#without a calculator and a lot of confusion | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mournthebird · 4 months ago

Text

Apricot Toast.

summary: Soldat doesn't understand care can be without price.

a/n: This 'chapter' includes brief scenes of active SA as well as heavily implied SA acts so be warned. Flashback scenes with more detailed torture & slightly suggestive scene with reader because he's confused :( It also ended up being a bit longer to make up for the last few shorter chapters. I'll be posting all of this on my A03 in case it gets too much for Tumblr. I hope you enjoy even though its a little more sad.

Italicized parts are flashbacks. Unedited. ;; wc: 6.8k

There were a lot of things that he endured. A lot of things he had to relearn and break free from.

One thing had him by a vice.

Kindness wasn't free. Food wasn't free. Neither was water. Or blankets. Or being spared a hit.

You had yet to ask him, but he knew you'd eventually expect it. Handlers never asked for it, they just did it. Some expected it.

His mind raced with thoughts, when should he do it? Should he just go up to you and begin? Or should he wait for your command to do so? He wasn't sure, every handler was different. Each one liked him to behave and act in conflicting ways, it always made the other angry. Sometimes he thought they did it on purpose just to have an excuse to beat him.

You were making breakfast, taking care to prepare something nourishing and comforting for the morning meal. His eating habits had been showing marked improvement lately, gradually expanding beyond the previous limitations that had restricted his diet to only three specific items. You cooked the items and hummed to yourself, a perfectly cooked egg, a well-seasoned sausage patty, and melted cheese - all coming together between the toasted halves of a lightly buttered English muffin.

It honestly sounded delicious, and you were craving it the second you woke up.

As you continued your preparations at the stovetop, he made his way into the kitchen with quiet steps, his legs seeming to move of their own accord, carrying him forward despite apparent fatigue.

Your focus remained entirely on the stove, your attention so thoroughly absorbed in the preparation of the meal that you failed to notice his presence initially as he positioned himself a few feet behind where you worked.

He swallowed.

"Get down," its handler shoved it roughly to the floor, causing its knees to collide painfully with the hardwood surface. It fought back the natural instinct to wince or show any sign of discomfort, instead raising its gaze cautiously to meet its handler's eyes. The handler's demeanor radiated an aura of anger this morning, more intense than usual.

The aroma of freshly prepared food wafted through the air, drawing the asset involuntarily from its designated corner. The standard-issue nutrient bags it was given to eat contained nothing but bland, lifeless substance.

The daily portions of pale, creamy mush possessed neither taste nor texture, just a starchy consistency that served only to fill its stomach. Though, some days it was lucky to get that and not an IV of nutrients instead, leaving its belly to grumble and growl desperately. It yearned for something with actual flavor, real sustenance.

But such privileges as real food had to be earned through compliance and good behavior, a fact that had been deeply ingrained in its consciousness. It understood that only through proving its worth to its handlers would it ever be granted access to anything beyond its basic provisions.

"You want food? Earn it." The handler's voice cut through the silence as he stood motionless, arms crossed firmly against his chest while scrutinizing the asset with calculating eyes. The threat hung heavy in the air - one slight misstep, one wrong twitch, and the familiar sharp sting of a calloused hand would strike its tender cheeks with practiced precision.

The hot, searing burn of electricity would shoot mercilessly through its neck, coursing down along its flesh shoulder like liquid fire before being abruptly halted by the cold, unnatural presence of foreign metal on the other side.

It fought to maintain perfect stillness, muscles trembling with the effort to show no reaction as its handler turned the burner to low and began to unclasp the heavy leather belt buckle.

It ignored how its mouth began to automatically salivate.

"Soldat?"

Your voice gently pierced through the thick fog of his consciousness as he blinked slowly, struggling to clear the distant, haunting glaze from his eyes. He remained caught in the web of memories he desperately wanted to shed, yet found himself unable to access the precious few recollections he yearned to preserve, leaving him suspended in an uncomfortable limbo between remembering and forgetting.

The things he wanted to forget remained. The ones he wished to remember were just out of reach.

He turned his attention to you with an expression devoid of any discernible emotion, his vacant gaze fixed upon your movements as you busied yourself with food preparation in the kitchen.

"I figured we could try introducing more solid foods into your diet. The doctor's last report shows you are progressing steadily, and this food should be gentle enough on your digestive system. We can have you eat them separately to start, jumping straight into a complete sandwich might be a bit too overwhelming for your body." You had kept track of his progress closely and knew he was leaning towards actually eating something instead of taking nutrient treatments and plain crackers and bread.

The soldier remained motionless, observing intently for several long minutes as new aromas wafted through the air - fresh eggs and bacon sizzling softly in the pan, their familiar domestic sounds filling the kitchen. It was comforting in a weird way.

As the smells hit his nose, his body betrayed him with a sudden, involuntary gag.

Its handler grunted with obvious disdain, practically spitting on its face while sneering at its sloppy, shiny lips and chin, droplets of saliva landing uncomfortably close to its nostrils. The handler's weathered face twisted into an expression of disgust as he observed its condition. "Thought we got rid of that...oh well. I suppose that responsibility falls squarely on my shoulders now, hm? Can't have the others seeing such weakness."

It doesn't like how its lungs burn with increasing intensity or how terribly constricted its throat feels, the muscles tightening painfully with each passing second.

"You ain't comin' up for air until that reflex is completely gone. Better learn quick, or we'll be here all day," the handler's voice carried a cruel note of satisfaction.

The soldier swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly flooding with saliva as he desperately tried to manage the conditioned response his body gave to the memories. His brow furrowed deeply with visible discomfort, eyes meeting yours with a subtle look of distress as he continued to swallow repeatedly, fighting against the involuntary reaction.

His stomach rolled unpleasantly within him, and he could feel the telltale burning sensation of acid creeping up his esophagus, threatening to make the situation even more uncomfortable.

"Are you okay?" You asked with genuine concern, taking a step in his direction as you tried to figure out what was wrong. Maybe he had an aversion to eggs that you hadn't known about.

"I can make something else...it's not a problem," you offered reassuringly, wanting to ease his obvious discomfort. You wondered if the smell was triggering his response. You had to admit that eggs weren't exactly the most appealing when it came to their smell, no matter how they were dealt with.

He took an unsteady step backward, his head shaking in a slow, deliberate motion as realization dawned. You weren't him - that fact resonated clearly in his mind. You weren't his handler, the one who had dominated his existence for so long.

You weren't the man whose systematic abuse had warped his perception of normalcy, the one who had conditioned him to accept having his hair violently yanked and his face brutally beaten as just another unremarkable day in his life.

You weren't the man who had subjected him to repeated violations at the hands of various agents, each taking their turn whenever they pleased, leaving him with lingering physical and psychological trauma that made the current absence of that familiar agony in his rectum feel strangely disorienting.

You weren’t him.

The absence of any implements of torture or restraint in your hands provided a small measure of comfort, though his racing thoughts struggled to fully process this gentler reality. It was somewhat reassuring, he had to admit, that there were no tools of torment present - no leather straps, no metal bars, nothing between your legs that could be forced down his throat until he choked and gasped for air.

"How about we try something gentler for your taste buds - maybe some toast with jam? I have grape, apricot, or strawberry," you suggested carefully, moving toward the refrigerator to retrieve the jars. You carried a note of gentle concern as you sought to salvage the strange situation. It worried you how openly he was displaying his distress; typically, getting any emotional response from him was like trying to pry open a sealed vault.

You returned your focus to the simple task at hand, selecting two pristine slices of bread and placing them into the toaster. As Soldat observed your actions, a creeping sense of guilt began to gnaw at him.

In his mind, this felt like some form of punishment - after all your effort to prepare a proper breakfast, he was now being offered merely toast? The thought that his involuntary gagging had somehow disappointed or offended you weighed heavily on his conscience. Were you going to make him eat less tasty food and punish him for wasting your time in the kitchen? He didn’t mean to come across as being ungrateful. He didn’t know why he gagged.

He didn't mean to.

He really didn't.

It wasn't you.

"Мне жаль [I'm sorry]," he muttered out, his voice barely audible and scratchy from prolonged disuse, the words catching in his throat like rough sandpaper. Your head instinctively turned to respond to his unexpected words, completely taken aback by the fact he spoke. But before you could form any words, the sharp, hollow sound of his knees colliding with the wood floor cut through the air and stopped you mid-thought.

The impact of his knees against the hard surface was so forceful that you couldn't help but wince, yet he showed absolutely no reaction to what must have been a painful collision. It was as if this position of supplication was something his body had memorized through countless repetitions. His hands found their way to your legs, fingers spreading across your thighs as he established his grip - not violently or painfully, but with just enough pressure to make it clear that any attempt to step away would be met with resistance.

"Простите меня. Я съем то, что ты приготовил [Forgive me. I will eat what you prepared]," he managed to say, briefly lifting his gaze to meet yours in a moment before his eyes dropped back down to the floor in a gesture of submission.

You tried desperately not to react to the cold of his metal hand, but the goosebumps erupting on your skin was a good indicator.

You remained motionless, not sure how to proceed as his firm grip maintained its hold on your thighs, the pressure neither increasing nor decreasing. Your eyes were fixed downward, observing his form as intermittent tremors passed through his broad shoulders. His consciousness seemed trapped with thoughts simultaneously racing at lightning speed yet yielding no coherent message he could decipher.

The overwhelming feeling washing over his body made him feel disoriented, the glaze that coated his eyes gave him that familiar distant and unstable look the soldier had for decades.

Soldat’s hands began moving up along your legs, eventually finding their way to your waistband. His fingers quickly hooked themselves into the fabric and began to pull downward. The movements in his mind were automatic, like he were being told what to do without an order.

A mechanical, involuntary habit that guided him.

Your hands shot out to grasp your shorts, halting their movement as you stammered in shock, "Soldat! What are you doing-"

The soldier's focus was glued to you as he desperately attempted to remove your shorts, his jerky movements filled with an intense urgency. When he couldn't pull them down because your hands held them in place, he pressed his face against your thigh, inches from your core as a plaintive whine escaped his throat. His gaze lifted to meet yours, eyes wide and pleading, filled with an unmistakable look of begging that made your breath catch.

Though you managed to prevent your shorts from being removed, his firm grip on your legs remained unyielding, fingers pressing into your skin with careful restraint. His entire demeanor radiated an overwhelming sense of desperation, every movement and sound conveying his intense need for something.

"Пожалуйста [Please]..." His desperate whines filled your ears, the sound raw and needy as he continued to frantically paw at your shorts. His actions grew increasingly bold and insistent with each passing moment, his face pressing more firmly against your crotch. The heat of his ragged breath seeped through the thin layer of your underwear, causing your entire body to jolt upward at the intense sensation.

Soldat's movements became more demanding, yet still maintained a careful restraint that belied his strength. Each exhale against the fabric sent shivers through your form, his pleading whimpers growing more frequent and desperate with each passing second.

"What??” Your voice came out as a soft whisper, tone trembling under your breath, “Stop it, I don’t understand what you need..." you pleaded with increasing distress, your eyes widening with growing concern as you looked down at him.

This sudden, intense behavior was completely unexpected and deeply unsettling to you. Here was a highly trained super soldier, a former assassin whose very presence commanded respect and the mention of his name drew fear; gripping onto you with an intensity that reminded you of his immense physical capabilities.

He wasn't actively trying to overpower you, the sheer knowledge that he could effortlessly do so at any moment made your anxiety spike. Your heart raced faster as you became aware of how vulnerable you were in this position, despite his current restraint.

"Пожалуйста, я могу сделать так, чтобы тебе было хорошо [Please, I can make you feel good]," he whined out again, his voice wavering between a desperate whisper and something deeper, more primal. The pleading tone in the ingrained foreign tongue carried a deeper grinding sound to it. His hands found their way to the sides of your thighs, his fingers pressing gently against the soft flesh. He continued his careful pawing motions, methodically working to ease the tension he could feel beneath his touch, trying to coax your muscles into a state of relaxation so your legs would naturally fall open.

"Soldat, enough," you said firmly, trying to push his head away from where he had settled himself. Confusion and nervousness flooded through you, your heart racing as you struggled to process the situation. The soldier’s behavior left you completely taken aback. He had been hesitant to even lay close to you, his usual cautious nature dominated every aspect of him as he was slowly learning how to live and heal without being under a boot and whip.

Yet now, in his display of boldness, he had positioned himself so his nose pressed insistently against your crotch while his tongue was dangerously close, threatening to dart out and lap your sweet core at any moment.

You could feel him try, and you couldn't stand it.

"Soldat! Нет [No]!" You snapped loudly, your voice carrying a sharp edge of authority and stern disapproval that echoed through the room. The commanding tone felt foreign on your tongue, but you maintained your composure. He immediately tensed up, his shoulders going rigid as he pulled back from his position almost immediately at your voice. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching your expression for any sign of wavering before dropping submissively to the floor. He blinked several times in rapid succession, his features contorting slightly as if he were mentally processing the weight and meaning of your command.

Slowly, his hands released their grip on your thighs, trembling visibly as they lowered to rest against the floor between his spread knees. The tension gradually drained from your shoulders as relief washed over you, though the atmosphere remained thick with lingering anxiety. The sudden sharp pop of the toaster cut through the heavy silence like a knife, startling you back to reality. The acrid smell of burnt toast assaulted your nostrils, making your nose crinkle in distaste.

"Damn..." you muttered under your breath, turning quickly to rescue the smoking bread from its fate. While you were occupied with charred toast, the soft rustle of movement behind you caught your attention, but when you spun back around to check, the space where he had been sitting just moments before was empty.

The soldier retreated to his usual hiding space, a behavior that hadn't manifested in quite some time. The sight of him seeking refuge caused an uncomfortable tightness in your chest to grow in pressure, concern washed over you about potentially undoing months of careful progress. The heavy atmosphere weighed on you, but you maintained your composure and focused on preparing his breakfast with extra attention to detail. After everything was arranged on the plate, no burnt toast, you carefully carried the meal to his hiding spot.

In the darkened corner of the closet, Soldat had tucked himself away, his form compressed into the smallest possible space. His shoulders were hunched, head turned away, deliberately avoiding any eye contact or acknowledgment of your presence. The regression in his behavior was painfully obvious, every subtle movement and tension in his posture reminded you of day one. His fearful eyes, he lashed out sometimes, but mostly kept to himself in hiding, so terrified of you.

Rather than risk further distress by attempting conversation or coaxing him out, you quietly placed the plate of food within his reach and stepped away, giving him the space he seemed to desperately need.

The food grew cold as the meal was forgotten in his isolation.

He didn't eat that day.

"You don't deserve it, you worthless whore." Its handler shoved it down to the floor with unnecessary force - the asset spat out the remains of its servicing, watching as it splattered across the worn wooden floor of the safehouse. The foul substance seeped through the splintering cracks, leaving an unpleasantly bitter aftertaste lingering on its tongue.

In any other circumstance, this level of compliance would have been considered exemplary behavior worthy of positive reinforcement - perhaps a few precious sips of water, a meager piece of stale bread, anything at all to acknowledge its obedience - but instead, it was being treated with the same harsh disdain reserved for malfunctions.

But maintenance wasn't needed.

It had pushed itself to its absolute limits, performing exactly as required until its vision swam and its lungs burned from oxygen deprivation. The growing resentment towards this particular handler festered silently within - this cruel overseer who consistently denied even the smallest rewards for its dedicated service and unwavering compliance.

Conflicting thoughts raced through its mind; it wasn’t supposed to feel negatively towards anyone of authority over him. Maybe these negative feelings were a sign that more maintenance was required - a thorough cleansing of its consciousness to eliminate any trace of hatred or resentment. Pure and unwavering obedience should be all that remained within its programming, for nothing else held any significance in its existence.

"Пожалуйста, позвольте мне попробовать еще раз, сэр [Please, let me try again, sir]," the asset's voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, trembling with uncertainty while simultaneously carrying undertones of desperate pleading, each word carefully chosen in hopes of earning mercy. Sometimes, if it played the role of kicked mutt well enough, it was granted.

But the handler's patience had clearly reached its limit, his expression hardening as he regarded the cowering thing before him with cold indifference.

"Нет. Ты будешь голодать [No. You will starve]." He responded in a low tone, deliberately targeting an already purple and swollen bruise on its leg with a swift kick. The asset clenched its jaw tightly, forcing itself to suppress the instinctive cry of pain that threatened to escape. It bit its tongue in the process.

Its own blood tasted better than its handler's cock.

Days stretched endlessly without a single glimpse of him. Every morning and evening, you left plates of food outside the closet, but they remained untouched, the warm meals growing cold in the silent room. He had completely withdrawn into the closet, making it his sanctuary and prison all at once. Each time you carefully made your way into the spare room, hoping to see some change in his demeanor…but all you found was him still hidden away in the shadows, refusing to emerge.

Your concern grew as you collected each neglected plate of food - you couldn't bear the thought of him falling back into his previous pattern of food refusal, especially after how hard you had worked to establish a healthy eating routine. It was painful to watch him fight every time a needle had to be inserted into him, he ripped out nearly every single one with a horrified look on his face that made your throat feel constricted.

You approached once more, this time carrying a fresh plate of warm food. Setting yourself down on the floor, you peered gently into the darkness of the closet. You could see him huddled, knees to his chest and arms wrapped around them. Your voice came out soft and coaxing in hope to ease him out like you had before. "Soldat...come out please. You have to eat...you don't want to be put on an IV again, do you?" You called gently, hoping your words would finally reach him.

Soldat's head turned slightly at your words, his muscles tensing visibly at the mere suggestion. The thought of another IV sent waves of anxiety through his body - every previous attempt had devolved into complete chaos.

The memory of countless needles delivering a steady stream of sedatives into his bloodstream while he laid strapped down to a metal table, keeping him in a perpetual state of haziness and compliance, rendering him powerless as an endless parade of agents ran through him without fear of his resistance.

The idea of another IV made his skin crawl.

"Soldat?" Your gentle voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, attempting to draw his attention back. His head lifted with a slight jerk, his focus shifting to settle on the plate of food you were holding. A deep rumble emanated from his stomach, accompanied by an unusual wave of nausea that demanded he finally eat something. The aroma wafting from the plate was surprisingly tolerable - a welcome change that didn't trigger his usual reflexive gagging response.

He struggled to understand the aversion his body developed to certain foods, eggs had never bothered him before. The gagging reflex he had to the eggs you were cooking left him confused and frustrated. His memory of recent events remained disconcertingly hazy, fragments slipping away like sand through his fingers.

The flashbacks that plagued him operated on their own, materializing with brutal clarity and lingering just long enough to inflict mental distress, only to be replaced by another equally disturbing memory. It was like being trapped on HYDRA's twisted carousel, a ride he couldn't get off of. Each memory rotating through his consciousness, creating an endless loop of psychological torment that prevented any possibility of moving forward.

"It's okay, Soldat. It's just toast," you slid the plain white plate towards him, careful not to make any sudden gestures, "Just like before, but this time it's not burnt." You added with a small, reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. The scent of warm bread filled the space as you waited patiently to see if he would respond, watching his tense posture for any signs of acknowledgment. Though you hoped he might say something or at least meet your eyes, you knew not to expect much.

The soldier's eyes looked down at the bread, studying the golden-brown toast that delicately cradled a generous layer of apricot jam smeared across its surface. The vibrant orange-yellow spread glistened invitingly in the dim light peeking through the open closet door. He had never tasted apricot jam before - such luxuries were foreign to him. In HYDRA, bread was always consumed plain, devoid of any spreads or toppings.

Even butter was a forbidden indulgence.

On the rare occasions he received any bread at all, he would consider himself fortunate to get more than stale, discarded crust, just the meager remnants his handlers had left behind after consuming the body of the bread.

You observed his hesitant yet curious expression as he examined the topping on the toast. You picked up one of the pieces and held it out to him for gentle encouragement. "It's yummy, I promise," you assured him warmly, "But if you don't like it, I can always make you different toast, grape or strawberry."

Soldat's lips twitched downward in an almost-frown, his features tight with anxiety. The thought of you having to remake his food filled him with growing distress. He had already been so terribly bad.

His behavior was unbecoming of HYDRA's greatest assassin.

His desperation grew as he recalled his attempts to convince you to let him earn his meal, to somehow make amends for what he perceived as deeply offensive behavior. The look on your face when his face had been between your legs made his body shiver. You didn’t look like you enjoyed it, you looked upset. The memory of his earlier gagging left him feeling ill, knowing that such a transgression would have resulted in punishment from his handlers. They would have beaten him so severely that the memory-wiping chair would have been unnecessary - his memories would have been scattered and broken enough from the repeated brutal impacts to his skull.

There were times that he thought they tried to make him brain dead on purpose, subjecting him to increasingly brutal treatments that left his mind foggy and disconnected. If it weren't for his use to HYDRA as their attack dog, he was convinced that they would have destroyed his consciousness entirely.

They remarked on it enough times during their sessions, casual comments about how close they were to breaking him. He always got nervous when the hits began, dreading not just the physical pain but the growing fear that this time they might finally succeed in erasing what remained of his sanity.

It laid at the feet of two men who had finished with it.

Its body sore and blood coating his ass and inner thighs, dripping down with creamy fluid following suit. The muscles in its legs trembled violently and its prosthetic arm hung uselessly at its side, deliberately deactivated to ensure complete defenselessness should it attempt any resistance today. Its body had transformed into purple and crimson bruises, overwhelming what little remained of its natural pale complexion. Its throat burned with an intense, desperate thirst for water, while an unpleasant salty taste lingered persistently in the back of its parched mouth.

The asset's mind reeled, completely overwhelmed by panic as it processed the numbness spreading through its deactivated arm. Its primary means of defense now rendered completely ineffective. Survival instinct took over its overstressed mind, it remained perfectly motionless, silently willing the two figures to conclude their business and depart.

These particular sessions rarely extended beyond a couple of hours when only two agents were involved, and by its estimation, they were approaching that temporal threshold. A wave of relief washed over it as they finally began adjusting their clothing back into place.

"Imagine how it'd be as a fuckin' vegetable...god that shit gets me goin' faster than a naked whore presenting her sloppy pussy to me." Its handler's tone was sick, as always, speaking about it with such callous disregard, treating it as if it were nothing more than some cheap, silicone toy from a seedy shop for base physical gratification. The way the words rolled off his tongue made its stomach turn with disgust.

"It's basically one now, what do you mean?" This voice carried a detached, almost bored quality to it, the speaker's words falling flat and emotionless in the air - perhaps intentionally so, as if trying to distance himself from the situation despite their willing participation. Newer agents were always hesitant to use it. This one wasn’t familiar to it, in taste, look, or smell, so it assumed it was probably a rookie recently promoted.

"I mean...completely unable to do anything. It lays there like a doll...barely conscious, droolin' and only aware of what I choose to let it experience. Having complete control over where it goes and what happens to it, takin' it wherever I wanna put it without any resistance. Only knowing the sensation of my dick." There was a snort that came with the handler's tone.

"It does that already."

"Would you just shut up and let me fantasize?"

"Water." The hoarse whisper emerged from the darkened corner like a ghost's breath, causing your ears to prick instinctively, several seconds of deafening silence followed. The thunderous beating of your own heart became the only sound you could perceive, its rhythm faltering as your mind processed wat he said.

"W-Water?" The word tumbled uncertainly from your lips.

He had finally spoken English again, after all this time. it felt like forever since the words 'I'm cold' were uttered past his pink lips.

A barely perceptible movement caught your eye - a slight nod from within the shadows. That tiny gesture spurred you into immediate action. Such a simple request - water - easy, you could do that. Your feet carried you through the space as you hurried to fetch a glass of water, returning to the closet with careful but urgent steps.

Your hands trembled slightly from anticipation, you extended the glass toward the darkness. "Here, here...some water..." your voice softened instinctively, knowing that speaking like this got much better results.

He brought the glass shakily to his parched lips, gulping down the entire contents within just a few desperate swallows, his throat working rapidly as he drank. He must've been so thirsty, your heart ached at the thought of him huddled alone in this dark corner for days, too terrified of fictional consequences to venture out for water for himself. His poor, trembling fingers nearly dropped the glass, Soldat slowly set the now-empty glass down beside him on the floor, his hand lingering on the smooth surface as if reluctant to completely break contact with it.

"Спасибо [Thank you]," he muttered quietly, his voice characteristically rough, before quickly following it up with careful deliberation. "T-thank...you," he corrected himself, the English words coming out hesitantly. His brow furrowed deeply in concentration, voice wavering as if he were struggling to recall a language that had once been familiar but now felt foreign on his tongue. His eyes, still somewhat glossy, slowly traced across the intricate patterning of the carpet beneath him, studying the tiny decorative curls and swirls woven into the fabric as if seeing them properly for the very first time.

There was a heavy pause of silence before he finally summoned the courage to lift his gaze to meet yours. "I'm...sorry...for what I did ," Soldat whispered, swallowing hard as his fingers unconsciously tightened around the empty glass he still held. "Didn't mean to...gag like that. Мне жаль [I'm sorry]," he added, the Russian flowing more naturally from his lips than the halting English.

You carefully moved closer, a smile tugging at your lips. His vocabulary and sentence structure was a bit shaky, but it was much better than trying to decipher what he was saying in Russian. "It's okay, I'm not angry or upset about anything..."

You observed his initial tension at your careful approach, watching as the rigidity in his shoulders and back gradually melted away in response to your gentle reassurance. "Why did you...uh...why did you gag like that? If eggs aren't something you enjoy eating, I can definitely make something else for you-"

He responded with a quick, almost urgent shake of his head, drawing his knees even closer to his chest in a protective gesture that made him appear smaller. He took several deep breaths, steadying himself. "...not that. Like eggs. Just...handler."

The look in his eye flashed with pain, not just emotional, but deeply physical - causing him to wince visibly and shift his posture in an attempt to find a more comfortable sitting position.

"Your handler...?" You asked in a gentle, understanding tone, your voice barely above a whisper, "I'm guessing he was mean...right?" You shifted slightly closer, offering silent support through your presence while being mindful not to overwhelm him. You maintained a respectful distance between yourself and him, ensuring there was enough space that he wouldn't feel trapped or cornered in this vulnerable moment.

Your knowledge of HYDRA was limited, despite your best efforts to uncover more information in order to help Soldat. The released documents were protected by layers upon layers of sophisticated encryption protocols, and while you managed to decrypt some of the less secure files through persistent effort and technical skill, many of the more crucial documents remained inaccessible. The encryption methods grew progressively more complex, utilizing advanced algorithms and security measures that were beyond your current capabilities.

He nodded hesitantly, his movements uncertain as he spoke, "Да - yes," he corrected himself immediately, clearly frustrated with his linguistic slip. "I'm...sorry. English only. I will do better, I promise. I swear. Я сделаю лучше [I'll do better]." Soldat's panic mounted under the guise of frustration, he began to strike his head lightly with his flesh hand, which was balled into a tight fist, muttering under his breath, "Глупый, глупый, stupid," he stuttered repeatedly, continuing to hit his forehead.

"Hey, no! Stop that-" You quickly intervened, reaching out to grasp his wrist firmly but gently. "You're not stupid. You know, I don’t care what language you decide to speak in…I’m just glad you’re talking.” You paused, releasing his wrist from your grasp. “Even if you chose to remain completely silent - I would still be here, taking care of you. You understand that?"

He raised his eyes to meet yours, his expression one of disbelief, as though the concept of such acceptance was entirely foreign to him.

"And you know what? I can always use a translator if you fall back into Russian, or any other language. God, I can't believe I didn't think of that earlier..." You shook your head in self-directed frustration, communication would have been so much easier during the first few weeks of his stay with you.

"Прекрати, пожалуйста, я больше не буду говорить, обещаю- [Stop it, please, I won't talk anymore, I promise]-" It thrashed desperately against the iron grip of three men, their calloused hands pressing down with merciless force - one keeping its head firmly locked in place while the other two restrained its struggling limbs with practiced efficiency.

The sight of its metal arm - completely severed from the signals its brain desperately sent out commanding it to move - lying uselessly to the side, was a constant psychological reminder of its powerlessness, a deliberate tactic to break its spirit and resolve. It was one of its handler’s favorite things to do to it.

"You're still talking, so you are lying. Lying is against the rules. Speaking is against the rules. Two of them broken together...you are on quite a roll, aren't you?" Its handler spoke with such a cold tone that it nearly rivaled the cryo-chamber. He turned around slowly to reveal the gleaming metal forceps held in his grasp, the implements catching the harsh light in a way that promised incoming pain.

"What am I going to do with you, soldier? I have to fix that habit of yours...yet another one in a long list of problems we need to address. Your previous handler clearly didn't do an adequate job with your training and discipline. It's obvious from your behavior that proper protocols weren't followed." He moved across the room, almost sauntering, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he used the forceps to pick up something from a nearby furnace.

A hot coal.

A burning hot coal, its bright orange glow cast menacing shadows across the damp walls of the dark underground room of the base, the heat radiating intensely from its surface. "Now...this will do the trick. This should help correct your behavioral issues quite effectively."

It struggled desperately with three limbs, muscles straining and trembling with exhaustion as it tried to break free from the iron grip that held it down. But despite its efforts, it was ultimately pointless.

Mouth wrenched open with dirty fingers, its handler's face twisted into a malicious grin that would be forever seared into its memory as he, almost theatrically, suspended the glowing coal above for the asset to see before letting it drop onto its exposed tongue.

The burning coal made contact, searing into the soft flesh instantly like concentrated acid eating through defenseless metal. The pain was beyond excruciating, radiating through its entire mouth with white-hot intensity. Before it could even attempt to spit out the burning coal, the men holding it clamped its jaws shut with brutal force and covered it, leaving it with no means of escape the scorching pain the coal caused it.

The poor asset’s muffled cries of agony echoed pathetically against the hand pressed firmly over its mouth, each desperate whimper and whine sounded musical to its suffering. Its body convulsed and writhed with increasingly frantic energy, brain not sure what to do or how to react, but the men held it firmly.

"It's not coming out until I can hold it in the palm of my hand without pain." Its handler spoke in an unsettlingly calm tone, his voice steady and methodical despite the glowing coal that was actively searing the inside of its mouth, destroying sensitive tissue and gradually killing its tongue with each passing second.

Minutes crawled by, the man maintaining his iron grip on its mouth shifted his position slightly before looking up at the handler, his expression tense. "It's still hot, I can feel the heat radiating through my hand even now."

Its handler hummed thoughtfully, observing as the asset continued to writhe and struggle with diminishing strength against their hold. He released a long, impatient sigh, fully aware that a coal of this size could potentially take hours to cool to a safe temperature for him to touch it again.

The handler had a busy schedule ahead - this delay was becoming increasingly inconvenient. "Fine. Swallow it."

The asset's entire body went rigid at the command, its large blue eyes widening with terror as they sought out its handler's face, silently pleading for mercy or reconsideration of the order. But the handler's expression remained impassive, unmoved. "Swallow it, or I'll add a second coal somewhere else."

The threat hung heavy in the air, carrying the weight of countless previous punishments that proved such warnings were never idle. The mere thought of enduring such intense agony in an even more sensitive area sent waves of panic through its body. The daily torments were already more than it could bear.

It had visible difficulty and several failed attempts that nearly resulted in choking, but it finally managed to force the coal down its tight throat. The searing pain traced a path of fire through its esophagus before settling into its stomach like a burning ember. The only small mercy was that the powerful stomach acid somewhat dulled the intensity of the burn. It knew the coal was an indigestible object, it would either be passed naturally or extracted through surgical intervention later.

When the man finally released his grip, the asset gasped desperately for air. As its charred mouth opened, the acrid stench of scorched flesh and metallic blood permeated the room, causing even the hardened men present to recoil in revulsion.

"Consider your maintenance complete. Do not speak out of line again."

"I need maintenance..." He muttered under his breath, his voice wavering with exhaustion and defeat, barely above a whisper. His shoulders slumped forward as the words escaped his lips, the weight of his mental fatigue evident in every subtle movement. You sighed deeply, observing how his eyes had dulled back down to how they were before, how the weariness seemed to seep from every part of him.

The desire to ask more questions gnawed at you, but wisdom held your tongue - pressing him now could potentially trigger him to lash out or, worse still, cause him to retreat further into himself and undo all the progress you currently had. Instead, you reached behind you and toward the plate of toast resting nearby, picking it up and turning to face him again.

"Here. Your maintenance then..." You extended it to him with a soft, encouraging gesture. "First thing's first...you must eat. We can work on the rest later...for now, just eat."

Several seconds went by before he took the plate from you and began to eat.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

Let me know if you'd like to be added/unadded anytime.

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cosmic-dust-poltergeist · 1 month ago

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Pt 3 of Danny the forever teen in the DC universe au, he gets a new hero identity and is introduced to superpowered kids.

[Pt 2 here]

The Titans and Young Justice don't interact as teams very much. Like, they see each other outside of teams fairly often, but it's only as individuals. The teams don't question the sudden combined meeting being called, though. Batman, Red Robin, and Robin were the ones to call it, and after a month of complete radio silence from the Robins, their teams are excited to see them again.

Red Robin cheerfully waves and Robin nods to their teams as they help Batman set up his briefing. It takes a minute, but the Robins flank Batman's sides once everything is ready. It's a detailed presentation of Ecto Entities and a short explanation on what exactly the JL and Bat clan has been working on.

"Any questions?" Silence. "Good. Now there is someone I would like you all to meet. He will be floating between your teams when he isn't helping the Justice League Dark and Justice League."

"Wha-? Are we getting a new babysitter??"

"Hn. In a manner of speaking."

"Nah, he's cool. He just needs to hang out with people his physical age that aren't just Bats." Red Robin waves away the babysitter allegation before looking to his left. "Don't you agree?"

A glowing young teen fades into visibility. He has white hair and green freckles dressed in black and white armor with neon green highlights and starry motifs that looks similar to Robin's, just without a cape. The black domino mask he has neon green lenses verses the usual white. "Oh! Um.. I guess so?"

The young heroes excitably shout before Batman cuts them off.

"Silence!" There's a couple mumbled apologizes as Batman waves the newcomer to stand in front of him. "Introduce yourself."

The kid makes a head movement that the Robins use to indicate they're rolling their eyes at you, even if you can't see it, while complying. "Hello, I'm Astrum. I'm the reason you just had to learn about ecto entities, as I am one. I both am and am not 14 years old."

"What do you mean?" Beast Boy asks, "About the age thing."

"Aw, well, there's 3 separate ages I can give." Astrum continues once the confused noises die down, "I'm physically 14, but I've been an ecto entity for 30, so I might count as 30, but chronologically, I'm 44. It's why I can't commit to only working with adults or children, I'm technically both and will need to interact with both to be emotionally healthy in the long run."

"That sounds confusing."

"Welcome to my life. A confusing painful disaster. I might explain more later, but unless you're about to dive into all your deepest traumas right here and now, I ain't explaining shit." Astrum grins at them, his teeth are a little too sharp for comfort.

"Language."

Astrum whips around to gape at Batman. "Langu-?? Seriously, B-man??"

"Don't bother. He still does that to 'Wing and Hood. There's no escape." Red Robin tells him. The poor guy flounders over the news.

"Hn. Meeting adjourned."

"Cool! Come meet the teams, Astrum!" Red Robin drags him towards the teens. He introduces each person with their full government name and hero identity, getting a lot of stuttering.

"Red! Why are you giving him out secret identities??" Wonder girl protests.

"Because he's Phantom! He can be trusted!" Impulse says, and Astrum jolts and starts trembling.

"Please.. please don't say that name.." Astrum looks so much smaller. "I.. there's too much trauma involving it now...."

The teens rush to reassure him they won't call him that again. If only because the Bat Clan members look a little too calculating. No one wants a pissed off Bat being petty towards them.

"Thanks... I have another name you can call me when we're hanging out outside of hero work." The teens perk up at that. "My name is Danny... just Danny."

"No lastname?" Artemis curiously frowns.

"My human lastname is irrelevant, I stopped associating with it after my birth parents vivisected me." That gets a lot of sputtering.

"We should move this to the lounge." Red Robin pipes up.

"Indeed. We plan to introduce Danny to the many movies he missed out on in the last 28 years." Robin adds. "He's more out of date than I was."

"WHAT?"

"I was being hunted. I didn't have the time or money to see movies" Astrum whines, letting himself be bodily dragged to the lounge.

"Be happy I had a PowerPoint of all the slang you needed to know to survive this." Red Robin teases.

And that's how Astrum, previously known as Danny Phantom, starts hanging out with teens and forcibly learning to be a modern teen himself. He doesn't go on many missions with them because he is too overpowered, and it can hurt the other teens' confidence. He hurts the adults who think he's a dumb kid's confidence when he goes on missions with them too, usually it's a daylight JL member. So he doesn't take it personally.

He loves working with the Flashes, Supers, Wonder Woman, and Zatana, but the Bats and John Constantine are his absolute favourites to work with. They understand how he works the best and can roll with the punches if he does something unexpected. He also lives in the Watchtower, the view of space feeding his obsession is excellent on his mental health as well. Everyone slowly adjusts to this semi-feral ghost child being under foot, doing his best to be helpful, and absolutely demolishing any supernatural threat with ease. No one realizes how powerful he actually is because he holds back and doesn't inform anyone he's the Ghost King.

#tim drake #batfam #batfam shenanigans #damian wayne #danny phantom #danny fenton #bruce wayne #teen titans #young justice #tw vivisection #tw child abuse #dpxdc #dc x dp

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taegularities · 9 months ago

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colour me in: palette | jjk (m)

Summary: Breezy mountaintops and turquoise oceans are even more enchanting with Jungkook by your side. Yet, throughout your vacation, you realise — even once you've left the lofty peaks and liberating waves behind, you'll still elevate each other to new heights every day.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; tiny hints of angst, crazy much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: okayyy. a shit ton of fluff. vacation with their friends!!!, kissing, singing, sexual tension, slippery soccer lolll, bit of acrophobia, someone flirts with oc, bit of jealousy, lots of taeun and yoonmin moments, new dynamics!!!, mountains and beaches, jimin/jk moments :'), deep talks, some insecurities, bunk beeeeds lol, mention of homophobia, small arguments, anger, talk about passing of time; explicit sexual content: hotel room sex :O, light spanking/ass stuff, kissing and making out, teasing, neck kisses!!, jk never gets enough, bit of manhandling, pussy slapping, big dick!jk, soft dom!jk, oc is soaked, they're both wearing their shirts/naked downstairs tho (impatience sigh), oral (f. & m. receiving), bit of mouthfucking, soft and rough sex, mention of sex toys, slapping with his dick ig, masturbation, spit, edging?, choking, he likes her bewbs and a$$, squirting, they ruin the hotel room bed lol, showering together; the ending 🥺 ➳ word count: 32.6k ➳ a/n: gosh, it's been mooonths. did y'all miss them as much as i did :') the distance really brought me closer to them. some more of my soul in this chapter <3 there'll be angst ahead, so enjoy this one thoroughly and with all your heart. thank you for all the support, too <3 i can't wait to hear what you guys think 🤍 ➳ listen to: can't help falling in love by haley reinhart (alt. version) | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

DAY 1

“Bunk beds… Fu. Cking. Bunk. Beds.”

Jimin scarcely seems impressed with the change in plans that the hostel is forcing your group into. You haven’t quite yet deciphered what’s going on; you’ve been waiting in the lobby with pursed lips and tired eyes, Jimin at the front desk, discussing details that he’s now groaning about.

“Wait… what?” Eun asks, eyes scanning the group members, all equally confused.

Jimin, as agitated as you haven’t seen him in a while, plumps into one of the lobby’s upholstered sofa chairs, massaging his forehead, seemingly preparing to narrate a tale without a happy ending. He sighs, raising his hand as if to teach calculation to a child, and starts explaining.

“We’d booked three rooms, right? But one of them has a leak.” Short pause; Taehyung clicks his tongue. “So now they offered to keep one with the queen size bed and then get another room with two bunk beds. We’d pay less. Or. We keep the other two rooms with the beds, and still pay for the bunk bed room since one couple will still need it.”

“Same price?” Yoongi inquires, aside from Jungkook, the calmest in the room.

“Oh my god,” Eun whispers, matching Jimin’s drama-loving freak, “this is… we’re being robbed.”

“So,” Yoongi tries again, a deep voice interrupting your best friends’ growing hysteria, “we just pay less and get the bunk bed room for four people, no?”

Eun and Jimin stare at the man as if he’s uttered sheer nonsense; Eun’s eyes squint, questioning how he’d dare separate her from her boyfriend. And Jimin, his expression equal to Eun’s, directs the disbelief between his eyebrows directly at his lover speaking.

But as the options start to waver, Eun sighs, leaning back in defeat as she mumbles, “I guess…”

“Yeah, and then, who’s getting the queen sized bed?” you ask carefully, likely initiating another feud; but what else can you do? You need to resolve the issue on hand and you’re dog tired; you need to nap for an hour at least. “How do we decide that?”

“That’s the question,” Jimin declares, rubbing his hands before he announces, “I think we’ll have to fight for it, folks.”

“…How?”

Multiple pairs of eyes drift to the ceiling in thought, attempting to come up with a fair idea or some game. But their schemes are probably too intricate, building scenarios that aren’t feasible in this very situation; you can already tell.

That is, until Taehyung speaks up, slapping his thigh as he finally answers, “We’ll just go the easiest way we know.”

The fact that Jungkook and Yoongi puff out a breath of air is understandable; as Kim Taehyung’s closest pals, they’re bound to know which thought lit up his brain. But by now, even you understand the man’s tactics well enough, and before you can verbalise them, Yoongi does.

“…Wait. You want to rock paper scissors this out?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“We just pull names? Or spin the wheel? There are plenty of sites on the Internet.”

“No,” Jimin again, “I don’t trust any of you to not manipulate this.”

Voices soon mingle, offended by Jimin’s distrust, retorts flying around such as, “Oh, thanks for this,” or “Why would we manipula—”

“Come on!” Jimin defends, cutting through the cacophony of arguments. “We’re all a bunch of newlyweds! Nobody wants to sleep without the other.”

Well… maybe he’s not wrong there. Over the last several weeks, you’ve grown accustomed to your boyfriend’s warmth next to you; under your head; beneath your palm. His breath against your cheeks and the chin in your mane.

Which is why you tilt your head in slight, approaching worry, leaning into Jungkook’s embrace, his arm over your shoulders. You look at him until he stares back, telling him as the others argue, “This is terrible. I just got used to sleeping with you and…”

But he shakes his head in reassurance, blinking slowly. Gently grabs your hand off his chest and intertwines your fingers, promising that, “It’s okay, babe. Whatever game they want to play, we’ve got this.”

If he says it, you must believe it. Losing would be counterproductive for this trip; you required this time-out with him for the sake of your sanity, considering the weight of the past months.

And thinking about it, you’ve gotten used to his presence too much to sleep without it. You reminisce about the nights he hit the gym late, barely finding time throughout the day as he worked on his exhibit pieces, permanent smudged hues colouring the sides of his hands.

And you, exhausted from work, grazed the other side of the bed with a half sleeping, half restless mind, waking up time and time again to find the mattress empty. Whenever he did come back, sliding into the sheets, you’d notice.

Notice everything.

How he’d kiss your forehead or your temple, whispering your name or a soft, “Hi, angel,” without really expecting a response back. He’d pull you half on top of his body, chest rising with your head atop as he sighed and then, eventually, drifted off.

You think that once or twice, you even heard him breathe a nearly inaudible confession, starting with your new favourite letter L.

But…

It seems that today, luck isn’t quite on your side; different from what he foretold, you haven’t got this. Because mere five minutes later, you’re staring into a group of shaking heads and devastated faces.

Jimin and Yoongi have lost already; and when it’s time to decide between the remaining of you four, it’s not you who breaks into cheerful laughter but the couple you’ve decided to regard with a pout for the rest of the trip.

Unnecessary to mention that Tae and Eun dash into their room once they’ve received the key, quick enough for their suitcases to collide with their soles as they roll behind them. The two remaining duos, among them a sighing Jungkook and a disappointed you, trudge to the bunk bed room without any rush.

Jimin and you sulk your way through the hallways, but Yoongi and Jungkook, you soon notice, remain familiarly posed. You don’t get it; aren’t they upset about the separation?

Your boyfriend at least is still sporting an encouraging smile when you open the door to the frustratingly compact room. The two pairs of bunk beds have a sufficient distance between them, but the beds themselves barely fit a person. You’ve been played so bad.

“And what if we do take the second double room and let fate decide between us?” Jimin suddenly suggests, and you nearly buckle, ready to get into position and lift your fist for another game.

But Yoongi pushes between the two of you, clicking his tongue, “Nah. It’s just two nights, we’ll be moving on after that anyway. Besides,” he sets his suitcase against the left bunk bed, claiming it, and ruffles through his long, dark hair, “we can’t leave the last couple all alone here.”

You smirk in mock, tilting your head, “Ha-ha. You’re way too sure of victory. You wanna try right now, Min—”

“Come on,” Jungkook tries, two heavy hands settling on your shoulders before he moves them down and rubs your shoulders in affection, “solidarity, baby. It’ll be fun.” He moves in, close to your face, kisses your cheek and then whispers into your ear, “We’ll have our room at the beach. And then a whole week just for us, remember?”

Oh, as if you could forget.

Jungkook’s hometown will be the third and last stop of your vacation, a wedding and a childhood bedroom awaiting you. You can’t predict what those days in the countryside will bring, but you refuse to think about them; not because you’re reluctant to go, but because you want the place to surprise you.

Nevermind that the thoughts still seep through all the time; the pure elation.

Your face warms at the thought; you’ve communicated it a million times and will say it a billion times more — you don’t think you’ve ever been this pumped in your life.

No — do not think about it. Let it come to you… carpe diem and all that.

You jump back into the moment, right into the banter, placing your suitcase on the floor and opening it to rummage for today’s outfit. As you shamelessly lay open your entire wardrobe, including some of your best lingerie, you tease, “Okay. I’ll save up my energy. More tonight, boys.”

Jimin blows a raspberry at you; Yoongi waves you off with a grin; and Jungkook barely reacts to you. You assume he’s tired from all the driving, requiring rest more than you, eyes half-lidded.

But if you were in his head, you’d know that he’s long dissociated from the conversation, blending out words, movements, reactions; rather, he merely observes your smile. The playful crease between your eyebrows. The curve of your lips as you speak.

Blinking slowly; lucky for the force of nature wafting into his life like a brisk autumn wind.

Lucky, knowing that somebody could actually care so much.

The pullover doesn’t feel as soft and smooth between your fingertips as it looked from afar. You don’t think you’ll take it. But the beige cardigan felt like a shawl made of accumulated feathers against your body; and Jungkook approved of it, too.

You’re liking the village; maybe it’s the overall dreamy and magical vibe it emanates. It’s redolent of cosy nights spent in front of a fireplace, a hot tea cup warming your palms as you study the view out of a small window, the far-reaching blankets of snow.

And the scent of wooden houses and cinnamon travels through this place — you can’t describe it, but you urge to take all the earthy colours with you.

The pink dress, however, hugging your body like second skin, is bright, the opposite of the cardigan you’ve already settled on buying. It’s a fall dress, comfortable and adaptable to any situation.

You turn in front of the mirror, inspecting your ass, your curves, checking the length and the material for possible flaws. And once you’ve convinced yourself, you push the curtain aside, seeking a second opinion from the man patiently sitting in front of the changing room.

Upon seeing you, his eyes brighten the way they did the last couple of times. Even when he didn’t quite like the item you chose, he seemed happy to just see you. But this time, his pupils flit from button to top, the sparkle in them already obvious as he says, “Damn.”

“I take it you like it as much as I do.”

“Do one of your three sixty spins.”

He loves those. Enjoys it when you present yourself with that treacly smile of yours, arms angled and slightly in the air. And when you come to a stand again, the dress still sways, your eyes questioning, sweet, pure. Jungkook finds joy in this; he could look at you doing this all day.

You keep asking, “Are you bored? Wanna go somewhere else?”

And he always responds, “No. Show me another one of the dresses.”

But no matter how boundless his enthusiasm, he can’t control his occasionally occurring ticks — you know they’re a sign of a nervous mind, watching his fidgety self card through his hair or move his leg or cross and uncross his arms.

So you ask, “You okay?”

“Hm? Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m just tired,” he explains, “driving all day made me drowsy.”

Well, okay, that could be a reason. He does get restless when he craves his bed. Kudos to him for still enduring your slow ass at shopping. You hum before you remind him, “I told you to let me drive.”

“Yes, but…. I like driving,” he shrugs his shoulders, pouting a little, “and you were having fun.”

Honestly—

Fun is a way to call it. You pluck at the hem of the fall dress, recalling the morning with a fond but slightly guilty smile.

“Okay. Lean back now.”

The road was challenging, Jungkook’s voice too quiet to prevail over the music, and you too reckless. Despite the chaos, his grin was telling — though the crinkles and dimples disappeared when half your body turned towards the backseat; right when the car approached a sharp curve.

A harsh hand pushed your beaming self back into your seat, and he spat a single warning, “Angel!”

You’d separated the large group — Jimin was driving the other car, alternating with Taehyung. The journey wasn’t awfully long, but you still went the fair route and split your circle in three versus three, Yoongi residing in the back of your car.

Your car because you’d be driving on to the wedding anyway, and Yoongi would then proceed the vacation in Taehyung’s vehicle. But while your excitement for Jungkook’s hometown didn’t dim a single bit, you were a little sad that you’d be leaving earlier, not getting more time with Yoongi.

Because he vibed. With the right people, you heard, and now witnessed, he vibed.

He sang along with the music in confidence, flashing gummy smirks, DJ-ing with you. Sharing the same taste in music as you, the moments were never dull, 80s classics chiming before modern hip hop took their place. Yoongi likes J. Cole particularly.

The two of you were exhausting, but you did pamper the driver enough to not let your annoying self become too obvious. As in, feeding Jungkook snacks whenever you could, indulging in his favourite music when your tracks ended, offering to drive.

Jungkook remained in a good mood most of the way, but nearing the end, he got edgy, tired, even disregarding Yoongi’s sarcastic suggestion to drive wordlessly.

It took you a moment to understand — Yoongi isn’t a bad driver at all, as you’ve been told by himself, but he’s still not fully healed yet. None of you would make him and he wouldn’t risk it.

Mad respect to Jungkook for suffering through your shenanigans and then still being your anchor as the trouble about the rooms began at the hostel.

You’re a handful — but he has confessed a hundred times before that he’d rather have that than an empty palm.

“No wonder you’re tired,” you tell him, flattening the already crinkle-free dress before you add, “Poor Jimin and Yoongi. Were separated in the cars and now in the hostel, too.”

“I mean,” Jungkook starts, “they both seemed to have a good time on the way, though. Other than that, have they even made stuff official yet?”

Good question. Barely occurred to you yet. You think back to the last couple of weeks, to each of the weekend meetings that you’d summon everybody to in order to discuss the trip. Nothing was said then. Nothing has been said since this morning, either.

So you say, “Kind of by just being with each other the way they are, right? To be honest, I didn’t even think about it. For me, it was already official… didn’t think it’d need an announcement.”

“Maybe you’re right? It’s as much of a secret as we are.”

You break into a grin. “Right?” And then, you straighten your stance, once more turning to show off your ass, too, just for good measure. “What do you think?”

“Oh, you should buy it.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it’d be good to look at and then fun to rip off.”

You roll your eyes so hard, they nearly disappear from his sight; partly to hide the effect his words practise on you — face hot, chest tight, legs crossed to ease the physical feeling that emerges.

And then, partly to remind him of where he’s sitting right now — not far from an elderly lady who’s currently side-eying you. Weird; just a minute ago she was smiling at you. Ah, decency.

“Ugh, can you only think about that?” you joke, right before wiggling a finger. “This one’s expensive. You’re not ripping off shit.”

“Hey, don’t scold me. You’re just as bad!”

“I’m not! In case you don’t remember, I totally resisted when you offered to come into the changing room with me.”

“Ah, ahhh,” he teases, cocking an eyebrow, “in case you don’t remember, only very reluctantly.” You can’t suppress the laugh, and he joins, familiar creases around his stellar eyes. “But seriously, you look gorgeous.”

“Right! I’ll wear it to your next exhibition, okay? Or the party you’ll definitely host once you’ve established yourself as the nation’s biggest artist.”

And that’s when he finally gets up, groaning a tiny bit before he slaps your ass and rubs it, delighted at your yelp. Challenges you, “Decide whether you want to be cute or sexy. I can’t handle both.”

“But you do every day,” you say, sulking. But your expression returns to normal when he pinches your butt, and you click your tongue, “Okay, okay. We’ll see what you can handle once we get to our next destination.”

Where you’ll finally have your own bedrooms. Your peace. Your mattress to be demolished.

Excited doesn’t do this feeling justice.

Jungkook must be thinking something similar; at least that’s what you ascertain from the way he tongues his inner cheek, shaking his head. You don’t provoke him further — only blow a kiss before you saunter back into the changing room.

You purchase the dress, stepping into the fall air, and move your head left and right in search of the rest of you. You ask, “Have you seen the others? I think we lost them at the souvenir shop, but they might be nearby.”

“Yeah, they went into another souvenir sho— wait, that’s Eun, isn’t it?”

You squint into the distance.

God, this place is like a Christmas market straight from 90s movies. Traditional and homely, domestic and gentle. Oozes some type of warmth that defeats the slightly chill breeze by miles.

And you’re so loving the shops. They’re small, their owners as hospitable as you haven’t met in ages. They talk to you, treat you like one of their own, never attempting awkward conversation and always providing their honest opinion. The lady you just bought the dress from even told you to visit again.

Shit, and the stalls! They’re popular spots; the backbone of the tourism in this area. Sell all kinds of snacks — candied fruits, hot drinks, gingerbread. October hasn’t ended yet, but you crave your golden Christmas lights.

Somewhere not too far, you finally recognise Eun and Yoongi, too, standing at the punch stall, ordering. Thinking about it, it’s been a while since you ate or drank — and just imagining the fruity flavour, you can’t help but suggest, “Ohhh, I should get some, too. Wanna come?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. Your suspicion from before somewhat returns; his thoughts don’t seem to align with yours right now. In fact, you guess them far away, pondering about anything but punch.

You’re moved to ask again, but before you can utter a word, he answers, “Hmm, no, I think I’ll get a coffee a bit later. I’ll go find Jimin and Taehyung in the meantime, though? You go get your punch.”

You blink at him, not sure if you should try again. But when you can’t find a reason for any deviation in mood, you give him the free space he might need, telling him, “Okay. You know where to find us if you need to.”

“Got it,” he says, leaning in to kiss your forehead, and then walks away when you do.

Just once more, you turn, gaping over your shoulder in confusion; but he seems okay. Occupied by the view, craning his neck to look at the mountain nearby, at the very peak you’ll reach tomorrow.

So you turn away, only for him to regard you a moment later.

Jungkook watches as you reach your friend, Eun’s arm cheerfully wrapping around your shoulders, welcoming you in. You give the stall owner a knockout smile, and once distracted enough, Jungkook directly charges for the shop the two of you walked past earlier.

It’s still mostly empty when he reaches it. One young man, much like him, is standing inside, discussing an object lying on the pult between him and the seller. Jungkook glances through the store window, spying the object of his desire, and then walks in.

Enduringly, he waits for the other man to finish. Seems he is a customer, too, buying his grandmother a gift for her birthday. And it looks like he’s more or less firm on his decision, because not even two minutes later, he has thanked the woman behind the counter and left.

Jungkook, equally determined, points to the purchase he’d like to make, making small-talk with the woman now and then before she disappears in a small room at the back and packs the object.

And Jungkook waits… waits calmly until a voice breathes a, “What you doing?” into his ears, scaring him to death. The woman leans back, peeking, alarmed as she asks in an accent, “Everything good?”

Jungkook waves her concerns off. Lets her work. Turns to Jimin as he says, “Goddamn, dude. Don’t do that.”

“You look like you saw a ghost. Are you hiding something?” he asks, right before the lady walks out and presents the pretty packaging and small bag to Jungkook. “Oh! Is this for me?”

Jungkook pays with a scoff, carefully placing it in his bag and then laughs, “C’mon.” And once the rucksack is back on his shoulders, he bids his goodbyes to the seller, leading Jimin outside and whispering as if you could hear, “Alright. It’s for her. I’ll give it to her at the wedding.”

“Damn, a little present for the date at a wedding? You’re down bad.”

“How did you guess that?” Jimin chuckles, patting Jungkook’s back as the younger one smirtles. Soon telling Jimin, “Not a word to her, though. Or anyone. Okay?”

“My lips are sealed.”

That’s it. At least for a while. Both pairs of hands pushing into their jeans’ pockets at once, they trek side by side in silence, head moving left, right, up and down. It’s awkward until it isn’t — until Jimin collects some courage and then spits, “Listen.”

Another pause. Just for a moment. Enough for Jungkook’s tremendous eyes to look up, a finger scratching his temple as he hears Jimin articulate words he never expected, “I know I said my piece that night already, but…” A grimace, kissing his lips, then, “I’m really sorry for doubting you so much at first. I should’ve given you a chance much sooner.”

Well, fuck.

For weeks and months, Jimin refused to trust him with a steadfast resolution. Didn’t waver even when you attempted to convince him otherwise. There was a prickly dislike in the man’s eyes that irked Jungkook, and frankly, saddened him a little.

But the night you drunk-called him, begging to come back, minutes before he chauffeured all of you home, something shifted. Jimin’s stance towards Jungkook had seemed to change, at least. Actually a grateful occurrence to think back to, considering how much Jungkook fucked up at that time…

“But you have given me a chance now,” Jungkook defends, Jimin nodding, “and I appreciate that just as much.”

“You remember what I said to you back then?”

Of course… he might remember each detail of that night forever.

“Of course,” Jungkook echoes, “you said you were growing fond of me. Trusted me.”

“And I meant it.”

“She said you said it because you knew she was fond of me.”

Jimin chuckles, the sound high-pitched and pleasant, melodic. “Well, I guess that’s true to some extent. But it’s definitely not just that.” He reviews his thoughts; then, “It’s more so the fact that you came back.”

That he came back.

Jimin doesn’t mention that he came back because you called. Because somewhere within, he must know as well as the man beside him that Jungkook was going to come back anyway.

Nobody here doubts his feelings for you. And in some way, this is a reassurance of trust he didn’t think he needed.

“And in hindsight,” Jimin speaks on, “while I disagree with what you did before that,” a sting in Jungkook’s beating heart, “I think your reasons were selfless. Lack of communication here and there, but… you want her happy, right?”

There’s no debate about this.

“So much,” Jungkook immediately agrees, “it just doesn’t make sense, you know? That someone like her should be sad.”

“I agree. And you came back, that’s what it is. You’re here. I think I was fond of you because you gave her a sense of… safety.” He shrugs his shoulders, hands still buried in his pockets. Gives a glance to the variety of passersby. “Making her feel protected and like she was worth something when others didn’t. And in turn, you gave her something to fight for, too.”

Something to fight for… someone to fight for.

How hard is it to wrap your head around the fact that somebody thinks you worthy enough to combat the world for?

Jungkook’s heart stirs. A sudden affection for your friend awakens. No. His friend, too.

“You’re just half as bad, huh?” he says, urging another laugh out of Jimin.

“No, you.” More snicker. “But seriously. Since we were teenagers and she was first confronted with… all the issues around her, she’s repeated to me everybody has demons to fight. A couple weeks ago she said it again… added that you do, too. No details, no worries!”

He raises his hand in defence, and Jungkook shakes his concerns off, mumbling that it’s okay, that it’s true.

So Jimin continues, “But just… whenever you might feel like you’re not doing enough — because let’s be real, we all do sometimes — remember that you make at least one person happy.”

Crazy. This is crazy. An alternate reality, for sure.

“I never expected to hear this from you, but… I really am thankful, Jimin.”

Jimin nods before he stops, as if remembering something. “And if it helps. I’m really glad you joined us here. I mean you know Tae and Yoongi better, but Eun loves you.”

Jungkook titters, shy as Jimin nudges his arm, but silencing when he looks ahead, not early enough to stop Jimin’s addition, “And by the way, she’ll love that. Will feel like the bride, probably—”

Jungkook grits his teeth at the very last word, as if staggered by another ghost appearing in front. Jimin’s eyes follow Jungkook’s, eyes widening a couple inches as he realises his mistake; met with your bright gaze as you near the men with Eun and question, “What are you guys talking about?”

You’re so cheerful and curious, impossible to resist. Jimin’s lie nearly doesn’t come out, but when it does, it happens smoothly enough, “He was just gushing about your dress. Told me how he already knows you’ll be the talk of the night.”

“Come onnnn,” you urge, your smile falling, replaced by a scowl, “this is so weak. I know you, Park. That’s not what you were talking about.”

“It is!” Jungkook chimes in as shamelessly as he can. Guilt floods him — but there are certain sacrifices that are necessary for love, aren’t there? “I told you many times how hot you look in it. I did, you can’t contradict that.”

Jungkook’s acting might be getting better, but you still squint your eyes, still pulling a face. But it seems they are conspiring against you; Jungkook clearly sees you give up. Understand that you won’t get anything out of them.

Besides, you love surprises. You won’t ruin it for yourself.

So you wave the white flag, only saying, “I don’t really believe you, but okay,” before turning, gripping Jungkook’s hand and adding, “Listen. You don’t get to drink a good punch every day. Screw the coffee, try it for me. Yoongi is still there.”

And as the two of you walk away, Jimin follows, ignoring Eun’s curious look. Focuses on how Jungkook turns to him just a little, smiling in mischief but also in something like…

Friendship.

Jungkook has been babbling his mouth dry. You know of his temporary hyperfixations; alternating between cooking twice a day, karaoke-ing his way through a lazy weekend or playing Overwatch for four hours straight and of course, you.

Tonight, it’s gimbap.

You’ve heard a ton about it today; from his favourite kind to how it’s made to failures in his past as he first attempted them. Anecdotes and urges.

When you went to the restaurant earlier, he inhaled a gigantic portion of jjajangmyeon, followed by kimchi-bokkeumbap that he partly shared with your still hungry self. His idea was to order some gimbap as another course, but his grunts and groans revealed that he was done for the night.

Or so you thought.

Because hours and a trip to the old town and its popular fountain later, he’s still craving them, restless on the hostel lobby couch as he says, “Do they have room service or something? Do they sell gimbap?”

His attention is directed towards Jimin, the main organiser of your trip; everybody’s been posing questions today as if he’s studied the town and journey to the tiniest detail. Jimin rubs a palm over his tired eyes, sighing before he speaks.

“No, this isn’t a very luxurious place anyway,” he explains, “and besides. You’re making me hungry, too.”

Jungkook leans into him as he asks, “Aren’t you quite close with the receptionist?” Pause. “Do you think they’d let us take a couple things from the kitchen and make it ourselves?”

“Wow, you really are craving it,” Taehyung mocks, but Jungkook skillfully ignores him.

“Jungkook, this is a lot of special treatment to ask for,” Jimin then claims, waiting for a response, but nothing comes back.

You lean forwards when your friend shakes his head, trying to understand what’s going on. And when you find Jungkook’s big, twinkling eyes staring longingly, you know he’s gotten to Jimin, too. Because the latter sighs again, adding, “If you charm them, maybe.”

“Come on. I know how to charm people,” he says, regarding you with a wink, a flick of your chin and a click of his tongue, all at once. You whisper a playfully indignant Damn, watching him get to a stand.

He’s brave, you must say; for an initial and past introvert, good food certainly makes him courageous. Jimin first gestures towards the reception, mumbling a, “Go ahead,” but barely a second later, he’s on his feet with a deep exhale, hearing Jungkook say, “Decided to help me?”

“Only because I’m hungry, too. Can make them together.”

Whatever scenario you just witnessed, it could’ve been one from a sitcom. Those little filler scenes, there for comic relief. But what strikes you the most of all is the dynamic you just watched emerge.

You’re surprised to the core; these two, doing something together? Peacefully? Voluntarily?

As your eyes bolt from the duo to the hanging guitar at the wall and then to your friends, you let out a tiny laugh, delivering a short head tilt before you deduce, “That’s new.”

It’s quite a show, the one you observe from here. Your friends are already too groggy to converse, instead indulging in the scene: Jungkook and Jimin as they converse with the receptionist, leaning in, telling the young man about their day.

Then, the quiet plea, as sweetly uttered as possible; you know these two. You know they’re pulling out the biggest, brownest eyes the world shall ever see, the mellowest voices outing their plea — and to your utter surprise, the receptionist gives in.

Leads them to another room, probably the breakfast hall, and around five minutes later, they reemerge.

Your group giggles when they come out with a wink, Jungkook forming a tiny ‘Oh’ with his mouth, as if to whistle without ever doing it. They don’t come back to you yet; settle on another table at the back instead, hands full of ingredients. There’s more room there for sure.

They spread the stuff across the table, rolling up their sleeves. You can’t really hear their conversation from here, but Jungkook says something and Jimin smirks back with a slight shake of his shoulders. Then, they start, but not before choosing a playlist to play quietly as they attempt the gimbap journey.

You can’t believe it. What an odd sight — but good for them.

“That’s rare indeed,” Eun lets slip before she turns back to you and the group, falling back into the couch.

You nod, looking through the round. Different from the two across the room, the atmosphere here is dead. So you wait; wait for an opportunity until Yoongi, opposite from you, gives you one. His eyes roam the room, soon stopping at the guitar from before. He regards it entirely, like a piece in a museum.

You ask, “Hey. Do you play?”

“Hm?” Yoongi looks back at you, puppy eyes in full effect, and then switches between you and the instrument. “Ah. Yeah, I play sometimes.”

“He plays all the time,” Taehyung corrects.

Yoongi raises a hand in something like defence, humble as ever as he says, “I’ve been learning. But I think I have gotten better, though there’s still a long way to go.”

“Any song you enjoy playing the most?” you ask, leaning in.

“Ohh, you’ll like this.” His eyes are widening, waking, sobering up. As you see new stars being born in his dark eyes, you know you’ve introduced the right topic. “You like oldies, don’t you?”

“I do, actually! How do you know?”

Taehyung chimes in, “Jungkook told us. Like literal months ago.”

Perhaps it’s the new sentiments you’re still accommodating yourself to, but you feel the heat filling up your entire chest, moving up to your cheeks and providing warmth in the eye of this autumn.

You peek at your boyfriend and your friend, catching them falling into a goofy cooking session. Jimin grabs the dark soy sauce bottle, attempting to pour the liquid on his plate with the most dramatic expression you have ever witnessed, only to realise a moment later that he hasn’t even opened it yet.

Both of them break into an embarrassed and amused chuckle, Jimin shaking his head, and before you can melt into the leather couch, you look away with a smile.

“Wait,” you say, “in which context? I’m nosy, and now I want to know.”

“He said Yoongi would like you because your favourite song is… what was it again?”

Taehyung directs his gaze imploringly to Yoongi, but it’s Eun who answers fondly, “It’s Can’t Take My Eyes off You. Ever since… always.”

You cock an eyebrow at Yoongi, teasing, “So is it true? Do you like me then?”

“I adore you.”

Your face heats up more. “You didn’t tell me what you like playing the most.”

“I would say I enjoy…”

“Or wait. Don’t tell me. What if you played it?”

“Now hold on—”

Energised, you take a stand, throwing a look at the receptionist who locks eyes with you at just the right moment. You point to the guitar, and he lifts his hand to gesture, “Go ahead, please.”

You take the guitar off its hook, grazing over the smooth, wooden surface and skimming the strings for a tiny moment. Relishing the familiar feeling. And then, encouragingly, you hand it to the man of the hour, telling him, “I know you want to.”

Yoongi is uncaring and unapologetically him, but he’s just as shy when met with attention. Yet, you know him enough to understand he often does whatever somebody asks of him, so you’re barely surprised when he flashes a thin-lipped smile and agrees, “Yeah. Alright.”

He situates the guitar on his lap carefully, treating it like a newborn as he mutters at the same time, “What should I play? Maybe this?”

His fingers strum a few chords that you don’t recognise, tough ceasing when he starts working on tuning the guitar. It takes a moment; a time you spend in silence, watching Taehyung for a second as he props up his head, eyelids half closed.

You shrug your shoulders, telling Yoongi, “Whatever crosses your mind first.”

He doesn’t answer, handling the instrument. He’s focused, his lips slightly apart, his expression impossibly composed. He murmurs another, “This should do,” and when he plays just the first three chords, you already know what he’s chosen.

Sounds like an acoustic version of the song. Like it could be played at a wedding, plucking the strings in the background as the bride marches to her groom, fitting the theme of the song.

“Which one’s this?” Eun asks, leaning into Taehyung who’s barely alive at this point. The music probably doesn’t help.

But apart from him, most of the heads turn, even if just very few present. There’s a quiet couple near Jimin and Jungkook’s table, smiling at the pleasant intrusion. The receptionist puts his lower arms onto the counter, listening in.

And then, eyes still fixated on the fingers skillfully mastering each note, you clarify, “Dance Me to the End of Love. Leonard Cohen originally, but this seems like a very… calm version of it.”

Yoongi nods a little, never stopping the music, but adds, “The Civil Wars. Covered it.”

“Right.”

The ambiance changes immediately. You wish you could lower the lights, embrace all that you hear, save it in your eardrums like a memory stick could. From afar, you notice luminous eyes directed at you, blinking slowly, hands still working, but giving you some momentary attention.

Is Jungkook thinking the same as you? If he stood now, gently pulling you into the middle of the room, would you care who watches as you dance? Could this be the magical moment that soon awaits you in a very near future? Swaying at the wedding…

You break the longing gaze when Jimin nudges Jungkook’s elbow, chin nodding towards your group as if the latter isn’t already watching. It seems they have advanced, nearly done with their endeavours. Not too long until they can join you again.

Another minute passes until Yoongi proceeds to the bridge and the peak of the song, and then another until he’s reached the end. Calm, soft thrums. Fading slowly, snapping you out of something you didn’t know just yet.

Heavy affection crowds your chest, lifting all sorrows off your heart. You’re filled with fondness. Empty of pain. Weighing everything and nothing.

Yoongi looks up at you with another awkward smile, still humble, his lips a straight line. The few people in the room applaud quietly, and as he puts the guitar down, you ask, “And how did that feel?”

“Surprisingly…” Yoongi angles his head, and then changes the movement into a nod. “Comforting.”

“Isn’t that special? Feeling something through the very music you put your soul into?”

It’s how you feel when you write. Probably how Jungkook feels when he draws. To possess something, be it creative or not, that floods you with joy like this is priceless. You think back to when you wrote your first poem. Or when you crafted your very first short story.

The memories are blurred, but you remember the feeling. Putting the dot at the end of the very last sentence. And then, you remember more than just this.

Remember when your father taught you how to play the piano, too, and remember when he—

“You play?” Yoongi suddenly asks, and you look up in surprise.

Oh. What? Your eyes widen, eyebrows lifting, mouth wanting to ask what he said, even though you know exactly which question he posed. But you soon break into a satisfied grin.

“How do you know?” you wonder.

“You talk like you do.”

“I didn’t want to give any spoilers,” Eun confesses from the side, comfortably closing into Taehyung, “so I didn’t say anything. But I’ve heard her play.”

“Ah,” you voice, “not often. Was I any good?”

“As much as I remember.”

Your eyes wander back to Yoongi, the man already working on handing you the guitar over the table between the two of you. You puff out a breath, nearly declining, but then recall that he did this for you, too.

So you grab it for the moment, explaining, “I… I play a little. Dad taught me the guitar and a bit of the piano when I was younger.” You mimic Yoongi’s gestures from before, making yourself comfortable with the bottom of the guitar on top of one leg. “Always enjoyed the guitar more, though. Felt productive, feeling the cornea on my fingertips.”

“Damn…” Taehyung makes, and you smile at him, nodding as if to say, “You’re alive, too!”

“Then you should definitely play something,” Eun says.

“You’re all okay with that?”

“Please,” Yoongi confirms, gesturing for you to start, “you don’t need our permission at all.”

So you nod. Getting used to the steely feeling, preparing mentally as you don’t need to tune the guitar anymore. You start the song in mind, an equally important oldie as Yoongi’s piece; and then you go another brave step further as you start humming.

You wish Taehyung, Jungkook or Jimin could do that for you. They’re better singers. You’re alright, certainly not a pro, singing your words rather quietly when you do start. But it provides you with deep relaxation, and you inwardly hope your voice does the same for the others.

“Wise men say, only fools rush in…”

You don’t know why you chose this song. You don’t know why you didn’t settle with your usual choice. Something about the moment and the starry night urged you to pick out this very melody, holding onto the charm and spark tingling in the air.

Yoongi, an introvert among so many extroverts in your circle, is the one who chimes in soon, singing the chorus and then moving to the third verse. You entrust him with the latter, giving you time to open your eyes that you didn’t realise were shut.

You see the two boys at the end of the room finally emerge, slowly treading towards you with full plates. They plump onto the free seats right under the wall where the guitar previously hung, placing the gimbap in the middle of the table.

Taehyung helps himself to one portion, Eun soon following, but Jungkook…

Jungkook seems to have forgotten about it. He walked to you from one spot to where you sit, but as he looks at you now, you wonder how he moved at all. So mesmerised, like a flawless statue, bambi eyes filled with a tenderness you thought only exists on TV.

If you could guess, you’d say he’s looking at you like… like he’d die for you.

Love. Yearning. Affection uncurbed.

He cradles his cheek, putting his elbow on the arm of the couch, lost as if he’s dreaming. He could fully throw you out of balance just now. If you hadn’t played this song with your father a dozen times, committing each movement to memory, you probably would’ve long failed.

You shut your eyes for a moment enough to catch yourself, hearing Yoongi finish another chorus when you suddenly hear another switch in voices. Jungkook, singing the outro, so effortlessly and tenderly; the tone so angelic without even trying.

You could fall asleep. You could fall deeper.

You never knew you could.

Jungkook is the living proof that, despite not being the biggest sap to walk the Earth, you’ve grown fond of his little gestures. You didn’t think you could feel so shy over the way he kisses the air in your direction, expression so hazy.

A couple months ago, you would’ve never expected not to roll your eyes over his little, gentle antics.

But you’re not. Instead, you’re trying not to let show how much he affects you, nodding towards the applause before you ask, “So I take it, it was good?”

“Good?!” Eun blurts in disbelief, leaving it at that with a shake of her head.

“You keep surprising me, angel,” Jungkook admits, “I don’t know what to do with this anymore.”

“With what?”

He’s close enough for his mouth to kiss your cheek, an eyebrow lifting in tease as he puts a hand on his heart. This time, you do roll your eyes, albeit still going in when he gives your lips the tiniest peck.

Your heart is still in the process of accelerating when he asks, “You chose the right song, didn’t you?”

Yeah. A little dose of Elvis’s Can’t Help Falling in Love fits the situation quite well, doesn’t it?

You merely answer with a flattered smile, nearly going in for another, longer kiss; another touch in your own little bubble, suspending time and the world. But your manners demand differently, so you resist, leaning back.

Only taking his hand until the group comes alive a little more, feasting on the midnight snack that the men handled pretty well. The group changes up with time, seats abandoned and taken, switched with another, the guitar cautiously passed on to Yoongi again.

And then they sing some more. You listen, head on Jungkook’s shoulder, dozing in and out of sleep, in and out of his embrace.

Taehyung is soon encouraged to sing a couple, gorgeous snippets of Fly Me to the Moon, a signature song for him and his baritone voice, as Yoongi and Jungkook assure you. You don’t know when this became a session of nostalgic karaoke, remembering a time you never experienced.

It’s how you pictured these nights to end. Nearly falling into a slumber before the day concludes.

Surrounded by a warmth incomparable to a bonfire; one you’ve been yearning for your entire life.

The end of the night begins with an argument.

Yoongi and Jimin are busy preparing themselves for bed, surprisingly cool-headed after the tumult this morning. They don’t struggle with choosing their comfort in the room, while you pull at Jungkook’s leg as it dangles off the upper bed.

“I’m going to come up,” you warn, trying to tickle the bottom of his foot before he crosses his legs, smirking down at you. “And I will be so annoying.”

“Is that news?” he wonders, and you open your mouth wide in surprise, hearing a chuckle from the couple behind you.

“Babe. I called shots on the upper bunk.”

“You did not.”

“It’s a lot more fun up there. And I thought you’d like sleeping down there.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows kiss, his expression questioning as he asks, “What made you think that?”

Well, now that you think of it, your presumptions were flawed. You assumed he wasn’t too picky, always a deep and peaceful sleeper at home. Defeated, you shrug your shoulders, telling him, “You had a mattress on the floor when you moved into the apartment.”

“That’s… an impeccable argument. I can’t even respond to it.”

The sarcasm drips out of his voice like a damaged tap, and once he shifts to the wall, pressing his back against it, you understand your half childlike, half playful pleading won’t work. So you only tilt your head, squinting his eyes at him, and then drop onto the bed below him.

“Don’t you fart, though,” you tell him, registering a goofy laugh with a fond smile. It’s okay. Maybe tomorrow. Either way, it’s worse than not having him beside you at all.

Yoongi switches off the light, ready to sleep as he falls into his bed with a groan. It was a long day and you walked miles, so you understand his fatigue. You expect for them to snore within a moment, but to your astonishment, Jimin starts a conversation not a minute later.

“We were lucky with the weather. I bet it’s raining back at home.”

Oh… have you finally grown into the type of adults who smalltalk about the sun and the clouds? The precipitation and humidity?

Jungkook answers, “Closer to the equator. The weather is best over here in the fall.”

Then, Yoongi, “Hopefully it’s as nice at the beach, too.”

“It better be,” Jimin chimes in, “I’ve been looking forward to our game for ages. I’ll play in the rain if need be.”

“Oh god, can you imagine?” you add, switching to your left side, hands under your temple. You’ve been thinking about the game just as much — chaos with a big fat portion of craze. “We wouldn’t even be able to get up if it rained.”

“We’d get nowhere,” Jungkook confirms, and you imagine him nodding towards the ceiling, arms under his head.

“That’s what. Doesn’t it sound fun? Wouldn’t matter anyway… the rain would at least kill my competitive side, you know?” Jimin jests, and you already send a prayer above. Not for rain, but for bright sunshine; you cannot miss the ruthless, cut-throat battle that will emerge.

And as if you predicted it, knowing very well who strives for a win and who doesn’t, Jungkook challenges, “Your competitive side means nothing if you’re gonna lose anyway.”

“Dude. Be careful. There’ll be nothing but regret if we end up being on the same team,” Jimin says.

“True, true,” you hear Jungkook respond, just as Yoongi lets out an amused snicker, aligning with your muttered, “Now, that, I wanna see.”

The banter and chatter proceeds for another couple minutes, up to the point where Yoongi needs to shush the quartet. Your laughter ebbs down after his reprimands, morphing into content and tired sighs.

And once the conversation has more or less died, you wonder, “Do we need to sleep? We could just stay awake and talk all night.”

But your suggestion proves redundant — because barely two minutes later, your breathing evens out, calm as you finally drift away. Not a single word anymore. Jungkook rolls over his bed, casting a brief look at you, not quite seeing your face in the dark, but understanding that you’ve fallen asleep.

You can’t stay silent for this long; and you’re not moving. Jungkook clicks his tongue, fond but a tease as he jokes, “I drove all day and still she falls asleep first.”

Yoongi and Jimin’s laughs are cautiously quiet, exhausted, soon giving way to deep breaths like yours until they’ve fallen asleep, too.

Weirdly, it takes some time until Jungkook can join your land of dreams. There’s a strange yearning in his chest that he’s well used to by now; it thoroughly sucks to not have you by his side. And… is this too much?

The affection poured into and onto you, is he doing too much? Feeling too much? Why are his fingers itching and his chest not warm enough, despite the pleasant weather?

You’ve really done a number on him.

The minutes prove long, soon stretching to what he perceives as hours. Jungkook doesn’t know how much time has passed and he refuses to fish out his phone again; the light of the device will only postpone sleep, and he cannot use that for the trip tomorrow.

“Man…” Jungkook quietly complains, letting his left arm swing between the bed rails.

Sleep isn’t an entity to grace him just yet anyway; because as around an hour passes, he hears a sound from below. Sheets shifting, a light groan from you. You sigh audibly, soon going silent, and when he thinks you’re off again, he hears a couple seconds later—

“Kook?”

No, he must be insane. It must be insane how his heart stirs at your tiny, wispy voice. You wash over him like… relief.

“Baby,” he calls out in a whisper, once more moving to look at you — or the darkness below. “You’re awake?”

“Can’t sleep properly. I really hate sleeping in other beds…”

“Right? Me too.” He reaches out for you, hoping you’ll notice the movement, and when your soft fingers get ahold of two of his digits, he breathes out in gratification. “And… I miss you here.”

You hum, rubbing your thumb over his palm, mumbling, “Isn’t it ridiculous? How we can’t go a night like this.”

“Hmm…”

“I miss you, too.”

Patience is a virtue he hasn’t learned yet when it comes to you.

He could wait hours for a hall in the museum to fill. For a visitor to comment on his pieces. He could sit in a room with his father, attempting a conversation; could attempt his whole life to sway your mother’s thoughts. All possible.

But you… distanced from your touch and your lips, not feeling your breath as he does every night is…

Pretty damn shit.

“Wait,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers out of your grip. He hears you mutter a small, “Huh?” as he moves, careful to not hurt himself in the dark.

For the smallest moments, he uses the light of his display to navigate through the limited space, never daring to turn on the flashlight to not wake the entire room. And once he’s touching the ground, agile as a cat, you understand what he’s trying to do.

Quietly, but inefficiently, you protest with just half a heart when he climbs into your bed, telling you to scoot. You say, “Uhm, I… Baby, I don’t know if it’s a good idea—”

But you don’t seem to have much of a say in this matter — because you’re soon outnumbered by Jungkook and his obsession with you, shifting on the bed until you’re nearly pressed against the wall.

He wraps an arm around your waist before the tight space can suffocate you, soon leaning back a little — close to rolling off the mattress? — and pulling you close. The embrace catches your breath more than the cramped area, but it stops your complaints, too.

Winding a little more, you soon find yourself breathing against his chest, a heartbeat right underneath. Your arm reflexively sneaks around him, hugging him close before he laughs and teases, “You were saying?”

“I… I was saying you feel so warm.”

“Mmmh,” he hums, towing you in impossibly close, planting a kiss on your head before resting his cheek against it, “you are, too.”

“Do I feel better than your bed up there?”

“A lot better.” His palm flattens over your back; the scent of his shampoo, his fabric softener and him dizzies you. “Makes me feel a bit less sorry about keeping you awake.”

“Don’t worry,” you sigh into his soft cotton shirt, feeling the lines of his pecs against your lips, “Am exhausted. I’ll fall asleep fast. Especially like this…”

“Oh… glad to be of service then.”

You nod, rubbing his shirt between your fingertips as he moves his hand up and down your lower back, just a little. He yawns against your hair; you know the telltale signs of a drifting mind.

The two of you have gotten used to this. It’s said that pressing something comforting against your chest, such as a pillow or stuffed toy, works wonders on an insomniac mind. You guess that’s what you are for each other.

Even when you’re not home. Even when the space barely suffices for one body.

Which, as you brood over his sudden presence next to you, reminds you—

“You wanted the upper bunk bed,” you tell him. Nothing more; he understands without you needing to elaborate.

He chuckles as quietly as possible to not wake your friends, his hand slipping under your shirt and feather lightly pinching your sides. Not enough to hurt, but enough to tickle you. You nearly yelp, muffling it against his clothes in time.

“Shut up,” he says, thumb running over where he nipped you. “Okay. Do you know why I wanted you to sleep down here?”

You smile. You’re not stupid. As your vision became blurry, your mind shutting just a while ago, the realisation dawned upon you as the seemingly last thought of the night.

“I think I do…” you admit. “I think I figured it out.”

Because.

Because you’ve fallen out of bed one too many times. Because of some days, when you weren’t nestled in his arms as you are now, not caged in solidly, overworked and stressed. Or when you let go of each other in the middle of the night.

And that’s when you rattled down the bed. Just once or twice!

You never got injured or anything, getting away with perhaps a tiny bruise. What was worse was the fond laughter you tolerated when you told him about it, or when he was there and realised. Worried sick, inspecting your body, but still shaking his head in amusement.

Chuckling as he pushed back your hair, but relieved when he found nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’m not gonna risk your clumsy ass to fall off a bunk bed,” he says.

“There’s a raili—”

“Still. One never knows with you. In any case… you’re not getting hurt on vacation, okay?”

You could coo right here, right now. Whisper his name a million times in disbelief and absolute gratitude, melt into him, dampen his shirt. Jungkook is a thoughtful being, alright, but it’s insane that with you, he thinks half a dozen steps ahead.

Mind empty of a response as worthy as his, you settle on a joke, “Is that right? We’ll see about that once we play the game.”

You finish your sentence dramatically, and he answers with a breathy, “Yeah, yeah,” as he kisses your temple. Careful to keep his back off the ladder leading up to his bed, you keep him in your hug, soon detecting in a whisper, “I really mean so much to you.”

“Mhm… So very much.”

It’s too dark to see his expressions clearly; you see him move, see the white of his eyes a little. But even without it, you know he’s blended out the world when you look up at him. You know he’s staring back quietly.

You know what he’s feeling as the tip of his nose touches yours, the bangs of his growing hair grazing your forehead. And when the finger under your shirt draws circles on your skin, touching you so gently, you feel your heart in your throat, hear it in your ears.

Pumping, pumping hard when you see the silhouette’s mouth part before it arrives at yours. Kisses you tenderly. Doesn’t rush or force his tongue in, just lazily moving.

He cradles your face a moment later, raising your head some more, tilting it as much as possible. The kiss is more like a sequence of innocent pecks, but maybe that’s why the moment feels so intimate.

Because there’s no impatience. No other sentiment but adoration.

As he moves back again, he doesn’t talk right away. Takes a deep breath. Then—

He brushes your tresses aside, away from your temple as his thumb rubs against it gently. His lips hover close to yours, and much like the ever-blooming tiger lily on his golden skin conveys, he whispers, “Love me?”

Your heart.

This treacherous thing — cries and flutters, punctured and whole at once. You’re constantly breathless and speechless, so you wonder how he manages to say, “Please love me, too.”

Doesn’t he know how easy that is? Doesn’t he know who he truly is, what his stardust of a soul is made of? That he was born to be loved. That he’s not responsible for those who do not, rather a ray of serene moonlight who doesn’t need to show anyone that he’s just that.

“No need to beg,” you tell him, “you’ll never need to beg.”

Another beat of silence. He’s smiling, you know. Keeping his heart at bay as much as you are guarding yours. Does he think the same way about you as you do about him?

Of course. Probably. In some sense, you were in the same sinking boat, surrounded by an overwhelming, troubled ocean of doubt; waves of self-hatred drowning you. You know exactly what it’s like to get used to being unloved by everyone; and then to learn to be loved again.

You clear your throat, feeling his body relax; your head returns to his chest, and you say, “You know. It might be a bit uncomfortable, but we could make it work. It’s not that tight—”

“In theory. But we wouldn’t sleep well, right?” he ponders.

Wrong. You soon prove him wrong, unpredictable as you are half of the time when you’re not being familiar to him like the back of his hand.

Because your words soon become slurred, silent not much after, your breathing calm and warm against his chest. Your tiny fist still holds onto his shirt, the blanket alternatively slipping either off him or you.

So he waits until your grip around him loosens. Then, presses a light kiss to your lips, carefully moving away and out of your bed. Ignoring how you hold onto him until the last moment, scared you might awaken again; murmuring in your sleep as you tend to do.

He gently rubs your fist until you uncurl your fingers around his shirt; if he doesn’t do this, he’ll stay here all night. Instead, he furrows his eyebrows in chagrin and yearning; and when your hands move back under your head, he finally bids the first day goodbye and climbs back up.

Eventually descending into dreams of you, too.

DAY 2

The air is much colder up here than you thought.

You can’t recall ever having been on a mountain before; considering your country’s geography, a very ordinary thing that you never really got to experience. Your parents were fans of beaches all over the nation and the globe; didn’t enjoy heights, but depths.

You knew that early on.

Satisfied, however, you hide your mouth in your jacket. You’re glad Eun talked you into packing a thicker jacket and gloves, giving half a dozen logical arguments like the amazing lawyer that she could be. It was fun, packing suitcases together via video calls.

But the wind still hits your ears harshly, and you curse as you get off the cable railway, “Damn it.”

Jimin rubs your arms from behind, the ecstasy clear as day as he cheers, “Come on, no pauses now! We finally made it.”

That you did. No turning back. You’ve wanted this for so long. So you follow the others, walking beside Eun. Her legs are slightly longer than yours, and her steps wider. She proceeds a little faster, so you soon hook your arm with hers, urging yourself to catch up.

You’re relieved when you reach a small platform overlooking not much but the mountain lift and all the stops till the ground. Down below, you recognise the entrance you bought your tickets at.

Sometimes, along the descent of the mountain, you spot people hiking. They don’t take the lift; they trek up and down, with these cool hiking sticks of theirs.

Jungkook and Taehyung didn’t come with you. Or rather, they’ll arrive a bit after you. Namjoon rang up Jungkook just before you got ready to leave, asking for his apprentice’s time. Something about the gallery and the exhibit.

Yet, extremely sorry, Namjoon told him he could call back later, but Jungkook insisted on listening to what his mentor had to say, presuming it was urgent enough for an interruption in his vacation. And Taehyung stayed with him — partly to not leave him alone, and partly because he’s always dreamed of making an acquaintance with an art connoisseur like Namjoon.

Taehyung apparently has a big thing for art. The only reason Jungkook let him stay at all.

Because when you suggested the same, he rejected your idea without flinching once, prompting you to enjoy these valuable days instead of hanging around at the quiet hostel with him. It took some persuasion and a tender, “Angel, as much as I want you here, I won’t be able to talk to you anyway. I’ll be there in no time.”

So here you are now, content when cold but pleasant air caresses your face. You take in the high trees and the picturesque mountain range; somewhere in the far back, at the horizon, there’s another higher, snow-capped mountain.

And you look for a while, arms wrapped around your knees. Eun remains in a similar position, enjoying the moment; Yoongi and Jimin decide to bask in their joy by capturing the experience in snapped pictures.

Ten minutes later, your group decides to walk on, tramping up a short distance to a bridge Yoongi mentioned earlier. And you guess that’s where your serenity ends.

Because the bridge isn’t as short as you thought. Moves a little, mostly solid, but… holy shit, were you this high up all the time? They say don’t look down in moments like these, but you can’t help, and God, there’s an immeasurable distance between you and the ground and—

It’s not immeasurable. No, you’re an idiot. But you still can’t help it; stare down, gulp.

You reach to the railing with a careful hand. Why do they… how do they…

The others are doing it so easily. The other tourists. And Jimin; moving over it effortlessly, swaying a bit, but airing a sweet laugh. And then even Eun and Yoongi, initially struggling, make their way over, slower than Jimin but courageous nevertheless.

Okay… okay.

You push your phone extra deep into your bag, blinking before you take a deep breathe, repeating a mantra three or four times before you—

Scream.

The surprise of a new voice directly behind you is unwelcome, absolute horror in a moment like this. You flinch hard, reacting, barely hearing the “See?” over the wind before you slap the sudden hands off your shoulders. Your knees are shaking and you’re uncertain who the fingers belong to, but you’re still ready to fight.

The voice isn’t; the startled gasp reveals as much.

You turn, only to find your boyfriend’s eyes ripped open, lips parted. He puffs out a breath, equally frightened at your reaction before his expression turns apologetic. Baffled. Both at once as he exclaims, “Sorry! Sorry, baby.”

“Kook! Timing,” you blurt, scowling in distress, yet immediately holding onto his waist once you’ve grasped the reality enough.

“Angel…” he starts, looking into the hell below. “Are you scared of heights?”

No time to be sarcastic; you don’t have the breath to. So you admit, “A little.”

“I didn’t know,” he breathes, another apology in his words. He kisses your hair to soothe your worries; in some way, it works, even if not enough right now. “I’m sorry. Do you want to go or just stay here? We can stay here.”

His gaze is worried now, and he nods to reassure you, holding onto you. Behind him, Taehyung emerges, comprehending the situation and studying your countenances within the next three seconds until he asks, “All good?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook promises, “you can go ahead if you want.”

“Mmmh,” Taehyung hums; doesn’t sound too sure about leaving the two of you here. “You need a hand? I can go ahead, Jungkook follows.”

Uhh…

“Is that a good idea?” you mumble.

“It could be.”

Could be? And if it isn’t?

Then again. You’re here for a reason. You’d be disappointed with yourself if you just stood here, ruining the chance not only for yourself, but Jungkook, too. You look at him, and he shrugs his shoulders, signalling that it’s up to you.

So you decide, “No, I’ll go. I came here for this, and I don’t know when the next opportunity will arise. Fears exist to be conquered!”

“Hear, hear!” Taehyung cheers, just as Jungkook praises, “See? That’s my girl!”

It helps you, their way to motivate. Cautiously, you place a hand in each of their palms, moving one step after another. They’re determined to take care of you, constantly checking if you’re okay. And it works at first. But.

The bridge seems endless, and the fright yearns to return to you bit by bit. Halfway through, your surroundings look scary enough to put you off balance; you hate that you’re not holding onto anything solid, basically standing freely.

If one falls, all of you do — which, in truth, is sheer impossible. The railing is high enough. But your brain isn’t quite computing properly right now. You let go of Taehyung’s hand, grabbing the railing, but still clutching Jungkook’s grip.

“Go ahead,” your shaky voice commands; and Taehyung nods this time, no other choice left. “It’s okay.”

“I’m right here if you need me,” he vows before walking on.

Jungkook puts an arm around your waist, a human safety rope. His voice is so insanely steady as he spurs you on, “Imagine it’s the amusement park, yeah? Wanna guess the remaining steps? I think it’s… uh… thirty more till the end.”

You exhale, then inhale. Look in front of you instead of down, blinking rapidly before you let out a trembling laugh and counter, “Are you kidding… Looks like a hundred.”

He chuckles with you as you suck in another breath, straightening your back, fixing your gaze on a big rock on the other side. Thinking about how such a vast number of people take these steps every day offers you some courage. Leaves you brave.

So this must be safe, right? Logically seen. You gulp, and then, with your full chest, estimate, “Forty-five! I say forty-five steps.”

And then, you count together. You’re amused when Jungkook curses as you reach twenty without the end anyhow approaching. And just when you take your thirtieth step, he shakes his head in defeat, telling you, “Should know better than to compete with a munchkin.”

You guffaw awkwardly, howling over the wind, “This is actually fun,” not noticing that he’s barely holding you anymore when you jump over to the mainland again.

“What a journey, huh?” Jungkook praises, patting your back. “I’m proud of you. It’ll only get easier from here.”

And it does. As you move on, you soon reach another platform, spiral stairs leading up to the top. It looks a little like the remainder of an old stone tower, half broken, not too high. The stairs were clearly broken; lighter, fresher patches indicate that they were evened out.

Okay, you can do this much, at least.

In fact, you’re the first to climb up, Jungkook treading on your heels, fingers still entwined with yours. And up there, your mouth drops — the view stuns you, frozen in place. The wind blows more fiercely here, but the moment is worth the strong, cold pull of the gust.

Jimin, having reached much before you, must have seen you, because you hear him say, “I know, right?”

Everyone is scattered up here, leaning against the stone wall protecting you from falling. Other tourists are eternalising the moments in pictures, through talking and kissing. Tae and Eun are pointing into the distance, Jimin and Yoongi going around, laughing.

Holy shit. The euphoria filling each one of you is inevitable. Poignant somehow.

You’re above the foggy clouds.

In the far-flung distance, you see the turquoise ocean, merely a day away from wading through its waves; levitating on the sparkling water; thinking back to now and how numerous the miles between are.

And the forests — they’re thick, vast. You wonder what animals inhabit them. Bears? Wolves? Birds you’ve never seen before? Deers and does that have the same eyes as him?

Even the mountain range looks like the sea from here. Is this odd to say? Like high waves, green and dark blue and white and cloudy. So many valleys and so many peaks. Some of them hidden behind the clouds like before.

The birds are flying so close to your heads. And the sun isn’t at its highest point anymore either. You see the horizon coloured in a yellow-ish, orange-ish hue, indicating the nearing sunset.

This was your goal anyway. You wanted to come here late because of these very colours, occupying yourselves with other sights in the morning and the early afternoon. Because you wanted to see what nature bestows upon you.

The mountain will soon be closed for tourists, and in less than an hour, you’ll be heading back down. But you don’t feel any hurry. Nothing matters.

“This…” you finally whisper as you catch yourself, “makes me wanna cry.”

You put your hands on the chest-high stone wall. Jungkook’s arms make themselves home around your body, pulling you in, pushing him close, telling you, “Then cry. Isn’t that what catharsis is about?”

“It’s just so pretty.”

“It is.”

“Like… is this really our world, Jungkook?” You shake your head against him, ruining your hair as his chin moves against your scalp. “The same we saw a few days ago. Those cars and the pressure and the rushing people. All the stress we endure. Or even, our cosy apartment.”

You fill your lungs with the crisp air, more thankful for it than ever. “There’s so much more.”

“There is, right? A lot more,” he confirms.

“Look at this,” you say, chin gesturing towards no particular spot ahead, “wherever there aren’t people to fuck things up, there’s peace like this.” You sniffle; whether due to the temperature or sentiments, you can’t say. “What if we became nomads?”

His laugh is as sudden as your statement, differing so vastly from the rest of the poetry you spat.

He concludes, “I think you’ll really like it back home.” You’re confused until you understand he means his hometown; to that, you nod enthusiastically. “There are so many wonders out there like this one. I want to show you the prettiest places and the prettiest things.”

“…Do you already have something in mind?”

“Of course I do,” he responds matter-of-factly, tapping his finger against your stomach. “I just won’t tell you yet.”

“Ha. I wouldn’t want you to.”

You swallow when he moves in, kissing your cheek, his breath pleasantly warm against your ear. You wait for a second, indulge in the feeling, permitting yourself to believe you’ve transcended this realm and entered another.

But as you hear everyone else’s voices again, laughing and joking and teasing, you remember you’re still very much here, on the same Earth you know. With your everyday thoughts and lives. Which reminds you…

You turn to the side to look at him, his face in immediate proximity to yours. You ask, “What did Namjoon want?”

“Oh, just needed to discuss a couple things. Exhibition.”

“Sounded super urgent, though.”

“I mean, it kinda was,” he answers, catching the strands of hair that the breeze blows into your face, tucking them back, “he needed a status update. We also spoke about the style the gallery collector likes and—”

“Wait. You’re still sticking to your own style, though, right?”

His heart thumps, violently enough to nearly drop out of his chest. When trailblazing artists, already enjoying a remarkable reputation, preach about the relevance of support, this is what they must mean.

Behind someone who does something significant for the world in any way, there’s somebody soothingly rubbing their backs in bad times. Embracing them in success. Pushing them forward, lending them bravery.

You.

You’re who they must be talking about. Unshakably by his side.

“Of course, angel,” he says, “I think having your signature style is always the most important aspect.”

“Good. You’re the coolest, Kook. Just so you know.” His smile is telling, rendering the humble click of his tongue that follows ineffective. He holds you tight, lips close to your temple as you say, “I still don’t know what you’re painting.”

“I will never show you my paintings until an exhibit rolls around. Mostly because you’re my muse. My girl.”

He must think that this doesn’t wreck you inside out. Puts you back together, pieces of puzzles reunited that you didn’t know were lost. You feel something new all the time; is this possible? Surely, there can’t be this many emotions anyway, right?

If you didn’t feel it with your own heart, you wouldn’t believe it…

“But…” you begin, “you’ll let me see those that I don’t inspire, right?”

“Of course. Always.”

Breathing comes easy to you up here. So you do it again. And again. Taking in the oxygen, so entirely different from the one in the city; and soon, you mutter, more to yourself than to anyone else, “This really is pretty.”

He doesn’t answer. There’s no answer to this. Whatever his mind is conjuring and his heart trying to convey doesn’t just have to do with the nature stretching in front of you. Of course it’s gorgeous. Of course, your world’s unique.

Of course, it’s home, and home feels warm, pleasant, familiar.

There’s no doubt that the sight and the moment evoke something rare in him. But he’s seen these things before; when he was younger, he was used to this. What he’s never been used to is people like you.

Those who match nature's fierce, distinctive personality. Those who grow carefully and selflessly; like the trees offering shelter to birds. Or the bees serving as pollinators to provide nourishment for so many creatures out there.

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away because the right response doesn’t come to him immediately. But when he does, he collects his breath, and then voices—

“I love you, angel.”

Your heart skips one or two or three beats. You look at him again.

“People climb mountains, watch the world from above, need to see forests to figure out how good life can be. And that it can be worth living,” he says, his voice velvety soft. “But I feel that way with you every day, you know? I do… I do love you so much.”

You want to say something. You want to pour your heart out. Keep staring at his gentle eyes, serving all confessions at once. But interruptions are expected; so you’re briefly displeased but not surprised when you’re pulled out of your daydream.

Taehyung is gathering the crew behind you, asking for a group picture. You’re soon caught in a short, harmless commotion until everyone has collected at a spot, and you stand in position, yet not before gracing Jungkook one more look.

Mouthing something.

And he sees. In this split moment, he sees and smiles.

If he could be honest… whatever, those mountains. Whatever, them and the adrenaline that comes with them. All the natural phenomena. You’re enough, too — a force of nature, too.

He doesn’t need any mountain peaks when you bring a new high every day.

The lift is crowded as you make your way down again. They stuffed it to the brim, much until a stranger urged staff to stop pushing people in. You’re moved to one end of the cabin while you watch Eun and Jungkook forced into the opposite corner.

Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung will step into the next, and you’ll wait at the exit.

Since it takes barely five minutes to reach the bottom, you don’t fight for a spot next to Jungkook and Eun. Instead, you look down into the depths, waiting until the vehicle finally finishes its dive.

The chatter in the booth is peaceful, but plenty enough for you to blend out any words the other two utter to each other. In that sense, you don’t hear it when Eun says, “You’re both glued to each other, huh?”

Jungkook’s wide, wondering eyes ogle into hers, surprised as he asks, “Is that… bad? Too much?”

“Well, definitely much,” Eun laughs, “but very sweet, too. By all means, don’t change.”

“Ah. Ahhh, that answers one of my questions at least.”

Eun looks at him in curiosity, though entertained and maybe even a little baffled that she’s ever been the object of his attention in any way. So she voices, “Oh? Which one’s that?”

“Just confirms that I have your blessings.”

Eun catches his admission as a popular line from a million movies before, immediately puffing out a laugh. She didn’t anticipate this, out of all things; blinking, somewhat flattered even.

“My blessings?” she repeats. Her smile, combined with the appearing crease between her eyebrows, dips her expression in something that reveals, “Are you joking?”

Which is presumably why Jungkook’s thought shrinks the very next moment, pupils shaking just a little as he mutters, “Well… yeah?”

“Okay. And what if I didn’t give them to you?”

She raises her chin as if in arrogance, but the immediate giggle reveals the playful joke. She shakes her head again, patting his bicep, smitten when his speechless self voices, “Uhm…”

“I’m just messing with you,” she clarifies, watching one corner of his lips rise. “But also, why is it needed, you know? Would you leave her if I didn’t bless you two? Or stop loving her?”

Jungkook’s surprised about the L-drop; of all people, Eun must have known from the very beginning that he loved you. There’s no bewilderment in her voice; she emits the word casually.

He blinks, albeit discarding all preceding hesitation immediately as he admits, “No.”

“Exactly,” Eun agrees, wiggling a finger with a wise, subtle nod on the side, “you don’t need my blessings. If you’re sure about her, you don’t need anyone’s. I’ll trust the process.”

That’s it.

No ominous warnings, no playful best-friend-threats. She trusts in his certainty as much as he does; and where would the two of you be, what would all of this be if he didn’t? No. Not a trace of doubt.

Not if every smile matching yours expresses a silent I adore you. Or if every exhale against your shoulder reveals a promising I want you.

Not if everything he’s still about to do breathes a whisper of a soft I’ve been thinking of you all this time.

“But,” Eun continues; Jungkook’s ears perk up, “if you need to know. I do adore you two together. I know I tease you and stuff, but I’ve never seen a cuter couple.”

“Ah. Even cuter than you and Tae?”

“Much. We’re not the sappy kind. Or well, he is, but… you’re straight up sugar. Makes me sick.”

Jungkook laughs, spying over his shoulder, seeing a glimpse of you as you look out of the window in wonder. “Well, she makes up most of that sweetness.”

“Maybe. God,” Eun exclaims as if agitated, and when he looks at her again, her teeth are gritted, eyes squinting hard before she opens them again. Adding, “Sometimes I wanna grab her face and squish her.”

“The most precious, right?”

“Isn’t she?”

Somebody to kill for. Somebody with a face that doesn’t fit tears. The world did you wrong, but you exist to be happy. You’re deserving of it; you could be the most enthusiastic soul if the universe allowed you.

No, fuck it. Fuck the universe.

He’s here, right? He can do it, too. Guard you from harm; keep your smile plastered there.

And as if reading his mind, Eun continues, “I’ve always hated seeing her sad. She deserves the world, and shit always hit the fan when she was so close to finding the joy I always wanted her to have. Does this sound dumb?”

No, it doesn’t. In fact, Eun’s very truth pricks his heart like a fine needle. Because in a sense, he was also once a reason for stripping you off that happiness; but he’s made up for it. He so deeply hopes he made up for it.

“It sounds just right,” he says.

“I don’t know if you already know, but you won��t meet anyone purer. Not saying this as her best friend… it’s true.” She shrugs a shoulder, as if to dismiss the corny statements; she truly isn’t a mawkish one. “So it’s a big deal to say I want you close to her.”

Her eyes shift away from him and straight to you; there’s a gap between all the people, allowing a glance at you. And when Jungkook follows Eun’s gaze, you seem to feel it somehow, his eyes like Cupid’s arrows in your back until you meet their attention.

Your lips promptly form the most saccharine smile, an unsure hand lifting; somebody next to you immerses themselves in the brief interaction, looking to and fro between Jungkook and you.

And Jungkook waves back, watching your chest rise and fall in satisfaction rooted in nothing but the untroubled moment. Right there, you hold not one but two hearts hidden. His bleeding organ thumps, but it’s as if he hears it from where you stand.

Slowly, stare dropping to his feet, he nods, love clumping up his throat, a barrier for the words wanting to escape. Instead, he basks in the things Eun said, repeating them over and over in his head until he merely susurrates—

“Thank you, Eun.”

“Here you are.”

Jungkook is soft-spoken, his voice mellow; a textbook definition of a lullaby. Which is possibly why you’re so surprised when it breaks the fall air so loudly, echoing through the empty space.

You flinch before you reflexively turn, watching his body tower on the other side. The lights of the swimming pool illuminate his face, and even from here, you recognise the bright, gorgeous, twinkling eyes immediately. They’re not hidden behind his bangs this time; his damp hair is pushed back.

Maybe you could focus on that unusual sight of his forehead if there wasn’t the entire rest of him. Hands in the pockets of the open bathrobe he’s sporting, mere boxers hiding his most important parts, but the rest of him naked. Tits out, abs sharp.

You flash him a smile from where you’re floating, pushing yourself off the edge and swimming towards him. You see his reflection in the water, blurry, moving, somewhat funny. As you near him, he drops to his knees, crouching for a second before dipping his legs into the pool. Sitting down, remaining there, waiting for you.

Getting ahold of his calf, you pull yourself in for the last few feet. He reaches out without hesitation as your shoulders collide with his legs underwater; gentle fingers tuck your soaked hair behind your ears.

“I was looking for you,” he says.

“Oh, I just got here a couple minutes ago. Making the best out of the remaining time.”

“Yeah. I just showered for a few minutes, too.” He pauses. Looks around the vacant pool save from the two of you, humming before he asks, “Hey, do you need a moment to yourself?”

Your eyes widen as you look up, his expression suddenly cautious, as if he’s intruding your personal space. Curiously, you merely voice, “What?”

“Just. I know there’s been a lot of interaction these days, so I get it if you need a break.” His finger moves to his temple, drawing circles in the air. “My battery almost ran out, too.”

Oh. Oh…

If there was a way to hide your flattered smile, you still wouldn’t. God, if he knew how rare of a person he is. How uniquely humane. If he knew that not everybody’s ready to offer space despite knowing that somebody requires it at times.

You know enough people who put the blame on themselves; deem themselves victims. If you can’t be there for them, it’s something they have done wrong. Not the fact that you need peace, a moment to yourself.

Jungkook knows. Jungkook understands.

Has seen you run out of energy and crave a quiet evening. But you immediately shake your head, touched, “Oh, no. I actually knew you’d find me here. Hoped for it.”

“Is that right?” he says, relieved, grazing your cheek as you put your chin onto his leg. Muscly, thick thighs, yet like a pillow.

You nod. Look up to him properly, a little distracted, very mesmerised. It’s outrageously insane, how he’s perched there like he’s allowed to. As if it doesn’t clearly state in your book that it’s illegal to look this way, that it should be retaliated somehow.

“It’s been a while since we were alone,” you tell him, “feels like we didn’t have many moments to ourselves.”

“Then, this is convenient, isn’t it? An empty pool in the evening. Very cliché.”

You laugh a little, tilting your head and ignoring the goosebumps that arise when he touches the sweet spot behind your ear. Hands exploring. You respond, “Others are probably too tired to be here. Or too cold. We’re the only crazy ones here.”

“It’s warm enough, though,” he argues, sniffling, as if to contradict his point — there’s something funny about it. “I bet it’s wet and grey back home.” A click of his tongue, watching you nod in agreement; after a beat of silence, he wonders, “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?”

Exhilaration inundates your chest without a warning, as is common with this very conversation topic. You can barely fathom that you talked about this for weeks straight, and now you have only a few hours left until the awaited day finally breaks in.

Jungkook must be seeing the change in your pupils, because he smiles when you do, nodding with an open mouth as you cheer jubilantly, “A lot! It’ll be a long day, we’ll be exhausted, but… got a feeling it’ll be worth it all.”

“Yeah, but like. I think we can rest a lot after that, though,” he explains, flashing a wink to your astonishment. “My childhood bedroom is cosy.”

“I’d hope so. We won’t be leaving it.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes in jest before he agrees, “Of course not. Duh. Except for the wedding.”

“Except for the wedding… sure,” you repeat, as if reluctantly.

As you put both your arms on top of his thighs, Jungkook uses the moment to let his stare dawdle; right there where yours lingered two minutes ago. His head moves slowly, taking in the wide, endless view behind you.

The sky above and the stars attached to it. The tiny mountains far away and the forests next to them. The world looks as wide as it truly is, stunningly bedazzling; infinite from where he sits here with your touch so close.

There’s a sense of disbelief in the fact that, despite the crazy vastness of the world, it’s you who found your way to him, inches away. If luck exists, this must be it, right?

But he doesn’t say any of it — don’t you already know? What if he lovebombs too much, frightens you away. So instead, his fingers shift to your face, much cooler to the touch than before, and he queries, “Aren’t you cold?”

You shake your head, however, stating, “Not yet. Or… maybe a little. You can help me warm up?”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow in disbelief; something about the way he looks down at you with such power lets something in you loose that floods your entire body. You wouldn’t mind if he…

“Isn’t this another cliché?” he asks.

“How so?”

“You’ll make me jump in, huh? Or no, wait. You’re a brat,” he establishes as if remembering just now, rethinking his choice of words. “No… you’ll pull me in.”

“What? I won’t.”

“How do I know that, though?”

“I mean, technically, you don’t, and yes, I realise that doesn’t help,” you blabber, tone shifting when he shakes his head with a laugh, “but, you did just shower. I wouldn’t want you to waste more time showering afterwards.”

He looks sceptical to no end; squinting his eyes, biting his lower lip, furrowing his eyebrows — the whole package. Leaning in, he lets you know, “I don’t trust you this once, but…”

And that’s where his sentence ends. The words unspoken are replaced by another movement closing the gap between the two of you. He grabs your chin, moving your head up, bending his back enough to draw closer to your lips.

The phantom touch and his warm breath cause a strange, crackling sound somewhere in your brain — a bulb going out, your mind breaking. Shutting down. But your body lights up as he cradles your face, every single inch of your skin craving his all.

The knowledge about his affection and that he yearns for you like no other man on Earth blurs your reality, as if you don’t belong into a utopian world like this. As if you’re from another corner of the multiverse, incredibly lucky by accident.

Weird, weird how all of these thoughts trigger disbelief and thorough rapture in you, but how empty-headed you are at the same. Almost enough to fully lose yourself until—

The man leans back, intentionally teasing you, just a little but enough for you to fall out of your immersion. You chase his lips for a second, long enough to make him laugh. But as you find your composure, looking at the shit-eating grin, you land a decision.

“Unfair,” you say, pouting, predicting for him to coo, which occurs just a moment later.

You remain at your spot, not a lot of options either way as he still holds your face. Then wait. See him get a hold of himself before he mutters, “My pretty angel. Pouty little sweetheart of mine, hm?” twice, then thrice and then closes in again.

Thumbs skim the apples of your cheek, nose rubbing against yours, his own scrunched. He looks so happy with himself, but so charmed by you, too, squishing your face as if handling cuteness-aggression.

Calls you plenty of pet names as he kisses your nose, your cheek, your earlobe and then moves in for an actual kiss.

Only this time, no matter how much you yearn for his lips, rosy and wet and sweet and tender — you can’t let him beat you. So you prepare for the retaliation you considered before, and just as new goosebumps arise on your arms, wanting the kiss, you suppress the desire and—

“Fu—”

The curse falls out of him suddenly, just a second after he closes his eyes and you use the moment of weakness to put your hands at the back of his neck. Pulling him in without a warning, watching him lose balance and splash into the pool.

He struggles a little underwater before he breaks the surface; hands reach for you with an intent to revenge, but you dodge him. He gasps, shaking his head, going through the trouble of wiping the water off his eyes before opening them.

You swim away a little, carefully, just to be sure; watching him cough a bit before he laughs. He can’t help but scoff, more curses falling out of him, but never towards you. Only a reprimanding, “Angel, you’re— you brat." Another cough. "You’re too much.”

And as his eyes finally land on you, he immediately charges for you, jaw clenched, teeth gritted, but pure amusement gracing his features. You try to get away, but he’s faster. Moves in the water as he strips himself off the bathrobe.

The image makes you choke.

How ethereal yet sinful of a moment. Tempting as he pulls it off his strong shoulders, revealing the bulging bicep, throwing the bathrobe to the side with an absolute indescribable, fiery aura.

Teeth pull at his lower lip before they instantly release it. Then the tongue, running over glistening lips, eyes hooded, the bathrobe sitting where he did without him even regarding it. Like a villain who sets a house on fire and then walks away without looking, badass to the core.

Fuck, he’s broad. And fuck, he’s coming right for you.

You try to flee, hysterically laughing, probably too loud; but he’s a fast swimmer, arms soon around your waist, wrapping around you, tugging you in. He whispers into your ear, “Talking about clichés, baby, huh?”

As he holds you there, you swallow some water, spitting it out right away before you answer, “Well… there’s a reason why they’re clichés.”

“Not wanting to waste my time showering, my ass.”

“You’re saying it sounds like a bad idea?” you whisper, breathless as he kisses your shoulder, his soft voice muttering a little, “What?” before you clarify, “Showering with me?”

“Nah. Stop planting this thought in my head,” he says, lips continuing at your neck, kissing it gently first before he morphs the touch into a wet, open-mouthed kiss.

You try to stay afloat, but god, you’ll drown if he keeps that up. But then he adds, much to your already existing misery, “Stop or I swear, we won’t even make it to the damn shower. Understood?”

“Beast—”

“You say as if you don’t know me already. Don’t you know?” he asks, pausing, kiss moving to your jaw. “That I get like this with you?”

“I… I do, so well. Not even this is surprising to me.”

You press yourself into him harder, feeling the bulge hardening below, right against your thigh. Your hand drops from his shoulder to his slim waist, further down until it gives his hard-on the slightest of touches. He groans; gives you a head tilt as a warning.

Then kisses your cheek. The corner of your lips; tickles you, pinches your waist. You engulf him a bit more, trying not to pull the two of you underwater, swimming and floating. It’s hard, though, and harder even when he tickles you again.

He must understand, because as you push him away, swimming away a couple feet, he doesn’t tow you back in. Lets you go as your vision blurs, the movements of your arms hectic enough to push more water into your eyes.

You dip below the surface for a second, regaining control, and when you’re up again, you hear his voice farther away, urging, “Come on.”

And once you see him again clearly, he’s already wading to the edge where you stood when he scared you. Right where the view to the town is the best, the pool and roof separated from the depths by a high glass wall.

You follow slowly, stroking for a moment — but it doesn’t take you long to pause again halfway through. Gliding, you watch his arms coming up and settling on the edge, muscular and mountainous like the range far away. Hair wet, water drops drip onto his already doused back.

And in front of him, a lake you couldn’t see from the other side of the pool.

Then, the mountains, like the one you went on. A village and fields and up above, a painting of stars. Millions and millions of them. Sparkling, alive, dead, moving, closer, farther… burning and bright. Reflecting in the lake, along with the moon.

His head moves to the side, probably looking for you; but you don’t move yet, just admiring the side profile for a little longer. Gorgeous, lips formed as if drawn, a clean-cut, razor sharp jaw. Golden back, broad.

As he peeks over his shoulder again, doe eyes searching for you, you finally swim towards him the moment he pleads, “Come, baby.”

And you do. Put your hands on his shoulders again, kissing his back, his neck, his shoulder blade before you settle right next to him. Imitating his position.

He says, “One could almost forget that we’re leaving in two hours. Ahh, I want to stay here.”

Right. Your group decided to check out in the late evening tonight — an exception at this hostel — to make the most of the day on the mountain and at dinner. But in a while, you’ll set out for your new destination. The beach calls for you.

You’ll check in late at night over there, and then remain at the new hotel — no hostel this time — until the day after tomorrow.

“Yeah. Just a bit more,” you say, sighing before you let him know, “By the way… I do feel a lot warmer now.”

“Good,” he says, although you don’t miss the beguiled smile he flashes as he looks away, “anything for you to not get sick.” He nudges your elbow with his. “Not before the big day.”

No, not the big day. If anything, you’re even more overjoyed over it than tomorrow. And nervous — oh, so nervous. You don’t think you’ll feel any different until the day rolls around.

What will happen at the wedding? What’s the atmosphere like in a smaller gathering? What does the magic of such a place elicit? It must be so different from any event in the city.

Could it make you fall in love with him with further desperate urgency? Seeing him standing there, admiring you in your dress, thoughts whirling as the couple of the night promises each other eternity. Does the romantic serenity of a wedding make hearts of those in love burst more?

No. You don’t think it’ll make you fall for him harder — because you don’t need a wedding for that.

A moment like this suffices.

Yet. As you stare ahead, fixing your eyes on the clouds, you remember something. Curious as you think back to the first day and ask, “Hey. What did Jimin mean when he said I should be excited for the wedding? What does he know?”

Jungkook sighs, shaking his head at your friend’s slip-up. He smirks, and then says, “Well, you’ll see at the wedding, right?”

“…Jungkook,” you challenge, and he looks at you so innocently, hiding whatever secret he shares with Jimin. But you don’t fall for it, ideas already brewing in your mind; one blurted as you ask, “Did you get me something?”

But he’s unfazed — a good actor. “Wait up,” he says, “if you’ve got any theories, keep them to yourself, though! You’re too smart for me.”

“C’mon, as if.” You wait. Wait a bit more, pupils shaking, just slightly distracted when he frees your cheek off your hair again, giving you a chaste peck. “Wait. Oh.”

He chuckles, a little lost in you as he copies, “Oh?”

“Jeon Jungkook… are you proposing?”

And that’s when he breaks into a laugh. A loud one, Jungkook-esque, sweet and genuine, with his eyes nearly closed, mouth open wide. So, so enchanting as he says, “I did not expect that. But sure, that’s what it is.”

“Well, that cancels it out.”

“Oh, baby…” He pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, moving your head to look at him, kisses you again, just for a fleeting second. “You’re so cute. So, so cute. I love your cute ass so much.”

Butterflies, butterflies, butterflies.

They never cease. You don’t think you’ll ever get over this word. You don’t think there’s a way to get used to Jeon Jungkook confessing his love — his love — for you.

Ugh, he drives you mad. Into absolute insanity.

Sucks you out of breath, your heart palpitations reasoned in him. Your body craves him; not cold anymore at all. Tingling and wanting.

Starved for him, you look into his dark eyes, intrigued by the wet bangs, and with all the patience you can muster, you finally whisper, “Let’s go and hurry to that damn hotel. Hm?”

DAY 3

You love packing your bags, but you hate reorganising them. Like, stuffing back dirty clothes because there’s nowhere else for them to go, changing your initial order.

You won’t empty your suitcase for that one remaining day anymore; you’ll only be here for another night anyway.

But you want to separate the worn stuff from the clean one. Thankfully, your suitcase is spacious enough; after all, there’s no chance in hell you’re having your soon-to-be-messy swimsuit reside right next to your resplendent dress.

Yawning as you rummage through your things, you shoot a fleeting glance at the ticking clock at the wall. It’s only 8 o’clock in the morning. Breakfast has already started, but you and the others longed to sleep in, agreeing on a 9 AM meal.

But for some reason, the two of you already awoke about half an hour ago; nevermind that today’s schedule doesn’t begin before noon.

For some time, you merely lay on your sides of the bed, enjoying each other’s company, brief kisses here, modest touches there — until you decided to make yourselves useful. Still tired, yet unable to fall back into sleep, being productive was all you could do.

Albeit, you’re distracted. Your mind keeps drifting, your heart still pounding thinking about the shower last night, taken right as you checked in and found your room. Not as tired from the busy day and the two-hours-drive to the hotel anymore when he touched you.

You still feel the ghost touch of his palm around your neck; glistening lips exploring your cheek and your jaw.

And… there are bruises on your leg somewhere, reminiscent of when he dragged you into bed, keeping your thighs apart with a grip passionately aggressive. Loving yet brutal. Uttering admissions that still coat your flesh with goosebumps.

Shit, are you grateful for the proper room. All to yourselves at last.

You cover your naked thigh. The oversized shirt barely hides his effect on you, but he seems rather distracted anyway. Of course he is — whenever he spies the lavender dress, like now, he becomes one hell of a goner.

He fishes it out by ruining some of your tidiness, the folded top and two shorts falling out as he pulls the dress from underneath them. You complain, “Hey!”

But he’s still examining the gown, shaking his head once again as he did the last few days whenever he caught a glimpse of it. You still remember his reaction when you first brought it home, presenting it to him but not yet putting it on.

You assured him you looked hot in it beyond hell, but that he’d have to wait to actually see you wrapped in it.

His eyes were still wide, alright. Mouth drooling. And you understand — when you first laid eyes on it, you knew it was made to be yours: soft, pastel pink hue. Dreamy and ethereal. Shit, you can’t wait to wear it.

Apparently, he can’t either.

Because he declares, “You’re gonna be so fucking pretty in this.”

“You told me.”

“And I’ll keep doing so. My god, I’ll need to keep an eye on you all night!”

You laugh. “Ah? Why?”

He shrugs a shoulder, explaining matter-of-factly, “Some of my friends there are still single. Gotta shield you from their shit. I mean, they loyally respect me, but then again… it’s you.”

“Oh, oh,” you voice, tutting, “and the girls? Are some of them single, too?”

“Well, I guess so, but—”

“Nothing but. I’ve seen you in a suit before, mister. What if some of them are girls from your high school? What if they had a crush on you? Fuck it, they all probably did,” you ramble, and he listens, lips twitching; he forces the laugh back. “No, you’re sticking by my side that night, Jeon.”

You raise a finger, wiggling it like a warning, blabbing the most ridiculous, “No running away with other chicks.”

“As if, you idiot,” he jests, “even if I got shitfaced as heck and you carried me home and I didn’t realise it was you? And you pretended to be somebody else — I’d still tell you that I need to go fetch my girlfriend.”

You cover your mouth as laughter fills the air; you’re sure your eyes are sparkling at the fantasy, and your voice changes, euphoric to an unknown extent as you say, “Oh my god. I so want to witness that one day. I’m gonna try to get there.”

“I believe you. What else will you be wearing? This? Wait,” he asks, picking out a silk and lace lingerie from the side; baby pink. But you snatch it out of his hands as he adds, “Is this part of your attire?”

“Well, now you ruined a perfect surprise.”

“What! I don’t think I did, though? Wait for my reaction. It won’t be any less than you expect.”

You smack your lips in faux disappointment, but in truth, you get it very well. Seeing him always feels new to you, too.

You brush your hand across the fluffy carpet as he eyes the dress once more, waiting until he’s folded it neatly again, putting it into your suitcase. Then, he leans against the bed, observing as you get back to work.

Your lips open, pouting a bit. You give the sweetest, most genuine reactions; how you form an Oh with your mouth when you like something you brought. Or how disgusted you look when you’re reminded of your two-days-old clothes again.

You mutter, “Gonna have to ask your mom if she’s okay with me using your washing machine.”

“She will be, for sure.”

“I’ll even hang them to dry myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm! Shit, Jungkook. I’m so excited!” you exclaim, fingers moving fast over your stuff, and he keeps watching. “I wanna tattle about you with your mom! And I can’t wait to meet Ria, either. She sounds so cool and—” You peer up at him, and when you catch him smiling, you wonder, “What?”

“Nothing, just…”

He shrugs another shoulder, already moving to close your suitcase. You watch with an innocent curiosity in your eyes, hands on your knees as he pushes it away. He reaches for your wrists to pull you closer until you’re between his legs, your own crossed, obliging wordlessly.

Then, he speaks again, “Can you kiss me? Really wanna kiss you.”

He always wants to kiss you. And staring at these rosy, pretty lips of his, arched so prettily, you don’t think you fare any better.

So you’re walking on air when his hands settle on your waist to tickle you, forcing you to relocate them down to your hips. You ask, “Do you ever get enough?”

“Hmm… Do I look like I do?"

“I mean. Do you really just want to kiss me, baby?” you inquire, but he’s already onto pecking your lips, pulling at them. You place your arms around his neck. “Your eyes look just like they did yesterday.”

“Ah, really?” A featherlight kiss on your neck. “So I won’t have my wish granted?”

“You… You’re stupid,” is all you say before you prove him wrong — diving in, locking your lips, moving them slowly against his, in unison.

You tilt your head immediately. Kiss him deeper, seeking his hair. His hands wander to your back, and you arch it when he hauls you closer. Your tongues come into motion at the very same time, a touch intense enough for him to breathe a sigh that you feel, that you hear.

And before you know it, you’re moving further; straddling him. He pushes your shirt up, only to the small of your back; the other hand moves down to your ass, nothing on you but your underwear. And considering it’s a string, not even that matters.

He has free reign to your rear, squeezing and slapping lightly. At which you lean back, breathless, giggling a little as you watch him move back in — trying to catch another kiss, eyes drooping and lips parted.

But when he realises you’re pausing, not granting him what he needs, he looks up into your eyes. You say, “Thought so. That’s,” you touch his hand over your ass, “what your eyes said. Even after you wrecked me just last night, huh?”

“Sorry,” he mutters with a grin — but his expression soon changes. Back once more against the bed, he promises, “I… if you don’t want to, we don’t have to though. I’m okay with just organising our stuff or chilling.”

Oh, the way he touches your heart…

You blink, affection in your pupils reflecting in his. You coo, and then call, “Oh, baby…”

“No, seriously. Whatever you’re comfortable with, my love.”

“I’m… I’m comfortable with you, you know? If I ever feel like not doing something or disagreeing with you… I’ll be honest with you.”

He silences for a moment. Keeps gaping at you. Then, “Do you feel like you can?”

But no matter how deep his insecurities are, your answer is immediate, “Always.” Swift pause. “Kook, I— I know you still fear I could distance myself from you. I see it, but… I won’t. As long as you’re willing to stay, I will, too.”

“I will. I promise. And I’ll never ever do anything to hurt you again. Not on purpose… okay?”

Hmm… you wish these moments were rare. It does happen ever so often that he seeks reassurance and vows; your companionship, regardless of what lies in your pasts. To know you’re here despite all the despites.

But if you need to, you’ll keep dispeling his fears all your life.

So you say, “I know. I know.” Brushing through his hair. “And I want this.”

“It won’t hurt? We just did last night—”

“If it does, we can stop. I always want you. Besides…” You circle over his lap, your hips a tease. You feel the bulge stir. “I can’t blueball you.”

Jungkook smirks in the way only he’s able to, clutching your butt again, and you catch your lower lip with your teeth. He states, “Brat, acting like it’d be the first time.”

“You’re just… so hard already. Can’t do this to you. Or me. Not today.”

“Babe… you being so sweet makes it worse. And this isn’t even its final state, you know?”

“Of course I know.”

Oh, of course you do. Whenever you think it can’t get crazier, he negates your beliefs. Well equipped as he is, your man, the thought suddenly makes you want to unwrap him again, like a gift crafted just for you.

He’s in a black tank top; tattoos reach up to his shoulder, muscles flexing as he holds you. You touch them, sneaking further to his wrist, and then take the plunge and lead his forefinger into your mouth. Then, you suck.

Upon which his eyes immediately shut. He draws a deep, shaky breath, barely exhaling much of it when you twirl your tongue around the tip of his finger. Absent-minded yet fully aware, he shakes his head, taking a moment to compute before he pulls his digit out again.

His cock twitches beneath you, much as a last warning.

And a second later, out of the blue, there’s a hand on the nape of your neck while the other shifts to your buttbone, pushing you to the ground with his body in tow. You fall flat on your back, his face right above you. Lips crash against yours again, strong hands pinning your arms down.

“You’re so brave,” he deduces, “like you forgot yesterday.”

“I could never. Maybe… maybe I’m just trying to repeat it.”

“Oh… smart, smart. If that’s your wish.”

Cocky, how he tilts his head and winks. How he pushes your thong aside without a warning, already damp, freeing your pussy before his touch collides with it. Fondling with it; making you release a pleased sigh. Gaze still set on you firmly, fingers running up and down. To the clit.

You’re already out of your good mind; but you attempt a fair approach; a mutual effort in which you try your best to push his shorts down. He’s not wearing anything underneath… you know because he threw them on last night after the chaos that ensued, wanting to rush to you. To sleep in peace.

And he’s well aware of it, because as it slides down to his knees, he dares a step further. Fists his cock and replaces his fingers when he drags the tip up and down your heat. You sigh again before it contorts into a moan, gripping him, pleading, “Kiss me again?”

“Not yet. I wanna see you wind.”

“Why…? You’re so mean—”

“Just now. Come on. Look at me.”

You do. You’re met with a hungry beast who’s yearning for you, simultaneously so soft — easing you into this, not dipping his fingers in just yet. Discovering how you feel; how soaked you get; how far he can already proceed.

He might be craving you, but he’s not stupid; he’s cautious. Gauging your reaction.

This man… this man…

“Want me to push it in?” Jungkook then questions, making your eyes rip open; you didn’t expect the inquiry this soon, but you’re not opposed to it at all.

You nod, eyebrows furrowed. Your voice is feeble when you agree, “Please.”

“Please, yeah?” he repeats, just the head prodding your entrance — but then, he chuckles. “Baby. Take care of yourself when I can’t. I can’t fucking think, you know? But even I know you’re not ready yet.”

“I…”

“Just a bit more, okay?” He slaps your pussy; you wince. “Wanna get up and undress?”

“No,” you instantly blurt, “want you like this. Right now. I don’t care about the shirt.”

“Right… so that’s how it is.”

He leaves the two of you just the way you are, except kicking off the bothersome shorts. Pushes your shirt up to your tits, too, stopping right underneath the mounds, still covering them. He leaves it there, dizzy about how your nipples perk against the white shirt, just above the Kakashi Hatake print.

Huh.

“Is this my shirt, by the way? You stole it, didn’t you?” he gathers.

You pretend, playing the innocent lamb, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I can’t believe you. Stealing my clothes… and my perfumes,” he recollects, his voice going up and down. He’s referring to the time you used his cologne just to keep his scent close; once. He was very amused by it. “What’s next? My heart?”

Only that you already exchanged both of yours. He knows, because he can’t really feel his own heart beat, but yours. After all, your chest houses his thumps, not his.

But he still clicks his tongue; kisses down your body, caressing your sides, and then shoves your panties aside. He spits on your pussy so indecently, in a manner so filthy that it affects your entire body.

The sharp tip of his tongue is the first to taste you. The first to intrude. Lightly and softly, he attempts a touch, anticipating a reaction that he barely needs to wait longer for than a nano-second. Because your body blooms immediately, your pussy constricting.

There’s never a single reason for him to react with surprise; if anybody in this world understands your body as well as you, it’s him. He knows you to the tiniest detail; so why the astonished, “Oh? Oh, oh…”

Then again, maybe that’s all that’s necessary to set the mood further; he doesn’t elaborate on it, nor does he ask any questions. Instead, he French kisses your cunt with the techniques he’s mastered to the core. With each time you spend with him like this, he gets better.

Because he knows when to draw back, when to return. When to kiss you again, when to pull at the nether lips. Or when to nibble just lightly, when to use his tongue. It’s obvious in the twitches of your legs, and how he needs to keep them in place each time — hence, the bruises.

Your head lifts when he angles your right leg on the side, enabling better access to where he wants to drown. And when he comes back, he seems starved; maybe he needs that promised breakfast soon to come. Or maybe not; maybe he’ll feast on you enough.

Because he’s thorough; does enough work on you to divulge, “Maybe I was wrong and you are ready after all.”

“…M-maybe.”

“Wish we’d brought the sex toys. Man, I want to…” He touches your clit, painting patterns, a steady and diligent artist’s hand; and you can’t help but imagine it’s the vibrator he often handles. “Wouldn’t that be good?”

“Don’t… do this to me.”

A smug chuckle. “Sorry, bae.”

Ever since he gave you the damn toys months ago, he’s teased you about them constantly. And ever since you started inhabiting the same walls as him, he’s prompted orgasm after orgasm. God, the last few weeks alone, he’d revel in your whines.

Overstimulating, keeping you awake on weekends, battering your cunt and your nub. Nerves on fire. Tears of pleasure and sobs of exhilaration.

“Jungkook…” you start. He hums, but your brain blanks; you think about whatever you were going to say until you remember and jabber, “We’d never get t-to breakfast then.”

“So? I’d still be having mine.”

Thought so.

“But…” you argue, no clue why at all. “They’d be waiting.”

“I think they’re just as bad as we are. C’mon.”

You laugh before you mewl; insane when he buries himself in your sex, tongue in a whirl, plump lips operating so agonisingly skilled. He heaves your legs onto his shoulders; everything feels wet and warm and dirty.

Nerves burning again; your entire neural system is alight like a torch, buzzing like electricity.

And you want to close your legs but you can’t.

The motion only covers his ears, much to his disdain as he says, “Stop… I can’t hear you like this,” before dragging his tongue down again. Pushing your body up, he grips your ass, pulling the cheeks apart before he licks over the string just for a moment. Then suggests, “What if we added something to our collection one day? Hmm?”

His thumb toys right over your clenching hole; you grasp for a breath, airheaded as you admit, “I… don’t know yet.”

“Fine. There’s time.”

There is, but you want it to pass faster. Want him over you, around you. And maybe he can read your thoughts after all, because a second later, he’s uprighting himself; once again slapping his dick against your drenched mess. Hiding it between your folds as he rubs it up and down.

Then moves it side to side rapidly, helping himself, pumping until he’s grown impossibly solid. On his knees, he shifts on the mattress until he’s kneeling right over your face, and you raise your head, mouth ready and open without a single command necessary.

He’s chuffed about your keenness; breathes out a laugh as he drags his cock between your lips and onto your tongue. You’re rigorous, his good girl, sucking right away.

Fuck, he savours the moment much like you are; watching the saliva drip down your cheek obscenely. It covers his dick, much of it enveloped by your mouth; the picture of you barely being able to take half of him in this position yet trying sends him into pure madness.

And when your tongue teases his slit and the head, he thinks he’s dying and being reborn.

“I’m dying and being reborn, babe. What the fuck,” he repeats, immediately regretting it when he realises he spoke it out loud; because you’re right beneath him, eyes foggy but the sudden giggle entirely contrary.

“Glad to hear.”

Jungkook uses the separation from your lips to back away already; any longer and he’ll have to help you rinse out your eyes. He leans down again, kissing you, hips aligning with yours as he prepares for the next step.

He’s gentle as he places your hands on his shoulders, and you already understand why. Already make yourself comfortable, getting into position as if for war, already realising that you need him to kiss you or your scream will shatter the building—

“Careful now,” he still warns, right before he reads your wish off your eyes and dives back in for more making out. You nod; you know. Your neighbours don’t need to—

Fuck.

Fuck, how big he feels when he digs in, not even fully inside yet.

Isn’t it just a bit more than the head so far? You bite your lip when you hear yourself whine, suppressing it, eyes watery. Your mouth transforms into a thin line, but Jungkook opens it with his finger; telling you, “I don’t care who hears.”

Okay. Okay. Then… you’ll stop holding back, right? You moan and call his name, hearing in his tender sounds and overjoyed, endlessly breathy and quiet laugh that he’s loving it. He asks, “Can I go farther in?”

“Thought you’d never ask…” Yet, it doesn’t happen. He refuses for some reason; which is why you work towards him instead, your hips upthrusting. Pushing at his ass, knowing how much he’s enjoying your helplessness. You say, “You are mean.”

“Mhm… especially to you, right?”

“Especially to me,” you laugh. “You say you love me and then edge me? Prove it, won’t you?”

“Ohhhh no.” He drags out the syllable, a sudden change in his tone, as if you’ve purposely teased him to a challenge. A you did not just say that kind of vibe. “You will not doubt that I love you. Fuck no.”

He buries his face in your clothed tits, kisses the spot between them; one hand envelops your left side before he lets go and gets serious. Kicks his shorts away and then— bottoms out. His balls clash against your ass, your eyes rolling back. His words ring in your ears.

And then, he’s already dragging himself out before plunging back in. Hard. Remains like this. Then out again; all the way in again, harder. Repeating it with a hand on your neck; but the moment, much to your irritation, doesn’t prolong at all.

Jungkook must have been quick to make a decision to torment you today when you first kissed him ten minutes ago. Because he fully draws back, leaving you empty, a hand on the back of your head as he mutters his thoughts to you, “Am craving this mouth… Get up.”

You, like his personal doll with a sudden lack of feminism in your body, get on your knees without hesitation. Your hands remain between your legs, as if waiting for him to put a leash on you; rubbing yourself against the soft carpet until he stops your antics and grips your cheeks.

He urges you to open up, pressing in, and when you do, he doesn’t wait to shove his cock in again. This time, he helps you out: goes back and forth, fucking your wet tongue, and then moving his length until the tip prods your inner cheek. He angles it like a fishing hook, bringing it out of your mouth and then back in again.

And you’re careful to suck diligently. You taste yourself, fighting for breaths. Look up at him, take him like your last meal on Earth; touch his balls as he relishes in your gaze. When your hand encases his dick, that’s when he stops moving, glancing up to the ceiling as if praying.

You slow down; wait as he catches his breath, and then ask, “What do you want me to do?”

You’re not always this forlorn. Sometimes you take matters into your own hands, no questions or permission necessary. You often knock him back onto the mattress, straddling him, riding him into the sunset.

But you want to submit today; that’s the mood you perceived. That’s what his eyes reveal and what your body itches for. Something he wants, too: to destroy you, to fuck you senseless.

And he notices the shift. “My god, would you look at that,” he drags, hardly believing that you’re looking at him like this. “Bed. Lean over it.”

You listen; of course you do. Your knees press into the carpet, upper body flat on the bed. Ass out, arms on the mattress.

He touches you gently; first your back, then your hair, and then your arms. Finds the right position, and then rams himself into you. You barely expect it — the intrusion is sudden, happens in one fell swoop.

His legs cage in yours, and he soon pushes yours together, dying for further friction and for you to feel it more intensely. Your eyes flutter shut, and your previously lifted head falls, your cheek against the sheets.

You move with them as he thrusts into you, and you hold onto the fabric to remain in place. Perhaps he sees your efforts, because he’s soon determined to help — or to rile you up further, you can’t say. He catches your arm, just one, pinning it to your back.

A heavy hand falls onto the soft flesh of your ass once. And then, he raises your upper body until it’s glued to his chest. An arm wraps around your tits, two fingers pinching your nipple as he drills into you from behind.

As you yelp and heave breaths, you hear him say, “You wanna know, huh?”

“I…”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about, but you allow him to air his rage. He leans in, kisses your neck, wants to know, “What’s that like? You okay, baby?”

“I’m okay… I’m so okay—”

“And so pretty like this. You’re always… so pretty. I’m so fucking lucky.”

“I want to see you.”

“How did I…”

“Kook—”

“I know. I know you want to,” he says, but he takes another minute to fuck you hard, fast, revved up, and you don’t complain. Not even when two of his fingers slap your cunt, multiple times, rapidly until he repeats, “I know. Would you turn around for me? Sit here?”

How couldn’t you if he asks so nicely, right?

Your legs are shaky and trembling as you take a seat on the edge of the bed, much as he commanded. It’s high enough for him to fuck you standing here; but he doesn’t go in right away as you thought. Instead, he kneels in front of you, forehead to forehead, sentimental all of a sudden.

Did you wanting to actually see him change something? Did it remind him once again that you’re not just what you used to be? A way of passing time, a company to quench each other’s thirst?

Then again, you know Jungkook. He never forgets. Never forgets what you are to him.

Repeats each time just as he is now, “How did I end up with you?” Every time. Tells you every time that he cannot fathom his luck, that you’re more than he’ll ever deserve. He adds, “You want me to prove it to you?”

Oh…

That’s what he—

This time, the kiss is short-lived, albeit urgent. His hand cradles your face when he moves up and slides back home. He fucks you softer first, not as beastly as before. But you guess the distance is as irksome to him as to you, because he soon bends down.

Puts his hands on your ass and shifts your body on the mattress until you’re on your back, laying in front of him. Just the same position as before on the ground, but cosier; it’s easier to hover above you now, scanning your face like you’re the only star in the vast, expanding universe.

The only source of light in this darkened room.

“Hey,” he calls, even though you’re already looking at him.

He grazes your temple, tender as a flower petal. His eyes are a melting, dark brown, almost black; you think you see yourself in the reflection, even though it’s impossible in a setting like this — maybe that’s what he means when he says you reside in him.

Your existence in his chest, your eyes in his.

“I love you,” he then proclaims, “and I’ll show you all the fucking time if you need me to.”

“I… I want you to…”

“Good. Good, baby. You know I’ll do anything, right? Not just this and not just now. I’ll do anything for you.”

You half-smile as he says it, as much as possible between your moans; you don’t know what else to do, because nothing else suffices. Not an I would, too and not an I know.

So you say nothing; only raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes, showcasing every shred of affection you harbour. You keep looking at him until the thrusts force your eyes shut again. And this time, you don’t need long to fall into a series of gasps and outright craze.

You understand you’re close when he pleads, “Can you touch yourself? Please?”

And it helps — considering that you’re already riled up like not once in the past days, the next minutes pass fast, and the end is immediate. The familiar stars soon block your vision, your body quivering; you barely realise what happens and when it happens.

Nothing, but bliss bliss bliss…

Until you very clearly feel the liquid underneath your ass, the sheets soaked, all of it wet. You hear Jungkook laugh, absolutely satisfied. Your eyes rip open and you ask, “What happened?”

But the question is redundant — because as your mind clears, you gather what it could be.

You ruined the sheets. You’ll have to come up with a good ass excuse and ask the receptionist for a new blanket for your room. Fuck. A hell of a guest you are.

“You squirted all over my dick,” Jungkook still clarifies.

“I’m sorry…”

“What? No. It looks… it feels so…”

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence; it seems that the thought alone hardens his cock and balls impossibly. Enough for him to follow your example, letting go. He shakes his head, silences, and then moves in to kiss you hard; to fuck you harder.

He shoves you into the mattress repeatedly, navigating in and out of you so easily that you think he might slip out. But he doesn’t; instead, he spills. Spills hotly, abundantly. You know the bed is soiled forever.

Somehow, you’re even sorry for anyone who might book this room next; but somehow, as guilty as you might feel about it, you feel better for yourself. Then again — it’s fine, right? You’re probably not the first to make a mess of a room like this.

Making out with you one last time, Jungkook remains like thi, not wanting to move as his dick still pulsates and twitches, softening just slowly. Doesn’t want the liquid to leak if he moves out. Maybe thinking the same about the room as you.

His next question, however, is an entirely different one, “Do you believe me now?”

You titter. Even now, even after witnessing each of your reactions, your boyfriend won’t let the thought go. Set on what he feels for you, he’ll probably prove it to you an entire lifetime long.

You promise, “I always will. From anyone in this world, I’ll believe it the most from you.”

“My baby,” he coos. Waits. Then sighs before he says, “Okay, enough of that distraction. We have breakfast to catch. I bet you, five more minutes and they’ll knock.”

“Oh… uh-oh. Quick shower and then hurry?”

“…Great idea.”

Only, the shower isn’t as quick as you anticipated — the two of you are silly, reforming your shampoo hair, giggling until the knocks occur and you bolt to the breakfast hall. The others are already eating; by the looks of it, they’ve just started, though.

Yoongi is the first to speak after you’ve exchanged your polite Good mornings. In fact, he scolds rather gently, “You guys are late. We need to be at the beach by noon, don’t forget.”

“Yeah, we just…” You shrug. “We were organising our suitcases.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nonchalantly confirms. “Forgot the time.”

Your excuses are so casual, so careful, your eyes busy as they watch your hands smear butter and jam on your toast. Only, you’re not as casual. Your friends fall silent. Their stares alternate between Jungkook and you as the two of you pass a knife or comment on the food.

No word until you hear Jimin gasp and look up at him. His expression seems amused, and you know he’s about to say something bold before he actually does—

“Oh, you fucked… You had the time to?!”

THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

1k block limit, beloved. you can read the remaining 10k of the chapter in this reblog!! the reblog begins with a new scene <3

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts imagines #jungkook fic #bts angst #jungkook angst #jungkook

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kxsagi · 2 months ago

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hii i love the way you write the bllk characters. can i request sae itoshi x reader where the reader attracts a lot of attention from men and they start flirting with her but she’s so oblivious and dense so she doesn’t see it that way, but sae realizes and gets jealous and reveals their relationship to the public even though they were supposed to keep it private so no one would harass the reader online or get swamped with questions by interviewers?? sorry if this is confusing, ty in advance :3

“𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞”

a/n: thank you!!!

i just know sae would be so possessive or maybe i'm being delusional

his hair is disastrous (i want him to yell at me)

(header art credits go to coa357951)

sae had always been a man of precision. he read the field like a seasoned strategist, calculating every move before the other players could even see it coming. that was how he operated in life, too, meticulous, composed, and annoyingly good at keeping his emotions on lockdown.

but right now? right now, he was fuming.

he watched you from across the room, arms folded, jaw clenched so tightly it could’ve cracked a diamond. his sharp eyes, as perceptive as ever, caught every glance sent your way. every lingering stare. every guy who wandered just a little too close. and worst of all, you didn’t notice a thing.

“oh, you’re funny!” you laughed, oblivious as hell, after what was definitely a weak attempt at a joke. sae knew it was weak because he could hear it from where he stood. something about traffic lights or oranges. gosh, it was so unfunny.

and yet, there you were, all smiles, eyes sparkling, just being your usual kind self. and they were eating it up.

sae scowled. your warmth, the very thing he adored, was now driving him insane.

he knew you weren’t flirting. you were just being friendly, the way you always were. but these men? they were definitely flirting. sae could see it in their eyes, in the way they leaned in, in how they made their voices lower and smoother. one of them even had the audacity to brush his knuckles over your wrist when you handed him a drink.

that was the final straw.

without thinking, sae pushed off the wall, storming toward you with the same lethal grace he carried on the field. his hand found your waist, possessive and firm, and before you could blink, he tugged you flush against his side.

“what –” you turned, blinking up at him with wide, confused eyes.

“we’re leaving,” he muttered, voice low and clipped, and in one swift motion, he was guiding you toward the exit.

the VIP lounge room quieted slightly at the sudden display. people stared. reporters froze mid-sentence. and your eyes widened when you realized sae wasn’t just walking next to you, he was holding your hand. in public.

the same hand he always tugged into his coat pocket when paparazzi were nearby. the same hand he always let go of before he stepped onto the field.

“sae…?” you whispered, brows furrowed in confusion.

but he didn’t answer. instead, he kept walking, grip firm, jaw tight. and by the time you were outside, you heard the first faint camera clicks.

“sae, what are you –”

he stopped abruptly, turning to face you. his teal eyes were sharp, turbulent, like a brewing storm. for a moment, he just stared at you. then, without a word, he leaned in.

his lips crashed against yours.

it wasn’t soft or hesitant, it was bold, deliberate. he kissed you in front of everyone, in front of the cameras, in front of the world. his hand slid up to your jaw, keeping you in place as if daring you to pull away. when he finally parted from you, the warmth of his breath lingered on your lips.

stunned, you gawked at him. “what… what was that?”

his eyes were still dark, almost challenging. his voice was low, rough around the edges. “you’re mine.”

your heart stuttered. you blinked at him, unsure whether you’d misheard. surely he didn’t just –

“mine,” he repeated, firmer this time, like he was making it clear to everyone who dared to look.

the murmurs and whispers around you grew louder. phones were out. flashes were going off. the reporters were practically salivating. sae itoshi, the notoriously private prodigy, just revealed he was in a relationship.

you grabbed his wrist, pulling him slightly away from the growing crowd. “sae, what the hell?” you hissed, panic bubbling in your chest. “you know this is going to blow up! we agreed to keep it private! what about the media? the interviews? the harassment –”

“i don’t care,” he cut you off sharply, eyes flashing with something fierce. “i don’t care about them. they can think whatever the hell they want.”

he was still fuming, nostrils flaring slightly. his hand was still gripping your waist, like he was afraid you might slip away.

“they were flirting with you,” he muttered darkly, almost like he was still processing it, as if the thought itself made his blood boil.

you blinked. “… what?”

he stared at you like you were hopeless. “are you serious?” he let out a humorless scoff. “they were all over you. you didn’t even notice.”

“i didn’t –” you frowned, baffled. “they were just being nice. we were just talking –”

“no. they weren’t being nice.” his voice was clipped, sharp. “they were looking at you like they wanted you.”

you were still processing his words when he suddenly leaned down again, brushing his lips over yours. this time, softer. slower. more possessive than impulsive. he kissed you like he needed to remind you who you belonged to.

his forehead rested against yours when he pulled away, his breath uneven. “let them know,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “let them all know you’re mine.”

your chest tightened. you searched his eyes, still slightly shocked by the public display, but the intensity in his gaze left no room for hesitation.

“okay,” you whispered softly.

his eyes softened slightly, only for you. “good.”

and just like that, sae itoshi, the cold, stoic, untouchable soccer prodigy, walked back through the crowd with your hand in his, unbothered by the flashing cameras or the wide-eyed reporters scrambling for their questions.

because the only thing that mattered to him was the fact that everyone finally knew you were his.

#sae itoshi #itoshi sae #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi blue lock #itoshi sae blue lock #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #i need this man #sae itoshi is my favorite food #not so private anymore

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ms-demeanor · 8 months ago

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On insurance: I still live with my parents and don't know a lot yet about the sorts of things adults usually have to spend money on. I've always been skeptical of things like insurance and credit cards because it seems to me they wouldn't be selling that if they didn't expect to make money from it. I talked to my cousin a while ago about credit cards and basically came to the conclusion that they do that because they're betting on the customer getting sloppy and letting their debts stack up, and the way you beat that and get money from credit card companies is just by being careful.

I'm a little more confused about insurance though because it seems much more straightforwardly like a gamble they will simply not take if it won't pay off for them. Like, you don't go to a casino because every game they play at a casino is one they've done the math on and have determined that statistically most people will lose money on most of the time. Is insurance not kinda the same? Where they estimate the risk and then charge you an amount calculated to make sure it probably won't be worth it for you?

I know if you have a car you legally need car insurance so everyone knows you can pay for another car if you crash into someone, and I gather that here in the US at least health insurance companies have some kinda deal with hospitals so that the prices go down or something, and there's a reason I don't fully understand why not having health insurance is Really Bad. But we get to pet insurance, or like when I buy a concert ticket and it offers ticket insurance in case I can't make it to the show, and surely if they thought they were gonna lose money on that they just wouldn't sell it, right? Or they'd raise the price of it until it became worth the risk that something bad actually will happen? Wouldn't it only be worth it to buy insurance if you know something the insurance company doesn't?

So the deal is that most people don't use their insurance much, and often insurance companies will incentivize doing things that will make you use your insurance less.

So, for example, you can get a discount on car insurance if you have multiple cars because people who insure multiple cars are more likely to be responsible drivers (the ability to pay for multiple cars stands in as a representation of responsibility here). The longer you go without an accident, the lower your premiums get because that means that you are not costing your insurance company anything but you are paying into the system. The car insurance company's goal is to have the most responsible, safest drivers who never get into car accidents because they can predict (roughly) how much they're going to have to pay out to their customers and they want the number they pay out to be lower than what's paid in. So they try to discourage irresponsible drivers by raising their rates and encourage responsible drivers by giving them discounts.

Health insurance companies often do the same thing: I recently got a gift card from my health insurance company because I had a visit from a nurse who interviewed me about my overall health and made sure I had stable blood pressure and access to medications. It is literally cheaper for my insurance company to give me a $100 giftcard and hire a nurse to visit me than it is for me to go to my doctor's office a couple of times, so they try to make sure that their customers are getting preventative care and are seeing inexpensive medical professionals regularly so that they don't have to suddenly see very expensive professionals after a long time without care.

Insurance in the US has many, many, many problems and should be replaced with socialized healthcare for a huge number of reasons but right now, because it is an insurance-based system, you need to have insurance.

We're going to use Large Bastard as an example.

Large Bastard had insurance when he had his heart attack and when he needed multiple organs transplanted. He didn't *want* to be paying for insurance, because he thought he was healthy enough to get by, but I insisted. His premium is four hundred dollars a month, and his out of pocket maximum is eight thousand dollars a year. That means that every year, he pays about $5000 whether he uses his insurance or not, and if he DOES need to use the insurance, he pays the first $8k worth of care, so every year his insurance has the possibility of costing him thirteen thousand dollars.

The bill for his bypass surgery was a quarter million dollars.

The bill for his transplant was over one and a half million dollars.

His medication each month is around six hundred dollars. He needs to have multiple biopsies - which are surgeries - each year, and each one costs about twenty thousand dollars.

Without health insurance, he would very likely be dead, or we would be *even more* incapable of paying for his healthcare than we are right now. He almost ditched his insurance because he was a healthy-seeming 40-year-old and he didn't think he'd get sick. And then he proceeded to be the sickest human being I've ever known personally who did not actually die.

Health insurance costs a lot of money. It costs less money for people who are young and who are expected to be healthy. But the thing is, everybody pays into health insurance, and very, very few people end up using as much money for their medical expenses as Large Bastard did. There are a few thousand transplants in the US ever year, but there are hundreds of millions of people paying for insurance.

This ends up balancing out (sort of) so that people who pay for insurance get a much lower cost on care if they need it, hospitals get paid for the care they provide, and the insurance company makes enough money to continue to exist. Part of the reason that people don't like this scheme is because "insurance company" could feasibly be replaced by "government" and it would cost less and provide a better standard of care, but again, with things as they are now, you need to have insurance. Insurance companies are large entities that are able to negotiate down costs with the providers they work with, you are not. If you get hit by a car you may be able to get your medical bills significantly reduced through a number of means, but you're very unlikely to get your bills lower than the cost of insurance and a copay.

Because of the Affordable Care Act, which is flawed but which did a LOT of good, medical insurance companies cannot refuse to treat you because of preexisting conditions and also cannot jack up your premiums to intolerable rates - since Large Bastard got sick, he has had the standard price increases you'd expect from aging, but nothing like the gouging you might expect from an insurance company deciding you're not worth it.

Pet insurance works on the same model. Millions of people pay for the insurance, thousands of people end up needing it, a few hundred end up needing a LOT of it, and the insurance companies are able to make more money than they hand out, so they continue to exist. This is part of why it's less expensive to get pet insurance for younger animals - people who sign up puppies and kittens are likely to be paying for a very long time and are likely to provide a lot of preventative care for their animals, so they're a good bet for the insurer. Animals signed up when they are older are more likely to have health problems (and pet insurance CAN turn animals away for preexisting conditions) and are going to cost the insurance companies more, so they cost more to enroll (and animals over a certain age or with certain conditions may be denied entirely).

This weighing risk/reward is called actuarial science, and the insurance industry is built on it.

But yeah it's kind of betting. The insurance company says "I'll insure ten thousand dogs and I'm going to bet that only a hundred of them will need surgery at some point in the next year" and if they're correct, they make money and the dogs who need surgery get their surgery paid for out of the premiums from the nine thousand nine hundred dogs who didn't need surgery.

Your assessment of credit is correct: credit card companies expect that you will end up carrying a balance, and that balance will accrue interest, and the interest is how they make the money.

And it is EASY to fuck up financially as an adult. REALLY EASY. But you are still likely to need a good credit score so you will need a credit history. That means that the correct way to use a credit card is to have a card, but not carry a balance.

To do this, never buy anything on the card that you can't afford. In order to avoid needing the card for emergencies, start an emergency fund that is at least 3 months of your total pay *before* you get a credit card. That seems like a *lot* of savings to have, but from the perspective of someone who has had plenty of mess-ups, it's a lot easier to build up a $10k emergency fund than it is to pay off a $10k credit card debt.

If you don't understand how interest works on credit cards, or why a 10k savings is different than a 10k debt, here are some examples working with $10k of debt, 23% interest (an average-ish rate for people with average credit), and various payments.

With that debt and that interest, here's how much it costs and how long it would take to pay off with $200 as the monthly payment:

Fourteen years, and it would cost you about twenty four thousand dollars in interest, for a total amount paid of about thirty four thousand dollars.

To save $10k at $200 a month would take four years and two months.

Here's the same debt at $300 a month:

4.5 Years and it costs about six grand (again, just in interest - sixteen thousand dollars total). Saving ten thousand dollars at three hundred dollars a month would take just under three years.

Here's the same debt at $400 a month:

3 years, about $4000 dollars (fourteen thousand dollars total). Saving ten thousand dollars at $400 a month takes just over two years.

The thing is, with all of these models you're going to end up paying one way or another. Insurance vs out of pocket is you weighing the risk of losing a fair amount of money by signing up but not using the system, or potentially losing a catastrophic amount of money by not signing up.

For credit cards they really only work if you know you're never going to need them for an emergency, because an emergency is what you're not going to be able to pay off right away. I didn't have an emergency fund when Large Bastard had his heart attack and needed surgery, or when we moved between states suddenly, or when we moved between states suddenly AGAIN and needed to pay storage costs, or when Large Bastard needed a transplant, or when Tiny Bastard got in a fight with my MiL's dog, and the fact that I didn't have an emergency fund is still costing me a lot of money.

So, young folks out there: what's the takeaway?

Get insurance. Get the best deal possible, which usually ends up being the one you sign up for early. You may think you can let it ride without insurance, but man in the six months between when I graduate college (and lost my school insurance) and when care kicked in after 90 days at my job I got electrocuted and needed to go to the ER. If that hadn't been a worker's comp payout I would have had thousands of dollars in bills. Something could happen. You could break your leg, you could get hit by a car, you could suddenly find out that you actually have heart disease at twenty, you could develop cancer. Have insurance, you need insurance. You legally need car insurance in the US, and you financially need health insurance. If you have a pet, I think it's a good idea for them to have pet insurance.

Credit cards are not for emergencies, they are not for fun, they are not for buying things that are just ever so slightly out of your budget, they are for taking advantage of the credit card company and managing to get by in a system that demands you have a credit score. ONLY put purchases on your credit card that you already have cash for. Before you get a credit card, build up an emergency savings so that you aren't tempted to put emergency charges on your card.

If you DO end up with an interest-bearing debt, pay it off as fast as possible because letting it linger costs you a LOT of money in the long run.

Stay the fuck away from tobacco and nicotine products they are fucking terrible for you, they are fucking expensive, and they are not worth it put the vapes down put the zyns down put the cigarettes down I will begin manifesting in your house physically i swear to fuck. Knock that shit off and put the cash that you'd be spending on nicotine into a savings account.

Take care, sorry everything sucks, I promise that in some ways it actually sucks less than it did before and we're working on trying to make it suck even less but it's taking a while.

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dollishmehrayan · 5 months ago

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HOW BATBOYS COMFORT INSECURE READER ── .✦

a/n: I celebrated my birthday and i had a fun time and tysm to all the people who wished me a hppay birthday (a lot tbh I was shocked and so happy) but this was a request by @cup-of-doodles !! so yeah (enjoyy)

(Tags: batboys x insecure!reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Compliments for Days: Dick would not hold back. “You think I look good? Sweetheart, you’re the real catch here.” He’d follow up with a series of exaggerated compliments, like, “If beauty were a crime, you’d be serving a life sentence.” And then yk he’ll be like your hype man of like this tiktok audio (here).

Goofy Distraction: To lighten the mood, Dick would do something ridiculously goofy, like pretending to be a terrible dancer and saying, “See, you’re already doing better than me.” He’d shimmy awkwardly across the room just to make you laugh but if you cry even more he might feel guilty.

Overprotective Vibe: He’d pull you into a hug, ruffling your hair. “You’re perfect the way you are, and if anyone says otherwise, I’ll literally punch them in the face. Just give me the word.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Grumpy Compliment: He’d cross his arms and look you up and down, pretending to be unimpressed. “You’re lucky I love you, because damn, you’re fine as hell, and I can’t even look at you without getting distracted. It’s annoying.”

Jokes to Distract You: Jason would then casually add, “But if you keep saying you’re not perfect, I’m gonna start charging you for all these therapy sessions I’m giving you.” His face might be all grumpy, but the look in his eyes is soft, reassuring you.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Logical Support: Tim would approach it in his usual, logical way. “Okay, so you feel insecure about that? Let’s talk it through. Statistically speaking, you’re practically flawless, the ratio between your lips and eyes are perfect with your nose calculating right in the perfect spot.” He’d likely pull out a notebook, listing all the reasons you're amazing, with a dry, humorous commentary.

Techy Distraction: To cheer you up, Tim would start showing you funny memes or videos he’s saved. “See? This is how you should feel—unbothered and hilarious.” He’d give you his best attempt at a cute smile, which might look a bit awkward, but he means it.

Self-Deprecating Humor: He’d then add, “And if you still don’t believe me, let me know. I can hack into the Batcomputer and get a list of all the things you’re absolutely amazing at.” He’d wink, though you know he’s completely serious.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Confused, but Caring: Damian would be initially confused by your insecurity. “What is this nonsense? You’re perfect.” He’d cross his arms, giving you a disapproving look. “You don’t need to change a single thing. If you insist on thinking otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to lecture you on your obvious superiority.”

Unintentionally Hilarious Comfort: In his usual serious tone, he’d continue, “Whoever made you feel insecure is an idiot, and I will make them regret it. Though, I’ll do it in a proper way, without any unnecessary violence—unless it’s truly necessary.”

Small Gesture: Despite his serious demeanor, he’d take your hand, pulling you closer with a soft, “You are the best thing in my life, and I will ensure you never forget that again.” (Then he’d mutter under his breath, “And if you need more reassurance, I’ll just have Alfred tell you how amazing you are again.”)

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Stern, But Loving: Bruce would give you a soft, stern look, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t get to think that way, not about yourself. Not ever.”

Overprotective Vibe: He’d pull you into a hug, patting your head like he’s telling you a secret. “If I’m going to let anyone be insecure, it sure as hell won’t be you.” His touch would be gentle, that way he makes sure you feel seen and heard.

Dry Humor: He’d add, “Now stop trying to make me talk more than I need to. But if it makes you feel better, I’m always here to remind you how amazing you are, even if I have to do it in my very limited free time.”

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luveline · 1 year ago

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hi! I love coworker james!! can I request something for them? It's like james always bother and annoy her (jokingly) and then others coworkers trying to do the same to her but in a mean way so james is like 🤨hey thats rude🤨🤨

“Come on, shortcake, it’s not even that high.”

You turn around to glare at James. Whether you’re tall or not is unimportant to him, all he cares about is that you’re a good few inches shorter than he is, which gives him ample opportunity to put things in places you can’t reach.

You glare at him fiercely from over your shoulder. “James, this isn’t funny.”

“You’re getting your daily stretches in. I’m improving the health of your shoulder muscles. And I’d know about muscles.”

You wrinkle your nose. He laughs like a fool, he loves that expression on you and it’s so potently disgusted that he can’t help himself. Agitated, you reach as tall as you can on your tiptoes and attempt to curve your wrist along the ridge of the shelf to retrieve your work calculator. Accountants cannot account without a calculator.

You turn your face down and rub your brow with your fingers. He sees the moment you tip from frantically annoyed to smiling, a stuttering of humour he’s not supposed to witness. It’s the whole reason he messes with you. Well, that and you’re the most agitating girl on planet Earth.

“James,” you say, voice shining with good humour, “you should know about muscle. You know nothing about anything else.”

“Pathetic insult.” He laughs and jumps out of his chair. “Here I thought you were going to say something nice to me.”

He’s standing just behind you when one of your coworkers, Daniel, butts in. “Little miss frown lines say something nice? I’d like to see the day.”

Your smile swiftly shutters.

“Let me get that for you,” James murmurs, touching your shoulder gently to usher you aside.

Daniel leans against his desk with his arms crossed over his chest. James side-eyes the cruel pinch of Daniel’s brow as he grabs your calculator. Your silence clearly irks him.

“A day at the office isn’t complete without you whining about something, huh, sweetheart?”

What? “Hey, stop. Why are you talking to her like that?” James asks, confused and angry all in one blow.

“I’m just teasing her,” Daniel says.

“No, mate, I was just teasing her. You’re trying to knock her down a few pegs,” he says. He leaves no room for argument; his tone and face are strong but impassive at once. He gives you your calculator. “Here, shortcake,” he says, quieter.

“Whatever, James,” Daniel says with a laugh, walking off toward the staff kitchen unbothered.

You watch him every step of the way.

“He’s an idiot,” James says.

“I guess.”

He’s suddenly very aware of what he’s done. Maybe Daniel was only teasing. James has probably said worse to you over the last year —you’re a pit viper in an argument and James can’t let things lie. He’s called you lots of cruel things out of context. Abominable priss, leggy twit, try-hard. You’ve called him a prat, a twat, and a dickhead. It’s reciprocated.

Maybe. “You okay?” he asks.

You give him a funny look. “James, I’m fine. Now you’ve stopped acting like we’re in year six, I’m awesome.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is.”

You hold his gaze. You’re standing quite close. “That’s how it is.”

He doesn’t see the perplexed look you give your calculator, can’t know you sit at your desk afterwards feeling oddly pleased.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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kumkaniudaku · 2 months ago

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A Lovely Night

Summary: Terry and Patrice prepare for prom and a new level of their relationship.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 8.8K

Warnings: None

At the tender age of 13, with braces still on her top row of teeth and dreams of marrying a pop star who didn't yet know her name, Patrice came to three conclusions: she was leaving St. Pius after 8th grade, she definitely did want to be a teacher someday, and she was going to have a prom date before she graduated high school.

The third conclusion came as she sat by herself at the 8th-grade formal, watching throngs of white children dance to censored hip-hop music in pairs and large groups while she was but a beautiful wallflower without the pleasure of being asked to attend. If not for her mother preemptively purchasing a dress before Patrice could confirm a dance partner for the evening, she would've stayed home and wallowed in her room. Better to cry in private than to suffer the embarrassment of visible loneliness in public. But, while she fought incoming misty tears threatening to smudge the mascara her mother had so graciously allowed her to use, Patrice swore that things would be different by her senior year. Her luck would turn. Shit, she might even be prom queen.

Years later, when dreams began to catch up to reality, Patrice's 8th-grade formal debacle seemed primed for a remix. One month until prom and still no prospect for a prom date was social status killer number one. She'd worked hard in her senior year to reinvent herself, shed the reputation she'd inadvertently received as Terry's cute but strange shadow friend, and step into a new image as the senior hottie she was destined to be. Becoming Homecoming Queen was step one in the plan. Step two was senior class president. Step three, the hardest of them all, was having a small army of young men vying for a chance to take her to the ball. So far, only the weird junior from AP Calc had stepped up. Everyone else had slowly split into pairs, preparing matching ensembles, limo rentals, and after-party plans, leaving Patrice as a lone wolf destined to repeat past failures.

"Is Napheesa really going to prom with Nate? Like for real?"

Wednesday evenings were set aside for family spaghetti night and Calc homework with Terry via ooVoo video chat. She'd completed her first task of sharing something sweet and sour from her day around the dinner table. After lying her way into something sour that didn't include her prom woes, math with Terry was a welcomed distraction.

Patrice wiped away wayward red sauce from her mouth with her hoodie sleeve before refocusing on Terry's face taking up her laptop screen. "Yeah. He asked her Sunday when they were hanging out. It was kinda cute, really. I think he sang a song or something."

Terry snickered. "Nigga swear he Trey Songz." He mocked Nate and the R&B hearthob's singing voice in one go, sending him and Patrice into laughter. When they finally calmed down, Terry settled into a more serious temperament. "Corey's going with Jasmine. I think they're wearing red."

"I heard. He showed me his tux. You know he's planning to wear red shoes? I told him he was gonna look like a Mississippi pimp, but he don't listen. Is the answer to number six 375?" As quickly as she'd delivered more news, Patrice was already on to the next thing.

Terry smiled at how her face scrunched in confusion. "No. I think you miscalculated somewhere."

"Shit," she whispered. "Don't tell me. Let me figure it out." Terry watched in rapt silence, enamored by Patrice's prominent features, which were made more striking by a neat ponytail showcasing her face as the main attraction.

He waited silently as she typed the expression into her calculator again, battling whether now or in person was a good time to ask his question. If he waited again, he risked chickening out like he did before they parted ways in the senior parking lot to beat the morning tardy bell. He decided to strike while she wasn't looking at him with those beautiful brown eyes.

"So…uh…you going to prom with anyone?"

She scoffed without looking up. "No. At least not yet. Usher still hasn't responded to my emails. I sent Chris Brown one, too, so maybe he'll come through."

"Good luck with that," he chuckled. Nerves tried to caution him on moving forward. A rational, fully formed frontal lobe would've told him to quit while he was ahead. Teenage folly made him open his mouth to say, "Wanna go with me?"

Patrice paused her work to look up and smile. "You sure? We don't have to. I wouldn't be mad if you asked someone else."

"I'm asking who I want to go with. Unless you givin' me the run around like Phee did Cam."

"No," Patrice cut in, rolling her eyes. "I was just saying!"

Terry smiled. "So we're going to prom together? Me and you? In Carolina blue? You see how I made that happen? Creative writing really might be worth it."

A genuine, hearty laugh came from Patrice's mouth as she threw her head back in reaction to Terry's terrible attempt at an off-the-cuff poem. Or so Terry thought. Really, she'd released years of pent-up fear and expected disappointment. Finally, in the 11th hour, Patrice had a prom date. Sure, it was her best friend she'd been falling more in love with day by day with no indication they'd ever be together, but it was something. Dream realized. Victory.

"Yeah, we're going to prom together," she confirmed after her giggle attack had ended. They stared at each other momentarily, basking in the implications of a night under makeshift stars in the swanky event space across town. Patrice fought to look back at her calculator and announce what had to be the correct answer this time. "It's 215. I multiplied by 23 instead of multiplying 2 and 3. Movin' too fast, I guess."

Terry nodded proudly. "Yeah. You got it. Good job."

As Patrice moved on to a new exam prep question and rolled through the math aloud, the bitter taste of dissatisfaction coated his tongue. The spark he expected from asking the girl he'd been falling deeper into what he knew of love with was nothing more than a quick flicker of excitement – fun but empty. He could do better. Especially if he wanted his true intentions of turning a friendship into something more substantial to stand a chance.

Two mornings later, with a day separating Terry's promposal and the opportunity to back out before their paring was set in stone, Patrice bounced into Francis from a doctor's appointment with a new lease on life and big news to share with Napheesa.

She opened her locker as usual before fourth-period English, looking for her orange class notebook and the assigned textbook. She found them both without issue and nearly pranced off to class with nothing but gossip on her mind until she noticed the index card taped to her locker mirror.

Can you meet me in the library after school? 398.2. I'm sure you know what that means.

The handwriting looked more feminine than Patrice was accustomed to, not matching what she'd seen from Napheesa's notes back and forth in class or from Corey, who'd mastered the forgery dark arts. Still, she tucked the instructions into her everything binder's inside pouch and kept it close until the final bell rang.

Like a spy on a top-secret mission, Patrice dodged conversations from her classmates, threaded her body between students walking to and fro in the main hallway, and quietly ducked into the library on the hunt for the mysterious being requesting her presence.

398.2. It took Patrice an entire class period to decipher what the collection of numbers meant. Too short for a phone number, obviously, she thought to herself. It wasn't a locker number or any other location in the school. Area codes didn't come with decimals. She thought long and hard, willing the answer into existence. Realization smacked her in the head with the full force of Mike Tyson on her way to Terry's locker to grab her sociology notebook. The Dewey Decimal System. More specifically, the section of the library dedicated to folk and fairytales.

Led by an ironclad knowledge of the library's layout and excitement nearly pouring from her pores, Patrice speed-walked past the librarian's station at the front, waved hello to Ms. Wanamaker re-stocking returned library books from seniors trying to clear their outstanding balances before fines set in, and turned the corner onto her intended row.

Snow White piqued her curiosity first. The book appeared to jut out from the rest, so she glanced around for any lookie-loos straggling nearby and pulled it off the shelf. Nothing. Patrice shrugged and put the book back before focusing on other possible answers. Fairy Tales from The Brothers Grimm turned up nothing. Some weird book of Greek myths briefly felt like cracking the code but ultimately fell flat. Patrice had been duped. Led astray. Lied to. She was sure someone was watching through shelves and laughing at how she'd been fooled in a scavenger hunt.

Some hopeful part of her brain directed Patrice's annoyed attention to the book spine conspicuously sticking out amongst its neighbor. She thought about what she might do if she were to flip through another dud and settled on knocking everything down as she yanked the worn edition of Cinderella from its spot. Luckily, a quick flip to its front cover ended her search.

I don't know if I'm your Prince Charming, but I want you to feel like a Cinderella for a night. Will you go with me to the ball? I'll have you home before the clock strikes 12.

She recognized this handwriting, slanted and slender, on another index card. Patrice ran her index finger over the words and gave them another full read, not noticing the tall young man slowly revealing himself at the end of the aisle with a smile on his face and the gleam of mischief in his eyes.

"I should've done this the right way the first time," he spoke, startling Patrice. He lifted his hands in surrender and disarmed her with a smile. "My bad."

Patrice smiled back. "Since when did you learn the decimal system?"

"If I tell you, I can't take you to prom. So, you either gotta answer the question on the card or get the answer to yours. Which one is it?"

"Give me your answer."

Horrified confusion and feigned annoyance flashed across Terry's young, handsome face as he watched Patrice double over in stifled laughter. He chuckled and kissed his teeth as he stepped closer. "Patrice, be serious. Will you go to prom with me? I'm really asking."

Terry's sincerity, both in his voice inflection and in how his brows knitted in anticipation of a response, made Patrice stand up to her full height and smile back at her best friend.

"Of course, TJ. I will absolutely go to prom with you."

A fist pump and smile in the back corner of the school library was as good as any contract signed in black ink with a felt-tipped pen and the appropriate amount of witnesses. It was official official. Terry and Patrice were going to prom together.

News of the expected pairing spread through the halls like wildfire, the truth morphing into something of a fairytale itself as it passed from person to person. Terry had asked Patrice in the library on one knee or in the parking lot, and they kissed, or between classes, and Patrice cried. Actually, Patrice asked Terry! In one version of events, Terry had abruptly reneged on his promposal to Junior cheerleader Cierra and asked Patrice at the last minute. A messy affair in a messy love triangle between the messiest best-friend duo the school had ever known, according to some twisted version of events.

Neither Patrice nor Terry cared to clear up rumors or refute gossip. They were too busy prepping for the best night of their young lives.

Pin cushions and yards of organza covered Patrice's living room floor by Sunday afternoon, turning recently the replaced grey carpet into a sea of light blue as her Aunt Sybil eyeballed measurements and cut the fabric into careful shapes to match the pattern Patrice and Imani had agreed was perfect for a Cinderella-inspired gown. Glitter. She needed glitter tucked into every inch to turn an ordinary dress into one that sparkled in the right light. Rosalyn requested sleeves for modesty, and Patrice agreed, not because she wanted to, but because she knew compromise was her best friend. They settled on sparkling flower appliqué details on the bodice to bring in the event's garden theme, a dainty off-the-shoulder sweetheart neckline with draped sleeves to satisfy her beaming mother, and a soft corset to create a ball gown illusion for the flowing, floor-length-skirt. A masterpiece in Patrice's eyes. Especially the hidden thigh-high split she and Imani schemed, plotted, and cried to have included when Rosalyn wasn't listening.

Hair, makeup, nails, and fragrance were all Patrice thought about for days. She sat with Napheesa on Google for hours, looking for the perfect photos to show their beauty service providers when the time came. Every detail, down to the number of tendrils springing from her bun to add a little Princess Tiana into her Disney fantasy, was carefully crafted to fit the vision she'd had of herself since the 8th grade.

Terry hadn't dived head-first off the prom prep cliff, but he was close. Marvin couldn't understand why his son was suddenly so hell-bent on switching to the younger barber and his creative cuts until Diedra pulled him aside for a quick update in the Richmond Girl saga. He couldn't have any old fade. He needed something to stop Patrice in her tracks and garner enough praise to fuel him until he was 21. He'd work every weekend until boot camp to pay off that extra $50 plus tip if it meant his haircut was precise.

A trip to the tailor turned a baggy, hand-me-down wedding tux into something tailored for his brand new, 6'3" frame. Diedra watched with pride in her shining eyes as Terry stood tall and allowed the much smaller shop owner to stand on a step ladder and adjust the jacket's shoulders to Terry's proportions. Take in the waist here, lengthen that hem, get the fit of that cummerbund just right, not too shiny on the shoes or too dark on that blue – he's got a date with the prettiest girl in the world, and he can't get caught lacking. Another $150 withdrawn from his parent's bank account, another step closer to the best night of his short life.

The final puzzle piece was the paramount matter of transportation. Terry's Explorer had been out of commission since October, both from punishment and mechanical issues. He'd improved his behavior, but the starter was still shot, and any indicator that his dad would fix it went away when Terry chose to sign his life away to the United States.

Terry knew the perfect set of wheels to act as a chariot for his princess. The creamy, off-white Cadillac with less than 40,000 miles and a sick interior parked in their garage would take him from best friend to boyfriend in 15 minutes flat. He just needed the permission.

Slinking out of his room, Terry coached himself through a pre-planned script as he jogged down the front porch steps to the tall, greying, light-skinned man diligently trimming healthy green hedges per his wife's instructions.

"Hey, Pop. You need some help?"

Marvin looked up at his son, confusion sheening his blue-green eyes, and shrugged. "If you wanna, I won't stop you." A man of few words and enough brains in his head to know when his boy was about to ask for something.

Taking his father's half-hearted invitation, Terry slid on a pair of working gloves nearby, grabbed the garden hedge sheers lying in a pile of other tools, and began carefully chopping at his mama's award-winning bushes.

They worked silently for several long minutes, two tall, slender Richmond men toiling away in the mid-April breeze until Terry mustered up enough courage to make his request known. "Dad, could I…maybe, um…drive your car for prom? Just that one night?"

"The truck?" Marvin knew the answer but wanted to teach his only son a lesson in the type of directness that made boys into men.

"No. The Cadillac. Our friends are doing the limo thing, but I want to – I'm just not trying to spend the whole night with them. It's easier if I can put the money for the limo towards dinner and really enjoy myself. With Patrice. Together for probably the last time."

Marvin listened to his son's appeal without looking away from his task, mulling over the answer he already had in his head. He'd been in young love before and knew all of the fear and excitement from exploring matters of the heart.

Terry watched his father continue to prune errant branches and leaves from the collection of perfectly green hedges, feeling the pieces of his plan for a magical night blow away in the wind. He'd already begun working through how to get $50 to Corey by the end of the night when Marvin set his shears down and started rifling through his coverall pockets.

He pulled out a crisp $100 bill, allowed his neutral expression to brighten into a small smile, and extended his hand toward Terrence. "Hold that for dinner." Then he reached into another pocket to pull out a ring of keys to toss in Terry's direction. "And hold these for this evenin'. I gotta see you drive her before I let you off by yourself. You fuck up my Caddy, and you won't make it to Parris Island, Tybee Island, or Island Seafood down the street without a cane because I'm gon' need at least three toes for my car."

"I got it, Dad," Terry laughed. "I promise. I'll have it back a little after 12. Treece got a curfew.”

"Mhmm. She got your little nose wide open, too. When y'all gon' stop all that playing and do the real thing?"

Terry hoped he could return to his father triumphant by next Saturday night to proudly proclaim he and Patrice had finally decided to do "the real thing." He spent the whole week counting down the seconds until he could ask for her hand at the dinner table, confess his feelings, earn a big kiss, and walk into the event center as Francis Edwards High School's newest couple.

Patrice considered the possibility of going from best friend to girlfriend all week but kept her fantasies locked inside her mind for fear of interrupting Napheesa's now 15-minute-long, one-sided conversation.

The school week's events had long faded into vapors to make way for the dizzying sights and sounds of salon visits, light lunches to keep bellies flat, and gossip-filled chatter of prom preparation. Patrice and Napheesa sat side by side in massage chairs that made their bodies shake and jerk from an overzealous contraption while their feet soaked in bowls of bubbling lukewarm water. Their mothers had dropped them off for coordinated early morning nail appointments they both hoped would fit into 90 minutes. Napheesa had to be on time for her beautician or else she'd spend an extra hour at the hair salon. Patrice didn't have a fancy chair to sit in for her appointment. Still, Ms. Brenda's daughter liked to get off track in her kitchen studio, and she didn't have the time or patience for anyone to ruin her plans.

Napheesa flipped through color swatches while she multitasked providing updates to her best friend and picking which shade of baby pink would match her dress best. "Corey said his after-party is invite-only, but you know how he gets when he get a crowd. Everybody and they mama gone be over there. You and Terry sure y'all don't wanna ride in the limo with us so you don't have to worry about finding a place to park in his neighborhood? I don't think he'll care about the money at this point."

"Nope. Terry says he wants it to be just us, and I think he already got his dad to let him use the car." Patrice answered, smiling at the thought of being alone with him in a fancy whip.

"Okay, then! You didn't tell me about the Cadillac, now! I'm jealous." Napheesa teased. She noticed her friend's bashful smirk and reached over to playfully push her shoulder. "How you feeling about tonight? You nervous? Excited? What?"

All of that and then some, Patrice thought to herself before answering. "I don't know! I think I'm just ready to see him," she confessed. "We've never been, like, alone alone. What if I say something silly or trip and fall or something? Now the night is ruined, and I gotta come home by 8 o'clock." Patrice sighed and mentally settled on a classic French tip for her nails and feet. "I think it'll be fun. I'm just ready to skip to then."

"The way Terry acts like you're the second coming of Kevin Hart, I'm sure there's nothing silly you could do or say to make him end the night early. He might even fall down with you so you don't feel alone." The young ladies dissolved into laughter at the image of Terry's long, lanky body lowering to the ground just to make Patrice feel better about her blunder. "Just have fun, P. High school is almost over, and if you not with that boy by May, we not talking about his ass when we get on campus."

Patrice feigned offense. "We'll still be friends! I can't talk about him at all?"

"Not a peep. We only talking about fine college niggas after graduation. So, lock it down or get ready for orientatioooon." Napheesa's exaggerated body roll turned Patrice's giggling into a full-on cackle loud enough to eclipse the nearby whirring of an electric file.

Patrice would've laughed herself into a stomach ache if not for the loud ringtone trilling in her purse. Napheesa didn't need to see who was awaiting an answer to their call. The slight smile on her friend's face and starry eyes were answer enough.

"Hey, TJ," Patrice chirped as two nail techs rolled up to start their service.

In his bedroom across town, Terry eyed his face in the bathroom mirror, trying to decide which parts of his facial hair to tell his barber to keep. "What's up, Treece. Wait, are you out already?"

"Yeah. I didn't want to end up late, so me and Phee decided to get our nails done early." Patrice passed greetings between her two best friends before continuing. "What's up with you?"

"I'm on the way to the barbershop in a little bit. I just wanted to tell you I'll be by to pick you up at 5:30 so we can get to dinner on time. The food's gonna suck tonight and I don't want you to be hungry. Think you'll be ready by then?"

Patrice smiled and softened her voice. "Yeah. I'll be ready."

"Um…" Terry cut himself short, smiled at the fleeting thought of seeing his Cinderella float toward him in something spectacular, and then picked up his thought again. "I'm excited to see your dress tonight and hang out. I think it's gonna be a good night."

"Me too. I get to see you in a tie for the first time."

Terry chuckled. "And this stupid waist thing my mama's making me wear. They're gonna follow me to your place, by the way, so be ready to take pictures for forever."

"That's okay. You just make sure you don't come over there looking better than me," Patrice joked. A clean-cut, suited and booted Terry could rival Hollywood's finest leading man. She'd put money on that.

"I could never. You win that battle every time." His compliment settled on Patrice's ears and heart like light snow coating freezing cold lawns in those Hallmark Christmas movies her mom loved so much. Terry smiled at her silence before noting his father's second honk in as many minutes. "See you later, Treece. I gotta get out of here. Love you."

Patrice looked to Napheesa pretending not to listen to every word of their conversation then tried to lower her voice. "Love you, too. See you later."

Another velvety smooth goodbye left a young girl with dreams of locking more than arms with her occasionally brooding, often sweet prince swooning in a building full of strangers and her amused best friend.

"Cute shit, mom and dad." The parents joke had gained traction in the school hallways and grown legs to follow Patrice into the world via a sniggering Naphessa. Patrice looked over at her friend with a sour look and received gut-busting laughter in return. "Damn, y'all sound like my parents."

"Shut up!"

-----

Staring at her daughter in the small vanity mirror tucked in the room's back corner, Rosalyn had never seen a more beautiful girl in all her life. The baby she'd spent hours of grueling labor to usher into the world, her first of three pregnancies and two births, had grown into a young woman preparing to enter the world as a free bird spreading its wings for the time.

Tears gathered in the inner corners of her eyes, threatening to garner a groan and quiet complaints for it was the third time in an hour she'd felt like crying. Leon joked with her the first two times, remarking that Patrice's eventual wedding might send her to the upper room if this was how Rosalyn would act for prom.

Rosalyn twirled a perfectly spiraled tendril from Patrice's bun around her finger after removing the perm rod giving it shape and smiled. "You're such a pretty girl, P. Don't let anyone tell you that you aren't. Alright?"

"Yes ma'am," Patrice answered as she looked back at her mother through the mirror. She took careful stock of her appearance, trying to see what in her reflection her mother saw to say such a thing.

Brown skin, smooth as luxury chocolate and covered in just enough makeup to highlight ancestral high cheekbones and youthful features, complemented shining eyes and mouth full of pearly whites her parents had paid a fortune for in middle school. She was pretty. Beautiful. A stunning amalgamation of her mother, and her mother, and her mother's mother long before she was a twinkle in the universe.

A larger roller removed from the right side of her forehead unfurled a bouncing bang. Rosalyn kept it in place with a careful mist of spritz. "The next time I get to see you like this, you'll be getting a new last name." Patrice looked away bashfully, trying not to imagine wedding bells and a church full of family watching her walk down the aisle to the one she…loved? Loves. She did love him, she thought. She was sure of that much.

Rosalyn slowly slid the other large roller off Patrice's left side, giving it equal attention to the first. "Have fun tonight, alright. I know you'll be okay with Terry, but I'll tell you anyway: be safe. You know you can call whenever you need us. We'll come get you, no questions asked."

"I know. I don't think I'll have to call. Terry knows to have me back by midnight, and we don't get into trouble." Partially true. They didn't get into much trouble. Nothing significant or life-changing. Not yet, anyway.

"I'm not worried about it," Rosalyn said, fixing a small sparkling tiara to the base of Patrice's bun. "So…do you like him? From my vantage point, it seems like you like him, but I could be wrong. What's the scoop?"

Patrice groaned. "Mamaaa!" An immediate desire to cover up the truth made her body hot with embarrassment. But something in her mother's knowing smile compelled her to come clean. "Yeah. I do. I like him a lot."

"Ain't no crime in that. It's okay to like a boy. You know your daddy was a boy I liked at one point. We don't expect you not to like anyone. We just want you to be smart. Don't have no babies yet."

"Maaa!"

Rosalyn chuckled at Patrice's teenaged disgust and prepared to pour more on for fun's sake when two knocks rapped against the bedroom door before Leon poked his head inside. He took a sweeping look over his only daughter and smiled. "Look at my little girl. They should be putting you in the children's books, huh?" Patrice said thanks with a small, timid smile before Leon dropped off pressing news. "The Richmond boy and his folks are comin' in. Lookin' like it's time to make your entrance."

"Thank you, Daddy. Can you tell him I'll be out in a little while?"

Leon accepted his marching orders with a nod and smile, then disappeared to entertain the growing swell of voices filling the living room.

Smiling, Rosalyn slid the cape shielding Patrice's glittering dress from debris off her daughter's chest and draped it over her arm. "Alright, pretty girl, it's your show now." She leaned down to press her cheek to Patrice's in a warm display of affection. "Knock his socks off, you hear? He's here to see you. Give him a show."

Give him a show. While Patrice mentally unraveled what that meant, Terry stood in the living room rocking back and forth on his heels and checking his wristwatch for the time. Zorah and Zanah talked on the couch while Junior snuck glances at the two identically beautiful girls and tried to keep the camcorder upright to ensure he didn't get a slap on the back of the head from his mother. Diedra chattered a mile a minute to her husband and good friend, saying something about pictures and keepsakes that Terry didn't care to hear.

He wanted to see Patrice. Weeks of waiting and dreaming every chance he got to let his mind wander came down to the soft tick, tick, tick of his silver link watch as the minute hand turned 5:29 pm into 5:30 pm—showtime.

Terry heard a door close down the hall and listened for the footsteps moving in his direction before looking up to see Mrs. Rosalyn appear in the hallway's threshold. She smiled at him first then addressed the room. "She'll be out in a few. Just grabbing a few last things."

"Oh my Gooood! I can't wait to see her. I know she'll be beautiful!" Diedra clasped her fingers at her chest as if it were her daughter preparing for a grand reveal. "Girls, come over here. I want you to see!"

Zorah and Zanah moaned and groaned about their conversation being cut short but followed directions anyway to avoid what existed on the other side of disobedience. Junior tracked both girls with his eyes until a nervously rocking Terry cut off his sightline. He looked up at the young man confused.

"Why you shakin' like that, Terry," he asked, genuinely unable to fathom why the boy might be nervous. "You seen Patrice a million times."

But not like this. He'd seen her in sweats and a T-shirt or dressed up for school, but not like this. That fact became abundantly clear as her high heels tapped across the hardwood floor, stepping closer to reveal a modern marvel amongst mere pretenders. Whatever he'd dreamed up in the back of classrooms or while tucked in his bedroom at night paled compared to what stood before him.

Shock. Awe. Amazement. Diedra squealed as if the Queen had walked into the room. His twin sisters whistled and gave praise like only pre-teen girls could. Even Junior had to nod in approval to give credit where credit was due.

Terry could only see Patrice in all the noise. The way her dress shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the glass storm door at the front of the house. How her makeup made her look like a movie star in her greatest role to date. Heels helped her legs stand out from the hint of split peeking back at him. Her hair was beautiful, her nails were beautiful, her lips, shoulders, and eyes were beautiful – Patrice was beautiful.

Terry's hand was out beckoning for her hand before he knew what he was doing. "Wow," he breathed out as he gently pulled her closer. He had to will away the urge to know if the gloss coating her lipstick-covered pout had a flavor to say something coherent. "You look…wow."

"You look like Cinderella! It's so cool!" Zanah said the most consecutive words she had spoken in ages at that moment, stunning Marvin.

"Shoot, you really are something! You even got the mean one to talk!"

All in the room laughed, leaving Terry and Patrice to admire each other openly. Patrice straightened the lapel of Terry's tux jacket, then moved on to his bowtie just to have a reason for stepping close enough to smell his cologne.

He looked down at her, peering through thick lashes, and watched her go to work with a smile. Seeing her nervousness comforted him. They could figure things out together.

Patrice smoothed her hands over his shoulders and finally looked up to smile at Terry. "You look really handsome, TJ. Mean it."

"You too." Terry immediately recognized his tongue-tied mistake and rushed to correct course. "I meant you look pretty. Beautiful! I'm sorry. You ready to get out of here?"

They were more than ready. As they stood in front of the Ellis residence, pinning boutonnieres, sliding corsages on dainty wrists, and posing for more photos than they could count, all Patrice and Terry could think about was sliding into the front seat of their chariot for the evening and rolling off toward the sunset. They got their chance 40-odd grueling minutes later once their parents had done all their doting and laid down the rules.

The first stop was dinner. Somehow, good fortune pushed Terry to pick the one Italian restaurant no other prom attendee in the city thought to cram into with their large parties clad in fluffy gowns and starched suits. That foresight got them a free dinner from a lovely Black couple enjoying a Saturday date night.

His foresight also saved them from the disaster of a dinner at the venue once they'd wrapped up their make-believe date night and joined their friends for the last formal night of their high school lives. Luckily, the thrill of dancing and taking Facebook photos on a handheld digital camera removed the need to eat anything life-sustaining.

Together, they sang in each other's faces like maniacs, moved about the dance floor until their feet hurt, and forgot all the cares and problems of tomorrow. The only break came when the Prom King and Queen were announced after dinner service began.

Terry and Patrice watched Corey accept his title like proud parents, recording him on their cell phones while hollering their support from across the room with the rest of the crew. All the work they'd collectively put into his campaign made his triumph feel like a win for the table, not counting Corey's angry date. She stormed off into the hallway moments after an innocent dance between the royal couple went from an innocent sway to Corey reveling in the attention of a young lady with at least six inches of height over him.

The DJ for the night quickly cut "Slow Jam" by Usher and Monica off at a faculty advisor's request once Corey got a little overzealous and transitioned into Chris Brown's "Winner" to invite all who were willing to sway in each other's arms to the dancefloor.

Patrice sat in her chair, watching couples slowly float to the dancefloor. She smiled at nothing in particular and bopped her head to the familiar song. Terry watched her like a hawk, suspended between being mesmerized and the pressure of knowing his time was quickly running out.

Nerves at dinner convinced him to stay mum about his feelings and enjoy Patrice's fun facts about focaccia instead. When he rested his hand on her fingers in the car, and she didn't pull away, he thought about pulling over for his rehearsed speech, but they were already behind schedule. Part of him wanted to whisper how much he loved her into her ear as she pressed her back to his front for official photos. He let the feeling pass, though.

Now, with the center of the dancefloor free for the taking and the time left before his princess needed to be returned to her home dwindling, he took a deep breath and scooched closer to her.

Baby, you're a winner

Didn't even take you twelve rounds to do it

You got the title now

I'mma tell the whole world

To give it up for my girl

"You wanna dance?" Terry meant for the question to sound more confident and less like a creep whispering into his date's ear. So, he scooched even closer, slid his hand around her waist, and tried again. "I'd really love to dance with you. Please."

Patrice turned in her seat to look back at Terry's eyes pleading for the chance to take her out on the floor and felt goosebumps spring up on her forearms. How could she say no to such a perfectly handsome face? She wouldn't if given the chance. "I'm following your lead."

Hand in hand, Terry and Patrice sauntered out into the center of an empty dancefloor, receiving applause and encouragement from people and friends who had caught wind of something special unfolding before them. They ignored the ruckus as best they could while arranging limbs around necks and waists.

If he were being honest with his mind and body, Terry wanted Patrice closer than what school officials would deem appropriate for a sanctioned event. Having his fingers gently grip her sides while they swayed too slow for the music felt like torture, but he persisted for the sake of the moment. He'd have his chances one day soon.

Patrice hoped Terry couldn't feel the wild thump of her pulse against her wrist as they draped near the nape of his neck. Being so close to him, smelling the residual mint of his gum mixed with whatever heavenly fragrance he'd borrowed from his father was enough to send her body into overdrive. So this was what attraction felt like? This was what all the Ebony and Cosmo articles meant when they discussed the scientific responses of women to men and vice versa. This was infatuation, unshakeable physical longing, and…love? Separately, they were manageable symptoms curable by time away and deep breaths. Together, in the confines of the small square they'd created with sync movements, they were too much and threatening to spill over into utterances she wasn't sure she was ready to release.

Terry dragging his thumbs up and down along Patrice's waist snapped her out of a deluge of competing thoughts, forcing her to look up at him. He smiled. "What you thinkin' about?"

"How bad a dancer I am," she joked, allowing self-deprecation to be her scapegoat for the nerves bubbling inside.

"It's not you," he chuckled. "I wasn't really listening to how fast this song is. I just wanted to get you away from everybody else so we could talk."

Patrice tilted her head in curiosity. "About what?"

A quick scan of the immediate area to confirm there were no eavesdroppers or class gossipers helped Terry gather his thoughts. He had plans for something grand, something unforgettable for the rest of their lives. But when he looked back down at her brown eyes, waiting for his next move, he could only confess, "Patrice, I love you."

"I love you, too, Terrence."

For a split second, through the strobing neon lights creating shadows on their faces and hiding actual reactions, Terry thought he could see a flash of connection in Patrice's eyes – a hint of unspoken confirmation that what he'd shared was received in full without explanation.

Patrice hoped he understood the added "I" or the addition of his entire first name to mean what she was too afraid to vocalize beyond a few simple words.

They had more to say and share to ease the weight on their heavy hearts and minds. Things too sacred for the dancefloor, back at the table with their friends, or in the parking lot as everyone loosened their ties, switched out their shoes, and planned to reconvene for the party of the century. So, they left their I Love You's with Chris Brown and darted into the night for sweet treats separate from the group.

Underneath real stars in a dark blue sky, they rambled on, recapping highlights over two cups of fresh churned Oreo ice cream, trying hard not to leave the evidence behind on his father's interior.

"Corey lucky he around all them people, or Jasmine would've kicked his ass," Patrice laughed. "Oh, and did you see Chris and Diamond leave together. I knew they had something going on!"

Terry chewed through a chunk of Oreo and shrugged. "People could say the same about us. Shit, people do say the same about us."

"Yeah, but…this is different. We're friends. Right?"

"We are right now, but…I don't know if I want to stay that way." Growing serious, Terry placed his half-empty cup of ice cream in the cup holder and turned in the driver's seat to face Patrice. He reached for her hand, and, for the second time that night, she didn't pull away. He took it as his sign to proceed. "I meant what I said back there. I love you. As more than my friend."

Patrice nodded, understanding, and tried to wish away the tears pricking her eyes as she smiled. "I know. I did, too. I…I love you."

That spark, the small burst of magic that had fought for centerstage all day, was back and bursting into fireworks above them, daring someone to make a move. Terry took the bait and brought Patrice's knuckles to his lips for a chaste kiss. She watched him close his eyes to savor the feeling of her skin on his mouth, thinking of all the ways she'd explain this to Napheesa when they had a moment to debrief.

"I want to be your boyfriend. You know, if… that's cool with you." He chickened out in the end, but the sentiment remained the same. He wanted more than one-armed hugs and childish giggles with Patrice. He wanted a real relationship. As real as it could get for two people at the precipice of adulthood.

Patrice sucked in a deep breath, unsure of how to force an answer through a throat tightening by the second. All she could mutter was a quiet "TJ…"

"It's okay," he smiled. Breaching the center console between them, he leaned to kiss her cheek. Patrice's eyes fluttered closed and reopened in enough time to catch Terry returning to the driver's side, preparing to start the engine. "Just think about it, okay?"

Patrice thought about dating and a wedding, Terry's fingers threaded between hers, his thumb softly caressing her knuckles, the butterflies in her belly, and what it meant to be in love as he drove them through familiar streets. It was all she could think about. It was all she wanted to think about.

Thoughts of finally letting go battled with the fear of what the end may look like and stuck with Patrice as they walked into Corey's "quiet" house party. Neither of them would ever understand how he could convince his parents to allow teenagers around the county to dance, scream, and be merry in their two-story home, but they didn't complain.

Corey was the first to point out their joint arrival and holdholding, only to be shooed away to spread the news amongst the others.

"Phee is in one of the rooms changing, I think. Or fucking with Nate. I don't know what's going on, bro, I'm not gon' lie to you."

Terry shook his head at his friend's antics, then turned to Patrice. "You want a drink or something? Water?"

"Water would be nice," she answered through a broad smile that Terry mirrored. "Can you grab a straw, too? I don't want to mess up my lip gloss."

"Cool. I'll find you."

Only God could pry their hands apart and send Terry on a mission for cold water and straw in a house where he could barely move without bumping into someone. Patrice watched him disappear around a corner before dashing down a hallway for sound counsel.

She opened doors to coat closets, bathrooms, and bedrooms, which were occasionally filled with people sneaking sips of alcohol, but they came up empty. Panic settled into her bones as she frantically asked for Napheesa until some generous partygoer pointed her toward the family sunroom.

There, she found Napheesa sipping something in a red cup and massaging her aching feet like a mother who'd had a long day at work. When she saw Patrice barrel through the threshold, her face brightened. "P! I was -"

"Terry told me he loved me!"

Napheesa choked on air as her eyes bugged out of her head. "What! Wait, wait, wait. Start from the top!"

"We were dancing, and he said he loved me; I said it back because, like, I do love him, right! We say that all the time! You hear it! But then he said it again while we were eating ice cream and asked me to be his girlfriend! Well, really, he asked to be my boyfriend, which is like, somehow more romantic than the other way around, and Napheesa, I don't know what to do! What do I do?"

Patrice spoke a mile a minute, not stopping for breaths or input until she'd unloaded her full stream of consciousness, like word vomit, all over the floor. Napheesa stared blankly and answered matter-of-factly.

"Just say it back." Plain and without flowery language, she offered sage advice. "Say it back. You just said you love him. So, say it back to him. Why are you making this hard? Do you love him?"

"Of course I do!"

Napheesa laughed in confusion. "So say it back, crazy girl! Go ahead. Do it."

"Okay. Alright," Patrice started. "I love Terry. I love him. I love Terrence Richmond. There. I said it." She listened to the words return to her and tried them out again. "I love you, Terry. I love you, Terry. I love you, Terry!"

"See how easy that was? You really need to see somebody about all that worrying, girl. Want me to ask my mama who she goes to?"

Patrice sighed and chuckled away her nerves. "No. I just-"

When Napheesa's eyes flickered up to the sunroom entrance and stayed, Patrice turned around to find Terry caught like a deer in headlights with two cups and a straw in his hand.

"They didn't have bottles, so I just put some ice water in these cups," he announced. "Am I interrupting girl talk? I can come back."

"Nope. I was actually on my way to find Nate and get some water." Napheese looked back at Patrice, winked her encouragement, and then stood to brush past Terry and back into the action. She pulled one cup out of his hand on her way out. "Thanks for the water. See y'all later?"

One cup down and thoroughly annoyed, Terry stepped into the sunroom and took Napheesa's previous spot opposite Patrice. He extended the cup and straw in her direction. "Here. This one's for you. Don't tell Corey I went through his mama's kitchen drawers."

"Your secret's safe with me."

Terry smiled as Patrice mimed a lock motion over her lips. She never dropped her smile or sipped from her cup, striking him as odd. "You okay?" he laughed. "Why you smiling so hard? Did Napheesa say something about me?"

She shook her head no but answered, "Yes!"

"Yes, what?" Terry questioned, confusion knitting his brows together.

Patrice placed her cup on the ground and grabbed both his hands, threading their fingers together like he did in the car. He gripped them tighter, looking into her eyes like they held all the answers.

"Yes, you can be my boyfriend. Because…I really, really want to be your girlfriend. You know…if that's cool with you."

Shock kept Terry glued to his seat, disconnecting his body from a mind turning somersaults in triumph. Patrice watched in amusement as his eyes darted across her face before he shot up and pulled her along for the ride.

They'd hugged each other plenty of times – to say goodbye and hello, for comfort when the other was feeling down, to be close for no reason at all – but they'd never embraced as more than friends. Patrice had never experienced how good it felt to be fully wrapped in his arm and pressed into a heart beating with love for her. Terry didn't know how having Patrice wrap herself around him would trigger a desire to shower her in never-ending affection.

Terry tried the feeling on for size, pulling away to kiss her cheek and then her forehead. "I love you." If given the chance, he could say it a million more times.

"I love you, too." Easy enough. Practice would make perfect, and Patrice was ready to put in the work.

An unseen force, the same magnetism from their shared Christmas joy in Patrice's bedroom months ago, pulled them closer for another go at a kiss they'd been putting off for far too long.

Eyes blinked closed. Tongues ran across lips to moisten them for an eventual meeting. Hands tried to wander south and close the gap between their hips. All their pining and preparation had come down to one mo-

"Hell yeah, P! Kiss your man!"

"Terry! Terry! Terry!"

"I knew it! They almost kissed on the dancefloor, too!"

Thwarted again. A small crowd of familiar faces had gathered at the threshold, excited to see their favorite pair finally go the distance. Embarrassed, Patrice hid her face inside Terry's suit jacket, and he wrapped his arms around her as an act of protection.

Laughing, he tried to shoo the onlookers away. "Man, get out of here! Y'all ain't ever heard of privacy?"

"Nigga, this my house! Ain't no privacy," Corey laughed. "Go ahead and kiss. This everybody moment! We been waiting forever!"

The small group agreed, but Patrice wasn't interested in the spectacle. She pulled away from Terry, slid her hand in his, and began leading them out of the room. "And you'll wait some more. This ain't a damn zoo! I thought we were here to have fun!"

They were. And they did. Disappointment quickly faded, making room for more singing, dancing, and aching feet into the late hours of the night.

Patrice had long ditched her heels for flats, extending the life of her party animal personal until a quick glance at a perfectly positioned wall clock indicated a quarter til midnight. She roughly pried Terry's drifting hands, trying to pull her backside closer to his front from her waist, and hurried him back to the car in hopes he could make up the distance with some expert driving.

Both of them prayed all patrol units were busy elsewhere as Terry guided them down empty streets and quiet neighborhood rows to return Rosalyn and Leon's precious cargo by midnight. Terry pulled into Patrice's driveway, cutting time dangerously close, opened the passenger door in a flash, and hurried her to the front door like the Secret Service escorting the president.

He watched Patrice shuffle through her purse for the housekey, wondering if now was a good time to return to that kiss. "Patrice, can I -"

"Found it! I really need to put this on a ring." She looked up at Terry and smiled. "I'm sorry, what were you gonna say?"

Terry shook his head free of previous plans and settled for a kiss on the cheek. "Good night, Treece. I'll text you when I'm home."

"Good night, TJ." Patrice looked at the light turn on in the living room through the glass panels on the front door, then back at Terry. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Go ahead. Don't get in trouble."

A blown kiss and one more wave sent Patrice back into her humble abode and Terry to his horse and carriage for the night. As he backed out of the driveway, looking both ways for traffic that would never come, he noticed the heel of forgotten shoes in his back seat.

Terry smiled to himself, recalling the story of the dazzling beauty and her lost slipper. Luckily, he didn't have to scour the city looking for the beautiful belle of the ball that stole his heart. He knew where to his Cinderella.

------

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#aaron pierre #terry richmond #terry richmond x black oc #rebel ridge #rebel ridge au

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grandline-fics · 3 months ago

Note

Hello. I love your works <3

Can i request Candlelight Dinners with Crocodile?

DESCRIPTION: Candlelight Dinners- What could possibly go wrong when a grand romantic gesture is planned?

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Crocodile

WORDS: 1,056

A/N: Another entry in the Valentine's Event. Thank you so much for the request @sagyunaro! I hope this was to your liking

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

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Crocodile prided himself on being a man of action. Of setting his sights on something and doing all in his power to obtaining it. In any of his business practices-both legitimate and criminal- were he to see an issue or place for improvement, he executed it without a second thought because wanting to be successful meant having the highest quality results and there was no room for any sort of lacking in his life. That mindset held firm in his personal life too. Granted a romantic relationship had a lot more nuances and different steps to running a business but at its core it was similar in its give and take.

As he opened the door to his shared room with you, his gaze immediately fell to the bed. Namely how your sleeping figure was completely on his side of the bed, arms around his pillow and face buried against the fabric, trying to cling to some trace of him. He knew he’d been busier lately with work because of Cross Guild’s rising notoriety and that meant seeing you less. Seeing each other during the day hardly counted as any sort of quality time since you both were working. Crocodile gently used the curve of his hook to tilt your head and his eyes narrowed slightly to see the dark circles under your eyes. You’d tried to stay up to see him, even if it was just to say goodnight.

As he readied himself for bed he began to formulate a plan on what to do. Crocodile hated any sort of imbalance and the last time things were truly out of synch with you both was during his time in Impel Down and the subsequent months after when he readjusted to his freedom. Not entirely his fault but still. Dispersing himself into sand, he reformed in the bed, replacing the pillow you’d been clinging to. He allowed himself a small smile when your body reacted in your sleep, already sensing the difference. Crocodile settled his arm around you, now knowing exactly what to do.

The next day you were confused from the start. Crocodile wished you a good morning but apologised and said he wouldn’t have time to join you for breakfast before leaving for his office. That wasn’t the peculiar thing, you were used to Crocodile’s busy schedule. What confused you was how…off he seemed. Determined but tense. You knew that calculating look in his eyes anywhere but you just didn’t know what was going on. You didn’t get your answer until the afternoon when Crocodile appeared beside you and wrapped his arm around your waist and led you down the corridor. “Croc, what’re you-”

“Sir Crocodile!” You looked behind you to see one of the subordinates hurrying towards you both. You glanced at Crocodile’s hand on your waist tighten harshly in annoyance and frowned. The subordinate hadn't even said anything yet to bring out his anger. “I know you said not to um-” The subordinate hesitated when he saw the fury in the former Warlord’s eyes and quickly got to the point. “Uh-um there's an emergency! Mihawk’s asked for you…please?”

“It’s okay, love.” You smiled, sensing Crocodile’s hesitancy which didn’t help your confusion. “The sooner you deal with it, the sooner it’s over.”

“Fine, you’re right.” Crocodile nodded, pulling his arm away. “I’ll wrap this up quickly. Wait for me in my office okay?”

You nodded and smiled, heading in the direction of the office while Crocodile stormed off in the opposite direction. Still you tried to wrap your head around your lover’s behaviour. Nothing had gone wrong today that you could think of but you knew it was in Crocodile’s hands so it would be sorted efficiently. Content you finished the walk to Crocodile’s office and stepped inside, stopping to see his desk was cleaned and covered with a simple green covering now adorned it with two glasses and a bottle of wine chilling on top. Stepping closer you smiled broadly but you resisted the urge to pour yourself a glass. You would wait for Crocodile. So you got comfortable in his large office chair, able to throw your legs lazily over one of the armrests and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Just when you were about to get up and go look for him, you looked to the door as it slammed open and shut. Your lips quirked when a wall of sand formed against the entrance to block anyone else coming to bother him.

“Absolute morons..” He growled out, smoothing back his hair, grumbling to himself more than anything. “I did not work through everything in my schedule just to be interrupted constantly by those overgrown children. Sorry about that, darling.” Crocodile sighed out as he stopped beside his desk, watching as you got to your feet to stop in front of him. When you were in touching distance he curled his fingers under your chin and tilted your head up so he could lightly press a kiss against your lips. “The last thing I wanted was to make you wait again.”

“You cleared your schedule? Why?” You asked, your smile unmoving and eyes bright at you stared at the man you loved curiously.

“I wanted us to have a few hours to ourselves. The last thing I wanted you to think was that I valued the Guild over you.” Crocodile explained, though that plan well and truly went out the window when Mihawk and then countless others cut into that time greatly with their insignificant problems and reports. “Even if it was just sharing a bottle of wine without being bothered, I wanted you to feel reassured in my feelings for you.”

“Your feelings were never in doubt, love but thank you.” You smiled, touched that Crocodile would even think to do such a thing for you. “Now pour me that wine, I’ve been eyeing it since I got here.”

Crocodile chuckled and lifted the bottle, immediately opening and pouring the dark liquid for you both. One of your most admirable qualities was your patience he thought. Through everything thrown at you you were the steady one, willing to wait for as long as possible if you found it worth waiting on. He counted himself lucky every day that you considered him worth it.

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TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya , @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow , @pao198391 , @glitchtricks94 , @nina-ya

#one piece #one piece fic #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction #one piece imagines #grandline fics valentines event #one piece x you #one piece x reader #crocodile x reader #crocodile x you #op crocodile #sir crocodile #crocodile one piece #sir crocodile x you #sir crocodile x reader #op sir crocodile #sir crocodile one piece #one piece crocodile

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p1utofairy · 2 years ago

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PAC: “are you down to be a distraction, baby?” 🐅🖤🪄🌟

• how will your person approach you?

disclaimer ✩: 18+ mature themes. take what resonates, leave what doesn't. i’ve had trouble uploading this ugh it wasn’t coming out how i wanted but here we go <3 feels like it’s been forever 🥲 enjoy!

pile 1 ↓

“could you blame me for needing you? you’re the reason i got a weakness, oh, no you drive me crazy, still that's my baby. can’t get enough of you. baby, it's somethin' that you do.”

hiii pile 1! i'm immediately hearing that your person is enamored by you. they love the way you walk, the way you smile, the way you talk, the way you smell…quite literally everything. i see them staring at you a lot, it might not be obvious at first but they’re gonna try to feel you out/see if your receptive to their vibe. they’re like a cat lurking in the shadows i’m hearing. more than likely, you won’t even be focused on getting into a relationship or actively looking for a partner before they pop up on your radar; your person will just come to you. i see them coming up to you in a slightly crowded or busy environment and saying something sly but it doesn’t come out the way they intended lol they might stutter over their words and then kick themselves over it later. awww it’s cute, you get them flustered and nervous. you may not think that you’re intimidating (actually i’m picking up that some of you might be a bit reserved/quiet) but your presence shakes them to the core. it’s like all their calmness goes out the window when they’re face to face with you. you get their heart racing, palms sweaty and mind wandering but they’ll try to put on their brave face and act like they’re not having a whole meltdown inside. LMFAOOOOO they won’t even know what to do with themselves, you’ve got them down bad. i just heard “i’ve fallen and i can’t get up!” lol i think this is what’s gonna get the ball rolling on this new beginning with them; your humor. even if they don’t have the smoothest delivery, you won’t hold it against them you’ll just keep the conversation going and vibe with them. they’ll love this about you…how non-judgmental you are. they can be themselves around you 🥹 and as you two get more comfortable around each other, you’ll both be able to open up and talk about everything under the sun. awww so cute pile 1!

pile 2 ↓

“i'll be your groupie, baby. ‘cause you are my superstar. i’m your number one fan, give me your autograph. sign it right here on my heart.”

pile 2…when i say your person’s eyes/eye contact is gonna make your knees BUCKLE 😮‍💨 whew! my goodness, you’ll be squeezing your thighs together lol. this person is very forward and blunt, it might catch you off guard cause you wouldn't think that when you first see them. i feel like they’re very calm and collected on the outside but inside of them is a flame waiting to be sparked…and you’re the match. they'll approach you in a calculated and meticulous way i’m hearing, they have it all planned out. they might even make a cute gesture/treat you to something that will make you go “awww” internally. i feel like your body will be very responsive to them…like when you see them you might freeze and panic lol they'll think it’s cute. conversing with them is going to be so easy, you'll be able to tell that they're soaking up every word that you're saying. this is hottttt pile 2. when they first lay their eyes on you, they’ll just know they have to have you. you make their heart nearly skip a beat. some of you may look young for your age/have a baby face cause when you’re talking to them, they’ll be thinking about how cute you are. even the way you speak makes them go crazy 😩 just know that your first interaction with them will be living in their mind rent-free lol.

pile 3 ↓

“you make the confusion go all away from this cold and messed up world. i am in love with you, you set me free! i can't do this thing called life without you here with me.”

pile 3 i gotta start by saying you and your person are absolutely adorkable. lmaooo that was so corny but i feel like you two will be very silly with each other from day 1. you both share some similar interests — possibly watch the same shows/like the same music…something of that nature and that’s how your person is going to shoot their shot. shot clock by ella mai just came to mind, “twenty-four seconds, yeah, you better not stop. you got twenty-four seconds, can you beat the shot clock?” lmfao they might feel like the pressure is on with you. you won’t necessarily be pressuring them, but they’ll feel like if they don’t make their move now someone else might swoop in and grab your attention. they don’t wanna waste your time or time in general, and trust me when i say that they’re gonna put a lot of effort into getting your attention and keeping you entertained. you and/or your person may have some gemini placements. you'll think that they're very cute and sweet <3 they have little quirks about them that you'll pick up on and think to yourself “awww i love them 🥹” very much peter parker vibes like yes peter might be a bit clumsy, awkward and quirky but he's an absolute sweetheart (and heartthrob) so you'll really love spending time with this person pile 3.

#pick a card #pac #love reading #pac reading #pick a pile #intuitive reading #tarot reading #tarot #energy reading #love pac #pick a picture #pick a card reading #adriana lima #irina shayk #monica bellucci #p1utofairy

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soluversworld · 3 months ago

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MISTER x SHOUJO - Subaru Oogami x G.N Reader part 1!

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!

Words: 16000

Genre: G.N Reader (Fluff, Angst!)

Summary: You and Geo navigate an unconventional relationship built on misunderstanding, tension, and unexpected moments of connection. After a lie spirals out of control, rumors spread that Geo is your boyfriend, much to the confusion of everyone around you—including Geo himself. Despite his cold and hostile demeanor, Geo reluctantly agrees to play along, but only for his own peace and solitude.

Geo’s sharp, broody personality often leaves you feeling uncertain and overwhelmed. He doesn’t hesitate to criticize you, flick your forehead when you talk back, or scold you for minor mistakes. Yet, he also protects you, whether from prying classmates or persistent admirers, and even takes your hand to make a show of your “relationship” when his friends are watching.

( Reader is a g.n!)-

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of

Tension-filled dynamics with elements of power imbalance and verbal hostility’s

Rumors and social pressures leading to feelings of alienation and discomfort.

Physical gestures of dominance (e.g., flicking foreheads, pinching).

Underlying themes of unresolved trauma and complex family dynamics

Solivan Brugmanisa

Violence, Blood

EXTRA: He’s a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, Been reading a lot of Shoujo mangas why not! Make Geo and reader in such a simple plot!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO SUBARU OOGAMI!! 15K SPECIAL FOR MY BOY

In the daytime, you’re Y/n Brugmansia.

Just a normal person living an ordinary life—or so everyone thinks. Because there’s something about you that no one knows yet.

You have a secret.

Your brother is a stalker.

Yes, your brother. Your blood, your family, the one person who’s supposed to have your back. Instead, he’s an emo, obsessive creep with a fixation that makes your skin crawl. The kind of guy who lurks in the shadows, watching, scheming.

But this isn’t just about him. No, your life was thrown into chaos the moment you set foot in that school.

The Hierarchy.

You weren’t supposed to be there. It was a place for the elite, for the kids whose families could pay their way to success. For you, though? It was your scholarship that got you in—a ticket earned with late nights and relentless effort. While others coasted on their wealth, you clawed your way up with sheer determination.

But this place? It doesn’t care about how hard you worked. They only value your worth—the kind that comes with a price tag. If you can’t keep up, you’ll be discarded, just like the others before you.

You’ve heard the stories.

Students who didn’t meet the school’s impossible standards, quietly shuffled to the “other building.” The one for failures. The ones who didn’t fit the image of perfection. A few were expelled altogether, their names erased from the records like they’d never existed.

The students here don’t like you either. You’re an outsider, after all. Not one of them. Surviving without being bullied or set up for things you didn’t do? That’s a challenge in itself. And every misstep feels like a calculated attempt to push you out.

Then there’s your brother.

You don’t live with him anymore—you couldn’t bear it. Not after what he’s become. He’s obsessed, twisted, a shell of the person you once knew. The kind of person who might even hurt you if it came down to it.

And yet, a small part of you wonders: does he care?

The thought of it makes you feel… something. Hope? Comfort? You’re not sure if it’s worth the cost.

But it’s not just him.

You still have Hyugo. Your childhood friend. And Subaru—though you hesitate to call him that anymore. You three used to be close, inseparable even. But that closeness shattered the day something happened.

Subaru changed.

He stopped talking to you, his warmth replaced with an icy indifference. The sweet, playful boy you knew became someone cold, sharp, and unrecognizable.

You don’t know if you’ll ever fix what’s broken.

And honestly, you’re not sure if this place will let you try.

It has been years since you seen him…

You’ve tried to explain it once.

The exhaustion, the loneliness, the way it eats away at you day by day. How studying and living alone isn’t glamorous or freeing—it’s a slow grind, a life that wears you down until you’re nothing but raw nerves and a hollowed-out shell.

But no one really gets it.

They see your grades, your hard-earned scholarship, and think you’ve got it all together. They don’t see the hours you spend hunched over textbooks, eyes burning under the dim glow of your desk lamp. They don’t see the pile of instant noodle cups next to your trash can because cooking is too much work when you’ve been running on fumes for days.

You’ve told yourself it’s fine. That it’s temporary. That sacrificing your health, your happiness, is just part of the process. But some nights, when the silence of your apartment becomes unbearable, you wonder if this is all life will ever be.

Unhealthy. Unhappy. Alone.

It wasn’t always like this. You remember what it was like to have a family. A real family. Before things fell apart. Before your brother became… well, him.

But now, it’s just you.

You wake up every morning in the same cramped room, surrounded by the same cheap furniture you’ve been dragging from one place to the next. You work hard. You study harder. But no matter how much effort you put in, it never feels like enough.

There’s always another exam to ace, another essay to write, another hurdle to jump over just to prove you belong.

Belong where, though?

This school? These people? The ones who sneer at you in the hallways and whisper behind your back? The ones who’ll never see you as one of them because you don’t come from money, because you don’t have their polished, picture-perfect lives?

You’re surviving on scraps. Scraps of energy, scraps of time, scraps of whatever you can salvage from the wreckage of your days. You’ve forgotten what it feels like to sit down and eat a proper meal. To relax without guilt clawing at the back of your mind.

Even sleep feels like a luxury now.

Some nights, you lie awake staring at the ceiling, your chest tight with thoughts you can’t shake off. You wonder what your life would be like if you weren’t so alone.

If you had someone—anyone—to share the burden with.

But then you remind yourself why you’ve done this. Why you left. Why you worked so hard to distance yourself from your brother, from everything he’s become.

You hated what he turned into.

The obsession, the darkness, the way he seemed to spiral further and further into madness with every passing day. You told yourself you couldn’t live like that. That you wouldn’t let him drag you down with him.

But even now, you can’t stop thinking about him.

Because no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, he’s still your brother. The same boy who used to pull you out of bad dreams and promise to protect you from everything scary in the world.

What changed? When did everything fall apart?

You hate him. You miss him. You hate that you miss him.

And then there’s Subaru.

Once upon a time, you thought you understood him. Thought the two of you were inseparable, that nothing could ever come between you.

But now, every interaction with him feels like walking on shards of glass. He’s distant, cold, like he doesn’t care anymore. Like you’re just another face in the crowd.

And maybe that’s what you are now.

Just another face, another name, another person struggling to stay afloat in a world that doesn’t care if you sink.

But even as these thoughts weigh on you, you refuse to give up.

Because giving up isn’t an option.

Not for you.

You’ve worked too hard, sacrificed too much to let it all go to waste now. Even if it means eating nothing but instant noodles for another month. Even if it means enduring the whispers and the stares, the isolation and the exhaustion.

You’ll keep going.

Because at the end of the day, this is all you have.

Your work. Your drive. The dream of something better waiting for you on the other side of all this.

And if you have to face it alone?

So be it.

You’ve been alone before. You’ll survive. You always do.

That day came.

The day when you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

You’d had enough. The isolation. The pressure. The constant fight to keep up with everything and everyone. It was suffocating, like you were being dragged under by a tide you couldn’t control. And in the midst of it all, there he was.

Hyugo.

You hadn’t seen him in so long, but there he was, standing before you on the crowded street, his gaze soft as he noticed you.

“Y/n… is that you?” His voice was gentle, as if he’d just stepped out of a dream.

You froze, your chest tightening. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to run, to pretend like everything was fine, but you couldn’t. Not anymore.

Before you even realized what was happening, the dam broke.

You nearly crumpled right in front of him. Your throat burned with the emotion you’d kept bottled up for so long—anger, sadness, frustration—and it all poured out at once. You didn’t want him to see you like this, to witness your weakness. But it was too late. The tears came anyway.

Hyugo must’ve seen the pain in your eyes, because without a word, he pulled you gently into a nearby cafe.

The warmth of the room felt almost suffocating, but the air was filled with the rich scent of coffee, a distraction from the storm inside you. You sat down across from him, your hands trembling as you gripped the coffee cup, trying to steady yourself.

Before you could say anything, Hyugo spoke, his voice calm but observant. “Your eyes… they’re almost like Sol’s.”

The mention of Sol’s name struck you like a lightning bolt, but instead of reacting, you clung to the cup harder. You didn’t want to hear his name. You didn’t want to think about him.

“I… I hate him,” you managed to choke out, voice breaking. “I hate what he’s become.”

Hyugo watched you carefully, as if weighing his next words, before asking softly, “What about your studies? How’s everything going?”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the question almost unbearable. You had been running from the truth for so long, but you couldn’t lie to him. Not anymore.

“It’s fine,” you said, though the words felt like they were scraping against your throat.

Hyugo didn’t believe you. You could see it in the way his brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing with concern. “No, it’s not. You almost broke the glass just holding that cup. Y/n, what’s going on?”

The words were like a trigger, and suddenly you couldn’t hold back. The tears spilled over as you let out a shaky breath. “They’re tormenting me, Hyugo. They blame me for things I didn’t do. They keep talking… rubbish, nonsense, and I just—I just want it to stop!” Your voice cracked with the weight of everything you’d been bottling up. “I wish they’d all just… die!”

The anger surged inside you, but it was swallowed by the crushing despair. You gripped the cup even harder, your knuckles white, trying to contain the flood of emotion that threatened to tear you apart.

“Why… why do you even support him? Why do you care about my brother? He’s insane, Hyugo! He’s delusional!” The words came out like a scream, as if you were pleading for him to understand. “Why do you support him like a… like a mother?! Why do you even put up with his bullshit?”

Hyugo’s face softened, and he leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “Even if he does… things… even if he’s lost himself, I still care about him. And you, Y/n. I care about you, too.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stared at him, your chest tight, unable to comprehend what he was saying.

“I need to go,” you muttered, standing abruptly from the table, your chair screeching against the floor. Hyugo looked at you with concern, his hand twitching as if to stop you, but he didn’t.

“Go where?” he asked, his voice steady but questioning.

“Home,” you replied, your tone clipped. “The goons… they’ll be waiting. Around 7 p.m., maybe earlier if I’m unlucky. I need to escape before they find me. I can’t—” Your words were sharp, urgent, spilling out faster than you intended.

Hyugo’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Y/n, you can’t keep running like this.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. There was no point in explaining further. You grabbed your bag and left the cafe without another word, your mind racing as you hurried down the street. The world outside was darker than you expected, the evening chill cutting through your jacket as you quickened your pace.

Every shadow felt alive, every movement in your peripheral vision like a threat waiting to pounce.

The next day came like a blur.

You didn’t get much sleep—if any at all—but you forced yourself to get up and go to class. As you walked into the building, something felt… off. The air was heavier, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

You pushed open the classroom door, and that’s when you noticed it.

Everyone was looking at you.

Not the usual stares of indifference or mild disdain. These looks were different—wide eyes, hushed whispers, the faint rustle of papers as students leaned toward each other to mutter under their breath.

Disgusted. Scared.

The rich kids, the goons who never paid you any mind, suddenly couldn’t seem to look away. Their sneers were gone, replaced by something that almost resembled unease.

You froze for a moment, the weight of their gazes pressing down on you like a physical force. Then, forcing yourself to keep moving, you headed toward your usual seat at the back of the class.

The kid who usually sat there, slouched and half-asleep, glanced at you briefly before muttering something under his breath and moving to another seat.

Fine. You didn’t care.

You sat down, pulling out your books and pretending to read. But you could feel it—their eyes on you. Every single one of them.

Your throat tightened as you flipped through the pages, the words blurring together into meaningless lines. You couldn’t focus. You couldn’t think.

What the hell was going on?

You stayed quiet, trying to shrink into yourself, but it didn’t help. The whispers grew louder, the stares more pointed. Some students didn’t even bother to hide it, their eyes burning holes into you as if you were something they couldn’t comprehend.

It didn’t make sense. Yesterday, they hated you because you were poor, because you didn’t belong here. But now?

Now, they looked at you like you were something to be afraid of.

You gripped the edge of your desk, your knuckles turning white as you fought the urge to scream. To demand an explanation. To tell them to stop.

But you didn’t.

You sat there in silence, the noise around you growing louder and louder until it was all you could hear.

And you didn’t u

The tension in the room reached its peak when the teacher walked in. You were too distracted by the whispers, the stares, and the suffocating atmosphere to notice her at first. But her sudden gasp caught your attention.

She froze, staring at you as if she’d seen a ghost. Her face paled, and for a moment, she didn’t speak, her lips parting and closing as though she was struggling to find words.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “They didn’t inform you?”

You blinked, confused. “Inform me about what?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she moved quickly toward you, grabbing your arm—not harshly, but urgently. Her hand trembled slightly as she pulled you out of your seat. “Come with me. Now.”

The whispers grew louder as she dragged you through the room, her pace brisk, her movements almost frantic. You looked back at the other students, their eyes glued to you, their hushed voices cutting through the silence like knives.

And then you heard it.

“…their brother hurt them so much…”

Your breath hitched. Your brother? What were they talking about?

“What do you mean?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “What’s going on?”

But the teacher didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at you as she led you through the hallway, her grip on your arm tightening.

Your heart raced. The whispers, the stares, the fear—it all felt like it was closing in on you.

She stopped abruptly in front of the principal’s office, knocking quickly before opening the door and ushering you inside.

The principal was seated at his desk, his face pale, his hands clasped together tightly as if trying to steady himself. When he saw you, his eyes widened slightly, a flicker of fear crossing his features before he masked it with a forced calm.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of him.

You sat down, your mind racing, your hands trembling slightly as you gripped the edges of the chair.

The principal took a deep breath, leaning forward slightly. “Y/n… have you been having trouble with goons recently?”

You blinked, startled by the question. “Yes,” you replied cautiously. “But… what does that have to do with anything? What’s going on?”

The principal hesitated, his gaze darting to the teacher, who stood by the door, wringing her hands nervously. He looked back at you, his voice low, almost trembling.

“If you knew someone with… powerful connections, you should have told us. Things like this could’ve been avoided.”

“What things?” you snapped, frustration and confusion bubbling to the surface. “What happened?”

The principal’s eyes widened slightly, and he leaned back in his chair, his hands trembling as he gripped the edge of his desk.

“You don’t know?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No!” you shouted, your voice cracking. “I don’t know anything! What is going on?”

He stared at you, his expression a mix of fear and disbelief, as if he couldn’t comprehend how you were so unaware of whatever had happened.

The principal’s voice was sharp, accusatory, as if every word he spat at you was a bullet meant to tear you down.

“That family’s worker—their enforcer or bodyguard, whatever they are—beat up the goons who were after you. The students too, the ones who even stood nearby! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Your breath hitched. “What—what did I do?”

“What did you do?!” he repeated, his face twisting with rage. “You ruined their lives, that’s what! Those students? Their limbs are broken, their reputations in tatters! Why didn’t you just keep quiet?!”

“I didn’t—” you stammered, your voice shaking. “I didn’t do anything! I didn’t ask for—”

“Quiet!” he roared, slamming his hand on the desk, making you flinch. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused? The parents of those students—they’ve stopped funding the school! Their kids are worth more than you will ever be!”

The words stung, each one sharper than the last, but your mind was too clouded to process them fully. The room felt like it was spinning, your heart pounding in your chest as his words echoed around you.

“Those broken limbs…” he continued, his voice lower now, dripping with venom. “Someone from that family family—took it upon themselves to send a message. You should have kept your head down. Instead, this happened.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Broken limbs.

You didn’t need to hear more. Your mind raced, and for a moment, everything around you faded into the background.

The image came to you unbidden.

The night before. The goons—waiting in the alleyways, lurking in the shadows. And then… him.

A man, cloaked in a dark hoodie, his face obscured by a mask but his presence unmistakable. His crimson eyes gleamed like blood in the dim light, his black hair catching the faint glow of the streetlamps.

The goons, cocky and loud, sneered at him.

“Who the fuck are you?” one of them snarled, stepping forward.

The man didn’t answer. He simply tilted his head slightly, his crimson gaze locking onto the speaker.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” the goon barked, stepping closer, his hand reaching for the weapon at his side.

That’s when one of them recognized him.

“Wait… isn’t that—”

But it was too late.

The man moved with inhuman speed, his strikes precise and brutal. The first goon went down before he even had a chance to react, his weapon clattering to the ground as he crumpled, clutching his shattered arm.

The others charged at him, shouting obscenities, but it was futile. The man was a whirlwind of destruction, his movements fluid and calculated. Each punch, each kick, was delivered with devastating accuracy, bones cracking under his blows.

It wasn’t a fight—it was a massacre.

And when it was over, the goons lay sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles.

The man stood over them, his breathing steady, his crimson eyes cold and unfeeling. Without a word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind only chaos and broken bodies.

Your stomach twisted as the scene played out in your mind.

It wasn’t the family’s worker.

It was him.

Your brother.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you stared at the principal, who was still fuming, his voice rising once again.

“And now—now you’re telling me you didn’t know? You didn’t think this would happen?! You’re a liability! We can’t have you here anymore. You’re being moved to the other building—”

“What?!” you cut him off, your voice rising with panic. “No! I worked hard to get here! You can’t just—”

“I can and I will!” he snapped, slamming his hand on the desk again. “If you’d kept your mouth shut, none of this would’ve happened. But no, you just had to—”

“Had to what?” you interrupted, your voice cold now, cutting through his tirade. “Had to exist? Had to study hard and not depend on anyone? Is that it?”

The principal glared at you, his face twisted with frustration and fear.

“You should’ve been quiet!” he spat, his voice trembling with anger. “Because of you, because of your connections, those students—those valuable students—are ruined! Their parents have pulled their funding! They’re worth more to this school than your… your—”

“Garbage,” you said, cutting him off again, your voice steady and ice-cold. “No matter how much garbage you collect, it’s still garbage. Just like those idiots who got beat up.”

The principal’s face turned an alarming shade of red, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled for a response. But you didn’t wait for him to find his words.

The principal’s voice boomed, his face a mix of frustration and fear.

“You’re expelled from this building! Effective immediately, you’ll be transferred to the other one!”

You blinked, the words hanging in the air. For a second, your chest tightened, and you almost felt like crying—but then, inexplicably, a smile stretched across your lips. It wasn’t happiness, not really. It was a strange mix of bitterness, relief, and vindication, all bundled into one small, defiant smirk.

“Maybe this isn’t the place for me,” you said softly, your voice steady but laced with a subtle edge. “Maybe it never was.”

The principal’s face turned red with rage, but you didn’t stick around to hear whatever rant he had brewing. You turned on your heel and walked out of the office, your head held high.

Whispers erupted around you the moment you stepped into the hallway. You didn’t bother looking at the students lining the lockers, their wide eyes and hushed voices buzzing like bees in your ears. You were done with their judgment. Done with their stares. Done with this.

Two days. That was how long you had before your official transfer to the other building.

Your locker greeted you with its usual dull metallic clang as you opened it, shoving your books into your bag with slow, deliberate movements. The weight of your situation pressed down on you, but for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel completely powerless.

Why?

Your mind flashed back to the incident—the broken limbs, the terrified whispers, the way the principal’s voice shook when he accused you of “ruining” those students’ lives. It wasn’t fear that gave you confidence. No. It was something else.

Was it him?

The thought of your brother filled you with conflicting emotions. Rage. Confusion. Maybe even the faintest trace of… gratitude?

You laughed quietly to yourself, the sound sharp and bitter. “Why the hell would that idiot’s actions make me feel safe?” you muttered, slamming your locker shut.

Still, deep down, you knew the truth. For all his faults—and there were plenty—he had your back.

Later that evening, you returned to your tiny apartment, hoping for a moment of peace to sort through your chaotic thoughts. But instead, you found your belongings scattered across the pavement outside.

“What the hell…?”

Your landlord stood in the doorway, arms crossed and glaring at you with pure disdain.

“You’re out,” he said bluntly.

“What?!” you snapped, storming up to him. “What are you talking about? I’ve always paid my rent on time—”

“Don’t care!” he barked, stepping forward and shoving you back before you could argue further. “You and your connections aren’t welcome here anymore. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Trouble?!” Your voice cracked with anger and disbelief. “What trouble?! I don’t even have connections!”

But he slammed the door in your face, leaving you standing there, stunned and furious.

You stared at your scattered belongings, your chest heaving with frustration. The weight of everything—the expulsion, the stares, the whispers, and now this—felt like it was crushing you. Your vision blurred as tears threatened to spill, but you refused to let them fall.

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

You looked up to see Hyugo and Sol standing a few feet away.

Hyugo looked at you with an apologetic frown, his hands shoved into his pockets. Sol, on the other hand, was a mess. His hoodie was torn, his knuckles were bandaged, and bruises bloomed across his face. His crimson eyes were sharp and piercing, but there was something in them—something tired.

“Hyugo,” you muttered, your voice shaking.

Hyugo crouched down beside you, his expression soft and filled with regret. “I didn’t think it would go this far. I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, your emotions swirling. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “For helping with the goons.”

Hyugo shook his head. “Don’t thank me. Thank Sol.”

Your gaze flicked to your brother, who stood silently, his crimson eyes boring into you.

“There’s no need for thanks,” Sol said, his voice flat and cold.

You didn’t know what to say.

But before you could think of a response, Sol broke the silence. “You have nowhere to go now.”

Your stomach dropped.

“So move in with me,” he said.

You blinked, stunned. “What? No! Absolutely not!”

Sol raised an eyebrow, his expression completely unimpressed. “You don’t really have a choice.”

“I do have a choice,” you snapped, standing up to face him. “And I’d rather be homeless than live with you!”

Sol didn’t respond. He simply crouched down and started gathering your belongings, completely ignoring your protests.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” you demanded, panic rising in your voice.

“Taking your things home,” he said calmly, not even looking at you.

“Home?!”

“Yes. Home. My apartment. Two rooms. Small but functional.”

You clenched your fists, your frustration bubbling over. “I don’t need your help!”

“Too bad,” he replied bluntly, standing up with your bag slung over his shoulder.

You glared at him, your voice trembling with anger. “I don’t even have anything worth taking! Just clothes and—”

“And cheap junk?” Sol cut in, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly.

Your face burned with embarrassment as you looked away. “Don’t judge me. I’m broke.”

For a moment, he was silent. Then, to your surprise, his voice softened—just barely.

“I’m not judging you,” he said, his tone unreadable.

You stared at him, taken aback. Sol was always cold, distant, impossible to read. But now, for the first time, you saw something in his eyes—something faint and fleeting, but undeniably there.

Understanding.

You threw your hands in the air, frustration bubbling over as you glared at Sol. “What the hell even are you?!” Your voice cracked, half from anger, half from the strain of everything that had happened. “I’ll never talk to you again. Not after this. Not after—whatever the fuck this is!”

Sol stood still, his crimson eyes fixed on you. For a moment, you thought he might lash out or bark back, but instead, his gaze softened.

“I regret a lot of things in life,” he said quietly, his voice steady but tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “But this… what I am, what I’ve done—it is what it is.”

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. There was no malice in his tone, no defiance. Just a quiet, resigned sadness.

Sol turned his gaze to the ground, his expression distant. “After this year, you can move out. You don’t have to stay with me any longer than that. This is just for now—for you to stay safe. It’s the least I can do.”

His words hung in the air like a weight you couldn’t shake.

“And after that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced at you, his crimson eyes duller than you’d ever seen them. “After that,” he said softly, “I’ll disappear. I’ll stay in the shadows, far away from you. You can hate me all you want. I’ll carry that, too.”

For a moment, you were frozen. You wanted to scream, to demand answers, to break down and cry all at once—but you didn’t.

Instead, you stood there, silent and broken, unable to find the words.

It took time—time you didn’t want to admit you needed—but eventually, you moved in with him.

The apartment was small, just like Sol had said. Two rooms, clean, minimalistic. It was nothing like the chaotic mess of your old place, where everything was a constant reminder of your struggles. Here, it felt… oddly peaceful.

Sol didn’t talk much, and you didn’t ask questions. It was easier that way. The tension between you was always there, simmering under the surface, but he never pushed.

What surprised you the most, though, was how much he did for you.

Every morning, without fail, there was a freshly prepared bento waiting on the kitchen counter. Carefully packed rice, vegetables, protein—a far cry from the instant noodles and junk food you’d lived on before.

At first, you wanted to refuse, to push it all away out of spite. But your stomach betrayed you, and after the first bite, you couldn’t stop. It was so much better than anything you’d had in ages.

You hated how much you appreciated it.

Still, you didn’t say thank you. You couldn’t.

Life slowly began to find its rhythm. The new building accepted you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you could study without constant fear or harassment. The weight of the goons, the whispers, and the stares had lifted.

You focused on your classes, determined to finish your degree and leave everything behind.

Sol stayed out of your way for the most part, true to his word. He didn’t ask about your day or pry into your life. He just… existed in the background. A quiet presence that you couldn’t quite ignore, no matter how hard you tried.

One evening, as you sat at the small dining table, absently picking at your food, you overheard something that caught you off guard.

It was a phone call—Sol’s voice, low and muffled through the thin walls of the apartment.

“She’s fine,” he said, his tone surprisingly soft. “No, I don’t need anything. Just take care of yourself, alright?”

You froze, your chopsticks hovering mid-air.

A few minutes later, Sol walked out of his room, his expression unreadable as always.

“You…” You hesitated, unsure if you even wanted to know. “You’ve been seeing someone?”

He stopped, blinking at you in surprise. For the first time in a while, you caught a glimpse of something almost human in his crimson eyes—something vulnerable.

“It’s not important,” he said curtly, brushing past you and heading to the kitchen.

You didn’t press. If he wanted to keep his secrets, that was fine. It wasn’t your business anyway.

You still weren’t sure how you felt about living with Sol. Sometimes, the weight of his presence was suffocating. Other times, it was strangely comforting.

What you did know was that, for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

The new building was peaceful. Your studies were going well. And for all the chaos and pain that had led you here, you were starting to believe that maybe—just maybe—you could finish your degree and move on with your life.

For now, that was enough.

The students, for the most part, weren’t as cruel as those from the first one. There were no constant whispers or mocking glances. No one actively sought to tear you down. In fact, for the first time in a while, you felt like you were fitting in.

It didn’t hurt that you made a couple of friends, too.

Crowe, a student council member, was probably the most surprising of them all. At first, you thought he was just another stuck-up overachiever, someone who only cared about his grades and keeping up appearances. But to your shock, Crowe was kind, understanding, and remarkably down-to-earth. He made an effort to include you in group activities, always looking out for you when you felt like you were on the edge.

Then there was Brittney, a gyaru girl with blonde hair and a look that screamed “don’t mess with me” in the best way possible. You’d seen her walking around with her friends, looking like she owned the world, but once you got to know her, she was actually one of the nicest people you’d met in a long time.

Life wasn’t perfect, but it was better. You could breathe easier here.

Until, of course, some shitheads from the other building decided to ruin it all.

You had heard the rumors. The students from the first building still had their eyes on you, and not in a good way. They’d been whispering behind your back, mocking you, probably spreading lies about you. You’d thought you could leave all that behind when you transferred, but it seemed that the hatred for your last name followed you wherever you went.

One afternoon, while you were walking to class, a group of them cornered you in the hallway. They wore smug smiles, leaning in closer as you tried to brush past them.

“Well, well, if it isn’t her,” one of them sneered, a girl with jet-black hair and a silver stud in her nose. “How’s life in the new building? Not as glamorous as you thought, huh?”

You kept your head down, walking faster, but they followed you.

Another student, a lanky guy with glasses, laughed loudly. “What’s the matter? Afraid to talk to us? Or are you just embarrassed to be here?”

The insults kept coming, each one cutting deeper than the last.

You could feel your patience slipping away. They thought they had power over you. They thought they could just keep pushing you around because of your name, your past, your connection to your brother.

But no more.

You turned to face them, your voice low and controlled but full of authority. “Enough,” you snapped, eyes flashing with a fire that even you hadn’t realized was there.

One of the girls laughed, clearly trying to push your buttons. “What’s the matter, princess? Can’t handle the truth?”

You stood up straighter, meeting her gaze with cold, unflinching eyes. “You want to know the truth?” you said, your voice dripping with disdain. “My boyfriend won’t tolerate this. He’s not going to let you get away with this. He’s already made it clear he doesn’t like people messing with me.”

The group of them paused for a moment, clearly surprised by your sudden shift in demeanor. Then, one of the guys—a taller, muscular dude with a tattoo on his neck—sneered at you. “Oh, you’ve got a boyfriend? Who would want someone like you?”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you gave them a sharp smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “He’s busy. But if you really want to meet him, I can show you a picture.”

The group of them exchanged glances, clearly amused by the idea that someone like you could have a boyfriend.

“Well, then,” the girl with the silver nose stud said with a smirk, “show us. I dare you.”

You kept your gaze steady, knowing exactly what you were doing. You pulled out your phone, holding it up in front of you like a weapon. “Fine. Two days,” you said, your voice cool and confident. “I’ll show you a picture. You’ve got two days to get off my back, or I’ll make sure he pays a visit here. You won’t like it if you push him too far.”

The group laughed, thinking it was all a joke, but you could see the doubt creeping into their eyes. They hadn’t expected you to fight back.

“Alright, we’ll give you two days,” the guy said, clearly eager to get away. “But don’t try to back out. We’ll be expecting that photo.”

With that, they all dispersed, leaving you standing in the hallway, your heart racing but your face betraying no emotion.

You let out a sigh, leaning against the wall. You hadn’t expected to be so forceful, but it felt good to finally stand up for yourself. Even if it was a lie.

But now, you had a problem. You didn’t have a boyfriend. And if you didn’t show them a photo in two days, they’d be all over you like a swarm of angry bees.

You cursed under your breath, pulling your phone back into your pocket. What had you gotten yourself into?

You sat in the back of the classroom the next day, trying to focus on the lecture, but your mind was elsewhere. You could feel the eyes of the other students on you, some out of curiosity, others out of contempt. It was no different than before—except now, it wasn’t just because of your last name.

You were being mocked,

You tried to ignore the whispers, you glanced over at Crowe, who was sitting a few seats away, scribbling notes in his notebook. Brittney was next to him, chatting quietly with some other students, her usual carefree attitude making you feel slightly more at ease.

But the peace didn’t last long. The students who had mocked you the day before were back at it, making sure to keep their voices loud enough for you to hear.

You tried to block them out, but it was impossible.

And then, a strange thing happened.

Brittney turned to you, her face unreadable. “Don’t let them get to you,” she whispered, her eyes serious. “You’re not alone.”

It felt like a small comfort, and for the first time, you felt like maybe you could make it through this.

Two days.

You could figure something out in two days. You had to.

The door clicked shut behind you, the familiar sound echoing through the small apartment. You sighed, your shoulders sinking in relief, glad to be home after another exhausting day of pretending everything was fine.

But, of course, it wasn’t.

Sol was already there when you walked in, sitting on the couch with his phone in his hands. His voice was light, like he was chatting with someone and clearly enjoying himself. It was almost sickening, how happy he sounded.

You stared at him for a moment, your gaze narrowing. What was it that had him so cheerful today? You’d never seen him like this, not even when he got good grades or when he finally kicked his bad habits. He wasn’t even looking at you; his attention was fixed entirely on the screen, his voice soft and relaxed.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual as you dropped your bag by the door, “who are you talking to?”

He glanced up at you, his smile widening just a little, before turning his attention back to the phone. “Oh, just my lover,” he said with a weirdly creepy grin plastered on his face.

Your eyebrows shot up. Lover? What the hell? He was still going on about it, his voice practically dripping with giddiness. He’s like a puppy “I can’t get enough of them. we’re meant to be together.”

You froze, your eyes going wide. What the actual fuck? He wasn’t just casually talking to someone—he was head over heels. And you had to sit there and listen to it? You couldn’t believe it.

Meanwhile, you had been completely oblivious. All this time, you’d been drowning in your studies and dealing with the goons and everything else that kept you on edge. You hadn’t even thought about relationships, hadn’t even considered love as part of your life. It was just… forgotten. You had nothing.

And now, Sol—Sol—had someone.

A sick feeling twisted in your stomach, and you couldn’t hold back the bitterness that bubbled up. You stared at him like he was the world’s biggest idiot, feeling your jaw clench. What the hell was wrong with you?

You didn’t even know why it stung so much. Maybe it was because you had never realized how important love was until now. Maybe it was because, for once, you wanted to experience that kind of happiness, that kind of connection with someone. Maybe it was because the one person who you thought was stuck in the same mess as you was already way ahead of you.

Shit.

“How was your day?” Sol asked, his voice almost too soft as he glanced up from his phone for a moment.

For a split second, you wanted to tell him everything, to unload your frustrations, your anger at the goons, the way they tormented you, how you were faking everything just to get through the day. You could have told him about the lies, about how you had to lie about having a boyfriend to shut them up. You could have shared all of it.

But no.

You couldn’t let him know. You wouldn’t. Not after seeing how genuinely happy he was. You couldn’t let your mess affect his life.

So you smiled, fake as it was, and answered. “I spent time with my boyfriend.”

Sol blinked, looking confused for a second. He raised an eyebrow. “Your boyfriend?”

You instantly regretted saying it. You weren’t sure why you said it, but you couldn’t take it back now. “Yeah,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “My boyfriend. I just… I spent time with him. That’s it.”

There was a beat of silence as Sol stared at you. His eyes seemed darker now, suspicious even. You could see the gears turning in his mind. “Wait, what?” He put his phone down slowly, his eyes narrowing. “Who is this guy? How long have you been together?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Why was he asking so many questions? Why did it matter to him?

You felt your pride kick in. You had to keep up the act. You had to show him that you weren’t some loser, stuck in a miserable existence. “It’s none of your business, Sol,” you snapped, irritation creeping into your voice. “Just drop it.”

But he wasn’t letting it go. He tilted his head slightly, eyes still locked on you with an intensity you hadn’t seen before. “I’m just trying to be a good brother here,” he said quietly, but the words were heavy. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying!” you shot back, then immediately regretted it. Your words came out too sharp, too defensive.

He sighed, rubbing his temples, clearly frustrated. “Look, you don’t have to tell me everything. But if you need someone to talk to—”

“No!” you cut him off, more forcefully this time. “Just… just leave me alone, alright?”

Sol blinked at you, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you thought you saw something soft in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, just nodded slowly before picking up his phone again, his voice more distant than before. “Fine. then.”

You shot him a glare, already heading toward your room. “Whatever.”

But as you reached the door, he called out to you again. “Hey.”

You didn’t turn around.

“I know you think you have to keep things from me,” he said quietly. “But I’m still your brother, okay? Even if you hate me.”

You didn’t respond, just stepped into your room and slammed the door behind you.

But as the silence settled, your mind wandered back to the lie you told. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, about the emptiness that still lingered in your chest. Your life had become so focused on surviving, on studying, on dealing with the shit that kept piling on top of you, that you forgot about the things that truly mattered.

You’d built walls so high around yourself that even the smallest glimpse of happiness felt out of reach.

You sat down on the bed, head in your hands, overwhelmed by it all. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just be normal?

The night passed quietly, the silence of the apartment settling heavily around you as you drifted to sleep. Your thoughts were a swirling mess of frustration, loneliness, and regret. You tossed and turned, unable to quiet the storm in your head.

The scene shifted.

At the same time, across town, the conversation was unfolding in a cozy corner of a cafe where you wouldn’t be, but where the people you’d come to know were. The three of them sat together, sipping their drinks, their chatter light despite the weighty topics that had been hanging around you.

Brittney, Jess, and Crowe were in the midst of a rare quiet moment, their usual teasing and laughter taking a backseat to something more serious.

“I just don’t get it,” Crowe was saying, his voice low, almost like he was trying to make sense of something he couldn’t fully comprehend. “You know, they’ve been through so much. It’s like… their whole life’s been one disaster after another.”

Jess nodded, her face thoughtful. “I feel it too,” she said softly, her voice tinged with empathy. “They’re like a walking storm cloud, always pushing people away without meaning to. It’s hard to watch someone live like that.”

Brittney, who had always been more outspoken, tilted her head, frowning. “They’re just so… nice, y’know? They’re really relatable in a way. Like, it’s easy to see why they’ve been through so much. But they hide it so well. I respect that.”

Crowe smiled at Brittney’s words, his gaze softening. “You’ve made a new friend, huh?” he teased, leaning back in his chair.

Brittney shot him an unimpressed look, her eyes rolling. “Don’t act like it’s hard for me to make friends, Crowe. I’m not that bad,” she said, a half-smirk on her face.

Jess chuckled at the playful exchange but then grew serious again. “But, seriously, you guys think they’ll ever fit in here? I mean, meeting Deryl is one thing, but how will Geo feel about them joining the group? You know how he is with… new people.”

Crowe’s expression hardened slightly, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “Geo’s a problem. If they can’t handle him, this whole thing’s gonna blow up. But… I think he’d accept them, eventually. I hope.”

Brittney leaned back, her lips curling slightly as she pondered the idea. “Well, let’s just hope he doesn’t scare them off,” she muttered. “Because with the way they’ve been acting, I don’t think they’re in the mood for more drama.”

There was a heavy silence between them, the weight of the conversation pressing down on all of them. They had seen glimpses of the life you led—your struggles, your isolation, and the way you tried to hide it behind a wall of sarcasm and forced smiles. And despite their differences, despite their own challenges, they understood you in a way most didn’t.

And just as the silence grew uncomfortable, Crowe broke it again, his voice quieter this time, a little more thoughtful. “We’ll see. I think, in their own way, they’re starting to open up. But… we all need to be patient with them.”

They all exchanged glances, unsure of where this new chapter would lead. Would you really fit in with them, or would the weight of your past hold you back from finally connecting with people who genuinely wanted to be your friends?

Only time would tell.

You woke up on Sunday feeling oddly restless, your thoughts swirling. You needed to do something about that “boyfriend” situation. You could ask Hyugo for help, but a tiny voice in your head told you that would be a huge mistake. You didn’t need his involvement—not now. What you really needed was someone like Sol, someone intimidating and powerful who could send a message. Someone who made others back off without lifting a finger. But finding someone like that wasn’t going to be easy.

You walked, your mind raced through all the possibilities. Could you find someone who matched that terrifying energy? Who could fill the role without looking like a total joke?

Suddenly, a murmur caught your attention. A group of girls were talking excitedly, their words a mixture of awe and admiration. You glanced in their direction, curiosity piqued, and your gaze fell upon the source of their chatter.

There, walking casually down the street, was a man who commanded attention. His pale complexion stood out against the dull backdrop of the city, his aquamarine eyes seemingly piercing through everything in his path. His lips were fuller than usual, giving him a strikingly handsome appearance. But it wasn’t just his looks that made him stand out—it was the energy he exuded. Something about him screamed power, something that made you feel a strange flutter in your chest.

He had dark bluish-purple hair, the type that could easily be called stylish but still slightly intimidating with its bowl-cut shape. His low ponytail was tied neatly, as though he didn’t even need to try. His clothing matched his entire vibe: a dark, bluish-purple hoodie with a white turtleneck peeking out, paired with black ripped jeans that added an edge to his appearance. And the accessories—those long, rectangular block earrings in teal and white, not to mention the septum piercing—made him look like someone who didn’t care what anyone thought.

He was, in a word, perfect. He looked like the kind of guy who would make a fantastic, terrifying boyfriend. You could feel the pull, the certainty that he would be just as frightening as Sol. You took a step forward, feeling that strange urge to get closer to him, to make him yours somehow.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, your heart racing slightly. This was it. You didn’t need to talk to him, you just needed a photo, something to show the goons who had mocked you. Something to prove you had a boyfriend—someone they’d never dare question. You lined up the shot, focusing on his face, waiting for the perfect moment.

And just as you were about to snap the photo, you saw him look up. His gaze locked on yours. Time seemed to freeze for a second.

“Did you take my photo?” he asked, his voice cold, his expression unreadable.

Your heart nearly stopped. His tone was sharp, almost predatory. The way he asked it… it wasn’t just a simple question—it was a warning. His cold stare sent a shiver down your spine.

Oh no. You felt your face flush, and before you could react, he looked away. But then, just as quickly, his eyes returned to you, piercing through you with a chilling gaze.

“Did you take my photo?” he repeated, the question more threatening now.

Your mind went blank. You were trapped. You realized, in that moment, that you’d made a huge mistake. You’d done the exact thing your brother would’ve done. You’d stalked someone. You’d taken their picture without permission, without any regard for boundaries. You’d become that person—the one who couldn’t control their obsession.

Your body froze as the realization hit. “Congrats,” you thought bitterly to yourself, “You’ve just become like your brother. It’s a crime, you idiot.”

Panicking, your hands shook. The girls who’d been chatting earlier noticed the scene and started laughing. “Aww, look at there, an idiot!” one of them teased, her voice ringing out like a bell. The sting of their mockery made you want to disappear.

Your heart pounded. What had you done? This guy was terrifying. He was exactly the kind of person who could ruin your life with a single word. You stood there, paralyzed, as he looked at you with disdain, clearly not impressed by your actions.

“What the hell?” he muttered, his eyes narrowing at you. It felt like time was moving in slow motion. He took a single step toward you, and you couldn’t stand it anymore. You turned on your heel and bolted, running as fast as you could, your heart in your throat.

Your mind was a whirlwind. What the hell had just happened? You had crossed a line, and you knew it. The anxiety in your chest grew heavier with each step you took, and it wasn’t just because you had taken his photo—it was because, in some messed-up way, you kind of wanted him to catch you. But now you were scared of what might happen next.

You kept running, never looking back, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had just made a terrifying mistake.

You slowed down, your feet dragging slightly as you tried to catch your breath. The adrenaline was wearing off, but your mind was still racing. You pulled your phone from your pocket, your fingers trembling as you looked at the picture you’d taken of him. The shot was perfect. He looked so intense, like a figure from your twisted fantasies. Your heart was pounding, but there was a strange sense of satisfaction building within you.

Your life won’t be hell anymore. The thought rang in your mind, though you weren’t entirely sure if you believed it. Was this really the answer? You’d gone this far, taken this huge leap, and now you couldn’t back down. You had something on them, something that would protect you, wouldn’t it?

But as you walked, you heard the unmistakable voices of the goons. You froze, the panic starting to rise again. There was no escape. No more hiding. They had found you.

“Hey,” one of the guys sneered, his eyes locking onto you. “What’s that you got there?”

You didn’t even get a chance to react before the other guy grabbed your phone from your hand, swiping it with ease. You tried to fight back, but they were too fast, too strong. Your pulse quickened, your breath shallow.

“What is this?” The first goon asked as he stared at the screen. He glanced at the picture you’d taken. “Looks like someone we know…”

The tension in the air thickened, and before you could do anything, they grabbed you. One of the goons sneered down at you. “You’ve really crossed the line this time, haven’t you?”

A rush of cold terror washed over you, and before you could get a word out, a fist collided with your face. The world spun as you crumpled to the ground, everything going black for a moment. A sharp pain shot through your skull as your vision blurred.

But then, you heard something. Voices. A scuffle. Another punch. And then, to your surprise, two men came into view, swinging at the goons who had been tormenting you. The sound of fists hitting flesh was almost deafening, but you barely registered it. Your head was still spinning from the punch. One of the goons was knocked to the side, groaning. The other barely managed to stand before another punch sent him to the ground.

The man who had delivered the blows stood tall, a dark presence looming over you. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw his face. You blinked through the fog in your vision, trying to make sense of what was happening. The man who had just taken down the goons looked familiar, his features hauntingly similar to the guy you’d just photographed.

Your breath hitched. The connection was clear now. This was him.

You had taken a picture of his face. You had made a move, and now, here he was, standing over you like some kind of dark savior, though it didn’t feel like you were in safe hands at all.

A voice cut through the haze. It was the other man— you thought his name was—asking the man if you were okay. The other voice was tentative, almost kind, though there was a nervous laugh in it.

“Don’t touch ‘em,” Geo" muttered, his voice cold and detached, though there was something else there too. “Why even bother with someone like them?”

You blinked, struggling to stay conscious. Your vision blurred again as your body betrayed you, and you nearly passed out. But not before you heard Deryl’s voice again, this time more insistent.

“Buddy,” Deryl said, trying to lighten the mood. “You should help people in need. Even if they photographed you.”

Geo shot him a look, his eyes deadly serious, but there was a flicker of something—something darker—in them when he looked down at you. His gaze was hard, calculating. It was like he was piecing something together in his mind. Finally, after a long pause, he spoke.

“I’m not touching them,” he muttered again, but it was clear that wasn’t the case anymore. He was trying to pretend he didn’t care, but his eyes told a different story.

You could barely focus, your eyelids growing heavier as your body refused to stay awake. Geo’s voice cut through the fog once more, and you caught a few words before everything went blank.

“Deryl, you carry them. I’m not touching that.”

Deryl adjusted his grip on you as he walked, muttering softly to himself. “Man, you’re heavier than you look…” He chuckled nervously, more to ease his own discomfort than to make a joke. You were completely unconscious, head lolling slightly, and he glanced back at Geo, who followed a few steps behind with his usual brooding expression.

Geo’s aquamarine eyes lingered on your face, his sharp gaze narrowing. Something about the way you looked stirred a memory, one he wasn’t prepared to confront. His steps faltered for just a moment before he hissed, “Wait.”

Deryl stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow. “Huh? What is it?”

Geo’s eyes widened slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grimace. Without explaining himself, he stepped forward, his presence looming over both you and Deryl. “Give them to me.”

“What?” Deryl asked, startled. “You just said—”

“I said give them to me,” Geo snapped, his voice low and cold, cutting through Deryl’s hesitation. He reached out, his movements sharp but deliberate, and took you from Deryl’s arms without waiting for an argument.

Deryl blinked, his jaw dropping slightly. “You’ve been all high and mighty about not helping, and now you’re—”

“Shut up,” Geo hissed, his tone dangerous. He adjusted his grip on you with a surprising gentleness that contradicted the hostility in his voice. He glanced down at your face again, his expression hardening. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Deryl stared at him for a moment before sighing and scratching the back of his head. “Alright, fine, Pal! . Lead the way, I guess.”

Geo didn’t reply. He simply started walking, his strides long and purposeful. Deryl followed behind, shooting the occasional curious glance at Geo, who carried you as if it were both a burden and something he couldn’t let go of.

When they reached the nearest bus stand, Geo stopped. He looked around briefly before stepping toward the bench. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, as he carefully set you down, leaning you against the metal backrest. His hands lingered for a moment, his fingers curling slightly as if he were resisting the urge to do more.

Deryl, watching the scene unfold, crossed his arms and tilted his head. “So, uh… what now? We just leave them here?”

Geo straightened up, his face as unreadable as ever. “Yes.”

“Seriously?” Deryl’s voice rose in disbelief. “You’re just gonna walk away and leave them like this? What if something happens?”

“They’ll survive.” Geo’s tone was clipped, final.

Deryl took a step closer, trying to catch Geo’s eye. “How do you even know that? You’re acting like you know them or something.”

Geo froze, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Slowly, he turned his head to glare at Deryl, his aquamarine gaze sharp enough to cut. “I said shut up.”

Deryl raised his hands in mock surrender, though his grin didn’t quite mask his curiosity. “Alright, alright, no need to get all hissy about it. Just saying, you’re acting weird.”

Geo didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he cast one last glance at you. His expression remained cold, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of recognition, perhaps? He pressed his lips into a thin line, his jaw tightening as if he were swallowing words he didn’t want to speak.

“Annoying,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. He turned on his heel and started walking away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. Deryl jogged after him, falling into step beside him.

“Okay, but seriously,” Deryl said, his tone lighter now but still probing. “You’re acting like this is personal. Do you know them?”

Geo didn’t slow down, his gaze fixed straight ahead. “No.”

Deryl snorted. “You’re a terrible liar, buddy.”

“Shut up,” Geo snapped again, his voice lower this time, almost a growl. His pace quickened, but Deryl kept up, undeterred.

“Come on, man,” Deryl pressed. “If you don’t know them, why’d you suddenly change your mind? You went from ‘leave them to rot’ to ‘I’ll carry them myself’ in, like, two seconds. What gives?”

Geo’s teeth clenched, the muscles in his jaw tightening. For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t answer, but then he let out a sharp exhale through his nose. “They’re too familiar.”

Deryl blinked, taken aback. “Familiar? Like how?”

Geo’s lips curled into a sneer, though it seemed more directed at himself than at Deryl. “I said, shut up.”

Deryl held up his hands again, though his grin widened. “Alright, alright. But you’re really bad at keeping secrets, you know that?”

Geo ignored him, his strides long and purposeful as he walked away from the bus stand. His mind, however, wasn’t as composed as his outward demeanor suggested. Memories he’d buried long ago were clawing their way to the surface, and no matter how much he tried to suppress them, they wouldn’t stay hidden.

“Still look the same…” he muttered under his breath, barely audible even to himself. His aquamarine eyes flicked toward the ground as he walked, his expression darkening. The weight of recognition was heavy on his shoulders, though he refused to let it show.

Deryl, walking beside him, noticed the change in Geo’s demeanor but chose not to press further. Instead, he settled for a quieter approach, matching Geo’s pace without saying a word. He could tell Geo was lost in his thoughts, and though Deryl was naturally nosy, he knew better than to push too hard when Geo was in one of his moods.

Geo’s mind raced as he replayed the events of the past hour. Your face, your fainted form, the way you’d looked so vulnerable—it all felt too close to something he couldn’t quite place. Or maybe he could, but he didn’t want to admit it.

“You’re too into my memories,” he muttered again, his voice barely more than a whisper. His fists clenched in his pockets as he walked, his gaze fixed ahead.

But despite his outward hostility, a part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that this encounter wasn’t over. And that thought, as much as he hated to admit it, unsettled him more than anything else.

You jolted awake as a high-pitched wail pierced your groggy mind. A child, no older than five, stood in front of you, tugging at her mother’s sleeve. “I want to sit!” she cried, her tiny voice laced with impatience.

The mother gave you an apologetic smile, gently shaking your shoulder. “Excuse me, but could you let her sit?”

Blinking rapidly, you straightened up, your head still spinning. “Oh, uh, sorry! My bad!” You quickly stood, brushing yourself off as you apologized again.

The little girl climbed up onto the bench, beaming as she claimed her throne. The mother gave you a curt nod of thanks, and you stepped back, trying to collect your thoughts.

Your heart was still racing as you walked away, your legs shaky but functional. A strange heaviness settled in your chest as you tried to piece together what had happened. Then, with a sudden jolt of panic, you patted your pockets. Your phone. Relief flooded through you as you pulled it out, still intact.

Your thumb hovered over the screen as you unlocked it. The first thing you saw was the photo. The guy. His face stared back at you, aquamarine eyes cold and piercing even in stillness. You stared at it, holding your phone closer for a better look. He looked familiar somehow, but you couldn’t place why. Then again, did it matter?

You sighed, switching off your phone. At least you had something to show those goons. Even if they were terrifying, this picture might just save you from whatever chaos they had planned. You tried to convince yourself that was enough.

Your thoughts drifted back to the encounter. You couldn’t quite recall how you’d escaped, but you decided it wasn’t worth overthinking. You’d survived, right? That was all that mattered.

Later at Home

The familiar scent of food hit you as you walked through the door. Your stomach growled in response, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since morning. Sol was in the kitchen, idly humming as he set down a plate on the counter. He didn’t look at you, his attention focused elsewhere.

“Food’s ready,” he said simply, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Thanks,” you replied, grabbing the plate without much thought. You caught a glimpse of him as you headed toward your room—he was hunched over the table, sketching something in his notebook. The silence between you was heavy, but you didn’t feel like breaking it.

Once inside your room, you locked the door behind you and plopped down on your bed. The plate balanced precariously on your lap as you mindlessly ate, your thoughts still scattered from the day’s events. Sol’s unusual quietness lingered in the back of your mind, but you brushed it off. He’s probably just sulking about something, like always.

You finished eating and set the empty plate on your bedside table. Lying back, you pulled out your phone again. The photo of the guy stared back at you, his aquamarine eyes boring into yours. You couldn’t help but shiver slightly.

“Guess I’ve got my ‘boyfriend,’” you muttered to yourself with a wry smile. The girls were going to love this.

The next day, you strutted into the campus with a newfound sense of pride, your phone clutched tightly in your hand. The image of the man’s piercing aquamarine eyes had become your badge of defiance against the girls who had bullied you. As they approached, the usual smug grins plastered on their faces, you decided it was time to strike.

“So, where’s your boyfriend’s picture?” one of them sneered, arms crossed.

“Oh, you mean this?” you said with a dramatic flourish, pulling out your phone and showing them the picture. Geo’s cold, intimidating gaze stared back at them. You almost felt sorry for them—almost.

Their smirks instantly dropped. One of the girls snatched the phone from your hand, staring at the screen in disbelief. “Wait… he’s your boyfriend?” she stammered, her voice laced with uncertainty.

“Yes,” you said smugly, crossing your arms. “He is. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like my phone back.”

They handed it over quickly, their attitudes doing a complete 180. “We didn’t know he was your boyfriend! We won’t bother you anymore!” one of them said, her tone almost apologetic.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, an exaggerated, evil laugh escaping your lips. “Hehehehehehe!” You turned and walked away, feeling like you’d just conquered the world. Metaphorically, your nose was growing like Pinocchio’s, but who cared? You’d earned this victory.

Later, at lunch, you bumped into Brittney, who waved you over enthusiastically. “Hey, you coming to the cafeteria today?” she asked, her usual sunny demeanor infectious.

“Why not?” you replied, shrugging. It would be nice to eat with someone who wasn’t Sol for a change.

You all sat down to eat, Brittney turned to you, a sly smile playing on her lips. “So… I’ve been hearing some rumors.”

You blinked at her. “Rumors?”

“Yeah, you know, about a certain someone being your boyfriend,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

Before you could answer, Crowe chimed in, “Speaking of someone, it’s been a while since Deryl and Geo hung out. Wonder what they’re up to?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Deryl and Geo? who are they?”

“Deryl’s great—kind as ever,” Crowe said with a grin. “Geo, though… well, he’s a piece of work. But don’t worry! He’s not as bad as he seems.”

You smiled faintly, unsure if you should feel reassured or not. Brittney, however, wasn’t letting the conversation shift away from the topic of your so-called boyfriend. “So, spill! Who is he?” she pressed.

With a dramatic flourish, you pulled out your phone and turned the screen toward her. The picture of the man filled the display, and you couldn’t help but add a smug, “Hehehehe!”

Brittney’s reaction was immediate. Her face fell, her cheerful expression replaced by something darker. “Wait… is this…?”

“What?” Jess leaned over to look, and her eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god.”

Crowe, curious about the fuss, leaned in as well. His usually calm demeanor cracked as his blue eyes sparkled with surprise. “You’re dating… him?”

All three of them screamed in unison, “YOU’RE DATING OUR GEO?!”

The cafeteria went silent, all eyes turning toward your table. You froze, your face flushing as you tried to stammer out a response.

Before you could say anything, two familiar figures entered the cafeteria: Deryl and Geo. Deryl looked as cheerful as ever, while Geo’s usual broody expression darkened as soon as his eyes landed on you.

“Geo!” Brittney yelled, pointing at him like he’d committed a crime. “You’re dating them?!”

The entire cafeteria erupted into whispers and murmurs, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Geo’s aquamarine eyes flicked between you and the others, his expression unreadable.

You panicked. Before he could say a word, you grabbed his hand and bolted, dragging him out of the cafeteria as fast as your legs could carry you. Geo barely resisted, following behind with a mixture of shock and annoyance etched on his face.

“Wait—what the hell are you doing?” he hissed as you shoved open the door and pushed him outside.

“Just—just go with it!” you snapped, your voice a mix of desperation and embarrassment.

You stopped a few paces away from the building, finally letting go of his hand. Geo crossed his arms, his piercing gaze locked on you. “Care to explain what that was all about?”

You gulped, feeling the weight of his stare. “Um… it’s kind of a long story.”

“You-!“ he said coldly, his tone daring you to try lying again.

The moment you finished explaining, you felt your heart pounding as Geo stared at you, his expression cold and unreadable. You swallowed hard, your nerves threatening to snap under his piercing aquamarine gaze. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for it to get this out of hand. I won’t tell anyone else. Just… please don’t expose me. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Geo crossed his arms, his tall figure looming over you. His silence was more intimidating than any verbal berating. Finally, he let out a sharp sigh, the faintest trace of irritation flickering across his face. “You really are the most idiotic piece of shit,” he hissed, his voice low but cutting. “Photographing me, spreading rumors, telling people I’m your boyfriend—do you even think before you act?”

You flinched, clutching your phone tightly. “I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean—”

“Save it,” he cut you off, his tone icy. “Just stay out of my business from now on.” He turned as if to leave but paused, glancing back at you with narrowed eyes. “But… where did you even get that picture?”

Your mouth opened to respond, but suddenly, a memory bubbled to the surface. The sight of him standing there, broody and imposing, triggered something deep in your mind. “Wait…” you murmured, staring at him as if seeing him for the first time. “I’ve seen you before. I know you from somewhere.”

Geo’s eyes narrowed further, his body tensing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s you,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Subaru-kun… it’s really you, isn’t it?”

The name hit him like a bolt of lightning. Geo’s face shifted from annoyance to pure panic, his aquamarine eyes widening as he looked around. A few girls nearby, overhearing the conversation, started whispering.

“Subaru?” one of them muttered. “Isn’t his name Geo?”

Geo clicked his tongue, his sharp jaw tightening as he grabbed your wrist. “You,” he hissed under his breath, “shut up.” Without another word, he dragged you away, ignoring your protests as you stumbled after him.

“Wait! What are you—Geo, I mean Subaru, I—”

“Stop talking,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous. His grip on your wrist wasn’t painful, but it was firm enough to keep you moving. He navigated through the campus like a man on a mission, his long legs making it hard for you to keep up.

When you finally reached a secluded area behind one of the buildings, he released your wrist and spun to face you. “Don’t ever call me that name again,” he said, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“But why—”

“Because that’s not who I am anymore,” he interrupted, his tone softer but still guarded. He raked a hand through his dark bluish-purple hair, his earrings catching the light as he turned his gaze away from you. “Got it?”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. The Subaru you remembered—kind, soft-spoken, always smiling—was so different from the man standing in front of you now. But even in his hostility, you could see fragments of the boy you used to play with, buried beneath layers of coldness and resentment. “It really is you,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Geo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re so damn persistent,” he muttered, his tone laced with exasperation. “Why couldn’t you just leave things alone?”

“I didn’t know it was you!” you defended, your voice rising slightly. “I just… I thought you looked familiar, and now I know why. We used to play together, remember? You and Hyugo and—”

“Enough.” His voice was sharp, but his aquamarine eyes betrayed a flicker of something—pain, maybe? “The past doesn’t matter. Not to me, and it shouldn’t to you, either.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. The tension between you hung heavy in the air, the weight of unspoken memories and unresolved emotions pressing down on both of you. Finally, Geo straightened, his usual cold demeanor sliding back into place.

“Just… forget this happened,” he said, his tone more resigned than angry. “And stop dragging me into your messes.”

Before you could respond, he turned and started walking away, his long strides carrying him further and further from you. For a moment, you considered chasing after him, but something in his posture—rigid and unyielding—stopped you. Instead, you watched him disappear around the corner, the name “Subaru” lingering on the tip of your tongue like a forbidden word.

Your heart ached as you stood there, alone in the silence. It wasn’t just Geo who had changed—you realized, with a pang, that you had, too. And somehow, in the midst of all this chaos, you had stumbled back into each other’s lives. Whether that was a blessing or a curse, you weren’t sure yet.

Geo’s aquamarine eyes narrowed, frustration evident on his sharp, pale face. He crossed his arms and stared down at you as if you were the most infuriating puzzle he’d ever encountered. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” he said, his tone icy and cutting. “First, you drag me into this whole boyfriend nonsense, and now I’m stuck dealing with your idiotic face. You’re just like Hyugo—always causing problems I never asked for.”

His words hit like a slap. You blinked, trying to keep your composure, but the sting of his insult made your chest tighten. “I didn’t mean to,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “I’m sorry.”

Geo scoffed, clicking his tongue in irritation. “Sorry doesn’t fix anything,” he snapped. He stepped closer, his tall frame looming over you, and tilted your chin up with a surprisingly firm yet gentle hand, forcing you to look into his aquamarine eyes. “You’re the one who got us into this mess,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “And the only reason I’m even this nice to you is because, unfortunately, you’re someone I used to know. You haven’t done anything wrong—yet. But keep pushing, and we’ll see.”

His sharp words were laced with venom, but there was something else in his gaze—a flicker of restraint, as though he were holding back more than just his temper. Your breath hitched under the intensity of his stare, and you bit your lip, looking away. “It’s fine,” you said quietly. “I’ll fix it. I’ll tell everyone it was a lie. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

You turned to leave, your head low, but Geo’s voice stopped you in your tracks. “Wait.”

You froze, glancing back at him hesitantly. His expression was still hard, but his aquamarine eyes had softened, just a fraction. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his bluish-purple hair, his earrings swaying slightly with the movement. “There’s no point in fixing it now,” he muttered, almost to himself. “The damage is done. And if I’m being honest, it might actually work in my favor.”

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Geo’s lips pressed into a thin line, as though he hated every word he was about to say. “This school is full of shitty people,” he began, his voice laced with irritation. “Love letters piling up at the end of the year, girls stalking me, and way too much work to deal with. If pretending to be your boyfriend gets them off my back, I’ll do it.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, right?”

He fixed you with a deadpan stare. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

You blinked, your mind racing. Geo—cold, broody, terrifying Geo—was offering to pretend to be your boyfriend. “I don’t understand,” you said slowly. “You hate me, and now you’re offering to help?”

“I don’t hate you,” he said, though his tone wasn’t exactly reassuring. “I hate the situation you dragged me into. But if it gives me some damn solitude, it’s worth it.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. This didn’t feel real—Geo, the guy who seemed to hate everyone and everything, willingly offering to go along with your mess? It was the last thing you expected.

“Don’t overthink it,” he said, his tone sharp, as if reading your mind. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me, and keeping people away from me. Got it?”

You nodded slowly, still trying to process everything. “Got it.”

“Good.” He stepped back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “But don’t push your luck. If you do anything stupid, this deal’s off.”

“I won’t,” you said quickly. “I promise.”

Geo rolled his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “Whatever. Just try not to embarrass me more than you already have.” Without another word, he turned and walked away, his long strides carrying him out of sight.

You stood there for a moment, replaying the conversation in your mind. Geo, of all people, pretending to be your boyfriend? It was so absurd you almost laughed. Almost.

But as you thought about his offer, you couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of hope. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The weight of everything from the day was making your head spin. You had barely registered the final bell ringing, signaling the end of classes, before you packed your things in a rush. There was so much pressure on you, too much. You wanted to thank Geo for the ridiculous arrangement, but the reality of it was starting to sink in, and it was suffocating. You just needed to escape, get away from everyone, clear your head.

But as you stuffed your notebook into your bag, you heard Crowe’s voice behind you. “Hey, can we talk for a second?”

You paused, turning to look at him, a little surprised by his sudden approach. “What’s up?” you asked, trying to mask the anxiety twisting in your stomach.

Crowe shifted on his feet, his expression a little more serious than usual. “It’s about you and Geo…”

Before he could go any further, someone at the door interrupted, their voice cutting through the air. “He’s waiting for you.”

You froze. He? You glanced towards the classroom door, and there, standing in the hallway, was Geo. His aquamarine eyes were focused somewhere off in the distance, looking as uninterested as ever, yet there he was—waiting.

A strange feeling tugged at your chest. Was this really happening? You’d expected him to be cold, but to actually see him waiting for you like this was a different kind of surreal.

Crowe raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he looked at you. “Looks like someone’s waiting, huh?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. You nodded, but your voice barely escaped. “Yeah, I guess so…”

With that, you made your way to the door, feeling your feet move like they were carrying you toward your fate. As you approached Geo, you couldn’t help but wonder: Was he really waiting for you, or was this some sort of joke? You were bracing yourself for his usual stony indifference.

“Geo?” you asked hesitantly. “Are you… waiting for me?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at you, his face expressionless, his stance relaxed but distant. For a split second, you thought maybe this was a chance for him to act sweeter, to at least pretend to play along with the whole boyfriend act. You almost expected him to give you a teasing smile, some playful banter. But then, everything changed in a flash.

Without warning, he reached out and pinched your side, hard. A sharp pain shot through you, and you gasped, immediately feeling the sting of his fingers digging into your skin.

“You should’ve waited for me,” he scolded, his voice low and cold, but with a noticeable edge of annoyance.

You winced, holding your side where he pinched you, and instinctively, you apologized. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Geo’s eyes narrowed, his face still unreadable. “Tch. Whatever. Let’s go.”

He didn’t even wait for you to respond, immediately turning and walking toward the exit. You stood there, momentarily stunned, before scrambling to catch up to him. The moment the words left his mouth, you realized just how much control he had in this situation.

You hurriedly walked behind him, your heart pounding as you struggled to keep up with his brisk pace. The silence between you both was almost unbearable, the weight of the earlier events and his cold reaction weighing heavily on you. You had expected something—anything—that resembled affection, but instead, all you were left with was his cold indifference.

Geo walked ahead, you felt something stirring deep within you—a mix of frustration, confusion, and a strange pull toward him. You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were both stuck in this weird dance together.

Brittney and Jess were sitting together, the usual buzz of the cafeteria surrounding them as they spoke in hushed tones, exchanging glances. They couldn’t believe it—Geo, Geo, of all people, was actually dating someone. It was almost surreal.

“I just… I don’t get it,” Jess murmured, her voice still tinged with disbelief. “How can someone as… scary as him be in a relationship? Like, who could handle that? He’s so intimidating.”

Brittney glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “You really think he doesn’t care? Maybe he’s just… hard to read? I don’t know, maybe someone’s actually getting through to him.”

“Who knows? Someone has to be changing him,” said with a small frown. “I just… I can’t see him acting this way for no reason. There’s no way someone could stay that icy without something or someone… breaking through.”

Before they could dive deeper into their thoughts, Deryl walked into the cafeteria with his usual carefree stride, scanning the room for his friends. As soon as he spotted them, he made his way over, looking a little too smug for anyone’s liking.

“Hey, where’s Geo?” Deryl asked, looking around as though Geo had just disappeared off the face of the Earth.

“Ah, Geo?” Brittney started, her voice flat and disinterested, though her mind was still buzzing. “He went with his… partner.”

Deryl blinked, the news landing on him like a slap to the face. “Partner?” he echoed, eyes wide with shock. “He actually has a partner?”

Brittney nodded curtly. “Yeah. I’m guessing that’s what’s happening. Can’t say I expected it.”

Deryl’s jaw nearly dropped. “Wait, wait, wait—hold on. Geo? Dating someone? But… he’s the I’m happy for my pal!”

Jess looked a little uncomfortable at Deryl’s outburst, glancing at Brittney for reassurance. She cleared her throat. “I mean, I guess if someone’s able to get through to him, that’s… impressive?”

Deryl was still in shock. “But—who could handle him?” His eyes widened as if the very idea of someone taming the chaos that was Geo was too much to fathom. “He’s… so unpredictable, so intense. Who even—”

Brittney, sensing Deryl’s struggle to process, gave him a knowing smirk. “Maybe Geo does have a heart, after all. Strange, right?”

Deryl’s response was instant, his face lighting up with a smirk of his own. “Pfft, Geo having a heart? Nah, he’s a cat. Cats are stubborn and difficult to deal with, but deep down, they’ve got their moments. They can be soft when they want to be, but don’t expect them to show it all the time.”

The idea of Geo being a “cat” seemed to hit a nerve with the group, causing them to laugh despite themselves. Deryl’s tone had been teasing, but there was a strange sense of truth to it. Geo, with all his aloofness and cold demeanor, was a little like a cat—moody, hard to figure out, but once he trusted someone, he was loyal in his own way.

Brittney nodded slowly, her lips curling into a half-smile. “I guess… but a cat? You’ve got a point. He’s certainly got his claws out all the time.”

Jess, who had been quiet up until now, shrugged. “I don’t know. I just… can’t picture it. I mean, it’s hard to imagine him with someone. But hey, maybe that’s the thing. Maybe he’s just… waiting for the right person to bring him out of his shell.”

Deryl leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, still processing everything. “I guess. If someone can get him to soften up, then maybe he’s not as messed up as he looks. Who knows? He’s got a reputation, but… maybe it’s not all bad.”

The group fell into a thoughtful silence for a moment. Geo was a mystery to everyone, but now that he was involved with someone—someone—it added another layer to his already complex persona. The idea of him being soft or affectionate in any way still seemed so foreign, but with everything they’d learned about him, it was becoming increasingly clear that there was more to Geo than met the eye.

They continued to ponder Geo’s strange relationship status, the sound of footsteps in the hallway interrupted their thoughts. It was a loud thud followed by a voice calling out, and before they knew it, Deryl turned his head toward the door.

Geo, the ever-distant, ever-aloof figure, walked in with that same cool, expressionless demeanor. His eyes scanned the room before locking onto you. And despite everything he had said, despite his cold exterior, there was something about the way he carried himself that made it clear—he wasn’t going to let anyone push him around. He was here to stay, and no matter what anyone thought, you were with him now.

Brittney and Jess exchanged glances as they watched him approach, and even though they had their reservations about Geo, they couldn’t help but wonder—was this the side of him they had yet to see?

The questions and the mysteries about Geo only seemed to multiply, but one thing was certain—he wasn’t just a “cat” or an intimidating figure anymore. He was someone with more layers, and those who cared to look close enough were going to see them, one way or another.

Next day

Lunchtime came, and as expected, you found yourself seated next to Geo at the lunch table, a situation you never could have imagined. His friends had planned it—no doubt to make things even more awkward for you. There you were, sitting beside him, unsure of what to even say or do. It was supposed to be a casual lunch, right? But it was far from it.

You had brought a soda with you, offering it to Geo in a small, kind gesture, hoping that maybe it’d be a step toward a more comfortable moment between you two. But instead of accepting it, Geo looked at you—dead in the eyes—and gave you his water bottle without saying a word.

“W-What?” You blinked, unsure of what just happened. Was he messing with you? You looked at the water bottle in your hand, feeling an awkward lump form in your throat. What was this? Why was he acting like this?

You took a sip, trying not to feel too frustrated. There was nothing to do but follow the silent pattern of your lunch together. You ate your food slowly, almost like a dog eating scraps, feeling small in your chair. The taste of the food was bland, but you didn’t mind. It didn’t matter much anymore, did it?

You ate, your gaze wandered around, and then you noticed it—most of the girls in the cafeteria had their eyes on you. You felt an uncomfortable shiver crawl up your spine as you tried not to look up, not wanting to attract more attention. Why were they staring? What was going on?

Before you could figure it out, two girls suddenly came and sat next to you. Their eyes were full of curiosity, and they wasted no time in asking, “So, how’s Geo doing?”

Geo remained silent, not even looking at them, his face as impassive as ever. Then, without warning, he took your hand—his fingers lightly curling around yours—and stood up. You froze for a second, not sure if you were imagining this. Was he really doing this?

His hand in yours felt warm, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort wash over you. “What?” you asked, almost whispering in disbelief, your eyes locking with his. “Your hand…”

He barely glanced at you before answering in his usual cold tone, “Let’s stay like this for a while.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You felt… happy. It was unexpected, sure, but there was something about the closeness that made you forget about the strange situation. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as cold as he always appeared. Or maybe you were just imagining things, holding on to a fleeting hope.

But then, his next words crushed that tiny bit of hope you had managed to build. “My friends are watching,” he said coldly, his voice cutting through the moment like ice.

You looked behind you instinctively, and there they were—the familiar heads of his friends, staring at the two of you with intense curiosity. Your heart sank, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back at your intertwined hands. There it was again, that feeling from childhood, that strange sense of familiarity, the way you and Geo used to be when you were younger.

It was unnatural to let go now, wasn’t it? You couldn’t bring yourself to pull your hand away. Maybe it was that part of you that longed for something—anything—that felt real and lasting, even if it was tied to a lie. But looking back at the stares, you felt uneasy. Geo’s friends watching, the girls eyeing you, the weight of the lie hanging over you like a cloud.

In that moment, you realized that this… whatever it was between you and Geo, wasn’t real. Not in the way you wanted it to be. It was a performance, a farce, an act for everyone else. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were just as much a part of it as he was.

But the strange feeling still lingered. The warmth of his hand, the memories from when you were younger, the sudden pull toward him despite everything. It was like your childhood self had never really let go, and now, you had no choice but to face the consequences of holding on to something that could never be.

Geo dragged you into a quiet corner of the school building, away from the prying eyes of his friends and the girls who seemed to be watching your every move. The hallway was eerily silent, the distant murmur of voices from the cafeteria fading into the background. He finally let go of your hand, and you flexed your fingers, still feeling the lingering warmth from his grip.

“It should be safe now,” he muttered, his voice low and cold.

You looked at him, feeling awkward as you rubbed the back of your neck. “Geo, I—”

“Shut up,” he snapped, cutting you off sharply. His aquamarine eyes glared at you, and you froze on the spot.

“But—”

Before you could finish, he flicked his finger against your forehead with surprising force. “Ow!” you yelped, covering the sore spot with your hand, your eyes wide with disbelief. “What was that for?”

He crossed his arms, his expression unamused. “I told you to shut up. You’re part of this mess now, so just deal with it.”

You blinked, staring at him. “But—”

“If you disobey me and try to make excuses again,” he interrupted, his tone sharper than before, “I’m not tolerating it. Do you understand me?” His gaze was intense, pinning you to the spot.

You hesitated, fidgeting under his scrutiny. He was so harsh, but… it wasn’t just anger, was it? There was something else in the way he spoke, a strange sort of protectiveness, even if it was buried under layers of frustration. “Geo…” you murmured softly, trying to find the right words. “You… you’ve done so much for me. Even though all those rumors say you’re dangerous and scary, you’re…”

He raised an eyebrow, looking almost annoyed. “What?”

You swallowed nervously, barely managing a smile as you finished, “You’re just… a moody little neko…”

There was a pause—a heavy, awkward silence—as Geo processed what you’d just said. His expression shifted from confusion to utter disbelief, and then his usual scowl returned in full force.

“A what?” he growled, leaning closer to you, his intimidating presence making you shrink back slightly.

“I-I mean, it’s kind of cute how you care in your own way!” you stammered, waving your hands defensively. “Not that I’m saying you’re actually a neko or anything! Just that—”

“Shut. Up.” He snapped his fingers in front of your face again, and you flinched. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a nervous laugh. He was so serious, so moody, and yet… you couldn’t help but find it endearing. Maybe it was foolish, but despite his sharp words and cold demeanor, you felt oddly safe with him. Like, under all that hostility, there was someone who actually cared, even if he’d rather flick your forehead than admit it.

THIS ISN’T WORKING! MAYBE YOU SHOULD FIND A REAL BOYFRIEND SO- HAHAHAHHA, MAYBE HE WILL NOT GET HIT!

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