#within the next month. like out of sight out of mind is so very real especially given the situation

[romanshomeonwattpad]

brother’s best mate | draco malfoy

pairings - draco malfoy/reader’s | brother’s best friend!au |

sypnosis : when your older brother's best friend finds out about your date with Diggory—he decides to give you a piece of his mind.

word count : 3.4k

warnings: smut, established siblings, weed, choking, pet names, minor girl fight, size kink, not proofread so sorry

authors note: the reader is 18 in high school and graduates in less than a few months!! no minors are sexual in this one-shot. draco is 19 and only one year older than the reader. this was fun to write but lowk got lazy at the end. hope you all enjoy its very smutty.

(Follow my Wattpad @romanshome for more Draco content)

© elliotsblunt 2022. do not repost, modify, or translate.

You walked alongside your class mate, Ginny Weasley—a fourth year just like you. A Gryffindor with fiery bright red hair and the personality of a lion, freckled marks littering her nose. She had been your newfound best friend, usually sticking within your own house which had been Slytherin up until recently.

Some drama that had occurred in third year, so you began to seek friendships from other houses as well. You never really cared, but your older brother insisted you hang out with your true kind. Whatever that meant.

Ginny paused as they strolled past the Great Hall. “Say, _ _—Oh!”

You felt someone run into you from behind, a brute force slamming into you full force. Your knees wobbled and collapsed as your palms shielded your face, stinging as they slapped the concrete floor. Blinking with wide eyes, your eyes snapped up to meet a pair of narrowed blue eyes.

“Parkinson,” Ginny called from behind you, storming past you. Your arm shot to reach for her wrist as you held her back. “Chill Gin, it’s cool.”

The dark haired girl smirked, crossing her thin arms over her chest, where her tits practically spilled out. You almost gagged at the sight as Pansy chuckled,

“Sorry, _ _. Didn’t see ya.”

“Bullshit!”

“She’s not even worth it. Come on,” You rolled your eyes, thankful Ginny had your back in the back of your mind. Pansy’s smirk faded as you spun around, reaching out and shoving you from behind. You fell forward once again, Ginny calling out your name as she kneeled beside you. Both of you send the laughing girl a glare.

“What is your problem?” You hissed, standing up on your feet. “I haven’t—“

“He broke up with me. Neville broke up with me—for you. You fucking cunt. And now, I’m going to beat you and that Gryffindor’s ass.”

Your brows knit together. Neville? But you hadn’t spoken to him in months, ever since last year. When he had broken up with you for Pansy Parkinson.

A smirk crept onto your lips, still on the ground. Her cheeks reddened at your next words, “Huh. Isn’t that ironic.”

“You bitch,” she gritted her teeth before slapping you across the face. Your eyes widened as you smiled in shock, not believing that this whore was fighting you over a man. When you had found out that Neville, who you dated for a solid two months, decided to cheat on you with Pansy Parkinson. The new, shiny exchange student from Beauxbaton Academy. She spoke French and was the only girl to show off cleavage.

She had been the talk of most of the boys in each house for months.

Apparently, the French liked to get down and under. Real quick. Half the boys went through her by the time summer rolled around. You remember your older brother mentioning her, saying if his best friend hadn’t fucked her before he graduated then he most definitely would have “tapped”. All he had earned from you was an eye roll.

“You crazy slag!” Ginny shouted, but before she could step in—a deep voice interrupted.

As you stood from the ground, picking up your book that you had dropped, you froze before quickly facing the voice. A warmness flourished in your chest as a familiar smirk was given to Pansy, by a blonde Slytherin that had graduated last year. Your brother, Alex , stood beside him, “Parkinson. Please don’t tell me your shoving my baby sis because of one of your personal wankers.“

Draco chuckled to himself, his head shaking before shoving his hands into his pockets. His hair had been combed to the side, a single strand falling over those piercing eyes of his. A black long sleeve tightened around his muscular back, a pair of black slacks to matched. You could almost smell his cologne from here.

“Can it, Waters,” she snapped at your brother, shifting her scowl into a smile when your sights landed on Draco.

“Draco—I didn’t know you were back. I would have looked for you.”

“Exactly why I didn’t,” he replied quietly, rubbing the back of his neck before clearing his throat.

Parkinson blushed a deep red, looking away from Draco. Ginny threw her a brow. “Didn’t you and Longbottom just break up?”

“Longbottom, Pans? The kid looks like a human piranha—bless his soul,” Alex chuckled, but you shook your head.

“No, he looks better. He got surgery.”

“No wa—!”

“Both of you shut up!” Pansy spat at both your brother and you, causing you all to just look at her with expecting looks. After her eyes swept back and forth across all of yours, she groaned before spinning around and stomping away. Alex tilted his head at her, “What’s with her?”

“Neville broke up with her for _ _,” Ginny replied, an knowing smile on her face as she nudged you. “But she happens to fancy someone else.”

“I would be mad to if a bloke that looked like that broke up—“

“Who?”

Your eyes found Draco’s. He was looking at you, with something new flickering in his eyes. His jaw was clenched as a soft smile played on his lips for you. Ginny nor Alex responded, waiting for you to respond.

“Urm, just some kid I met at a party.”

You were talking about Cedric Diggory. He was the golden boy of Hufflepuff, with those dreamy eyes and charming smile. Your heart soared whenever he passed you in the halls, sending you his specialty wink. You had to bite your lip to hold back a smile for the rest of the day, almost drawing blood. And last night, you had both texted non-stop.

Tonight you were supposed to meet him in Hogsmeade. Spring Break was coming up, which is why your brother had came in the first place. You always spent Spring Break with your brother—and Draco just always happened to be with him. They were inseparable. Ever since first year.

“You go out with him yet?” Draco asked another question, narrowing his eyes. His head tilted as he studied you.

“No.”

“But she’s meant to tonight,” Ginny added, throwing an arm around you. You threw her a stare but she wasn’t paying attention to you, sending heart eyes to Draco. She always a massive crush on him, and you were sure he knew. Especially when he sent her a boyish smile right now. “Thank you, Weasel. Though, you don’t look much like a weasel anymore.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear as Alex rolled his eyes. “Gross, bro. Don’t flirt with my baby sis’s friends, ight?”

Draco chuckled as you groaned, “Ginnyishelpingmepackokbye,” you rushed out before grabbing your giggling friend.

You stood outside your favorite restaurant in Hogsmeade—The Flying Dutchman. They had the best burgers in town, and you’re the one who actually proposed to come here when Cedric asked you out. Your brother, Draco, and you always came here for dinner when you rented out your hotel room. Like every Spring break. A faint smile wore on your lips at the memory as the spring breeze pressed warm kisses onto your flesh.

But as more time passed by, that smile began to fade. Cedric had been more than thirty minutes late.

Ginny texted her that about after an hour, you should call it quits. And so you kept checking your phone, tapping your glossy heel against the concrete of the sidewalk. Your heart banged on your rib cage as blood rushed to your ears. Everything was slightly muffled as embarrassment overcame you.

And when it hit nine o’clock, you began to walk to your hotel.

Anger coursed through your veins. How dare he asked you out then ghost you completely?

You pulled out your phone and sent him a few messages cursing him out before shoving it back into your purse. With glossy eyes, after about ten minutes, you had reached the hotel room you were to be having alone. Your brother and Draco would be sharing the next one over. Approaching the entrance, where green glass pillars cascaded over a tall, lavish building—you hummed as the cool air conditioning welcomed you.

“Welcome,” a faux customer service voice rung in your ear. Your eyes landed on the front desk attendant, a young man. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes. Under Waters.“

“The single queen bed with a walk in-closet?”

You blushed, “Yes.”

“Perfect. Will that be cash or credit.”

“It’s on file. I come like, every year,” you explained, and he nodded firmly before clicking his mouse a few times. He was short and chubby—hair receding slowly from the sides. You didn’t know that was possible. “Have you found it?”

“Yes. It went through and….perfect. You’re all set,” he bent over, opening a drawer and a pair of keys jingled in your ears. He pooped back up whilst kicking the drawer back closed—handing you your card and the wifi password. “This here is your room card for room number 67 as well as our wifi and password.”

“Thanks,” you sent him a smile before making your way inside. As always, the halls were the same. A green carpet with beige walls, random paintings everywhere. It smelled of old paper inside your room, a bed with red covers and white pillows rested on the large bed. A walk-in closet, as promised, was lodged in the corner next to the bathroom.

You decided to shower, still in a sour mood about being stood up. Taking off your makeup with a cleanser, you stripped off your clothes and hopped into the shower. Craving to feel the warm water soothe your tense muscles, you moaned as it happened moments later. Digging your vanilla shampoo into your roots, you used your net to scrub off the dirt and dead skin from your body.

After finding everything off, you wrapped a towel around your figure and opened the door to your bathroom. A scream tore from your throat at the sight of someone sitting on the corner of your bed.

“_ _. I’m high as fuck,” Draco ran a hand through his hair, a red hue glowing from his eyes. His eyelids hung low as he smiled lazily—flickering his gaze over to you. “Alex is passed out. He took too many edibles.”

You scoffed, “And I assume you were the more responsible one and maintained a decent amount of sobriety?”

“Big words, _ _. Big words for a little girl,” Draco taunted, your eyes rounding at his words. He had never seemed this laid back with you, always being the more poised and dignified out of him and your brother. Hair always slicked to the side, clothes looking tidy and clean cut. But his hair had been messy due to him running his fingers through the strands, and his black button up he had changed into had been unbuttoned halfway.

His gold chain glistened against his pale skin, your thighs clenching at the thought of it hanging in your face while he—

“How was the date?” He questioned, his eyes darkening. You gulped.

“He didn’t show.”

“What?” He rose his voice, standing up from his seat. You flinched at the intensity of his tone as his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Dammit, _ _,” he balled his fist, storming over to you. Your back hit the wall, clutching your towel to your body, as his palmed slammed against the wall and staid there. His scent of peppermint and marijuana, which led you to believe he had smoked instead of taking the edibles with your brother. His eyes swirled with a hidden emotion as breath fanned your lips. “Why can’t you just answer a simple question?” He scoffed,

“You never do what you’re told.”

“And you’re too high,” you mumbled, placing your hands on his chest to push him back. But he caught them, “Draco.”

“_ _,” He whispered, “I can’t watch you get heartbroken over these little fucking boys anymore.”

Your throat went dry. Had Draco liked you?

That didn’t make any sense. He had been the most popular boy at school. Him and your brothers were the two most crushed on guys at school, Draco running through a number of girls throughout his years. He always paid attention to you, never leaving you out. “What? You think it’s a coincidence that every dude you have a date with bails on you?”

Your eyes widen, “You’re the reason Cedric—?”

“Back when I was in Hogwarts,” he continued, his boyish smirk returning to his lips. “Looks like you don’t need my help in that department after all.”

He had been your brother’s best friend, and if you didn’t know any better, his high self just confessed to scaring off other guys to date you. Out of all the girls he could have had, tonight, it appeared he wanted you. And one thing about Draco Malfoy—

He always gets what he wants.

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as his piercing eyes bored into yours. His thumb reached out, shocking you, as it took place of your teeth. An animalistic look flashed in his eyes, “Relax, kid. It was a joke.”

“Don’t call me kid.”

Draco released a chuckle, taking a step back before shaking his head. He ran a large hand the lift his pale hair again, “Fuck. You’re Alex’s little sis,” he sighed, letting out sarcastic chuckles. “I’m turned on by my best friends sister.”

His words caught you by surprise. Your lips fell open in shock, eyes bulged and skin flushed. He tugged at his strands once more before muttering fuck it, turning around and walking straight towards you. You flinched say Draco grabbed your arm, pulling you into his chest before slamming his lips against yours.

They were smooth and plump, sucking on your own as his hand flew to your cheek. At first you hadn’t kissed back, in shock, but when his thumb began to rub the flesh of your face—you melted. Your lips fought against his as you completely surrendered to him.

His fingers found your hair, lightly tugging on the strands. A soft moan left your lips, causing him to hum, “You like when I pull your hair, little one?”

The nickname caused a shiver to run down your spine. A pool of wetness shot down your core, a pleasurable sensation overcoming you as he continued to kiss you. His scent overcame you as he spun the two of you around, laying you on the bed before crawling above you. His lips didn’t part from yours.

Pulling away, you panted as he observed you from above. Your hair had probably been a mess and completely damp. The towel wrapped around you had been the only thing separating you from the Slytherin above. His eyes were clouded with the drug, “You’re fuckin’ breathtakin.”

You blushed. You didn’t think you would ever hear him say that. Considering how much of a fan girl you used to be for him back in primary.

He dived down to close the gap between you two. “I wanna fuck you. Show you how it feels to cum around a grown dick like mine,” Draco breathlessly panted against her lips. His fingers dove to her towel, tossing to to the floor before looking down. His hair tickled her nose,

“Looks like every inch of you is perfect, _ _. Can’t wait to have you fall apart on my tongue.”

“Next time. I—want it now,” you breathed, craving to get fucked by Draco. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he grabbed one of your tits, popping it into his mouth before swirling his tongue around the bud. His eyes crossed at the taste, “Fuck, that feels so good.”

“YehBaby?” His voice was muddled by your mounds. You giggled as he founded the other one before doing the same. Your hips began to arch and he smirked,

“My horny little one,” he teased, sitting up straight. You chewed on your lower lip, clenching your thighs as his eyes staid on yours. Unzipping his slacks, he tossed them to the side along with his trousers before hooking his arms around your thighs. You shrieked as he yanked you to the edge, grabbing his cock, “You sure you can take it? A big dick like mine?”

You grabbed his bicep, which bulged under your hand. His arm had been twice the size of yours. Rubbing his swollen pink head against your clit, peering down at you. Your eyes widened up at him, all innocent like, pinching your nipples. His lips reached to kiss your feet before resting them both on his shoulders, “You sure about this, _ _? Because once I start, I can’t stop.”

“Please,” you pleaded, reaching for him. He chuckled before bending down, letting you wrap your arms around his neck. His thick cock began to slid into you, making you squeak his name, “Draco! Oh my—urgh.”

His red rimmed eyes looked down at you. As he inched deeper, the more your mouth dropped. He pecked your lips before moving more fluidly, more and more spikes of pleasure adding to your tummy. You weren’t a virgin—every guy you’ve been with always made you do all the work. So the fact that Draco had expertly began stroking his hard cock into your gushing pussy, you noticed more moans escaping you.

The blonde grunted, working half his cock inside. And then he pushed it all the way in, making both of you cry out in unison.

And then he chuckled darkly at your blissed out expression, a wicked smile curling onto his lips as he angled himself. His hips rammed into yours, holding your knees against him, as your tits jiggled before his eyes.

Cries and pleads babbled from your mouth.

“Yes! Please!”

“Draco—it feels too good.”

“My Merlin—I can’t—“

“Yeah?” He cooed, brutally snapping his hips against you. His thick head pushed into your walls, his abdomen rubbing against your puffy nub. With a tender voice, his hand flew to your throat, as he continued, “Just like that, little one? Move my hips like this?”

He gave her two harsh strokes, giving her a bruising kiss. Draco’s hair fell over his eyes as sweat glistened over his abs. Ring clad fingers snaked to your pussy, his thumb pressing circles into your clit. It began to pulse, meaning you were going to cum, making Draco raise his brows.

“It’s so warm, _ _. You gonna come on this dick?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, “Yes yes yes YES YES—“

Draco chuckled, kissing your lips to silence you. You came on his dick, being completely lost in the trance of your orgasm. It felt like a million glasses had broken in your ear, earth shattering before you as euphoria paused time. Never in your life had you came that hard.

And then he pulled out, sitting against the headrest on the bed. You sent him a look, still calming down from your high, as he tapped his thigh, “Come take a ride on this dick for me, baby.”

Without time to waste, you crawled over. He smiled at you evily as he guided you, “Sit with your back-good girl,” he instructed, making you face your back to his chest. He lifted your feet and stood them on his thighs, “I’m going to play with your pussy. Throw your arm around my neck and take this dick, that’s all you have to do. Okay little one? Can you handle that?”

To answer his question, you instantly grabbed his cock before sliding down. You cried out, “Ah!”

“That’s it. Juuuuuuust like that,” he shushed, rubbing three fingers on your swollen pussy. You jerked in his hold as he nipped at your ear, “I got you, baby. I got you.”

And with that he began rapidly thrusting up into your clenching pussy. You screamed out as his fingers fastened their pace, your back arching against his chest. Your arm shook as it clung to his neck, his lips attached to your nipple. The crude licking sounds edged you closer to your high.

His hand covered your entire stomach, “So tiny, baby. You like when I fuck this little pussy?”

Your tummy began to contract. Draco licked his fingers, tasting your juices, before rubbing them against your creaming pussy once again. Your brows rose in pleasure as a scream came from you, “I’m gonna—ah—“

“Come on,” he urged, “Come on come on come on—there it is! Just like that, _ _. Allll over my fucking dick.”

Your body twitched as you came on top of Draco. And when he felt your tight pussy gush around him, he grabbed you by your waist, prolonging your orgasm by animalistically rutting up into you. “Fuck, I’m gonna, fuck fuck fuck—“

“What the fuck?” Alex’s voice screamed in the air.

[fanfiction-blep]

How do you think Na’vi Miles would react when he finds out his fem!so got sexual harassed by one of his teammates (not Lyle I kinda like him) or someone else

Read a book yesterday and something like this happend and now I can’t get it out of my head

Thank you for the request, I won't lie I tapped into some of my own personal experiences with this one. And I will be cautious with writing prompts like this in the future.

Miles Quaritch x Fem/Reader

Warnings: Sexual harassment, Violence. blood. Manhandling. angst.

(Y/N) stepped into the control centre room, paperwork clutched close to her chest. Eyes lowered the ground. She wanted to stay out of sight and out of mind, she wanted to avoid him. She was successful in her mission until Miles entered the room, his voice catching the attention of all that are present.

"(Y/N) there ya are been looking all over for ya" a large smile across his face as he eagerly bounced over to her, steps slapping against the floor. He wasn't stupid he knew something was bothering her. But anytime he prodded she would close up. His only clue was it was worse on the days she worked, so now he was going to tail her. She didn't need to know that. She forced a smile onto her lips trying to ignore the eyes burning into the back of her skull. She hadn't told Quaritch about the wondering eyes, or wayward hands even the leud comments that rolled off his tongue. She knew how he would react and she had been dealing with this her whole life, she knew confronting him would make it worse. She could risk her safety, he was military and she was a scientist. She may know how to dispose of a body but she had no real ability to kill someone, if she spoke up. She didn't know how he would react. That would be if she spoke to a superior, if she defended herself directly he might increase his antics. She was a women, a scientist. She had dealt with narrowminded sexist pigs for over half her life, she knew there was no way she could handle this and end up better for it. So she stayed quiet, and it had been months and he hadn't stopped. "Hey you doing okay?" He draped his arm over her shoulders, leaning in. He made eye contact with one of the new recruit who had been hanging around a bit to much for his liking.

"Mmmh" she mumbled handed her documents to the nearest tech. "Just have a lot to do today, I'll catch you later?" She stepped onto her tippy toes and placed a kiss on his cheek. She slipped out of his grasp and made her way to her next arrand. The lab.

Hours passed, she was examining some epithelial samples from the recoms trying to asses the rate of regeneration within the cells. When she felt a presence in the room with her she looked over her shoulder and saw him standing a few meters away from her.

"Can i help you with something?" Her voice was on the brink of breaking she felt the pressure in her chest building and chill running down her arms

"Oh you know exactly what you can help me with"

"I have no idea what you are talking about, I am very busy." She turned away trying to peacefully prevent the situation from escalating. His steps were fast as he grabbed the handle of her chair turning him to face him. Fear gripped her muscles, anxiety bubbling in her chest. She tried to stay calm but something was different today, he looked at her different. She knew he wasn't going away.

"I saw you today being all slutty with the Colonel, if you spread your legs for that freak you can do it for me too right?" She tried to stand up and walk away but as soon as her back was turned to him he grabbed her waist with one hand, pulling her flush against his back. His other hand reached up and cupped her right breast. "Common, if you fight it'll just make it harder on you" She lifted her right arm jabbing his elbow into his ribs. "You bitch!" He removed his hands from her body but placed one in her hair pulling at the roots.

"LET ME GO" She screamed, her lips becoming hot a tall tale sign heavy tears were about to fall from her eyes.

"Get your dirty hands off my girl" Quaritch had heard her scream, already heading to check in on her he caught the young recruit in the act. He stormed over the younger soldiers hands releasing (Y/N)s hair. Hands in the air.

"It's not what it looks like Colonel" He was smirking, he thought that he could get away with it. (Y/N) ran over to her partner, standing behind him. Hand on his back.

"Common, lets go" She tried to encourage him. He took one look at the tears falling from her eyes and he decided then that he would deal with it himself. He stormed over grabbing the younger man by his shirt.

"It looks like you put your hands on a women, my women" He was seething with rage. "You've been doing this for months haven't you? touching her, hurting her"

"She's been begging for it for months. women like that need to be put in their place." The colonels other hand smashed into the creeps face Holding him in place with the hand on his shirt, he pummelled the guy. Only happy when his knuckles were covered in red blood. Miles dropped the guy to the ground. Leaving him there. He walked over to (Y/N) placing a comforting hand on the small of her back. Leading her out of the room. taking her to the med room just to make sure, even though she insisted that she was fine.

"I'll make sure he's on the next shuttle back to earth tonight. He's not touching you again baby" He placed a tentative kiss on your temple. In that moment you knew that you never had to deal with situations like this again. He would take care of you when you weren't in a position to do it yourself.

To be clear, women are fully capable of taking care of themselves but when sexual harassment takes pace in a working environment it can at times takes someone in a higher position to solve the problem.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Injuries and Boundaries

Author's note: this is the next fic in Cedric's adventures in the husbandry AU! Thanks to @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for letting me borrow Hura! first. previous. next

tagged:  @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @i-am-a-dragon34

warnings: corporal punishment, wound treatment, blood

Summary: More injured Black Templars show up at the clinic causing trouble. Cedric's asked to help wrangle and treat them.

"Cedric... We've got more feral injured Black Templars who refused to be treated by anyone but another Son of Dorn. Do you mind taking them? Normally we'd have them wait, but all five of them are actively bleeding, and their sergeant is really twitchy." Misty, one of the human aides who worked in the Astartes-run medical clinic that Cedric worked in asked. "We've managed to herd them into one of the larger exam rooms, but they're still very tightly wound up. "

Cedric heaved a sigh, shaking his head a little. This was the second group of badly injured Black Templars who've shown up in the clinic within a month. This did not bode well, especially as it seems as though multiple Black Templar warbands seem to be gathering near or in this city for... Throne knew what reason. "I'll tend to them. Just let me finish my lunch real quick. It shouldn't take more than a minute or two."

"Thank you, Cedric." The medical assistant answered, sagging gratefully in relief before leaving. 

The young apothecary glanced around the room, double checking that no one else was around before vox-calling Ramiel "There are more injured Feral Black Templars in the clinic. Please warn our older Bruders and encourage our fellow Primaris marines to keep away from the base until this city is clear."

"... Sure, but what about you, Cedric? You should either hunker down with one of our older brothers, or ask Apothecary Hura if he has a mission out of the city that he'd like you to complete as a favor or something." Ramiel responded, a frown on his face "I'm still on the chaplains' retreat, but I know that you're not safe right now. You're going to get yourself to safety, right?"

"I'll be careful, and if I can't be careful, I will be smart, You don't need to worry, Rami. I'll be fine. Remember, we figured out that I survived the longest Back There, of the five of us. I didn't even get killed to be sent back to Ancient Terra." Which was a damn sight better than his fellow Primaris marines. "But I've got antsy patients to deal with. Be sure to message bruders Roland and Arnault they need to know, if they don't know already." He suspected that Roland and Arnault were exiled from many of the Black Templar Crusades because of them embracing their bonds with their mortals... And despite the fact that the bonds were warp-creations, those bonds and their humans made them so happy, brought out the best in both of them. Why shun them for it? It made no sense to Cedric.

"I will... but I will also tell them that you're treating feral templars who might hurt you if they take a notion! So they will make sure that you are safe too!" Ramiel growled out, and he could hear the stubborn glare on the other's face.

"Honestly, I am fairly safe within the clinic. I am one shout away from dozens of well-trained first-born cousins who won't hesitate to sedate and restrain a rampaging Cousin." Cedric sighed before ending the vox-call with Ramiel. He really hoped that the stubborn Justicar didn't rile up their older brothers. Roland and Arnault could get very protective when the mood struck. 

Cedric knocked on the closed door to the exam room that the older Black Templars had been brought into, waiting for a moment before entering the room, closing the door behind himself as he took in the sight before him. 

Three of the firstborn Black Templars were pacing around the examination room in a standard patrol cycle, while the other two were sitting on the exam room table, leaning into each other with their eyes closed, breathing shallowly.

Cedric could smell the coppery tang of blood in the air, saw the tense, tight ways that these older brothers were holding themselves and knew that each of them was in a tremendous amount of pain. He asked "Would any of you like something for the pain you are in? I will need to treat your wounds, which is going to hurt more. I have both spray-on pain reducers which may be applied to the wounds you have directly, depending on what kind of wounds you have, injectable pain killers, or a pill to take orally. Do you have preferences, if any?"

The five firstborn templars stopped what they were doing and looked him over silently for several long, and awkward feeling eternities (which was probably closer to a minute, perhaps two, but it felt as if they dragged their silent appraisal of him for so very long). The Sergeant stepped forward and slightly to the right, blocking Cedric's view of the two sitting on the medical table. "I am Sergeant Alois Zimmer of the Sprechembriech Crusade. Identify yourself, Apothecary." His well-muscled arms were crossed defensively over his chest. He had a large blade sheathed on his left hip, a bolter on the right. 

"I am Cedric, an Apothecary of the Black Templars." The Primaris marine stated. Technically he was also supposed to identify that he was both an apprentice and a Primaris Marine during this formal declaration but these firstborn brothers were wound very tightly. He didn't recognize these older brothers, and there was a high likelihood that they would have no idea what a Primaris was. They would, however, recognize that he was an apprentice and might start asking all sorts of obnoxious questions, which would delay their treatments and getting out of Cedric's hair before Arnault showed up, blade in hand and glaring at everyone who moved because Ramiel had wound up the Emperor's Champion. Again.

"Which Crusade are you part of?" Zimmer asked, looking him over closely "And where is your armor? Also... We aren't soft enough to need pain meds. Start patching up the two on the table."

"Came to Ancient Terra without any, as I was brought here in my sleeping clothes. I'm not part of an established Crusade. I haven't been on Ancient Terra long enough." Cedric answered, grabbing a wound repair kit from the cabinet and slowly approaching the two injured brothers on the exam table, not wanting to startle anyone. He opened the kit. It was unlikely that he was going to be part of one of the roving warbands of feral Black Templars. He liked having regular contact with his fellow Primaris Marines, and he sincerely doubted that he would be allowed to interact with two probable-outcasts. Even if one of them is an Emperor's Champion. "I got found by an Ultramarine and brought to the nearby Imperial Fist base and have been in this city ever since."

"That is some Lamenters level luck there, Brother." One of the other firstborn brothers calls out, before dodging the sergeant's reprimanding swat from Zimmer. 

Cedric very carefully did not react as he pulled up one of the older Black Templar's shirts, revealing that his back was a mess of bleeding flogging markings, and the characteristic bruising and claw-marks of a mark 9 power fist.

"Quiet, Illus. No need to wind up the lad." Zimmer looked at him steadily for a couple of seconds before asking "From the look on your face, I am guessing you know the kinds of wounds all of us are suffering from. It was not our Chaplain who inflicted these wounds, and our Crusade Leader ordered us to get treatment. Are you willing to patch us up, or should we wait for the Fist Apothecary they've summoned from the base?"

"I'll treat your wounds. I do have a question, though. If this wasn't ordered by your chaplain, nor the leader of your crusade, how did you come by these wounds?" Cedric asked, biting back panic and nausea, his hands rock-steady as he treated their wounds one at a time, and step by step. Check, clean, bandage. Rinse and repeat, until every injury on each of the five marines was properly treated to.

"Miles here ran afoul of a different Crusade's chaplain when he swiped one of the little sweet treats that the bastard had a whole bag of. He was about to eat it when the chaplain appeared out of fucking nowhere and started screaming his bloody head off. Miles gave back the treat and tried to apologize, but Petras wasn't having any of it and started beating the shite out of him. Jamison and Illus tried to step in and got beat for their trouble. Neval voxxed me before distracting the furious fucker to keep the others from beaten until they couldn't move. By Him on Terra I've never seen a chaplain that furious before that fast. Ever."

Cedric couldn't help the full-body flinch that Petras in a temper provoked from him as an automatic reaction. Nor the momentary cringe as his body wanted to curl around itself defensively. He shook off the response and continued treating the injured. "He is... Very possessive of his food and gets highly aggressive, from what I remember of him. Especially of fast carbs like sugary sweets. That was before we were both brought to Ancient and Holy Terra... not that I think he is aware I am here."

"Ah. So you're from the same time period he is? If I had Brothers from the same time here on Ancient Terra, I'd seek them out. No offense to you lads, but it'd be nice to have Brothers like that with me, as a grounding force." Illus piped up, his eyes wide.

"Chaplain Petras is... Not someone whom I would call grounding or reassuring." Cedric's mouth said before he could stop himself. "Besides there's a good chance the he'd-" Nope, shutting that line of thought down right now. "Let's just say that he and I don't get along very well."

"Given that he's a heavy hand with punishment and your entire life's purpose is to keep us patched up and in fighting shape, I can imagine." The sergeant sighed, shaking his head a little. 

"That's not the primary reason we don't get along, although that's part of it. Do you have any neophytes or aspirants in your warband?" Cedric asked, trying to project a sense of calm that he did not at all feel.

Hura and Zariel had talked with him, and near him about patterns of behavior in certain kinds of older brothers and cousins. And how these behaviors, for good or ill, could, and often did, spill over to how they reacted on Ancient Terra. Just because Petras favored killing- or nearly killing Primaris Marines that are between Neophyte to Battle Brother age, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t go after First Borns of the same age range. Or- so that thought suddenly seized Cedric with a cold, terrifying clarity.’Is that what they had been hinting at?’

"... Why are you asking that? We're looking for a couple of Apprentice-aged Black Templars, as a matter of fact. From what we've heard, they're being held hostage somewhere. Probably in one of the chaos bases, those foul bastards. We do have a couple, why do you ask?" Illus asked, eyes narrowing a little.

"Because he killed a dozen of Apprentices who were not found in need of culling due to disobedience, chaos-taint or xenos-worship. But merely because he was in a foul mood and they happened to be in his furious path." Cedric warned him "Do not allow him access to your youngest members without supervision with the ability and will to intervene on their behalf."

"That... That's... That's a hell of a thing to accuse any brother of, much less a chaplain, boy. Do you have proof?" Alois spluttered, staggering back a half step, his dark eyes widening in horror.

"... Four of the apprentices he beat to death in the 41st millennium ended up on Holy Terra, mostly dead. I was able to respond in time and get them to treatment for two of them so that they survived the experience. The other two died in my arms. Again. I brought them to the base so that their bodies could be properly processed and their geneseed and intact organs stored, for later use." Cedric answered, fighting back the tears and the bitter taste of failure in his mouth. "Between the three of us, we have enough physical scars left from his heavy-handed punishments to get him censured at least, should we come forward. If he were to be prosecuted."

"What do you mean, if? What, do you think because his alleged crimes were committed Before, that he wouldn't be punished for it? Or because he technically was punished by it - leading to him being sent to Ancient and Holy Terra - he wouldn't be punished here? And how do I know that he wasn't culling unworthy-" The Sergeant started to speak.

"So you and the five brothers you brought into this clinic to be treated fully deserved the punishment that Chaplain Petras handed to you, did you?" Cedric asked. "In the 41st millennium, it is standard post-punishment procedure for those with the injuries to tend to their own wounds, without medical aid or intervention. To heal on their own, or fester if they are deemed unworthy in the eyes of the Emperor Himself to heal properly. So which is it, sergeant? Are you seeking treatment for wounds you received after being justly punished and thus are seeking to undo it? Or were you punished excessively by a chaplain with a heavy hand?"

"What happened to us, versus what happened to your fellow Apprentices could be two completely different situations" Zimmer protested, his eyes narrowing a little at Cedric as he spoke. 

Cedric resisted the temptation to growl at the older Black Templar, righteous indignation and fury making it really difficult for him to think. He crossed his arms over his chest and took a step back "So you say. You have given me no proof that you and your squad were punished unjustly. The only thing I have to go on is your word. Per the traditions of our Chapter, I should kick you out of this examination room and report you to not just the captain you obey, but the chaplain whose punishment you are trying to circumvent by coming here for wound treatment."

“Sarge… Just… Call the captain. I’d rather you not piss off the only known Black Templar Apothecary within a hundred miles of this place. He can refuse to treat us, you do know that, right?” Miles groaned from where he was laying face down on the examination bed, his back a mess of bloody wounds, some of them still bleeding.

“He… You wouldn’t, would you?” Zimmer growled, taking a half-step towards Cedric before pausing. Even with the older Templar in the bottom half of his armor and Cedric fully unarmored, the young Apothecary was still a good foot and a half taller than the Sergeant.

“You come into this clinic, demanding to be seen by a Black Templar Apothecary or another Son Of Dorn, causing a huge scene and disrupting the schedule that some of our Ultramarine allies have carefully made. You inform me of who did this to you, and when I give you a warning about his likely temper and behaviors you disregard them out of hand. So whyever would you trust my medical opinions and suggestions?” Cedric hissed, doing his best to keep the fury and frustration out of his voice. “I have half a mind to leave the five of you here and get an older apothecary to handle you all, since clearly you won’t listen to a single thing I say if it’s not what you want to hear!”

“Fine then. I don’t want a brat who’s throwing a temper tantrum to treat me or my Brothers, anyways! You sure you aren’t an Emperor’s Child with short hair and blue eyes?” Zimmer hissed, glaring up at him “Because you sure tantrum like one!”

Don’t attack your patients, no matter how much they upset you unless they physically attack you first.

Is one of the rules that he had been told over and over again. Cedric had thought that this would be difficult to keep to when dealing with Chaos Astartes. Right now, all he wanted to do was to launch Zimmer through the window and wash his hands of the smug bastard Sargeant. Instead he stated “Fine then. I’ll get the senior-most Apothecary who is working at the clinic today. He isn’t a Son of Dorn, but he is very, very good at what he does.” His lips twitch a little in vicious mirth as he voxxed “Apothecary Hura, would you please come to Group Examination room Two please? I am having difficulties with a squad of injured Astartes and require your insight and expertise.”

The door opened without a sound, slowly revealing the oversized and clearly Chaos-aligned Death Guard Apothecary. Hura’s helmet was off and he smiled pleasantly at Cedric “I just so happened to be passing by this room when you called me, young Cedric. Dealing with unruly patients is a difficult skill to master, especially since they are in a group like this.”

“You’re joking. This is a threat. Look, kid I get that we may have -” Zimmer started, going very pale as he stared up at Hura, a look of slow-dawning horror on his face.

Hura interrupted the sergeant, saying “Ah-ah-ah! Bad and naughty patients don’t get to be treated by adorable young apothecaries doing their best to patch up ungrateful bastards. They get to deal with me.” This is said with a serene smile that sent terrified shivers through all five of the injured Templars simultaneously. 

“Hey… Uhm… Some… Some of us didn’t actively antagonize the younger medic and are hoping to maybe get patched up by him instead?” Miles asked, having slowly and painfully gotten up to his feet.

“I’ll deal with these five. You go on, and have your lunch. Shoo! You should be on-break anyways.” Hura instructed Cedric, having entirely ignored what the Black Templar had said. “Shoo! Taking appropriate breaks is important.”

Cedric nodded, smiling gratefully at Hura “Thank you, Apothecary Hura…Though are you sure I shouldn’t stay and assist you? I won’t be able to learn how to deal with difficult patients if I avoid them altogether.”

“A different time, young Cedric. They have already been quite bothersome and entitled by the way they burst into the waiting room and demanded immediate treatment by a specific set of chapters. They also need to learn that sometimes, there are consequences to their words and actions. And trying to treat patients while hungry is difficult. Go on, young one.”

“You… You’re not going to abandon us to him, are you? He’s a heretic! A Chaotic Traitor!” Illus called out, eyes wide and pleading as he looked at Cedric.

“Apothecary Hura has over ten-thousand years of medical experience, and is more than qualified to treat your injuries. You won’t listen to the warnings I gave you about the one who injured you like this, so why would you listen to me about how to care for your injuries?” Cedric answered, his voice an icy approximation of calm. “Thank you for taking over their care, Apothecary Hura, I leave them in your capable hands.” With that he turned on his heel and left the exam room, closing the door behind him.

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Studies: Tiny Time Travel And What It Takes From Odd Squad

I didn't think I'd have to write two "Odd Squad knockoff???" essays within the span of a month. But lo and behold, an announcement came, left like a Black Friday sale, and then got extended as it was heavily promoted by PBS Kids up the wazoo.

I talk, of course, about their newest short-form series, Tiny Time Travel.

You might be wondering, "Okay, I can see one resemblance to Odd Squad...but is that really enough to compare it to a decade-old franchise?" And oh. Ohhh! I would say NAY. N A Y .

Because I've seen all the episodes of it. And I'm about to lay everything down on the line when it comes to how it's Odd Squad's adopted child.

Not a knockoff, mind you. This isn't Fear and Loathing in Wordsville 2: Electric Boogaloo.

Below the break. Chop chop. Time can only keep moving forward in the real world, sadly.

Let's start with a rundown for the uninitiated, because I guarantee hardly any of you have heard of this series.

Tiny Time Travel is a short-form series created by Tim McKeon, most famous for being a co-creator of Odd Squad. Unlike Odd Squad, it's under the banners of Marobru Productions, a prodco based in New York, and Easy as Pie Productions, a prodco based in Georgia. (Tim had his own prodco in the form of Hundredth Town Productions, along with Adam Peltzman, the other co-creator of Odd Squad. He doesn't own EAPP.) The series consists of 12 episodes, with no further seasons planned.

As for the premise...see if this rings a bell, hmm?

We have two 11-year-old boys, Tyler and Tony, the former of who invents a time machine that can send them both back and forward only a few hours at a time in order to help people in their town.

You see? All it took was the one whole entire sentence and the one whole entire screencap.

The Odd Squad episode "6:00 to 6:05" was, to absolutely no one's surprise, written by Tim McKeon. Much like Tyler and Tony's time-traveling tales, it involves Olive and Otto using Oscar's Before-Now-Machine to travel backwards by 5 minutes from 6:05 PM to 6:00 PM in order to stop dinosaurs from breaking out of their room and destroying what has to be Oprah's 1,000th Headquarters.

While the tale of Tiny Time Travel runs much deeper than an episode they copied the formula from, it's safe to say that Tim likely looked at this episode for inspiration for the series, among others. Odd Squad is more abundant with time travel than Precure is with kaijus, having several episodes about it and at least one movie. Really, if you're a writer in the TV industry, it's hard to get to a point where any ideas based around a concept you love that are posed in a writers' room are shut down on sight. Tim managed to do that single-handedly and still flipped the bird as a creator by inserting time travel as a solution in the Season 3 finale. In the industry, they call that abuse of power. In the Odd Squad branch, they call that "bending the rules just this one time".

The episodes of Tiny Time Travel range greatly in terms of plot, because each episode focuses on a different client person that Tyler and Tony help. And I use the term "plot" very loosely, because while My Little Pony: Tell Your Tale can stuff lore into 5 minutes (to...varying degrees of success), Tiny Time Travel...doesn't. It's not as lore-filled as Odd Squad and isn't even half as crazy because it's purely episodic. About the craziest thing I've seen is the neurodivergent and Hmong rep, and after watching Jelly, Ben and Pogo, that surprises me next to none. (And Odd Squad, because it's got rep up and down both streets.)

There's also the matter of differing morals. While Odd Squad teaches about mathematics, and later STEM stuff, Tiny Time Travel teaches more about social language and language in general, in a way that isn't really as seamless as Odd Squad. When creating Odd Squad, there was intent to hide the lessons so kids can watch the show and not have the math be in-your-face and up-your-butt. Tiny Time Travel is far more in-your-face and up-your-butt about the lessons by a complete longshot, which I personally can't really fault it for because 5 minutes can only get you so far. (If anything, I'll fault PBS execs, because that method of delivering morals has been standard since the 90s. But I digress. I can spew about PBS later.)

----------------

So I might as well address the elephant in the room: is Tiny Time Travel an Odd Squad knockoff?

Short answer: no.

There's a lot of Odd Squad influence within it, in terms of humor, characters (Samira reminds me a hell of a lot of Polly Graph, and that's not even getting into the alliterative naming of the two protags) and general vibe, which is quite common with two pieces of media that share a creator. I'd also throw in that it's made in, and features, New York as a setting, which is where the Odd Squad pilot takes place, but that's a little irrelevant.

However, it's important to note that "inspired by" and "ripping off" are two very distinct things.

Take Wordsville, just as an example. Which I'm bringing up because, y'know, Odd Squad has more knockoffs than I've had good nights of sleep, but anyway. Wordsville is, as discussed before, a complete bonafide knockoff. It bounds over "inspired by" and goes straight into "I wanna watch you bleed!" territory by basically being Odd Squad but with a coat of literacy and digitization on it. Tiny Time Travel, by contrast, has very few straight similarities to Odd Squad. There's the alliterative names of Tyler and Tony, the inclusion of time travel (with limitations), similar music (thanks to Paul Buckley coming back on board), and a specific brand of humor that is pulled off well. But they are very few and far between, and there are far more differences. Tim looked to Odd Squad for inspiration, but he didn't seek to create a whole entire ripoff of Odd Squad. (Knowing PBS, though...maybe an Odd Squad ripoff was what they wanted originally. Wouldn't be the first time network execs made a request to Tim only for him to find a compromise.)

Likewise, another thing that sets Triple-T apart is how it was made. You're gonna wanna sit down for this one if you aren't sittin' already, because the amount of irony could probably level the planet.

If you're one of the old-timers of the Odd Squad fandom who qualifies for a senior's discount and Medicare, you're probably well-aware of Tim McKeon's absolute adoration for time travel, something that leaks into Odd Squad just as much as it leaks into his personal media preferences. Like I said, the franchise has had a ton of time-travel-related material, so much so that any ideas involving it were barred from the writers' room. All of it pretty much came from Tim McKeon's love of the concept. (And his love of pies. That too. Though whether that came from the prodco or from Tim himself remains up in the air. And yes, Triple-T does mention pie in one episode. And toast, believe it or not!)

Tiny Time Travel is basically what would happen if Tim flipped both birds at whatever writer bopped him with a newspaper and said "no more time travel episodes", and he made an entire series out of it with both government money and our money. It's like if you had a fanseries idea, money, enough passion, money, good connections, and money, and you turned it into a show. That's what Tiny Time Travel is. It's purely, unequivocally, a passion project for Tim.

Of course, there's also the underlying, less moral side to its making, in that it was made in order to fill a quota of PBS to get at least 25 new shows out by end of year. But this is one of the ones that's definitely filled with more quality. Let's be honest, the question of "am I gonna grow up to be a rebel leader and save humanity" is not something you'd find in typical PBS Kids fare. (And it also somehow passed S&P. But Odd Squad has over 70 questionable moments in the series alone -- and yes, I've counted -- so it's clear the rules of S&P don't apply to the god that is Tim McKeon. He flips the bird at that too.)

----------------------------

So overall, Tiny Time Travel is one hell of a short-form series. City Island threw me for a loop a couple years back based on the object show comparisons alone (and when you get Adam Katz himself to recognize that shit, you're nigh-unstoppable), and this series threw me for a loop similarly just due to the sheer premise and near-immaculate quality.

Odd Squad was, on all accounts, a major influence in Triple-T's making, to such an extent where there's a cameo of two agents walking in the background that someone managed to spot long before I got to the "Tennis Talk" episode that featured the cameo to begin with. The show's cute, it's sweet, it's got hella good rep, and it's short enough to please attention spans around the world. (Or at least in 'Murica. And maybe some parts of Canada.) It wholeheartedly has the Seren seal of approval, and if you're tired of waiting for Odd Squad UK in 8 months like I am, this will tide you over in the meantime.

As for whether it'll get a Season 2...after "Surprise Party", I can't see that happening. Unlike with Odd Squad, which is constantly under the threat of cancellation, Tim had a chance to end the show on his own terms without PBS giving it the sharpest axe in the shed, and he wrapped it up beautifully. It doesn't need a second season. It's beautiful as it is. Keep it as a one-hit wonder. (And preserve it, because otherwise it'll become lost media by the time half the century is up.)

I'll see you all in the next essay. Seren out!

[comicarc]

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 (𝐕)

previous • next

Where our beauty is Claire Redfield and our beast is Leon Kennedy, both learn what it means to love and feel heartache as they navigate their lives as a prisoner and a dying cursed prince. (A heavily inspired Beauty and the Beast rendition but with a twist)

wc: 1367

The quaint little shop in the kingdom of Verona, was but a small boutique where locals could find affordable cheapskates. The clothes, though of very little quality, imitated the current fashion trends of the rich so exquisitely, that the seamstress behind it had caught the attention of a very notable figure.

Notorious for being a carouser and throwing the most extravagant parties the land had ever seen, the prince was a man who lusted for the finer things in life. Thus, upon hearing of such a talented seamstress, he decided to bring the woman to work for him within the castle. 

The first few months, the seamstress had dedicated herself to adapting to her new residence. The castle was lavish, the decoration was lavish, the people were lavish, and so, she was also meant to be lavish. And she was. The ball gowns which she adorned every evening when sat to eat with the prince, were so rich in quality and color that often she would be left gawking at it for hours. 

Then, as time passed, and she finally fit into the picture-perfect reality she was thrust into, the seamstress grew greedy for more. Was it really greed, or a personal vendetta? The prince never knew, nor did he care, for her sugar-coated treachery was a welcomed affection. He craved something real among all the shiny trinkets that surrounded him, and though the prince would never admit it, he hated the man he was to the world. 

His own naivety and fragile ego were manipulated by the cunning mind of an attractive and talented woman, for soon he worshipped the ground beneath her feet. His love for her was apparent to all, but only a few dared show their concern for him. As if in a trance, the prince refused to heed the warnings of his most trusted confidants, leaving the kingdom fearful of what may come from this reckless behavior. 

A chance encounter on a beautiful day with a nymph from the nearby forest, changed his fate, for better or worse. The nymph had recognized the seamstress, not as a woman of admirable talent, but rather as Ada Wong, a free agent currently working for the Umbrella guild to bring about a dark force into the natural world. The nymph was the last of her kind, betrayed by the very same woman for the sake of experimentation. And it seemed that the prince was her next victim.

The illusion faded as familiar footsteps grew louder behind Claire. She knew it was Leon, and she knew he would be even angrier now, but at least this time, she knew why he acted that way. She felt herself shrink behind the glass-encased diamond, hoping that she would be able to disappear from his sight. But to her horror, he appeared behind her, leaving her baffled as to how he maneuvered through the door without her seeing him.

Nonetheless, she was scared out of her wits at the sight of him. His face had more color on it than she had ever seen, painted with a dark red hue indicating his unbridled rage. She saw a hint of fangs peaking from his teeth as he snarled at her, like a rabid animal. Immediately distraught at the sight, Claire attempted to back away from him, for his state not only brought a shiver to her spine, yet it also erupted the melancholy she had managed to bury all those weeks ago.

Before she could take another step backward, inching closer to the doorway, Leon gripped her wrists tight enough to make her yelp at the pain. Tears began to form in her eyes, threatening to roll down her cheek with every insult he spewed at her.

Eventually, after a few minutes of taking his anger out on the fearful girl, he commanded, “Leave.” He unclasped his fingers from her wrist and turned his back to her clearly still fuming but to a much more manageable degree.

Though Claire had finally found a home within the morose walls of the castle, she understood that she would never find a home in his locked heart. It seemed that 400 years was still not enough time for him to recover from one woman. Now, angry herself, Claire stormed out the castle, determined to make it back to her brother in one piece.

There was no horse or carriage waiting in the front of the castle. She couldn’t pack any books or clothes that she had come to adore, for they were never hers to begin with. Thus, Claire trekked through the forests, focusing her attention on what she had gained rather than what she had lost. 

Leon was temperamental and impulsive, just as he had appeared to be back then, as the diamond had shown her. Honestly, she thought his stupidity could be comparable to that of Steve’s, and with that she knew was lucky to have made it out of the castle in one piece. God forbid that he tried to domesticate her just as the other men. 

But her hatred soon morphed into pity, as she reminisced the nights they shared in the library. He never stopped her from feeding her into her whims and fantasies through books. Rather, he only ever encouraged her, occasionally even offering to add to his collection if she wanted any new books to read. And despite being his prisoner, she was given more respect than she had ever had as a free woman. Plus the dresses and the food were a nice addition to the deal.

The more she thought, the more sullen she became, now regretful of what she could have had with him. Leon was truly something, definitely someone more than a friend to her. But she couldn’t exactly put a name to the feeling just yet. 

Having been in the forest for a while, lost in thought for the duration of her walk, Claire realized that she was completely lost, deep within the woods, just as the sun was setting. With every second, she could hear guttural moans nearing her, paired with the creepy sound of slow footsteps, breaking and stumbling obstacles in their paths. She feared the unknown, and especially now, she had no idea what she was supposed to do. 

These creatures of the night, whatever they were meant to be, finally came into view. Their seared flesh, burning from the last few rays of sunlight that still illuminated the sky, smelled atrocious. Claire scrunched her face from the odor, covering her nose with her hand to stop vomiting. She could see rotting bits of flesh, falling from naked bodies so skinny, they barely hung from the visible bones. 

Claire froze for a moment, finally understanding why no one was allowed to venture here, but finally, as she came to her senses, she ran like hell. Dodging the fallen branches and the small pebbles in her path, Claire ran and ran and ran in the opposite direction from the sounds, until finally everything was silent. Heaving as she crouched, hands to her knees with a hunched figure, Claire tried to dart her eyes to observe her surroundings.

Nothing warranted this silence, especially in the now pitch-black area. Finally, to some bitter relief, Claire heard footsteps, yet these seemed to be normal, human even. Unsure if the figure was friend or foe, she remained glued to the same spot, staring at the shadowy figure approaching her with a limp.

A moment later, she saw Leon, with fangs for teeth and blood dripping down the corners of his mouth. His skin sparkled like glitter under the moonlight–just like it always had– but this time it emphasized an inhuman paleness that Claire had simply never observed. Blood covered his entire body as if he had just bathed in it. 

The closer he stalked towards Claire, the further back she went, until her back hit a tree and there was nowhere else to flee. She watched with disturbed eyes as she looked into his bloodshot ones. So, so much blood. That was all she could think, seeing the man she had grown to like, in such a brutal state.

He was a vampire.

[canyouhearthelight]

Leather Houses, Chapter 2

I'll be honest, I planned to post this a week after the first chapter because, although I didn't get the views I was hoping for, my sibling specifically asked for the rest.

So, here is Chapter 2 of 4. Trigger warnings are "literally anything that would pop up on an r/NoSleep story. Because that is actually what this was originally written for, honestly.

That night, we tried calling the county sheriff’s office, Sanderson being too small for their own police force. However, when they tried to look up the missing people in the DMV database and came back with nothing, all we ended up with was a thoroughly irritated deputy who thought we were on drugs, and a dial tone.

Months passed, and it happened six more times.  Sometimes it was an entire family, sometimes it was just one person. The worst was the Jacobson family: Issac was still there, but Sara and the kids didn’t exist anymore, and Issac didn’t remember them.  Like all the rest, for some reason Joanie and I were the only ones who recalled anything different from the current version of Sanderson, and we were quickly left feeling like the walking wounded from all the mourning we had to hide from everyone else.

The first major break - if you could call it that - was the seventh disappearance.  As I had become accustomed to, I woke up that morning and braced myself to find out who didn’t exist anymore.  There was no way I could have prepared myself for what would greet me when I left for work.

The house next door was no longer a typical, cookie-cutter mirror of my own.  Instead, it was covered entirely in what looked like leather.

I didn’t even realize I was staring until I heard my coffee cup smash on the concrete of my driveway.  Nonetheless, I couldn’t tear my eyes away.  I carefully stepped over the shards at my feet and made my way, slowly, to the porch.  The sight in front of me turned my stomach… all that skin, everywhere.  Even the windows seemed to be made of flesh, stretched to its most translucent limits but still crossed with veins.  The urge to revisit my breakfast became stronger the closer I got to the structure.  It was when my foot touched the bottom step of the… home… that I realized it wasn’t the normal fear and disgust I would experience at the sight before me.  In that moment, the revulsion I felt became so powerful and so clear that I realized it wasn’t coming from within my own mind.

The house was pouring those feelings into me.

I gritted my teeth and forced my way up to the door, each step doubling the urges being forced into my body.  Finally, I stood in front of the threshold, hand raised to knock.  However, before my hand could come into contact with that disgusting structure, I was overcome.  I don’t recall anything after raising my hand to knock, up until I was standing on the sidewalk, vomiting.

After the dry heaves subsided, I staggered inside to rinse my mouth and call my boss to explain that I wouldn’t be in today.  As soon as I got off the phone with work, I immediately shot a text to Joanie.

Me: Shit just got weirder.

JoanieBug: What happened now?

I shot a photo of the house next door and tried to send it to her.  However, it was blurry and just looked like a skin-tone smear.

JoanieBug: Very funny, sending me a picture of your thumb. We have real shit going on, Mike.

Me: That’s not my thumb, J.  That’s the house next door.

I waited for her reply, refusing to look out the window again.  Instead of a text message, five minutes passed before I heard a car pulling into my driveway.  Peeking around the curtains, I saw that it was her and rushed out before she could start screaming.  By the time I got to her car, she was already out and staring at what had seemingly replaced my neighbors’ house.

She didn’t scream like I expected.  Instead, she gaped for a few moments before whispering. “Does anyone remember your neighbors?”

Fuck. I hadn’t even thought about that.  Having learned from previous vanishings, I pulled out my phone to check property records instead of trying to call anyone else.  Sure enough, there was no record of anyone having owned that house, despite the fact that I knew a family with three little girls had lived there yesterday.  Without realizing it, I stepped away from the horrible building as I did further searching.  Josh and Tammy Scott no longer existed online, either.  I even tried tracking down photos I remembered seeing in the paper when the girls were born - in a small town, triplets were big news - and found nothing.  Photos from neighborhood cookouts were the same, except no trace of the Scott family.

“They’re gone.” I bit back a sob. “How long is this going to go on for?” I begged.

“I don’t know,” she whispered as she ushered me into my house and yanked all the curtains to cover any window facing the leather house.  “Do you think that happened to the other houses?”

“Maybe?  I haven’t exactly checked.  I didn’t know where any of the others lived, except the Jacobsons.”

“But Issac is still here,” she pointed out.

I tapped my chin with my phone, still fighting back tears. “But does he still live in the same place? I just assumed he did. I never actually thought to check.”

It was Joanie’s turn to whip out her phone and start searching.  A few minutes later, her head snapped up and she looked at me. “Issac and Sarah had that house built a couple years ago, right?  After Davey was born?”

“Yeah.  Bigger house, big yard so the boys could play.”

“This says Issac lives in his parents’ old place, over on Riverside.”

I shook my head. “Fuck. We have to see if this is related.”

“Mike!” she shouted. “People are being erased from reality, and everything is patched all nice and neat so it’s like they never existed.  Now, it happened to your neighbors with a creepy-ass side of the house is now covered in skin, and you really think it might not be related!?” Her voice hit new octaves of hysteria before she pulled herself together. “You are being deliberately obtuse.”

I held up my hands defensively. “No, Joanie, I’m not. I am being overly cautious and want to confirm, with absolute certainty, that there is not some, second insanely nightmarish thing happening in Sanderson.”

“The universe can’t be that cruel.”

“The universe can certainly be that indifferent,” I grumbled. With a sigh, I stood up and grabbed my keys.  As I shoved them in my pocket, I reached under the sink for a grocery bag before filling it with several sodas and half a bag of chips.  “Let’s just drive around and see what we find.  We have to take your car… I told Greta I was sick.”

With minimal complaints, Joanie stuffed some more snacks into another bag and we headed out.  We cruised through every residential area, down every road.  By the end of the day, we had found four more houses like the one beside mine, one of which was a huge, imposing mass sitting where the Jacobsons’ home formerly stood.  Other than the Scotts and the Jacobsons, it was impossible to be sure that those houses belonged to the ones who were erased, but since those were the only two families of which we were completely sure where they lived when they still existed, it was enough to support the idea.

__________________________________

After the Scotts went missing, Joanie and I traded off crashing at each other’s house.  Neither of us wanted to be alone, and there was a comfort in being close to the only other person who could recognize what was going on in Sanderson.  In time, we established a routine - whoever woke up first each morning checked the town website for any changes in population.  In theory, that number should only change once a year, when property taxes were updated, along with a more precise figure being updated every ten years when the official census was done.

We were seeing the population drop every couple of weeks at first, and soon it was weekly.  While trying to see who was missing in a town of even 500 was a daunting task, we at least knew to brace ourselves for more changes that resulted from having our friends and neighbors seemingly erased from history entirely. Both of us considered leaving, but things progressed too quickly - and too weirdly - for us to make much of a plan.

Each day, we saw more and more houses in Sanderson turn into leather.  We learned that, as long as we came no closer than the sidewalks, the revulsion did not touch us, and at no point did anyone else in town seem to notice.  It was infuriating at times: by this point, dozens of houses were crafted from flesh and garnering about as much notice as an ant crossing the road.

The morning that I woke to find not just one, but four more houses around mine changed, the next alarming piece of information struck.  I was about to call sick to work, too scared to leave my house, when my phone rang just as I was unlocking it.

It was Joanie.

“Hey, Joanie bug,” I answered, only to be cut off.

“All of my neighbors are gone,” she stated, by way of greeting me.  By this point, she was in full crisis mode, and cooler than an ice cube.

“Mine too….” I trailed off, glancing out of my windows again as something nagged at the back of my mind.

“Fuck,” she swore. “That’s more than we’ve seen vanish at once, so far.  By a couple of orders of magnitude.”

I did some counting. “That’s nine houses, yeah.”   There was something significant about this.  Not just the escalation, but it had to do with the people missing around Joanie’s house.  “I’m going to call out from work - “ Click. “Oh, fucking hell. I may not have a job.  Greta lived across from you and one down, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, Mike.  That’s why I was calling…” Joanie sighed, resigned to what was going on, even if we still didn’t understand it. “I’m so sorry.  She sounded like a good boss.”

I swallowed as hard as I could. “Let me call you back.  I need to find out what this changes.” I disconnected and quickly called work. At least the company still existed.

“Holhouser Medical Technology, Sarah speaking,” a receptionist I didn’t recognize answered.

“Hey, this is Michael Andrews.  I… I’ll be honest, I don’t feel well and I need to go see a doctor,” I lied. “I think I work there, and if I do, I need to speak to my boss to let them know I won’t be in today.”

“Oh, Mr. Andrews,” Sarah sounded surprised. “Um.. Well.  Yes, I think you need to go see a doctor.  Thank you for calling, it was very conscientious of you, but… Sir, you haven’t worked here in five years.”

What? “I - I haven’t?” I didn’t have to pretend to be confused. Greta had originally recruited me, so to find out I still ended up working there, but hadn’t in several years, was curious.  “I work in IT, don’t I? I mean, didn’t I?”

“Yes sir, but… I think you need to speak to Dr. Collins.  He asked us to direct you to him whenever this happens.”

“And this has happened before,” I slowly ventured, trying to understand what had changed.

“This is the fourth time, Mr. Andrews,” she confirmed gently.  “Dr. Collins can explain why.”

“I…” I needed answers, is what I needed. “I don’t remember a Dr. Collins… Can you give me the number?”

“Of course.” Sarah sounded relieved.  She gave me the number for a Greg Collins and wished me a good day.

Greg Collins.  I didn’t recognize the name.  To my knowledge, there was no one with the name Collins in Sanderson.  Along with several disappearances so far, we had something else. Someone new had been added to our town.  Even before people started disappearing and those grotesque… things… replaced the houses in town, it was rare for anyone to move to Sanderson.  Cautiously, I texted Joanie.

Me: Do you know of any Dr. Collins?

JoanieBug: Who the fuck is that?

Okay, I wasn’t the only one who had never heard of this person.  I sent the details of my conversation with Sarah and set my phone down to grab a drink while she read and digested the information.  I was halfway through my glass of milk when my phone started buzzing furiously.

JoanieBug: There has never been a Greg Collins in Sanderson, I would remember. But I looked him up, and sure enough, he has a practice here in town.  According to everything I can find, he’s had that practice for years.

JoanieBug: I even called.  They have my file, apparently Doc Collins has been my doctor most of my life.  Probably yours, too.

I dropped my phone again, struggling to draw a full breath. Something was casually re-writing reality, one piece at a time.  Was this only happening in Sanderson?  What if the entire world was like this? A whooshing, screaming noise pounded into my ears. Part of my mind registered the distant buzzing of my phone, but I was too busy sliding to the floor. My chest ached with fear, my head spun while I tried to force oxygen into my lungs.

There is no telling how long I sat there, but the next thing I was aware of outside of my fear was a stinging pain across the left side of my cheek. My head snapped up to see Joanie, her hands holding me by the temples.

"Did you just slap me?" I asked stupidly. When she rolled her eyes, I gaped. "Joanie! What the hell!?"

"Excuse me for being more focused on the fact that you were purple,” she groaned. “At least you aren’t hyperventilating anymore.”

I rubbed the spot on my chest and throat that still ached, realizing she was right. “Did you hear that noise when you came in?”

“All I heard was you.”

“No, it sounded like… a train, or a tornado.”

To my horror, she started laughing. “Mike, that was you, trying to breathe. You had a panic attack.”

“And you slapped me!?”

“I tried to talk you down, but you couldn’t hear me.”

“You slapped me.” 

“Michael Joshua Andrews. Yes, I slapped you. Now, focus. Please. Doctor Collins, who appeared out of literal nowhere. An accident that didn’t happen, but apparently put you out of work with full pay five years ago.”

"I don't even know what the accident was," I tried.

"Well, no," she accepted. Abruptly, she stopped and stared at me, eyes wide. "Because there was no accident."

"That's what I'm trying to say - "

She shook her head furiously and grabbed my shoulders. "Mike. There was no accident. Even if something changed that tells everyone else that you're on disability or workman's comp, or whatever, you aren't suddenly crippled. And for you to be on full pay, it should have been awful."

Joanie was right. Whatever cover story was created when Greta vanished, it involved a horrible accident that was fully the fault of the company. I should be completely unable to work, but nothing was wrong. "That means they - it - the thing or person behind this… can't actually affect us." I trailed off. "Is that why we aren't forgetting everyone?"

"Could be, but focus." She handed me a beer that I didn't notice her grabbing. "We need to talk to Collins, and you actually have a plausible reason."

After a brief flurry of phone calls, I had an appointment that afternoon to speak with my theoretical doctor. “Joanie, I should be back by five. If I’m not, come looking for me. Raise hell, go full on ‘grieving widow’, I don’t care - “

“Ew!” she muttered. “Wrong equipment.”

“Like anyone is going to remember that,” I argued half-heartedly. “Fine. Grieving sister. Just make a loud, over the top ruckus if they try to prevent you from seeing me or passing me a message, okay?”

“Can do.” She saluted me. “Just make sure you get as much information as you can, okay?”

“I wouldn’t be doing this otherwise,” I agreed under my breath. “Hopefully, I’ll get some banal explanation and be back at the Tangerine Nightmare by five, five thirty at the latest.”

After getting off the line, I punched the address into my GPS. Ignoring the fact that the address showed as saved under ‘Dr. Greg’, I made my way there with time to spare for my appointment. From the outside, it looked like what I expected from a doctor’s office: nondescript building, discreet but visible signage, “no smoking” signs everywhere.  I walked in, only to behold a pretty nondescript waiting room, complete with the news and weather channel on a TV in the corner and magazines from roughly a month ago spread neatly on a table.

Making my way to the reception window, I signed in.  Glancing around, I saw a bleach-blonde woman I didn’t recognize.  She took the clipboard and smiled at me. “Thank you, Mr. Andrews. Dr. Collins is expecting you, so go on back.” When I hesitated, she tipped her head. “Left hand door, second exam room on the left.”

Thanking her, I made my way back.  At first, it seemed pretty routine: a woman I had never seen in my life took my vital signs, asked a few questions, then left me with a cheerful explanation that the doctor would be in to see me shortly. So far, so good.

After about ten minutes, a man in a white coat entered the exam room.  He had solid gray hair, brown eyes, and a vaguely middle aged face - somewhere between a stressed out forty and a youthful sixty. “Hey, Mike. I don’t know if you remember, but I’m Dr. Gregory Collins. Does that ring any bells?”

I was honest. “Not really, but I think that’s why I’m here.” I didn’t mention that Dr. Collins not existing when I woke up this morning was part of that. Let him believe what he wanted.  I just wanted answers.

He seemed somewhat satisfied with this, nodding his head. “Have you had any conversations or seen anything out of the ordinary? Any odd hallucinations?”

“I wouldn’t say they were hallucinations,” I admitted. “I mean, someone else has seen them as well, despite how weird they seem to be. So, I know it’s real.” I paused, and he nodded for me to continue. “Houses, made out of skin, I think?” I played dumb, no mentioning the related disappearances. “They pulse and breathe like they’re alive, but they can’t be, right?”

“Of course not,” he responded, tone soothing and even. He walked behind me, out of my line of sight.  Shortly, I could feel him pressing a stethoscope against my back, and took deep breaths automatically.

“One of them is right next to my house,” I admitted, although I wasn’t sure why I told him that.

“That has to be distressing,” he acknowledged.  When he crossed back into my field of vision, he had a bottle of something yellow and a syringe.

“Doc…” I started hesitantly. “What is that?”

“Just the usual, Mike. Nothing to worry about.”

“And what, exactly, is the ‘usual’?”

The bastard actually chuckled. “It doesn’t matter, Mike. You never remember, anyway.”

“Never remember WHAT?” I started panicking, and moved to stand up.

He pushed me back on the exam table with one hand. “Shhhh. It’s okay.” He glanced at the door and jerked his head to whoever was standing outside.  I felt cool, iron grips holding my wrists down.

“What do you mean, I ‘never remember’, you son of a bitch!?” I shouted, struggling futilely against the hands holding me down. Jesus fuck, how many people did he have come in here?

A stinging pain erupted near my armpit. I looked down just in time to see a needle being pulled out.  To my horror, it looked several inches long - long enough to pierce a lung, or even my heart.  I struggled sluggishly against whatever he just injected me with, trying in vain to stay awake.  My vision blackened around the edges.  My hands and feet started to feel warm and numb.  I couldn’t even scream, since every noise I tried to make came out as a slurred moan.

I could barely see out of the dim centers of my vision as I heard Dr. Collins one last time. “This one keeps resetting, and we don’t know why.  Make sure he doesn’t disrupt the program.”

<;prev masterpost next>

[mothman-rewatches]

Rewatch: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "Out of Mind, Out of Sight" (S1Ep11)

Summary: An invisible force is attacking those around Cordelia, and it’s up to Buffy to figure out how to put things to an end before Cordelia is next.

Written by: Joss Whedon, Ashley Gable, Thomas A. Swyden

Directed by: Reza Badiyi 

Aired: May 19th, 1997

WARNING: This post contains spoilers. 

I wish I could find words for how excited I am to talk about this episode. It was genuinely one of my favorites and that’s saying a lot, I think. The nostalgia I have for this episode is incomprehensible. Let’s jump in.

Recap: As the May queen coronation approaches, Cordelia is buzzing with excitement. Meanwhile, Buffy feels invisible as it has been made clear how little she fits in, even with her friends. Cordelia’s date gets attacked by a floating baseball bat. When Buffy investigates, she finds the attacker left behind a message. While the rest of the Scoobies do research to figure out what they’re dealing with, Buffy talks to Cordelia. Harmony is pushed down the stairs and Buffy follows an invisible assailant. The gang realizes that the attacker is Marcie Ross, a girl who went missing six months ago. They theorize that Marcie was invisible to everyone else, and so she literally turned invisible. She has a vendetta against Cordelia. After Cordelia finds one of her teachers unconscious, she asks for help. The rest of the gang stays behind to come up with ways to make Marcie visible again while Buffy and Cordelia head to the Bronze for the coronation. Marcie lures the gang into the basement and attempts to suffocate them before attacking Buffy and Cordelia. She takes them to the Bronze, where she plans to mutilate Cordelia’s face. Buffy stops her though, and two government men come and take Marcie away.

Overall Thoughts: This is one of the episodes I distinctly remember from my childhood. I seriously don’t know how anyone could forget this episode, it feels like one that would become permanently ingrained in people’s minds. That being said, I think I was most looking forward to this episode, and it didn’t disappoint. 

I only have one real issue with this episode, and it’s something that comes up at the very beginning of the episode and is dropped after that. In the beginning, we see Buffy stumble out of the library and her bag spills, revealing all of her miscellaneous weaponry. This is fine, I guess, but it’s something we’ve already seen used before, in the first episode. The second time isn’t really necessary, and in my opinion, it’s too much. It’s used as a moment to highlight the ‘otherness’ Buffy feels throughout the episode, and it sets up an interesting dynamic between her and Cordelia. 

We’ve talked about it many times, but just to hammer it home: A lot of this season is spent with Buffy trying to be a normal girl, where everything around her shows just how different from everyone she is. There’s an underlying connection between her and Cordelia, as throughout the season we are reminded that Buffy used to be exactly like Cordelia. This is something that the episode plays with a lot, and I enjoy it. 

Buffy spends this episode being the outsider, which is fitting because the episode focuses on a girl who was so much of an outcast that she literally turned invisible. This feeling that Buffy has, and the empathy that she has towards Marcie at first, makes Buffy and Cordelia’s inevitable team up even better. 

This episode also plays into the strength that the last episode had - connecting the season-long arc of the Master within the plot of a totally unrelated episode. I like when they do this a lot more than just regular filler episodes, it makes the show feel much more like the show that I know and love. There’s also a bit of foreshadowing in this episode, if you look carefully. Angel and Giles team up in this, and there’s a lot of talk about a codex that contains prophecies centering around the Slayer. It’s a great set up for the next episode.

Overall, this was an incredible episode. I found myself excitedly looking at the parallels and noticing little things I never would have seen if not looking at it through an analytical eye. I’m looking forward to the next episode, and I’m getting excited to see where the rest of the series takes us.

Fashion Corner/Costuming: I don’t think I have been more excited for this section in my entire life than I am right now. There is such a small detail in the costuming this episode that I caught, and I’m glad I did because it adds so much to the episode.

Like we talked about previously, Buffy is very uniquely isolated in this episode. What drives this home is a costuming detail. In the first half of the episode, almost every one of the teens are wearing the same colors: Baby blue, light pink/orange, and green. The only one not wearing these colors -- sans a few background actors -- is Buffy. It’s a little visual cue to show how ‘other’ Buffy feels in the beginning. I loved it, and I would love to see more. 

Characterization: Remember how I’ve been complaining about how shallow and one dimensional Cordelia has been written this season? This episode made it all worth it. Arguably, the writers knew what they were doing this whole time. 

At first, I really thought this was going to be another episode of Cordy being unbearable. I’m happy to say I was proven wrong. This episode, particularly the second half, shows us a Cordelia that is almost, almost unrecognizable. She’s vulnerable, and we’re given glimpses of the Cordelia she goes on to be. It’s made clear that for the most part, the vapid mean girl who only thinks of herself is a facade. When she isn’t playing the part, she’s human in the best way. It’s a nice change of pace for the Cordelia we’ve had all season, even if it ends the second any of her friends are around.

I want to see more of this Cordy that we saw this episode, and I know I will, so I’m glad I held on for as long as I did.

Quotes: ”There are no dead students here..this week.” -Principal Snyder

Apocalypse Count: 1

Final Notes: Feel free to leave any comments, suggestions, or questions in the ask box!

[marcusmettalus]

Where Land and Myth Tread.

Part 3

(Continued from here)

Ostia Haldus coughed violently as she staggered off the elevator platform, gripping with one hand onto a convenient guard railing as she tried to clear out her lungs. The other elevator passengers were giving the outlander woman a wide berth as they made their way down the platform towards the various arrival terminals surrounding the Space Elevator.

Grand Dame Noémie Durand of Karseille was letting the Imperial guest go through their coughing fit in peace, the air here on Midgård was quite different in comparison to the smog choked Hive Cities that many Imperial were accustomed to, or the factory choked Forge Worlds. Midgård was the capital world of the Kingdom, the seat of power for not only the Riksdag but also High King Surtr.

"Frakk, urgh,, I feel like I might spew in a minute. What kind of machine spirit cursed contraption was that? You said it was an elevator, not a bloody dropper. My heart and stomach just swapped places!" Ostia glares at her supposedly benevolent guide during this trip to Midgård, and now she felt like Noémie was actively trying to make her sick or something.

"Oh do not be so dramatic, it is an elevator for all intents and purposes. It rather jarring for all people when they first take I assure you. The ride up to the space port is much more comfortable I dare say however. Now Ostia cheri, let's keep moving so we don't block traffic. Allonz, Allonz." Noémie hooks an arm with Ostia's free arm, helping the Scion back upright and making their way down the walkways to arrivals.

Ostia grumbled some more under her breath while using the back of her hand to rub off anything from her mouth, giving a short glare at Noémie's very nonchalant approach to everything in life. It's already been one heck of a joy-ride these past few months, and if the galaxy had anything to say about this, it was that the ride was not going to calm down anytime soon. No matter what came round the next bend, it was almost something either a pleasant surprise or a serious head-turner.

Ostia still recalled when Noémie did a tour of the various Knights the various Dynasties of Karseille had in their hold, before getting the real surprise of witnessing the Knight called Dominion move on its own volition and even spoke. Though calling it actual human speech is another thing, the substance and tone was there in its words regardless.

"There should be a little time before we are truly required to make our appearance with the Ambassadors and the High King, so we can take in some sights here within the Capitol. Surely you would like to see something of their unique culture and faith? You are clearly more open minded in comparison to those frankly uncouth Inquisitive types,," Noémie rattles on some more, breaking Ostia out of her thoughts and now aware the duo had already made it through the arrival halls and toll gates. Ostia turned her gaze round to see what Noémie pointed out prior, before freezing in her tracks.

The city outskirts spread out across the valley before Ostia, and perched on the horizon were great edifices of stone and iron, towers and buttresses dotted along various monuments and constructs. Nowhere near the sheer scale of Imperial Hives or the like,, but the breadth of colors and materials mixed in the streets and boulevards, the clearly newer homes and skyscrapers being neighbors with centuries old brick mansions and malls. Ostia felt as if she was looking at an old relic tapestry from a bygone age, a mural depiction of what a civilization from before the Emperor or his like ever came to power. Locked in a time before Imperial modernisation and culture shifts.

On Imperial worlds and stations, one was always reminded of the present wars across the Imperium: vox hailers and Ecclesiarchy priests crowing at the citizens, propaganda and recruitment billboards and vox-net, the flotilla of Imperial Navy patrolling to and from almost every port. But here,,

"Do they even know that there is war going on? Out there in the Galaxy?" Ostia finally spoke, her eyes following the miniatures of citizens milling through the avenues and workplaces. "They know. Every single one of them." Noémie nods solemnly, a more neutral tone in her voice this time as she senses Ostia's mood change.

"But,, this doesn't feel like one being affected by the war. It's almost,, idyllic, calming even. Is this really the capitol?" Ostia still held onto Noémie's for a bit longer as she looked across the expanse of the city. Broad roads of cobblestones, foot bridges of wood and steel crossing over streets and canals, heaving open-air markets dotted through the districts.

"In the eyes of Midgårds people, yes. Kalmaholm was never meant to become a metropolis, but with Surtr's reign and the love of his new people,, it went through changes to accommodate the new center of a growing power." Noémie sighs gently under her breath, a softer gaze across her face as Ostia tries to spot where the High King may have his Palace or such like.

"Grand Dame Durand! What a welcome sight on your return." Ostia and Noémie turned to find the owner of the new voice, and spot the approaching men. Ostia has another heart skip however,, the man in question addressing her guide was not only huge, but had clearly visible neuro-ports dotted along his bared forearms and under his vest collar. Was he an Astartes?

"Ah! Löjtnant Lukas Tøva, so good to see you in warm health. And so well groomed as always, I must compliment you Midgårdians on your spring outfits." Noémie quickly releases her guest and regales Lukas with praise. If Ostia didn't know any better, she might have guessed the Dame was interested in the guy.

This Tøva character stood tall over Noémie and Ostia, easily half a head above R'tan in height though the main difference was his build. A broader chest and shoulders, with an overall heftier stocky appearance than the usual Astartes chiseled image that Imperial Propaganda would have one imagine. Tøva was clad in simple clothing of a dyed leather vest with a long sleeved linen tunic beneath, thicker weave trousers and what appeared to be rubber-soled slippers or shoes. The only thing which made Tøva distinct from his attendets was the metal badge pinned to his vest, with the seal of office he held.

"Hahaha you flatter me Grand Dame. I trust your journey here was without trouble? And I was informed you had brought guests however, ones that were not formally announced till you had already traversed The Veil." Tøva changed his tone while addressing Noémie, while his eyes turned to focus onto Ostia some meters behind.

The hairs on the back of her neck immediately stood on end, breath catching a scant moment when Tøva's eyes locked onto Ostia's. She always felt the gaze from an Astartes was cold or distant, but with R'tan it was vastly different, those held warmth, mirth and tender care. Tova's was something else entirely.

It felt as though Ostia was staring down the barrel of a bolter, having caught the attention of some apex predator in the bushland and locking eyes with them. The eyes were amber jewels beneath the trimmed brow, glinting sharply with calculating intent and precision. Ostia needed to reach for her weapon, her bolt pistol, something in hopes to get those eyes off of her. Now.

"Löjtnant Lukas, please be at ease. No need to scare my friend like so, she is a representative of House Haldus from the Imperium! Her House are allies of mine in this conflict with the enemy. Our, Enemy." Noémie firmly jabs the Astartes in the chest with an scolding finger, not enough to jostle the man but plenty enough to break his gaze with Ostia and scowl a little at Noémie.

Ostia felt her lungs open up again, her sudden tension and axienty melt away just as quickly they were forced onto her. Not exactly the most heartwarming of greetings she has had on a new world, but it wasn't the worst welcome she's had either. Her time here on Midgård is going to be eventful she thought while she cursed under her breath.

"Groxshit,,"

(Ostia Haldus belongs to of course @rowscara!)

[slowd1ving]

PENDULUM ✦ . 　⁺ xii.

VII (TWIN TRIBES)

"You've fallen to your answers, started pain, Call upon the face, you'll understand, Unveil us your soul, Take us soon home." wc: 13.5k

JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE MASTERLIST

PENDULUM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ・゜NEXT PART

( It’s been a few months since the new teaching intern has taken over for World History. He lacks Dr Amsa’s smile, her voice, and most importantly, her brain. Within his sentences, there’s not a spark of true passion for the subject, nor for teaching. )

( The dust motes are still there – and the number has only increased to your tired, strained eyes. Your head rocks back and forth in fumbling, total exhaustion; hours spent thumbing through forgotten, hidden little tomes does that to the mind. If sleep overtakes you, it’s only natural. He won’t care, either. You don’t think he cares about anything. )

( You still haven’t bothered to learn his name. )

( He’ll be gone soon enough. )

. 　⁺ ✦

Limpid tears warped and distorted your surroundings as you fiercely held onto the scraps of resolution letting you push back against the other ‘something’. The wet trails hadn’t yet spilled and soaked into the cloth, but the sheer hopelessness had driven you to that brink.

You were tired . 

Problems after problems were birthed into the world one after the other – and all because you decided to camp out at this particular outcropping. Those two idiots, it seemed, were followed by misfortune wherever they went; you resisted the abyssal urge to glare at them, and wail in exhaustion. Sincerely and utmostly, you were considering completely striking them from your list of potential allies. It had been less than a goddamn hour spent with them, and already you were faced with the very real possibility of your Untimely Demise right here. 

The circling of the two Horsemen of the Apocalypse had seemingly reached its zenith. With each stride – each step – they approached like an ominous murder of crows at the beginning of the average horror movie. 

You were powerless. 

“Hey – Gyro! That crazy bastard woke up!” 

And there was that . 

‘That’, of course, being the resurrection of the foaming Andre Boom Boom. If there weren’t enough problems to deal with, fate happily gifted you another one. Exhaustedly, you watched as he hoisted himself on his horse; then, your eyes wandered to Zeppeli’s own angry face. 

Wait – angry?

You studied those features closer, more keenly than you had before. Traces of viciousness still crumpled the corners of his mouth and eyes and the harsh juncture of his brows, yet there was something else. His eyes, once so piercing, were blown wide open in a daze you hadn’t witnessed on him before. Even his green lips, once so poised to spew out scathing replies, were ever-so-slightly parted – as if he couldn’t comprehend the sight before him.

What’s wrong with him now?

When you traced his line of sight, all you could see was the revived Andre Boom Boom, sitting bright and well on his horse–

No.

Once, twice, you rubbed your eyes. It was that . That sinister feeling, that ominous foreboding – all of it could be traced to that : that which lingered in Andre Boom Boom’s shadow, that which clung to the horse and seeped into the surroundings. That which was looking directly at you . 

It was oddly shaped, as oddly as (you might’ve been a bit too on the nose here) Depeche Mode. A dull, indigo body encased a whirling green mass where its brain should’ve been, while its face resembled something akin to a radioactive anteater. Simply put, you’d found a new being to rival how horrendous your own spirit looked.

Yet, despite its comical appearance, you could distinctively make out the jagged waves of fear piercing through your very bones. 

Despite its comical appearance, you could feel its hungry, oily gaze land right on Depeche Mode. 

Shit . 

[Don’t worry about me, fool.]

“Brother Aaaaandre! Big brother Andre came to – is the poison finally gone?”

It was the other Boom Boom who spoke. Well, it was more like an exuberant shout, designed to do nothing but shred apart your eardrums. The figure perched precariously on his horse was none other than L.A. Boom Boom, the third of the apocalyptic trio that had come to presumably get rid of the three of you. 

Meanwhile, Zeppeli was still in his trance.

One rough hand was gently touching the area around his disbelieving eyes, while those same eyes were transfixed on Andre. His lips hadn’t yet closed fully, and his golden teeth reflected the dying embers of the campfire. No, it wasn’t disbelief – it was fear , or at least, trepidation which dotted his face with sweat and his eyes with white sclera. 

“You two– you two saw that, right?” 

“Eh– what?” Johnny replied. It looked like he hadn’t been able to spot that thing , yet it was clear as day to you still. 

“That Andre Boom Boom– what the hell was that?” Zeppeli continued dazedly; if this continued, there’d be serious repercussions for your group’s chances of getting out alive. Then, imperceptibly, he blinked – and his expression hardened. “Indeed, I can’t see that shit anymore – it’s just like that other ‘something’ hovering around here earlier.”

Well, you looked away sheepishly as his gaze scanned the surroundings. It looked like he was back to his usual state, something which you were infinitely grateful for. 

[ The time’s up. ] 

“Gyro – your foot ! The bleeding’s getting way worse than before! Are the parts not burrowing into your skin again?” Johnny cried out. His eyes had long since noticed the congealed scarlet liquid soaking into Zeppeli’s trousers, something which you only became aware of at both Depeche Mode and Johnny’s observations.

Immediately, your expression fell under your bandanna. 

Stupid, stupid , you cursed. You’d been lax with your concentration – with a whole pocket watch tattoo to monitor the time, and you couldn’t do even that?

18:24

“Shit – it’s getting worse after being surrounded by them! This is a stupid team attack! Yo – sparisci! ” Zeppeli gritted his teeth in concentration. His face, already pallid against the canvas of the night sky, paled further as he unsteadily took a lower stance to conserve momentum for throwing the last steel ball. “The closer I approach these guys… the stronger the effect on my body!”

Smoke and soot traced through your clothes as you shifted on Group Four. The acrid, caustic smell sharpened your mind, and for a minute, you could only see that button once more. This time, however, the slot machine activated before you even had a chance to press it. 

It made sense, in its own, round-a-bout sort of way. As your mastery over the slot machine increased, of course the visualising aid of the button would no longer be necessary. Though, you weren’t entirely sure whether this sudden mastery was permanent, or if it was a temporary state induced by the hazy smoke burning through any other thoughts.

“If they get right next to us…” Zeppeli began grimly. His hands, so steady before, were raised to his lips as he bit onto his thumb nail. Uncertainty was daubed onto his features with all the grace of a child discovering fingerpainting for the first time. “These might go straight through my body. You two alright over there still?”

How can this fool ask about us?

Your resolution hardened. Personal Jesus, Personal Jesus, Personal Jesus, Personal Jesus , you repeated – over and over, you prayed that the fortune smiling down would continue to bless this humble slot machine. Please , you all but begged. If Zeppeli’s prediction was right, you’d need whatever scraps of rejection you could muster up to cancel that other ‘something’ out. 

“Yeah, we’re still good,” Johnny piped up after glancing at your sullen demeanour. Your eyes were transfixed onto no particular area, and to him, it might’ve looked like you finally lost it. “I guess it’s connected to touching it – it might’ve been the ‘activation’ needed to trigger it. After you touched the knife with his blood on it…”

[Second slot activating: Words Like Violence. Countdown has begun.]

Shit . 

“Zeppeli, can you still hold on for another five minutes?” you yelled, desperately wracking your brains for any sort of usage of this stupid skill. You knew two things about Words Like Violence. One: it had a stupidly short range. Two: it looked stupid.

Of course, there was a secret third thing that had not yet been mentioned. 

You didn’t know how to use this stupid skill like the stupidly stupid being you were. 

[Well, at least you’re honest about your piddly abilities.]

“Screw this – I don’t have any other options, do I now?” Zeppeli groaned acerbically. As you stared at him, he gave you a fleeting, wry smile; one you’d only seen when you’d been his unfortunate bartender. “I just hope you’ve got something within those five minutes.”

“I will,” you promised – tried to promise, at least, but the sparks of doubt had already begun their flurry within you. 

Maybe you should’ve taken up Vincent’s offer to take a bottle or two on the journey.

[Is that not drunk driving?]

Doubt the ABV is high enough here.

Knowing him, he probably stashed a bottle of strawberry wine in your bursting pack, but you weren’t exactly in a position to check. 

“Fuck,” Zeppeli unleashed a torrent of imprecations, both in English and Italian, as he spotted just how close the circling trio had gotten. Johnny whistled lowly at the range, and you couldn’t help but smile even as the gaping pits of horror started uncovering in your stomach. “We’re completely surrounded on this ledge – those weirdos are circling on and on around us.”

[ 3:27 until countdown ends .]

Three minutes until you could try your luck again. 

“They’re getting closer–”

[‘ Can you do this? Nostrils both flat – nostrils both flat!’ ]

[‘ Woah – that’s awesome! Brother Andre, how’d you figure that out? ’]

You tuned out the irrelevant transmission from Depeche Mode– wait, irrelevant? When you peered down at the spirit, it was still within two or so metres from Group Four, staring intently at the circling jockeys. If one thing had come out of this, it was that your little spirit’s hearing had improved greatly. 

[‘– who’s gonna go in to settle this, kids? Are you gonna force your old man to go in?’ ]

“They’re preparing to come even closer,” you translated, low enough that only Zeppeli and Johnny would hear your fateful syllables. 

[ 2 minutes 39 seconds until countdown ends. ]

“This your freakish hearing again?” Zeppeli queried sharply, but if anything, he didn’t seem to be distrustful of the information you conveyed. In fact, he exhaled wryly as you nodded in defeat; then, his mouth hardened to a resolute line. 

[‘ I’ll go, Dad – those guys didn’t give me fire straight away! I was this close to having lizard venom course through my entire body! ’]

“It’ll be him who comes first – Andre Boom Boom,” you uttered worriedly, but Zeppeli didn’t react. In fact, his eyes were fixed onto a point in the horizon that you couldn’t make heads nor tails of. With the wind whipping through his cloak and streaming his hair behind him in curling rivulets, that bastard must’ve thought he looked so cool. 

Honestly, he did look a bit cool. 

This idiot – what the hell is he planning to do?

Carefully, you watched Zeppeli. His hands had finally slipped the steel ball out of its holster, and it rotated and buzzed with a virtual life that sent static electricity even through you. God, after all those times watching those spheres drive into someone – and here you were, feeling your hairs stand on end as you watched the spectacle once more.

But, won’t the spheres get whittled down again? You chewed your lip in trepidation, until you felt the metallic taste of blood coat your tongue. 

[‘ Hey, look! He took out that other steel ball. Guess there’re two, after all. He threw it at Sandman and got that penalty, remember? ’]

[‘ Does he think it’ll reach Big Brother without the iron running out? What a fool. ’]

[‘ Hah – he doesn’t know that Andre’s the most talented out of all of us. ’]

“They’re going to use the same tricks as last time,” you recited woodenly. Yet, still, Zeppeli didn’t cower.

“Let’s go! Our family will be first in the race!”

You didn’t need to rattle off their words anymore, it seemed. With a bloodthirsty fervour, they shouted and grinned chillingly. Had you been even a little drunk, you would’ve already run ten minutes ago. But alas, you were stone-cold sober at this unfortunate moment. You looked away.

No, it would be more accurate to say you couldn’t look away, and were desperately trying to. Any second now, and your ears would be filled with the sound of flesh being pierced by shrapnel once more – any second, and you’d smell the coppery stench of coagulating blood seeping into the hard earth. Zeppeli didn’t so much as flinch as they approached. 

Like the static buzz of a lightning strike, his hand shot forward to fling that fateful sphere. 

“It won’t reach, dumbass!” The syllables were spat out scathingly from Andre’s grinning mouth. His eyes were wide - with triumph or mania, you couldn’t entirely tell. Fool. At least, that’s what Zeppeli’s assured stance seemed to say. 

As the sphere formed a parabola in your awaiting eyes, the trajectory seemed to be falling short of the target. 

What?

“You’re throwing it differently? It’ll never make it, idiot!” He raised his bloody palm mockingly, already discarding the possibility of any successful attack. With a snort of derision, his eyes roved over your dazed group – poised to attack.

Well, that’s what should’ve happened. 

“ Vaffanculo ,” Zeppeli muttered with a matching manic grin. Blood streaked across his face from where he’d wiped it, and his golden teeth were stained crimson as he observed the consequences of his motion. 

Like a stray missile, the sphere burrowed into the hard, rocky earth a mere metre away from Andre; it tore and spun through the earth, until stones were dislodged from their cradle. Ah. A stone shot from the ground like a bullet, racing towards the still-smiling Andre Boom Boom.

“Looks like they only have influence over iron,” Zeppeli stated, rather nonchalantly. He wiped the coagulated blood on his hands onto his pants, watching carefully as the jagged rock pierced pock-marked flesh. “A rock can be shot… A rock…”

“It’s a hit.”

It was a casual statement, but the scene before you was anything but. The jockey had a hole gaping straight through the left side of his stomach, so cleanly torn out that you could see the stars peeking through among their canvas in the sky. He wailed with pain, clutching at the missing flesh – the area around the wound was macerated beyond recognition, twisting and rippling and puckering with a brutality that horrified you. 

“Johnny, second– actually, just Johnny – get your stuff on your horse,” Zeppeli gave a cursory glance at the two of you; his eyes roamed over your packed bag already strapped to Group Four’s saddle, while Johnny’s was painfully sparse. He perched bareback on Slow Dancer, and his possessions were still strewn about the area haphazardly. “There’s two left – and these guys are simply bizarre – let’s go.”

“So now you’re getting on your horse,” you muttered acerbically. 

“Did you say something? Not all of us have freakish hearing,” Zeppeli’s grin was all teeth. He definitely heard. With the way he stumbled from his wounds, and the crooked, malicious smile he sported, you could only watch in apprehension as he tossed Johnny’s things into the star-spangled bag. Your hands twisted around the reins, just as the message reverberated through your very bones. 

[ Countdown ended .]

“Nothing,” you lied distractedly. 

“–that’s what I thought. Y’know, for such a hare-brained –” 

Personal Jesus, Personal Jesus , you prayed as the reins bit into your fingers. A boreal chill crept up your arms when the slot machine began spinning once more – all you could think about was the metallic blood that threaded throughout the space. 

“–sometimes it’s simply being obtuse, but it’s also being quite resourceful, I must say – here, Johnny– ”

It felt like your cells each experienced countless deaths and rebirths as you squeezed your eyes shut. Your head spun, and you could feel the wretched throes of vomit clasp your roiling stomach with the intensity on which you focused on the stupid mantra running through each neuron. 

“Shut up,” you had a grin of your own under the cloth. All that, and your nose had begun trickling blood – which quickly flowed backwards as the message rang out clear and true.

[ First slot activated: Personal Jesus. Countdown has begun .]

“–the fuck? We need to leave and you’re here disrupting my encouragement to Johnny?” Zeppeli argued while fighting off the corners of his mouth from turning upward. Argues for the sake of it , as if there weren’t two enemies currently deciding on whether or not to charge now that their strongest was slumped on the dirty ground. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved your hand dismissively, not missing the shiny nurse get-up the spirit now sported. “The five minutes are up.”

“What?”

You didn’t reply. As Zeppeli swung himself onto Valkyrie and navigated her down the slope, Depeche Mode was already by his side, littering the ground behind him with gun parts. 

“ Via andiamo, ” Zeppeli breathed, looking back at the two of you. Like clockwork, his eyes swung to peer back at his healing leg and partially healed pants – before he squinted at you in suspicion. 

“Johnny, go,” you instructed, picking out your nails as nonchalantly as possible. Just drop it. “Something wrong, Zeppeli?”

“No,” he scowled. “And why d’you only call Johnny by his first name?”

“Because he’s nice,” you retorted. Seriously? “ Go, before something else happens.” 

The wind tugged at your jacket. It pulled at your hat with the capricious fingers of a petulant child, leaving its glacial imprints lingering on your neck. Even with the sweat that traced your face, you were frozen onto the saddle with each stride of Group Four’s. 

“I’m not feeling that strange buzz in my blood,” Zeppeli commented through the choking whirl of dust in his slipstream. “While it’s healing, the ability itself is fading as we gain distance – and my trousers seem to have begun repairing as well.” 

“What kinda trick is that?” Johnny yelped incredulously. Fearfully, he kept glancing backwards – only to meet your deadpan expression as you focused on not falling off Group Four. Eyes ahead . “Are those guys using poison or a ‘disease’?”

“More a ‘curse’ than trickery, from what I can figure out,” Zeppeli’s deep timbre was torn by the wind. Faintly, you could feel Depeche Mode scorn his words, but you could only shrug helplessly; after all, you’d thought pretty much the same thing of the spirit curled up by your sternum – and if you who possessed such a spirit thought that way, why wouldn’t he think it too? “Those guys first made contact with me, then closed in on us. When I was in the ‘middle’ of them, a powerful attack manifested itself – a ‘curse’ attracting iron.”

“So, a big fucking magnet,” your repeated your earlier observations scathingly. 

“You don’t seem to be as surprised as Johnny,” he shot back. Cautiously, he stared at what fragments he could of your impassive brow. Could he tell? Could he have seen the threads binding you and Depeche Mode?

“Are you?” 

“Yes, you asino ,” he hissed. A tanned hand drew across his face exasperatedly, pausing only to rub the juncture between his nose and forehead. “Of course I’m surprised. Bizarre people, strange occurrences, and strange fantasmi – it’s a wonder I’m still sane in this race. See, you’re the only one who’s too used to this.” 

Shit. 

“This late at night, could it not be a dream?” you shrugged out. Without noticing until now, Group Four had sped up until you were a mere length away from Zeppeli. The mare had overtaken Johnny, who now had to make up the rear of the pack. Hurriedly, you schooled your brow into what you could only hope to be neutrality. “Stranger things have happened, have they not? Like those strangely spinning spheres, for example?” 

“I forgot you’d fallen asleep so easily,” he scoffed derisively. Shoulder to shoulder now, and you could count each line painting a picture of a frowning face. “These spheres are a culmination of art and science and reasoning – not like that arcane ability plaguing me. Wake up.” 

“Whatever you say,” you yawned, dragging out the last syllable in exhaustion. Zeppeli gestured with an annoyed “ see? ”, but your body was too leaden to properly acknowledge it. “Think we’ll be able to actually get any sleep tonight though?”

“You already have!” he yowled, pulling at his golden hair with utmost frustration. If he kept it up, whole wefts could very easily flutter to the ground with that much enthusiasm. “ Anyway – enough of your idiosyncrasies and weird sleeping behaviour – it’s night, and we can’t help that. We’ll get ahead of them, to that watering hole fifty-so kilometres ahead.”

[‘ Those guys are getting away! I won’t let you run, pigs! ’]

Immediately, the haze clouding your mind sharpened into acute awareness. 

“Faster,” you urged, wracking your brains to listen to the faint scraps of what Depeche Mode transmitted. “That father is planning something.”

“And you say my spheres are strange?” Zeppeli swore exasperatedly, but Valkyrie lengthened her stride into a gallop nonetheless. 

“Do you know what he’s going to do?” Johnny bit a blue nail worriedly – you had no answer, not yet.

[‘ Hey, Andre. Move a little to the left, why don’t you? ’]

What? You frowned. The only reason why such a stupid command would be—

“Shit,” you croaked out hoarsely. “He’s gonna try get more of Andre’s blood on us.”

“You–”

It was too late. 

A gunshot rang out. 

Johnny’s face crumpled into a neat little atom of terror. 

Sanguine, oily liquid spattered onto your bared wrist. 

Those three things happened simultaneously; there was no particular order in which you registered them. The blood might’ve come before the gunshot, or Johnny’s terrified eyes might’ve come after it all – it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because he had droplets of red staining his cap and arm and face, and you could feel the spray of blood on your hands. 

“It won’t take effect if we’re far away, right?” Johnny bit his lip in consternation. Sure enough, the trio weren’t making any particular effort to chase after you – and it seemed that victory was on the horizon. “Look, they’re staying behind – could this’ve just been a last ditch effort to shoot us?”

You exchanged a haggard look with Zeppeli. 

“They wouldn’t have gotten Andre’s blood on us had that been the case. Remember, all we know is that they can attract iron to people, and not much else,” you recounted faintly. “If they’re not chasing after us – especially after one of them was gravely wounded by us–”

“By me, you mean. You guys sat and shivered.”

“–gravely wounded – then that means they’ve got some other plan,” you finished with no small amount of tiredness permeating each syllable. At the almost-protest of Johnny, you were forced to open your mouth once more. “Look, that man went through the effort of shooting through his son’s wound – this sort of aim would prompt one to think that he could aim closer to us than letting it fly over our heads, correct?” 

“He shot to get blood on us–” you continued, holding up your thumb to make your first point. “–after which he didn’t chase after us, after Zeppeli did something revenge-worthy–” here your index joined your thumb in the air. “–by getting blood on us, they’ve got the ability to attract iron fatally if they get close enough. But they didn’t go after us, shooting blood after Andre was wounded. There’s an awful lot we don’t know about their abilities, so it stands to reason they’ve got an alternative form to get back at us,” you finished off, briefly letting your middle finger join your other two. 

“Those crazy bastards definitely won’t let us off the hook like that,” Zeppeli agreed callously. 

“Exactly – we should put enough range between us and remain alert even after we think we’re safe,” you concluded, but it was easier said than done. For all those pretty words that spewed out of your mouth, you were letting down your guard involuntarily anyway. Sleep forced your eyes to droop, and even the biting chill of the wind couldn’t wake you up. 

It went like this: the leather reins twisting around your fingers smelled like sweat and mandarins, and you were oh-so-tired. 

It went like this: your red jacket hung uncomfortably warm against your back, yet you shivered with the feverish chill that pulsed white-hot through your mind. 

It went like this: the salty taste of sweat and coppery threads of blood pooled on your tongue, and everything shattered.

“–you idiot. Johnny, come round their other side,” the voice wasn’t as harsh as you’d expected. At your right side, you could feel a firm hand cradling your shoulder – calloused like rough-hewn wood, and smelling of metal. 

“What?” you mumbled. Deliriously, you blinked your eyes wide open once more, only to realise Group Four was still moving fast beneath you, while Zeppeli had propped up your dazed body so you wouldn’t fall out of your saddle. 

“–your grand speech, yet this is the second time you’ve fallen asleep,” Zeppeli chided, eyeing you with mild annoyance. “Where’s that alertness gone? You could’ve fallen off your horse and been trampled by us!”

“Sorry,” you replied apologetically, tasting the phantom mandarins still on your tongue. 

“Just don’t fall asleep while galloping again. Look, we’ve slowed to a canter, and there’s only a good forty-five kilometres left,” Zeppeli let go of your shoulder, and the chill was back. 

“Forty-five kilometres,” you repeated meekly. 

“Are you going to parrot everything I say?” he exhaled with acerbic amusement, and he jostled your shoulder with his hand once more. 

“Absolutely not,” your expression hardened. Languidly, you clicked your tongue, and Group Four responded to the aid by lengthening her stride once more. “I won’t fall asleep again.” 

( Forty-five kilometres. The stench of death still lingers in the respite. )

. 　⁺ ✦

“He’s been following us at an amazing pace.” 

You could taste the cool, radioactive taste of stars slipping past your throat and into your bloodstream – like tiny pockets of sherbet dissolving on your tongue – popping and crackling with lemony coolness. 

“Can you see the rest of the Boom Boom family, Johnny?”

Every orifice was filled with the caustic echo of exhaustion. 

“Fuck, who the hell is that? Vaffanculo, crazy bastard.”

Heartbeats wept in an endless crescendo of lethargy. 

“I don’t see them at all – stupid binoculars – it’s dark, and he’s following completely alone!” Johnny’s streaming rivulets of wispy hair came into focus. Like luminescent ribbons, each plume bent and whirled in the air, until all you could see were those fine strands (if you were being totally honest, that focal point was the sole reason you hadn’t lost your mind completely yet). 

Had it been countless days? Had it been an endless cycle of glancing fearfully behind while riding for your life? When had you last taken a swig from your dwindling canteen?

You couldn’t answer any of those questions truthfully; delirium had carefully woven its lethal tendrils around your tender brain. 

“That’s so bizarre,” you mumbled in subdued agreement – yet your mouth hadn’t fully gotten rid of its slack when you finished your words, leaving your bandanna as the only thing propping your jaw up. 

“We’ll be at the water-hole soon,” Johnny assured you apologetically, yet you heard the soft webs of half-truths strung through the syllables. We might not reach that water-hole, in any case. 

“Could it be that it’s not one of the Boom Booms?” Zeppeli questioned – both thoughtful and hopeful. It didn’t suit him, yet tiredness had driven him past pessimism and into a state of mania you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know about. “They work together, right?”

“Could very well be one of them,” you shrugged. “Maybe another stayed behind with Andre, while this one’s got some secret third thing we don’t know about. Or maybe it’s someone else entirely – all we know is that it’s probably another enemy - with another of those weird spirits you were talking about.”

“What a stubborn set of bastards,” he muttered. From behind, his shoulders were set stiffly in frustration – while faint flashes of moonlight reflected off his darkened hair. It had been tied off into a hasty braid as the breeze only ever got more biting; the heavy rope swung to-and-fro like a clock’s pendulum – naturally, your eyes were drawn to this fascinating sight. “This one’s been following for what – three hours?” 

Surreptitiously, you checked your tattoo. 

He was right. 

21:38

The dark blur behind you was slowly gaining upon your ragtag group. Cicadas croaked their last of the night in the cacti, and despite the situation you smiled beneath the cloth. 

( It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. )

Like snapping piranhas, the reverberations conveyed through Depeche Mode tore chunks of flesh out of you and left them behind in the perpetual shockwaves. It might’ve very well been hundreds of times that you summoned the spirit, over and over and over and over, until you’d had the good sense to stop sapping your energy through pressing that button. 

“Yes, you’re right,” you mumbled stiffly, too cold yet too hot at the same time. 

“Fuck – all our horses are at their limits!” Zeppeli griped – his hands curled desperately at his reins, and the hopeless frustration practically rolled off him in waves. No, that was wrong. His body was slack rather than tense, and clear struggle was marked in the bent lines of his body. He wasn’t the only one; Group Four heaved as fiercely as an extracted, beating heart. Her coat was streaked with the moonlight reflecting off her sweat, while her bridle foamed and slipped beneath her grinding teeth.

“Is he really part of the Boom Boom family?” Johnny squinted, wrapping his own reins delicately around his hand while focusing his binoculars. “There’s something strange – did they have riding skills like that? And that weird looking hat – I think I’ve seen it before…”

“Who else would follow us so viciously at this time of night?” Zeppeli groaned. He looked rather like a piranha himself – all bared teeth. “If we let them get near, that crazy ‘magnetism’ will start up again! We need to get to the watering hole before there’s a dirty fucking mess. Fifteen to go, damn it!”

“ Fifteen– ”

“Gyro!” Johnny’s surprised gasp had both you and the man in question turn on your horses. With your goggles clouding your view, all you could really see was the faint silhouette against the rocks slowly getting larger and larger. “What the fuck? He’s already climbed up those rocks! Throw a steel ball!”

Who–

Your eyes widened suddenly. 

“It’s Mountain Tim!” Your heart crept onto your tongue, and you could barely force the syllables out. There was no mistaking it – you prayed for it nonetheless – but it was incredibly clear. That striped hat, that starched white collar, that worn set of his determined eyes; all pointed to it being one of your first acquaintances in this strange time. 

But why is he following us?

“Shit.” 

You cursed. 

“Shit, shit, shit, holy shit, shit, shit .”

You cursed some more. 

( “They’re a highly unusual set, according to the sheriff - everything’s out of the ordinary. Just be on the lookout for strange individual’s approaching.” )

“What do you know, bastard? Tell me, what do you know?”

( “There’ve been some candidate murders I’ve been tasked to investigate. All potential targets I’m to pursue.” )

You couldn’t respond as Zeppeli shook your shoulder. 

“He– he likely thinks one of you is a murderer,” you forced out, sickened by the very syllables. 

“What?”

“He’s a bounty hunter investigating the set of murders that took place recently,” you looked up, only to see the two stare at each other in sheepishness. Slack-jawed, all you could do was gaze on in despair. “Don’t fucking tell me…”

“Mrs Robinson attacked us first with those insects!” Johnny muttered in protest. The elusive Mrs Robinson, come to save him in the midst of the accusation. Fuck, you really didn’t want to know.

“That ranger’s got the wrong people,” Zeppeli added thoughtfully. “How exactly did you find this out?”

“He’s my acquaintance–” to that, Zeppeli’s face curled up in mild disgust. “–and he was tasked with investigating a set of unusual murders by the sheriff.”

“See?” he interrupted, still sporting that scornful glare. “One, there’s been a set – two, they’re qualified as ‘unusual’.”

“So we’re just glossing over Mrs Robinson? Cool, cool, ” you nodded conspiratorially. “ It’s not cool, you idiots! It counts as a murder if his body’s been found! Fuck! I’m travelling with murderers!”

“Shhh!” Zeppeli hissed. “Do you want him to hear? For the last time, we were attacked by some crazed bastard like these ones who kept insects in his body – and he got shot through by cacti. By all means, he got killed by those weird plants! And by all means, he was attempting to get rid of his competition by killing us! ”

“Does he know that?” you wailed as quietly as you could. “He’s not gonna see the whole situation play back – all he’s gonna find is a dead body–”

You paused. Something wasn’t right. Something really wasn’t right – from the caustic, sulfuric stench of doubt, to the prickles of suspicion daubing your veins. 

“Hold on. He told me this right after the first stage,” you bit your glove through the bandanna thoughtfully. Zeppeli looked at you, pausing the motion of opening his mouth to let your thoughts run their course. “And if the Mrs Robinson thing is today, and there’s no one else – fuck, there’s been some interference and he’s been led to believe you’re the culprit!”

“Well, shit then,” Johnny muttered low under his breath. 

“How the hell did he connect those stupid dots? What proof is there?” Zeppeli snorted derisively. In the moonlight, his eyes flashed an angry green. 

“Listen, I know the guy, and he’s not the type to act rashly,” your syllables were tinged with fondness as you recalled how solid he appeared in your mind’s eye. “There must’ve been something damn incriminating for him to follow you guys.”

“You believe it too?” 

“No, you idiot,” you groaned out. “Think. Who should be following us, but isn’t?” 

“The Boom Booms,” Johnny replied, almost immediately. His hand was clenched in a tight fist around his telescope; you could sense the annoyance radiating from him like a furnace, even in the boreal wind. 

“So, it stands to reason that they’ve put him on our trail,” you concluded. Or, at least, you tried to conclude. There was still something else that was nagging you.

(“ I’m not supposed to tell you this .”)

“And how would they have known about Mountain Tim seeking murderers?” The threads of a further, more brilliant conclusion started coalescing into an incandescent web of intuition. “He never told anyone else.”

“Unless they were the murderers!” Zeppeli finished, sighing out in mild satisfaction. 

“Guys.”

“Exactly,” you frowned. “It’s not clear how exactly they fooled Mountain Tim, but don’t think they’ve been left behind.”

“ Guys. ”

[Listen to Johnny.]

The abrupt message from Depeche Mode had your stomach immediately set to a roiling worry. It festered and writhed, like masses of worms unearthed under a crumbling log. It crawled into your veins, laying its putrid eggs to germinate and eat away at you. 

“What’s going on?” You tried to keep your voice confident, yet each syllable cracked into a million fragments – leaving naught but a fragile whisper. What’s going on? – it was the epitome of words seeing assurance. What’s going on : the default nail-biting, cowardly question. You were a stinking coward.

“He’s already climbed to the next set of rocks – I– I thought it was just some crazy speed, but the more I thought about it, he’s not speeding up out of his own volition! We couldn’t tell because we were running…”

“Johnny. Spit it out.”

Zeppeli was unusually brusque. Actually, it would be more accurate to say he was significantly more brusque than usual – though you knew better. Past the clipped, callous words, you saw the sheer exhaustion that threatened to plummet whatever meagre scraps of energy he still held onto fiercely. 

“We’re being pulled. ”

His horrified expression was haunted by phantoms of denial and the shining trails of sweat. Trembling fingers clawed at his face, but that wasn’t what caused your own expression to fall significantly. The metal hardware bolstering his equipment was slowly sinking into flesh; blood poured from every point of contact as it got displaced.

He got blood on him, you realised gravely. 

“Shit – that means they must be near,” you swore. Somewhere, they had to be lurking. Shadows crept everywhere; every rustling bush and blurry figure had you turning in suspicion.

But it was strange. 

You saw him get splattered by the blood. 

You felt the liquid trail down your wrists. 

Frowning, you inspected yourself with haste. Nothing – the magnetisation hadn’t taken effect yet.

[Yeah, dummy, not yet . You’ve got a longer window of time in which to operate; I can hold off the magnetism for a few more minutes if I’m still with you.]

Depeche Mode sounded more tired than usual; its monotone syllables creaked and groaned like a malfunctioning automaton. 

When you looked up again, the situation wasn’t any better. Johnny was tightly gripping onto Slow Dancer’s mane, while his saddle was balanced precariously on the side of her withers. Shit. You still couldn’t spot the offenders. 

“Hold on,” you cursed, swivelling round to gaze at the accelerating Mountain Tim. “The closer he gets, the more dire this magnetism gets.”

“Get your buddy to stop,” Johnny bit out; his blue lips bled from where his teeth had worried away at the tender skin. In the dim light of the moon, his knuckles were clearly marked white against the purplish-hues coating his frozen hands. You felt bad, suddenly – this was what you should’ve done from the start. 

“Mountain Tim!” you yelled out hoarsely, yet he didn’t halt. This is bad – this is bad, this is bad. 

“Shit! It’s me – you’ve got the wrong idea about these two, I swear!” 

“Do all your friends ignore you like that?” Zeppeli scratched behind his ear while watching with morbid fascination. 

“He’s not responding,” you murmured dejectedly. Then, in an instant, your expression changed to one of mild horror. “What if he can’t stop, and is also being pulled?”

There was a brief pause.

“Then, we’re really screwed, aren’t we?” Johnny forced out. 

“Hey, ranger bastard! Sparisci – turn the other way if you don’t want to get annihilated!” Zeppeli cupped his hands over his mouth. The reins slid into the crook of his elbows, and his shoulders shook with barely-suppressed exhaustion. 

“Fuck – it’s too late! I’m being pulled!” Johnny yelped. The bit in the bridle was wedged in his cheek – it pulled taut at the skin of his face above, imprinting a metallic ‘D’ in the flesh. By now, all the hardware had rapidly begun floating from his saddle; each ragged stride from the mare threatened to dislodge the leather completely. “The metal from my harness is being pulled to me completely!”

It happened almost instantaneously. Johnny was on his horse, but he was also not. 

His body was flung off the mare, crashing and hurtling towards the ground like a comet. If you had to recount the tale to anyone, you’d have left out the sickening crunch you heard when his body contorted in the reflection of your glassy eyes. 

“Johnny!” you gasped – croaked – out. Fuck . 

The whirring began. 

“ We need to get rid of our tail –”

The whirring continued. 

“ Or at the very least get him to stop–”

[First slot activated: Personal Jesus. Countdown has begun.]

“Go– go to him,” you wheezed. A cold, metallic burn spread in your throat: the kind that appeared when over-exerting one’s body in icy weather, the kind that made one think they were coughing up blood. Shit – the range . Leather reins bit into your gloves as you pulled Group Four to a wretched, desperate halt. 

“It’s not just him– gah !” Zeppeli didn’t flail as he was wrenched off his horse. His back was curved inwards, and from what you could glean in the dim moonlight was that he looked rather like a skimmed pebble. 

Dense. Flat. Unmoving. 

That was only when he was in the smooth arc of the beginning projectile motion. 

He rolled in the air, and the packed earth was more favourable to him than it had been to Johnny. Stay with Johnny , you decided brusquely. 

[On it.] 

“Fucking hell,” you swore as his body juddered at his attempts to get up. It wasn’t hard to dismount. Your saddle was already coming apart at the stirrups where the hardware had aimed itself so kindly at Zeppeli and Johnny. 

What was hard was looking upon the man’s body as the metal wormed its way further into his torn flesh. 

“Since when am I a magnet too?” Johnny grabbed at his face with hesitant, tentative hands; that was only the impression you got from Depeche Mode, though. Your eyes were trained on Zeppeli – you struggled upon even thinking about where to start. 

You’re a surgeon, damnit! What do I do ? 

“Take my hand,” you spoke roughly. He looked at your outstretched palm incredulously, before grabbing tightly onto it. 

“There must’ve been something on the bullet he shot – it got onto me!”

It got onto me too.

“We need to find that stupid family,” Zeppeli gritted his teeth from where he shakily grasped your shoulder. Blood was smearing all over Vincent’s jacket. His hand was warm through the material. “They’re bound to be controlling the magnetism from somewhere.”

“You said it first, genius,” you uttered, though you were searching on the ground for your binoculars regardless. Unfortunately, your bag had been somewhat inhospitable to the first few layers of things, metallic as they were. Various cans and pots were strewn in the sand, but it did make finding your binoculars easier. 

“Pass me those,” Zeppeli took the tool from your hand before your lips had even formed the syllable in return. 

“We don’t have time for you to be looking around,” you scowled. “I don’t think Mountain Tim can stop, and I’m the only one who’s not been drawn to him yet.” 

“Do you have a plan for us, then?” Zeppeli retorted, but it was more like a gasp as another screw jammed itself in his back. 

“I’ll look and you take Johnny and move further–” you began, but something else crossed your mind at that second. “No, wait. I’m not affected by the magnetism yet, so I’ll take Group Four and backtrack so I can tell Mountain Tim to do whatever in his power to ride the other way.” 

“So I can still use these, then,” he deadpanned, but he regarded you differently. Sure, there was a quiet reluctance in the set of his mouth, but his brows had set in determination. 

“Sure,” your voice was undoubtedly more muffled as you turned away. The warm hand on your shoulder was gone, and so was your saddle. And Group Four’s bridle. 

“Well, shit,” you swore, but bareback was the least of your worries with metallic maniacs plotting your death. A nearby stone provided the extra height to pull yourself onto Group Four. What the fuck do I do now ? Vincent never had time to cover bareback riding. 

The Appaloosa was almost feverish under your chilled body. Despite the desperation in the grip of her mane, she still stood placidly in the small outcropping where you’d dismounted, as if you’d never left her.

“Go to Mountain Tim,” you whispered hopefully, wrapping your legs tightly around the barrel of her stomach. Already, you were slipping and sliding without the heavy, deep-seated saddle anchoring you firmly on; it wasn’t like you had the option to tack her up again at this moment. 

Desperately, you clicked your tongue and pressed your heels into her side; it seemed you’d used all your luck for the year when she took off and didn’t leave you in the dust. As you gained on the enlarging figure of Mountain Tim, you could see his face in the shadow of his hat for the first time.

“You need to turn around!” you yelled, clutching onto your horse with all the strength you had.

“You– hell, what are you doing here?” Mountain Tim slowed, but it seemed that he was scrabbling to a halt more than anything. “I thought I saw Group Four, but I dismissed it completely– don’t you know who these people are?”

“I already know what conclusion you’ve come to, and I’m telling you it’s completely false. We’ve already encountered the murderers – it’s not them, but a family of three with magnetism powers,” you babbled incoherently, gesturing as you felt an antsy burning begin to warm up your stomach. “Look, I can’t explain properly now, but I need to move away from you right now before we get pulled into each other!”

“Wait–” Mountain Tim attempted to speak, but you were already wheeling Group Four around – just as something green and shiny struck the rock above you.

Fuck me . 

You coughed as small rocks pelted you; it was a feat in itself to urge the nervous mare to move faster before she too got injured. It was like you were the sacrifice metal to get oxidised first, for the pebbles swerved in midair before reaching the Appaloosa and slowly drove into your body instead. The iron!

“Gyro Zeppeli, I swear I’ll kill you,” you muttered vengefully. Upon reaching the rough perimeter of the other two, you looked back to see Mountain Tim’s face peppered with small cuts. He was still hanging on to his horse, but it was clear the magnetism was beginning to seriously impede his efforts. 

“You didn’t have to try get him off his horse,” you scowled, dismounting once more. “I already told him to turn the other way ‘cuz of the magnetism – go back to the previous area, Group Four .”

“Did you really think he was going to listen, nyo-ho ?” Zeppeli bared his teeth in a triumphant grin. “He’s already chasing us because he thinks we’re the murderers, so do you think he’d listen to your reasoning?”

“But you are !” you yowled in frustration. Whatever tirade you were about to unleash onto the man had to wait, though. 

It was at that moment where Mountain Tim’s grip on his disintegrating saddle finally relented. 

“– instead of falling, my pistol is stuck to my arm.”

We’ve already gotten too close. You could hear him without relying on Depeche Mode. Stick with Johnny for now, as long as Personal Jesus holds out, you commanded. 

[Three minutes, thirty-seven seconds remaining. The magnetism for Johnny is slowly getting weaker whilst I’m here.]

“ He’s coming this way ,” Johnny yelled hoarsely. His hand was outreached like he could possibly stop the incoming ranger, but you could only watch with horror as the ranger accelerated. It was like time had frozen for you; he was captured in the air like a well-timed photo: lasso looped against the merciful moon, hat still teetering on his head. 

“Zeppeli, brace yourself,” you held onto your jacket, as if it could possibly save you. It couldn’t. There was nothing you could do. “He’s going to ram into you!”

“– he’s charging through the air!” 

“–fuck, my blood vessels feel like they’re about to burst–”

It was a second before annihilation that it happened. 

Mountain Tim’s body split into neat little segments. 

You screamed, but there was no sound in the vacuum created. 

No, there was no vacuum. You were really screaming, with the wind ripping out all the pieces and swallowing them. 

“Huh?” Zeppeli spoke, dumbstruck, and the picture shattered. 

Mountain Tim’s body was suspended between two rocks: both had been tightly lassoed with the rope you had just seen on his belt. His hand was one segment, his upper torso and head another, his legs another – and it continued. No, it would be inaccurate to say that he was split up, per se; all the parts had that rope strung through like a grotesque marionette. 

There was no blood. Not a singular drop, save the small, bloody craters in his face from the rocks and debris of Zeppeli’s spheres. He was like compact bunting; the only difference was that he was alive , with teeth bared to tell the tale. 

And slowly, that bunting began wriggling on the rope towards his torso, just like maggots towards their food source. It was undeniably horrifying, but fascinating , so much that you couldn’t look away. 

[Well, that’s new. He’s like us too.]

Depeche Mode’s flat, amused commentary broke you out of your stupor. Of course – why had you felt like he was so solid? What was it about him that made you feel that tentative kinship? 

“I don’t even know why I’m surprised,” you murmured. 

“I threw a rope.. I can separate my body parts as far as the rope stretches,” Mountain Tim spoke. His deep voice was quiet, yet there was only a few feet between him and you. The wind had ceased its howling, as if it, too, wanted to eavesdrop on the strange happenings. “I’m guessing in this situation here, when the three of us get close something not-so-pretty will happen. We’ll be drawn to each other, I’ve been told – but that’s the nicer way of putting it, is it not?”

It was silent. 

“It does seem like I misunderstood my suspect,” he continued from where he’d begun slowly ascending the rock towering over him. “Johnny Joestar… to whom does this magnetic power belong?”

The breeze stirred against his face and let his hair stream in rivulets around him, but his mouth didn’t close. “Tell me in detail – what the hell is going on here?”

. 　⁺ ✦

( “Where would you go if you could time-travel, Dr Amsa?” It’s an innocuous question from a bored student who’s only respite is doodling in the worn textbooks. No, actually, that’s the second respite; the first is indulging in curiosity. When one’s a history teacher, there’s naturally going to be some overlap between the past and the commonly associated vice. )

( “The Seven Wonders of the World, the university of al-Qarawiyyin, seen as the first in the world, the Kingdom of Nri,” she lists them off after thinking briefly, often glancing at the heavy book she pages through. It’s unclear whether she’s really thought about the topic, or if she’s just placating a student with the first thing that comes to mind. )

( It doesn’t really matter either way. You forlornly look at your messy illustrations of crooked pyramids and decide that her sophisticated answer is much better than yours. )

( Well, that doesn’t matter as well. Time-travel is limited to a bored imagination – it’s not like you’ll really be catapulted into the past anyway. )

. 　⁺ ✦

“I’m buying a gun at the next checkpoint,” you resolved quietly.

“What was that?” Zeppeli cocked his head in a picture of half-boredom.

“So I can shoot myself the next time this happens.”

“What does–”

“–The ability to control iron… I see – the Boom Boom family was the real culprit. If I’d approached you without noticing and getting stopped… then we’d all be dead right now,” Mountain Tim interrupted gravely. Unbothered by the constant strain on his arms, his voice remained steady and his shoulders didn’t shake from him continuing to hang from a (literal) thread. You’d be impressed, if you weren’t still mildly nauseated from his severed limbs. “Let’s get farther away.” 

His body slotted together once more and he was whole; though, he still clung to his rope as if it was part of him. 

“But wait – what’s up with you?” Zeppeli called out as the ranger started to climb upwards once more from the plateauing rock. He paused, and regarded the man next to you carefully. “The Boom Booms messed you up pretty hard – are you even human?”

“Well, how about you?” Mountain Tim countered; in that moment, you couldn’t tell whether it was deflectiveness or genuine curiosity that drove his syllables. “What are those steel balls?”

“Those are just part of my ‘technique’,” Zeppeli curled his lip, affronted. His golden teeth flashed in the dim light, and you unconsciously stared at them. “There are parts of the human being that are still a great mystery, as demonstrated tonight.”

“I see… mysteries of the human being,” Mountain Tim replied thoughtfully. Despite your urgency to leave this place and never come back, you gazed at him with placid curiosity. “I’ll explain to you guys then, since this was partly my fault for targeting the wrong people.”

“It was fifteen years ago – 1875 – and I was sixteen and fresh-faced in the army. We’d been assigned to venture into unmarked and unmapped territory of Arizona Desert–”

You swore you felt a spectral finger trace your arm.

“–But we all got lost. All sixteen of us wandered the desert for days, searching for even an ounce of water to let us survive the heat. That was the area the local natives called the ‘Devil’s Palm’: a feared and inhospitable place.”

“The Devil’s Palm…” you murmured, suppressing the ice freezing over your veins.

“You know something?” Zeppeli nudged you with his foot, staring at you like you’d grown another head. You shook your head with your lips pressed tightly beneath your bandanna, and he missed the stricken look in your eyes as he turned his head back to the ranger. 

“Our unit had stepped into that place. Compasses were useless there, and the ground was moving because of the quicksand – that’s why we got lost. Mountains would disappear, and in their place canyons would form. The landscape itself was constantly changing.

“They say the ‘Palm’ travels many miles in a day. Where it could be found a month ago – it would be no more. From what traditions I was told, a shooting star crashed there once, destroying everything. Now, it is a cursed, barren place – and nobody knows its location until they happen to see it themselves… It’s been travelling this area for tens of thousands of years.”

Goosebumps dotted your shivering arms. 

“What, are you scared?” Zeppeli muttered, jostling his shoulder with yours. But he, too, wore a rather unsettled expression you’d never seen on his face before. 

“We failed to find water,” the ranger continued monotonely. “The horses died. Our unit fell one by one. I was being fried to death. But that place carried destiny in that cursed hand. I awoke one night; my skin was flaking off and I did not know how much time had passed. The smallest drop of dew had gathered onto a rope, and I was absorbing it.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I had become one with the rope. Thanks to that, I was the only survivor. It could have been a type of ‘gravitation’ – the ‘Palm’ has the power to awaken sleeping abilities within people.”

Great, you thought sourly. Mystery solved, Scooby Gang. 

“The natives call it the ‘cursed ability’ – and perhaps it is. Me and everyone in that unit were supposed to die. I, personally, call this ability ‘stand’. There is no mistake! The Boom Boom family must have also stepped into the Devil’s Palm!” Mountain Tim concluded. A stand.

A stand. Was that what this ability was called? Your stand . You. Your spirit forged into the material world – a stand . 

“Stand…” Johnny’s mouth was widened with surprise. 

“That’s what those fantasmi were,” Zeppeli muttered in annoyed realisation. “The ‘magnetic force’ is getting weaker. Keep it up, ranger, keep moving up with that rope! Looks like the only way we can get rid of it permanently and move on is to beat the shit out of those creeps after we find them.”

“Nope, there’ll be no need for that.”

You swivelled in mild terror. There, behind you, crouched L.A Boom Boom. He stared directly at Zeppeli, while slowly tracing a face in the sand. It wasn’t any you recognised: a humanoid face with a donut shape on its head.

[ A stand .]

“Shit, they snuck up on us!” Johnny yelped. Behind L.A were the two others from that evil family: all approaching silently with hardened expressions. 

“There’s no need to find us or distance yourselves,” L.A purred, baring his crooked teeth. His finger was still jammed into the sand, while his empty gaze was now fixed straight on you. “The only direction you can go is closer to each other… right, Daddy? That’s what he said, at least.”

“That’s a nice jacket,” he continued, picking out his fingernails. “I think I’ll have it on my saddle.”

Unconsciously, you drew it tighter around yourself.

“Need any help, L.A? Or can you cut that bastard Mountain Tim’s rope by yourself?”

“Ehh? I’m not so confident…” he glanced sideways, while the sweat on his face glistened: mercurial in the moonlight. 

It was then that Zeppeli decided to strike. His arm swung, like an adder, poised to throw his steel sphere straight at the hesitant Boom Boom. 

But he was too late.

Like a cresting wave, a mass of amorphous black wrapped tightly around his body. You gasped at the sensation sweeping across your body – looking down from your limited manoeuvrability, Johnny had been coated too. No, it wasn’t even a singular, cohesive mass, it was– 

“Iron sand!” Johnny bit out, but it was too late. Your body, along with his and Zeppeli’s, was being drawn to a singular point where you’d annihilate each other.  

Your torso was wedged sideways across Johnny’s shoulder’s, while your side pressed into Zeppeli’s. Slowly, you could feel your limbs contorting to be ever closer to the two; it was uncomfortably warm, and you were burning up despite the freezing night air. 

“Is this – shit – iron sand? He’s forming shapes with the ‘iron’ in the sand! It’s sucking onto me – so heavy!” Zeppeli yelled, and the words ruffled the air around your ear. He really was too close for comfort, you griped. 

“It’s making its way towards Mountain Tim!”

From the abyss, a face emerged – a more sophisticated image of the crude sketch in the sand. Its tongue emerged, and arms sprung from the midnight. Like a pent-up lover, it launched itself straight at Mountain Tim in a rather passionate embrace and you could only watch in horror.

That was until the pistol that was still attached to his rope fired straight at L.A. You watched hopefully as the bullets almost grazed him, but they were deflected by a second night: a creature practically identical to the previous stand, something that could only belong to that putrid father. He glared at the ranger, while you could only stare at the dented bullets falling into the sand near you. 

It was becoming increasingly harder to breathe as the magnetism pushed you further into Zeppeli. His torso was now pressed completely to your front, while you sent an apology to poor Johnny who bore the brunt of two people. The iron continued to drown you with dark powder, and you wanted nothing more than to cry. 

“I knew this would be too dangerous for you to do, L.A.! You have to bind their hands with the iron – don’t let them do anything. Do you feel blessed? We’re such a blessed family. Just cut that damned fool’s rope.”

Could you get out of this by summoning your own stand?

[ Don’t do that yet. Don’t forget that they’d see me straight away – you’d be instantly dead meat. Besides, it’s a 50/50 chance of me not being able to nullify the magnetism on you regardless.]

“ I feel so blessed ,” L.A intoned, clasping onto his father as that second stand continued its prowl around the two. 

Fuck, you swore tiredly. 

It was then that the rope precariously holding Mountain Tim snapped. 

“Shit, these dicks ,” Zeppeli groaned in horror. 

“We’re so screwed!” Johnny squawked. This close, you could see each blond eyelash tremble – every freckle get coated in the mercurial sheen of cold sweat. Mountain Tim’s body came crashing in your direction, and you braced yourself with tightly shut eyes.

[ As soon as you feel him on you, summon me. In the debris, I’ll be able to hide .]

“Johnny, do you have an open hand?” Zeppeli gritted out. It was only then that you noticed his hands stuck tightly underneath you by the iron sand, like some gruesome reverse hug that you never wanted to see again. “Do it! You have to do it, Johnny!”

“What?”

“The spin – you have to get them using the spin , Johnny!” Zeppeli motioned urgently with his head, almost knocking your teeth out. You scowled at him, but he didn’t notice your glare. “There’s one on the ground there, pick it up!”

“Huh? What the hell are you talking about?” 

“That bullet – the one Mountain Tim shot! It’s lead so you can toss it without the influence of the magnetic force! You need to make it spin.”

You thought lead exposure was a pretty bad idea regardless, but you kept your mouth shut. 

“Me?” you felt Johnny glance in the Boom Boom’s direction, then his body froze up. “Too late! He’s coming – Mountain Tim’s body is flying!”

If you thought you’d braced yourself correctly, you’d be sorely mistaken. The ranger hit the pile of you so hard you could feel your teeth rattling around in your skull. Ouch .

Fuck. That was the moment in which you felt the extent of the magnetism start affecting you in earnest. Like supernovae, your blood vessels began bursting in your face, until your bandanna was soaked in the smell of copper. The small scratches on your limbs started streaming sanguine ribbons – all you could do was watch through red-tinted pupils. 

“They’ve united!” the father crowed delightedly. “I wonder how far their organs will fly out – will we get a new intestine record?”

“Johnny– you have to – ‘lesson three’!” Zeppeli forced out. His hat had miraculously stayed on, even when his head was being crushed into the gravelly sand by Mountain Tim’s back. “When we were camped out you said you spun the cork – it’s exactly the same now!”

“But– but that was just a coincidence!” Johnny stammered. Up close, you could hear how his accent thickened in stress – how every stirring of air felt denser as a result. 

“Believe in the power of the spin! The power of the rotation is limitless – trust in that.”

If you were being honest, you didn’t trust in it. You closed your eyes and resigned yourself to your fate. You couldn’t even focus enough to press the red button in your mind; the ragged pieces of crimson floated aimlessly around in the echo chamber, useless forevermore. 

“Johnny – you must! My body is bursting!” Zeppeli yelled out, rocking the already turbulent waters of your pitch-black mind. 

“I– I did it! Look, Gyro, it’s spinning–” 

How hopeful.

Briefly, your eyes fluttered open. You could taste nectarines on your tongue – orange oil bursting at your fingertips – the flavour of excitement. 

Then, his wrist was crushed under the boot of the father. Well, not crushed. Macerated. Grinded to a writing pulp. That’s how you saw it, anyway – not that you could see much of anything. 

The oranges popped into fireworks. Sulphuric, bitter, acerbic – all had the note of profound disappointment. You had accepted your fate when something else tipped the balance. 

“Step back a little more, L.A – don’t even think about relaxing until this is all over,” the father intoned. “Be careful. The dying can make some pretty desperate final moves–”

His lips continued moving, but all you could hear was a low buzz. TV static, or maybe the shrill tinnitus that occasionally came to call. 

[Watch out.]

I already know I won’t make it , you replied sardonically. There was everything to watch out for; though, beneath your snarky response, you could feel a trickling chill of realisation drip down your spine and arms. 

Where are we?

Arizona Desert.

Where are we?

“Daddy– what– what the hell? You said ‘be careful’ – no – come back – that wretched hand – hurry up Daddy and come back.”

L.A’s face had twisted into an effigy; a sepulchral mask of horror you’d find only after walking through thousands of tombs. 

Through the buzz, you read his lips slowly and carefully. 

Where are we?

The Devil’s Palm. 

You didn’t know how you forgot your surroundings so quickly. Within you, Depeche Mode stirred with a vitality that seemed far removed from the exhaustion you’d felt seeping into you just ten minutes ago. 

And beside you, something else was awakening. 

It started small: ripples in the dark sand that could’ve been attributed to the small breeze streaming languidly about. You’d been pressed so your front was now directly on Johnny’s shoulder; now, your eyes were directly in line of view of his hand. Like watching a magnet create patterns in iron shavings, so too the sand spun around his fingers in geometric loops. 

“Johnny Joestar,” Zeppeli gasped out. His eyes were wild with frenzy, while his face was soaked in nervous sweat. “What the hell is that?”

Johnny flipped his hand to look at his nails – for a few seconds, he stared through them as if nothing was wrong. Then, he squinted. Something must’ve changed for him, but you’d seen them for what they were from the very start. 

His nails had transformed into opalescent blue blurs. No, that was incorrect – those nails were spinning , so fast you could see the afterimages forming strings around the plates. Johnny continued staring, dumbstruck at the sight. 

“My– my hands! The nails… What the hell are they doing, Gyro? My nails are spinning!” he sputtered. You could almost hear the gears grinding in his head: poor guy. You almost sympathised, but you had bigger problems to worry about. 

And by the looks of it, so did the Boom Booms. 

“Johnny, this is a ‘stand’ – this isn’t the same when I use the spin with my steel balls!” Zeppeli chattered nervously, leaning back and elbowing you in the process. 

“– Daddy, just hurry up and come back – hurry and… your leg!”

A lone leg was standing where the father had stood just a second prior. It was severed neatly just above the ankle, and was trembling ever-so-slightly, as if it hadn’t a clue which way to fall. The man to whom it used to belong paled at its sight; blood had already started pouring fiercely from his newly amputated leg. He wouldn’t last long. 

He opened and closed his mouth in shock, before screaming just as the foot fell sideways. 

Left.

You hadn’t seen what chopped it off, but you could only draw the most preliminary of conclusions. 

One of Johnny’s spinning blue nails was no longer there. 

In the next moment, the man’s body was slashed vertically in half. 

Then, Johnny’s fingernails sunk back into their normal colour: short, hastily-trimmed pink nails with a jagged nail plate edge. 

“You fucker!” Johnny’s body was lifted by the neck as L.A wrenched him free of you and the pile. “How dare you do that to Daddy! How dare you!”

“ Fuck,” Johnny gasped as his fingers tried in vain to wrench L.A off his neck. The man’s other hand slowly drew iron sand into where Johnny’s major arteries were; you could’ve sworn your own heart froze at the sight.

Shit, please work. You begged for that stupid button to reappear, but no matter how much energy Depeche Mode had, you couldn’t calm your focus down at all. 

“I’ll tear through your arteries!” he yelled through fat tears. You closed your eyes tightly. God . What was with this place giving you hope then tearing it away immediately? 

But Johnny didn’t make a sound. Rather, it was L.A’s shrill scream that you heard.

His fingers and half his foot were lying in the packed dirt. The culprit? Johnny’s fingernails were shining blue once more. Your eyes blew open as the force of the spin caused him to twist out of L.A’s grasp and flip through the air. 

“This– this can’t be my body! These legs… that couldn’t even walk – they jumped!” 

It was at that moment when you could finally breathe again. Zeppeli and Mountain Tim both rolled off you as you pressed your palms flat against the sand in an exhausted push-up. The iron powder – harmless shavings once more – felt lighter than air. 

“Yes! The iron sand that was wrapped around us fell off!” Zeppeli held a relieved smile on his face as he brushed the grains leftover on his body. You could taste mandarins once again. “The magnetic force is gone.”

“Gyro… I’ll ask you once more – what the hell was up with my fingers?”

“It’s a power of rotation that I don’t know about,” his expression shifted to nervousness and a fair bit of determination. “I swear, I absolutely have no clue. I’m as damn curious as you are!”

You got up shakily, over to where your things were. The damage wasn’t as severe as you’d anticipated – it seemed while Depeche Mode was over with Johnny it had also taken a few seconds to fix your things. Your saddle was good as new, while your equipment was still solid: albeit a bit scattered. 

Quietly, you tacked Group Four up once more. After all that, you had the feeling you’d make your escape soon enough. You stifled many a yawn, but the peace was much appreciated when your palms were still clammy with fear.

“Johnny Joestar…If you’re saying that what you did was beyond technique, then make no mistake. This is definitely a ‘stand’ – you’ve come under the influence of the Devil’s Palm,” Mountain Tim spoke up from next to your elbow, something which almost caused your hands to slip on the bridle as you adjusted the noseband. He passed you your bag wordlessly, and you thanked him almost silently. 

He smelled of sweat and amaranth, now that you could breathe without choking on metal. Under the dust, it felt as though he’d been drinking recently; a faint aroma of spirits and whiskey clung to his clothes. And beneath that was the smell of fresh timber. A strange mix for a ranger, but an interesting combination nonetheless. 

You attached your bag to your saddle and strapped it in securely. 

“We’ve been in it without realising,” he continued, and you broke out of your little bubble. What an idiot – why’d you been gawking at the man for the past minute? “We’re probably in the area right now. Call back your horses – we need to get out of here immediately.”

Right. 

How could you be so careless? 

After you’d vowed to be meticulous to avoid this place, and you’d ended up here once more. 

“I don’t know why it’s here,” he mounted his horse, clicking his tongue until it wheeled westwards. Could be coincidence! Or it could be that the land pulled us in.”

“It’s no coincidence,” you spoke up. With heavy shoulders, you mounted too – until the breeze licked at your face once more. 

“That’s right, probably the latter,” he agreed. 

“Get on your horses,” he ordered, gripping his reins urgently. “The ground will move and the land will change – if we don’t escape now, we’ll get lost! Forget about finding the waterhole.”

As much as you wanted to stay (who knew, maybe the winds would take you back to your time once more), you knew he was right. You’d die if you stayed here again – that was a truth you could feel in your guts. 

“Stop right there, you bastards! I’ll get you back – never will I forgive you for this!” 

When you looked back, all you could see was a wailing kid holding their dying father. Snot dripped down his face, and tears streaked hot and fast down his blotched face. His mouth was wide open with a perpetual wail; there was a certain level of hopeless rage on it that made you shudder with whiplash. Just a few minutes ago, you had that same stricken despondency. That was you . 

I was you. 

Though, when you looked at Johnny’s bleeding neck, you lost the sympathy. 

“Leave him,” Mountain Tim continued with a detached nonchalance. You couldn’t blame him; he’d been intentionally misled, found out they were the murderers he’d been looking for, and had almost been murdered himself. “The Boom Boom family is finished – they won’t be able to escape the desert with those wounds, and the Devil’s Palm won’t let them go. They’ll likely run out of water by noon tomorrow, and the rescue team will never find them.”

[This guy’s actually pretty scary, not going to lie.]

Hoofbeats traced the air until a final proclamation from L.A Boom Boom had you look back. His face was dark with shadows, while his eyes bore straight into Zeppeli. 

“Gyro Zeppeli – there’s no way you’ll reach the goal anyway,” he prophesied. Even with the tears running down his thin cheeks, there was a casual tranquillity in his words. 

(Gyro Zeppeli, dead at twenty-five. Excavators found his body in a Napoli tomb near the old palace. After the monarchy fell in the 1890s, the palace was mostly disused until cultural heritage organisations acquired it. The body was identified as the same Zeppeli who raced in the Steel Ball Run, until his death towards the end of the race, 19th January 1891. With help from Luisa Zeppeli’s memoirs, we’ve also identified him as one of the Zeppeli executioners for the King, whose family later went into hiding. Further research indicates that he was also trained as a surgeon-practitioner, graduating from the University of Naples Federico II.)

You shivered. 

It sounded like a blatant bluff, but you knew better. Unless you succeeded in taking down the president, that was a true prediction. 

“Do you think we’re the only ones after your life? Wrong! Wroooong! You couldn’t be more wrong! Just ask that person from your ‘country’!”

You couldn’t see Zeppeli’s face. When he turned, his countenance was a blank, stony mask. 

“The reason we were after your life wasn’t because you came in first! It’s because this person promised $200,000 for your death! There’s a booooounty on your head – you’re so dead!” His face lit up with maniacal joy, and he started laughing. It echoed loud and hard in the canyons, until it bounced off the walls with a feverish delirium that made you question your own sanity. 

“Who hired you?” Zeppeli asked coldly. His eyes, crinkled up with a smile just a few minutes ago, were emotionless and dark in the shadows of that slatted hat. You could hear his accent thicken at his barely concealed fury, and Group Four paced nervously at the change in the atmosphere. You really couldn’t blame the mare. 

“What are you guys doing? Hurry up, you three! The prints we left earlier are fading – we need to get out now ,” Mountain Tim yelled. He was several lengths ahead, and you could faintly feel the ground trembling – just like it had all those weeks ago. 

“I’ll fucking kill you, bastards.”

The cold rage was interspersed with the cackling of a madman as you left that cursed place behind. 

. 　⁺ ✦

“Gyro, what did he mean when he said that someone from your country was out for your life? Just what exactly was L.A Boom Boom talking about?”

When you glanced at Mountain Tim, he was silent alongside you – though you got the feeling his silence was out of politeness whereas yours was out of exhaustion. 

“I said, it’s none of your business.”

Zeppeli was curt. Even after travelling for around a mile in silence, his lips continued to press into each other – as if by compressing into a single point he’d make everything better. You couldn’t see his eyes. You doubted they’d lost that intense anger that refused to cool within. 

“Not this time,” Johnny insisted. His brows were scrunched with frustration: an emotion you hadn’t seen displayed on the jockey, but you’d felt lurking deep in him. Those toned arms had tensed in challenge; unstoppable force had finally met its immovable object. 

“I have the right to ask,” he continued. Each syllable was heavy with deliberation. He didn’t sound curious – no, he sounded painfully sober. “I almost lost my life back there. Mrs Robinson, too; he must’ve been there because of the bounty on your head.

“What’s your reason for entering this race, Officer Zeppeli? It must be related to that article, mustn't it? I’ll have you tell me!”

Zeppeli looked forward soundlessly. 

You knew, even without him speaking. 

Surgeon.

Executioner. 

Bound by duty.

“I’ll tell you what you need to know when we’re out of this place and at a checkpoint,” he spoke simply, and that was all. You understood the underlying message just as well as anyone present: I’ll tell you, and you only. 

And that was that. 

. 　⁺ ✦

Dawn was whispering at the horizon when you finally saw the decrepit town licking at the corners of your eyes. The air carried the faint, smoked smell of the sky slowly warming up, while your limbs ached with a chill that seemed impossible to dispel while riding. 

It was a tiny town, barely made to fit several mismatched families – let alone a herd of jockeys. The land was barren, the buildings were worn and the fresh American flags strewn on banners did little to tilt the atmosphere into a jauntier direction. 

The horses began pacing faster at the sight of the respite. Even in all its miserly glory, you too felt prickles of excitement at finally dropping onto a bed – and perhaps even getting to eat before doing so! 

Zeppeli looked back at you and met your eyes. He wore a jagged grin, one that oozed foreboding and ill-intent. His golden teeth were on full display – shining with the promise of competition. 

“Fuck,” you swore as he kicked Valkyrie into action. The Thoroughbred snorted and lengthened her stride, even as her muscles no doubt burned with exhaustion. Beside you, Johnny too let loose a string of profanities as he coaxed Slow Dancer into a faster canter. 

Group Four pulled at the reins at the sight of two other horses ahead of her. Despite your efforts, controlling her was futile and her pace quickened, until the wind tugged at your muscles and contorted your mouth into one of roaring laughter beneath the bandanna. 

“It’s not even a real end!” Mountain Tim yelled, but his words were for naught as you rode furiously – desperately – just for the sake of it. He was perhaps the wiser of your ramshackle group: wise enough to continue the walking pace he was comfortably riding in. 

“Eat shit!” Johnny called out as he passed the sign marking the town’s perimeter, just a nose ahead of Zeppeli. He slowed to a pace, right as you triumphantly sprung into the radius.

“He was not ahead of me,” Zeppeli argued, halting and spinning Valkyrie round so he faced you. “I was in front the whole time! You saw it too, did you not?”

“I’m not sure,” you replied thoughtfully, but a shit-eating grin was present underneath your bandanna.

“I know you saw it,” he insisted. 

“I saw Johnny win,” you shrugged. “ Aren’t you a sore loser…”

“What was that?” Zeppeli sputtered. “I hope for your sake I didn’t just hear what I thought you said.”

“See? I won, fair and square,” Johnny’s blue lips still had traces of blood on them, but you didn’t notice when they parted in a bright, sunny smile. You froze, staring at him for a few seconds before blinking and shaking yourself out of your exhausted stupor. 

“You wish,” Zeppeli muttered, but he didn’t argue further, instead choosing to squint at you in annoyance. 

“See you guys later.”

“You’re leaving already? But we long for your company so,” Zeppeli bared his teeth sardonically, and you could feel the warmth practically ooze from him. “Seriously, though, what gives? Are we not going to the same stables?”

“Yeah, but I’m staying as far away as I can,” you stated matter-of-factly. “No offence, but you two reek of trouble.”

[ And one quite literally reeks. ]

. 　⁺ ✦

Dear Vincent,

It’s been a day since I last wrote – though I’m not sure this letter will find you terribly quickly. I had your stew – the vegetable one, with the onions and peas and the lentils. It was wonderful. 

Don’t worry about me – I made it safely to the checkpoint, and I’ll be setting off in a few hours again once Group Four recuperates. 

Give Dolly and Martha my regards, please. 

Your barkeeper

. 　⁺ ✦

[toxicgreenslushi]

Low is questioning whether the toxicity and abusive behavior in a relationship was so bad you can't go back, because you're lonely.

You're lonely because you spent that past 2 and a half years with someone else every single day, morning and night. You make have been uncomfortable but the familiarity and the notion of being wanted fed into your desires of being loved, needed, or wanted.

But your needs often went unmet. You had to beg for understanding sometimes. You fought all the time. You were always questioning the future, be a day, a week, a month, a year from then. No end in sight to the disconnect or real work towards self reflection. Feeling alone when you were lying right next to someone.

But now you daydream about love and you try to sleep a little longer when you dream about love at night. You feel the ache like a deep sordid grief. There isn't anything to fill the void but you can't go backwards and backwards and backwards trying to recollect moments in time where you felt on top of the world. The past is gone. You have some good memories, but you can't live to please someone else and ignore the very real detrimental issues surrounding that relationship. Maybe it wasn't a "problem" for him. But you weren't ever going to be content just sweeping it all under the rug and playing pretend.

Sometimes you think you wish you could have played pretend. Because the ache of loss and loneliness combined with depression is a desolate road to walk along. You have to keep going even when you don't want to. You have to keep going.

But it keeps you up at night and keeps you in bed longer than you have time for these days. You ignore your very real responsibilities because you cannot see past your own struggles while the world is struggling and suffering around you and alongside you. But you feel helpless because you feel hopeless. You are a nightwalker with no where to turn at night and no one to turn to. You are a daydreamer who's dreams are fading to nothingness. You have to hold on to the tangible dreams, you have to move forward. You will be swept up in the passing of time regardless, so move with it instead of struggling against it.

Most days I don't want to do much at all. I could lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for hours. I could eat hardly a bite and only get out of bed to use the bathroom and maybe brush my hair and teeth. You move slowly and sluggishly and you have no real zest for life. You wish you could find it again but your mind keeps returning to the soreness, picking a scab, rubbing your tongue over a sore tooth, focusing on pain bringing more pain and then numbness. Because there is no avoiding the very real well of pain you have been encompassed within. Regardless if the world around you faces greater horrors you are in pain just the same. So don't make a fuss because you could have it worse, but the pain is like a knife in your chest. Immoveable and piercing. If you sit still maybe it won't hurt at much. But you have to move.

So move. Live. Even when you want to throw in the towel, even when you want to give into the darkness and fade into obscurity or eternal sleep. You can't let it consume you. Bad weather passes, feelings pass, so just keep looking towards better days. Hold onto any positivity and incentive to keep going. You are not the sum of all your bad feelings. You are not lost forever, just grief stricken and depressed. And that can feel like forever. But it isn't. Keep going. Keep going. Better days are on the horizon.

[ofshrewdardent]

Background

Jared Manning Background Jared Manning; he came from a small family; with being the only child. His parents were Violet and Micheal Manning. They met when they were in college; according to his mom it was love at first sight; although his dad did try to  resist the attraction. But by the end of college at Yale they were happy and more in love than ever. They started dating their second year of school. My mother had studied to be a teacher wanting to teach young minds, as for my dad he studied to be in law enforcement. After much debate the couple had started to make a life in California. With my dad getting into one of the best police academies in the country. And my mom believed she could find a job anywhere as long as she was with Micheal; she was very  optimistic. They had gotten engaged on the day my dad graduated from the police Academy, and a few short months later with only close friends and family they said I do. My mom loved to tell the story over the years. 

 A few years after being married Violet and Micheal had found himself fortunate enough to find themselves pregnant; it was unexpected. At the time neither wanted a baby; but knew if god decided to give them a child now it meant they were ready for this next step in life. Both adults had a strong connection with god; both going to church every Sunday; and even on the holidays for a special gathering. For the most part the pregnancy went smoothly; the worse was all the morning sickness in the first few months. A week ahead of Violet’s due date she  fell into labor; scared out of her mine; but Micheal had been by her side every step of the way. She had the baby at the local hospital. That day became one of the best days of their lives because when they held their baby boy for the first time; they fell  instantly in love. Jared Connor Manning.

The fear slowly disappeared with time. Violet had taking time off from the school system deciding she didn’t trust a nanny to take care of Jared. And she was a firm believer in her husband’s dreams of being a cop; she didn’t want him to stop saving innocent lives. So Violet had spent the first 6 years home with her son. Which was why Jared was closest to his mom, he was a momma’s boy. Mom was his first word; he started walking to her first. A mother and son bond it couldn’t be broken. When Violet felt it was okay she trusted herself to go back to teaching young minds when her son was in school. She was the annoying parent; always checking in, she cheered him on at the basketball games. His dad would show up; but one  thing or another always pulled him away. Jared almost felt abandoned from his dad; like he wasn’t a good enough son for him.

  That was until Jared was 20; he followed the footsteps and went to Yale. He was far beyond words of smart; he was top of his class through the years. But one night he was walking back to campus after having a late dinner with his friends off campus. It was dark; the wind was blowing in the air. Sirens could be heard in the distance. It was luck that night; but Jared was in the wrong place at the right time because when he heard a crash; he stopped real fast that night. He hid behind a trash can as he noticed the lights inside one of the jewelry shops going off; followed by a man in a black mask. A robbery. Living with a cop; the 

young adult knew the signs. He was quick he called 911 and within minutes a car showed up. It was amazed seeing how fast the cops moved; and even with resist from the robberies; they were caught. It’s what changed his course of life. It was that night that  Jared decided he was going to be a cop. He was lost until that night. He put in the work; he went to the same academy as his dad a few years later.

The difference was the male didn’t stay in the same town he grew up in. He got offered a position in  Seattle. It was a year that he was there the park right by his apartment where he jogged or ran every morning before his shift at the station that he met Clara. Nearing bumping into her; when he had his music in; he tended to lose himself. It was awkward but she was nice. Laughing it off. She had this smile he remembered to this day. One conversation left him breathless; it was so easy to see her as someone he wanted to know. Jared dated before; but Clara was different which was only confirmed a few days  later when he was called to a crime scene. Note pad in hand with his lucky pen when he saw her. She was working the case? What were the olds. It felt like fate for him and the rest was history. He stood by the fact it was love at first sight for him. Just  like his parents. One date led to another. And well the pair were now married with a daughter Lola. She had a image of both of them. Smart like both her parents; she had the sense of humor like her dad. Her smile was splitting image of Clara. Life almost felt perfect; having a stable job, and home. Both doing their part to be good parents to Lola. Jared didn’t think anything could ever burst the bubble they were in, almost as if a shoe would drop.

[queen-haq]

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 16

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 16

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Rating: R for language and smut.

Words: ~3100 words.

Summary: You’ve been sleeping with Billy Russo for a few months now. Knowing his aversion to emotional commitments, you’re satisfied with your clandestine arrangement until you catch him having dinner with Dinah Madani one night. Then it finally dawns on you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to commit, he just doesn’t want to commit to *you*.

Billy may think he knows you, but he has no idea what he’s just lost…

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14  Part 15

gif credit: @benbarnxs

Part 16

You were straddling Billy, riding him, your hips undulating atop his body. His fingers tightly gripped your waist, getting ready to take charge so you were underneath him, but you refused to submit. Instead you grabbed his hands and pinned it above his head. As you hovered above him, he arched up to kiss you but you shifted back, instead staring down at him intently. He growled at you before he rolled over unexpectedly, taking you along with him.

As he thrust into you, harder and rougher each time, you began to slide off the bed. In your new position, you caught sight of Adam on the floor. His corpse was wrapped up in a rug, only his head sticking out-

“Hey.” Billy pulled you up so you were now sitting across his lap, facing him. “Look at me. Only me.”

Only a few seconds ago he was biting you as you clawed at him, both of you desperate to possess each other. Your movements had been savage, animalistic even, but now Billy was kissing you languidly, his hand brushing the back of your hair while the other settled on the small of your back. You were directing the rhythm of the thrusts now, setting a slower pace so you could fully enjoy the feel of his cock stretching your insides oh-so-tantalizingly. Your forehead braced against his, you closed your eyes and lost yourself to the flood of emotions that overcame you.

***

It was after midnight. Billy had come home with you and both of you were in bed, you nestled against him while he spooned you from behind. Even though you were tired, you couldn’t sleep. Your brain was working overtime processing everything that happened in the last few hours. He stirred next to you, dropping a tender kiss on your bare shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured. You may have been fully alert but he sounded absolutely exhausted.

“Are you sure they’ll be thorough with the cleaning?”

“Yeah.” Throwing his arm over you, he covered your hand with his. “These guys are not amateurs. They know what they’re doing. There won’t be any traces of us left in that room.”

“And Adam’s body-”

“Will be disposed of.”

“But how do you know you can trust these guys? What’s stopping them from blackmailing-”

“’cause money talks, babe. That crew is very well paid.” He squeezed your palm. “I’ve used them in the past. No trouble yet.”

With his military career you were already aware of his violent past, but you also sensed he had a long hit list aside from that. When he’d realized your plans for Adam, he hadn’t been remotely shocked at the idea of you killing another person. In fact, as you stabbed Adam repeatedly, Billy had looked at you with such pride and reverence that it had left you breathless.

“What we did tonight, you know what that means, don’t you?”

His voice brought you out of your reverie. You exhaled a deep breath, drawing circles on his palm. “That we’re bad people.”

“No, we’re survivors. We take down anyone who gets in our way.”

“He didn���t come after you,” you reminded him. “You didn’t have to get involved.”

He turned you around to face him. “Nobody threatens you and gets to live after that.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. When he looked at you with such intensity, you were almost ready to believe anything.

He cradled your face, his thumb caressing your bottom lip. “We’re connected now. Forever. Because of tonight.”

You didn’t understand how his words could evoke such conflicting emotions within you. On one hand your stomach fluttered with excitement, he was saying things you’d wanted to hear for a long time, but then there was the fear. Doubt. Uncertainty. You forced a smile, hoping some levity would lighten the situation. “You make it sound like we’re married or something.”

Disgust flooded over his face. “Fuck, no. Marriages end. One day you’re bragging about being in love, next it’s all over. It’s not based on anything real. But we are.” He reached for your hand, which was resting on the pillow between you and him, and intertwined his fingers through yours. “I saw you tonight, the real you. And you saw me. No pretenses, no boundaries. And you didn’t run. You didn’t even flinch.”

“Neither did you.” You lifted your eyebrow. “You were rock hard.”

“I always am around you.”

His words made the heat rise in your cheeks, which he noticed right away. Giving you a teasing smile, he leaned in closer to give you a peck on the cheek. “Are you blushing?”

“Shut up.”

Billy’s eyes remained locked on you, simply staring at you with sleepy eyes. “I don’t like who I was when I thought I lost you. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t work. Every time I closed my eyes I imagined you fucking this other guy, kissing him. Even the thought of you talking to him made me want to burn it all down.”

Your heart ached at how tired he looked. Scooting closer, you started massaging his forehead. When he closed his eyes, you dropped a gentle kiss on each of his eyelids, the beauty mark just below his right eye, before snuggling him tightly in your arms. “Sleep, Billy.”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” he murmured drowsily.

You smiled. “It is my apartment.”

He didn’t respond, already fast asleep. You tried to do the same but couldn’t; there were too many thoughts running around in your brain. You had assumed you’d feel guilty about taking a life; you didn’t. You remembered the vicious, contemptuous anger in Adam’s eyes when he’d held you at gunpoint, and how he’d threatened to kill others in your team, and all you felt was relief. Relief that he was dead and no longer a danger to you.

Billy stirred next to you, drawing your attention. You reached out to hold him, your touch feather-light so as not to wake him up. He looked calm and peaceful, unlike the haunted and distraught way he appeared earlier in the hotel room. It was still hard to digest that he’d been so unhinged at the thought of losing you. But the thing that resonated with you the most was that he hadn’t been able to hurt you despite all of the anger he’d felt. Growing up the way you had, you were always on alert for things to turn violent at any moment. One wrong comment or an innocent gesture - hell even a lone pair of sock on the floor - had the potential to trigger your father’s temper and turn things violent. During those moments his rage was uncontrollable, and as a result you always worried about how people reacted when they were furious. The fact that Billy hadn’t hit you even though he’d been completely enraged made you realize you were physically safe with him.

Maybe emotionally as well. For so long you’d had difficulty believing he could reciprocate your feelings yet you couldn’t ignore how devastated he’d been. Nor could you rationalize away his emotions. It still felt surreal but he did truly care about you, and the thought filled you with warmth and made your heart soar with happiness.

You brushed your lips against his, hoping Billy’s comforting presence next to you would help you relax. However, fifteen minutes later sleep still alluded you. Eventually you decided to do something useful and work instead. Carefully sliding out of bed so you didn’t disturb him, you tip-toed out of the bedroom. Immediately you felt the soreness in your body, an after effect of the rough sex you had with Billy in the hotel room earlier. Grabbing a nearby throw, you were soon nestled in your favourite spot on the chaise lounge, working away on your laptop.

An hour later you heard footsteps behind you and you turned around to find Billy yawning, clad in boxers, his hair all ruffled.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” he grumbled.

You scooted over to give him space to sit on the chaise but he seemed to have other ideas in mind as he took a seat behind you. You found yourself settled between his legs, your back nestled against his chest, as he caressed down the length of your arms.

“I couldn’t sleep. Figured I might as well do something useful.”

“What corporate shit are you working on?” he teased, playfully grabbing your laptop to look at your screen. You smacked his arm right away, shutting the screen and pushing the laptop away.

Billy purposely rubbed his face against the base of your neck and you started giggling at the sensation of his prickly beard on your bare skin. “Stop,” you whined. “It tickles.” you squealed loudly, trying to jump out of his arms but he held you in a tight grip.

Finally he stopped, and as you struggled to catch your breath, you slapped his arm playfully. “You’re such a jerk.”

He chuckled, hugging you tightly from behind. “That’s for ignoring all my calls since Tuesday.”

“I’m still not unblocking your number,” you retorted. His beard scraped along your shoulder, making you squeal again. “Okay, fine. Sorry!”

“Swear that you’re not gonna block me again.”

You turned around in his arms, resting on your knees as your arms looped around his neck. Smiling down at him, you nuzzled your nose with his. “Swear that you won’t act like an asshole again.”

“Can’t really do that.”

“Exactly.” He tucked your hair behind your ear. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the tender affection on his face, the warmth of his gaze spreading slow, languid heat throughout your body. “You should go back to bed. You still look tired.”

“I’ve had a rough week.”

You pouted your lips. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Want to make it up to me?” he asked, cocking his eyebrow at you.

”How? By sucking you off?” you teased, running your fingers through his hair.

“Move in with me.”

Your hands stilled on him, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. At first you thought he was joking but the solemn expression on his face made you realize otherwise. You moved away, putting much needed distance between the two of you.

“That’s not funny, Billy.”

Maintaining a rigid posture on the chaise lounge, he shrugged his shoulders. “Not meant to be. I’m dead serious.”

“You know that’s ridiculous, right?”

“Why? ‘cause I wanna keep you safe?”

“The threat is gone. I took care of it.”

“We took care of it,” he said pointedly. “A threat which you didn’t even tell me about.”

“I explained that to you already.” Feeling defensive, you started pacing the floor. “You promised you’d have your guy stop tailing me.”

“Sure. As soon as I know you’re not gonna keep things from me again. You moving in will help with that.”

“So if I don’t move in, you’ll have me followed 24/7?” Anger surged through you, you were so furious you wanted to scream. “That’s fucking blackmail.”

“Relax. No need to be so dramatic about it.”

You grabbed the closest cushion you had and flung it at him, enraged by his patronising tone. “We barely know each other-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he interjected, finally moving to stand up. His eyes were pitch black, his jaw clenched. “You and I killed someone tonight! You took my hand, my knife, and we stabbed the bastard in the heart with it, together. We fucked while he drew his last breath and now you’re feeding me this bullshit?” He stormed towards you. “No! I’ve seen your darkness and you’ve seen mine. There’s no one else in this world that knows us better than we know each other.”

You shook your head, flabbergasted by his reaction. “This is insane. I can’t move in with you. We haven’t even gone out on a real date because you said I was boring!”

“If you believe that then you really are a fucking idiot!”

You stiffened, his words ringing in your ear. Fucking idiot. Something your father used to call you repeatedly, his tone full of hate and vitriol when he lashed out at you. It started with a fucking idiot then spiralled into bitch and whore and everything else hurtful under the sun. You swore to yourself you’d never accept being spoken to like that by another person yet here you were, being insulted again by someone who was supposed to care about you.

You retreated back from Billy, careful to keep your distance from him, and leveled him with a cold glance. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again.” 

Your voice may have been deceptively calm but there was a storm brewing inside you. You desperately needed some space. As you moved away from Billy and headed to the kitchen, he tried to block your path but you immediately pushed him away. “Don’t touch me!”

You quickly sidestepped past him and entered the kitchen, heading for the cabinet where you kept your bottle of whiskey. Pouring yourself a glass, you slowly sipped the liquid to soothe your frayed nerves and forget the memories Billy had just unleashed in you.

***

Even as the words left his mouth, Billy knew he’d made a mistake. He regretted what he said instantly, even more so when he realized how much the words had stung you. The last thing he wanted was to cause you pain but he couldn’t seem to help himself. The more he tried to hold on to you the more you slipped through his fingers.

After giving you a few minutes to calm down, he entered the kitchen behind you. You were standing in the opposite corner, drinking the hard stuff, which further signalled how shaken you were. Billy knew Scotch wasn’t something you enjoyed, you only drank it when you were messed up.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I shouldn’t have said that. It won’t happen again. I swear.”

You didn’t acknowledge him, and it hurt like hell.

“When I think about you pulling away from me, it makes me lose my mind.” He swallowed audibly, desperately trying to get through to you. “I’m all in when it comes to us but it feels like you always have one foot out the door.” He took hesitant steps towards you while your eyes still remained on the countertop, refusing to meet his gaze. “I keep fucking up but I’ve never felt this way before. I don’t know what I’m doing. I just can’t lose you, Y/N.”

“I’m not built like you, Billy,” you finally spoke, turning to look at him. “I have doubts. I’m constantly dealing with insecurities. It takes me time to trust people, and I just can’t rush into things head-on.”

“And I’m someone who hustles. I go after everything I want with guns blazing. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have Anvil.”

“But I’m not a thing, Billy. I’m a person, and you can’t push me into doing stuff I’m not ready for.”

He exhaled a resigned sigh. “I know. It’s ‘cause I get paranoid when it comes to you. You’re a closed book and you never tell me anything.” His eyes scanned yours, his stomach clenched with anxiety. “I don’t even know how you feel about me.” It was the first time he’d voiced that thought, something he didn’t even realize he felt until this very moment. You wanted him, that he knew, and you’d even confessed you loved him once but he didn’t really believe in that bullshit. What mattered to him was if you needed him as much as he did you. The idea of not having you in his life drove him insane, but did you feel the same way? He didn’t think so and it bothered the fuck out of him.

You set your glass down on the counter before reaching out to cradle his face, your soulful eyes meeting his emotional gaze. “I want to be with you, Billy. I like you so much that it scares me.”

Your words brought with them a tidal wave of relief that swept over him like a calm breeze. It was like he could breathe again. He pulled you close, his forehead against yours as he simply held you. “Don’t be scared, babe. I don’t bite.”

“That is a complete fucking lie,” you retorted. “I still have the marks from earlier to prove it.” Your smile faded again as you held his stare. “But I need you to be patient with me. You can’t bully me or get mad if I don’t want to rush into things.”

He nodded his head. “I won’t.”

“I’ve only ever had myself to rely on. And the thought of trusting you? Relying on you? It scares the hell out of me. Because there’s always a voice in my head that’s reminding me I need to go back to being alone when we end things.”

“I need to kill that voice.”

You chuckled, reaching out to loop your arms behind his back. “It shuts up eventually. It did in the hotel room when I saw how fucked up you were without me. That’s when it sunk in you actually do like me.”

“It took you that long to believe it?”

You gave him a sad smile. “Yeah. You did tell me I was boring.”

He groaned right away, regret washing over him. He should never have said those fucking words to you. “You’re not boring. You’re smart. And hot.” He kissed your left cheek. “And sweet. And funny. And mine.” Then the right cheek. “And when you lecture me about cybersecurity, I get so hard.”

“Whatever. You’re the one who wanted to know more about the topic,” you grumbled.

He grinned, giving you a tender peck on the lips. “I can listen to you talk for hours and hours-“

“Shut up.” You pressed your palm over his mouth.

Wrapping his arms around you, he lifted you off the ground and started carrying you back to the bedroom. “Forever actually, if you’re naked.”

“Not once have I lectured you naked.”

He dropped you on the bed. “Yeah, exactly. Time you start.” He jumped into bed, rubbing his beard on your face again as you started squealing.

A few minutes later you were both panting for air, staring up at the ceiling. “Just to make it clear, I’m not moving in,” you huffed through laboured breaths.

He turned to look at you, smirking. “Fine, but I’m taking you out tonight. Proper date and all.”

The most beautiful smile graced your face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You were a ray of sunshine beaming up at him and Billy’s heart felt so full he worried it would explode. If he could, he’d freeze this moment forever.

Part 17

A/N - As always, your wonderful feedback is what keeps me inspired to write and post consistently. I was initially nervous about this chapter because the characters experience a gamut of emotions but it was necessary. I hope you like and enjoy this chapter. Feedback, as always, is very much appreciated and feeds my soul :)

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[samstree]

Just a Little Pretense

Jaskier and Geralt stage a fake breakup. Someone’s feelings get hurt for real.

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

AO3

“… It would be to take you off my hands!”

Geralt’s voice echoes in the ballroom, between the tall walls and the high ceiling. Everyone on the dance floor has fallen into silence. Even the band has stopped playing, their lead singer gaping with round eyes.

Jaskier blinks, impressed.

All the eyes are on the two of them. Jaskier’s back prickles with the gazes. As the fight escalated, more and more guests have stopped dancing just to eavesdrop on the witcher and the bard, the most peculiar couple in the room.

Which is just perfect. The more people witnessing their breakup, the more awkward it will be afterward, and the easier it will be to get out of this tedious party. And here Jaskier is, regretting ever having doubted his dear witcher’s ability to perform.

Who would have thought Geralt is a method actor? Drawing inspiration from a past argument is ingenious.

His old acting professor back in Oxenfurt would approve of this. The show is going swimmingly and he is pumped with adrenaline—maybe he should go back on stage one day, do a play or two.

But alas, he can muse the idea later. The show must go on.

“Really? Just like that?” Jaskier croaks, seemingly on the verge of crying. He’s not so bad himself, classically trained and everything. “Thirty years, Geralt. I followed you for thirty years, and just like that, you will kick me out of your life? Did I ever—” he breaks off with a whimper. “Did I ever mean anything to you? Or were you ready to cast me aside this whole time?”

A tear rolls down. His lips wobble. The crowd erupts in hushed murmurs and sympathetic sighs. The set-up, the build, everything has been perfect. Now the only thing left is for Geralt to break things off, and the two of them can ride into the metaphorical sunset and never see this court again.

Jaskier waits in anticipation, but his witcher opens his mouth.

And closes it.

Geralt looks as upset as he should, angry and torn and equally shocked, his golden eyes wide and his jaw clenched tight. It’s a nice picture to paint for the audience. They are supposedly having the biggest fight in their lives and his body language is very convincing.

More than convincing.

Except, it just might be … too convincing.

Wait—

Jaskier focuses on Geralt, who looks as if he wants to shrink into himself, his shoulders slumped and arms drawn in. He looks as if he’s waiting to be struck. Wait, something’s not right.

“I can’t do this.” A whisper leaves Geralt’s lips, small and achingly sad.

It’s not the line he’s supposed to say.

Geralt’s eyebrows droop ever so slightly, and there’s a flash of distress behind the molten gold. It’s gone in a second, hidden behind a façade of indifference.

The tells are subtle, near imperceivable to the untrained eye, but to Jaskier, they are clear as day—Geralt is hurt. For real.

Oh.

Fuck.

“Geralt,” Jaskier tries, instantly snapped out of his character.

And yet, there’s no reply. Geralt lowers his head, turns around, and flees the scene within one heartbeat and the next. The crowd is too eager to make way for him.

“Shit,” Jaskier curses, ready to chase after Geralt, but the Countess de Stael appears out of nowhere with a flock of maids and positively blocks him in all directions. She’s eager to lament the loss of love and companionship, and to offer Jaskier a place at her court once again. Oh, shit.

Jaskier brushes her off, all the while painfully remembering he and Geralt’s goal from the beginning—to use the breakup as an excuse to get out of this place.

Well, the plan is shit. Is it too late to notice?

Weaving through dozens of nobles is a lot more difficult when they all want to extend sympathy, and Jaskier is only placating them absent-mindedly, faking regret and heartbreak. His mind is full of his witcher, who is either brooding or spiraling over the venom he spewed earlier.

The truth is, Jaskier has long forgotten about the mountain—not because it didn’t hurt. To be shunned by Geralt, blamed for everything, and denied friendship, was the worst thing to have happened to him at the time. It’s just that Jaskier has forgiven it, so long ago and so completely.

Jaskier cannot get to their room fast enough, and when he pushes open the door, the sight of Geralt’s dejected face is a stab through the chest. The witcher is perched on the bed, somehow looking a lot smaller than he is.

Jaskier never should have come up with the stupid fake breakup thing, never should have inadvertently reopened the old wound. They healed, together. They shouldn’t be hurting anymore.

“I explained. We can leave now,” Jaskier tires, but in fairness, he doesn’t remember what he said to the Countess. “Geralt?”

The witcher himself crosses his arms, hugging his midriff and avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. “Good,” he answers curtly, shoulders still tense.

He looks angry, and when Geralt is angry, it’s most likely with himself. Oh, whatever heartbreak Jaskier acted out earlier, it’s not a match to a fraction of what he’s feeling now. It must be the one millionth time Geralt’s self-loathing has broken Jaskier’s heart, and it never gets easier, not when Jaskier caused it himself.

“Hey.” Jaskier desperately wants to wrap his arms around Geralt. So he does. He sits down on the bed and pulls his witcher into the biggest bear hug, which is returned immediately and so very tightly. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I fucked up, Geralt. I’m—”

“Don’t be.” Geralt buries his nose into Jaskier’s neck and shakes his head. “I never should have said those things, Jask. I should be the one apologizing. It was wrong and untrue and I would never abandon you. You are my best friend. How can I ever? Please, believe me…”

Geralt trails off, his hands rubbing circles into Jaskier’s back. Although it’s unclear who he’s trying to soothe.

“I know. It’s okay. I know,” Jaskier murmurs, over and over again, sealing each reassurance with a kiss pressed into silver hair.

“I never meant it, Jask.”

“I know. It was fake. We were pretending.”

Geralt pulls away, golden eyes dead serious, pausing between every word. “I never meant it.”

Jaskier meets his gaze unwaveringly, with not an ounce of doubt. “I know.”

They stay there for a while, just holding each other. Geralt keeps sniffing Jaskier’s scent the same way he always does to check for injury or distress. He thinks he’s subtle, the sweet man, so Jaskier never mentions it.

Despite what an outsider might assume, Geralt is the sensitive one between the two. He’s so careful when it comes to their relationship, especially after the mountain and sometimes to his own detriment.

He’s so scared of hurting Jaskier again.

“I was an idiot for suggesting it,” Jaskier breaks the silence, nudging Geralt in the knee.

Geralt hums, lips pursed.

“Fake breakup is a terrible idea. Next time we’ll just grit our teeth and sit through the month-long party.”

Still, no smile.

“Alright, you win. Next time I won’t take you to a month-long party to start with.” Jaskier gently pats Geralt on the cheek. “For your delicate sensibilities, darling.”

Finally, finally, Geralt’s lips turn upwards, just a smidge.

“You are an idiot,” Geralt says, the crease between his brows fading. “Just…don’t make me make you cry again.”

Melting into the warmth welling up between his ribcage, Jaskier leans forward and presses a tiny kiss at his witcher’s forehead, so softly as if he’d break with any more force.

“Yes, dear.”

Being careless with Geralt’s heart is a mistake that Jaskier never wants to repeat. As he put a hand over his witcher’s languid heartbeat, Jaskier feels the soft thrumming against his palm, and realizes just how terribly he needs to guard it with the same care too. Against his frivolous self, and against the past that never seems to stop haunting them.

Because Jaskier needs this thing between them to work. If a faked breakup already seems unbearable, he shudders to imagine a real one.

A witcher’s life is already riddled with pain and sadness and could-have-beens. A poet would hate it if he added himself to the list.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon

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[buckybarnesdiaries]

white wolf: “the show must go on”

first part — second part

third part — fourth part (soon)

© gif credits to the author, i found it on google. if you're the author lemme know your @.

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Sam helps Bucky to ask you out for a date and it’s a disaster, but he gets it.

word count: 1'9k.

warnings/tags: none. bucky being so innocent gives me life. + he being so damn cute as always.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

“Have plans with your girl tonight?”

Bucky clicked his tongue, putting down the weight to the holder, not turning to Sam still doing squats and an awkward noise out of breath. His partner couldn't help but raise an eyebrow and giggle while shaking his head, fast enough to steal the soldier's clean towel before he reached it.

“She's not my girl”.

“Not yet, you mean, uh?” He joked then, using the clothing like a whip to hit the metal arm. “But, you have plans or not?”

“Yeah, we have plans”. Bucky admitted eventually, glancing at Sam also stealing his bottle of water. “She invited me to watch a movie”.

It was the innocent and unworried tone of voice from him that made Sam choke, cough, and laugh at once.

“What?”

“Oh, man… Can't believe you're sinful enough to do what we do but too innocent to not see what that means”.

“It means we're gonna watch a movie”.

Bucky was confused at the laughter, trying to understand what he was referring to as he rested his back against the wall and crossed both arms over his chest. Expecting anything else from his wise friend.

“This is the twenty-first century, you ancient. We don't watch movies”.

“What d— What do you mean? You have Netflix, HBO, Prime Video… What's the point?”

Sam was deadpanned, staring in silence at the soldier, not believing what his ears were hearing. “We, guys, don't watch movies with girls, even less when they are the ones inviting us”.

Bucky squinted at him, tilting his head like a lost poppy would do, not being able to read between lines. His partner gasped exasperated, running a hand up and down his face.

“You know, man? Sometimes I feel alone, not having anyone to laugh with about that forties' manners of yours. Should I call Sarah, maybe?”

“Cut the show”. He hissed standing up and passing him away.

“Oh, no, no, no… the show has just started, man, and I have my popcorn ready”.

Bucky had been beating around the bush the whole day, trying to let it out of his mind. Of course, it was something that would happen sooner or later, and —more than of course— he wanted it to happen. The mere fact of thinking about you and him, flesh against flesh, hearing you moaning his name and making you feel good caused him goosebumps and an awkward sensation beneath his black jeans. Suddenly, swallowing saliva turned impossible, biting his lower lip while ringing the intercom of your apartment. Your response didn't last more than a couple of seconds, opening the door downstairs and waiting for him at the entrance of your apartment.

The butterflies fluttered within your bellies when Bucky stepped out of the lift, showing you that charming smile that could make you kill anyone who dared to erase it from his face.

“Trying to get me drunk?” You joked as he raised the bottle of red wine in his left hand.

“Maybe?”

“Missed you today”. You whispered at the soft kiss on your lips and his arm getting wrapped around your lower waist.

“So did I”. He sighed, sounding a little tired, caressing your nose with his.

Yesterday he talked to you about a routine medical check-up the government used to do every six months until he earned his pardon. Four hours of intense exercise to make sure the supersoldier serum was still doing its effect, as he started to feel somewhat tired since he stayed in Wakanda. For Bucky, it was really easy to open up himself with you and talk about his past and some of the things he did. And he didn't complain when you helped him to take off his leather jacket, watching him rubbing his left shoulder.

“I, uh… also was this morning with Sam. Training”. He told you, following you to your kitchen to find a couple of glasses. Turning at him, you couldn't help but raise an incredulous eyebrow. “Don't look at me like that… I know to perfection what you're thinking”.

“You're a telepath now?”

“God, no. I have enough with the voices inside my head, to hear someone's else”. He chuckled resting against the fridge. “But you're very expressive and I was trained to read body language”.

“So, what am' thinking?” You asked driven by curiosity, entertained on opening the bottle of wine.

“Look at this guy… He looks hotter than a barbecue”.

You broke into a loud laugh, shaking your head as you grabbed the drink and the glasses. “Not even close, Sergeant”.

“Liar”. He blurted into your face, passing him away to the living room where the Thai takeaway was waiting for the two of you.

“I'm not lying! You're a lousy body reader”.

“So… you can do it better, uh?”

“Didn't say so, but… yeah”. You replied, placing the wine and the glasses on the coffee table next to the big green sofa.

“Okay, go ahead. What am 'thinking, genius?”

Standing in front of him, some inches away, you squinted at his eyes in advance of touring his posture from top to bottom with your orbs.

“Look at that girl… she's hotter than a volcano”.

“Not even closer, soldier”. Bucky repeated your words, kissing his teeth and causing you to laugh again.

“Liar”.

The night went on, enjoying your dinner and watching the first part of Scary Movie. Since Bucky told you that he loved the horror genre, you thought that it'd be a good start. As you finished the Thai dishes, you two cuddled on your sofa, and it felt nice to be embraced by his muscly arms and had your head rested on his shoulder. He had never been that happier before, imagining for a moment —staring at you by the corner of his eyes— that he wasn't a retired lethal assassin controlled by a bunch of psychos, just a guy watching a movie with his girl.

For some reason that increased his pulse, having to clear his throat as the thought dried it. You couldn't let it go, wrinkling your nose with curiosity, raising your face slightly at Bucky trying to focus on the movie, and pretending everything was going okay.

“What?” He murmured about to laugh nervously, putting his head back a couple of inches to look better at you.

“Seems like you're gonna have a heart attack, what's the matter?”

The soldier breathed heavily through his nostril, expelling all the air in a sight through his parted lips. A lower giggle escaped them as your eyes widened a little more interested in his response to your question.

“Sam… Sam said something this morning”.

There it was. Your grimace turned skeptical, sitting up to borrow the control remote and pause the movie. Turning to face him and placing an arm on the headrest, you puckered your lips in a funny gesture watching him click his tongue.

“Things are different nowadays and… y'know, we used to watch movies”.

“And that's what we're doing”.

“Yeah, but… it's like… now there are some kinds of non-speak social rules”.

You knew exactly what he was referring to and seeing him somewhat troubled and tense just made your heart melt. It wasn't that he was scared, but it almost felt like.

“Is it your first time since the forties?” You dared to ask, clearly with no intentions of making fun of him.

“I've never really… y'know, I was in my twenties when I left Brooklyn. I me— mean, 'm not stupid, okay? I've done things but not… sex like… to the whole point”. Bucky didn't have his eyes on you when he made that confession, rubbing the bridge of his nose by inertia as his nervousness increased. “And now everything… is pretty different”.

“It doesn't have to”. You just replied, stretching a hand to his right one to intertwine your fingers. “Listen, Buck… We don't have to, okay? We don't have to do anything if you're not ready. We can watch the movie and then… you can go, or you can stay to sleep with me”.

“I'd like that”.

“Leave?”

“Yeah, totally, if you excuse me, ma'am… I gotta leave” He clearly joked, about to stand up until you pushed him down to the sofa bursting in laughter. “Nah, I, uh… I mean, I'd like to sleep with you tonight”.

“I'd like too, and to wake up tomorrow morning with you”.

“Yeah, would be very awkward if you go to sleep with me and wake up with another guy in your bed”.

Bucky smirked at you, biting his upper lip before leaning to press both on yours. He couldn't believe you were being so comprehensive with him, not making any other uncomfortable questions, nor kicking his ass out of your house. At that moment, he realized he was madly in love with you, bringing you closer to himself so he could embrace you tenderly between his arms. And you let him, not wanting anything else than to be with him.

At the moment the movie finished, you both stretched your hands to the ceiling with a yawn opening your mouths. You palmed his thigh to beckoning at him, urging the soldier to follow you as you rubbed your eyes using your knuckles, a little sleepy. Turning off the lights on your way to your room, you changed your clothes for a baggy Iron Maiden's t-shirt, as he stripped himself leaving his clothes on the chair in front of your bed, only wearing a pair of black boxers at the end.

You were about to ask him which side he preferred when the words died on your tongue, glancing at him with his flesh hand over his dark grey shoulder. It was the first time you saw the vibranium arm in all its glory and Bucky gave you the impression of being embarrassed. He'd never stop surprising you with plenty of emotions for things that for you didn't have any importance actually —like the fact of not having two real arms.

“Come here”. You murmured, kneeling on the mattress and palming the other lateral, observing every one of his actions till lying next to him, in the middle of the gloom of your room.

Covering both of you with the sheets and turning on your sides to face each other, Bucky took the initiative of wrapping you close to his chest, as he placed his head on your pillow. He couldn't help but take a soft breath from your heavenly smell impregnated in, provoking a smile to grow on your lips. Surrounding his neck with your arms, you sunk your fingers in his short hair, gently caressing his scalp while you started to spread tender short kisses all around his face.

“This feels good”. He purred with such a pleased tone of voice, closing his eyes as he adventured his warm hand under your shirt to draw invisible patterns on your back.

“So good”. You affirmed, peppering his cheek with a bunch of noisy smooches.

Bucky squeezed you between his grip, hiding his face into the gap of your shoulder and neck, causing you goosebumps because of his exhalation against your skin. He was comfortable being that close, with no distance separating your chests and your legs intertwined in a bundle. You saw how relaxed he was when he pulled his head back to the pillow, noses touching and his eyelids closed.

“Good night, Buck”. You whispered, still feeling his caresses on your back, leaning to kiss him one last time.

“Good night, doll”.

a / n: i hope you have enjoyed the fluffiness of these three chapters because the fourth is gonna be... chaotic.

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[helliontherapscallion]

Stressful Spectres (Sweet Betrayal Part 3)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 4

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of abuse/neglect, mentions of death, slight body gore, blood

Word count: 2,873

With hands tightly clasped behind your back, you tensely paced around your office. The Pogtopians were constantly being sighted around the borders of Manberg and it was your job to prevent this. You tried everything; setting up traps, luring mobs around the vicinity, nothing worked. They just kept coming back like pesky cockroaches following pheromones. The only way you’d be able to prevent them from spying into the borders was to rebuild a wall, and Schlatt would turn your idea down the second the word ‘wall’ would leave your mouth. He gave you only two days to completely figure everything out from the last time one of the cowards was spotted running from the borders, and it seems that those two days are nearly up. 

“You should take a break, (y/n).” Without looking at him, you kept pacing and ignored him. “Stop ignoring me, you know I don’t like when you do that… Please, take a break. I’m worried about you,” he sounded just like he did from before. You felt your eye twitch. 

“...(Y/n), remember what I used to sing to you?” He chuckled, the sound being airy and far off, “‘hey hobo man, hey dapper Dan-’”

“Shut the fuck up!” You grabbed your vase and hurled it blindly in his direction. The glass shattered against the wall and you heard nothing else from the teenager. “I don’t need you anymore.” He had been visiting you for the past week or so, ever since Schlatt found out about you taking your birthday off. You were banned from speaking to the Badlanders and got a few physical punishments that would definitely give you more scars on your arms. It was your fault anyways, you were slacking off during a war when you were one of the leaders of this country.

Your door opened when you were mid pace, making you plaster a strained smile on your face and spin around to narrow your eyes at whomever decided to not knock. You were greeted by a slightly buzzed ram hybrid raising an eyebrow at you. He must’ve just started drinking. 

Whenever he was only slightly buzzed or on the very rare chance he was sober, he was the most affectionate with you. It wasn’t much, only small praises and the occasional smile, but by Ender you ate it up like you were a drug addict getting their first hit in months. You craved any type of affection, no matter where it came from or how rarely it came. You were willing to wait for it, even if it was rare. 

His amber gaze flicked around the room before it landed on the ceramic shards embedded into the carpet. He jutted his chin towards it, “fuck happen there?” 

You ran your hand down your face and massaged your aching cheeks, “nothing. Just thought I saw a rat, but my mind was just playing tricks on me.” His calculating gaze pierced through you like a spear before he narrowed his eyes slightly and nodded. He walked over to the window and looked out at the vast city, hands neatly clasped behind his back. “...Have you come up with a solution to our... problem?”

You sighed angrily and resumed your pacing, “I’ve tried everything. They just dismantle the traps I set up, kill the mobs I lure around it, they even killed the iron golems! The only option here is to put up the walls again.” 

“I know you didn’t just say what I thought you fuckin said,” Schlatt hissed out, “there’s no way in hell I’m putting up those walls again.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do then, that’s our only option,” you mumbled under your breath only to freeze when Schlatt stomped up to you. He spun you around and grabbed your shoulders, leaning close to your face. His breath smelled like tobacco and a hint of scotch, “are you questioning my authority?” You shook your head frantically. “Really? Cuz it sure sounds like you’re questioning my authority. You seem to forget that I’m your boss and you will treat me as such. Do you understand me?”

You nodded and he let you go, slightly shoving you off to the side as he walked past you. “I-I’m sorry, Dad.” He paused in your doorway, “don’t call me that. I don’t want to be the father of someone that constantly contradicts me. I’ll be back in an hour, you better have this shit figured out by the time I get back or I swear to Ender I’ll fire your sorry ass. You’re on thin ice, (y/n).” Without a second word he left your office, the sound of his dress shoes clanking against the tile fading down the hallway. 

You could feel your heart break inside of your chest and your lungs get deflated by the shards piercing them. He was the last person that actually loved you, and you fucked it up. You always fuck everything up, you supposed that it was an innate part of you. No matter what you did or what you tried, you’re always going to be a fuck up. 

No, you can’t just sit here and ponder all of your life’s mistakes; you need to be brainstorming before you lose your connection to the person you loved the most. You paced around your office endlessly murmuring to yourself. You knew he was watching you pace again standing off in the corner, the room felt off like it always did whenever he was there. You ignored him and continued your pacing. 

Just as you came up with a solution, your door was opened and Schlatt stepped into your office once more. He was swaying slightly on his feet and his suit jacket was unbuttoned. “You figure something out?” 

You put a confident smile on your face, “yes. I think we should send patrols around the border, and I think the Badlanders and Rutabagaville members would fare nicely. We can send them in groups of two and send them once in the morning, afternoon, evening, and night.” 

He nodded to himself, satisfied. “That sounds like a decent plan, you’re keeping your job for now. But don’t think I’ll forget about what you said earlier.”

You felt extremely relieved and grinned at him, “yessir. I apologize for that once again, it just-”

“Save it, you’re still on thin fucking ice… Don’t look at me like that, ya smiling freak. Your face is absolutely disgusting.” You dropped your smile and looked at your slightly scarred fingers. Light pink raised scars littered your skin in random amounts along your right arm, leading up your neck, and becoming the most concentrated on the entirety of the right side of your face. You avoided looking in the mirror, mostly out of anger because your appearance was a constant reminder of the stain your ‘brothers’ left on your life. You were still adjusting to having a blind spot in your vision, the eye having lost its sight and now a cloudy white color from the fireworks. Your eyelid on that side was permanently half-lidded, unable to open up fully even if you tried. 

You were fully aware that your appearance was… unsightly, to say the least, to everybody that looked at you (yourself included), but Schlatt was one that never cringed away from you. Hell, even Quackity (the mere mention of his name made icy betrayal wash over your entire body) avoided looking at you in the first few weeks of your injury. Schlatt was the one that loved you for who you were, scars and all, and you fucked it up. 

He squinted at you, his eyelids blocking everything with the exception of his rectangular pupils. A snort left his lips before he moved to leave you to your own devices. “I’ll inform the others of their new duties, get your paperwork done.” 

“Yessir.” 

You sat down at your desk chair with a sigh and rubbed at your aching cheeks before you picked up your pen and started on your paperwork. Well, it was yours with the exception of Schlatt’s thrown about occasionally in piles. The room was engulfed into an uncomfortable chill once more, he’s back. You honestly have no idea why he just keeps coming back to you or even if his pale spectre was just a stress induced hallucination. He just showed up in your office one day saying that he’s been looking everywhere for you. He acted and looked exactly like he did before he left, except his attitude was strangely chipper for someone that had an iron pickaxe buried deep within their forehead. 

“(Y/n), I’m back!” He sang, floating over to your desk. “Geez, that goat guy is a real jerk isn’t he?” His slightly glowing hand appeared in your vision and tried to pluck the pen out of your grasp. It swiped right through your hand, making you shiver at the uncomfortable feeling. “I’m still not used to that.”

You huffed and focused more on your paperwork. You could feel the chill getting closer, leading up to the point where he was directly behind you. The icy air gusted down your neck with every breath he exhaled. “Whatcha workin on?” He whispered in your ear. 

“Nothing that you need to worry about.” 

“So they speak! I was worried you went completely mute… Well, you did scream at me before, but I didn’t count that. That’s okay though, I knew I could get you to talk to me sooner or later. I’m irresistible, you remember how I was with the ladies.” 

“Fuck off.”

“No need to be so mean to me.” You focused on your paperwork again, furrowing your brows and trying to tune him out. “(Yyyyyyy/nnnnn), you can’t ignore little ole me forever.” 

“I can and I will.”

He gasped before laughter streamed from his lips, the sound being muffled since it was on your deaf side. “You just talked to me though! I think that’s a win for me. Do you remember when-”

“I swear to Ender, if another word comes out of your mouth I’ll make sure that the next pickaxe finds its home through your tongue and down your throat.” 

He was silent after that, leaving you to your paperwork. At least, that was until someone knocked on your office door. You sighed before plastering a smile on your face, “come in.” Your door opened to reveal the signature white smiley face mask, messy blond hair, and green hoodie.

Dream had been giving you small lessons on your swordsmanship lately, and you were getting better with each passing lesson. You were proficient on defense, so it was time for you to learn how to offensively attack. 

You saw that he placed an apple on your desk. You looked up at him in confusion. “What? You haven’t eaten anything all day, I don’t want you passing out or anything during our lesson.”

“Finally! Someone with actual sense around here! It’s so refreshing, isn’t it (y/n)? Well, it’s refreshing for me anyways.” 

Dream chuckled, “thank you.” 

Wait a damn minute.

Dream could hear him?!

Your pen froze mid sentence and rested on the paper, it’s ink pooling in one place. You slowly looked up at Dream, “you can hear him?” He looked at the teenager behind you before looking back at you, his head tilting. “Of course I can. He’s right there.” 

“Yeah (y/n), I’m right here. My name’s Lucius by the way, it’s nice to meet you!” He floated over to Dream and held out his hand, the pickaxe handle almost hitting the taller male in the chest. Dream stepped back slightly and nodded, “Dream. Eat that apple fast, we don’t have all day.” You snapped out of your stupor and grabbed the apple, taking absentminded bites while staring at your dead best friend talking animatedly to the masked man. 

So he was real after all. You were worried something might have actually been wrong with you for a moment! It was nice to know that you weren’t completely insane. 

“...meet (y/n)?” 

“Oh, I’m training them at the moment, would you like to watch?” 

“Yes! That sounds exciting, doesn’t it (y/n)?” The two looked at you expectantly, Dream’s head tilting slightly and Lucius smiling widely at you. You swallowed your bite and nodded, throwing the apple core into your trash bin. “...Yeah. Yeah it does. Uh, I’m going to get changed and then we can start our session.” 

After you got changed, you met with the two outside your door and walked out of the White House to the training grounds. The entire time you were walking, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Lucius. Every time he would turn his head, the pickaxe would move with it. The crusted blood that emanated from the wound and splattered down his pale face was perhaps the darkest color on him with the exception of his jet black hair. 

In a strange way, it wasn’t the blood or the pickaxe protruding from his head that disturbed you the most; it was his eyes. Of course they still crinkled at the edges when he smiled, but it just wasn’t the same. The black eyes that were once so full of life were a dull gray with milky pupils. 

Other than the obvious pickaxe, blood, dead eyes, and constant glowing, he looked exactly like he did before he died. His baggy sweater, albeit mudstained and wrinkled, was still a salmon color with its signature pinstripes. The mop of straight black hair was still pulled into a bun with multiple unruly strands escaping the elastic and framing his face.

Before you knew it, a pale hand was waving in your face. “Earth to (y/n)! Oh good, you’re back to the land of the living! What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Well, I mean you were just staring at me, but my point still stands.”

You moved your gaze to the dirt path, “it’s nothing, I’ll tell you later.” He huffed, but didn’t say anything else to you for the rest of the trip. Instead, he was making small comments on your surroundings. 

Eventually, you were across from Dream on the training arena holding a wooden sword in front of you defensively. Lucius was sitting in the grass a little ways away from the painted boundaries with one foot over the other and his elbows resting on his knees propping his chin up. He was watching with an intensity he always had whenever you were doing something he deemed ‘dangerous’. To be fair, sparring with the most skilled member on the server was fairly dangerous.

“Let’s see if you remember what I taught you last time.” Without giving you a warning, he charged at you with his own wooden sword raised. Your sword clashed with his and you pushed against him. The mask moved upwards on his face slightly, “good, but always expect the unexpected.” 

With a simple sweep of his foot, you were on the ground gasping for air. You could faintly hear Lucius suck in air between his teeth before he shouted “you’re doing great, sweetie, but do better!”

Thanks, Lucius. Very motivating.

You rolled away from Dream’s foot before he could pin you to the floor. Your mind flashed back to when Techno- no. None of that, you need to focus. You got back onto your feet in the blink of an eye and dodged another blow. You used his momentum against him, stepping away at the right moment sending him skidding to a stop. 

Before long, he had you on the floor again with the tip of the sword pressing into your chest. He relaxed before helping you up, “you did better than I thought you would, but there were still some obvious flaws in what you did. Using my momentum against me was smart, but with what you did the opponent would recover fast. Here, let me show you how to properly do that.” 

You improved on a few things defensively and learned a few things offensively before the sun started to set and cast shadows on the surrounding forest. Dream shook your hand, “nice work today, you’re gonna rival even the best eventually.”

“You were great, (y/n)! I didn’t know you had it in you!” I didn’t have it in me when you were alive, you mentally corrected him. “Thanks, Lucius.” You glanced at him only to be met with his body phasing through yours in an attempted hug. He fell to the ground and rolled over, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’ll never get used to that.” 

Dream snorted before he shoved his hands into his pockets and started to nonchalantly walk back towards the White House. You and Lucius looked at each other before you ran to catch up with him. Lucius floated next to you, examining the dirt on your exposed arms and the forming bruises on your calves. He wrinkled his nose, “you really need a shower.” 

“Well I can’t exactly strip now and find a shower in the woods, can I Lucius?” 

“You just reek.”

“Yeah, you kinda do.”

“Thanks Lucius, Dream. Really feeling the love.” 

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[scriptaed]

cherry blossom avenue.

❀ genre: angst/fluff; arranged marriage!au; f2l!au;

❀ pairing: jin x reader; 

❀ length: 23.0k;

❀ synopsis: college would’ve been unbearable if it weren’t for your wallowing sessions with your best friend jin over a shared “forever alone” woe, so it really was only a matter of time until the two of you sealed a shoddy promise to betroth the other at the age of 27. perhaps it was only a silly joke to you then, but you should’ve known better nonetheless; because when a wedding invitation arrives five years later down the road with his name signed next to another’s, feelings that were once buried begin to blossom once again.

“Don’t be a homewrecker.”

What was supposed to be a light-hearted tease over your fleeting glimpses in his direction bears much more weight than even reality should have; and unbeknownst to her, even if your friend’s commentary strikes a fear in you, a fear that has some creature eating away at you and a horrifying drop in the twisted pain of your chest, the daunting knowledge of a potential truth behind her words pale in comparison to the anguish brought upon by a familiar face of the past. 

Because even as you stand far and hidden behind the crowd of overly dressed classmates and unacquainted businessmen all painted by a silhouette of dimmed black, you manage to observe him through the few albeit sure opportunities; for when the passersby chatter, cross, and weave through the lavish ballroom floor at the perfect time, place, and space for you to peep through the pinholes seemingly formed by pure happenstance or a cruel wish casted upon by fate, the clock returns to a buried state of mind.  

It’s a state of mind seven years stale, mistakenly manifested and deliberately buried. It’s a transition in mindsets when fondness sours into a longing for something that could never be, for his reciprocation of affections means much less than its origins. It’s a heavy moment when you’re finally sure he would never come to speak the language of your enamored being. It’s that fractured frame in time when everyone freezes in their tracks but a reverberating pain transcends the laws of the universe, almost as if on a personal quest to oust you; and even if you vehemently down yourself with another magical shot of liquor, nothing can quite ease the internal war stirring within.

One hand grasping a glass of red wine worth much more than a month of your salary and one arm crossed under the bosom draped over by your only presentable black satin slip dress, you’re almost numb to the turmoil that is irony. How cruel is it that even after seven years of having believed you had moved on, nothing has really changed after all? Your heart still melts in the wake of his dorky grin, your chest still winces over the buried buds of a coveted love, and your blood still runs intoxicated by the presumption that this phase of infatuation would pass with time. 

Your friendship, your feelings, your shared promise, a youth that no one had paid witness to except for you, him, and that cherry blossom tree down that street, nothing has really changed. In fact, you feel as though you could still march across this room and nonchalantly probe at your best friend’s cheek with the ultimate goal of eliciting a shriek from your best friend. 

And yet, the circumstances that have brought you back to him in this very room must have been the one cruel exception. 

“A ‘homewrecker?’” you feign a light-hearted chuckle, swirling your drink and taking another sip as you peek at the distorted glass-image of the man and the woman beside him. “And why would you say something as horrifying as that?”

“Didn’t you say you and, what’s his name,” Alex pauses before nearly gasping, “ah, Seokjin! Didn’t you say you two used to be best friends in college? You might have been his best friend but she’s his fiance now, Y/N! Plus, she’s got a baby in her, too.” 

She might have been joking, and it really should have been if you had been truthful about your feelings for said best friend, but maybe this is the price you’re paying for so dutifully holding onto your dignity; so, instead, the deep undercut of her remark instigates a stirring irritation within you. Raising a questioning brow at your friend is all you can muster without spilling your secret as well as your brewing storm. 

“Oh, so you actually do remember what I say when you’re only a minute from blacking out?” 

“Hey,” your friend recognizes the anger seeping through your body language, stifling a giggle as she tries to bump your elbow and stumbles over her heels, “it was a joke, okay? I’m just looking out for my friend!”

“Right, what is there to even look out for?” 

“Well,” she points a finger at the direction you had just been staring off into a minute prior and leans in to whisper, “you’ve been staring at the newly engaged man for much longer than the woman beside him, if that says anything—”

“—uhuh, as if, hey!” you almost yelp as you help her stand upright once again. A scoff of disbelief escapes your lips over the sight of your friend letting herself go. Grabbing her glass and swiftly placing it onto the tray of the many passing waiters, you squish her cheeks and give her a light pat or two. “The only person you need to worry about is yourself. Why are you even wearing those ungodly stilettos when you can’t even wear kitten heels without whining all day at work?”

“Hey,” Alex pouts, bending one knee and jutting her hips to show off those torturous pink devices on her feet. “I told you about my ex from high school, don’t you remember?”

“So it’s okay if you’re trying to impress an ex from high school, but I’m not even allowed to glance at my old best friend?” you quip, pressing your lips into a thin line as you take another gander at your friend up and down. “And what does excessive drinking even have anything to do with it?” 

She flashes you a mischievous grin, “for confidence.”

“I can’t with you,” the roll of your eyes must have agreed, “and what about the classmate friend who actually invited you to her engagement party?”

“Oh,” Alex glances at the woman beside Jin and shrugs, “she’s alright. She’s that typical good girl. Too smart, too kind, too good at everything that you really want to hate her but have no reason to do so. I’m sorry, Y/N, but your best friend is devilishly handsome and I’m not surprised she’s marrying someone of her league.” 

“Pfft, why are you apologizing to me?” you scoff, ushering her to the washroom and shaking your head along with the stream of confusing emotions that hit you like a truck. “Go wake yourself up before she or, gasp, worse yet, your ex spots you.” 

“Oh my God, you’re right,” she gasps, shuffling in her skintight red bodycon dress and whirling around once more to call out before finally disappearing, “let me know if any boy comes looking for me!” 

“Uhuh, yeah, sure,” you shoo her away, taking another sip from your glass and muttering under your breath, “...how am I supposed to recognize your high school classmates?”

Now that your friend is gone and you’re left all alone to your thoughts, you go against your own advice and down another glass of liquor. 

You may have been his best friend but she is his fiance. 

Well, if Alex is a good judge of character, then at least a good man like your best friend has found an equally respectful woman. It might have hurt to hear her words, but Alex isn’t exactly wrong. At the very least, you could sigh in relief having known you’re genuinely happy for your best friend’s future. 

It’s just that the truth hurts sometimes. 

Relief isn’t an excuse for lingering onto a soon-to-be-married man, regardless of when these emotions came about. 

People are chattering all around you, strangers and former acquaintances are bustling about, familiar college classmates are greeting the bride-to-be’s high school classmates, and yet here you are: aloof and isolated even in a room of hundreds, fixated and more distant than you have ever been to the boy you had once cherished as the closest anyone could get to knowing the real you. 

No one would know but Jin. 

The real you.

The you who could not have moved on because she couldn’t recognize her own feelings until seven years down the road with a wedding invitation in hand, seven years after the buds had been sowed, seven years too late. 

The one who stands pathetically here in the corner of a room, secretly hoping for him to approach her but also wishing for the night to pass unnoticed just like she had wished for her buried affections to pass.  

So you shuffle in place awkwardly, pondering whether you should’ve caved into Alex’s pleas and attended this posh get-together, debating whether you should dip once your friend realizes her high school ex just isn’t worth it, sipping the remainder of opulent liquor and taking one last peek at the boy, when, your heart strikes loudly against your chest…

...because his eyes catch yours, a pair amongst hundreds, one invitee amidst an endless swarm of crowds, almost as if on a planned rendezvous, a secret unbeknownst to everyone in the room but the two of you.

Eyes widening in shock, the drums of your chest hammer against you, each strike pumping a nearly painful high that fuels your fight or flight mode. The debate between confronting your longtime friend and fleeing said friend did not even cross your mind at the start of the predicament. Quickly whirling around, head down and hands gripped to your drink, your feet move on its own. 

A familiar series of clicks echo against the polished marble tiles. You don’t even have to turn around to recognize those homecoming footsteps, those awe-inspiring confident strides as he makes his way across the room. If this were you from seven years ago, you would have welcomed him with open arms and he would have claimed you were just acting sweet to bargain for some fresh pastry, but the unfamiliarity of a stranger you have yet to reconcile with has you in an unexplainable panic. 

After all, it’s hard to explain why exactly his persistent pursuit after you, after seven years of distance, both emotional and physical, frustrates you to no ends. 

Your hands form fists, your feet storm down the halls, and your mind could repeat nothing but the words you had excused as “just a light-hearted joke.” 

You may have been his best friend but she is his fiance. 

Don’t be a homewrecker.

A baby in her.

A baby.

His fiance. 

A homewrecker.

The accusations echo and echo, as though screaming at you in the endless cave that is your mind, until the party fades, the crowd disappears, and the ear-piercing classical music wanes against the walls of your temporary solace, the bathroom. Finally, entrapped in a world of black—black tiles, wine colored walls, and dark red roses perched on top of what seems to be a black granite sink—you’re left alone to your thoughts. 

Alex wouldn’t understand a seven-year-long regret because she doesn’t know the real history between you and Jin. In fact, no one invited to this engagement party nor does anyone in this whole mansion know of the soon-to-be groom’s past. 

It isn’t as simple as people might make it out to be on the surface, because no one but you, Jin, and the street down your block had paid witness to a shoddy, spontaneous promise that should have never been made. 

Turning on the faucet and splashing a fresh handful of cold water onto your face, your eyes eventually wander from the stream of water that flows down the drain up along the glass bowl of a sink and into the mirror to meet the sullen eyes of a girl, seven years older with a stain of regret that spans much longer that a mere seven years. 

❀ ❀ ❀

“Waaah,” the boy exclaims as you watch your own reflection narrow its eyes at the image beside you. The spectacle persists to angle his chin every which way until he’s finally satisfied with the protrusion of his jawline; and as the boy resumes his daily activity of marveling at himself in awe, you have to wonder once again, for the hundredth time by now, just how you two had possibly become best friends. “Looking good, Jin. Looking real good.”

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes and feign nausea, “narcissist.” 

Jin pauses in the midst of his inspection, allowing his phone to settle into his lap and turning to glance at you with his head as high—well, almost as high—as his ego. “When you look as good as this,” he gestures at himself and your eyes follow his crafty fingers up and down, “don’t even try to tell me you wouldn’t be all up in yourself.”

You blink your eyes blankly and start with the most accusatory tone you could muster, “excuse you, Kim Seokjin, but are you saying that I don’t look good?” 

“You’re insisting that yourself, not me! It’s not my fault you can’t appreciate your God-given looks,” Jin raises his hands mercifully and you almost miss his latter, back-handed compliment when you become entranced by those double-jointed fingers of his. “Plus, I said ‘when you look as good as this.’”

“Psh, yeah,” you mumble, “and yet here you are, still as forever alone as ever.”

“Hey,” he snaps, narrowing his eyes at you even as he raises his phone to take yet another selfie, “and what does that say about you?”

“...and that’s exactly why,” you chirp as you hastily smush your cheek against his and throw a peace sign just as he snaps a photo, “we’re gonna be forever alone together!” 

“Hey, why’re you ruining my selfie—” he pauses in the middle of his camera roll “—oh, we actually look good.”

Glimpsing at one of many candid photos of you and him, a helpless smile spreads across your lips. A warm breeze blows and you can practically smell the impending spring that breathes life into the pink buds hovering on the cherry tree above you. The sun’s embrace against your bare legs that lie beside your best friend’s on the red and white checkered picnic is a perfect compliment to the equally bright phenomena that are his high-pitched giggles; and like the many days you’ve spent the past year, the only thing that could possibly elevate this moment of serenity would be a bite of his weekly pastry batches.  

Speaking as you chow down on the carbs, you quip, “you mean you look good?” 

“That, too, but I meant us, together—” he articulates, cutting himself off abruptly when he snaps his head to find you digging into one of his many bread “—hey, who said you could start testing without me?!” 

“Too many selfies, too slow, too hungry,” you lean your head back to plop the remainder of the custard-filled bread into your mouth, “shmorry Jin, but dish ish delicious.”

Just as you lean forward and take another large bite out of the batch, Jin catches right up to you, snatching the remainder and plopping it right into his now-stuffed cheeks instead. Lips falling agape at the disappearance of your bite-size donut, you gawk at your best friend whomst chomps happily away with your piece in his mouth. 

You can still recall the heat of your cheeks after the first time he had ever proclaimed something that was yours as his—in fact, it wasn’t much long ago when Jin had nearly regurgitated a mouthful of mocha frappuccino after discovering you had sneaked in a sip or two prior—but now? Sharing commodities has become such second nature to you two that sometimes you wish he could return to his germophobic days just so you can hog all the food…

...and maybe to relive whatever magical flutters that had befallen you on that very first day.

“Of coursh ish delicious!” he manages to exclaim incoherently. “Kim Sheokjin baked it afta all!” 

“Yeah,” you take a long moment to gulp and make room for more food, “I think I prefer the ones with custard—”

“—so it’s a perfect batch just like m—”

“—almost perfect.”

You could see yourself wink through the prideful glint in his eyes quickly plummet into a glare that has you laughing at the downfall of his indestructible ego. His playful glare through the corner of his narrowed eyes silently commences yet another one of your daily staring challenges. Maybe that’s why the two of you made such a perfect pair amongst the thousands of classmates at school. After all, how would Jin ever find someone as tolerant of his incessant dad jokes and perpetual ego as you are? And how would you ever find someone who would bake you goods and cook you lunch and, not to mention, spout such peculiar humor? 

All of your classmates had dubbed the two of you as the perfect comedy duo—the dumb and the dumber, the silly and the sillier—that, apparently, is the essence of a match made in heaven, albeit probably meant to be more platonically than romantically. 

Both too stubborn to lose, even in a meaningless game of a staring contest, not even the heat of the sun rays that has you two nearly sweating bullets could deter the match. Eventually, seconds turn into minutes and minutes turn into a frenzy frozen moment in time as you start to fall into the sudden abyss you found yourself in that is the warmth pool of his eyes. 

Perhaps it’s the angle at which the rays strike theatrically on the apples of his cheeks, illuminating his dewy skin and enhancing the chocolate hues of his orbs hidden underneath the matching brown locks of his all whilst his eyes happen to be staring right back at you. You’ve never quite felt this way before—heart palpitating, throat constricting, and mind panicking—but for the first time ever, you’re hesitant in allowing your best friend to peer through the windows to your soul. 

This isn’t good. What would he do if he were to discover your frenzy? Would he tease you to no ends? 

Worse yet, would he falsely assume that you’re hardcore crushing on him…?

“Oh God,” you blurt out, breaking eye contact to avert your head to the side across the street. Your lips begin to mumble whatever comes first to mind, “uh, wow, look at that couple. Ugh, PDA—” your eyes flicker to find Jin raising a brow just before your eyes avert once again and he follows your line of sight “—am I right?” 

“Oh c’mon! Just admit it,” Jin chides. “You’re only using this to disguise the fact that you were just about to blink, weren’t you?” 

“I was not about to blink,” you insist but your shifty gaze tells the both of you otherwise, even if the true lack of confidence is unbeknownst to Jin. “You suck at staring contests. How many times have I won before? I was just distracted, okay?”

“Oh yeah?” Jin crosses his arms. “Distracted by what, then? Huuuh? By my devastatingly good looks?”

“No!” you exclaim almost too adamantly that you have to add in a nervous laugh at the end, which only has Jin staring at you in utter disbelief. Feigning an apologetic pressed smile, you gesture your hands in the direction of the couple supposedly hidden behind a fence but clearly exposed to those on a hill, otherwise known as you two. “I meant them—”

“—ew!”

The both of you exclaim in unison, selflessly covering the tarnished eyes of the other and ducking away from the moment of intimacy that you two had just intruded on. 

“Aw, cmon! Even after graduation, too?” Jin remarks, mouth gaping and hands falling from your shielded eyes only to be thrown to his side in bewilderment. “Does everyone really have to remind us just how lonely we are even on our last day?” 

“You mean how lonely we are and how lonely we will be for the rest of our lives?”

“For the rest of our lives?” Jin quirks a brow at you before shaking his head and shrugging. “Dang, that wasn’t exactly my plan, because the world will be forced to acknowledge my looks sooner or later, but I mean, in your case…”

“What?!” you gasp in disbelief, slapping his arm hard enough for him to wince. “What do you mean ‘in your case?’ I bet you haven’t even kissed someone yet!” 

Jin snarls at you as he pulls his arm back and retorts, “yeah? And I bet you haven’t either!” 

“Actually, I have, with Joon at that party last year,” you say smugly, crossing your arms with a chin held high, “and you just admitted you haven’t had your first kiss yet.”

“Psh, yeah, I haven’t, and?" the boy holds his head high akin to a child arguing with his body and not with his words. “Because I prefer to save it for something meaningful unlike someone here.” 

“Hey, are you insinuating that it wasn’t meaningful?”

“You’ve always told me how much you hated parties!” he throws his hands up. “Plus, you don’t even like Joon! You said his breath stinks!” 

“Well—” you pause but no words come to you except for a loud grunt “—ugh, fine. You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” he turns away, leaning into his right hand with an elbow propped against his crisscrossed lap. “I’m Kim Seokjin, after all.” 

Following suit, you mumble into your propped hand, “I guess that’s why we’re friends in the first place. Together and, yet, still forever alone.”

“Hey, I said I don’t plan on being forever alone.”

“Right, right,” you brush him off, “tell me that when you actually get a girlfriend—actually, tell me that when you find someone to marry who doesn’t run for their life just one month into your relationship.” 

“‘Marry?!’” he gawks at your demand. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet and you’re talking about marriage?!”

“What?” you turn to face him, cheek resting in hand. “Didn’t you say the world would soon recognize your charms?”

“Hmph, well,” he says with a jutted lower lip, “definitely sooner than you.”

“Really?” you gape at his bold proclamation despite clearly being the one with the upperhand. “You really think you’re gonna get married before me?” 

Your best friend doesn’t even bother glancing at you before answering, “bet.”

“Okay, if you win, then I’ll eat the crust to your breads whenever you want. I’ll even throw in a bonus for you and spare your wife from having to see fetus photos of you in college,” you can only snicker at the lightbulb that goes off in his widened eyes. “And if I win, then you’ll have to eat my crust and delete all the ugly photos you have of me on your phone.”

“Sorry, can’t do. That would take me an eterni—”

“—shut up.” 

“Okay, fine, bet,” he cackles, straightening his back and stretching his arms out before him, “and what if neither of us ever get married?”

“Hm,” you purse your lips, “good point. Should we set a time cap to our bet? Ideally, if I want to have a stable job and income by 25, have children by 30, enjoy two or three years of marriage without kids, then…”

“Why do you have to have children by 30?” Jin frowns. “Why set all these unrealistic standards on yourself?” 

Putting a finger to hush his lips, you almost find yourself distracted by the plush warmth against your skin. Quickly, you answer, “long story short: parents.”

“Ah,” he utters even as your fingers are pressed to his lips, “ditto.” 

“Let’s set the cap to 27,” you propose. “If neither of us get married by the age of 27, then we’ll just call off the bet. But damn—” the two of you simultaneously lean your chins into your palms “—that means we’re really gonna be a disappointment to our parents forever, huh?” 

A loud, heavy sigh escapes the both of you; and while you stay pouting into your hands, staring into the fresh green grass on the downside of the hill off in the distance, Jin props his hands back against the blanket and cranes his neck back to look off into the distant sky. You hadn’t noticed it until now, but for a devilishly dashing guy like Jin—broad shoulders, facial features that could only be gifted, and a prominent Adam’s apple, especially with his head rolled to the back like this—you have to admit his lonely status must have been much more of a choice to Jin than it is for you; because even for someone like you, his best friend who gets to stare at his profile for as long you desire in all its glory, you have yet to become desensitized to his dazzling visuals that is anything but normal.

As much as you hate to admit it, even now, with a clear blue sky, an array of warm pastry aroma, and a field of freshly cut grass, you can’t help but become enamored by the person before you. 

And when another sigh befalls his lips and the two of you have settled into a comfortable silence and a breeze passes by the both of you, rustling a dozen or so of the hovering cherry petals to grace the surrounding air, he speaks. 

“Let’s get married if we’re still single by then.” 

“...huh?”

“I said,” only his eyes move to peer down at you effortlessly, “if we both lose the bet, then let’s get married.”

Your eyes pop and you can only utter the few words that reach you, “to each other?” 

“No, to food,” he says sarcastically, grabbing a piece of his bread and stuffing your face with it when you continue to stare at him and he shuffles awkwardly in place. Looking away, he mumbles, “of course to each other, who else, dummy?”

“Uh….huh,” you blankly nod your head as a series of laughs are stifled by the bread. “Okay, and you’re being serious?”

He doesn’t look at you when he answers, “uhuh.”

“Pffft, and you’re saying you would keep that promise? That you would even remember this moment? We’re just gonna marry? Like that? And you’re assuming I’m just going to agree?”

“Hey,” he turns to frown at you, “why wouldn’t you agree? I’m offering you a once in a lifetime opportunity!”

Munching down on the bread, you continue to play along in amusement, “really? And what exactly are you offering me? You know I have high standards, right? I’m not just going to accept any proposal.”

“I know. That’s why you’re still single…” the boy deadpans, even as you glare at his remark, “...but, that’ll all change when you witness my proposal! Hear me out. First, I’ll cook every meal for you for the entire day.”

“You almost already do that except for breakfast.”

“Okay, but I’ll hone my skills by then. It’ll be even better than any restaurant we’ve ever been to.”

You raise a brow, “so you think food is the way to my heart?”  

“No offence, but yes, that’s why we’re friends,” he quips before continuing, “second, I’ll bring flowers to you at work. Everyone at your job will be burning with jealousy!”

“Because of your public display of affection, which we both clearly disdain?” 

“No, because they would wonder how you have such a handsome boyfriend like me!” he wags his finger. “Plus, who doesn’t like a little PDA when they’re about to be proposed to?” 

“Okay, fair enough, but those are two promises you’re making for the proposal. A marriage is a lifelong commitment. Why would I want to marry you just for food and flowers?”

“Hmmm, even for someone like you, I’m surprised you have so many requirements,” Jin hums, tapping his finger on his chin. “How about this, I’ll make three more promises for our marriage.”

“Quit saying ‘our marriage,’ I keep shuddering at the thought of it,” you remark as you rub your arms. 

“Third promise, I won’t break your achey breaky heart,” he deliberately emphasizes each word in a fruitful attempt to send shivers down your spine. “Fourth promise, I’ll remember all of my promises.”

“Okay… and fifth?”

“I’ll keep all of my promises! And I’ll do it all right here at this spot. Our spot.”

“What? That’s dumb,” you giggle. “Just keep it at four, then.”

“No,” he grabs the bagel in your hands and fills his mouth without a second of hesitation, “ish eashier to wememba fibe promishesh.”

“Right, right, right,” you nod, pressing your lips in a vain attempt to muffle your chuckles. “And what promises would you want me to make?”

“You?” he quirks a brow before shaking his head. “Nothing. You’re fine. I like you just the way you are.”

Huh. Has Jin always been this nice? Because you don’t quite recall ever feeling the heat of an oncoming blush of your cheeks or the bashful flutters that come with your best friend’s witty remarks. Maybe the topic of marriage has thrown you off today or maybe it’s the aftermath of a high having just graduated college and being thrusted into adulthood, but the stretched smile that adorns your lips is an undeniable fact that your confidence and spontaneity has reached its pinnacle.

Grinning, you lean across Jin’s lap to grab and unlock his phone to access the camera, “okay, wanna take a photo to commemorate this moment?”

“Gee, if you want a photo of me that bad, you could just ask me to send you a selfie, y’know—what the,” Jin starts to cackle when you raise the phone into the air and suddenly press your cheeks against his without warning. With a side-finger gun to frame his cheeks and chin, your best friend readies his pose as you wear a mischievous smile. “Hurry up and take the picture already, Y/N. My time is money.” 

“Hey Jin,” you call out to him with your eyes still fixated to the phone screen, as does his. 

The boy almost drags his words, “now what?”

“You’ve never had a girl kiss you on the cheeks before either, right?”

“What—”

—click.

“There,” you chirp jubilantly, grinning at the stunned look on his face, his eyes popping and his lips just slightly parted but failing to utter a single word as his hand grazes the spot on his cheeks where your lips had just touched, “now you have zero excuses to forget our promise!”

❀ ❀ ❀

That must have been the last time you had met up with Jin in person. Shortly after graduation, the two of you had parted ways as many are forced to do in order to embark on their lives as full-fledged adults. Being born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Jin had been lucky enough to receive a job offer straight out of college with the help of family connections; although, even without his family name, you whole-heartedly believe he still would have managed on his own based off of his unparalleled work ethic that you had the chance to witness firsts-handedly. 

On the other hand, your parents had advised you to stay home, which happened to mean you would be stuck in the same town of your college, until you finally landed a decent job where you had met Alex and established a new life. Unfortunately, like life always does, all that busywork meant sacrificing contact with your best friend somewhere along the way.

“Hey, Y/N! Wait!”

“Ah, shit,” you mutter under your breath as you stop in the midst of your tracks down the black-marbled hallway, gritting your teeth and composing yourself just as you’ve done countless times around your less than friendly colleagues. Taking a deep breath in and out, you put on a pleased smile and whirl around to find the face of a familiar boy in your most recent reveries. “Ahh, hey, Jin... It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Ah,” the man, who seems to have grown at least or three inches since you had last seen him, scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight… how have you been?”

This is awkward. So painfully awkward. 

“Me? Oh, I’ve been alright. Life. Adulting. You know the drill,” you press a thin smile. “Actually, I’m surprised to be seeing you here tonight. I still remember us whining all throughout college over being forever alone, and yet here we are… at your engagement party… life can be funny, huh?” 

“Y—” he stutters, scratching the back of his neck “—yeah… it can be.” 

“So,” you chirp in a fruitless attempt to lift the suffocating atmosphere, “the wedding is coming up pretty soon! Feeling good or is someone getting cold feet?” 

He shakes his head weakly, “I wear socks to sleep.” 

“Wh—” you pause for a quick second, blinking blankly at his soft chuckle and following suit shortly after “—why do your jokes sound like you’re 22 again?” 

The man shrugs with a helpless smile hinted in the corners of his lips; and when it happens—you don’t know how or when the silence had whisked you away into a past time—you find him gazing at you with that fondness of a sole friend who endlessly shared and fought informidable woes with you. Perhaps you’re a hopeless romantic frozen between the fork of two roads that have long closed, for you swear you can see your own reflection through his warm brown eyes and you surmise the only possible answer to the question that lingers in your mind. 

He must see the same friend in you, that girl he would only call friend.

“You’ve been preparing your whole life for this, or, actually, maybe I should say we’ve been preparing,” you smile to stifle the lurching ache in your chest, “I guess I’m the only fool waiting for her turn now.” 

A weep cracks the laugh you force out of your knotted throat. Immediately, you turn your head to avoid his watchful gaze and tuck a lock of hair behind an ear whilst discretely ridding any traces of waterworks welling in your vision. You think you must have gotten away with the feigned laugh and turn, a routine you had mastered at your previous work, but the gradual dissolution of the curve on his lips settles into an unreadable flatline more resembling a frown than anything; because even after all these years, he can still read you like an open book. 

So, if he could see through your every facade even now, then why does he not remember? You know you shouldn’t hold it against him, such a silly promise built on a lonesome pair of naive hearts,  but you can’t help it when a single word paints your conscience. 

Why?

Why can’t he remember? 

Your shared promises, your birthday, your memories, and... you?

“Y/N,” Jin begins gently, hesitating in place once he takes a step forward and you flinch, “about the wedding date…”

He waits for you to reply, supposedly for ‘whenever you were ready’, as he always does during those fragile lows of yours. 

To avoid letting loose any more unneeded drama, you can only manage a hum, “mm?”

“I…” he pauses and sighs. “I know it’s your birthday.”

A hitch in your breath is audible. You clamp your lips tightly and nod, uttering lowly, “yeah.”

“I want you to know I didn’t decide the date, Y/N,” he says firmly, “my father did.” 

“And?” you quip suddenly, eyes darting to shoot a glower deadly enough for him to twitch in evident hurt. There, you went ahead and did it. As hard as you had spent the past months muting your rawest reaction to the envelope in your mailbox, all the pent up frustration and sheer sorrow for a lost future came whiplashing just as hard. “And you couldn’t tell your father to change the date? Maybe one day after? Or two?” 

“You know I would have asked if I could, Y/N,” he bites his tongue to state sternly, “but how would he understand? Change it for… for what—”  he laughs cruelly in the midst of his burst “—for the birthday of a best friend I lost contact with for five whole years?! That’s so… so dumb—” 

“—dumb…?”

The crack in your voice leads to a stagnant silence over what is clearly a no man’s land. Betrayal visibly paints across your face, the momentary display of having wronged his closest ally stains his own. 

“Sorry, I didn’t meant that...”

“‘...yeah, you’re right,” you scoff, “I’m dumb for waiting five whole damn years’ because you wouldn’t fucking text me or call me to ask how I was doing!”

“Me?” he asks in disbelief, gawking and pointing an accusatory finger. “You wouldn’t even pick up your phone! I called you for a month after I moved!” 

“I couldn’t pay for my phone, alright?! I was living with my parents and scrambling to find a job, any fucking low wage job, and I couldn’t sit all day in my room waiting for your calls because I’m not born with a silver spoon stuck in my ass!” 

At this point, the conversation had somehow contorted into an all out brawl of words, a challenge to see who could blame the other for the unsaid confessions lost in communication. The two of you staring down the other, chest heaving and jaws clenching and brows knitting, if it weren’t for your fortunate location tucked in the hallway hidden from the main room, you would not have allowed yourself to fall, lost somewhere in the depth of his eyes. 

“Why are you so upset?” a weak, hopeless laugh tumbles from his confused, pained expression. “Aren’t you supposed to be happy for me?” 

“I—” something gets caught in your throat and you have to choke it out “—I am. I am happy for you. I’m not upset, no…”

Jin reaches a hand out to your cheek when he notices your tears but immediately retracts his notion when you flinch backwards. The boy frowns in concern, “Y/N… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. How did I upset you?”

“Nothing,” you frantically shake your head that hangs low, using the back of your hands to smear every sign of contradiction on your face. “I just—” your breath shakes and an impending series of hiccups begins to kick in “—I’m silly. I should be happy for my best friend. I mean, I am happy. I’m just being dumb.” 

“What?” Jin carefully takes a step forward. “No you’re not—”

“—I’m dumb, okay, Jin?” you finally muster the courage to lift your sights to find his own confused ones. “It’s been five whole years and I’m embarrassed for taking a joke of a promise so seriously when my best friend doesn’t even remember making it!” 

The scrunch in his brows and lost resolution only reverberate the deafening ache in your chest. “The promises…? Y/N, I—”

“—it’s fine,” you blurt. Shaking your head and stumbling backwards, you look him straight in the eyes to say your last words before the fading knocks of your heels against the wood are all that he hears. “It's my fault for believing in a foolish fairytale anyways.”

❀ ❀ ❀

It’s almost like a fever dream when you recall just how confidently you had spat those spiteful words and furthermore dared to depart with that sheer satisfaction and the slightest aftertaste of alcohol residing on your tongue that night; but now that you’re awake, sober, and without the power of liquor, there’s nothing that can pull you out of your greatest nightmare most recently manifested into reality. 

“Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do that?” 

The incessant grumbles tumble freely from your lips whilst you pace back and forth in the corner of the office. Typically, your colleagues would describe you as composed, reserved, and the level-headed half of an otherwise wild pair with Alex. This morning, however, they begin to question everything they’ve ever known about you as they watch through the corner of their averting eyes. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone!” Alex hisses under her breath along with the threatening glares she shoots at the audience. Considering how long you’ve been going at your mental breakdown, it doesn’t take very long for your shuffling footsteps and mumbling gibberish to transcend into yet another white noise in the office; and once the majority of the passersby settle on the new revelation of your hidden crazed nature, Alex hastily storms to your side as you begin banging your head against the wall. “Why would you throw a tantrum at your best friend’s engagement party?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying…” you pause momentarily to groan before proceeding to damage whatever is left of your seemingly deteriorating brain. “Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do—”

“—not to mention, an ex best friend who never even knew about your unrequited feelings—”

—she comes to an abrupt stop when she finds the deadliest scowl in your dart-like eyes. No words are exchanged but the lethal consequences are clear enough to grant you her silence and the continuance of your destruction. 

“Why the hell did I do that, Alex?” you whimper, taking a break from your antics because, damn, your forehead is really starting to hurt. “Whyyyyyyy did you have to leave me alone? Maybe Jin wouldn’t have found me and I wouldn’t have had to confront him over something that shouldn’t even matter anymore! I-I barely even know him… it’s been five years and, suddenly, here I am, voila! At his engagement banquet, yelling in his face and getting mad over feelings that aren’t even his fault!” 

“I told you to go easy on the alcohol.”

“I told you to go easy on the alcohol,” you retort. Taking a deep breath, you let out a sigh along with the scowl plastered across your face. Your next words come out more as a helpless confession of fear than a rhetorical question to be answered. “Do you think he… hates me…?”

Alex observes you for a lingering second, perhaps contemplating between a merciful albeit exacerbating answer and a merciless albeit helpful answer. She speaks carefully, treading dangerous water, “well… would you like him to?”

“I don’t know,” you shut your eyes to heave yet another sigh because that weight in your chest refuses to leave you alone. An unapologetic swinging of the door and a series of loud, wide strided footsteps that follow have your brows furrowing and it takes everything in you and Alex, judging by the sudden shuffles you hear by your side, to finish the rare heart-to-heart conversation. “I think… I think if he hated me, maybe that would extinguish that part of me from the past. If he hated me, I would be able to get over it. Maybe I would hate him too, out of spite, but at least I would be able to get over—””

“—it…? Over what, Y/N?”

Over what? It takes you much longer than it should have for you to surmise the most probable answer to her question, an answer you were never willing to admit and an answer you aren’t quite sure you’re ready to admit even now. 

“You know what I’m implying, Alex,” you sigh, shutting your eyes even tighter when a rising heat marks your cheeks. “I want to get over—”

—but your words are cut short by a familiar voice that has your heart racing and striking an unprecedented strife in the mayhem that is your systemic state...

“You can’t possibly hate me, Y/N,” he proudly proclaims and you can practically hear him smiling, “no one ever hates Kim Seokjin.” 

...and when your eyes finally flutter open, you find the man, who had only seemed like a phenomenon of your feverish dream a second ago, standing before you and adorning that signature smile with raised cheek apples and crescent-like eyes that has yet to change under the influence of time and distance. 

“W-What are you doing here…?” you barely manage to utter. Eyes flickering around your surroundings, from Jin’s broad shoulders that shield nearly the entirety of a helpless albeit buoyant Alex, to your colleagues who fail to discreetly whisper over the lavishly suited mystery of a man, and finally back to the bouquet of pastel flowers wrapped with a bright pink bow. Brows furrowing, you struggle to organize your thoughts and even go so far as to check for the dent in your reddish forehead in a vain attempt to dispel the mind tricks. When the mirage before you fails to dissipate into thin air like sand, you slowly turn to face the wall again only to have your antics disrupted by his refreshingly cold hand on your burning forehead ; and when you turn, you find Jin’s mischievous smile growing wider by the second. “H-how do you know where I work…?”

“I’m your best friend, Y/N. Have you somehow forgotten after all that head banging?” Jin scoffs in disbelief, gawking with a chuckle. Suddenly, he leans in to grab your right hand firmly in his own, squeezing twice as he had always done and leading you toward the exit. “C’mon, let’s go recover those memories of yours, eh?” 

“Wait, wait,” you nearly stumble over your own feet at the pace he’s going, struggling to catch your breath when he bursts through the last door and a blast of freezing wind envelops the clash of the heat reverberating from your beating heart. “I have to go back! I still have work! And, and… and where in the world are you even taking me?” 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Y/N, so many dumb questions for someone who always topped my grades,” the boy holds the bouquet of flowers out toward you, refusing to continue until you reluctantly accept his gift with your left hand against your chest. Smiling at your reluctant acceptance, Jin turns his back on you and proceeds to march into the parking lot but his now warm hands intertwined with your now cold hands never loosens its grip. 

It’s been a long five years of waiting to finally relish in the hold of his familiarly slim, often teased albeit self-praised double-jointed hands, but, now that you’re finally living in it, you’re sure it was all worth it… even if the crashing flames at the end of this road is an inevitable, foreseeable future.

“Jin,” you frown as you stare at Jin’s opening of the car door and gesture of an invitation, reluctantly seating yourself in his sumptuous car. “I failed half of my exams... remember?”

The boy’s laughs can still be heard even through the closed door as he makes his way around the car front, all whilst swinging the keys in his forefinger. His cackling steps an abrupt many levels of decibels higher when the opposing door opens and he plops into the driver seat. “That never stopped you from boasting, did it?” 

Without the flare of your usual clever quips, you purse your lips in silence and subconsciously hug the bouquet closer to your chest to keep his space as unoccupied by your presence. The sudden turn of events has your head spinning and your heart racing enough for the thumps to be felt by your hands. 

How did he find out where you worked? Where was he even taking you and what was he planning to do with you? Why was he acting as if you had not angered him just two nights ago? 

You don’t think you’ll be getting the answer any time soon, particularly the latter question, but when your stomach growls loudly, eliciting a crackle of a laugh from Jin, the awkward tension in your muscles eases ever so slightly. 

“...s-sorry… I skipped breakfast.”

“I know,” he puts the car into neutral at the red light and turns to peer at you with a smug look that says he could still read you like an open book, “because you always skip breakfast. I hid some pastry in the bouquet.” 

“What?” you scrunch your nose but immediately dive your scavenging hands into the flowers; and sure enough, you find your favorite cream-filled bread of his warm in your hands and you can’t stifle the smile that spreads on your lips. “Why would you even do that?”

“Well, in case you suddenly got really jacked and physically refused to come with me, then at least you would have something to eat.”

“No,” you giggle, “I meant why would you hide the bread in the bouquet…”

His eyes brighten like a lightbulb, as if only now recalling the genius plan he had crafted himself, “oh, because then you can sneak a bite without having to leave your desk! It always worked with our backpacks, didn’t it?” 

Your sights fall to the bouquet and you can only reply with a sheepish grin, “right… it sure did.”

The engine purrs to life again when the light turns green and the remainder of the car ride is filled with the smooth drift of his ride and the ceaseless albeit completely welcomed humming from his lips. The old Jin never had enough of an incentive to drive, although his parents always suggested gifting him a brand new car and you had begged him to take the offer out of boredom and a never-ending desire to escape far away from university, but something about this moment in time has you feeling cozy, belonging, and at home. It’s almost like it was meant to be. 

But the silver ring shining around his finger under the angle of the sun is a dreadful reminder that it isn’t. 

So, as a slap to yourself back into reality, you fracture this perfect moment you would have once framed in that hopeless mind of yours, “so… how did you find out where I worked?”

“Ah,” his right hand casually slips onto the back of your headrest. “Still haven’t figured out, rank 292?”

“No, I haven’t, rank 295.” 

“First,” he raises a finger, “I asked some people through the grapevines and eventually your friend Alex gave out.”

Grumbling under your breath, you curse, “damn it, Alex.”

“And second,” he raises another finger before proclaiming firmly, “I’m proving you wrong.” 

“Proving me wrong?” you articulate with a scoff. “You’re going to prove me wrong? Right, keep dreaming.”

“I’m not going to prove you wrong, I am proving you wrong," he insists before shifting the car to neutral and leaning in toward you, gaze brimming with conviction locked with your own wary ones, as if ready to spill a secret sworn by the two of you and hidden from the rest of the universe. 

He's close enough for his minty breath to graze your burning cheeks, to breathe a vigorous life previously unknown by your dull five years. Heart pumping and lungs barely working, daring not to budge for being caught under the sway of his gravitational force, you can hardly catch him when he finally speaks.

"I haven't forgotten, Y/N,” he utters, “I'm a man of my word."

❀ ❀ ❀

Promise one. 

"I'll cook every meal for you for an entire day."

Promise two. 

"I'll bring flowers to you at work."

His unabashed, overly detailed tactic to ask for your hand in marriage still echoes from a time long past. Hopes for those promises were weakened by each passing second but unequivocally unassailed at birth. Eventually, smothered and disheartened, you had been forced to cut ties and confront the reality of broken promises and broken dreams. You had once somehow convinced yourself things would never return to the ways they once were, and, yet, here he is having returned by your side and here you are enraptured by the utter joy in his laughs after all this wavering time. 

It's like a dream come true; and if this indeed all just a nightmarish dream bound to death, you wish you never swore allyship to this alcohol, for now your only wish is for it to succumb you into a deep, long slumber. 

“I toooooooold you I don’t like paaaaasta!” you whine, the drag of your voice manifesting in white puffs in the still chilly spring air. The sudden transition between the warmth of his house to the frozen world outside has you spiraling into a series of trips and stumbles; and as always, your best friend Jin is the only one to hold you up, which is a good thing considering how you would’ve been tumbling into the death trap of a river beneath this bridge. “So whyyyy did you make me pastaaaaaaa? Whyyyyyyy?”

“What? Why’re you blaming me?” he retorts, obviously taking offence. “You always loved pasta! You ate it every single day at uni!” 

“I diiiiid love pasta,” you say through barely parted lips, “but it’s all just… just carbs, carbs, carbssss…” 

“Since when did you care about carbs?” Jin frowns, poking your cheeks that lean against his sturdy arms. “Should I call the police?” 

Your brows furrow and you lift your head to narrow your eyes at him, “what? Why?” 

And as soon as those words slip from your lips and he raises his finger-gun hands, you wish you hadn’t asked in the first place. 

“Because I think you’re an impasta,” his finger guns transform into jazz hands after you stare at him in dumbfounded silence, “...badumtsss….”

A series of empty blinks are exchanged, as if neither of you had just witnessed his most tragic dad joke to date; and so, you swiftly continue with a sigh, “I think… I think I started caring ever since heee mentioned I was getting fat.”

“I can’t believe you just ignored my unprecedented joke…” he grumbles to himself but lets out a little huff when he catches you from tipping over. Wordlessly, he hooks his arm with yours to keep you close to him. “And this ‘he’ you mention, who’s he?” 

“Heee.” 

“Who? Who’s ‘heeee’?” he spouts with pouty lips and a raised chin, flailings his body, and therefore yours, about every which way like a toddler. “Who’s this man I have to beat up, huh? He better square up!”

“I don’t think you could beat him up…” you mumble, eyes heavy but determined enough to reach his own flabbergasted ones. “It’s Jooooon, dummy, Kim-Nam-Joon, the boy I shared my first kiiiiss with…”

“Kim Namjoon?!” his eyes widen. “You think I wouldn’t be able to beat up that nerd?!”

You almost manage to push Jin away the foot of the bridge if it weren’t for his firm lock around you. “Have you seen his muscles?! He might not look like it with his books and all but he worked out all the time!”

“Yeah, well,” his lips sputter, “well, have you seen my muscles?!”

“No—” you freeze when you realize the sturdiness of his arm against your head is existing proof against your word, and maybe it’s because of his obvious flexing at this moment, but you could not believe just how built his arms had grown in the past five years, “—and I don’t want to.” 

“Hah! You just don’t want to admit that I’m right. C’mon, I’ll show you. You feel it, huh? You feel it?” he flexes persistently, twisting and turning to maximize his little showcase. “So? You think I can beat him up now?” 

“Well…” your voice trails off, mind clearly preoccupied with sticking your cheeks to his arm like glue in a somewhat fruitful attempt to hide the flush in your face. “You don’t really need to beat him up…”

“What?” he almost yells. “Why not? He called you fat!”

“Well, he…” your shoulders rise with each confession, “he said one of my dresses looked tight on me…”

“And?”

“...and he wasn’t exactly wrong…”

“So?”

“...so he didn’t actually say anything offhandedly…”

“What? You should’ve told me earlier!” Jin exclaims, arms thrown high into the air and consequently pushing your helpless self onto the hillside grass beside the run of the river. Lips gaping and eyes popping, you watch him in full offense as he mumbles to himself before resuming his stroll down the hill. “And here I am getting worked up over nothing… can’t believe I thought I could play hero for once…”

“Hey, Jin, what do you mean by that?” you call out to him. “Wait! I said wait for me, Jin!”

When your rhetorical questions are answered with silence, you hasten to your feet in order to catch up with those damn wide strides of his. Damn it, how did he make it halfway down the hill already? Each of your exclamations are unsurprisingly disobeyed by the boy who just throws his head back over his shoulder with that cheeky grin of his as he quickened his pace. Following suit, your strides turn into a jog and your jogs turn into a full out sprint until the both of you are full on running the 100 meters dash, one chasing and one fleeing, wind blowing refreshingly into your heated face and into your tangled locks and inflated lungs that relish in the breath of life. 

In the midst of all the chaotic bliss of an epiphany, you find yourself screaming and laughing at the top of your lungs...

“Hey! Jin! I swear I”m gonna kick your ass!”

...and it’s at this moment in time that you realize having forgotten what it means to be a fool who lived and not to live to be a fool. 

At some point in time, after having caught up to the knucklehead and giving a piece of your mind, the two of you settle down along the concrete ledge beside the river after a jittery, welcomed high. The sunset that followed was a pleasant surprise that had you two reminiscing over the countless mornings and evenings you had spent watching the sun rise and set together whilst churning throughout tireless exam nights. Pink, golden streaks now hidden behind a thick coating of midnight blue embellished by magical glitters all throughout, tonight’s stargazing becomes a first for the two of you. 

As much as you hoped you could numb yourself from the inevitable aftereffects of this death wish of a dreamy day, you can’t help but smile, thankful to have been completely sober to engrave this night into memory. 

“So...” Jin’s utter is the first to break the silence. He turns his head to give you a playful look of eyes that beams with wary curiosity, “...you started dating Namjoon after I left?”

“Mm… maybe,” you hum, “why? Got a problem with that?”

“What? Psh, what? Why would I have a problem with that?” he snorts. “The only problem I would have is the fact that you never asked me for permission.”

Your eyes widen, almost threateningly, “are you saying I need permission from a man to date another man? Not to mention a man who abandoned me without warning!” 

“Okay, first of all, it’s not my fault you cancelled your phone plan! I called and called, I tried everything I could even though I was deadbeat tired every day. It’s not my fault I thought you hated my guts! So please just understand that I didn’t abandon you, alright?” he spills in an endless stream akin to a water faucet left on the highest setting, clearly a performance either practiced in private or incited by years of pent up pressure. You can practically see the steam shooting out of his fiery red ears and the accompanying whistle manifesting into words; and by the time his chest is heaving, his lungs are panting and very dramatically so, and his eyes flicker nervously between you and the passing water, you can’t help but snicker. Unsurprisingly, your lack of empathy elicits an unamused look on his face. “Hey, hey, what’re you laughing at, huh?” 

“Me? Oh, nothing,” your hands move into your laps and you bat your eyes innocently, “it’s just that I can’t believe you’re blaming me, a helpless, poor girl with absolutely no connections, for cancelling her phone plan as a last resort to make ends meet.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he warns with an accusatory finger, “don’t you dare think I’ll fall for that eye blinking and whatever cute act you’re playing up again!” 

“Why?” you pout, almost cringing at your own antics. “Am I not cute?”

“No, you’re hurting my eyes. Plus, if anyone’s cute here,” he declares adamantly before puffing his cheeks and poking one with his forefinger, “it’s me.”

The both of you stare at the other for a stagnant few seconds, one completely dedicated to his performance and the other utterly flabbergasted by what plays out before her. 

The only word you manage to crank out is a, “uh…”

“What do you think?” he raises another finger to poke his other cheek. “I practiced just for you.” 

“Um… you’re 27 now, Jin.”

“So?” he tilts his head in the other direction. “Still 22 and young at heart.”

“Yeah? Then I’m still 22 and still equally disgusted by aegyo—” just as he parts his lips to provide another rebuttal, you quickly add in “—by your aegyo.” 

And just like that, the man drops his boyish character just as quickly as he had stepped into it. He mumbles, dropping his hands and shooting an equivocate look at you, “okay, tough crowd. Sorry, ma’am.”

It shouldn’t have been that hilarious nor should your response been so delayed, but it only takes a split second of his surrender for a thunderous cackle to slip from your lips. Throwing your head back and peering at the dangling stars above, you allow yourself a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath of the incoming wind. The fresh petrichor of spring and the earthiness of mowed grass whisks themselves into the cold, clean breeze from the vast body of water. Thin locks of hair grazes across your cheeks, swaying in the wind as does your spirit. Years are lifted from your shoulders and all that is left is the heaviness that remains in your chest; nevertheless, you have never felt so free from the past. 

“Also,” he adds nonchalantly, cocking his head to look at you, “I wasn’t speaking from the position of a man. I was speaking as a best friend. As your best friend.” 

And just like that, sitting side by side and sharing a cool breeze, it’s almost as if all these moments of remorse, spilled tears, and unreleased frustration were made to build the climax to this grand finale: the night you can finally speak your truth. 

“It’s funny how things never change, huh?” you say when your eyes flutter open and you find Jin looking over with a fondness identical to the one you’ve spotted years before. “We can split for five years, thinking one hates the other’s guts, and reunite again as best friends… as if nothing had ever happened.”

Jin chuckles, hands grabbing to the ledge and head lolling back to join you but his eyes remain fixated on you, “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Are we vampires and we just don’t know it?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure either… not sure about the good thing and not the vampire thing, that is,” your laugh settles into silence when you spot the reflected light inflicted by the ring around his finger, sitting on the ledge just an inch away from yours. Close enough to touch but far enough to confirm an unequivocal truth. Sighing, you turn your head to meet his intent gaze with a bittersweet upturn to your lips, “normally, I really despise the idea of change; but lately, when I think about how things might never change between us, how we’ll always banter as a pair of stupid best friends, I start wanting it more than ever.”

Is this the moment? Is it all really happening right now? Judging by the course of your blithe actions, if change is what you’re looking for, then change is what will surely ensue after tonight. Whether for the good or for the worse, you’ll take a reluctant guess of the latter. 

The man scrunches his brows before playing it off with a nervous laugh, “what do you mean things haven’t changed? You dated Namjoon, probably got it on a few times here or there—”

“—what—”

“—please don’t confirm,” he butts in with a raised hand, “and I have, too. Sure things have changed!”

“Ooh?” you raise a brow, genuinely shocked. “You finally got some experience under your belt? I’m impressed, Mr. Kim.”

“Hey,” he scolds, “what do you mean by ‘impressed?’” 

“Well, I should’ve known… figuring you’re about to be a married man and all…” you mumble, forcing a smile despite the sudden dip in your mood. Turning your head to stare off into the opposite end of the river where the black silhouette of skyscrapers lie, you curse yourself mentally. You really thought you could get away with the inevitable truth for the entire day? “You know, I can’t believe I almost forgot that you’re getting married in less than a week. Almost like how I couldn’t believe you almost forgot our promises.”

“I told you Kim Seokjin is a man of his words.”

“You sure about that? Promise one: cook for me for an entire day. Check. Promise two: gift me flowers at work. Check,” you turn around once again to look him firmly in the eyes and it’s almost as if the both of you know what’s about to come next. “What about the three other promises, Kim Seokjin?” 

“Y/N…” his voice trails off but his gaze never leaves yours, almost as if too afraid to be misconstrued as another betrayal. 

Quick-mindedly, you chime, “stop looking at me so seriously! I’m just joking! Promise three: you won’t break my heart. How could you after a wonderful day like this? Promise four: you won’t forget our promises. Clearly, you remember. And promise five: you’ll keep all your promises. Check.”

“Y/N,” he stifles every wince but you can tell by the way his feet have stopped kicking into the void. “I don’t think I’ve kept all those promises.” 

“Well,” you shrug, pressing your lips into a line tightly, “I only see checks in my book, Jin. You’re good to go—”

“—no, Y/N, you need to listen to me,” he says sternly; and when your mouth falls agape and your head slightly nods, his wary eyes searching for a steady sign in the windows to your soul, he continues calmly, “my marriage is actually an arranged marriage.”

“Your—” you blink blankly, jaw almost falling to the floor “—your, you, what?”

An arranged marriage. 

All this time, all this pain, all this heartbreak of wanting to do something about your feelings but remaining hopeless because of an unrequited love… turns out to be an active, fully conscious decision? Not a falling out of love, not a helpless affection for another woman, but a matchmaking handcrafted without the heavens?

“My,” he has to stop himself just as his breath hitches, “my father... arranged it. ” 

“What? Why? Is it because he prefers you with a well off family?” 

“What? No,” he shakes his head with a slight upcurve to his lips that you’ve never quite seen before. Watching him hook a hand to the nape of his neck, clearly avoiding your eyes, you have an inkling of something much worse than the presented news. “You know my father would never do that… it has nothing to do with money...”  

“But you left this town for money, didn’t you? For a better job, a better pay, a better life, and for the sake of your dignity as a dutiful son, are you telling me none of those were related to money?” 

His eye twitches by your name-calling, clearly pained once again despite knowing very well of your precedent dislike toward his silver spoon background and his nonnegotiable obedience. Each second of silence culminates a tension even more formidable than the last. Guilt intoxicates your boiling blood enough for you to bite your tongue and hold yourself back; because after accusing him of holding onto his dignity, you, yourself, could not forfeit that of your own either. 

Worse yet, you’re a complete hypocrite. 

“Why can’t you just tell him to call it off?” 

You never knew silence could be so deafening.

“So… so do you...” you begin hesitantly. Usually, with your eyes locked with his, a thousand words would have been exchanged with each passing second; but now, with gazes that wade through the tides of the unknown, for the first time ever, you don’t recognize the mystery before you. “Do you... love her?” 

His lips part slowly, but no time in the world would be enough for him to find the right words. To you, his silence is as clear as any possible answer. Something sinks in you, perhaps after acknowledging the implications behind his choice to leave your question unanswered, but your blood boils from the audacity of those apologetic eyes that, even now, never stray from yours… as if this minute of sincerity would be enough to mend the inevitable decade of scars. 

You begin slowly, failing to hide the shakiness of your deep breaths, “...then what about the baby?”

“What baby...?” his face contorts with a frown until, out of the blue, something flickers across his numerous expressions: confusion, remembrance, contemplation. His hesitation that ensues might have been fleeting but its infliction upon your shattered trust will surely remain. “Oh, that… that was just a rumor my aunt spread because of the sudden marriage.” 

“And,” you force yourself to breathe, scattering for something, anything to throw at him, “and you don’t think you could’ve told me sooner?”

The man scrunches his brows, “and that would’ve helped, how?” 

“‘How?’” you repeat, as if it was the dumbest question you had ever heard. Mirroring his expression, your eyes avert between him and the river as scoffs of utter disbelief escape you. “‘How?’ What do you mean ‘how?’”

“I mean exactly that!” his voice suddenly escalates to a level of frustration you’ve never quite heard from him before. “How would it have changed anything? Why would you need to know earlier?”

Gawking, you exasperate desperately, “you know why!” 

“No, I might be your best friend but don’t expect me to just read your mind!”

“It’s cause...” you swing your leg over the ledge to face the sidewalk with your back on Jin as soon as you could feel an incoming constriction at the back of your throat, a notorious sign shared just between the two of you that waterworks were about to appear. Breathing slowly and doing just about everything to keep your voice from shaking, and fruitlessly so, you mumble before standing to your feet, “...you know what? I don’t even know anymore. I’m sorry. Nevermind.”

Why did you ever think you would have a chance? 

Is this it? Is this really it? The end? 

The questions come crashing into you as you make your retreat, head hanging low and palms drying the inconvenient tears that mark your face. After all the confidence you had built up, after finally thinking—actually, believing—you could get over him tonight, how humiliating is it that you’re now running away from a reality that would eventually and inevitably engulf you? 

The worst part of it is, Jin, like the best friend and good man that he is, persists to chase after you. You don’t have to hear the quickened footsteps of his usual wide, well-paced strides to know he’s coming. You don’t have to hear the calls he makes on the top of his lungs for you to know he’s on his way. 

As someone who so helplessly fell in love with their best friend, you just know he would be there through thick and thin—whether you like it or not. 

“Y/N!” Jin hollers; and when he finally catches up to you, having to sprint and consequently inciting for you to surrender with an abrupt stop to your path, every bit of air is knocked from your lungs. Arms wrapping over your waist and enveloping you into a tight hug, you can feel his heart pounding against your back. 

To most, it should have been the perfect method to comfort a crying friend; so, damn it, why does it only make you cry harder? 

“What?” your voice cracks as you just barely manage to smear the following tears within the wrap of his bear hug. “Damn it, Jin, why can’t you leave me alone for once?”

Head resting on yours, his voice is muffled by your hair as he murmurs, “I can’t just leave my best friend crying like that. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry.” 

He embraces you. He embraces you not only physically through the silence but also through the emotional rollercoaster that comes with it. He, Kim Seokjin, your best friend, holds you through the ups and downs and the rights and the wrongs. He even holds you now, comforting you in the hurricane that you brewed without ever knowing and never caring that he had, in fact, not committed any wrongdoing. If anything, you must be in the wrong. 

And when you put it that way, how could you blame yourself for falling in love with him?

“Jin… I’m sorry, I tried everything to stop myself but,” your voice shakes but your courage prospers, “but I just, I just really, really love you.” 

A second passes. 

Now, two. 

Then, three. 

Something strikes against your chest when the surreality of the situation settles into reality. His silence could mean many things, but the tightening of his embrace could only mean one. Blood flushes your cheeks as you lament over his sensation of your fervent heartbeats. Secrets thrown out into the spring air, your heated cheeks are equally exposed to the passing, chilly zephyr. 

He knows you love him. At this moment, he can physically feel the proof of your love and there’s nothing he can do about it. 

“Sorry,” you manage to blurt under your breath, “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget I said—”

—the remaining words dissipate into thin air when he places his hands firmly on your shoulder and whirls you around. Face just inches away from his, you barely catch wind of his declaration before the unthinkable occurs…

“Too late. I don’t want to.”

...and his lips meet yours. 

It’s everything you have ever imagined. Years of admiring those plush lips, wondering what it would be like to feel the warmth of those wonders pressed against yours, are finally coming to fruition… except they don’t. His hands fall from your shoulders to the small of your back, but your hands don’t intertwine behind the back of his neck like you imagined. Instead, they hover in midair, hesitant to embrace him in your arms. Why? With your eyes and his fluttered closed and an audible deep sigh that signals a desire finally satisfied from the both of you, reality still manages to twist a dream-come-true. 

Does he actually love you or does he only pity you?

Finally, and ever so suddenly, your hands firmly push against his chest to plant an arm’s distance from you and him.

“Sorry…” you pant, avoiding those intense eyes. “We… we can’t do this.” 

“What?” Jin raises a brow, taking a step forward as you take one back. “Why not?”

Wordlessly, you point at his ring finger.

“Oh,” he chuckles nervously, hand scratching the back of his neck. You can only watch his every move, your stare gradually becoming a glare. Rosy hues coloring his cheeks, he speaks sheepishly, “I forgot we’re in public.”

His nonchalance irks you to your core. There isn’t any other way to put it. Blithe and dense have always been your favorite traits of his, but now that he’s here? Planting buds he could never sustain and sending mixed signals despite knowing of your feelings in an unfitting circumstance were never things you knew Jin for.  

“I-I don’t get it, Jin,” you shake your head. “I don’t think we should see each other any more. In any context. Not even after the wedding.” 

With his hands buried into his pockets and shoulders high enough to hide his reddened ears, he glances up at you, alert. “What? Why? What don’t you get?”

“It’s ‘cause... I just don’t get… this. I don’t get us,” you articulate, struggling to find the right words. “Why are you so… nonchalant about this? Why are you kissing me? Is it out of pity? Is it because I said I liked you—”

“—Y/N,” he says lowly like the drop of his previously cheerful mien, “you know I would never do something like that.” 

“Then why?! Why are you doing this to me? Do you love her or not?” you pause for a second to stifle the crack in your voice but, alas, all is in vain. “...and do you even… love me?”

He frowns, the tension in his body evident by the knitting of his brows as he struggles, “I… Y/N...”

“So you can’t admit that you love her and you can’t even lie to say you love me. So why the hell are you throwing away an entire marriage just to kiss me?” your scoff comes out more so like a plea. “You’re confusing me, Jin—”

“—that’s,” he abruptly pauses to stop himself from exploding, taking a deep breath before continuing, “that’s exactly why I can’t say it, Y/N! I don’t want to confuse you. I don’t want to disappoint my father. I-I don’t want to complicate matters more!”

“Then why the hell did you kiss me?!”

“I don’t know, okay?!” he throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know! It was a spur of the moment! I couldn’t stop myself from chasing after you and when I hugged you—I-I just wanted to, alright? I’m sorry.”

He’s... sorry. 

Sorry for kissing you, sorry for acting as if your feelings had been reciprocated, sorry for breaking all the promises he made and pretending like he was going to patch things up again tonight. Speaking your mind and hearing his words are all that you need to finally understand what you need to do. Your heart drops but you hold your head high because your final verdict is the right thing to do. Maybe this time you’ll finally be able to cease these useless feelings. What's the point in pursuing a hopeless love? 

The only one you would be hurting is yourself. 

This epiphany, in itself, is enough to drape an ephemeral clarity over your frenzic self; and just like a bandaid over a scar, you’re able to function, if only just temporarily.

“Hey, Jin?” you call out softly to the boy kicking at nothing on the bare sidewalk. It’s hard not to melt under the delicate glance he throws over his shoulder. “I’m not… mad. Well, I kind of am. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m sorry for everything that I said about your upbringing. I know how close you are to your family. I’m sure you’ve been under a lot of pressure…”

“No, Y/N,” he shakes his head, turning his body to face you with a low hanging head, “it’s my fault. Even considering all that, I still shouldn’t have done that or any of this. I… I’m sorry for confusing you.”

Forcing a composed smile, you persevere, “do you have your fiance’s number?”

Head lifting with a frown, he answers, “yeah, what kind of a fiance would I be if I didn’t? Why though?”

“Right,” you say to yourself under your breath, hearing his ‘fiance’ echo relentlessly in your head. “I just need it, okay? To… to sort out everything...”

And just when you wonder how insensitive could this boy get...

“What?” he chuckles. “Are you going to fight for me?”

...it gets worse.

Rolling your eyes, you give him a hard, well-deserved slap against the chest before snickering at his loud wince and declaring your one last confession of the night. 

“No, I could fight for us, but I won’t singlehandedly fight for you,” you then declare with a bitter smile, “I will, however, tell her how jealous I am.”

And that's your most irrefutable confession, one that has Jin stupefied for the future midnights to come.

❀ ❀ ❀

Morning arrives much sooner than you had anticipated. White puffs mark the air whilst you wrap yet another layer of scarf around your neck. It seems as though the breeze from a night ago had intentionally danced around town, lingering and spectating on the resolution of your five year long love conundrum. Ironically enough, the two of you reunite at the very spot where everything had first started… except this time, everything will finally end.

The pain he had marked in you inflicted by the words he could not bring himself to say still stains your every waking second.

“You have to do this. You can do this,” you incessantly chant to yourself, pacing back and forth beside the most prominent cherry blossom tree in town. “You have to do this. You can do this—”

“—Y/N, is that you?”

What you presume to be Youngji’s voice perks your ears. Looking up, you spot her holding a phone in her hands as she flickers between you and her screen. A quizzical quirk of the brow plasters across your face as you wave at her and she jogs over to you as quickly as she could in that pink, wool poncho and those tan, fluffy boots. “Hey, Youngji, right?” 

“Yeah,” she says in between each pant of breath, “that’s me.” 

Her hands immediately find refuge on her knees whilst she bends over to catch her breath. Typically, you’re the very self-aware type, but there isn’t anything you could do to stop yourself from staring. The girl strikes you as… flamboyant. With her dark red pigtails, bright smile, and dainty attire, she’s everything you’ve always imagined a female version of Jin would be like. It’s hard not to wonder… maybe an arranged marriage really can be a match made in heaven, but you force yourself out of that rabbit hole before having another breakdown in front of an innocent stranger. 

The tang of jealousy, however, refuses to budge. 

“Sorry, for,” she pants, holding her hand up to show you her phone screen, “calling out to you like that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you squint at the sight of the screen displaying a candid photo of you, taken on this very street on that very day, as you stuffed one of his breads in your mouth. Drawn on your face is a mustache and a unibrow. “Did Jin do—”

“—Jin gave me a terrible reference photo.” 

Scoffing, you cross your arms, “damn it, Jin.”

Youngji crackles into a firework of uncontrollable laughter, rendering you stupefied. After a literal minute passes by, she finally manages to speak in between the bursts of giggles that follow, “you two—” giggle “—really are—” giggle “—close, huh?” And as a grand finale, she slaps her stomach with a loud sigh of relief that her laughs have come to an end. When she notices you staring at her bewilderedly, a light bulb flashes through her as she gasps and feigns a whimper, “o-oh! Ow! M-my baby!”

“You know you don’t have to pretend, right?” you can only let out a laugh of disbelief because you still can’t take in the mirror image your best friend. “Jin already told me about the fake pregnancy.” 

“Oh, in that case,” she smiles widely before giving her stomach one more big, satisfying slap, “see, you guys really are so close!” 

“I… I guess. I’m not sure if taking me out for one day after five years of radio silence really counts as close, though,” you then quickly add in with raised hands, “he only did so out of obligation, though! I swear it was nothing more!”

“Hmmm?” she hums, leaning in a curious ear with a cheshire-like smile. “Is it because of those promises he made?”

“...yeah, wait, he told you about those?” 

Of course he did, idiot, they’re engaged. 

“Well, something like that,” she shrugs, “so how much did he tell you?”

“About?” 

“About the wedding, silly!” 

“Uh, nothing much really. The pregnancy was a false rumor, the marriage was arranged by his father…”

“Father?” she inquires, watching you closely with those big, round eyeballs of hers. 

“Yes?” you hesitantly nod. “Father?” 

“Ah,” she nods, as if she finally catches drift of something, “I see.” 

“Oh yeah,” you add, “I also found out it’s on my birthday.”

“What?!” her eyes grow wider, if they even possibly can. “Jin never told me that! What the heck, man? A wedding? On his best friend’s birthday?!” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know right?” you nod passively before coming to an abrupt stop. “Wait, what? Why does it matter to you?”

“Of course it matters to me! You’re Jin’s best friend, aren’t you? You have no idea how much he talks about you back home. I know you so well that sometimes I feel like you might be my best friend,” she chimes before reaching out to cup your hands in hers. “Let’s celebrate properly with Jin after the wedding, okay?” 

“Um, sure…”

But you don’t exactly plan on unnecessarily sticking around his life for any longer than the wedding… except, seeing how close she must be with Jin in addition to her loose-lip impression, you decide not to tell her that. 

“So,” she drops her hands to the side, “what did you need to tell me?” 

Why did you call her to meet you here again? After witnessing her flamboyant entrance, it’s hard for you to keep yourself from derailing. 

“Oh, um,” you scratch the back of your head awkwardly, “I just wanted to meet my best friend’s fiance, that’s all.”

“Ahhh, I see.”

The woman pauses, nodding at you intently almost as if waiting for the real intentions to be revealed. Damn it, either you’re a literal open book or she reincarnated from the same soul as Jin’s. 

“So…” you purse your lips. “Are you okay with it? The arranged marriage, I mean?” 

“Well,” she shrugs, finally dropping the smile from her lips. “At first I hated the thought of it. I felt like I didn’t really have a choice, but… when I met Jin—” a smile is hinted in the corner of her lips and in the sparkle of her eyes “—I thought ‘I’m pretty lucky girl, aren’t I?’ I think the world must have finally taken pity on me.”

A soft, stifled laugh slips from you as your eyes fall to the ground and a bittersweet smile accompanies your lips, “yeah, you’re pretty lucky.” 

“Don’t get me wrong though,” your eyes immediately shoot up to find her raising defensive hands, “it wasn’t some sort of a love at first sight. He’s handsome, sure, but—”

“—a marriage is a lifelong commitment—”

“—exactly,” she sighs, “I didn’t really know him, but when I was forced to spend time with him… I thought if I had to get married, then he would be the best option. He’s not a bad guy.” 

“No,” you smile in your reverie, shaking your head, “he's not a bad guy at all; and when you really get to know him, his stupid dorky self, I think it’s impossible not to fall for him.” 

“Yeah?” 

“He’s mean when he jokes around but he’s actually very kind, he’s sensitive when you poke him where it hurts but he hides it deceptively well, he’ll apologize for being wrong when the both of you clearly know you’re in the wrong, he’ll cook and wear the hottest pink clothes he can find because ‘to hell with societal norms,’ he’ll tell you the dumbest dad jokes but I promise you’ll get used to them eventually, ” you let out a reminiscent laugh that comes out more like a sigh, “and, sometimes, very rarely, he’ll hurt you unintentionally, of course, but he’ll always go out of his way to make it up because that’s just… that’s Jin. That’s my best friend.” 

A breeze passes by to perfectly mark the end of your cadence. Branches rustle above you and freshly budded cherry blossom petals flutter their way toward the grass underneath the two of you only to be risen once again by a following zephyr. Having been there throughout his and your lives, it’s almost as if the long-standing tree is agreeing to attest to your words. 

“Wow,” Youngji finally says after witnessing your truthful albeit embarrassing spoken love letter, “I… I wouldn’t doubt any of it… but why are you telling me? Shouldn’t you be telling Jin?” 

“I’m telling you, because,” you emphasize, “because I'm jealous of your position but I can't do anything about it so I want you to take good care of Jin. I just… I need to know he’ll be in good hands. I want him to be loved like the way that he loves. You’ll do that, won’t you?”

Youngji just nods. It’s the most somber response you’ve ever seen from her. Almost like the joining of hands in marriage has finally become reality. 

“Do you…” you struggle to squeeze out of the knot in your throat, “do you love him…?” 

“Y/N—” she begins but suddenly lets go of whatever she must have had planned “—yes, yes I do.” 

“And… you’ll take care of him?” 

Youngji bobs her head lightly, “yes, I will.”

“Promise?” 

“...promise.”

“Okay, then I’m entrusting him to you, and,” you smile, leaning forward to shake her hands before heaving one last sigh, “and this time, please keep the promise.” 

❀ ❀ ❀

A curse sinks into the thickness of the sapphire dusk that quickly descends upon the hushed city. Keys tinkle to decorate the silence of tonight’s resting wind, a silence that would have been accompanied by an equally passive woman and an oblivious man whose hands persist to fumble to his guest’s dismay. 

Standing before a small willow, vintage-looking store tucked away in the corner of downtown, an inaudible breath ascends a cloud of white that momentarily shrouds the grand interior peeking from spotless windows that line the exterior. Golden warm studio lights illuminate the gorgeously exquisite ivory gowns from the trailing trains up to its waterfalls of dainty veils. Velvet suits and satin neckties accompany each headless mannequin, welcoming each passerby to imagine themselves in their wildest fairytales… your hand in his and his in yours as a fleeting moment becomes a sealed promise of a lifelong loyalty. 

Breath completely taken away, you, yourself, almost fall prey to your own far-fetched dreams. 

“I thought I said we shouldn’t meet up anymore,” your forced mutters drag you from your short-lived reveries, “why did you bring me here?”

“You said we shouldn’t meet up anymore, yet here you are,” Jin chirps before cheering to himself under his breath once the key finally clicks into place, “yes! Old man must have purposely given me these rusty old keys.”

Crossing your arms, you retort, “I came because you said your close friend from home would be here, too.”

Turning around to face you with his back to the door and a hand on the golden knob, he raises a quizzical brow, “and… are you not my close friend from home?” 

“I thought you meant the other—”

“—this is my home, Y/N,” he says firmly, looking straight at you, “and I want my best friend to see me in my wedding suit before anyone else.” 

“But why me…?”

“Because I only care about your opinion.”

He answered without hesitation, but in your head you figure he must have forgotten about Youngji, the true spotlight of the show.

Gritting your teeth, a staredown begins between the two of you; but the longer you face those unequivocal looks of determination in his eyes, the hotter your cheeks become in the middle of a contrastingly chilly night.  

“Alright, fine.” 

“Thanks,” he gives you a small, lopsided smile before pushing the door open with his back and ushering you in with a slight bow, “ladies first.”

Your eyes roll but not for very long when you step foot into the store and your mouth falls agape. The ceiling is much higher than you had perceived from outside, the sides are lined with grand, wooden staircases that lead to a second floor where hundreds upon hundreds of white dresses and black suits find purchase along the hangers, and the click of your heels against the marble tiles of the entrance floor echo into the extravagant expanse. 

The wooden insulation of the store proves infallible when the door closes behind Jin and the shrewd air leaves you to a much more bearable surrounding. Standing affixed to the entrance, you watch as Jin strides toward the carpeted floor where a taupe curtain hanging from the ceiling drapes over a raised platform sits across its partner platform in the opposite of the room. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so enraptured by something aside from me,” Jin chuckles as he begins stripping the suit off of a black, velvety mannequin before pointing at the mannequin standing beside the opposite platform, “oh, why don’t you try on some dresses while I’m at it?” 

“What?” you scoff, finally taking a step onto the carpet. “First off, I never stared at you like that before. Second, why the hell would I do that? It’s your wedding, not mine.” 

“I asked the store owner for permission and picked a dress for you to try on,” he continues, finally stopping in the midst of unbuttoning his white, collared shirt when he looks up to find the fear in your eyes. “Hey, haven’t you always wanted to try one of these?”

“Yeah,” you laugh in disbelief because he actually listened to your past rambles, “but never under these circumstances.”

“C’mon, you never know if you’ll ever have a chance like this again,” he gestures once more when he notices the start of your contemplation, “c’mon, go on!”

You really don’t want to. It’s that nagging feeling of something going completely wrong tonight if you were to succumb and let yourself go. After all, your worst fear is yourself. It doesn’t feel right and you begin to wonder if it’s alright for you to hold onto this moment you’ve always dreamed about: dolling up and swearing your vows side by side with Jin. 

If you were to live out your fairytale, just for tonight, would you finally be able to sleep dreamlessly at night? 

“...fine,” you groan and storm across the room, tossing your purse into the ruby sofas and stepping onto the platform. Turning around to face a gleeful Jin, you’re about to scowl at him until your eyes flicker between the cheeky grin on that youthful face and those sculpted abdomen of his elevated by the lighting above. Cheeks flushing red, you gulp at the unseen sight before clutching the curtain in your hands and swinging it closed with a mumble, “and at least have some decency and use the curtains, God damn it…”

The freezing touch of your hands doesn't hold a candle to the heat of your face. Trying to calm your racing heart, you curse to yourself at the way he merely cackles at you and, even worse, the way your heart intensifies in response. 

“Yes, ma’am!” 

“...shut up,” you say more to yourself and your deafening heart.

The gown standing before you, however, is no help to your case either, for when you glance over the dress, the long train that could awe an entire room, the complimenting silhouette that doesn’t scream too over-the-top but enough to fulfill the little girl within you, and the classic lace sleeves that you’ve gushed over whilst skimming through magazines, you realize Jin had always been attentive even when he was stuffing his face with bread or even when he was being petty over an argument and you tried to rectify with incessant small talk. 

It’s at this moment that you acknowledge the rabbit hole you had just willingly fallen into and the impossibility of its towering escape.

“So,” Jin calls out to you as the sound of rustling clothes fill the silent air, “what do you want for your birthday tomorrow?”

“My birthday? Oh, right,” you slam palm to your forehead, having dwelled over the marriage and consequently forgetting your own birthday. “Uh, nothing really. I haven’t really thought about it this year.” 

“Really? You? Y/N? Not planning her own birthday?” he gasps. “Who are you and what did you do to Y/N?”

“Oh, shut up. With age comes other problems to deal with...”

...problems like you.

“C’mon,” he chuckles. “You have to have something. You can’t tell me you’ve gotten every single thing checked off of that old ‘birthday gift ideas’ list you gave me.”

“I mean… I wouldn’t say I’m very far from it and it’s not like you were actually going to give me everything I asked for. Say, what did I even have on that list?” your eyes wander to the towering curtains that envelop you as your hands reach behind to the buttons on your back. “A bowl of your tofu soup, some pocket money, a matching sweater, a pair of earrings, a necklace, and a… ring.” The word slips from your lips and it floats in the stagnant air before you can even do anything about it. His silence rings in your ears, so you quickly add in, “but I don’t want materialistic stuff like that anymore.” 

“...oh, really?” 

“Nope,” you heave a heavy sigh and pat the poofy material of the skirt down, “I think I’ve come to realize that… I just want to be loved. I don’t need a dress or a necklace or a ring…  you wouldn’t understand, but I don’t just want to hear those words. I want to feel them. I want to be loved.” 

But only by him.

A lingering silence drifts long enough for you to start panicking until, finally, he answers, “no, I understand.” 

“...well,” you quickly chirp as you fumble with the lacey material of your dress, “enough about me, what do you want for your big day, hm?”

“Why would I need a present from you?” he remarks. You can hear him finishing his final touches and you can barely stop your heart from leaping out of your chest. “You’ve given me enough already.”

“You mean I’ve given you enough earfuls and tears,” you retort, clutching onto the curtains as you shut your eyes to muster every courage within you. “Isn’t there anything I can give you? Anything you want?”

Counting down to yourself, the curtains and drawn open in one, swift swing; and when your eyelids flutter open, you find him standing on the platform across from you, dressed in a classic black and white suit with the curtains clutched in his hands like a mirror image of you. He glances over you from head to toe, as you do to him, until the both of you settle in each other’s gazes for what seems like an eternity, willingly lost and ever-so-enraptured.

You almost forget this isn’t actually your wedding.

“This,” he answers with a soft smile, “this is enough.”  

“...stop it.”

JIn frowns, “stop what?”

“Stop… looking at me like that,” you articulate, hands covering your bashful grin. “It’s making me feel self-conscious.” 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I have such a good eye at picking clothes for you!” he says whilst pointing an accusatory finger. “I guess 22 year old Jin had a pretty good sense of fashion after all.” 

“You picked this five years ago…?” 

The man shrugs but his high chin says otherwise regarding his humility, “I told you Kim Seokjin is a prepared man of his word.” Eyes peering across to wink at you, he continues a bit more seriously, “I might not be able to fulfill all of our promises, but this is the closest I can to it.” 

“Jin… you’re…” you laugh in disbelief, bashfully avoiding his intent gaze, “...you’re so incredibly stupid that I can feel it from all the way here.” 

“Oh, yeah?” he grins mischievously and takes a step toward you and off the platform. “How about now?”

“Stop it, don’t spread your stupidity to me.”

He spreads his arms out wide whilst taking another few steps forward, “why not? Aren’t we supposed to be together through thick and thin?”

“No, not really,” you adamantly shake your head amidst a hysterical fit of giggles, “don’t come any closer.” 

“Oh, no,” he feigns worry. Another footstep. “I can’t stop myself.” He approaches even closer. “The stupidity is spreading!” 

With him just a footstep away, you cower behind the shield of your hands, “stop it, stop looking at me like that—”

—and just as you squeal, his arms wrap around you to pull you into a tight embrace.

Like two lost puzzle pieces, his hands fit perfectly in the small of your back and his chin rests comfortably in the crook of your neck. His hair grazes against your burning cheeks. His scent envelops you into a rosy haze. He could probably feel the beat of your chest against his, but you wouldn’t know when you’re preoccupied by the thuds of his own. You had never been aware of the lonesome emptiness you’ve felt all these years until now, under the warmth of his touch that completes your other half. 

You almost forget to breathe until he takes a deep breath and lets out a slow, dreary sigh. 

“You are so beautiful.” 

Under any other circumstances, you would have smacked him for lying. Perhaps it’s the stir of the starry skies or the impending occasion or even the look he made on his way to you with a gaze that oozed with absolute adoration, but something tells you he’s being his genuine self tonight… and that’s what you fear the most. 

“You shouldn’t be saying that, Jin,” you say, stroking his head buried in your shoulder, “and you shouldn’t be looking at any women but Youngji with those eyes.” 

Whether he’s quietly reflecting or stubbornly disagreeing, Jin remains silent. His breath entangles with yours, syncing with the wavelengths that you two have been running for an ongoing seven years and, perhaps, beyond. 

He frustrates you to your wits’ end. There’s nothing he hasn’t made you question. At times, when you’re tossing and turning in bed and hoping for a way out of that cavern of a mind, you wish time could skip to a year in which the voices no longer haunt you at night; and yet, when you’re here buried in his arms, you would do anything to freeze and relish this fragment in time. 

It isn’t right. You two aren’t right and you know it isn’t right… but how do you deny yourself of the cure to those deep scars when he, himself, wishes to be downed? 

It takes everything in you to finally drop your hands from his locks to his shoulder. Just as you’re about to deny the tempting elixir, Jin lifts his head along with his gaze that now meets yours, “Y/N, I have something I need to tell you.”

“...y-yeah?” 

The windows to his soul twinkle underneath the dim chandeliers above. Those starry dark brown eyes simply take your breath away.

“My dad,” his voice quivers like the water that wells in his eyes; and when you know he’s about to bawl, you pat his head ever-so-endearingly. Gulping, he finds the courage to continue, “he’s sick.” 

“Oh... oh, Jin,” you murmur, quickly wiping the few tears that drop onto his flush cheeks before bringing him into another tight embrace. “I’m sorry.” 

“I only moved—” and that’s what cracks his buoyant front into a full on bawl  “—I only moved to take care of him!”

“I understand.” 

He shakes his head, “I didn’t want to abandon you!” 

“No, Jin, I know,” your voice is buried underneath his whimpers, “I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” 

“I didn’t know things would turn out like this!” he cries, holding you even closer. “I didn’t know!” 

“It’s okay, Jin. Really, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.” 

“No, it won’t be okay,” his voice hitches in the midst of his hiccups, “my father is dying and now I’m walking down the aisle with a woman I don’t even love!” 

Your strokes come to a temporary stop because how could fate be so twisted? Who is it to decide whose time shall begin and whose time is up? You have to hold your breath along with the waterworks that sour your eyes. You can’t cry now. He needs your stability.

He needs you. 

“Did you…” you take a shaky breath, leaning back to watch him cover the messy state of his face, “did you tell your dad?”

“I-I couldn’t,” he stutters, voice muffled by his voice, “you know how long he’s been waiting for this.”

I know,” you ponder for a second before hesitating to continue, “...why didn’t you consider me?” 

“I—” his hiccup interrupts him as he roughly smears his tear-stained cheeks with his palms “—I thought you hated me. I didn’t think you would agree. I thought our promises were just a joke. But when you confessed that night, when you said you would fight for us—” his voice cracks again as he laughs at himself, eyes to the ground “—I thought damn, fuck, how did I mess up so hard? I should have fought for us. I’m so stupid—”

“—no you’re not—”

“—so fucking stupid!” 

His self-reprimanding curse echoes in the room. Each of his demeaning scorns inciting a fiery justice in you. 

“No,” you state, “you’re not stupid.” 

Without the dignity to face you, his hands clenched into fist and he continues with bangs shrouding his sorrowful eyes, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I hurt you—”

“—no, Jin, you did not—”

“—I messed us up—”

“—no, Jin, look at me, hey, look at me,” you place a finger under his chin to lift his spirits until those bloodshot eyes of his find refuge in yours. Smiling, you speak, “see? I’m okay. So what are you apologizing for?”  

“Aren’t you… mad?” 

“Mad? No, silly,” you laugh, wiping another tear. “Sad? Maybe.”

“See—”

“—sad because I wasn’t there by your side when you needed me… and maybe a bit sad that I won’t be the one holding you like this tomorrow,” you apologize with a soft smile over the latter jab that incites a wince from the boy. “Why didn’t you tell me about your father?” 

“I didn’t think it was that serious,” he hiccups, “and when I found out, I tried to call you but it didn’t go through.”

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, “I’m sorry.” 

“No,” he takes a deep breath to calm his high, “it’s not your fault.”

“And it’s not yours either,” you affirm, breaking out into a laugh when you take another look at his reddened eyes and dampened cheeks. “Look at you! Why are you looking like a mess on our wedding day, huh?! At least let us be ignorantly happy for one day!” 

“What…?” he frowns whilst hastily smearing every last evidence of his breakdown on his face. The result is an equally red, irritated skin across his cheeks. “What’re you talking about? Kim Seokjin never looks like a mess… hey, what’re you laughing at?!” 

“Look at your tie, idiot! What kind of a rich son are you if you can’t even tie it correctly? Come over here,” you say just as you grab the end of his necktie to pull him up onto the platform. With his necktie now at your eye-level, you begin to unravel whatever knot he had attempted. All the while, you can feel his gaze as he watches you do your thing, completely enamored. This time, it’s your turn to turn red. To distract yourself from the rising self-consciousness, you clear your throat, “call me whenever you’re going through a hard time, okay? I’ll give you my new number…”

The piece of fabric flails around into equally atrocious knots that Jin had previously created until you groan in frustration and disassemble everything. You had practiced this so many times while he was gone, foolishly believing it would come in handy the day he returned, but why does nothing ever work out the way you want it to? 

“I swear it worked last time I tried…”

Your best friend just watches silently, chuckling as you wrap the fabric around your own neck this time; and when he speaks, much steadier like the Jin you have always known, he looks you directly in the eye. “Youngji told me about your guys’ conversation.”

“Huh?” you pause as soon as your embarrassing declaration of love begins reciting itself in your head, but not even the resumed work of your hands could distract you from the ever-growing shade of red. “O-oh, that… what about it?” 

“I heard what you said about me.” 

“Yeah?” you hum nonchalantly, even though the trembling of your hands and the avoidance of your eyes from his give you away. “Well, did she tell you about all the complaints I made, too? About you being a stupid dork?”

“She did,” he utters before placing a finger below your chin to avert your attention to those dazzling works you desperately avoided, “but would you still be willing to marry this stupid dork?”  

“This isn’t even a real wedding,” you feign a frown under the spotlight of his intent gaze, “why are you asking me a question like that?”

“Sorry, I didn’t have the funds to hire a real priest.” 

“You don’t need to for a fake wedding.”

“I thought you said we should be ‘ignorantly happy for one day?’” 

The bantering just never stops, does it?

“Okay, well… to answer your question,” you mutter, eyes averting to the side, “under normal circumstances…”

“Under normal circumstances…” he repeats.

“Where you aren’t engaged…”

“Where I’m not engaged…”

“And your father approved of me…”

“And my father approved of you…”

“Then yes,” you say without hesitation, eyes returning to find a newfound comfort in his relieved gaze, “yes, I would marry you.” 

“And that’s why I love you,” Jin smiles, chuckling softly. “I’ll always want to marry you.”  

And just as a nearby clock tower strikes its church bells to signal the stroke of midnight, Jin grabs the end of your necktie and pulls you in to press his lips onto yours. The body of his warmth and the acceptance of an inevitable end to your paths serve as the last page of a book never to be read again; and yet, he holds himself close, refusing to let you go. 

But when the end nears and the magic of the bells resume time once again, the two of you pull away to catch your breaths. Forehead against yours, Jin gives you one last, fleeting kiss. 

“Happy birthday, Y/N.”

❀ ❀ ❀

Deja vu would be the perfect term to describe this feeling.  You can almost see yourself in the room of hundreds, stealing glances at the man from afar. It only takes one blink for you to relive the rollercoaster of jubilance and confessions and tears. In the split second of darkness, the past week flickers before you like a film reel: breaking down in the middle of the hallway right in front of Jin, staring bewilderedly at the large bouquet in the hand of a man at the office, confessing with tears that stain your face and sobs that conquer your voice, meeting the woman who had stolen your spot beside Jin, and holding him in your arms as he cries his heart out at the stroke of midnight. 

And just as quickly as the whirlwind of memories had taken you on a trek of time, your eyes flutter open to find yourself in another suffocating room of hundreds once again. 

Youngji [8:39 P.M.] Hey Y/N do you think you can visit me real quick? 

The glaring text on your phone screen glows in an otherwise dimly lit reception room. Thumb hovering over the screen, your mind goes blank. People pass by you, commotions and laughter fill every corner of the room, and you stand there frozen and affixed to the floor beside the table of food with a glass of red wine in your hands. 

“Hey, Y/N,” someone whispers into your ear and you immediately turn your phone off only to find Alex on her tiptoes, “what’s the matter?”

“Oh, um, nothing,” you respond under your breath, “it’s just that someone wants to talk to me.” 

“Well, you better hurry then,” she ushers you with a gripping hand on your left arm, “the ceremony is about to start anytime now.” 

“O-oh, okay,” you nod, allowing your footsteps to follow the momentum of her push. 

This isn’t exactly what you had planned, for the original plan involved your complete avoidance of the groom and bride, but it’s unsurprising that things never quite go your way. Nothing could quite topple you like last night’s revelation anyways. Taking a deep breath, you weave through the audience, wandering about the venue until you finally find yourself in front of a door with a “BRIDE WAITING ROOM” printed in gigantic black letters taped to it. 

Hesitantly, you knock, “hello? This is Y/N…? Youngji called for me—”

“—Y/N!” The wooden door swings wide open with a highly distressed Youngji hiding behind it. Before you can reply or even confirm the identity of the woman, her hands clutch yours and pull you into the room with a force unimaginable for a human of her size.  Practically lurching forward, a heap of air is knocked from your lungs just as the door slams closed. Coughs force their way through your throat, but Youngji wastes no time to rush to your side. “Y/N, this is an emergency! I need help!” 

“W—” you wheeze, peering up at her as you’re doubled over “—what in the world are you talking about?” 

“I don’t know,” her hands jitter as she paces back and forth, “I don’t know why I feel so… so nervous!”

“Hold on,” you frown, finally straightening your back, “that’s perfectly normal. It’s your wedding—”

“—please don’t say that word again,” she begins biting her freshly white-coated nails.

“What word? Normal? Wedding? Your—”

“—I can’t believe it’s my wedding…” she says repeatedly, hands flying to her head and disheveling her previously perfectly conditioned curls. She suddenly turns to face you, eyes wider than ever with a look that screams of an epiphany. “I-I don’t think I can go there. Y/N, I don’t think I can go out there!”

“What?!” you almost yell, flabbergasted. Recoiling from your outburst, you start much more softly this time. “Are you sure? I’m sure it’s just your nerves getting to you. You’ve been okay with it for at least a year, right?”

“Why?” her eyes widen to unprecedented diameters as she grabs your arm for support. “Is it because it’s too late? Do you think I should back out, Y/N?”

“What? No, no, no, calm down, follow me,” you shake your head, grasping her hand and guiding her to the chair in the center of the room where an entire photo shoot has been set up. Lowering yourself to a squat, you give her a squeeze as firm as the smile on your lips.  “Hey, you’ll be okay. It’s just the jitters. Everyone gets them. I’m sure Jin is freaking out in his room, too.”

“...okay,” she nods, pouting as her eyes lower to your hands that hold hers. Peering up at her from below, you can’t help but notice how beautiful she looks dolled up on this special occasion. From the extravagant poof of her princess gown to the gorgeous glow of the bride herself, you find yourself lost in a trance that burns with heart-panging jealousy. You almost miss her when she murmurs, “how are you so calm, Y/N?”

“Huh?” you raise a brow and laugh. “Why would I be nervous? I’m not the one getting married here.”  

“But… your best friend is getting married,” she shifts to get a clearer look of you but finds you with your eyes to the floor, “are you sure you’re okay with that?”

“Of… of course. I’m happy for him,” you say through barely parted lips and stand to your feet before making your way to the door. “It’s not exactly traditional, but do you want me to get Jin? Maybe he can calm you down—”

“—do you know why Jin agreed to this arrangement?” 

Freezing in your tracks, you throw a glance over your shoulder to meet her distraught gaze. 

“Why are you asking me that now?”

“Because,” she blurts, clearly without thinking as words fail to follow through, “because I want your blessing! I want you to be okay with it!” 

“Blessing...?” 

“Yes,” she nods. “I can live with marrying a man I don’t love because I know I’ll come around, but I don’t think I can live knowing I’ve broken your relationship with Jin.”

Your weight shifts from your left to your right but the force of burden weighs immeasurably heavier on your very being. There’s nothing that would have prepared you for her request. Preparation, however, proves unnecessary, for your mind runs on its own and the words come to you as if rehearsal is all it's ever done. 

“I don’t think I’m in the position to grant you permission. That’s your decision and Jin’s,” you say, “and if my blessing is what you’re asking for, then I can give you it as many times as it takes to convince you. But if you’re asking for me to be okay with it, then I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give you that.” 

Those are your last parting words as you slump on the wall behind you and a heavy sigh is shared between the two women on opposite sides of the door. Head low like a woman unjustly ashamed for speaking her truth, you take a deep breath with those heavy shoulders that carry the weight of a woman who had essentially cursed the joining of two hands. Nevertheless, somehow, you persist to make your way through the halls just as the ceremony begins; but as the audience settles and the light dims, something tells you the guilt that intoxicates your blood would have a longer-lasting aftermath than you had first expected. 

“Hey,” Alex leans into you, whispering, “is it just me or does Jin seem really jittery?”

“...no,” you answer, making sure to keep yourself hushed amidst a room of seated spectators. From the second bench to the front, fortunately on the opposite side of where Jin’s parents sit in the front row, you get a clear view of Jin and Youngji in between the black silhouettes of a couple heads; but anyone in the room can tell the bright studio lights and elevated platform don’t help his constantly shuffling case. “I don’t think it’s just you.”

“I see… so both the groom and bride are getting cold feet, huh?” 

“Well,” you utter, quipping, “in Jin’s case, he’d probably just say he forgot to sleep with socks on.” 

Alex turns to you with sheer confusion across her furrowed brows, “huh?” 

But before Alex could inquire further, the priest clears his throat and begins the opening ceremony. The officiality of it all, a long-dreaded image of Jin standing by another woman’s side manifesting into reality, has you subconsciously sent into a frenzy. 

“Dear Beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Kim Seokjin and Heo Youngji in matrimony commended to be honorable among all…”

The clearing of his throat strikes once and hard against your chest. Each word that reverberates in the room echoes the vibrating pain in the blood pumped from a gaping wound. Your chest heaves and heaves and your lungs struggle to maintain composure, and while your breakdown may have gone unseen by the rest of the universe, you know for sure only two would catch sight of your state.

You and him. 

“...if there is any person who can show cause why they should not be joined together…”

The priest continues and the tension in the audience rises by the second of a stress-inducing prompt, but the moment Jin catches your eyes and the panic painted across it, his every attention remains on you. Guilt should’ve painted your expression now, having stolen the groom’s admiration from the rightful bride by his side, but all you can do is relish in a fleeting moment you deem the least this cruel world owed you. 

Maybe he feels the same way, because something catches in your throat like the hunch that has chills running down the nape of your neck. You don’t dare move an inch. You fear any movement would give you away, though you’re sure he already knew the second he met you halfway.

His eyes, those dazzling eyes that could single-handedly freeze any moment in time, they ask you for a permission only he could grant. 

“...let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” 

No one speaks but the thick air that engulfs every witness in the room is telling enough. Holding a shared, bated breath, everyone awaits and prays for the quick passing of this deafening silence. Your heart is pounding so hard you worry your passing out would be the one interruption to the ceremony, if not anything else. It takes everything in you to remain hidden, glued to the chair. You can hear every single movement in this room, the squeaking of a nearly retired bench, the rustling of clothes amidst a fidgeting audience, the anxious tapping of someone’s heels against the wooden floor, yet no one dares to speak now. 

The priest sighs a soft breath of relief. 

Everyone but you follows along. 

The priest clears his throat and pro—

“—I would like to speak.”

A loud gasp travels across the room. Every witness, including the priest himself, stares at the young man, wide-eyed. The knot in your throat inhibits you from following suit, but the hammer against your chest works harder than ever; because there he is, your best friend, standing boldly before the audience with a puffed chest and a tightened fist that brace for the repercussions. 

It all happens so suddenly, so swiftly. The strings that were left raveled now unraveled, the paths that were abandoned now explored, and the love of a lifetime whomst once bid you farewell now holds on with a determination that tells you they aren’t quite ready to let go, by happenstance or by conviction, everything falls into place. 

You had reprimanded yourself relentlessly for envisioning a moment like this and you truly believed this would be the worst case scenario, so why is it that only now, as your peering eyes are enamored by the sparkles in his, you find yourself smiling proudly and thinking to yourself… that’s your man. 

“Father, mother,” Jin turns to face his parents in the front row, declaring loudly and firmly, “I don’t want to marry someone I don’t love.” 

“What,” Alex shrills under her breath as she clutches your hands, “what is going on, Y/N?!”

Her voice doesn’t reach you and neither do her cold, nudging hands. The ongoing commotion around the room are like white noise in your background. You can’t even spare a second of your attention to the picturesque vision before you, the man who fights not for you but for the two of you.

Jin bows, head hanging low to his parents and the audience, “I’m sorry for saying this too late.” 

Everybody watches as his mother attempts to hold her husband in place. All is in vein, however, when one look of the baffled expression on her husband’s face conveys enough to everyone of the mayhem that is soon to ensue. He rips her grip apart from his arm and storms to his feet, pointing a finger at his apologetic son.

“W—” he struggles to find his breath “—what are you saying? You said you were okay with this just last week!”

“I did,” Jin affirms with his head still hanging low, “I thought I was okay with it until this week.” 

“How—”

“—honey…” the mother murmurs.

“No, changing your mind is one thing, but changing it at the very last second is another,” his father shakes his head, yanking his hand and stumbling on his feet before his distraught son could lend a helping hand. “Did I teach you to inconvenience others like this? Do you know how much trouble you’re causing Youngji and her family?”

“I do,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

His father grunts, “don’t you see, Seokjin? ‘Sorry’ can’t fix everything—”

“—actually, Mr. Kim, it’s not just Jin,” Youngji bounces to Jin’s side then pivots to bow to her parents who sit in the row before you, “I, too, don’t want to marry anyone until I really know them.” 

Physically, the spotlight remains affixed to the stage. Mentally, it feels as though everyone’s attention is gradually creeping its way toward you. It takes everything in you and the grip of Alex’s hands not to run from the prying eyes. 

“What?” their parents gasp. “Didn’t you say you were okay with it if it were Jin?”

“I did!” she insists, suddenly retracting. “I did, until…”

“I’m sorry,” Jin lifts his head to turn to Youngji’s parents before bowing once again, “this is all my fault.”

“No, no, you wouldn’t do this... tell me, son,” his father takes a step toward the stage, beckoning for an explanation, “tell me who did this to you?” 

Jin lifts his head, brow furrowing and lips thinning as he chooses to remain silent to his father’s question. Suddenly, it’s everyone’s duty to catch the perpetrator. The audience begins craning their neck every which way to skim over the possible candidates. Your heart sends threatening waves of pain that foreshadow the inevitable chaos you’re about to be dragged into. 

You can barely move from staring at the floor in between the groom and bride but you can spot the gradual direction of his mother’s eyes making its way toward you… and when they finally spot you, a lightbulb flashing across her eyes the second you make the lethal mistake of meeting her gaze for the first time in many years, it’s as though her son’s rebellion is the only thing that makes sense in this universe. 

Only naturally, his father catches onto his partner’s maternal instincts along with the rest of the crowd as their diverged attention converges, one head turning after another, to stare you down—some with awe plastered across their jealous front, some with ghastly colors than drain their face of blood. 

“Is that… you, Y/N?” his father’s voice echoes in the room. “Seokjin, don’t tell me…”

“No, father!” Jin jumps in, holding up a defensive pair of hands as he attempts to quell the fiery in his father’s temper. Wide-eyed and panicked, he glances between you and his father. “It isn’t her fault. I swear. I”ll explain—”

“—don’t tell me you’re going through all this trouble for a childish crush from five years ago?” 

A loud shriek began the chaos the second Jin’s father exploded, lurching forward with a vexing fist. Everyone in the front rows jump to their feet to hold him back, whereas people in the back rows stand to their tiptoes to get a better view of the climactic show, which includes a once-to-be-groom insisting his father punishes him and a once-to-be-bride slapping her ex-partner in the head for his submission. 

People are hysterically laughing, crying, screaming, yelling, fighting, but you sit there, frozen and petrified, until a hand shakes your entire being to your feet. 

“Y/N, Y/N, God damn it Y/N, earth to Y/N!” Alex raises her hand, just about to give you one hard slap to the cheek when you suddenly flinch awake. She then hastily pushes you toward the door in the corner of the room whilst everyone is too distracted to notice your discreet escape. She looks you directly in the eye, “you need to run before things get too crazy. I’ll handle things here for now.” 

“But Alex, I’m at fault here—”

“—yes, I mean, maybe,” she corrects herself with the shake of her head, “but you being here doesn’t help matters. I’ll help Jin and Youngji.”

“But—”

“—now go,” she starts your momentum with an encouraging push, “go!”

Nodding, you begin your long trek of the night. You run and you run and you run. Your mind runs blank but your feet run a mind of its own. You sprint down the dimly lit streets, you pay no mind to the traffic lights of endlessly empty streets, and your hair twirls in the wind that impedes your speed down the hills. Your surroundings become a blur as your arms swing desperately, your chest heaves incessantly, your eyes sting with tears, and your lips spill anguished sounds of incoherency until somehow, under the sway of the town’s cold spring air and your flux of emotions, you find yourself in a familiar street of your greatest dreams. 

Depleted of gas, your feet stumble into a trot that has your knee nearly buckling, which then turns into a jog that then drifts into an untroubled walk in which your lungs try to catch up and your mind is scrambling at a hundred miles per hour but you, yourself, have gone elsewhere. 

The luminescence of the full moon is blinding but all the more soothing as you navigate your way through this street you’ve walked one too many times before. For some reason, perhaps out of habit or a hope for something waiting at the end of the tunnel, you begin to count each passing light post. Seven fluorescent lights, you count, seven lights resembling the rays of moonlight until you finally reach your old acquaintance of many years at the corner of the street. 

Leaning your head back to stare at the familiar white text on a green sign post, you smile at the homely sight. 

CHERRY BLOSSOM AVE

A comforting breeze blows by you, the branches above you rustle in the wind, and the cherry petals from your old pal flutter into the air to envelop you in a solace you had long sought but failed to obtain. It’s like the calm after a storm. Not quite disconnected from the string that loops around your fourth finger to those of another man’s—no, you couldn’t unravel it after all this heartache—but at least away from the prying eyes that could tear you apart and away from the people who whispered gossip of matters they had none in. 

Hours seem to pass in the clouds that retire to reveal patches of new twinkling ornaments. You would have believed it if someone were to tell you all control of time lies within the blink of your eyes. The silence was calming initially; but the longer you stand here and the more the numbness begins to fade, the more you become aware of your lonesome circumstances. 

The silence is deafening. It knows your greatest fears and your innermost thoughts. You can’t handle it. You can’t bear the thought of being left alone to that voice in your head. 

You have to go. 

Where? 

You don’t know. You just know you have to go somewhere. You can envision all the places you can run to but all the roads lead you to one destination. Yes, anywhere would be fine, anywhere that leads you to him. 

“This marks the second time you’ve ever been so enraptured by something other than me.” 

Whirling around, seconds seem to become milliseconds and gravity becomes a law unbeknownst to earth, for you can’t believe the sight your eyes lay upon. There he is, standing by the tree just a few meters away with a loosened necktie and disheveled hair, almost as if a pitiful albeit wondrous mirage crafted by your shoddy prayers to the moon above. 

“Hey dummy,” he simply utters, taking a step or two toward you before poking your forehead, “what? Why’re you staring at me like I’m a ghost?” 

“What?” you manage to say under your breath. “I’m not staring…”

“I was just joking, you know?” he chuckles. “I wouldn’t be jealous over a street post. Psh, I’m not that dumb—”

“—why…” you frown when he quirks a brow, “why are you here? How are you here?”

“Oh no, she’s gone crazy,” Jin laughs at the stupefied look you give him. “At least an hour or two has passed since you left. Somehow, I managed to sit my father down and explain myself.” 

“And… what did he say?” your hands begin fidgeting. “He must hate me, doesn’t he…”

“I wouldn’t say ‘hate,’ per se… he’s perfectly okay with you. In fact, he likes you, really. He’s just mad at how things happened. After he calmed down, though, he understood where I was coming from.” 

Cautiously, you peek at those eyes that peer down at yours, “and your mother…?”

“She said she saw it coming from a mile away. Apparently she saw us arguing at the engagement party and knew right away,” Jin purses his lips. “Psh, yeah, as if I’m that easy to read.” 

Allowing yourself the smallest of laughs, you still can’t seem to rid yourself of that panging guilt. “And… what about Youngji?” 

Jin stares intently at your expression before cracking a smile and chuckling, ruffling your hair, “don’t go crying on me now, Y/N. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.” 

“But I just,” your voice cracks, “I just hate myself for ruining everything for everyone—”

“—hey,” he cups his fingers underneath your chin to lift your gaze to his, “you did not ruin anything for anyone. I did this. I chose to fight for us.” 

Hesitantly, you nod and he smiles in response. 

“Youngji’s still explaining to her family right now. She told me to find you and Alex told me you would probably here.” 

Frowning, you mutter to yourself, “how did she know…?” 

“Well,” Jin drops his hand from your chin to raise them in the air, “we did promise to swear our wedding vows here, didn’t we?” 

“So what?” you deadpan. “You’re gonna marry me now after all this mess?” 

“I know you really want to marry me as soon as possible, but I think I’m gonna have to take a break from weddings for now.” 

Rolling your eyes, you mumble, “ditto.”

“But hey, I may have already broken the third promise,” one corner of his lips curve into an apologetic smile before he shrugs, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t marry you in the future! Plus, I may or may not have promised my father I would marry you in the near future to make up for it, so...” 

Scoffing, you gawk, “and who said I would marry you?” 

“Who wouldn’t marry me?!” 

The two of you stare at each other in silence, but the mirrored grin that stretches across your lips are undeniable. Soon enough, a loud fit of giggles and cackles fill the air. It happens all too quickly. The banters come to you like second nature, the conversation flows like a river through time, and somehow you find yourself lying beside him on the blazer he had laid out on the grassy hill and star-gazing for hours on end. 

It’s almost like you’ve seen this all before, just five years aged. 

“So,” Jin speaks, “how’s your birthday been?” 

“Oh, shut the hell up.” 

“What?” he cackles, getting up to lean on his arm whilst hovering you. “You know it’s not too late to tell me what you want for your birthday!” 

“I already told you,” you narrow your eyes at him, “I wasn’t joking when I said what I said.” 

Jin smiles, “in that case…”

He leans in to diminish the distance between his lips and yours. A lulling zephyr blows gently on the cherry petals as you close your eyes and you can picture the way they gracefully descend upon the two lovers below. Having witnessed the unforeseeable promises from start to finish, it’s almost as though an old accomplice was applauding a long-awaited finale. 

And when he finally pulls away, eyelids fluttering open just as yours do, he speaks, “happy birthday.” 

“What was that for?” you giggle. 

Jin’s mouth falls agape, “I’m giving you what you wanted for your birthday!”

“Well,” you purse your lips, “where’s my ring to confirm it then?”

“After all this time, do you really need a ring at this point to confirm my love for you?” Jin rolls his eyes. “You know I’ll always want to be by your side, married or not.” 

A fit of laughs escape you as your hand reaches up to squeeze his cheeks, “I know, I know. I’m just joking.”

“Well, good, cause I’m bankrupt at the moment,” Jin sighs, plopping back onto the grass beside you. A momentary silence passes before he turns his head to look at you, “just to make sure, you said you wanted love, right?” 

Turning to meet those sparkles in his gaze, you answer, “yeah?”

“You said you wanted to feel love, right?” 

Your grin grows wider by the second, “yeah?” 

“Well,” he says, “do you feel it?” 

“I do,” you answer. “What about you? Do you feel it?”

The vows hold a truth much closer to his heart this time around, and he smiles as he swears...

“I do, too.”