. “I hate liars. It should be obvious I would never be all over someone like him.”

“Good,” Viktor said. “He makes me see red.”

“Makes me mad too,” You nodded. “But let’s not think about him, and enjoy the dance. Shall we?”

Viktor nodded and took your hand, bringing you back out to the dance  floor to dance those emotions away, and forget that anyone else - especially a boy named Draco Malfoy - ever entered into your lives.

[knoxyourself]

I went for it

Pairing: Wolfstar (Remus Lupin/Sirius Balck)

Words: 2,7k

Warnings: none I think

(english is not my first language so it's not perfect)

The ‘Gryffindor Pride’ party was incredibly loud, as everyone probably expected. They just won the Quidditch Cup third year in a row, it was a good reason for a party. But then again, one could always find a great reason to party with Gryffindors.

Muggle booze, brought by Mary, and Firewhiskey were flowing like waterfalls, which meant that everyone was having a great time. If not, they were few drinks away from it and soon enough it’d be just fine.

It was probably the last party of the year, right before the exams, so in all honesty everyone wanted to loosen up a little.

That’s why two sixth years were handing out bottles of butterbeer to everyone, who passed their ‘station’ at the table. Sirius and James were never ones to give up some fun, although Sirius had decided to stay sober that night. It didn’t stop him from getting James, who was currently laughing at something with Marlene, incredibly pissed.

Remus silently watched their interaction from the other sofa. He was slightly tipsy himself, but not to the point where he’d have a hangover the next morning. He watched James acting like a goofball in front of Lily – that’s when Remus heard the laugh.

His eyes involuntarily fixated on Sirius’s profile. The black-haired boy looked like he was glowing. His silvery eyes were shimmering with joy, bright smile plastered on his incredibly alluring lips. He realized, that he wanted to know what the boy tasted like, he wanted to examine every single part of Sirius’s body with his fingertips, he wanted Sirius, and he wanted Sirius to acknowledge that fact. Merlin, Remus was definitely feeling the impact of alcohol he consumed. Remus knew that he had a silly crush on the dark-haired boy, he fancied Sirius Black and he was somewhat okay with that, he just hadn’t realized, that his desire was that intense. Sirius was his best friend for fucks sake, he wasn’t keen on ruining it. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, Remus slouched in his place, eyes still eagerly absorbing Sirius’s features. He only shifted his gaze when Lily plumped next to him on the couch.

“You look like you’re having fun,” she said, sarcasm present in her voice. “What’s up?”

“I am having fun.” He retorted rolling his eyes. “I think I’m drunk tho.”

Lily laughed loudly, shaking her head with amusement. She definitely drank more than the light-haired boy.

“Drunk?” she mused. “You’ve had like, what, two butterbeers?”

“I don’t do good with alcohol.”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it.” Lily had a pretty good idea why Remus’s mood suddenly changed. She wasn’t stupid, she could see the longing eyes, hidden smiles, Remus’s blushing whenever Sirius came way too close. They were both more obvious than they thought. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me what’s, or rather who’s, on your mind. I think I already know enough.”

“What d’you mean?” Remus felt his ears heating up.

“Nothing,” she smiled sympathetically, patting his back. “But I think you should talk to him. I have a feeling that you won’t regret it.”

With that said, she was gone, jumping back on to the dance floor.

The moment when Remus’s eyes shifted back to Sirius, Queen’s Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy started playing on full volume. It was Lily’s doing, but Remus would never know that part of the story. He let the girls words sink in to his brain. He knew that he’d have to talk to Sirius at some point, but until that, he’d rather avoid the topic.

When he heard the first notes of the song, Sirius felt a pair of eyes staring at him. He didn’t turn around immediately. Sirius noticed Remus’s gaze earlier and he hoped that it was also the light-haired boy this time. It was a weird feeling, being watched by Remus. It always made Sirius’s stomach twist and he felt like he was drowning. But it was a good kind of drowning, he was drowning in his own feelings. The positive ones. Finally, he gave in and locked eyes with his best friend.

Remus’s eyes were smooth, warm. Almost soothing. When Sirius stared into them, he felt like he was home.

They were gazing into each other’s eyes for quite some time. Sirius needed more. He knew that Remus didn’t feel the same, but to wish was not a crime, right? He shook his head and tapped James’s shoulder.

“Prongs, I’m gonna go to Remus, you’ll be okay?” he asked the boy.

James wasn’t anywhere near sober, quite the opposite actually. He was currently arguing with equally pissed Marlene and Mary over the latter’s sexual experiences. He turned to face Sirius when he felt the tap.

“Wha-? Oh, Re-mus, sure.” James slured, sly grin forming on his lips. “Go get ‘em tiger!” He threw fist in the air while both girls laughed their asses off.

Sirius rolled his eyes in amusement, he’s never seen James this drunk.

“Don’t let him touch any more firewhiskey Marls.” Sirius looked pleadingly at the blonde.

“You are notme mother, Black.” James stumbled trying to stand up, and fell face first on the table. That of course caused another fit of laughter from the girls and a pained groan from James.

While Sirius tried to get rid of his drunk company, Remus found himself talking to a sixth year Ravenclaw. Justin Haywood sat next to him on the couch and offered him Remus’s third butterbeer.

Justin was slightly shorter than Sirius but equally good looking. He had a define jawline, deep emerald eyes that were now glossy from all the alcohol, and a blond buzzcut. He, unlike Sirius, played Quidditch so his shoulders were much broader. It suited him well.

Remus knew Justin from his Advanced Charms study group, they got along quite well. With Justin everything was easy, there wasn’t any distracting emotions, he could just talk to him and admire his physical appearance, not like with Sirius. Sirius was complicated, Remus never really knew what the dark-haired boy thought about him.

“I don’t think I understood our last assignment correctly.” Justin sighed relying slightly on Remus’s shoulder. They were going through last Charms lesson, really interesting topic to dig into during a party. “There’s shit-load of theory.”

Justin apparently was much more full-mouthed after couple of drinks. Not that Remus minded, he wasn’t a saint himself.

“I’m sure you got it just fine,” the light-haired boy laughed gingerly. “But I can help you if you’re really that worried.”

At that point Sirius finally left James with the girls. He searched the room for Remus and that’s when he saw it. Justin’s arm around Remus’s shoulders, the Ravenclaw boy leaning slightly on Remus. He came closer so he could listen on their conversation.

“So,” Haywood started with a pleased smile. “Hogsmeade this weekend?”

Unfortunately, form his place Sirius couldn’t see Remus’s face, only his back, which tensed slightly after Justin’s question.

“Oh, I um- I thought we could go over it on the study group meeting?”

Sirius wondered what was this all about, but he didn’t want to expose himself just yet.

“Well, it’s a hell of a work, I think we can meet up one on one, y’know?” Remus nodded his head, still a little tense. “So, Hogsmeade?”

“I’m actually going with James, Sirius and Peter.” Said Remus. “Sorry.”

“Aw, c’mon man!” Justin groaned playfully. “I’m sure Potter and his bitches can manage one day without you.”

Remus laughed stiffly when Justin pulled him even closer to his chest.

That was probably when Sirius lost it. Haywood was way too close to Remus, he didn’t like it. He clenched his fists and shoved them into the pockets of his jean jacket. After little to no thinking he stepped right in front of the two sixth years.

“I’m truly moved Haywood, that you care ‘bout my well being.” He sneered. “Problem is, Hogsmeade is kind of a tradition for us.”

Justin looked up lazily.

“Bullshit, you’ve missed lots of Hogsmeade trips.” He said defiantly.

“Doesn’t change the fact that Moony made plans with us first so you can kindly fuck off.”

Now it was Remus’s turn to grow mildly annoyed. He freed himself from Justin’s embrace and stood up in front of Sirius.

“What the hell Padfoot?! I can speak for myself.” He growled and then turned to face Justin. “I’m sorry Justin, but he’s right. He’s incredibly nosy, but he’s right. I can’t just cancel it, I already promised Peter I’ll go with him to Honydukes while we’re all there.”

Justin looked really disappointed for a moment, but then he just smiled brightly at Remus and also got up from the couch.

“Nah, it’s cool Remmy. We can go next time.” He caressed Remus’s cheek and disappeared in the crowd.

“Moony-“

“Don’t. Say. A. Word.” Remus cut him off sharply. “Why did you feel the need to speak on my behalf?”

Sirius didn’t answer, instead he just followed Remus through the portrait out of the common room.

“Maybe I wanted to go with him.” Remus stated sternly.

“Did you?” Sirius looked up at the boy when he finally caught up to him. “You wanted to go with him?”

Remus wouldn’t dare to say that, no, he didn’t want to go to Hogsmeade with Justin fucking Haywood. He wanted to go with Sirius. So instead of answering the question, Remus pretended not to hear.

“Great,” Sirius sighed annoyed. “Besides, I don’t really appreciate being called James’s bitch. If anything, James would definitely be my bitch.”

“Yeah sure, forgot what a princess you are.” Remus laughed despite himself. “You got any cigarettes on you?”

Sirius did a quick search through his pockets to discover that he did in fact had a pack of cigarettes. He pulled them out in triumph.

“Great. I need one.” Remus started walking up the stairs to Astronomy Tower. “You comin’?”

“You’re not mad anymore?” Sirius asked anxiously. He hated when Remus was mad at him, it always resulted in some nasty sleepless nights.,

Remus sighed heavily when they reached the top.

“I wasn’t mad in the first place.” He said after a while. “I was annoyed.”

“Well either way, I’m sorry.” Sirius handed him a cigarette. “I shouldn’t have eavesdrop or talk like I knew what you wanted.”

The light-haired boy nodded, smiling in Sirius’s direction.

“I think what annoyed me the most, was the fact that you actually knew what I wanted.” He mused. Sirius furrowed his brows questioningly, so Remus continued. “I didn’t want to go to Hogsmeade with Justin Haywood. I’d much rather hang out with my friends.”

“Good to know.” Sirius said, lighting both of their cigarettes. “You should really start going for what you really want. You deserve to be happy, you know?”

They were smoking in silence for several minutes. Sirius was admiring Remus from the corner of his eyes. Everyone knew, that Remus Lupin with a cigarette was a sight you’d want to see. It wasn’t unseen or unheard of, but it was definitely rare. And it was absolutely beautiful. It was bringing out two different, almost conflicted sides of the boy. His soft sweaters would always smell like smoke after, which changed his entire aesthetic immediately. From the soft looking-sweet-well mannered-nerdy guy that everyone knew and adored, Remus was becoming the fourth marauder, troublemaker who only a few people got to see every day. Sirius of course knew, that he was still the same guy, it was just his aura and how other people perceived him was changing, but it still was, truly, remarkable (and it was turning him on quite a bit). The way Lupin’s lips were curling around the rolled paper, almost like the cigarettes were made perfectly for his curved lips. The way smoke fell from his mouth, floating near his chin for a little longer, like it wanted to stay with him. And the smell of burning chocolate, warm and rich. In conclusion – Remus Lupin smoking cigarettes, Sirius’s cigarettes especially, was something that the dark-haired boy would willingly watch till the day he dies.

While smoking, Remus could only think about one thing. Sirius’s reaction was way out of his character. Sure, the boy was chaotic, blunt and incredibly hotheaded, impulsive, but he and Justin seemed to get along just fine before the party, even more, Sirius commented on the Ravenclaw’s Quidditch talent few times, they sometimes chatted in corridors. So what changed? Maybe, just maybe… No, he couldn’t get his hopes too high.

Remus needed answers. That’s why, when their cigarettes were almost finished, he spoke up.

“Why did you do that tho?” he asked, fully turning his body so he’d face Sirius.

“I did what?” Sirius asked visibly confused.

“Reacted that way.” Remus rolled his eyes.

“He was flirting with you, if you didn’t notice.” Sirius mumbled and Remus’s heart skipped a bit. “You were a bit tense, so I stepped in. He deserved it tho, that guy’s a git, you can do better.”

“What do you mean?” Remus asked slightly confused.

“I mean, that you don’t have to limit yourself to just okay guys. And girls. You can date people, that you really like. You just have to start taking what you want. You deserve love, Moony. Don’t settle on guys like Justin just because they show interest in you.”

Remus was so stunned by Sirius’s rant, that he didn’t really know what to say. So he said the first thing that came to his mind. Why was this boy doing it to him?

“I thought you liked Justin.”

“Haywood?” Sirius snorted, he stubbed their cigarettes with his shoe and shifted his attention back to Remus. “He’s a fucking narcissist. And he’s build like a truck.”

“Truck?” Remus laughed, putting his hand on Sirius’s shoulder. He didn’t eve realized they were that close. “I happen to think that he’s quite fit.” He said as he was quite obviously checking Sirius out, love pouring out of his eyes.

“Oh, do you, now?” Sirius’s smile dropped slightly. Remus couldn’t believe that this boy could be so dense. He decided to see, how far he could go with this.

“I do, he’s a really fit bloke.” He took another step closer to Sirius. “Objectively looking, that is.”

“You know any other fit blokes?” Sirius gulped.

That was it, Remus was either fully going for it, or he was running away from his feeling as he always did. He was really close to doing the latter, but then he remembered Lily’s words from earlier. Then there was also Sirius’s behavior. Maybe there was a chance? He had to know.

Fuck it, he thought, I’m going for it.

“Fit? Yeah, but I’d rather call him beautiful.” He tried to make his voice sound as confident as he could. Their chest’s were now only centimeters away. “But I don’t think he’s got the same opinion ‘bout me.”

“Well that’s some bullshit.” Sirius breathed shakily. The dark-haired boy never seemed that nervous, Remus noted. “Everyone thinks you’re stunning.”

“You think so?” Remus whispered, his gaze dropping to Sirius’s lips for barely a second.

“Yeah. I do.” Sirius nodded eagerly. “You should totally go for it, you never know until you try it, right?”

“Right.”

This time Remus’s eyes lingered on the other boy’s lips longer. It wasn’t like in all those tacky romantic books that Lily adored so much. There wasn’t any slow-mo moment, the world didn’t magically disappear or went completely quiet. The opposite actually. Remus was extra aware of everything, every little sound was echoing in his head, he could hear his own heart pounding. Everything was screaming do it!And Sirius looked so fucking beautiful, constellations of stars locked safely in his silver eyes. Before he could register anything else, Remus was kissing Sirius.

Remus was kissing Sirius.

After all this time of hopelessly dreaming about it, he was finally doing it. He was kissing the Sirius Black.

And Sirius was actually kissing him back.

It wasn’t perfect, there was no fireworks, no orchestra playing in the background. It was rather messy, chaotic and rushed. Just two teenage boys kissing at the top of a tower in the middle of the night. But it was the best feeling in the world.

But like everything, it had to stop at some point.

Sirius gently pushed him back. Not far tho, just so he could rest his forhead against Remus’s.

“What was that?” he asked in a weak, happy voice.

Remus didn’t even had to think twice about the answer.

“I went for it.”

[brockadoodles]

sydämellinen (warm) - m. rantanen

AN: SURPRISE BITCHES HERE’S A CHRISTMAS FIC. I wrote this little thing specifically for @hockeyboysiguess​​. So Merry Christmas in November, my dear. I hope you love it. It might be some of the softest content I’ve ever written, for a boy I don’t even go here for. So let me know what you think. 

*Also if any of the Finnish is wrong, I apologize, I don’t speak Finnish rip. 

Word Count: 2362

Warnings: None

Christmas traditions were something that you never quite understood until you weren’t at home anymore to have them. Growing up, you had never considered the things that your family did around the holidays as monumental or special traditions, oftentimes you felt boring and inadequate when asked about them. Your mom, your dad, and you, that was all you had, and the holidays seamlessly came and went each year. Sure, a tree would get decorated, there would be some sort of family dinner, but nothing felt magical or special like the holidays were always made out to be. Everything in your world felt stagnant until you met him. 

Mikko Rantanen adored everything about the holidays, it was part of growing up for him. Christmas in Finland was no debatably the largest celebration in the country all year, every year. He found extravagant light displays enticing, and the warm smell of Christmas ham comforting. To him, there was nothing more memorable than his childhood memories of Christmas with his family, the traditions held strong each year, traditions that he packed up and took with him when he moved away for his career. His Christmases changed from large family gatherings to small close-knit nights with the few teammates and friends who also didn’t go back home for the holidays, attempting at recreating that fleeting feeling of home that he desperately missed. A feeling that he hadn’t felt since he was young until he met you. 

Mikko knew you never cared for the holidays, he realized this on your first date, a cold, snowy evening in November. He watched as you sat there in the soft candlelight, face twisting slightly at the mention of what both of you were doing for Christmas that year. When Mikko lit up at the mention of the holidays and started telling you about his traditions from home, you tried to hide your distaste. You tried to hide the sinking feeling in your stomach, the one that was pulling you down into a self-deprecating mess sitting at a far too nice restaurant with a far too expensive-looking meal in front of you, waiting for this person as wonderful as Mikko to realize that you weren’t worth sharing his traditions with. Mikko noticed though because Mikko noticed everything about you, even the things you hopelessly tried to protect him from. He noticed it all because that’s what happens when you love someone as much as Mikko fell in love with you. 

The first Christmas, you had a reasonable excuse for not seeing him. Your parents had insisted on a Christmas spent in Aspen, a three and a half-hour drive from Denver that acted as your barrier from Mikko and his Christmas traditions, something that was overwhelming so early on in your relationship. You simply packed up a bag, driving your old car through the mountains, and spent Christmas sitting in front of a fire in a far too expensive resort town, no Christmas tree in sight and nothing but an unread text from your boyfriend to keep you company. 

The second Christmas together, his schedule is what kept you apart, with the Avalanche getting the unlucky Christmas Eve game out in New York. A schedule that would have him sitting wide awake on a redeye flight after a 6-0 shutout loss back to his condo alone in Denver with a heavy and longing heart, knowing that he needed to give you space during Christmas but also desperately wanting to share his favorite holiday with his favorite person. Instead, he spent the holiday alone on his couch, his texts to you left on read and a cold cup of miso soup on his coffee table as he wished for the day to pass. 

By your third Christmas with Mikko, you knew it was time to actually spend the holiday together, to swallow your feelings and make an effort to learn the traditions of the man you had come to love over the last two years. A diamond ring sat nestled on your left hand, unfinished wedding plans for the following Summer in Finland, and a hole between you when it came to the holidays that you were finally ready to fill. 

“Mikko?” You murmured into his shoulder, your lips pressing soft and slow kisses down his skin, your legs tangled with his own, a warmth nestled between you that made your stomach fill with butterflies, even after all this time together. 

“Mhm, kultaseni?” The Finnish pet name running from his lips effortlessly, a term of endearment that made you blush every time. You kissed his shoulder once more, letting your fingers dance along the bare skin of his arm as you breathed a sigh that you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Will you share your Christmas traditions with me?” 

Mikko had to take a moment to make sure he heard you correctly, to make sure that the mechanisms of his brain that were translating English into Finnish as you spoke were working as they should. When he looked down at you, he saw something in your eyes that he didn’t recognize in all the years that you had been together. He saw, for the first time, a fleck of excitement about the holidays, and he wasn’t going to be the one passing that up for anything. 

“I love you.” He whispered into your hair, pressing a soft trail of kisses down your temple and lingering there for a moment, before he slowly adjusted his arm, rolling his body to hover over yours as he properly kissed you for the millionth time, but the first of that morning. The two of you stayed like that for a while, comfort nestling into your heart with each kiss that he gave, and each touch you felt. You were hopelessly, and entirely in love with Mikko Rantanen, and for the first time in your life, the idea of a Christmas tradition didn’t seem so bad. 

Mikko knew he had to start slow with the traditions, he didn’t want to give you too much and have you pull yourself back from the idea. He wanted this to be a good experience for you, and if it took giving you one minuscule detail at a time for you to re-wire the part of your brain that associated Christmas with your parents that were somehow still together, yet should have been divorced, and a lack of lights and warmth into a special time for you and him, he would. Mikko Rantanen would have made the snowmelt in Denver for you if he could, because he loved you, as much as someone is capable of loving another person. And all he wanted for Christmas was to give you one new tradition that you loved, one that could be shared with just the two of you until hopefully one day there were toddlers running around the tree. 

The first thing you did together was get a tree. It was a small tree, its branches were short and stubby and it couldn’t have been more than 2 feet tall even in the pot that it was nestled in. It wasn’t the tree that Mikko would have chosen, but when he saw your eyes brighten at the ceramic pot it was planted in, the 6 feet Douglass Fir’s lining the tree farm suddenly disappeared from his line of sight.

“Are you sure this one’s okay, Mik? I don’t want to mess with the tradition.” You quietly asked, your arm wrapped tightly around his as he pushed the tree in the cart toward the car. You didn’t want to change the things that he was trying to show you, but deep down you were finding yourself longing for this to be something you created with him, memories and traditions to have together. It may have seen silly to outsiders, putting so much thought into something that should have been simple, but you were trying to let him show you the magic of Christmas that he had spent years keeping from you at your own request, and part of that process was trying to redesign the idea about Christmas that you had built in your head. 

“I love it, it’s perfect for us.” He smiled at you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, the black pom on your hat ticking his nose slightly as he stood back up.

The tree sat undecorated on a table by the window for nearly a week. With Mikko being gone on a road trip, you had just pushed it to the outskirts of your mind, figuring it would get done eventually. On the fifth morning that you woke up alone, you leaned over the counter as your coffee brewed, the tree sitting there on the table directly in front of you, Mikko’s good morning text replaying in your mind. You looked out the window, admiring the snow falling over the city, the grey clouds casting a shadow into your already grey and modern home. You sighed, and before you realized what you were doing, you found yourself wandering into the storage closet and pulling out a bin that you had never once touched or even looked at. 

You set your coffee down on the floor next to the tree and slowly opened the plastic container, the contents carefully wrapped in protective tissue, ornaments you knew he had collected over the years since moving to Denver. You took a shaky breath and closed your eyes slowly, an image of Mikko dancing through your mind. You opened your eyes and grabbed an ornament, a small antique looking Santa, a chip on his leg from wear and tear and a black ink smudge on the bottom, 2002, presumably the year that it was bought. You carefully hung it on the tree, leaning back to admire it for a moment before reaching your hand back into the bin to grab another. This one, 1999. You took each ornament one by one, taking almost an hour to decorate this two-foot-tall tree sitting on a table against your high rise condo window, each ornament having a year written somewhere on them, leaving you to begin to wonder all of the circumstances that had led to Mikko having that specific ornament.

When all was done, the tree had ornaments but no lights, a pot instead of a tree skirt, and there was nothing sitting on top of it that resembled a star. Instead, you placed a photo of you and Mikko carefully next to the pot, one that was taken just shortly after you told him you loved him for the first time, one that to you, symbolized a new shift to your relationship, one that you were hopefully emulating by decorating this tree. 

When Mikko came home late that night, tired and ready to crawl into bed next to you after almost a week apart, he stopped in the living room when he saw the light still on. In his foggy state of mind, he didn’t even notice the tree until he was reaching to turn off the small lamp sitting next to it, pausing in a state of shock when he realized what exactly he was looking at. It wasn’t how he would have decorated it, the ornaments were in the completely wrong places, some too densely placed, and the lack of lights was a design choice that he wasn’t sure was intentional or not. But, Mikko felt his heart grow looking at it. A tree that a year ago you would have never said yes to buying, let alone decorating that you had spent time on doing yourself. Mikko turned off the light, walking into the bedroom to find you peacefully asleep on your side of the bed. He wrapped himself around you, pulling you close and pressing a soft kiss into your neck, murmuring his love for you before drifting to sleep. 

The next morning you woke up in a familiar trance, soft and needy kisses shared between you as his hands guided your hips and their movements on top of him, heavy breaths filling the space as you held each other close, making up for the lost time of that week. When you slid off of him, he pulled your face down to his one last time, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, “Minä rakastan sinua,” melting from his lips, “I love you,” in Finnish. 

“I love you, too, Mikko.” You said back, your heart full and your cheeks flushed. 

By the time Mikko emerged from the shower, you had already made coffee and were sitting on the couch reading. He came up next to you, setting a small box in front of you as he sat down. You set your book down, eyeing him curiously as he began to speak.

“I noticed you decorated the tree, and I have something for you, for us that we could put on it together.” He carefully unwrapped the box, a silver ornament resting neatly in it. You carefully pulled the ornament from the box, the shiny material feeling smooth in your hands until you noticed something scratchy on the sides. You turned the ornament, your eyes welling with tears when you saw what was engraved on the side. A date, the date that you said the famous three words for the first time, the same magnetic pull coming from the ornament he had made that you felt from the photograph. 

“I thought having a special ornament each year for just us could be a tradition we start together. It’s sort of like our first Christmas together, but it’s not the first that I’ve felt love for you.” He smiled. Mikko reached up and wiped your cheek tenderly, drying the tears that had fallen as he pulled you up and toward the tree. You hung the ornament on the small, imperfect tree with no lights, and as you looked out at Denver in the background, with Mikko curled around you, you felt that warmth he had always told you he felt about Christmas for the first time, a feeling that you hoped to carry with you for the rest of your life together.  

[qqueenofhades]

... Remember the Russian Revolution au? Which ended with Fedyor's sister very sick and Fedyor searching for Ivan in hopes of getting help for her from him? Fedyor finding Ivan and offering to do "anything" in exchange for his sister's medical treatment? Ivan secretly wanting Fedyor, but refusing to take what he wants like that? Soooo... I would also like the big the big 3 of your coming projects to happen, but... y'know... just.... wanted to bring this au up again... ;)

Behold, the oft-requested follow-up to the first two Russian Revolution au ficlets. Ahem.

Fedyor does not sleep that night. He does not even think about sleeping. He only leaves the army headquarters long enough to think hard about what he is proposing to do, wonder if it is worth it, and decide that it is. Katya needs the medicine, he has no other recourse, and he is categorically unwilling to return home to his family as a failure, when they have placed all their trust and hope in him. Ivan has hinted that he might be able to obtain it, and so that, no matter what it takes, is what Fedyor will have to get him to do. And for that…

He knows that he is not unattractive. He has dark eyes, dark hair, a dimpled smile, a personable and friendly manner that, in happier times, attracted the attention of many an eligible young lady who wished to ice skate or promenade around the park or take a carriage ride, as courting Russian couples are wont to do. However, while Fedyor was perfectly happy to chat with ladies, or escort them to a ball, or fulfill his essential chivalric duty, he was not otherwise interested in wooing them. It was partly for that reason that he signed up to the military, where an enterprising young man can have other opportunities in the darkness of the barracks. So long as his family was kept conveniently unaware.

For all that the Bolsheviks have overthrown the government without a clear plan as to what to do next, and accordingly plunged them all into this miserable civil war, Fedyor does secretly sympathize with certain of their beliefs on the remaking of family life. They say that marriage is outdated and bourgeoisie, that monogamy is unnatural, that women should not be subject to patriarchal systems, and that homosexuality is an equally valid state of nature. Such a possibility of sexual classification and divergence is much discussed in Europe these days, and there is even a small but growing scholarly literature, written by eminent scientists. Sexual Inversion by Havelock Ellis, published in 1896, argues that the man-loving man is indeed even a possibly improved form of human, associated with superior intellectual and artistic achievement, and that nothing about his attachment is wrong or abnormal. Two years before that, Edward Carpenter wrote Homogenic Love, and in 1900, the German Elisar von Kupffer published an anthology of homosexual poetry, Lieblingminne und Freundesliebe in der Weltliteratur. Such texts are relatively easy for an educated, French- and English- speaking young Russian intellectual, such as Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, to lay his hands on. He is not sure what can come of it, but at least he knows that he is not alone.

The question remains as to Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov’s proclivities. Unless Fedyor is very much mistaken, Ivan was at least considering the possibility of accepting his offer, and turned it down for honorable, moral reasons, feeling it unjust to sexually extort a young gentleman in exchange for his sister’s care, rather than physical horror at the idea of such a coupling. If he’s a Bolshevik, he’s probably acceptably tolerant of their philosophy on an abstract level, but it’s less clear as to whether that extends to its personal practice. If Fedyor turns up in his bunkhouse – which, come to think of it, is probably shared, curse these Bolsheviks and their dratted communality, highly inconvenient for a midnight seduction attempt – scantily clad and willing, will Ivan’s objections hold out then? Or… or what?

Fedyor doesn’t know, but the uncertainty adds to the frisson of shameful excitement, rather than detracting from it. He searches through the streets of Chelyabinsk for some bread (it does not seem in much greater supply than in Nizhny Novgorod) and waits for the sun to go down. In March, the days, though getting steadily longer, are still short and chilly, and it’s bitingly cold when it gets dark. Then he pulls up his muffler, tells himself not to be unduly precious about it, and heads for the makeshift army quarters on Kirovka Street.

The buildings in downtown are beautiful, built in the Russian Revival style of neo-Byzantinian splendor, though the onion-domed Orthodox churches have all been converted into stables and armories, and anything that whiffs of an ideology contrary to the Red one has been economically discarded. Fedyor reaches the door, knocks, and when a disgruntled sergeant comes to answer it, expecting him to be a soldier out too late and in line for a ticking-off, Fedyor raises his hands apologetically. “I’ve come to join up,” he says. “The great socialist cause of the world’s workers is the only true one for a patriotic Russian man, and I vow it my full allegiance, if you will have me. I was speaking to my friend earlier, Ivan Ivanovich, and he suggested it. Is he still here?”

The sergeant eyes him squiggle-eyed, but they cannot afford to look gift horses too closely in the mouth, or turn aside willing recruits. It takes a while, but he shouts for someone who shouts for someone else, and this finally produces the startled personage of Ivan Sakharov, who clearly thought it was for the last time when they parted several hours ago. Upon sight of Fedyor, he stops short, looking alarmed, angry, and wary all at once. “What are you – ?”

“Can we talk?” Fedyor is resolved to do this, he truly is, but he feels it best to get it over with before that wavers in any degree. Whether he wants it too little does not seem like the problem; on the contrary, he fears that he wants it too much, and if he stops to reflect on it or delude himself with any nonsensical notions of it being more than once, that can only hurt the cause. “Somewhere… private?”

Ivan hesitates, as if asking to commune out of sight of the others is tantamount to heresy (though it’s not as if these damn hypocrites didn’t plot in secret, away from their own countrymen, for months and months, Fedyor thinks angrily). Then he jerks his head. “Fine. Five minutes. This way.”

He leads Fedyor up a few narrow, creaking staircases, past closed doors that echo with snorting and snoring and coughing, the cacophony of his comrades, none of whom seem to be enjoying their glorious victory quite as much as they thought. Ivan, however, appears to be sufficiently high-ranking in the Red Guards that the room they finally arrive at, though not much larger than a closet, is at least private. It reminds Fedyor forcibly of Ivan’s room back in St. Petersburg, the one they slept in together, that first night after the Winter Palace. It sounds more intimate in his recollections than it actually was. Nothing happened, of course. But Ivan was kind to offer it, kind when he did not need to be, when a young tsarist soldier alone in the ferment of riot and revolution, such as Fedyor was, would not be likely to see the new red dawn. It is that which Fedyor keeps in mind as he shuts the door with assumed casualness, then turns around, meets Ivan’s eye in a significant fashion, and shrugs off his coat, cap, and muffler. Then, unmistakably, starts to unbutton his shirt.

He has almost gotten to the bottom by the time Ivan, who is staring at him as if he’s lost his marbles (it is unclear if this is an encouraging fashion or not) finally recovers his sense. He strides forward and covers Fedyor’s hands with his own large, callused rifleman’s fingers, sending a shock of attraction burning through Fedyor from head to toe, along with the death of any more illusion that he could continue to be casual about this. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Fedyor’s throat is as dry as a bone, but he forces himself to speak. “I said that I would do anything for my sister’s care, if you would help.”

He lingers suggestively on the word anything, just as he did before, in case there was any doubt (as if the undressing wasn’t enough) what he means here. Ivan looks like a cornered bear, but as his eyes catch Fedyor’s and flick across the lean, muscled torso thus revealed beneath the shirt, he swallows hard and has to glance away. The attraction trembles silently in the air between them, tense as a piano string, tuned to snapping. In the old days, that is, when people played pianos, and did not burn them for firewood, as Fedyor’s parents were preparing to do with theirs when he left home. It chokes raw and painful in his throat. He is attracted to Ivan – desperately attracted, in fact – and yet he still hates what the Bolsheviks have done, even if the Romanovs and the Provisional Government were no better. The deposed Tsar Nicholas II is under house arrest with his wife and five children, the four tsarevnas and the tsarevich, in Yekaterinburg. Little sick Alexei Romanov, whose hemophilia opened the door for Grigori Rasputin to control the queen, the royal household, the government of Russia, and so bring about the end of their house. He was like something from a fairytale monster, that Grisha. The rumors of his death, not quite two years ago in December 1916, is that it almost did not happen, he was so hard to kill. A demon. A beast.

“You cannot do this,” Ivan says, his voice too rough, his eyes still struggling to remain decorously averted. “It is not – it is not right.”

“Not right?” Fedyor flares. “So a little spot of armed treason and overthrowing the man who, however deficient he might be, was the heir of one of the oldest and greatest empires in the world? That part was entirely aboveboard, but this, when you want this – don’t lie to me, I’m well aware you do – to help my sister? That would be a sin?!”

Ivan backs up a step, glancing around shiftily. These walls are thin, and he clearly does not want his beloved brothers-in-arms to hear this. “Fedyor Mikhailovich – ”

“Have me.” Fedyor is done playing games. “I’m here, I’m yours for the taking. You can do whatever you want to me, as long as you give me the medicine at the end.”

For a long, spellbound moment, he thinks Ivan is on the brink of agreeing. Then once again, he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I could not in good conscience consent to this. But I will fetch you the medicine. You do not have to give me anything in return.”

Fedyor gawks at him, shocked – and, it must be confessed, more than a little disappointed. “I thought it was fair trade,” he says. “Tit for tat.”

“It is…” Ivan shakes his head, eyes once more straying to Fedyor’s bare chest. “Button your shirt up,” he says, half-laughing, not angry, breathless and soft. “It is very distracting.”

“Good.” Fedyor takes another step. “I think you deserve it, you obnoxious bastard.”

“Be that as it may.” At least Ivan has the good sense not to dispute it. “I cannot do this,” he repeats, more gently. “You are a fine young man, Fedyor Mikhailovich. Perhaps in another life… but it would not be honorable to trade your virtue for this.”

“My virtue?” Fedyor has to laugh. “What makes you think I have that?”

Once again, Ivan wavers. But to give him (loathing) credit, he will not be swayed. “Button it,” he repeats. “I will arrange to have the money and medicine sent by your lodging by tomorrow, if you give me an address in the city.”

“I don’t have one.” Fedyor folds his arms. “Only here.”

Ivan looks even more startled. His lips part, he takes a step forward, and for a brief, wild, exquisite yearning of an instant, Fedyor thinks he is actually going to kiss him. They’re almost close enough – not quite, but almost – for it to happen. Then Ivan says, “Your family must be very proud of you.”

“I…” It catches in his throat. “I don’t know. I hope.”

“I would,” Ivan says. “I would be.”

And that, somehow, is all that seems to matter. Even as Fedyor spends a night in Ivan’s narrow camp cot of a bed, Ivan insisting on taking the hard floor out of an excess of gallantry, an echo of their first night in St. Petersburg. Ivan does as ordered, gives Fedyor some rubles and some medicine and a train ticket back home to Nizhny Novgorod. He personally escorts Fedyor to the train station to make sure he does not come to grief, then stands on the platform, staring after him like Vronsky watching Anna leave one more time. The train begins to huff and puff, spitting soot and embers, and Fedyor keeps his nose pressed to the glass, leaving a smudge, until long after, as it seems he is never destined to do anything but, Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov has vanished into the mist.

[leupagus]

This was, technically speaking, someone else's fault

@lerussesatan on Twitter wanted a scene in the Facebook fic that I've decided to revisit where Hugh Oswald or Harold Postmartin were like "woah Thomas has a Facebook page? You actually dragged him into the 21st century???" which was an excellent prompt, and then I decided to make it depressing.

"I see," said Hugh, leaning back in his chair so that only the top of his head was visible in the Skype window. He was in his library, I realized — had Melissa finally figured out a way to cram a chairlift into the Tower? Or was Hugh getting stronger? Beverley had mentioned something about meeting up with Melissa for yoga classes, but I’d been distracted at the time by the fact that she’d been demonstrating some of that yogic ability on top of me. Maybe Hugh had been taking some exercise classes of his own, though I hoped he wasn’t going to try the same move Beverley had. "So you and Thomas are—"

"Just master and apprentice," I said, even though that word still felt like nails on chalkboard, "And colleagues. And friends," I added, because if Nightingale himself was so hesitant about using the term, maybe he needed to know who his friends were. "Nightingale just wasn’t clear about the terminology that they use on Facebook."

"Ah, that does explain some things," Hugh said, and I wondered what other things were getting explained. But at the same time, I didn’t really want to know.

Instead I said, "In a way, it’s your fault," because I’ve got to find my entertainment where I can get it. Besides, it was.

Hugh looked gratifyingly outraged at this, and leaned forward again to scowl at me. "I beg your pardon?" he demanded.

"Well, sir," I said, cheerful, "You’ve got to admit that while Thomas might be the one running around looking fit and forty all over London these days, he didn’t really keep up with modern technology until I came along. Whereas you’ve been on Facebook longer than I have." Which might be down to his granddaughter’s influence, but somehow I didn’t think so. "You could have kept Thomas abreast of the latest fads like VCRs and trainers and mobile phones. Seems like a dereliction of duty on your part, sir."

This time Hugh laughed, a delighted croaking sound that was a bit alarming, since if he choked suddenly I couldn’t really do much about it from here. "A hit, a palpable hit," he said, clasping his hands together. "Though not for lack of trying, I assure you. Harold and Freddie and Squinty and I have all tried at various times to drag Thomas into the present day, but…" His smile faded, and he looked down at his hands, now clenched together; even through the screen I could see the white knuckles. "He never really left the War, you know. Not really. A lot of them didn’t — while the rest of us moved on, married and had families and put the past behind us, they stayed locked in their own fury and grief. Thomas more than most; but then he had so much more to be furious about. So much more to grieve. And at least for those other poor souls, they had some respite, eventually. Some of them even… went looking for it."

I thought of David Mellenby, the laughing bright-eyed man whose picture I’d found; how he’d come back from Ettersberg unharmed, and shot himself. How Nightingale had come home so badly injured that he’d been in a hospital for almost a year. Or had he been in some sanatorium, instead? Or whatever they used to call the places you went if you were going mad, but your family was too aristocratic to let you get on with it in peace. All Nightingale had ever said was that he’d been ill; but I knew him well enough to know that could’ve covered a host of demons, figurative or not.

Hugh sighed. "But for Thomas… it’s strange — none of us have ever envied him for whatever’s happened to him that lets him grow younger by the day. Well," he said, with a chuckle that didn’t sound sincere, "Perhaps a bit, but… he wasn’t living, Peter. He was just… lingering. Until you, as you say, 'came along.'" He smiled again; there was a brightness on his cheeks and in his eyes. "So I hope you can understand why I… I confess, I hoped. But never mind," this said with a brisk brightness that all good English people learn at birth, the abrupt one-eighty you do when you’ve said too much and would like to pretend none of it had happened, please and thank you.

I asked about the beehives, and for the life of me I can’t remember a word of what he told me.

[reki-of-the-valley]

Boy Like a Fading Dream

A part two of the uni AU? More like a "I wanted to characterize the Langa of this AU". Wrote it a couple of days ago but didn't want to back-to-back post, just give a few days for the first part to settle in.

Find it on AO3 here!

Context: For his skills on a snowboard, Langa landed himself a scholarship. But he hates it. He hates his studies. He hates the athletic training. He just wants to go back to the time when it was fun, racing his dad to the bottom of the mountain.

“Where’s dad?”

Langa lets his bag hit the ground with a thud as he kicks off his shoes. His mother is in the living room; she’s cutting carrots in front of some sitcom. She lifts her head to smile at her son as soon as he enters her line of sight.

“How was your day, baby?”

Langa sighs as he crashes next to her. He feels her watch him as he picks up a carrot from the bowl before snapping it in half between his teeth. He feels her gaze, just as heavy as his eyelids are.

“Tiring.”

It’s all he manages to say to her. It’s all he finds to say. Tiring. His days are always just tiring.

“Did you have fun at practice?”

Fun? Langa barely remembers what that feels like. Fun, it feels like a foreign word now. He knows he must have felt it in the past, the thrill of gliding down the snowy slopes, but now it’s anything but fun. Snowboarding isn’t fun anymore, especially when there’s no snow outside. Especially when he’s cooped up in a gym rather than out on the open mountains.

So was training fun? No. No, it wasn’t.

“It was fine,” he lies. He can’t tell his mother how much he hates it. He can’t tell her when it’s what’s paying for his education – an education he also hates. “The usual, you know.”

Nanako pats his arm, her smile sweet and ever so motherly. “That’s good, baby. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Langa sucks in a breath as his mother presses a kiss to his hair. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. If only she knew how big a lie that was. He would have done anything to just quit everything right now and lay in bed for the next ten years. Everything lost its appeal. If only everything could stop just for a moment, just for a minute, just enough time for Langa to catch his breath.

“Dad’s not home yet, is he?”

Nanako shakes her head. “He’s staying late tonight. He has a project that’s due, I think, tomorrow? Something about his team not being up-to-date so he has to stay late.”

Langa sighs again as he straightens out on the couch. He grabs another carrot before getting up to fetch his bag.

“I have to go study.”

Nanako doesn’t say anything as he leaves to climb the stairs that lead to his bedroom. Langa knows she’s watching him, watching his every move, but she doesn’t say anything. Maybe she can sense his disappointment. Maybe she knows that he’s lying to her.

Langa crashes in his bed, slinging his bag at the end of his mattress where it bounced before falling among the pile of dirty clothes he’s thrown aside. His room is a mess, but he can’t bring himself to clear out his trash. He’s already in a deficit of energy when just doing his mundane daily tasks. So he crashes among his pillows and pulls out his phone.

It's automatic, the swiping left and clicking on the app. It’s become a routine, crashing in bed and opening Instagram to scroll mindlessly. Langa doesn’t actually care for what’s on his screen, he just needs something to do, something to make him forget about the emptiness that’s formed in his chest.

So he scrolls. Pictures of old friends from high school, professional pictures and reels of snowboarders, screenshots of old Tumblr posts, reels of animals being cute, Langa scrolls through them all. He scrolls, scrolls until everything on his phone becomes a big blur. He scrolls until his phone slips from his fingers, falling flat on his face.

Another sigh as he turns to his side. His phone rests against his pillow as he goes back to scrolling. Always scrolling, numbing everything he’s ever felt. Because Langa does feel. He feels a million things, but none of those feelings are good. Frustration, loneliness, exhaustion, the list can go on. He hates all his feelings, especially that hollow feeling of disappointment that has been growing over the past year or so.

A notification pulls Langa out of his mindless scrolling. He usually ignores them, swiping them away, but for some reason, this one catches his attention. For some reason, he clicks it rather than get rid of it. The flash of red catches his attention.

.MechanicStarReki. – Suggested for you

Langa squints at his screen. The name doesn’t ring a bell but the face seems familiar. Familiar, but he can’t pinpoint where exactly it is that he’s seen it. His memory of the familiar face is hazy, like that of a dream starting to fade as morning takes shape. Familiar yet so foreign.

Langa scrolls through the profile, careful to not make his presence known. Most of the captions are in Japanese and he can’t find it in himself to decipher their meaning. He knows with a little effort, and maybe a little help from a translator app or from his mother, he could read the words, but he doesn’t bother. He contents himself with the scarce English. He contents himself with the many pictures of a boy with red hair.

The last post dates back a few weeks, a set of pictures with the caption “See you for Christmas.” The pictures show the redhead hugging who Langa assumes to be his sisters. They all look too much alike for them to not be family. Langa swipes between the pictures, taking in the scene: two school-aged girls cling to the boy, identical in all ways except the color of their dresses. He’s hugging them, a wide grin stretching across his face. Langa swipes again. Another girl is shown in the picture – she must be around 15. She’s pouting, but the sun reflects against the tears that had started to form at the corner of her eyes as she hugs the boy. Her eyes are the same color as his, a deep amber color that Langa knows he’s seen somewhere. He knows he's seen the boy, but he also knows it’s impossible. He can’t have seen him, not with the location associated with the picture: Okinawa, Japan. There’s no way he’s ever seen this boy; Langa’s only been to Japan once, the summer before he started high school.

Langa moves on from the set of pictures. He scrolls down, analyzing everything that has been posted over the years. Skateboards, sketches of various types, doodles, the boy with his friends, more of his family. Langa always pauses on the pictures of him. He always squints at him as if that would help him remember where he’s seen him.

A part of Langa knows that this is obsessive behavior, that he should just let it go, but he needs to know. He needs to know where he’s seen those faded freckles against sun-kissed skin. He needs to know where he’s seen those bright amber eyes. He needs to know where he’s seen that lopsided grin. He needs to know where he’s seen this boy, this boy that feels like a fading dream.

Does he resemble an actor from one of his mother’s shows, the Japanese ones she puts on while she cooks? No, that’s not it. He’s too young to look like any of those actors. Anyway, Langa never pays attention to the actors on the screen; he only knows the story because his mother has been following the ridiculous drama for years now. So the boy doesn’t just look like someone Langa might have seen on tv.

Does he look like an athlete Langa’s watched perform time after time, desperately trying to analyze his technique in hopes of recreating whatever is being done? No, it isn’t that either. Langa never recognizes the athletes, even when they tell him they've been competing against each other for years. He remembers their boards, but never their faces. So it isn’t that.

No matter how much Langa rakes his brain, he can’t find where it is that he’s seen the grin, the bright eyes, the freckles. Maybe the boy really is a figment of his imagination, a face given to a faceless dream that comes back every so often. Maybe he’s caught a glance of someone who looks like him in the street, or maybe it’s just a mere coincidence that the boy Langa’s made up looks like him, a mixture of a bunch of features that gave someone real. Or maybe Langa is delusional from his lack of sleep.

Langa drops his phone as his door is pushed open. He knows his mother knocked, but when he gets lost in his own little world, nothing else exists. Nothing exists until his bubble bursts.

“Langa sweetheart?” Nanako is standing in the doorway. She's looking at him, a slight frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. Her usual worry is evident in her features. “Is everything alright?”

Langa shifts, pushing his legs off of his bed to sit up. He nods at his mother, his words failing him. He hates how he finds himself unable to speak.

“Are you sure?” She shifts her weight to the side. Worry. “I’ve been calling you to set the table for the past 10 minutes now.”

Langa blinks at his mother before apologizing. He hadn’t heard her, he says. He had gotten lost in his own little world. He’s sorry, he’ll be down in a minute to set the table.

“Langa.” Nanako’s voice pierces through him as he fishes his phone out from under his pillow. “Are you sure nothing’s bothering you?”

Langa almost cracks. He almost tells her. He almost admits that he hates everything he’s doing. He almost admits that he hates going to school. He almost admits that he hates training. He almost admits that the thing he hates most is himself. Almost, but he doesn’t. He wouldn’t be able to survive the disappointed look on his mother’s face. He knows she would understand, that she’d tell him he’s allowed to quit, that she would support him no matter what, but he also knows she would be disappointed.

So he just smiles at her, that closed-mouthed smile he’s been practicing for years.

“I’m just tired.”

Nanako nods before making her way to him. She holds him tightly against herself, the warm embrace of a mother. And for a moment, Langa doesn’t hate himself.

“If you’re tired, I can bring your food up. You don’t have to eat downstairs if it’s too much.”

Langa shakes his head. Dinnertime is the only time of the day where he can spend time with his parents. Between classes and training, he’s barely ever home. It’s the only time where things feel normal, like they were back in the day when Langa was young, doing homework at the kitchen table while his mother cooked, explaining to him what he had to do. It’s the only time where he feels like they’re a family again.

“Just give me a minute and I’ll be down.”

Nanako sighs as she steps away from him, nodding. A small, tired smile pulls at the corner of her mouth as she turns back to him, halfway through the door.

“You promise you’d tell me if something was bothering you?”

Langa nods, promising, but the promise is hollow, his fingers crossed behind his back. It’s broken before even being uttered because Langa knows that he can’t make that promise. There’s just no way that he can promise such a thing. He can’t bring himself to tell anyone about how he feels. But still, he smiles and nods at his mother as she makes her way out of his room, down the stairs, back to the kitchen. He smiles until he can’t bear it anymore and crystal tears fall from his eyes, fall right onto the picture of the grinning boy in his phone, the phone he's been gripping so tightly.

[hellpark]

GREGORY: My my, this sure is a popular question, isn’t it?

GREGORY: I can’t see why any of you would be taking interest in that traitorous rat, though.

GREGORY: Running the others off to safety while we were trying to deal with business.

GREGORY: It’s bad enough with all of the ruckus he causes on a daily basis in Hell, now he’s choosing to do it on the overworld as well.

ESTELLA: Are you talking about Tweek, over there?

ESTELLA: That scraggly, disease-ridden manchild will surely get what is coming to him.

ESTELLA: I hope he enjoys the strain of problems he’s created for us.

GREGORY: There are people asking about him, can you believe it?

GREGORY: They-- ohoh, this is actually quite funny.

GREGORY: They think he’s from the land of the living, how charming.

ESTELLA: Heavens, that problematic boil on the under-fold of a old man’s neck wouldn’t stand a chance up here on earth.

GREGORY: Right?

GREGORY: Anyway-- to answer all of your questions...

GREGORY: He’s always been in Hell, right to his very upbringing.

GREGORY: He was hellborn, several years before the new era of Hell.

GREGORY: About ten or even years before I died, making him... eighteen or nineteen now, I believe?

GREGORY: All I recall is that his birthday is on Halloween.

GREGORY: Funny enough, Hell uses the same time system as earth does.

GREGORY: Though rather than two thousand... someodd... I don’t quite remember the year up here anymore-- it’s year ten of Era 2.

GREGORY: Sounds ridiculous, right?

GREGORY: Ahahah...

GREGORY: Anyways, where was I?

GREGORY: Oh, yes.

GREGORY: Tweek, unlike the rest of us, has never been to earth until now.

I remember running into him the first time, shortly after my death.

I believe when I first met him, I thought he was just some stupid kid who died too early to know what like was like on the surface.

He would be found headbutting rocks, gave me a strange look when I approached him, and would speak in a strange tongue I couldn’t understand at first.

Of course, I wouldn’t know what to say in response to something I did not know.

I’ve known a handful of languages from a young age, but his was unlike anything I’ve ever heard until I arrived in Hell.

At first I figured, maybe this was some language from a lost civilization, hundreds of years in the past? Perhaps age doesn’t work in Hell like it does in the land of the living?

This would be incorrect.

If I recall, I attempted to talk to him in my own language-- English, of course. I think I’d felt it too rude to try and leave while he was trying to have a conversation with me.

GREGORY: I can’t quite understand you...

GREGORY: Are you able to understand me?

TWEEK: ...

GREGORY: ...I’ll take your silence as a no.

GREGORY: I wonder where you’re from...

GREGORY: I’ve never heard such a language before.

I would try to seemingly no avail, so I felt my inclination to be true. For a few moments, that is. 

Looking back on this all, it’s a rather funny instance, though at the time I was utterly terrified when this next bit occurred--

I’d been so used to demons and ghouls and all sorts of hellish beings flying about in the skies, I hadn’t stopped to notice two individuals soaring my way from behind Tweek.

They would land to see me, surrounding him on either side. I remember this image very clearly in my head...

...because as a little kid, seeing two full grown adults, with a wingspan larger than myself at the time...

My lord, I was scared senseless.

They would look down at me, smiles on their faces. I figured them crazed, it didn’t look like they knew quite how to smile at first.

I expected them to speak the same language as the kid I had been talking to, considering how close and personal they seemed to be with him.

They addressed to me in full English that I had been talking to their son, though-- something I find rather interesting now, considering they would have had no idea exactly what language I would have spoken.

I suppose that’s a mystery I’ll solve another day.

MR. TWEAK: Hello!

MR. TWEAK: Can we help you?

MR. TWEAK: I see you’ve met our son!

MRS. TWEAK: He doesn’t get out much, you’re the first saved soul he’s ever seen...

They had a peculiar accent. I wouldn’t have been to describe it at the time, but now I can say with clear conscious that it is just one of many Hellish accents you’d find in Hell.

An accent from one who would have grown up speaking a specifically satanic language-- one that would commonly be known to English-speaking Hellspawn as, simply, demonic tongue or hellspeak. Myself fancying the latter.

They had seemed rather keen on being overly nice to me, where as most looks I’d gotten from those I’d later find out to be hellborn as well would be looks of disdain.

I had arrived in Hell a year after the previous ruler Satan had died and went to heaven, and merely months into a new era-- in which none would be damned to eternal torture.

I’d like to say I was lucky for dying at the time I did-- but I wasn’t.

I was just luckier than those who had died before this new era was enacted.

They were almost more threatening than the ones who would give me such wretched looks. They were almost trying too hard to be nice.

I could recognize their efforts though, however terrified I was at the time.

In turn, they could recognize my fear. So his mother would attempt to console me, something else I’ve never forgotten.

MRS. TWEAK: My my, dear...

MRS. TWEAK: You’re so brave...

MRS. TWEAK: There aren’t many souls who seem as sudden as yours who would care to talk to someone like our son...

GREGORY: ...

MRS. TWEAK: You seem scared and lost... and alone.

MRS. TWEAK: Do you have any known family down here?

GREGORY: ...I don’t... really know...?

MRS. TWEAK: That’s quite a shame...

MRS. TWEAK: I hope you can find them some day.

MRS. TWEAK: For now, though... as a mother, and an imp...

MRS. TWEAK: I’d love to welcome you to our home any time you feel like you need to get away from everything out here.

MRS. TWEAK: It’s hard in these times, I’m sure you could do with a friendly face or two.

She would tell me, without even knowing who I am, that I was welcome into her home.

I’ll admit I felt a little like a charity case in that moment, but she’d sensed I was all on my own at the time-- which I was.

Even though the torturing era of Hell was something I had missed, the four or five days I had spent alone, wandering hell to my own devices... everything I had experienced up until that point had been quite scary, to some degree.

I mean, I was still in Hell, what else would I have felt.

Her generosity and the father’s... attempt at a polite smile... had been the first somewhat comforting things I had felt since I had died.

His mother would then try to promote to me: Tweek, a potential friend.

MRS. TWEAK: Darling, were you talking to his young man?

MRS. TWEAK: Would you like to make friends with him?

MRS. TWEAK: Now now, dear, not so rude.

MRS. TWEAK: You know this language.

MRS. TWEAK: I know, you’re nervous...

MRS. TWEAK: This man is a nice fellow, though, I think he and you would make terrific friends...

She would reveal to me that he could in fact speak English, and really he was too shy to speak outside of his native tongue.

He didn’t quite look like somebody I would want to be friends with at the time, but with how nice his mother was and how lonely I felt, I was... reluctantly intrigued, to say the least.

However I remember finding his name quite silly-- it’s not even a common theme in Hell. His father’s name is Richard, goodness sake. They really had to regards when naming him, it seems.

TWEEK: Um...

MRS. TWEAK: Tell him your name, dear.

TWEEK: Tweek.

MRS. TWEAK: Tweek what?

TWEEK: My name is Tweek.

MRS. TWEAK: Good job!

MRS. TWEAK: Why don’t you try speaking to your new friend in a way you can both understand?

TWEEK: O-oh, um...

TWEEK: I-- I wanna poke your eyes out with my pitchfork, ugly.

GREGORY: ...

MRS. TWEAK: Ohohoh-- He doesn’t mean that. I promise you.

MRS. TWEAK: It’s the way of the old era, so please don’t mind him.

MRS. TWEAK: Tweek, why don’t you try being nice?

MRS. TWEAK: We’ve been practicing this, right?

TWEEK: When I grow up, and get my own torture chamber, I’ll let you be the first in it.

GREGORY: ...Nice to meet you too...?

GREGORY: My name is Gregory???

Tweek wasn’t very good at being nice when he was young. I disliked him, for a time, but put up with him because his mother was so nice.

However I learned it really just was the way he was raised. If you grow up in a world where your sole purpose is to trick and torture others, why wouldn’t you be taught to be so devilish?

He took a while to unlearn his habits, and he still has some issues now and then. On the other end, I’ve learned to understand him better.

Of course, my understanding of him right now is that he’d rather betray our entire friend group by running off with a bunch of humans than to stick with us-- people he knows.

It’s beyond ridiculous, offensive, and hurtful. I don’t know what his motives are in this instance, but he’s to have a good reason for all of this if he expects me to forgive him.

As for this question, I hope this quelled your curious minds once more. Tweek has always lived in hell, born and raised, and just barely over twenty four hours ago was his first breath of air on the surface.

I know I went on a bit of a rabbit trail, but I believe it paints a better picture of exactly why I’m friends with Tweek now.

I sometimes wonder what it would have been like if I had known him since he was even younger.

Would his parents have shown me the same hospitality?

Would he have been as rude? Would he have made me want to me more rude?

I wonder if he looked as stupid as all of the other implets running amok in hell when he was young...

Perhaps I’ll visit his parents soon and ask them just that-- maybe ask them for a young photo or two of him while I’m there.

I’m closer to them than I am him at this point, anyhow.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Nine ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3476

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Sorry this was a little late! Happy reading :)

Translations: Mae govannen = well met! // Meleth nîn = my love

Two weeks after I woke in this strange world, we reach Imladris.

When Haldir tells me that the sparkling city in the valley is our destination, I can scarcely believe him. After endless days and nights riding through open country, to finally reach civilization, even if it’s not the civilization I’m used to, is so welcome I nearly cry with relief.

Four men on horseback race up the slope of the mountains to meet us. They wear heavy armor—more than what Haldir and the others wear—and carry tall spears. Their leader, fierce though he seems, takes my breath away. Even from here, I can see his face because it reflects an ethereal glow. His hair, which has to be spun gold, flows long down the back of his horse and glints in the sun. Whoever he is, he is no mere man.

“Elrond’s patrols,” I question, remembering someone mentioning them earlier.

“Yes,” Haldir responds, and I can hear a grin in his voice. “We have reached their outer borders. Congratulations, Cosima.” He twists to offer me a proud smile. “You have completed your first journey.”

I swallow, unable to keep myself from smiling back. Haldir can be so stoic at times that praise from him is completely unexpected. Warmth spreads through my chest.

The riders come to a halt in front of us and the one I assume to be their leader dismounts, striding confidently in our direction. Haldir slides off Faervel, approaching in a similar fashion. I take the horse’s reins in my hands, stroking his back affectionately. The horses’ height doesn’t bother me anymore and I’ve become much more confident in riding them in the past two weeks.

“Mae govannen, Haldir o Lórien!”

“Glorfindel.” Haldir clasps the man’s elbow jubilantly. They converse in that language I haven’t heard since I arrived — the others have been speaking solely in English for my and Alex’s benefit — and it’s jarring to hear the unfamiliar sounds. It serves as a reminder that, though I have allowed myself to become comfortable here, too comfortable, maybe, this is not my world. This is somewhere different.

Haldir turns over his shoulder and extends a hand in my direction. I catch my name and Alexander’s among the strange syllables and offer the man—Glorfindel, Haldir called him—a smile in greeting. He approaches, stunning golden hair shining in the light of the sunset, and bows elegantly. A laugh bubbles from my throat—startled by the action. Vaguely, I remember Rumil bowing to me when we first met. Whereas his motivation had been to make a joke, Glorfindel seems totally genuine, the gesture one of respect and welcome. He performs the same movement for Alex.

“Welcome, lost humans and my elven friends. Come, I shall keep you waiting no longer. Elrond is eager to see you and I am sure you are equally ready for proper food and a full night’s rest.” With that, he strides back to his horse and mounts.

I scoot higher on Faervel’s back to give Haldir room and hand him the reins. The horses must sense how close we are to extended rest, because they race faster than they did the entire journey. Despite my new skill, I have to grip Haldir extra tight to make up for the frantic pace and only being able to use one arm. Though the mountain slope is steep and the city surely has to be miles away, we arrive in less than an hour.

Streams of blue and white cascade above us, falling every way I turn and crashing down below. The air smells impossibly sweet and fresh — perhaps due to the flowers that bloom all around. The rays from the sinking sun, brilliant orange and gold, mingle with the water in the falls and, just as Haldir promised, send gently curving rainbows over our path. I let out a breath, completely stunned.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Haldir’s voice holds a reverence I’ve never heard before, but it is aptly placed. I could not fathom regarding this city with anything less than the utmost respect and admiration.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Even in my homeworld, I—” I blink, unable to comprehend the etherial nature of my surroundings. “I would have remembered it. This…”

“I know.” Theres a soft, almost vulnerable quality to his voice that caresses the phrase. I can imagine his eyes are alight like mine, taking in the splendor of the city even though he’s seen it many times before. I’d wager this is a sight one never gets used to.

Glorfindel pulls his horse to a stop before an arching, narrow bridge.

Oh no.

I suck in a sharp breath, gripping onto Haldir with both my injured and uninjured arm. My wound stings, but it is preferable to suffer this momentary pain than to loosen my grip and go plummeting off the edge.

Haldir chuckles, the vibrations rumbling deep in his chest. “The bridge is only the beginning. Look ahead—part of the main city is suspended on pillars.”

My stomach churns and I feel my heart race. By the way my arms constrict around him, Haldir seems to figure out that he has not employed the wisest strategy. His voice softens and he squeezes my hand like he did earlier, after the attack. “Faervel knows the way. Neither he nor I will let you fall.”

I take a deep breath. It’s either the bridge and the safety of Imladris or the orc-infested mountains. And, I suppose, Haldir has gotten us this far. Minor injuries aside, we survived a heavily out-numbered attack relatively unscathed. I trusted him then and I can trust him now. “Fine.”

He chuckles again but makes a big show of lining Faervel up with what will be the middle of the bridge. I resist the urge to elbow him in the ribs — armor covers them anyway. It would hurt me more than it would him.  

Glorfindel calls out in that language again, then directs his horse onto the bridge. The three other mounted guards follow. Then, so gently I barely register the change, Faervel steps from the lush grass to the stone of the bridge. Water roars and tosses below us, drowning out any words the others might say. And drowning you if Faervel doesn’t keep straight. That is, if the impact doesn’t kill you first. I fight the urge to whimper and keep my eyes locked straight ahead. Almost to the end.

The bridge is mercifully short and soon we are on much surer foundations, having crossed into the city. While the water still cascades around us, its noise has subsided, almost like it’s been muted. In its place, soft, lyrical music fills the air. Harps. Once we are far from the bridge, I look around. The buildings are made of stone yet seem a natural part of the valley. Chains of flowers spill from every archway, peek between small cracks in the stone, weave into the intricate designs in the masonry. Trees, the same ones that welcomed us at the border, make a home in the city, growing where they wish — even if that means rising alongside a fabricated pillar.

Haldir speaks softly, hesitantly, almost like he doesn’t want to interrupt my exploration of the city. “Is it worth the bridge?”

I realize we’ve come to a stop in front of a large dais backed by a constant stream of blue and frothy white. It’s like we’re in the waterfall. “Definitely,” I exhale. Though, I have no desire to cross that bridge again any time soon.

A tall man steps onto the dais. His face is kind and, though the edges of his mouth and forehead are lined with creases, he could be any age. He seems altogether outside of time. His eyes hold wisdom, more than I could ever hope to collect, and I know this must be the Elrond my friends talked about. He could be no other.

He spreads his hands and smiles warmly. “Welcome. Our friends from Lothlórien and the humans who accompany them, welcome to Imladris. We have dinner prepared for you. Leave your horses with the guards — they will be well cared for.”

I believe him. He could probably tell me the sky is green or Faervel is a mouse and I wouldn’t question it.

And if he told you that you’re in a different world?

I gulp and push the weighted thought away.

Haldir swings his left leg to meet his right and slides off Faervel’s back. As always, he keeps a gentle hold on me until my feet are securely on the ground, then clasps his hands behind his back in his most favored stance.

I peek behind me to locate Alexander. He shifts from foot to foot and darts his eyes suspiciously around the room. With his short hair, lanky stature, and clear discomfort, he looks so out of place here. With a start, I realize that I must, too. Though the physical differences are certainly apparent, there’s just something about these men…an otherworldliness I had somehow gotten used to during our journey. But here, in this unreal city surrounded by others who are so clearly not men…For the first time, I truly, honestly consider that they might not be human.

Rumil appears on my right side, practically beaming with excitement. “What do you think?”

I exhale on shaky breath, my recent realization having left me feeling a little lightheaded. “I think it’s a lot to take in. It’s gorgeous, though.”

At my left, Haldir eyes me curiously. He heard my reaction upon reaching Imladris and is probably wondering why I’m downplaying it to Rumil. Truth be told, I just don’t have the energy to take much more this evening. A good meal and sleep will hopefully help.

“Orophin!”

I tilt my head around Rumil to find the source of the delighted shriek and find myself staring at the most enchanting woman I’ve ever seen.

Her hair, coiled and dark, tumbles down her back in tight curls, brushing the back of her legs. Her espresso skin shines in the nearly-faded light, almost as if it has a luminescence of its own — perhaps a result of the joy that radiates from her. She wears a long, ruby-colored gown that sweeps gently over the stairs as she practically throws herself down them, sprinting in our direction.

“Meleth nîn!” Orophin calls back to her, breaking from our informal line and rushing to whom I assume to be his fiancée.

Indulgent chuckles run through our group as the two collide, gripping each other in a fierce hug. They pull back almost immediately, pressing their foreheads together and just staring into each other’s eyes. The action seems much more intimate than if they had fallen to the floor in a passionate embrace, and I avert my eyes, feeling the need to give them privacy.

“Come on,” Haldir whispers, ghosting his fingers over my elbow. “They will join us later.”

Elrond leads us through open-air hallways. Every way we turn seems to offer a view of the waterfalls and brings with it a light, fresh scent. He takes us right, bringing us through one final archway and into what looks to be a dining room. In the center is a long rectangular table surrounded by ten matching chairs. The table is already stacked with food — breads, salads, fruits, and various kinds of meat that smell absolutely mouthwatering.

Elrond smiles invitingly, entering the room and stopping behind the chair at one of the table’s heads. “I expected you would be weary this evening and would wish to dine in private. Please, sit and help yourselves.”

I follow Rumil and Haldir, hoping I’m not violating any social rules I am unaware of by choosing a random seat in the middle. Before I can pull the chair back, Haldir steps in to complete the task, gesturing for me to take a seat. I have to hold back my amusement at the antiquated gesture — perhaps it’s a custom here. He does seem more formal than Alex and I are.

Haldir and Rumil take the chairs on either side of me and, before long, Alex appears at my opposite. I smile at him. Given our recent arguments and the fact that I don’t really know if we’re friends in this life, I’m not quite sure where we stand. But he returns the gesture which allows me to breathe a sigh of relief. He’s familiar, at least. Baranor sits between Alex and Elrond and immediately the two healers engage in deep discussion.

I distract myself with the food and soon have more piled on my plate than I could possibly hope to eat, but I can certainly try. Before long, Orophin and the woman from earlier join us and are welcomed jovially.

Orophin beams, gesturing to the woman at his side. “Lavandil, these are the humans I was telling you about. Cosima and Alexander, this is my betrothed, Lavandil.”

Lavandil sets her excited gaze on both myself and Alex. “Hello, it’s so nice to meet you. Welcome to Imladris! We are pleased to have you here.” Her voice is warm, welcoming, and I find it impossible not to smile along with her, distressed though I am at Orophin’s clear distinction of me as ‘human’.

Orophin pulls out a chair for Lavandil and sits between her and Alex, who looks ridiculously uncomfortable in the presence of so many of these…humans. Though, I must admit, my resolve to call them that is steadily weakening.

Minutes later, Glorfindel enters the room accompanied by a demure man called Lindir. Haldir and Glorfindel fall into a spirited debate about patrol strategies and border security. Rumil piles something on my plate that he claims I have to try. He’s not wrong — it’s really good!

“So, Cosima, Alexander.” Lavandil props her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her hand, looking at us with interest. “Orophin says they happened upon you both near the river and that you haven’t any memories?”

All eyes converge on me and Alex. I don’t trust him to be polite, so I hurry to answer her question.

“Yes. We remember each other and tiny snippets of our home, but besides that, nothing.”

“How strange,” she muses, looking fascinated. “That must have been so shocking. How are you adjusting?”

I exhale slowly, playing for time. How am I adjusting? The weight of everyone’s eyes feels almost crushing. “It’s definitely a lot to get used to,” I say diplomatically. “But we’re really lucky to have run into good people who were willing to help.”

Despite his feelings towards our companions, Alex wisely remains silent. It would do us no good to offend our hosts.

Lavandil giggles, the sound bright and cheerful. “I’m glad they were helpful and not rude. I know Haldir has a tendency to interrogate first and help later. He’s slow to trust.” She shoots Haldir a teasing grin, to which he merely rolls his eyes, but his cheek twitches like he’s fighting a smile.

I try to suppress a grin. “Well, he wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but he calmed down quickly enough.” I purse my lips, contemplating. “But now that I think about it, no one really left me unattended or gave me a weapon even though the trip was dangerous. Hold on, do any of you actually trust me?” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms, though I raise an eyebrow at Haldir to let him know I’m only kidding.

He shakes his head, huffing in mock exasperation. “We trust you now but at the start, how was I to know you weren’t some sort of spy?”

“A spy!” I huff. “I’m hurt. But moving on. Later, once you decided I was not a spy, how come no one gave me a knife or anything?”

Rumil chortles. “Have you seen the lines of your mending? You’re more likely to impale yourself than an enemy.”

I grumble indignantly. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I have to tell him so.

Haldir quirks an eyebrow. “Would you like to learn? I can teach you.”

I think on this. Hmmm…do I need to learn how to use a weapon? Probably. But do I want to? Surprisingly, I find that the answer is yes. This world is obviously dangerous—I got a very real reminder of that just a few days ago—and I want to be capable in it. Haldir or the others might not always be there to defend me—I should learn how to protect myself.

“Yeah, I would. Thank you!”

Haldir nods, the edges of his mouth pulling into an expression of grim determination. I quickly discover why.

He’s psyching himself up, I realize with a quiet laugh.

He inclines his head towards Alex. “And you, Alexander? I can teach you as well.” By the gravity in his tone, it is clear Haldir’s offer is real, but begrudging.

Alex takes a bite of fruit. “No thank you.”

That’s to be expected. Though Haldir was angry earlier and probably overreacted, he did make a good point when he said that Alex has yet to make an effort to adjust to life here. He’s stayed on the edge of things since the moment we encountered him, always keeping one foot out the door.

A voice warns me that, rather than criticizing Alex, I should have been doing the same.

Elrond motions for an attendant to refill my glass of water. “Baranor says you were attacked in the mountains? That must have been very frightening.”

Flashes of grotesque beasts and shining swords enters my mind and I shrink away from the images. I know we’re safe inside these halls but the fear is still there, lurking at the edges of my thoughts.

Haldir cuts in and I realize I have been silent for longer than is polite. “We were attacked, yes, by about eighteen orcs, wouldn’t you say?”

Rumil and Orophin both nod — I didn’t even know they had a count. I had been focused trying to dodge the blades and arrows. To me, it seemed there was an endless stream of the monsters. Haldir continues. “We killed them all and had no trouble for the rest of our journey. It does make me wander though,” his eyes dart to mine and then quickly away. “Such a large party so close to your borders? Is that common these days?”

“Yes.” Elrond nods gravely. “We have seen an increase in scouting parties and attacks. Just last month, a fully armed company of forty attempted to breach one of our southeastern border stations.”

“No,” Orophin breathes, gripping Lavandil’s hand tightly, a stricken look of horror stretching his face.

She brushes his concerns aside. “Oh, I’m fine. I was up north visiting my mother at the time. I didn’t even know the attack had occurred until I returned home.”

Orophin’s reaction worries me. I lay my fork on my plate, appetite fading as fear gnaws at the edges of my gut. “That’s unusual?”

Haldir shakes his head. “It is not unusual to encounter orcs at the borders, but an armed, prepared, planned attack of such a large number is…telling.” He avoids my gaze.

My body runs cold. “Telling of what?”

“Sauron,” Elrond says simply.

“That name means nothing to them,” Orophin reminds him, still looking at his love. He holds so much concern in his eyes—and a measure of fear—and I wonder just how big of a threat this is. Is Lavandil in danger? Is Elrond? Are we?

Elrond elaborates. “Sauron is a being of great power and even greater evil. He was defeated once before, but whispers of his presence have been heard throughout the realm. I believe he is growing in power again, gathering his armies. He is preparing.”

I drop my hands into my lap, gripping the edges of the chair in an attempt to find an anchor. Across from me, Alex has gone pale.

I don’t have to ask what this being is preparing for. It’s obvious. He’s preparing for war.

If the orcs weren’t bad enough, now we’ve got an evil power looming over us all? I wonder…is my homeworld safer than this?

Glorfindel raises his glass of deep red wine. He holds a steely, almost feral glare in his golden eyes and, suddenly, I am very, very afraid of him. “As quickly as he rises, so shall he fall.”

All aside from Alex and me raise their goblets, a forceful, “hear, hear” resounding through the room of stone. My eyes meet Alex’s. He raises an eyebrow as if to say, what do you want to do?

And I know my answer.

I want to go home.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day! Let me know if you would like a tag :)

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

[incorrectbandofbrothersquotes]

Dear Heart - Chapter 3

Dick Winters x Melanie Davis

Summary: Melanie Davis is a nurse from North Carolina who has lived a sheltered life since her father died. Her father’s best friend, Colonel Sink, invites her to experience more as a regimental nurse for the 506th PIR of the 101st Airborne. She embarks on the adventure of a lifetime.

Tag list: @easy-company-tradition​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Hope y’all enjoy the update! 

Warning(s): None :)

Chapter 1  Chapter 2

Chapter 3 here we go!

England was unlike anything Melanie had ever seen. Of course, she had never been out of the country before. It was cloudier than she was used to, but she oddly enjoyed it. Aldbourne was quaint, like Toccoa, only with a much richer history. Camp Toccoa was new and fresh. Aldbourne was old and lived in. 

The best part of Aldbourne for her was the weather. It was refreshing to experience the cool English autumn after years in the humidity of the American South. She had even teased Dick once for his aversion to the heat. So Aldbourne would be pleasant for them both. 

The paratroopers had a ton of training they had to complete while in Aldbourne to prepare for the invasion of German occupied France. In the evenings, Melanie had dinner with Dick. Nixon joined them fairly often, but sometimes he was busy up at battalion. Those were her favorite nights, where it was just her and Dick, talking together. She relished these precious moments with him. She didn’t know when they might come to an end. 

She didn’t even mind that he usually had something to say about Sobel. She appreciated Dick being so honest with her. It was rare for him to speak so frankly, especially when it was something unpleasant. 

“It makes me nervous,” Dick said. “His combat inability is harmless now, but we could be faced with the real thing any time. He could get a lot of men killed.”

“Is there anything you can do?” she asked. “I know he’s not an easy man to be reasoned with.”

“It’s not just difficult, it’s impossible,” he returned. “He’s too stubborn to take someone else’s advice when he’s in the field and unsure. And there’s no talking to him outside of training when he has the most control.”

“Have you thought about going to Colonel Sink?” she wondered. 

“If I go over his head, it’s not a good look for Easy or for me,” he explained. “Not to mention, Easy’s so well trained, it’d be hard to convince Colonel Sink that anything is wrong.”

“It just seems brutally unfair for you all to have to go to combat with someone incompetent,” she said. “Because you’re right, it could mean life or death for you all.”

“It is unfair,” he agreed. “But I guess all we can do is rely on our platoon leaders and NCOs. They’re who’s really keeping Easy together anyway.” 

She considered all this as she chewed and then swallowed.

“Would you like me to speak to Colonel Sink?” she offered. 

She had done it once before but wondered if he’d change his mind since the stakes were higher now. 

He smiled. “That’s kind of you, Melanie, but it feels too sneaky. Like I’m still going over his head, just in a roundabout, less ethical way.”

“I understand,” she said. “I just wish I could help somehow.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” he said. “But you are helping. Just by listening.”

“You can talk to me any time,” she assured him. “About anything.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

She felt heat rise to her cheeks, and she looked down at her plate to hide it. Dick actually liked when she blushed. It always struck him in those moments how beautiful she was to him. A thought which gave him both a rush and a jolt of nerves. 

He was being honest, though. He trusted her almost as much as he trusted Nixon. In fact, the only thing he confided in Nix that he didn’t say to her was his feelings for her. 

“Can I walk you home?” he asked. 

“Of course.”

Dick always walked her home. They were quartered with families who were neighbors, so it was convenient, but she had the impression he would have walked her home even if she was staying on the other side of the village. She just soaked it all in as extra time with the man who was quickly becoming her favorite person. 

Autumn turned to winter, and then spring. Things with Sobel were not improving, and Melanie could sense Dick’s frustration growing. Every day it seemed there was something else that went wrong and the company’s morale was affected now.

One afternoon, she had a rare moment of down time with Dick. He and Nix were standing outside while Nix smoked a cigarette, so she joined them. After exchanging greetings, a jeep pulled up, disrupting the basketball game going on in the street. Sergeant Evans emerged from it and walked up to the trio off to the side. He looked grimly serious. 

“Lieutenant Winters,” Evans said, and they all exchanged salutes. Then he held out a letter. “With Captain Sobel’s compliments, sir.”

Dick glanced between Evans and the letter before taking it. They saluted again before Evans stalked back over to the jeep. He climbed back into the passenger seat and they pulled off. Melanie, Dick, and Nixon watched him go. 

“Well, what does it say?” she asked, nodding toward the piece of paper. 

Dick opened it and she and Nix leaned over his shoulders to see. She was shocked by what she read, but Nix released a small chuckle.

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” Dick muttered. 

“Misspelled court martial,” Nix pointed out. 

Dick crumpled the paper and she gazed up at him, mouth agape with disbelief. 

He left to confront Sobel about the incident with latrine duty, and she just stared at Nixon. 

“This can’t be real,” she said. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s Sobel,” Nix said. “Anything is possible.”

“I should go with him,” she said hesitantly. “I’ve got a feeling this is going to be...dramatic.”

“He’ll want you close by then,” he returned with a smile.

She nodded, said a quick goodbye, and then followed Dick to battalion HQ. Sobel’s voice echoed from the stairs, so she followed it. She spotted Dick’s frame disappearing to the second floor. She continued after them, keeping a safe distance. She stopped outside the office, to the left of the doorway, and listened. 

“My endorsement, sir,” she heard Dick say. “I request trial by court martial.”

She bit back a gasp. Dick was a man of principle, though, and she admired him for standing up to Sobel at this injustice. Dick halted outside the office when he spotted Melanie there. He almost smiled since she was just the person he was going to see. 

“Did you hear?” he asked. 

She nodded. “I’m sorry. Are you worried?”

He glanced around the hallway before nodding slowly. She held his gaze and they just shared a look for a long moment. Then, they both sighed and embraced each other. They stood there, wrapped up in each other’s arms and held on tight. What was coming next didn’t seem so bad from where they were standing now. 

Dick was transferred to battalion mess while the court martial proceedings went on. Melanie knew it was killing him because the invasion was so close, and if things continued this way, he could miss it. Which left the company only in the hands of Sobel. Dangerous was the only word for it. She couldn’t take it anymore, so she decided to go to Colonel Sink herself. Even though Dick didn’t like the idea, she couldn’t allow this.

She had known Colonel Sink her whole life, and now as she stood outside his office door, she felt her stomach twist with nerves. It wasn’t really her place to have an opinion on the management of Easy Company, and he could chew her out for speaking out of turn. But she had to do this. For Dick and the rest of the men. After all, she was the battalion nurse, and this was in the best interest for an important part of the battalion. 

She knocked softly on the door. 

“Come in,” said the familiar voice on the other side of it. 

She took a deep breath and pushed it open. He looked up from his paperwork and grinned at her. 

“Melanie, how are you?” he asked. 

“Very well, sir,” she said. “But there is something I wanted to discuss with you.”

“What is it?” he wondered. 

“Well, it’s about Di - I mean, Lieutenant Winters’ court martial,” she said, and she watched his smile flip upside down. “I know it isn’t really my business, but -”

“You’re right, it’s not,” he cut across her. 

She bit her lip and looked at the floor, regretting her decision already. She opened her mouth to apologize and dismiss herself, but he continued.

“As it is, though, I value your opinion. So tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Really?” she gasped. 

He nodded. “Yes, really.” 

“Thank you, sir,” she said excitedly. “First, I want you to know how serious this is. From what I understand after my talks with Di - I mean, Lieutenant Winters - is that Captain Sobel’s strength is not combat strategy.” 

“Winters has spoken to you about this?” he questioned, brow furrowing. 

“Here and there,” she said, grossly underplaying how much Dick had confided in her. “I hear some things from the NCOs as well.”

“I see,” he said. “And what have you derived from all this?”

“They don’t want to go to war with Captain Sobel, sir,” she said. “They’re afraid his lack of ability will get many of them killed, and put unnecessary stress on the platoon leaders, especially without Lieutenant Winters.” 

Sink leaned back into his chair and scratched his chin. 

“This isn’t to say that Captain Sobel is a poor leader,” she went on, fearing she had lost Sink’s interest in the matter. “He’s trained Easy Company to be the best in the regiment. So, I think - from what I’ve been told - his strength lies in that training.” 

“I know Sobel has had his moments,” Sink said. “But to take his company away from him...it seems drastic. The men can’t be so opposed to him that -”

At that moment, there was another knock at the door. 

“Hold that thought, sweetheart,” Sink said. “Come in!”

The door creaked open and all the NCOs from Easy Company entered the office. Each held in his hand, a written note. Melanie looked between them and the colonel, anxious.

“What’s all this?” Sink asked. 

Sergeant Lipton stepped forward, collected the notes, and placed them on the desk. She caught a glimpse of what they said.

“Our resignations, sir,” Lipton said. 

Sink’s eyes went wide. Melanie clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Sink looked down at the papers then back up at the men. She looked on with bated breath. He glanced this way several times, as if to confirm he was not imagining what was in front of him. 

“Melanie, am I dreaming or is this really happening?” he asked. 

“I’m afraid it’s really happening, sir,” she said. “But I hope you realize now just how important drastic action is.” 

His face hardened and he scowled. 

“I ought to have you all shot,” he snapped. “This is nothing less than an act of mutiny while we prepare for the goddamn invasion of Europe.”

She observed, astounded, as he dismissed Sergeant Harris from the regiment. He busted Ranney down to private, and proceeded to shame the remaining sergeants as disgraces to the Airborne, and reminded them that if the invasion of Europe was not imminent, they’d be facing a lot worse than this. 

“Now, get out of my office and out of my sight,” he demanded. 

They saluted, which he did not acknowledge. 

“Get!”

They filed out of the office and she caught Lipton’s eye. He offered a short nod, and she understood that they had risked it all for Dick. When they were all gone and the door was closed again, Sink heaved a sigh. 

“This really is bad, isn’t it?” he asked. 

“Yes, sir,” she said. 

“I need some time to think about this,” he said, standing up. He went and opened the door. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course,” she agreed, and started to leave. 

He stopped her right at the door and she faced him with an inquiring expression. He only smiled half heartedly and gave her cheek a paternal pinch. She smiled gently. 

With that, she left him. She felt silly now for going there at all. If she’d known that NCOs were planning such a statement, she would have just let them make it. But she hoped that it was her and the men who had swayed Colonel Sink. She walked outside and saw the NCOs cutting a salute to Dick as they passed him. 

He spotted her and smiled, which she returned. She approached him. 

“What’s all that about?” he asked. 

“You’ll find out soon enough,” she told him. 

The following evening, Sink asked that Melanie come and have dinner with him. As she headed up to his office, she saw Sobel storming down the corridor. He glared fiercely at her and halted. She did the same, facing him. 

“You had something to do with this, didn’t you?” he demanded. 

“With what?” she wondered. 

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

“You wanna play innocent, that’s fine,” he spat. “But congratulations, you and your precious Dick are getting exactly what you wanted.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she returned levelly. 

He stepped closer to her, towering over her, but she didn’t shrink away. 

“You lost me my company,” he hissed. 

“You don’t frighten me, Captain Sobel,” she said, hoping he believed her. “As for your company, you did a perfectly fine job of losing it yourself.”

She sounded braver than she felt. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel beads of sweat forming on the back of her neck. To speak that way to a man was unprecedented for her.

“It won’t make him love you, you know,” he sneered. 

“You’re wrong again,” she said, knowing exactly who he meant. “Nothing I do is with the intention of earning the love of Richard Winters. He’s a man I could never even hope to deserve.” 

He blinked, taken aback by the statement. But she meant every word. 

“Good evening, Captain,” she said coolly, and then swept away. 

Despite the tension with Sobel, she had a pleasant dinner with Colonel Sink. He asked if she had heard from her mother, and she said she hadn’t yet, and the colonel admitted she was shunning him too. They shared a melancholy sort of laugh about it. After the meal, there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” Sink said. 

“Good evening, sir,” said Dick as he entered, offering a salute. 

Sink returned it. 

“How can I help you, Dick?” he asked. 

“Actually, I was wondering if I could walk Melanie home,” he said. “I’d hate to disturb our routine anymore.”

She beamed. “Thank you, I’d like that.”

“Well, we’re all finished here, if you’re ready to go,” Sink said. “Thanks for looking out for her, Dick, it means a lot.”

“I’m happy to do it, sir,” Dick replied. 

“Good night, Colonel,” she said to Sink. “I hope we can sit down together again soon.”

“Me too,” Sink said. 

He pecked her on the cheek and said good night, and then she left with Dick. As they headed out into the cool night, she looked up at her companion and smiled again. 

“So, I guess you heard about Sobel,” he said. 

“Yes,” she said. “You did too?”

“Yep,” he said. “I think the company’s having a party if you’d like to join.”

She chuckled. “No thank you. I much prefer where I am.”

He smiled that bashful smile of his, which always melted her heart so much she was shocked she didn’t just turn into a puddle and soak into the earth. 

“Sink didn’t happen to share with you who’ll be taking Sobel’s place did he?” he asked. 

“As a matter of fact, he did,” she said. “Lieutenant Meehan from Baker Company, I believe.”

“I don’t know much about him,” he said with a slight frown. 

“Well, it can’t get any worse than Sobel, can it?” she returned, but immediately felt guilty. “Oh, that’s a nasty thing to say, I -”

“No, don’t apologize,” he said. “This whole business has been pretty nasty.” 

“Have you been reinstated as Easy’s XO?” she asked.

“I have,” he said. “And I suppose I partly have you to thank.”

“Oh, Dick, how you do run on,” she said. “I did speak to Colonel Sink about my own concerns, but it was the actions of the noncoms that sealed the deal. Turns out they are absolutely loyal to you.”

“Or they just really hate Sobel,” he joked.

She chuckled again. “That could also be the case.”

She shivered as a chilly breeze rolled through, and she subconsciously moved closer to him. He offered his arm, which she took. Just holding onto him, bodies pressed together, helped with warmth. But she always felt a bit warm around him. 

As they walked together, they chatted some more, eventually reaching subjects other than Sobel. They shared a few laughs and even some peaceful quiet as they reached the house. They came to a slow stop in front of her door.

“Well, goodnight, Dick,” she said. 

“Goodnight,” he returned. 

This time, there was no hesitation before she hugged him. He seemed a little surprised, but soon eased into her and wrapped his arms around her waist. It was so safe there, she hated to let go.

They grinned at each other as they both pulled away, and said goodnight again. Then, to her dismay, she went into the house to head to bed. 

Dick remained on the street and watched her bedroom window until the light flicked on. He saw her silhouette flit back and forth across the room as she changed and let her hair down. He stayed there until her light went off again, and he pictured her crawling comfortably into her bed. Only then, knowing she was safe and secure, did he go in.

***

Upottery was fairly similar to Aldbourne, only with fewer buildings. The Army set up a camp there, with tents scattered throughout the main field to house everyone. Luckily, the weather was warm enough. 

The invasion was so close now. Melanie had no idea when it would actually take place, but she had heard the plan several times already. The paratroopers would jump behind enemy lines and then have to clear the way for the Navy who would be landing on the two beaches - Utah and Omaha. It made her incredibly nervous because she would be separated from the regiment during the invasion. Her job was to go in with the rest of the Army Nurse Corps and set up aid stations. 

One morning, she had her coffee by the sand tables and looked over them for what had to be the millionth time. She knew her part, but she wanted to remember exactly where Dick and the rest of the 506th would be. Dick found her there by herself. 

“Hey,” he said. “Are you really studying before breakfast?”

She nodded. “I couldn’t really eat anyway. I just keep thinking about this and how...big it all seems.”

“Nervous?” he asked. 

“Of course, I’d be a fool not to be,” she said. “But it’s you all I’m worried about most.”

“We all have our part to play,” he said. “Just focus on your task at hand and -”

“Don’t, please,” she cut across him. “You’re entirely too logical for me just now.”

He chuckled, but it stung him a little. Did she really think him unemotional? He tried to maintain his composure for the men, and for her, but he never wanted to give the impression that he didn’t care.

“What would you like me to do?” he wondered.

“Lie to me,” she said, and he appreciated her honesty. “Just once, lie to me and tell me everything is going to be alright.”

He stepped closer to her and she rested her head against his shoulder. He put an arm around her waist and gave her a gentle squeeze.

“Everything’s gonna be alright,” he said. 

She hummed happily. “Thank you.” 

She finally got the news that the big day was to be June 5th. On that day, she went to the field before she was scheduled to join the other nurses. She walked among the men and offered hugs and words of encouragement, especially to the ones she was particularly close to. Most of it was Easy Company. 

“If you’re looking for Winters, he’s up with first platoon,” Guarnere told her as she wrapped up with him. “I’m sure he’d love to see ya.”

“Thanks, Bill,” she returned. “Take care of yourself.”

“You know I will, sweetheart,” he assured her, patting her arm.

She found first platoon quickly and spoke to each of the men. Finally, she spotted Dick. He offered a kind smile as she approached him. 

“Dick, I…” she trailed off. 

She had no words to express what he meant to her, so she threw herself into his arms. He caught her and held her, stroking her hair tenderly. She swallowed the lump in her throat as her heart began to sink. What if this was the last time?

Dick was thinking the thing. So he held her as long as he could, committing to memory the feeling of her, the way she smelled, and the sound of her voice. 

She sniffled as she pulled away.

“I, uh, brought something for you,” she said. 

“You did?” 

“Yes,” she said, reaching into her pocket. She retrieved a small, velvet box, which she opened and held out to him.

“A pocket watch?” he questioned, taking it carefully out and holding it up in front of him.

It was a fine, old fashioned, gold one. The initials JFD were engraved on the front, for Jesse Franklin Davis.

“It was my father’s,” she explained. “It always brought him luck. The only day he didn’t have it was the day he...well, you know.”

A softness came over his eyes that might have made her burst into tears if she wasn’t already trying so hard to keep it together. 

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I can’t take it, though, it’s too valuable.”

He tried to hand it back, but she only took his hand and curled his fingers around it.

“Please,” she said. “Consider it a loan. You may give it back only when we have found each other again.”

He looked happily at where her hand was atop his and then back up at her face.

“I’ll cherish it,” he said.

She nodded, biting her bottom lip so he wouldn’t see it trembling. He pulled her into one more embrace. When they parted, she swore she felt her heart cracking. 

“Good luck, Dick,” she choked out.

He cupped her cheek in his free hand. She closed her eyes to his touch. A tear leaked out of her eye and he wiped it away with his thumb.  

“Melanie,” he said, and she opened her eyes to meet his gaze. “I will return it to you.”

She attempted a watery smile. “I know you will.”

Several yards away, most of the company had gathered to watch, though they couldn’t hear what Melanie or Dick were saying. 

“He’s gonna kiss her,” Buck said. “He’s got to. Look at that.”

“Nah, he won’t,” Guarnere added. “He ain’t that kind of man.”

“I dunno, Guarno,” Toye said. “I’m with Buck, it’s looking like he might finally get the balls.”

“Oh, shit, guys!” Malarkey gasped. “His hand is on her cheek. The hand. Is on. The cheek.”

“He’s not even leanin’ in though, look,” Guarnere argued. “He ain’t gonna kiss her.”

“Five bucks says he kisses her,” Buck said. 

“You’re on,” Guarnere replied, and they shook on it. 

Lipton approached looking concerned. 

“What are all of you doing over here?” he wondered.

“We’re waiting to see if Winters is finally gonna kiss Melanie,” Skip explained. “Buck and Bill have placed bets.”

Lipton glanced over at her and Dick and then back at the men. 

“He’s not gonna kiss her, Winters isn’t that kind of guy,” he said. 

“Wanna get in on the bet, Lip?” Guarnere offered. 

Lip sighed and shook his head. 

“Does it count if he kisses her cheek or something?” Malarkey wondered. 

“No, we’re talking a full on lip kiss,” Buck said. “Oh, look!”

They all turned eyes on Melanie and Dick and watched. He was leaning toward her, and for a moment, even she thought he might kiss her, but then he leaned back on his heels. They whispered their final goodbyes. And then, chest tightening, she turned away from him and walked toward the jeep that was waiting for her. 

“Damn,” Buck sighed. 

“Told you, fellas,” Guarnere gloated as he collected his winnings. “Winters ain’t the kissing kind.”

Dick watched the jeep disappear into the countryside, doubting himself for the first time. He tucked the pocket watch away inside his jacket. Right next to his heart. 

That night, after the jump was cancelled, and he stood outside with Nix, he pressed his hand over it and thought of Melanie. He was carrying her with him, no matter when or where he jumped.

[bangtan-madi]

noel on ice — kim namjoon

Pairing — Namjoon x Reader, feat. minor mention of Jungkook x OC

Genre — fluff, holiday, minor angst, mental health

Tags — strangers to lovers, figure skater!Namjoon, barista!MC, non-idol au, figure skater au, café au, holiday au

Word Count — 16k

Summary —  After sustaining a crushing defeat at the World Figure Skating Championships, falling from his perfect gold standard to his long-time rival, Kim Namjoon returns to South Korea with an unsure heart and accompanying injury. At the same time, Y/N is as far from home as she has ever been due to a falling out with her family, working as a barista at a café in Seoul while trying to finish her degree. As if by fate, the two meet, and Namjoon makes it his goal to make Y/N see the magic of the holidays -- one Christmas adventure across Seoul at a time. 

Warnings — minor language, brief anxiety attack, mentions of ptsd related symptoms

A/N — This year has been a very difficult one for us all. For my fic in this Christmas collab, I wanted to acknowledge all of that and give a little mental health break for everyone. All of our experiences have been different, but one thing we all have in common is that 2020 was unexpected, painful, and heavy. Please, no matter what holiday you celebrate, let yourself have as much rest and healing as you need. If this little, probably-needs-more-editing-than-I-had-time-for fic can help you get there — even just for the twenty minutes it takes to read — then my job is done ❤️ I love you all, and I know I speak for the others when I say I hope 2021 treats us all so much kinder, and I hope we learn to love ourselves in spite of our worlds around us.

Playlist — Link here.

Christmas Collaboration — this fic is a part of the Christmas Collab by @kooala (link coming soon!)

"Hey—Hey, are you even listening to me?"

Raising your head slightly, your eyes widening as you realize you've zoned out again, focusing on the snowfall outside instead of the next customer in line. The woman waving her hand in front of you is as foreign to South Korea as you are, but her expression is entirely that of an angry American. Her scowl has etched deep lines into her skin, where smile lines should be.

Unfortunately, her face is all too familiar. Usually it pays to be one of the only native English-speakers at your café; however, when Americans come in, you're the one pushes to take their orders and serve them.

Even the most difficult ones.

"S—Sorry, Ma'am," you mutter. Shaking your head, you force a customer-service smile. "I was just admiring the snowfall. Isn't it beautiful?"

"Oh, yeah," she retorts sarcastically. "So beautiful that it's making travel home nearly impossible. Can you please just make my drink so I can leave?"

"I—I didn't hear it, Ma'am. Can you repeat it please?"

While the woman rolls her eyes, she repeats her order swiftly, muttering something along the lines of, "Baristas these days, I swear to god," under her breath. "Make sure to get it right this time. Every time I come in and order a blended cappuccino, you guys end up giving me a latte, which is not what I ordered."

"And every time, we have to explain that all a latte is, is a blended cappuccin—"

"—I don't want to hear it!"

With a sigh, you ring up the total for the "blended cappuccino, not latte" and let the woman pay. From the sidelines, your co-worker Lisa stands with a glare and a tin of heated milk ready to go for your order.

"Ms. Blended cappuccino again?" she asks as you turn towards her with a note written in perfect Hangul.

You nod, running  a hand over your hair in frustration. "I hate being the only native bi-lingual person here. Means I get to deal with her every damn time."

Sensing your downtrodden spirit, Lisa pushes you out of the way, giving you a gentle shove towards the back room. "I got this one. Go take a breather in the back, okay?"

"But—"

"—Ah! No buts. I know enough English to get by."

From the front desk, the woman pipes up again, demanding her drink be made faster. Lisa marches past your, arms herself with the imaginary drink, and says in perfect English, "You're in Seoul now. Speak Korean."

Knowing Lisa can handle the absolute hell-spawn that is an angry American Karen, you turn your back to the drama and shuffle to the break room behind the "employees only" door. An exasperated breath escapes as you revel in the silence, pushing away the muffled café sounds on the other side of the door. Being the only one in the break room, you spot your favorite white chocolate mocha on the side table, with a smiley face sticky note indicating it's from Lisa beside it.

You smile gently at the sweet gesture, and shove the sticky note into your pocket as a reminder to yourself to thank her later.

Taking the mug between your overworked hands, you settle down on the window seat and watch the December sky slowly shift from violet to navy. The mocha is just slightly sweet with a hint of peppermint, just like you like it. It's almost enough to illicit the Christmas spirit lying dormant inside you.

There's something incredibly painful about this particular holiday season, you think to yourself as the cars pass swiftly on the street outside. The glittering lights, the beautiful carols, the crystalline snow — none of it feels the same as last year.  The holidays are supposed to be a time of comfort and renewal, but this year — after moving halfway around the world by yourself — your heart is starting to wonder if that part of you has died.

Maybe it's the loneliness you're feeling, or maybe it's the fact that you're so far away from home. Or maybe it's the fresh-in-your-mind arguments and falling out with your family over the summer. That bitter taste lingers still in the back of your throat, not unlike a dark espresso.  A Christmas season without your parents and siblings; you never thought living your own life and following your happiness could hurt so much. For better or worse, that nostalgic feeling family and friends bring is long gone. And now you're nostalgic for nostalgia itself; what kind of messed up feeling is that?

You've had twenty-four wondrous, magical holiday seasons. Is it part of growing up that your allotment of joyful Christmas days is limited?

Is twenty-five the year that the magic just...stops?

When the night sky becomes unchanging, the door to the café kitchen opens. Lisa peeks her head inside, side-bangs falling in her face. "How's the mocha? Did I get it right?"

You take the last sip with a grateful smile, then place the mug onto the coffee table. "You nailed it. Thank you, I needed that."

Pride swells in Lisa's chest, and her shoulders straighten as she enters the room. "Well, good news. Karen's gone," she announces, "and your favorite customer is here!"

"Who?"

Lisa places her hand horizontally at her hip-level. "About this tall? Loves peppermint hot choco?

Bolting from your seat, all your concerns are momentarily gone. Your co-worker doesn't have to utter another word to get you to exit the back room and reenter the kitchen.

Across the counter, a mop of black hair is barely visible. Dark brown eyes peer over the granite surface; they twinkle and shine at the sight of you. Tiny hands splay on the surface in an attempt to make the small child taller. He's around seven to eight years, you estimate. Nine or ten at the very most. Definitely not out of primary school. And he's your very favorite customer, because unlike most, this child comes in with a toothy grin almost every single day with enough money for a peppermint hot chocolate. He's never late, and he's never unhappy. If the Sun were to bless the world with a ray of sunshine in human form, this kid would be it.

"Ahjumma!" the little boy shouts, a grin plastered on his face.

Instead of having him crane his neck, you walk around the counter, bend down on one knee, and ignore the other customers behind him. Pulling one of the tiny baked goods from your apron pocket, you offer the sweet to the child with a wink.

"You're here awfully late, Yeongu. You're usually here right after school lets out. It's already after dark."

Yeongu digs through his pocket and pulls out several crumpled won, enough for his beverage of choice. "Tomorrow is the last day before Christmas break, so dad picked me up and took me skating. I'm with mom and her boyfriend for the rest of the month 'cause Dad's going to Busan with his new wife. I don't like her that much. She frowns too much. And she smells like soju and taffy."

You exchange the won for the baked treat, laughing softly as you invite the boy onto the corner table nearest the hot chocolate machines. "You don't like taffy, do you?"

He makes a face and takes a big bite of the delicacy. "My teacher tells us that if we eat taffy, it will help us remember things. I ate too much of it last year, and now I hate it. Dad's new wife must always be forgetting things, because she always smells like it!"

After finishing the simple drink, you slide the mug across the table and plop down in the seat across from the small boy. "So does this mean I won't get to see you until after Christmas?"

Yeongu shakes his head. "I'll be by tomorrow after. Mom wanted to visit my cousin before we left. He's back in town for Christmas, and we haven't seen him in a long time."

"Oh? What does he do?"

"Sports."

At that, the boy changes the conversation. "What are you doing for Christmas, Ahjumma?"

"Yeah, Ahjumma," Lisa pipes up after serving the final to-go customer for the night. She flips the sign on the front door and turns back to the two of you, hand on her hip. "What are you doing for your first Christmas in Korea?"

Shrugging slightly, you turn your attention back to the small child across from you. "I'll probably spend the day with Mochi — my cat — probably studying so I'll be ahead in the new year for my next classes." Lisa gives an empathetic look at the mention of your kitten, which causes you to roll your eyes playfully. "Don't give me that look! I'll be fine. Probably best for me to have a relaxed, non-hectic couple of days. This year has been a rough one."

"That sounds sad," Yeongu states bluntly, earning a snicker from Lisa.

"Kid's right. Absolutely dreadful, [Y/n]. What a lame Christmas."

"What about you, then? Do you have any plans for Christmas?"

At the question, Lisa's smirk drops and she perks up. "Well, I'm sure you know, but Christmas in Korea is pretty different from America," Lisa reminds you, and you nod your acknowledgement. "It's more of a couple holiday, so my boyfriend Jungkook and I are planning to take the week off and do a ton of holiday activities together. Mostly outdoors stuff. Y'know, snowboarding, skiing, snowball fights — the usual."

"Sounds like a blast," you laugh.

"Oh, it will be." She gives a wink, then nods to Yeongu. "Are we about done here? I need to head out if you're okay with locking up for the night."

You give a wave of approval as the child nears the end of his glass. "I got this. Say hello to Jungkookie for me."

Lisa flashes a set of extravagant finger hearts before disappearing into the back, where she gathers her personal items and exits out the rear entrance. In her absence, Yeongu tugs on your sleeve and holds up an empty mug.

"Thank you for the hot choco, Ahjumma," he grins, showing the dark stain on his upper lip.

Taking the mug, you use the edge of your apron to clean the mess from his face. "If you come by tomorrow before you leave with your Eomma, I'll make you another with extra peppermint, okay?"

The boy's smile grows, and he hops up from the table with a swift bow. "I'll be here!" He heads for the door with a skip in his step.

"Will you get home all right?" you call after him.

Yeongu turns and grins. "I will, don't worry, Ahjumma!"

And then he's gone, out the door in a rush of energy and giggles towards his home nearby. You merely shake your head; there's no point in going after him now.

Soon after, you're following in his step. It doesn't take you long to clean up. By the time you lock up and exit out the back, snow has begun to fall. You brave the cold, tugging your coat tighter around you, burying your face into your scarf. The journey to the subway is short, and your feet take you quickly. Even still, you stare upward at the snowy clouds in hope that they might spark a semblance of Christmas joy in your heart.

Tonight, like every other night, nothing changes.

You heave a sigh, and the breath billows out as a visible fog as you enter the station. Going through the motions to get to your apartment is easy. A swipe of a card, a short ride to the edge of the neighborhood, and a trek up the set of stairs. Once through the door, you're greeted by a mewing shadow of a cat.

"Hi, my baby girl," you greet with a soft smile, bending down to scratch the tiny fur ball behind the ears. The black cat rubs her chin against your palm and follows you when you waltz to the kitchen. "You hungry?"

As if responding, "Yes!" Mochi speeds up and meows a bit louder than last time.

Her antics bring a smile to your face as you turn on the television for background noise. You find the nearest Korean news station, finding the program in the middle of a report on Korea's favorite rap duo and their upcoming tour: Suga and J-Hope. Your intention with the selection is two-fold — first, to continue to enhance your skills of the Korean language, and two, to continue learning about the culture and world of your new home. While you had extensive knowledge of both before moving to Seoul — despite the process being rather quick due to the fallout with your family — nothing compares to being immersed in the country itself.

As the musical entertainment section ends, you begin pulling ingredients out of the fridge and cupboard. "What do you think sounds good, Mochi? How about teokbokki?" The black cat perches her paws on your right leg, purring pleasantly. "I agree, sounds great after a long day."

You toss a bag of rice cakes onto the counter as the news changes to sports. Even as you prepare the sauce for the meal, you actively listen to the voices in the background.

"Unfortunately, RM Nam's ice skating season has been cut short due to an unforeseen injury he sustained during practice this summer. At the time, the damage to his shoulder seemed unnoticed by the athlete and his coach. However, as we saw earlier this October at the Grant Prix Series: Skate America, Mr. Nam's mishap on the ice turned out to be far more damaging than originally thought. Thus, the position representing South Korea at the next in the series, Skate Canada, was shifted to his rival, Kim Seokjin, and RM Nam returned home to Seoul to recover."

You can't but help a glance up at the screen. The skater in question has his back turned to the cameras as he heads into the airport. Behind his sunglasses, mask, and beanie, he offers a polite smile and wave to the reporters. Moments later, his coach guides him into the building, out of sight.

"That doesn't sound fun," you mutter to yourself as the report moves onto politics.

After you finish cooking, you plate yourself a portion and move into the living room. Besides the tiny tan sofa and the television propped up on a box, most of the room is bare. There are a handful of boxes strewn across the apartment of the few things you either had shipped from the States or that you bought in your six months since then, but for the most part, you've been putting off all of it. Most of your time is spent at work or at school; you haven't had the time, energy, or motivation to do any of it. Even at Christmas, despite Lisa gifting you with your very own tiny tree and twinkle lights to spread across the home, you've yet to unpack any of it. The tree remains in the slender box beside the TV, and you doubt it will go up this year at all.

Heaving a sigh at the thought, you turn the channel to VIKI put on your favorite drama. This particular one is a reincarnation plot with two male leads played by Korea's golden boys: Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung. Paired with the bowl of teokkboki in your lap and the kitten curled to your side, it's enough to drag you thoughts out of homesickness and back to the present.

This might just have to be the Christmas you forget and hope that the next year is a kinder one.

A lot changed in your life this year. In some ways, the changes were good. In others, not so much. Most of the turbulent times were in the heat of the summer, but things began slowing down once you moved to South Korea in September. You were now away from toxic family members, away from a life you never wanted, and looking ahead to an uncertain but certainly hopeful future.

In late October, the seasons began changing for the better — and not just in the physical sense of the falling leaves and cooler breeze. Lisa was right about your favorite customer; it truly was little Yeongu. However, there was another that you looked forward to seeing, just as much as the elementary school boy.

This person was older, around your age, with a deeply dimpled smile that made your stomach flutter. Eyes as slender as his body proportions, you'd be lying if you said he wasn't an attractive man. Hair the color of the snowflakes he walked through, eyes the color of the beverage he'd always order, skin the color of warmth in a cozy fireplace. Even his voice was warm and deep; at every conversation, while you are completely fluent in Korean, you find yourself just wanting to listen to the soft timbre.

Over time, this man — whose name you'd quickly learn was Kim Namjoon — became a regular at your little coffee shop. He'd come in at the oddest hours, either super early or super late. Hours you often worked alone, when there were fewer customers. Every time, he'd strike up a conversation as you took his order and crafted his beverage of choice (a heavy coffee brewed dark and bitter, with just a splash of cream and almond whip.) He was sweet, and eventually you opened up. He'd hang around the counter long after the transaction was completed, sometimes until another customer stole your attention away. It didn't take long for you to realize that he was far more than merely a pretty face.

In those weeks leading up to December, you found yourself smiling a bit more. Joking a bit more. Shoulders lightening a bit more. You looked forward to the increasingly insistent days where he'd waltz in — sometimes covered in raindrops, sometimes in crisp leaves, sometimes in snowflakes — always a crystal blue umbrella under his arm and a charcoal grey scarf around his neck.

It's the same person standing at the entrance now, the man currently shaking the rain from his umbrella and platinum locks. Lisa gives you a smirk as she nods her head towards the register and steps away from the counter, as if silently saying, "You're up, m'lady. Holler if you need me; I'll be doing an order in the back."

You brush your hair back into proper place, display a genuine smile, and take your stance behind the register. When Namjoon's eyes meet yours, his smile deepens and creates dimples on either side of his mouth.

After the customer in front of him pays and leaves with his order in hand, you greet him with a simple, "You haven't been in, in over a week. Finally trying to break your caffeine addiction?"

Namjoon gives a deep laugh and shakes his head. "Not in the slightest. I like being able to function as an adult in society, thank you very much." He pulls out several won from his wallet. "I'll have..."

"The usual?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "You remember?"

"Of course," you grin, and type his drink of choice into the register. Taking his money, you add, "How could I forget your order after the hilarious reaction when I suggested a mint mocha?"

The boy thinks back to the first day he walked into the café, and recalls that conversation with a groan. "Oh god, was I that bad?"

Handing him his change, you tap your chin and reply, "Well, maybe a bit. I'd never seen someone so horrified at the idea of mint chocolate."

Namjoon rubs the back of his neck with an awkward smile. "Sorry about that. Pretty terrible at hiding my disdain for that flavor combo."

"No worries! Made me laugh."

Seeing that there are no other customers behind him, you turn to the brewing station and usher Namjoon to take a seat on the bar stool across the counter. It's a position you've taken several times before. When the customers are low, as they are at this hour of evening, the platinum-haired man tends to linger and converse far after his drink is finished.

"What brings you in today? Just wanted a pick-me-up or?"

Namjoon heaves a sigh. He watches you closely but casually, silently admiring the skillful way you begin to brew the dark beverage. "I've had a lot on my mind lately, and coming here always helps me de-stress."

"Coffee helps you relax?" You can't help but chuckle at the sentiment.

"And the company."

Heat rushes to your face, and when you glance up to meet his gaze, the warmth only increases. "You're smooth, Kim Namjoon. Very smooth."

Brown eyes widen, and he bows his head so that his bangs cover his eyes. "That's not what I meant at all!"

"Calm down, you're fine. Wanna talk about what's on your mind, though?"

In all your conversations, the two of you have only ever talked on the shallow surface of various topics. You don't know much about Namjoon, and he doesn't know much about you — despite having shared extremely vague information about your year, your jobs, and your education. You feel very open with him, but most of the time, those conversations can't be had in a fifteen minute discussion at a café.

"It's a long, complicated story. I'm not sure you'd wanna hear it." He raises his hands defensively as he realizes how his words might be construed. "Not that you wouldn't understand! I just wouldn't want to be a downer."

You select the cold brew setting on the machine and let the device begin to whir to life. "Well, I've got at least the time it takes to make your drink. I'm all ears."

Namjoon shakes his head as he settles his elbows on the counter. "You're persistent."

"Honey, I've been called far worse."

Seeing your eagerness, your companion heaves a sigh and shifts his gaze from you to the window at his right. As be begins to speak, his demeanor falls a bit. He's not as happy-go-lucky; there's an err of anxiety about him that you can't quite nail down. "I've been thinking about a change in career recently. Things haven't been unfolding this year like I wanted...and I'm starting to think I'm not meant to do what I'm doing now. Maybe I need to retire — from this industry, I mean, and move on to another."

Even with that small confession, you can't help but mirror his emotions. "I hear you. I've felt similar feelings this year."

His gaze shifts back to yours, and he tilts his head in surprise. "Really? How so?"

"I told you I moved to Seoul in September, right?" Namjoon nods. "That's because I wanted a...a fresh start. I enrolled in Yonsei University, got a job here, and just...moved."

"That's pretty brave, and that's really awesome you're at Yonsei. They're a fantastic school."

"Thanks," you grin whilst popping the canister of cold brew out from under the brewing machine. "I needed to get away from certain people in my life that weren't letting me move forward, so moving was the best choice." You pour the dark beverage into a small mixer and pull out the vanilla creamer. "Sure you don't want mint this time? Last chance."

Namjoon cocks an eyebrow as a silent challenge; the expression makes you giggle to yourself as you pour the very non-mint add-ins. "Hilarious."

"Hey! Just offering." After giving the mixture a whisk, your smile falters.

Nothing gets by the observant person across the counter. "I feel like your story has a 'but' after what you ended with."

"You're good," you reply, gesturing to him with the handheld whisk. "I'm not talking too much, am I?"

Namjoon shakes his head adamantly and flourishes with his hand for you to continue. "I mean, we're practically friends now. Please, go on."

Reassured by both his calming nature and genuine interest, you continue talking. "But after getting here...let's just say it's hard to make friends and get out there in a country where you look so different, where your language isn't native, and where you know literally no one. So...ah, this year's been a pretty lonely one, and I know I still made the right choice, but now that the holidays are here..." You trail off and offer a small smile. "All that to say, I know what it's like to second-guess yourself and not have things go the way you thought."

"Seems we have a lot in common," he chuckles, leaning his chin on his hand.

The comment causes the mood to lighten, and you let a laugh slip out. "Yeah, seems so."

Before the conversation can continue, the front door opens. Yeongu enters, a couple of other customers behind him. As if on cue, Lisa enters from the back room and greets the adults with a smile and a swift, "Hi, welcome! What can I get you this evening?"

As the child approaches the adjacent counter where you stand, his grin widens. You perch your elbows on the counter and lean over. "How's my favorite customer?"

"I'm finally free from school, Ahjumma!" Yeongu cheers loudly.

"Congrats! I'm sure you're relieved." He nods affirmatively. "t's freezing outside. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, I promise. But can I get a mint hot choco?" He holds up a crumpled bill with a toothy grin.

"Of course, you can. Extra mint, just like I promised." You nod towards the seat closest to the window. "Sit in your usual spot, okay? After I get this nice man his coffee, I'll get your hot chocolate."

As Namjoon turns to look at the child, Yeongu's eyes widen in surprise. "Namjoon-hyung! I didn't know you were here."

Much to your shock, Namjoon reciprocates the affection and hops down from his chair to bend down to Yeongu's level. "Yeon-ie!" He teases the boy by ruffling up his hair, which Yeongu scowls at him for.

"Um... You two know each other?"

"Yep!" Yeongu grins. "He's my cousin, the one I told you about yesterday."

"Oooh, that makes sense. Didn't realize my two favorite customers were related."

Yeongu laughs at the comment and hops into the chair beside Namjoon. "But I'm your favorite customer, right?"

"Of course," you tease, flashing him a playful wink.

"Oh! I almost forgot. Ahjumma, can I please have mine in a to-go cup? Mom told me to come right home so we can finish packing for our trip."

"Of course, give me just a second to get you a lid." You turn to your first customer with an apologetic smile. "Namjoon, I'm almost done with yours. Just give me a moment."

"Actually, do you mind putting mine in a to-go cup as well?" He jerks his thumb towards Yeongu. "I should probably walk him home. He lives just around the corner from me. I'd feel better if I did."

"Oh, sure, I can do that."

"Would you walk with us, Ahjumma? Pleeeease?"

Your gaze moves to Namjoon. "Do you mind?"

The elder cousin hops up from his chair, shaking his head adamantly. "Not at all! Can you?"

"Sure, I'm about at the end of my shift anyway! Let me grab my coat. I'll come with." You turn quickly to Lisa, murmuring, "Can you watch—?"

She cuts you off with a wave of her hand. "—Go! I can close up for the night. But if you don't come back with a date planned, the invitation to spend New Years with Jungkookie and me is rescinded."

With a playful eye-roll, you peck her on the cheek and run to the back for your coat. Once you return, you find Namjoon scuffling Yeongu's dark locks with a dimpled smile. Looking back up as you return, the expression doesn't falter.

"Ready?"

You nod and follow behind through the exit, trying to ignore the wink and dual thumbs-ups Lisa flashes you as you pass.

Once on the street, Yeongu walks ahead of you and Namjoon. The first few minutes are silent between you two. From ahead, you can hear the small child talking to himself, or perhaps his hot chocolate, and then occasionally to the adults.

As you cross the busy street, Namjoon clears his throat. "So...you have any plans for Christmas?"

You scoff under your breath and shake your head. "Why does this topic keep coming up?"

"Hope I didn't offend," he laughs. "Yeongu said something about a café girl not having plans last night. I figured it was you."

"Trust me, you're good. But yeaaah. Kinda new to Korea. I spent the fall settling in and trying to start over. Between work and school, didn't expect much. Holidays sneaked up on me, I guess."

There's a pause as the trio rounds the corner. Yeongu finishes his hot cocoa along the way and hands the empty cup to Namjoon. The elder doesn't even hesitate to take it, and the boy rushes ahead to what you assume is his home. Over his shoulder, he shouts, "Thank you for the choco, Ahjumma!"

You grin widely and wave. "You're welcome!"

Yeongu turns to Namjoon, sticks out his tongue in a playful manner, then disappears into his house.

"Aaand that's the thanks I get." Namjoon rolls his eyes and turns his body towards you, giving you his full attention as the sun sets behind Seoul Tower. "I have a crazy idea."

"Oh, really?" You cross your arms over your chest and cock an eyebrow. "Those are my favorite kind of ideas."

"Cheesy," he grins. "Well...I don't have any plans either. Maybe we spend it together?"

"No plans, huh? Do I look that pitiful?"

"No! No, it's not that at all, god." Namjoon's smirk falls from his face as a horrified expression drowns out any humor. "Sorry if that's how it came off. I just—You seem really nice, and it's been a while since either of us just enjoyed someone else's company. No strings. No pressure."

Tugging your lower lip between your teeth, you shuffle in your step. "I don't know, Namjoon..."

"Christmas has always been my favorite holiday. I hate to see anyone's shoulders so heavy in December. How about this — give me three days to prove the magic isn't lost."

"Three days? That's it?"

"That's it."

"Okay then, Mr. Kim." You offer a hand in his direction. "Three days."

Namjoon's eyes lock with yours, as does his hand. "It's a deal."

The following weekend you wake to a phone call coming in from your recently-added number. Rolling out from under the covers to grab the device from the nightstand, you answer with voice still groggy with sleep. "Hello?"

"Are you still sleeping?" the caller laughs in a deep timbre.

"Shuddup." Peaking an eye open, the time on the screen reads just after eleven a.m. "It's not that late."

"Really?"

"Did you call me just to make fun of my lack of healthy sleep schedule, or did you have a point?"

"Ouch!” Namjoon exclaims playfully. “I actually did call, and it's actually perfect because I don't need you ready to go until around three this afternoon. So you can totally just go back to sleep."

You curl back under your heated blanket and revel in the warmth it provides. Beside you, Mochi curls closer, nearly sitting on your head. "Mmm sounds perfect. Wait—what?"

"You heard me." There's a hint of teasing in Namjoon's words. "It's Day 1. Be ready for an outdoor adventure by three. I'll pick you up then, okay sleepyhead?"

The butterflies rumble in your stomach at the nickname, and you clear your throat before replying. "Yep, got it. Three p.m. Outdoor adventure. Can't you tell me what it is or where we're going?"

"And ruin the surprise? No way. Just trust me, Jagi."

A squeak slips out, and you throw your hand over your mouth to hide it. "Okay, see you there—I mean then!"

You can almost hear Namjoon shaking his head as he says his goodbyes and ends the call. Despite still being sleepy and warm and cozy in your nest, you lie wide awake in bed for the next half-hour, replaying his voice over and over in your head like a well-loved record.

The day flies by, and eventually it's approaching three. You've dressed to impress while still trying to keep it casual. Despite this being a date, it's still casual. You like Namjoon a lot, and you hope he likes you as well. However, outside of conversations at the café, you haven't spent a lot of time together yet. This is as good a second-first impression as any, and you intend to make the most of it.

Grabbing your winter coat and scarf, you scurry down the stairs and spot Namjoon lingering by the entrance with two cups in his hands. He's dressed in jeans and a sweater with a dark grey jacket over top, his usual scarf looped twice around his neck. A beanie covers his head, but bits of his platinum hair still stick out in places. Slung across his shoulder is a brown leather backpack. He always looks nice, that much you know, but the fact that today he looks nice for you makes you sickly happy.

He flashes a smile as you bound out the door. "You look rested," he teases, then offers you one of the cups.

Taking it with a nose scrunch, you look down at the order on the side, seeing that it's your usual order. "How did you know!"

He shrugs. "I have my ways."

"Was it Lisa?"

"Maybe..." He straightens up and nods his chin towards the nearby station. "Follow me for our first adventure!"

After boarding the train to Itaewon, you can't help but wonder where he might be taking you. Your mind goes through all of the things to do in Itaewon, but the list is lengthy. From his excited and proud expression, you know Namjoon has been looking forward to this all day, just as you have.

After exiting fifteen minutes down the line, Namjoon reaches for your free hand. "May I...?"

Your fingers close the distance, glove-covered palm clasping his. "Lead the way."

Namjoon grins, then tugs on your hand as you exit the station. Once outside in the frigid air, you see your breath come out in puffs of fog. You tighten your scarf around your neck and allow your companion to usher you down the sidewalk, towards a clearing in the colorful buildings of Itaewon-do.

Another block or so, and you see the direction in which he's heading. A large sign along the way reads, "Grant Hyatt Seoul Ice Rink" in bold Hangul. Your eyes widen as the realization hits you, and the excitement inside you grows. "How did you know I've wanted to go ice skating!"

Namjoon shuffles up to the ticket counter, replying over his shoulder, "Um...lucky guess?"

As he purchases your tickets, you take a moment to absorb your surroundings.  The trees are glowing from the lights covering every branch and trunk. They surround the rink and give a glow from within that is so much softer and more intimate than the harsh lighting of the city. The Hyatt Hotel stands as a black silhouette against the horizon. In the opposite direction, you can see N. Seoul Tower already lit up as the afternoon lighting shifts to evening. Projectors shine shapes of glittering snowflakes across the ice, giving another layer of ambient lighting to the rink.

"I haven't been since I was a kid," you add, staring at the exterior of the open-air rink with awe. Namjoon hands you the ticket, which you use for entrance and skates before shoving it into your jacket pocket. "Have you ever been before?"

"Yeah, a...few times. Hey, what size shoe are you?" When you tell him, Namjoon grabs a pair of skates from the shelf beside the ticket booth and gestures for you to sit on the bench across from it. "It can be tricky to lace your skates properly," he commentates as he kneels down in front of you and begins to untie your boots. "It's really something you have to adjust yourself, so let me know when I'm close?"

Not having any words to respond at his sudden closeness, you nod the affirmative and watch in silence as he puts one boot to the side, slips the skate on with ease, and begins to adjust the laces like a professional. After repeating the movements with your other skate, he taps your knee and looks up at you.

"Too loose? You want them to be as tight as you can handle to keep your ankles steady."

Moving your feet, you shake your head from side to side. "A bit more. I'd hate to have Day 1 turn into a trip to the E.R."

"Definitely, nothing says ‘Christmas magic’ like an emergency room visit," he laughs, adjusting your laces as you requested. "How's that?"

"Much better, thank you."

After lacing up your skates as tight as you can handle, Namjoon stands and offers you an arm. He helps you waddle over to the entrance, gently sliding you onto the ice despite your shaky knees and flailing arms. You soon realize that it might be best to hold tight to the barrier and stick only to the periphery.

He doesn't follow you on at first. When you turn and look back for him, he waves you on. "You go ahead. I need to grab my skates first."

"Mmm fine, but if I break my neck trying to catch your ass, you're paying for ramen after. Got it?"

Namjoon gives you two thumbs ups as he lets you go onto the ice. "Loud and clear."

Eventually, you begin tugging yourself along, trying but failing to keep up with the traffic of more experienced skaters. Even compared to those half your age, or even less, you're the child on this rink.

About half-way around the rink, you spot Namjoon making his way towards the entrance. Waving your hand, your smile widens when he sees you. He waves back, nearly bumps into the person ahead of him at the gate, and you murmur to yourself, "This should be good."

Namjoon hits the ice. He's not like the barreling disaster you are, but like a graceful swan. It catches you off-guard; if anything, you expected him to fall flat on his face or tumble over a child on his way over to you on the opposite side. He needs no assistance from the railing, nor does he struggle to cross the center and come to a full stop in front of you. His skates make a graceful scraping sound, and his stance is one of a professional. Even his skates are different than yours; they're custom, and you realize that must've been what he was carrying in his backpack.

You assume the awestruck look on your face is the reason for his smirk and laughter. He does a spin for dramatic affect as he closes the distance between you. "Surprised?"

"For starters! How the hell are you so graceful? You're literally twirling around on one foot on a frictionless surface, and I can barely make a left turn!"

The platinum blond gives you a look like you're still missing the point, then extends his hand. "C'mon, I can help you more than the railing can."

"Promise not to sue me if I break your face by crashing into you?"

"Promise, now grab my hand and skate!"

Your hands in his, you take the leap of faith and separate from the barrier around the oblong rink. Namjoon slowly skates backwards, carrying you the whole way. Your eyes remain glued to your trembling feet, careful not to have the blades deviate too far out to one side or the other.

"Look at you!" he cheers, ever the positive one. "A whole two minutes on your feet."

"Shut up."

You won't deny that your progress surprises even you. Despite having to hold both his hands for the first ten minutes, then eventually one as you skate side-by-side for the following half-hour, you're more adept at skating than you thought you would be.

"You think you can try on your own for a lap?" he inquires.

Giving a hesitant nod, you let go of Namjoon's hand, saying, "Don't leave my side, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Taking a deep breath in, you push one skate out in front of the other and move yourself forward. The other follows after, and you get about twenty feet before you stumble and nearly fall face-first. Luckily, Namjoon keeps his promise and wraps his arms around your waist before you crash.

"Good try!" he exclaims, keeping his arms around your middle even after you regain your balance. "You got pretty far, actually."

You give an awkward chuckle and lay your nervous hands over his at your hip. "Maybe I'm not quite ready for a free-skate yet."

"No worries." He lets his arms drop and retakes your hand to steady you. The dimples appear next to his smile as he adjusts your beanie on your head, which had nearly fallen off in your almost-fall. "But I gotta say, you didn't have to fall for me on Day 1."

"So smooth!" You roll your eyes and give his shoulder a playful shove, only to gasp and reach back for him when he naturally skates backwards at the push. "Nevermind, I take it back. Please don't leave me in the middle of the rink."

Namjoon lets out a loud laugh, nearly doubling over as you cling to him. "You're so cute."

As you skate together, you keep getting the feeling that Namjoon has spent far more time on the ice than you previously assumed. After you get the hang of it yourself and are able to wobble along beside him without a constant hand to hold, he smiles a proud, wide smile.

"See? I knew you could do it!"

You raise your eyebrows at him. "Still nowhere near close to you."

"That's what a lot of people say," he brushes it off.

"Way to brag there, Joon," you snort, then immediately freeze in place so suddenly that you nearly fall over again. "Wait—you don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

Namjoon's smile shows his dimples, and they deepen with his reply. "Not a bit." The song changes, playing the symphonic piece "Noel on Ice." Namjoon's face lights up, and he turns back to you with a wink. "Watch me?"

Nodding affirmatively, you release his hand and let him skate towards the center of the rink. His gaze remains on you as he spins to a stop in the middle, then turns his gaze downwards. Arms still at his sides, and his shoulders straighten. You await with bated breath for the next note.

The melody lifts, and Namjoon's arms follow suit. Piano notes drip across the chilled air, and the violin prompts an extension of his hands upwards. Then he moves, gracefully flowing from one movement to the next, as if this has been an ice dance built into his very being. The harp and cello urge him to move faster, spinning like a dancer across their stage.

Namjoon spins into the air, fully coming off the ice. Your hands fly up to cover your mouth out of fear, but he lands it with ease, shifting into his next series of steps like a professional. Flawless and practiced, he's caught the attention of everyone at the rink. As you look around, you see everyone else focused intently on the skater. Some even have their phones out to record. Not just one or two people, either; you see at least a half dozen with their cameras trained on Namjoon.

That in particular has you perplexed. Brows pulling together, you shift your eyes back to Namjoon. The piece is nearing its close, and he's moved back to the center of the ice. Twirling in place, he's moving like a spinning top. Always in a single place, so fast you can barely see, gracefully shaving ice under him so that snowflakes fall around him. He lowers, nearly sitting as he continues to twirl on one foot. The music grows to its crescendo. Slowly, he rises up and extends his hands towards the sky.

And then it hits you.

There's a reason why his face, his voice, and his presence is so familiar to you. You couldn't put your finger on it until just now, but the way he moves on the ice like he's the only one in the room — like it's a second home — brings you back to one of the first days you had in Seoul. That first day, at the Incheon Airport, the man you saw being bombarded with press and fans. Then again on the screens in the lobby of the immigration center. And again a few nights ago on the news.

RM Nam. South Korea's pride and joy, their greatest skater, the man bound for the Winter Olympics until a training injury earlier in the year put him out for the season. You're not into sports, but even you knew him by name and the tragedy that had occurred.

That legendary skater was the one in front of you now. He hadn't mentioned it, and you didn't suspect a thing until today. While definitely a shock, you can't help but be in awe of him even more. He isn't just good on the ice — he's like nothing you've ever seen.

As the music comes to a close, Namjoon skates to a halt. His spin finishes, and he ends with a ending pose bow. Clearly out of breath and shoulders heaving, his gaze shifts to you once again. Your smile widens, and you throw your hands up as you cheer. The others around you begin to clap, but you're by far the most enthusiastic one there.

Suddenly, Namjoon's persona returns to that of a shy and humble one. He bows again in the directions of the viewers, then scurries out from the center and back to you. Eventually, those around you begin to skate once more, ignoring the fact that one of the biggest sports icons in all of Korea is among them.

Namjoon runs a hand over his bleached hair, his smile sweet and his eyes a little nervous as he approaches. You shake your head in awe, letting a surprised laugh slip out.

"Okay, I see exactly what you're doing now. You suggested ice skating because you're Olympic-level! That's totally cheating, by the way."

Namjoon skids to a stop in front of you, as graceful as his takeoff. Without thinking, you reach your hand for his, which he gladly takes. "Figured it out finally, did you?"

"Call me stupid, but I honestly didn't see it until just now." You shove his shoulder with your free hand, only encouraging his teasing reaction. "RM: Guessing that's a stage name?"

He adjusts the beanie over his hair and gives an affirmative gesture. "Yeah, mainly to protect my privacy. Skating world can get pretty intense, sometimes."

You move your chin towards his shoulder, recalling that's where the injury occurred over the summer. "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah, totally okay. I go to PT a couple times a week. Mostly healed up, just can't compete for another few months. My coach has made me swear off skating until the New Year, but I figured it was worth throwing a little extra into trying to impress a pretty girl." He tilts his head to the side, rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved hand. "Did it work?"

Instead of responding verbally, you curl your finger towards you, a mischievous smile on your face. Namjoon lowers his head and skates closer to you. When he's within arm's reach, you lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. A giggle slips out as his eyes widen and his cheeks flush.

"So... Is that a yes?"

"Yes!" you exclaim, throwing your arms in the air and nearly falling over for the hundredth time that night.

Namjoon returns the chaste gesture to your temple as he helps you recover your balance. "Skate with me some more then?" he murmurs, adjusting your scarf around your neck with gentle fingers.

Your face hot and your stomach fluttery, you nod your response and loop your arm around his. "Only if you show me how to do that fancy twirl there at the end."

The idea has Namjoon laughing loudly. "That's my variation on the basic Scratch Spin, which took me about three months to nail perfectly in a routine."

"Then you'd better prepare to be here 'til February!"

After skating for hours, until both of you are exhausted and ready for food, Namjoon takes you to a nearby ramen shop that's close to the train station. It's a hole-in-the-wall, with less than five tables, but with ramen you're able to find a park bench and settle down there with your backs to the city lights and your eyes on the stars overhead. You each mostly in silence, just enjoying each other's company and the delicious food. You make sure to tell your companion how great the choice was, and you insist on coming back again soon.

After wrapping up the meal and seeing the late hour on your phone, Namjoon suggests you both start heading home. "Hate to have to take a bus at this hour instead of the last train," he snickers.

Fully in agreement, you let him take your hand again as the pair of you begin to walk back home. First on the train, then on the sidewalk the short distance to your apartment building.

As you turn the corner onto your short street, your apartment in sight, you rest your head against Namjoon's shoulder and sigh happily. "Thank you for today. It was just...magical."

"Christmas magic?"

You nod against his jacket, wistful and content. "Definitely."

Stopping outside your apartment, you turn towards him, not letting go of his hand. Namjoon gives you a content smile as he looks at you, one where his eyes glisten at his coming words. "Then I have a chance."

"At what?"

He reaches yet again for your scarf, moving it from around your lower face so he can cradle it in his hands. "Restoring your hope in the holidays, and your hope in yourself and your choices."

"Ooof, that's getting ahead of it, I think." You bite the inside of your cheek as a small tug of anxiety and sense of being lost pulls at the back of your mind.

But Namjoon is relentless in his pursuit, and for that you're grateful. "That's why I have two more days planned."

"Already?" you laugh.

"You bet!" he exclaims. "In fact, I'll pick you up at nine on Saturday, but don't wear a dress or skirt. Are you free then?"

"For you, absolutely."

His teeth show through his grin, and he leans forward to press a kiss between your eyebrows. The gesture is gentle and sweet, made even more so by the warmth of his hands on your cheeks through his gloves. Nevertheless, it leaves you breathless.

After a moment of silence, he pulls away and lowers his grasp, but you crave the contact as soon as he relinquishes it. He nods towards your apartment, as if saying, "I'm not leaving until you're home safe."

You take the hint and give a tiny wave as you enter your building. "Have a great night, Joonie," you whisper through the cracked door. "And thanks again."

Namjoon waves back. "Goodnight, [Y/n]. Sleep well."

Saturday can't come quickly enough. You find yourself smiling more often, a joyful feeling in your heart as you go about your work shift and college classes. Even the smallest and insignificant things feel a little easier. The weather wasn't just cold anymore; it was full of beauty and hope and Christmas spirit.

Maybe Namjoon was right. Maybe he was helping you turn a corner.

Right before you're ready to head downstairs to meet Namjoon at the entrance, your phone begins to buzz. Lit up on the screen is an international number, but the area code is that of your old home. The butterflies of excitement die almost instantly, shriveling up into tiny balls of anxiety in your stomach.

Even though you ignore the call, you can't resist listening to the voicemail left behind. Putting your phone on speaker, you're shocked to hear your mother's voice wishing you a Merry Christmas, saying that she and the family miss you, and that they wished you would visit so you could clear up everything that went wrong over the summer. Your throat constricts at the sickly sweet tone; her voice always did drip in honey when she wanted something, she she was trying to manipulate her child. Between her conniving control and your father's lack of respect for privacy and personal boundaries, you remember all over again why you left.

You jump as your apartment bell rings, and the small screen by the door shows Namjoon at the entrance. "[Y/n], are you up there? I texted twice...not sure if you got those."

Looking down at your screen, you see that he's right. You have two unread texts from the last five minutes that you missed due to the unexpected caller. Shaking yourself out of it, you shoot him a quick response, close everything out, and head for the ground level.

"There you are!" Namjoon greets with a grin that almost makes you forget your mother's call.

Almost.

Forcing a smile and reply, "Sorry, I don't know why I didn't see your texts."

"No worries." He waves his hand as if to say it's nothing to worry about. "Are you okay? You seem bothered about something."

You glance up at him, unable to deny he looks slightly concerned. You mirror his laissez-faire attitude and brush it off. "Totally good. Heading to the station?"

"Not this time." Namjoon gestures towards the bike parked by the corner of the building. "You ready to go?"

"Both of us, on that? Are you sure that's safe?"

"Oh yeah! Trust me." He kicks the stand down and mounts the bike, patting the extended seat behind him. "I once rode up Namsan Mountain with Seokjin on the back of this thing, and let me tell you, he's a hell of a lot bigger than you."

Knowing he's probably right, you settle yourself on the seat behind him and wrap your arms tightly around his middle. It's probably not the most well-balanced thing in the world, but you trust Namjoon more than you buy into your fear of falling. "No skirts or dresses, huh?"

"Now you get it," he laughs, pulling out onto the bike lane on the street headed into towards the older side of the city. "Unless you'd like a wardrobe malfunction."

He picks up speed and gets to an easy pace down the street. It's fast enough to get to your location speedily but slow enough that you're able to stare at the beautiful buildings and wondrous landscape around you. Even the people have an aura of happiness caused by Christmas. Had it always been this stunning? Or had you been blind to it until just now?

"Seokjin, as in Kim Seokjin, your rival?"

"So you do watch the news," he sighs. "They aren’t portraying us as friends these days, are they?"

You shake your head and rest your chin on his shoulder. "Not really. I didn't know you were friends."

Namjoon shrugs his shoulders slightly, his voice monotone. "Yeah, well, we've known each other since we were seven, got into skating together around that time, and have been friends ever since. While I wish I didn't have to sit this one out, I couldn't be happier to have him representing South Korea at the Worlds — sorry, that's what we call the World Figure Skating Championships."

"Yeah, they're kind of painting you as opposites."

"That's just what the news does, I guess. Gossip and tabloids and fan-wars. I fell on the ice and hit my shoulder pretty hard; it had nothing to do with Seokjin. He and I talked before I left, too. We're on good terms. Most of us from South Korea are friends, actually. We only get represented as enemies because it's a competition. But a lot of times we're on the same flights, in the same hotels, in the same training areas, you get the idea."

Namjoon pulls up to a stoplight at a near empty intersection, waiting silently for it to shift colors. "Is that what you meant by change of career?" you inquire.

"You're observant," he chuckles.

You turn to rest your cheek on his back. "For what it's worth, and keep in mind that I don't know the first thing about figure skating or your injury or anything like that, but as someone on the outside looking in, you're still so talented. Last week, when you were skating alone, I couldn't tell at all you were injured, and you looked like you were really enjoying it. I don't know if that means anything to you coming from a novice, but if you're still in love with skating and want to get back out there, I think you should go for it. You're still spectacular to watch, Joonie."

There's a beat of silence, but then Namjoon glances over his shoulder and winks at you. "Would you come see me perform live if I did?"

Shrugging your shoulders, you state, "Why not?"

He laughs at your silly expression, then begins to move the bike again as the light finally shifts. "That actually means a lot, [Y/n]. Thank you."

The rest of the ride is quiet, at least until you begin to hear the sounds of a bustling outdoor market. Namjoon turns the final corner, and you're elated with the stone street in an older part of Seoul. Vendors in various booths stretch out in every direction. Some sell food or drink, some sell trinkets or clothing, some even sell vintage books or vinyls or movies. Every nook and cranny has something special to offer. The sights, smells and sounds bring an enormous smile to your face as Namjoon steadies the bike to a stop beside the bicycle rack.

You hop off with his help, nearly bouncing up and down from excitement as he parks and locks his bike on the stand. "This is amazing!" Turning to him, you catch him off-guard with a tight embrace, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him down to you.

Namjoon seems amused by your eager reaction, and he pulls you closer to him. "I thought you would like it. There's nothing quite like Christmas than a market."

After letting him go, you press a kiss to his cheek as you lower back down to your level. Namjoon's hands tenderly cradle your face, just like last time, only today he's glancing away from  your eyes and down to your lips. As your heartbeat quickens, you pull him back to you, fingers grasping at his winter jacket.

His voice is deep and soft as he asks, "May I...?"

Your cheeks flush as you nod your approval. Namjoon's dimples deepen as he lowers his face to yours, barely brushing his lips against yours in the gentlest kiss you've ever had. You close the distance, tugging at his jacket so he moves closer. He gives a tiny laugh against your mouth, then follows your guidance to deepen the kiss. One hand slips back to your hair; he gently plays with the strands.

A moment later, and you're sighing as he pulls away, both light-headed and light-hearted. Namjoon smiles down at you, gives you a surprising second peck, then pulls back with a chuckle. "You're a really cute kisser, y'know that?"

You drop your head and hide your face in the front of his coat. "Shut up."

Your companion's laughter echoes in the air around you as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and places his lips briefly on the top of your head. "Are you hungry? I know where we can get the absolute best Tteok-kkochi."

Eventually you lift your head and nod, feeling your stomach rumble at the thought of rice cake skewers. Namjoon moves his arm from around your shoulders, taking your hand instead, and ushers you into the first aisle of the Christmas market.

If it was magical from the outside, it's even more so from within. Somewhere in the distance, you hear holiday music playing. Not the commercial Christmas songs you're used to, but instrumental music that plays perfectly with the sounds of the market crowds. You're awestruck by every single booth you pass, and Namjoon promises to take you back to all of them after you grab a bite to eat.

Which are well worth the walk into the interior of the market. The Tteok-kkochi are cooked to perfection, drowned in a sauce, and by far the best you've ever had. Even after circling back to the booths you missed on the way, you beg Namjoon to lead you back to get another set.

"I've found heaven," you exclaim dramatically, taking the next two from the cook behind the counter and hanging one to your companion. "I'll never have rice cake skewers this good again."

After paying, you spot a section of the market decorated with lights and colorful orbs, much like the decorations you're used to seeing in the West. "Can we go over there next?"

Namjoon spots where you're pointing and eagerly agrees. The pair of you make your way towards the greenery and decor, amazed at the giant Christmas trees decorated to perfection on the periphery of the market.

"That's a massive tree," he gasps, staring upwards. "Are those normal in America?"

"Maybe at a mall or outside a hotel or something," you reply, equally as taken back. "I've never seen one that big in person in a long time."

As you peruse the Christmas section of the market, slipping from booth to booth as the clock strikes Noon, Namjoon asks, "Have you decorated your apartment at all? I know it can be kinda hard to find stuff in Korea like you're used to."

"Not really," you admit in passing. "Between work and school and, y'know, starting a new life in a foreign country, the holidays kinda fell on the back-burner."

Namjoon taps your shoulder, ushering your attention towards the old, American Christmas movies booth a few spots away. You gasp and rush over with renewed excitement, eyes scanning eagerly over the shelves. They have just about everything, from the classics like "It's A Wonderful Life" and "A Christmas Carol" to movies you grew up on like "Home Alone" and "Elf." The more you sort through the outdated DVDs, the bigger your smile gets.

"What's your favorite Christmas movie?" Namjoon asks, casually looking through the Christmas vinyls on the booth next to the movies.

"Without a doubt, Ron Howard's 'How The Grinch Stole Christmas.'"

"The one with Jim Carrey?"

"You know it!"

He laughs. "Yeah, my little sister and I watched it a lot when we were kids."

Your head perks up at the mention of a sister. "I didn't know you had siblings, either."

Namjoon nods. "Yeah, she's in college, too. Studying to be a psychologist."

"She sounds amazing."

"Yeah, the family is very proud. I know I am." He pulls out a vinyl for one of Frank Sinatra's Christmas records. "Do you have siblings?"

At the question, your gaze shifts back to the movies, hands preoccupied with finding the perfect one. "I do. A brother and a sister."

"Older?"

"Yeah..."

"What are they like?"

"A lot like my parents," you sigh, moving on to another shelf, turning your back to your companion. "Which is part of the reason I left, so..."

Namjoon senses your anxiety around the topic and rests a hand on your shoulder as he passes by. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize--"

You cut him off with a casual wave of your hand. "It's no worries, really." Spotting the record under his arm, you ask, "Find one you like?"

While he doesn't seem to buy your act, he lets the conversation go and holds up the vinyl for "Tales of Noel on Ice" by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, as performed by the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra.

"You don't already have that one?" you gawk in surprise.

"I don't actually," he admits bashfully. "The title composition is one of my best free skate performances, and I have a record player at home, so why not?" He gestures to the movies. "Did you find one?"

"Oh, I don't need one! I was just looking. I don't even have a DVD player anymore."

"I do, so pick one out and maybe we can watch it sometime."

You shake your head at him, trying to subdue a chuckle. "A record player and a DVD player? You're so odd."

"But to your benefit," he reminds you with a wink, pulling out a single movie nearest him. It happens to be your favorite with Jim Carrey in all his hilarious glory on the front.

Cocking an eyebrow, you give a tiny round of applause at the luck of pulling that film out of all the others. "Well, you're going to have to invite me over sometime then."

"You can count on it."

For the next couple hours, Namjoon and you make your way through the entire market, hitting all the shops that interest and intrigue you. All the while, you talk about a plethora of things and get to know each other letter. For instance, you find out that he was born in Ilsan, not too far from where you are now, and that he hates seafood just about as much as mint chocolate. You also find out that he looks like his mother, who was the one that got him into skating to begin with. And to no one's surprise, Namjoon is actually very funny. Not only is he smart, athletic, and good looking — which alone would have caught your attention — he's got a wicked sense of humor to top it all off.

Likewise, he learns more about you. You tell him about the city you grew up in, the friends you had in high school, what you studied before you came to Korea. You tell him that along with your studies, you're really invested in writing and try to make time for that as well. It hasn't been so easy since the move, but you're hoping to get back to it in the new year.

As you approach mid-afternoon, and the final leg of the market, your phone begins to buzz. Your screen lights up with the same foreign number as before. Instantly, both your feet and your heart stop. Your shoulders tense up, and you turn to a blissfully unaware Namjoon, saying, "Hey, I gotta take this. You go on ahead."

"Are you sure?" he asks, the person in front of him not the same happy-go-lucky one as before.

You give him a nod of reassurance. "I'll catch up."

Before he can reply, you've turned and moved towards the massive Christmas trees, where there's an opening and the crowds are quieter. Despite what you told him, you don't intend on answering. Whoever is on the other end of that line, be it your mother or father or siblings, you want nothing to do with them. You do, however, want this to be over. You promise yourself to hear the message, block them, and then go run an errand after the holidays to get a new number.

After the call drops, you wait with an anxious feeling building in your stomach. Maybe they didn't leave a message. Maybe it wasn't your family after all. Maybe — 

A soft ping alerts you that you have a new message. Selecting it, you raise your phone to your ear and hear your father this time. He repeats all of what your mother said, only with a layer of frustration and authority that she didn't use. He's borderline cruel as he spouts the same old lies that you're trying to unlearn; it's your fault, it's because of you, you're the cause of it. What it is, depends on the day. This time is has to do with your family not being the same and their world falling to pieces. He uses colorful sentences, well-crafted insults, but all you hear is blame, blame, blame. 

Tears prick your eyes as the voicemail ends, and you realize you should've just deleted the message when you had the chance. A small part of you still hoped they would change, even after all this time, but you see now that it's not possible.

They will never change, and neither will you.

The pit of depression weighs down in your stomach, and loneliness tingles at the back of your throat. Why now? Out of all the times, out of all the days, why are you feeling these things now? You're out having an adventure with a man who you really like, and who you know likes you, in a city you now call home. You're far from any sadness or trauma or family or friends that once brought you down. You've left your past behind. You'd started to feel like there was hope in the holidays and in the future again, like the last year was worth the pain, like everything was starting to turn around.

But suddenly, that snake is wrapped around you again, pulling you back into old habits and old ways of thinking. It's grabbed on tight and is pulling you back into the dark, away from people you care about, away from people who care about you.

Even as you glance up at Namjoon a few stalls away, completely naïve to the painful flickers going through your mind, you feel the need to draw back. Pull away. Stay away. Go back to the security of the known, of the sad, of the lonely. It's warm and comfy, even if it hurts.

Clenching your fists, you try to silence the noise in your brain by shaking your head. The thoughts only grow louder, and the pit in your stomach gets heavier. You haven't felt a depressive episode like this in a long time. You thought they were long gone, especially now, especially with him...

"[Y/n]? Are you okay?"

Looking up, you see Namjoon's approaching you in the clearing. One hand carries the movie and vinyl he purchased for you both, but the other is outstretched towards you. While you don't pull away from his touch, you taste bile in the back of your throat.

"I—I need to go home," you mutter. "I'm starting to feel sick."

"Oh, okay, hold up I'll go get my bike and I'll take you home."

Feeling your breath quicken, you pull your gaze from Namjoon and nod shakily. The walk back to the bike rack is silent, even the crowd outside fades to a low background murmur. Namjoon places the purchased items in his bicycle carrier, then mounts it.

You follow suit, regret beginning to pile up inside you. Running isn't going to help anything, and you know he must be hurt and confused. But to you, the only thing you can do right now to protect yourself is get away from it all and go back to the place where you feel safest.

Tears burn your eyes as you curl up against him. Namjoon pedals speedily to your apartment, making the trip faster than last time. When he pulls up to the curb, you hop off without a word.

"Do you need me to walk you up?" he offers, worry causing his brows to pull together.

You shake your head and put distance between you both. "No, I'm fine. I'll...text you later, okay?"

Without another word, you turn and enter through the front, leaving Namjoon behind on the other side. Trekking up the stairs, through the door, past a mewling Mochi, you curl up on your bed and let yourself finally feel all the sadness piled up inside.

Fifteen minutes later, the waterworks flow when your phone lights up from an incoming text. Knowing exactly who it is, you grab it and text a swift message to Namjoon.

"I'm so sorry I left so suddenly. And that I ruined our day. Not feeling like myself."

"That's okay. I just got home, so I wanted to check up on you. I'm sorry you're not feeling well. Do you need anything?"

"No, but thank you."

"Okay... Maybe we can try again some other time? I'd hate to let you down on Day 2."

Unable to reply, the phone turns black and you let it fall onto the duvet.

The days leading up until Christmas Eve were long and full of guilt. You closed the café for the final time the Monday before the holiday, and with no classes to attend, you mainly stayed inside and watched the snow fall outside your tiny apartment window. Mochi kept you company, but even the small fur ball could sense that something had changed for the worse. Even she had gotten used to you being happier this December; you'd taken two steps back while attempting to take a single step forward.

Every morning, you'd spot Namjoon riding his bike past your apartment on his way to the rink where he trains. Every day, he'd stop and gaze up at the building, never sure which frosty window you were behind but melancholy just the same. He'd call and text; the former, you would never answer, but the latter, you did sporadically. Mainly at night when you thought he wouldn't be up.

He usually was.

"Was it something I did?" he asked that Tuesday before Christmas. "Did I move too fast? Did I say something I shouldn't have?"

"No. It's not you."

"Then tell me what it is. I don't want to come across as pushy, but I thought we were getting closer...and then you pull back and hide from me. From everyone. I know I don't know everything about your past or what happened before you came to Seoul, but I promised you three adventures. I still have one to make good on before Christmas."

"Joonie..."

You couldn't bring yourself to write more. The tiny part of your brain that told you that maybe this can work, maybe it's worth trying, maybe things can be different now, it was silenced by the overwhelming majority of your mind. It remembered everything from your past, from the hurt and pain, from the loneliness and fear. Despite your wish to make things right again, it was drowned out by the pure terror of being wronged again.

"Don't shut me out. Please. Let me show you things can be different now. You don't have to go at this alone, [Y/n]. Not anymore."

Pushing down the urge to cry yet again, you move your fingers to type a swift and cold reply. "I'm so sorry I wasted your time, Namjoon. I really am. I thought I was ready, but it's clear that I'm not. Please, spend Christmas with your family. Don't waste any more time on me."

And that was the end of it. You muted his notifications, ignored his calls and texts, and eventually he went silent. The day before Christmas Eve was the first you didn't hear from him, and it was the first day you felt like you'd truly fucked things up for good.

On Christmas Eve, you got an unexpected call from Lisa. Deciding to take a break from staring at an empty Word document with ever-growing frustration, you answered the call, only to be bombarded by Lisa's rambling.

"Oh, thank god! I didn't think you'd answer! I need a huge favor, and I hate to bother on such short notice on Christmas Eve, but this really cannot wait and I'll love you forever if you—!"

"—Okay, okay," you chuckle, shaking your head at her antics.

"I need you to run back to the café and grab something for me. Jungkook is on his way there, but he doesn't have a key."

"What could you possibly have left that's this important?"

"My fucking credit card."

"You've been out of town for two weeks and only just now realized you left your card?"

She heaves a frustrated sigh. "Please, just, do me this favor?"

Rolling your eyes, you pull yourself from the sofa and grab your keys on the counter. "Fine, but you owe me."

"Yes, yes, I know."

You leave the apartment in a hurry, taking the next train to the café. In less than fifteen minutes, you're at the front door. Lisa assures you that Jungkook is on his way, only twenty minutes away. After unlocking it, you make yourself at home in the lobby with a fresh white chocolate mocha. It reminds you of Yeongu, and you smile at the thought.

After about a half hour, your phone begins to buzz in your pocket. Lisa's text has you halting in place.

"I'm sorry to do this. You didn't really give me another choice. I crossed a line, but I think you'll thank me in the end."

Your fingers are swift typing a response. "What did you do?"

"You remember how you gave me a spare key in case you ever got locked out? Or in case you were kept at school too long and needed someone to feed Mochi?" A pause, then she adds, "He came to Busan, [Y/n]. He asked me in person what to do. Do you know how out of the way that was for him? Give him another chance. Please."

"You didn't."

"I did. I'm sorry, but you've talked about how you pull away when you get close to people. It's gone on for almost a week. It's Christmas Eve. You can hate me all you want later, but please. Go home, kiss and make up, then try to salvage Christmas."

A huff of air exits your nostrils as it hits you. Lisa's given the spare to Namjoon. Jungkook was never on his way; this was all a rouse to get you out of your apartment long enough for him to get inside. But to what end?

"He's good for you; I can tell that much already. If you ever were to give someone the benefit of the doubt and place your broken pieces in someone's hands, he's the best you're gonna find."

A pang of truth rocks through you, and while you have still a semblance of willpower, you shoot her a swift text and rush back for the station. "I'm still mad at you, but we'll talk later. I need to get home."

"Go get him!"

The series of stairs up to your apartment never felt so long. Out of breath and winded from rushing home, you find the door unlocked. Pushing through, the place you left less than an hour ago isn't the same as it was before.

The entrance hallway is glittering, multi-colored strands of twinkle lights hanging along the periphery. Fake snow lines the trim, and paper snowflakes are tossed across the furniture. Each one is unique and hand-crafted.

As you venture further, a rainbow array aurora covers your living room and kitchen. There must be at least a dozen lengthy strands of Christmas lights hung across the few items you've unpacked, circled around the sealed boxes, and framing every window and door.  Fake icicles hang on the windowsill, fake greenery lays where curtains should be, and a small Christmas tree stands at your height in the corner.

Jovial, English holiday music plays softly in the background. And humming along to the tune of The First Noel, Namjoon stands with bent-back facing you. He's finishing his final touches on the tree, ensuring that each sparkling orb and shimmering tinsel is perfect. He adjusts the star on the top with a smile to himself, oblivious still to your entrance.

For a moment, you stand in silence and watch him. Your heart is heavy but still beating. If anything, seeing him in the midst of such a sweet and selfless act makes it flutter. Even after cutting his well-planned adventure short, ignoring him for over a week, and telling him to stop speaking to you, he's still here. He came back, and he's trying to prove to you the truth he's been spouting all along.

Eventually, you blink out of your stupor and clear your throat to alert him to your presence. Namjoon turns on his heel, elbow grazing the tree just enough to send it toppling backward. He curses and lunges for it, grabbing it by the star just in time to keep it upright. His characteristic clumsiness prompts a snicker from you, one that you attempt to hide with your hand over your mouth.

Namjoon adjusts the tree and turns back to you with a bashful expression. His lips pull into a side-smile, a single dimple popping out in the process. "H—Hi..."

"Hi," you repeat back to him, letting your hand fall. Your eyes follow suit and drift to your damp, snow-covered shoes.

A beat of silence passes where neither of you knows what to say next. Then the both of you break it at once, words tumbling over each others several times in a row. You laugh to yourself and look back up at him; Namjoon smiles down at you, shaking his head at the awkward reunion.

He gestures silently to you. "Go ahead."

You clear your throat, then say, "I...I wanted to say that I owe you an apology."

He shakes his head firmly, extending his hands in a olive-branch manner. "No, you don't—"

Your feet move back, putting space between you both. "—Can I explain and finish, please? Just...hold your forgiveness until then." At your request, your companion falls silent, letting his hands fall respectfully at his side. Taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment, you re-calibrate your mind and prepare for your admission.

"There's a lot you don't know about me yet," you begin softly. "Ah, shit — That came out super mean. I mean, you know a lot about me. You kinda know why I moved to Korea, the situation with my family back in America, that whole thing. You know where I work and what I'm studying. You know my favorite drink of all time is a white chocolate mocha, and that my favorite customer is barely four feet tall. You know Lisa is my shield at work, and that we've become pretty close in less than a year. You know I'm a homebody and that my favorite thing to do by myself is play with Mochi and watch dramas."

You release a huff of air and raise your eyes to meet his, a wistful smile tugging the corners of your lips. "But there's a lot I haven't told you — or anyone for that matter. I've gone through...a lot of shit this year. When I moved to Seoul, my mental health was in the trash, and my self worth was in shambles. I'd just been shoved from everything I'd ever known into a foreign place."

When you pause for a moment, Namjoon's small and steady voice pipes up with a single inquiry. "I thought you left willingly?"

"I did," you state. "I've wanted to move to South Korea for a long, long time. Since I can remember. But I never thought I'd lose everything before then." Tears prick your eyes, and you lift your sleeve to wipe your nose. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Namjoon gestures towards the small sofa, and you follow his lead. You perch on a single cushion, legs folded underneath you. He takes the adjacent one, far enough to for personal space but still close enough to rest a hand on your knee. This time, you don't push him away as you catch your breath. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"No, I do, but maybe not now." You take another breath in and focus your thoughts. "I didn't mean to start all that with the intention of being the victim and making you feel bad for me. I...I told you that because I wanted you to know that there are reasons why I push people away. I've been on a journey to heal that trauma all year, but it doesn't happen overnight. But even with that, I never should have just left like that. I never should have ignored your calls and texts. I shouldn't have made you feel like you were the bad guy, or that any of this was your fault, or that you did anything wrong. You were—"

You struggle to find a word that fits what you're truly feeling, one that doesn't feel overwhelming, but the only one that comes to mind is... "You are perfect, Joonie. You're sweet and kind. You treat me like a normal person that's worth something, and I think part of me was scared of that. Especially around the holidays, I feel very fragile, and I run from things I think might hurt me."

"I would never, ever hurt you." Namjoon flashes a soft and empathetic smile. "Can I ask why you got spooked so suddenly? You looked off when I picked you up, and I know you said it was nothing, but..."

You pull your phone from your pocket and play the message for him, the one from your mother. And when he remains silent, you play the second from your father. While he listens, you watch him. The hand on your knee turns to a fist, and his jaw clenches. Part of you is relieved that someone else is reacting negatively to the messages, yet another signal to you that your choice is validated.

"I got the first that morning, but the second right before I left," you murmur. "I didn't respond, and I've blocked the numbers, but I've felt unstable since then. That's why I shut down, and why I left."

He nods, then turns off the phone. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. That's emotional abuse and manipulation. No one should have to go through that."

"I know, but I was wrong. I'm sorry for doing that and for hurting you. It was wrong, and I don't deserve you coming back again and again...even if you concocted this up with Lisa."

At your light-hearted comment, he chuckles and bites the inside of his cheek. The fist on your knee loosens back, his fingers tapping gently against your skin. "She told you, did she?"

"Yep," you chirp. "I'll thank her later."

After a moment, Namjoon's eyes flicker back up to yours. For a moment, he almost looks worried. "Are you mad?"

"Meh." For a moment, you're able to hold your composure long enough for your companion's eyes to widen in horror. "I'm just kidding," you relent, and Namjoon looks visibly relieved. "How could I be mad? Look at all this!" You gesture to the magical space around you. "It looks like a wonderland in here."

A crimson hue fills his face, and he's all of a sudden very shy about the accomplishment. "I wanted you to feel like you had a Christmas, even if it was just for one night."

Leaning your head against the back cushion of the sofa, you stare at him with a bittersweet smile on your face. "Are you mad at me?"

He shakes his head, expression more adamant about that than anything he's said so far. "Not a bit. I was worried, yes, and maybe a little disappointed. I think most of that was tied to the fact that I thought we were on the up-and-up. I saw you slowly opening up and having a good time."

"Gahhh," you groan, eyes fluttering shut with frustration at your past self. "I really fucked it up, didn't I?"

"Not really." His hand slips up your knee, and he weaves his fingers through yours. The squeeze he gives and the gaze he locks gives emphasis to his next words. "I know I don't know everything about you, just like you don't know everything about me, but I'd be lying if I said you aren't the most joyful thing I've experienced in a while. Being around you makes me happy, and the fact that this has you so down makes me want to be there for you — if you want me to. I don't blame you for anything you've done, so you have nothing to be sorry for. Honestly, after hearing those messages and some of what you've been dealing with this year, I know I would've reacted the same way. But, if it helps your peace of mind, then I forgive it all."

"Thank you," you whisper, trying to blink away the tears pricking your eyes.

Namjoon's gaze softens, and he tugs on your hand. "C'mere." You scoot closer, and he pulls you the rest of the way onto his lap and into his arms. Your legs dangle off the side of his thighs, and your head nestles in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. One hand holds tightly to yours while the other circles your waist, dipping under your sweater to rub soothing circles on your skin. Your free arm wraps around his waist, pulling him even closer than before.

"Sometimes terrible, inexplicable things happen to us and it takes us months — even years — to process." Namjoon's timbre is quiet and deep, rumbling against your ear as he speaks. "Everyone goes through that, even me. But it's so much harder to face it alone. Sometimes it takes a lonely, awful Christmas to see just how out of sorts you are. I don't know everything, but if you'll have me, I'd like to stick around to find out."

"You'd still be willing to get to know me more, even after seeing me at my worst?"

"Jagi, if this is your worst, then I would hate to introduce you to sixteen-year-old Kim Namjoon. That boy was a train-wreck."

Letting a watery smile show as laughter escapes your lungs, you reach upward and wrap your arms around Namjoon's neck. He pulls you closer, hands splayed on your back and waist. A sense of relief, and something like home, floods through you. Burying your face in his neck, you allow yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. Ever patient, your companion just holds you close as you come back around.

"Enough with the heavy," he breaks the silence, pulling back and wiping his thumb across your cheeks. Nodding towards the front of the space, where your television is, you follow his line of sight. "I brought your movie and the player. If you're okay with me staying over, do you wanna watch it?"

Leaning forward, you bring your face closer to his, murmuring, "I'd love that."

Namjoon closes the final distance. Both your eyes and his flutter shut as your lips meet in the middle. You tug on the collar of his sweater, encouraging him closer as his arms tighten around your waist. In a burst of bravery, you run your hand through his platinum hair and nip at his bottom lip. He inhales abruptly, and you giggle in response.

"You're gonna be the death of me, [Y/n] [Y/l/n]," he laughs, eventually pulling back to catch his breath.

You grin mischievously at him, biting your lower lip. "Still sure you wanna stay?"

"Definitely. Oh! And I placed an order for takeout, which should be here any minute."

You burst into laughter, resting your forehead against his shoulder as joy fills your body. "You really put all your chips on me coming to my senses, didn't you?" When he shrugs, you add, "What if I had said no?"

"Then I would've been eating for two alone in my apartment," he groans.

You shake your head at his antics and playfully poke the dimple in his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Joonie.”

His smile deepens at your words and gesture. “Merry Christmas, [Y/n].”

Just as he promised, food arrives at the front of your apartment a few minutes later. Namjoon hops up and volunteers to get it from the entrance, and you pop the movie into the player. Silencing the music on his phone, you select the "Play" option from the menu, and the credits begin to play over Anthony Hopkins' narration as your companion returns.

He serves up the food and delivers it to you on the sofa. With a rumbling stomach, you take it gratefully. Just as the singing begins, Namjoon settles into the seat beside you, hooking your leg over his so you maintain closeness as you devour the takeout. Neither of you have seen it in so long, and thus both of you are laughing whole-heartedly at every joke and hilarious mannerism.

After the meal is finished and the dishes are on the makeshift box side-table, you find yourself slowly slipping closer to your companion. Namjoon gladly pulls you closer, and by the middle of the movie, you're back in his lap. With the blanket wrapped around you both, his chin on your head, his arms around you with one hand tracing absent-minded patterns on the skin above your pants, you know you've never been more at home in Seoul than you are right now.

"I'm sorry I ruined your grand plans for Day 3," you murmur after a while.

Namjoon's hand on your waist halts, then changes to a reassuring, tapping pattern. "Be glad you did; this is way better than anything I had planned."

"While I have to agree, what did you have planned?"

You can hear his smile in his voice. "Well, honestly I hadn't decided between Lotte World or Seoullo 7017. You said you hadn't been to either of those, and at Christmas, they're magical. All the lights, the music, it's an absolute winter wonderland."

"Well, if I get to see you skate live, then we can definitely go to those after the solar New Year. Maybe...Maybe even call it a date?"

Namjoon presses a kiss to your forehead, one that makes you grin to yourself and sigh peacefully. His reply is loud and clear, a promise reverberating through his chest. "I think that sounds perfect."

As the movie continues, you relax and think back on everything that's happened this year. All your concerns and worries you had a few weeks prior, at the beginning of December, they all seem so far away now. Even those anxieties brought up recently feel as if they're resolved. he sense is comparable to that of a chapter ending and a new one is being written. And this time, you're the one holding the pen.

At the resolution of the film, you realize that what Namjoon set out to do over a series of adventures truly did come to fruition. Be it luck or fate or whatever you want to call it, he really has given you that spark of hope in the Christmas season. It's something you thought you'd lost, or perhaps you'd left it in America along with many other things. He's brought it back to life, and so much more along with it.

All that magic, all that wonder, all that love and hope and joy — Namjoon is right. It hasn't disappeared from the world, and you haven't outgrown the things you used to feel during the holiday season. It's all still right here, in front of you and around you, waiting to be taken with grateful hands and heart. Maybe it's not in the form it used to be, nor is it in the place it used to be, but neither are you. Both you and your home have changed this year. But despite it all, you are still here, still striving to love yourself and your new life, still trying to let the magic find you.

And this year, because of a wonderful person named Kim Namjoon, you had all the love and magic you could ever need.

[babygirlkiki1016]

Masterlist

Chapter 3: Trolls

Chapter 4: Between two races.

After the nasty business with the Trolls, Thorin believed there to be a cave nearby. We gathered our things and placed them back up onto the ponies. While our steeds waited for our return, we headed to the Troll Hoard. It was filled with riches and gold, something that the dwarves would love.

"Oh, what’s that stench?!" Bofur placed a hand over his nose so he wouldn't have to smell the odor.

"It’s a troll hoard, be careful what you touch," Gandalf warned, the dwarves cough from the foul smell, then as they go deeper inside the cave they come upon the trolls’ treasure. While the dwarves searched the weapons laying around, something caught my eye. It wasn't a blade or dagger, it was a stone, a light blue jewel with the same symbol on my back. Each digonisk family member, when they wished to join the armies a mark would be imprinted in their skin to show their family's crest. Mine was a black dragon with red eyes, it traveled from my waist up to my back to my chest. The stone had the same symbol upon it, up until the last detail. And on the other side, it had letters from my language. If you were reading it in English, it would have said home, but to me, I read it as 'Pilias'. Home, did it mean the old kingdom of Larthas? The stone looked so familiar but I just couldn't place it, where did it come from? Where did the trolls find this?

"Let’s get out of this foul place. Come on, let’s go. Bofur, Gloin, Nori. Y/n." Thorin called catching my attention, but his eyes were upon the stone in my hand. "What is that?" It was too late to hide it now, but perhaps he hadn't seen the runes upon it.

"Just a stone, nothing special but I have a knack for these things." I gave him a fake smile, but he rushed over and held out his hand. He knew I was hiding something, if I were to refuse to give it to him he would become more suspicious about my intentions.

"Hand it over." He demanded, his eyes piercing into mine. All eyes were on us, my hand shakily placed it in his. Once his eyes landed on it, he seemed confused but handed it back to me. "I should've known you would carry something that has the language of your kin." He growled leaving the cave, I let out a breath in relief. I'm glad he could care less about the stone, as we exit the cave the two brothers come up to me.

"Are you alright Y/n?" Kill asked, checking me for any wounds, giving him a small smile I nod.

"Don't worry, I'm alright." My gaze goes down to the object in my hand, and they follow it.

"What is that? What does it say?" Fili asked, hesitantly taking it from me to get a better look.

"In my language, it says Pilias, which means home," I explained as he ran his finger over the carvings, examining it with great caution. The both of them grinned at the design, but it soon faltered as Thorin yelled a warning. Something was coming our way, It sounded like thumping, not hooves or paws of a wolf, but rabbits.

"Stay together! Hurry, now! Arm yourselves!" Gandalf shouted, Kili and Fili stood in front of me protectively. Summoning a bow for myself, Thorin watched in curiosity at the magic I had used. Suddenly Radagast bursts through the bushes on his sled.

"I knew I heard rabbits." I grinned and stepped forward to greet my old friend.

"Radagast. It’s Radagast the Brown!" Gandalf announces as puts his sword away and approaches the brown wizard. Radagast smiled at him for a second but when he saw me he gasped. Before he could ask why I was with dwarves, Gandalf continued. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong." He was right, the more we traveled across the land the more I felt a darkness come upon us.

"Yes?" Radagast goes to speak but stops, almost as if he lost his train of thought.

"Just give me a minute. Um…Oh! I had a thought and now I’ve lost it. It was…it was was right there, on the tip of my tongue! Oh! It’s not a thought at all! It’s a silly old…stick insect." He sticks his tongue out as Gandalf removes the insect and gives it back to him. The two eventually went off to speak about something, leaving the rest of us to ourselves. Balin gave me and the two brothers a look, Fili and Kili understood but I did not know what was going on.

"Perhaps one of us should stay here," Kili suggested to his brother. "Just in case the others go off the rails."

"Right, I'll speak to uncle. You have 10 minutes, just be careful Y/n, and if anything happens scream as loud as you can." My heart was pounding as Fili went off to distract Thorin, Kili sensed my distress.

"What is going on?" Kili placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, showing that I had nothing to worry about.

"Me, Balin, and Fili have decided to try and convince the rest of the dwarves that your not a threat. As each day passes Thorin becomes angrier with you, and one day we might not be able to protect you. Though if we convince the rest that your no threat then they'll be willing to protect you against my uncle."

"I can handle myself against a few dwarves Kili."

"I know, but Balin said it's better to have allies than none. Don't worry, I'll be here to protect you." He whispers and led me towards the others, I still didn't trust this idea. Why are they so determined on helping me?

"Lads while we have a moment," Balin spoke, looking back towards me for a second. "I beg that you be open-minded, and none of you speak of this to Thorin."

"What is it, brother?" Dwalin spoke stepping closer, he glanced over at us. "Is Kili trying to court Y/n?" My cheeks went red at that, Kili only looked at me and smirked. Wait, courting, Kili winked at me last night when he handed my bowl. One of the courting parts was for the interested person, to give their 'one' more food than the rest. It was a way of showing that they could provide for them. Was Kili trying to court me?

"No, we only have a short time so I'll say this quick. How many of you, know the truth about Digonisks? How many of you believe that they had nothing to do with raiding villages?" No one raised their hands, they all just looked at each other in confusion. "That is what I thought, each of you has been misled. Digonisks are not the enemy, they're the peacekeepers of middle earth."

"They slaughtered out people! Listen to yourself, Balin! She has you under her spell! Under a curse!" Before anyone could react Dwalin rushed over to me, and grabbed me by the shoulders with his weapon pointed at my neck. "You let go of my brother you witch!" His hand came in contact with my cheek, I waited for him to hit me again but I did not feel the impact. Balin and Kili stood in front of me, and both of them were furious.

"She does not have me under a spell! I know that her kind is innocent for a fact! For I am the one, who wrote the reports." Everyone's eyes widened in shock at his words, that can't be Thror was the one who wrote them. "Thror found out that I had written the truth, but while he was under the dragon sickness he ordered for me to show no one. He took it from me and threatened that if I were to show anyone I would be framed for murder. I and Thrain were the only people who knew about it, and we kept it a secret for we had no idea there was any digonisk left alive. I wanted to tell everyone, but after the cold blast, I realized if the truth were to come out people would despise us as they despise her kin. And I couldn't do that to my family, I didn't want my family to be treated as such."

"So you kept it a secret cause you were afraid of being treated like we had been for almost a hundred years?! Do you have any idea how much pain and suffering my people have been through?!" Each dwarf looked down in shame, they couldn't believe what they had heard. For all this time Balin knew the truth and he kept it to himself, cause he didn't want for his kin to be driven to hide in the shadows. "I can't believe this, why didn't you say anything at the beginning of this journey? Why didn't you say anything to Thorin?"

"He would not believe me! He may be reasonable but without hard evidence, he wouldn't believe the words that slipped from my mouth. Like Dwalin he would've hurt you, or worse, left you for dead."

"Then why tell them?"

"Thorin is becoming sick, every day we get closer to the mountain the more his need for gold grows. I've seen it, the dragon sickness is already taking effect. Them, they would believe me, for I do not lie." I wanted to blame him, but he was right. I would've probably made the same call as well, if my kin made a huge mistake and I knew the truth I probably wouldn't have told anyone. And with Thorin, that darkness that is following us, what if it's him? The dragon sickness, what if that is what I keep sensing? If he truly has it then he would not believe Balin, for he would most likely blame me. "Brother, the rest of you. I beg that you protect her against him, for he is not himself. And each day as that illness grows so does the hatred for digonisks."

"That day, of the cold blast...you were innocent weren't you?" Dwalin asked softly, he didn't seem angry anymore. He seemed on his guard but not angry as someone had betrayed him.

"We were, we had done nothing wrong but your kind had to take my kins freedom over some rumor. You know for years I wanted revenge for what the humans and dwarves had done to my kind. I wanted to end every life for the death of my family, but even in their darkest hour my mother and father still offered a truce. Even though you all slaughtered my kin like cattle, but I promised my mother something before she died." Tears ran down my cheeks as I thought her last words. I looked down, not being able to look them in the eyes. I almost couldn't finish my speech, just thinking about how much we suffered made me want to lunge at them. Made me want to hurt them but it wasn't them who did this, it was their ancestors. "No matter how much it hurts to be around you, I still kept my promise...Do you want to know what her last words were?" My gaze met his once more and he seemed more startled, his eyes widened with horror and remorse. I could feel that he was starting to understand my words and my past. "Her last words were, 'don't take revenge.' Even after everything you had done to us, after every death you had caused, she still begged for peace..." Dwalin's form made his way over to me, Kili gripped the handle of his sword as a warning but he didn't care. Instead, Dwalin slightly pushed him to the side, and then embraced me in his arms. Was he hugging me?

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, all of it. I wish we hadn't caused you such discomfort." He pulled back, his hands resting on my shoulders. "I recognized the pain in your eyes, it's the same suffering my brother had when we finished the war against our enemies in Moria. Only a person who experienced something like that is the only one I can believe." He placed himself next to me, I felt more confident now that we had him for we had a better chance at convincing the others. "Who else will join me? Who else will stand against Thorin's wrath if it comes to it?" The rest stood there, some with tears and others with a look of guilt. Bilbo, came to my side, he didn't know much about our past but I'm glad he was on my team. Kili grabbed my hand, squeezing it, telling me it was ok. Each dwarf, one by one came closer to me bowing their heads in respect.

"Don't worry Y/n, we will all defend you from Thorin. Each of us will make sure he never finds out about this, and if he does we'll protect you." Bofur who was the last dwarf to walk over bowed. Which was a good thing, because now I had all dwarves as allies. And just in time to, because Thorin came back with his nephew flustered. Fili seemed angrier than ever, was talking to his uncle that bad? Interrupting my thoughts, we heard a howling noise, making Bilbo worry.

"Was that a wolf? Are there…are there wolves out there?" He asked curiously, that was not a wolf, and I knew exactly what that was.

"Warg scouts are nearby." I pulled my weapon out once more just as something growls from behind us, we all turn to see a warg. It pounces going for Bofur but I shot it with an arrow killing it instantly. Another appeared from behind, which was killed by Thorin and Kili.

"Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?" Gandalf charged over to Thorin with rage in his eyes.

"No one."

"Who did you tell?!" He asked again but he replied with the same answer.

"No one, I swear! What in Durin’s name is going on?"

"You are being hunted." Hunted? Why would the dwarves be hunted? No one else knew about our quest, perhaps they were coming for me?

"We have to get out of here." Dwalin exclaimed but Ori came running from the side.

"We can’t! We have no ponies. They bolted." He panted heavily, crap, no ponies no way out. We could fight them, but what good would that do us?

"I’ll draw them off." Radagast says getting back onto his sled.

"These are Gundabad wargs. They will outrun you!" Gandalf states but he raised his hand in a fist determined.

"These are Rhosgobel rabbits. I’d like to see them try." Gandalf turns to me and gestures towards him.

"Go, don't worry you will see us again. I believe you know where we are headed." Rivendell, that's where he was leading the dwarves. Quickly I got on the back on Radagasts sled and readied my bow.

"Absolutely not!" Thorin growled as he grabbed my arm, but Fili pushed him away.

"Don't you lay a hand on her!" He yelled, I could hear him arguing with his uncle as we race off towards an unknown location. As we were being pursued by Orcs and wargs, I shot them one by one with my ethereal arrows. I had one hand on the sled to keep me on while the other would shoot arrows from my crossbow, I smiled as I took one down.

"So are you going to tell me what you're doing with a bunch of dwarves?" Radagast yelled trying to hold on the best he could.

"Gandalf wants me to kill Smaug! Don't worry all of them know who I am, and they're fine with it!" I explained, that seemed to be a good enough reason for him. I shot a few more down, but the more we were chased, the riskier it got for the company. I would see them every so often, and soon they were found. All of the orcs stopped following us, and followed them instead. The moment we stopped at the edge of the forest I went to go save my friends until I spotted elves charging towards the orc pack. That's good, I thought sighing in relief.

"Don't worry, your friends are on their way to Rivendell. Which you should be there before them, they will want to make sure you're ok. Be careful, not many people will be open to the idea of having your kind around." That was the last thing he said before going off on his own again. He was right, I should probably get going. Spreading my wings, I fluttered them creating a big gust of wind as I made my way to Rivendell. I flew over the mountain with the hidden valley coming into view and spotted the dwarves below on a rock staring down at the city before them. Yet as they felt the winds of a hurricane they all looked up towards me, some cheered knowing I was ok and quickly made their way down the mountain to meet me at the entrance. I began to descend, my feet contacted with the concrete stone on the passageway.

"Wocel. (Wecome)" Lindir greeted in Digon as he came down the steps, his long hair flowing down his back.

"I see your Digon has gotten better, have you been studying for me?" I joked, giving him a small smile, it has been a while since I've stopped in Rivendell. This is where most of our wheat and water sources come from, for we live in the sky and have no access to the ground. "Wiher isi Kigna Elrond? (Where is King Elrond?)"

"It may have gotten better, but I still don't understand some words in your language. So English please milady." His gaze turns to someone behind me, to greet the old grey wizard who was at fault for bringing me on this journey. "Mithrandir."

"Ah, Lindir." Gandalf greeted, but that's not the type of greeting I got. Thorin's eyes roamed over my body, and he gasped as he saw the bruise forming on my face.

"What did I tell you? You can't handle yourself!" He yelled, pointing to the purple markings on my cheek. "Like I said, your nothing but a burden to this company. Perhaps you should leave the work to the real warriors."

"Enough Thorin! That is from no orc, it is from me." Dwalin turned to face him with a furious look, though he glanced at his hand in disappointment. "I struck her for hitting you, and she did not expect it."

"So not only is she weak, but blind as well. Only the more reason as to why she shouldn't be here, this is no place for filth like her."

"Don't call me that." I whispered tears sprung to my eyes, it's like I was weak around him. As if I couldn't handle my posture when he was in my presence, what can't I stay strong? Why do his words hurt me more than others? All he did was shake his head.

"How can you expect to fight a dragon when you act like a child." I did nothing this time, I didn't hit him, I didn't strike him. I just turned away and went to go to the garden but he spoke once more. "Your weak, just like the rest of your kin that died in the cold blast."

"What did you just say to me?" My eyes turned red as my wings spread, he wasn't smiling anymore. "You call me weak? I'll show you weak!" With one blast of my magic, I threw him back making him hit the white bridge. He let out a gasp of air, trying to gather his breath but I had knocked the wind out of him. I wasn't done with him, I made my way over with a sword in hand. "You think you can take me on?" I brought down my sword, quickly he blocked. "You think that your stronger than me?!" I struck again, this time cutting his cheek. "I AM Y/N! THE QUEEN OF THE DIGONISKS! THE SOUL OF THE BLACK DRAGON!" He blocked each time I went to hit him, he didn't hit me back, he just stared at me in horror. I brought down my weapon once more, and this time he couldn't block, for he was to slow. My weapon stopped as it was pointed at his neck, and I smirked at the fear that was painted on his face. "You will do well to respect me, for you have just been bested. So Thorin, any words?" He kept silent as he stood, sheathing his blade. I returned to my normal form, and walked off towards the sanctuary.

Elrond wouldn't mind, Rivendell was like my second home anyways. Elves besides wizards were the only ones who knew what happened that day. They knew that my people weren't terrible, they knew the truth. Walking through the garden, my mind swirled with thoughts. My actions didn't help my case that I was innocent, what I had just done to their king was not right. I shouldn't have been so careless, I should've kept calm. Let's just hope they all forgive me, for I need their help to get through this journey.

~♪♠♪~

The sun began to set, making everything an orange shade, and the water down below was just gorgeous. I missed land, our floating island wasn't that big and we barely had room for farms. I wish we could go back to Larthas, hopefully, once I get those scrolls we can return home.

"Y/n." A gruff voice called, he stood next to me, arms folded against his chest. The cut on his cheek had been tended to, it wasn't as deep as I thought it was. Tears sprung to my eyes, I didn't feel like dealing with him right now. And the thought of his words from earlier hurt me more.

"Please go away." My words came out like a whisper, he didn't say anything as he joined me on the balcony. He sent me a look of remorse as he noticed the tear that slipped down my cheek. "I do not want to deal with your hatred right now."

"I do not have hatred for you."

"Really? Cause that's how you acted this entire trip. All because of where I come from, you see me as nothing but an enemy...I've tried my hardest to keep calm but you're making it hard. Why do you hate me so much? What have I've done to you? I barely know you!" His hand hesitantly slipped over mine, he clutched it gently, I wanted to pull away but I also wanted to enjoy this moment. It was very rare that I would have a moment like this with him, where he was nice.

"...I'm sorry, your right I have been acting rudely. I shouldn't have said the things I said. It was wrong for me to speak in such a way...I worry, I worry that you'll turn your back on us. That you're not here to slay Smaug, that your here to kill us."

"If I wanted to kill you I would've done it already, besides Gandalf wouldn't bring me along if he knew I would do such a thing." As much as I wanted to beat the crap out of Thorin for hurting me, I understand how he felt. I have to worry about myself, I have to worry if they've poisoned me or not. Or if they're planning to kill me, it was all so frustrating. "I know you hate me, but you shouldn't, for I am not the one who slaughtered your kin. Even if my kind had, I was too young to be a soldier during that time. And I'm pretty sure you were too young to be a soldier when the cold blast happened. So truth is, we shouldn't hate each other for something our ancestors did." I glanced over at him, a look of guilt spread across his face as he became deeper in thought. His eyes became glossy for a moment, but he blinked them away and smiled at me.

"Your right, we shouldn't hate each other for something we weren't there for." He seemed nervous, almost as if he had to choose his words carefully. "It's not like I could've been there at the cold blast, it was almost two hundred years ago." There was sarcasm in his voice, I had a feeling he was lying to me about something, the cold blast was a hundred years ago. Not two, how old was he? "Perhaps we could start over?" He looked at me with hope, his body became incredibly close to mine. I couldn't help but smile at his efforts.

"I'd like that."

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