#{ 'no thoughts au' we say as i pour my fucking heart out into exposition }

[baldramuste]

moonlit evening

fights with his father were not normally uncommon for sigurd, especially not since he'd lost his mother. this time though sigurd had felt his father had gone too far, and he'd rushed out on a horse to get away from everything faster than his father could even think.

he didn't know how long he'd rode but it was surely for far too long. the sudden onset of rain catches him by surprise midway through the night, catching him vulnerable and soaking him through to the bone. even the cloak he’d hastily brought with him barely helps shelter him from the rain. it is a godsend that he discovers any sort of structure all the way out here.  

"the house velthomer..?" sigurd looks up at it atop his horse in amazement, the building a threatening sight even in the pouring rain like this. it matched the velthomers perfectly— the family a mystery he still had much to learn about. had he really rode his horse all the way out here? he had not realized..

but he did not have anywhere else to go. it is not as if he could return back to his father— the father who could not hope to understand him as a person. he knew he was being childish by leaving like that but he could not bring it in him to face such a figure. to face the embarrassment of understanding how his actions were wrong.

needless to say he could not stay out here forever— his father would send someone after him eventually— but just for the night should be fine. if he just had a good night's rest and came back in the morning, perhaps he could summon up the courage and go back to his home to apologize.

sigurd huffs out a shivering sigh as he hops off his horse, walking up to the door. he summons the courage to at least see if anyone was home to give him shelter. just for the night and that would be it. he practices the conversation in his head. i don’t have any money on me but i will even pay you the moment i get the chance to. "excuse me!" he calls out finally, knuckles rapping against the door in desperate bid to get out of the rain. "is there anyone home?"

@avemaera

[plumblossomkun]

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 3: 「𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 / 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚒𝚝, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 / 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝙸'𝚍 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞」

word count: 3.2k

setting: student!Taeyong x writing assistant!Female Reader, University!AU

chapter summary: in which Taeyong finds out he’s in the class that y/n helps lead, and the sound of her voice is still his siren song.

a/n: this gif is exactly what i imagine when i think of what taeyong would look like at the end of the last chapter: a little lost and a little breathless and very much devastated. we’re starting at the timestamp in Chapter 2.5 where I link IRL part 5. thank you all so much for waiting ♥

warning[s]: none for this chapter. exposition time.

reminder: i will italicize flashbacks in their entirety & indicate any changes in scene or point of view in bold. and if you’re wondering where the chapter titles are from, they’re lyrics from the songs on the playlist below. 

tags: @starxblossom, @nsheeteesmain​, @cutehardcore, @bunny-doyounq, @namphyun, @ncttrinities​ ♥ send me an ask if you would like to be added to this list! 

moodboard | playlist | main masterlist | a map of the campus | extras | fun facts

previous | next

9:08am—

—on the third floor of Kenna Hall, in room 306.

Taeyong stares at his hands and tries to steady his breathing. It comes out in staccato bursts, and each inhalation hurts just a little more than the one before, like something is slowly crushing his lungs.

I didn’t know she was still here.

Do she and Johnny still talk? 

No, she was always closer to Ten than she was with Johnny.

He unlocks his phone and starts scrolling through his messages to find his last chat with Ten, then stops.

—Who was that boy?

The thought actually makes him wince, and he hangs his head over the desk. Of course you would have moved on, it would only be natural, but he hadn’t expected to see it firsthand, or this soon. From what he had been able to see through the window, the boy had been nothing out of the ordinary, nothing remarkable. Maybe.

But the thing that had pained him most wasn’t that. 

Even a fool would have been able to see how you’d glowed, walking away with that boy’s hand in yours, how you’d laughed like you’d never cried a day in your life. And you’d smiled, and Taeyong hadn’t recognized the expression on your face. 

How much has she changed, after all these years?

He curls his fingers around the edge of the desk and rests his forehead against the smooth surface as students continue to pour into the classroom, filling it with their laughter and heavy footsteps. His breathing speeds, though he fights the urge to crumple inwards into himself.

How much have I changed, really?

Back to that night 6 years ago—

“So, did you fuck?” Ten asks as soon as the three of them are safely inside the confines of Johnny’s room to wind down for the night, a devious grin crossing his face as he takes a seat at the desk in the corner. His gelled back hair is unkempt, like someone’s been running their hands through it over and over again— knowing him, he’d probably been making out with someone in the shadows at some point during the dance.

Taeyong laughs to cover up the rose-red hue flooding his cheeks. “What? No! I just met her.”

“Yongie likes a girl~” Yuta waggles his eyebrows suggestively, falling back onto Johnny’s bed with an oomph as he yanks the bowtie off of his collar.  He smells faintly of alcohol, but tonight he’s a sleepy drunk, his head already lolling against his shoulder.

“I don’t!”

Johnny chuckles as he unbuttons his dress shirt and fans himself with a hand. “But did you get her number so you can, you know, get to know her better?”

“No…” Wringing his hands, Taeyong joins Yuta on the bed, who is dead asleep, chin dropping to his chest as he snores softly.

Ten folds his coat carefully over the back of his chair. “Who were you canoodling with?”

“I didn’t get her name.” Sighing, Taeyong throws his tie on the bed and kicks off his shoes. “And again, we weren’t canoodling.”

Ten drums his fingers against his chin with a cattish smile. “Dude, you never pay attention to girls,” he points out. “What’s so special about this one?”

“Do you find her physically attractive?” Johnny drawls, hand pressed to his forehead in a mocking faint. When Taeyong sends an icy glare his way, he amends himself with a chortle. “—I mean, is she your type?”

“I don’t know. She’s just…” He thinks of your wild eyes, how they’d scorched his with their intensity; he can scarcely remember much else, though, he’d been too dazed by the cold and the suddenness of it all. “I guess…?”

“Is she easy to talk to? Or can she hold a conversation?”

He bites the nail of his thumb absentmindedly, eyes unfocused as he tries to recall the words. What had you said— that if you could fly, you’d see if heaven existed? “You could say that.”

Ten’s lips purse, and he exchanges an exasperated look with Johnny. Both of them know a doomed man when they see one.

Taeyong stares down at his hands, at the little black flower on his left wrist, right at the juncture of the vein that splits off into the palm of his hand. You’d drawn it there in pen, on the bus ride to the Mexican store on the corner of Maple and Grand Avenue.

He just thinks you’re interesting, that’s all.

 9:13am—

A couple of minutes later, nearly every seat in the room has been occupied, a handful of skateboards rest against the wall by the door, and Hydro Flasks clink loudly against the desks, while Taeyong massages his temples at the very back left corner of the classroom, just beneath the clock, pushing back the maelstrom whirling through his head. Through the blinds, sunlight flares its first, casting tiny beams of golden light and pricking his skin with faint warmth.

I hope Ten hasn’t told her I’m back.

The door clicks open again, and an older man, presumably the professor, steps into the classroom, a cup of coffee in one hand and a tote filled with books and folders slung over his shoulder. He is dressed smartly in khakis and a turtleneck, and rectangular glasses hang low on his nose as he scans the classroom with a good-natured smile.

After flicking on the lights, the professor looks over his shoulder at the two students on his heels and gestures widely at the whole room. “What do you guys think?”

Taeyong inhales sharply. The girl next to him eyes him curiously, but doesn’t comment.

It’s the boy from the other day, the one who’d had your hand in his— and now that Taeyong can see his face, he can’t help but glower at the kind, shining eyes, the chiseled jaw, lips plump and pink; he scrutinizes the dimpled smile and how he looks like every college girl’s magazine dream. He’s probably a nice guy, but the little green voice in the back of Taeyong’s head wants to drip venom. 

How many guys has she dated since I left? It’s an ugly thought, one he doesn’t really deserve to be having, but it burns in his throat anyway. Guys like this?

“It’s alright,” the boy says, tossing his backpack onto an empty desk by the classroom projector’s control panel and leaning back against the windowsill as he scans the room. He rakes his lilac-grey hair back from his forehead and looks to the other student. “What do you think, angel?” 

This time, Taeyong has to slap his hand across his mouth to keep himself from crying out. In fact, if he hadn’t been sitting, his knees would have given out, and he would have collapsed inward on himself. As it is, he simply deflates, exhaling all the air left in his lungs and then some, sliding down as far in his chair as he can. 

Oh, god. 

“I don’t know about this one, Juan. The energy of the classroom just isn’t the same when we’re not in O’Connor.” 

It’s her.

A faint smile plays across your face as you stand next to the professor. You look so casually radiant that Taeyong’s heart falters, while the mere melody of your voice renders him unsteady.

“You good?” the girl next to him mouths, but he doesn’t have the wherewithal to answer, just sways in his seat like a ribbon caught in the throes of a windstorm. 

The professor chuckles as he passes a stack of syllabi to the front. “I should clarify. Y/n is not saying that it’s your energy she dislikes— just the classroom itself.”

She’s…

You take the stool behind the computer at the front and lean over to talk to the boy with a giggle, and Taeyong has to look away. He doesn’t want to see how the pretty-boy plays with your hair, and the way your hand settles on his knee as the students pore over the course materials warily. 

There is something lighter, less tethered about you, the skittish gleam gone from your eyes and replaced by a different shine. And then there’s him. In the blink of an eye, he feels like the same stupid teenage boy he was all those years ago. The only difference is that he knows with absolute certainty that he can’t just walk up to you and apologize.

You are not that forgiving.

The professor claps to get everyone’s attention. His voice bears a slight Spanish accent, and he speaks softly but with a quiet power, not unlike the force of a priest at his altar. “My name is Professor Juan Madrid; you can call me Juan. This is Life Writing. Is everyone in the right place?”

A murmur of confirmation ripples through the class.

“Good. These are my lovely peer educators, Jung Jaehyun and Y/n L/n.” Professor Madrid gestures to the corner where you and the pretty-boy sit. “They are warriors; they are also two of the best writers on this campus. Do you guys want to introduce yourselves and say a little something about the class? Maybe something you learned that you thought was valuable?”

“Sure. I’ll go first.” Jaehyun raises his hand and waves at the class, smiling. 

It’s a bright, honest smile, no pride or arrogance, but Taeyong resents it anyway. “My name is Jaehyun, and y/n forced me to be a peer educator with her, but I love the written word. I think it’s a really powerful way to convey emotions, and taking classes with Juan has really helped me express myself better. You can just call me Jae.” 

“Y/n, how about you?”

A dreamy, pensive smile curves your lips, and you— there is no better word for it— begin to glow. You look...

...happy. 

“The best advice I can give you is that good writing starts with honesty. Anne Lamott, one of the authors you’ll be reading this quarter, calls it ‘radical vulnerability’. You might have to talk about the most devastating moments of your life, and some of the brightest, and you can’t do yourself justice if you censor yourself. There’s a lot of power in being honest.”

The professor nods in approval. “Very true. We’ll talk more about radical vulnerability in a week or two.”

I don’t know her. Taeyong stares down at the packet, not really seeing or processing the words. It seems like you are not just a whole new person, but part of a whole new world as well.

“—the final paper will involve the writing of a short autobiography that engages on your own notion of ‘self’—”

I spent four years discovering myself. 

It’s only right that she did too.

“—we will work in small groups called familias. Raise your hand when I call your name, so y/n and Jae can see you, and so you can see who will be in your familia.”

He doesn’t see you slip out the door to use the bathroom, barely thinks to raise his hand when he hears his name called to be in Jae’s group. He looks out the window again, and in the face of the sunrise’s impending radiance, he closes his eyes and exhales.

He called her ‘angel’.

 11:30am—

[11:46] Ten: soooooo...

[11:47] Ten: i heard from johnny that u saw she-who-must-not-be-named

[11:49] Ten: ngl, i completely forgot to warn u 😳

[11:51] Taeyong: are you sure you didn’t just choose not to?

[11:53] Ten: 🙄🙄🙄

[11:53] Ten: what kind of friend do u think i am???

[11:53] Taeyong: 😐

[11:55] Ten: OKAY but at least i didn’t tell her that ur back

[11:57] Ten: ….. yet 🤐

[12:02] Taeyong: please don’t

[12:02] Ten: she’s not exactly going to be happy ur back u know

[12:03] Ten: u basically ghosted her for like, four years

[12:03] Ten: u can’t just pop up n be like “hey guess what i’m a MAN now”

[12:07] Taeyong: yeah, you’re right

[12:07] Ten: damn straight i’m right 😤

[12:08] Ten: wait,,, ur not supposed to agree with me

[12:08] Ten: what happened

[12:08] Ten: spill the tea 😠

[12:08] Taeyong: i think she’s dating someone

[12:10] Ten: 😨

[12:10] Ten: well, i mean… 

[12:10] Ten: how do u feel about it

[12:11] Taeyong: 🙃

[12:11] Ten: do u need cute puppy videos

[12:12] Taeyong: no

[12:12] Taeyong: i’m fine

[12:15] Ten: [link]

[12:15] Ten: [link]

[12:15] Ten: [link]

The morning after Winter Ball—

It’s an unspoken tradition for everyone to skip out on class the Monday after a dance, but Taeyong doesn’t realize his mistake until he walks into his first period class and the classroom is missing both the teacher and most of the students. Strangely enough, though, Ten is there, sitting slouched in the teacher’s chair at the front of the room and regarding the green apple resting on the desk with contempt. He nods in greeting, but doesn’t look up from the fruit. “Didn’t anyone tell you not to come to class today?”

“What about you?” he counters, clambering onto the nearest desk and discarding his backpack onto the seat. “Could’ve gone to the movies or slept in late.”

“AP Dance,” Ten says shortly, poking the apple distastefully. Then he leans back, resting both feet atop the desk and ignoring the papers that go scattering when he does so. “Mr. Richards went to go print some papers at the library.”

Then the door clicks, and creaks open. Taeyong turns to look, and behind him, he hears a squeak, clatter, and bang, along with a loud “oh, fuck!” as the teacher peeks his head through the door, eyes glistening with amusement behind his thin rectangular glasses. “He-llo?~”

“Good morning, Mr. Richards,” Taeyong says dutifully, glancing over his shoulder. Ten is gathering himself off of the floor along with the papers he’d dropped earlier.

“Good morning, boys,” the teacher says breezily, dropping a foot-tall stack of papers on his desk. Head tilted slightly, he smiles down at Ten like the boy hasn’t just been caught in his seat. “Hmm. Ten. That chair can be rather uncomfortable. Is that why you’ve fallen?”

Mutely, Ten picks up the chair and places it back in its original position.

“Oh, how kind of you.” Mr. Richards adjusts his tie, tilts his head again, and claps his hands 

together. “Do you two have anything to do for this class period? Homework, maybe?”

“Nope.” Ten takes the seat next to Taeyong and slouches down as low as humanly possible.

“No?” Mr. Richards glances at the apple on his desk, ever so slightly out of place, and rotates it until it’s just right. “Mr. Lee, how about you?”

“Not really,” Taeyong replies, though he knows exactly where the teacher is going with this.

“Then you won’t mind helping me put these notes together for next class, when everyone is back from, ah… being sick.” He claps again, then slides a stapler towards Ten. “Thank you~”

A soft knock sounds at the door, and Mr. Richards lets out a little gasp. “That’ll be my favorite student with the rest of the papers~ Can one of you get the door, please?”

Ten groans. “There are more?” 

“I’ll get it,” Taeyong volunteers, sliding out of his seat and tugging the door open. For a moment, the glare of the silver morning gloom makes him blink. And then his eyes refocus, and he looks right into the very same pair of eyes that had transfixed him the night before.

The girl looks almost offended by his attention, mouth set in a hard line as she stares up at him with a thick stack of papers threatening to teeter out of her arms. When he doesn’t budge, she nods jerkily at the door, expression shifting into mild annoyance. “Excuse me.” 

“Oh. Ah. My bad.” He steps aside to let her in, and wonders why his cheeks heat when she sits on top of the desk beside his.

A smirk crosses Ten’s face as he looks between the two of them and connects the dots. “Hey, good morning.”

“Didn’t think you’d be here today, Ten. Hello to you too.” She drops the papers on his desk with a chuckle. Then she turns to the teacher. “Hello, Mr. Richards,” she says, waggling her fingers in greeting. “I heard I’m your favorite student?”

“Oh, it was just a joke. I think you need to submit your homework on time in order to be my favorite student.” Mr. Richards titters.

She laughs softly— then regards Taeyong with a curious look. Only then does he realize he’s been staring. She doesn’t address him, though, instead looks questioningly at Ten, who meets her gaze with a grin. He opens his mouth to speak, but Taeyong kicks him under the desk before he can.

And as his friend winces from the blow, he seizes his chance. 

“Uh— it’s good to see you again,” he starts. “I had—um… it was fun last night.”

Ten cringes so hard that he bangs his knee against the bottom of the desk. With a yowl, he drops his stapler and cradles his leg.

The girl contemplates Taeyong, tilting her head as she studies his features, gaze running along the lines of his jaw up to his temples. And when she finally looks into his eyes, hers light up.

“Ah,” she hums, and there’s a world of understanding in that one sound that he doesn’t share. “You.”

He nods, fighting the urge to gulp. Even though her voice is soft, and she sits at ease atop her throne, he feels oddly small before the intensity of her gaze. 

She watches him as he shifts his weight in his seat, then gestures at his arm. “Do you mind if I finish that?”

“Finish—  what?”

She raises a brow and points at the almost-gone but faintly-still-there flower blooming on his wrist. Gingerly, he offers it to her, and she gives a tiny nod of approval, pulling a marker from her pocket. When her fingers meet his skin, the warmth spreads from his cheeks and echoes into his chest, and he shivers. He hadn’t even realized he was cold in the first place.

She traces the lines of his wrist, following the thin strands of blood vessels with the point of her marker, gripping his arm tight to keep him from moving.

“I’m sorry.” She says this so softly that he has to lean in closer to hear her better, her breath grazing his ear when she adds, “I never asked you for your name.”

“It’s Taeyong.” He holds back a laugh as her fingers scratch across his wrist and tickle him. “I didn’t ask for yours, either, so I’m just as bad.”

After a moment or two, she sits back, chewing on the cap of the marker thoughtfully. “Done.”

He looks down at his arm. Where there had only been the faintest outline of a little flower, there is now a bouquet of hibiscus blooming across the back of his hand, stems spiraling down his arm up until where his veins vanish, at which point they curl into little swirls. 

Feeling the weight of her gaze on him once more, he looks up. Their eyes meet, and as if she’s dismissing some untoward thought, she shakes her head. Then she leans forward, and he feels his heart halt and stutter at her smile. It is easy, unlike everything else about her, and gentle. It perplexes him. 

“Nice to meet you, Taeyong. I’m y/n.”

From here on out I will refer to the reader as ‘you’. I intended to keep it as ‘the girl’ and ‘she’ in flashbacks until the point at which they met properly, and this is it. Welcome to the true beginning. 

a/n 2.0: what did you think of this chapter? it’s been in the works for so long that i don’t even know what to think about it tbh, so any feedback would be great, thank you for reading! ♥