#which aren’t based on ANYTHING besides what they fucking see online

[wewontbesleeping]

the worst part about a lot of the anti-feminist content online right now is it’s pushed by people who know progressive words and call themselves feminists.

[russilton]

Why do you not like Ricciardo? I got into F1 this year and liked him when I was watching old races/videos but then the entire Alpha Tauri situation happened and the way everyone handled that social media wise gave me the ick and now him and his fans gets on my nerves.

It’s… complicated. Talking about it below the readmore, because nobody needs to be subjected to my opinion on this if they don’t want to be. I’ll reblog jokes and commentary, but besides max and Nico I don’t tend to do much “anti” stuff bc…. Who has the fuckin time.

I absolutely used to be a massive Daniel fan, I got into the sport at the start of 2020 (just the sport not the fandom, I didn’t really get online with it until early 22) and I get why people like him, but I also used to like lando (I wasn’t a ‘fan’ but when I was finding my feet he was a Brit, he got default support) and ended up disliking him for basically the same reasons.

It came down to a combo of jokes not really feeling very funny anymore, multiple incidents of pretty sexist behaviour without much of an effort to change or apologise, backhanded comments and feeling uncomfortable with the way they stayed apolitical on situations they shouldn’t have because it “harshes their vibe”, though Dan is worse about this than lando is.

I was sympathetic about him throughs the mclaren shit but went sour on Dan when he went on that Andrew tate adjacent podcast and laughed at the awful jokes the hosts made about Eastern European women, which is how I ended up finding out his stance on politics in 2020 was that he didn’t get involved because it ruins his vibes, and that just kinda sealed the deal.

That’s a nice privilege he gets to have, I don’t, and while yes most drivers stay neutral and I have been here long enough not to expect them to do otherwise, it’s a whole other thing to hear that choice flaunted that way. You can’t really see the whole “happy go lucky” persona the same when you know what they ignore to maintain it

Then he went back to Redbull quite happily to play positive PR for team racism, and there’s not really any coming back from that is there. He’s comfy where he’s at, I don’t have to support it

I have to be clear here though, these are MY reasons I don’t like Dan, and mine alone. You can hate a driver based on vibes alone, it doesn’t have to be linked to “bad” things. Sargent hasn’t really done anything of fault, but I still don’t like him. That’s sports.

You can also still like the guy if these things are something you have thought about, I just personally weighed them up and came out on dislike. Frankly I’d be a hypocrite if I said otherwise, Dan still isn’t so bad I don’t mess about with him in fanfic. There aren’t really many cases where you can be decidedly black or white about driver support, unless it’s max verstappen. Fuck max verstappen.

[hasufin]

No videos, please

There are two major problems I encounter when looking online for information on performing a task.

The first - and a hearty fuck you to Mark Zuckerburg for causing this - is that 95% of all hits will be videos. That for some damned reason I can’t look up “Location of the OBDII port in a Honda Civic” and get “It’s under and to the right of the steering wheel, you’re going to have to get in underneath to see it” with maybe some pictures showing it. Noooo, I have to watch a 15 minute video with seven ads to get to the 12 seconds I need, and the audio will be garbled besides. So there’s that.

The second issue is actually more insidious. With any topic, there’s a fractal rabbithole of nerdist douchery. The answer to “Why do I get a whining noise only from the AUX input on my speakers?” is, apparently, “You need to replace those speakers, buy solid gold cables, and install a whole-house power conditioner which you modulate to a sine wave based on the measured ambient white noise level of your room, which you can calculate with this simple differential equation. Oh, and your music sucks.” It’s this absurd gatekeeping chest-thumpery synergized with a complete inability to consider context and respond on anything like the level of the query. No matter what you ask, the answer is absurdly complex, prohibitively expensive, and wildly disproportionate to the scope of the issue.

And even a cursory knowledge of the topic will tell you that, in fact, the answers given are ridiculous - it’s possible to have speakers that aren’t awful without having to spend $20,000. You can make coffee without installing a PID in an espresso machine. It’s possible to install a woodburning stove in a structure which doesn’t have electricity.

The hard part isn’t finding data. It’s finding people who know things and are able to empathize and communicate with people who don’t already know those things.

[snelbz]

Life As We Know It {Chapter Three}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Nesta sat across the kitchen table in Azriel and Elain’s kitchen, looking at her sister.

“I mean, I just don’t get it,” Nesta continued, shaking her head. “Me and Cassian… Why didn’t they choose you and Azriel? You’ve been together forever and want a big family.”

“You’re second guessing taking care of Nyx?” Elain asked, with no judgement, just curiosity.

“No, of course not,” Nesta began, sighing. “It’s just… Me and Cassian?”

“They did try to set you two up all those years ago,” Elain said, propping an elbow on the table and dropping her chin in her hand.

Nesta raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “And how well did that work out?”

Elain rolled her eyes, but sighed. “Feyre was right though,” she said, looking at the letter from Rhys and Feyre, laying face down on the table. Nesta had brought it over for Elain to read, which had just made them both start crying over again. “You have the fiercest heart. Nyx needs you in his life.”

She blinked away the tears lining her eyes again. Silently, she wondered when she’d be able to think about her sister, about Rhys again, without dissolving into tears. She knew it would be a long while.

Finally, she said, “I know he does. I just don’t understand why Cassian has to be involved. That’s not going to be a healthy environment for him to grow up in.”

She could already see it, she and Cassian at each other’s throats. He knew how to get under her skin, loved to do it, did it as often as he could. It would be all Nyx saw as he grew up, his guardians screaming at each other.

“He needs to be somewhere happy and loving and peaceful. Like here, Lainy. He’d flourish here, with you and Az and Seph.”

Elain gave her sister a long, wistful look. Her eyes were soft and misty when she said, “We’re just learning to take care of one, Nes. I can’t… We can’t take on another infant. And, besides, it wasn’t what Feyre and Rhys wanted.”

“They probably wrote that the second they got engaged,” Nesta said, knowing that wasn’t true. “They didn’t know what they wanted.” Elain glanced at the open letter that sat on the table between them. “I read it. They knew exactly what they wanted for Nyx in case something happened to them, and I think that they were right. Just because you and Cassian can’t see it doesn’t mean that it’s not a good idea.”

“The lawyer will disagree with that,” Nesta muttered, remembering Tarquin’s words from their meeting. I tried to advise them against this. She shivered. “The thought of living with Cassian and playing house has me nauseous. And pissed off. So pissed off that I’m nauseous.”

Elain sighed again. “He really is a-.”

“A good guy,” Nesta interrupted, letting her head fall into her hands. Her fingers tugged in the roots slightly. “I know. You keep telling me that. Feyre always told me that. Everyone keeps telling me that. But the two of us?” She looked up at Elain, letting her see into those eyes that matched Feyre’s perfectly, letting her see the slight panic in them, letting her see everything. “We aren’t compatible. Everything about him, it throws me off.”

A cry from down the hall had both of the women standing, but when Nesta realized it was Nyx, she hurried out of the kitchen. In a flash, she was in the spare room, crossing to the small crib Elain and Az had set up for Feyre and Rhys when they found out they were pregnant.

Nyx’s blue eyes were wide and he let out another tortured wail and Nesta tried to soothe him before he was even in her arms. “It’s okay, bubba,” she cooed, holding him against her chest. He kept crying, though the volume of his screams lessened. Instead they were more akin to what Nesta would have almost called sobs.

“It’s been a long day,” she breathed. “I think we should go home, yeah?”

She gathered his diaper bag from where it laid on the bed and when she entered the living room, Elain was sitting on the couch, reading over the letter again. Quiet tears slid down her cheeks.

“I’m gonna get him home,” Nesta said, softly. She repeated, “It’s… It’s been a long day.”

Nodding, Elain folded the letter back up and wiped at the tears on her face with the back of her hand. “Right.” She held the letter out to Nesta, who took it, careful not to jostle Nyx who had finally quieted down, though Nesta could tell he was still awake.

His little hand was pressed to the side of her neck, and she could feel it moving gently.

“Call me if you need anything,” Elain said, carefully hugging her and pressing a kiss to the top of Nyx’s head. “Az and I will help you move what you need to into the house, so don’t hesitate to ask.”

Nesta could only nod, still unsure of how she was going to do this, how she was going to live her life, while also taking care of the far more precious one in her arms. She silently left, driving home and getting Nyx inside and settled, letting him sit in the Bumbo seat she’d found in the kitchen atop the counter while she cooked dinner.

After putting him down for bed, Nesta found herself sitting on the balcony off of Rhys and Feyre’s old bedroom. She looked out into the small wood that made up their backyard, over the pool and chairs that had been set up for the approaching summer, but her eyes were drawn up to the stars that Velaris was famous for.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered, not sure if she was admitting it to herself or to Rhys and Feyre, listening to her wherever they were. “I’m so scared I’ll do something wrong.”

The sounds of crickets and other manner of nighttime creatures were the only reply she received.

“I know you believed in me, in us, but I don’t. I want to make you both proud but I don’t know if I can do that. I just need something to tell me that I’m not making a huge mistake and-.

She softly gasped as a shooting star went blazing across the sky, a second one following it right after.

Her lip trembled as she nodded up at the night sky, understanding, knowing who had sent those stars. She almost felt like she could feel them there, as if they were telling her that it would be hard, but she could do it.

And she… she didn’t have to do it alone.

*

Cassian wasn’t at Az and Elain’s for thirty seconds before he crossed to the mini-fridge Azriel kept stocked in the garage.

“There’s no way they thought this was a good idea,” he said, pacing around, Azriel silently watching him. “It’s a sick joke, just like all of this is. There’s another letter somewhere that says just kidding, wouldn’t that be funny though?”

He cracked open the beer and drank it all in one go.

“I mean, Rhys and I always messed around and shit, but…this is too far,” he went on, tossing the can in the garbage and reaching for another one.

Azriel crossed his arms as he said, “Too many of those and you may think it’s funny, too.”

Cassian shot him a look as he drank from his can. “This isn’t funny. None of this is funny.”

Azriel took a deep breath before saying, “Did you stop to think that maybe they knew exactly what they were doing?”

Cassian said nothing as he propped himself on a stool and shook his head. Azriel didn’t push him. Eventually, Cassian said, quietly, “I want to help Rhys. I want to be the man that he thought I was. I mean, shit, he left me in charge of his child. And I would die for that child. But, Nesta was right, you know? I have no idea how to take care of a kid, especially one as young as Nyx.”

“You think I did, when Seph came along?” He asked, leaning back against the workbench. Cassian was as comfortable in this garage as he was his own, had created just as many beautiful things here as he had in his own cramped space. But he focused on Azriel’s words, sighed as he listened to his brother.

“I was scared shitless, but that didn’t mean a thing to her, or to Elain,” he went on. “Because they both needed me. They needed me to get my shit together and figure it out, and that’s exactly what I did.”

Cassian didn’t say anything, he just looked down at his feet, at his dirty work boots and silently drank from the can in his hands.

Azriel crossed the garage and pulled out a beer of his own, cracking it open and taking a drink. “So read the books, do the research, go online, do whatever you have to do, but Cassian, listen to me.”

His brother rarely used his full name, so he looked up at him, nor expecting to find the tenderness on his face or the silver lining his eyes.

“If you think for one second that Rhys and Feyre didn’t know what they were doing, you’re wrong. No one loves that little boy as much as you do. Yeah, you’re probably going to fuck up once or twice, but it’s okay.” Azriel placed a hand on his shoulder. “It happens and as long as you learn from it, that’s all that matters.”

Cassian wiped at his eye with the back of his hands. “I’m fucking scared, man.”

“I know you are,” Az replied, his voice dropping, almost gentle. “Not to mention we’re all still hurting. But you and Nesta are going to be fine, Nyx is going to be fine.”

Cassian clamped his eyes shut. He groaned. “It wouldn’t be so bad, I know I can learn to take care of Nyx, but Nesta? They expect me to live with Nesta?”

Azriel actually hesitated. “Yeah, that sucks.”

Cassian, despite himself, laughed quietly. “Yeah.”

“But, believe it or not, I think she’d be good for you,” Azriel said, keeping that quiet tone.

“Now you’re trying to set us up?” Cassian asked, wiping at his eyes and the tears that had nearly fallen.

Azriel shook his head. “No. But, Nesta Archeron gets shit done. And she loves Nyx, too. The two of you together….different parenting styles? Yeah. But, you’d be surprised at how well two opposites balance each other out when it comes to parenting.”

Cassian thought of Azriel and Elain. They were both gentle and kind, but they were pretty opposite, too.

“And if it’s a complete failure?” Cassian asked.

Azriel sighed as he watched Cassian. At last, he said, “It won’t be.”

Cassian wanted to believe him, wanting to feel confident in the words Azriel said, but even his third beer hadn’t lifted his confidence.

He let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling, at the garage door that was raised to allow the cool, night breeze in. “I have to live with Nesta Archeron. The Mother thinks she’s funny. The Cauldron is laughing at me. Fate is rubbing its hands together and laughing maniacally.”

“No,” Az chuckled. “I think that might be Rhys.”

Cassian snorted, but the door to the house opened and Elain stuck her head out. She smiled softly at Cassian, who raised his drink in greeting. “I thought I heard you out here. You gonna stay for dinner?”

His alternative was grabbing something from a drive through or searching through his fridge for something that wasn’t completely freezer burned, so he smiled and said, “Sure, Lainy. Thanks.”

She beamed at them both and the door clicked shut behind her as she turned to go back to the kitchen. Cassian looked over at Azriel to find him still smiling like a fool at the door.

He sighed quietly as he realized he would probably never have that, would never have someone he could stare after and gaze at as fondly as Azriel did Elain. Not if he was to spend his life shackled to someone who wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

As soon as he thought the words, he chastised himself, stepping out into the driveway. She was just as miserable about the whole ordeal as he was. But for Nyx, they could try and make it work. They would make it work. They would do what they had to.

He sighed, gazing up into the night sky.

Shaking his head, he wondered if there was some sort of afterlife. If there was, he wondered if Rhysand and Feyre were somewhere in the sky, looking down at him, trying to encourage him, trying to get a message to him during this horrible, hectic, anxiety-ridden unknown time.

He hoped they were.

He could use it.

That encouragement.

That love.

Cassian began raising his can to his lips, but then he froze.

A shooting star shot across the night sky.

Then another.

Cassian’s hand fell back to his side as he stared at the bright Velaris starlight, completely in awe.

They were watching, they were there with him. They were there with all of them.

Of course they were.

Cassian swore under his breath as he fully gave into the ridiculous notion of moving in with Nesta, of co-parenting with the most frustrating, stubborn woman in Prythian.

But for Nyx, he would.

For Rhysand, for Feyre, he would.

[taetaespeaches]

“You think I’d leave you if you falter?”

jungkook x reader (or oc) genre: angst word count: 2.1K

a/n: Hi lovelies!!! Here is Jungkook and Holly’s first big fight that Jin and Poopsie later help Jungkook with in, “Did we just give relationship advice?” Our little babies just don’t even know how to handle a fight and when things escalate some pent up frustrations come out. Loosely based on ‘exile’ and ‘mirrorball’ off of Taylor Swift’s folklore. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading! :))

TYPING away on your laptop, you took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you tried to calm the anxiousness that just kept building up. Your essay was due in just a few hours, and though you were getting close to wrapping it up, you had intended to finish it over three hours ago. To say you were panicking was putting it lightly.

Looking through an article you managed to find last minute during your scouring of the online library database, you felt the sudden urge to throw something as you struggled to find a quote that would support your thesis.

As you read through the paragraphs, the words blending together despite your efforts to focus, your front door opened. Your eyes darted to the intrusion, a sigh leaving your lips at the appearance of your boyfriend stepping inside with a loud groan as he dropped his bag to the floor.

“Practice was ridiculous today,” he complained immediately, you humming in response as you went back to trying to sort through the article.

In the corner of your eye, you noticed Jungkook stumble over one of your shoes you discarded in the entry way haphazardly, letting out an annoyed grunt. Your eyebrows raised just slightly at the sound.

Highlighting a section, you set the stapled papers down on the couch cushion beside you and went back to typing, working the quote into your writing.

“We’re switching up so much of the choreography, it’s like starting completely over,” Jungkook huffed, walking to the kitchen. “And then after hours of dance practice I had to go record a verse for one of the new songs,” he continued, you giving small hums of acknowledgement, not wanting to get distracted from your assignment.

“I don’t think my voice was in the best condition,” he complained further, you nodding slowly. Jungkook grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, turning to look at you, his eyebrows pulled together. Your eyes were glued to the computer screen as you paused to form your thought before typing it out on the keypad.

“Yeah, and then they had Jin record a rap verse to switch it up,” he told you, his tone more forward and direct than the earlier mumbled complaints.

You turned to Jungkook, confusion in your features as you met his wide eye, eyebrows raised, looking quite perturbed.

“Jin’s rapping?” You asked, Jungkook opening his mouth in a fake gasp.

“Oh, so you were listening,” he commented, his tone laced with irritation.

“What?” You asked, your annoyance with the man bubbling.

“You’re just giving me nothing, hi, I’m here,” he waved, furthering his point that he was there to see you and you weren’t acknowledging him.

You nodded once, noting his complaint. “Yeah, hi, I see you. I just have this essay to finish,” you told him, Jungkook nodding slowly in response. You stared at each other for a moment before you turned away, focusing back on your laptop.

You heard some clanking from inside the kitchen, recognizing the sound as dishes being moved around in the sink. A scoff left your boyfriend’s lips, which you pretended you didn’t hear, not wanting to give in to his attention seeking antics.

However, when he went to retrieve his bag from the doorway, tripping over your shoe once again, he let out a grunt of complaint that you couldn’t ignore, turning to shoot daggers at him.

“You can’t set your shoes aside with all the other ones?” He asked pointedly, your rage boiling from the single sentence.

“Really?” You asked him, staring at the man with your jaw clenched.

“Your shoes are everywhere, your dishes are dirty all over the kitchen-” he started jabbing at you, you cutting him off.

“I have like five unwashed dishes from breakfast and lunch,” you defended, “that’s hardly dirty dishes all over the kitchen.” He opened his mouth to speak again but you talked over-top of him. “And who the fuck are you to come into my apartment and start picking out how shitty I am at upkeep? Have you lost your fucking mind?”

He looked at you in surprise, but you continued on. “I’ve been working on this essay, along with keeping up with all my other courses, I don’t need you to come in here and start nagging me about my fucking shoes.”

“Whoah, calm down,” he told you holding his arms up in defense, the action enraging you more.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” you said crossly.

“Why are you so angry?” he asked, you rolling your eyes as you looked back to your essay. “You’ve been acting shitty all week,” he added, you looking up at him, your eyebrows pulled together in fury.

“Maybe I’m just moody, maybe I’m stressed, maybe I’m exhausted, maybe I’m tired of having to be chill and laid back all the fucking time,” you ranted, Jungkook looking at you in confusion.

Giving you a shrug, he stared at you with his eyes pulled together, a small crease forming at the top of the bridge of his nose. “What are you even talking about? No one said you have to be chill all the time.”

“Jungkook, I don’t have time for this conversation right now, I need to get this done and I’m already having enough trouble focusing,” you told him, trying to turn your attention back to your laptop.

“I thought you were working on the essay all day, how is it not done yet?” He asked, with a noticeable shift in his tone. He wasn’t asking in a patronizing way, but more just out of confusion. However, you were too worked up to note his tone, only listening to the poorly worded question.

“I’m a fuck up, Jungkook,” you snapped, your boyfriend’s eyes widening at the words.

“You’re not a fuck up, that’s not what I meant,” he insisted sincerely, though you were too pissed and emotional to hear him out. “I just meant, like, what happened?”

“No, I am a fuck up, I try to hide it from you, but this is me,” you gestured around the apartment. “Unwashed dishes, shoes thrown everywhere, unfinished essays that are due in three hours. If you check out my room, you’ll see I haven’t even put away my laundry from Sunday. This is me, dude, take it in.”

“Why- what do you mean you hide it from me? What do you hide?” He asked, chewing on his bottom lip as he awaited your answer.

“Imperfection,” you said simply, Jungkook’s eyebrows pulling further together as he stared at you. “It just feels like I have to be perfect sometimes,” you said with less anger, realizing that the words you were speaking would not be able to be taken back.

“For what?” He asked, shaking his head dumbfoundedly.

“For you,” you whined out. “You’re always saying how you love how laid back I am and how I never get too stressed or that I’m always on top of things, or that you love how independent and strong I am,” you ranted, Jungkook holding his arms out in question. “That’s just not always me,” you told him.

“I don’t ask you to be those things, do you not want me to compliment you? I don’t understand what the fuck you’re saying,” he complained, lost by the suddenness of your comments.

“It’s not just compliments though, it’s praising me for all these great things that aren’t always a reality for me,” you pointed out, Jungkook sighing. “And then you sometimes nag, like pointing out when I haven’t done the fucking dishes, I just feel like I can’t slip up.”

“Why am I just now hearing about all this?” He asked, you simply staring at him as he questioned you. “I mean this is insane, you’re throwing this shit at me and I didn’t even know there was an issue.” The irritation was etched into his features, and the anxiety from your essay was building in your stomach, though this time it was triggered by your unintentional fight with Jungkook.

“I didn’t say anything because I’m afraid of losing you,” you yelled out in frustration.

“Afraid of losing me?” He asked, the hurt evident in his tone. “You think I’d leave you if you falter?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, giving a faint shrug. “It’s not even just me faltering, it’s you always being ok. Jungkook, you’re never not the epitome of strength, you’re always excelling, you’re-”

“Golden,” he cut you off, rolling his eyes.  

You sighed. “Well?” Jungkook pushed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, shaking his head lightly. “What if you don’t like me when I’m not this image of perfection?”  

“God, I-” he sighed sharply. “I don’t expect you to be perfect, that’s not what I want from you, that’s never been what I want from you,” he insisted. “I didn’t even know you felt this way until two minutes ago.”

“I don’t always feel this way, but when I’m struggling, I feel like I’m not able to express that to you in the way I want to because I’m on this pedestal,” you said, Jungkook’s eyes widening. “But it’s not me up there, it’s me reflecting what you want to see and if I fall, I’m going to shatter this image, and I just, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“A pedestal?” He whispered. “Do you think I don’t know about pedestals? That I don’t understand the image of perfection people perceive you as? And how that compares to who you feel you are? Did you really think you couldn’t talk to me about this stuff?” He asked, tears brimming his eyes.  

“I don’t want you to think less of me, Jungkook,” you told him sadly, Jungkook looking away from you as he blinked back his tears.

“You actually think I would think less of you if you let me know when you’re having a hard time?” He asked, his eyes still averted. When you didn’t answer, he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before looking back to you. “Maybe I have unintentionally put you on a pedestal, but you have me on one too.” The comment felt like it stabbed your heart. As you processed the words, and what they meant in regards to how you had been making him feel, Jungkook shifted on his feet, watching you closely. “What do you want me to do?” he asked, his eyes wide, full of worry.

“What do you want to do?” You questioned back.

“I don’t want to fight,” he told you, a look of frustration overtaking his features. Neither did you.

“We’re already fighting,” you reminded him with an edge of regret in your tone. The last thing you wanted was the situation you were in now, but you were in it.  

“Well, let’s just stop,” he said, as if it was easy to take back all the words spoken and forget about them.

“We can’t just do that,” you told him, tears bubbling up in your orbs. His eyes were big and scared as they stared at you, Jungkook chewing on the inside of his lower lip once again. “This seems sudden but we both obviously had some shit we needed to let out.”

“It’s out now though,” he pointed out, you shrugging.

“Yeah so now we’re both frustrated and hurt,” you told him, your voice nearly breaking. “I don’t know, maybe we just need to give it some time and think things over.

“What does that mean?” He asked, panic seeping into his voice.

“It means I’m tired, Jungkook, and I have an essay I have to finish, and I don’t-” you paused, collecting your emotions. “I can’t keep doing this right now.”

“Are you asking me to leave?” He asked, and his expression of heartbreak shattered you.

“I’m asking if we can talk later,” you told him, Jungkook slowly nodding.

“Right,” he began backing away. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, turning around to go toward the door. “Good luck with the essay,” he whispered before opening the door and exiting quickly.

The moment he walked out you were in tears, frustrated and mad at yourself and for letting things get so twisted up. Looking at the time at the top right corner of your laptop screen, you noted that you had two hours and forty-five minutes left to get your essay turned in.

Looking at the open document, the cursor blinking mid-sentence, you suddenly could not care less about the essay. Did you just fuck everything up?

[rosesareviolentlyread]

Bakery Box Boy Intro

CW: BBU, modern slavery, hypothermia, vague past references to abuse, this is a pretty light one WC: 1486

This is based on a post I can’t find again about a bakery that gets a box boy! This series will mostly be focused on recovery & fluff, that nice angst that comes with the struggle to heal. Jasper is a refurbished box boy, and I might do some pieces or flashbacks of his previous owners, but otherwise this will mostly be a comf/recovery series. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! I’ve got a few pieces drafted for this already that I’ll be putting out over the next few days. Thanks to @moose-teeth and @whumpywhumper for beta reading!

847650 felt so, so cold. It was all he felt now, besides tired. The bindings on his wrists, holding them in place in the box as he tumbled and shook and turned in transport, blended in, just another piece of the block of ice that made up his body.

It hurt less though, now. The shivering as rain seeped into the box, soaking around him until he feels cocooned in dampness that freezes first against his skin and then in his skin. It had made its way through him like a serpent, moving through his limbs until its icy poison made his ribs tighten like a vice around his chest, making it hard to breathe. After that, it seemed to slither so deep in him that it was him. Icy numbness incapable of anything. It felt like peace, somehow, leaving him with nothing to do much more than wait, no thoughts besides fighting the drowsy feeling for a reason it was getting harder and harder to remember. 

The frozen world that had become safe, and comfortable, abruptly shattered as he felt himself tipped, the world up-ending himself. He would’ve cried out, if it weren’t for the way he was slammed into the side of the box, pushing out his shallow breath into coils of frosted nothing in the air, setting his skin alight again with pins and needles of agony. 

He couldn’t be aware of anything, even as the world came flooding back in through the sounds of voices and rain and road and movement. It was just a blur, bookended by a second thump as his box slammed harder, throwing him against the other side in a way that felt like it shattered every bone in his body. Still, no sound came, no movement, as he existed only to suffer in his crystallized cocoon of a body. 

For long moments, his brain scrambled, struggling even to find the focus to breathe, let alone listen to the sound of swearing and latches being undone. 

He could only find that as worthy of focus, when the damp walls were unwrapped, and warmth flooded in like mist, sending his body in further pain as molten awareness filled the comfortable cold, pushing it out of him. 

Someone was talking, someone important and 847650 struggled to focus on why. 

“Oh my god, you’re soaked”  The words were spoken with horror, sending panic coursing through 847650 as he recognized the tell-tale tone of a mistake.

This is his owner, his owner towering above him, gray hair and pinched face and shaking hands. The sight makes the breath catch in his throat. He had fucked up. He had fucked up for his new owner before he’d even left his box. 

Adjusting to the light, he can see now it’s a woman, an older one. Hair with more gray than blonde sits loose on her head, damp strands hanging limp. Wrinkles and smile lines dot her face like the memories of a life lived long, but not easily. But her expression. Her expression is stern, and immediately recognizable to 847560, down to his still cold bones. 

Upset.

Fix it, his brain screams from a place of terror, and he tries to force out apologies on dry frozen lips, but it only comes as a wheeze, a whimper squeezed into raw air. 847650 shakes now, and tells himself its from the cold. But memories slam against the walls in his mind, sending shivers down his body. He wants to wilt away, but pulling away from an owner’s touch is forbidden. He isn’t sure how much he even could in the touches that feel gentle but only because his skin is like a shield of icy rubber still. His body feels stiff, unmoving.

Which isn’t good, because the next thing she says is, “Can you get out of there for me? These old bones aren’t as strong as they used to be.” A hand is outstretched, a confusing contradiction to her words. 

It’s like moving the arms of a doll, rather than his, as 847650 twists, putting his arms on the lip and trying to balance on the prickling sensation to push himself up. But all he succeeds is falling out of the box with a pained yelp as the wood slips out from the barely controlled limbs. 

But instead of the ground, warm arms catch his shaking body. “I gotcha big- well, you really aren’t that big, are ya? Just a skinny bean pole.” He looks up and her smile is tight, and strained, the words nervous. 

847650 twists out of her grasp until he’s all the way on the floor. “‘m so’y” the words finally come on numb lips, as he sees the big wet spot on her sweater, the one that had felt so soft and is now covered in dirty rain water. “I-I ‘an do it” He tries to push himself up, but the lingering effects of the drugs, the cold, leave his head spinning, and he slips in the water spilled on the wood floor, landing back down with a thump that sends another jolt of pain. It’s more intense now, the warm air having soaked away some numbness, but only enough that everything feels like pins and needles again. Tears prick his eyes, and he squeezes them shut as he tries to breath through the pain with a whimper.

“Oh shhh, shhh, it’s ok. Oh dear- I’ve never done this before, I just- you stay right there, I’ll be back.” It’s a blessedly easy command as the footsteps retreat, but he can’t stop the screaming in his brain about how much he has messed up. How many mistakes he’s made in painfully short minutes. He tries to pull himself together, to think of what to say, but all he feels is white terror. 

It’s too soon when his owner comes back...and drops something warm on top of him. Gentle hands rub through the fabric, soaking up the damp and cold as she coos gently with sushing noises at him. 

“There, let’s get you all nice and dry. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t think you were supposed to come until next week.” 

847650 doesn’t understand. Is this a precursor to punishment? He was a week early causing problems, being bad before he even was for this owner. But she doesn’t sound mad. She sounds...nice. 

Maybe..maybe she wasn’t his owner? Maybe she was another pet? But she didn’t have a collar, and he’d never met a pet this old. It was so hard to just think right now, with his brain feeling like it’d been left in the freezer.

“A-are you ‘y ow’er?” words tumble out ill-formed, even as he tries to enunciate. To be right. 

The hands stop, adjusting the towel so he can see her more properly, and he struggles to not shake more in fear at the loss of such foreign kindness. “Oh, oh, I’m really bungling this up, aren’t I? I’m sorry, my name’s Adele Brooks, yes, I’m your owner. But, you should call me Della.” 

And then. And then, she smiles at him, a real smile, without a trace of anger or sadism, so warm he feels his limbs tingle, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“W-wha’e’er you wan’ i’ ‘a be Miss ‘ella.” It was a risk, but he didn’t want to seem rude, using a nickname for an owner. It was unfathomable. He was already rude enough forcing her to dry him off because his body wouldn’t cooperate. 

“I- oh, right. They make me name you, don’t they? I read it online, thank god, since it looks like the booklet is ruined.” He feels enough of his limbs to manage sitting up, feeling her drape the towel around him. It’s...sad. To lose the touch, some deep part of him aching for reasons he doesn’t know why at the loss. 

She pulls a face, squinting at him. For a second his heart skips before he sees her smile return. “How about...Jasper. You look like a Jasper to me. What do you think?”

Does he look like a Jasper? What does a Jasper look like? He didn’t know if he did, and he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. So, instead, he just nods, hesitantly, hoping that’s enough of an answer. 

“Well then, Jasper, why don’t we get you a bit more warmed up? Hmmm, what would you think about a warm bath? I thought they’d..well, have you come more...decent, but you look like you might fit some old things I’ve got laying around.” The hand reaches out again, an offering, and gently pulls him - Jasper - to his swaying, numb feet. He feels light-headed still, shaky, but he determines he will not mess this up. Not make anymore mistakes.

Not if he gets to keep feeling the foreign sense of warmth that had touched his chest with his owner’s smile.

[harrygroves]

a simple favor -- chapter four

to chapter three

Billy’s been doing a damn fine job of avoiding all thoughts concerning Steve Harrington. It’s been a blissful, quiet week.

And now that week is up and hell is about to begin.

They’re in Billy’s Camaro, Steve insisted they take his car, and he’s been driving for almost three hours. Steve is fussing with the radio and fidgeting as they get closer and closer to his parents' summer home.

“Dude, you really need to chill out. You want some Xanax?” Billy offers.

“What? No, I don't want any -- why do you have Xanax?” Steve wrinkles his nose, arms crossed.

“I think you of all people would agree that life requires a little anesthesia every now and then.” Billy gives him a knowing look.

Steve looks like he wants to say something snotty so Billy turns up the radio as a way to deter him. Instead, Steve moodily stares out the window.

Billy lets him for a little while before reaching over and taking Steve’s hand, threading their fingers together. When Steve tenses up, Billy gives it a squeeze.

“It’s gonna be okay babe.” Billy says soothingly but his snarky grin gives him away.

“God, I hate you so much.” Steve grumbles, but he doesn’t try to pull his hand away.

*

The summer house is actually a mansion. There’s a sprawling lawn in front of it, with trimmed hedges and a goddamn fountain. Billy wants to make so many jokes about silver spoons but he holds back because Steve looks like he’s having a panic attack.

“Hey, hey!” Billy says once they’re parked, reaching over and shaking Steve’s shoulder.

Steve looks back at him, like he forgot Billy was there. He’s pale and wide-eyed.

“Oh fuck.” Steve whispers. “Oh my god, oh my god, this is such a stupid idea. What the fuck am I doing, they’re going to see right through this -- ”

Look, Billy doesn’t want to kiss Steve.

Well, actually, that’s bullshit. He does want to kiss Steve but he doesn’t want to want to kiss Steve. It’s very distracting and he’s just in this for the money. The ten grand.

He’s been telling himself this for a week, like a daily affirmation.

However, Steve is freaking out, which is usually good for a laugh or two but Billy needs him to get his shit together so he takes Steve’s face in his hands and kisses him.

Steve is still trying to talk but the words get lost between them while Billy hums against his mouth, trying to be soothing and soft in hopes that it brings Steve out of his head. It works for a few seconds before Steve reaches up and puts one of his hands over Billy’s, which would almost be tender if Steve wasn’t trying to pull them off his face.

Billy lets him go and leans back. Steve is flushed and looks sad.

“Don't just...do that.” He mumbles.

Billy shrugs. “Kind of have to.” He grunts back, getting annoyed that Steve refuses to wrap his head around the thing he planned.

“Yeah, well…” Steve trails off. “Let’s go.”

They get out of the car and Billy grabs his bag from the backseat.

A girl their age with reddish-brown hair is running to them from the front door.

“Steve!” She yells and launches herself at him, wrapping him in a hug.

She babbles and laughs and smiles like Steve’s a goddamn prince.

“Should I be jealous?” Billy calls out to the pair.

Steve and Red Head look over at him.

“Oh, sorry, lost my head for a second. This is my sister, Robin.”

Sister, right. Steve had an older sister. Billy forgot about her, if he was being honest.

“Is this him?” Robin mumbles, but Billy can hear her just fine.

“Yes, uh. This is my...boyfriend, Billy Hargrove.” Steve says, smiling at Billy.

It’s too wide and his eyes are too bright. It’s the most human Billy has seen Steve look in weeks. It’s freaking him out.

Robin marches towards him and stretches out a hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Billy. Steve has told me absolutely nothing about you.” She says it with a bright smiles and zero hostility.

Billy shakes her hand and tries to give her a pleasant smile in return. “Yeah, Steve just wants me all to himself, ya know how he is.”

He doesn’t, he’s totally winging it but Robin laughs and Steve clears his throat.

“You guys must be tired and hungry, I’ll let you get settled. Mom and Dad will be on your asses enough at dinner, so why don't you guys go hide out for a while. I’ll keep them occupied once they’re back from the court.”

“Thanks Robin.” Steve says and gives her another hug. “See you later.”

Robin leaves them and Billy leans towards Steve.

“The court?” He asks.

“Tennis.” Steve replies.

*

Steve leads Billy through the house, past floor-to-ceiling windows and paintings that have to be original prints. A few people pass them, all wearing uniforms. Steve says hello to everyone pleasantly and Billy gives them tight smiles. They have fucking housekeepers. Servants. It’s so...rich. There’s a grand piano at the base of a giant staircase and Steve leads him up to the second floor, down halls littered with vases of flowers and tapestries.

“This is insane.” Billy hisses.

Steve shrugs. “It’s home.” He says it hollowly, like it is very much not a home.

They end up in a bedroom the size of Billy’s apartment. It’s got bookshelves built into the walls, armchairs in front of a fireplace, a walk-in closet where Billy drops his bag of clothes, it’s own bathroom and a giant LED television mounted on the wall.

There’s silver-framed pictures on the fireplace and nightstands beside the bed. Family photos, solo shots of Steve as a kid, in bowties with a bowl cut. Billy examines them all.

“Robin’s nice.” Billy says casually.

Steve’s sitting on his bed, which is huge, by the way and absently scrolling through his facebook feed.

“She’s great.” He agrees flatly.

Billy wonders if she is great.

“Facebook.” Steve mumbles.

“What?” Billy asks, looking at Steve.

“We...fuck, we don't have anything on facebook, about us.” Steve says, almost in horror.

Billy shrugs, walks over to join him. “So what? Not everything needs to be online. We can just say we’re one of those couples who don't showboat our love on the internet.”

Steve winces at Billy’s words and nervously chews on his lip. Billy grabs Steve’s phone.

“Hey!” Steve shouts at him, reaching for it.

“Knock it off, c’mon, Steve -- stop it.” Billy says, smacking his hand away. “This is going to work. But only if you calm down. Right now the only thing in our way is you. You’re getting too caught up in the details. Just chill out, hold my fucking hand, and give me a gross pet name and we’ll get through this.”

He says all this, direct eye-contact, no blinking. Steve is quiet for a second before taking a deep, belly-full breath and closing his eyes, making an O with his mouth and exhaling slowly. Once he opens his eyes, Billy gives him a nod. Steve nods back.

*

Meeting the parents at dinner is a stifling affair. Steve’s mom isn’t going out of her way in the slightest to hide how much she does not like Billy. She turns up her nose at his clothes, eyes his hair like Steve’s isn’t an unkempt mess and politely insults him wherever she can fit in a jab.

“Oh, beer. How perfectly simple. A simple man is good.”

“I like that car, Billy. Very rustic.”

“There’s something to be said about plain fabric. Some can be too cumbersome to care for, it’s nice for some things to be easy.”

Billy grins, toothy and fire-eyed, sneaking glances at Steve who is very interested in his salad.

Steve’s dad isn’t much better. He keeps going back and forth between glaring at Billy and scrunching his face together, like he’s scrutinizing.

“And where did you say you’re going to go to school?”

“How exactly did you meet my son?”

“What do your parents do for a living?”

Robin keeps trying to steer the conversation away from them but the parents aren’t having that.

“How long have you two been dating?” Mrs. Harrington asks during the fish course.

“Six months.” Steve says.

“Two years.” Billy says, at the exact same time.

There’s an awkward pause and Billy can practically hear Steve’s heart rate triple. Billy laughs and takes Steve’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“He was courting me for a lot longer than we’ve actually been together. All those fond memories, right, bunny?” Billy looks at Steve fondly.

Robin starts choking on something and has to thump at her chest to clear it up. “Bunny?” She croaks out.

Steve is bright red and staring at Billy with glassy eyes, probably seething but that just makes it more fun.

“Yes.” Steve blurts out, voice a bit high. “We, uh, I...really wanted...to be his boyfriend.”

Billy barrels onward. “He did that thing, with the boombox, stood outside my place till I let him in. It was so sweet.”

Robin is silent-laughing, and her eyes are starting to water. “I’m dying.” She says. “No seriously, I am fucking losing it over here.”

“They don't need all the details, sweetie.” Steve says in a syrupy voice.

“But the letter, I have to tell them about the letter.”

“No, no, I don't think so. That letter was just for you.” Steve says nervously.

“I would like to frame the letter.” Robin pipes in, struggling to drink water as her shoulders quake from laughter.

“So anyways,” Billy continues. “I finally just said, hey, let’s toss the guy a bone here,”

Robin is howling at this point.

“And he did, and we’ve been in love ever since.” Steve supplies quickly. “Now where is that next course, I am starving.”

He makes dagger-eyes at Billy who just takes his hand again and kisses Steve’s knuckles.

Once dessert and coffee have been consumed Steve gets to his feet.

“Well, we’re exhausted. Right, Billy?” He chirps.

“Sweetie, c’mon, how often am I going to get this kinda face-time with your parents? Shouldn’t we stay?”

He is hamming it up and Mrs. Harrington purses her mouth like the very thought is making her nauseous.

“Now, now. We’ll see them tomorrow morning.” Steve smiles back. “Let’s go to bed.”

Mr. Harrington coughs heartily into his napkin.

They bolt and hole-up in Steve’s room.

After changing into pajamas -- Steve changes in the closet -- they sit on the bed watching television and Billy waits for the inevitable.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” Steve finally snaps during their second episode of Golden Girls.

“I never gave you any indication otherwise.” Billy shrugs.

“That was so embarrassing, making it seem like I pined for you.”

“Well we had to say something, Harrington, and you were doing that Bambi-in-the-headlights thing, so I just rolled with it.”

“You rolled with it alright, I can’t believe you said all that shit.”

Billy snaps. “Fine, Steve, then you come up with stuff. Stop acting like a kid who doesn't want to get in trouble otherwise we’re going to get caught. Be a fucking man.”

That shuts Steve up for a long time. When Golden Girls ends and The Nanny starts up, Steve gets up from the bed and goes into the closet.

He’s only gone for a few moments before emerging with beer, little bottles of alcohol, and a bag of individually-wrapped chocolates.

“What the -- ”

“There’s a mini-fridge in there.” Steve mumbles.

He gives Billy a beer, deposits the bottles in between them and starts unwrapping a chocolate.

Finally, Steve says, “I’m really sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Billy replies, cracking open a beer.

“I’m not very good at this.”

“You’re really not.”

“...I’ll try harder.”

“Good.” Billy replies, eyes never leaving the television.

There’s this weird tension between them and it lasts for a little bit until Billy is so uncomfortable he has to say something.

“Dinner was...something.”

“Told you.” Steve grunts.

“Man, I don't know which one hated me more.”

“Mom, for sure. She loathes people who don't own at least three boats.”

“Damn, and I just have the one.” Billy deadpans.

Steve grins, actually grins, before he catches himself and pops another chocolate.

“This is like a fucking hotel.” Billy says, grabbing for a bottle.

“I learned very quickly growing up that the less time I have to spend outside this room, the better.” Steve says.

“I want to make so many ‘princess locked in an ivy tower’ jokes right now.” Billy says seriously.

“Shut up.” Steve snaps. “And it’s ivory, dumbass.”

Billy chuckles and drains one of the mini-bottles. “So, we’re essentially trapped in here, is that what you’re saying?”

Steve shrugs. “I mean, we can go do whatever you want. There’s a couple libraries, an indoor pool, I actually convinced them to make a bowling alley in the basement.”

“You have a fucking bowling alley?” Billy asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, it was a birthday gift when I was, like, twelve.”

“Jesus christ, Steve.”

“Yeah, but we run the risk of dealing with them,” Steve’s parents, “So, ya know, wage your bets.”

Billy whistles. “Wow, you really don't like them.”

“No, I really do not.” Steve mumbles, eating another chocolate.

“So I gotta ask. Why me?” Billy opens another mini-bottle of vodka.

Steve looks away from the television, eyes Billy, then resumes watching. “You already asked that.” He points out.

“Yeah, but like, you could’ve found someone on Craigslist, like a lot of lonely losers do.”

“Wow, when you put it like that?” Steve rolls his eyes. “Like I said, it was a matter of convenience.”

Billy puts a hand over his heart and pretends to swoon. “I love it when men say that to me.”

Steve throws a handful of chocolate wrappers at him.

Billy grins. “Okay, so really though, what are we going to do tomorrow?”

Steve contemplates this for a moment.

“Ever been horse-back riding?”

part five

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift appears to be waging war over the serial resale of her old master recordings on two fronts. She recently confirmed that she is already underway in the process of re-recording the six albums she made for the Big Machine label, in order to steer her fans (and sync licensing execs) toward the coming alternate versions she’ll control. But now that she’s followed the surprise release of “Folklore” with the very, very surprise release of “Evermore” less than five months later, the thought may occur: If she keeps up this pace, she may have more new albums out on the Republic label than she ever did on Big Machine in a quarter of the time. Flooding the zone to further crowd out the oldies is unlikely to be Swift’s real motivation for giving the world a full-blown “Folklore” sequel this instantaneously: As motivations for prolific activity go, relieving and sublimating quarantine pressure is probably even better than revenge. Anyway, this is not a gift horse to be looked in the mouth. “Evermore,” like its mid-pandemic predecessor, feels like something that’s been labored over — in the best possible way — for years, not something that was written and recorded beginning in August, with the bow said to be put on it only about a week ago. Albums don’t get graded on a curve for how hastily they came together, or shouldn’t be, but this one doesn’t need the handicap. It’d be a jewel even if it’d been in progress forevermore and a day.The closest analog for the relation the new album bears to its predecessor might be one that’d seem ancient to much of Swift’s audience: U2 following “Achtung Baby” with “Zooropa” while still touring behind the previous album. It’s hard to remember now that a whole year and a half separated those two related projects; In that very different era, it seemed like a ridiculously fast follow-up. But the real comparison lies in how U2, having been rewarded for making a pretty gutsy change of pace with “Achtung,” seemed to say: You’re okay with a little experimentation? Let’s see how you like it when we really boil things down to our least commercial impulses, then — while we’ve still got you in the mood.Swift isn’t going avant-garde with “Evermore.” If anything, she’s just stripping things down to even more of an acoustic core, so that the new album often sounds like the folk record that the title of the previous one promised — albeit with nearly subliminal layers of Mellotrons, flutes, French horns and cellos that are so well embedded beneath the profuse finger-picking, you probably won’t notice them till you scour the credits. But it’s taking the risk of “Folklore” one step further by not even offering such an obvious banger (irony intended) as “Cardigan.” Aaron Dessner of the National produced or co-produced about two-thirds of the last record, but he’s on 14 out of 15 tracks here (Jack Antonoff gets the remaining spot), and so the new album is even more all of a piece with his arpeggiated chamber-pop impulses, Warmth amid iciness is a recurring lyrical motif here, and kind of a musical one, too, as Swift’s still increasingly agile vocal acting breathes heat into arrangements that might otherwise seem pretty controlled. At one point Swift sings, “Hey, December, I’m feeling unmoored,” like a woman who might even know she’s going to put her album out a couple of weeks before Christmas. It’s a wintry record — suitable for double-cardigan wearing! — and if you’re among the 99% who have been feeling unmoored, too, then perhaps you are Ready For It. Swift said in announcing the album that she was moving further into fiction songwriting after finding out it was a good fit on much of “Folklore,” a probably inevitable move for someone who’s turning 31 in a few days and appears to have a fairly settled personal life. Which is not to say that there aren’t scores to settle, and a few intriguing tracks whose real-life associations will be speculated upon. But just as the “Betty”/”August” love triangle of mid-year established that modern pop’s most celebrated confessional writer can just make shit up, too, so, here, do we get the narrator of “Dorothea,” a honey in Tupelo who is telling a childhood friend who moved away and became famous that she’s always welcome back in her hometown. (Swift may be doing a bit of empathic wondering in a couple of tracks here how it feels to be at the other end of the telescope.) One time the album takes a turn away from rumination into a pure spirit of fun — while getting dark anyway — is “No Body, No Crime,” a spirited double-murder ballad that may have more than a little inspiration in “Goodbye, Earl.” Since Swift already used the Dixie Chicks for background vocals two albums ago, for this one she brings in two of the sisters from Haim, Danielle and Este, and even uses the latter’s name for one of the characters. Yes, the rock band Haim’s featured appearance is on the only really country-sounding song on the record… there’s one you didn’t see coming, in the 16 hours you had to wonder about it. Yet there are also a handful of songs that clearly represent a Swiftian state of mind. At least, it’s easy to suppose that the love songs that opens the album, “Willow,” is a cousin to the previous record’s “Invisible String” and “Peace,” even if it doesn’t offer quite as many clearly corroborating details about her current relationship as those did. On the sadder side, Swift is apparently determined to run through her entire family tree for heartrending material. On “Lover,” she sang for her stricken mother; on “Folklore,” for her grandfather in wartime. In that tradition the new album offers “Marjorie,” about the beloved grandmother she lost in 2003, when she was 13. (The lyric videos that are being offered online mostly offer static visual loops, but the one for “Marjorie” is an exception, reviving a wealth of stills and home-movie footage of Grandma, who was quite a looker in a miniskirt in her day.) Rue is not something Swift is afraid of here anymore than anywhere else, as she sings, “I should’ve asked you questions / I should’ve asked you how to be / Asked you to write it down for me / Should’ve kept every grocery store receipt / ‘Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me,” lines that will leave a dry eye only in houses that have never known death. The piece de resistance in its poignance is Swift actually resurrecting faint audio clips of Marjorie, who was an opera singer back in the day. It’s almost like ELO’s “Rockaria,” played for weeping instead of a laugh. Swift has not given up, thank God, on the medium that brought her to the dance — the breakup song — but most of them here have more to do with dimming memories and the search for forgiveness, however slowly and incompletely achieved, than feist. But doesn’t Swift know that we like her when she’s angry? She does, and so she delves deep into something like venom just once, but it’s a good one. The ire in “Closure,” a pulsating song about an unwelcome “we can still be friends, right?” letter from an ex, seems so fresh and close to the surface that it would be reasonable to speculate that it is not about a romantic relationship at all, but a professional one she has no intention of ever recalling in a sweet light. Or maybe she does harbor that a disdain for an actual former love with that machinelike a level of intensity. What “Evermore” is full of is narratives that, like the music that accompanies them, really come into focus on second or third listen, usually because of a detail or two that turns her sometimes impressionistic modes completely vivid. “Champagne Problems” is a superb example of her abilities as a storyteller who doesn’t always tell all: She’s playing the role of a woman who quickly ruins a relationship by balking at a marriage proposal the guy had assumed was an easy enough yes that he’d tipped off his nearby family. “Sometimes you just don’t know the answer ‘ Til someone’s on their knees and asks you / ‘She would’ve made such a lovely bride / What a shame she’s fucked in the head’ / They said / But you’ll find the real thing instead / She’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.” (Swift has doubled the F-bomb quotient this time around, among other expletives, for anyone who may be wondering whether there’s rough wordplay amid Dessner’s delicacy — that would an effing yes.) “‘Tis the Damn Season,” representing a gentler expletive, gives us a character who is willing to settle, or at least share a Christmas-time bed with an ex back in the hometown, till something better comes along. The pleasures here are shared, though not many more fellow artists have broken into her quarantine bubble this time around. Besides Haim’s cameo, Marcus Mumford offers a lovely harmony vocal on “Cowboy Like Me,” which might count as the other country song on the album, and even throws in something Swift never much favored in her Nashville days, a bit of lap steel. Its tale of male and female grifters meeting and maybe — maybe — falling in love is really more determinedly Western than C&W, per se, though. The National itself, as a group, finally gets featured billing on “Coney Island,” with Matt Berninger taking a duet vocal on a track that recalls the previous album’s celebrated Bon Iver collaboration “Exile,” with ex-lovers taking quiet turns deciding who was to blame. (Swift saves the rare laugh line for herself: “We were like the mall before the internet / It was the one place to be.) Don’t worry, legions of new Bon Iver fans: Dessner has not kicked Justin Vernon out of his inner circle just to make room for Berninger. The Bon Iver frontman whose appearance on “Folklore” came as a bit of a shock to some of his fan base actually makes several appearances on this album, and the one that gets him elevated to featured status again, as a duet, the closing “Evermore,” is different from “Exile” in two key ways. Vernon gets to sing in his high register… and he gets the girl. As it turned out, the year 2020 did not involve any such waiting for Swift fans; it’s an embarrassment of stunning albums-ending-in-“ore” that she’s mined out of a locked-down muse.

[professional-benaddict]

Mafia Daddies Stephen and Tony taking over a smol café for a meeting and Peter is their waiter >:)

ive left jensen babe hanging with this for wEeks but i think i managed to scramble together smth!! and that smth includes Tony being an absolute Whore and having a Danger Kink™️

Mafia bosses and husbands Stephen and Tony, bodyguards Steve and Bucky, waiter Peter, mafia aus, threats and use of violence, manipulation, Tony just being That Bitch and embarrassing his husband

“Why are we here?” Bucky’s tone is as grumpy as ever, and Tony rolls his eyes. The man had practically hissed the words out, putting as much force into it as possible without angering his bosses too much, nor causing a big scene. 

“You know, the Petersons have been causing all sorts of trouble for us. We’re making a plan of action.” Stephen replies, so that Tony does not have to. The aggression in Bucky’s voice rolls off Stephen like water on a duck. He is not bothered at all, which he rarely is. That is what makes him a good boss, not that Tony does not have other qualities that makes him just as good as his husband. They complete one another in that way. And in a way, Bucky and Steve do that as well, in their roles as the second pair in charge, just below Stephen and Tony. 

“No, I mean, why are we here?” Bucky rephrases. If Steve were with him, he would give Tony that infamous look, which signals that he is questioning him. Even with the blonde guard on stand by, and not present with them, Tony feels his presence along with Bucky’s snarky question. 

Out of all the places in the world, the three men are meeting in a café. The place is small, but designed purposely in a way to maximise the space completely. It is almost impressive how much they have fit in here without the space feeling like it is suffocating you. Instead, it feels homey, and it smells like fresh coffee and baked goods. 

It is just after 8 am, so the morning rush is coming to an end as the sun rises higher and its’ rays do not feel as harsh and blinding anymore. Still, Tony is wearing his sunglasses where he is sat next to his husband Stephen. Besides being very stylish and framing his face nicely, the shades serve another purpose. It lets Tony’s scanning and calculating gaze go undetected. And just like he was briefed the day before, the café is does not have any security cameras. In addition, the gang of four have taken up the largest table in the café, and with how intimidating they look in their black clothing, no one will sit down next to them on the surrounding tables. No cameras, no prying gazes nor eavesdropping ears. Perfect. However, they will wait a few more minutes before starting on the agenda of the their meeting. They have not ordered their coffee of choice yet either. 

“Hi! What would you like today? Black, no sugar? Gotcha!” 

The sound of a chirpy voice catches Tony’s attention, and he turns his head a bit, as if to see what Stephen is doing on his phone, but actually his gaze is looking somewhere beyond his husband. He looks towards the counter of the café where an adorable, 20-something boy is stood in a dark brown apron, fixing the coffee machines with the speed and precision of an experienced worker. The warm brown curls on top of his head bounce around his ears and the nape of his neck as he moves. They look silky, freshly washed, and perfect to tug on. The boy perfectly fits the profile Tony got from the briefing. This is him, the cute boy who will be covering the café all by himself until 10 am. The place is all theirs, and Tony smirks to himself before finally looking away as the boy hands the finished coffee to the waiting customer. 

“Because, I want to have a good cup of coffee, and some fun.” Tony tells Bucky to answer his question about why they are at the café and not at base. “Is that too much to ask, Barnes? I know you don’t smile often, but you must at least be able to appreciate a good, hot drink now and then.” 

“I do like to drink.” Bucky replies dryly. 

“I don’t mean that way.” Tony corrects. 

“All right.” Stephen cuts off by rising from his seat. Always the diplomat, Tony thinks. “I’ll go and order. What would you like?” 

Tony and Bucky make their requests in, and watch as Stephen heads to the counter. He returns a few moments later, and once more the group of three fall silent and watch the boy make their coffee behind the counter. There is no one else in the café now, just the way that they planned it all. 

“He’s cute.” Tony comments to Stephen quietly. With the way Stephen is sat sideways next to him, Tony cannot see his husband’s eye roll, but he knows he did it anyway. 

“You just had one yesterday. Keep it together. We’re just here for business, so please… Don’t mess it up.” Stephen replies quietly, and looks over at Tony to show that he is serious. But, Tony makes no promises, and sits back to watch the boy behind the counter again. Thanks to the sunglasses, Tony does not have to politely avert his gaze when the boy heads over with their drinks on a tray. The man is unapologetic with his staring, and if he was a cartoon character, he would be drooling long ago. 

“Here you go! Who’s got the espresso?” 

Tony lifts his hand a bit, and thanks the boy as he sets his drinks down. Stephen and Bucky do the same with their black coffees that the waiter sets in front of them. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name, sweetheart?” Tony asks the boy. 

“Peter! Peter Parker, sir.” The boy replies with a bright smile, tucking the empty tray under one arm. “Been working here for just over two years now, and I love it.” 

“Really? You seem like a natural, that’s for sure.” Tony continues, letting his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose to peer at Peter from above them. 

“Oh, thanks!” Peter beams, seemingly a bit taken off guard by being complimented by a complete stranger. “Well, I really do hope you enjoy your drinks. If there’s any problems, I’d be happy to re-make it.” 

Next to Tony, Stephen clears his throat after taking a sip of his drink. He shoots his husband a warning look, then adds quietly. 

“Honey…” 

“Oh, I’m sure it is absolutely perfect.” Tony continues without caring at all about Stephen’s warning. Bucky is sat quietly with his drink, since he has no business to interfere with this, not when he is second in charge. 

Flattered once more, Peter laughs a little nervously, but does not shy away from Tony’s eyes. Just when he turns to leave, Tony stops him by pressing his gun against the boy’s hip. Peter halts when he feels the harsh pressure, and looks down at the gun with a mix of horror and confusion. His mouth gapes when he looks at Tony, just a second away from asking what is going on. Tony speaks before he has time to do so. 

“There is one thing… Would you mind switching the sign so it says it’s closed? We’re about to talk some serious business, and we’d hate to be disturbed.” 

“I’m- I’m going to ask you to leave.” Peter states, and the two other men raise their heads at the command. Stephen scans the scene, where Tony and Peter are frozen and looking at one another intensely. It is almost like, Tony is holding the boy at gunpoint, and Stephen sighs audibly when he realises that his husband is doing exactly that. 

“Honey.” Unlike earlier, Stephen’s voice is sharp now. Once more, Tony ignores his husband’s warnings. 

“We haven’t even enjoyed the coffee you made us, sweetheart. I’d hate to let something so good just go down the drain. That would be a shame, don’t you agree?” Tony continues, still looking at Peter through his sunglasses. “So, why don’t you-“ Tony halts mid-sentence and from beside him, Stephen tenses and sits up. 

“Peter… Put it down.” 

The boy has got the sharp blade of a pocket knife up against Tony’s throat, resting just above his trachea, and with the tip pointing at the artery on the side of his neck. The knife is cheap, probably bought somewhere online, but it is quite beautiful still. Both the blade and handle have a multicolour holographic effect, and it looks like the metal and plastic have been dipped in oil. But, aesthetics aside, the knife is still dangerous, at least as long as it is pressed against one’s neck. 

“I’m not doing anything.” Peter stresses through gritted teeth, and challenges Tony’s gaze by looking at him even more intensely. The older man can see that he has tucked away his fear somewhere, because all he can see in his brown eyes now is rage. And incredible beauty. 

“Well, whatever it is that you are, or aren’t doing, you look stunning while doing it.” Tony drawls with a purr, shooting Peter his best and cockiest smirk. The boy looks amused, but only for a split second before adding more pressure to his blade. 

Based on the briefing of this café, Tony would never have thought it would end up like this. The chirpy and bouncy personality is just a facade. The little bastard has been armed this whole time. Tony takes it as a compliment that he was the only that brought out the self-defence response in the waiter boy. But, as fun as this is, it is still a bit humiliating to be put on the spot in front of his second in-command, Bucky. The guard might just be plotting a coup right in this moment, considering just how weak Tony is being now. Time to turn that around. 

“Okay, sweetheart, how about we make a deal?” Tony offers, but suddenly averts his gaze to the door. Another customer has entered, and both he and Peter hide their weapons. 

For a second, Peter hesitates with heading back to the counter. It is like he is asking Tony permission to leave, or rather daring him to stop him from doing his job. Accepting defeat, for now, Tony nods towards the counter, and Peter heads off without a word. 

“You, fucking idiot!” Stephen hisses to Tony, just quiet enough for the other customer to not hear. 

“Quite an eventful morning, huh? Perhaps I underestimated this place.” Bucky muses with a chuckle and sips at his coffee. “We should definitely come back. And this coffee is quite good, actually.”

“Shut it. He’s coming back.” Stephen points out in a hushed whisper. 

It seems like the customer sensed an uncomfortable atmosphere and left before Peter could ask if they wanted anything. For a second it looks like the waiter is leaving as well, but he just heads to flip the card saying ‘open’ to ‘closed’ instead. Still, Tony takes note on how the boy does not lock the door. If he had a nose like an apex predator, he could probably catch the scent of fear from the boy. 

“You’re scaring away my costumers.” Peter states bravely, crossing his arms as he stops by Tony and his gang’s table. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Tony coos condescendingly. “Do you need some extra tip to make up for it? I must say, your coffee was excellent, but-“

“Ten.”

“Ten dollars?”

“Ten thousand.”

Stephen sputters over his coffee. 

“What do you-“ 

“For all the trouble you’ve caused, and for me being quiet about everything. And don’t pretend like you don’t have that kind of money, because you do. So, give me it, and then get out of here.” 

Tony chuckles once, then he laughs merrily, but Peter does not falter. 

“With what? You can’t threaten me, sweetheart. You’ve got nothing, so we can just walk out of here. And I think we will do just that.” Tony says and claps his hands together to signal that this conversation is over. He rises along with his husband and guard, but suddenly the man stumbles back into his chair. The waiter just tripped him? “What the fuck-“

“Sure, walk out.” Peter starts with a smile, but his face quickly drops into a death stare. “And I will turn over the video I recorded on my phone of you threatening me to the police.”

“You-“

“I started recording as soon as you came in. I knew you guys were trouble, and look? I was right. So, ten thousand. Now.”

“You, little shit…” Tony says through gritted teeth, but a hint of a smirk still lingers on his lips as he gazes at Peter in front of him. 

How did he get so lucky?

“Steph, darling, could you write the waiter a cheque? And add my number on the back of it.”

“I won’t call you.” Peter deadpans. 

“Oh, I think you will.” Tony chuckles, then adds in a lower, and much more sinister tone. “I’m not done with you, and you’re not done with me.”

If Tony could not smell the fear on Peter before, he definitely does it now. And he loves it. 

[honeymoonjin]

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 yoongi x reader || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 24k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut, fluff, angst

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 it may be misfortune that brings you to min yoongi’s door looking for a place to stay, but luckily holly lodge has a vacancy.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 explicit sexual content, cursing, unintentional voyeurism, non-explicit mxm (taejin side pairing), protected sex, kinda-sub!yoongi, oral (m receiving), fingering, yoongi lowkey being a pillow princess, smut with a whole lot of feelings, body worship (m receiving), praise (m receiving), this was more vanilla than expected, cowgirl/riding, hand-holding during sex, this isn’t jerk-off material it’s slow burn softness so be warned

many thanks to @jamaisjoons for the gorgeous banner

--

A distant crunch of gravel is the only warning you get. You look around absentmindedly, down the steep slope of the hilly fields, and see a bus pulling away down the windy path that had brought you here several hours ago.

"Oh, fuck-!" You make it less than a third of the way down, half-stumbling, half-running, before you give up, realising it's no use. "Oh, fuck," you repeat with a sullen sigh, sinking down to the dirt path.

What was meant to be a day-trip to the renowned Boseong Green Tea fields was apparently going to be longer than a day.

The sky was steadily growing darker, and through the vibrant hedgerows of green tea plants that lined the hillside, a fog was starting to collect. Consulting your phone tells you it's later than you thought.

You stand up again, brushing the dust off the back of your jeans, and slowly plod your way back up to the peak of the hill, where a flat area with some benches provides a decent lookout. The several small cafes and restaurants at the base of the fields have no lights on, and a metal grille has been slid down over the windows of the ticket booth. It's deserted.

Your roaming data works up here, although it's a little more patchy than you'd grown used to around the rest of the country, and you use the last of your dying battery to google some places to stay. With any luck, you'd be able to phone in to a hostel or motel and book in a place. You just hoped the walk wasn't too far in the dark. But as the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, and you call a seventeenth number, you begin to lose hope.

"Even just for one night?" you barter nervously, biting on your nail as the older lady on the other end sighs.

"I'm sorry, dear, we're all booked out. You should've called in advance. Spring is a busy time of year."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I wasn't even meant to stay. I missed the bus back."

"Are you at the Boseong-gun bus terminal? I'm sure there are other busses coming in no time."

"I'm still at the tea fields," you admit, "it was a bus from out of town. Please, I'll walk down to the main street myself, I just don't want to stay outside all ni-"

"Wait- At the plantation? Have you tried Holly Lodge yet?"

You frown. "No. I didn't see that name come up when I searched online for accommodation."

A laugh rings out, though you sense it's not directed at you. "No, dear, Min wouldn't have put it online. But it's far closer to the fields, and I would venture a guess that it's the one place in Boseong that won't have been flooded with guests."

You feel yourself inflate with hope. "Do you have the phone number? Thank you so much!"

"I don't think the owner even has a phone. If he does, I certainly don't know the number. But- Where on the plantation are you right now? Can you get to the top?"

"I'm at the top," you answer reflexively, "but are you sure there's room there? I'd hate to show up unannounced."

The lady on the phone laughs again, slightly condescending. You get the vibe she's not the biggest fan of 'Min'. "He won't have any customers. It's just a small bed-and-breakfast, but he's so far away from the town centre, and he makes no effort to advertise. It's a wonder he's still open, to be quite frank. Anyways, if you're at the top, turn around away from the entrance."

You bite your lip uncertainly but do as she says. You haven’t looked back this way, but you see now that there’s a winding path down the other side, a skinny trail of flattened grass leading into the distance. “Do I go down the other side of the hill?”

“Away from the main fields, yes,” the motel owner replies in a slightly impatient voice. You imagine she can’t appreciate the late-night call for such a busy time of year. “Down at the bottom, there’s a patch of trees.”

Feeling your toes beginning to go numb in your shoes from the cool, damp fog rising, you begin to pick your way down. “I see them.”

“Just beyond them is Holly Lodge. It’s not far. Why he chose to open a bed-and-breakfast behind Boseong Fields is beyond me. I imagine he couldn’t afford anywhere else. I’m sorry dear, the place is probably poor quality, but I’m sure it’ll do for a night.”

Stumbling down the hill in the dark, picking up momentum as you go, you squint into the small thicket of trees in the valley. Perhaps it’s desperation making you see things, but you swear there’s the slightest glow coming from between them. “Thank you so much for your help!”

“It’s fine,” the older lady assures you, “and if you happen to stay longer, I’d be more than happy to reserve you a room for tomorrow night so that you don’t have to stay at that place any longer than necessary.”

You scrunch up your eyebrows. How bad was this place? “I appreciate the offer, but is it okay if I call you back in the morning? I might be able to get tomorrow’s bus back.”

“Alrighty, dear. Best of luck to you. Bye now.”

You pull your phone back and swear lowly when you see your battery life on its last legs. You have a charger in your backpack (along with some water and snacks, something you’re relieved you packed last-minute before coming) but it’s no use unless the Holly Lodge has a place to plug it in, and at this point, as you make it to the foot of the hill and start winding your way through the trees, you’re not expecting anything.

What you do know is that you were right; the light you saw peeking through the trees is growing steadily closer, warm and flickering. It’s unsteady underfoot, but you doggedly push ahead, the glow being the only thing lighting up the landscape. The sky is a deep black, slightly murky with cloud, and you very nearly crash into a few trunks on your way, but after a little over ten minutes, you break into a grassy clearing and sigh in relief.

In front of you lies a modest house, barely more than a cottage, attached to civilisation by a gravel road that pulls away at a 90-degree angle from where you came from, running adjacent to the side of the hill. At its foot, a little wooden sign with white paint reads, ‘HOLLY LODGE, visitors welcome.’ It seems that you’ve entered through the backyard - if that’s what you could even call it. The side of the house is covered in an expansive trellis, lined with vibrant pink azaleas. They’re lit up from below by a tiny campfire, casting a tall shadow on them of a person sitting-

Your eyes fly wide and a stranged sound comes out of your throat. There’s a man crouched over the fire, frozen, a wooden skewer still hovering over the flames that lick at it. He’s wrapped a tartan blanket around himself, bunched up under his chin, and the light of the flames cast an orange glow over his clear skin and brown hair, which hangs low over his brow in soft curls.

You blink. He doesn’t move. “Your meat’s burning,” you point out.

That shocks him back into action, and he whips it back out of the fire, but the damage is done. The entire underside of what looks like lamb is completely charred. “Fuck,” he growls bitterly, “thanks a lot.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. Perhaps the lady on the phone was right, and this place really wasn’t ideal. “Excuse me, I just… Do you have any rooms available?”

His mouth dangles open, lips just plump enough for it to be a pout, and you wait as his catlike eyes look over you, glancing back through the trees where you came. “...you want to stay?” he asks finally, the sour edge gone from his voice.

You point at the sign out front awkwardly. “This is a bed-and-breakfast, right?”

He stares for a few moments more, then jumps up off the ground suddenly, letting go of the blanket. It tumbles to the grass around him, revealing a matching set of white-and-grey striped pyjamas. He bounds over to you, hopping barefoot in the grass, and comes to a stop in front of you, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why didn’t you go to any of the other motels? You- you came from the fields instead of from the road.”

You bite your lip nervously. If he turns you away, you’re fucked. The moon is high in the sky, a waxy blot lighting up a patch of clouds, and you know that sky will be your roof tonight if he doesn’t let you in. “Yeah, I missed my bus back home and since it’s spring, there’s no space. Do you have a room?”

He twitches his nose and lifts a hand up, fiddling with his ear. “The power went out,” he admits, “so you can’t have a hot shower or anything.”

Your chest inflates with hope. “That’s okay,” you reassure quickly, waving your hands at him, “I just want a bed for the night, I’ll pay anything.”

He scrunches up his face at this. “I can’t charge you; it’s past midnight. You’re barely getting a proper night, and like I said, the facilities aren’t really working. Come on, let me show you to your room.”

He leaves the tiny bonfire burning away on its bed of rocks, and grabs a flashlight that was lying on the grass beside his blanket, before scurrying around to the front of the house, gesturing with a blanket-covered paw for you to follow.

You do with a quirk of your lips. This man, who couldn’t be older than his mid-twenties, was stomping about like he was grumpy, yet he looked sweeter than anyone you had met so far. Was this really the same Min that the lady had spoken so lowly of on the phone?

You can’t see much detail inside when the two of you enter. He guides the torch straight down a hallway, not bothering to show you the bathroom or kitchen or anything except a small bedroom with a single bed and a bedside table.

“Here it is,” he states awkwardly, pressing his lips flat into a half-smile. “It’s not much, I’m sorry. If you get into pyjamas, I could handwash your clothes for you.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Oh, wow, you don’t have to do that! Besides, I don’t have any other clothes with me. I’ll just have to sleep in this.”

His eyes go round with concern. “That won’t be very comfortable.” He scratches behind his ear. “You could, uh, I mean, I could give you some comfier clothes to wear?” You can’t bring yourself to say anything, only staring at him dumbfounded. The man loses his composure and laughs awkwardly, shaking his head and staring at the floor. “Sorry, that’s crossing the line, I shouldn’t-”

“I would really appreciate that,” you cut in, “sorry, I just… That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”

A shy smile tugs at his lips, and if the torch was facing him more, perhaps you could recognise his cheeks pinkening slightly. “Oh, I-” he falters and laughs breathily again, gathering himself. “No, I’m not- I-” he tamps down his grin by biting down on his bottom lip, fixing you with a flustered look of gratitude. “I’ll go grab something now. Just wait here. You can have the torch.”

He disappears into shadows, then returns immediately, passing over the blanket. “And this. Just a minute.”

And then Min is gone again. You listen in bemusement at the pitter-patter of his bare feet on the wooden floorboards, fading into nothingness, a few thuds of drawers opening and closing, and then him returning with a bundle of clothes. You school your expression when he gently reaches out to hand over the clothes.

“It’s just a t-shirt and some basketball shorts,” he apologises, “but they’re clean and they’re comfy. I assume you’ll be needing the torch when you get changed? I can shut the door behind you.”

You give him your most grateful smile. “If it’s not too much bother. Thank you so much.” Once he makes it to the door, he begins to swing it shut, but a thought strikes you. “Wait!” He pauses, head sticking out in the crack, the wooden door pushing his cheeks out. You force yourself not to smile at the cute image he provides, but instead clear your throat. “Oh, uh, what’s your name? Min, right?”

His eyebrows lift below his curls in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“Oh, I called a lady on the phone when I was looking for a place to stay; the Boseong’s Best Motel? She said you were in the area.”

His gaze lowers to the floor, and his voice flattens. “Mrs. Na? What else did she say?”

You sense it’s a sore topic. “Just that… that you might have a free room.”

He smiles sadly, like he knows that’s not all, but nods. “Well, Min is my surname.” His face disappears further into the shadows. “My name’s Yoongi.”

--

You sleep well that night.

Better than you have in years, in fact, and with heavy curtains drawn across the one window in the room, the break of dawn doesn’t rouse you like it normally would. Instead, you drift in and out of consciousness all morning, happy to kick off the blankets as it warms up and stretch out.

It’s not until you hear a loud clatter that you’re snapped out of it, and you jump up, eyes flying open and wandering around the room.

The pyjama-clad man from last night, Yoongi, is hunched over the bedside table just beside you, eyes and mouth wide open as he watches you wake up and stretch. You raise your arms high over your head and let out a groan as your muscles ease.

“Goo’morning,” you murmur, hands dropping by your sides again. It’s not until he stays silent, swallowing hard, that you look down at yourself and swear, grasping at the sheets.

The basketball shorts he gave you were so old that the elastic was spent, and they wouldn’t stay on, so you had opted for the simple option of your underwear from earlier, and the baggy off-white t-shirt he gave you. However, that meant that your legs were fully exposed, and two points peaked the fabric on your chest.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, and ducks his head to pick up the cutlery he dropped on the floor. You clutch at the heavy cotton sheets, tucking them under your chin, and wait as he delicately places the cutlery on a fabric napkin that sits beside a plate of steaming eggs on toast, sunny side up, and a small mug of what smells like black tea. “I can get you a new set of cutlery if you want.”

“It’s okay.” You try and send him a grateful smile, but his gaze is fixed on the floor, cheeks bright red.

“I didn’t mean to look,” he confesses in a voice so hushed you almost miss it.

“It’s okay,” you repeat. “Thank you for bringing me breakfast.”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing much. I, uh, I’ll be outside if you need me.” When he leaves, it’s like he’s in a rush, shuffling his feet on the floorboards, knocking his leg on the foot of the bed and his shoulder on the doorjamb in his haste to leave.

After he stumbles out, your stomach growls, and you take that as a sign to enjoy the breakfast he’s so generously prepared you. After quickly opening the curtains and the window, you return to your bed. The eggs are perfectly salted, with a sprinkle of paprika, and you place the plate on your lap, munching away slowly as you look out the window.

The sun’s streaming in, and with the added light you can make out the details on the plate as you clear it. The edges aren’t perfectly round, and by the way the egg yolk pools in one corner, it’s not level either. On the brim, faded teal lettering spells out H O L L Y  L O G D E, with a little cartoon drawing of what looked like a dog’s face. You finish your final mouthful and replace the place with the cup of tea, noting the uneven thickness of the handle and the same careful painting on the side. Did he make these himself? With the state of the property, and it’s apparent lack of success, you can’t imagine he had the means for official branding.

You blow onto the surface of the liquid gently, and take a tentative sip. It’s the perfect temperature to warm you up inside, and while you’re not usually a fan of tea, this one seems to have a unique taste; not quite black tea, not quite green tea, with a sweet tang to it. It’s delicious, and it’s gone quicker than you would’ve liked.

When you emerge into the back garden, still wearing his shirt, but with your jeans back on, you spot him squatting over a brown planter box against the exterior wall. The trellis of climbing azaleas provides a gorgeous backdrop; the vibrant shades of pink petal and green leaf bask in the sun’s warm rays.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, and you take the time to quietly hover just behind the corner, out of sight. With golden heat on your face, lush grass under your feet and birds singing in the trees, you could almost convince yourself you’re in paradise. Min Yoongi, the one person in town who would give you a place to stay, certainly fits within that ideal. You had assumed he’d be in a baggy t-shirt and shorts, if the clothes he gave you were anything to go by, but you’re pleasantly surprised to see him in a thin pastel purple sweater, poking out from a worn pair of overalls.

In the silence of the morning, you can hear what sounds like muttering, and you strain to listen in to his pouty voice as he squats over the planter box, brown curls ruffling slightly in the breeze.

“...probably thinks you’re rude,” you think you hear him say, “or a pervert. The one customer since opening and you scare her away. Silly Min Yoongi. What if she shuts us do-”

You duck back and cough noisily, before rounding the corner, pretending like you weren’t just eavesdropping. “Good morning,” you say to him again brightly, and the young man does a double-take at your attire. You probably should’ve put on a bra underneath the shirt.

“Good morning,” he responds reflexively, “are you, uh, heading off now? Did you enjoy breakfast?” His voice trails off cutely at the end, like he’s unsure he should even ask.

“It was great, you’re so generous. I’m curious, though, what’s the brand of that tea? It’s really good.”

Yoongi’s eyes go wide, his pink lips rounding into a surprised ‘o’. He swallows, and stands up, brushing some stray soil off on the front of his overalls. “You liked the tea?”

You nod hesitatingly. “Uh- yeah. I couldn’t recognise the flavour, though. Is it green tea?”

“Oolong,” he clarifies, mouth quirking in a disbelieving smile. “You really liked it?” You nod again, and his eyes sparkle, a shy smile lifting to reveal his gums. “I made it myself,” he reveals, “here! I’ll show you my tea plants!” The sudden burst of joy dissolves away, and he deflates. “Oh, but you probably need to head off, huh?”

A strange yearning stirs inside you. The feeling that you’d do anything to keep that smile on his face a little longer. “There are actually no busses on a Sunday, so I’m stuck here for another night anyway.” You immediately regret your word choice. He flinches when you say ‘stuck here’ and loses your gaze, frowning at the grass.

Before you can revoke your statement, he’s shrugging gloomily. “I, uh, I know this place isn’t as well run as the others. I’m really sorry, you know, about the electricity. I used the hot coals from the fire last night to make your breakfast, I hope it was warm enough. Like I said yesterday, it’s not fair to charge you for subpar service, so...”

“No, no! That’s not what I meant at all, honestly! It was just a bad choice of words.” He’s not convinced, kicking his foot against the ground and tugging at his earlobe uncertainly. “The whole missing-the-bus thing was a real nightmare, and I’m just glad I found you and Holly Lodge, because it’s been the only thing keeping me from going nuts.”

“Huh?”

Your heart breaks at his sullen face, the way his cheeks puff up slightly when he presses his lips together in a pout. “Really, Yoongi. I’m so grateful to you for even letting me stay here, let alone being as kind as you are. I’m happy to pay for the room, fuck, I’ll pay double. And if you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate being able to stay another night.”

His gaze searches yours, and eventually a soft smile pulls across his lips. “Thank you…” His eyes fly wide open. “I’m so sorry, I never got your name! Oh wow, that’s poor of me, I’m sorry, I-”

“Yoongi,” you interrupt gently. “It’s fine. My name’s Y/n. It’s my fault, I should’ve introduced myself, but I was pretty tired.”

He scratches behind his ear again. “Well, then. I think it makes us about even. Truce?”

You laugh softly. “Truce. And if you’re not too busy, I think I’d like to check out that tea plant of yours.”

He smothers a proud grin, opting for a simple nod, before he’s making his way around the back of the house, where there’s a bit of humid shade. “My grandma was the best at making tea,” he explains, “she knew all about harvesting times and growing conditions, and her secret trick was to add strawberries.”

“So that was that sweet aftertaste.”

He nods eagerly. “Exactly.” The soil here is damp under your bare feet, slightly springy, but Yoongi pays it no mind, waving a hand towards a large hedge that lines the back of his garden. You pause in your tracks. The edges of the leaves are browning, curling up in a way you’re certain isn’t healthy. “This is it?” You hope your voice doesn’t sound disappointed, but you are a little confused.

He pouts. “I know. It’s not very impressive, is it?” He gnaws at his bottom lip for a few moments, running his hand over the dry leaves. “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. It’s never been like this before, but after my… Now that I’m here by myself, it’s just been getting worse and worse.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “But the tea I had this morning-”

“-was the last cup of my grandma’s final batch, the one we made together. None of the tea I’ve tried to make is any good. I try cutting off the dead parts, but it still tastes funny.”

All this talk of ‘last’ and ‘final’ makes you worry about the wellbeing of his grandmother, but you don’t dare ask, having upset him enough this morning already. “It just looks like it’s not getting enough nutrients. You might need to buy something to improve the soil quality.”

He blinks at you. “You know how to grow tea?”

“No idea,” you admit, “but I do know how to grow a lot of other plants, and I’m sure I could learn.” An idea strikes you, and you flash him a smile. “How about this? In lieu of paying you for the room tonight, I can help you get the tea back to health again. With how good that cup was, it’s practically a public service.”

A tentative smile plays at his lips, but he’s still confused. “What do you mean? Surely you can’t save it by tomorrow?”

Now it’s your turn to fidget nervously, clutching your hands together. “I, uh, I don’t really have anything waiting for me back home. I was planning on staying in Busan or Seoul for a while, but I think maybe I’d… maybe I’d rather stay here. Only if you don’t mind! And of course, I’ll pay for the room-”

A hopeful grin breaks out across his face, unabashed. “No charge! If you really think you could bring back the tea plants, that more than covers the room fee.” At your stupefied look, he clarifies, “this was my grandma’s pride and joy. It really means a lot to me. More than money. Thank you, Y/n.”

—

You discover many things about Min Yoongi on that first day.

That he has a dog, for instance, which he needs to pick up from the vet later that morning.

You also discover that Min Yoongi does not own a car.

“How much longer?” you venture, hoping your tone isn’t too whiny.

“Not long.”

You pout at his back, watching the dogged way he walks the uneven gravel path, slowly descending as it twists through the trees, around the back of the fields and towards the Main Street. “You said that last time.”

He turns his head back quickly, a cheeky grin on his face, and you try to ignore the way your chest leaps at it. “You were the one that wanted to come.”

“I wanna check out the town. If you want to save that tea plant, you’re gonna need some decent fertilizer. Is there a garden center here?”

With his legs slightly bent in those baggy overalls, and his arms swinging by his side with every step, he radiates enthusiasm, but your question causes him to pause. “I...assume so?”

You skip a little to catch up to him. “I mean, we could always just ask one of the other residents. Someone’s bound to know.”

His smile falters. “We could.”

You bite your lip, regretting the weird change in tone. In an attempt to bring his cheery disposition back, you bump his shoulder lightly with his. “So, you have a dog, huh? Your place isn’t exactly fenced. She must be well trained.”

“He,” Yoongi hastily corrects, though the corners of his mouth lift. “Holly’s an old boy, he’s not the type to wander away. He doesn’t even need a leash to take him back home, he’ll just walk along beside me.”

“What’s he at the vet for? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The gravel merges with smooth paver stones as you emerge onto the Main Street. You spot a sign with a cat and a dog silhouette. Yoongi straightens up and begins rushing along faster. “Check-up,” he explains absentmindedly. “He was my grandma’s dog, so you can imagine he’s got some years on him. Prevention is the best medicine and all that.”

The door to the veterinarian jingles overhead, and the young man at the counter glances up from the small grey kitten in his arms with a heart-shaped beam. “Oh! Hi, Yoonie-hyung! Here for Holly?”

Yoongi’s cheeks puff up at the nickname. “He’s all good to go? No issues?”

You eye up the little name badge pinned to his polo shirt. Hoseok. “Same old. The doctor will send the tests off like usual. Just a sec; I’ll go get him from out back.” The boy carefully sets down the kitten into a small plastic kennel on the desk with four others. You can’t help but smile as you watch the baby animals squeak and snuggle up to each other. After washing his hands with some hand sanitizer, the receptionist gets out from behind the desk and disappears through a side door.

You wait for a moment, then decide to fill the silence. “When did you open Holly Lo-”

You’re cut off by the gentle tinkling of the bell above the door. Yoongi glances back quickly, and his whole demeanor changes, shoulders hunching and head ducking down. You frown, and turn around to see an unfamiliar lady approaching.

She’s old enough to be a grandparent, flabby skin on a skinny arm trembling as she carries a cat kennel with a yowling tabby inside. “Oh, Hoseok!” she calls out in a ringing tone, glancing past the two of you. “Chestnut needs his check-up, where are you? Is the doctor free?”

You would raise your brows at her impatience when there are clearly other people in line, but instead you’re just concerned at Yoongi’s reaction. His elbows are up on the higher ledge of the desk, and he’s practically hiding his face behind his forearms.

Subtly, you step out a little bit from the desk, concealing him. Unfortunately, the lady notices the movement and fixes her sour stare on you.

“You aren’t from here,” she states. “And no houses have been sold, so you’re obviously not moving in. What’s a tourist doing in a vet?”

“Um.” You give her a confused stare, a little taken aback by how forward she is. “Pet check-up,” you finish lamely.

Hoping she would leave you alone from there is clearly naive. “Day trip? If you’re staying overnight, I can recommend a good place to park up. I own a hotel and it’s the best wa-”

“I’m good,” you interrupt, “I’ve got a place to stay. But it’s very kind of you to offer.”

She narrows her eyebrows, drawn-on and smudging slightly into her wan foundation. “Wait a minute. Something’s fishy. You were the one calling at an ungodly hour in the evening looking for accommodation, weren’t you?”

You glance at the door that the receptionist disappeared behind, willing him to return. “Yeah.”

“Mrs. Na told me she said you could-” She freezes and stands up straight. Her eyes slide behind you suspiciously. “Min.”

Though you don’t turn around - some instinct in you thinks you shouldn’t turn your back on her - you can imagine what the B&B owner must look like. His voice is so small. “Hi, Mrs. Soh.”

“Finally got a customer, huh?” The room feels to shrink with every word that drips with the seasoned condescension only an elderly person can give.

Yoongi shuffles forward a little on the plastic linoleum floor. “That’s right, Mrs. Soh. Next time you speak to Mrs. Na, please thank her for sending Y/n my way.”

The lady openly rolls her eyes at this, and you have to bite hard on the tip of your tongue to stop from lunging at her. “Mrs. Na wasn’t giving you a hand-out, boy. We aren’t about to help the business that took everything from us.”

Your eyes wide, you stare at the poster on canines and felines pinned to the far wall. “Should we ring the bell? I don’t know what’s taking so long.”

You regret bringing the attention back on you as Mrs. Soh scans your face with an entitled curl of her lip. “And you. I’m surprised you’re actually choosing to stay with Min. His place is a pigsty, isn’t it? Maybe you feel bad for him, girl, but let me tell you: the only good thing about that bed-and-breakfast is how it’s a perfect example of karma. His grandmother monopolises and terrorises the tea markets while she’s alive, and now that she’s kicked it her spawn can’t do anything right.”

You forget all about respecting elders and let out a shocked scoff. “What the fuck is your problem?”

As she splutters, Yoongi’s hand wraps lightly around your elbow, tugging you backwards, but you only spare a quick glance at his sullen face before turning back to the woman across from you.

“First of all, you’re delusional if you think I’m going to stay with any of you after the way I see you treat others. Secondly, how dare you insult someone like that, let alone a dead person? You must be the meanest person in this fucking town. At least, I hope so, because I certainly don’t want to meet anyone nastier than you.”

Like magic, the very moment she opens her mouth, the door bursts open, and out comes Hoseok, a curly tan dog at his feet.

“Holly!” Yoongi cheers with more than a hint of relief, and the dog darts forward, claws scrabbling on the floor as he spins in excited circles. After reuniting with his pet, Yoongi busies himself with the payment, while you try determinately to avoid Mrs. Soh’s gaze. You wouldn’t be surprised if by nightfall everyone in town knew you as the bitchy tourist, but you didn’t even care, too occupied with steaming in your own rage.

The moment Yoongi takes a receipt from Hoseok’s hands, you wrap yours around his and tug him away from the desk, huffing at the cheery jingle of the door that accompanies you upon leaving.

“Woah, Y/n, slow down, Holly can’t run!”

You force yourself to take a steadying breath and return to a normal pace, the older dog happily trotting along on Yoongi’s other side.

He lets the two of you walk in silence for a while, until the sounds of the Main Street fade away, and all that you can hear is the crunch of gravel underfoot, paired with the metallic tinkling of Holly’s collar. You’re still holding onto Yoongi’s hand, but you swear you feel him squeeze slightly every time you loosen to let go, so you let them swing between you.

The ambient noises calm you down enough to feel like talking again. “I didn’t mean to snap,” you apologise. “But I haven’t felt that angry in a long time. What’s her deal?”

Another squeeze, or is that his fingers trembling slightly. “Ah, you get used to it,” he jokes with a smile, though it fades when you throw him a sad look. “No, seriously, I try not to let it bother me anymore. I just… don’t go into town much anymore.”

You nod slowly, watching your feet to make sure you don’t trip over the odd protruding rock or root. You don’t know if it’s wise to broach the topic, but it keeps seeming to come up. “...Your grandma’s tea was really popular, huh?”

He laughs lightly. When you flick him a confused look, he shrugs, jerking your hand with it. “I was wondering how long it would take you. The elephant in the room and all. My grandma lived here, at Holly Lodge, though it was just a house until I inherited it. She made tea, her own strain. It got popular among the locals and, soon enough, tourists were catching on too. They stopped going to the markets. Most of the ladies that own accommodation branch out into selling food and produce. Tea is a popular option, as you could probably guess. They lost their business to her.”

“That’s just life. And besides, that’s a problem they have with her. Why are they being so rude to you? You don’t even sell tea anymore.”

“Because they can? I don’t know. Listen, I’ve explained it, if you want to leave and avoid all this drama that’s fine but I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He drops your hand, and a strange but unpleasant feeling cuts into you.

The slight incline back isn’t so bad, but his breathing is shallow and his gaze is trained on the ground. Your lips droop down in guilt. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, I probably made the situation worse for you by yelling at her. I shouldn’t have done it.”

He’s silent for a moment. The air darkens slightly, a wash of cloud moving over the sun. “Please don’t say that.” His fingers stretch out towards your hand, then fall back.

You don’t speak the rest of the way back.

--

You try not to stare. You try your best to occupy yourself with the dog at your feet, who gently paws at your hand if you halt your stroking of his thick curls. But as you sit on the floor and listen to the satisfied grunts of Holly, lying on his back in the sun, you can’t help but glance up every few seconds to the man in the kitchen.

It’s strangely domestic, the way he potters around the room, fully focussed on his task. Every measurement of flour, sugar, butter, is perfectly precise and done with care. It’s warm in the kitchen - he told you earlier it’s so the dough will rise when he rests it - and in the sun his skin seems to glow. He’s humming to himself as he kneads; a song you’ve never heard before but one you hope to hear many times again. Although he tied his hair up in a little bean sprout on the top of his head, a few stray wisps have broken free, and his pout deepens every time he has to blow them out of his eyes. The little white apron hooked around his neck and fastened at his slender waist is dusty with stray powder and smeared with runaway globs of dough.

You don’t want to break his concentration, but you feel strange sitting and silently watching him. “Jack of all trades, huh?”

He jumps and turns quickly to you, knocking over a thick paper bag of flour with his elbow, sending white grains flying into the air. His eyes fly wide open and he futilely cups his hands over where the flour is spilling out of the bag, which lays on its side on the bench. With hands full, he pushes it back up to standing, but everything in his hands is dumped onto the benchtop, including the perfectly kneaded round of dough. His shoulders droop.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” you hastily apologise the moment your voice returns to you. Ignoring the dog that whines and paws at you, you stand up and rush over to him, grabbing a tea towel on a hook and dousing it in tap water to begin cleaning up. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, I’m sorry.”

“It- It’s okay,” he assures haltingly, still awkwardly waving his white-covered hands in the air like he’s not sure what to do with them. You move quickly, cleaning up the majority of the spill for him, the towel coated in a flour-water goop by the time you’re done. When you straighten up, the man in front of you crinkles his nose, like it’s itchy, and sighs, though at his situation rather than you. He wiggles his white-covered fingers. “Thank you,” he says, “trying to grab the flour probably wasn’t the best…”

He trails off as you grab his wrists gently, leading him to the sink where you turn on the tap and run his hands under the steady stream. He waits, obediently turns his palms up for you to squirt a pump of hand soap onto them, and lathers up as you return to the other side of the bench to clean up the rest of the spilt flour.

You hear the water stop, and moments later he’s at your side, picking up the puffy ball of dough with a care that most people would reserve for a small child. Cradling it to his chest so as not to drop it, he uses one hand to delicately brush away the pile of flour on the surface. “It’s alright,” he mumbles softly, and you’re unsure whether he’s speaking to you or the dough, “it’ll be fine. Maybe a little dry, but still good.”

You fold over the top of the bag of flour and let your hands sit heavy on it, still clutching at the paper. “Yoongi.” He swallows hard and looks up when you say his name, absentmindedly patting the dough. “You’re a really kind person, you know that?”

He blinks, setting the dough on a clear patch of the wetly glistening bench. “What do you mean? I’m doing what any host would do. Welcoming my guest.”

You bite your lip, unsatisfied with the response. “Clearly not any host would be kind. I know that after this morning. Besides; it’s more than that. You made me eggs this morning on hot coals-”

“This is a bed-and-breakfast,” he replies weakly, “and that’s just because the power’s out. I’m not sure when it’ll be fixed actually, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. I…” You sigh, scanning his face. He really doesn’t get it, you realise. How special he is. “I’m so happy to be here, Yoongi. I’ve never met someone as kind as you. And I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. It’s clear this means a lot to you.”

He ducks his head, moving past you to open a drawer, fiddling around tubes of parchment paper and foil to pull out some plastic wrap. “Thank you, but it’s really nothing. I’m just happy for the company.”

As you lean against the bench and watch him gingerly knead the dough into a rough log shape, before rolling it up in the plastic wrap, you realise just how true that must be. A thought strikes you, shatters that solemn line of thought. “Wait… If the power’s out, how are you gonna bake the bread?”

“Oh!” He glances up, seemingly relieved at the change in topic. “Well, I thought I’d make some and save it until I can get the repair guy out here. I have an icebox around the back of the house that I’m using as a temporary freezer. Then, when we get power again…” He lifts up the dough with an odd quirk to his lips, like he’s cracking a secret joke only the two of you know. “Celebratory bread.”

Uncontrollably, a beam breaks across your face. “Sure, Min Yoongi. Celebratory bread.”

--

The two of you share a bonfire that night. You suspect it’s the first time, at least for a while, that he’s had company. Human company, at least.

“Come on, boy, not too close,” he warns Holly, whose nose continues to dip out towards the flames even as his owner gently pats his rump. The light casts Yoongi’s face in a deep orange warmth; you didn’t pick up on it last night, but his eyes practically glitter with the reflection of it. His hair is no longer up in a hair tie so the thick mop of curls - only somewhat looser than Holly’s, though a rich brown instead of the caramel of the dog - hang low on his brow, lopsided and dishevelled from changing into pyjamas.

The two of you had stuck to yourselves, for the most part, that afternoon. You’d taken advantage of an old bicycle he had dug out of his tool shed to go back down to the main town, spending hours at a cafe, shamelessly torrenting their wifi to research more about tea plants and how to grow (or, more importantly, revive) them. After the waitresses got a little too antsy with your continued presence, and once you felt confident in your task, you got directions to a hardware store and bought some decent soil. An employee there - a respectable albeit slightly clumsy young man who seemed like the epitome of customer service - offered to deliver the heavy plastic sacks for you, and so you returned home satisfied with a day well-spent.

It was another rustic barbecue for dinner. After disappearing into his room to change into a matching pair of baby pink cotton pyjamas, the bed-and-breakfast owner quickly set up a fire on the bed of blackened rocks and charcoal in his backyard. With a practised ease he raised the flame into a blaze, and every time he leant forward to cook some more meat, you watched with a strange fixation as beads of sweat collected at his temples, sticking down strands of hair and warming his cheeks to a rosy glow.

“Do they fit a bit better?”

His sudden question reaches your ears with a delay, and by the time your eyes focus again, he’s watching you curiously. “Fit a bit…? Oh! The clothes. Yes, thank you so much.”

With the clothes you came in currently drying on a rack in your spare room, Yoongi had lent you another raggedy shirt and a pair of plain blue boxer shorts. With how little fabric there was, you suspected they were underwear rather than proper pants, but as long as they stayed up you were happy.

His eyes dart to the side and his lip quirks. “I feel a little overdressed,” he admits, “giving you old clothes while I have proper pyjamas.”

“No, you look cute,” you protest automatically, before sputtering in embarrassment. “I- I meant, it’s fine, I don’t mind you wearing…” You trail off, coughing awkwardly.

With his cheeks so red from the fire, the only way you can tell he’s flustered is the flash of his gums as he smiles, ducking his head. “Ah,” he deflects softly, “you’re just messing with me, I’m not cute.” He doesn’t make eye contact with you for a moment, quietly cutting off strips of beef onto two plates. When he speaks again, you almost miss it over the crackle of flame, and you get the feeling he never intends for you to hear. “Not as cute as you,” he murmurs, and your heart short circuits.

In an effort to pretend like you didn’t overhear, you reach for one of the plates, scooting closer on the grass in order to reach it. The two of you eat in comfortable silence, enjoying the warming effect of the beef settling in your stomachs. He clearly has more of an appetite than you, and keeps munching away long after you’ve pushed your plate away. The grass is warm and dry from the heat of the fire, and so you lie back on it, letting your gaze reach the heavens.

“It’s so peaceful out here,” you muse, “at first I thought it was silly to have accommodation so far from the rest of the town, but I get it now. I don’t ever want to leave.” You attempt to lilt your voice, as if it’s a joke, but it falls flat. You don’t think you’ve ever been so genuine about something in a long time, and that scares you. You’ve only been here a day.

You hear wet noises, and lift your head off the grass to look over at your companion, who’s hurriedly chewing on an over-full mouthful of meat, blowing out his cheeks. You grin at the sight, propping yourself up on your elbows as you wait, and he does his best to flick you a chastising glare as he finally swallows. “Well,” he makes out with an empty mouth, “you know Holly Lodge is always happy to have you as long as you wish to stay. If you really do want to stay.”

Having said his piece, he promptly fills his mouth again with a thick slab that probably should’ve been cut in half first. You grin at the way his eyes widen unconsciously as he chows down, reflecting the hypnotic orange flicker in front of him. “Yeah,” you say gently, “I really do.”

--

It’s odd how days become weeks without you noticing. The days get so hot and humid that an evening fire, which had begun to feel routine, is no longer possible. After tilling the soil around the tea plant and doing some serious work on it, the leaves fatten up and return to their former glory. Yoongi’s face softens every time he walks past you working in the garden. You don’t know which thing he’s more happy to see between you and the thriving shrubbery.

Time passes as if in a dream, the bed-and-breakfast feeling like a slice of paradise separate from reality. The electrician comes, an eager yet very methodical apprentice by his side, and with the return of the electricity comes the celebratory bread, enjoyed with a strawberry jam of Yoongi’s own making. You spend your days in the garden and your evenings with Yoongi, sharing solace in each other’s company as you watch old movies or play convoluted card games. For someone that’s normally always on the go, you feel yourself settling in to this world.

Yoongi’s curls slacken as his hair grows, becoming shaggy over time, and one late Friday night he sets up a wooden stool in the bathroom and asks you to trim it. One lopsided cut later, things like these become normal for the two of you. He acclimatizes quickly to your presence, and you feel yourself changing too, melding your lifestyle into his. Even though you purchase some well-fitting shorts (as well as more underwear and feminine supplies), on the third day a pile of shirts was left on your bed and you’d been wearing them ever since. Eventually they begin to feel less like his shirts you’re just borrowing and more like your own, and you’re not sure how to feel about the niggling bud of disappointment in your chest when each one of them comes back from the wash smelling like your perfume instead of the sweetly floral scent you had begun to associate with him.

The domesticity of your situation doesn’t hit you until a Wednesday afternoon, when the sun melts the air around you into a wobbly haze, and you finally make it back home from a trip into town to grab some emergency groceries. Yoongi got weekly deliveries for the most part, but he had tried (and failed) to make some homemade ice cream the day before and the two of you were in urgent need of some milk. With a relatively mild morning, you felt safe to go on foot rather than bike, but the heat set in quickly and your feet are burning by the time you slam open the front door and step into the cool of the house.

“Yoongi,” you call out automatically, “I’m home.” The word slips out so naturally, that you think it can’t have been the first time you’d referred to the small cottage as home.

A happy gasp echoes down the hallway. “Y/n,” Yoongi cheers from a distance, “we have butterflies and bees out here, come see!”

A contented smile spreads across your face at the sound of his voice, and you slip your shoes and socks off, going through the lounge and out the back door of the house. Your heart billows in your chest every time you see him, but the delighted beam on his face makes you feel lighter than air.

Too hot for even the lightest of sweaters, Yoongi has taken to various short-sleeved shirts and button-downs. Today he’s in cream fabric shorts and a peachy satin shirt, feet bare like yours as he stares up the side of the exterior wall in wonder. Though you hate to look away from him, the way the sun casts his normally dark curls into a bronze halo, you make your way out into the garden, grass cushioning your sore feet as you turn to see what’s brought out this wonder in him.

Amongst a background of vibrant pink azaleas, you can spot fluttering movement where several monarch butterflies bask in the warm rays. Throughout the garden, honeybees aimlessly zip around, a gentle buzzing in your ears. “They’re beautiful,” you muse, “I guess the hot weather brought them out.”

The man across from you stays silent. You ponder the wildlife one more time before returning your gaze to him. Gone is the awe-filled gleam in his eyes. They’re turned down at the edges now, staring lower than your face. “You’re sunburnt,” he remarks with a frown, before raising his eyebrows in a more urgent expression of worry. “Quick; get inside!”

You apparently don’t move fast enough. The young man shoots forward, fingers slipping between yours and tugging you by the hand. You let him drag you inside, back into the slightly dim and blessedly cool house. “It’s okay, Yoongi,” you protest half-heartedly, but he doesn’t pay you any mind, squeezing tightly on your hand as he winds his way down the short hallway and into his bedroom.

Letting go of you to press at your shoulders and urge you to sit on the edge of his bed, Yoongi disappears back out into the hallway, only to return moments later with a bottle of green-ish clear gel. You eye it suspiciously, but he remains serious. “Aloe vera,” he explains, “it’ll help with the pain.”

“It doesn’t even hurt that bad,” you protest weakly, though even as you shrug, the drag of the fabric against the raw skin causes you to wince. Yoongi rushes forward, sitting on the bed beside you. You hiss when he gently pushes up the short sleeves of the baggy shirt, exposing the line where your usual skin tone becomes harshly reddened.

“This’ll help,” he repeats softly, and begins to rub the cool gel onto your skin. You sit in silence, watching him out of the corner of his eye as the bridge of his nose crinkles in concentration. “You should really be more careful,” he scolds, though there’s no bite to his tone. “Please don’t ever leave the house without sunscreen on days like this.”

“Okay, mom,” you joke gently, though he doesn’t laugh. “Really, Yoongi, it’s no big deal. You don’t have to make a fuss.”

His hands leave you. You look up after a moment, wondering why he’s gone so silent. His face is downtrodden, staring haplessly at the gel still smeared across his fingers. “I’m just trying to take care of you,” he mutters.

Your heart breaks at the hurt in his tone, but quickly a laugh jumps out. He glances up at you reproachfully, but you just grin and point to his head. “There’s a petal in your hair, at the back,” you explain, “it must’ve been there since you were outside.”

“Oh.” He begins patting down the back of his head, but somehow he misses the bright pink petal entirely.

You reach forward, and he goes stock still as you tentatively card a few fingers through his hair, lifting the azalea out of his messy curls. “Here,” you announce, handing it over to him, “you should keep it.” He curls his fingers around it, staring at it with an unreadable expression. “It could be good luck.”

When you leave his room, after thanking him for the aloe vera (refreshingly cool on your tender skin, you have to admit it helped), he stays on the bed, eyes glued to the petal in his palm. He doesn’t come back out until dinnertime.

--

The first day Min Yoongi gets real customers is a few weeks later, late on a Saturday morning. The two young men are a strange echo of you two months ago; turned away from every other hostel and motel in the town center, they find themselves at the doorstep of Holly Lodge, desperate for a place to stay.

However this time instead of lack of vacancy, the problem for them was a lack of tolerance. With hands firmly intertwined, they proudly announce they’re ‘pre-honeymooning’; a concept you had never heard before but it seems to be an excuse to take a vacation more than anything.

While the two of them fuss over the cuteness of the little cottage, Yoongi pulls you aside. “I can turn them away if you need,” he offers. “I only have one spare room and you’re using it.”

You furrow your brow in shock. “What? Yoongi, I’m not even paying for that room! You need to put your business before me. Besides, I could always sleep on the couch.”

He’s not happy with your answer, flicking a worried gaze over to the couple, who have made themselves at home on the old couch, heads ducked together as they whisper back and forth. “I mean… I suppose,” he gives in, tugging at his earlobe nervously. “But you don’t need to sleep on the couch. You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he seems antsy to get back to the visitors, so you let it drop. As Yoongi sits down in an armchair across from them, you slip into the kitchen to begin brewing some tea, the first from the revived tea plant.

“So, the two of you are happy to stay?” Yoongi questions shyly. As the three of them begin to discuss prices and facilities, you quietly observe them. You watch the couple, the way the younger, with hair dyed a vibrant blue, leans in to the side of the older, who wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds him close. The brunette, introduced to you earlier as Seokjin, mindlessly plays with the fringing on his fiance’s jacket, as the fiance, Taehyung, looks up at him with adoration in his eyes. It twists something deep inside you, to see them so...intimate, and soon enough you can’t bear to look at them, instead flicking your gaze over to Yoongi.

Yoongi. It is an odd feeling, seeing him return to his shy, easily-flustered self. In recent weeks he seemed to have grown comfortable with you, but this brings back memories of your first few days at Holly Lodge. As the kettle bubbles away, you watch Yoongi’s cheeks lift in a flattered smile as Seokjin points out a framed photograph on the wall, one Yoongi had mentioned some time ago he took. Back then, back when you stumbled in on his garden desperate for shelter, you were too hung up on your own misfortune to really notice him, but now it’s clear to you just how much this place means to him.

There’s a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye, Taehyung waving a hand towards the garden. Instead of following the gesture, Yoongi’s eyes dart over and are met by yours. His eyebrows lift when he catches you staring, but he looks back at the couple, mouthing something you can’t hear over the whistle of the kettle.

You clear your throat, shaking away the weird lingering emotion in your chest, and quickly pour four cups of tea. Upon your return, you notice there’s nowhere for you to sit. The young couple are taking up the couch, and Yoongi occupies the only armchair. You pass out the three cups and hover for a moment. Do you even need to be here? You’re technically just another guest, and this conversation doesn’t really involve you. But then again, the spare room isn’t your room anymore, and you’d feel weird going into Yoongi’s bedroom without him.

Yoongi, sensing your hesitance, pats the arm of the chair and squishes himself into the opposite corner. You suppress a grin; an easier solution would’ve just been sitting on the floor, but it’s too late to say no to him now. You perch awkwardly on the cushioned arm, having to lean into Yoongi’s shoulder slightly to keep your balance.

He takes a sip from the steaming mug, and gasps softly, glancing up at you. “Boseong Breakfast?” he questions in wonder, and you give him a short nod. “This tastes just like... “ The space between his brows crinkles slightly, but he forces himself to brighten his expression again, turning back to the men on the couch. “Y/n grew the tea herself in our garden outside. I hope you like it!”

Your eyes prickle, and you bite down hard on your tongue, staring into the murky depths of the tea in your hands. Our garden.

Taehyung’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of you curiously, pausing for a moment. “You guys make a cute couple,” he states finally.

Your eyes fly wide open, automatically turning to Yoongi, expecting him to speak up and explain, but it seems Yoongi was waiting for you to be the one protesting too. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. “Uh, we’re not a couple,” you remark, addressing Taehyung directly. Out of the corner of your eye, Yoongi nods in affirmation. “I’m actually just a guest, I’m just helping out around the garden while I’m here.”

Taehyung doesn’t reply, simply raising an eyebrow. Seokjin, still with an arm around his partner, swallows a sip of tea and drums his fingers against the homemade ceramic mug. “We’re looking to stay for a while; a few weeks, possibly a month. Would you be able to house us for that long? We understand if you’ve got prior bookings to fulfil.”

Yoongi leans in to you slightly, his elbow nudging your thigh. “I better check my calendar first,” he quips with a gummy grin. You let out a laugh at the joke, but the other two don’t join in, just staring at you and Yoongi in slight confusion like they’re trying to work something out.

You realise how it must look, you practically perching on Yoongi’s lap, and quickly stand up, taking a seat on the carpet in front of the coffee table instead. “Anyways,” you begin, “I usually do a load of washing every day, so if you want I’m happy to do it for you. Now that it’s ready, I have more tea than I know what to do with, so help yourself to that, too. If you need anything, just let Yoongi or me know.”

“Breakfast is at 9,” Yoongi helpfully supplies from the armchair. “I usually make lunch and dinner if you’re around. Thank you for choosing to stay at Holly Lodge. I hope you have an enjoyable time here.”

The two share a meaningful look, noses almost brushing at their proximity.  The elder breaks away to take another slow sip from his mug of tea. “I’m absolutely positive we will,” Seokjin replies with a beam.

--

It doesn’t feel right. His bed is comfortable, sure, but you’re all too aware of the man over the edge, curled up in blankets on the floor. “Are you sure you don’t wanna come up?” you offer unsurely. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

“It’s fine.” His voice comes to you slightly muted by distance. “Holly is keeping me company down here.”

You frown, unsatisfied. You roll over so that you’re facing him. “The sheets are super itchy, maybe I should’ve washed them first.”

He lets out a tired chuckle, resonating in his throat. “That’s just the sheets. They’re cheap.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur, “the sheets on the other bed seemed fine.”

He shuffles a bit, sitting up. “The other sheets are Egyptian cotton, that’s why.”

You raise your eyes. “Why are you suffering in these then?”

He’s silent for a moment, mouth flat. “Sheets are expensive.”

Your heart breaks for him. Spending all his money into the perfect guest experience, when he hadn’t even had any guests until you showed up. “I’ll buy you fancy sheets for your birthday, then.”

He scoffs softly, fisting his hands in Holly’s tan curls absentmindedly. “My birthday isn’t until next year. March.”

You shrug. “And?”

He fixes you with a baleful expression. “You’ll be long gone by then.”

In the dim lighting of the evening, you can barely make out a gleam in his eyes. A sudden exhaustion takes over you, and you can’t bear to look at his dejected form anymore. You close your eyes, making yourself as comfortable as you can under the covers. The pillowcase smells like him. “Will I?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Yoongi?” you ask into the night, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Mhm?”

“I don’t want you to sleep on the floor,” you admit. “Can you come up here?”

A pause. “With you?”

You can’t analyse his emotion with the careful way he speaks. You crack your eyes open again, staring down at him, at the way he hunches over uncertainly, cradling the sleeping dog in his lap. “I’ll stay on my side, I promise.”

His nose twitches. He tugs nervously at his earlobe. “You’re on my side,” he remarks. Your eyes widen and you begin to shuffle back. “No, no! You can stay. You can have that side.”

You scoot back over, continuing to face over the edge as he stands up, gently setting Holly down on the blankets, and comes around to hop in beside you. Though it’s summer, the cottage is always cool, and you shiver at the rush of air when he lifts the blankets. “Cold?” he questions in a murmur.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

“Here.” A weight falls over you, and you open your eyes to a dishevelled and tired Min Yoongi, folding the duvet in half so that it lays over you twofold. You go to protest, knowing he’ll be even colder than you now, but you can’t ruin the satisfied smile that plays at his lips as he pats it down, tucking the sides so that you’re snug.

Once he’s done, he disappears from your sight as he shuffles down under the bare sheets on the other side, humming happily. You let your eyes fall closed again, and breath in deeply. “Night, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

You snuggle your face further into the pillow. “Sweet dreams.”

--

“How did you two meet?” You glance up from the bed of herbs you’re tending to, squinting in the sun.

Taehyung, who’s taken to lounging in the sun outside as you work, sprawls his legs out on the warm grass. With his head tipped back to receive the rays, he sighs out happily. “Senior year,” he divulges, “we were both auditioning for Romeo in the school play, but Jin got the part instead of me. We were kinda rivals at that time, I guess. But one of my friends convinced me to audition for Juliet as revenge, and somehow I got in. We started spending more time together, and…” He shrugs. “The rest is history.”

“That’s cute.” A bird chirps in the trees, like it’s sounding out its agreement. You return to gently pressing seeds into the lush soil. “I wish I could have a meet-cute like that.”

He laughs, rich and warm. “Looks to me like you’re already in one.”

You avoid the temptation to look over to the cottage, where you know Yoongi is, inside making lunch with Seokjin (who turns out to be a brilliant cook). “No,” you deflect weakly. You can’t seem to find anything else to say, and so you clear the thought from your head entirely. “Anyway. When are you guys getting married?”

He huffs at the way you change the topic, but is only too happy to indulge. “Next year sometime. We’re in no rush. Love isn’t on a schedule, you know?”

You hate the way your mind slips to how you and Yoongi have been quietly enjoying each other’s company for the past two months or so. That’s not the same, you reason. Yoongi is just a kind person, that’s all. Anyone would grow fond of him. “I bet it’ll be a beautiful wedding,” you offer, “you two seem so in love. Besides, you’re both the hottest dudes I’ve seen in my life so I’m sure the wedding photos will be fantastic.”

He laughs boisterously, mouth widening and eyes crinkling, and it draws the attention of the two men in the kitchen, the taller of which gives a jaunty wave to his fiancé. Through the open window, you can see as Seokjin then turns around, makes a comment that causes Yoongi to flush, and claps him on the shoulder. Yoongi looks up towards the two of you, but his eyes narrow and he puts his back to you, returning to the food.

Your cheery disposition vanishes, and the air darkens as the sun dips below cloud. “I’m gonna head into town later, there’s a twilight market I want to check out. The two of you are welcome to come with.” 

Frowning at the sudden shade interrupting his tanning, Taehyung gets up, wiping the grass stands off his shorts. “Yeah, why not?”

—

“Honestly, you don’t have to, I don’t mind cooking!”

Yoongi’s protests go unheard. The engaged couple, who had earlier gone off on their own tangent at the street market, were determined to use some of the fresh produce they picked up to prepare a meal.

“Come on,” Seokjin pushes, “let us treat you! You’ve been so hospitable to us. Y/n said she worked in the garden as a thank you, so we can cook you a nice meal.”

The owner ducks his hand, delicately resting it in his hands, splayed fingers barely covering the happy grin. “You’re too sweet, really,” he gushes. “That would be really lovely.” Upon Seokjin’s insistence, the four of you had cracked open some soju, and it seemed the half-bottle Yoongi had consumed already was getting to him, cheeks shiny and pink. You can’t help but smile fondly at the sight of him getting all shy at the slightest display of kindness.

“What do you say, Y/n?” Taehyung questions. “Wanna come make him a meal?”

You pull your gaze away from Yoongi. “Huh? Oh, you’d be better off without me. I’m a terrible cook.”

Taehyung’s eyes glimmer in the glare of the low evening sun. “My Seokjinnie can teach you. Come on, it’s guests serving the host tonight.”

You agree reluctantly, and the two men grab one hand each, dragging you into the kitchen. You giggle at their enthusiasm, feeling a little past tipsy yourself. “What’s on the menu, head-chef?”

The brunette purses his lips in a wry smile and reaches into one of the bags, starting to empty out the various ingredients on the bench. “Don’t worry, young grasshopper, it’s very easy. We’ll make some fresh pasta sauce and have spaghetti bolognese.”

In the end, ‘very easy’ seems to be an overstatement. After finishing off another bottle of grapefruit soju you find yourself, clumsy with the warmth of the alcohol in your belly, furiously attempting to dice some onions on a chopping board.

As Taehyung manages the tomatoes reducing in a pan, Seokjin latches onto your flailing limbs, arms wrapping around you to gently clasp your wrists. “Careful, careful,” he chastises, “you’ll chop off a finger. Tuck your fingers under, and here, cut like this.”

You pout as he guides your hands, the knife cleanly slicing through the onion half you had previously been hacking at. “Okay, Mariah Carey. No, wait; what was that old lady chef’s name? Martha Stewart. Okay, Martha Stewart. Not everybody can be an incredible cook, you know?”

Taehyung chuckles under his breath at the other end of the kitchen. “We should not have given her alcohol,” he remarks to his fiance.

With a dawning realisation and a slightly running nose, you realise the cut onion is beginning to sting your eyes. You squeeze them shut, letting Seokjin continue to chop on behalf of your hands, but that only forces the tears out. “Ouch,” you whine hopelessly, leaning your weight back onto Seokjin’s broad chest.

“Oh-!” Seokjin stops chopping, simply holding your wrists in the air as the knife dangles pathetically from your dominant hand. “Tae-bear, can you come help?”

You let out another whine as Seokjin slowly walks backwards, you half-following half-stumbling back. Once there’s enough room between you and the bench, Taehyung slips in. “Oh, darling,” he coos, “that onion was being mean to you, hm? Open your eyes.”

You do so, but keep them in a pained squint. All you can see between a blurred layer of tears is his blue hair, and the patch of colour swirls in your vision. “So mean to me,” you repeat dumbly as warm hands gently wipe under your eyes, clearing away the tears that run down your cheeks.

“Goodness, she’s definitely had too much, how many bottles did you give her?”

You feel Seokjin’s chest rumble against your back as he replies. “Like, two? It’s not even strong stuff.”

You hum happily. “You’re strong stuff,” you say, though you don’t even know who you’re talking to. The sting is finally fading from your eyes, and once Taehyung gently pats the last of the tears away, you let out a tired sigh, going even more limp against Seokjin. “I’m not hungry anymore,” you complain, “don’t want bisghetti.”

Taehyung chuckles. “Okay, I think I’m gonna take you to your bedroom now, missy, you better have a lie-down.” The knife is pried from your fingers and strong arms lift you off of Seokjin, keeping you upright as you potter out of the kitchen with Taehyung.

Behind you, you hear Seokjin sigh. “Sorry, Yoongi,” he apologises, “we wouldn’t have given her so much if we knew she was a lightweight. She’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep. I can finish off the dinn-”

“Yoogi,” you cry, wriggling in Taehyung’s grasp. You hadn’t spoken to him since you started making dinner and that’s been far too long. Taehyung tries to shush you, but you twist around to face the dining table, where Yoongi sits. You go limp when you see him. Staring blankly into the middle distance, he has a strange look on his face, lips and brows frowning in disapproval or annoyance, but eyes soft with concern. Your nose tingles viciously and tears well in your eyes. “‘re you mad a’ me, Yogi bear?”

He looks up at you suddenly, face smoothing out as his eyes widen. “Of course I’m not, Y/n.” He trails off unconvingly at the end. “Just get some sleep, okay?”

You frown, somehow unsatisfied, but nod, letting your cumbersome feet carry you to his bedroom. He sleeps on the couch that night.

--

When you wake up, your memory is fuzzy but it’s clear by the way Yoongi treats you that you must’ve done something wrong.

You don’t understand it, but he seems cold to you, sulking. Over the space of a week, you spend so little time in his company that it feels like he must be actively avoiding you. To compensate the niggling sensation in your heart, you spend more time with the boys.

They cheer you up a lot, never questioning what’s got you so gloomy. Maybe they can already tell. But you waste away your days building up a modest garden in Yoongi’s backyard in the mornings when it’s cooler, and finding stuff to do with Taehyung and Seokjin in the afternoons.

Though you still share a room with Yoongi, the night after you got drunk he chose to sleep on the floor again, and you didn’t have the heart to ask him back up. You’ve been sleeping on his side for so long that his pillow no longer smells like him anymore. You don’t sleep well these days.

You find yourself waking naturally long before he does so that you can tiptoe out of his room and get ready alone. At night, you press your ear to the door and wait to hear his little snuffles and grunts of a deep sleep before you creep in. It seems odd to have any negative feelings towards him, but he just doesn’t seem the same as the man you had grown so used to sharing a house with.

Tonight, he woke up as you were sneaking inside his room, and so the two of you lie in dim silence, both all too aware of the other. Holly is curled up beside him, you can hear the gentle snoring, but Yoongi is completely quiet. You can’t even hear him breathe.

The total lack of sound in Yoongi’s room means that another noise is amplified. You wrinkle your brow at the odd, low pitched rumble, barely audible. You know it’s coming from outside the bedroom, though where exactly you couldn’t say.

Just as you’re about to pass it off as nothing, it sounds out again, louder this time. A moan.

Realisation dawns on you when you hear it again, drawn-out and dripping with pleasure. Taehyung and Seokjin are having sex in the next room over.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you whisper into the dark. “Have they no shame?”

It’s loud enough this time that you can hear the words themselves.

“Ah, Jinnie-hyung.” You screw up your face and huff.

“...they did say ‘pre-honeymooning,’” Yoongi reasons reluctantly.

You sit up, bunching the blankets in your lap as you glare down at the bed and breakfast owner. “So you’re on-” you break off as the undeniable high pitch of a whimper echoes throughout the house. “So you’re on their side? They’re fucking in my bed!”

He frowns at you, though it’s far from intimidating with his ruffled brown curls and sunshine yellow pyjamas. “It’s not your bed, it’s the guest bed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “They’re fucking on your Egyptian cotton sheets.”

A fury you’ve never before seen lights up in his eyes. “My sheets!” The begrudging way he crosses his arms over his chest makes him look like a petulant child, and you snort out a laugh. “Hey,” he cries out in a stage whisper, barely louder than the pleasured moans that seem to be rising to a fevered pitch, ��don’t laugh at me! Those sheets were expensive!”

You pause for a moment, trying to stay composed, but then you hear it through the thin walls.

“Fuck, cum in me, hyung!”

You clap a hand over your mouth, barely in time to muffle your desperate laughter.

Through tears, you see Yoongi try to fight the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth, but soon enough he succumbs, shoulders shaking and eyes squeezed shut as he laughs silently. The two of you endure a minute or so of loud cries of climax, before all goes still.

You lower your hand. You stare at each other for a moment, but after nothing happens, you sigh out in relief. Yoongi goes to plump up his pillow as you fuss with the duvet. “Thank god that’s over,” you proclaim, “now we can finally-”

“Does my Tae-bear still want more, hm? Greedy boy.”

Yoongi’s face drops. He stands up suddenly, thrusting out a hand in front of your face. As quiet whines and sighs reach your ears from the other room, you stare at it blankly. He waves it impatiently. “Come on,” he instructs, “I can’t take this anymore. Let’s get out of here.”

Though you’re uncertain what he means, you reach out and take his hand. It’s warm, and his fingers slip between yours naturally, clasping tightly. Before leading you carefully to the door, Yoongi grabs a blanket off the floor and hands it to you. He opens the door so gingerly that you can hear nothing more than the brush of the wood against the carpet.

The two of you tip-toe down the hallway. Directly outside the guest bedroom, you’re close enough to hear not only Taehyung’s desperate moans, but the pants of exertion from his fiance. Whatever Seokjin was doing to him in there, it was nothing short of athletic.

Holly, having been woken when Yoongi got up, pads down the hallway behind you happily. You wince at the jangle of his collar, but the two loud men don’t seem to notice, or at least don’t care enough to pause.

When the two of you reach the living room, Yoongi drops your hand to fiddle with the key to the back door. He slides it open and you step out in confusion, waiting for him and Holly to come through, Yoongi sliding it shut behind him, locking it and pocketing the key in a tiny breast pocket on his pyjama shirt.

Once the door shuts behind you, you no longer have to remain quiet. “What are we doing?” you question.

Holly follows faithfully as Yoongi makes his way down the backyard barefooted; determined not to be left behind and burning with curiosity, you jog to catch up. You leave the even footing of the grass and begin picking your way through the trees, going in a slight incline up the hill.

“We weren’t gonna get any sleep listening to them going at it like rabbits anyway,” he explains, “so I figured we could chill out here for a few hours and come back inside before it gets too cold. Hopefully they’ll have tired themselves out by then.”

You frown, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Fine then,” you allow, “where are you- oh!” You’re cut off as Yoongi stumbles on a tree root, falling forward onto his hands and knees. He gets up quickly, brushing off the dirt and twigs from his palms. Even in the dim lighting, you can see his cheeks are red with embarrassment, so instead of poking fun, you just move on. “Tomorrow I can go down to the convenience store and buy some earplugs. Unless you want to talk to them about lowering the volume of their nightly activities?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Get the brand that comes with three sizes, I’ve got small ear canals.”

You bark out a surprised laugh. “I’m sure you do, Min Yoongi.” You let the jingle of Holly’s collar fill the air for a few moments, and your companion seems happy enough with the comfortable silence. He seems to be picking out an intentional path, though there is no evidence of a well-tread route he’s taking. It’s not until Yoongi comes to a stop in a small clearing, about a third of the way up the hillside, that you open your mouth again. “What’s this?”

Yoongi sits down in front of you, patting the grass. He waits for you to sit until he begins to explain. You shake out the blanket, laying over your two laps as he speaks. “I would sneak out of the house in the middle of the night all the time when I visited my grandma, pretending to be Indiana Jones or something. I found this glade one day and it became my nightly routine to come here at eleven or twelve pm and watch the stars.” He trails off in a wistful tone, craning his neck to look up.

Naturally, you follow his gaze. Blurred in the edges of your vision are the trees that surround you on the hill, but directly above is an open expanse of blackish navy, pricked with stars. The air is fresh, and you breathe it in deeply, feeling the cool air open your chest. You let your body tip back, lying down on the grass.

Yoongi’s voice comes from above, still sitting up. “One day I came back around two or three in the morning. Instead of being in bed, my grandma was waiting at the door for me. I thought she was mad - she wouldn’t speak to me all day - but that night when I went to leave she came out of her room and handed me a torch.” You can’t help but smile at the way Yoongi speaks, deeply entrenched in his own memories, voice hushed in nostalgic wonder. “Ever since that point, we did this together. She once told me that at night, the sun puts a big blanket over the earth to say it’s time to go to bed, but since it’s so old, it has holes in it. That’s what stars are. Ah, it sounds silly now, but at the time…” His voice changes, flattens. “I haven’t been here since she passed away. I couldn’t go alone.”

Your heart breaks for him. “I’m so sorry, Yoongi.” You don’t know what else to say.

He sighs out heavily, the burden of loss. “Yeah.”

At some point over the next few hours, he lies down beside you, the two of you quietly contemplating the abyss above. Now that you’re looking at it different, it does look like a blanket. Thick blackness with pinpricks of light. You wonder what’s on the other side.

The air cools down. It’s still humid, but instead of warming you, it condenses on your neck in a cloying sweat, and beads on the grass. The tip of your nose is chilled pink, and you keep having to rubbing your hands together to warm them. You don’t want to interrupt this strange solemnity in the air, but once you begin to shiver slightly, you have no choice. “Can we head back now, Yoongi? I’m sure they’ve finished by now.”

“Hm? Yeah, okay.” He sits up and stretches with a groan, sticking out his arms and rolling his wrists. When he goes lax again, he sticks his fingers into the little pocket on his pyjama shirt. “Oh. Oh no.”

You frown, sitting up yourself. “What?”

“Must’ve fallen out when I tripped over,” he mumbles, “shit.”

“What?”

He tugs at his earlobe nervously. “I lost the key.”

“Y- what? So we’re locked out?”

“Well, just until tomorrow. When Taehyung and Seokjin get up, they can let us in. I’ll go down to the locksmith, get a new key made in no time.”

Now that you know you’re stuck here, the cold seems more insidious. You shiver again. “That doesn’t help us now, Yoongi! We’re stuck out here for the night because you wanted to go fucking stargazing.” His hurt look cuts through you like a knife, and you rush out the breath you’re holding, anger dissipating in a moment. “No, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I just… we’re gonna freeze out here, Yoongi.”

Guilt worries at his brow, and he tucks his knees up to his chest. “We can do our best to stay warm. The grass is still mostly dry, and there’s no wind or anything. If we huddle together under the blanket we can conserve body heat. It’s just one night.”

You stare at him for a moment, then nod begrudgingly. “Fine then,” you acquiesce. “We cuddle in order to survive tonight, and then never speak of it again.” With a flourish, you lie back down, tugging the blanket over you and turning your back to him.

Instead of a warm body, you’re met with silence. “Um,” Yoongi says finally, “I- Never mind.”

You twist your head around. “You what?”

He rubs at his cheek in embarrassment, though the dark pink blush firmly stays. “I like to be the little spoon.”

After a moment’s pause, you swivel around, holding the blanket up for him. “Come on then, little spoon,” you say softly, “get comfy.”

He offers you the smallest smile of gratitude, a flash of teeth peeking out, and turns, shuffling back until he’s pressed up against your chest. As you lower the blanket over the both of you, your arm naturally slips over his torso, curling over his tummy. The warmth of his body in your arms certainly is a respite from the cold, and clearly he agrees, because he lets out an unconscious grunt of happiness. You remember grinning into the darkness, ready to make a teasing remark, but sleep takes you before you can even open your mouth.

--

You had expected that night would bring Yoongi back to normal. That whatever strange mood had affected him in that week would be dissolved with the night you spent together under the stars. However, the next morning Taehyung and Seokjin convince you to stay at the lodge playing board games with them while Yoongi goes alone to the locksmith for a new key, and when he returns home to you curled up between the two of them, watching some dumb early-2000s rom-com on the TV, it seems his earlier grudge has returned with a vengeance.

There’s a strangely hostile tension in the air that afternoon, and when you and the boys finish up watching movies you pretend to accidentally fall asleep, just so you don’t have to go back to the room.

You begin to favor spending time with the other guests rather than Yoongi. It almost feels like you’re outstaying your welcome, but Taehyung and Seokjin seem enamoured with your company, and so day-in day-out you’re hanging out with them. After a couple weeks, you begin to view them as genuine friends. You get the impression that they hadn’t planned on staying as long as they are. Taehyung’s blue locks are beginning to grow out, hints of natural black peeking out at the roots. Seokjin has the (probably ill-founded) idea of buying bleach and dye at the supermarket, which is why you find yourself in a pair of gloves, lathering bright red hair dye on his scalp after dinner one night.

When Yoongi finished doing the dishes and saw Taehyung mixing the dye, he simply huffed and told him not to get any on the floor, then disappeared into his room. He was going to bed earlier and earlier, you noted, as well as getting up later in the mornings. You couldn’t remember the last time you held a conversation with him.

Now the three of you remaining in the kitchen sit cross legged on the floor, chatting away as the dye sets. Taehyung, with a plastic shower cap covering his hair, bangs his head back against the cabinets. “I wonder what colour I should have for the wedding,” he muses.

Seokjin’s eyes crinkle at the thought. “At the rate you’re dying it, it’ll be straw by the time you walk down that aisle.”

The younger grins, boxy. “You’ll still love me, even with scarecrow hair?”

“Of course,” Seokjin answers without hesitation. “Besides, it would grow back healthy in no time.”

“Would you love me even if I was bald?”

“Let’s not get hasty here,” he jibes, lifting his eyebrows in mock concern. “Don’t worry, Tae-bear. You’re the only man for me.”

The two laugh fondly, then fall into a silence. You know it’s a personal question, but you’ve known them for a while, so you ask anyway. “Have you guys always known? That you were attracted to men, I mean.”

Taehyung smiles, nodding languidly. “Well, both of us are bi so it’s not just men. But for me, yeah. I always knew, and then when I was in college I was a complete Casanova. Boys, girls, everyone in between. Life was a buffet.”

“Oh,” you exclaim curiously, “so you’ve been with men and women then?” He nods again. A thought strikes you. “That’s something I’ve always wondered, actually. Who are better to kiss; guys or girls?”

Taehyung scratches lazily at his scalp through the plastic cap. “Most guys are great kissers, but there’s nothing nicer than women’s lips. Luckily my Seokjinnie has the prettiest lips in the world.”

You look over as Seokjin, sitting across from Taehyung, purses his lips playfully, before shrugging. “I wouldn’t know,” he admits, “Taehyung is my one and only.”

The aforementioned pushes off the cabinet, leaning forward with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Do you want to try?”

Seokjin tilts his head in confusion. “Hm?”

“If I gave you permission and Y/n agreed to it, would you want to kiss her right now?”

“What?” You gape incredulously at Taehyung, but he’s dead serious. Looking back over, Seokjin is silent, nibbling at his lip. He’s considering it. A wave of heat rushes through you, akin to excitement. He’s one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen in your life, and you can’t deny that physical connection is something you’ve been missing in your past few months. “Are you sure, Taehyung?”

He sends you a salacious wink, turning back to Seokjin. “Think of it as a wedding gift,” he bargains, “I don’t want you to marry me feeling like you’re unfulfilled, or that you’re missing out. As long as I’m the one that gets to be beside you every night, I’m happy.”

Seokjin’s eyes soften, then dart over to you. “Y/n…”

That’s invitation enough. You lick your lips, wetting them before crawling over to the older man. He pats his thighs, and you swing a leg over, steadying yourself on his lap. His hands are light on your hips.

“Just like it’s me, Seokjinnie,” Taehyung instructs. “Well, maybe a bit gentler than if it was me. You can kiss her, hyung.”

Though the statement was directed at Taehyung’s fiance, you take the initiative to duck your head down, eyes slipping closed the moment you feel his lips brush yours. He lets out an unsure sigh, muffled against you, and you feel his fingers curl, digging into your flesh slightly.

“That’s it,” Taehyung soothes. You hear the rustling of fabric, and you crack an eye open to see him sidling up beside Seokjin, watching the two of you. “How is she, hyung?”

You work your lips against Seokjin’s for a few more moments before pulling back. The man below you has flushed skin and dilated pupils. He swallows, throat bobbing. “Soft,” he makes out.

You run a finger over his lower lip, watching it bounce back. “For someone who’s never kissed more than one person before, you’re definitely the best kisser I’ve ever had.”

He grins under your touch. “I bet Taehyungie is better.”

There must be something in the air. The hair dye fumes getting to you, perhaps. Or maybe you’re just deprived. Either way, you feel your inhibitions falling away, and an arousal-fueled confidence takes over. You send Taehyung a lustful look. “Only one way to find out.”

The tiniest nod reveals his consent. Seokjin keeps you steady on his lap by gripping your hips with strong hands, and you lean over, placing one hand on Seokjin’s shoulder and the other on Taehyung’s, ducking your head to capture his lips with yours.

They’re somewhat thinner than Seokjin’s, and you find yourself missing those plump lips against you, but the younger man more than makes up for it with his prowess. His hands wind into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you in deeper. You let out a whimper into his mouth. Unlike Seokjin, whose kiss was pure and curious, this embrace is dripping with passion, and you find yourself drowning in it, mindlessly grinding your hips into the budding hardness below. Seokjin grunts, but you barely hear, lost in Taehyung’s grip, the tip of his tongue swiping teasingly against the flat of yours.

Suddenly, Seokjin goes stock-still and the hands wrapped around your hips go iron-tight. The sudden pressure breaks you out of your haze, and you pull away from Taehyung in confusion, the latter making a confused hum, eyes fluttering open.

You freeze as you hear a cabinet open and close behind you. Unable to look, you stare at the faces of the two men you’re currently sprawled on top of, as they lower their gazes in embarrassment at being caught out. You wait, listening to Yoongi hastily grabbing himself a glass of water, before he leaves quicker than he appeared.

Once the kitchen goes silent again, you slide off Seokjin’s lap, dejectedly staring at the floor. Shame burns in your chest, mixed with regret, and all you want is for the ground to swallow you whole. You swallow down the dryness in your throat. “C-can I sleep in your guys’ room tonight?” you ask with a small voice.

The two of them look ashamed, pitying. You hate it. You hate your lack of self-control. Seokjin nods silently, and the three of you make a solemn pilgrimage into the guest bedroom. Though the two of them fall into slumber soon enough, you lie awake on the floor in a bundle of pillows and blankets, imagining what his face must’ve looked like when he walked in on you messing around with two taken men. You don’t know which one would’ve been worse: seeing a look of anger, disgust, or disappointment on his face, or you never turning around at all.

--

When you wake up the next morning you’ve made up your mind. If you hadn’t already, you’ve definitely overstayed your welcome by this point. The boys don’t stir at all when you quietly tiptoe around their room, tugging on your jeans that you had kicked off the night before, too emotionally drained to bother with pyjamas. They look peaceful and content; there’s a lump in the middle of the bed where Taehyung has swung his leg over Seokjin’s hip, and his face is tucked into the crook of Seokjin’s neck. Their hands have found each other in the night, fingers lazily intertwined as they rest over the covers. Your eyes prickle at the sight.

In the kitchen, you eat alone. On the bench, the one that gets the most sun, is a tea towel with a pile of half-dried tea leaves. You wonder if Yoongi will continue making tea once you’re gone. Part of you wants to sneak out to the plant and take some of the leaves with you; that tea is the best you’ve ever had. But you force yourself to remember that you have no right to that plant. It was easy to see this as more than what it was, especially when Yoongi had been so generous and hospitable, but you’re a guest. At the end of the day, you’re nothing more than a traveler passing through. He’ll forget about you when new guests arrive. That’s how these things were meant to be, you reason. For fear of making too much noise, you forgo the ritualistic cup of Boseong Breakfast. Your stomach roils in yearning of a hot cup to soothe you, or perhaps that’s just the dread at knowing you’re about to leave.

Your stuff is still in Yoongi’s room. Shoes, backpack, wallet. You don’t fancy leaving here with nothing but a cellphone, so you turn the knob painstakingly slowly, leaving it open and using the light of your phone screen to find your way. Though you internally scream at yourself not to, you find yourself guiding the light onto his sleeping form, casting him in the weak cold glow.

He’s curled up in a tiny ball, barely occupying a third of the bed. Instead of on the floor, Holly is right beside him, stretched out languidly in the middle, head resting on the pillow right beside Yoongi’s face. His face reflects strangely, and you frown, risking a few steps closer.

Once you’re beside the edge of the bed, you lower the light to face the floor so you don’t wake him. He’s back on his side of the bed, the one you had temporarily occupied in a time that already felt so long ago to you, and every few seconds he lets out a small grunt or sniffle. Turned in towards the center of the bed, towards Holly, his hands are folded under his face, pressing his cheek up, revealing the dried tracks of tears that glimmer on the skin. You bite your lip harshly and force yourself to turn away and keep searching for your stuff.

But as you swivel around to check this end of the room, a sudden bright reflection hits you right in your eyes. You hiss loudly, squeezing them shut. Upon a second, more cautious glance, you see the culprit is a framed pane of glass sitting atop his nightstand. Careful not to suffer the glare again, you hold your phone up to inspect it.

It takes you a moment, but when you recognise that sliver of vibrant pink, your breath rushes out of you in an overwhelmed sigh. Pressed between two panes of glass so that it lies perfectly flat and preserved, the azalea petal you had picked out of his hair that distant spring day. He really kept it.

Tears threatening to well up, you quickly stand up straight again, caring less about making noise and more about finding your stuff and leaving quickly. You find your backpack in the bottom of his closet. Remembering at the last moment that you’re still in one of his baggy t-shirts rather than the one you came in - when had you started seeing them as your own clothes? - you tug it up over your head, quickly shimmying into the cold fabric of your shirt.

“What are you doing?”

You freeze at the familiar voice, croaky with sleep. “I… I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He’s sitting up; you can see his form out of the corner of your eye, but you keep your head down, not wanting to look at him for fear of what expression would be plastered on his face. “Are you going somewhere?”

You tense your lips, nodding tightly. Now that he’s awake, there’s no need to be quiet, so you rush out his room, leaving the door ajar behind you. It’s lighter out in the living room, the first few inches of the sun as it creeps over the hills above, sending a thin streak of orange light across the carpet.

It takes a few moments, probably since he’s still groggy from just waking up, but Yoongi rushes frantically down the hallway, bursting into the living room. He halts, watching you going through your stuff to make sure it’s all there. “Where are you going?” He stands there, shoulders slumped in dejection as you just shake your head mutely. “Are you leaving me?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I want to apologise for my behavior last night,” you say instead. “I wrote down your bank account earlier, the one you gave Seokjin and Taehyung. When I get back home I’ll reimburse you for however many nights I stayed here.”

“Home?”

“I can’t keep staying here like some freeloader,” you explain, “I’ll get out of your hair so that you can run your business.”

“You don’t have to go,” he protests, though his voice is small, barely reaching your ears.

You let out a frustrated groan when the zipper on your backpack jams, tugging roughly at it. “It’s for the best,” you insist, though you can’t tell who it is you’re trying to convince, “I’ve clearly overstayed my welcome.”

“What does that even mean?” he questions in a wobbly voice.

You huff, chucking the half-open backpack on the couch and facing Yoongi. “I can read the signs, Yoongi. For the past few weeks you’ve been avoiding me like the plague and glaring whenever I’m around. I get it, okay? I’ll get out of your hair.”

“It’s not like that,” he defends. He pushes his curls back off his forehead, sighing out shakily. “I didn’t realise that’s how you were… It’s not you.”

You scoff bitterly, crossing your arms over your head. Both of you have given up being quiet for the sake of the other guests, and at this point you couldn’t care less if they woke up. “Oh, well then by all means, tell me what your problem is. I guess I’m too stupid to understand your fucking smoke signals.”

He furrows his brow in annoyance. “Are you serious? It’s not like you’re the poster child for mature communication.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yoongi shrugs with a petulant frown. “Fuck, I save your tea plant, harvest and prepare the leaves, do the laundry, help with Holly, entertain the guests, and-”

The muscles in Yoongi’s jaw pop when he tenses it. “You are a fucking guest! I didn’t ask for you to act like a housewife! I didn’t ask for you to do the laundry, or plant the herb garden. I didn’t fucking ask for you to suck face with the other guests in my kitchen! So don’t act like such a goddamn saint.”

You hear a door open and shut in the distance, but nothing can distract you from the pent-up rage that’s rolling off you in waves. As the sun steadily rises, the house is lit up in it’s rays, and you curse the daylight for showing you Yoongi more clearly, the way his eyes glitter with unshed tears of frustration. “Why does it matter to you what I do with them? I wasn’t aware there were rules against guests kissing at Holly Lodge. But then again, you’ve never had guests before so I guess you never got around to writing any.”

His face crumples. “That’s not my fault,” he mutters. “I wanted guests to come. I always wanted guests to come.”

You curse yourself for getting so heated, knowing this is turning ugly, but you can’t help yourself. Picking up your backpack, you storm across to the front door, calling out over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Min Yoongi,” you snap, “you’ll get plenty of guests after I leave you a five-star review on Yelp. ‘Beautiful sights, expensive sheets, emotional turmoil. The best accommodation in Boseong.’ Have a nice life, Yoongi.”

Your hand is on the doorknob when his phone rings, a cheery ringtone of birds chirping. You don’t know what it is that makes you hesitate, but you hover at the front door long enough to hear him mumble, “oh, it’s the vets.”

Your hand falls. As much as Yoongi has hurt you, Min Holly is the sweetest old dog you’ve ever met, and curiosity keeps your feet planted.

“Hello? No, no, it’s okay, I was already awake… Ah, okay, thanks for the- He what?” With a growing feeling of dread, you swivel around in your spot, watching the emotions on Yoongi’s face play out like a movie; confusion, concern, fear. “Will he be okay?” He lets out a shuddering breath, looking around frantically. Looking for Holly. “And how quickly can I get him the operation?”

You let the backpack slide off your shoulder, gently hitting the carpet. His hand is over his nose and mouth, but you can see the wet glistening of his eyes and the way his shoulders shake. You know you’re probably the last person he wants to see, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him. Not now. Not when all you can think of is the pressed petal on his nightstand, framed like something precious. Not when you’re beginning to think that maybe you read his cold shoulder wrong after all.

“I… Can I call you back? I don’t think I can afford that, I need to contact someone who can. Okay. Yes, okay. Thank you for the call. Bye.” His voice cracks on the last syllable, and he barely manages to end the call before a broken sob is torn from his throat. “Oh, god.” His knees give out, and before you can process a response, you’re rushing forward, crouching on the floor in front of him.

“Yoongi, I’m so sorry,” you say in a hush, feeling your nose prickle with the warning of tears. He heaves another sob, crying some words you can’t make out. “Yoongi, I- You said there was someone you can call, take a deep breath, you can give them a call and get it sorted, okay?”

He wipes his face with shaking hands and blinks up at you. There’s no sign of animosity or lingering anger; when he stares at you, all you can see is a raw vulnerability. “My brother,” he manages to say in a thick voice, “but I can’t do it, I can’t speak to him.” He lets out another wail, and you sense there’s something deeper there, but you don’t have time to question it.

“Okay, I’ll call then. Unlock your phone for me, Yoongi, I’ll call.” He does so, typing in the string of numbers, 46559, three times before he gets it right with how violently his fingers tremble. “What’s your brother’s name, Yoongi?”

In the corner of your eye, you see two half-asleep young men padding down the hallway. You wave them away behind Yoongi’s back, mouthing get Holly at them. After they disappear, you bring your attention back to the bed-and-breakfast owner, who’s tucked his knees under his chin, looking more childlike than ever in his white pyjamas with daisies on them. “Joonie,” he hiccups, “call Joonie.”

Though there’s no Joonie listed as a contact, you assume Namjoon is the same person, and so you call it, reaching out to tentatively rub Yoongi’s back as it rings.

The call clicks through after only a few seconds. The voice is deeper than you were expecting, and authoritative. “Yoongi-hyung?”

With wide eyes filled with tears, Yoongi’s head picks up and he stares at you balefully, listening to the call. You put it on speakerphone. “I’m calling on behalf of Yoongi,” you explain, “I’m a friend.”

“The first call in years and it’s not even him,” he mutters, “go figure. What’s up?”

You bite your lip awkwardly. “Uh, it’s Holly. I don’t really know the details, Yoongi only just got the call, but he’s very sick. He needs an operation, urgently, it seems like. Yoongi would call, but he’s really upset at the moment.” You lock eyes with Yoongi as you speak, unable to tear your gaze away from the deep well of pain in them.

“Shit,” his brother curses, “is he there now?”

Yoongi gives the tiniest shake of his head. “He’s gone to grab some tissues, I think,” you lie, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “But Yoongi can’t afford the treatment. I think he’s hoping you could pay for it.”

Namjoon pauses on the other end of the line for a moment. “Your voice sounds distant, so I’m assuming you’re on speakerphone. Hi, Yoongi-hyung.” You bite your lip, but the crying boy just clasps his hand over his mouth again, a fresh wave of tears. “But anyway, of course I’ll pay. There’s just one thing… If I do this, hyung, Holly is staying with me. He needs proper care and treatment, especially if he’s having surgery. The veterinarians are better in Seoul, anyway. I can make sure he’s getting the best help. Understand, Yoongi?”

Clammy fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling the cellphone a little closer. “Okay, Joonie. I understand.”

You hear some typing in the background coming from Namjoon’s end, but Yoongi’s attention is caught by the familiar jingling from down the hallway. As Holly enters in a speedy jog, Yoongi reaches out to the dog with grabby-hands, letting out a shaky sigh of relief when the dog jumps into his arms, immediately lying across Yoongi’s lap. The young man cradles his companion, tears wetting the fur on his head.

“I’ve shuffled around a few appointments,” the voice from the phone announces, and you jump at the sudden noise. “I’ll be there by this afternoon. Thanks for the call…”

“Y/n,” you supply.

“Thanks for the call, Y/n. And I’ll see you soon, Yoongi-hyung.”

--

Seokjin and Taehyung decide to make their goodbyes. They sense, rightly so, that it wouldn’t do them well to stay, and as it is they had lives to get back to. The house seems quieter with them gone, but you suppose had they been here that cheery energy would’ve disappeared.

Yoongi and you spend the day in silence, quietly sitting on the couch, staring at the turned-off television screen emptily, as Holly sleeps soundly, snoring away in Yoongi’s arms. It feels more like a funeral, this weird, drawn-out goodbye, and once Yoongi receives a text saying Namjoon has landed, he solemnly wanders around the house, collecting all of Holly’s food, dog bed (that you’d never seen him actually use) and all of his favorite toys.

For the first time, you hear the crunch of gravel as someone arrives in a car. Namjoon looks nothing like Yoongi in the bigger picture - taller, bulkier, straighter hair - but they have the same glimmer in their eyes, the same round faces. For all that Namjoon seems to be the more adult one of the two, it’s clear by the way he pulls Yoongi into a tight hug, his whole body curling into it, that Namjoon is the younger brother. As the two of them catch up over some tea, you keep your distance, sensing there were some things they needed to discuss that didn’t concern you.

You decide to take Holly on one last wander through the forest. Now that Yoongi seems to have calmed down, eyes dry, you figure you’ve done your part. Especially with Seokjin and Taehyung leaving, you find it harder and harder to ignore the pull of your life back home, your responsibilities. Your old friends and loved ones don’t text you much anymore, but when they do they ask when you’re coming back to the ‘real world’. University, a career, a house. Things that they seem to care about more than you do. Your stuff is already packed up. When you get back, you can call up the Boseong-gun terminal and see when the next bus home leaves. It’s for the best, you tell yourself.

Namjoon is gone quickly after you return. The house feels hopelessly empty without Holly. If you can feel it, you have no idea how much it must tear Yoongi up inside, and so you put on the television, hoping any noise will fill even the smallest amount of that void.

You make the two of you some ramen for dinner, but both bowls sit untouched. They’ve long gone cold before Yoongi suddenly sits up, muting the ads on the TV. You stare at him uncertainly.

“I… wanted to thank you,” he says slowly, “for staying with me. You didn’t have to, but I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” He picks at some stray dog hairs that are embedded in the fabric of the couch. “I’m scared to be alone again.”

Your face falls. All thoughts of returning home are rendered void. You can’t leave him. “Of course I’ll stay,” you promise in a whisper.

He swallows, shuffling around so that he faces you on the couch. “You’ll stay,” he repeats in a chant. His gaze dips, then flickers back up to yours again. With brows furrowed like he’s unsure of what he’s doing, he leans forward and presses a tentative kiss across your lips.

You freeze. His hand rests on your knee, the lightest pressure, and he kisses you again, insistent this time like he’s begging for a response. Your heart breaks as you reach up and push his chest, separating him from you.

His eyes flutter open and his bottom lip trembles. “I don’t understand…” He retracts his hands into his lap, leaving your knee cold with his absence.

“You’re not in the right frame of mind, Yoongi,” you explain, “you’ve had a long day, and- Yoongi…” He stands up abruptly, and you reach out to him, but he waves your hand away.

“Goodnight,” he says shortly, leaving the room.

You sigh out and tip your head back, banging it against the couch headrest. Why did it feel like no matter what you did, it hurt?

--

You stay. Just like you promised, you stay for him.

You don’t see him anymore, but you drop off three meals a day at his door, and in the middle of the night, when you can’t sleep, sometimes you hear him showering, or grabbing a snack. Sometimes you hear him leave the house, only to return hours later. It feels strangely intimate that you know exactly where he goes on those nights.

You find out through eavesdropping on Yoongi’s calls to Namjoon that Holly got the operation. Though you still don’t know what exactly happened, there’s talk of a cast, and physical therapy. You hope he’s doing okay.

Although you understand Yoongi is upset about his companion being taken from him, you expect eventually he’ll come around. You wait day-in, day-out for him to open the door and come back to reality. You struggle away in the kitchen learning to cook, hoping to entice him with wafts of spice. You start loudly making calls to friends and family, highly recommending Holly Lodge. You even knock on his door in excitement when a little hedgehog trundles into the backyard one day, thinking maybe his pure love of nature will draw him out, but nothing works.

And then, after the leaves begin to burnish in autumn shades, you know you’ve been here too long. You sit down outside his doorway, head leaning against the closed door. “Yoongi,” you call out.

He doesn’t answer. You don’t even know if it’s awake or not. The thought that he might not even be listening gives you a strange confidence.

“Yoongi,” you repeat, “I don’t know what to do anymore. You can’t stay in there forever. I know I said I would stay. And I’ve done my best to keep that promise. But this isn’t healthy, for either of us. Please, just come out and have a meal with me. Come for a walk; we could go stargazing tonight. Anything, Yoongi.”

Silence.

“It’s time for me to leave,” you reveal lowly. “There’s nothing else I can do to help you. I… The bus back home leaves tomorrow, but it leaves early, so I’m going to stay in town overnight. I’ve already called Mrs. Na. She’s got a room for me at the motel.” You sigh out at the continued lack of response. “I’m telling you this, Yoongi, because once I go you need to start doing things for yourself. I’ve thought long and hard about this because I’m-” you break off, blinking quickly to fight the tears that spring to your ears. “Because I’m scared that you’ll forget to eat, and get sick. I’m scared of leaving you alone like this, but I don’t know what else to do.” You sniffle, clearing your throat and standing. “Goodbye, Yoongi.”

--

It takes you longer than normal to follow the gravel road back into town. Mostly because of the way your eyes will fill with tears, and you’ll stumble on the uneven footing here and there. Or maybe it’s your body’s last cry of protest, not wanting to leave at all.

Either way, when you reach it, the motel is nice enough. Check-in isn’t until 3 in the afternoon, apparently, so you mope in the lobby for a few hours, curled up on the armchair. Mrs. Na peeks over her magazine every couple of minutes, but you refuse to look back until she’s waving you over with a manicured hand.

“Single room for one night?”

You nod in confirmation, already fishing around your backpack for your wallet to pay. Having paid for the groceries yourself over the past few weeks, your account is running concerningly low. “Thanks for-”

“Finally got tired of the love shack, huh?”

You blink at the interruption, freezing. “Excuse me?”

The bitter wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepen as she frowns at you. “Don’t play coy, dear. You two little lovebirds have been the talk of the town. You stay here for months, and then out of nowhere, you don’t leave the lodge for weeks. I guess there must be trouble in paradise.”

You fight the urge to snap at her, knowing she’ll only kick you out. “It isn’t like that. There were some personal issues that needed sorting out, that’s all.”

She raises her eyebrows patronisingly, turning to reach for one of the keys hung up behind the desk. “The only personal issue I can see is how inappropriate it is for a young woman like yourself to be living with three young men.”

You bite your tongue. Just one night. Instead of replying, you simply hold out the last of your cash, a flat palm ready to accept the key in return.

She takes the cash delicately, making sure not to touch your hand itself at all, and then holds out the key. “I just want you to know that my motel does not tolerate any untoward behavior. You better not be trying to whore yourself out to my custom-”

You jump as a hand cuts into your line of vision and bats the hand away. Mrs. Na recoils in shock, still gripping the cash tightly, and widens her eyes at the newcomer.

Turning around in disbelief, you watch as Min Yoongi reaches over and tugs the notes forcefully from her hand. “I’ve had it,” he spits out.

“Yoongi,” you breathe in awe, but he ignores you.

Wearing a dusty pink sweater and grey skinny jeans, he somehow still manages to strike an intimidating image. His shoulder gently nudges you, pushing you behind him. “No, I’ve had it,” he repeats more forcefully. “You can insult me, you can insult my business, my house, even my family. But I will not stand here and let you insult the woman I love.”

Both you and Mrs. Na gape at him, and this sudden burst of confidence.

Yoongi slips his hand into yours, squeezing tightly. He glares at Mrs. Nah one last time. “And your tea always tasted like shit, that’s why you went out of business. Come on, Y/n, we’re going home.”

He doesn’t let your hand go the entire way back to the lodge. You don’t want him to, either, because your chest feels so light it seems like he’s the only thing anchoring you with this strange swirling inside you. He doesn’t speak, only rushing you back up the slight slope to the lodge, to home, and when you finally arrive you see the door swinging on its hinge in the breeze, wide open.

Yoongi doesn’t address it. It seems like he’s desperate, feverish, to get you inside. In an odd mirroring of your first night together, he leads you directly to the guest room, hand firmly clasping your own.

“Yoongi, what’s going on?”

He tips his chin forward suddenly, then shakes his head and falls back. “Talk first,” he mumbles to himself. Then, back at you: “Y/n. I know I’m not good with words, or silent yearning looks, or smoke signals. So I’m going to be really clear now, just in case you didn’t hear it back at the motel.”

You can’t help but crack a grin at the earnest statement, giggling quietly. Yoongi pouts at you, but returns your smile reluctantly. Your heart leaps. He hasn’t smiled since that night under the stars. “I did hear it,” you admit, “but I sure would love to hear it again.”

“I love you, Y/n,” he confesses, “I’m so hopelessly in love with you that I didn’t even realise it at first. I’m so in love with you that I didn’t know what to do with myself, how to act. I felt like I couldn’t be around you for too long because my heart would ache. But then avoiding you just felt even worse. And when I saw you with the boys…”

“It didn’t mean anything,” you defend quickly, but Yoongi just furrows his brows.

“That’s not what I mean… It made me realize that I had no right to be angry or jealous, because I didn’t even have the courage to kiss you like they did. Even if it meant nothing for you or for them, I hated that I was too scared to do the same.”

You release all the air you didn’t realise you’d been holding. “That day Namjoon came. When you kissed me…”

Yoongi nods, slowly sitting down onto the edge of the bed, looking at your hands, still intertwined. “I wanted to tell you in words,” he admits. “I really was so scared you were gonna leave me, and I didn’t think I could take it. But I just couldn’t say it. So, I did the only thing I could think of.” He lets out a noisy breath, flicking you a sad smile. “But I guess I misread the situation. Even after I saw you with Taehyung and Seokjin I still thought maybe you liked me too. Sorry for making things weird.”

You shake your head, but he’s not looking at you anymore, so you sit down beside him, clasping your other hand over the two of yours. “You didn’t misread the situation. I didn’t want things to go further that night because I thought you might regret it in the morning. But you didn’t misread the situation. I… I’ve liked you for a long time. And I’ve never felt this way before, but I think it might be love.”

His eyes are on you, bright with hope and realisation. Having forgone a haircut for a little too long, droopy curls hang low over his brows, and he scrunches his nose unconsciously at the tickle. You look over his button nose, the roundness of his cheeks. His delicate pink lips slightly parted as he gives you his full attention.

A smile stretches across your face. “Actually, I’m sure. I love you, Min Yoongi. So much.”

His mouth turns up in pure happiness, flashing his gums for the first time in months. He searches your face for a moment, like he can’t quite believe it, then does something you’re not expecting.

He pulls you into a tight hug.

You immediately feel all tension leave your body at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you, chin resting on your shoulder. You bury your face into his neck and sink into his embrace. You think for the both of you, it’s been a very long time since you’ve had one.

“I don’t deserve you,” he praises quietly.

You squeeze him tighter, breathing in his natural scent, slightly floral, like the smell of his garden in spring. “You deserve the world.”

Instead of letting go, after a few moments he turns his head slightly, so that his nose brushes against your neck. You shiver when you feel his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your throat. “Yoongi,” you murmur,  your body already responding to him, head tipping outwards to give him more room.

He works slowly, reverentially, sucking enough to make you tremble, but not so harshly to leave anything more than gentle pink marks. You sigh, eyes slipping closed in pleasure. You can feel his lips moving, like he’s whispering against your skin, making his way lower, but when his teeth scrape your collarbone lightly, you grow impatient.

You press your fingers insistently under his jaw and lift him, immediately capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s simultaneously exciting and reassuring, his lips molding against you as his back arches up, seeking every bit of contact he can get. You slide an arm around him, running it up and down his back soothingly. With the way his fingers curl desperately onto your shoulders, it seems like it’s been a while for him, just like it has for you. “Lie down,” you instruct softly, breaking from the kiss to help lower him to the bed.

You shuffle over for him to put his legs on the bed too, fully on his back, and then you straddle his hips, brushing his face fondly as you join your mouths together again. He seems all too happy to let you take control, eyes closed in bliss and jaw slack as you move lower, pressing countless small kisses down his cheek, jaw, and neck, until you’re propping yourself up on your forearms, laving at the skin. You can feel his pulse jumping under your tongue, and his throat bob every time he swallows. Sometimes, the skin vibrates gently, and you hear him letting out soft whimpers.

It’s not until his neck sports a spray of blossoming purple and dark pink that you sit up, a thought striking you. “Wait; why aren’t we in your bedroom?”

He blinks up at you, pupils blown wide, but eyes wider. “I wanted the Egyptian cotton sheets.”

You laugh breathily, clasping his face gently in your hands. “God, I love you.” His cheeks grow warm beneath your hands as his eyes soften in happiness. With his lips slightly pursed in your grasp, you bend down again and join your lips together.

He tastes sweet, and he has a patient yet passionate way of reciprocating the kiss, straining his face up to deepen it if he feels you pulling away too much. You could stay like this forever. As you feel his tongue shyly begin to slip out of his mouth, darting against your lip in tiny strokes, you feel a familiar sensation billow in your chest. The same feeling you had in those first few weeks, when everything felt magical and separate, like a little slice of heaven. Now, it’s far stronger, because at the center of your paradise is him.

You break off from his lips, nudging his head to the side with your nose and pressing a chaste kiss just below his ear. “Do you want to go further?” you question in a hushed whisper. “We can take this slow if you want.”

Looking up at you, he shakes his head hastily. “Please,” he sighs, “I want you.”

“Okay.” You sit up again, hovering over him. “Have you done this before?” He nods easily. “Let’s take this shirt off, then, hm?” He swallows when you play at the hem of his pink sweater, but nods after a moment.

Although it’s autumn, and he probably should’ve been layering up, it seems like he left the house in a hurry since he’s not wearing an undershirt. As you lift up the fabric inch by inch, more bare skin is revealed, unblemished other than a few moles. You trail your fingertips over them, feeling him shiver beneath you. The thought occurs to you that a time will come when you know the location of every one by heart, could map them out on the planes of his body with your eyes closed. Your heart aches at the thought, overwhelmed by it.

Having been in his room, sedentary for weeks, he’s developed a small paunch just above his waistband, filling out his hips a bit. He blushes, turning his head to the side shyly when you look over him.

“You’re beautiful, Yoongi,” you assure him wholeheartedly. “Absolutely perfect. Arms up for me?”

He obediently raises his limbs, wiggling out of the sweater. Once you toss it on the ground, you quickly remove and discard your own shirt, not wanting him to feel too self-conscious. His eyes light up at the sight of your bra, and you see his fingers twitch.

“Want me to take it off?” you question rhetorically, chucking lightly when he nods. Instead of doing as he wishes, you instead grab his hands and guide them around your back, leaning over so he can reach the clasp. “They’re hooks,” you explain, “so push the two sides towards each other, and then out.”

“I know how to take off a bra,” he mutters petulantly, though he fumbles with the hooks for a few moments, before finally getting them free and slipping the fabric off your body. You pull your arms out, and laugh when he flings it dramatically across the room, so that it smacks the wall and lands in a pitiful heap. “I hate those,” he mutters, half to himself. “They just get in the way.”

"I know something else that's getting in the way," you counter, and stand up off the bed, unbuttoning your jeans and shimmying out of them. "Do you want yours off too?"

He hesitates for a moment. "Can we... Can we turn the light off, or something?"

"Of course, if it makes you feel more comfortable." You quickly pad over to the other side of the room, flicking the light switch by the door.

It's clear that some time has passed since the two of you returned home by the way the room is plunged into a dim evening gloom when you turn the light off. "Too dark," Yoongi mumbles unhappily, and crawls over the mattress to reach the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and pushing the head of the lamp down so that it's just enough to see by. His face looks softer in this glow, and more relaxed. He gets out of his jeans quietly and without fanfare, settling back onto the bed.

In nothing but your underwear, when you lie down beside him and pull him into a languid kiss, you can feel the stiff peaks of your nipples pressing against his chest. He shivers in the cool air, mouth slack as you take control of the kiss. You’re all too happy to take things slow, not wanting to rush him, and so you lose track of time, simply kissing him until Yoongi is the only thing filling your thoughts.

After a time, your kisses become more frantic; sucking, nibbling, licking until your lips are swollen and slick. You let your hands roam the planes of his body, flat palms running up his chest and slipping over the curve in his lower spine. You swing a leg over his hips and gently press your heel, urging him closer until there’s nothing but the two layers of thin fabric keeping you apart. 

You sigh into his mouth when you feel a thumb swipe over one of your pebbled nipples, sending a bolt of pleasure straight down to your core. 

“Is this okay?” he questions as he begins to gently roll it between his fingers. You arch your back, pressing yourself into his hand, your kisses growing sloppy. “Feels good?” You groan out your confirmation, clenching your thighs tighter as he keeps the same delicate pressure, tugging lightly at it to see how stiff it can get between the pads of his fingers. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, “so good.” You bask in the sensation for a while longer, before you can no longer maintain your mouth on his. You clasp your hand over the one of his that cups your breast, gently pulling it away. “I want you, Yoongi.”

He stares at you, eyes wide with anticipation as you lower yourself, getting comfortable between his legs, face just above his clothed crotch. “You don’t have to-” he protests weakly, but you cut him off, patting the top of his thigh reassuringly.

“I want to,” you counter. “You took care of me when I had nowhere to stay, you took care of me when I got sunburnt. You even took care of me with Mrs. Na. So let me take care of you, baby.” 

You slip the fabric of his underwear down over the swells of his ass, watching as his cock springs up and rests on his stomach. It seems silly to say, but he’s got the most beautiful dick you’ve ever seen. Leaving his underwear half-on around his thighs, you take him gently in your hand, mouth watering. 

With a delicate pink head and a graceful curve, he’s smaller than you would’ve expected, but somehow this dainty cock fits him perfectly. It looks beautiful in your hand, and when you pump him, beads of precum pool in his slit, threatening to spill over. 

You take him in your mouth, flicking your tongue against the underside of his tip as you create some suction. He lets out a satisfied sigh, muscles tensing. After taking him deep in order to get him lubricated enough, you slip off him with a pop and begin jerking your wrist, working him to pull more moans from his swollen lips. 

“Feels so nice,” he praises, though he can’t stop from wiggling under your ministrations, the elastic around his thighs keeping him from moving much. 

When you suck him down again, you keep your eyes up, wanting to drink in his reactions. Eyes bunched shut in pleasure, he’s fully unaware of your gaze. 

He looks beautiful, even from this angle, and you’re struck by the fact that this will be the first time of many, that you’ll see him from below like this many times in the future, and that soon you’ll be able to decipher every twitch of his eyebrows and every gasped cry. 

Suddenly his eyes are opening, staring down at you in awe, and you feel your heart swell. You can’t take it anymore. You give him one last flick of your tongue, and crawl up his body to join your mouth to his, reveling in the way his two tastes mingle in your mouth. 

“I need you,” you chant against his lips, “are you still okay to take this all the way?” 

He nods quickly, but rubs behind his ear. “Could we get under the covers? I tend to, uh, fall asleep pretty quickly afterwards so I don’t want to freeze overnight.”

You laugh softly, sitting up to slip your panties off before you tuck yourself under the sheets. When you turn to wait for him, he’s frozen with his mouth hanging half-open. You give him a confused smile. “What?”

He blinks, shakes his head a bit to clear his thoughts, and cracks a wonky grin. “I’m somehow the luckiest and most stupid man in the world.” 

“How do you figure that?”

He kicks his underwear off the rest of the way and scoots under the blankets to join you, propping his head up with his hand as he lies on his side. “I’m the luckiest because I’m in love with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and she for some reason loves me back.” 

You smile softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your skin. “And why are you the stupidest?” 

“It took me this fucking long to do anything about it.”

You let out a loud laugh, reaching out for his hand to entwine your fingers again. The movement feels natural and the warmth of his palm in yours is already familiar and reassuring. “Let’s make up on lost time, then.” 

He grins, teeth pressing into his bottom lip, then gasps. “Wait,” he pouts, “I have to go grab a condom!” 

You push yourself up and reach over his body to the nightstand on the other side of the bed. “Don’t worry,” you assure, “the lovebirds have us covered.” 

In the drawer are three boxes of condoms. You rest on top of Yoongi’s bare chest as you reach into the open one, fiddling around for a square packet in the almost-empty carton. 

Yoongi leans over and widens his eyes. “God, how many times did they fuck in here?” When he cranes his neck, he sees the two full boxes beside the one you took. “How many times were they planning to fuck in here?”

You giggle, sitting up again, but it’s cut off by a drawn-out moan. You look down to see Yoongi latched on to your nipple, looking up at you innocently through his brown curls. You groan again, feeling his tongue swipe against it and his teeth nibble on it teasingly.

He pulls off you with a wet pop, hand coming up to massage at it, soothing away the slight pain from the bite. “Sorry,” he mutters off-handedly, though it’s clear he doesn’t really mean it, “I couldn’t help myself.” 

You grin and swing a leg over his hips, straddling him with his cock resting just in front of your bare pussy. He swears lowly and tips his head back onto the pillows. “Don’t apologise,” you assure, “I liked it. In fact, feel free to do that again anytime.” 

He blushes hotly, and as you bring your hand down to palm at his stiff cock, you marvel at the fact that he’s still so flustered around you. You wonder how long he’ll take to build his confidence, or if he’ll always be your sweet, shy boy in the bedroom. As you let go of his hand to rip open the packet and slide on the condom, you’re not sure which outcome you’d want more. He does look so beautiful splayed out in below you, neck blooming in colour from your markings. 

“Ready?” you check in one last time. Yoongi breathes out deeply and nods, but clutches his right hand out in front of you. You interlock your fingers with him once more and sit up on your knees, using your free hand to line him up. 

His whole body trembles when you sheath yourself on him in one swift movement. His eyes are furrowed shut, lips parted in pleasure. You can see his knuckles whiten as they grip the sheets and your hand. “Y/n,” he breathes out in a tight voice, “go slow. Please.” 

You bite your lip at the feeling of him inside you, clenching your folds to increase the friction as you lift up off him slowly. Creating a slow but deep pace, you let the sounds of his delicate cries fill your ears. He’s not noisy, but just very vocal, every breath coming out as a whine or moan of pleasure. “You’re so good for me, baby,” you praise breathlessly. “My good boy.” 

His hips buck up and you hiss as he inadvertently thrusts into you deeper than before. “God,” he whines hopelessly. 

“I thought you said slow,” you tease, resting your interlocked hands on the bed and trailing the fingertips of your other hand over his chest lightly, feeling the way his dick twitches inside you when you pass over his nipple.

He makes a noise of disagreement, tossing his head side to side when you begin to slowly swirl your hips, grinding on him rather than riding him. “Wan’more,” he pleads. 

You grab his other hand, keeping them both pinned to the pillow on either side of his head as an anchoring point for you to keep yourself steady as you begin to pick up your pace. 

He writhes beneath you so beautifully, and that paired with the grind of his cock inside you brings you to the edge after only a few more minutes. Yoongi is clearly suffering the same lack of longevity by the way his moans are short and high pitched, thighs trembling in desperation. 

Rather than words, you indicate you’re close by bending down and joining your lips together again, wanting to be as connected with him as possible when you reach your edge. The moment he moans your name into your mouth, you feel a powerful orgasm spread through you, coming from within and igniting pleasure in all your nerves. Your toes curl and your pace stutters, but you force yourself to continue as long as you can, grinding on him when you don’t have the strength to bounce up and down. He comes with a cry, clutching your hands so close they hurt, mindlessly babbling confessions of love. 

True to form, he indeed becomes very sleepy very fast, and you have to take the condom off for him as the moment you get up off him, he lets out a tired mumble, nuzzling his face into any skin of yours close enough in his sleep. 

You laugh silently, fondly, and join him under the heated covers, wrapping an arm around his middle, just like that night under the stars. 

—

You wake up before him that next morning. 

Although it’s late autumn, the sun streams in lazily through the crack in the curtains, casting a warm glow over his delicate body. He grunts unhappily when you separate yourself from him, and in his sleep he turns around, seeking your warmth. 

When you dress quietly, opting for his oversized sweater and some panties rather than your own clothes, you listen to the regular sound of his breathing, feeling it calm you. His hair is sticking up in all directions and he’s drooling out the corner of his mouth, but still, you’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than Min Yoongi. 

The soft pink of his sweater brings to mind a different shade, a vibrant one. The azalea petal that presumably still resides on his nightstand, the one he kept all those months ago. Did he really love you that whole time? 

You smile softly at the thought, and tip-toe out the guest room, towards the kitchen. With the only sound being the chirping of the birds outside, you grab the jar of Boseong Breakfast tea, and pull out two mugs. 

[duskowithapen]

Of Flowers And Tattoo Needles Chapter Three

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A Resolution

“Don’t you dare tell her, bug!”

Luka wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. Adrien had walked into the tattoo parlour proper, standing toe to toe with his fiancée, having a full argument in front of them. If Adrien is in a relationship with this Kagami, then what was up with the pet names and the forehead kiss?

“Why are you so intent on keeping this a secret?!” Kagami demanded, waving her rapier under the blonde’s nose threateningly.

“I wanted it to be a surprise!”

“You know that I hate surprises!”

“But this is a good surprise, I promise!”

“Adrien, I swear if you got a dragon tattooed onto your chest I will do something drastic!”

“C’mon Kagami, like Marinette would let me get something so obvious-OH-GODS-DON’T-IMPALE-ME—”

Much to Juleka’s displeasure – she was watching the argument with one of her signature ‘ah yes, chaos’ smirks – Marinette intervened before blood could be shed. “Maybe we could all calm down and talk this out like rational, non-violent human beings. I don’t think bloodstains will do anything for my shop’s reputation.” She pressed a hand to her hip and started Adrien down. “Unless you want to keep playing the scaredy cat, chaton?”

Adrien’s mouth dropped open. A hand was held dramatically to his chest. “So cruel m’lady!”

Kagami huffed and lowered her weapon, turning to give Marinette a bow. “My apologies, Mari-hime. I shall eviscerate him outside.”

“Let’s just not eviscerate anyone, hmm?” Marinette sighed.

The pout that appeared on Kagami’s face made Rose giggle, and it seemed to remind the swordswoman that yes, there were other people in the store. In the back corner, while the redhead was intent on his work, the client was watching them. Kagami bowed again. “I did not realise you had other clients, Mari-hime. Was this a bad time?”

Marinette waved a hand towards the couches. “It’s okay, Gami-chan. I was about to get Luka’s tattoo started, but I should probably help my idiot of a best frien before he gets himself killed.” Adrien visibly wilted at the look Marinette gave him. She turned an apologetic smile onto Luka, and he blinked at the full force of those beautiful bluebell eyes focusing completely on him. “Are you okay if I postpone your tattoo for a little bit? I promise this won’t take too long.”

Luka shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. He was really missing his guitar now. “I’m fine with that. You’re not the only one wanting to know about someone’s tattoo,” he directed at Kagami, who hummed questioningly. “My sister and her partner have been pestering me about my tattoo all morning.”

“See!” Adrien burst out, “Keeping your tattoo secret until it’s finished is normal Kagami!”

A loud clap stopped the argument from restarting. “Alright! If everyone could just sit down, we can get this cleared up,” Marinette said in a tone that demanded total obedience. There was a glint in her eyes that suggested great violence on those who did not comply.

Luka was very lucky that he was standing in front of one of the couches in the first place. That tone of voice, that look on her face… he dared any man not to get a bit weak in the knees.

“Sounds like a plan,” Juleka murmured as she brushed past, shooting him an uncomfortably knowing look as she sat by Rose’s side. “Considering that Luka thought you and Adrien were together. Care to explain how he could have come to that conclusion?”

There was a moment of silence. Luka and Marinette’s faces flared up in identical blushes. Adrien’s face reddened slowly as he bit his lip. Kagami’s eyebrows rose past her fringe. In the back corner, the client was still watching like the whole situation was a soap drama.

Then laughter.

Luka’s head snapped up as Kagami of all people started giggling, stern face crinkling into a smile as she tried to smother her amusement behind one fist. Adrien finally took a breath, losing his battle with the laughter he’d been restraining. His tugged his fiancée down onto the other couch with him. “Oh god, really?!”

Marinette dropped into the seat beside Luka, face hidden behind her hands. He leaned in a little. “I feel like I’m missing something?” He said lowly.

A blush still stained her face when Marinette looked up. Despite their closeness, she didn’t shift away. “Just a little, yeah,” she replied hoarsely. “I just feel so stupid. There I was, practically throwing myself at you, and you seemed interested, and then Adrien walks in, and oh god, you must have thought I was some floozy, that I was flirting with you despite having a boyfriend – which we’re not by the way, I swear I’d never cheat on you – I mean, if we were together I wouldn’t cheat – not that I’d cheat on Adrien if we were together, which again, we aren’t – but I wouldn’t have said those things or done anything if I was with someone else, but you didn’t know that, and ugh it’s all just a great big fucking mess –” Marinette stopped with a sudden inhale as Luka pressed a finger to her lips.

“It’s okay, Marinette,” he whispered, ignoring their avid audience. “I admit, I was confused, but I figured I could try and clear it up today anyway. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d made a wrong assumption,” he said with a self-depreciating chuckle, “I’ve never been all that good with people. I find it easier to communicate through my music than anything else.”

Marinette opened her mouth to reply, and Luka had to restrain a shiver at the feeling of soft lips against his guitar calluses. “I really am sorry, Luka. I keep forgetting how mine and Adrien’s… dynamic can be seen by other people.” She paused for a moment, looking away, before continuing, “And I think you communicate pretty well like this. Better than my anxiety-fuelled rambling anyway.”

Luka leaned in a little closer, drawing his finger down her chin and barely brushing her neck before pulling it away. “I thought it was kinda adorable,” he whispered.

Adrien coughed, pulling the two out of their haze. “Uh, I just wanted to apologise, Luka. I’m a very touchy-feely kinda person, and I keep forgetting that not everyone, y’know, hugs and kisses and just generally touch their friends as much as I do. I was… isolated as a kid, and I never really got the concept of personal space.” Now, didn’t that sound concerning?

He waved a hand at the nervous looking blonde. “That’s okay Adrien. I can get a bit touchy too – I shouldn’t have made assumptions. People have thought the same thing about Juleka and I before.” That had made for a very awkward conversation as they explained to the landlady no, they weren’t teenage lovers, but siblings who had decided to move in together.

“It’s all the nicknames,” Juleka said with a smirk, “Wasn’t it your dad you asked if he needed to design two wedding dresses, Adrien?”

Marinette groaned deeply and twisted to bury her face in Luka’s shoulder, hand grasping his jacket just in front of her face. “Don’t remind me,” she said, words half-muffled, “I can’t look Mr Agreste in the eye anymore!”

“Out of curiosity, where did the nicknames come from?” Luka asked, trying to keep a straight face as he wrapped an arm around Marinette’s waist, holding her to his side. Based on Juleka’s fake retch, he wasn’t very successful.

It was Adrien’s turn to blush, as he grabbed Kagami’s hand. “Well, like I said, I was an isolated kid. The only kind of unsupervised social interaction I got was when I played Ultimate Mecha Strike online. When I was thirteen, I met a player called Buginette03 – who tuned out to be Marinette – and we got pretty close, despite not sharing our real names. I’d ask Bug for advice when it came to my father, or later on, social stuff, and then she’d ask me for help when her anxiety spiked, or she started catastrophising.”

“And he’d use me as a sounding board for his awful pickup lines,” Marinette cut in, finally pulling her head away from Luka’s arm. It suddenly felt very cold. “You are such a cat-ch is a horrible excuse of both a line and a pun.”

“Hey! It worked with Kagami, didn’t it?”

Both Marinette and Kagami rolled their eyes. “Obviously, she took pity on you, kitty,” the tattooist said, deadpan.

“I found your determination in finding a successful line pitiful enough to be amusing.” Was Kagami’s response.

“Meowch!” Adrien said, insulted. “So cruel, ganging up on a poor cat!”

Marinette rolled her eyes and turned to face Luka properly. “Anyway, after almost a years worth of playing with each other and chatting, we decided to… reveal ourselves, I guess? I was so surprised when I realised that the snarky, goofy LostKittenOnTheCatwalk was actually in my class.”

Adrien slapped Kagami gently when she scoffed at his username. “Hey, I thought it was funny! I was thirteen!” He shook his head for a second. “But yeah, I was both surprised but not when I found out that Marinette was Buginette. Like, once I knew, I wondered how I could have thought it was anyone else.”

“We tried to date for a little bit,” Marinette said, taking up the narrative. “We thought that it was a ‘meant to be’ kind of thing, but it didn’t really work out.”

“We’re partners, but not? We work better as close friends, or siblings, rather than lovers,” Adrien looked at Marinette with a small smile. “I’m just glad that Marinette chose to remain friends with me. Probably not her smartest move,” he said with a shrug, “But oh well.”

Kagami flicked Adrien in the shoulder as Marinette pulled a pencil out nowhere and threw it. “Don’t get started on that again, chaton,” The tattooist said sternly. “We were both young, and stupid, and made you, stupid mistakes that we both learned from. And I will get Kagami to bash that into your thick head if I have to!”

Adrien waggled his eyebrows halfheartedly. “Not wanting to bruise me up yourself, m’lady?”

Marinette’s response was a raised eyebrow and crossed arms. “I think I’ll leave that dubious honour to Kagami. Besides, I already got to stab you.”

“Indeed,” Kagami said with a frown, “I am still waiting for an explanation of your tattoo, Adrien.”

“Well-look-at-the-time-gotta-GO!” Adrien was on his feet in an instant, sprinting out of the store. “See-ya-later-guys-bye!”

Kagami followed suit with a low bow, a murmur on how nice it was to meet them all, and then she was gone, smirk crossing her lips and sword held firmly in one hand. Luka wasn’t sure if he should be worried about Adrien’s safety or not.

His attention was pulled away when Marinette patted his arm. “They’ll be alright,” she soothed, “Kagami’s been stressing out over a fencing competition for a while, so Adrien’s been drawing out the whole ‘no you can’t see what my tattoo is’ thing so that she’ll actually take a break. Pretty sure this is the first time she’s left the dojo for something other than food or sleep for a week.”

“What is Adrien’s tattoo?” Rose asked, leaning forward.

“I’ve still got the concept page, if you’ll just give me a moment…” Marinette jumped up and rifled through her desk, returning with a thick, tattered at the edges sketchbook. She flicked it open to a drawing of a curled up dragon the size of Luka’s palm. It was Chinese style – all long body, short legs, fur crest running down it’s length, flowing whiskers – in various shades of black and red. The crest was a pale shade of yellow, contrasting with the dark gold underbelly. Lighter gold made up the claws and teeth. The eyes were, surprisingly, a rather normal brown. The dragon was curled into a circle, with it’s jaw open. Interestingly, it wasn’t breathing fire, but rather a stream of what appeared to be wind, portrayed in curling lines of grey that created clouds around the dragon. Scattered throughout were tiny gold stars.

“It’s beautiful, Marinette,” Luka breathed, glancing up at the blushing artist. “You’re incredibly skilled.”

Her stammers were covered up by Rose’s squeals. “It’s so detailed Marinette! I take it that the dragon is meant to be Kagami?”

“Ye-yeah. It’s inspired by a story about the dragon of the stars, which was one of Kagami’s favourite when she was little, and Adrien wanted to have it curled up over his heart to show how she both owns his heart and protects it – thus the clouds and kina scary expression.” Marinette traced over the drawing slowly. “Definitely one of my best works.”

“Just one of your best?” Luka asked lowly.

When Marinette looked up, a blush still tinted her cheeks, but there was a determined spark in her eye. “Yeah. There’s this messy haired florist who’s getting my best tattoo at some point, if he still has time to have it done?”

“I’m all yours Marinette.” And oh, how Luka hoped he could make that literal.

“Well, that’s our cue to leave,” Juleka said with a smirk, grasping a protesting Rose by the shoulders and pushing her towards the door. “I expect progress photo, big brother!”

He just waved a hand in her direction, not taking his eyes off Marinette’s. “Yeah, yeah, I will, you impatient brat.”

When the door shut behind them, Marinette extended one ink-stained hand. “So. Ready to get stabbed?”

Luka took it. “By you? Always.”

A few days later, after tattoos were drawn, inked, admired, wrapped and cared for, Luka appeared outside Charmed Ink. In his hands was a large bouquet of flowers – Pink orchids, larkspur, daffodils, cherry blossoms, blue morning glories and hyacinths. In the very centre was a single lilac.

For love beginning.  

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Horikoshi: This will probably not be super popular, but it’ll be fun!

Us: Oh, well that sounds nice!

Us, 290 chapters later: This Isn’t Fun Anymore Horikoshi

Horikoshi: :)

Anyways, welcome to the beginning of - hopefully - a long term and engaging project. I am basically aware of all of canon, and am up to date with the manga, but I haven’t actually read from the beginning of the series, and I’ve only watched the series up to the Deku v Todo fight in the sports festival. However, I’ve been curious as to how the manga portrays stuff that I’ve seen in anime gif form, and so I figured, hey, make this a project!

If you have questions or anything, the ask box is open for now. Meanwhile, I am going to head into the first chapter proper!

[No. 1 - Izuku Midoriya: Origin]

Wow, you’d almost think this kid would grow up to be a villain or something, with that kind of attitude, huh? No way that this kind of attitude would ever come to bite him in the ass and force him to reevaluate his entire character and kickstart his character development.

(Before you say anything, I like Katsuki as a character, but DAMN did he have to do a lot of growing up. I suppose when one is at the bottom, the only way to go is up… unless you have a pickaxe.)

One thing I actually noticed right away, and I dunno how much it’s used in other manga (seeing as I currently am not reading any other manga and the last ones I read were… a long while ago…) is the shape of the text boxes in order to convey emotion! It’s actually hella neat and a little detail I wouldn’t think about adding if I were in his position (not that I can draw all that well, but that’s not my point). You can practically hear the warbling in Izuku’s tone and the rougher edges in Katsuki’s!

(Also, question for the English sub while we’re at it, why the fuck does Katsuki sound like he’s a goddamned adult when he’s fourteen. What the fuck.)

Interesting little thing here, Katsuki not actually using his quirk here against Izuku; his hand is trailing smoke from his explosion, but it’s not a direct burn wound. Not that he should be doing this at all, but with the number of fics I see where Katsuki literally gives Izuku second or third degree burns, I think this is a reminder that canon Katsuki has some modicum of restraint, even this early.

Before I forget, hello winged kid who definitely has no plot significance whatsoever. No siree.

(If you are new to the manga/show and are reading this as among your first introductions to the fandom, first off, I am so sorry. Secondly, expect me to be… definitely making a lot of sarcastic quips to things in the future.)

Onto the second/third page, which is supposed to be a full spread, but is split up into two pages on the online reading site. RIP, but I will not complain about free access to the whole manga. 

Lookit this green bean. I love him so much. I can’t wait for him to suffer.

Izuku: wait, what?

Anyways, a few things to note:

Who the fuck is this guy? I looked into the wiki but he apparently doesn’t warrant a page or even a mention as one of the background faces of the series, but look at that fucking claw, man! And those boots and jets! He’s very obviously themed after a baseball catcher, so I’m going to guess that he has some kind of quirk that deals with either drawing projectiles to him, or perhaps in throwing projectiles… in either case, it’d be something like Snipe’s quirk, so maybe this is his less howdy-happy sibling.

Oh right, the chapter. The other heroes we see on the scene in this two-page spread are Death Arms, Air Jet, and Kamui Woods. 

Also, something I want to point out that I’m sure others have but just struck me while looking at this spread - multiple people are recording / taking pictures of this. I wonder if part of the reason for the villain industry to be as strong as it is is because the villains, even if they know they’ll lose, still get their own sort of fame in being in the news? That… might explain a lot about how there can be enough villains to even run an entire damn industry.

(Well, that and a lot of sociopolitical commentary on BNHA society, but we don’t need to get into that now. Maybe wait two hundred or so chapters first.)

Not gonna lie, I had to double take because I was like ‘wait, what is Ochako doing here?’ but then I realized it was just a random civilian; she doesn’t have those side bangs Ochako does. But now I almost wonder what sort of world we could have had, if they’d met a bit earlier.

Onto the fifth page (fourth is just a filler page, nothing on it), and we get treated to this gem:

Tag yourself I’m the guy who’s slackjawed because his kid is fucking glowing.

The first four examples of quirks shown in this flashback are the luminescence, telekinesis, ice, and that flame-headed(?) mutation. Of them, we actually see hints to the fact that quirks have drawbacks, as the girl with ice is drawn with the same frostbite backlash as Shouto, while the flame-headed kid is… well, I have no idea, but they do not look to be happy.

Also, I love the nod Hori does to the heroes of our era as silhouettes! This is just more evidence to me, along with the fact that the first quirked kid is born and presented in a modern hospital, that this series takes place sometime in the future. I… even calculated the years it could technically be, based on information we get in a few chapters, but I’ll save that for then.

Onto the sixth page! A nice shot of Kamui Woods getting into position, and man is that giant quirk unnerving.

What the fuck is with those feet, Hori. Those aren’t feet.

Next we see how the crowds are reacting, basically with no panic or concern. One guy is just casually letting his boss know he’ll be getting in late. And Backdraft! That is some serious water manipulation, but it seems like it has to be the water they’re in contact with? Also, is it just me or is that a portable pressure hose on their back?

And of course, Izuku being excited over hero stuff, as one does. He’s so babey faced, going back to current chapters after this is gonna be fucking wild.

Onto the seventh page, and here we are with the ‘you’re pure evil’ speech to someone who’s… just a robber. Seriously, dude? I get that you’re still fairly new to the scene (I think he might not be from a hero high school, but a late join program, but that’s another post), but like. You can’t just call random people ‘pure evil’ and correlate petty crime with like, actual mass murderers, or else people might start to see things in black and white and, you know, create the idea of ‘villainous people’ and so push even more innocents down the path of desperation and criminality.

Wait, sociopolitics later. Izuku being a hero fanboy now. Even able to utter Kamui’s attack call as he’s calling it out, with some seriously cool visual effects-

And on the eighth page, we have Mt. Lady crash the scene. Literally. She just fucking shows up outta nowhere and fucking leaps up and delivers a kick right to the villain’s chin, throwing him back through the train bridge wall and sending debris down to the ground below. Sure hope there weren’t civilians there!

Also, hello to that random guy on the roof watching this. I think in Smash they made that guy her manager or something.

I love how Izuku and the other guy are like ‘what the fuck’ while the press just shows up out of nowhere and is like. Hyperfocused on her. (I’ve heard some issues with the portrayal of media/reporters in the series, but since I have no experience with that sort of thing, I can’t say much on it.)

The last panel of this page shows that, fortunately, there were no civilians on that part of the street (even though it being rush hour and the huge crowds on the other side of the bridge should have suggested otherwise… but what do I know?)

With page nine, we get to see our first case of villain apprehension, which to note does not include any sort of quirk suppressors. Because those don’t exist. Otherwise Aizawa and the Eight Precepts’ erasure bullets would not be such huge deals to everyone. I mean yikes, though, the guy is fucking muzzled. And you can see the damage done by Mt. Lady in the background, both physical and emotional. Not to mention…

What the fuck is that face.

But yeah, this notes that performance in heroics determines not only what they’re paid by the government, but also how much fame they get. No way a system like this could backfire in any capacity, right? Right? (cough).

I love how Hori uses Izuku’s muttering habit as the border for the text bubble when the kid zones into his little world. Also, gigantification is noted to be a common and strong quirk, so we really should see more OCs with size altering quirks in fics in the future, you hear me? Honestly, with it being common, I would almost expect there to be entire buildings, or maybe even neighborhoods / blocks dedicated to catering to size shifters… wonder what those places look like.

Also aww, the guy saying good luck on the heroics dream to Izuku and Izuku just sparkling. What a cutie. Can’t wait for him to suffer. :D

Izuku: No seriously, what-

Anyways, I’m cutting off here since we then transition into the next ‘scene’ and this is a long chapter - 55 pages! Besides, this has already surpassed 1700 words, I don’t need to ramble on too long in one post. 

Lemme know what you think, and I’ll be back with more soon!

[genderfluidlucifer]

Response to being asked to give  an opinion on Connie’s calout by residentevil-4

(Tw: CSAM, rape fic, incest fic, predatory behavior, racism, ableism, kink mention, nsfw mentions. Minors should probably dni.)

“Connie and I know each other irl and went to school together for 3 years, although they now live in a different state and have cut contact with me. We went to a private therapy school in Manhattan as we're both disabled and were deemed unable to attend public school. Even though we were pretty close, Connie didn't like having photos taken of them, so I don't have any selfies of the two of us; however, these are from our sophomore and senior yearbooks which at least confirms that we were in the same year at school. People who have seen Connie's selfies should be able to confirm that that is what they look like. First and foremost, Connie is not TMA. They are intersex and the two of us have discussed intersex issues both in person and online, but they are still decidedly CAFAB.” Ok so first off, I want to address this part of the callout. To be honest...was it really necessary to literally doxx Connie ehre? Because this textbook definition of doxxing. Yes Connie’s done some shitty things but I freally don’t think that what they’ve done warrants this level of doxxing. Or...even better, any doxxing. This feels like a really unnecessary breach of privacy, revealing sensitive information on Connie’s childhood that they choose to confide in you with. I really don’t agree with this aspect of the callout as it feels very invasive and bordering on stalkerish.  Btw when I say bordering on stalkerish I’m not directly calling you a stalker Bonnie. Just so we’re clear. I am not defending Connie supposedly faking being TMA. Because faking being TMA is a very serious issue. HOWEVER since I don’t know Connie irl and to be quite frank it’s none of my business what the nature of their agab is. Were not close and I’m certainly not going to like lead Connie onto thinking we’re friends just to confirm this with them because that would be creepy. So to be honest I’m going to take this part of the callout with again of salt for now.

[ID: A cropped screenshot of a numbered list Connie posted to their blog hadrosaurs in response to an ask. 

“3. I’m TMA And that’s completely irrelevant. I’m not accusing them because of their gender I didn’t even know their gender when they said that to me saying that they said that because they fucking said that and the reaction to it was incredibly alarming. Don’t fucking say that stuff to people.]

I mean I”m not a trans woman so take this with a grain of salt if you want but...I don’t see how this is really proof of Connie being deliberately transmisogynistic? Yes Connie gives iffy retellings of mistakes they’ve made in the past. I’ve seen that on their blog before and I won’t pretend it doesn’t happen. BUT here they sound genuine enough and to be honest a growing issue I’ve seen with callouts as of late is. A person confirms they in fact did not do the thing they were called out for. And then the people who make the callout choose to see it as proof of incriminating behavior anyways. To be honest it’s a big problem and it’s also incredibly unfair to the person being called out. If you’re so determined at that point to see the person as bigoted no matter what they say then of course anything they say can be seen as proof. So I’m going to have to pass on this bit of evidence. “Connie responded: “Final note: I have spoken extensively with several trans women about using TMA to describe myself. I will not be getting into discourse about that on this blog again. All that leads to is people demanding my medical records and calling me slurs. If you wanna have a thoughtful conversation about it direct message me cause it’s not happening again here.” Again this really doesn’t seem all that self incriminating. Connie mentions here that they’ve talked to rl trans woman about whether or not they can be considered TMA. Connie really doesn’t have to disclose that personal information to people for any reason. Yes even when people are e including this ask response in a callout. And considering lots of people DO get invasive about Connie’s medical history ans general personal life over matters like this? I feel their reaction is pretty understandable here. “Connie has constantly compared “exclusionists” (or anyone, really) to TERFs, even when the people in question are not transmisogynistic, trans exclusionary radfems, or are even transmisogyny affected themselves.

“ Gonna have to disagree with this part of the callout too. Lots of ace inclus blogs, even some run by trans women , have proven that the ace exclus movement was started by swerfs/terfs. But the blog that has the most evidence for this is courteousmingler on tumblr. I suggest you check out that blog’s archiving of the history of ace exclus rhetoric before rushing to call me a transmisogynist for disagreeing with this part of the callout. I looked through all of the evidence for Connie being racist and tbh as a black ndn it all feels incredibly flimsy. It’d be one thing if Connie was using their experiences to derail and invalidate the discussions about how black people are oppressed But they weren’t doing that there at all. This part of the post feels incredibly biased. And like OP is looking for things to be mad about. Going to have to pass on this list of evidence. Also uh I seem to recall that residentevil04 got called out for some questionable behavior as well. “Both me (insepsy, hi) and ezrat have had really weird spikes in activity on our Statcounters, both on the same day. (Saturday, 4/17/21) For both of us, majority of the pages looked at by these visitors have been related to or about Connie, or have been posts that Connie would find "problematic" such as the f slur untagged or something related to "panphobia"/aphobia. I’m sorry but...none of the proof of cyberstalking holds any water. Visiting someone’s blogs and rbing posts to disagree with them is not cyberstalking. Keeping tabs on urls that an abusive person who has harassed are using so you can block them (in this case with kyoshi) and warn your mutuals is not stalking. As a victim of rl stalking it’s...really weird to call this legit stalking at all. Much less claim that you have damning proof of it being stalking when no such evidence exists in the callout. Besides after Connie and nonbinarydave called out one of kyoshi’s buddies for sending a death threat hate anon to nonbinarydave’s toddler st4lker partly admitted to doing it a few times. Then other mutuals in kyoshi’s toxic social circle clearly began joining in. Making side accounts where they tried to spin a false narrative of nonbinarydave’s daughter being one of their alters (ableist as hell.) And also trying to do it in such a way that they thought would trigger nonibnarydave’s psychosis (also ableist as hell.) If you’re going to drag Connie for their mistakes and never let them move on from those mistakes then it’s only fair to do that to people you agree with who also do toxic/bigoted things. ALso the fact that your wording here suggests that you think panphobia and aphobia aren’t real makes me doubt this claim even more. Exclus and their allies are notorious for mislabeling inclus disagreeing with them as stalking. “connie said that they would release that info at a later time and the minor began to argue with them that they had a responsibility regardless of their complicated relationship with age. in this argument connie for a time kept their age ambiguous and at one point told the minor (who confirmed in a later ask that they were severely traumatized by adults) that they obviously weren’t traumatized. connie quickly deleted this ask and any mentions of it and the next post they reblogged was about how wrong it was to try and quantify or discount others’ trauma. on my old blog i @ed them in the replies and asked if they had just done that. connie admitted to it and said it was fucked up but quickly blocked + deleted my comment. i can’t remember whether or not connie apologized to the minor, they may have? but yeah. i thought that was pretty weird.”] I do agree with some of the concern here that adults shouldn’t over expose minors in discourse. I’ve been contemplating this for awhile myself. And trying to figure out how to take better steps to avoid including minors who are triggered by discourse in discourse, especially. HOWEVER I have one little issue with this addition to the callout. If that is the case then exclus and their allies need to practice this as well. You cannot ignore the fact that the reason a lot of minors are getting involved in exclus discourse is due to adult exclus and their allies forcing minors to pick a side in the discourse. Y’all are not at all exempt from this problem. I still remember an ex mutual of mine trying to convince a minor to agree that aces can’t face corrective rape. And based on how aggressive it got with me when I tried to avoid giving an opinion on the matter, I can’t imagine that it would’ve reacted better to the minor refusing to give an opinion or to the minor outright disagreed. Refusing to put these standards on exclus and their allies is both hypocritical and quite frankly very transparent. The claims about them glorifying dark topics on AO3 through their fics also seems unfortunately legit. I mean those asks of shaming people who ask their viewers to not romanticize or glorify abusive relationships in their works is very damning. I’m very disappointed to see that Connie has taken being an inclus to the point of validating antis anti culture wholeheartedly. I can’t think of much more to add to my opinion on that part of the callout. As for the issue of Connie interacting with pro shippers in the past, I do know that this claim is legit. I’ve seen it before and so has Breeze. This was why for a brief time we decided to stop following their blogs. Because it was triggering to have pro shippers put on our dash. And sometimes we just don’t feel it’s worth it to always let people we’re platforming know they’re rbing triggering stuff. So sometimes we just quietly unfollow and choose to not interact until we’re sure they’re filtering what they do and don’t rb in some way. I definitely don’t agree with that behavior. And if they’re still doing that I”ll deplatform again. “The anon asks: “A weird question but do you know any other stimboard blogs with your follow criteria? (No radfems, racists, fandom antis, etc.) I was hoping to find more through your “similar blogs” but a lot have no anti-antis for their DNI or allow truscum/transmeds and exclus. :(“

The user responds: “I know of @turtle-pond-stims, @outofangband, and @kinaesthetics! 🍂🍄" “[ID: A cropped screenshot of an ask sent by Connie from their now-deactivated blog, butch-with-a-tortoise.

Connie says: “hey anon I have safe stim blogs. dm me if you want them. And radfems/bigots aren’t allowed to interact. For my own safety (because the community is honestly terrifying) I can’t publicly say on my blogs that I’m safe for proshippers/kinky people but I try to spread word how I can.”] [ID: Screenshot of a post by evilwriter37, which reads, “I’ve been seeing posts about fandom police leaving ao3, and it’s like: Good. We don’t want you here anyway. Go find your own fanfiction site.”

The post is tagged “#Fandom #AO3 #Antis #Purity Culture” and has 87 notes. It was posted on December 21st, 2020.

There is a reply from main-to-outofangband-andothers saying: “there are Silm antis on that site who are against Russigon (Maedhros and Fingon) not because they’re cousins but because they’re both male (coded)”] [ID: A screenshot of an anonymous (though signed off as being from outofangband) ask sent to evilwriter37, which says, “Melkor and Viggo solidarity is ‘Look there’s nothing wrong with keeping my enemy chained up in my personal chambers at all times so please just focus on the war efforts and I’ll focus on the boy* in my chambers’ -@outofbangand.

*boy used figuratively @ antis”

The user responds: “Pfft!!! Hahaha! You’re absolutely right! (And Viggo does refer to Hiccup in canon as ‘my boy’).”] I can’t really say anything to refute this. Because these are all posts of Connie outright stating that they disagree with antis. And not only sympathize with anti antis but are fully against antis. Looks like very damning evidence. Although ngl I’m not entirely against kinky blogs as a whole? Just so long as they truly stay in their lane with their kink content. And don’t force it on others in any way. Or shame people who are triggered by their kinks. It is true that being entirely against kinky blogs no matter what is dipping your toes into swerf rhetoric. Tbh I’m not going to look at the rest. This is pretty much all I need to make a decision on whether or not I”ll continue platforming Connie. Though I will try to get some more  perspective from people who I interact with as well. Because I feel better about making a more definitive decision after doing that. Also in general please don’t not try to get an opinion from me on how I feel about syscourse. A lot of the claims about Connie’s age weirdness and them using their alters as a shield feel like syscourse to me. Especially if this callout was written by one or several singlets. Singlets should never be trying to judge how legit someone’s system is ever. Even if their system friends encourage them to. You can call out a horrible person with a system without trying to insinuate that they’re lying about their alters in some way. Doing otherwise is ableist ESPECIALLY if you’re a singlet. Also in general the reason I stay out of discussions of judging how someone is handling their systems is because it’s syscourse and syscourse is triggering for my system and I. If this post was an attempt to get me to give an opinion  on the validity of Connie’s system I don’t appreciate it. And I would appreciate not being dragged into such matters again, thank you.

In general there’s like a few parts of this callout that feel legit. Which is unfortunately cluttered with obvious bias and obsessive hatred of Connie. I’m not here to stan or coddle Connie. I know they are not a perfect person. Especially since no human being in the world is perfect. But I feel the way this callout was created was very sloppy since a lot of the evidence was messy at best. And some points were very hypocritical as well as there being some no true scotsman moments from OP. In acting like exclus never do any of the thing that they tried to call out Connie for. Which is behavior that I am not a fan of. This is why people need to be more careful about callouts and like make roughdrafts and have a more unbiased person helping them if they don’t feel they can do it on their own. I’m even trying to make a resolve to do better at that myself. So it’s not like I’m unwilling to put my money where my mouth is. Anyways those are all my thoughts on this messy callout. And tbh I’m not going to get too much more heavily involved in this. Because I need to focus on more immediately serious rl stuff more often, like doing what I can to get out of the hellish landscape of a house I currently am stuck in.

[folderalconspiracy]

Stop hurting people

First, I want people who are talking about Destiel with no knowledge to think about something. And that's who I'm talking to here:

I know there are some Destiel shippers who aren't happy, although I think you're mostly unhappy because you think this is the end...but I think you're wrong, and sorta you're being duped into that by the people I've addressing, who have decided to become giddy about queerbaiting or something. If you are Destiel shipper, or even a current viewer of the show, I'll know everything I'm about to say, and you might want to skip to my conclusion.

And let me be clear: I’m not a Destiel shipper, in the sense I really care about the relationship. In fact, I'm not really a 'fan' of the show exactly...I watch it, but often a season or two late. I just have caught up to 'see the show out', if you will...I watched it from the beginning, and I will see it end. And it's not like anything else is on. So I'm saying these things as a general, moderately engaged viewer of the show, not a shipper or fan.

If you are not a viewer, here's a ton of background about Cas 'dying':

You do not understand how this show works. Stuff is happening at the cosmic level, and almost all the players can immediately bring anyone else back to life.

And not only is death a revolving door, Cas didn't 'die' anyway. Jack went to The Empty, the same place as Cas, _literally earlier this episode_. And was sent immediately back out. The Empty is not hell...and also hell isn't hard to get out of, the main characters have wandered into hell (the actual hell) three times this season, once to borrow a cup of sugar.

Besides the Empty, Death can bring anyone back, and, she just died (We think?), meaning there's a new Death out there...although we don't know how that relates to everyone vanishing.

God probably _can't_ pull people out of the Empty it...or, least, we don't think he can. We're not sure. He's been upgraded a bit now that he has merged back with his sister. (No, I'm not explaining this show to you.)

Speaking of that: The end of this eposide had God erased all people from existence except the main characters. Probably cleared out Heaven and Hell too. The dead aren't going to stay dead, or this the most downer ending that has ever existed.

I mean, I get you don't watch the show, but you didn't even watch the _episode_!

As for the relationship:

These two characters have been in love with each other for quite some time. This isn’t me being a ‘shipper’, which would be something like promoting it or wanting the ship...I don’t really care. I am aware this relationship exists because it is clearly, textually, there. By both characters.

Dean has had worse reactions to losing Cas than losing his brother. (And had one at the end of this episode, although I don't know if the ten second clip you all apparently watched showed it.)

So, every single person who thinks Dean doesn’t love Cas is...hilarious wrong. It is maybe possible to argue it isn’t romantic on Dean's part, and it’s even more possible to argue that Dean can’t let himself go there, either out of some level of self-loathing homophobia and toxic masculinity, or the actual answer: He can’t let himself be in a relationship with anyone, because he knows it will end horribly, which is, of course, a thing I know because I watch the show. (And Cas literally said that thing in the very scene.)

Meanwhile Cas has said, a few times, how much he loved Dean, although he has tended to immediately backtrack in the way he did in this speech...saying he loved Dean, and then saying he loved everyone...but in this speech, he went back to talking about Dean. Making it very clear.

Other things I know, that you don't:

The phase ‘I want things I can’t have’ is a meaningful phrase as it has been used by Dean, about himself, talking about love, in regard to flirting with an imaginary women.

Dean recently has had a lot of realizations about himself, and some closure on his relationship with his father.

Only two episodes ago, God explain that this universe went sideways due to Castiel. In other universes, the apocalypse story (waaay back in season 5) played out as intended, but in this one, it didn't. Castiel used his free will, and the entire story, and universe derailed. And here, this episode, we get Cas confessing about how he learned to love due to Dean.

Thus, Castiel love for Dean saved the universe. Not metaphorically, or a shipper reading that in. That is a textual fact within universe of the show Supernatural: According to God, Castiel's free will derailed the End Times, and according to Castiel, his love for Dean is the reason that happened.

You guys basically just watched She-Ra and turned it off when Adora apparently died and ran online to start yammering about the show is homophobic for doing 'bury your gays'. Good job, everyone!

And I almost leave this out because I don't even want to have to say it: While it is a bit shitty for you, who don't know the character at all, to attack an actor portraying emotional responses in a normal way for a character, whatever. But it's incredibly offensive to imply this was due to the _actor_ being homophobic. You can attack the acting, because you...don't know anything and...came in with some weird assumptions based on whatever the clip said. But don't attack the _actor_. At worse, he's a bad actor. (He isn't.)

--------------------

And that brings me to my conclusion. It's technically a hypothetical:

When Cas comes back, either to be part of the next two episodes, or just to say goodbye, and when Dean manages either to stammer out his love confession or...not do that but somehow manage to indicate it's really there but he's not able to deal with it...

...how do you think all your clowning is going to look?

And how do you feel about shitting over all of this, when you don't know how it's going to end, and you don't even really know what's going on?

I'm part of the Supercorp fandom, and we, right now, have been talking about how we _might_ be seeing the buildup to the slowest, most epic slowburn on TV.

What if Supernatural beat us, what if they've been playing the long game for...not this entire time, but like five years or so? And create the slowburn to end all slowburns.

And _this_ is how the internet responded right at the end, by memes about being sent to super-hell for being gay, because we couldn't keep our fucking memes in our pants for two goddamn weeks?

So maybe all you clowns just...stop? Wait it out.

Because it's possible that the greatest Supernatural quote of all, which predates Castiel and certainly was intended as a joke at the time: And here we were thinking that, you know, we were teaching you and all this time you were teaching us, about heart, about dedication, and about how gay love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day.

...ends up being how the show ends?

[skrltwtch]

Muse

Prompt 1: Just like some people sleep-walk, you tend to paint or draw while in your transformed state because it calms you down. And apparently, people really like your art.

Prompt 2: A is a popular artist, and B messages them without thinking one day. They didn’t expect to become friends, and they definitely didn’t expect to become more. Person B just felt that connection between the two of them.

Prompt 3: A/Werewolf has a tendency to curl like a dog in front of the fireplace a lot (usually in their werewolf form, but it’s not uncommon for them to do it as a human). (Sources in master list)

Word count: 3,721 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, supernatural

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I put up with the long commute to and fro between home and work for two reasons, and two reasons alone: the decent rent for a place with a picturesque view and that catered to my monthly needs, and the glut of time to catch up on my reading. And by ‘reading’, I meant ‘scrolling through the handful of social media feeds that survived my latest cull of shit that was taking up my time and storage space unnecessarily, and occasionally attempting (and failing) to pay attention to my Kindle’. Hey, at least I was aware I had a problem …?

Instagram was my first hit of the day. I flicked past images of makeup, friends in situations I wouldn’t be finding myself in anytime soon, and cute animals. The occasional meme and comic draw out an exhalation of air from my nostrils. I marvelled at artwork and photography, half wishing I were half as good as the people I followed and admired, half chiding myself for not practising either enough and losing interest quicker than I’d dropped money on new equipment in the name of my new endeavours. You could say one of my hobbies, the ones I’d been consistent about, was amassing gadgets obtained to indulge my whims and fancies.

My heart skipped a beat — or was it the pothole the bus went over? — when I came across a new post by George. I didn’t know him personally to refer to him by his first name like that, but hadn’t social media broken down boundaries between people, making them seem closer to each other than they really were? He was an illustrator whose work I chanced upon on Reddit a while back. His portfolio was a patchwork of subjects, often portraits, rendered mostly in traditional media like watercolour and oil paint. He sometimes shook things up with abstract, contemplative pieces. He had something for almost everyone. For me, it was his attractive, angular yet distinctive faces and statuesque figures, use of watercolour, and versatility: one piece could be superhero fanart, followed by a collection of moody, atmospheric paintings of the English landscape with some fantastical additions.

It also helped that he seemed to be a nice, chill person, and a handsome one at that, too, based on the smattering of pictures he had of himself on his feed. Please, let me imagine a world in which someone as ideal as him — or what I knew about him — wasn’t beholden to anyone for a moment.

His latest post was a drippy bust of a snarling wolf with full moons for eyes. The caption simply read: ‘Mood.’ I smirked as I hit the like button. Did I mention that he drew wolves a lot as well? Sometimes his wolves were feral; sometimes they were humanoid, but still wild. The latter featured heavily in his conceptual works, albeit as hazy, indistinct forms, like blurry photographs. In any case, I liked that he had a fondness for wolves and werewolves, as the constant presence of the full moon in art of the latter would suggest. Anyone who liked wolves was a-okay in my book. Anyone who liked werewolves was even more so. Because.

An interrupted connection between my brain and my reflexes led me to visit his profile. Instead of returning to my feed, my thumb gravitated toward the message button at the top of the screen. Not a single cell in my body resisted this turn of events despite the restored connection. Oh, what the hell. Why not? Like, what were the chances he’d read my message? He had tens of thousands of followers, a likely considerable chunk of them being bots aside. He must receive DMs every other minute. I’d be another sycophant in his sea of fans. Or he’d see my homely mug and locked profile, and he’d think I was driven to add to his never-ending count of unread messages simply out of misguided thirst.

The beauty of the Internet was that it made ‘out of sight, out of mind’ fairly easy to put into practice.

I got the following out of my system and into his inbox: ’Hi! Hope you’re doing well. I’ve been following your Instagram for a while, and your latest post just made me want to say your art is amazing. (I can totally identify with the sentiment behind it.) I especially love your more abstract pieces. There’s something so … raw about them. And I like that you seem to like wolves a lot, too. They’re beautiful animals, and your art really captures that about them. Anyway, keep up the great work! Take care.’

I exited Instagram, not caring about the rest of my feed anymore and not wanting to feel like I was stalking my notifications for something that’d never come. My phone buzzed with several notifications as I went down my Reddit homepage. I swiped away the banners with green icons that pelted the top of my screen. Those could wait. What couldn’t were the banners stating that I had a new message and a new follower request from —

‘Oh, my God!’ I said, loudly enough for me to hear my own voice above my music (the chorus of Walk the Moon’s ‘Shut Up and Dance’ at half of maximum volume, so … loud). Not one soul on this lightly populated bus acknowledged my exclamation — not even the woman sitting next to me. (Come on, lady, the front was mostly empty.) Thank God for technology making hermits of us all. Or my sudden outburst paled in comparison to the shit that could happen and had happened on public transport. When you took long journeys as I did every day, you’d see some real shit in due time, too.

I launched Instagram for the second time this morning (stop judging, Screen Time) and the first time ever with trembling hands. The notifications were real. I approved his request first. My mind raced to recollect anything on my profile that might make him regret his decision to let my piddling photos of food, myself, my cat, and random junk take up precious space on his feed. Nope, couldn’t think about that now, because I was now staring at an actual, honest-to-God message from George:

’Hey! Thanks for reaching out, and thank you for your kind comments. They mean a lot to me, especially what you said about my experimental stuff and wolves. They are stunning creatures, aren’t they? And yeah, I drew that last picture after a particularly rough night. You could call it a self-portrait of sorts, I suppose.’

I snorted. Change the fur colour and make the eyes normal, and it was a portrait of myself every full moon. Okay, not something I could tell someone I just met, let alone a popular artist on the Internet …

Before I could recover from the shock that my inbox held an actual, honest-to-God message from George Holden (that was his last name — the oxygen made it to my brain for me to remember that he had his last name on his profile), he sent another one: ’Anyway, how are you? I took a look at your profile, and it looks like we have quite a number of things in common.’

What, really? No way. Was it the lashings of sweet treats I subjected my stomach to every weekend? The horror and science fiction titles, celebrity memoirs, and comics, sometimes paired with an iced coffee at either a café I put down roots for the afternoon or the one-bedroom house in Waltham Forest I called home, I showcased to put forth some form of air of intellectualism? The cross-stitch projects featuring memes and popular culture icons? His profile was quite barren of anything that could provide insight into what else he enjoyed doing besides his art. Which, hey, was perfectly fine: no one was obligated to share their personal life online.

I replied, ’I’m fine, thank you. I’m on my way to work. Favourite part of my day, really. And really? Like what?’

Most of my notifications that day were from him.

✦✧✦✧

I was a bustling hub of activity in my seat: A sip of my drink. A shake of my knee. A lift of my phone. A turn of my neck. A shift of my weight from one butt cheek to the other. I was certain I was generating enough electricity to power a lightbulb in five-second intervals. I couldn’t help it. I was so, so excited — and so, so nervous. This was my and George’s first time meeting each other in person. There’d be no screen between us. Actually, what difference would that make? We’d been talking to each other for months, either through text or video calls, the latter more common in the weeks leading up to today. We’d seen each other even on our ‘I’ll put on a clean shirt, brush my hair, and hope for the best’ days. What could either one of us do in person that would irrevocably alter our friendship for the worse? Well …

The sound of someone entering the café stopped me from starting on a list of things that I could do to fuck things up. I looked up, probably the seventh time I did so in the last ten minutes. This was on me. I grossly overestimated the amount of time it’d take me to get somewhere as usual; a natural by-product of living far from the city. Seventh — probably — time was the charm: it was George — and right on the dot, too. His punctuality added to his attractiveness, which had already gone through the roof and was heading straight into the stratosphere. I bit my lip to suppress any unfortunate exclamations. He was a friend, Evelyn … just a friend, and I had no illusions otherwise.

I called out to him. He waved at me and joined me at the table I picked out for us. And the second our eyes met, devoid of any barrier between us, everything about him — and everything about us — clicked.

He was just like me.

And I was just like him.

And he was as astonished about it as I was, going by the long silence that passed between us, a first since we got to know each other.

‘Hi! Oh, my God, it’s so good to finally meet you!’ I said with a grin to break the tension. He broke out into a smile, his posture relaxing. Success. Should I go in for a handshake? No, that’d be too stuffy for a months-old friendship. A hug? No, that’d be too intimate for a months-old friendship, and an online one, too, no less. Was it obvious this was my first time meeting someone I met online?

‘It’s good to meet you, too,’ he said, his expression of cheer unabating. ‘I’m going to get myself a drink first, and then we can shoot the shit.’ His smile turned into a grin. ‘Do you want anything? My treat,’ he added as he spotted me reaching for my wallet.

‘I was thinking a red velvet muffin, please.’ I didn’t know why I didn’t get one earlier. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. I’ll be right back.’

As he left, my nerves turned into happiness that I met another werewolf. It was rare to meet other werewolves just about anywhere. What were the odds that two werewolves, one of whom was Internet-famous, would become friends because the other one had a brain fart one morning to send a message to the Internet-famous one? You couldn’t make this shit up. In all the years I’d been a werewolf, George was the first one I knew. I didn’t even know the one that turned me. I got bitten one night, and that was my life changed forever. I figured everything out on my own — I had to. And my puny social network of werewolves made sense: this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing anyone would advertise about themselves.

Once George settled down and courtesies were out of the way, the first thing out of his mouth was ‘I never thought I’d meet another one like me’.

I moved my chair closer to him so that we could speak at length about what we were without the fear of being overheard. ‘Me neither.’ Then it hit me, and I quickly said, ‘It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, though.’ Personally, I was okay with what I was. No existential dread here, contrary to what one might expect of a werewolf. It happened. I learnt to manage it in a way that made it not have any kind of significant impact on my life. I refused to let it define me. And honestly, I lived for particularly bad days that coincided with full moons.

‘Are you kidding me?’ His face lit up with boyish glee. ‘I’ve been waiting for this day for so long! As in, us meeting up in person for the first time and me getting to know another werewolf. Two birds, one stone: the only kind of killing I endorse. And I’m so fucking chuffed it’s you. I always felt like I could talk to you about anything, and now that really, really means anything.’ It was his turn to be able to power a light bulb, but in twenty-second intervals this time.

‘Same. How were you turned?’

‘I was bitten during a camping trip with friends a couple of years back. You?’

‘Secondary school. I was walking home from the library.’

‘Shit, that was some time ago, huh?’

‘Almost half my life a werewolf.’

‘Do you know the werewolf that did it?’

‘Nope. How about you?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah. Kind of sucks, doesn’t it, that you’ll never get to know the person who’s changed your life so … deeply? They won’t remember either that they turned someone. If only having kids was like that, yeah? Absolutely no sense of responsibility whatsoever.’ He gave his teaspoon a lazy twirl, causing a faint plume of milk to rise and sink into the dark, bittersweet depths from whence it came. ‘I struggled with what I’d become the first couple of months. The transformations were one thing.’ Oh, yeah. ‘I felt … grotesque. God, the amount of self-pity, like, why was I the only one who had to go through this every month when there were four other guys ripe for the picking? So, I decided to start incorporating wolves in my art to get to know and reclaim that part of me. I didn’t want to see it as something ugly. I mean, you get to experience a kind of rebirth every month. That’s extraordinary if you think about it. And I told myself that like myself, the wolf didn’t ask to be born. Ha, ha. Millennial humour. Anyway. Then the most miraculous thing happened one full moon: I woke up next to a coherent painting that wasn’t there the night before.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘Right? My more artsy stuff? The ones I hate coming up with captions for? Almost all done while I was transformed. I’d started some of my art — bet you can’t guess which one — on full moons, too, and I finished them after I changed back. It’s as if the wolf knew we were now cool with each other.’ He took a big chunk out of his apple crumble and jammed it into his mouth. ‘Sorry if that sounded like spiritual woo-woo. I’ve been wanting to tell someone about this forever.’ Crumbs fell out of his mouth as he spoke. ‘Shit, I’m such an’ — he shot me an impish look as he swallowed — ‘animal, aren’t I? Fuck, I can make stupid references like that now, and someone would get it!’

I laughed. He was such a dork. ‘It’s not “spiritual woo-woo”. It’s amazing. How is that even possible?’

‘I have no idea.’ He held out his hands in front of him. ‘So thankful we get to keep our hands and not have them turn into paws.’ He waggled his thumbs. ‘Fuck, yeah, opposable thumbs. And I want to say it’s like when artists get high and make stuff. I do know artists who do that, and hey, no judgment. To them, I do the same thing, too.’

‘And here I am, feeling accomplished whenever I make it through another full moon without waking up in a trashed place. Seriously, that’s amazing.’

‘I think that’s what’s keeping me from losing it while transformed. I was surprised people liked those pieces when I started posting them, considering they’re such far departures from what I usually post.’

‘That explains why they’re so … visceral.’

‘Yeah? I figure you’d appreciate them even more now.’ He smirked. ‘And you know, no one really talks about my wolf art, and especially my werewolf pieces. Maybe if I didn’t make them blurry and made them more explicit …’ Oh, he’d get a different breed of followers altogether. ‘But that’s fine. I don’t want my lycanthropy to define me and my work. It’s just a part of who I am.’

‘My turn to say something possibly corny: I like your wolf art because … they make me feel seen, because they’re drawn by you.’

He put a hand on his chest. ‘That’s not corny. I’m happy my art makes you feel that way. You know I don’t care about the likes or comments. It just so happens I like drawing things that make me get likes and comments.’ He pushed his plate toward me and motioned at me with his fork to try some of his apple crumble. I obliged him. ‘Did you ever suspect anything? Not that, you know, I purposely drew wolves and werewolves as a kind of signal for other werewolves to pick up on. That’d be giving me way too much credit.’

‘No, I just thought you like wolves a lot.’

‘Same here. What you said about wolves being beautiful creatures when you messaged me the first time … that made me feel something, too.’

‘Then I’m very glad we got to be friends,’ I said. Born from the same blip in brain activity that set us on this path, my hand found itself on top of his. His touch had a pleasant, almost familiar heat to it.

‘Me too.’ He turned his hand over and clasped mine.

‘I have an idea,’ I said, mostly to distract myself from how right this felt. ‘Do you want to meet on the next full moon?’

‘Sure. I can’t wait to see what kind of inspiration will strike with another werewolf around.’

‘Your place, then?’

He nodded. ‘Unless you’re cool with me possibly trashing your place with paint and stuff. That hasn’t happened before, but who knows? What if wolf-me doesn’t like change?’

I stared at him in disbelief.

‘I can’t help it. You have no idea what kind of beast this has unleashed. Oops.’

We sat and talked in the café the entire afternoon; we took turns treating each other to food and drinks to justify our occupancy. Our conversation moved on to other topics besides the one special, biggest thing we had in common. Just like we didn’t want it to define who we were as people, we made a promise to each other, and we did so over a strawberry custard tart, that we wouldn’t let it become the foundation of our friendship from this point on. It’d be unfair to the moments we shared before this. We were friends because we cared about each other, we brought out the best in each other, we could truly be ourselves around each other, and, honestly, I didn’t think anyone else would have the patience for his goofy in-jokes.

✦✧✦✧

I lay in front of the fireplace, rejoicing in the warmth it offered on this cool night, while George was working on his newest painting. Since getting to know each other in these forms, we’d been able to exercise better control. For me, that meant greater peace of mind; for him, that meant a more refined grasp of his artistic sensibilities. As with much about our condition, we didn’t question this. What could possibly be a drawback of us spending more time in each other’s company? I now understood why animals curled up by a fire was a common sight in media and real life, too. Wait, what if this, and not George’s presence, was what I’d been missing all my life?

My tail wagging like a fiend when I felt his breath on my skin begged to differ. I licked his face. He gently parted my lips and slid his tongue onto mine. Our tongues engaged each other in a playful scuffle; the fire crackling in the background could only dream of coming close to causing the rise in temperature in the pit of my stomach. The tussle between our tongues didn’t get to turn into something more: he’d had a long night. I nuzzled him to convey reassurance. He lay down beside me and wrapped his arms around me, his hold firm yet tender. We fell asleep like this, keeping each other warm long even after the fire had died out.

We wished each other a good morning with a kiss — no, two kisses, and we got ourselves ready for the day. As we were having breakfast, George piped up, ‘Do you want to see what I painted last night, love? I’m really proud of it, and I think you’d love it, too.’

I nodded excitedly, my mouth too full of scrambled egg to speak.

He returned as quickly as he’d left the table. His hands held on to a painting … of me curled up by the fire last night. The figure was the clearest, most detailed he’d ever done; the lighting was phenomenal. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, tearing up a little, frankly. ‘I love it. It’s going to look so good in our new place’, along with the recent paintings he’d made of a similar nature. He’d come so far from the gauzy forms that once populated his attempts at capturing his — our — condition on canvas.

‘Of course, when I have the most stunning model.’ He gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘I love you, my muse, my mate.’

[darriness]

Klaine Fic - 3 on 1

Author: darriness

Word Count: 19352

Summary: What happens when triplets each find the potential love of their lives...in the same person?

Author’s Note: This author's note is a little long but I ask that you read it all :) Welcome to my story for the Glee Potluck Big Bang! I've had this story finished for a couple of months so I'm over the moon I'm getting a chance to post it a little early! The original idea for this fic came from a conversation I had with @ipwarn​ when I discovered that Darren Criss, Alex Brightman, and Henry Golding share the same birthdate. But, saying that, Blaine is still Blaine in this story (he's not Darren) and for Alex and Henry I used parts of their real life inspirations' general appearance as reference but they are completely made up characters. Most notably, and the reason I wanted to say anything, I know Henry Golding is actually Malaysian but Henry in my story is half Filipino. Lastly but definitely not least I would like to thank @imrights​ for the AMAZING title art above that I am completely obsessed with. And as always I would like to thank my fantastic beta @darrenismydarcy​ - I could not do any of this without you!! I hope all of the above makes sense! Enjoy the story! I, selfishly, love it a whole lot!

AO3 Link

3 on 1

What do you get when you mix an Asian banker with an Irish elementary school teacher?

Henry, Alexander, and Blaine Anderson.

That? Is Alex Anderson’s favourite joke to tell. It’s caused his brothers to roll their eyes more times then they can count but Alex still gets a kick out of it.

Now, Henry, Alex, and Blaine aren’t JUST brothers. I mean sure, looking at them you probably wouldn’t even be able to tell they share ANY genetic makeup. They are as different as different can be.

Henry towers over his brothers at just over six feet, for one. Blaine and Alex try to pass themselves off as five nine but...they’re five eight on a good day. Alex got all his features from his Irish mother. He’s as white as can be. Literally. His brown hair and brown eyes are the only things keeping him from being part of the Arian race…

 Henry, on the other hand, is the spitting image of his Filipino father. His angular features, slightly slanted chocolate brown eyes, and deep chestnut hair are a proud marker of his Asian heritage.

And then there’s Blaine. A complete mix of them both. Growing up, he had to fight (once physically) for people to understand that he is half Asian. Unlike Alex (who to this day gets the quirked eyebrow when he tells people he’s half Filipino and will sometimes, depending on the company, not even bother to mention this fact), Blaine does have Asian traits. It’s just that he has enough caucasian traits to ‘trick’ the more ignorant population.

In the end, not only are these three completely different men brothers...they actually share the exact same birthdate. 

Growing up as a triplet was an interesting experience. One that can only truly be understood by those who, themselves, grew up as a multiple.

For example, there really isn’t a way to explain the special kind of connection that sees one triplet farting on the head of another triplet while the third triplet holds him down.

Which is how we find the Anderson triplets now.

“Oh my God, get the fuck off of me!” Henry shouts, trying to bring his hands up to block the assault.

Alex laughs from somewhere above him, letting out a sigh as he completes the job, before moving from his straddle position.

“You can let him go, Blainers.” Alex says to Blaine who had been holding Henry’s shoulders and arms down.

Blaine releases Henry who immediately shrugs him off (like he had been the one to break the hold) and sits up, “I expect this shit from him,” Henry says, pointing to Alex, “but not from you.” He concludes, pointing to Blaine.

Blaine shrugs, “He had a justifiable reason.”

Henry rolls his eyes before shifting on the couch and picking up some of the papers in front of him. He’s got work to do. He’s not even sure why he agreed to have his brothers over to his apartment on the eve of potentially the biggest meeting of his career.

“So, we need to talk about what we’re going to do for Tiny’s bachelorette.” Alex says, sitting down on the other couch and picking up his beer. HE doesn’t have a high stress meeting in the morning.

But, right. That’s why they’re here. To discuss their little sister’s upcoming nuptials.

“We’re not her bridesmaids OR her maid of honour.” Blaine reminds, “Isn’t our job to go with the guys when they take Sam out?”

Alex stares aghast when Henry shrugs and nods along with the suggestion, “Ummm no!” Alex shouts, indignantly, “This is our baby sister’s wedding. Our ONLY sister’s wedding. If it’s not her big brothers’ job to take her out and get her drunk and danced upon by random strippers then I don’t know whose job it is.”

Blaine and Henry stare at their brother in silence for a moment.

“Ummm, it’s literally anyone else’s job but ours.” Henry says.

Alex rises slightly from his seat and sits down with an emphatic exhale, “You can’t be serious!” He exclaims, “To quote a very neurotic man ‘I expect this shit from him,” He says pointing at Henry, “but not from you.’” He finishes, pointing at Blaine.

Blaine’s eyes go wide and Henry can tell that Blaine’s people pleasing nature is taking a serious hit tonight. If there’s one thing Blaine Anderson can’t stand, it’s people not liking him and being disappointed in him.

“We are her *brothers*.” Alex emphasises again, “I think she’d be really hurt if we didn’t do something for her.”

Henry sighs, “But does that ‘something’ have to include naked men?” He asks, even though he already knows he’s going to agree to whatever Alex has planned. That’s how their relationship works and always has. Alex comes up with the crazy schemes, Blaine goes along with pretty much anything to stop people from being upset with him, and Henry usually acquiesces because if not...the other two would probably end up in jail.

Alex smiles like he knows he’s close, “Come on. You don’t think Tiny would get a kick out of naked men dancing for her? And besides, Blaine and I will enjoy it just as much!” He waggles his eyebrows lewdly. Alex really is a charismatic, nice guy...once you see past the frat boy exterior.

Henry sighs again as he shuffles his papers. He could mention that while Blaine and Alex (being gay and pansexual respectively) would get a kick out of a male strip club, he (as a straight man) probably wouldn’t. But...in the end he loves his brothers and sister too much to refuse…

...especially with Blaine now fully on board and the two of them looking at Henry like he has the keys to all of their hopes and dreams.

“Oh, fine.” He grumbles, even though he smiles.

The other two cheer and Henry rolls his eyes as they begin to make plans and he goes back to his notes.

-- -- --

Blaine leans over and gives Alex a brief hug as their cab pulls up in front of Blaine’s apartment later that night, “Night Al.” He says.

Alex smiles, “Night Blainers.”

Blaine’s got one foot out of the cab when Alex calls his name. He turns and raises a questioning brow at his brother, “Don’t forget to check your Tinder.” He waggles his eyebrows much like earlier. Alex spends a lot of his time waggling his eyebrows.

Blaine chuckles and rolls his eyes, “It’s not Tinder. It’s just...a regular dating app.” 

Blaine’s not ashamed of the fact that he’s trying online dating. He’s a 26-year-old single man in New York City and at least half the world is online dating. It’s worth a try. And it’s not like he’s Alex who trips and falls (sometimes literally) over a new sexual partner almost every day or Henry who is married to his job. He’s just covering his bases.

Alex smiles, “Well, just be sure to check it. And remember, only swipe right if it looks like they have a big penis.”

Blaine rolls his eyes again before giving his brother the middle finger and getting out of the car. He stands on the curb as the cab pulls into traffic on its way to Alex’s apartment ten minutes away, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket after getting hit with the wind of a late September evening chill.

When the cab turns a corner and is no longer in sight, Blaine turns and makes his way into his apartment building. It’s not the most posh of buildings but it’s comfortable. It’s home. And Blaine is proud of the fact that he is able to afford it without having to rely on his parents’ money. They’ve offered, sure, but Blaine has never wanted to rely on his parents that much.

His building is quiet this late at night and Blaine doesn’t pass a single person on his way to the fifth floor. He lets himself into his apartment, toes off his shoes, hangs up his jacket, and throws his keys into the bowl on the front table before making his way to the couch and collapsing onto it with a sigh.

Despite his eye roll at his brother, the first thing he does upon sitting down is check his dating app, ConnectSingle. It’s definitely not Tinder, no swiping of any kind required, but Blaine enjoys the fact that both parties need to indicate interest (by clicking a happy face on their basic profile) before they can contact each other or even view their whole profile. And while he feels like it’s slightly shallow, Blaine has definitely used that function to weed out some of the less...aesthetically pleasing requests.

He’s actually only communicated with three guys so far and only met up with one in person (...it didn’t go well), but he’s optimistic he’ll find someone he can really connect with. And if not? Well, he hasn’t really lost anything in trying.

He first checks to see who has given him a smiley face today. Three men seem to enjoy the picture Henry had taken of him on the beach, sunglasses reflecting the ocean and curls loose and billowing in the wind, and he considers each of their pictures before deleting them all. He feels slightly bad but figures if you sign up to online dating not expecting to be rejected sometimes, you’re doing it wrong.

He then flips to his ‘daily matches’ - men the app thinks he might like. He hems and haws over their basic profiles and decides to smiley face two; a redhead named Andy (who appeals to the side of Blaine that enjoys larger men) and a brown haired man named Kurt (who has great hair, great eyes, and a smirk Blaine may be interested in knowing more about).

It’s not as immediately satisfying as he would like it to be, clicking the smiley face. Nothing happens other than a yellow smiley face rises slightly above his thumb and then winks out, leaving a static yellow smiley face behind, but he feels accomplished. 

He closes the app and stretches on the couch, glancing at the clock to notice it’s almost 1 am. He doesn’t have anywhere immediate to go in the morning, perks of being an on call studio musician, but figures just in case he gets a call he should go to bed.

Without thinking of ConnectSingles again, he goes about his evening routine, plugs his phone in and is asleep twenty minutes later.

-- -- --

Alex could go home. It’s where he told his brother and, more importantly, the cab driver he’d be going. But as the cab driver pulls away from the curb he gets a text from his friend, Elliott, telling him he should meet him at a bar.

Alex shrugs and tells the cab driver to change his final destination. It doesn’t take much to convince Alex to go out.

When he gets to the bar, he finds Elliott leaning against the brick front wall. He’s got a foot propped up behind him, a bare knee poking out of ripped black jeans, and a cigarette burning from his lips as he looks down at his phone.

“I must reiterate - as a performer you really shouldn’t smoke.” Alex says by way of a greeting.

Elliott looks up from his phone and smirks as he pulls the cigarette from between his lips, “Old habits die hard.” He says with a shrug before flicking the mostly unsmoked cigarette to the ground and pulling Alex into a hug, “Good to see you, man.”

“You too.” Alex says returning the hug, “Any particular reason you dragged me out of bed on this cold night to meet you at a bar at 1 am?”

Elliott rolls his eyes, “If you were in bed, I promise that was the last smoke of my life.”

Alex purses his lips to hide his smile before sighing, “Damnit, fine, I wasn’t in bed.” Elliott laughs and puts a hand on Alex’s shoulder, pulling him forward into the bar.

The noise from inside the bar gets unsurprisingly louder as they enter but luckily not so loud that it makes talking impossible. They may have to raise their voices slightly to be heard but Alex knows he won’t be leaving with burst ear drums.

“We were just having a really great night and I thought you should be a part of it.” Elliott explains.

Alex nods, enjoying that Elliott thought to include him, “We?” He asks as they make their way to the bar.

Elliott shrugs, “Just a bunch of people from the theatre.” He calls.

It’s not wall to wall packed in the bar but it’s busy enough that Alex accidentally runs into someone on their walk from the door to the bar. He ‘oofs’ at the impact and then is immediately apologetic as the person he hit turns around.

The words die on his lips when a set of cool blue eyes make eye contact with him. An eyebrow is quirked above those eyes and pink lips wrap around a straw as they regard Alex. Alex notices the slight pull in of the cheeks attached to the lips as they suck up liquid.

He’s broken from his stare when Elliott laughs, “Alex? Kurt. Kurt? Alex.”

Alex feels Elliott pat his shoulder a few times before the other man is gone, leaving Kurt and Alex still looking at each other. Alex watches as Kurt’s tongue flicks out to play with the straw still between his lips and Alex is transfixed.

“Hi.” He breathes, suddenly wishing he had worn a better outfit to Henry’s than his faded jeans and white button up shirt with tiny rubber ducks on it.

“Hi.” Kurt answers back with a smile.

-- -- --

Henry fidgets the next morning as he sits outside the office the nice receptionist directed him to. His knee bounces and he shuffles through the papers in his folder, wishing he could stop the sweat he can feel building under his suit jacket.

He’s prepared, he knows he is, but a job interview for a large production company is a lot different than working out of a one room studio with guys you went to college with.

Henry checks his watch and realizes he’s probably got another ten minutes to wait - he’s always extremely early to all things, something he wishes he could teach his brother. 

As if summoned by Henry’s thought, his phone buzzes in his pocket and a text from Alex pops up.

Alex

You got this brother! Now I’m going back to sleep.

Henry chuckles softly and doesn’t bother to respond. Alex is probably already asleep again. 

He’s still looking at his phone when a second text comes in, this time from Blaine.

Blaine

You are more than ready for this, Henry. Call me after to let me know how it goes.

Henry smiles at the texts on his screen and feel bolstered by their support. He texts Blaine back to thank him and tell him he will call him after, before pocketing his phone and going back to bouncing his knee.

“Can I...get you something to drink?” A hesitant voice asks to Henry’s left.

He jumps slightly and turns to find a well dressed man with high chestnut hair and a soft smile looking at him like you might a spooked animal.

Henry chuckles and can feel his cheeks blush slightly in embarrassment at how ridiculous he must look, “The receptionist already offered and I’m good. But thank you.”

The man nods but doesn’t immediately depart. Instead he continues to look at Henry with a calculating expression, “Job interview?” He asks, finally.

Henry bites his lip, “Is it that obvious?”

The man shrugs and gestures to the seat next to Henry. Henry also gestures to the seat with a nod and the man sits, crossing one long leg over the other, “I don’t think anyone else would notice. I just recall with ridiculous clarity my own nerves when I interviewed for a job here.”

Henry nods, “But obviously it went well for you.”

The man seems to preen, his swooped hair swaying slightly as he shakes his head and Henry finds himself smiling, “Obviously.” The man says and while it should come across as cocky, it doesn’t and Henry finds his nerves easing. The man smiles and holds out a hand, “Kurt.” He says.

Henry takes the hand and shakes it warmly, “Henry.”

Kurt smiles, “Well, Henry, what do you say I take you out for a coffee to celebrate after your interview?”

And suddenly Henry is nervous again but this time it has nothing to do with his interview.

-- -- --

Blaine stretches like a cat in a sun spot and hums as he squints at the bright sun shining through his bedroom window. He loves to wake up to the sun.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand and he rolls over to grab it. He’s got three notifications on his phone. One is a text from Alex sent at 3:43 am.

Alex

Duuuuuude you will not believe the night I’ve had!

Blaine chuckles and figures texting Alex back now would yield no fruit. It’s only 9 am, Alex would be asleep for hours yet. 

The second notification is reminding him that Henry has a job interview this morning. He silently thanks himself for setting the reminder and quickly shoots a text to his brother for support.

The last notification is from ConnectSingle. Blaine has a match! It’s not quite as exciting as it was when he first got the app but he’ll admit to a tiny thrill going through him at the prospect of mutual interest. He wonders if it’s Andy or Kurt from last night or one of the other people he’s smiley faced in the past.

He thumbs open the app and notices first that Andy’s name is no longer on his ‘pending’ list which means the other man deleted Blaine’s profile. It stings a little but then he smiles when he sees a green smiley face next to Kurt’s name and picture (indicating a reciprocated interest) and an email attachment. He presses the email and settles back against the pillow to read what his new match has to say.

Blaine,

Hi! My name’s Kurt. Though I guess you already knew that... (Blaine chuckles softly) Anyway! Thank you for ‘smiling’ at me. You have a great actual smile :) I’d be interested to learn more about you - your profile says you’re a musician? Message me back if you’re interested in chatting!

Kurt

It’s simple but it still makes Blaine kicky feet just the tiniest bit under his blankets. He bites his lip and reads the message again before opening a reply box and typing his own message back.

Kurt

Hello! It’s great to ‘meet’ you. You also have a really great smile and might I add you have stunning eyes (is ‘stunning’ too much for a first email?) I am a musician! I’m a freelance studio musician, which, believe it or not, makes me a pretty decent living. Your profile says you like cars - Driving them? Working on them? Sitting in them? (I promise not to judge if it’s the last one). Hope to hear from you soon!

Blaine :)

As always, Blaine reads his message four times before hitting send and then rereads it again for any stupid things he may have said. He’s pretty happy with what he sent though and as he heads to the shower he’s already anticipating Kurt’s response.

-- -- --

“You are a God among men!” Alex exclaims as he walks out the front entrance to his apartment building later that afternoon to find Blaine standing outside with a coffee cup extended in one hand.

Blaine chuckles as his brother takes the cup, slings an arm around his shoulder and noisily kisses his cheek, “Well, I figured you would have just gotten up.” Blaine says as the pair start to walk down the street.

Alex hums around a sip of delicious coffee before nodding, “Within the last hour.”

“I still don’t understand how you can sustain this lifestyle.” Blaine says with a shake of his head. He knows that, out of the three of them, Alex relies most heavily on their parents to make ends meet and that his job as an evening bread baker at a small bakery means he doesn’t work typical hours (though who is Blaine to talk?) but sometimes he worries that Alex isn’t taking care of himself as well as he could.

Alex fidgets with the beanie he has on over his undoubtedly messy brown hair and shrugs with an easy smile, “Hey, man, when it works, it works.”

Blaine nods to concede the point, for now, as they round the corner on the street the bakery Alex works at is on, “So, what was so unbelievable about your night last night?”

Alex perks up at the mention and seems to skip along next to Blaine, “I met someone!”

Blaine rolls his eyes affectionately, “You are always ‘meeting someone’.”

Alex nods but smacks Blaine lightly, “I know but this guy is different. He’s...amazing!”

Blaine smiles, “Well, I’m happy for you.” He says, “Are you seeing him again?”

Sometimes, Blaine gets jealous over how easily Alex meets people. Granted as a pansexual, his pool of potential partners is larger than Blaine’s, but there’s just something so magnetic about Alex and he doesn’t seem to have any insecurities holding him back.

Alex presses his lips together and nods, “Tomorrow night!”

Blaine tries not to let his shock show. For as often as Alex hooks up with people, he usually doesn’t see the same person more than once. Blaine has asked that question of Alex a lot and usually gets a shrug and a ‘probably not’. Now, Alex seems genuinely excited.

“That’s amazing. Did you sleep with him last night?” Blaine asks as they come to a stop outside Alex’s work.

“Now, Blainers, you know a man does not kiss and tell!” Alex scoffs but then smirks, “But...there was kissing.” And there is the eyebrow waggle.

Blaine laughs, “Well, you’ll have to keep me updated.” He says.

“Speaking of updated,” Alex says, “Have you heard from our enigmatic big brother today about his interview?”

Blaine furrows his brow, “Not since before it happened. I told him to call me afterwards.”

Alex pouts his lips thoughtfully, “Maybe it went so well he had to go home and masturbate to his work success.”

Blaine half laughs and half groans, “That is not a visual I needed.” Alex shrugs with a chuckle, “But I’ll message him and find out how it went. Have a good shift. I’ll see Friday at Mom and Dad’s?”

Alex nods, “Okay, let me know what he says.” Because texting Henry himself would be too much work?, “And you sure will see me Friday, baby brother!”

Blaine rolls his eyes again, “I am not the baby!”

Alex clicks his tongue and shrugs, “Last one out is always the baby.”

“I am literally one minute ‘younger’ than you.” Blaine huffs complete with sarcastic finger quotes.

“And what a glorious minute it was.” Alex says with a wistful sigh and then dodges when Blaine tries to hit him in the head. 

Alex waves without further ado and then heads into the bakery to start his shift, leaving Blaine on the sidewalk to pull out his phone. He’s about to open his text app to message Henry when a red bubbled one by the ConnectSingles app draws his attention.

He opens it with a giddy flutter of his stomach to find a new message from Kurt. He starts walking down the crowded street while he opens the email to read it (he’s lived in New York all his life, he’s an expert at phone reading and dodging people at the same time).

Blaine,

‘Freelance studio musician’ sounds fascinating. Do you know how to play a lot of instruments? As for my interest in cars, it’s all about working on them (who enjoys just sitting in cars? :P lol). My dad owns a garage in my hometown and I’ve been fixing cars since I could hold a wrench. I think he secretly wanted me to take over the business but fixing cars was always a hobby, not a vocation for me.

...Is that an overshare for a second message? I’m fairly new to this online thing. If it is, pretend I didn’t say anything.

Musicals! (I’m very good at subtly subject changes…) Are you a fan of musicals? I don’t like to assume just because a person is gay but I love musicals. They’re a big part of my life. So, I like to know right off the bat if I’m talking to a like minded person.

Talk soon?

Kurt

Blaine can feel the goofy smile on his face and isn’t sure why he feels the need to try and tamp it down. It’s New York City, there are way weirder things happening than a guy smiling down at his phone. He can’t get over how adorable Kurt seems just from two messages. He usually likes to play it slow, wait a while after receiving a message before messaging back but he opens the return message box immediately and crafts a response at the next stop light.

Kurt

I do know how to play a lot of instruments. I’m kind of a jack of all trades but master of none type? My parents put me in piano when I was kid and it’s actually the only instrument I’m classically trained in. Everything else I just picked up along the way. I think my parents secretly wanted me to be a concert pianist but classical music was always more a hobby than a true vocation for me (I don’t think you overshared but just in case you still think you did...I thought I’d ‘overshare’ back :) 

I absolutely love musicals! Don’t ask me to pick a favourite, I simply couldn’t. Do you have a favourite? Let me guess...Wicked? You strike me as someone who would really appreciate the brilliance of Idina and Kristin. But maybe I’m wrong - I’m happy either way!

Blaine :)

P.S. You said your dad has a garage in your hometown? Where’s that? I grew up in Manhattan myself.

Blaine’s almost home by the time he finishes typing and he hits send before he can second guess himself. On his way up the stairs, he dials Henry’s number only to have the phone go to voicemail. Blaine’s brow furrows as he gets to his apartment. It’s not like his brother always picks up the phone when he calls, it’s just unusual when he doesn’t.

Shrugging, Blaine texts Henry to get him to call him back when he has a moment and then he starts about making dinner. He tries very hard not to check his phone compulsively for a message from Kurt.

-- -- --

Henry is in the middle of an existential crisis. 

He hates to think of it as such. Out of his brothers he’s the level-headed one. Always has been. Blaine has an existential crisis every second week and Alex is too laid back to have anything resembling a crisis of any kind about anything ever. But Henry is always the one who thinks things through. Who sees pros and cons and the black and white of everything and comes to a logical conclusion about all things...

...this afternoon had felt anything but logical or black and white…

He’d walked out of the two hour interview with shaking hands but a smile on his face and a contract in his pocket. He was elated if not a little shaken by the whole experience. He’d almost bumped into Kurt standing just down the hall from the room the interview had taken place.

“So?” Kurt had said with a hopeful expression, “Are we coworkers? Am I taking you out for celebratory coffee?”

Henry had smiled at the man and nodded, “They offered me a job.”

Kurt’s face had lit up and while Henry’s first thought had been to wonder why this virtual stranger was so invested in whether he got a job or not, Kurt’s obvious joy made Henry’s joy that much more palpable. 

“Well, then, shall we head to the coffee shop? Drinks on me, obviously.” 

And then he winked.

It had hit Henry suddenly, and probably would have hit him sooner had he not been so worked up about his interview, that he was being hit on. It hadn’t been the first time he’d been hit on by a guy and he likes to think even if he didn’t have one gay brother and one pansexual brother that he would have been evolved enough to not be offended or hostile but usually when faced with this situation he would smile politely and say he wasn’t interested.

At that moment, however, he hadn’t wanted to say ‘no’...so he hadn’t. 

“That sounds great.” He’d smiled.

Their coffee date had been amazing. Henry had spent the first hour after getting home trying to tell himself it hadn’t been a date but has come to the acceptance part of his crisis. It had been a date. A date with a man. A date with a man he’d actually enjoyed.

Kurt had bought the drinks and then the pair had sat across from each other at the small coffee shop talking about the job Henry had just gotten and what Kurt did for the company (he runs costume design for the theatrical branch of the production company). They talked about musicals (Henry had actually mentally thanked Blaine for forcing him to watch so many over the years), and they talked about football (only briefly after Henry realized it wasn’t up Kurt’s alley).

When Kurt had said he needed to get home, Henry had actually felt bereft. He knew even in that moment he needed to go home and freak out about what exactly was happening but he also didn’t want whatever was happening to end. 

They had exchanged phone numbers and Kurt had told him he’d see him the next day at work. And then he winked again. Henry can still feel the blush from that wink almost two hours later.

When his phone buzzed with a phone call from Blaine an hour and a half into his crisis, he’d let it go to voicemail. He wasn’t in a place to talk to his brother. He wasn’t even sure what he would say. ‘Hey, Blaine! Yeah, I got a job and a boyfriend today!’

That thought had caused a spiral that Henry has been in for the last half hour. He does NOT have a boyfriend and one coffee date does not an anything make let alone a boyfriend but the fact that he had the thought means he’s thinking about Kurt in that way. He’s thinking about a man in a romantic way. This is not something he’s ever experienced before.

And suddenly, Blaine seems like the perfect person to talk to about this.

He gropes from his prone position on his couch for the phone he’d tossed onto the coffee table when it had rung with Blaine’s call. He dials his brother’s number and puts a hand over his eyes while he waits for the call to connect.

“Hey!” Blaine answers, happily, “How’d it go?”

Henry knows Blaine is asking about the interview but again his thoughts go to Kurt. He shakes his head to rid himself of the impulsive thought and answers Blaine’s question, “I got it.” He says.

Blaine whoops on the other end of the line, “I knew you would! That is amazing!”

Henry smiles, “Thanks.”

Suddenly, Blaine’s celebration dies off, “Why do you not sound over the moon about this? Is this because of Vance? He was the one who told you to go for this!” Vance is one of Henry’s best friends, one of the men he works with (or he figures it’s now ‘worked’ with). Vance had indeed pushed Henry to interview for the larger company.

“No, no. It’s not about Vance.” Henry answers.

“Then what is it?” Blaine asks and the earnestness in Blaine’s voice opens a flood gate.

“I met someone today.” Henry confesses.

“Oh!” He can tell Blaine is suprised. Henry doesn’t date. Hasn’t had a girlfriend since his junior year of high school. He’ll unpack what exactly that says about him later… “And that’s upsetting?” Blaine asks.

Henry grimaces, “Not in and of itself, I guess.” He starts, “It’s just...it’s a guy?” He says it like a question and then feels slightly queasy afterwards.

The line is silent for a long time, longer than Henry can stand without starting to feel even sicker, before Blaine lets out a breath, “That’s...awesome.”

Henry scrunches his eyes closed, “I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

He can almost picture Blaine nodding on the other end of the line, “And nor do you have to.” Blaine reassures, “Just answer me one thing: did you have fun with him?”

“Yes.” Henry answers.

“Then focus on that.” Blaine says and Henry can hear the smile in his voice, “Leave the other stuff to the side for now. I know you, and I know you want to figure everything out and this puts a little bit of a kink into the careful order of your life but if it makes you happy then that’s all that matters.”

Henry lets out of a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding. Blaine’s words unravel a knot he’s felt in his chest all afternoon and while he knows he’s not done freaking out about this, he’s willing to allow the happiness to overpower it. Blaine had been the right one to call.

“And Henry, if you have any...questions or you just need to talk things out, you know I’m only a phone call away, right?” Henry nods into the phone, getting a little choked up at the offer.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He breathes out.

“Anytime.” Blaine says, “Now, do you want to tell me more about your job or your date?”

Henry bites his lip as he smiles, “Both?”

“I’m all ears.” Blaine says.

-- -- --

The next night, Alex leaves work to once again find a man on the sidewalk waiting for him but instead of his brother, this time it’s Kurt. He smiles at the man and waves as he approaches.

Kurt waves back before putting his hand back into the pocket of his jacket where it had emerged from, “Hey. It’s good to see you again.” He says.

Alex smiles, “Same to you.”

They stare at each other for a few beats before Kurt tilts his head over his shoulder, “I was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite to eat?”

Alex chuckles, “Uh, that sounds nice but I have to admit, working at a bakery means I rarely leave a shift hungry. Samples and all that.”

Kurt chuckles as well and then shrugs, “Then what did you have in mind?”

Alex has a few things in mind and when he smiles at Kurt, who smiles back, he figures Kurt is thinking the same thing.

“I have some snacks at my apartment?” Alex offers with a grin.

He can see Kurt’s cheeks pink slightly as the other man ducks his head in an adorably, flirtatious way, “Lead the way.”

-- -- --

Blaine scrolls through his messages from Kurt over the past four days on the train to his parents’ place. He’s got more messages in their thread than he does in all his other threads combined. He actually hasn’t messaged anyone else since he and Kurt started talking but even if he had, he is sure the frequency with which they chat would have surpassed any other conversation Blaine would be having.

The pair have covered so many topics in their messages that Blaine wonders if there is anything left to share. He hasn’t shared this much about himself so fast to another person ever, let alone a person he’s never met in person. Usually by the time he knows this much about a person they’ve been dating for a few months. He and Kurt have been messaging for four days…

He’s just finished drafting an email suggesting that he and Kurt meet up when he gets to his stop. He hits send and then pockets his phone before exiting the train and taking the stairs to the surface. The air is colder than he expected and he hunkers down in his coat for the five minute walk to his parents’ brownstone. His childhood home.

He’s turning onto their street when he sees Henry coming from the other direction. He throws a hand up in a wave that his brother returns and they make their way toward each other. They haven’t really talked since their phone call but Blaine knows Henry usually needs to work things out in his own head first. He’ll come to Blaine when and if he needs to.

“Hey.” Blaine says when they meet up outside the house, embracing his brother in a hug that has him standing on his tiptoes.

“Hey.” Henry answers before they pull away from each other.

“Everything...okay?” Blaine asks, not wanting to push.

Henry smiles, “Getting there, yeah.” He says.

Blaine smiles and nods, appeased for now, and the pair make their way up the stairs to the front door. It opens before they get there to reveal a tiny ball of energy on the other side.

“My boys!” Amelia Anderson shouts for the whole street to hear and then launches herself into first Blaine’s arms and then Henry’s.

Both men laugh as they absorb their sister’s hug. Amelia is four years younger than her brothers and at twenty-two years old is only five foot three inches tall, prompting her brothers to nickname her…

“Hey Tiny!” Blaine smiles.

Amelia smiles back before gesturing for the men to come inside, “Come, come. Dinner’s almost ready and Al’s already here talking to Dad about some new spice for bread?” She shrugs as Henry and Blaine take off their coats and shoes.

“Is that my other two boys?” The trio hear called from, undoubtedly, the kitchen before Fiona Anderson emerges.

“Mama!” Henry says, pulling their mother to him.

“Oh, it just fills my heart to the brim when all my babies are home.” Fiona gushes as she turns to pull Blaine into a hug and then Amelia even though Amelia lives in the house and has probably been there all day. Their mother is never short on hugs.

“It’s good to be home.” Blaine smiles.

Fiona reaches out and strokes his olive-toned cheek with her pale hand, “Go say hello to your father before dinner.” She says before shooing them in the direction of the living room.

When they enter, Blaine sees Alex showing their father, Daniel Anderson, something on his phone. Daniel looks up when they enter and smiles large, patting Alex’s arm in apparent apology before getting up to hug his other sons. 

“My boys.” Daniel says reverently, cupping both Henry and Blaine’s cheeks in his hands and looking between them.

Blaine loves his parents, even if they act like they haven’t seen their children in months when it’s really been only a week. The Anderson’s grew up with family dinners every Sunday and the tradition continued even with the three boys moving out on their own. 

“Tell me what’s new.” Daniel asks, sitting back down as Blaine and Henry sit next to Alex on the couch after saying hello and Amelia settles on the ground by the coffee table.

The five chat about work and other sundry topics until their mother calls them for dinner. They settle into their usual spots.

“No Sam tonight?” Blaine asks, noticing the spot next to Amelia, usually reserved for her fiance, is empty.

“He’s at work.” Amelia offers, “Though he has made me promise to bring him leftovers.” She says and Fiona laughs.

“I’ll wrap some up after dinner if your brothers don’t eat it all.” She says with an affectionate glance at the three men sitting along one side of the table.

Dinner conversation is more the same as their conversation in the den until Amelia gets a sneaky look on her face, “So...anybody dating anyone new?”

Blaine swallows and feels the weight of his phone in his jeans pocket more acutely. He’s not nervous to tell his family about Kurt, he just doesn’t know how to tell them and his family can be...a lot sometimes when it comes to relationships. Or anything really.

He glances at his brothers, who are looking back at him and then at each other. Blaine wonders if he’s the only one who knows they actually all have something to tell.

In the end, they all shrug.

“Nothing to report.” Alex answers, seemingly for all of them.

Mercifully, talk turns away from their dating lives and to Amelia’s upcoming wedding. Blaine’s actually surprised it has taken them this long into the evening to start talking about it (it sometimes feels like it’s all they talk about) and Blaine enjoys the excited squeal Amelia gives when Alex mentions their plan to take her out.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he jolts slightly at the table. His fingers itch to pull his phone out but the rule has always been no phones at the table. He’ll have to wait until he’s on his way home. The waiting is torture even though he loves hanging out with his family.

When they finally wrap up the evening with several rounds of hugs, Blaine and Alex make their way to the subway together (after seeing Henry off in the other direction to a different train).

Blaine’s got his phone out as soon as he’s sitting in the, thankfully, sparsely populated car.

“Any plans for the night?” Alex asks as he lounges next to Blaine, munching on left over rolls from dinner.

Blaine doesn’t answer right away - instead reading the last message from Kurt.

Blaine

I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels like I know so much about you before we’ve even met. I’d love to meet up in person. I know you said you’ll be at your parents house tonight but...any chance I can interest you in a nightcap? We could meet at Coffee Project whenever you're done at your parents? Text me if you’re interested :)

Kurt

212-967-1253

Blaine has no idea where Coffee Project is but he’s already looking up directions when Alex hits him.

“Uh, what?” He asks, looking up in a daze.

Alex quirks an eyebrow at him, “I asked if you had plans for tonight.”

Blaine smiles, “I do now.”

-- -- --

Blaine opens the door to Coffee Project a half hour later and even though it’s late, a few heads turn at the sound of the bell over the door. Blaine’s hoping one of the heads is Kurt’s and he has a fleeting moment to hope Kurt actually looks like his profile picture when his worries are assuaged by a swivelling head at a table near the back.

Kurt looks exactly like his profile picture except he’s even better looking in person. The way his eyes light up when he sees Blaine at the door is something you can’t really capture in a picture.

“Hey!” Kurt enthuses when Blaine gets close. He’s up out of his seat and pulling Blaine into his arms before Blaine can say anything.

It should feel strange to hug someone he’s never met but it doesn’t. He’s met Kurt in every way except the physical (not that he hasn’t thought about the physical...but he digresses), so it feels natural to hug him close.

“Hi.” Blaine whispers as they part and sit on either side of the table.

“I ordered you a medium drip with some cinnamon. I hope that’s okay? You mentioned it was your drink of choice.” Kurt seems a little nervous but he’s smiling excitedly and even if Kurt was just nervous, Blaine’s excited enough for the both of them.

“No, that’s perfect.” He says, lifting his cup in a cheers motion before taking a sip.

Kurt shifts in his seat, “So, I know this is technically our first date but every topic of conversation I could think of while I waited for you we’ve already covered in our emails. This doesn’t feel like a first date.”

Blaine shakes his head, “It really doesn’t.”

Kurt nods, “How was your parents’ house?” 

“It was wonderful as usual.” Blaine smiles and Kurt smiles back.

They make small talk for a while, complete with goofy grins at each other, before Blaine scratches his chin and looks out the front window, “What is it?” Kurt asks.

Blaine coughs and loses his nerve at the last moment to ask Kurt back to his place. He may feel like he’s known this man for a lot longer than four days virtually and about an hour in person, but the reality is they don’t know each other at all. And Blaine’s romantic nature is screaming at him to take this slow because this could be the real deal. He doesn’t want his baser instincts to scare Kurt off.

He shakes his head with a smile, “Nothing. Do you want to go for a walk?”

It’s probably a little too cold for a walk outside but Manhattan seems to glow around them as they walk slowly through the still populated street. It’s one of Blaine’s favourite things about New York - it truly never sleeps.

“So you said your brother is taking over the garage from your dad when he retires?” Blaine says as they follow a path through a small park.

Kurt nods, “Yeah. I sometimes wonder if my dad is secretly disappointed I never wanted to take it over.”

Blaine shrugs, “Are you the oldest?”

Kurt pouts slightly before ‘ah’ing and then chuckling, “Did I not mention Finn is my step-brother? Not my biological brother?”

“You did not.” Blaine answers and the pair laugh.

Kurt stops at a rusty swing set in the park and sits down on one, curling one arm around the chain. Blaine sits next to him and mirrors his position. The metal is freezing under his palm but he leaves his hand where it is and rocks his feet in the sand to swing himself back and forth slightly.

“My dad remarried when I was fifteen.” Kurt shares, “To the mother of a boy at my school. Same grade as me. It was...interesting.”

“Were you two friends in school?” Blaine asks.

Kurt chuckles slightly, but Blaine’s not sure why the question was funny, “Not really.” Kurt answers, “At all. We didn’t run in the same circles. His circle was more interested in making my circle’s life hell. Me specifically.”

Blaine feels instantly angry at people he’s never met. He pictures a younger Kurt getting bullied and wants to punch someone. He tries to tell himself his anger comes only from his own similar school experience.

“He was never really someone who bullied me. He just...didn’t do anything about it either. But then things started to change. It took a while - even after our parents married - but now I sometimes forget to tell people he’s my stepbrother.” Kurt shrugs, “He’s just been my brother for a lot of years now.”

Blaine smiles at the soft smile on Kurt’s face before the other man’s face is scrunching up, “I’m once again oversharing too soon, aren’t I?” He asks, “I’m, honestly, not usually like this.”

Blaine shifts so he’s more fully facing Kurt on the swing, “Hey, no. It’s totally fine. I…” He hesitates, “I want to know everything about you.”

Kurt’s eyes light up and he gives a little inhale through a slightly open mouth. Blaine can’t be one hundred percent sure, because the lighting isn’t amazing, but he thinks he sees Kurt’s cheeks pinken.

Blaine shrugs, “And if it helps you any, I once walked in on my parents having sex when I was fifteen and they sat me down the next day and gave me a very indepth, and scarring, sex talk.”

His anecdote has the desired effect and Kurt laughs heartily. Blaine smiles at the lyrical sound.

Kurt puts a hand up to his mouth as his laugh turns into a chuckle, “Are you serious? Or did you just make that up to make me feel better about oversharing?”

Blaine winces slightly which just makes Kurt laugh more, “Unfortunately, I am completely serious. I couldn’t think of anything remotely sexual for months after.”

This admission only makes Kurt laugh again.

-- -- --

A half hour, and one slide down the red metal slide at the park for each of them later, Kurt and Blaine walk toward Kurt’s apartment. Blaine actually feels himself slowing his pace. Despite the late hour, he doesn’t want this night to end.

“I had a really good time tonight.” He says.

Kurt smiles, “So did I.”

They come to a stop outside Kurt’s building and they hesitate, facing each other with shy smiles and hands stuffed in their coat pockets for warmth.

“I’d really like to see you again.” Blaine says.

Kurt bites his lip slightly and, even though it’s a cliche, Blaine’s eyes dip down at the movement before flicking back up.

“I’d really like to see you again as well.” Kurt whispers and then Blaine can take it no longer. He’s been waiting all night.

Without preamble, he pulls one hand from his pocket and rests it on Kurt’s elbow before ducking in and up and pressing his lips to Kurt’s. Kurt breathes in quickly before he’s kissing back. It’s short but amazing and they pull back with equally breathless expressions.

“Good night, Kurt. I’ll text you.” Blaine whispers, still leaning into Kurt’s space.

Kurt blinks at him before smiling, “Night Blaine. And not if I text you first.”

And then with a wink, Kurt pulls away and walks toward his building. He turns at the door to wave at Blaine over his shoulder with another smile, and Blaine waves back before Kurt enters the building and out of his sight.

Blaine has to quell the impulse to jump and click his heels together in joy before making his way down the street to hail a cab home.

-- -- --

Two days later, Henry sits at a counter by himself. There are people around but none of them give much notice to the nervous man at the counter whose knee is bouncing so frantically that Henry is sure he’s going to injure himself. 

He keeps glancing around, eyes darting around the room like at any moment someone is going to come and arrest him just for sitting. Well, if he’s being honest it’s not the sitting he thinks he’s going to be arrested for.

He shakes his head at the thought. He’s not going to get arrested for any of this. Ugh, he should have called Blaine again before this.

“Hey!” He hears from behind him and spins to see Kurt standing there. He’s unwinding a scarf from his neck and he looks...beautiful. It’s the only way Henry can describe him.

“Hi.” Henry says around a suddenly dry mouth.

Kurt smiles and looks around as he takes his jacket off, “So...bowling.” He says and his smile turns slightly confused.

Henry coughs, “Uh yeah. Is that okay? I...it felt like a good idea.”

Kurt smiles, “I haven’t been bowling in years, and I’ll admit I’m not at all good, but I’m willing to give it a shot...” He pauses and looks down the counter toward where a man is handing out bowling shoes, “as long as I can get shoes that go with my outfit.”

Henry laughs, nervously, before his eyes are once again darting around. He had almost convinced himself that his wandering eyes before had been in search of Kurt but now that Kurt is here…

His eyes land back on Kurt who is looking at him with a serious face. Henry shifts under the gaze and tries to laugh again but it comes out as more of a groan to his ears.

Kurt licks his lips (and Henry jolts when he realizes how easily his eyes followed the motion) before the other man is nodding, “Hey, I’m kind of hungry. Do you mind if we grab something to eat before bowling? I saw a little cafe down the street.”

Henry feels his chest expand and suddenly getting out of the crowded bowling alley seems like the best idea ever. He nods and grabs his coat while Kurt puts his own back on. They walk in companionable silence to the cafe at the end of the street and it is mercifully empty except for a kind looking waiter around their age and what sounds like a cook in the back room kitchen.

“Hi!” The waiter smiles, “Have a seat wherever and I’ll be right with you.”

Kurt gestures to the back of the cafe and the pair sit opposite each other in a booth. By the time they take off their jackets and lay them down beside them the waiter is at their table with menus.

“Can I start you with a drink?” He asks.

“I’ll just have a coffee.” Kurt smiles.

“Same.” Henry says when the waiter looks at him. The waiter nods and then leaves them alone.

The pair is quiet once they are alone and Henry can feel Kurt’s gaze on him. Henry is more comfortable in the cafe but he’s still not COMFORTABLE.

“Can I ask you something?” Kurt asks softly. Henry nods but Kurt waits while the waiter puts down their drinks, says he’ll be back later to take their orders, and leaves before continuing, “Are you married?”

Henry chokes on the sip of coffee he is drinking and he sputters and coughs. Kurt waits with a slightly quirked eyebrow and smirk while Henry calms and then laughs, “No. No, I’m not married.”

Kurt smiles fully, “Okay. That’s good. For my purposes anyway.” He says, “Can I ask you something else?” Henry indicates for him to go ahead, “Is this the first time you’ve gone out with a guy?”

Henry lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’s been holding and can feel himself start to shake a little. Kurt folds his hands in front him lightly and just gives him a soft, open smile and slowly Henry calms enough to nod.

Kurt nods, “Well, don’t I feel special?” He says, swiping a hand over the chestnut swoop of hair on top of his head. The question makes Henry laugh which he assumes was the point and Kurt breaks character to chuckle with him.

“I’m sorry. I’m kind of a mess.” Henry says after a moment.

Kurt smiles, somewhat sadly, and shakes his head, “You’re not a mess. At all. And besides, you should have seen me at fifteen.” Kurt’s eyes widen briefly as if he’s remembering something terrible.

“Something tells me you were never a mess.” Henry says.

Kurt shrugs, “Well, okay, maybe you aren’t wrong.”

The pair chuckles and then smile at each other for a moment before Henry clears his throat, “I don’t really know what I’m doing but I...like spending time with you.”

Kurt nods, “Then that is what we shall do. Spend time together.” He makes a show of picking up the menu and opening it with a flourish before smiling over at Henry, “I like spending time with you too.”

Henry smiles and breathes easier than he has all day.

-- -- --

Over the next few weeks, final preparations for Amelia’s wedding are in full swing and the Anderson triplets are put to work doing everything from helping to make party favours (to which Alex had said: ‘We’re rich - can’t someone else make these?’), to helping create a playlist for the reception (‘Blaine, you need to help. Sam only wants country!’), to going to final tux fittings, among other things. They also spend a good portion of time planning their night out with Amelia. Alex is in charge of most of the planning for that but Blaine and Henry check in to make sure everything is under control and nothing planned is illegal.

They also spend more time with Kurt. Alex finds for the first time in his twenty-six years, he’s excited about the prospect of seeing where things go with only one guy. Henry is beginning to understand, and freak out less about, his feelings surrounding Kurt and he’s been dipping his toes into the experience (including but not limited to his first kiss with a man - a fact he only freaked out internally, and to Blaine, about a little bit). Blaine gets a breathless feeling whenever he thinks about Kurt, which is often, and he literally has to turn his phone off sometimes to keep from texting the other man continuously.

Somehow, even weeks later, none of them are aware that they are actually dating the same person...but they are all getting closer to asking Kurt to be their date for Amelia’s wedding.

“Hey Tiny?” Blaine asks one night as he and his sister sit in their parents’ living room tying bows onto plastic bags holding green and peach mints.

“Hmmm?” Amelia hums as she focuses on her current bow.

“Is it cool if I invite someone to your wedding?” Blaine asks.

Amelia looks up and lowers her hands, complete with bag and untied bow, to the table with a soft thud. Blaine had realized when he had thought of asking Kurt to the wedding, that because he’d never gotten an actual invitation (‘Your invitation is implied and your acceptance is non-negotiable’ Amelia had told the three of them) he wasn’t sure if he had been granted a plus one. Now, with Amelia looking at him with a shocked expression, he suddenly feels like a plus one had not been something she had intended to extend to him.

But then Amelia had slumped and hit him in the arm lightly, “Of course you can have a plus one!” She says and Blaine smiles before Amelia shrugs, “I had assumed you and Alex would bring someone and then felt bad for not assuming Henry would, so I just planned for three extra people just in case.”

Blaine chuckles, “Well I haven’t asked him yet but...thanks.”

Amelia smiles, “No thanks necessary, Blaine. But there is a condition to having a plus one.” Blaine’s eyebrows lift at his sister’s serious expression as she points at him, “You have to tell me about this amazing man who makes you smile like that.”

-- -- --

Blaine opens the door to his apartment later that week to find Kurt smiling at him from the other side. He smiles back and gestures for Kurt to enter. He watches as Kurt takes in the low lighting and candles on the table set for two in Blaine’s small kitchen.

“Wow! Colour me impressed.” Kurt says as he takes his jacket off.

Blaine chuckles softly and shrugs as he takes the proffered jacket and hangs it in the front closet, “I just wanted something a little...special.”

Kurt gives him a tiny, shy smile and Blaine smiles back before gesturing to the table, “Dinner’s ready so please, have a seat.”

Kurt smiles, “Mind if I wash up first? Subway germs.” He says, spreading his fingers in front of himself in a slight jazz hands motion.

Blaine chuckles, “Dastard subway germs.” He winks before gesturing down the hall, “Bathroom’s the second door on your right.” 

Once Kurt has returned and is seated at the table, Blaine grabs the bottle of wine from the counter. He pours some into Kurt’s glass and his own while Kurt takes his napkin and lays it over his lap.

“Are you...planning to purpose tonight?” Kurt jokes when Blaine sits down after serving them each a bowl of pasta.

Blaine chuckles and shakes his head as he looks down at his lap, “It hadn’t crossed my mind, no.” He says looking back up at Kurt to find the other man smirking at him.

“Darn.” Kurt winks before lifting his glass and offering Blaine a toast, “To fancy non-proposal dinners.”

Blaine laughs again and clinks his glass with Kurt’s. They both take a sip, looking at each other over the rims of their glasses, before picking up their forks and beginning to eat.

Kurt moans at his first bite, “This is amazing!” He enthuses.

Blaine coughs at his body’s reaction to the moan before nodding, “Thanks. Old family recipe.”

“Well, if it wouldn’t make this whole situation completely inappropriate, I’d say I’d want to be your new brother just to get this recipe.” Kurt laughs.

Dinner passes with easy, flirtatious conversation and before long the pair is on the couch with their wine. They both have a leg pulled up and are sitting sideways, knees touching, and their bodies get closer and closer as they talk, and before long, they’re kissing.

They’ve shared quite a few kisses by this point but they never fail to take Blaine’s breath away. He curls in closer to Kurt and rests a hand on his thigh as they continue to kiss.

He pulls away after a moment and leans his head against the back of the couch. Kurt does the same and they stare at each other with soft smiles, “I wanted to ask you to be my date to my sister’s wedding.” Blaine whispers into the space between them.

Kurt’s eyes light up, “I love weddings!” He says.

Blaine squeezes Kurt’s thigh, still under his hand, lightly, “So does that mean yes?” He asks.

Kurt nods, “I’d love to.”

Blaine smiles before chuckling, “I guess I should tell you when it is in case you have a prior engagement.”

Kurt scrunches his nose adorably, “Yeah, that might be a good idea.”

Blaine can’t resist leaning in to kiss Kurt’s lips at the expression and they kiss for another few moments before Blaine pulls away once more, “December 2nd.” He says.

“I’m there.” Kurt replies before lightly fisting his hand in Blaine’s shirt and pulling him forward.

-- -- --

Unlike Blaine, Alex had always assumed a plus one was just a given for him. He was sure he could find someone to go with to the wedding, and whether he went home with that someone, or someone from the wedding, well...he would just be keeping his options open. That, however, was before Kurt.

Kurt, who made Alex’s heart beat faster every time he thought of him. Kurt, who made Alex laugh and actually laughed at Alex’s jokes in return. Kurt, who was breathtakingly beautiful and enchanting in a way no other person had ever really been for Alex. Kurt, who made Alex understand what it meant to want monogamy for himself and not just as an idea that seemed to work for people like his parents and sister.

Kurt, who is biting his lip when Alex pulls open the door to his apartment and Alex wants to bite that lip himself. Until now there hasn’t been a lot of biting of any kind. Despite Alex’s usual MO, he and Kurt have done nothing more than share kisses, and Alex finds himself wanting more but being okay with waiting.

He must be growing up…

“Hey.” He smiles as he gestures for Kurt to come in.

“Hi.” Kurt whispers and Alex realizes that he’d been so focused on Kurt’s bit lip that he failed to notice how nervous Kurt is acting.

“Everything okay?” Alex asks as he sits on the couch and watches Kurt sit across from him and fidget with the end of his scarf that he hasn’t taken off.

Kurt takes a deep breath and looks up at Alex with a sad smile and Alex’s stomach drops in preparation for what he can sense coming.

“You’re ending this, aren’t you?” Alex asks before Kurt can say anything.

Kurt bites his lip again and turns to look at the coffee table in front of Alex’s couch. Silence stretches between them but Alex doesn’t know how to fill it. He’s never been in this situation before, and the longer Kurt remains silent, the more real the moment becomes. He’s being broken up with. And even though they were not serious (hadn’t even talked about exclusivity at ALL) it hurts in a way he’s never really had to deal with before.

“I’m so sorry.” Kurt finally says on an exhale.

Alex presses his lips together and nods, more to himself than to Kurt.

“It’s just...you weren’t the only guy I’ve been seeing,” Alex’s heart hurts a little at this admission even though he had just moments before contemplated their lack of exclusivity, “and things with the other guy have become more serious for me and I needed to make a decision.”

Alex nods again. He’s doing a lot of nodding.

Kurt looks back over at him with a sad smile, “I really like you, but...it just didn’t feel fair to keep going with this,” He gestures back and forth between them, “when I couldn’t give it 100%.”

Alex lets out a breath and chuckles, which causes Kurt’s eyes to widen slightly, “It’s fine.” Alex says flippantly, even though he feels anything but flippant. He waves a hand nonchalantly in front of himself, “We weren’t exclusive. We never talked about it. I do appreciate you letting me know, though.”

He kind of wants Kurt to leave. He’s not devastated? But he’s hurting more than he wants to in front of the man currently breaking things off with him. He almost laughs again when he remembers he had intended to invite Kurt to Amelia’s wedding tonight. How dumb would he have felt had he done that before Kurt broke things off?

“I really do like you.” Kurt says again.

Alex smiles, “I like you, too.” He says softly before coughing awkwardly, “But hey, good luck with the other guy. He’s...very lucky.”

Having never been in this position before, Alex isn’t sure how to act. He’s not sure that’s the right thing to say and Kurt’s awkward smile leads him to believe it probably wasn’t exactly the right thing, but Kurt does nod and then gets up.

“Thanks.” He says.

Alex walks him to the door and holds it open for him to leave - the shortest ‘date’ of Alex’s life.

Kurt smiles with a wave before starting to walk down the hallway, “Oh!” Alex exclaims and Kurt turns around in surprise. Alex leans out his door slightly and smiles, “And if things don’t work out with your other guy...give me a call?”

Kurt’s eyes widen slightly, again, and his awkward smile returns before he nods and waves again before making his way down the hall and to the elevators.

Alex sighs when he’s out of sight and leans his head against the door. Clearly not the right thing to say. Getting broken up with sucks. He doesn’t recommend it. He needs a drink.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and texts his brothers.

-- -- --

“Al…” Blaine says, coming up behind his brother who is sitting at the bar in Black Iron Burger the next day.

Alex turns with a sad smile and Blaine pats him on the back with a sad smile of his own before pulling him into a hug.

“I’m sorry, man.” Blaine sympathizes as he takes a seat next to Alex. He notices, briefly, that Henry hasn’t arrived yet before focusing back on Alex who shrugs and wraps a hand around the half drunk beer in front of him.

“Yeah, it sucks. I mean, it wasn’t like we were serious or exclusive, but I kinda thought it could get there.” Alex says before shrugging again and bringing his beer to his lips.

Blaine pouts his lips. He can tell that this guy was different for Alex. His brother has never called him to mourn the loss of a partner (aside from the one time he’d slept with a D-list celebrity and claimed he’d been ‘in love’ after one night but that they would never see each other again. ‘It’s like Romeo and Juilet!’ he’d, overdramatically, lamented). Blaine is the brother that gets attached. Alex isn’t. So to see him slumped slightly in defeat makes Blaine’s heart clench.

“He didn’t deserve you.” He says, laying a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

Alex smiles and chuckles lightly, “Yeah, maybe.” He says.

The conversation pauses so Blaine can order a drink and then the pair is quiet while they watch the football game playing over their heads. Blaine figures he’ll take his cue from Alex. He’s here for him after all.

Henry joins them a few minutes later looking more put together than he normally does for a get together with his brothers. Blaine notes, as he watches Alex and Henry hug, that while Henry is usually better dressed than Alex, he doesn’t put as much time into his look as Blaine does. Tonight, he looks polished and Blaine even notices cufflinks on the dress shirt he’s wearing. Even the fact that he’s wearing a dress shirt to meet with his brothers is slightly out of character for him.

Blaine shakes himself out of his thoughts as Henry turns to hug him and then orders a beer for himself.

“So what do you need from us tonight?” Henry says as he sits on Alex’s other side, “Do you want us to sit quietly and watch the game with you, demonize the horrible man who broke your heart, give you shoulders to cry on? Just let us know.”

Alex laughs softly and shakes his head, “I just wanted to see you guys and have a beer...or five. We can just chat.”

Henry nods as his beer is set in front of him. He lifts it slightly and tilts it toward the other two, “We can do that. Right, Blaine?”

Blaine nods and mirrors the gesture, “We can.”

The three clink their glasses together and each take a sip of their drinks before, simultaneously, replacing them on the bar top.

“Speaking of ‘chatting’,” Alex starts, “What’s got you dressed up so fancy? I know it can’t be me. My pain is not a formal occasion.”

Henry chuckles, nervously, as he adjusts his collar, “Uh, I actually have a date later.”

Blaine shoots Alex a nervous look at the admission, afraid of how his brother will react. But when Henry also shoots Alex a concerned look, the man in the middle chuckles, “Guys, I’m fine! I’m not going to break. We weren’t serious. I’m just slightly bummed and wanted to see you guys. I’m Alex. I don’t do ‘feelings’.”

Blaine knows he’s covering a little but trusts his brother to let them know how he’s feeling so he nods and turns back to Henry, “So, how are things going with your guy?”

He notices Henry blush slightly and smiles at the boyish way Henry shifts his eyes as he smiles, “Really well.” He admits and Alex whoops while Blaine smiles bigger, “I was actually thinking of inviting him to Tiny’s wedding. Do you think that would be...cool?”

“You should.” Blaine answers immediately, “No one will care he’s a guy, Henry.” He says, understanding why Henry is nervous, “They may be a bit surprised at first but they’ll just be happy for you.”

Henry nods and takes a deep breath, “You’re right.”

Alex lets out a breath, “So, Henry’s going to have a date to a family wedding. That hasn’t happened...ever.” He chuckles when Henry smacks him on the back of the head before continuing, “And we all know I’ll rally and invite some hot piece with me.” Henry and Blaine give the same ‘Of course’ hand gesture, “So, now we just have to find someone for baby brother.”

Blaine rolls his eyes at the moniker but then smiles, “I actually already have a date myself.”

Alex’s eyes widen and Henry lets out a low whistle, “The same guy you’ve been seeing?” Alex asks and Blaine nods with an even bigger smile, “Well, that’s great.” He says, offering his glass for another toast, “To each of us finding someone we want to hump.”

Henry and Blaine roll their eyes with their glasses held up but participate in the toast anyway.

“Oh! And to it being only two days until we take Tiny out!” Alex adds.

Blaine and Henry, more enthusiastically, cheers to that.

-- -- --

Henry feels his heart leap when he sees Kurt walking toward him. He had left Blaine and Alex at the bar a half hour ago after two hours of chatting and goofing around to meet Kurt for their date.

His teeth start to chatter and not because of the cold weather. He’s nervous. Alex was right. He’s never asked anyone to any of their family weddings. He hopes Kurt says yes!

Kurt’s face breaks into a smile when their eyes meet and Henry all but bounces on his toes when the other man gets closer.

“Hey!” He enthuses, swooping in to give Kurt a quick kiss on the cheek. The desire to do so is still so new for Henry. It both excites him and terrifies him a little. He hasn’t really gotten the hang of casual intimacy with Kurt. Any physical interaction is usually initiated by Kurt. But Henry’s trying. He wants to try.

“Hey you.” Kurt says with a sigh, a white cloud of air following his words due to the cold weather.

“You look great.” Henry smiles.

Kurt smiles back, “So do you. Shall we walk?” He asks, gesturing down the street.

Henry loves that their dates are simple. They’ve been to the coffee shop a few more times and spent an afternoon in Central Park by the pond. Today their plan is to wander around the city and see if anything strikes their fancy. It may be a bit cold to do so? But Henry loves how uncomplicated and safe it feels. A lot less stressful than bowling - Henry is still berating himself for suggesting that  to begin with.

The pair start their way down the street, walking close enough that their hands bump every once in a while but never really hold. Henry would like to hold Kurt’s hand, his fingers are flexing like a teenager on his first date, but he thinks he’ll wait and see if Kurt grabs first.

“How was drinks with your brothers?” Kurt asks.

Henry smiles, “It was nice. Alex just got his heart broken a little so we were cheering him up.”

Henry notices Kurt pauses at this, to the point where Henry walks a few steps ahead of him before he notices the lack of Kurt beside him. Henry turns back with a questioning eyebrow raised to find Kurt staring at him with slightly wide eyes. A second later, however, before Henry can ask, Kurt shakes his head with a chuckle and moves to walk next to the other man again.

“Sorry, I just thought...nevermind. It’s not important.” Kurt says with another shake of his head.

Henry nods in acceptance as they round a corner, “So, are you excited about your presentation on Monday?” It’s not what he wants to ask. He wants to ask Kurt to the wedding, but he figures he’ll work himself up to that.

Kurt sighs next to him and it sounds a little regretful to Henry. Which is strange considering the nature of his question. He’d thought Kurt would be excited about the presentation.

“Look, Henry, can we sit for a bit? I wanted to...talk to you about something.” Kurt says around a grimace and Henry doesn’t like the words or the expression but he nods and allows Kurt to lead him into a small, quiet coffee shop on the corner.

They each order a coffee, even though Henry suddenly has a lump in his throat and doesn’t think he’ll be able to drink it, and he shifts continually as Kurt unwinds his scarfs from his neck.

“What’s up?” Henry asks when he can’t take the quiet any longer. Trying for nonchalance and probably failing epically. 

Kurt swallows and rests his hands first on the wooden table top, then in his lap, and then finally decides to reach forward and grab Henry’s hands across the table. Henry looks down at their hands and while he realizes this is what he wanted to happen not even ten minutes ago, the current mood isn’t what he had expected or wanted.

“I don’t really know how to tell you this.” Kurt begins and Henry blinks at him, waiting for what he knows is coming but hoping that’s not the case, “I...need to end things.” And there it is. Henry feels his stomach sink to his feet and his instant reaction is to pull his hands from Kurt’s. Kurt won’t let him go though and Henry doesn’t try too hard, “It’s nothing you did. You are amazing.” Kurt continues and Henry goes back to blinking at him, his mind already whirling as he tries to focus on what Kurt is saying.

“What happened?” He asks around dry lips.

Kurt gives him a sad smile and Henry wants to say it’s pitying and hate Kurt for it but...he can’t, “I haven’t just been seeing you and things with the other guy have gotten more serious. I didn’t think it would be fair to either of you to pretend that wasn’t the case.”

Henry intellectually knows that at twenty-six, people date multiple people until things become exclusive but...Henry doesn’t really date. He was exclusive with Kurt from the beginning. It hurts, however irrationally, that Kurt didn’t feel the same way.

“I’m so sorry, Henry.” Kurt continues, squeezing his hand.

Henry shakes himself out of his own head and looks at Kurt, who is continuing to smile sadly at him.

“Would you like me to go?” Kurt asks.

Henry swallows. Does he? He thinks he does. He nods before he can think too hard and Kurt squeezes his hand one more time before pulling away and grabbing his scarf.

He stands to wind it around his neck and then reaches into his pocket to put money down on the table for his undrank (and actually still undelivered) coffee.

“You really are amazing, Henry.” Kurt whispers.

Henry nods, tries to smile, and then Kurt is gone.

Henry lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He tries to tell himself that people break things off all the time. Hell, he’d just come from an Alex cheer up session for the exact same reason. He tries to tell himself that he and Kurt weren’t serious, regardless of Henry’s personal feelings on exclusivity.

He’ll be fine. It’s not like the very first guy to ever catch Henry’s attention, to make him question everything he thought about himself, just ended things right when Henry was thinking of taking things to the next level.

Henry lets out another heavy breath. Fuck.

-- -- --

“Okay, while I love that you guys took me out? I have to say this is kind of depressing.” Amelia says, carefully, two days later.

She’s seated on the arm of a couch in the VIP section of a swanky club, dressed to the nines in a purple sequined dressed and hair and makeup on point, and while she’s valiantly trying to maintain a buzz...she feels its a bit of a travesty that she has to TRY so hard. She should be drunk out of her MIND right now or at least on her way to it.

She’s not sure if the club is all the night holds, but the way things are going she’s not sure she wants to find out what else there might be.

The only other person actually trying to have fun is Blaine. He’s also dressed to the nines, his bowtie the perfect accessory and has been tweaked by admiring girls AND guys all night. The constant blush on his cheeks at the action is both adorable and endearing. Blaine is currently off buying them more drinks, however, leaving Amelia with Alex and Henry.

It’s the other two members of their party that are being giant party poopers. Alex and Henry are at least dressed nicely for the event but considering this is pretty much all Alex has talked about for months...their mood is definitely off.

“Sorry Tiny.” Henry sighs from where he sits on the couch next to where she is perched.

Amelia sighs, “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be happy!” She says, “Is whatever has the two of you down something you can maybe put aside for the night? Or is it something we can talk about, quickly, so we can move on? Because I’m pretty sure this night is costing you all a lot of money and...it’s my last night out with my boys before my wedding.” She doesn’t want to pout but...she’s the baby, and the only girl, and is used to using her pout to get what she wants.

Alex sighs, “I was ready to have a great night but then Henry had to go and get dumped, too, and...it reminded me how much that sucked.”

Henry lifts his hands, exasperatedly, as if to say it wasn’t his fault he got dumped a day after Alex did, “It’s not my fault I got dumped a day after you did!” He huffs and Amelia almost, almost giggles at her ability to read her big brothers.

Instead of giggling though, she sighs, “Look, guys, getting dumped sucks but get drunk and get on someone else! It’s not like you’d been dating these people for a year or more. You didn’t even tell your family you were dating them!”

Henry and Alex both stare at her after her exclamation and she would feel bad if she didn’t feel she was right. Henry’s mood makes the most sense. He doesn’t date and any seeming failure would be a blow to his dating confidence. 

She’s most confused by Alex. Alex goes through men and women like they’re underwear sometimes. She’s confused why he would be so hung up on a guy he clearly didn’t feel serious enough about to introduce to his family.

“We’re sorry, Tiny.” Henry says.

Alex nods, “Yeah. We’ll try harder. This is your night.”

Amelia nods, glad to have them thinking the way she does, as Blaine comes back to the group.

“I’m pretty sure I counted four different people winking at me and/or touching my butt on the way to and from the bar.” Blaine says, setting their drinks down on the table in front of the couch.

Alex laughs as he reaches for his drink, cheersing slightly in thanks, “Well, you are looking very dapper this evening. But better watch it - your man might get jealous.”

Blaine chuckles, himself, as he takes a seat in a chair perpendicular to the couch the other three are sitting on, “Yeah, maybe I should have brought Kurt as protection.”

Amelia is looking at Blaine but becomes aware very quickly of how still the couch to her right has gotten. She turns to find Alex and Henry looking at Blaine but not in the casual way one might when another person is talking. They’re staring at him like he’s just said the most shocking thing they’ve ever heard.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Alex asks.

Blaine seems to catch on to their sudden mood and furrows his eyebrows and shifts as he answers, “That I should have gotten Kurt to come for protection. It was just a joke.”

“Kurt.” Henry says, flatly.

“Yeah. My….boyfriend?” Blaine says the last part questioningly. Amelia isn’t sure if it’s because he’s still confused by their brothers’ reactions, or because he’s not sure if the title is accurate for his relationship.

Either way, the clarification doesn’t seem to help Alex and Henry who continue to look at Blaine like he’s just stolen the last cookie (a criminal offense punishable by beatings from each other when they were kids).

Blaine chuckles nervously under the scrutiny, “What’s going on?”

Henry and Alex look at each other and then back at Blaine, and then back at each other. Amelia’s head is starting to hurt from confusion, but it looks like she’s not the only one who’s confused.

“What’s Kurt’s last name?” Henry asks.

“Hummel.” Blaine provides and again the space is silent which is hard to do considering the music pumping not far away.

“Oh god.” Henry moans, putting his head into his hands. Alex sits, frozen, staring at Blaine. Blaine, for his part, is looking back and forth between his brothers, and Amelia, with a look of distress on his face, unaware of the issue.

And then suddenly, Amelia gets it.

“Were you all dating the same guy?!” She exclaims.

Blaine’s head whips in her direction as Henry moans again.

“No, no, no.” Blaine says with a nervous chuckle as he looks at his brothers to agree.

Instead of confirmation however, Henry is still face planting into his hands and Alex looks murderous.

“No?” Blaine, feebly, tries again.

“I lost my chance to be with Kurt because of YOU?!” Alex yells and Blaine jumps back in his chair slightly at the loud exclamation.

Amelia gets up and puts her hands up in a calming gesture, “Now, just wait a minute. Let’s just...talk about this.”

“Did you know?” Alex accuses as he stares at Blaine.

“Of course not!” Blaine exclaims.

Alex scoffs like he doesn’t really believe his brother and fidgets on the couch. Henry hasn’t moved.

“I cannot believe this.” Alex huffs. He looks around the room before shaking his head and huffing again, “You know what? I can’t be here right now. I’m sorry, Tiny, but...I gotta go.”

Before Amelia can say anything, Alex is up out of his seat and out of the room. Blaine and Amelia watch him go, both looking distressed and confused.

“Henry?” Blaine asks after a moment, small and sounding very much like the ‘little brother’ Alex and Henry like to say he is.

Henry shakes his head before looking up, “I gotta...I’m sorry but I gotta...think about this.” He says and then he’s gone the same way Alex left.

Blaine and Amelia once again watch him leave and then turn and look at each other. Blaine looks close to tears and Amelia feels a tightness in her chest. She’s not sure how to fix what just happened, or even fully understand why it happened. She just knows that a night meant to celebrate very quickly turned into the very opposite of that, and she now has three brothers hurting.

She does the only thing she can think to do at the moment and moves to squish herself next to Blaine, pulling him to her and cuddling him close as they listen to the distant thump of music from the club on the other side of the wall.

-- -- --

Blaine feels like shit. It’s been three days since the disaster that was Amelia’s party and neither of his brothers are answering his calls. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t talk to his brothers for longer than a day, their almost constant back and forth something he took for granted until it suddenly wasn’t there.

He’s tried to text both of them multiple times but has not received a response from either. 

He misses his brothers, but he’s also a little mad because he’s not sure their silent treatment/absence is justified. It’s not Blaine’s fault he met a guy. It’s not Blaine’s fault he and said guy grew close. And it’s not his fault that guy just so happened to also be dating his other two triplet brothers and decided to break it off with them.

None of this is his fault...but then why does he feel so guilty for seeking comfort in Kurt?

“I don’t know what to do.” He sighs, resting his chin on his folded arms which are resting on top of his kitchen island where he is sitting.

Kurt sighs from his spot next to him and leans over to kiss his shoulder before leaning his cheek on the same shoulder and smoothing a hand up Blaine’s back.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers.

“I don’t know what to say or do to make any of this better with them.” Blaine continues.

Kurt hums and Blaine appreciates that while Kurt may not know what to say, he’ll listen.

When Blaine had first told Kurt that he had been inadvertently dating Blaine’s triplet brothers, Kurt had thought he was joking. No way did the universe work that way. But after Blaine showed Kurt a picture of himself with Alex and Henry, Kurt had been dumbfounded. He’d sputtered some words that didn’t make a lot of sense and looked like his mind was reeling with a million different emotions and thoughts all at once. In the end, he seemed to finally land on pity and sympathy for Blaine, and while Blaine doesn’t usually like to be pitied...in this situation, he’ll take all the pity and cuddles he can get.

The pair is quiet for a few moments, both in their own heads, before Kurt lets out a breath, “I still can’t believe I was dating three brothers.” Evidently Kurt’s not completely done being dumbfounded, “No, wait.” He says, straightening up, “Triplets. Triplet brothers. Close triplet brothers. Triplet brothers who are close.” He moves away from Blaine to circle to the other side of the island and Blaine immediately misses his closeness.

Kurt paces from one end of the island to the other and brings a hand to his forehead, “And I’ve now hurt all three of them.” He seems to be talking more to himself than to Blaine, “All three are hurting because of me. How did I get myself into this mess?”

Blaine watches him pace for another moment before sighing. His sigh seems to snap Kurt out of his own head and he leans across the island to rest his hands on Blaine’s folded arms, “Oh my God, I’m sorry. You don’t need me having a mental freak out. This is about you.”

Blaine sighs again, “You’re allowed to be confused too, Kurt. I don’t think there is a rule book on how to handle this situation.”

Kurt pouts his lips, “Yeah, but I’m not the one who isn’t talking to his brothers. I’m the one who caused it all.”

Blaine unwinds his arms and grabs Kurt’s hands properly, “It’s not like you planned this. It’s not like you went out in search of triplet brothers, who look nothing alike I might add, to mess with. You dated, you got close to someone, and did the right thing by breaking it off with the others you didn’t feel as close to.”

Kurt nods and squeezes Blaine’s hands, “I think some of that advice could be turned around and given to you.”

Blaine bites his lips together and nods. He can’t be blamed for getting close to someone. He can’t be blamed for not knowing his brothers just so happened to be dating that same someone.

“Should I feel guilty for being happy about how it turned out?” He asks.

Kurt sighs and shrugs slightly, “Only if I should, too.”

Blaine shakes his head. This whole situation was out of their control and he can’t deny how happy he is to be with Kurt. He’ll figure out a way to make things right with his brothers. Everything will turn out okay.

“I like you a lot.” Blaine says, apropos of nothing.

Kurt smiles at him from across the island before circling it again and coming to hug Blaine. Blaine settles his knees on either side of the taller man and leans his head against Kurt’s chest as he wraps his arms around his waist.

“I like you a lot, too.” Kurt whispers into Blaine’s hair.

Blaine enjoys the hug for a minute before pulling back and looking up at Kurt, “Should you still come to the wedding?”

Kurt bites his bottom lip and tilts his head, “Do you want me to still come to the wedding?”

Blaine squeezes the arms still around Kurt’s waist slightly, “Of course I do, but that’s not really the point right now. Would it just cause more issues?”

Kurt shifts his arms so his hands are resting on Blaine’s shoulders and he looks him in the eye, “I would love to come to the wedding with you. I would love to meet your family or, you know, the rest of your family?” He scrunches one eye shut and the question actually makes them both laugh softly before Kurt settles into a soft smile, “But I do not want to do anything else that will cause you, or your brothers, any more hurt.” Blaine starts to speak but Kurt shushes him lightly, “Yes, I know the first hurts were inadvertent, but they still happened.” Blaine sighs and nods, “I will go along with whatever you want. If you want me at the wedding, I’m there. If you’d rather me stay at home, I can do that too. But your decision will not change how I feel about you.”

Blaine stares up into Kurt’s eyes and his feelings for him deepen even further at Kurt’s words. Beyond the external drama, Blaine is a little shocked at how quickly his feelings for Kurt have developed over the course of their short relationship. He’s feeling things he thinks he probably shouldn’t yet, and while he’s not ready to announce them to Kurt...they’re enough to make his decision an easy one.

“I want you there.” He whispers into the space between them, looking back and forth between Kurt’s eyes because they are that close.

Kurt smiles and leans in to press a slow kiss to Blaine’s lips. Blaine sighs and leans into it, pressing his hands more firmly into Kurt’s back to draw the other man closer still.

The kiss is deep from the start and the only sound in the room is their breathing and the wet sound of their lips and tongues coming together. There is something deeply intimate about their position to Blaine and he can feel himself responding and his heart rate pick up.

Kurt’s hands settle on either side of Blaine’s neck and he tilts Blaine’s head ever so slightly and, oh, that angle is so much better.

They make out for another minute or two before Blaine pulls back sharply, a thought suddenly occurring to him.

“Did you…” He pauses, unsure he wants to ask the question. Kurt, who is slightly out of breath with his cheeks flushed standing between Blaine’s legs, looks at him in confusion. Blaine decides he needs to know, “Did you...sleep with either of my brothers?”

He knows he’s broken the mood they were just in, especially when Kurt’s confusion turns to laughter, but he knows he couldn’t continue until he knew.

Kurt leans his forehead against Blaine’s shoulder and laughs heartily into it. Blaine soon joins him and the pair laugh in each other’s arms.

Kurt lets out a breath and hums to calm himself before pulling back and shaking his head, “No. No, I did not.”

Blaine brings a hand up to his forehead and wipes it dramatically, “Phew. I just had this mental image of you comparing our dicks and just...no.” He says and it causes them both to chuckle. Blaine scrunches one eye shut and looks up at Kurt, “Sorry for...ruining the mood.”

Kurt hums again, looks up at the ceiling as if considering, and then shrugs, “It’s okay. Probably wouldn’t be the best idea to sleep together right now. Maybe we should...wait.”

Blaine intellectually knows Kurt is right, but it’s hard to tell his body and heart that.

“We’ll have time.” Kurt whispers, leaning to press a soft kiss to Blaine’s lips.

Blaine closes his eyes and groans softly as Kurt pulls away, “We will.” He agrees.

-- -- --

“Hey. Hey Blaine.” Alex slurs a day later into his phone. He’s wobbling outside of a bar in the West Village and he thought calling Blaine would be the BEST thing to do at this particular moment, “Hey Blaine. Oh wait, I already said that. But hi. I’m mad at you. I think. Shouldn’t I be?” He scrunches up his nose and makes eye contact with another man on the sidewalk who looks at him with a quirked eyebrow and keeps going, “Yeah, I think I’m mad. You stole Kurt. You stole Kurt and his..and his penis!” He exclaims. Two young girls, in the process of passing Alex on the street, jump at the volume and then giggle as they speed walk away, “I had plans for that penis. Big plans because well...I’m sure it would have been big if you know what I mean.

“But you took him and I’m mad.” Alex sighs and then sits on the sidewalk, “And a little sad. I’m...I’m...I’m smad.” He pouts his bottom lip out and adopts a glare before giggling at his attempt to look sad and mad at the same time, “I don’t want to be smad. But I really wanted that penis. And the man it was attached to. But now you have the penis. And I just...I’m smad.”

-- -- --

Kurt’s not entirely sure why he’s here. Technically, he understands the logistics of being here, Blaine’s little sister’s rehearsal dinner, but he isn’t entirely sure he made the right decision agreeing to come.

Blaine had asked him to come. Or rather, Blaine’s sister, Amelia, had asked Blaine to ask him to come. Her thinking was that her family could meet Kurt in a less formal setting first, as opposed to having their first meeting be at her wedding (Blaine had said her exact words were ‘If you cause unnecessary drama at my wedding, I will burn all your bow ties’).

So here Kurt stands, in an admittedly fabulous outfit, next to Blaine outside the restaurant the rehearsal dinner is being held at. They are both fidgeting and side-eyeing each other. 

The next time they catch each other's eyes, they both chuckle at the same time.

“Thank you for coming.” Blaine says.

Kurt shrugs, “From the sounds of things I didn’t REALLY have a choice. I haven’t even met Amelia yet and she seems like a force to be reckoned with.”

Blaine nods, “She can be.” He says on a sigh before looking back at the restaurant, “Ready?”

Kurt’s not sure he is, but he nods anyway, and the pair make their way toward the front door.

The hostess leads them to the private room the rehearsal dinner is being held in and Kurt is instantly hit with the sheer amount of people inside the relatively small room. Kurt’s not an introvert, by any means, but faced with a room of people he doesn’t know...including the family of his new boyfriend...he finds himself swallowing, thickly.

And then he remembers that everyone in this room isn’t a stranger and his eyes widen when the first people he lays eyes on are Henry and Alex. They’re hard to miss, right inside the door and talking to a short woman who, based on her physical features, can’t be anyone but their sister, Amelia.

The opening of the door draws their attention and the five of them (Alex, Henry, Amelia, Blaine, and Kurt) freeze. Kurt had kind of hoped to avoid any awkward interactions, but clearly luck isn’t on his side tonight.

“Hey!” Amelia says after a moment, breaking the silence and moving towards the pair, “You must be Kurt!” She’s hugging him before Kurt can even take his eyes off of Alex and Henry, and he hugs her back while still looking at them. Henry looks nervous and Alex’s eyes have narrowed slightly. Kurt coughs and looks away and down at the spitfire of a woman still hugging him

“Yeah. Hi. You must be Amelia. Nice to meet you and congratulations.” He says with a nervous blush rising on his cheeks.

Amelia steps back and hugs Blaine to her, who looks faintly ill as he looks beyond at his brothers.

“Thanks!” She enthuses, “Though I’m kind of glad the wedding is tomorrow. Whoever said planning a wedding was fun obviously hasn’t planned one before.”

She rolls her eyes and laughs, and while Kurt has been planning his wedding since he was six and can’t wait to put the plan into action, he laughs with her because he doesn’t want to be rude.

And then suddenly it’s like Amelia either can’t ignore the tension between the four men in the room, or she just realizes it, and looks between all four of them with a look of apprehension. When no one else speaks or even looks at one another, she sighs and puts her hands on her hips.

“This is ridiculous. Hug. Each. Other!” She orders with a glare at each of her brothers.

Blaine, Alex, and Henry all seem to collectively pout, but none move to follow the order of their little sister. Kurt’s pretty sure the order didn’t extend to him but...it’s so awkward he’s actually considering just going for it and hugging someone.

Amelia rolls her eyes before grabbing Blaine’s elbow, “All right. We are going to talk this out like the adults we all pretend to be. That way you can go back to normal and not ruin my wedding.”

She gestures for Alex and Henry to follow her and it appears this order they will follow. Kurt is simultaneously glad to no longer have to deal with this awkwardness, but also a little terrified that Blaine is about to leave him in a room full of strangers.

The siblings are almost out of the room when Amelia stops and turns back to Kurt with a raised eyebrow, “Are you coming?”

Kurt’s eyes widen in surprise and terror. His presence is required?

Amelia gives him a pointed stare before leading her brothers from the room. Kurt hesitates, momentarily, before deciding staying with Blaine is probably the best course of action (and not angering Amelia any further) and following them out to a quiet section of the restaurant.

For the second time this evening, Kurt wonders how he ended up here.

“All right.” Amelia starts as she looks at her brothers in front of her. The four men are standing in a loose square, with Kurt awkwardly standing to Blaine’s right, “You all need to get over this. I should not be feeling anxious over YOUR love lives and especially not the day before the most important day of MY life.”

Alex crosses his arms over his chest and pouts, “This is all Blaine’s fault.”

Amelia throws her hands up in the air in exasperation but it’s Blaine who answers, “Are you seven?” He asks, incredulously, and the question just makes Alex’s arms cross tighter, “Because that’s how you’re acting. This is like the time mom and dad bought us scooters for our birthday and you got pissed that I got the red one because you wanted the red one.”

Kurt furrows his brow, “Are you likening me to a scooter?”

His question goes unanswered as Alex huffs indignantly, “I really liked him!” He defends.

Blaine rolls his eyes, “Yeah, I got that much from the message you sent me. You know, at first I felt sort of bad for what happened, that maybe it WAS my fault. But it’s not really. I just met a guy and fell in…” He hesitates and Kurt turns to him wide eyed. Blaine swallows thickly and doesn’t meet Kurt’s eye before continuing, “I really didn’t need you talking about how much you want my boyfriend’s dick. Now I’M mad.”

Kurt’s wide eyes widen further before moving to look at the ground. He feels his cheeks heat up in an embarrassed flush. He’s not really shy when it comes to sex related topics like he was in high school, but something about this situation just makes it all the more strange.

The space they’re in goes quiet and Kurt isn’t sure if anyone is going to break the silence. He doesn’t really want the last thing said in this trainwreck of a conversation to be about his penis.

He coughs and all heads swivel toward him. He blinks at each face before landing on Blaine’s and biting his lip, “I...think I’m going to go.” He says, and it’s not until it’s out of his mouth that he realizes he had wanted to say those words.

Blaine’s eyes widen and he steps closer, grabbing Kurt’s hand, “Please don’t.” He whispers.

Kurt looks quickly at the other faces in the space before focussing back on Blaine. He really doesn’t want to say this with Blaine’s brothers and sister in the room, but again his mouth acts before his brain can catch up, “I don’t want to come between you and your family.” He whispers, pleading with his eyes for Blaine to understand.

Blaine shakes his head, “You aren’t.”

Kurt smiles sadly, “I am. I just...can’t be the reason why three brothers are fighting.” He looks around the room again, the other three faces looking on curiously, before turning back to Blaine who looks pained, “I’m sorry.” He whispers and then pulls his hand out of Blaine’s, “I’m...sorry.” He says a little louder to Alex, Henry, and Amelia, before he turns and walks out of the restaurant.

The fact that his heart hurts when he hits the parking lot doesn’t go unnoticed.

-- -- --

Amelia’s wedding is a beautiful, elegant affair the next day. The flowers arrive on time, no one trips down the aisle, Amelia and Sam both tear up during their vows, and if anyone notices the slightly subdued nature of the three men of honour...they don’t comment.

Blaine thinks he and his brothers do a pretty good job at keeping it together during the ceremony and pictures. They act like nothing's wrong and even their parents don’t seem to pick up on the fact that there is a giant elephant in the room.

During the reception, the three of them deliver their joint speech flawlessly (complete with jokes, heartfelt memories, and perfectly timed segways) and Blaine gives a sigh of relief when Amelia beams at them from her seat beside her new husband.

It’s not until the dancing begins that Blaine really lets his mask drop. He finds a seat at an empty table and nurses a glass of wine. He rests his forearms on his legs and lets the glass dangle between his knees.

Kurt was supposed to be here. Blaine was supposed to be introducing his new boyfriend to his family, cuddling up on the dance floor during sappy wedding slow songs, and maybe getting a little drunk and handsy. Instead, he’s spent the day pretending he isn’t hurting.

He sighs as the song changes (it’s a pretty damn good playlist if he says so himself) before he sees black out of the corner of his eye. He closes his eyes, ready to put on a brave face for whatever family member has decided to descend upon him, only to look up to find Henry standing in front of him.

“May I?” His brother asks, gesturing to the seat next to Blaine. Blaine nods and straightens slightly, something in the back of his mind finding it wrong that Henry feels he needs to ask permission to sit next to his brother.

Henry sits next to him with a sigh and looks out over the dance floor. Blaine realizes in that moment that Henry has been pretty quiet since they found out about their shared dating experience. He hasn’t said much on the issue or expressed his feelings in any way. Blaine really hopes he’s not about to get into a shouting match at their sister’s wedding.

“I freaked out.” Henry says. Blaine turns to look at him but Henry is still looking out at the dance floor, “Kurt was the first guy to ever make me feel something like that, and then suddenly he was calling things off to be with you, and I had this giant crisis. Had everything I felt been a lie? An experiment? For nothing?” He shakes his head before sighing again and looking at Blaine, “But my feelings have nothing to do with you and Kurt. None of this is your fault, Blaine. And I’m sorry if I made you think it was.”

Blaine sucks in a deep breath through his nose and holds it for a second before letting it out. He had been expecting tension, not an apology. He also can’t believe he didn’t think to check in on his brother. Of course he’d be analyzing what it all meant.

“I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask how you were feeling about all of...that.” Blaine says.

Henry shrugs before smiling, “It’s okay. It’s not like me overthinking and freaking out is a NEW experience.”

Blaine chuckles softly, “Still. I should have asked. Are you...okay with everything?”

Henry nods looking out over the dance floor again, “I think I am. Or at least...I’m getting there. Maybe Kurt will be the only guy to do anything for me and maybe not. I’m willing to keep my options open.”

Blaine smiles and nods, “Good.” He says.

“I’m growing as a person.” Henry says, dryly, and they chuckle lightly. Henry turns back to Blaine and lays a hand on Blaine’s knee, “How about you? Have you heard from Kurt?”

The question makes Blaine’s chest hurt a little before he shakes his head, “Not since he left yesterday.”

Henry nods, “He’ll come around.” He says, encouragingly.

Blaine bites his lip to keep from either rambling or crying. He doesn’t want to do either. He’s not even sure how he truly feels or what he would even say...though he guesses when you ramble it’s less important what it is you actually say.

He ends up just shrugging and the pair go back to watching the happy people on the dance floor.

“Amelia is beautiful today.” Blaine muses.

“She really is.” 

Blaine jumps slightly because it’s not Henry who responds. Both men turn in the seats to see Alex standing behind them. He’s got his hands in his pockets and his head tipped down, looking at them through his lashes.

“Hey, can I...talk to you?” He asks Blaine.

Blaine looks at Henry, who shrugs, before Blaine nods and gets up. He passes his glass to Henry and then follows Alex out of the ballroom into the main lobby. He’s not sure if he and Alex are about to fight again, and he’s not entirely sure if he WANTS to fight again, but all speculation flies from his brain when he sees Kurt standing by chairs in the lobby.

Blaine stops walking and stares open mouthed. He looks back and forth between Alex, who has also stopped halfway between Kurt and Blaine, and Kurt who is standing with his hands in his pockets and biting his lip.

“What…?” Blaine starts.

Alex sighs, “I called Kurt. Explained to him that I’m kind of an ass sometimes. But hey, it’s part of my charm.” He says with a wide, cheeky smile, before sobering again, “None of this was either of your faults. None of this was any of our faults. But what is MY fault was how I reacted to it.” He turns more fully to Blaine, “I’m sorry. I’m no longer mad, I’m no longer sad, and none of that should have been directed at you.”

Blaine nods with a slow smile. He doesn’t really know what else to do right now other than to hug his brother. He’s opened his arms and begun to move toward him when Alex puts his hand up to stop him.

“Just wait, I’m not done. We can hug it out in a minute.” He says.

Blaine’s brow furrows in confusion but he does stop and watches as Alex turns toward Kurt, “I wanted to say sorry to you too, Kurt. I should never have treated you that way...even over a voicemail to my brother.”

Kurt’s eyes are wide as if he wasn’t expecting an apology before he nods.

Alex nods too and then turns to Blaine, “All right. You can hug me now.” He says, opening his own arms.

Blaine chuckles before closing the distance and wrapping his arms around his brother, “I’m sorry for all of this.”

Alex pulls back, “You have nothing to apologize for. You met a boy and you fell in…” He pauses with a knowing smirk and Blaine blushes and diverts his eyes for a second, “I was the only one who had to apologize. And I did.” He smiles, “I must be growing as a person.”

Blaine smiles at the statement Henry said to him minutes before, though as opposed to sarcastic, Alex seems proud.

“You are.” Blaine agrees.

Alex tilts his head in Kurt’s direction, “Go get your man. I’m going to go see if Sam’s friend Mike is single and open to the attention of men.” He waggles his eyebrows and Blaine laughs. Still the same old Alex.

Alex pats Blaine on the arm and then he’s gone, back into the ballroom. When the door closes behind him, Kurt and Blaine are left in silence.

Blaine walks slowly toward him, “Hi.” He whispers when he’s close.

Kurt bites his lip again and smiles, “Hi.”

“So...” Blaine looks around as if he’s searching for something, “You...aren’t coming between me and my brothers anymore. Not that you actually were, but now you DEFINITELY aren’t.”

“It would appear that I’m not.” Kurt agrees with a nod.

“So…” Blaine says again, “does that mean anything for...us?”

Kurt shrugs and looks around the lobby for a moment. Blaine’s stomach drops at the shrug, but when Kurt turns to him with a smirk, Blaine’s stomach fills with hopeful butterflies.

“Come here.” Kurt says, grabbing Blaine by the tie and pulling him forward into a kiss.

Blaine melts into it and he’ll blame the stress and uncertainty on the needy moan he lets out.

They’re just getting into a groove, and Blaine may or may not be thinking about a place in this building they could go to truly be alone, when a ‘whoop’ sounds from behind them.

They both jump and pull apart, looking at each other with wide eyes before turning simultaneously toward the ballroom to find Henry, Alex, and Amelia leaning out of the door with wide smiles on their faces.

“Yay Blainers!” Amelia claps and Blaine and Kurt chuckle at her enthusiasm. 

Henry puts a hand on his sister’s shoulder, perhaps in an effort to calm her, and Blaine feels his heart fill with happiness as his three siblings beam at him from the doorway.

Henry pulls slightly on Amelia’s shoulder and the pair turn to go back into the ballroom. Alex remains in the doorway, and while he looks to where his sister and brother just disappeared, he turns back to Blaine and he once again waggles his eyebrows with a wink. A moment later, Henry returns and pulls Alex back to the ballroom. 

Blaine can hear Alex complaining about missing the good part before he turns back to a smiling Kurt with a smile of his own. He takes a deep breath and reaches out to grab Kurt’s hand, “Do you...want to come meet the rest of my family?”

Kurt squeezes his hand and jiggles it lightly, “I would love to.”

Blaine didn’t think his smile could get any bigger, and yet he feels his cheek muscles stretch even further, before he tugs on Kurt’s hand and leads him to the ballroom.

The End