#youre left with the graphite sketch i did in class

[hh0320]

☆ 🖇️ 𖥻 ＜꒱

— 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

pairing: art school! hyunjin x fem! reader (+felix)

genre: light enemies to lovers, love at first sight, angst, smut, barista (y/n).

warnings: profanity, jealousy, mature themes, chainsmoker hyunjin, unprotected sex, mentions of death (very brief).

word count: 4.6k

🏷 : @ughbehavior ty sm for your help! 🤍

i. 08:43am

Hyunjin was contemplating murder.

“You’re holding up the line, hotshot,” he deadpanned, burning holes in the dude’s back.

Awful pick up line cut in half, the man of the hour turned around, eyeing Hyunjin’s stoic face.

Well, not so much eyeing, all things considered. More like looking up, intimidation failing to quite…reach. Hyunjin wasn’t the tallest of men, standing at 5’ 10’’, but this guy was a fucking joke.

You couldn’t seriously be entertaining him.

Hyunjin grinned down at him, honeycomb hair falling in his eyes. “Scutter along, playboy.”

The man was too stunned to speak, grabbing his drink and fucking off to wherever he’d come from. Fucking finally.

You weren’t amused, to say the least, but then again, you never were when it came to him. Instead, you glared. Hard.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he smiled warmly at you, hands resting against the counter, arms flexing.

Your gaze dropped to the veins popping through his skin. You blinked, once, twice—ah, there it was, Hyunjin thought.

That rosy blush that painted your cheeks every time he did that—it made him weak inside. He wanted to see you blush for him, but in a different setting entirely.

Specifically, under him—

“What can I get you, Hyunjin? Surely you don’t come just to scare away my customers,” you snarled, wiping the espresso machine.

He ignored your little comment. “And, surely, you, my angel, know my order by now.”

He noticed the way your breath caught at the pet name, enjoying watching you make his coffee, flustered, avoiding his stare.

It had started as harmless teasing; freshman Hyunjin had walked into this small coffee shop, craving an iced americano, sketchbook in hand, excited about starting art school.

And then you’d turned around, and— well. Well. Hyunjin had never been in love, but he was pretty sure that was fucking it. You’d ruined him for any other person.

Too bad you hated his fucking existence. He’d tried his best everyday, to be soft, to tone down that damn sarcasm that always got him in trouble. He left you generous tips, came to hang out after or in between classes, sketching away as he stole glances at you.

You had called him a stalker, and he’d laughed in your face.

“A psychopath, then,” you’d claimed.

“Only for you, sweetheart. Why don’t you tell me your name?”

“Fuck off.”

He’d smirked at you, arms crossing over his chest. “I’ll take my time breaking you, angel.”

“I’d like to see you try, pretty boy.”

So he did. And, fuck, has it been fun, because he could see, underneath the tough exterior, and adorable mean faces, you secretly loved it. The attention he gave you, his overprotective ness of you, how jealous he’d get when boys would try to flirt with you.

You knew, deep down—you belonged with him. You did ever since he found you, almost two years ago.

Hyunjin carried himself with a sort of elegant arrogance; popularity had come to him easy. His talent was unmatchable—a product of numerous hours of hard work; acrylics, oils, coal, he’d practiced it all, and he can’t not admit that it had been lonely, locked inside a room, thoughts turned into color, painting becoming an undistinguishable extension of him.

Had the brushes and the pencils, and the papers not been there, he wouldn’t have survived. Perhaps, some thought that to be an over exaggeration , but there had been nothing else for him, except this.

The smell of graphite, the hard callouses whispering of softwood—blank, textured paper waiting to be filled. All he’s known.

And then you. His coffee shop girl.

ii. 15:31pm

“Put that out, it’s disgusting,” you commented, picking up after a table that had just left.

Hyunjin sat by the door, smoking, sipping on his coffee. Sun out, and a pleasant wind blowing, his sketchbook lay open on the pavement.

“What do I get if I do?” He dared, turning to you.

You had a beautiful neck, he’d always thought so. Sometimes he thought you did it on purpose; clipping your hair away, exposing it. He wanted to leave open mouthed kisses along the side, just below your ear, traveling down to your collarbone—

Hyunjin looked away, tongue licking against the inside of his cheek, and took a drag of his cigarette.

You mused over his question, tray in hand. “I don’t know, a longer life span, maybe?” You said sarcastically.

He hummed, chuckling. “Tempting as it is, sweetheart, I’ll pass.”

You raised your eyebrows, taking him in. Mid length, soft looking hair, sunglasses hiding, what you know to be dark brown eyes, an oversized t-shirt, and blue jeans, with black vans. Rings adorning long fingers.

Picture perfect boyfriend material.

And yet, he got on your last nerve every time he opened his mouth. You couldn’t figure out what it was, exactly—maybe the relentless flirting, or the smugness of him. But it was a shame, because he—

Well, he was fucking hot.

You shook your head, denying your own thoughts.

“Suit yourself, prince. That’s just what I think,” you went to pass by him, to go inside, but his hand shot out to stop you, grabbing your wrist.

You gasped, trying to balance the tray in your palm again, and looked down at him angrily.

“Are you fucking crazy, Hyunjin? All these glasses could’ve smashed on your head!”

He smiled at that, moving his sunglasses to the top of his head, squinting up at you. His hand was warm against your skin.

Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it—

“I would, for you,” he said. “Quit. I would do it for you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you went to pull away from his grasp. He let you, that same smile staying on his full lips.

Your heart skipped several beats, bewildered. He confused the hell out of you, with his pet names, and longing looks. But you couldn’t ignore your mind, telling you what a bad idea it was to let such a person in.

He’d ruin you. There was no getting over someone like Hwang Hyunjin, that you were sure of.

Later, when he brought his empty coffee mug inside, he left a piece of paper underneath it.

Pretending to clean, you avoided him, making sure he was well gone before taking a peak at what it was.

A sketch of you—of your profile, more like, pouring a shot of espresso in a to go cup, colored in innocent pastel markers.

There your heart went again, betraying you. You looked around, before shoving the picture in your bag, dusting off your apron, awkwardly.

You hated Hwang Hyunjin. He was conceited, and pompous—he thought everything revolved around him. Talented, no question, but you wouldn’t fall for it.

You wouldn’t fall for him, period. You absolutely refused.

iii. 09:02am

Lee Felix would be your new coworker, your manager announced, and went back to his receipts.

“Train him good, yeah?”

You remained in your place behind the counter, broom in hand, staring at his blonde head and constellation freckles.

“Hi, (Y/N)!” He waved at you, beaming, as he grabbed an apron, and awaited instructions.

You knew Lee Felix—he was Hyunjin’s best friend, from what you’d gathered. At times, they’d walk in together, one iced americano, one strawberry smoothie, looking like they’d just jumped out of a magazine cover, and it would be very hard not to gape at them the whole time.

Felix was the extreme opposite of Hyunjin; this boy was made of the purest sunlight, the kindest customer you’ve ever had. He always asked how you were, and made small talk with you, as his friend scowled, and stared at you. Felix didn’t give borderline creepy vibes, unlike some—he was a genuinely sweet person, that always managed to make your day simply by smiling your way.

But—he hated coffee, always complained that the smell of it made him nauseous, so—what was he doing, working here?

You couldn’t help but be suspicious of his motives. You hoped it had nothing to do with a certain ‘I’d quit for you’ boy.

Not that everything had to do with him—

Ugh. Thinking of that interaction had your stomach doing backflips, and you weren’t certain if that was good or bad.

“Hey, star shine,” you gave him a small smile. “Ready to learn?”

He wasn’t horrible. He caught on fast, and tried his best, but the menu was long, and the recipes extensive, so it would take him a while no matter how bright he was. Not to mention working the espresso machine, something that had troubled you greatly—working with you he’d be okay, but if he ever was to open by himself... Suffice to say, you’d have your hands full for a bit.

Around lunch time, you made him his signature smoothie as a reward. Felix perked up at it, putting the straw between his lips, and chugging the entire thing.

“You’re the best,” he said, watching you prepare some pick up orders, back turned to the door.

“Eh… I’ve just worked here for too long,�� you replied, simply, looking up when the little bell signaled a new customer.

“I got it! Hello, how—Hyun!”

Fuck. You put the Frappuccino’s in the cooler, filling plastic cups with ice. Anything to distract you.

“My two favorite people working together, huh?”

Felix laughed, leaning across the counter to greet his friend. You couldn’t help it, then, you caved.

Hyunjin was standing tall, and handsome, in his workshop overalls, paint all over them, a white t-shirt underneath, hair away from his face, in a half bun.

You nearly gave in. No person should be allowed to look that effortlessly good, especially when that person was supposed to be the enemy.

But why? Why did he have to be? Sure, he had a big ego, and rattled your nerves incessantly, but—that surely wasn’t reason enough?

You realized then, there was no justifiable cause for your hatred towards him. You just convinced yourself to dislike him, shoving him in a box and keeping him there, just cause of a smart comment he’d made when he first met you.

That was years ago.

Your heart told you it wouldn’t be for long. You can only deny the truth for so long.

Fuck.

iv. 18:10pm

Locking the shop, you threw the keys in your bag, turning to walk to the bus station.

You would’ve done exactly so, if you hadn’t noticed Hyunjin sitting on the stairs outside his school, cigarette in hand, sketching away. Normally, you’d leave him to it—many evenings he sat there, in his own world.

But today, he looked upset.

It’s none of my business—

But what if he needs someone?

Felix had classes, where is he at?

Sighing, you clenched your bag closer to your body, and crossed the street. You closed the distance between you, careful not to scare him, and even then you second guessed yourself.

You weren’t entirely sure why you felt responsible to fix his mood. But Hyunjin was rarely so visibly distressed, in all the time you knew him. He’d fake anger, sure, when he kicked male customers out with his snarky comments, and mean looks, but you’d never seen him this closed up.

You silently sat down next to him, peaking at his sketchbook. He was outlining the wings of a very intricate butterfly, tobacco ashes smudging the page.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he murmured, not once lifting his head.

“Hey…” you trailed off, not really knowing what to say. “What are you doing?”

He brought the cigarette to his lips, hair sheltering his face. His pencil continued its way to the main body of the butterfly, slightly shading the edges of the wings.

“Making a gift.”

A gift? You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “It looks pretty.”

He exhaled through his nose, smoke coming out of his nostrils. Then, he finally tilted his head towards you, face supported by his hand.

Your mouth opened, and closed. Hyunjin was sad—the kind that withered flowers, brought clouds, and caused rain.

You did not like seeing him like this, at all. You’d much prefer the cocky boy that was obsessed with bitter coffee, if that meant he got to keep smiling.

Perhaps, you cared about Hwang Hyunjin more than you let on. Perhaps, that terrified you.

“Why are you here, angel? Thought you hated me,” he said, putting the cigarette butt out.

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

He stared at you, unblinking, and then moved ever so slightly, ever so slowly—

He kissed you.

And it was many things, but his lips tasted like smoke and mint, his lips were soft and plumb against yours—he kissed you like he didn’t mean to, but couldn’t help himself, guarded and yet entirely at your mercy.

You kissed back. And you understood, then—you’ve always loved him.

Always dreaded him.

It very much felt like hate.

His hands cupped your cheeks, softly caressing the skin with his thumbs, his hair tickling you, his breath mixing with your own. You fall, and fall, fall fall fall, leaning deeper into the kiss, into him, and he lets you, guides you, opens the door greeting you warmly—

This is what I’ve been feeling for you. This is what I feel, and for the longest time I thought you felt nothing.

You pulled back, getting up suddenly. Losing your footing, you almost collapse on top of him, but he holds you up by your arm. You’re panting, denying, denying, denying, scared, fucking shaking, because—

What if you lost him? What if it ended? You’d build your walls up, keeping him out for this exact reason.

No one gets over someone like Hwang Hyunjin.

You had caved in, and you had lost already.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you told him, overwhelmed, panicking.

He looked at you from his place at the stairs, unmoving, quiet.

“You shouldn’t have—you—I,” you took a deep breath, willing your thoughts to make sense, “I hate you, I—I’m sorry, I just wanted to see if you’re alright.”

Hyunjin took his time closing his sketchbook, while you stumbled over your words. He took out his lighter, lighting what would be the last cigarette of his pack, taking a long drag of it, meanwhile never taking his eyes off of your embarrassed figure.

You were blushing profusely, looking at anything but him.

“I’m alright, sweetheart,” he finally replied. “Are you?”

You had to leave. “I’m sorry, I can’t—”

Hyunjin watched you go in a hurry. And even though, you freaked out and ran away from him, the fact that you kissed back made all the difference.

v. 08:35am

The next day, Felix opened with you, so he could begin to learn the routine of the morning shift.

Hyunjin didn’t come in, as he usually did on a Thursday. If Felix knew something, he didn’t say, instead focusing on grinding coffee beans, merrily humming to the song that played low throughout the shop.

After a rush—students getting their caffeine fix before classes started—it was just you and Felix again, wiping surfaces, and cutting cake slices for the display.

You had to ask. You had to ask, because it was killing you. You didn’t sleep a wink, instead running through the events of the stairs. You could still feel Hyunjin on your lips, even after washing your face, even when hours passed, and you lay wide awake on your twin sized bed, praying he would seep through your skin, at last, so you wouldn’t feel the ghost of him remaining.

“I have a question.” You braced for impact, thinking this would definitely get back to Hyunjin.

Felix threw an irresistible smile at you, waiting. “Shoot!”

You chewed on your lip, before breathing deeply. “I saw Hyunjin yesterday, by the stairs… Is—is he okay? He looked sad.”

Felix pursed his lips, and took a sip of his smoothie. “His mom’s one year death anniversary was yesterday.”

What? Oh my God. And you made it all about you, telling him you hated him, and disappearing on him after he took a risk kissing you!

You were a horrible person. If anything, you were the self absorbed one—you’d never asked, never cared—if he was okay, if he was having a good day. Yet, he always did.

In his own way. But he did, nonetheless.

“He never told you?”

You shook your head.

“I’m guessing he didn’t want you to pity him. He really likes you, you know.”

To that, you nodded, shamefully. “I do, too.”

Felix raised his eyebrows, smirking. “About damn time, no?”

“Now how about you tell him that?”

vi. 19:47pm

On Saturday, Hyunjin showed up just as you were about to close.

Dressed in jeans, and a band tee, hair wet falling across his forehead, he waited patiently by the door, while you gathered your stuff, lollipop hanging from his mouth.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly, as you moved past him.

Shop closed for the day, you two walked side by side, in comfortable silence. The sky was a thousand colors, and the weather was warm—life didn’t feel real, with him by you, like this.

“What’s with the lollipop?” You asked, trying hard not to look at him directly.

It was unfair to look that good sucking on candy.

“I quit smoking.”

‘I’d do it. For you.’

After everything, you couldn’t bring yourself to act as you did before, around him. It had seemed forever ago that your feelings for him were hostile.

You were incredibly ashamed of how you’d treated him. Everyone’s fighting a silent war, used to be something you’d tell yourself everyday, going through high school, but there you were, not giving the time of day to a guy that, if you were being totally honest, protected you from weirdo’s on the daily.

Challenged you, made your days interesting just by lightly teasing you. He never crossed a line, never insulted you.

“What’s that you got there?” He asked you, changing the subject, looking at the bag you were carrying.

You looked at it, too, remembering it was there. “Oh! Strawberry cake. It came fresh today, and I wanted to try it.”

You both looked up at the same time, eyes locking.

“Angel…” he seemed in a trance, time stopping.

Angel. Before, you’d roll your eyes, call bullshit. Today, where you stood, that word coming from his lips was heavenly.

You wished for nothing more but to hear him say it again.

Hyunjin cursed, arm reaching out to get your hand in his.

“We need to talk. Can I take you to my studio, sweetheart?”

Too caught up in his beauty to form words, you nodded, stupidly.

He smiled at you. A real, genuine smile. All for you.

vii. 20:05pm

His studio was utterly and uniquely him.

One huge room, half of it dedicated to art, filled with half finished canvases, and art supplies, backdrops hanging from the ceiling, projects piling on a desk on the far end of the window wall with the stained glass.

The other half a normal kitchen and living room, the two separated by a table counter. The mess appeared almost purposeful. The apartment wasn’t dirty, it was just—

The mind of an artist. Chaos.

“Amused by my inability to clean?” He joked, studying you taking in his space.

You scrunched your face, biting your lip. “It’s not that. This…makes sense.”

He chuckled, leading you by the hand to his couch.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He brought spoons, and the two of dug into the cake, the fresh, ripe strawberries melting in your mouth. You moaned, excited to be eating something sweet after a long day at work.

Sharing cake with Hyunjin, at his house of all places. This was something out of your wildest dreams, and yet, it all felt a little too normal.

After all, this is a guy you’ve been seeing almost every single day for the past two years of your life. You’ve served him countless coffees, watched him sketch for hours—he’d even walked you to the bus station one time, worried a creep that had been flirting with you a little too aggressively, would try something.

In the moment, you never really realized, but in retrospect, you and Hyunjin had been together a lot.

Never this close, though. And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel different, this time, more personal.

You were sure your feelings were painted on your face, and surprisingly, you didn’t particularly care. You wanted it to happen. You didn’t want to keep hiding behind your finger, anymore.

“I owe you an apology. I’ve been nothing but a bitch to you.”

Hyunjin shook his head. “Don’t say that about yourself, angel. I came on too hard, and freaked you out.”

You turned to face him completely. He looked so calm, so content. How had you never seen it before?

Why had you been so adamant on pushing him away?

“No. I was still wrong. Let me do this—”

“(Y/N), please—”

“Hyunjin!” You sighed, exasperated. “This is why we fight. Because you’re so hardheaded!”

He laughed, then, hands reaching out to grab your face. You froze, astute.

“We don’t fight, angel. We bicker. I love bickering with you.”

His mouth attacked yours, pushing you down on the couch. Your back hitting the pillows, you circled your arms around his neck, hands caressing the nape of it.

It was like a fire lit between you, engulfing you both in its flames. Your whole chest was burning with the need to feel him closer, to touch him.

“Angel,” he whispered against your lips. Your eyelashes fluttered, the desire to kiss him again too strong.

“Tell me. Before I continue, tell me,” he pushed the hair out of of your face, lovingly, eyes gazing deep into yours, “if you feel the same. I’ve been hooked on you, sweetheart. Ever since I met you.”

You were about to tell him the scariest three words you’ve ever said—but he had to know. It was overdue, it was necessary he knew.

You touched his cheek, leaving a kiss on the edge of his mouth. He followed your movements like his life depended on them—on you.

“I love you,” you whispered.

The way his eyes lit up, that rare, addictive warmth of his that you’ve only witnessed a handful of times—you would never get enough of his happiness. It was such a whole experience, so very precious.

“Took you fucking long enough, my sweet girl.” He picked you up, wrapping his arms around you in the most delicious way, bringing you on his lap.

You could feel every inch of him—your hunger grew ferocious.

His eyes scanned your face, silently asking for consent, his hands at the hem of your shirt. You kissed him, instead, guiding his hands underneath.

He wasted no time getting you both naked, unhooking your bra, his tongue trailing down from your mouth to your breasts, fingers toying with your nipples.

“Fuck, angel, you’ve no idea how many times I’ve thought about this...”

His other hand moved down, unzipping your jeans, getting lost in your thighs. When he cupped your cunt, you were soaked.

“Goddamn, (Y/N),” his mouth devoured yours, crazy with want, cock painfully hard.

Pausing to remove your pants, you straddled him once again, running your hands over his firm arms, mouth moving to his neck, sucking on it. He groaned, his fingers finding your wetness, rubbing slow circles on your clit.

“Fuck… Hyunjin…”

“Tell me what you need,” he pressed his forehead against yours, your scents becoming one.

You, you, you, everywhere, always—

You moved against his fingers, rubbing yourself on him. The idea of you, doing this with him. It was absurd.

Nothing had felt more right.

All of your senses were wide awake, so entirely consumed by him, and his hands, his breath, his clean scent, the sweat forming, the way his hair fell in his eyes—

His eyes. The way they stared you down, feral, growing darker by the minute. The sounds that escaped your mouth were sinful, and he could absolutely not fucking take it anymore, he’s waited long enough, has wished for this, for you, in any way he could have you, take you, make you his.

His moans were a guttural sound, coming from the back of his throat. You put your hands on his chest, feeling the vibration of them, moving upwards, fingers wrapping around his neck, his head falling back.

He was the angel. He looked unreal, his naked body clenching, his movements never faulting, carrying you through an intense orgasm.

There were no words to describe—all of the buried emotions you refused to accept, they were all bubbling up, spilling out of you, destroying you, and Hyunjin was picking up the pieces.

“I need to be inside you, angel. Please.” Never breaking eye contact, he flipped you, positioning you underneath him, while he stood, one knee between your legs, arm extended over you, holding the back of the couch.

He stayed like that for a moment, just drinking you in, sprawled out, in his house, ready for him. He thanked whatever God granted him such joy, for he had dreamed of this many times.

You, wanting him back. His coffee girl embracing him, trusting him.

The moment he entered you, you both clang to one another, the feeling of his stretching you alone, overwhelming. His mouth against your ear, his heavy breathing scorching. You dug your nails in his back, moving with him.

“Fuck, (Y/N)…” His thrusts were slow, savoring, learning the ways you responded to him.

“Please, Hyunjin, please…”

Hyunjin watched you come apart, your broken moans music to his ears, a melody he’d like to memorize by heart. The way your body synchronized with his, your open mouth, head thrown back, unraveling before him—

“My beautiful girl…never leaving you—never allowed to leave me.”

A symphony. Heaven.

You made love like that, time no longer a concept, exploring each other, until you both came undone, shuddering, breathless, tightly enveloping.

A kiss on your forehead, and a silent question.

Will you stay?

You did; you stayed. You and Hyunjin talked till the early hours of the next morning, hands clasped together, hearts whispering, connected.

I found you.

I’m with you, now.

viii. 05:04am

“I’m sorry about your mom,” you mumbled against his chest, half asleep.

He froze, momentarily, a deep sigh escaping his red lips, fingers drawing circles on your naked back.

“She had to go,” he replied quietly. “That’s what she told me. The cancer was eating her alive.”

Your head rose to meet his eyes, your chest heavy. He looked calm, if not a little tired. He gave you a soft smile, his eyes forming crescent moons, promising you he was okay.

“It was just me and her, but I guess that’s why she introduced me to painting. So I wouldn’t be alone.”

“She liked butterflies.”

You laid back down, burying your face in the crook of his neck, in fear of him noticing the tears in your eyes. He felt them, anyway.

You would never forgive yourself for telling him you hated him. You never did. Hate him.

You hated the way he made you feel.

You would never be able to get over Hwang Hyunjin.

That was fine with you, as long as you got to love him, first.

[agumadufavourc]

SURREALISM

Few years ago around 2015/2016, a friend of mine who’s name is Okwara Michael told me about a kind of painting named surrealism. I haven’t heard about the name before but I had an idea of what it was. To me, surrealism was a painting or drawing that contained an illusion of two painting or hidden images or symbols that sends deep and hidden messages to the viewer. In the quest to understand it more because I wanted to venture into it, I started making research. I really found it fascinating because of what it could do to it’s audience, the way they get lost in deep thoughts and are mesmerised by it.

A surreal painting by Salvador Dali

The persistence of memory, 1931

Surrealism has to do with the liberation of the unconscious in language, expression and breaking the boundaries of being rational in individual thoughts (Jon Mann 2016). (Tate 2011) It balances a rational vision of life with one that asserts the power of the unconscious and dreams. To me, surrealism is also putting two unlike ideas together to pass a message or give a deeper thought to your audience like Salvador Dali’s “Lobster Telephone” in 1938.

Salvador Dali. “Lobster Telephone” 1938

After making my research, I decided to explore this style or movement of art that escalated in the 1920s. One of the first artworks I did was a drawing titled “gods in isolation”. It first started with a female model posing in front of me during classes. I made a sketch of her but the drawing was looking still and not engaging at all. I decided to strengthen the background with a landscape making the image enlarged like a colossus. I covered her face with a cloud giving the audience an illusion that her face it’s actually in the cloud. I made research back then trying to know the movement of ships the sea. Then I added a ship. The outcome was really lovely. I decided to give it my own interpretation. At that phase of my life was a stage I knew to be self discovery. It was a period of time that I began to understand life, how maturity and self searching can make you outstanding among your equals and make little minded people who don’t buy into your dreams or understand you leave you. I left it to be a female figure because women most times are the gender that experience the most changes in their body and are really sensitive. The drawing was done in 2016.

Agumadu Favour C. “gods in isolation”. ©2016

Graphite on paper.

I started exploring more into these type of artworks and produced paintings and drawings like this. I tried it with various mediums including oil on canvas, charcoal graphite and pastel on canvas. My intentions in my exploration was to get my audience mesmerised, get lost in thoughts and give them my message in the process. Most times, I kept my focal point in the centre, then around the work were supporting images to buttress my point. Colour was quite important in my early exploration but I had a weak point with oil medium. I’m usually someone detailed so the process of waiting for a particular side of my painting to dry before adding another layer was frustrating. Sometimes if I tried to just run them simultaneously, it wouldn’t give me my expected result and I would frustrate me. So sometimes, I usually get the painting the way I want it but not exactly the way I needed it to be. One of the surreal paintings I did in my exploration was titled “the seed of the heart”. It was a painting executed with oil on canvas. A 3feet × 4feet painting. It was represented with the human internal organ of a heart that had a tree growing in it. It simply means that one can allow certain behaviours grow with himself and once it grows to a certain stage and bears root, it can’t be removed. These behaviours can be good or bad. In my explanation of the work to the audience, I encouraged them to make it a good behaviour that grows within. I remember meeting some of my neighbours for their anatomy textbooks to actually study what the heart looks like and how it’s usually positioned.

The Seed Of the heart

Oil on canvas

©2019

Another artwork I did in surreal was titled “Sacrifice Of Christ”. It was an artwork done with graphite pencils, pastel and charcoal on chipboard. The work took me actually some years to develope. I got the

inspiration of the artwork after watching a marvel movie titled “Avengers: infinity war”. In the movie, a particular character named Thanos destroyed half of all life with a snap of the finger. I made research to know the meaning of “Thanos”. It was then I realised it means death. Being one very religious and a scholar, I decided to make an artwork and represented Thanos as “judgement” passed on mankind but Christ swiped in to take the place of mankind. Which explains the bible passage “Romans 6:23 For the wages of sin is death”.

Sacrifice of Christ Graphite, pastel and charcoal on chipboard.

©2021

Despite having all these surreal artworks, I wasn’t getting the kind of audience I needed. I thought probably if I get it out on exhibitions, it would pull of not just the deep attention but the financial reward too. I went for two exhibitions yet, i didn’t get the results I expected. I was really disappointed and demoralised. I was at my breaking point when I decided to further my studies at University of Hertfordshire. There I understood that I had been trapped in the 20th Century Surreal type of painting. I have been ignoring my contemporary and was left far behind. In the process of my study and trying to transcend, I came across a British professional fine artist named Michael Armitage who paints on Lubugo bark cloth (a material of Ugandan origin. His paintings are based on historical and current events, events from his birth country Kenya and internet gossip (White Cube 2022). In studying his paintings, apart from the materials he used his mode of execution with colour was not straight forward. He symbolises ideas with colour and partly images. Setimes he allows his colours to run. The details are very low suggesting a kind of abstraction yet surreal in nature. Seeing some of his works gave me a glimpse of hope to go deeper into surreal but with what my contemporaries are working with.

Michael Armitage with one of his paintings

RREFERENCE

Sarah Dotson. (2020) “Understanding the persistence of memory,” Salvador Dali’s surrealist masterpiece.

Url: https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-understanding-the-persistence-memory-salvador-dalis-surrealist-masterpiece

(Date last accessed: 15th October, 2022)

Jon Mann (2016). “How the surrealism movement shaped the course of art history,”

Url:https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-what-is-surrealismthe

(Date last accessed: 16th October, 2022)

Tate Modern. (2011) “Miró: The Ladder of Escape; past Tate Modern exhibition”

Url: https://www.tate.org.uk/art/art-terms/s/surrealism

(Date last accessed: 16th October, 2022)

White Cube. (2022)”Gallery Exhibition”

Url: https://whitecube.com/artists/artist/michael_armitage

(Date last accessed: 17th October, 2022)

[novstie]

The gays..

Anyway

* fades away *

[yeojaa]

( SWEET MAGNOLIAS. )

He was your unlikely muse;  you were the weird girl in the park.  Could you make it any more obvious?

pairing.  myg x named f!reader.  s2l.

genre + rating.   college!au.  fluff, angst, smut.  explicit. 

tags / warnings.  light cussing, yoongi being rightfully weirded out, a whole lotta softness, sadness if you squint at the right times, body painting, and then, of course, the most tender, dumbest lovemaking (unprotected but don’t be silly like them!).  there’s also a really bad callback to the titanic.  i’m not sorry.  lol.

wc.  8.2k

You try not to stare for too long, sweeping your gaze in wide circles so as to be as inconspicuous as possible.  You try not to let your eyes linger, follow the contours of his cheeks - soft, pronounced when he smiles - or the shape of his mouth - delicate, petal pink.  You try not to make it weird - but it’s decidedly, very weird.

You just can’t help yourself.

He’s always here around this time, laid out on a worn red blanket.  Sometimes, he reads.  Books like The Alchemist and the Stranger and once, Dante’s Inferno.  Other times, he pops a pair of headphones on - oversized, intimidatingly large over his ears - and closes his eyes.  Most rare of all, is when he’s not alone, joined at the hip by at least one other boy and on occasion, an entire group of six.  

They’re all interesting in their own ways.  

There’s one with shoulders the size of boulders, a mountain range situated beneath his shirts.  He has a weird laugh that sounds like windshield wipers and your mother’s spring cleaning routine.  He yells a lot and even across the lawn, you can sometimes make out his voice.

There’s the tallest one, with kind eyes and dimples so deep you question if there’s treasure buried in them.  He reads a lot, too.  You’ve seen him in the library more times than you can count, always dutifully tucked away in a back corner surrounded by scattered looseleaf.  Despite the course load he seems to have taken on, you’ve never seen him lose his cool.  You have seen him lose his phone, though, and pencils and textbooks and AirPods. 

There’s Hoseok, whose name you only know because he held your hair once at a fall sorority party.  You hadn’t been drinking but somehow, somehow, your roommate had convinced you to apple bob with her.  He’d been gracious enough to help you out, fisting your hair in a gentle grip.  It’s what spurred you to now always have an elastic on your wrist.

There’s the dancer.  He’s slight and even in stillness, far more graceful than you’ll ever be.  He’s got pillowy lips and hair that gleams like silk.  You’ve sketched him too, once or twice, but never more.  It just didn’t feel right - as if you’d never be able to translate that sort of beauty onto paper.  

There’s the one from your Art 340 Drawing II class.  You’ve wondered, on more than one occasion, how come he isn’t the model.  He’s got perfect proportions - defined jaw, strong nose, cheekbones carved from marble.  It’s almost off-putting seeing him in person;  it feels far more fitting for him to be displayed in a museum, with a plaque that reads Perfection, Mixed Media.

There’s the youngest one, Jungkook.  They call him maknae despite the fact that he dwarfs nearly all of them.  Maybe it’s just the clothes he wears:  boots that look like they’d break your neck and everything in slightly darker shades of black.  You run into him at least four times a week - trading greetings at the campus coffee shop and at the library.  You’re practically best pals by college standards. 

And then, of course, there’s him.  Your muse.  The one you can’t help but stare at - even when you’re trying your hardest not to.  The one who wears glasses though you’re almost certain he doesn’t need them.  The one whose smile is more gums than teeth, who looks unassuming and yet often breaks out into the strangest, most inspired dance moves you’ve ever seen.  The one who plays recreational basketball on Tuesday nights and who drinks more coffee than you think should be humanly possible. 

Min Yoongi.  

You sketch him like you’ll never see him again, dragging charcoal strokes across paper until your hand is muddied and the curve of his ear is looking worse for wear.  You repeat lines over and over, turning the mop of his hair into ringlets and waves, weaving dimension through the india ink that spills over his eyes.  You sometimes add his glasses;  you’re quite fond of the look on him.

You paint him sometimes, too, imagining how he’d look with periwinkle blue hair, or maybe dressed in shades of maroon.  You swath him in textured fabrics and lovely watercolours, turning him into a fantasy that’ll never see the light of day.  Pretty little daydreams with him fixed at the centre.

You fill your pages with his figure, the way he smiles when Hoseok does something silly or how he joins in when Jungkook laughs.  You study every bit and piece, learning him in every admiring way you can - despite the fact that you don’t really know him at all. 

It’s a staggering lesson in futility but one you take almost daily, armed with pencil and paper and not a single ounce of common sense. 

That is, until you’ve done the stupidest thing imaginable.  

No, not getting caught.  Not in the traditional sense, at least.  He hasn’t realised you sit on your bench - yes, your bench, with the sticky metal arm rest and illegible initials scratched into the back - and watch him almost every day.  You thank your lucky stars for that.

What you’ve done is much worse - punishable by death by embarrassment. 

You have no fucking clue where your sketchbook is. 

You could’ve sworn you had it in your bag when you’d returned to your room last night.  You can’t imagine you would’ve left it anywhere in the open, orphaning it on a campus full of idiots.  You were always so careful.  You don’t just lose things.

“I think it’s gone, girl.”  You’ve never wanted to yell at your roommate more - not even when you’d caught her and her boyfriend banging in your bed after you’d come home early on the long weekend or when she’d eaten all of your Cherry Garcia ice cream.  The desire bubbles about in your chest, fizzing angrily like an agitated soda bottle.  

“It’s here somewhere.”  The words grit between your teeth, insistent as can be.

“You’ve been looking for like, twenty minutes.”  

“It’s here.”

“I really don’t think it is…”  Jisoo doesn’t quite deserve how you explode, rounding on her with hands flying and eyes wild.  “You’re also going to be late for your class.”

Your words falter with the verbalisation of hers. 

Lucky for her;  unlucky for you. 

The hands of the clock above your desk wave at you mockingly.  You are, indeed, going to be late for your class.

“Shit!  Shit!”  Everything you’d torn out gets shoved back into your tote bag.  Band-Aids, mints, too many wayward pencils and pens.  You almost forget your phone, attention only drawn to it when Jisoo catches the strap of your backpack and yanks you back.  

“Don’t forget,”  she hums, far more kindly than your harebrained self deserves.

You forget all the reasons you’re upset with her.  “Thanks, Ji.”  You force a kiss on her cheek before you’re darting out of your room and sprinting across campus to Art 340.

“Nice of you to join us, Miru.”  It’s your professor greeting you as you run in fifteen minutes late, weaving through other students to find your seat near the far wall.  Laughter follows you, coiling around your ankles and over your shoulders as you settle into your seat, fully hidden behind the oversized easel.  

You can’t help the scarlet that paints your cheeks, creeping high across your temples.  You know no one cares - that Professor Kinsella is probably the most laidback professor you’ve had in your four semesters - but it can’t be stopped.  You’re already flustered from temporarily misplacing your sketchbook that everything else just feels like shit icing on your garbage cake.

“Sorry!”  It squeaks out - a mouse, eaten up wholly by cat-ate-the-canary laughter that sounds over your shoulder and not very quietly.

“Having a bad day?”

You’ve heard the voice a handful of times so it shouldn’t shock you the way it does, nearly knocking the graphite from your hand.  

“What?”

Kim Taehyung’s on the edge of his chair, one long leg stretched toward you, the other balanced across his knee.  You’re not sure how that’s meant to be comfortable but he makes it look effortless.  Then again, looking like him, living probably was effortlessly.  You can’t deny you’re a little envious. 

“Your face is all red.  You’re out of breath.  Feels like a bad day to me.”

You try not to dwell on the fact that, apparently, you look like an absolute mess.  “No, I’m good.”  It sounds fake even to your ears, tinny and wrought with anxiety.  

“You sure?”  He’s not really paying attention to you as he speaks, tracing the contours of the model across his canvas.  He begins where you’d never think to, framing the main masses with a languid twist of his wrist.  Unlike you, he doesn’t get caught up in the detail;  he sees the bigger picture for all it is, building from the outside in.   

You’re watching him for longer than you realise, whipping back around once it dawns on you.  “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“Who knows.”  There’s a playfulness in his tone that sets you on edge.  You’ve never heard it before, all rounded vowels and molasses laughter.  You mean to work as you listen, waiting for some indication of whatever lies just beneath the surface.

It’s a mistake.  Your stick of charcoal snaps in half when he continues, low and slow as if he’s dragging it out.

“—maybe you lost a sketchbook?” 

“Did you say…”  You can’t finish the sentence.  You feel like you’re about to be sick.  

The amount of mischief in his expression should be illegal.  It’s dancing in his eyes, curling wide and unabashed over his lips.  It’s practically radiating off of him.

“So, bad day?”  

He waits for you to pack up, hands tucked into the endless pockets of his black slacks.  At any other time, in any other universe, you’d be giddy.  Girls on campus would kill for even a second of Taehyung’s attention.  

(It’s true - you’d heard a group of them talking about it one time.)  

Here and now, you want to sink six feet under.

“They’re really good, you know.”  As if the compliment will dull the mortification that threatens to cleave you in half.  “You’re really good at capturing his boredom.  That’s not easy.”

“Thanks.”  You should make conversation;  it’s the polite thing to do.  

After all, he was kind enough to find and return your sketchbook.  Better him than someone else, right?  Better him than Yoongi himself?  That’s what you tell yourself, at least.  

Yoongi doesn’t know and therefore, it’s okay.  Semi okay.  Distantly related to the idea of okay.

As if he can read your mind, Taehyung speaks gently, with a hand that burns through the linen of your blouse.  You know he means well but it sears white hot, eviscerating your nerve endings.  “You have nothing to worry about.  I didn’t tell him.”

You don’t answer him.  There’s nothing to say - not really.  You’re far too lost in your own thoughts to acknowledge the effort he’s making.  Maybe this was life’s way of telling you to back off - to find another person to paint.  

Or maybe it’s brought you two together, says the silly, naive angel on your shoulder.

You’re ready to flick her off - launch her like some kind of poor Tinkerbell - when your name catches your attention.  It’s announced so dramatically that you double take, making sure you haven’t completely run through a picnic or accidentally slammed into someone. 

“This is Miru.” 

Cognisance comes slow and unhurried, even as your stare swivels wildly in search of context clues. 

Laid out before you, right under that familiar magnolia tree, is one blanket, three bodies, and enough takeout to last you an entire week.  

“Ohf, phey!”  With cheeks stuffed full, it’s hard to make out the two syllables.  They crowd against each other, offered in a garbled mess that has you regarding Jungkook with a mixture of concern and confusion.  He’s swallowing thickly before he rises far too quickly;  you watch a forgotten piece of kimbap go flying, lost to the dirt and bugs.  “Sorry.  Hi.”  

“Do you want to join us?”  It’s the angelic one, fitted with cherubic cheeks and a rounded Cupid’s bow.  “I’m Jimin, by the way.”  He pats the empty space beside him, eyes waning into crescents with the force of his friendliness.

Taehyung had asked if you wanted to grab dinner but you’d never imagined he meant this. 

You’ve never been subtle but you try your damnedest to peek at him from your periphery.  Unfortunately for you, he’s already sat down, fully made himself comfortable beside the last member of the group.

The one who, for all intents and purposes, appears as if he’d rather be anywhere but here.  If looks could kill, you think.  

“Don’t worry about him,”  Jimin says, so sweetly, with a small bento lid held towards you.  It’s already stacked with goodies - a selection of banchan and homemade-looking meatballs sitting alongside a poorly-shaped mound of rice.  “Sometimes, he gets like this.”  

You want to believe it.  Really, you do, but by the way Yoongi’s mouth curls in distaste, all signs point to it being a matter of you rather than a mood.

“Maybe if she respected peoples’ privacy, I wouldn’t have an issue.”

It’s a single sentence quietly spoken and yet it feels like an open-palm slap to the face.  Heat radiates over every visible inch, starkly coloured in contrast to the white of your top.  It burns as it licks over your cheeks and past your temples, tipping your ears. 

“I’m so sorry.”  It isn’t clear who you’re apologizing to, the words tumbling wet off your tongue like a waterfall.  

You’re gone before anyone can ask.

“That was a dick move.”  Jungkook is the first to break the silence, levelling his friend with a disapproving stare.  He’s not used to this side of him - the one that can tear a person apart with just a few words.  It’s not the Yoongi he knows.  It’s not really Yoongi at all.

“Yeah, hyung.”  It’s thinner, but just as reproachful.  “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

Yoongi’s laugh is dismissive but he won’t meet anyone’s stare - a tell-tale sign that he’s just a little affected by their words - choosing instead to shovel bites of soondae into his mouth.  “Mean what?  Invading my privacy?”

“She’s an artist.”  Taehyung doesn’t mean it as an excuse but by how Yoongi bristles, he’s certain the senior takes it as such.  Before the argument can begin, he continues, all while wrapping a piece of samgyupsal in lettuce.  “I doubt she meant any harm, so just cut her some slack.”  Fringe is flicked away from his eyes, something sparkling in the pretty brown of his irises.  “I’d actually be flattered, if I were you.”

“Then you be her model.”

You haven’t drawn in four days.  Well, not really.  

You’ve completed what you need for classes, filling your books with mandatory figures and notes on colour theory.  You’ve diligently mapped out proportions and brought to life sunsets and sceneries.  You’ve done everything you should be doing but nothing that you want to be.

It just doesn’t feel right.  Not anymore.

“I hear he’s a really nice guy.”  You can’t count how many times Jisoo has tried to cheer you up.  From picking up your favourite ice cream (the one she tends to devour anyway) to ordering in fried chicken, she’s been the picture perfect roommate.  It only makes you feel that much worse.

You were moping over something that was your fault.  And she had to pick up the pieces!  It seemed wildly unfair but when you’d told her to stop - insisted upon it with a wail into your pillow - she’d simply shook her head and wrapped you in her arms.  

For all of your stupid, silly little rows, Kang Jisoo was the best roommate you’d had in your entire university career.

“Just go outside.”  She��s perched on the edge of her bed, painting her toes a brilliant shade of neon green.  She’d offered to do yours too, but you’ve more or less refused to leave the comfort of your burrito blanket for anything beyond classes or food.  “You can’t avoid him forever.”  

“I can try,”  you mumble, words lost to the cotton of your sheets.  

Try - and fail, it seemed.  You’d already run into him twice.  Twice!  Even after you’d started taking absurdly long roundabout routes to your classes, the universe had conspired against you.  

The first time he’d been walking out of the gym, shoulder to shoulder with another upperclassmen you didn’t recognize.  You’d seen him coming from a mile away thanks to his obnoxiously bright Lakers jersey and you’d booked it back the way you’d come, nearly mowing down a couple making kissy faces at each other in front of the lecture hall.  

The second time was yesterday afternoon.  You’d thought he’d be in his usual spot - so close to your usual spot - that you’d gone to the coffee shop for a midday pick-me-up.  Even embarrassed, you weren’t about to suffer a caffeine deficiency.  You’d rounded the corner in the same instance he had and you’d sworn he’d seen you, recognition flickering across his face.  Fortunately, there’d been a door directly to your right and you’d all but thrown yourself inside.

It was the first and hopefully last time you’d be in a men’s washroom.

“I thought you were tougher than this,”  Jisoo hums, equal parts disapproval and kindness.  She levels you with a stare - you can feel it burning into your fortress of blankets - and sighs.  It’s a bit dramatic, you think.  

“Tell me you wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing!”

Then again, she’d probably never be stupid enough to lose something so important nor would she fixate so heavily on one person.  Your point still stands.

“Seriously, girl.”  

Her nail polish bottle bounces off your bed, tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump.  You look up in time to see her staring at you imploringly, so wide-eyed and innocent you can’t help but be a little suspicious.  “What?”

“I wanted to have Andy over.” 

It all falls into place then.  Her boyfriend’s in a frat and your (poor) dorm room is the only place they have any sort of privacy.  It makes you want to gag but you can’t blame her.  You’ve always had an unspoken agreement;  you’d just tossed it out the window the past few days. 

Guilt prompts you to extract yourself from your duvet, though you don’t stop the chorus of gross, gross, gross! as you begin gathering your things.  You almost leave your sketchbook, only opting to tuck it under your arm at the last minute.  

“Please, please, don’t use my bed this time.”

“We love you!”  She sing-songs as you tug your sneakers on and slip into the hallway.

You’re at a different bench across campus when you hear the voice.  It comes from behind you and to your left, accusatory and sharp.  You nearly jump out of your own skin, toppling over your water bottle and plastic paint palette. Orange watercolour soaks into the material on your thigh.  Dammit. 

“Are you following me?”

Min Yoongi stands not three feet from you, arms folded over his chest.  

Your heart stutters at the sight of him.  It’s hard to speak when it feels like it’s leapt into your throat.  

“What?”  You hate how you sound - a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.  You have nothing to be ashamed of.  At least, not right now.  You’d come all the way here, as far from the magnolia tree and red blanket as you could.  

“I said—”  His words are glacial and biting.  It’s suddenly winter, far chillier than spring should be.  You wish you’d brought a sweater or maybe, that the ground would open up and swallow you whole.  You can’t be cold when you’re dead.  “—are you following me?”

“Of course not!”  

There’s nothing but disbelief in his expression.  It paints itself in broad strokes, prominent in the shadows beneath his eyes and the curl of his mouth.  He says nothing.  

“Really.  I’m not.”  You’re insistent, apologetic.  Every nerve ending is shot, going haywire beneath your skin and lighting you up in shades of red.  The tips of your fingers are tingling.  “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”  You wonder if he’s baiting you now.  

“For…”   Words are cherry-picked and perfect, chosen with a shaking head and the utmost care.  “I shouldn’t have drawn you without asking.”

“No shit,”  he returns, completely deadpan.  He’s really not making this any easier.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,”  you continue, a little hopeful and a lot bashful.  “I just— I don’t get inspiration like this that often.  So I couldn’t let it go.”  You don’t need to add what you do, but you do so anyway, because you’ve never been great at making good choices.  “Your face is really unique and when you’re happy, it’s just so expressive and your smile is—”

There’s a siren blaring in your ears.  A red alert going off so loudly you almost miss the way he laughs.

It’s not the same one he offers to his best friends - far more reserved, exceedingly softer - but it’s there and it’s real and you don’t think you’ll ever forget this moment. 

“You’re laughing.”

He stops immediately.  Fair.

“I’m sorry.”  Again.  More.  Draped in apology and optimism that peeks out between your teeth and shines in the dark of your stare.  “Even though I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I did, and for that I’m sorry.  Really, really sorry.  Please don’t hate me.”

It’s hard to read him, even after you’ve spent hours studying his face.  There’s a distinct difference between seeing someone and knowing them, you realize.  You might be able to map out every wrinkle of his eyes - replicate every dot and freckle - but you have no idea what it all means or how it comes together to create something more. 

Silence fits between the two of you for what feels like a long time.  It’s not uncomfortable, though, so you allow it to settle.  You figure it’s better than his anger, in any case.  

“You could’ve just asked me.”

You can’t wipe the disbelief from your face.  “Would you have said yes?”

Yoongi shrugs, a small roll of his shoulders beneath the oversized sweater that dwarfs his frame.  “Don’t know, but I would’ve appreciated it.”  

Because that’s really what it came down to - the thought, not the action.  He’s not entirely sure you understand that yet but he’s willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.  Blame his softening on the steady repetitions Taehyung and Jungkook have made the past few days.  You were lucky to have them in your corner - even if that meant they’d been a thorn in his side.   

“Then… can I sketch you?”  You’re probably (read: definitely) pushing it.  You can’t help it. 

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or scoff at your audacity.  He decides on the former, with a shake of his head that swings his bangs across his forehead and a small, private smile.  “Maybe next time.” 

“Next time?”  You imagine he can’t hear you as he’s backing away and disappearing the way he came.

“See you tomorrow.”

True to his word, Yoongi lets you draw him the next time you see him (and the next time and the time after that). 

It’s different - working off someone who knows they’re being studied.  He holds himself a little more stiffly, a little more carefully.  His laughter isn’t quite as loud, his smiles more forced.  He apologises, even though he doesn’t need to.  

Even his untrained eye can see how you struggle to bring life to a robot. 

Over time, though, it comes - comfort. 

Like the quietly burning coals that melt him down from the inside out, he begins to warm up to you.  It comes slowly but it comes nonetheless, as steady as the sun.  You appreciate his effort - his patience - more than you can ever say.  

You know he gets it, though.  He always does.  It’s a Yoongi thing. 

“You can relax.” 

It’s just the two of you, swathed in sweat and waning light that casts shadows across his cheeks.  The days are longer than they’ve ever been and the both of you tend to lose track of time, spending hours under that magnolia tree. 

“I am relaxed,”  he returns, sinking further onto his back, elbows hardly acting to prop him up.  He’d been engrossed in a novel for the first half of the afternoon.  Another book you’d never bothered to read outside of high school English class.  You never really understood it - you much preferred to watch than read - but you loved when he’d recite the words to you, clear and bright and better than any melody.

“You’re trying to stay awake.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“No.  You’re just as good of a model when you’re sleeping.” 

The smile is lazy, hazy like Sunday morning.  It reveals his gums and ticks higher on the left side.  It makes your heart skip a beat.  

“Go ahead then,”  he continues.  The entirety of his body sags, drops onto the bag he likes to use as a makeshift pillow.  You don’t imagine it’s all that comfortable but he never complains.

“If you’re tired, we can just head in, you know.”  

You always offer.  He never says yes. 

A part of you thinks he likes the attention.  It’s different from what he receives from anyone else - thoughtful and careful.  You think he might like the quiet, too.  The benefit of quality time without any of the effort.  

So you push on, charcoal edge meeting paper once more.   “Just another twenty minutes.”

“Why me?”  

The enquiry comes one day, completely out of the blue.  It skips your heart and breaks the pastel in your fingers, dust chalking them a lovely shade of lilac.  

“What?”  You’re not ready for how close Yoongi is - much closer than he ever is - and you shift back, away from the face you’ve spent months filling your sketchbooks with.  “Why you what?”

He’s completely nonchalant as he moves even closer.  

You can smell his cologne - a distinctly masculine fragrance that’s musk and cedar - and the coffee he’s been nursing for the last hour.  It fills your senses, recentring all of your focus so intensely that you don’t immediately recognise he’s continued speaking.

“Why’d you choose to draw me?  Why not someone else?”  He seems genuinely curious, even though it feels dangerous - a dangling string that’s meant to unravel you.

The answer doesn’t come easily, despite the fact it’s something you’ve asked yourself.

Why him?  Why Min Yoongi?

“I don’t know,”  you answer, perhaps too honestly.  “I saw you and it sort of… just clicked.”  How it sounds doesn’t escape you - like something plucked out of a bad romance novel.  “I didn’t expect it to be you.  I thought I’d draw you once - okay, twice - and then I’d move onto another subject.  But I just… couldn’t?”  

“So, what you’re telling me is it was love at first sight?”  It’s glaringly obvious he’s teasing you.  He’s got that grin of his, sly and feline as it creeps across his mouth.  

You don’t bristle, instead painted bright red like the sunset that streaks across the sky.

“I— I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, you didn’t say otherwise.”

It’s an uncomfortable line of questioning.  You’re not used to it and certainly not from him.  You hesitate to speak, turning words over and over on your tongue in an effort to make yourself clear.  

You’re not weird.  You don’t want this to be weird.  But you can’t deny - it’s, decidedly, still very weird.

He tries again - a different tactic this time.  One that surprises you, despite the unique friendship you’ve forged over the past few months.  “What if I told you I was glad?” 

“Glad?”  It feels like an echo chamber.  Repetition.  As if you’re going in circles, chasing a tail that remains just out of reach.  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“What if I told you I’m happy we met?”  

Your blink is owlish, fully caught off-guard.  “I’d say the same thing.  I’m happy we’re friends.”

Amusement rolls off him in waves, evidenced by the laugh that curls into the afternoon.  He shimmies closer and closer until there’s barely three inches between you.  His knee knocks against yours, bony and denim-clad.  You try to ignore the way it burns through your own jeans, sparking heat all the way up to the tips of your ears and down into the soles of your feet.

“What if I told you I don’t want to be just friends anymore?”  

It’s not a surprise, really.  It’s something that’s been on your mind the past few weeks, sown by offhand comments and little gestures you haven’t been able to ignore.  Jungkook had even practically shouted it at you just the other night.

“I’d say…”  You trail off, lost somewhere among the constellations in his eyes.

“You’d say?”  The words are parroted back at you, threaded together by gossamer thin hope. 

“I’d say you’re welcome.  For choosing you.”  The confidence isn’t your own.  It comes from him, crafted by the support he offers easily, hands out like keys.  Keys to his heart, you realise belatedly, with a sudden bashfulness.  Of course.

He can’t wipe the smile from his face.  It eats up every inch, dominating even the playfulness that shines through, turning it the prettiest shade.  It stands bright against his cheeks, staining the pale apples red.  “That’s it?”  

“What do you want me to say?”

You’re suddenly very determined - because you want to give this to him.  Just as he’s given you everything you wanted, you want to do the same.  In this little cut-out piece of paradise, there’s nothing quite as important. 

The one word isn’t much but it feels like a turning point.  “Yes.”

“You want me to say ‘yes’?”

He nods, just once.  There’s so much certainty you can’t doubt him.

“Then yes—”  

It doesn’t matter what you’ve just said yes to.  It doesn’t even matter that it could be something awful or really, anything under the sun.  All that matters is the feeling of his lips, soft and warm and dry on yours.  It’s better than any painting you’ve ever seen, any song you’ve ever heard.  It fills you wholly, stuttering your heart and bubbling giddiness in the pit of your stomach.

You probably sound a little silly, surprisingly breathless from such a little thing.  “Wow.”

“Good things happen when you ask,”  he states, solemnly.  You’d take him more seriously if he weren’t so dopey, grinning at you like he never has before.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Nope.”

Luckily, you don’t mind.  Not if it gets you another kiss.  

You tell him as much and he happily obliges, stealing your breath and replacing it with sugar-coated stardust.  You ponder whether you might be able to create with those same particles, turning them into colourful streaks to paint his cheeks.  You’d like to find out.  

You want a lot of things with Min Yoongi, you decide. 

You don’t know how you ended up here.  

Actually, that’s a lie.  You do.  All because of a dumb joke, uttered in passing by Taehyung and now ingrained so deeply in your psyche that you haven’t gone a single day without thinking about it.

“Get out of there,”  he whispers right against your temple, lips following to soothe whatever’s got you preoccupied.  

“Where?”

“Right there, idiot.”  Fingers tap twice, a quick one-two against the side of your head.  

You can’t help but grimace, a wrinkling of your nose that your boyfriend chuckles at, pressing kisses across the bridge and over your cheeks.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry - just come back to me.”  To this moment, he means.

This strange little scene, with his fingers dressed in non-toxic paint and you stripped down to nothing but a flimsy cotton bra and thong.  

Have him paint you like one of his French girls, Taehyung had said.  It’ll be fun, he’d said.

You think it might be - if you weren’t bouncing with nerves, all five feet three inches of you fizzling with anticipation.  Yoongi was only painting you.  This was a bonding exercise.  Something to bring you closer, to breach the gap between lovestruck artist and inspired musician.  Nothing more.

“You’re beautiful, you know.”  It’s not meant to be a reassurance but simply a passing comment, like looking at the sky or seeing it snow.  So straightforward it makes you laugh, the sound bubbling about in your throat. 

“Thanks, Yoongi.”

“No, seriously.”  He levels you with a look.  You know the one - a touch stern but ultimately playful.  “I wanted to make something beautiful but…”  Digits wiggle, Atlantic blue sweeping over the tips and up his knuckles like the sea.  “I can’t really improve on something that’s already perfect.”

Your cheeks light on fire, as brilliantly coloured as the red in his - your - palette.  

He thinks it looks pretty against his hands.  The same ones that cradle your cheek, so precisely you want to remind him you’re a canvas and not clay.  

“You’re silly.”  

“ You’re silly,”  he returns, as if that’ll somehow win him this battle of wits.

 The roll of your eyes is undeniable.  “Good one.”

“You know, I’ve got a ton of paint, right?  Not your best choice, making fun of me.”  He punctuates each word with passes of his fingers.  Colour appears wherever he travels, dragged over your skin with dreamy twists of his wrist.  A line here, a circle there.  Goosebumps follow in their wake despite the fact that his touch is like candle wax - soothing and deliberate.

You wonder, idly, whether he can feel you burning up beneath him.

“So beautiful,”  he murmurs again, almost to himself as he dips his fingers into another dot of paint.  Pink this time - in the same shade as the magnolias outside.  He spreads the colour over your chest, right where your heart beats an erratic rhythm.  

He takes his time in admiring his handiwork, swirling the two shades together until it’s the most flattering shade of purple.

You try - and fail - to ignore the way it stirs something behind your ribs.  A need that flickers to life without any sort of warning and has you pressing your thighs together.  

“Can I take this off?”  It comes abruptly, with eyes that snap up to yours.  There’s already a hand tucked beneath the small of your back, right under your shoulders.  He already knows your answer - can see it in the blown out pupils that reflect his entire world back at him.  He still wants to hear it.

You’re unable to find your voice.  It’s gone, stolen by the way he ghosts his fingers up and down the sensitive notches of your spine.  You could get lost in this feeling, if he let you.  You almost do, only nodding when he moves no further, flat of his palm a solid weight right against the clasp of your bra.

You don’t mind that the band is coloured pink and blue when he tosses it aside.  You don’t have it in you to focus on anything but how he studies you now.  Openly admires you, like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.

“What?”  Mellifluous and adoring.  Music to his ears.

“I think I’m getting distracted.”

“I think so, too.”

“Is that okay?”  He speaks more to your boobs than you, single stained hand coming to rest across your ribs.  The pad of his thumb swipes over a single bud, perked and already far too sensitive.  He’d put his mouth on it, if not for the fact it’s now covered in paint.  

Fortunately, there’s still so much of you - places he hasn’t explored but suddenly, desperately needs to.  

From the column of your throat and all the way down to the valley of your breasts, he offers sweet kisses.  Open-mouthed adoration that leaves you needy and breathless and writing.  He catches your untouched nipple between his teeth, gently working it into the same state as its tinted twin. 

You shift beneath him, unable to stop the bolt of electricity that rips through you like a thousand volts.  It cracks your composure like lightning and sends your pulse racing like thunder.  “Of course.”

He hums, content, and nearly falls, dropping his cheek fully against your chest.  You’re so soft beneath him, velvet and pliant under his tongue.  

“I think I love you.”  It’s his voice but your words, spoken so faintly you almost miss it against the roaring in your ears.  

“I think I love you, too.” 

Yoongi stares up at you then, so full of wonder that you can’t help but look away.  It’s an incredibly intimate moment - so much emotion carried in one simple look that you’re not quite sure how to process it.  He’d been your inspiration and now you were his.  The realisation is almost too much, filling you until you feel like you might float away.

His hands act as an anchor, keeping you here with him.  

“You don’t have to say it back.”  It’s careful, loaded with his heart and every key to open it.  

“I know - I want to.”

He grins so breathlessly handsome that you can’t help but return it, rubied cheeks crystallised with delight.  Those same paint-stained hands of his find their newly discovered favourite home of your chest and he sounds like sin when he speaks.  “I want you.”

“You can have me.”

It’s all he needs before he’s ducking down and smothering every uncovered inch of you in sweetness.  His mouth burns hot but he’s unbearably gentle, searing the shape of his mouth over your breasts and across your collarbone.  He licks and sucks as he goes, soothing any ache left behind by the edge of his teeth.

You’re not quite sure where the bites end and the paint begins.  It’s all so pretty you don’t mind either way.  

But it’s not enough.  It’ll never be enough, you think, even as you whine airily, words stuttering out in a half-formed breath.  “Please touch me.”

“Where?”  He’s hardly given you room to answer, crowded so closely against you that you can feel his heartbeat all the way through to your own.  He’s so warm - so solid - upon you that you almost want to tell him that here, just as he is, is perfect. 

A momentary lapse in lust before rational judgment is clouded yet again. 

Instead - and with more demand than you mean - you grind purposefully against him.  A benefit to having him sitting how he is, knees hooked on either side of your hips.  He can’t pretend like he doesn’t feel it, cock twitching beneath the constraints of his boxer-briefs. 

Your eyes meet and he chuckles, nuzzling his head back into that spot between your neck and shoulder that has you whimpering.  The sound alone drives him crazy.

“You’ll be the death of me.”  Yoongi knows this like he knows the sky is blue or your smile is his favourite sight.

You’re teasing him when you catch his face, palms cradling the shape of his jaw.  “Then it’ll be a good death.” 

He doesn’t disagree - especially when he slips his clean hand along the length of your body.  He tweaks your nipple on its descent, tickles the underside of your ribs, and then finds the band of your underwear, all in one fell swoop.  A digit dips below the elastic, neatly clipped nail grazing the jut of your hip before shifting and dropping further.  

You keen when the pad of his finger grazes your clit. 

“Do that again.”  He doesn’t need to tell you twice.  When he repeats the motion, the sound spills off your tongue without restraint.  

He slips further down, pressing his hand to gently part your folds.  Digits glide easily, coated in slick that drips between your legs and sorely tests his patience.  Yoongi’s not sure what he’d expected but this is so much better it’s making his head spin - and he hasn’t even felt you yet.

“You’re so wet, love.”  Shame would swallow you whole if not for the way he speaks with reverence.  “How badly do you want this?”

“Don’t tease,”  you huff, rutting uselessly against the fingers that tease your centre, barely slipping in before resuming a lazy, leisurely path back up to the bundle of nerves that throbs at the contact.  He’s hardly touched you and you’re already at a six, entire body alight with need that thrums heavy in your veins. 

“Just tell me.”

“I want this.  I need this.”  You hope he believes you.  You’re not sure what you’ll do if he doesn’t.  “I need to feel you - please.”

His entire world is spinning, kicked on its axis by the way your tone pitches, demands and begs in the same lilting voice he so adores but has never quite heard like this.  He loves it.  “I need to stretch you out.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

You whine so prettily he almost cracks.  It’s enough to have him choking on his own words, not that he’s saying anything.  He’s too focused on how he sinks into you - a single digit but so tightly it feels like there’s no way he’ll survive his cock buried inside.  

You’re a dream come true.  He never wants to wake up.

“More.  Please.”  You’re so polite, he almost laughs.  You’d really taken his words to heart - always asking for what you wanted now.  He can’t deny how proud he is.  It blossoms in his chest, juxtaposed greatly against the salaciousness that drives him to do exactly as you ask.

His index finger slips in alongside the other.  You make that noise he loves, grinding your core against the flat of his palm as he curls his knuckles and seeks out that spot.  He knows he’s struck gold when he taps it experimentally, pressure turning light but unrelenting when a choked cry ricochets off your tongue and onto his sweat-slicked shoulder.

“Right there?”  

Your nod is enough of an answer. 

He redoubles his efforts, fucking you with measured glides of his fingers and precise presses against your g-spot.  In no time at all, you’re barely coherent, mumbling his name in a slew of breaths that has him grinning.  You’re a sight to behold, moaning so obscenely you’d be ashamed you weren’t so preoccupied by the fact that every part of you feels as if it’s about to splinter.

“Miru— Princess—”  Your clit aches and you nearly shriek when he applies pressure against it with the pad of his thumb, swiping your cum over it in slow circles.  He wants you so badly - just as bad as you want him- but he’s torn halfway between watching you unravel by his hand and wanting that same euphoria when he’s buried home in your dripping pussy. 

“Please, please, please.”  There are tears in your eyes.  You’re so close you can practically taste it, entire body shaking with the effort of keeping the coil from snapping.  “Yoongi, please.”

He’s a fucking goner then, filling you with a third finger and grinding his palm against your clit as you come apart beneath him.  

It starts in your toes, stealing feeling all the way up your calves and over your thighs.  You’re only aware you’re trembling because it vibrates through Yoongi’s body, looped back to yours when he mouths across your shoulders, sucking memories into your heated, sweat-sweet skin.  The stimulation is what keeps you from floating off on a cloud of bliss, the warmth in the pit of your stomach liquifying your bones. 

“Are you tired?”  Because you certainly look tired - too fucked out to properly meet his stare as he looms over you, both hands adjusted to rest comfortably over your hips. 

You are, but it doesn't matter.  You haven’t gotten what you wanted - not really - and you aren’t about to let it go without asking.

He’d taught you that.

You smile up at him, doe-eyed and alluring.  A hand reaches for his, curls around the fingers still glossy with your slick, and squeezes.  “I still need you.”

They’re words he’ll never tire of - also words that have him kicking out of his briefs and rolling your thong down your legs, all too eager.  He’s painfully hard, leaking pre-cum and purple at the tip, but he fists himself in slow, measured pumps regardless.  It’s a show for you, more than anything.

“ Please.”  So pretty, so ready.  He can’t resist.  

Yoongi sinks against you, the head of his cock brushing through your folds as he slots himself into place with his paint-free hand.  The other, still coloured garishly bright, brushes the curve of your lip, the delicate skin beneath your eye.  It’s so tender you can’t help but blink, caught off-guard.  

“I love you,”  you say, though you’re sure he’s meant to, too.  You can read it in his eyes - brilliant and bright like a beacon in the night.

He speaks with a roguish grin and a fluid press of his hips.  “I know.”  

You fit like two puzzle pieces, the stretch perfect as he sinks deeper, a low groan sounding from somewhere deep in his chest.  You’re so tight around him but he glides in easily, coaxed to fill you by your wetness and the soft, whiny noises you make.  

“Holy shit,”  he manages once he’s buried as deep as he can go, head spinning with the way you clench around him, nearly stealing the words off his tongue.  “Am I dreaming?”

Laughter is a salve - a catch-all remedy for anything that ails him.  It pulls him to the here and now, drawing his attention from the overwhelming bliss that creeps up his spine and recentring it on you, beautiful and bashful beneath him.

“No, you’re not.”  It’s a caricature of your voice but he doesn’t mind.  He loves that he can bring you to this.

“Thank God.”

Except it’s not God you’re thanking when Yoongi begins to move against you, dragging his cock through your walls with such slow, measured strokes you think you might combust.  It’s his name when he pulls almost fully out of you, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock, before snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt.  It’s his name that rolls off your tongue like a mantra, hoping and praying and begging for more as he consumes you wholly, in no half measures.  

It’s him - Min Yoongi, your muse, your love - that has you crying out, pleasure coursing through your veins as he adjusts and fills you at a completely new angle, brushing against your g-spot with every thrust of his hips.  

“Yoongi - please.”  You’re chanting the two words again, turning them into a song he’ll never get out of his head, when you spasm around him.  His eyes nearly roll back into his head, the sensation turning his rhythm sloppy as he chases the same high.  The hand that had previously been propping him up falls, thumb seeking out your clit as he charges toward the precipice. 

“One more, love.  Once more for me, okay?  I want you to come with me.”

He asks so nicely you can’t deny him - even as the overstimulation takes over.  You’re shaking so badly you’re not sure how he keeps you in place;  it’s a tremor that won’t stop, traipsing over every limb until you’re sobbing.  

“I love you,”  he chokes out as he tumbles over the edge, falling headlong into climax with you in tow.  It’s so strong it feels like it blinds you, spotting your vision with white as he fills you with his cum and continues to fuck you through it, milking every last moment just like you were his slowly softening cock.

You don’t have it in you to answer, far too exhausted by the last orgasm that has your limbs turned to jelly.  Yoongi doesn’t mind though;  he likes the just-fucked afterglow and how you sink into his arms when he slips out of you and onto his side.  

He eyes the cum that spills onto your thighs, pearlescent and going to waste.  He has half a mind to push it back where it belongs.

He only doesn’t because of the words you speak next, hardly above a whisper but loud enough that he groans, burying his face into your hair.  “So, thanks, Taehyung?”  

“Can you not?”  It’s a playful response, with teeth bared against the sweat-slicked nape of your neck.  

“Sorry.”  A beat.  He wonders if you’ve fallen asleep suddenly.  “I meant thanks, Titanic.”

author note.  this was a drabble prompt i got from the lovely @hecticwonderer​ and i kind of just...  ran with it.  oops. 

[teeninpanic]

-HIM- (READER x ALEX)

pov: you’re a high schooler and you get to detention because you talked back to one of the rudest teachers and you meet with Alex at detention. - hope you enjoy 😊

Your thoughts were spinning like a maniac. Sending you to detention was so not fair. You only standed out for yourself and even though when you called your mom - to tell what happened and why you will return home late - and you could feel her understanding you also felt that she is angry. You’re not sure that she is angry at you or at the teacher but you wanted to believe that the answer is the teacher.

You got your stuff together, said bye to your friends and headed to detention. As you stepped into the classroom you saw Marcus - a.k.a. Mr. Bully - you hated him. Then saw Trisha - a.k.a. the girl who always acts out of her mind, skipps school and vapes at bathrooms. Then there was a girl you never saw before and that was it. Oh and of course the teacher you talked back to. You took a seat and quietly got your notebook. You started to sketch random things then you just wated time to pass but it never did.

“You’re late again, Andersen.” your teacher said annoyed “I thought you got sended because of that” she raised her voice

“Well not just because of that” he laughed.

You didn’t see him, you sat next to the wall and Alex was standing outside. You and Alex already knew each other. You both went to the same kindergarten and the two of you actually were friends... or something like that. Alex always showed up next to you when you had some cool snacks or when you build up a castle out of legos just so he can ruin it whit his little car. You never was angry at him because you liked him. He was a cute little blonde boy with a weird danish accent how could you just not like him? Since then, he changed. His hair is now brown, he got a wide shoulder, a bad attitude and a more handsome face. The two of you never talked though nowadays. Not even saying hi, nothing. You didn’t say hello because you were not even sure if he remembered you.

He stepped into the classroom, with his grey sweatshirt, his jean jacket, with his fresh haircut and of course with that smirk that was always on his lips. You can’t help it, you just see yourself falling for him again. You always did when you saw him just passing by you but after that second you just forgot him and acted normal again. Now it was not just second. He checks who is at detention just like you did, then takes his seat in front of you. You took a big breath when you see closely how wide is his shoulders. You look down at your notebook so you won’t see that dreamy guy named Alex in front of you. Every piece of him looks good and then there’s his cologne. You can’t get enough of it.

“Sorry Andersen to make you sit here” the teacher says with a smile.

“Oh it’s nothing” he says back then looks down. you try to think what can be in his head but you got nothing

“You don’t have anything or anywhere to be? “ the teacher says and it’s obvious she knows he has to be somewhere else

“no?” Alex responded quickly.

“hm. I thought Mr. Green said you were taking his classes” everyone looked at Alex and could see anger at Alex’s face. Even me, and i was sitting behind him.

“Wait... Are you taking acting classes?” Marcus laughed “bro that’s lame” he continued to laugh.

Alex didn’t do anything, but i knew he would really want to punch him into the face. I mean, who doesn’t want to punch Marcus?

Some time passes, you are so into your new sketch, you cut out the entire world. You hear music in your ears and you feel a kind of perfume that you want to smell for your entire life. You’re so lost, you didn’t even mind. You only hear a chair cracking loudly. Then you push your pencil down hard and you break your graphite tip.

“uh” you hear, then you look up and Alex is turned backwards looking at your work. His gazing blue eyes make you feel nervous. “I...I ...” you stammer then he smiles which made you more nervous. “ rough day?” he asks then you see that the teacher left the room.

You look around and everyone is on their phone, only “you” and him are chatting.

“kinda” you answer

“same. What did you do?” he asks and you don’t know why is he talking to you. not like you don’t want him to. “ talked back” you answer with a shaky voice and you hate the way you are so weak. “you?” you ask back with a little more confidence “ I was late, then they caught me trying to skip school with a cigarette, and you know how they are with cigarette” he rolled his eyes then smiled at you again.

His smile didn’t change. It was the same, foolish and childish cute smile. He made you feel so much at once. He was always good at that.

“Detention is over” the teacher says stepping into the class “I have to be somewhere.” she says than went somewhere.

You get up behind your desk, calling your mom quickly for a ride while you’re packing your stuff.

“Hi mom! Can you still come?” you ask then she tells you, she can’t so now you have to take the bus. great. You put down the phone and your about to leave when... “need a ride Y/N?” he asks and you realize he remembers you. “I’m about to go buy some cigarettes and as I know you’re home is close to the store” he’s face is so serious you don’t say anything just nod. You didn’t even wanted to nod, your body just did it. “alright come on then” he says and your heart is pumping faster with every step until his car.

— if you found some grammar problems excuse me, english is not my mother language but I tried hard so i hope you won’t (let me know if you did). Leave a heart ❤️ and let me know if you would like to read a part 2 riding home with Alex 🥵

[ateezmakemeweep]

if you’re not busy, can i pls request a ateez reaction with y/n sketching them out during either sport practice, at the library, park, etc. and they end up seeing it and you get all flustered and shy uwu

❥ kim hongjoong

during free period, there was always one place you could find hongjoong. 

you peek your head in the empty music room, the boy’s small frame hunched over the piano as he plays on the keys before scribbling messily on a sheet of paper. you let out a quiet sigh, knowing that this is the only time he has to eat or drink but refuses to spend his free time doing anything else but music. 

you walk over silently, greeting him with a small smile as you sit down and push a tray of food in front of him. “please eat it as some point,” you whine as you open your sketchbook, his lowly mumbled “i will,” not at all making you feel confident. 

and with good reason because the entire time you draw, he doesn’t stray his attention from the keys or his notebook. and you know this for a fact because you’ve been watching him for the past 30 minutes, sketching the slope of his nose and handsome features of his face before you even realized it. 

and much to your luck, when you’re finished up, that’s when hongjoong decides to put down his pencil and stretch his arms in front of him. “what have you been up to?” you hear him ask you, your face snapping up and flushing when he’s looking at you knowingly. 

“no-nothing!” you stutter. but before you can slap the book shut, he peeks over and sees the profile of his face, his head lowered and a focused expression sketched in grey, lightly smudged graphite. 

“cute,” he mumbles, smiling when your face turns pink and you throw your pencil at his arm. 

❥ park seonghwa

you don’t know when you and seonghwa decided to start eating in the library. 

it could’ve had something to do with that fact that his and your chaotic friends were too much for both of you, the odds of a food fight or loud bickering back and forth far too common. you both enjoyed the time out of class to be calm and quiet, seonghwa usually reading or playing on his phone while you practiced your sketches or art projects. 

today, you were having trouble. you couldn’t quite set the tone of the piece, letting out a quiet groan as you erased marking after marking. you decided to ditch the landscape all together after that, looking around the room to see if anything else sparked some inspiration. 

and there it sits in front of you, seonghwa sitting there flipping through the pages of a book. his shoulders were relaxed and his face was pulled into a soft smile, chewing at his food and your pencil started moving before your brain could even keep up. 

seonghwa looked up and smiled when he saw you at work, his eyes narrowing as he noticed you had the sketchpad lifted away from him. he waits until the scratches are less frantic, your face less focused as you shade in parts of whatever you drew. 

“what’d it end up being?” his deep voice asked you, your head snapping up to look at him. and it’s like the second he sees your face, he knows. because the smirk that crosses his is far too teasing and amused, extending his arm out and looking at you pleadingly. “let me see.”

“no,” you snap, shaking your head as you hold it to your chest - how embarrassing. 

“c’mon, baby,” he whines, the term of endearment he throws around like it doesn’t hold so much power making you even more flustered. “let’s see what a good job you did.”

❥ jeong yunho

the substitute in your math class was about as useless as the subject matter. 

he assigned you three questions that would take even the most horrific students less than fifteen minutes, insisting that was the work assigned for today and to remain quiet for the rest of class. you roll your eyes as he looks over all of you, making sure no one has there phones out or is trying to pass notes. 

you and yunho meet gazes and he looks just as annoyed as you, placing his head down on his arms and shutting his eyes. in the time you’ve put your work away and pulled out your sketchbook, you’re pretty he’s actually fallen asleep. his eyelashes rest on his cheeks and his brow is furrowed every so slightly, your crossed legs turning in your seat as you start to draw the sleeping boy. 

class ends just as you start to shade, missing the loud ring of the bell as you focus in on making his face as peaceful and handsome as he looked. a looming figure above you causes you to jump, the model himself now awake and looking down at you with a smirk. 

your cheeks flush immediately and he bites his lip to hide his smile from widening, not wanting to embarrass you but also finding it incredibly cute and endearing. you press your lips into a firm line as you close the book immediately, about to blurt out an apology or explanation before he asks if he can walk you to your next class.

❥ kang yeosang

with half of the boys either out to lunch or getting extra help in the library, your lunch table was relatively quiet with only yeosang and jongho present. 

you zoned in and out of the boys conversation, speaking up when addressed directly or giggling when jongho insulted yeosang to the point of being smacked. you couldn’t help but admire the older boy’s sweet smile despite his violent acts, his eyes lighting up each and every time a laugh bubbles out of him. 

no one catches on to your looks up and down and the scribbling of your pencil until mingi and yunho come through the door, mingi’s hand ruffling your hair before he notices your sketchbook. “whoa!” his voice exclaims, your body stiffening as you try to cover the half-drawn portrait. “that’s so good, y/n! is that yeo-“

“stop!” you squeak, your face pink and heart pounding as you slam the sketchpad shut. everyone but yeosang gives you a strange look, his small smile reassuring you for the rest of the lunch that it was okay. 

“can i see it?” he mumbled in your ear when lunch was over, your cheeks still burning as you look up at him with a pout and shake your head in embarrassment. “pleaseee,” he whines, his deep chuckle bringing goosebumps to your skin when you smack him lightly with the book.

❥ choi san

san had planned a picnic for the both of you, sandwiches and fruit and little bars of chocolate filling the wicker basket at your feet.

laid out on the yellow blanket he’d brought, you rested on your stomach sketching him as he throws the tennis ball to your dog a few feet away in the grass. his dimples poked out as the sun shined down on him, your heart fluttering each and every time as you sketched out his handsome face. you giggled watching your dog jump up on san, the boy nearly toppling back as dirt got all over his black shirt. 

“i’m sorry,” you said softly when they came back, fishing through the basket for some spare napkins. but with your back turned, you left your book exposed and san’s eyes traveled over the drawing of him. he smiled looking over it, his eyes moving to you just as you turn around. “here you go, that should-“ your words get cut off when you see your sketch is visible, your cheeks flushing when you see him staring down at you.

“i-i’m sorry,” you say again, feeling creepy and weird that you were caught. he rolls his eyes and sits down in front of you, his hand going through a strand of your hair. 

“why are you sorry?” he asks with a small smile. he looks back down at the sketch and can’t help but shake his head, insisting he’s not that handsome and then apologizing that he doesn’t really look like that. you let out a scoff, throwing a piece of bread at him that your dog is quick to snatch up. 

❥ song mingi

you and mingi had been in the same spot at the empty cafe for hours, studying and finals completely consuming you guys. 

you stretch your arms out with a groan, moving your study guide aside to give your pounding head a break. mingi barely looks up from his laptop, working to finish the ten-page essay due tomorrow. it’s with that look of concentration, the light from his laptop softening his face that causes you to draw him. 

focusing on the way his hair hangs in his face, the plumpness of his chapped bottom lip and the way his eyes filter back and forth over the screen. you hear his chair scrape against the floor and look up to see him go over the counter, humming to yourself as you start to draw from memory. 

a tray smacking against the table causes you to jump, almost scribbling a stray line before you look down and see he got you a chocolate chip cookie. warmth spreads through your chest as look up to thank him, his eyes on the page and a smirk on his face. 

“who’s that?” he asks teasingly, watching your face drop and cheeks flush as you bury your face in your hands. he can’t help but chuckle when he hears you groan, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before silently making his way back to the computer. 

❥ jung wooyoung

given that wooyoung was usually your ride home, being neighbors and all, you frequently found yourself sitting in the gym watching his basketball practice. 

he was like a completely different person when he played, his happy smile and playful demeanor gone as a completive edge and focus overtook him. he stood tall and confident, his exposed arms looking muscular and fit. you can see the blank ink under his rib, biting your lip as you take out your sketchbook and draw out his body and face.

it proves difficult as he keeps bouncing from one side of the court to another but when he’s standing still for about two minutes, his head thrown back as he gulps down water and his adams apple bobs, you know you’re about to get a fairly good sketch. 

you clean it up and shade to the best of your ability, only feeling a little bit bothered by the way he starts to sweat and pant heavily. you miss the way he’s been watching you, a smirk on his face as you look down concentrated with your teeth digging into your lip. 

“what’re you drawing today?” you hear him ask breathlessly, the white towel slung over his shoulder making you gulp. you shake your head and mumble “nothing,” knowing if he sees it, he’s gonna scream and pinch your cheeks and embarrass you. 

he sees the way you get nervous, a smirk crossing his lips as he tries to peak down. “c’mon, y/n, share with the class.” he tries to take the sketchbook out of your hand but you cave in on yourself, closing it as you cover it with your chest and making it even more obvious you were drawing something. 

“you’re no fun,” he whines, your eyes narrowing at him because why does have to be so annoyingly hot and when did he even get that tattoo? 

❥ choi jongho

with an injury to your ankle but demands from your cheer coach to sit in on practice, you currently sat on the bleachers facing the football field. 

you watched your squad practice the moves you’ve been doing since the beginning of the year, letting out an annoyed huff before your eyes move to the football field. particularly on player number eight, the jersey that reads choi every friday night when, more often than not, he scores at least one touchdown. 

but now he’s standing on the field with his team members and coach, his arms crossed over his chest as you find yourself itching to reach for your sketchbook. you and the boy are fairly close due to how often you see each other, one of the only nice and respectable jocks in this school. 

but even so, you’d be mortified if he saw your book right now. the way you draw his broad shoulders and chest, his arms stretched over them as you bite your lip in concentration and focus in on all the little details you’ve come to notice at parties and after practice. 

you’re so focused on sketching and shading and tweaking the boy’s stance and face that you’re completely ignorant of the whistles blowing around you, signaling the boy’s are free to go and walking past the cheerleaders to go down to the locker room. 

you jump when you hear your name being called, jongho just a few feet away from you as he walks toward the bleachers. your frantic reaction causes the book to fall from your lap, wincing and blushing when, before you can reach down and grab it, he picks it up for you. 

his eyes linger over the drawing for a few seconds, breaths caught in your throat as you feel about ready to explode or burst into tears. but then he only smiles sweetly down at you, turning the page over just as another team member comes up and smacks him on the back. 

“what’s that?” you hear the random boy ask, your eyes immediately moving to him. 

“nothing,” jongho responds casually, handing the book back to you with a knowing glint in his eyes. “just something that belongs to her.” you stare wide eyed at the boy’s back as he retreats toward the building, finally getting air in your lungs before he ruins it again by turning around and winking at you.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #22: Lake Town Sunrise

Words: ca. 3,800 Setting: modern Lemon: no CW: loneliness, moving, high schoolers, mild angst, language

If anyone had asked Anna what she felt about moving halfway across the country to a tiny place called Lake Town during the fourth month of her senior year, well — she would have lied and said she didn’t mind at all. But no one had, so she didn’t have to lie to anyone. Not even herself. And she hated the move.

Anna had no choice in the matter but the seventeen year-old felt like she had no right to complain to her beloved grandfather, who had sacrificed his entire retirement life to raise her from an infant. If he wanted to move, there should be nothing holding him back. But Anna had to admit she wished he’d waited a few more months. Just a few more months and Anna would graduate and be out of his hair. On her own.

Until then, Anna was adjusting to an entirely new life in a new place with new people and new schoolwork. The piles of catch-up homework were her worst nightmare. She didn’t like to have bad grades so she was devoting all of her energy to her classes in an effort not to disappoint herself. As a result, she hadn’t had the time or energy to make a single friend from November to March, and as a social person, the loss of friendship was starting to drive her crazy. Nobody back home even returned her texts anymore; they’d completely moved on and Anna was stuck by herself in a town with only a lake she had yet to even visit, just trying to keep her head above water.

Just because she hadn’t made any friends, however, didn’t mean she hadn’t picked out a couple people from her classes she’d love to be friends with. One girl stood out to her in particular. She was in Anna’s writing class and they often paired up when the teacher required it. Her name was Elsa and she had the prettiest long white-blonde hair Anna had ever seen; usually worn in a braid or a ponytail. Every once in a while she let it loose in gentle waves; those were Anna’s favorite days.

Elsa was a quiet student, never talking with anyone around her. Anna noticed she usually had a sketchbook open and a pencil rhythmically scratching away. She’d give anything to know what Elsa was always drawing, but she couldn’t stare too long or the blonde would eventually glance up and catch her eye, causing them both to look away quickly, blushing.

Yesterday Elsa hadn’t come to school and Anna had found herself rather disappointed. She always looked forward to English class but without the other girl to pay attention to, Anna had stared at the clock, willing the hands to move faster. Was Elsa the only reason she enjoyed this class? They had barely had a complete conversation beyond relevant English topics. Still, Anna found herself begging the fates to let her see that sketchbook when she walked through the door to room 37b today.

A sigh of relief escaped her lungs when Anna rounded the corner and saw Elsa at the desk beside hers, legs crossed, focused entirely on the pencil meeting her paper. Anna approached; Elsa looked up and smiled when she saw who was there.

“Hi, Anna!”

“Hey,” she smiled back. “I missed you yesterday.”

“Oh yeah,” blonde eyebrows softened, “My grandma was a bit under the weather so I had to stay home and take care of her.”

“You live with your grandma?” Anna asked, pleasantly surprised.

“Yeah, it’s just the two of us.”

“Me too,” Anna encouraged, “but with my grandfather.”

“Oh wow! I don’t think I’ve met anyone else here in the same boat.” Elsa closed her sketchbook as Anna took a seat.

“It’s definitely a unique experience,” Anna laughed. She watched the fluorescent lights glimmer in Elsa’s eyes when she nodded in response.

Anna’s heart raced quietly while she pulled out her English notebook and folder. There were still a few minutes left before class began. Maybe she could think of something else to say before the chance was gone. But it was Elsa who took another stab at conversation first.

“What are you doing for spring break?” Elsa asked.

“Oh!” Anna smiled, excited. “Ever since moving here in the winter I’ve been drowning in either snow or catch-up homework, so I’m finally gonna take a break in the nice weather and see what this famous lake is all about! I’ve never even gotten…” she trailed off at the sight of Elsa’s grimace. “What?”

“Sorry,” Elsa said, “it’s just - you don’t want to be anywhere near the lake during spring break.”

“I mean I know it’s gonna be crowded—”

“You don’t understand. That lake is the only interesting thing in a 200 mile radius. Everybody in the entire state who can’t afford a real vacation will be swarming the town - especially the lake. All fucking week.”

“Oh.” Anna sighed, crestfallen. She had hoped to spend some time with her new classmates at the lake; they were still strangers to her after all this time. She had thought maybe she’d even make a friend there. But not now. “Wait, where does everybody go then? If the whole town gets taken over?”

“Well, some have to stick around to run the shops and everything, but most everybody scatters off to vacations of their own.” Elsa explained.

“And what about you?”

“My grandma doesn’t go anywhere. I’ll be around.”

Class started abruptly and the conversation was cut off. Anna didn’t hear a word of the lecture, as her thoughts swirled around her head. Thoughts of the forbidden lake, of people who got to experience “real” vacations, but mostly of Elsa. Elsa had talked to her for so long today - and seemed to enjoy it! Anna felt light and airy, like something was trying to lift her heart right out of her chest. Was this what it felt like, to be on the verge of friendship? Anna hadn’t even experienced these butterflies the entire time she dated Kristoff back home.

Wait. Did she have feeling-feelings for Elsa? Was that - was that allowed? Would Elsa ever —

The bell rang.

Everybody scrambled to pack their backpacks up, except for Elsa and Anna. Elsa jotted something down on a corner of a page in her sketchbook, then tore it out as Anna watched.

“Here,” Elsa held out the ripped corner. “That’s my address. Meet me there after school today when break starts. I wanna show you something.”

Anna took the paper and watched dumbfounded as Elsa left the classroom. Shaking her head out, she looked at the address. It was a five minute walk from her house.

When she flipped the piece of paper over in her hand, the other side (probably unintentionally) had part of a sketch. It was a person, cut off just below the shoulders. Anna stared in disbelief at her own freckled face smiling up at herself in graphite.

***********************************

Anna ran all the way home, making her 12 minute walk in 8 minutes. She found her grandpa sitting in his chair, working on a puzzle. Huffing and puffing from exertion, Anna made her way through the living room to the hallway, saying, “Hey, Gramps,” as she passed.

“In a hurry, child?” the old man replied, glancing up briefly from his puzzle.

“I made a friend, I’ll explain in a minute!” Anna called out as she jogged farther into the house.

She reached her room and threw her backpack to the ground before stripping off her clothes and staring at her closet, hoping something would jump out at her. Her chest heaved as the cool air helped dry the clammy skin of her torso. What was she supposed to wear to Elsa’s house for the first time, where she was going to quote-unquote ‘show her something?’ Was it something casual, something fancy? After a moment she settled on a cute tie dye t-shirt and black jeans. It was spring break after all, she should be able to wear something comfortable.

Anna glanced at her signature twin braids in the mirror. She pulled the hair ties out and ran her fingers through the locks, letting it fall apart into structured waves. Yep, that’s cute! she thought.

On her way back out through the house, Anna told her grandfather she was going to a new friend’s house, and that he should order a pizza for dinner. He had no complaints, but reminded her to be home by 10. Soon, Anna was out the door, headed in the direction of Elsa’s house.

This time, she walked deliberately slowly. Anna didn’t want to be out of breath when she got to Elsa’s house, nor did she want to get there earlier than Elsa might expect. Anna had rushed herself rather hard ever since that final bell rang, but now as she passed houses she had never seen and heard birds enjoying the spring afternoon, she had a few moments to think about what had happened earlier. Precisely: the conversation, the realization, and the invitation.

Just yesterday she was silently disappointed that Elsa was missing from class, and now they’d had a nice interaction, Anna thought she might have a crush on her, and Elsa invited her over to her house! It was all so sudden and exciting. Confusing, but exciting.

Do I really like her? Anna wondered. Well, comparing her feelings to what she used to feel around Kristoff was pretty telling. She thought Kristoff was cute and nice, and she liked how it made her feel when he told her how much he liked her. But maybe that wasn’t what love feels like. Maybe it’s more like what Elsa makes her feel… comfort, acceptance, longing, excitement. Not to mention how attractive she was, with her gorgeous hair and perfect face and shining blue eyes, bluer than anything Anna had ever seen…

Fuck.

Anna might have a little bit of a crush on Elsa. In fact, it might be huge.

But could Elsa ever feel the same way? They were both girls, so Anna felt it was unlikely Elsa had ever had a similar thought toward Anna. However, Anna felt the piece of paper in her pocket. The one with the drawing on the back. Why did Elsa draw her? Was this the only one and it happened to be on the exact page and corner she tore out? Or did she sketch Anna a lot?… Is that why sometimes when Anna was watching her draw, Elsa would glance up directly at her — because Anna was actually her subject?

She sighed. There was so much to think about all of a sudden. She almost wanted to go back to obsessing over her homework and ignoring everybody. But then she saw a mailbox with Elsa’s address and her heart rate took off. That was a normal reaction, right? Totally, for sure.

Anna wiped her clammy palms off on her jeans and consciously corrected her posture as she approached Elsa’s house. It was painted a nice sky blue, with navy shutters. There was an old car in the driveway, which disappeared past the other side of the building. In the front yard was a big pine tree looming over the house, at least three times as tall. As she approached, Anna noticed Elsa sitting at the base of the pine tree, under its canopy created by trimming the lowest branches. She waved from her shady spot when she noticed Anna.

“Hey!” Elsa called out. “You came!”

Anna jogged the last few steps and ducked under the branches to join Elsa’s shady dwelling. “Of course I came!” She grinned widely and plopped down across from the blonde, folding her legs into a criss-cross style. “This tree is amazing,” she remarked, looking up through its branches, barely able to see the bright sky filtering through them.

“Thanks,” Elsa patted the trunk she was leaning her back against, “she’s a good one. Great for quiet afternoons. But this isn’t what I wanted to show you.” She stood up, grabbing her sketchbook and brushing off her pants. “Follow me?”

We made our way across the lawn, past the car, and followed the driveway around the side of Elsa’s house. The drive stretched back past half of the small backyard, all the way to a strangely tall garage. It was wide enough for one car but was more like two-stories tall. Maybe a past owner had it built especially for a big vehicle or boat.

We stopped at the regular service door beside the big garage door and Elsa grabbed the handle, her fingers lightly trembling as they reached out. She was nervous to show Anna whatever was inside. Anna was racking her brain trying to guess what it could be. A boat for the lake they can’t go to? A weirdly tall truck? A collection of four wheelers? A quiet place perfect to trick Anna into a serial killer’s lair? No, of course not that one, jeez.

The door opened, the lights flicked on.

Anna’s jaw dropped.

She was wrong about everything.

Inside the garage, the entire space was transformed into a secret hideout of some kind. It like walking into a crazy treehouse but within the walls of a garage. There was a structure made out of lumber, expertly crafted together to form multiple separate areas as well as an elaborate winding staircase/ramp combo that wrapped around the walls, leading up to a partial upper level. All of the woodwork was bright blue with handpainted details which gave it all a realistic ice effect. Where the ceiling was visible there were tinted skylights letting in natural light, bathing everything in a blue glow.

To furnish the hangout, Elsa had a desk she clearly used for homework and art, a futon, multiple bean bag chairs, and who knows what else on the upper level. Anna reached out and laid a hand on Elsa’s arm. “This…” she shook her head out in disbelief. “This is not what I was expecting you to show me - but it’s incredible!”

“Thank you,” Elsa blushed slightly as she dipped her head down in gratitude.

“How did you do this? You made it all yourself?” Anna asked, touching the glossy surface of the painted wood beam closest to her.

Elsa scratched her neck, “Well, when I was little I always dreamed of having an ice palace, a place to get away from my daily life. I love my grandmother but sometimes I just needed to be a kid. As soon as we learned shop in middle school, I knew what I had to do. I asked permission to upgrade the garage and beyond that, my grandma doesn’t know or care what I do out here. She’s never seen it.” Elsa laughed. “So I’ve just been creating this space for myself over the years. I finally finished it last year with the paint job and everything. Oh, and I made the skylights myself by cutting holes through the roof and installing windows, weatherproofing the cracks. That was the hardest part of the whole garage.”

Anna smiled in disbelief. This quiet girl had a whole universe of creativity inside her head, and when the subject was something she was passionate about, she wasn’t quiet at all! Anna had never really been friends with an introvert, and apparently she had been missing out big time.

“You are…. so cool,” Anna finally said. “This is amazing!” She spun around, walking farther into the ice palace, looking up as the homemade skylights twisted in circles. After a minute, she got too dizzy and fell, landing on a beanbag with a thwump.

Elsa laughed and joined her on the nearest beanbag. “You really think so?”

“Of course!” Anna said.

“You’re the only person who I’ve ever invited here. The only one who’s ever seen it.”

“Wait, what?” Anna’s thoughts halted. “How is that possible?”

Elsa rubbed her arm anxiously, “Well, I… I don’t really have many friends. Or any friends, really. This place is my safe space, where I can get away from the world and truly be myself. Here I can read and create and relax, and nobody is here to judge me. I’ve never minded being alone.”

“So,” Anna tilted her head, trying not to come off as rude. “Then why did you invite me?”

Elsa’s cheeks bloomed with pink. “You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to invite.”

Anna’s expression softened as Elsa continued, “I feel safe around you. Even though we didn’t talk much before today, I’ve wanted to get to know you ever since you first walked into my English class.”

Anna’s heart soared. “I’ve felt the same way about you. I lost all my friends when I moved… and as an extrovert, I struggled with that a lot. But I had so much homework to catch up on, I couldn’t find the time to reach out to anyone here. So instead I cut myself off from making friends and buried myself in class work. But the whole time I’ve lived here, I couldn’t help but feel drawn to you. I wished and wished and wished that you would be my friend, but it felt like I waited too long and I’d be stuck alone for the rest of high school.”

Elsa held her hand out for Anna to take. It felt so smooth against Anna’s palm, she never would’ve believed the hard work these hands had been through if she didn’t see it with her own eyes.

“Well I think it’s safe to say we’re friends now,” Elsa said.

“Absolutely,” Anna agreed. “Good luck getting rid of me at this point!”

*******************************

A couple of hours passed before Anna even checked the time. “I should probably be getting home,” she sighed. “Could we do this again tomorrow?”

Elsa nodded enthusiastically. “I’d like that. And actually, I was wrong before, about the lake. Everybody else’s spring break doesn’t start until Monday so the droves won’t be hitting town until tomorrow night. The lake would be pretty deserted if we got there really early.”

“Yes!” Anna made a fist.

“I mean like sunrise-early.”

“Yikes. Okay. No problem!” Anna wasn’t a morning person, especially when she had the choice to sleep in, but this was a great exception.

A sunrise on the lake with her new favorite person? Sounded like a dream come true!

Anna didn’t even dream that night. She woke a minute before her 3:30 alarm and sprang out of bed. Flipping on lamps here and there, she went to the kitchen to prepare some food. She made an egg scramble which her grandpa could reheat when he woke up, and then she made more sandwiches than she’d ever made at one time, leaving two in the fridge for his lunch, and taking the rest with her to share with Elsa later.

When her lunch pack was filled with ice and sandwiches, Anna went back to her room to write a note for her grandpa and change into her swimsuit. She didn’t know if there would be any getting in the water at this lake on an early spring morning, but she was ready just in case. Then she put a light green t-shirt on over the swimwear, along with dark blue jogging pants and a black and white tie dye hoodie. She probably clashed but Anna preferred to wear lots of different colors, not caring if they went well together.

A bit of a long walk later, and Anna arrived at the street corner Elsa told her about. It was right at the lake. Anna set her lunch bag on the pavement and leaned against the street lamp pole. She felt in her pocket for that ripped piece of sketchbook paper, gently running her fingers over its edges. Before long, Elsa approached in the dim lamp light.

“Good morning,” Elsa said in a quiet voice. The way it sounded so …intimate made Anna’s stomach butterflies go for a loop.

“Morning, Elsa.” Anna smiled, picking up her bag. Elsa led the way toward the lake where they found an empty pier. They walked all the way to the end and sat on the edge, dangling their legs over the dark lake. It was about a ten foot drop beneath their feet to the surface of the water, where it gently rippled just for them.

They sat quietly in the darkness until the faintest tinge of light started appearing along the horizon. It was a gentle pale blue, barely discernible from the rest of the sky at first. Slowly, it gained more light, moment by moment. Soon the light blue was joined by pale yellow, then peach. When a brilliant pink appeared on wispy clouds, Anna couldn’t help but feel it was a metaphor for how quickly and beautifully her friendship with Elsa had bloomed.

Her feelings for Elsa developed like a brightening dawn.

It was light enough now to see each other if either girl dared to turn. Anna felt for the paper in her pocket and slowly pulled it out.

“Elsa?”

“Hmm?” Elsa answered, still staring at the pink clouds, now turning orange.

“Do you draw everyone in class?”

“What do you mean?” Elsa asked.

“When you’re sketching in your notebook, do you draw our classmates? Or anyone in particular?” Anna’s heart was beating so loud she was sure Elsa could hear it.

“Oh. Um,” Elsa hesitated. “I don’t draw a lot of different people. Only the ones who mean something to me.” She glanced sideways at Anna. “Why?”

“This piece of paper you wrote your address on…” Anna held it in her hand. Elsa’s head turned to look. “I couldn’t help but notice this drawing on the back. You probably didn’t mean—”

Elsa swiftly took the paper from Anna’s fingertips and gasped when she saw the sketch. “Anna, I can explain.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Anna placed a calming hand on Elsa’s. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

“I don’t?” Elsa asked, her face visibly red even in the low light.

“No.” Anna said. “I was just making sure I understood how you felt, before…” she trailed off.

“Before?”

Anna reached up and touched Elsa’s chin with her thumb and first finger. She gently tilted Elsa’s head as her eyes asked an important question. Elsa’s breath shook as she nodded slightly. Anna leaned in sweetly, but with purpose, as she let her lips softly brush against Elsa’s. They both let out a nervous breath before closing in again. This time, Anna could really feel the connection between their lips. Anna’s eyes fluttered closed.

She no longer needed to see the picture perfect sunrise, for the colors bursting in her heart and behind her eyelids were even more beautiful.

[baby-grayson]

in the next class I feel like it would be so funny if maeve can barely focus on drawing because the focus is on the torso and Grayson’s v-line is very distracting

She tapped the fingers on her left hand against her thigh while her right hand tried to recreate the sharp, swooping line of his torso. She squints at her paper. She crashes her hand into her notebook, holding it down as her right angrily rubs out her sketch. She struggles to create the gentle, elegant sharpness of his lines. Her sketches look more like engineering, aerodynamic shapes, not a natural, sensual tease. 

Her difficulty comes not from lack of skill, her hands were very deft at creating natural shapes, but from her refusal to look at her subject. Hastily, the glanced up at Grayson. Within a second, she glanced back down. Her eyes darted from side to side, as if her pupils were scared of her eyelids. 

She groans softly, only audible to herself. She closes her eyes and slumps back in her chair. Around her, she hears the soft scratching of graphite on paper as her classmates hurry to finish before the two hours is over. Her cheeks are hot, her initial bashfulness is enhanced with the heat of frustration. She wonders how much of her grade this project is worth. 

From the center of the room, Grayson finished counting ceiling tiles. He tries not to let the voyeuristic aspects of this job bother him. But having a room full of people looking at your shoulder is wildly different than dozens of eyes glaring at your midriff. He tried to think of the paycheck at the end of this. The clerk for the Arts Department would hand him an envelope full of cash before he went on his way. He started to wonder how this was different than OnlyFans, he tried to push the thoughts from his mind. 

Maeve didn’t see his internal struggle. In fact, she made a point not to look at his face. Something about this process was easier for her the more she objectified him. He was a model, like a piece of fruit or a doll. But in that thinking, she realized that she never had an apple or a barbie make her quite this flustered. She bawled her hands up and sighed. She looked at the clock and swore not to use her eraser until class was over. 

 By the time the clock hit 2PM, Grayson felt certain there was 154 ceiling tiles in the room and Maeve had sketched something that looked like a torse, but could also pass for an artsy refrigerator advert. 

Grayson rushed out of class, quickly picking up his robe and sliding through the door while students put their supplies away. He made it to the train before Maeve, grabbing a seat in the back aisle. He reached into his coat pocket to double check the money was there. The train car smelled like marijuana and slushies- earthy but sweet. 

Maeve nearly tripped over her boots climbing onto the train car. She looked at Grayson’s usually spot, near a pole next to the front windows. She didn’t see him and decided he wasn’t there. She exhaled, feeling the train car grow larger as she let out breath. She plopped herself into a seat and rested her head back. Her bushy hair sprawled out over the headrest. 

“Can you move up...a little bit?” Grayson’s voice was husky, trying to be polite but also clearly in disdain at the main of hair that had come spilling over and on top of him from behind her. 

Maeve sat straight up. Her spine instantly went vertical. 

“Thanks,” Grayson muttered. 

Maeve inhaled and watch the train car get smaller. 

She had found the courage to wait until the stop nearest to her brownstone, no longer getting off incredibly early to avoid sharing a space with the subject of her Figure Class. She hadn’t learned his name, and refused to recognize he had one. To her, he was an object to be drawn- knowing he had a name would only make her more nervous. 

She heard him shuffle behind her. She watched as he rose and waited by the door, while the train windows showed the internet walls of the subway station racing by. She turned her eyes toward the floor. She had spent two hours staring at him for academic credit. Surely, there was a limit on how long you could look at another person. 

It was when she turned her eyes to the floor that she a bulky, yellow envelope folded into thirds. It rested by her left foot, on the edge of the aisle. 

“H-hey,” she started hesitantly, “Um- did you drop something?” 

Grayson immediately shifted his hands to his pockets, feeling himself up. He checked his back pockets as his eyes went wide. He looked toward Maeve, opening his mouth to start to speak. He eyed the envelope by her foot and instantly relaxed. His shoulders slumping as the car came to a halt.  “Thanks,” he muttered for a second time before grabbing hold of the envelope on the floor and skipping out of the train car in a single, fluid, elegant movement. 

[cosmiclatte28]

Power (Kai x you)

Power (Kai x you)

One shot / imagine / scenarios

AU where Kai and Reader both have special powers.

One cliche hallway bump and the two of you discover each other's secret

Enjoy!!

“Don't touch her!” A man yelled in urgency when the new kid almost kneeled down to help the student he just bumped.

“Huh?” the boy with bronze skin and a hot purple shade of hair shot a questioning look to the small man beside him.

“What? I bumped her Taemin, of course I need to help her.” Kai shot his new friend a questioning look and a “what the heck?” Look before kneeling down and asking the girl if she's okay.

“Sorry, I didn't see you… I’m a new student and I’m just getting used to the new environment." Kai explained his pardon while helping her reach for her scattered drawing papers.

She did not bat an eye on Kai nor even cursed him for toppling over her.

“Hey you okay?” Kai reached out his hand to touch her shoulder but before he could reach her, he felt his body dragged forcedly upward and he saw her moving away too.

You are that girl, you scurried away when you saw the purple haired man dragged away by his two friends. You knew the two other man as Taemin and Baekhyun.

You rushed your way from the big hall, every single pair of eyes threw their stare away from you as soon as you passed by. If you were a character cartoon in a film, you'll have black clouds tailing you.

You hid your face from the other students, clutching unto your books, you made it into your first class of the day. Literature.

You planted yourself over one chair on the corner of the room, sitting by yourself since you knew no one would dare to sit next to you. That has been the case since the first day you were born.

You smiled a little bit when you remember the accident 5 minutes ago, who was that purple haired man? He looked new and he was the first man to caught your attention (in a good way)

You didn't get his name at all and didn't see his name tag. You decided to push the bothering mind aside.

With one pencil in your hand and a blank page of paper in front of you, you busied yourself into drawing a portrait. The smooth friction of graphite and the drawing paper distracted you from the sudden chaos the class had. You’re drowned in your own world until someone tapped the table beside yours.

You froze on the spot like a deer caught in a headlight. Quickly you bring your arms to cover the drawing as you gasped in surprise to see the man you drew was standing there looking as surprised as you did.

“Wow that’s a very nice portrait of me.” Kai bashfully smiled.

“What are you doing here?” you blurted out and internally cursed yourself for saying that out loud. Great now you sounded so rude and he will hate you like the others.

“Well as I told you earlier, I am a new student and I happened to be taking this class too.” He explained calmly

You scrutinized him from top to toe, trying to discover whose descendants did he belong to.

“And??” you wanted him to continue

Kai darted his eyes through out the room, “the only chair left is the one beside yours.”

You quickly scanned the room and yes there was no more empty space left.

“Uhm- here take the chair and table… i'll -"

“hey we can share. I don't use up the whole space.” He carefully placed his bag down.

Your breathing shortens and you're having a light panic attack. No one has shared tables with you ever since you discovered your curse.

“Look I'll be on the very end if you're not comfortable.” Kai pulled his chair to the end of the table and carefully prepared his things for today’s class.

The whole attention from the class was enough to make your day worse.

Kai did not know what he did on you, but he will … soon.

--

You shared literature class with him for the rest of the semester and every time he always shared the last table with you. You never talked to him at all and whenever he tried, you always replied in short answers. Man gave up finally or at least toned down his conversations. You always make sure none of your body touched his, or life would be hell.

Kai kept his questions to himself, he did not dare ask anyone what’s the matter with (y/n) and no one volunteered to tell him what's actually wrong.

Every day Kai found himself intrigued and attracted to you. It was not a simple feeling, it was love. It's the most dangerous feeling someone could possess.

Kai saw your sketches the day he first met you, he saw your drawings on the hallway and of course his portrait on the first day. He was mesmerized by the fact that it only cost you one look and you had that person's face intact. You could even make a portrait with hand directly.

“(y/n)… would you like to accompany me to the book store today? I'm sorry to bother you but I have no one else and you know i'm still new here.” He bravely talked to you when lecture ended.

You cocked your head to the side, surprised by his brave move. You looked around and nodded

“Just remember… don't touch me.” You whispered and in a blink of an eye, you're blended into the crowd already.

That afternoon Kai met you on the one and only bookstore by the alley. He was dressed in a simple denim jacket and you're wrapped in a cropped sweater and a low cut jeans.

You did not dress up to impress him, that happened to be the remaining clothes on your drawer.

His eyes looked up and down, judging your attire and his face was pure surprise.

“Sorry they were the only clean laundries I have.. I forgot to drop my laundries… anyways what book are you looking for?” you for once threw him a sweet smile.

You never offer a sweet smile to anyone in the school. It was always a small smile or a poker face. But something in the air and something about his purple hair and glossy tanned skin made your stomach tingled and smile muscle worked involuntarily.

“Ah it's a trilogy and we should probably start looking.” Kai reached out to grab your hand, but you're faster. You quickly hug yourself and in a cheerful voice hurried him to follow your steps into the book store.

His hand hung mid air, he quirked his brow but followed you afterwards.

The two of you exchanged small talk and conversation while looking for a book you've never heard at all.

Kai insisted that the book was old but he was sure this is the only book store that sell them.

By two hours, you've walked through all of the aisle and kai had not for once told you to stop or showed signals of him finding the book.

“Wait we're on the last rack already.. and you’re sure your books are here?” you suddenly felt something wrong.

He glanced around and when he saw no one, he took steps forward causing you to back down.

“Kai?”

“Shh" his finger ghost over your lips and your eyes widen…

He looked at you with an indescribable emotion and as if hypnotized you can't take off your eyes from him. You follow his gaze and knew he was looking at your glistening lips well you love lipglosses and you cannot leave the room without wearing one!

You found your tongue tied and body freezing. You're glued to the grounds and the man towering over you leaned in to kiss you.

“Don't" you squeaked.

“I'm dangerous. I could freeze you.. literally..let me explain..” you hold your hands out but Kai was not paying attention to you at all. His body leaned closer and closer while his fingers bravely intertwined yours. You shut your eyes, a tear escaped from your eyes as you felt your body trembling with fear.

You remember the last time a boy tried to kiss you, his body froze to eternal death and you.. you were the reason. That was why you never came in contact with anyone else just a tip of your finger might gave them a burning sensation from the cold.

You felt his lips pressed into yours, gently molding into it, when you felt a light press on your hands you shot your eyes open just to cry more as you see someone kissing you without turning blue for the first time.

You closed your eyes back, savoring the sweetest moment and the warmest feeling you've had in your entire life. Your body was flaming as if you're melted into his touch, slowly Kai snaked his hands to your bare skin and he gripped over your hips.

You gasped and he took the chance to slid his tongue inside your cave, exploring the new humidity, and one of his hand was professionally holding your neck close.

You did not know how he could handle your power that much and that long. After what you could say a good kiss, he pulled back.

Both of your chest were beating fast and he broke the thin strain between your lips. You could see his lips glistening and he licked it slightly. Looking hot as ever.

“I was curious of your lip-gloss ever since day one” he rubbed his neck shyly. Suddenly he returned to his innocent school looking self.

“How?!” that was the only question you blurted

Your eyes were wet and Kai brought you into his embrace.

“I discovered people were backing away from you because you have the ability to freeze someone… you'd be surprised if I tell you people in my last school feared me since I could burn the whole school down with one hand.” He pulled of a smug grin and pressed a short kiss once again on your lips.

Your tears streamed down faster as you tried to believe you've finally met someone with the same burden… and the two of you could counteract each other's power.

“So… you don't have to sit on the very edge anymore… you won’t hurt me and I won't hurt you.” Kai pressed a chaste kiss on your pink lips.

Your brain was still processing things and you’re only able to smile like an idiot.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and ushered you to leave the store. He never intended to look for a book . The book was imaginary and he just wanted to take you out. That was why he did not use the computer searching program nor the help of the clerk.

You laughed when you realized he was trying to bring you to a date without you realizing it at all.

“How does taemin and baekhyun touched you without getting burnt?” you glanced to the taller man holding your hands.

Kai smirked, “That darling is what i'll teach you next. How to control your power.”

The end 💖

[datheetjoella]

Fantober 2020, Day 26: Art Class

Author: DatHeetJoella Fandom: Free! Pairing: MakoHaru Rating: T Part: 26/31 (read the full collection here) Word count: 1,947 Tags: Canonverse, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Nudity Read at: AO3, FFn, or right here!

                                              ------------------------------------ When Haruka asked him if he wanted to model for a drawing he had to make for his art elective, Makoto agreed immediately. He was happy to help Haruka out wherever he could and he felt honoured that Haruka wanted to draw him for an assignment. Although he imagined it would be difficult to sit still for an extensive amount of time, he was pretty excited about trying something new with Haruka. If he got cramps from holding the same position for too long, Haruka would surely give him a break.

But when Haruka laid out all his supplies and set out a chair for him, that excitement quickly diminished.

"Take off your clothes."

"Why?" Makoto asked with a frown.

"It's an anatomy assignment," Haruka explained, "I have to draw your body and I can't see your muscles and bone structure through your sweater and jeans."

That did make sense so Makoto stripped down to his underwear without any protests, though he did feel a bit self-conscious. Being in his leg skins at the pool was so much different from being in his underwear on an assignment Haruka's professor would grade. But he told himself they'd view it with a professional eye and not a scrutinising one, and they probably had to look at hundreds of other drawings so he hopefully wouldn't stand out too much.

"Okay, how do you want me to sit?"

"Makoto," Haruka said with a deadpan expression. "Take off all your clothes."

The blood vessels in Makoto's cheeks nearly burst at that. "What?"

"You have to be nude in this image, it's in the criteria."

"Why didn't you tell me that sooner? Being in my underwear is already embarrassing enough, but being naked is just impossible!"

"Because you'd immediately say no."

"Of course I would! Don't they provide nude models in your class?"

"They do, but you were sick that day and I stayed home to take care of you, remember?" Haruka said, "All the other classes already had their sessions too and it's not like they will hire another nude model for me alone, so I have to do this assignment at home."

Damn. It was his fault Haruka missed this class so it was his responsibility to help him catch up. But no matter how guilty Makoto felt, he wasn't sure if he could do this. "Isn't there anyone else you can ask?"

"Sure, let me call Asahi and ask him if I can stare at his naked body for hours while I sketch the outline of his di-"

"Okay, I get it!" Makoto interrupted before he could pass out from heatstroke. "This is completely professional, right?"

"Of course, it's artistic nude. The only person who'll get to see this beside us is my prof, I promise."

In the end, Makoto could never refuse Haruka when he needed him. With a sigh of defeat, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and tugged his boxer-briefs down. "How should I sit?"

"Facing me. Put your left foot on the seat and lean your right elbow on the backrest, hand on your knee. Put your other foot on the floor and let your other arm hang limply beside you."

Those were some specific instructions. Haruka probably put a lot of thought into this, so Makoto couldn't disappoint him no matter how shy he felt. "Like this?" he asked when he assumed the right position.

"Hmm." Haruka ran his eyes over his form critically. "Actually, instead of putting your hand on your knee, raise it to support your head. Tilt your head to the side a bit so I can see your neck."

"Alright," Makoto said and he did as Haruka told him. "How's this?"

"Better. I'll start drawing now, so don't move."

"I don't know how long I'll be able to sit like this, though."

"I figured, so let me know when you need a break."

"I will."

With that, Haruka flipped open his sketchbook and began to draw.

Makoto's gaze wandered from the lamp on the ceiling to the draped curtains, trying to divert his attention from the situation he found himself in. If he'd been told a few days ago that he would be a nude model for an art assignment, he would've laughed and brushed it off as something beyond his capabilities. While he did maintain that viewpoint, the subject was a whole lot less hilarious now.

The only sound in the room was the scratching of graphite onto paper, which made Makoto even more aware of his frantic heartbeat. Every nook and cranny of his body was not just being studied closely, but also eternalised in the sketchbook like an exhibit of all his flaws and imperfections. Each weird mole and bump and pocket of misplaced fat displayed for the whole world to see - actually, for Haruka and his professor solely, but it sure felt like the whole world.

The more time passed, the more Haruka's eyes burned on his skin and the more awkward Makoto felt. He couldn't back down anymore, so he had to repress the itching discomfort or else he'd disturb Haruka. Unconsciously, he bit his bottom lip and scrunched up his nose.

Haruka's pencil halted on the page. "I'm still drawing your general shape so it's fine for now, but once I get to your face you need to relax your expression. My professor will think I held you at gunpoint otherwise."

"Sorry," Makoto said, resisting the urge to scratch at his cheek, "It's just so embarrassing."

"But why? I see you naked all the time and you don't seem to have any issues with it then."

"But then you're also naked."

"Do you want me to take my clothes off, too?"

"That's not what I mean," Makoto said, "I don't feel embarrassed in the heat of the moment, and not even if you just see me nude either but this is different. You're completely staring me down and that makes me self-conscious."

"You didn't feel self-conscious when you sent me that picture when I was at the training camp a few weeks ago. And believe me, I stared at that every night until I got back."

"That was different too, then I couldn't see you staring," Makoto said and somehow, the temperature inside his cheeks rose even higher at the mere thought of the picture. "And I'll have you know, I was self-conscious. My finger hovered over the button for twenty minutes before I sent it and I felt so embarrassed the second I did that I almost regretted it."

"I was happy to receive it," Haruka said, putting down his sketchbook on his lap. "Do you know why?"

"Because you were, you know, excited?"

"That too, but that's not what I meant," Haruka said as he stood up and walked over to Makoto, taking a hold of his hands. "Because you're beautiful and I love your body so much. Whether it's touching or just watching, I love every part of you."

The look in Haruka's eyes was dead serious and his voice conveyed unwavering sincerity. It was rare for Haruka to state his thoughts so openly and it simultaneously made Makoto's heart skip a beat and his head avert as bashfulness flooded him.

"I'll love your body no matter how it ends up looking because it's yours and I love you," Haruka continued, cupping his jaw to make him meet his gaze. "But objectively speaking, you are incredibly good-looking. Not only your body, but your face too. You are so attractive, handsome, gorgeous, hot, sexy-"

"Haru!" Makoto interrupted, laughter bubbling up from his stomach. Haruka didn't compliment him this blatantly often, so knowing this was how Haruka truly felt about him boosted his self-esteem.

"Don't you ever be ashamed of your body, or of any part that is you, because there is nothing to be ashamed of. You're absolutely beautiful both inside and out."

"Thank you, Haru," Makoto murmured, leaning up to capture Haruka's lips in a kiss of gratitude. "You are, too."

They kissed each other again, brief but immensely loving. When Haruka pulled back, he said, "If you really don't feel comfortable with me drawing you naked, then that's okay. I'll try to find someone else."

Makoto shook his head. "It's alright. It's just you and me anyway."

"And my professor."

"And your professor," he said with a chuckle, "But your professor won't get to see me naked, but a drawing of me, so it's different. As long as I never run into them."

Haruka smiled too and with a final kiss, he went back to his cushion at the table. "If you get back into position, I'll resume drawing. I'll draw the most beautiful nude artwork she's ever seen."

Makoto nodded and moved his limbs to their assigned position.

One break and nearly two hours later, Haruka put his last pencil down. "It's finished. Want to come take a look?"

"Of course!" Makoto leapt off the chair and crouched down next to Haruka. His mouth fell agape when he saw the image he had created. "This is amazing, Haru!"

The man on the paper was very attractive, with sharp yet soft features and a toned body, but it was undeniably him. Admittedly, Makoto never stood in front of the mirror for longer than necessary, but he would if this was the body he always saw. Knowing Haruka viewed him this way was already touching, but the fact that he merely drew what was tangible almost took Makoto's breath away. Haruka had been a skilled artist since they were kids, but with each stroke and every line, he got even better.

"You truly outdid yourself, Haru. It's like you improve whenever I blink."

"Thanks," Haruka said with a small smile. "I had a great model."

"You'll definitely get a high grade on this assignment. Maybe even the highest grade in your year."

Haruka shook his head. "I'm not turning this drawing in for the assignment."

Makoto couldn't believe his ears. Had he suffered through all that embarrassment for nothing? "What, why?"

"Look at it," Haruka said, turning away his head as an adorable blush lit up his ears. "I don't want anyone else to see you like this, not even my professor."

At that, Makoto almost choked with laughter. "Are you serious? What happened to it being artistic nude?"

"It is artistic nude, but this is too private."

"What now then? Are you not going to hand anything in or are you going to try to find another model?"

"I'd like to draw you again, if that's okay with you."

"Sure, but won't you have the same issue then?"

"I'll draw you from a different angle, one that doesn't show your face or at least isn't recognisable," Haruka said, "I'll have to think of a new pose. Do you have time tomorrow evening?"

"Yeah, I don't have to work, so I'll try to finish up my homework in the afternoon," Makoto said as he shimmied his clothes back on. "You know, it was a bit scary at first, but I had a lot of fun."

"Me too," Haruka said, "Does that mean I can draw you more often?"

"Is that with or without clothes?"

"Both."

Makoto giggled again. "Alright, because you asked so nicely."

"Thanks," Haruka said, wrapping his arms around Makoto's shoulders. "You really are a great model. Very… inspiring."

Although Makoto would probably never possess the unwavering confidence some others were blessed with, Haruka always knew how to make him feel better about himself. And perhaps, through portraits and images Haruka drew of him, Makoto could learn to love himself the way Haruka loved him: wholeheartedly, all imperfections included.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter twenty: all the world’s a stage

“Time for the new record!” Scott declared as he rubbed his hands together.

It was the day before the official release date and Sam, Aurora, and Marla all had driven up to the studio in upstate New York to fetch the copies for themselves given it was a Tuesday. The former had her journal rested upon her lap for the entire trip but she had it tucked underneath her arm once they headed inside away from the impending lake effect snow. The end of October and the heart of autumn and yet the forecast called for snow all over most of the upstate area.

Belinda had stayed back down in New York City to tend to organizing the models for Miss Estes: their first one was within a week, and she vowed to give Sam and Marla some insight into their first real big art project for the winter term.

“I'd rather you ladies get a head start on it now,” she explained to them right before they left, “you know, as you're learning the basics of how to make it all look like cohesive drawings.”

And as she said that, she showed Sam a raise of the eyebrows as if she was concerned about her. Even though drawing came to her as if it was second nature, Sam still struggled with shading with graphite. Despite her holding onto the pencil at an angle so as to use the edge of the graphite, the shadows on her sketches always came out too soft and light for it to resemble to the real thing. Whenever Miss Estes or even Marla told her to keep on adding graphite and it would build, it did, but it never got to a point in which it was dark enough. It always seemed odd to her because she could do it with ink and colored pencil as if it was nothing. But she never realized just how much she struggled with graphite until she was shown the very basics there in class.

Thus, Sam rode along in the front seat next to Marla with what she wanted to make for the winter term swimming through her mind. She thought about Joey and what he had asked her back on his birthday, and she wondered if she could convince him to do the same as Cliff for their drawing class. And she kept those thoughts firmly on her mind as they reached the studio and were greeted by the guys themselves.

Joey himself was wrapped up in a dark knit sweater under a long black coat and a knit scarf: his jet black curls were tousled onto one side of his head. Some of the curls sprawled down his shoulder onto the heavy fabric. Even though the room was warm and safe from the harsh New York cold, he still shivered from the feeling. At one moment, he stepped out of the room and he offered to get the three girls a cup of hot chocolate for each of them.

Meanwhile, Frank had on a little pair of dark red gloves and he rubbed his hands together.

“I can't believe we're all about to let you girls have a little taste of our new record,” he remarked once they all congregated in that room together. Dan huddled down next to him with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

“It almost feels like we're about to give away the new record,” he confessed to Frank.

“We kinda are, but we trust these girls, though,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, we'll take good care of these,” Aurora vowed to Dan.

“By the way, Sam has something a little special to share with you fellas,” Marla added, and she turned her head in her direction. “If it's not too much trouble.”

“Nah, I've been wanting to just let this happen already,” Sam confessed as she took out the journal from its hiding place under her arm. She had slipped a makeshift bookmark in between the pages to separate those ink drawings from the rest of the pack: that pencil sketch of Joey hung right behind the bookmark and she hoped that none of them would have a look at it.

She sprawled the book open before Frank and Dan to that very first drawing: the latter raised his eyebrows at the sight of that diseased drawing and the former gaped at the very sight of it.

“Wow,” Dan muttered.

“That's—That's—” Frank could hardly speak.

“What?” Sam asked them.

“I just lost my train of my thought,” Frank confessed as he ran his fingers through his hair and showed her an amazed expression. Dan chuckled at him. “Sam, it's so—so—so—”

“You made Frank forget himself for a second, Sam,” Marla told her with a grin on her face.

“These are thirty one drawings to represent all thirty one days in October,” Sam explained as she moved her fingers a little bit to put more emphasis on the drawing. “And they're in dedication of the new record.” She then turned the page to the next one, the inmates in the asylum. Followed by the next one. And the next one. Each time, Frank's eyes widened and his face fixated on what he saw before him. They heard him breathe out the words “oh my god.”

“Have you shown these to your classmates?” he finally choked out at one point.

“I haven't, no,” she admitted. Frank turned his head in the opposite direction.

“Hey, Charlie!” he called out. “Come check this out!”

Dan dropped his gaze a bit to one part of that thirty first drawing: his eyes caressed over the pen strokes. Sam could tell he was getting lost in the whole thing. Charlie strode into the room right then with his hood pulled over the crown of his head: some stray black curls jutted out from underneath the fabric of the hood.

“What's up, Frankie—holy shit,” he blurted out at the sight of the drawing before Dan's face. He turned and nodded at Charlie.

“She made these thirty one drawings for Spreading,” Frank explained to him. “And she did them pretty quickly, too.”

Charlie gaped at that.

“Thirty one drawings for each day in October,” Sam added in a low voice.

“Hasn't showed them to her classmates, either,” Dan told him; she handed Charlie the journal with her finger rested upon the top of the bookmark so he could start there. He gazed on at that first drawing as if he had seen heaven, and Frank and Dan returned to the three of them.

“Would like your copies?” Frank asked them as he shook his head about as if he returned to consciousness.

“Yes, please!” Aurora replied.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” Marla retorted, and he and Dan gestured for the three of them to follow them onto the other side of the room. A table was tucked in the corner and Sam spotted a trio of small stacks of vinyl records wrapped up in filmy white paper sleeves right in the middle. Even from across the room, she could see the words “Spreading the Disease” scrawled on the outside of the paper in big black lettering.

“Sam, Aurora, and Marla,” Frank pointed to each of the stacks. “Those top ones are for each of you respectively.”

Aurora and Marla lunged to the table first, while Sam lingered back a bit to let them have at it. Dan turned to her with his hands still tucked in his jeans pockets.

“These are the very first pressings,” he explained with a little twinkle in his eye. “The very first.”

“So I'll protect it with my life,” she vowed to him. Aurora held her copy close to her chest as if it was about to get away from her, and that was Sam's cue at that moment. She then picked the one on top of the stack on the far left. The paper was smooth like tissue: she could feel the hard vinyl on the inside there. She held it before her as if she was about to behold it to the masses.

Dan turned his head to her and showed her a little smile.

“I just realized that we haven't really gotten to know each other that much,” she confessed to him.

“Me, too,” he replied. “I got a girlfriend, though.”

“We can still hang out from time to time,” she pointed out as she thought about Cliff and the yellow tulips he had given her.

“True!” Dan gave his feathery hair a slight toss back. “Maybe we can hang out over Thanksgiving or something, or whenever you have time off from school.”

“Can get like a bite of lunch or something with these two girls.” Sam then glimpsed down at the record in her hands. “I don't have a record player, either.”

“I do! Maybe when we hang out, I'll take you home and you can play it out there.”

“Sounds like a plan!” she declared as she held the record close to her chest.

She turned around and she noticed Charlie had taken a seat in the far corner of the room with the journal sprawled open across his lap. He lingered over the journal pages and he kept his fingers upon the pen strokes there on the paper.

“I think you opened Pandora's box,” Dan told her. “I don't think I've ever seen Charlie that enthralled by anything before.”

“It's going to be hell to pry it out of his hands,” Sam answered.

“Nah,” Dan assured her with a shake of his head, “it looks like he's near the end of it.”

Aurora burst out laughing at something that Marla had said, and Sam and Dan strode on over to Charlie, who lifted his attention from the pages.

“I'm in love,” he said to her. “I'm madly in love with this.”

Sam shrugged her shoulders and her mind fell blank at the sound of that. She moved the vinyl closer to her upper left arm.

“You don't mind if I show this to Scott and Joey?” he asked her.

“You might as well,” she answered with another shrug of her shoulders. “They're for you guys and in the honor of the new album.”

Without another word, Charlie stood to his feet and he made his way into the next room for Scott and Joey themselves. Sam then turned her attention to Dan.

“So we can't play the record here but we can hang out for a moment, though,” she told him. “What's the band you used to play in again?”

“Overkill.”

“Overkill, that was it!”

“We did covers at gigs, mostly Motorhead and Judas Priest covers at first, all over New Jersey—the band name came from Motorhead's song 'Overkill' in fact. But then the opportunity with them came up about as quick as the opportunity with Overkill came up, too. I wound up with them and ever since then, I've been teaching myself to make things like amps and pedals.”

“And how is that going?” Sam thought about Belinda and her love of the more kinesthetic art.

“It's going quite well,” he replied. “I just like working with my hands is all.”

“Don't we all?” “That's all art is, isn't it? Working with your hands and being creative?”

“Absolutely.”

Scott and Joey's chatter floated into the room right then. The idea of standing there with these five men with their eyes fixated on those thirty one drawings made her squirm in her shoes. Even though her parents were supportive of her artistry, she hadn't really given them much insight into her art up to that point. It was all in a world of its own and she never really understood as to why that was the case. Charlie soon returned to them with her journal cradled in both of his hands.

“I'm utterly speechless,” he admitted to her, “Scott is, too.”

“What did Joey think?” Sam asked him as she squirmed a little bit in her shoes.

“He was going crazy about it. Like, 'holy shit, this is the best art I've ever seen!' The three of us came to the conclusion that we want you to make prints of them.” “I wouldn't know the first thing about that, though,” she confessed as he handed the journal back to her.

“It's complicated but easy at the same time. I'll show you, though.”

“Will you?”

“Promise.” Charlie stuck out his pinky finger for her, and she hooked her own around it. “And I see you and Danny have been hanging out for a little bit, too.”

“I don't have a record player so he promised to bring me back to his place to play it,” she explained as she set the record on top of her journal and then tucked them under her arm.

“We're shootin' for Thanksgiving,” he answered, and he flashed Sam a wink.

Within time, the three girls thanked them and Charlie offered to take them home given the sky was heavy with snow. But Marla assured him that they could drive on back to the Bronx in one piece. Sam shivered and pulled the hood over her head with one hand. She thought about Charlie's promise and she squirmed even more in her seat. She hadn't gotten this amount of attention to her art before, and she hadn't been nudged like this before, either.

She gazed out the window at the ominous gray sky overhead and then to the lush forest on either side of the highway. Then she remembered Joey hadn't talked to her about posing for her, and she hoped she could do it by the time the green signs for the Bronx appeared on the right side of the road.

Marla switched on the heater once the first drops of cold rain fell onto the roof.

“By the way, Charlie told me to store the vinyls like books on shelves,” she told Sam and Aurora.

“That's what I've heard, too,” said the latter from the back seat.

“I'll nestle this in between my textbooks if I have to,” Sam chimed in.

“Might as well!” Marla exclaimed as the lanes widened into four. “If any of us get any more pieces of vinyl, we should set aside shelves for them.”

“Like, the top shelf could be the considered the vinyl shelf or something,” Aurora followed along. Sam gazed out the window again and she had a feeling that it was in fact the mere beginning of a big vinyl collection, not just for her but for the three of them.

Soon, they rolled into the Bronx and Aurora told Marla over and over again she was willing on the subway for the ride home.

“I wanna take you home, though,” Marla insisted as Sam stepped out of earshot with her journal and the copy of Spreading the Disease both tucked under her arm. She strode into the front of her apartment building when she spotted Cliff seated at the base of the stairs. She closed the front door and the blast of warm furnace air washed over her.

“Hey,” she said as she showed him a smile.

“Hi,” he replied to her as he set his hands on either side of him: she caught a flash of silver on his right hand all the while. He stood to his feet and his smooth long hair sprawled over his shoulders. He brought his hands to his coat collar. He had put on a silver ring in the shape of a skull on his right ring finger.

“Where'd you get that?” she asked him.

“What this?” He held out his hand for her to better see it.

“This was actually something I found,” he replied. “I figured that—you know, since—” He turned his head towards Emile's apartment. “—since you and I are in a relationship now,” he lowered his voice to a near whisper.

“Right, right. Guess I should find something for myself now.”

“If you want,” he said with a shrug, “this was just something I found and did on the spur of the moment.”

“Would you like to come upstairs and have some hot cocoa?” she offered him.

“Yes, please.”

Cliff followed her back to her place, and she set the vinyl and the journal on the coffee table once she stepped inside first.

“Is that their new record?” he asked her as he shut the door behind him.

“Yes, sir-ee,” she said, and she started to wonder if she even had some hot chocolate in her cupboard. He stripped off his coat and hung it up on the hook next to the door. She spotted a skull shaped tattoo on his upper arm.

“That's new,” she remarked; he held out his arm.

“That's 'cause it is!”

Cliff took his seat on the couch under the view into the kitchen. Every so often, as she put on the little red kettle and poured in some of the cocoa into two clean mugs, she caught a glimpse of either the crown of his head or his eyebrows and those eyes.

“You look like you wanna tell me something,” she declared as she doubled back into the living room so as to let the water boil.

“So it turns out, I won't be posing for your drawing class until your finals week,” he told her.

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows at that.

“Yeah. You know, just the whole thing with the schedule conflicts, between us and a couple of other models who've gotten slots before me.”

“Oh, yeah, Bel was talking about that the other day. There's a whole bunch of things going on with the art classes, especially the lower level ones like the ones we're in right now.”

“I should also tell you that we've finished recording our new record.” He gestured down to the vinyl on the coffee table.

“When should we expect the new Metall-icka record?” she asked him.

“Some time in March,” he answered with a chuckle at that. “It has to undergo mastering and mixing now, and then it's submitted in time for a deadline so it can be released in March.”

“Exactly like them,” she followed along.

“Do you know if they're going on tour at all?” he asked her.

“I don't. Aurora probably does, but not me, though. I’ll have to ask her when I see her again. What about you guys?”

“March. This spring is gonna be pretty eventual for us.”

The first whistles from the kettle caught Sam's attention and she ducked back into the kitchen. She poured the hot water over the cups of cocoa, and she returned to him with the mugs in hand.

“I'm sorry I don't have those tiny marshmallows,” she admitted.

“It's okay—besides, I like a little spice in my hot chocolate,” he told her.

“Spice? Like—spicy?”

“Yeah. A couple of spices, like nutmeg and cinnamon, and with some whipped cream on top.”

“Oh! So like Mexican hot chocolate.”

“Exactly! But I won't turn down free cocoa, though.”

He blew on the surface of the hot chocolate first and then he took a sip. He nodded his head at that, and then she took a sip herself.

“You ought to come along with us,” he suggested.

“What, on tour?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it is in March so I'd have to take time off from school, though,” she pointed out.

“And?”

“And? That’s a lot to ask for, though. I worked too hard to claim my place over here to the East Coast, though, Cliff. I can't give that up and I don’t really want to, either. I’d have to tell my parents about it, too...”

“It wouldn't be giving it up, though,” he assured her. “It's just getting to a couple of shows if and when you can. We're gonna be all over New York and Pennsylvania in April, literally right after the tour starts. Like we go to the Midwest on the twenty seventh of March, when the tour starts and we start coming to the Northeast not even two weeks after that. We hang out around here for almost three weeks and then we start going south and out west.”

“Going all over the place,” said Sam as she brought the mug of hot cocoa to her lips but she didn't take a sip. “All the world's a stage.”

“Literally! Although—” He hesitated and he lowered his gaze to the floor.

“What?”

“You heard this from me,” he said in a low voice even though they were alone in her apartment. “There are two things that I have been wanting to say to someone, and since you and I are together, I can finally say this.”

“What is it?”

“Well, the first thing is—Lars and I haven't been getting together as much. I dunno what it is, either. But he and I haven't been as friendly to one another lately.”

“Like you're kind of drifting apart?” she followed along.

“Yes—yeah! That's exactly what it is! He and I are drifting away from each other.”

“Why is that?” she asked him, to which he shook his head.

“I don't really know. I'm guessing it all started when we embarked on the new record and Lars was doing most of the talking to the press, and no one was really talking to me or James as much. It's gotten a little lopsided lately, with Lars being the wordsmith and the three of us being the ones who put our horns down and do it all at once. It's more so the case with me, though. No one really talks to me much now.”

“What's the other thing?”

“I think we're gonna fire Lars,” he confessed. “Well, I should say James and Kirk are plotting it. I'm not sure how I feel about it.”

“Have you tried to talk to them?” she asked him.

“Not really. I don't really know how to do it, though.”

“Have you told Dave about it?” she asked as she thought back to him and how he was fired on impulse.

“I'm thinking about it,” he said with a point of his finger. “Maybe he can help.”

“Yeah, maybe he can!” she replied, excited.

“He is a good friend, too. My good friend despite his being out on the job himself.”

He took another sip from his mug and that time he closed his eyes. She took another sip for herself.

“I dunno if Legacy are gonna be with us, though,” he confessed. “It's gonna be a tour with another band but I'm not sure yet. Jonny's supposed to tell us like—any day now, he should tell us about it. I hope it's them, but at the same time—you know, with Alex being in school and whatnot. You guys being in school matters the most.”

Sam turned her head and showed him a smile at that.

“So you want us to stay in school but you also want us to attend the shows, though,” she followed along with a knitting of her eyebrows.

“Exactly! But we also want you guys to do better than us.” He lowered his gaze to the journal on the coffee table.

“I haven't showed you these drawings, have I,” she said in a soft voice. “Thirty one ink drawings in honor of that new album as well as the month of October.”

“Ink, like black ink?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect for Halloween.”

Sam then gasped at that.

“Happy Halloween, Cliff,” she proclaimed as she brought her mug closer to him, and he returned the favor.

“Happy Halloween, Sam I am,” he echoed and they clinked their mugs together. They took a drink in unison, and then she brought her attention to the journal. Cliff opened to a page past the bookmark and he clasped a hand to his chest.

“All the world's a stage, Sam,” he recalled, and then his face lit up. “I have an idea.”

“What's that?”

“Do you mind if—when we go on tour, and you're not able to make it, I take this journal with me to keep me company?”

She was stunned by that, such that she didn't know how to reply to it.

“It sounds weird, sure. But—the road gets kind of isolated after a while.”

“Take the journal so it seems like I'm there with you,” she followed along.

“Exactly. I'll also share it to everyone I can, too. Make sure you get seen in other pockets of the country. Do what our friends did for us with our demo tape to get us signed.”

Sam showed him a little warm smile and then she leaned in closer to his face. She brushed her lips against his and he sighed through his nose at the feeling. He tasted like chocolate. Perfect.

“By the way, I quit smoking,” he told her in a low voice, to which she gasped and gave him a second, more eager kiss on the lips.

“What say the two of us have some pumpkin pie in a bit?” she offered him.

“Sounds good by me!” And they gave each other another toast of the mugs.

[soranihimawari]

West Coast kind of Love

 Summary: There were certain things you know off the top of your head. One, the fact that popcorn and M&Ms should not be sold separately at the local movies is a crime; two, every other Monday of the month, the neighborhood film club would host dollar monster movies (where one of your neighbors in your apartment complex would frequently attend); and three, you might have to pinch yourself when he asks you to take a photo with you as a proof of “how things are going abroad” to his friend in Argentina...

Word count: 4.685K

Taglist: @m0nstergeneration20xx 📷 (google docs proof reader), @oitoorus​, @tkags & her ⛅ (anon fam) , @oikawalovely [open still]

“Do what you love and the rest will follow”-proverb

--September XX--Thursday, 23:13 (11:23pm)

“Oh come on Yukihira,” you knocked on the closed bathroom door of your apartment.”You know I called dibs to the bathroom after we ditched those jerks at the dancehall.”

Every month you and your roommate took turns in choosing public places to go out for a night on the town. With midterms coming up for what would be the junior year of your undergrad studies, your roommate decided giving a double date a try. Unfortunately for her, those jerks were thinking of doing the deed way too early for either of your liking. You decide that spilling your peach Bellini on your friend’s outfit during the middle of the date was the perfect excuse to end the night early. More often than not, you mostly came along these dates with her as an enforcer. You two might be as different as night and day (yukihira studies medicine all hours of the day whereas your focus was the visual arts). Tonight was just one of those nights where you being there was beneficial.

“Ugh, fine,” she said opening the door revealing her freshly brushed grin. “I can’t believe you had the gall to ruin that outfit y/n.”

“Hey, whatever helps you throw it out like you did your ex then I was doing the Lord’s work for you, Yuks.” You rolled your eyes at her when she stuck out her tongue when you slithered into the ivory tiled washroom. This earned a laugh from the other member of your household.

“But because this was a bad date and I didn’t think things through this time again, that means I get to set you up on a blind date.” Her singsong voice reached your ears as you turned on the faucet to drown out her mocking tone. You paused for a brief moment while waiting for the make up remover serium to bubble up on your face before wiping it off effectively.

“With who?” you asked after you patted your skin dry post-makeup removal ritual complete. Your hair was undone from the hair elastic you pulled out of your inherited islander curls.

“I don’t know. Hmm...Maybe the guy in unit 23C? He’s awfully cute,” Yukihira mused as you leaned in her doorway. Her brows wiggled in delight when she noticed how you stared at your neighbor on move in day during your freshman move in day three years prior.

“Iwazumi? You can’t be serious,” you said. Your voice betrayed you because your eyes shined like the gods of furtune finally found their way to you.

“Do you want to or not? He’s focused, witty, determined; I have my physiology study group with him tomorrow. Why don’t you come with, best friend of mine?”

You really hated when she pulled the puppy eyes on you, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to refuse (not by a long shot).

“Ask him if he prefers coffee or tea.”

A few days later, you came home from your department’s masters class with your portfolio sling over your shoulder. Your hands were covered in literal ink stains from your latest mural macro-micro project.

“Hey, Yukihira! Have you seen where I kept my lacquer thinner?” You raise your voice slightly as you kick off your shoes by the entrance hallway. It was only then you realize there were a couple of other pairs of shoes that did not belong to either of you. That’s when you remembered your friend’s warning about her study group coming over. All color drained from your face when you rounded the corner to your living room area converted into a mini lecture hall. You clear your throat to announce your presence which went unnoticed (with the exception of your roommate). Without even looking at the board, you chose to mess with the med students’ practice case.

“And I’m telling you this is a bilateral cut to the optic nerve, Josefina.”

“The microabraisons on the left thoracic cavity allowed the victim to bleed out on the table due to the elevated use of blood thinners, ” your voice quiets the pre-med students and you smile in a nonchalant manner. You have read this problem with Yukihira so many times prior at the start of the semester that you were able to recall the prognosis off the top of you head. Being friends with a pre-med major does have its redeeming qualities although you were seen mostly honing your crafts in the art department and this was just the prime time of their study week. 

“Oh! You’re back early,” Yukihira says in a warm tone. She stands at the end of the table in between you Her eyes glazed over as if to communicate that you were about to be formally introduced. You bite your tongue prior to allowing your roommate to clap her hands together as she went naming every member starting with the person on her left who was the aforementioned Josefina. When she had come full circle, her voice trailed off with a small apologetic smile.

“Aaaand this here is my roommate, y/n. To answer your question about the lacquer thinner, I put the bottle on your desk when it arrived last time,” Yukihira made sure to watch everyone’s response. She was more interested in seeing how the third member of her study group (the aforementioned neighbor in 23C) would react. His minuscule smirk was doubly noted, prompting you to fill the few seconds of silence with your own voice. After a brief trip down memory lane, spear headed by your best friend as they took a break from studying for a moment, Yukihira explained after years of being friends you learned about the medical cases for exams via osmosis. You were an unofficial member of the study group since the medical arts building was located near the visual arts department offices on campus. You chose to not let them be pushed back any further especially since their content exam was coming up later that month, so you bid them good luck.

“Don’t mind me,” your brass tone conveyed an even temper at the time. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to head to my room. You guys aren’t the only ones with an exam this week.” You raised your portfolio canister so they could see the poster sized dyed cylinder. Reams of paper filled with sketches made from ink and graphite poked through under the flourescent lights of the kitchen dining room table. The med students along with Yukihira waved and said it was lovely to meet your acquaintance.

With that you made a beeline route to your room, opened the door, and promptly shut the door. You dropped your portfolio canister next to your desk, turned up the volume of the lo-fi radio station playlist on your sound system, grabbed the nearest pillow and let out a muffled shriek to expel the remaining bits of embarrassment your friend threw you in. You were good at smaller group studies, but to be fair, given the fact that your friend was a social butterfly, you mostly seemed to rub off the��“talented-artsy, yet focused,” type of woman. That night you cleaned up your outline for your stencil art piece of a fox and a hound for your take on minimalism class which had its peer critique at the end of the week.

You didn’t physically speak to Yukihira for the rest of the week. With both of you burning the midnight oil within the last few days before the exam, you noticed that the number of study group being held in your apartment had become the norm every other day (causing you focus more on a certain individual). Funny thing was he was also doing the same thing...

『from Yukihira: how many times do i have to apologize? You know I didn’t plan on having an emergency study session with iwazumi. He just showed up & wanted to chat. Besides the TA & professor chose to move up the exam date...』

『from y/n: you should of told me earlier before I came home. You know I forgive you... only if you buy me the latest ice cream along with the new Jun Ito novel. I’ll be out there in a minute till make some coffee for us.』

『from Yukihira: Mmkay & thanks. Coffee sounds good right about now anyways.』

--October XX-- Friday, 15:55 (3:55p.m.)

The weekend came through soon enough and on a Friday afternoon with no where to go, you were chilling at the comfort of your own living room. You were quick to thank the test gods for the exam being moved up once you had a proper conversation with Yukihira that morning. She mentioned she was going be out all day making sure she was able to finesse her study guide with her fellow medical study group. Since it was the end of the week, Josefina opted to have a free for all study day at the book store for those who wanted to go over last minute things according to the note yukihira left on your door that morning.

At the time of the day, you were expecting to be alone, curled up with your favorite cup of English Earl Grey Tea and a Lovecraft radio program you downloaded via the student Spotify network. Your phone vibrated and pinged with a notification from the bookstore where Yukihira placed the order for your horror novel to arrive sooner than the estimated timeframe. Because life finds it funny to pull another prank on your clown assery with your little cynical attitude, you were startled when the formal knocker was used.

“Shit!” you said when you clutched your heart as you placed your cup of tea down on the coffee table. As your put two fingers on your neck’s pulse point, you waited a few minutes for your heart rate to calm back down; you stood up and began to make your way down the hallway. Lo and behold, you were greeted by a casually dressed man who was clutching your new novel in his sunkissed hands. 

It takes your brain a few synapses to register that it was Iwazumi who has been taking a liking to coming over for extra study hours with your roommate, but if anyone asked him to reply honestly, he wanted to know more about you. The human body has more than 240 bones, yet the more frequent his visits become, the more he felt himself become accustomed to befriending you both. There were instances where you joined them at the kitchen table glancing at their open notebooks and case studies; you often made tea or coffee depending on the hour of the day. On the days you had come home from the art department, Yukihira was quick to notice how Iwazumi’s usually tense face seemed to visibly relax when you came to prepare your favorite snack (m&ms and buttered popcorn). Your friend was quick to relay a text to his phone, which caused her study partner at the table to become more flustered than he already was. 

Regardless of the various near misses over the next couple of weeks between you and Iwazumi (sometimes it was Yukihira’s fault other times, it was coincidental juxtopostional humour: it has happened twice on Iwazumi’s side when his friends back home noticed he was not at his usual place. [Yukihira called for a mini-study break] However, that didn’t stop you from asking him if he preferred sugar or honey for his tea & all hell broke loose (Hanamaki & Mattsun were cheering him on while Oikawa.exe has dropped the call).

All this back and forth for the past five weeks caused this moment to occur:

“I-Iwa-chan?” your voice went up several octaves before clearing your throat with a cough. “If you’re looking for Yukihira, she’s actually not here at the moment...” 

“To the scientist there is the joy in pursuing truth which nearly counteracts the depressing revelations of truth.”

The audio from your radio program was keeping you company. The disembodied voice coming from the main sound system you helped set up when you first moved into the building with Yukihira quoted Lovecraft as the program continued to serve in the role of filling the silence between you and Iwazumi. The gods really did that, didn’t they? your thoughts were running away with you again, chasing a reality that would be yours--or so you think. 

During that thought hurricane you conjured up, you decided to pause the train of thought for a few minutes. You released your hold on your front door knob as you pulled the door a little wider in order for you to lean against the frame of the front door. Your hair was pulled up in a messy bun (on your days off, you were typically clad in tapered mint green pants and a spare white button down blouse due to laundry day), but it was enough to see the usual semi-talkative and stoic demi-god of a neighbor wear such an embarrassed expression. You pretended to not hear the barely audible, “woah,” that escaped his mouth prior to him holding up the book to you. 

“Did the mail carrier drop it off to your box again?” you ask taking the book in your hands. “Sorry about that. You can come in if you want.” 

You were quick to notice that something caught your arm in an attempt to stop you from walking. When you chose to not try to pry yourself away from Iwazumi’s hold, he took it as a sign to bend himself to your ear and say the following in a powerfully low tone: “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t looking for her?” 

“Yes,” you say in a timid manner, yet it was paired with a curt nod. You both had the tenacity to swat away any lingering negative thoughts.

Iwazumi took this moment to turn you around to face him by the arm he held you with. His smile disappeared when he let your arm go and instead moved his hand to hold yours with his opposite hand, he pulled the door shut behind him. You were probably too proud to admit this aloud, nonetheless, you liked the way Iwazumi’s firm grip felt in your hand; his were rough and calloused as much as yours were from years of honing your independent crafts. You gave him a kind smile before your neighbor decided to take advantage of the fact that the other person in your apartment wasn’t home; you squeezed his hand slightly and he let your hand go. 

You placed the Jun Ito novel on the kitchen counter motioning for Iwazumi to meet you there. Your kettle was still warm, however you made a cheeky joke to your newly acquired friend. (Perhaps this was Yukihira’s plan, you think). You reached into the dishwasher and was about to pour him a cup of tea, yet you couldn’t help but make a small joke at his expense for holding your hand so intently. 

“For the record, if you wanted to hold my hand, you could have done so earlier,” you mention stifling a laugh, pouring the steaming water into the mug. Iwazumi mumbled something about how he liked the way your hand fit, yet you chose to throw caution to the wind and quickly planted short kiss on his cheek when you extended the cup toward him after placing the tea strainer in it. 

With one hand on yours and the other was wrapped around the ceramic mug,. Your kindness was always something Iwazumi found alluring. You might not have been in the same course of study as him or Yukinira, yet you were good finding the beauty in the mundane. A few of your pieces of work were hung around the apartment and from his line of sight, your dedication to your craft was something to be admired.With every sip he took a sip to deflect from the way his thoughts were heading into uncharted territories; OIkawa, Mattsun, and even Makki were the ones more verbose on love & conquest during the days of their you:

“You’re always over at your neighbors’ place, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teased. 

“I wonder what his reason is,” Makki muses. “Mattsun thinks it’s a girl. Typical.”

Makki also noticed one of your sophomore symposium art pieces hanging behind the place where Iwazumi was sitting at the time of their weekly video call. Your avant-garde view of  viewing the world was enough to set the sky amethyst hues. California does have it’s moments of striking beauty and somehow Iwazumi found it hard to keep to a straight face around his friends. His expression was usually hardened or bold, but today you sat across from him at the beginning of the call, reading up on the use of gold leaf detail work for your art restoration classes. Across the myriad of scattered medical books and various notes that were pertaining to another medical case were a tell that their friend was clearly not alone. You glance up at him quietly, a minute smile formed between you two; you write on a spare piece of paper the word, “friends” to which he nodded. 

“Aww, is our little ace growing soft on us?” Oikawa’s whining was something you often heard Yukihira describe after nights like these.(She usually hung out in your room as you were placing the final touches of your latest art assignment. This month was dedicated to historic downtown with a twist of horror: modern mania & the ruiner of man. Right now, you didn’t mind the shared space of the dining room while Yukihira was out on a grocery run at the time the call was initiated.)

“Shut your mouth Shittykawa,” Iwazumi barks. His dark eyes hardened like stone and that was when Makki let out a wicked grin. 

“I owe Mattsun 500 yen,” Makki chuckled. 

“Holy shit,” Oikawa’s eyes bounced between his best friends and let out a low whistle. “if this woman is capable of such an amazing feat, ask her if she has a friend [for me].”

Iwazumi ended the call right then and there. He didn’t expect his heart to be beating so irratically when you walked room in your house attire for a moment to make yourself a cup of the same Earl Grey Tea. The hazy lights emitting from your room blended effortlessly with the flourescent ones in the kitchen; each beam clung to your body in such away Iwazumi was glad neither of his friends witnessed the moment he fell in love with California and all that came with it. 

This afternoon was a different story as you liked the way Iwazumi allowed his natural blush to bubble to the surface of his cheeks and you could swear you saw a fraction of the high school volleyball ace shine through. The sunlight danced around the stainless steel details of the kitchen where you shared secrets, recipes, and drinks with your best friend. His free hand chose to move away from the counter finding its resting place under your chin. The cup of tea Iwazumi held earlier was placed next to the stove on the coaster by the sink. 

You steady your breathing right before you felt Iwazumi’s breath on your cupid’s bow; his lips pressed against yours gingerly as though he felt his brain light up and catch a fire he needed to not run away from; everything he wanted to know about you was answered as soon as your hands cup his face. I think I like this, your conscience is egging you on to pursue his touch for a while longer. It was a silent acknowledgement of the other’s presence in the present moment. 

“Hm,” you hear him hum in mutual amusement when you return his kiss. The pads of his fingers trace the highest points of your face teasingly. He wanted answers to the questions your lips asked. When you two separate for a moment, you realize you might have been too forward, but when you move your hands away from his face only to hug him in a loose embrace, you couldn’t help the next words from posing a question.

“Do you want to kiss me again?” your coquettish tone made Iwazumi’s answer very apparent as you suddenly took into account the last couple of weeks and the way both of you came to enjoy each other’s company during study group hours at either your place as the primary location or the cafe down the road from the apartment complex. (Iwazumi’s frequent visits weren’t for tutoring necessarily, about a majority of the time it was to see you as an added bonus). 

Iwazumi did not have to be told twice; he enveloped you in his strong arms, he hoisted you up from under your knees and placed you a top the counter with gentle assertive force. Your legs wrapped around his fit waist as you gripped his biceps for leverage prior to letting the old ace prove his strength by placing you on top of the graphite counter like a doll. 

“Comfortable?” Iwazumi’s expression was more seductive than profound.

“Very,” you reply as you unwind your legs from his body. “Where were we?”

Your hands wrapped around his neck before pulling him close to you again. A smug smile cut across both of your faces for a brief moment until your lips hovered over his for the second time. This time, you let him kiss you the way you knew he had been meaning to since he showed up at your door less than fifteen minutes prior book in hand. When Iwazumi kissed you at the current moment, the world crumbled and fell away; it was somehow comforting in a way that words would not compare to. His actions listened to the way you were setting the pace with the same tenacity as he showed you. The scent of his sandalwood conditioner mixed well with your ocean scented dry shampoo. 

Your eyes were still closed when you felt your hands card through his ever-present spiky hair. His right hand rested below your ear, using the pad of his thumb and forefinger to caress your cheek and jawline again. You feel him smile against your own lips when you nipped the corner of his mouth playfully. You break apart long enough for your partner in the kitchen to began to sneakily undoing your top two buttons of your blouse to press his lips against your exposed skin. You let out a whimper in the heat of the moment the second his lips began to leave a trail of reverberating echoes in the simplest of ways securing his hold on your soul that very day.

“Beautiful girl,” Iwazumi murmurs as his eyes met yours when he was done having his fun. His voice was cautious, but when his arms began to hover over your own, you felt your heart rate speed up right as he told you this: “Tell me, what other sounds can you make for me?” 

“Is that a challenge?” you retort, your hands disappearing under his hoodie to feel the fabric of his undershirt. Your hand stopped roaming atop of his chest; he was liking this. You could tell by the way he was taunting you with his smirk. “Because I was wondering the same thing. Do you want me to remove my hand?”

“No.”

Your hands could have been made of branding tools and Iwazumi wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. He chuckled at your question before you brought him down to your level and your lips met again. The sound he made upon impact was as though you broke him yet healed him at the same time; time was on your side for this one and you proved he wasn’t the only monster in the kitchen. There was a hunger there behind every kiss you let him have; you were smiling in the between long enough to feel his heart beat faster through the fabric of his undershirt.

Your hands automatically removed themselves from his shirt and were found holding on to the aglet of the drawstrings from the hoodie he was wearing. Iwazumi kissed your fingers before proceeding with posing a question to you.

“Just so we’re clear,” your voice was bold and daring. It was one of the many things he liked about you both in and out of campus grounds. The small details was what Iwazumi liked the most and the subtle tells of how you, Yukihira, and even the other members of the study group didn’t make him feel so alone like when he first arrived to California to study.

“Whatever this is between you and I, does it mean we’re...together?” 

You make a sign in the air with your palms up and point between you and him. Iwazumi clears his throat as he taps his lips to tease you and that was when he saw it: a younger version of you covered in sidewalk chalk in your neighborhood (much the same as you saw reflections of the former ace/vice captain).

“If you’ll let me take you to the Monster Movie marathon on Monday,” he answered when he linked his right hand digits with your left and you capture his lips again on your own volition. Your ears perked up at this, you drop the string you played with and patted his chest with a light rapt. 

“Eager to make me your girlfriend aren’t you?” You laugh and Iwazumi furrowed his brows, but you silence his worries in one swift and simple move: you kiss him with the intent of either being his salvation or his torment, either way Iwazumi was not complaining. The girl who loves to read about Lovecraftian monsters and the boy who was a monster chaser shared a love as unique as themselves: like a secret they each wanted to keep  behind closed doors.

His only vice was the fact that his social call was coming to an end and every ounce of his well being was fighting to stay here with you. You back down for a moment only to showcase your best attempt at a flattering smile to match his own. Iwazumi would never let you know this at the time, but seeing that smile on your face made his list of top three things he found most precious in the world. This wasn’t a crush anymore was the proper conclusion you both concluded. 

“Meet at your place at 7:30,” you suggest. Iwazumi released your hand from his to step back as you hopped down from the kitchen counter you made a seat of. 

“I’ll see you then ‘Ms. Lovecraft’.” The nickname he bestowed upon you was one that made the butterflies come back in a flurry; this was the start of something special, but you didn’t know it at this point in time that the name will be used to describe your affinity for Iwazumi’s unyielding devotion to you (the seeds were planted in both of your hearts and the two of you waited for them to bloom).

Iwazumi made his way back toward the hallway and faced your apartment’s front door again. You refastened both buttons he undid prior to reaching for the door knob. 

“For what it’s worth,” your not-so-innocent tone in your voice begins to come through. His darkened eyes observe you undo your top knot and shook your shoulder-length hair to reveal the fullness of your wavy locks. You place your hand on his wrist and the other was on the door knob. He stopped you from opening the door with a softened glance; pressing his lips lightly on your brow bone. 

“I really like it when you come over Iwazumi. Thank you for dropping off the book.” You tap your fingers thoughtfully on your lips as a silent form of thanking him for the other part outside of the tangible order.

“Hajime, y/n,” he whispers his given name in your ear in order to get one last rile out of you before kissing your temple, and you could swear you could hear your heart beat in your ears. “Call me that from now on, ok?”

“Ok,” you swiftly reply. “Only if you continue to call me Lovecraft, haha.”

Iwazumi takes his leave when he thinksof how the next time he sees you, it’ll be filled with magic, mayhem, and the movie playing in his heart was one he would like to share with you for as long as it takes.

You rush to your room to retrieve your cell phone and immediately text Yukihira who was in the middle of her break between classes:

『from y/n: i have a date on monday night. the book came btw. thanks yukihira』

『from Yukihira: iwazumi asked you to go out with him, didn’t he? have fun and remember to not do anything i wouldn’t do. ;) 』

『from y/n: of course. and even if we did, i wouldn’t even hear the end of it from you. you’d might have an easier time talking to iwazumi than me, let’s be honest.』

『from Yukihira: (n˘v˘•)¬ oh you know me so well. see you later tonight.』

—November XX, 14:43 (2:43pm): 

First dates & a glimpse into their social medias (ft. Iwazumi, Babs (y/n), & Yukihira)

Iwazumi credit

Suffice to say that Mondays became your favorite day after this kiss...😌

Bonus:

Instagram posts from our UCIrvine trio ft. Iwazumi, Yukihira, & Y/N-san

[pigtails-are-for-girls]

Another Time, Another Place [Reader Insert] Chapter 11

~A fresh start, that’s what you both needed. Nockfell gave you a new start, but you may just be pulled into something out of your control.~

[Gender Neutral Reader]

Masterlist

~Chapter 11~

Dreams haunt us in the dark

A door, sickly green in color just like all the others in the building. The numbers were scribbled out and a fresh pooling of blood seemed to seemed from underneath as it grew closer.

Then it was gone, the door, off its hinges, revealing the word behind it, dark and dusty.

The temple towered over you, the carvings on the wall seeming blurred.

Loud, the metal gate rose.

Bones, bloody bones.

A body? A body, Ash’s.

She’s bleeding, bleeding? She shouldn’t be bleeding, should she?

Tears, they’re crying, you’re crying.

There are people in robes?

They’re taking Todd.

Why Todd?

Sal?

Is that Sal?

There’s blood, is it his?

Flashing, Flashing lights.

Red Eyes.

Fire.

The tree burns.

The robes are back.

Where are they taking me?

…

...

...

It echos.

Echos.

FOR WE ARE THE DEVOURERS OF GOD

~~~

The halls were quieter than usual following the news, math put on hold and turned into a study hall for the time it took for the school to find a replacement teacher. A memorial was set up in the courtyard for Mrs. Packerton but after everything that happened, you couldn’t even look at it. The five of you stayed quiet during lunch, the spots in front of you empty. No bologna, you had all silently made that agreement with the exception of Chug who chowed down on his sandwich only a foot away unaware of your disgust. You hope to god that it wasn’t leftover bologna, just the thought made you want to gag-

“Earth to (Name). Anyone in there?” Ash’s voice breaks you from your thoughts as you glance over at the girl who displays a look of concern across her face. “You good there? You’ve been zoning out a lot.”

Her comment catches the attention of the others at the table as their gaze is immediately drawn to you. Letting out a sigh you rub the palms of your hands over your tired eyes, ‘I’m fine, I just haven’t slept well the last few nights since, well... you know.’ Your sight drifts down to the wooden surface of the table as you attempt to steady your unfocusing gaze.

Sal shifted in his seat across from you before his eye landed on your hunched figure, “It doesn’t seem like nothing, are you sure you’re ok?”

Glancing around the cafeteria, you shake your head, ‘Not here’ your finger tremble slightly before you drop them down to your lap.

The group nods before Larry leans in, “Treehouse, after school?” you nod just as the bell rings throughout the space and the struggle to push your way to a class begins.

~

”You should really go see if you can take a nap in the nurse’s office” Ash commented her gaze leaving her sketch to look across the table at you, graphite smeared on your face.

Your eyes shot open as you brought yourself back to reality, with a shake of your head you avert your sight down to the mess of blurred pencil on your paper. ‘I’m fine Ash, really.’

With a roll of her eyes she scooted her chair around to sit closer, “The other’s might have taken that answer but I won’t.” Shifting, your gaze met her’s and the two of you stared sown for a few moments before you looked away.

‘Fine, I’ll meet you in the hallway in five.’ one of your hands moved from their position in front of you into the air to flag down a teacher.

“Oh, my (Last name) you’re covered in graphite. Why don’t you go to the bathroom and get all that off.” with a nod you slipped from your seat and shuffled into the hallway. After a few minutes, Ash followed suit and the two of you walked down the hall towards the bathrooms. Sticking her head into the girl’s bathroom before motioning you in and locking the door.

Running a paper towel under the water she spoke up over its penetrating sound, “Alright spill.”

Letting out a quiet sigh, clearing your throat as Ash starts rubbing the paper towel over your face. “I’ve been having really bad nightmares lately. Like, wake up in a cold sweat kind of nightmares. I can only remember bits and pieces but once I wake up I don’t want to go back to sleep, I’m terrified by what’s on the other side.” Her movements halted as she gazes at you with a concerned look.

“(Name) that’s really not healthy, have you told your dad about this?”

With a shake of your head your gaze shifts to the side, “He’s been off on a business trip for over a week now, and you know how he is.”

Letting out a quiet sigh she tossed the used paper towel in the trash, “I know but you should at least try to find something that helps. And tell the others you know they’ll help you out in any way they can.”

‘I know, I’ll tell them tonight. I promise.’

~

“Dude that’s fucked up,” Larry’s voice rang out in the small space of the crowded treehouse, as four of you crammed your way in, “How long has this been going on?”

‘A week or so, ever since we went to that temple.’ Bringing your arms up to hug yourself, whispering, “I always feel like I’m being watched, ever since I moved here but it never really felt like something until we went down there.”

Larry glanced over at Sal, “You don’t think…”

Shaking his head at the boy Todd speaks up, “ I severely doubt it, my machine should have gotten rid of it.”

“What-” You attempt to question before getting cut off by Sal.

“Its possible something was left behind,” The boy glanced over at you placing his hand on your shoulder.

Jarry’s nose flares and wrinkles as a angry expression crosses his face, “I’m getting really sick and tired of this demon shit.”

Your expression morphs into a mix of confusion and fear at the three continue to speak, “Demons? What are you guys going on about?”

Sal’s hand grips your arm as he lets out a quiet sigh, “I guess we never did tell you about that, did we.” With a shake of your head, Sal continued, “Do you remember the day we met, the afternoon after you saw Mrs. Sanderson for the first time? After I went to Todd’s, I went to the boarded-up room in Megan’s apartment.” He continued explaining what happened before he had come to check on you. The red-eyed demon, it’s previous hosts, and its possible connection with the cult, for which the temple was built.

Silence overtakes the group as you try and process the information that had just been fed to you, “Why didn’t you guys tell me before?”

“It wasn’t personal, I barely knew you then and I was told to be careful who I trusted. It all faded away after that day so eventually, I thought I’d be alright, let you live your life with as little supernatural craziness as possible.”

“That’s sweet Sal but you all better tell me this stuff next time. I live with a ghost for christ sake, I can’t say that I don’t believe in it.”

The three of them looked away from you for a moment before Todd spoke up, “If you’d like I can try and run some tests to see if there are any external forces causing your nightmares.”

“I’d appreciate it.” You glance out the window at the setting sun coming through the surrounding trees, “We should probably head in, I don’t want to climb down that ladder in the dark.”

The four of you chuckle and begin making your way down one at a time. Before long you all had your feet on the ground and were off.

“How about you try crashing at my place for the night, see if that helps any. At least until your dad gets home.” Larry nudges you shoulder as the four of you make your way back the apartments.

You nod as you pull your thin coat closer to you, “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

[chemicalmagecraft]

Foresight is 20/20 Chapter 14

Hinata's palm struck me in the jaw, making me grunt. "Kick his ass, Hina-chan!" Kurama cheered from the sidelines. It was nice seeing how well those two were getting along, even if it meant him encouraging her to beat me up. The two of them actually helped each other a lot. Hinata warmed Kurama up to humankind and got him to be slightly less angry, while Kurama made sure to rub some of his "I'm better than you lousy humans" pride off on her, causing her to be a bit more confident. Plus he liked imparting little bits of arcane knowledge upon his favorite human, meaning...

I just barely noticed with my chakra sense that Hinata was leaking a small amount of chakra out of her fingertips, so I jumped back. Unfortunately, I'd determined with my eyes that expressing too much interest in obtaining the Byakugan with my chakra assimilation would only cause most of the clan to grow wary of me, so I didn't have the ability to actually see her jutsu, but at least I knew to stay away.

I made a few seals, but had to stop when the barely-there chakra rushed me. Even though I moved my arms the chakra swerved faster than I thought it would, causing my left arm to go completely numb. "Ow," I said despite the fact that the problem was that I couldn't feel any pain in my arm. "You're getting faster with that, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Hina-chan said. "Kurama-chan helped me figure it out."

I tried to move my arm, but couldn't. Eight Trigrams Heavenly Will as it was called by most of the family, or much less pretentiously Tenketsu Puppetry Jutsu by Hinata, was a jutsu Hinata invented by combining the basics of Juken that she was learning with the chakra threads I'd showed her how to make and then some sort of advice from Kurama. In addition to acting like a ranged, though technically much less potent, version of Juken, the threads stayed inside the tenketsu of the victim meaning that not only was any recovery from the attack blocked until they were removed but she could also, as her name for it suggested, puppeteer my arm.

"Impressive, sis, but you know that that doesn't exactly work on me." I raised my right pointer finger, causing a single link of yellow chain to form on it. With a bit of concentration, I changed the yellow Adamantine Sealing Chain to a shadowy purple permutation, Adamantine Destruction Chain. I swiped at roughly where I felt the chakra threads with it, managing to snap all of them and suck the foreign chakra from my body.

I'd figured out that my assimilation could also adapt powers that were compatible enough together. I was already working under the assumption that I couldn't just make new elements by combining people's affinities because that would be broken, but I did alchemize Ai's Adamantine Sealing Chain together with the Kikaichu's Parasitic Destruction to make chains that could drain chakra as well as disrupt it for some extra chakra cost. Plus, the disruption and absorption effects synergized, enhancing each other's performance. And there was also the || combination, Parasitic Sealing, which allowed me to cover my body in an aura that disrupts and absorbs chakra. Though it was harder to do than Adamantine Destruction and wasn't perfect...

But I digress. I pointed the chain link at Hinata, shooting an entire chain at her. The general consensus of just about anyone who I used my special chains on was that if I got a grab in the fight was over. Sure, I could still only have more than a few links out for a few seconds without any boost before I got super tired, but between the draining and the throw I could easily pull off with the chains I only needed one good grab to wear down even adults. At least enough to jump in with a few cheap hits to finish them off. Hinata obviously knew this by now, so she ducked under my chain, then rolled out of the way when I tried to pin her to the ground.

I was expecting her to do that, though, and had already prepped my next jutsu. Metal marbles, designed so I could hurt but not kill with my magnet release, scored hits on her side. I charged, and she blocked my foot with her hand. I winced, realizing my mistake when my leg turned numb from the near-instantaneous point-blank Heavenly Will. I used my demon gem-based flight to try to kick her with my other foot, but she got it before I could.

"Full body takeover, eh?" I asked as the rest of my body below my neck was wrested from my control. Really, having a relatively non-draining jutsu that might as well be an automatic win to anyone in melee distance is even more broken than I am...

"Sorry, but can I practice this for a bit?"

I tried to shrug, but remembered the futility. "Go ahead. I still have control over my demon gems, so I can catch myself if you slip up." Hinata spent the rest of the sparring session finding stupid dances to make me do, egged on by Kurama. I did get her to work on her proxy chakra control a bit, though. She could almost make me do Juken by the end. And I could almost do Juken by the end.

kukukuku~

Tenten said something, probably about how much it stank that we had to go to school, as we walked ourselves to school. Well, they walked and I floated because I actually may or may not have a bit of trouble matching other people's walking paces, especially if I'm not paying too much attention... I didn't know what she was saying, though. I was thinking. I mumbled something in response and pulled out my sealing notebook and note-taking pencil, which I used to write down the formula I thought of. I tuned out their conversation even more as I sketched the complex seal down as best I could.

"You messed up a little there," Tenten said as I was finishing off the last strokes.

"Hm?" I asked.

She pointed to one of the runes and oh my that was very wrong. "I'm not sure, but I think it'll just tear a hole in the fabric of space if you don't fix that stabilizing rune." I thanked her and hurriedly fixed it.

"I feel like maybe you should not write down a seal that could potentially tear a hole in the fabric of space itself until you're absolutely sure it won't do that?" Neji said with more than a little concern.

To be honest, I didn't blame him, but... "Graphite's pretty much the worst for making seals," I explained, "which means that it's really good for practicing making the more dangerous seals because it's almost impossible to activate it accidentally. Unless you're a jinchuriki, maybe, but even then you'd probably have to be pretty distracted."

"Well why didn't you have me use a pencil when you were trying to teach me seals, then?"

Finished, I stowed the notebook. "Okay in my defense I wasn't expecting you to screw up the easiest seal in the book when given detailed instructions, much less screw it up enough to accidentally make an incredibly simplified explosive seal. And with the last seal I had you do, I think we both know that you should always assume that there will be an explosion when making a paper bomb."

I tried to teach Neji fuinjutsu once. Turns out he's literally the worst at it. He somehow managed to turn a basic light seal into a thankfully tiny bomb with only a big enough blast radius to burn itself off of whatever it's written on with a noise like a firecracker, which apparently was a theme with him. No matter what, he would always make bombs out of whatever seal I gave him. And then, when I tried to have him purposefully make a bomb, hoping that maybe he was just some sort of bomb savant, he somehow managed to make a seal tag that teleported itself and whatever it was touching to a random place within a fifty meter radius. Which, okay, free spacetime ninjutsu, but how? "I'm still scratching my head on how you managed to make a short-range teleport out of a bomb. Speaking of, what's your mom make of it, Tenten?"

She snorted. "She's still on that high from the wedding, so she's been more concentrated with being all lovey-dovey with Mommy than looking over the seal, but she did say to never let Neji near a seal again when I told her it was supposed to be a paper bomb."

"It wasn't really that bad, was it?" Neji asked.

Tenten laughed and shook her head. "Not at all, Neji..."

"...It's much worse," I finished her sentence with a slight grin. We high-fived. "When I looked at the seal you were making with my eyes, I saw a lot of different possibilities. Random teleportation was one of the better ones. You don't want to know what the worse ones were."

"Right." He didn't believe me. To be fair, I did tend to mess with him... And was messing with him. "So what's the seal you were working on supposed to do? I'm assuming it's somehow related to spacetime."

"Yeah, normally when people screw up seals that have nothing to do with spacetime, the result doesn't do anything to the fabric of reality," Tenten said, elbowing Neji.

"Shut it."

I shrugged. "You're right, though. It was most certainly a spacetime seal."

"Yeah, it looked a bit like an object summoning seal, but a little different," Tenten said. "Was it meant to swap objects between two paired seals?"

"Close. My hope is that it'll form a portal between two locations when chakra's input on both ends, and that it's compatible with demon sage chakra. It's still a little rough around the edges, though."

"Let me guess, secret base," Tenten said.

I brushed my hand through my hair. I was combing it less now, so it was a bit curlier and fluffier. And it was getting so long that my bangs started falling over my left eye more. I loved the way it looked, though. "Obviously. In fact, I have an agent working on finding the location right now. Haven't found anything good yet, though."

"How do you have an agent?" Neji asked me.

"Magic." I noticed a certain building and pointed at it. "Hey, isn't that the school? That looks like a school."

"Yup, that's the school," Tenten said. "Mommy took me here a lot. Mama's job is a little less kid-friendly, plus the teachers looked after me when I didn't want to sit through Mommy's classes."

"Oh right," I said. "Your mom's a teacher."

"Yeah, I said that earlier, weren't you paying attention?"

Something about that sentence felt a little doomy, though I couldn't tell why. "No, I was thinking about how to breach through spacetime to reach another location without accidentally summoning Mega Neo Beqthulhuzillaon, Destroyer of Souls and Eater of Worlds."

"Is that an actual concern?" Neji asked. "Are you messing with us or could you have actually summoned some sort of eldritch horror monster?"

I smirked. "You should know the answer to that question by now. I'm assuming you know the way, Tenten?"

"Duh."

kukukuku~

I tried very hard not to groan. "My name is Uzumaki Tenko," our teacher for the next few years said, writing it on the chalkboard. God I hate chalkboards. If I were Hokage I'd make chalkboards illegal. Which is probably one of the reasons I should not be Hokage, actually... "I look forward to teaching you." I slumped in my seat. It's not that I didn't like her. Tenko was really nice. No, the problem was that she knew I was a literal genius relative to my age level, and with that comes... expectations...

Before, my plan was to just rest on my near-complete high school-level education to put the bare minimum amount of work into the actual academic parts of ninja school, which considering what grades I got with how little effort I put into school before would've made me best in class or thereabouts already. But Tenko already saw me put actual effort into something, meaning she might have been able to tell when I didn't put in the work. So if I didn't want to hear about it from her and Tenten both I'd have to at least half-ass it. Ugh...

I sound like Shikamaru, don't I?

"Didn't I tell you she was going to be our teacher earlier?" Tenten muttered to me. I guess that was what I missed... "And why are you so annoyed Mommy's your teacher?"

"Because she'll actually care if I don't put any effort into my work," I whispered back.

"How terrible," Neji snarked. I flicked him with natural energy. Using natural energy without sage mode may have been a lot weaker, but I could at least flick someone sitting right next to me hard enough to feel. He flicked me back, though. My Neji may have been completely seal-illiterate, but he was just as much of a ninjutsu genius as in canon, and figured out how to feel and manipulate natural energy just by watching me do it, though he hadn't quite managed sage mode yet. We proceeded to engage in invisible and incredibly petty warfare that Tenko would probably have stopped if she were a sensor. Luckily, Tenten was too amused to turn us in. She almost gave us away with her giggling, though.

"Now, why don't you introduce yourselves?" I'm not saying that I completely tuned everyone's introductions out, but I am saying that the only names that I retained aside from Hyuga Neji, Uzumaki Tenten, and Rock Lee was someone from the Yamanaka family whose given name was Kaede. Kaede is a pretty awesome name. Why couldn't I have been a Kaede?

"Hello. My name is Hyuga Kouki," I said when it was my turn. "The reason why I don't look like Neji despite us having the same family name is because he's adopted."

"What!?" Neji spluttered. "No! You're the adopted one!"

"It's nice to meet you," I halfheartedly finished, pretending Neji said nothing. He flicked me for my troubles when I sat down. I flicked back, and as if someone assassinated a duke or something, Flick War II began.

kukukuku~

"Just remember that these are friendly matches," Tenko said when we were all sitting on the ground by the sparring ring. "If I feel like someone is being hurt too badly, I'll stop it there. And once more, it's taijutsu only."

"Why'd you look at me when you said that?" I asked. Her glare turned a little more accusatory. I pouted. "I wasn't gonna do it anyway..."

"Right," she said, turning away from me. "You may now look at the slips of paper I gave you. Who has one?" Tenten and a boy I should probably have known the name of raised their hands. "You two are first. And Tenten, try not to rough him up too badly, okay, sweetie?"

The unnamed kid grinned maliciously. "I hope teach doesn't get too angry after I beat up her precious daughter." Neji and I exchanged a look and snickered. Right, like that kid stood a chance. When they were told to start, the kid jumped in for a punch. Tenten dodged easily and shoved him to the side. He stumbled and fell.

"Get him with your Uzumaki strength, Tenten," I cheered dully.

She scowled at me. "For the last time!" Tenten shouted, then picked up the nearest object. Namely the unnamed kid. "I'm not!" She hoisted her hapless victim above her head. "Freakishly strong!" She threw Hapless Victim at me. Without even blinking, I deployed the demon gems hanging from my earlobes. One formed a springy barrier in front of me that safely absorbed the impact of the collision without too much damage to Hapless, while the other formed a barrier under him to cushion his fall.

"I have no idea why I would think that," I said as I recalled my gems. "Truly, your ability to lift over your body weight in small child despite being yourself a small child is totally unremarkable." She blushed and growled at me.

"Kouki, please stop antagonizing Tenten," Tenko said. "The match is over, Tenten wins."

"How did you do that?" another small child I probably should've known the name of asked me.

"Magic."

Hapless (I was now trying to commit his face and chakra signature to memory so I could keep calling him that) groaned and sat up. "I thought we weren't allowed to use jutsu!" he complained.

"You weren't," I said. "The Uzumaki bloodline manifests itself passively in the form of enhanced vitality and strength, something that Tenten definitely has even if she doesn't quite have the traditional looks."

"HEY!"

"So really, you didn't stand a chance."

Hapless stomped off to his seat and the rounds began again. After a few, it was my turn, as well as, "coincidentally" enough, a young Rock Lee.

"Remember, no jutsu," Tenko reminded me.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, then got into my fighting stan- "Ah, crud," I muttered, realizing that I had not been doing regular old sparring enough. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd actually practiced fighting someone without ninjutsu or genjutsu.

"Start."

I dodged a really shoddy punch. To be honest, it was pretty weird seeing Lee suck at taijutsu. Very lucky for me, but weird. I leaned away from another punch, then caught his arm. "Stop," I commanded. I uncurled his fist, removed his thumb from his palm, and then forced his hand into a proper fist. "It's a common mistake," I assured him. "If you punch someone with your fingers around your thumb, you'll probably break it. Oh, and hit me with those two big knuckles, not the entire fist." When I released him, he cautiously punched me. "Good," I said after catching his hand with mine. "However, I'm afraid that now I have to..." I twisted around and slung his arm over my shoulder in an attempt to suplex him or something. "Finish you!" Key word being attempt... I may or may not have only lifted him onto my back...

"I don't think you did what you were attempting to do..." he said.

"Stupid physics. I always hated that subject..." I shrugged and just dropped backwards in what I hoped looked like a planned move. I really needed to work on my taijutsu...

"Okay, that was not at all what I was expecting..." Tenko sighed. "Kouki wins, I guess..."

"You okay?" I asked as I got off Lee.

He sighed. "I am fine..."

The third noteworthy match was Neji versus Yamanaka Kaede, a hotblooded girl with orange hair like that one Fu guy and red eyes. While Neji was technically a pseudo jinchuriki by now from my experiments, his powers were weird and technically even his "passive" strength would be considered an active jutsu, especially because he could turn it off. The Yamanaka, on the other hand, was surprisingly strong for a Yamanaka. Maybe she was part Uzumaki? She did have red hair. At any rate, while Neji was almost overpowered at one point, he beat her. He was a genius after all.

kukukuku~

"Hey," I said, then sat down on the floor next to Lee. Okay, I actually floated just a bit off the ground, but the sentiment was there... "Sorry about beating you so bad."

He sighed. "No, it's okay... I already knew I would not do well here. I cannot use ninjutsu or genjutsu, and you saw how my taijutsu is..."

"Can you channel chakra into things?" I asked. I really wanted to know what would happen if I started him off early.

"I can, but no matter how hard I try, I will not be able to use a jutsu. The doctor said that there is a problem with my chakra coils, so I am incapable of molding my chakra into jutsu..."

I shrugged. "Not exactly a dealbreaker, if you're willing to work extra hard."

"What do you mean?"

I summoned my crystal ball. Yeah, I know it's kind of a stereotype, but I'd made the jutsu from that crystal ball jutsu Sarutobi used to see Naruto in the first episode, plus it did kinda look cool. "Watch this." I waved my hands over the floating crystal ball, casting the jutsu. Despite not activating my Shoraigan, the crystal ball changed to show another location. By using a physical medium, I could show my vision to others and didn't have the same backlash, though with the downside that it wasn't private and I didn't get nearly as much information.

"See that man?" I said, pointing to Gai training. "He used to be about where you are, but now he's one of the most dangerous shinobi in Konoha through taijutsu alone. Do you want to know how?" I put away the ball and looked at Lee. His eyes said yes. "An insane amount of practice, training, and diligence, combined with challenging himself to do something even more difficult whenever he fails a training exercise. You should probably take time to rest every once in a while, especially at first to keep from permanently damaging your body, but I see a fire in you. There's no reason why you couldn't become as good as or perhaps even better than him one day."

There were stars in his eyes, and he was almost crying. "Do you think so?"

I gave him a small grin. "I know so. Also..." I pulled out the other thing I had for him. "This is a bit of a beginner's fuinjutsu kit, at least my version of it. Try and see if you have some aptitude for it. You may not be able to inscribe seals with chakra alone, but if you pick up enough you might be able to work wonders with seals." Imagine Rock Lee with the ability to make and use seals. To be honest I have no clue what would happen but I do know it would be amazing.

He stood up, energized, and gave me a deep bow. "Thank you very much! I will make sure to become a splendid ninja!"

My grin was genuine. "I'm sure you will."

kukukuku~

Usagi

I lurched along the dirt path. My new body of stone and earth was not suitable for travel in the slightest, but I had no other alternatives. It seemed that compatibility with myself was not quite as common outside of Konoha as I assumed it was at first, and the rabbit was either a stroke of luck on my part or perhaps somehow related to how Kurama was present in End Valley at one point. Perhaps his chakra acted as a primer. Still, I did sense a few scattered people in small villages who had compatibility, though I couldn't in good conscience simply abduct and kill an innocent person. I needed to find a bandit with compatibility.

"Well well well, what do we have here?" a source of malicious intent jeered as two men appeared from behind trees. Speak of the devil... The two bandits, however, were nowhere near compatible.

"There's a toll to use this road," the other bandit said, brandishing his sickle. They had yet to realize my anomalous existence on account of the cloak, gloves, and mask I had fashioned for myself.

"Oh," I said. "I do apologize. I was not made aware of the toll. You really should put up a sign."

"You gettin' smart with us?" the first bandit asked. "We'll rough you up!" I probably didn't look like much of a threat either. The body I'd formed for myself was rather on the short side, to save energy. It was still definitely in the adult range, but not by much.

"You two are bandits, aren't you?" I asked. I already knew the answer, of course.

"Of course we're bandits, now give us all your loot!" The sickle-wielding bandit rushed me. That was a mistake. My body became fluid, the eyeholes of my mask gained two red lights where my eyes should have been, and I dodged effortlessly. I removed one of my gloves and placed my hand on his face, my hand like a lunging viper.

"Do you take chakra instead?" I asked, then infused his body with demon sage chakra. He dropped his weapon as his brain itself was altered in such a way that, while he didn't technically die, he certainly couldn't have been said to have been truly alive anymore. I removed my hand, revealing red markings across his face.

"What the hell!?" the other bandit shrieked. Without turning to him, I sent a signal to my new thrall. The bandit that I had just "killed" snarled like a beast and rushed at him. The... I suppose the best word for it would have been "zombie" bit the man on his arm with partially crystallized teeth. The man shrieked, throwing the zombie away and running in terror. I nodded to myself and split my attention in two, one half of my mind focusing on breaking the zombie down into more demon gems and the other tending to the bandit.

When my zombie bit him it infected him with my chakra, causing the cells in his arm to start to transform into the demon gem-like material that I'd used to zombify his partner. I altered the rate at which the infection spread, causing it to slow near the surface while speeding up within his blood and bones. My hope was that he'd notice the infection, cut his arm off and assume he got it all, then hurry back to his leader while carrying the infection. That would be fun. When I was done with the carrier, I turned my full attention to the zombie, which was almost prepared. With a final command, the corpse disintegrated into red powder. Some of it scattered to the wind, where it would be carried elsewhere. The rest came to me. About half of it went behind my mask, where it bolstered my existing gem. The other half I formed into another gem that I hid within my cloak.

With that done, I placed all of his belongings into a bag I had tied to my makeshift body under the cloak. I wasn't to know fuinjutsu, after all. I continued down the lonely road, ever-so-slightly quicker than I had before.

[yespleasefandomtrash]

no ordinary exchange

ch.1 of my self-indulgent rayllum college!au.

AO3. FFN.

xXxXxXx

“Katolis State University is proud to introduce its first Xadian exchange student in over one hundred years - everyone, please give a warm welcome to Rayla Moonshadow!”

Callum found himself cringing at the contrast between his stepfather’s genuine excitement and the student body’s... lackluster response.

“I feel bad for her,” Claudia murmured, resting her chin on her hand. “I understand why your dad is so happy, especially since he pushed so hard with the state to allow her to be here, but so many Katolians still don’t like Xadians. I mean, look at the poor girl’s face!”

Claudia had a point - the Xadian student did look extremely uncomfortable. Though Callum could clearly see that she was tall, she was standing in a manner that made her appear much smaller. Her white hair hung down to hide part of her face, the lavender streaks dancing through it almost washed away by the stage’s bright lights.

“Rayla will study here for the remainder of her sophomore year. If all goes well, one of you will attend the Xadian Academy next year,” Harrow continued. “But that is not something any of you need to worry yourselves over at the moment. I expect you all to make Rayla feel welcome here.”

“Maybe we should go talk to her afterwards,” Callum blurted out as his father continued to speak. He flushed when he realized what he’d suggested - apparently the words had left his mouth before they’d finished being processed in his brain.

Soren raised an eyebrow. “Where did that sudden eagerness come from?”

Callum shrugged, aware of how red his face had to be but ignoring it. “Like Claudia said. I feel kinda bad for her.”

Claudia popped her gum, shrugging. “I’m down. Since she’s a sophomore, I might even have a few classes with her. Based on the anti-Xadian attitudes of... of more than a few kids at this school, I have a feeling she’ll accept any company she can get. Even if it is from weirdos like us.”

Soren laughed as he jokingly elbowed his sister in the stomach. “Don’t lump me in with the two of you.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “Ugh. I have a class after this, so I can’t join you. But...” He put his phone away. “If you happen to hit it off, we can all go out one night and I can properly meet her.”

“Roger that,” Claudia said with a mock-salute, earning another elbow from Soren and laughter from Callum.

“Rayla, is there anything you want to say to your new classmates?” Harrow’s voice brought the attention of the three back to the stage.

The girl attempted to smile, though it was clearly more of a grimace. “Ah... I’m thankful for this opportunity.” Her accent was thick, but not enough for her to be misunderstood.

Harrow nodded, returning the mic to beneath his face. “And we are all grateful that you decided to take advantage of it.”

As his dad continued to drone on about the significance of the girl’s attendance at the school, Callum found his attention drifting down to his sketchbook. He was in the middle of working on a picture of his brother, Ezran, and Ezran’s leopard gecko, Bait. The jagged line that trailed to the edge of the page indicated the point at which he’d gotten distracted. He sighed and carefully erased it, doing his best to avoid smudging the graphite. He wanted to give the picture to Ezran for his fourteenth birthday, which wasn’t for another two and a half months, but his inspiration tended to wax and wane thus he decided to begin working on it early. He became so focused on his sketch that he didn’t notice the assembly had begun to disperse until Claudia snapped her fingers in front of his nose, startling him and causing him to drop his pencil and very nearly drop his sketchbook.

“Someone’s on edge,” Claudia said wryly as she returned his pencil to him. “Come on! My dad and yours are talking to the girl right now, but we have to hurry if we want to catch her before any classes she might have.”

Callum nodded, closing his sketchbook and shoving it into his satchel before following his friend out of the seats in the audience and down towards the stage.

“Again, I do apologize for the late notice,” Viren was saying. His voice oozed with a false pleasantry that sent chills down Callum’s spine. “But none of our available students were willing to room with a Xa...” He trailed off as Harrow sent him a warning glare. “No one wanted to room with someone they didn’t know.”

“I’ll room with her!” Claudia offered as she arrived at the foot of the stage, earning surprised looks from all. “You know that there’s more than enough room in my dorm, Dad.”

Viren offered his daughter a pained smile. “Are you certain about this, Claudia?”

She nodded, rolling her eyes. “Obviously, Dad, or else I wouldn’t have offered.”

The Xadian girl shook her head. “You don’t need to do that. Really. I have no problem with finding an apartment off campus if it’s more convenient -”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Claudia interrupted with a dismissive wave of her hand. “The best way to find your niche at KSU is live smack in the middle of it. As the daughter of the dean” - she gestured to Viren - “I was blessed with a larger dorm, plus the luxury of no roommate.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I have space, you need a room - problem solved.” She offered her hand and a smile to the girl, though her being on the floor and the girl on the stage meant the girl knelt down to shake her hand. “I’m Claudia.”

“Rayla. Though I’m sure you know that already.”

“So it’s settled!” Harrow said, clapping his hands together. “Rayla and Claudia will room together. I’ll see what I can do about arranging it so the two of you also have at least one class together.”

“Harrow? Viren?”

Attention in the room shifted to a blonde woman standing at the auditorium’s door.

“Oh, crap,” Harrow muttered, glancing at his watch. “Are we late, Opeli?”

“Not yet,” was the woman’s brisk response. “But I wouldn’t push your luck.”

Viren headed to the exit immediately, pushing past Opeli and not bothering to say any goodbyes.

Harrow returned his attention back to the trio. “Claudia, thank you again. Rayla, if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to come to me. Callum -” He stopped. “Callum, have you been here the whole time?” At his stepson’s embarrassed nod, he sighed. “Right. Glad to know I’m a terrible father.”

“It was actually Callum who wanted to come talk to Rayla,” Claudia said, slinging her arm around Callum’s shoulders and causing him to stumble sideways. “But he’s a little shy, so he kind of became my silent cheerleader.”

Callum groaned at the description. “Thanks, Claudia.”

“Harrow, you need to leave now,” Opeli called from the doorway. “The council is pissed off enough already. Let’s not add to their list.”

Harrow sighed and said goodbye, pulling Callum into a hug before taking his leave.

Callum ended up being the one to break the silence - which, in all honesty, was not something he often did. “Hi,” he stammered, offering the new girl his hand to shake. “I’m Callum. Obviously you’ve already met my dad.”

“Rayla. And Harrow’s your dad?” She raised an eyebrow as she released his hand. “Forgive me if this is rude, but you don’t look much like him.”

Callum laughed as he pulled his hand away. “Stepdad, technically.”

“Ah. Makes more sense.”

“I don’t know about you guys,” Claudia began, “but I don’t have class for another hour and I’m feeling kinda peckish. Want to hit up that new café?”

Callum shrugged. “Sounds good to me.” He turned to Rayla, giving her a small smile. “Care to join us?”

Rayla hesitated, uncertainty flickering in her violet eyes. “Are you sure you want to be seen hanging around me? I know that I’m not exactly welcome here.”

“Trust me, most people really couldn’t care less,” Claudia reassured her. “And if anyone does say anything about it, I’ll just get them expelled.”

Rayla blinked. “You can do that?”

Claudia shrugged. “Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.”

Rayla burst out laughing at her comment, and Callum found himself joining in. Her laughter was contagious, and the way her accent seemed to leak through was... endearing. “Well, as long as you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“Of course we don’t!” Claudia exclaimed. “Believe me, we wouldn’t have offered if we did.”

“That’s very true,” Callum added as they began walking out of the auditorium. “Claudia is very selective about her company.”

“Callum, you make me sound like a prick!” Claudia protested. “I just have standards. That’s all.”

Callum continued to banter with his friend as they made their way to the café, and while Rayla didn’t join in, he was pleased to see that the smile on her face didn’t fade.

xXxXxXx

Over the course of half an hour, Callum learned that Rayla was studying literature and sociology, with a few women’s and gender studies’ courses thrown in here and there. She was from Silvergrove in Xadia, and no, not everyone’s accent was the same as hers. Or as thick as hers. Her parents had been security guards for a Xadian diplomat, and as a result hadn’t been around much, even before the plane crash that had taken their lives a few years ago. She lived with family friends, Runaan and Ethari, and she had no siblings, for which she was eternally grateful. She’d studied martial arts for as long as she could walk. A few years ago she’d started to learn how to incorporate blades into her fighting.

Claudia was impressed by this fact, and asked if Rayla would be willing to provide a demonstration for her at some point, to which the Xadian girl eagerly agreed.

Callum felt no need to ask for a demonstration; Rayla was currently wearing just a normal t-shirt, and based on the way her muscles flexed every time she moved her arm it was clear to him that she was telling the truth about her physical prowess.

“Aw, man,” Claudia complained as she checked the time on her phone. “I have bio in fifteen minutes. Guess that means I have to say my farewells.” She stood up, giving the two a mock bow. “A delightful conversation we shared, truly. See you at the dorm, Rayla!” With a wink and the swish of her black coat, she was gone.

An awkward silence fell. Callum wasn’t sure how to break it - until then, Claudia had been the one primarily pushing the conversation forward.

“I take it you don’t have a class to get to, then?” Rayla asked before taking a sip of her coffee.

Callum shook his head. “Nope. I don’t have physics until one.” And it was currently only twenty minutes before noon.

“Hm.” Rayla pulled a sheet of paper out of her backpack, which was hanging from her chair. “I have Shakespearean Literature at 12:45.” She glanced at him, an embarrassed expression falling upon her features. “I don’t suppose you could show me where Seton Hall is?”

Callum laughed. “I don’t mind showing you, no. Although I have to admit I only know where that’s located because of Claudia.”

Rayla gave him a knowing grin. “Ah. I see. So how long have you two been together?”

Callum stiffened as his face turned bright red. “I - she - we’re not together!” he stammered as he dropped and barely caught his pen, his voice an octave higher than he would have liked. “We’ve just known each other for a long time! Besides, Claudia is a sophomore and I’m just a freshman, which means she’s - she’s way out of my league.” He placed his pen down as the red slowly began to fade from his face. “Why do you - why do you ask? Did you... notice something?”

Rayla, though seemingly startled by his outburst, chuckled. “So it’s one-sided affection. Gotcha.” She lightly flicked his nose, which was an action Callum would have been embarrassed to receive from anyone else but for some reason didn’t mind when Rayla did it. “Don’t fret. One year isn’t a huge gap, you know. And I asked because I noticed you sketching her the entire time.”

Callum flushed and pulled his sketchbook closer to him, though he didn’t bother to hide the picture of Claudia. “There’s actually two years difference between us,” he admitted. “Both she and her brother missed a year of school when her parents got divorced.”

Rayla winced, nodding. “That sucks.”

Callum snorted at her blunt response. “Well, that’s one way to put it.”

“Precisely.” Rayla took a final sip of her coffee. “I don’t think you should give up hope, sad prince. You’re pretty cute. If you ever work up the courage to ask her, she’ll probably say yes.”

Callum raised an eyebrow at her comment, a near-pitiful attempt to regain his composure and pretend he wasn’t still blushing. “‘Prince’? What’s that about?”

Rayla shrugged. “Your dad is the head of the college. He’s kind of like a king. As such, you are kinda like a prince.”

Callum paused, then grinned. “All right. I can live with that.”

Their conversation shifted back to school, and Callum explained how he was majoring in physics and minoring in art, and that his favorite elective was Renaissance History. Rayla asked him about sports, and while she was disappointed to learn that there was no martial arts team, the idea of wrestling appeared to intrigue her.

“Do you know if they allow girls?” she said.

Callum shrugged. “No idea. Remember - I haven’t been here for a full semester yet. Plus...” He gestured to himself. “I don’t exactly scream ‘wrestler’, do I?”

Rayla snickered. “Well, you’ve got that right.”

Callum gasped in mock-offense at her comment. “How stereotyping of you.”

“You said it first!”

Before Callum knew it, it was already 12:30. Rayla was easy to talk to, even if she did bruise his ego, and so far time was flying by when he was around her. She was funny, quick-witted, and charming - at least in his opinion.

It saddened him to think that some people would never approach her simply because she was Xadian. While tensions had certainly lessened between Katolis and Xadia, the situation was nowhere near perfect, and he was keenly aware of the shocked and even disgusted looks that had been sent their way just from being in the café together.

“Are you okay with showing me where my class is now?” Rayla asked as she threw away her cup and the wrapper that had held her pastry. “I want to get there a little early, if I can.”

“Sure,” Callum replied, following her lead and disposing of his trash. He tucked his sketchbook and his pen into his satchel, but before he could get to the door, Rayla stepped forward to hold it open for him.

“Princes first,” she said with a smirk, snickering as he rolled his eyes.

“Seton Hall actually isn’t far from here,” Callum said as they headed further into campus. “It’s the same building the auditorium and most acting classes are in.”

Rayla frowned upon pulling her schedule out of her back pocket and examining it, straightening out a bend in the top right corner of the page. “Why aren’t my other literature classes in this building?”

“I always thought they put Shakespeare in the building with theatre classes because of the overlap between the courses,” Callum offered. “Maybe you get to see them perform some of the plays.”

Rayla shrugged, shoving her schedule back into her pocket. “I guess I’ll find out.”

They arrived at her classroom a few minutes later, with just under 10 minutes left before her class started.

“I suppose this is where we part ways,” Rayla said, shouldering her booksack and giving him a soft smile. “It was nice meeting you, Callum. I hope we find time to hang out again.”

Callum chuckled. “With Claudia as your roommate, I’m sure plenty of opportunities will arise.” He hesitated, then added, “I could give you a tour of campus. Someday. If you’re interested.”

Rayla’s smile widened. “I’d like that a lot.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out her receipt from the café before ripping it in half. “Can I use your pen?”

Callum fished his pen out of his satchel and handed it to her, their fingertips brushing as he did so. She proceeded to scribble something on one half of the receipt before handing it all back to him.

It was a phone number, he realized.

“The school provided me with a temporary phone and number to avoid international texting charges,” she explained, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Rather kind of them, now that I think about it.” When Callum didn’t respond, instead simply staring down at the slips of paper and the pen in his hands, she rolled her eyes and sighed in mock-exasperation. “Callum, the polite thing to do when someone gives you their number is to give them your own.”

Callum felt the blood rush to his face. “Right,” he stammered, tucking her number away in his pocket and writing his own onto the other half of the receipt before handing it to her.

Rayla winked at him as she accepted the paper. “See you later, Callum!” she said before disappearing into her classroom.

Callum remained there, frozen, for a few seconds more, his pen still clutched to his chest. Rayla was... an interesting person, to say the least. She seemed smart - certainly more clever than him.

Then Callum remembered that he, too, had a class starting soon. But his phone buzzed only a few minutes after he’d headed out of the building.

(330) 229-6868: I’m sure you’ve realized by now that typically only one person receives a phone number in an exchange between acquaintances

Callum, in fact, had not thought that deeply about it, but he wasn’t going to tell Rayla that. He added her as a contact before responding.

Callum: Yeah, I was wondering, lol

Rayla: I assure you that there is a method to my madness

Callum: Riiiight

Rayla: Look. I knew you wouldn’t have the guts to ask for my number

Rayla: Don’t deny it

Callum guiltily erased the beginning of That’s not true.

Callum: Maybe

Rayla: And I also knew that even if I gave you my number, you wouldn’t dare to text me first

Rayla: Now we both win!

Callum couldn’t stop himself from grinning at his phone at her response. So not only was she smart and funny, but she was also far more lighthearted than he’d originally given her credit for.

Callum: Seems so

Rayla: oh my god you sound like a pretentious douche over text

Rayla: Class is starting soon

Rayla: Give my number to Claudia pls

Callum: Ofc

She didn’t respond, so he assumed her class must have started. He tucked his phone into his satchel and continued his walk to physics, stepping up his pace to ensure he’d get there on time. And while he walked, he couldn’t keep the happy smile off his lips at the thought of his new friend.

Strange.

But he liked it.

xXxXxXx