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maatryoshkaa · 4 years ago

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young god | chapter 15

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 12.0k

warnings: descriptions of violence, sexual assault, mental illness. dark themes and foul language. all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a fat grain of salt.

description: As Han Jisung’s trial steadily approaches, Hwang Hyunjin struggles to decide where his loyalties lie. Prosecutor Kang is as ruthless as he is greedy, and a startling confession from Yang Jeongin reveals that the ugliest pasts often lie behind the brightest of smiles. Old scars run deep, and all wounds are finally reopened on the day of the trial.

watch the trailer here!

ryu says: “holy h*cking shit.”

15| the devil’s advocate.

“Is Miroh Heights rallying for the death of a 20-year-old orphan? Is justice always this heartless?

“The only existing psychological analysis of alleged serial killer Han Jisung has now been revealed to the public eye, painting a stark contrast with the image of the stone-cold murderer we were all introduced to before. What else is the prosecution hiding? Is Han Jisung at the mercy of a system that has failed him once — and will it fail him again? More on this complex case, next week.”

You set the school paper down on the diner table. Across from you, Bang Chan gave a low whistle. “Lee Felix, is it? You really outdid yourself, kid.”

Felix grinned. He was glowing, not just from the detective’s praise, but with a light sheen of sweat — you two had woken up at the crack of dawn to deliver the newspapers around town, Felix on Jeongin’s bike, and you and Chan in Woojin’s police cruiser. The delivery boy had even drawn out a map of all the shortcuts he knew, and so you had all made it back to Glow Cafe — where Hyunjin was waiting with fresh mugs of coffee — before noon.

Jeongin scanned the front-page article again, nodding excitedly. “I read the local press’ papers every day while I was in the hospital — this basically goes directly against everything they’ve been saying.” He still had weeks before he was allowed to be discharged from the hospital, but had managed to bribe a nurse into letting him take ‘short walks for fresh air’ during the day.

“Why’re we fighting against the local media, though?” Hyunjin asked. The barista looked much better now that Jeongin was awake — the colour had returned to his once-pale cheeks, and he had opened the cafe back up for business again. “I mean, what does the news have to do with the trial? Knowing the prosecutor, he probably doesn’t even care.”

Chan shook his head. “The media plays a huge role in cases like these — mass murder allegations, things that’ll implicate the entire town. In smaller cases, yeah, no one would look twice at the news. But for cases like Jisung’s, they’re going to bring in a jury for the trial — and most times, what the jury agrees on ends up being the final verdict.”

“But the jury isn’t supposed to have heard of the case beforehand.”

Woojin grimaced. “In theory. Miroh Heights is a big town, but it’s old — not to mention it’s a campus area.” When Hyunjin still looked confused, Woojin continued, “That all makes it a close-knit community. There’s only so many people who qualify for jury duty — and I’m willing to bet that there’s not a single person in Miroh Heights who isn’t keeping up with Jisung’s case by now.”

“Kang’s a top-tier scumbag, but he’s far from stupid,” Chan mused, reaching for his mug and frowning when there was no more coffee left. “It definitely wouldn’t be beyond him to pull some strings to make sure he gets to choose the people on the jury: the ones exposed to the case — the news — the most—”

You finished his thought for him. “Students. Professors. Citizens.”

“Exactly.”

There was a brief silence. Chan began a side conversation with Felix, and you snuck a look at Hyunjin. He had disappeared behind the counter, and was fiddling with the cash register with his head down.

You glanced back at the table. Woojin and Jeongin were sitting in a strangely awkward silence — the delivery boy’s expression was oddly closed off, you thought to yourself. It was almost...cold, a side of Jeongin you had never seen before. Shrugging, you excused yourself from your seat and retreated behind the bar to where Hyunjin was standing quietly. The barista was idly unrolling packets of coins to refill the cash register, and didn’t look up at you.

You nudged him gently. “Hey, ‘jinnie.” Nothing. “Hwang Hyunjin, talk to me.”

The long silence was broken only by the clinking of coins, until Hyunjin finally mumbled, “What d’you mean?”

You sighed, fiddling with an empty coin tube and trying to find the right words. “It’s— it’s a lot to ask for, I know.” You didn’t have to mention Jisung’s name for him to know what you were referring to — your boyfriend’s case hung over all of your heads like a guillotine every second of the day.

Still, your mind flashed back to his sudden outburst months ago, when he had first met Jisung face-to-face in the cafe. His cold, guarded wariness towards the other boy, and how he’d spent the next two months practically soulless by Jeongin’s bedside. You tried to meet his eyes. “You’ve been through a lot.”

The coins were trembling in Hyunjin’s long fingers. “You’ve been through more,” he muttered back. You didn’t have to follow his gaze to know he was looking at the site of your stab wound, hidden under the layers of your sweater. “How’d they let you out so early, anyways?”

“Hey, I was in there for nearly a month — they said I slept for three weeks straight, you know?” You laughed lightly, trying to ease the tension, but Hyunjin didn’t return the smile. “I’m okay, ‘jin.”

Your eyes searched his face for a response. Despite everything, Hyunjin still looked weary — like he had gotten older, more tired. He had seen things in the past few months that could never be erased — you all had. And you knew Hyunjin like the back of your hand — he had been one of the first faces you’d met when you’d moved to Miroh Heights, the unlikely first close friend you’d made. With absent parents who ran businesses abroad, Hyunjin had been on his own for most of his life. You knew how he always kept his worries and doubts to himself, how his polite, casual demeanor hid a heart full of emotions he didn’t know how to deal with or express.

“Are you okay, though?” Hyunjin asked, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours, and you felt your heart pang at how helpless he looked. “Every time you see something wrong �� someone in trouble, you stop at nothing until you can help them. And I love that about you, y/n. I really do—but—” Hyunjin gestured his hands wildly, voice wavering as if he was struggling to get the words out, “You can’t save everyone, y/n.” The familiar words made you shrink back as Hyunjin kept talking. “The last time you tried, you nearly ended up— d-dead. I’m worried like hell, okay?. Worried that if you keep trying to save others, you’ll just be the one hurt in the end.”

“Hyunjin—” You reached out to grab his shaking hands, to calm him down, but your elbow knocked over a roll of coins. They spilled across the floor, making everyone jump and look up.

“Everything okay back there?” Chan called, and you nodded, waving him away distractedly as Hyunjin dropped down to pick the change up. As you knelt down to help him, you heard footsteps approach the counter, and looked up to see Jeongin behind you. Back at the table, Chan and Felix were still talking like newfound frat brothers, but Woojin was fiddling with his mug silently.

“Can I talk to him for a moment?” Jeongin asked you quietly, and you glanced back down at Hyunjin. Jeongin had been sitting the closest to the bar counter, you realised — he had probably heard a good chunk of your conversation. You nodded, placing the change on the countertop, and headed back to the table.

Hyunjin watched Jeongin dive for a quarter that was rolling away. Underneath Jeongin’s sleeves, Hyunjin could see fading scratches peeking out — where the skin had scraped away when he’d fallen to the ground, bloody and unconscious, the night of the attacks. They were nearly healed, but the memory alone still made Hyunjin’s gut twist, and he tore his gaze away.

“Do you still think about that night?”

Both Jeongin’s quiet voice and his question took Hyunjin by surprise, and he couldn’t help but look up. The younger boy’s eyes were soft, gentle — a contradiction to his naturally fox-like features — and it was as if he’d spoken Hyunjin’s thoughts out loud. You never had to explain anything to Jeongin, Hyunjin thought. Growing up with no one but his sickly grandmother, Hyunjin had never truly opened up to anyone before — but Jeongin always seemed to understand exactly how Hyunjin was feeling, and there was something about the younger boy that could always calm Hyunjin down.

He’d always looked at Jeongin like a younger brother, a bright presence Hyunjin wanted to protect and take care of at all costs.

Now, Hyunjin found himself wondering if Jeongin had been the one taking care of him, all along.

“I see it every time I close my eyes,” Jeongin finally continued, and the question repeated itself in Hyunjin’s head — that night. The night Han Jisung had killed another student, and sent Jeongin into a two-month coma. The night Hyunjin had woken up to find his closest friend bleeding out on his storefront. No matter how many times the memory crept up on Hyunjin, it still made his blood run cold.

Hyunjin could only nod, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.

“Sometimes...I think about how things might’ve been different. If I hadn’t stopped — no, if I hadn’t even taken that shortcut through the Yellow Wood. Or...if I didn’t have to work the night shift in the first place.” Jeongin huffed a soft laugh, then drew quiet. “But we don’t really get to decide what happens to us, huh? One thing leads to another, and the next thing you know, the world’s turned upside down.” He paused. Something in the younger boy’s voice made Hyunjin think he wasn’t just talking about the Yellow Wood anymore.

“I wonder if he...if Jisung thinks about that, too.” Jeongin continued. “How things would have changed if he hadn’t taken that path that night. Or, if he never had to do the things he did...” Jeongin trailed off, and a question was left hanging in the air.

Where did it all go wrong?

It wasn’t like Hyunjin had never seen Jisung in passing — the kid whose bright smile and boisterous laugh masked his strangely wide, dark eyes. Who seemed to linger alone on the streets and in the shadows of murky alleyways after curfew, just wandering. As if the boy was constantly looking for something he’d lost — but had long since forgotten what it was.

“I just...” Hyunjin’s own voice surprised him, but as soon as he got the words out, he could no longer stop them. “I just want everything to go back to normal. The way things used to be. I—” Hyunjin looked around the cafe, letting out a shaky sigh. “I’ve grown up in this town all my life. Maybe I’ve grown scared of change — scared of how it could make me lose everything. Scared of how it could make me lose you guys.” He put his throbbing head in his hands. “Maybe that’s what makes me a coward. I don’t know Jisung. But I’ve seen the things he’s done, and I can’t — I can’t watch it happen again. I don’t think I could take it.” He looked at Jeongin helplessly. “How do you...forgive someone who could have killed you?”

Jeongin was silent, pensive. He picked up the last coin and slid it into the cash register before saying quietly, “Did I ever tell you about my dad?”

Hyunjin frowned in confusion. “You don’t...talk about your family often.”

“Most of the time, I’d rather not.” Jeongin gave a small smile. “But these days, I keep thinking about them. I know people talk about them behind my back — why a freshman has to work delivery jobs all day, and study all night. Why no one came to visit me in the hospital, except for you.” The younger boy shifted his feet, gaze dropping to his hands. “My dad’s in prison. Third-degree murder.”

Hyunjin’s hands stilled, and Jeongin continued talking. “My mum was your typical office worker — real big company, too. We were never that well off to begin with — maybe that’s why she stayed silent about the...the abuse for so long. About the stuff her higher-ups would do to her behind locked doors, when they’d make her stay overtime in their offices.” Jeongin’s voice wavered, and he cleared his throat shakily.

“I don’t know how my dad finally found out, I...I could never bring myself to ask.” Jeongin was gripping the count[er, knuckles white and voice barely audible. “I’ve never seen my dad angry before. He doesn’t get angry. He’d always take the short end of the stick with a smile, you know? This was the first time he’d ever...picked a fight with anyone.” Jeongin paused, eyes glazed over in memory. “That night, Mum was staying late again. But this time...my dad showed up at her workplace. Burst in after-hours, like a madman. And that night, neither of them came home.

“The police came knocking on our door the next morning. And they told me my father killed three men in a fight. A fight.” Jeongin looked up at Hyunjin now, smiling, but his crescent eyes were filled with tears. “No one cares about an office woman’s sexual abuse story. Not when you have the families of three rich businessmen bribing law enforcement any way they can to keep their reputations clean. You can guess who the lead prosecutor of the trial was.”

“Prosecutor Kang,” Hyunjin breathed, not daring to believe it, but Jeongin nodded.

“The trial was easy. My dad would spend the rest of his life in prison.”

“That’s not fair,” Hyunjin blurted, voice barely a whisper. “They can’t—it’s not—”

“The system isn’t fair,” Jeongin replied. It sounded like he was quoting someone. “It’s been a long time since the system’s chosen morals over money.”

Hyunjin’s gaze wandered back towards the table, where Woojin was sitting, and thought back to the tense atmosphere between Jeongin and the young police captain earlier. “Is that why you and Captain Kim…”

“His parents put mine in prison. It’s more than a little awkward, really.” Jeongin laughed, but the sound didn’t quite reach his eyes. The younger boy always tried to put on a bright face, Hyunjin realised with a pang, no matter the pain he might be hiding underneath.

“I’m not trying to compare my dad to Jisung. Jisung, everything he’s done…” Jeongin shook his head. “He has too much to make up for, I wouldn’t even know where to start. We all knew that going into this.” He glanced over his shoulder at the table where his friends were seated. “y/n more than anyone. If we make Han Jisung out to be innocent, if we try to get him pardoned...that makes us just as bad as Kang.” Jeongin sighed. “But I can’t just watch them treat him like they did my dad. Make him out to be a psychopath, until even he starts to believe it.

“My mum can’t find work anywhere. She doesn’t sleep, barely eats, never leaves the bed because she’s so sick. The doctors all say she has lifelong trama. I don’t want to watch the system...end another life that doesn’t deserve it.” Jeongin glanced behind him. Hyunjin followed his line of sight towards the table, where everyone was chatting. Jisung’s friends — Felix, Chan, maybe even Woojin; and his girlfriend, you. “I don’t want to see what it does to the people that love him.”

Hyunjin was silent for a long moment. The chatter at the table and the clinking of the coffee mugs seemed like background noise as Jeongin watched the older boy take in everything he had said. Outside, students and citizens were beginning to fill the streets as rush hour approached — it was the end of the school term, and the bustle of summer life was humming beyond the glass windows of Glow Cafe.

Before Hyunjin could respond, though, the cafe doors swung open, the CLOSED sign clattering against the glass in protest and making everyone look up at the sudden commotion. A middle-aged woman in a tweed blazer and pencil skirt was marching straight towards the table you were seated at, a younger woman with a notebook stumbling after her.

Hyunjin straightened up, tone professional despite the weary look on his face. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed today under special circumstances—”

She cut him off impatiently. “Where is Felix Lee?”

Bewildered, Felix stood, holding out his hand to attempt a handshake. Instead, the woman reached into her bag and slammed down a newspaper identical to the one you already had on the table — the school paper.

“What is the meaning of this?” Her voice was high and reedy as she jabbed a red-nailed finger onto the front page, where Jisung’s article had been printed. “Who do you think you are to publish these—these baseless stories?”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” you responded tensely, “I think you’ll find that this article contains more truth in it than all the articles the local press has published, combined.”

She turned on you, sneering in disbelief. “Do you know who I am?” You glanced outside uneasily, where a sleek black car was parked.

“Why do rich people always assume we know who they are? Listen, lady, we don’t care—” Chan began, but was interrupted by a sputtering sound Felix made.

“I think we should care,” your best friend choked out. In his hands was a business card that the woman’s assistant had handed him, and the blood had drained from his freckled face. “She’s the head of the local press.”

Everyone fell silent, and the woman smiled slyly. “Precisely. Publishing articles like these…” she glanced down at the school newspapers on the table, clicking her tongue. “Your school should be ashamed of you. An amateur school newsletter, overstepping their boundaries.”

You saw Felix’s expression darken at her words, ears red. “A good newspaper reports on all sides of the story. We publish the truth here, and nothing but the truth—”

“Why? So you can all bail your psychopath friend out of prison? Do you even care about the implications? Your truth is hindering the investigation of a convicted murderer. People like him should not get their story told. Your truth will put this town in danger if he walks free, you understand? It will get more people killed.” She fixed Felix with a withering look of contempt. “Let me give you a word of advice, young man, if you even think of surviving in this industry—sometimes, you need to know when to keep your mouth shut.”

Your mouth was burning with countless words to bite back with but your tongue stayed stubbornly tied, mind racing. The woman had spoken out loud what you had all thought of at one point, what you had been most afraid of the public believing. You stole a look at Hyunjin behind the counter. The barista was avoiding eye contact, but you knew he had been thinking the same thing. His stormy, unreadable expression made your stomach churn — you knew he had been the most hesitant and unsure of Jisung’s case out of everyone, but seeing it written on his face now made you feel even worse.

Sensing that things were beginning to get out of control, Woojin cleared his throat. “Ma’am, if you’re finished, I would kindly ask you to leave—”

“I have every right to stay here,” the woman interrupted viciously, snatching up the campus newspaper again, “until your journalist friend revokes these articles—and promises not to interfere with the investigation until the trial has concluded.”

You started in protest. “You—”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Hyunjin’s calm voice cutting through the growing chaos made everyone freeze and turn towards the barista. He pushed the cash register shut with a bit too much force, and leaned down to rest his forearms on the bar counter. “I told you we were closed, yes? You have no more business here. If you choose to continue infringing on my property, we can bring this to the police.” His eyes were still stormy as he stared the stunned woman down — but the words coming from his mouth were the complete opposite from what you had been expecting. “Now get out of my cafe.”

“I—why, you—” The woman could only sputter for several seconds as you all stared at Hyunjin in awe, the most self-assured expression you had seen on the barista in ages — as if he had finally made up his mind about something. Behind him, Jeongin had a small smile on his face.

“Preposterous,” the head of the press stammered, taken aback by Hyunjin’s bluntness. Her mouth opened and closed like a puppet’s, but no words came out. Finally, glaring daggers at all of you, she snatched her bag and stormed out in a whirlwind of nauseating perfume, her poor assistant barely keeping up behind her.

The silence lasted for several more moments. Hyunjin was still staring after her with a reserved expression, his shaking hazel pupils the only indication of how nervous he was.

Felix was the one who finally spoke first, the wide grin in his voice breaking the tension. “Hwang Hyunjin. You are the man.”

━━━━━━━━

Opening the door to Bang Chan’s office sent clouds of dust into the stale air, and the detective into a coughing fit. Chan moved to snap the blinds open, letting evening sunlight warm the musty room.

“Bloody hell, Chan,” Woojin groaned as he patted the dust from the coffee table in the corner. “I was joking about your office being a coffin before, but—how did you let it get this bad?”

You, Hyunjin, and Jeongin followed the police captain into the room, taking tentative seats around the coffee table as the detective tried in vain to open a window and clear the stuffy air.

“I haven’t had any new clients since this case was taken from me by that damn prosecutor,” Chan protested indignantly, grabbing a notebook and pen. “I’m taking a well-deserved hiatus. B’sides,” he added, sighing, “I don’t exactly have the heart to focus on anything else right now.”

Woojin grimaced, and looked around the room. “We’re waiting on Felix?”

You nodded. It had been nearly a month since the first article had been released — a whole month since the head of the press herself had come storming into Glow Cafe, demanding for the publication to be stopped. You weren’t sure if it had been the woman’s biting remarks or the newfound support from Hyunjin, but Felix seemed to have hit the ground running, publishing story after story and going head-to-head with every article the local press put out.

The articles were beginning to pick up steam, too — as soon as the school year had ended, the entire town had begun buzzing with talk about the contradicting stories. You should have felt relieved that your last-resort plan had even stood a chance — but the longer the fight and investigation went on, the more you could feel the stress weighing down on your shoulders. Though removed from the investigation, Chan and Woojin came to you with more and more bad news they were able to overhear with each passing day. The trial was scheduled for next week, and you hadn’t heard from Jisung since...well, since you had found him, bloody and broken, in the back lot of Mia’s Diner.

“Things aren’t looking too good,” Woojin began, expression grim. “The prosecution’s claimed custody of the camcorder footage and Jeongin’s Walkman tapes. Seungmin’s legally not allowed to touch them anymore—not without Kang’s permission.”

Your heart plummeted to your stomach at the police captain’s words. You, Chan, and Seungmin had all been warned separately to stay out of the investigation by legal officials, but that hadn’t stopped you from gathering what information you could. You should have known Kang would find a way to get ahold of all the evidence, but nothing could have prepared you for the sick feeling the confirmation stirred in your gut.

Chan sighed, tapping his pen on his cheek. “Far as I know, Jisung still isn’t taking a lawyer. The kid won’t even talk to me now.”

“How’s the trial going to work, then?” Hyunjin asked. “If the kid doesn’t take an attorney…”

“It’ll be his word against Kang’s,” Chan nodded glumly. “It’s a trial held under special circumstances. The prosecution will present all the evidence they choose, the judge and jury’ll listen to all the witnesses who decide to come forward, and then they’ll use that to form the final verdict.” He paused, then added, “And if Jisung chooses to defend himself, he has the right to speak, too.”

“Except he won’t,” you interjected, heart heavy, remembering Jisung’s face when he had told you about his parents’ deaths. Jisung had spent his entire life living in the shadow of guilt his childhood cast over him, a self-induced hell he forced himself to relive every day.

“Kang has the jury, the witnesses, and the evidence,” Jeongin thought aloud, the sentence alone making the air feel heavy.

“We’ve all been called to attend the trial, yeah?” Chan nodded at you, Woojin, and Hyunjin. “Us, Felix, and Seungmin can only come as spectators. Jeongin’s been called in as an eyewitness.” He frowned, counting off his fingers. “The only other type of witness Kang can bring in would be an expert witness. Medics, psychologists, that sort of thing.”

“Kang’s clever — he’ll probably bring in child psychologists or medical specialists,” Woojin noted, frowning. “It’d be easy for them to cherry-pick the evidence to use it against Jisung — especially since he refuses to speak to anyone right now.”

“Haven’t they found anyone for Jisung?” You asked desperately. “His old social workers, foster families —”

“He was abandoned over a decade ago. None of his social workers have come forward.” Woojin sighed. “But you’re right — they have found a forensics specialist to come testify.”

Jeongin perked up. “Who?”

Chan looked grim. “Head coroner Lee Minho.”

Your heart sank. Lee Minho. No one was willing to address the elephant in the room: that Minho admitting to his own crimes would be one of the easiest ways to avoid a death penalty. Except…

“No one on the prosecution knows what Minho’s done, and we don’t have any incriminating evidence against him, either. They won’t believe us, and there’s no way he would confess,” you muttered, remembering the uneasy conversation you had had with the coroner on the rooftop. Minho had been hiding in the shadows of Jisung’s self-destructive crossfire his entire life. From the coroner’s unreadable eyes to his strange, reserved attitude, you had no idea how to guess his next move.

There was a knock on the door, and everyone looked up as Felix walked into the office, backpack sliding off one shoulder. “I have good news and bad news,” your best friend announced, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa.

“Bad news first,” you answered immediately, groaning. Good news was rare these days. “I want to get it over with.” Hyunjin nodded in agreement, looking at Felix expectantly.

“The head of the press is still up our asses, believe it or not. She’s changed her strategy — they’re making bribes now.” Felix fished a slip of paper from his bag. “Someone came in today — dressed real proper and business-like — and told me that if I halted publications, they’d be willing to pay a pretty hefty sum.” He flipped the slip over onto the coffee table.

It was a cheque, you realised. Chan whistled as he read out the amount. You looked back up at Felix, holding your breath.

“I took the bribe,” Felix admitted, tone apologetic, and your shoulders slumped. Your last connection to the investigation, gone — but Felix kept talking, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I took the bribe, and we used the money to buy everyone in our department the most expensive coffee on campus. Actually, thanks to them, we pulled an all-nighter and published the last part of your case study this morni—oof!”

Your best friend was cut off when you tackled him into a hug, nearly tumbling backwards as Felix laughed and patted your back. “Felix,” you declared, voice still shaking from how scared you had been, “You are ruthless.”

“One of my many charms,” he grinned, Hyunjin clapping him on the shoulder. Felix pulled away from you, and his hazel eyes suddenly grew serious as he scanned your face.

Out of everyone at Miroh Heights, Felix had known you the longest — if anything was wrong with the other person, you were always able to pick up on it. Despite your relieved smile, Felix could see how overworked you were — you had been reading up on past cases nonstop, making phone calls, and making notes on the camcorder footage, no matter how much rewatching it traumatised you to the core. From your bloodshot eyes to your pale lips, anyone could see that the upcoming trial had taken the worst toll on you. “y/n,” he said worriedly, “you need to take it easy.”

You sighed, scrabbling a hand through your dishevelled hair. “How can I? I need to keep working on this — I need to be strong.”

“You’ve always been strong.” Surprisingly, it was Hyunjin who spoke up this time. For the first time in weeks, there was no more anger or bitterness in his voice — only sincerity. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

You tried to give him a small, grateful smile, but even that couldn’t staunch the bubbling anxiety in your gut. “The trial’s in a week. We can’t let up now.”

You could sense the boys looking at you anxiously until Chan finally clapped his hands, breaking the grim silence. “Well, you heard the boss lady.” The detective winked at you. “Let’s get back to work, boys.”

━━━━━━━━

The courthouse lobby was already overflowing with chaos and reporters by the time Prosecutor Kim Seungmin arrived at its doors.

This wasn’t his first time attending a trial, of course, but the scale of it all was what made him uneasy. Citizens of Miroh Heights were huddled outside the gates, catching whatever glimpses of the trial and snippets of information they could. When Seungmin had elbowed his way into the building, he spotted security guards flanking all the entrances.

There was a sign for the bathroom on his left hand side. Seungmin made a beeline for it, pushing open the doors and allowing himself to escape the pandemonium for a couple of moments. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he saw a familiar figure standing by the sink.

Prosecutor Kang’s eyes met Seungmin’s through the mirror and the older man straightened up, snakelike mouth curving into a smile. “Ah, Prosecutor Kim. Good to see you.”

Seungmin nodded stiffly as he tried to muster up the courage to walk past his colleague. He could feel Kang’s beady eyes watching him contemplatively.

“Are you still beat-up about the case? You must be,” Kang mused, turning back towards the sink and flicking on the tap. “Don’t get yourself too down about losing it. It was only a matter of time.” If Seungmin didn’t look at him, Kang’s tone sounded almost kind.

Almost.

Kang was here on behalf of the prosecution, with his team of carefully selected witnesses and—Seungmin was willing to bet—jurors. Seungmin had barely landed a spot as a spectator in the trial, alongside Felix, the school journalist. If things went Kang’s way, anything and everything that happened in today’s trial would be completely out of Seungmin’s control.

“Rookie mistakes,” Kang continued, wiping his spectacles. “It’s to be expected at your age, really—”

Seungmin ignored his passive insult and turned back towards Kang, tone pleading as he tried one last time. “Mr. Kang, you don’t have to do this. Han Jisung—”

Kang barked a laugh, cutting him off. Behind his spectacles, his eyes were filled with equal parts amusement and resentment. “I’m not sure why you young people always have such blinded judgement,” he seethed. “He’s a monster.”

“He’s just a boy,” Seungmin shot back, heart pounding at the way surprise flashed on Kang’s face. He had never dared to challenge his colleagues before — especially not Prosecutor Kang — but he forced himself to stand his ground as Kang finally turned around to face Seungmin. He was silent for several tense moments, slowly drying his hands before picking up his briefcase. Then, Kang’s expression smoothed over as he raised an eyebrow at the younger prosecutor.

“Not in my court of law, he isn’t.”

He had walked briskly out the door before Seungmin could muster a reply. The commotion outside grew louder before it was muffled again by the closing doors, and the younger male was left in the dark, empty washroom, filled with an increasing feeling of dread.

━━━━━━━━

Jisung jerked forward when the prison bus came to an abrupt halt, nearly slamming his head against the front seat. He tried to shake himself out of his daze and turned towards the window, tired eyes adjusting to the morning sunlight. Outside was the town he had grown up in, and yet everything felt so...different.

As soon as the bus doors swung open, swarms of reporters surrounded its sides. Two policemen roughly escorted him through the crowd, and he could vaguely register the questions being screamed at him from every angle.

“Han Jisung, is it true?”

“Did you kill all those people? Did you set fire to your own home?”

“Will you plead guilty? Will you plead insanity?”

Insanity? Jisung’s mind flashed to the memory lapses every time he...killed, the gaping black spots in his thoughts, the endless throbbing in his temples that never quite went away. His head was swimming, but his body felt numb. Have I gone insane?

Once they were inside, he was ushered further down the hallway into a side room. A stone-faced clerk in a grey suit nodded at the policemen, then fixed his hawk-like eyes on Jisung’s unfocused face.

“This is him?” He asked dubiously, then cleared his throat. He didn’t move to shake Jisung’s hand. “Well, then. You refused to take an attorney or public defender, so, uh...your trial will be held under special circumstances. The judge will hear the witnesses, the evidence, and anything you have to say. Got it, kid?”

Jisung couldn’t will himself to form any words. Everything sounded as if he were underwater.

The man coughed nervously. “As long as you cooperate, things shouldn’t be too bad, eh? Although from what I’ve heard about you, I wouldn’t keep my hopes up.”

Jisung could sense the official’s eyes raking him up and down in slight distaste at his silence. As Jisung quietly took a seat in the corner, he could hear the man muttering irritatedly to the guard by the door and chuckling.

“It’s always the messed-up kids, huh?”

━━━━━━━━

You watched as the courtroom slowly filled with people — reporters and spectators huddling around you, clerks and attorneys taking their places in their respective boxes. You were sitting with Bang Chan, Felix, Woojin, Hyunjin, and Seungmin near the bar, watching the members of the jury shuffle in. They were all somewhat familiar faces — students, professors, and citizens, as Bang Chan had guessed — and you felt a small glimmer of hope every time you recognised someone.

The prosecution’s witnesses were beginning to file in on the opposite side of the room, as well: A stocky boy with a swollen, bandaged nose, and a scrawnier one, also heavily bandaged — the only survivors, you realised, shuddering — from that terrible night at Mia’s Diner. Then there was Jeongin, whose face made you relax slightly. Next to him, though, there was a nervous old woman who you didn’t recognise, and an unfamiliar middle-aged man. And of course, pacing back and forth behind them, like a panther on the prowl, was Prosecutor Kang.

Every time the doors swung open you couldn’t help but look up, heart hammering in your chest.

You were really only looking for one person, after all.

Sure enough, the heavy oak door in the corner creaked open, and a familiar flash of golden hair made your breath catch in your throat. Flanked by two stone-faced officers, Jisung entered the courtroom.

You immediately leapt to your feet, and heard Chan whisper in warning. “y/n.”. The detective’s tone was gentle, but you didn’t have to turn back around to imagine the alarmed look on his face. Your eyes were glued on Jisung, and it took every fibre of your being not to sprint up to him, push past the guards, and pull him into your arms. You were shaking with equal parts relief and horror as you took in the sight of him.

He’d lost weight, his skin was pale and bruised, but his eyes — you felt your mouth go dry. The eyes you had seen fill with both laughter and sadness, light and darkness, were now completely lifeless. As if he wasn’t really seeing anything at all. You felt hot tears prick at the back of your throat and you clapped a hand over your mouth to keep from calling out his name. You had thought you were prepared, that you would force yourself to stay calm at all costs — but now, as the weight of the situation was finally beginning to sink down on your shoulders, you weren’t so sure you would be able to.

You felt Felix’s hand gently tug at yours, the only thing anchoring you to reality, and slowly sat back down, your hands grabbing fistfuls of your cardigan to keep from shaking.

Jisung found you in the crowded courtroom before you did, and the split second he caught your face soothed an ache in his chest he’d been trying to ignore, like a long-neglected wound. Seeing you alive and breathing — when the last memory he had of you had been one where you were bleeding out in his own hands — sent a bittersweet pang through him, the sheer relief overwhelming him to the point that he felt his own knees buckle. To anyone else, you looked almost normal, he thought — but he would have been a fool not to catch the dark circles under your eyes, your shaking hands, the raw worry that had etched itself into your weary features.

As soon as your eyes flickered up to him, Jisung immediately looked away, a voice in the back of his head seething. Coward.

His gaze wandered around the room and he was instantly met with a mix of hostile glares and fascinated stares — like an animal that had been chained down. Wherever he looked, dozens of eyes were on him, dozens of blazing lights searing through him and pinning him to the spot. It was almost as if he could hear the spectators’ thoughts, the countless names that the local press had called him ringing through his head. The youngest mass murderer of Miroh Heights. A walking psychopath. The soon-to-be-convicted serial killer.

“Order in the court,” you heard a man next to the judge call out, and a hush swept across the room. The judge — a middle-aged woman in sombre black robes — nodded. “The trial is now in session. The case of Han Jisung, and the Miroh Heights Murders, Your Honour.”

Kang moved forward and cleared his throat.

“Your Honour, today I intend to prove the defendant guilty of nineteen counts of first degree murder, as well as a history of crimes spanning over a period of thirteen years. This includes eight counts of arson, including the defendant’s own home, and five counts of aggravated assault, including the attack of Yang Jeongin three months prior. The numbers are based on the images of the victims we showed him that he recognised.” Kang gave a deliberate pause, flashing a look of disdain over where Jisung was seated. “He has violated Sections 235 and 435 of the Criminal Code, and the prosecution intends to prove him fit to receive capital punishment.”

Capital punishment — the death penalty. Kang was doing exactly what you all had feared, and his words and self-assured attitude made you feel sick.

“Does the defendant have any opening statements?”

Your eyes flickered to Jisung’s face — had his expression darkened? His features had stiffened into a cold mask — lifeless eyes, sickly pallor, clenched jaw. It was almost as if he was trying to fit into Kang’s description of him, you realised with a sinking feeling. To your dismay, Jisung stayed silent, and the judge cleared her throat.

“Please call upon your first witness.”

You watched the nervous old woman from earlier wobble forward and introduce herself.

Kang had pulled out images of a familiar crime scene — the burnt-down flat on the outskirts of town, where the remains of a woman identified as a local sex worker had been found. The night of your first date, you thought, grimacing. “Where were you, the night of this fire?”

“I was making my rounds through this neighbourhood,” the old woman began, fingers trembling as she pointed at the images. “I happen to live ‘round there, and I own some of these flats myself. This woman is—was—a tenant of mine.”

“Did you see anything suspicious prior to the fire?”

The old lady paused. “I thought I saw a boy lingering ‘round the alleyways. Holding his head and stumbling around real bad, pacing back ‘n forth like he couldn’t see clearly. ‘twas near the red-light district, so I thought he was just another drunkard.”

“Could you point to the boy you saw, stumbling through the alleyways?”

The old woman slowly pointed at Jisung.

“And what did you see, at around 10 o’clock, sundown?”

“I-I saw the roofs in my neighbourhood go up in flames. Ran as quick as I could, but the blaze was already too big to stop —” She shuddered. “But through the smoke, I could see the figure of a boy in the fire, escapin’ from the house.”

“Could you point to the boy you saw escaping the burning building?”

You watched in muted dread as she lifted another quivering finger in Jisung’s direction.

“There’s no way she could have seen clearly through all that smoke and fire,” you heard Woojin mutter behind you.

“Your tenant had no prior connection to him — no negative relations beforehand, correct?”

The old woman nodded. “Not that I know of.”

Prosecutor Kang hummed. “We have no reasons to believe this murder was provoked by the victim. And yet, that night, Han Jisung set fire to an innocent woman’s home — in cold blood. She was an outcast, no family or friends — he likely chose a victim that wouldn’t be missed.” He smiled, turning towards the judge. “That is all for the eyewitness, Your Honour.”

You grit your teeth as the old woman sat back down. Kang had called on his next witness — a chubby, red-nosed man who introduced himself as a child psychiatrist.

“The defendant refused to answer questions during the psychological evaluation,” Kang informed the judge smoothly. “We researched his past thoroughly—”

“Bullshit,” Felix muttered.

“—and reached our conclusions by analyzing the nature of his criminal history during his adolescence. We will also be consulting—” Kang motioned for the two boys to step forward, “His former classmates, who will testify on Mr. Han’s character.”

“He’s insane,” Chan whispered in horror, “He’s letting the kids from the diner attack testify on Jisung’s mental condition?”

“Please state your affiliation with the defendant.”

“We grew up in the same orphanage,” the boy in the buzzcut answered, his voice thick from his swollen nose. “Kid always stuck out like a sore thumb.”

“Did the defendant ever exhibit any strange behaviours during his adolescence?” Kang asked.

“He’d be missing from classes for days,” the scrawny boy piped up. “Always hoverin’ in the corner like a little creep. Sometimes even lightin’ things on fire. Never got in trouble though — always real charming towards the teachers.”

“Changed his expressions like masks,” the boy in the buzzcut added quickly.

Kang turned towards the child psychiatrist. “How would you describe the mental condition of a patient like Mr. Han, taking these testimonies and the defendant’s criminal history into account?”

“W-well,” the red-faced man began, sweaty brow furrowing. “Starting with his unexplained history of pyromanic tendencies — this destructive behaviour indicates the patient harboured violent habits from a young age. That’s often a strong indicator of various conduct disorders in young children.”

“But isn’t it normal for children to be curious, to cause a little trouble?” Kang smiled — he was playing the devil’s advocate, you realised uneasily. “You surely can’t sum up his fascination with fire as a dangerous condition.”

The psychiatrist nodded. “Of course not. But the patient was able to shift between personas from a very young age — like his classmates have said, he could be cold and reserved to them, but charming and cunning towards authority figures. This constant deception in young children, along with the destructive tendencies, is what often leads to sociopathic behaviour.”

“Sociopathy,” Kang repeated, and turned towards the judge. “Oh, dear.”

You looked on in dismay as Kang kept twisting the case like the strings of an ugly puppet, clearly aware of the way the jury and spectators were beginning to lean towards the prosecution’s arguments. With Kang’s carefully crafted questions directed at nervous, unsuspecting witnesses, everything seemed to point to one obvious answer. Han Jisung was a guilty serial murderer, there could be no question of it. Even the testimonies were beginning to blur together:

He went all psycho on us.

Laughing like some maniac, like he enjoyed it.

Murdered my friends for no reason.

At this rate, you didn’t stand a chance.

Kang needed one more witness — one more witness was all it would take for the trial to shift completely in his favour, and for you to finally lose hope. You looked around the room in desperation and spotted Minho seated on the prosecution’s side, the coroner’s smooth and mask-like expression doing nothing to calm your frazzled nerves. His words from the rooftop rang in your head, sending chills down your spine.

There is little you can do with people who don’t want to be helped, y/n. You’re just like how I was.

Was that why Minho had cooperated with the prosecution? Because he thought that Jisung was already beyond saving? As if he could feel your gaze burning into him, Minho’s eyes darted upwards to meet yours. You were startled to find that there was something unfamiliar in his expression; something that hadn’t been there the last time you’d met him — like a crack in a mask, a ripple in smooth water. Before you could decipher what it was, you heard Kang’s haughty voice calling Minho up to the stand, and the coroner turned away.

“Please state your name and status.”

“Lee Minho, forensic pathologist and head coroner of the Miroh Heights murder cases.”

“Could you describe the autopsy results of the confirmed victims?” Kang held up a remote and projected images of various crime scenes onto a screen. An uneasy murmur rippled through the jury and spectators at the graphic images — some, like the burned body of the woman, and caved-in skull of the man at the Yellow Wood, you recognized, but there were several more you never had the courage to look at before.

Minho glanced at the photos Kang had projected onto the screen, expression unchanging. You remembered his oddly empty smile when you had first met him, when you had asked him if the endless rows of corpses ever made him uncomfortable.

“I’m sure it did, at some point. Sooner or later, they all start to look the same.”

“Yes. Well, as you can see, the victims’ bodies almost always showed signs of excessive force and trauma. Victim #1, Na Jangmin, was pronounced dead on scene from smoke inhalation and respiratory burns from the combustion of various chemicals found in the science laboratory.” Minho pointed to a gruesome image of a peeling, shrivelled corpse that made your skin crawl.

“Victim #2, Park Beomsoo. Died from asphyxiation. The victim had a high dosage of flunitrazepam — Rohypnol — in his system prior to his death.”

“And what is Rohypnol, Mr. Lee?” Kang interjected.

“It’s a powerful tranquilizer drug. Small amounts are sold as sleeping pills, but high concentrations can cause paralysis, or even loss of consciousness. It’s a common date rape drug.”

“Did the victim consume the drug of their own accord?”

“The concentration is too high to have been used as a sleeping pill dosage. The victim’s time of death was around noon, on campus, so there would have been no reason to for him to consume the drug. We detected traces of food in Park’s body along with the drug, but we don’t know where the drug came from.”

Kang turned towards the judge triumphantly. “Shortly after the drug took effect, the victim was pronounced dead. This was a premeditated crime. The defendant drugged the victim’s food, and slowly suffocated Park Beomsoo to death. Taking the defendant’s mental condition into consideration, Your Honour—” Kang gave a meaningful nod, a dark glint in his hawklike eyes, “I would argue that the defendant may have enjoyed the process of committing the murder.”

It took the last ounce of your self-control not to leap up from your chair at his words. Seemingly unfazed, Minho kept talking. “You can also find strange correlations between the victims. We always deduce signs of brute force exerted, and a pattern of victims: people with a history of abuse, adultery, and harassment. You could say that this killer...hunted killers.”

“The defendant’s M.O., Your Honour,” Kang added, nodding. “The constant pattern of victims and killing styles confirm that these were premeditated murders, habitual murders.”

You felt your heart sink, feeling sick. Beside you, Woojin had his head in his hands. Your last hope had gone down the drain. You should have known the coroner would play along, that he would never give himself in; that Lee Minho was the type to always save his own skin before saving others’—

“However,” Minho spoke up again, “I’d like to add that all the crime scenes are also always impeccably clean. We observed minimal blood spattering, DNA evidence, and even fingerprints. Some wounds on the victims’ corpses didn’t match the hypothesised murder weapons, and were ready to become cold cases.”

“Evidence that the perpetrator of these murders was also able to plan their clean-up afterwards,” Kang flashed the coroner a strange look. “Ladies and gentlemen, this only shows that the killer is meticulous and calculated in his attacks. As I’ve said, this is an insidious, long-seasoned killer we have on our hands—”

“You might be wondering why the evidence for this case is so scattered,” Minho’s mild voice cut him off, and Kang looked irritated at the sudden interruption but let the coroner continue. “Why the killings are so sporadic, always occurring at irregular intervals.” He paused, thinking. “Why nothing seems to fit together.”

It took several moments for his words to hit you, and you lifted your head in disbelief.

What? You turned to your friends, who all looked equally confused.

What is he trying to say?

“I remember recording that the deduced weapon at the Yellow Wood attacks was a hammer, or crowbar.” Minho nodded at the papers in the Judge’s hands. “That’s not true.”

All the heads in the room seemed to snap up in shock at the coroner’s blunt words. You felt your breath stop, and looked over at Chan, whose expression was just as stunned.

“The weapon of choice was actually a stone from the Yellow Wood,” Minho shrugged. The coroner set down the papers Prosecutor Kang had handed him, turning to face the jury. “If you dig around in the lake outside Miroh Heights Hospital, you might be able to find it. Then there’s the vodka from the fire, the knocked-over chemicals in the science laboratory, a janitor’s rope from the rooftop. They were all impulsive weapon choices,” Minho nodded at the judge, “all from the scene of the crime. As if the perpetrator had chosen it on the spot, in a fleeting moment of impulsive judgment.”

You saw Kang sputtering behind him, mouth opening and closing uselessly. The Judge was evidently taken aback, too, peering at Minho from over her half-moon glasses. “What are you trying to say, Mr. Lee?”

“That it should be obvious that these crimes were almost never premeditated.” Minho glanced at the pictures of the crime scene. His voice was quiet — nearly inaudible — but exasperated, as if he were surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth. The entire room seemed to be leaning forward, listening to his words with bated breath. “They were done in the heat of the moment, and someone else had to tamper with the evidence afterwards.”

“How could you possibly know—”

“Because I’m the one who’s been cleaning up after Han Jisung for the past thirteen years.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock as a hush fell over the room, reporters gasping and scribbling in their notepads. Minho had a small smile on his face as he took in the entire room’s response — how everyone had fallen quiet, speechless at the sudden turn the trial had taken. The smile wasn’t gloating or cruel, you realised slowly. It was filled with a simple curiosity and wonder, like a child who had finally tried something new for the first time.

Even Jisung had looked up, his eyes widened in surprise. “Minho—” His voice was raw from disuse as he called out to his first friend, his oldest friend — but Minho only smiled at him and shook his head slightly.

The room was shifting uneasily around him. He should have been scared, Minho thought. He could already feel lies instinctively forming on his tongue, a thousand ways he could backpedal and take back what he had just said. It had become second nature to him, he realised — covering up murders first, and his own emotions second; the two things he had always feared the most. He could hear Kang angrily stammering and calling his name behind him, but Minho ignored him.

The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, fixing her piercing gaze on him. “Why are you doing this? You are aware that a confession like this will lose you much more than your job? That it may very well condemn you to a lifetime in prison?”

“I’m aware,” Minho replied softly, eyes wandering across the room and landing on Jisung’s distraught face. The boy he had clung onto as his only family, the boy who he had both loved and feared for thirteen years. There was nothing left for him to lose. “I thought for the longest time that covering the murders were my own twisted way of...saving the boy. I don’t think I had the courage in me to do much else.” He looked around the courtroom, and his eyes finally landed on you. The girl who wore her heart on her sleeve, but was strong enough to challenge him with a steady voice and blazing eyes. The girl who was an unapologetic contradiction, he remembered, almost fondly. The girl who had reminded him what it was like to be brave, to finally start living for himself.

Yes, he thought. This was the least he could do.

“Han Jisung had nothing to do with the cover-ups of the crime scenes,” Minho raised his voice, surprised at the strength in it. Behind him, he could hear the prosecution stirring, and felt two security guards seize his arms to remove him from the podium. “He is not the depraved killer the prosecution wants you to think—”

“Your Honour, this must be a set-up between the coroner and the defendant,” Kang cut him off furiously, shooting Minho a death glare behind his spectacles. The murmuring of the jury and reporters drowned out the coroner’s last words as he was dragged from the room. “Your Honour, do not be deceived—”

“Order in the court!” The judge banged the gavel repeatedly, holding her head in her hand as if she had a migraine. “The—the coroner’s statements will be deemed faulty, and Lee Minho will be dealt with separately. The trial will continue.”

The silence that settled over the room after the coroner’s outburst was eerie. You could feel your heart still pounding, mind racing over the words Minho had shouted over Kang’s, the almost wistful smile on his face as he let the guards drag him from the room. The coroner had been a wildcard, you thought uneasily, your gut churning with a cocktail of anticipation and anxiety. There was no telling which way the trial would go from here.

“Does the prosecution have any other witnesses?” The judge called out, and you saw Jeongin finally stand up. Words and whispers began flying as he made his way forward to the witness box, the citizens recognising the delivery boy immediately. You glanced over at Kang, who looked more relaxed than ever — and you knew why. Everything from Jisung’s camcorder footage to Jeongin’s salvaged Walkman tapes had either been confiscated by the prosecution, or were in Seungmin’s hands. Kang had been meticulous making sure that the younger prosecutor had no power over the case, banning him from interfering with the investigation for good.

Which meant that all Jeongin had to sway the jury was his own verbal testimony. One young boy’s word against Prosecutor Kang’s.

“State your name and status.”

“Yang Jeongin. Um, student at Miroh Heights University.”

Kang looked down at his papers, then back up at the judge. “On the night of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin was biking home after closing shift before he was brutally attacked by the defendant with a blow to the skull. He is the only living witness that has come forward to testify, and the only person who witnessed the defendant’s attack firsthand. Luckily, he was able to regain consciousness after the horrific attack.” He turned towards Jeongin, smiling triumphantly. “What he has to say may well turn the entire case upside down.”

He was clearly expecting Jeongin to give away evidence against Jisung, you realised. After they had told Jeongin that his tapes had been withdrawn from the investigation, the delivery boy had hit a dead end in his testimony. No matter what he said, Kang would be able to find a way to use it against Jisung. Sure enough, he was watching the young boy now like a vulture, ready to pick him apart.

But Jeongin only smiled back at Kang. “Actually, it’s not what I have to say, sir.” When the prosecutor’s face contorted in confusion, Jeongin continued, “It’s the things that you’ve said.”

Before Kang could reply, Jeongin reached into his pocket and pulled out something silver. The guards instantly moved forward, but Jeongin set it onto the clerk’s table, motioning for him to take it. After several moments, the low crackle of speakers connecting began filling the tense silence, and you realised what it was that Jeongin had brought with him.

A voice recorder.

“He didn’t tell anyone to make sure it wouldn’t get confiscated, too,” Chan realised, eyes widening. “Smart kid. But what could he have possibly recor—”

The detective’s awed voice was drowned out by a recording of another very familiar voice.

“Kim Seungmin. As you may have heard, the serial killer — ah, the Han Jisung case, I could say — has been transferred to me.”

Prosecutor Kang.

The room froze. When you looked at Kang, you saw that all the blood had drained from his face.

“Now, now — don’t feel too ashamed, Kim. Everyone makes rookie mistakes. They may have assigned the wrong case to you, but rest assured — it’s in proper hands now.”

“Is it?”

You winced, peeking at Seungmin beside you when you heard his voice on the recording as well. Seungmin had never mentioned the way Kang treated him to anyone, and the younger prosecutor’s jaw was clenched, but his eyes were blazing.

Still, you weren’t exactly sure why Jeongin was playing a recording of Kang and Seungmin’s conversation. What could he have possibly overheard, that made him look so confident now?

“Have something to say to me, Kim?”

“I’ve just — never understood the way you handled cases, sir.”

“Seungmin.” You could almost see the condescending look on Kang’s face. “Allow me to share a word of advice. They won’t teach you this in law school.”

Seungmin watched realisation flash across Kang’s face like he had been struck by lightning, but it was too late.

“Your job as a prosecutor is not to judge the defendant fairly.”

“Wh—”

“If you want a smooth career...all you need to do is make sure you’re appealing to the right people. In other words, listen to what the public wants. Please the public; don’t waste a single damn about the defendant. You spent all your precious time worrying your little head over the killer’s motives, and now that we finally have him, you’re still worrying over the severity of his sentence? Murder is murder, Kim Seungmin, and actions speak louder than motives. You can show lenience towards a mass-murderer, or you can sweep his sorry past under the rug and bring closure to dozens of families. Which would make you a richer, more popular man?”

“Your Honour,” Kang stammered, face white, “This is—improper use of evidence, this shouldn’t—” The recording cut him off again, the judge’s face stony as she motioned for the clerk to keep going.

“Is that how you got to where you are?”

“Think, boy. As far as anyone needs to be concerned, the cold-blooded killer is caught, peace is re-established, families are soothed, justice is served once again — and I come out the hero. You saw that boy’s wretched past. Even he can’t handle it. So why poke at wounds that aren’t meant to be re-opened?”

You didn’t realise how hard you were clenching your fists until you felt your palms sting from your nails. The entire room seemed to be holding its breath. Kang looked stricken, pale mouth opening and closing frantically like a fish out of water, but no words were coming out.

“You think you’re being kind? Justice isn’t meant to be kind, Kim. Make up the easiest case to solve, and do everyone a favour.”

The judge stopped the tape, her face livid. The room had gone deadly silent, your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. ““Your job as a prosector is not to judge the defendant fairly?””

Kang could only shake his head wildly as she continued, raising her voice, ““Make up the easiest case to solve, and do everyone a favour?” From a faulty forensics expert to this — Prosecutor Kang, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Your Honour, I—” Kang sputtered out, beady eyes darting around furiously — at Jisung, and at Jeongin. “L-lies! It’s all lies, this is absurd!” He laughed, trying to make himself sound nonchalant, but his voice was weak. “This must be a—a fabrication perpetrated by the defendant—” The room was erupting in chaos now, the jury and reporters bickering amongst themselves.

You had never seen the prosecutor so worked up before as he continued to protest frantically, “Your Honour, the defendant must have coerced the victim to do this, to—to frame me. Please listen to me, we must conduct another investigation—”

There was a deafening bang as the Judge slammed the gavel down, making the room jump. “There will be no investigation,” she thundered. “Prosecutor Kang, you are hereby removed from the Han Jisung case.”

Kang leapt up from his seat as officers appeared on either side of the prosecutor, seizing his thrashing arms. “Let go of me! Your Honour! Your Honour, you cannot do this. Han Jisung must be condemned — you cannot let this murderer walk free—”

“Silence!” The judge bellowed, and the last of Kang’s words were drowned out, the heavy oak doors banging shut as he was thrown from the room. Jeongin looked evidently shaken. He had been right. His last existing recording — the unlikely trump card — had flipped the case on its head. You heard frenzied whispers all around you as your heartbeat pounded erratically in your chest.

“Does this mean the prosecutor’s been fabricating all the evidence? Who can we trust now?”

“I’ve never seen a case like this before.”

“What’s going to happen to the trial now that the lead prosecutor’s been detained?”

The banging of the gavel eventually brought the restless audience to a strained silence. The Judge looked weary. “We need to take an emergency intermission. The trial...will recommence shortly.”

━━━━━━━━

You let the sea of people push you through the courtroom’s double doors, your legs threatening to collapse at any moment. Outside was hardly a breath of fresh air — all around you, cameras were flashing, reporters were gossiping, and officials were arguing. You tried to focus — to process what had happened, but the incessant buzzing of people chattering around you made your head pound so hard you swore your skull was splitting.

A firm hand on your shoulder yanked you out of your migraine, and you whipped around to see Hyunjin. You let out a small sigh of relief.

“Hey, it might be good to get out of this crowd for a bit,” Hyunjin said, taking in your exhausted expression worriedly. “I, uh, lost everyone, but if we step outside—”

Before he could finish, you both caught sight a blond head bobbing towards you in the sea of people. Felix pushed through, cradling his camera for dear life. His freckled face was sweaty and breathless.

“Kang—Kang’s lost all power,” he gasped out when he reached you. “Detective Bang’s managed to convince the guards to let him talk to Jisung for a few minutes—”

You had already seized your best friend by the shoulders and spun him around. He instantly got the message and the three of you began elbowing through the hordes of people, Felix leading the way.

The clamour died down to a quiet hum as you reached the hallways, Felix ushering you past an OFF-LIMITS sign. The corridors were nearly empty now, and the three of you sprinted to the end until you reached a heavy oak door. It was slightly ajar. You caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expressionless face through the dim crack, and your hand hesitated on the door handle.

“I told you and Woojin I wouldn’t give you any counter evidence.” Jisung’s voice was cold and lifeless.

“And you didn’t.” You could hear the growing agitation in Chan’s voice as the detective pleaded. “But you’ve got to listen to me. More people want you — need you — to keep living, more than you give yourself credit for.”

“Stop, Chan. You don’t have to do this anymore—”

“Han Jisung.” You couldn’t help his name falling from your lips, voice louder than you’d intended as you threw open the heavy door. The guards rushed to block you before you could get any closer, but you pushed back, forcing Jisung to meet your eyes. His were flat, dark, horribly cold.

“y/n,” he replied softly, and you felt your heart break.

“Why are you doing this?” You fought to keep your voice steady. “You have the right to speak for yourself. Defend yourself. You know what they’re saying isn’t true. So why are you letting them keep accusing you?”

“How do you know it isn’t true?” Jisung laughed humourlessly, shaking his head. “Don’t lie to yourself. I did kill all those people, and you know that.”

“I do. But you’re not the psychopath Kang is making you out to be,” you protested. “I know you.”

“You don’t.” Jisung’s voice was bitter. “You don’t, actually. I’ve always — always hidden parts of myself from you. What you’re hearing from Kang is the closest you’ll ever get. He — he knows me better than I know myself.” He smiled weakly, but it fell flat. “I’ve always been like this, drawn to murder and blood and fire. It can’t be fixed.”

Each one of his words pierced through you like bullets, and you searched his face frantically for a sign, anything left of the rain-drenched, smiling boy from the diner; the wounded, soft-hearted boy you had fallen in love with. Your heart was hammering in your throat as a horrible question echoed through your head.

Did he mean it?

It was as if Jisung had pulled on a mask, you thought. His face was absolutely still — but for a fleeting moment, you could swear you saw a flash of pain

No.

You had grown to know him, grown to know that he was the kind of boy who was willing to play the part of a depraved monster, just so you would push him away first.

Jisung stared back at you, and for once, the darkness in his wide eyes no longer scared you. Instead, endless memories were flashing through your mind.

Jisung making you laugh until you choked on Chinese food, and apologising profusely for hours afterwards.

Jisung spilling pancake batter all over your kitchen counter, and feeding you blueberries to make sure you didn’t notice.

Jisung, holding you in his arms until you fell asleep, hands as gentle as if he thought you were made of glass.

“You need to go,” Jisung broke your long silence. “Stop hurting yourself. You need to let me go.”

You looked up, taking in his slumped shoulders, the note of defeat in his voice, the facade he had pulled on during the trial, and everything hit you all at once. Maybe it was the stress of the weeks leading up to trial or your hatred towards Kang had finally reached its breaking point. Either way, an overwhelming feeling of sheer frustration was washing away the anxiety that had been thrumming in your veins for weeks, and it left in its place an unbearable, burning anger.

You felt yourself push past the guards as if in slow motion, a voice in your head telling you that maybe this wasn’t the best idea — and slapped your boyfriend across the face.

The slap wasn’t hard, but the sound that rang through the room felt deafening.

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot,” you yelled. Guards immediately surrounded you, dragging you backwards, but you didn’t take your eyes off Jisung. He was staring at you, stunned, the stone-cold facade he had put on earlier now cracked wide open. “What do you think you’re solving this way? Do you know how many people have been working nonstop to make sure you don’t get yourself killed?” You could feel hot tears of frustration spilling onto your cheeks. “Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive. I need you to stay alive.” Your voice was hoarse as you screamed over the guards pushing you out of the room, and the heavy door swung shut with a deafening bang.

The silence in the hallway seemed to swallow you up, the weight of what you had just said and done crashing down on you like a ton of bricks. You felt your knees finally buckle as you sank to the ground, burying your face in your arms and finally letting all your pent-up tears fall freely.

Hyunjin and Felix were by your side, exchanging worried looks as they patted your back gingerly. You weren’t sure exactly how long the three of you stayed like that, your exhausted body racking with frustrated, mortified sobs, until you heard footsteps running down the corridor towards you.

“There you are— I’ve been looking for you guys for—” Kim Woojin’s breathless voice made you look up, and the captain did a double take. “Bloody hell, what happened?”

You wiped your reddened eyes furiously as Felix shook his head at the police captain, who was kind enough to take the hint.

“The thing is —” Woojin began again, tripping over his words. It was the first time you had seen the police captain so frantic. “It’s — it’s an emergency situation right now. A mistrial. The head prosecutor’s been thrown off the case, people are rioting—”

“This is a fucking mess,” Hyunjin muttered, but Woojin shook his head.

“No, it’s not,” the police captain exclaimed excitedly, “Not for us. They’re calling for a prosecutor who’s familiar with Jisung’s case to step up, asap. If there’s any prosecutor who was also working on the case—”

As if on cue, the intercom buzzed above you, making you jolt. “The court hearing for Han Jisung and Miroh Heights Murders will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants of the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”

“Seungmin,” you, Felix, and Hyunjin all said simultaneously, and Woojin nodded. Felix was already pulling you to your feet, and the four of you broke into a run towards the courtroom.

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mongooseblues · 4 years ago

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Bless You Father for I Have Sinned (Fleabag, Hot Priest) 1/1

Did anyone watch Fleabag and/or want to read about a hot priest sneezing?

This works just fine as a standalone if u haven’t seen the show but for context: Hot Irish prob alcoholic “cool swear-y” priest and recovering sex addict and all-around hot mess main character (who doesn’t have a name) strike up a “friendship” that is just a poorly veiled excuse for spending time with someone they want very badly to fuck but can’t bc priesthood vow of celibacy and whatnot.

Here’s ~2k words in which I continuously get off on the idea of blessing a priest and unresolved sexual tension I also don’t resolve.

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

“Fuck you, calling me Father like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it…”

It happens for maybe ten minutes before it starts to stick out to her. Because it’s cold, as it always is on early-spring nights in London, and while they’re both fully dressed (unfortunately), neither is probably quite dressed enough to be out in a garden at this hour. And they’re a bit drunk—not that drunk, they’re both pretty practiced—on the G&Ts he’s so fond of for whatever reason. He specifically likes the kind you get already mixed in a can, which are especially shit, but it’s almost endearing that he likes those in particular. Well, very endearing actually. Goddamn this man—or… hmm, poor choice of words.

It doesn’t really grab her attention until he combines the sniffling with pinching his nostrils together.

“You alright, you’re quite sniffly?”

“I know, I dunno what’s going on,” he says, and punctuates it with a harsher sniffle than the ones previously unacknowledged, “Think ‘m just cold.” He zips his sweatshirt up a bit as if to illustrate.

“We could get you a blanket and swaddle you up like baby Jesus.”

He laughs. She extracts from her coat pocket a pack of cigarettes, takes one herself and angles the carton toward him in offering. Mostly because she wants him to scoot closer to her on the bench as she flicks the lighter for him. The flame illuminates the angles of his face in orange, the back of his fingers grazing her hand by happy accident, and yes, it’s a little pathetic that this momentary skin-to-skin contact is as erotic as it is to her, but that’s what you get when you fancy a priest isn’t it?

“They’re always describing him as being swaddled. Odd word, swaddled. Sounds kind of violent.”

“It does kind of,” he agrees, leaning back against the bench and exhaling a stream of smoke into the night air. Her plan worked, he’s ever so slightly closer to her now, post cigarette exchange, close enough that when he sniffles she can feel the slight vibration of his shoulders through the loose fabric on her coat sleeve. It unites them like an accidental spark of electricity she can sense just faintly enough to feel jumpy. Or turned on. Or both.

She really shouldn’t be this shameless about trying desperately to corrupt a man of the cloth she wants to get under. Maybe she’d feel properly guilty if she wasn’t quite so fucking horny.

“So you did read more than just the passages I marked for you?” He asks, at once surprised and pleased and maybe nervous, grinning but also looking away for a moment as if he could disguise all of that.

“Not really, just the birth of the ol’ lord and savior. It seemed like it’d be climactic.”

“Was it?”

“Can’t say I climaxed reading it, no,” she says with a cheeky look that elicits the laughter she’s looking for, “No offense but it’s really quite boring, this book you love so much.”

“Yeah… that’s a tragically common sentiment among reviewers.” He’s scratching at his nose with the back of one wrist with such intensity it’s unmistakeable how much it’s bothering him.

“Don’t care much for the writing style either, I have to say.”

If the irritation could be resolved with a mouse-like scrunch of the nose he’d have figured it out by now, and clearly he hasn’t because he still has to shrink into his crossed arms like an accordion with a fairly high-pitched, vocal and thus somehow Irish-accented, “Hehh-ishhYUE!”

“Bless. The only way I was able to get through it was by imagining you in every speaking role.”

It’s a sentence meant to provoke him, not unlike most of her sentences, and for a minute as her eyes are on her own exhaled smoke and he fails to respond, she wonders whether it sounded even weirder than she meant it, but as it turns out he’s just about to sneeze again — squinting into the distance and bringing an arm to his face in slow motion.

“Mmff-SHOO!” He blinks in surprise as he resumes his previous position on the bench, now shifted just a bit farther away from her. Damn.

“Ugh, sorry. Every speaking role?? Ohfuck— ahh-ishSHEU!”

“Jesus.”

“You imagined me as Jesus??”

“No I mean Jesus, are you okay, did you catch something?” Of course she imagined him as Jesus.

“Ooh I hope not,” he says with a nervous look, “that’d be lousy timing.”

“The lord works in mysterious ways.”

“Thuh-that he does—” A sudden inhale, a crooked arm rising at a much hastened speed. It begins in a manageable way, somewhat controlled, but then it seems to get away from him.

“Hh… hehd’SHHUE!”

“Bless you, Father."

He mumbles a thank you bookended by soft snuffling.

“Maybe he’s sent you a plague of sneezing. He does that sometimes doesn’t he? Send plagues?”

His face just scarcely conveys amusement before it’s hijacked again by the same expectant expression, but he still attempts to talk through it, even as irritation becomes evident in every feature. “S-sometimes…”

She thinks about saying bless you in advance but decides instead to just wait for him to succumb to it. A flicker of lashes, a reveal of the very tips of canines, his entire face crinkles around his visibly twitching nose. It pulls him downward and then forward in that order, as he collapses into a crooked arm as if stumbling despite being seated.

An especially desperate, “hehhSCHOO!” that begins quietly but certainly doesn’t end that way.

“God bless you, Father, again.”

“Wow,” he says with a sniff, knuckles swiping under his nose in a single smooth motion, “Maybe I’m allergic to you. My body’s having a reaction.”

“Is it?”

An eyeroll and a grin, and then he goes back to scratching at his aggravated face in a manner that’s becoming aggressive.

“Well stop manhandling your nose that’s clearly not working.” Before she can think better of it, she takes his elbow to pull the offending arm away from his face. She can feel his muscles tense with the movement, but when she looks up at him there’s only a blurry-eyed smile chased by a nervous huff of a laugh. Another line she can’t uncross but doesn’t particularly want to.

The therapist hadn’t needed to point out that her all-consuming attraction to someone she couldn’t have was probably a healthy coping mechanism of her recently adopted abstinence. She hadn’t really expected this though — for her advances to not be rejected entirely. She hadn’t planned for hope to cease feeling like such a daft, one-sided notion.

“Should I even be blessing you or is that overkill? Or am I even qualified to bless you? Can one bless a priest if they’re not like, anointed or something?”

“You can bless me,” he confirms, looking like he’s barely got a handle on controlling his own eyebrows. Or lips for that matter. God, that mouth, those lips. Parting by accident the way she’d like to make them open on purpose.

“Little greedy of you. You’re not blessed enough as is?”

“Neh—neverhurts…” He pitches sidewards with a slurred, tellingly tipsy, “hehh-ESHHyoooo!”

“Bless you…”

“Thank you,” he sniffles with embarrassed necessity, bringing the back of a sleeve to his nose.

“Hold on, I think I have some tissues,” she says as she feels around in her bag in the darkness, “Well, cocktail napkins at least.” Another knuckle brush as she hands them to him. How arousing. How pitifully arousing. She really should come up with ways to hand him things more often.

“Ahh you were holding out on me,” he says, and then after a gentle blow, “Sorry.”

“You are coming down with something aren’t you?"

He thinks about it, bringing the napkin away from his nostrils with a final follow-up dab. “I dunno, maybe?”

“Do you feel ill?”

“Mostly just very itchy.”

How many other chances will she get… She reaches a hand to gingerly press the back of her fingers against his forehead. He blinks a few times in response, rapidly and reflexively, and swallows back a smile. There’s a burning in her stomach that’s neither pleasant nor unpleasant.

“Um, you feel okay I think?” She says, attention course-corrected back to the cigarette crumbling in her hand, but still glancing at him to measure the aftermath of the relatively bold gesture and they lock smiling eyes in the process.

If he really wanted to ward her off he’s doing a phenomenally shitty job of it. She knows he wants her. God if only that was enough, to know he wanted her.

“I think you’re right I’ve been sent a plague of sneezing. Probably trying to tell me something.”

“Something about how your new friend could take care of you?”

He grins with half of his mouth. “Or something about how I probably shouldn’t be drinking G&Ts in the middle of the night with my new friend who I like a little too much.”

Oh he… really shouldn’t have given her that.

“ExxSHHUE!!” He shakes the whole bench with this, then straightens back up, not looking entirely recovered, and says almost to himself, “And about how I probably shouldn’t tell my new friend that I like them a little too much.”

“But you did anyway and he hasn’t, I dunno, smote you down yet.”

Irritation is still etched into his features, his chest slowly swelling with air, hastily fiddling with the napkins.

“Are you actually going to sneeze again? You haven’t finished?”

He shakes his head as his eyes close and seizes into a rushed, “hehESHHyue!"

“It’s a plague I can’t stop! Snf, it’s out of my hands."

She knows the night’s over, she does. She gets the sense that she’d been invited to overstay her welcome, but it’s getting past that point now. Whenever she leaves after being around him her face hurts from smiling like an idiot the whole time and she comes away aching in more ways than one. That ache is starting already, another sign they’ve stretched this interaction too long once again.

However, alcohol. “If you tell me to leave and you sneeze again perhaps we’ll know whether or not it was divine intervention.”

“He might just be punishing me now anyway,” he sighs, remembering a cigarette he may not have taken a single drag from, neglected and foreshortening in his fingers.

“We haven’t done anything we’re just talking. I’m a—what is it, parishioner?”

“That is a word, yes. Snf! Though it implies someone who’s actually going to church to, you know, practice their faith."

“I’m a parishioner here to…” she’s not even sure what to say, she still doesn’t know shit about Catholicism aside from the fact that it’s a massive cockblock, “seek your… counsel? Guidance? Guidance counseling.”

He puts a hand over part of his face, tired but amused. “You can’t act innocent even when you’re trying your best, can you?"

She almost snorts. Is this what he thinks trying her best looks like?—No, don’t actually say— “Who said I was trying my best?”

Why can’t she stop herself from saying things like that to him? The only thing that’s going to stop her now is a ‘no’ that’s actually firm enough not to give way when she presses against it relentlessly. He honestly needs to just get it over with before he really gives her too much to hold onto. She’s not going to win out over God, the guy’s pretty fucking stiff competition.

Goddamnit, just break her heart already, what the fuck is he waiting for? This should have ended ages ago, and now it’s getting dangerously close to too late.

Was it unfair to assume he’d be stronger than her? Or is he trying to hurt himself too? A duetted exercise in masochism, mutually assured destruc—

“—ESSHHYUE!” He looks at her through wet lashes, bleary and sheepish and drunk and cute and fuck.

She sighs loudly, looks skyward and says, “Right, you’ve made your point! I’m leaving!”

#am i going to include the forehead feeling trope in every fic I ever write? ur goddamn right I am #to be fair I resisted the heightened temperature temptation aaand he’s not technically sick so I’m ‘doing something new’#I’ve done this platonic-but-not dynamic to death and I’ll 100% do it again in the future #i have absolutely no concept of how popular this show is or isn't #but hey hot priest is hot so here ya go #i am not even a little bit catholic but neither is fleabag so no research for meeeee #mongoose writes sometimes

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4stars-uswnt · 4 years ago

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Found Love and Chosen Family [Lindsey Horan x Reader]

requested by anon: can you write lindsey horan x reader and lindsey is really protective because reader has a bad past?

warnings: mention/description of abuse and homophobia

“C’mon, (Y/N)! I was wide open.” Megan shouts from across the field. Although you had seen her, before you could turn to make the pass, Kelley had easily stolen the ball from you, leading to a breakaway goal for the other team.

“Sorry.” You sheepishly apologize, as you make your way back into position.

“Get it together, (Y/N). Let’s go!” Tobin snapped.

You wince at what seems like the hundredth scolding you’d received from your teammates. The USWNT had a huge Olympic Qualifying match coming up, so each and every training session was important, but for some reason, you couldn’t get it together today. It seemed like you couldn’t do anything right, every one of your touches and passes going awry.

“Damn it.” You mutter under your breath, as Alyssa saves your shot.

Once Vlatko blows the whistle, signaling the end of practice, you see a bunch of your veteran teammates approaching you.

“Dude, what the hell?” Megan yells.

“What?” You shrink under the gaze of the other women.

“Why’d you never pass? I was wide open all of practice.” The older forward runs her hand through her hair.

“Ha, and I stole the ball way too easily from you.” Kelley quips.

“(Y/N), you gotta be on top of your game for our match this weekend, so whatever’s going on, you better get a grip.” Tobin huffs, walking past you towards the bus, visibly agitated.

You swallow the lump in your throat, pushing down the impending panic attack and the memories of your parents that were about to resurface.

Alex gives you a sympathetic look, while Christen pats your shoulder, as the women in front of you head to the bus. You quickly gather your stuff, the tears beginning to sting your eyes.

Once on the bus, you slide into your window seat, pulling your hood up and putting your headphones on. Too lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice your girlfriend plopping down in the seat next to you. Seeing you shut off and your tear-brimmed eyes, Lindsey makes a note to check up on you once they reach the hotel.

———

A couple of hours later, once the team has showered and changed, everyone piles in for dinner, everyone except you. Noticing your absence, Lindsey furrows her brows. The blonde midfielder scans the room, still looking for you, pursing her lips, confused. You had been your usual self this morning, dancing, smiling, and bubbling with laughter. What had happened at practice? Determined to get to the bottom of this, Lindsey stands up from her seat.

“Hey!” She shouts, grabbing the attention of the entire room. “Does anyone know where (Y/N) is?”

“What? Can’t keep track of your girlfriend?” Kelley teases.

Lindsey rolls her eyes, ignoring the defender’s comment, as she looks over to Mal, your roommate.

“I dunno. She was still in our room when I left, and said she’d be down in a few.” Mal shrugs.

“Well, did it seem like anything was wrong?”

“She looked a little down, maybe like she’d been crying.”

Lindsey frowns, looking over at the rest of her teammates.

“What happened at practice? Did you guys say something to (Y/N)?”

Megan and the rest of the veterans sheepishly wince, remembering the events of this morning. Shifting in her seat, Tobin hangs her head under the gaze of her good friend.

“Well, uh, you see…” The older forward sputters. Lindsey raises her eyebrow, daring the woman to explain.

“We might’ve snapped at her a little bit this morning.” Tobin relents.

“What!?”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Megan interjects, trying to clarify. “She just wasn’t playing the best, and we were getting a little frustrated.”

“What exactly did you say to her?” Lindsey snarls.

The two forwards shrink, not used to seeing this side of the Great Horan. Knowing you since high school, your girlfriend has always been particularly protective of you.

“Well?” Lindsey crosses her arms, waiting for an answer.

“I kinda yelled and cursed at her a little, but Tobin told her to get a grip.” Megan confesses.

“Kelley teased her about stealing the ball from her!” Tobin rebuts, as Kelley’s eyes widen.

“Hey! I was only playing” The freckled woman defends, which starts bickering amongst the veteran table.

“You guys!” Lindsey shouts, causing the team to stop their argument. “Why the hell would you say that to her?”

“It wasn’t that bad, Lindsey. Just the heat of the game.” Christen tries to calm the midfielder, who was now getting pretty riled up.

“You all need to get a grip and be ready to apologize to (Y/N)!” Lindsey exclaims.

“What? It’s nothing to get her panties in a twist about, let alone apologize for.” Kelley scoffs, not seeing the big deal.

“You don’t know her story.” The blonde snaps. At that, the entire room goes silent.

“What do you mean? What happened to her?” Alex whispers.

“I can’t. It’s not my story to tell.” Lindsey sighs before storming out of the room to go check on you.

———

Silently closing the door behind her, your girlfriend enters the hotel room, tiptoeing over to your bed, where you’re buried under the covers. Pulling the blankets off your face, Lindsey’s heart practically breaks upon seeing the tear tracks stained down your cheeks.

“I can’t…I’m sorry…so sorry.” You mumble in your sleep.

“I’m here, love. Don’t worry.” Lindsey soothes, climbing into bed, cuddling next to you. She places a kiss to the top of your head, running her hand through your hair, as if she could make your nightmares go away.

You snuggle into Lindsey’s hoodie, sensing her presence and comforting scent. With your girlfriend’s gentle hand in your hair, you find yourself peacefully falling asleep.

———

About twenty minutes later, there’s a soft knock on the door. Before Lindsey could get up to answer it, the rest of the USWNT floods into the hotel room, led by the veterans.

“Is she asleep?” Tobin whispers guilty, as she sees your saddened state.

Your girlfriend nods. Christen hovers at the end of the bed, gently rubbing your feet.

Stirring slightly, you rub your eyes, before opening them to see your teammates crowded around the bed.

“Oh, hey guys.” You croak, hiding your face into your girlfriend’s chest.

Climbing up fully onto the bed, Christen sits next to you. “Sweetie, would you look at us, hm?” She gently coaxes.

You slightly peek your head out to look at the team, as Tobin and Megan approach the side of the bed.

“(Y/N), I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you this morning. It was totally out of line.” Megan apologizes.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, too, kiddo. We were totally out of line. I think we’re just super stressed about this upcoming match, but we shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” Tobin adds.

“’S okay.” You mumble, now fully sitting up but still leaning against your girlfriend.

“No it’s not, (Y/N/N).” Kelley insists. “We want you to know that we’re always gonna be here for you.”

You shift, a little uncomfortable at all the attention. “Guys, really. It’s okay. I forgive you all.” You reassure.

“(Y/N), what’s going on? You know we love you, right?” Tobin asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. You nod in response.

“We just wanna understand and help you.” Alex kneels down next to you.

Hesitantly, you look to Lindsey, who nods encouragingly.

“Um, well.” You start shakily, trying to stay composed.

“Take your time, babe.” Lindsey comforts.

Taking a deep breath, you start telling your story. “For as long as I can remember, my parents were always be fighting. I would often hide in my room, even skipping dinner, to avoid the constant arguing. That’s actually how I found soccer; I used it as an escape from my hell of a home life.”

By now, a couple of your teammates are holding their breaths, knowing the worst part of your story has yet to come.

You look down at your fidgeting hands, as you continue. “It wasn’t till about my 10th birthday that they started to take their anger out on me. First, it was just yelling and verbal insults, but it soon turned into hits and kicks.”

You quickly wipe a couple of tears, as do some of the other women in the room.

“When I was 16, and I came out to my parents, they screamed horrible things and called me terrible names that I will not repeat. They told me that no daughter of theirs would like girls and live under their roof. So, after a few slaps, they gave me ten minutes to pack a bag and leave. I was living on the streets for a couple of weeks, before Lindsey discovered my situation after practice one day. Thank goodness I found her; she and her love saved my life.”

You intertwine your fingers with your girlfriend, bringing her hand to your lips. Lindsey gives you a soft smile, kissing your cheek.

Turning to face the rest of your teammates, you give them a sad smile. “So, yeah. That’s kinda why I reacted the way I did this morning. Though I totally get your frustration and stress, your yelling just triggered some bad memories, sorry.” You explain.

“Hey, hey,” Tobin hushes. “There’s no need to apologize. We’re the ones who should be sorry.”

The rest of the women nod in agreement. “Even if we are frustrated or stressed, we shouldn’t yell or shout or even make jokes.” Kelley affirms.

“We all love you, (Y/N).” Alex coos. “Thank you for telling us your story.”

“Do you forgive us?” Megan peeps.

You smile, nodding. “Of course I do. You guys are family. Just try and keep the harsh yelling to a minimum please.”

“Of course.” The pink-haired forward replies.

“Group hug!” Sonnet exclaims, already moving to jump on your bed. The next thing you know, all 23 women are piled around you, crushing you with a giant loving hug. You smile, thankful for this chosen family you had found.

———

Later that night, you curl up next to your girlfriend, who’d managed to switch rooms with Mal.

“I love you, Linds.” You whisper, tilting your head to give her a small kiss.

“I love you too, (Y/N/N).” She leans into your kiss.

“Thank you.” You lazily mumble.

“For what?” Lindsey murmurs, feeling sleepy herself.

“For telling the team off.” You slightly smirk. “For standing up for me. For always being there for me. For loving me. The list could go one.”

Lindsey kisses your forehead. “I’ll always be here, (Y/N). I’m not going anywhere. Thank you for being you.”

Snuggling further into your girlfriend, you fall asleep, feeling more loved than ever before.

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #lindsey horan x reader #lindsey horan imagine #lindsey horan imagines #uswnt #lindsey horan

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theskywaslookingback · 4 years ago

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2020 is almost over and I just wanted to share some of my favorite lines from fics that I’ve worked on this year. No particular order because I’m bad about remembering when I started and finished a piece.

Jon’s flat is cold and musty. It’s obvious from the moment they step inside that it hasn’t been occupied in some time. The curtains are pulled tight over the windows, the light from the street peeking around the edges with a hazy yellow hue. Dishes have been left in the dry rack, a mug on the counter containing something that might have once been tea. It’s stifling in its bareness, empty walls and heavy bookshelves. The only point of warmth comes from two hands clasped together in desperation. - doubt, these are the ways that i love you series

Jon wants to pull him closer, let Martin crawl into the skin of him until they are not two but one and Martin never feels lonely again. - doubt, these are the ways that i love you series

“It’s just Daisy,” Jon says, “she’s not- she won’t hurt us.” The end lilts upward like a question. Light roves under his clothes, the cloth wrapped snugly around his face. All of his eyes flickering back and forth between hunter and lover. Each time they land on her it feels like a blade. It feels like a kiss. - home and safety, apocalypse now series

“Love you,” Gerry breathes, because he can. He’s too full of it to hold it inside of himself anymore. He always has been. - 3AM, visible world series

“If I step on your foot,” Martin says tightly. “I’ll step on yours back, Blackwood.” Laughter crashes out of him like a battering ram and Martin presses closer, pulls Gerry in tighter and lets himself be guided around the kitchen in clumsy circles. - Summer Air, visible world series

“You know, you could just go to a salon.” Jon says, but he’s already standing and reaching for the box. “This is cheaper.” “I know. You can tell.” “Hey--” -6PM, Saturday Night, visible world series

“Jon, no person’s desires are consistent from day to day. You’re always allowed to change your mind.” “But even I don’t always know,” Jon says thickly, “that’s-- you’ll get tired of it. Or Gerry will. And I’ll be--” “Stop that.” Martin says, but it doesn’t feel like an admonishment. Like everything about Martin it sounds kind and measured. “You are so, so hard on yourself, you know that?” Jon knows. “Yes.” “Love is not easy,” Martin says, “especially for people like us. We’ve had to work for this, all three of us, every day of our lives. I’m not going to get tired of you. I’m not going to be upset if boundaries change. I’m just going to learn the new rules, over and over, as many times as are needed.” Martin drops down to press their foreheads together and Jon feels his eyes close involuntarily. “I love you. I choose to love you, and I will continue choosing to love you every day for the rest of my life. Okay?” - Abrupt, visible world series

There is something between Gerry and Martin that Jon doesn’t understand, though not for lack of trying. He can see it now, in the tremble of Martin’s jaw and sudden sober wakefulness on Gerry’s face. He tries not to feel that familiar awkward ache in his chest that reminds him there will always be things about his partners that he doesn’t understand. - Intimacy, visible world series

“Why?” Jon asks. It sounds startled out of him, like the abrupt firing of a gun. The tape crackles in Jon’s hand, growling like an aching, hungry stomach. “I mean, why do you care?” He doesn’t sound accusatory or angry, just curious. ‘ I don’t ,’ is what Tim wants to say. It’s what he means to say. But instead his stomach swoops and the words tumble from his mouth, unwanted and unbidden but true, “You’re all I have left.” Jon’s mouth does something funny, trembling into an ‘o’. He fumbles for words, though nothing comes out but vague stammering noises. Tim snarls and grabs him by the shirt, twisting his hand in the fabric and pulling hard until Jon meets him chest to chest. “Do not do that to me ever again.” “I-I didn’t mean to--” “ Don’t. ” - litany (in which certain things are crossed out)

She’d gone out for lunch an hour ago on her own. It felt like a test, the gnawing hunger in her blood versus her will to make it be still, no one there to hold her accountable except for her own desire to be better. It was alright, fine. She’d gotten a sandwich at the cafe and impulsively ordered a salad to take back to the Institute for Sims. God knew he’d never remember to eat if she didn’t remind him. - Days Before; Unwinding, chaper one

She can feel his mouth against her neck, lips wet as he tries to speak. She holds him tighter, feels his fingers dig into the fabric of her shirt. “Shhh,” she rumbles and feels him sigh. “I know. Be still.” She slides a hand into his hair, rubbing fingers against his scalp the way her mother did for her after nightmares as a child. His breath hitches and she knows he’s crying, silently in a way that makes her wonder when he’d learned to quiet his own sadness. “I’ve got it, I’ve got you.” - Days Before; Unwinding, chapter one

Tim gestures at the piles of research vaguely, almost spilling coffee over his hand. Jon takes his mug. “Is that not why I’m here?” “Is it?” Tim gins, raising an eyebrow. “Sure there’s no other reason? A little Netflix and chill?” He’s joking, of course, he knows Jon has never expressed any interest in him in that way. Just a harmless flirtation, meant only to bring a little bit of heat to Jon’s face and neck. And that it does, the tips of his ears burning a ruddy red at the implication. “Tim-” - Days Before; Unwinding, chapter two

Gerry traces a finger over the constellation of freckles along Martin’s shoulder, up the side of his neck, almost light enough to tickle. He’s named some of the constellations before, called them things like Orpheus or Ariadne, pressing kissing into the bare skin until Martin giggles and presses him gently away. - Lazy Sunday Morning, visible world series

“I’m taking you to the doctor. Is the oven already off?” “Yeah, it– yes.” “Okay, just hang on to my shoulders.” “If you drop me–” “I can carry Martin,” Gerry says, hoisting Jon up from the ground, “you think I’m going to drop you?” Jon grumbles but presses his face into Gerry’s shoulder. - prompts, visible world series

Helen…is. At least it thinks so. Any state of being is complicated, as they were never meant to be a being. Helen was, and then very quickly and unceremoniously and all at once Helen was not. And they were Helen, and Helen was them. So, Helen was, and Helen is. The Archivist is, certainly. He’s pretending not to see, keeping his two front eyes shut in her hallways but all the rest of them creak open with curiosity. He follows her with his eyes closed, his hand outstretched to feel the bend and pulse of the wall. The way it shrinks and expands, undulating like an intestine. She wonders if he knows it is feeding on him. Not much. Not enough. But it is, it does. She does. [...] (The thing they were before was never any of that, because it never had to be. It was twisting lines, curving shadows, spirals and fractals. Being hurt. Becoming hurt. And it had turned that hurt on Michael, who had not always been anger and fear and sharp stark lines. And it would turn that hurt on Helen. But not yet. Not yet.) - prompts

When Jon makes his way back into the sitting room Martin is crouched in front of the radiator and frowning, the sleeves of his button down shirt rolled up to show the light brown skin of his forearm. He has a birthmark on his left arm, nestled next to the crease where his arm bends, a dark spot like a smudge of dirt that Jon wants to press his mouth to. - hands, unfinished

Martin appears a minute later from the bedroom and takes his tea with a grateful little thanks before taking a sip and making a face. “Tea is tea.” Jon mumbles. “I’m not sure this still qualifies.” Martin says but drinks it anyway. - hands, unfinished

Martin’s hands are large and strong and lovely. Jon’s breath catches when Martin’s arm curls around his waist and he’s pulled back against Martin’s chest. He can feel Martin’s heart beating against his back, thudding almost as loud and hard as his own. Martin’s fingers settle over his stomach, splaying out. Jon thinks his hand could almost cover it completely and it sets off another round of shivering in him that has nothing at all to do with the cold. “Alright?” Martin whispers. “Yes.” “You’re shaking.” “I’m-- it’s cold, Martin.” Martin hums thoughtfully and lets go of Jon for just a moment, long enough to pull the duvet up higher around them before settling his hand back against Jon’s stomach. Jon curls his own hands in front of his face and grabs the blanket so hard his knuckles ache. - hands, unfinished

Jon hums in agreement, closing his book without bothering to mark the page. He starts to stand and has a sudden thought, freezing half in place, “Do I— do you want me to—?” He gestures vaguely at the hall, where the single bed lies unmade, and then down at the settee. Last night had been...well, wonderful; but it had mostly been a necessity. Now, with the radiator half-working, warming the bones of the cottage, they could theoretically get through the night alone without freezing half to death. He sits back down on the settee rather heavily and it knocks their legs together, though Martin doesn’t seem to notice. Martin’s brows scrunch together and Jon has to fight the urge to smooth the skin back down with his thumbs. “Do I want what?” Me, Jon thought. He huffed out a sharp breath through his nose. “Do you want— do you want to sleep alone?” - hands, unfinished

“Thank you,” Jon says, his throat and eyes burning with unshed tears, “for having loved me.” Martin’s eyebrows furrow down and his hand comes up to brush Jon’s cheek. His fingers come away wet and Jon knows he’s lost. “Jon?” “It’s okay,” Jon says, even though it’s not. Even though his chest is painfully tight and he no longer knows how to breathe. “It’s okay.” “Jon what- oh. Oh…” Martin’s hands are so lovely and warm and real, one pressed to his face, his chest, his neck. “I did love you,” he says and Jon’s eyes close. There are lips, chapped from the cold and wind, pressed to his forehead. “I did,” Martin murmurs, “I still do.” “How?” Jon breathes out, ragged, his hands reaching for Martin’s wrists with desperate strength. “How could I not?” - hands, unfinished

#my fic #jonmartin #jongerrymartin #these are the ways that i love you #visible world #prompts #((happy 2020 everyone maybe i'll get more done in 2021))

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mavda · 3 years ago

Text

Beast Tamers

Ch.1 | Ch.2 | Ch.3 | Ch.4(1) | Ch.4(2) | Ch.5(1) | Ch.5(2) | Ch.5(3) | Ch.5(4) | Ch.6(1) | Ch.6(2) | Ch.6(3) | Ch.7(1) | Ch.7(2) | Ch.7(3) | Ch.7(4) | Ch.7(5) | Ch.8(1) | Ch.8(2) | Ch.8(3) | Ch.9(1) | Ch.9(2) | Ch.9(3) | Ch.9(4) |

Ch.10: The Two-Tails (1)

It is early morning and Naruto stares at Hinata's face. Her chest goes up and down and her hair is sprawled over their bed -where his hand plays with it slowly so as not to wake her-. He brushes the hair out of her eyes, and he can’t help but notice the contrast between his tanned skin against the pearl white of hers, even whiter under the moonlight.

He had not been able to go back to the meeting. After a while -when he had composed himself somewhat- he went back and asked to be excused. Nobody said anything and he holed himself in his room.

It was also not the first time this had happened. But now when he sat in his room, looking at the wall as the hours went by, Hinata sat next to him, dragged her hand over his back, brought him food and let him rest his head on her shoulder and lap as she soothed him.

He felt better and worse all at the same time.

She rustles in her sleep and Naruto startles, turns into a statue as she settles again. She didn't move as much in her sleep before, but now with the baby it takes her a while to fall asleep, and then she moves and turns, her legs curling up and then straightening all night long.

Naruto adjusts the bedclothes around herself and lets his hand rest on her belly. Her perfect round belly.

She had once touched herself after he came inside and brought his seed over her stomach by chance. And now Naruto has found a new favorite place in which to finish.

Outside is dark and he can't bring himself to wake Hinata only because he's horny, so he takes care of his erection himself.

Muffled moans as he stares at her body and images of himself touching and licking and sucking. His breathing grows labored and he comes into his hand. A sticky mess he cleans quickly.

He sits there, spent and with his robe half opened. With his pregnant wife next to him, and the words from yesterday come back with a vengeance.

He washes himself, puts on clothes and kisses Hinata's temple with reverence.

He doesn't know how he can ask for forgiveness.

⁂⁂⁂

Jiraiya is going over some documents when Naruto knocks.

"I was waiting for you."

He motions for Naruto to come inside and then sprawls a bunch of pages in front of him.

"Would you believe me if I told you I found Toad Sages deep into the forest this one time?"

Naruto glances over the documents while a chuckle leaves his mouth, "Please, I've seen weirder."

"It took me almost a whole year to master the whole sage mode, you know, but I was able to-"

"Sage mode? Tacky."

"Because the Toad Sages called it that way, thank you, I'll be sure to let them know you find their naming sense lame."

Naruto goes over the documents and crosses his arms as he reads. Jiraiya is glad to see him back to normal.

"Anyway, I made sure to write down the main points, you see?" He motions towards the paper Naruto is holding, "You should be able to start seeing results after 5 months or so-"

"Two," Naruto interrupts and Jiraiya only snorts as an answer.

"Two it is, then. Go over the whole process and then we can get started at once."

The sound of papers being moved fills the room and Jiraiya goes back to his own documents. An assortment of reports he got from Shikamaru regarding the movements of the Beast Tamers, other prominent clans and whatever information they could gather about the Uchiha.

The Uchiha are nonexistent though, and it makes him anxious.

Jiraiya turns after he stops hearing sound. Naruto is staring at a paper on the floor, but he's not reading any of it. Jiraiya can guess what's going on inside his mind, but he has never felt qualified to help his godson navigate through these obstacles.

"Do you think I should go through with it?"

Jiraiya takes his time turning around. He leaves his pen on his table, accommodates the papers spread across in front of him. And lets his shoulders fall when he is looking at Naruto's blonde head, as he keeps staring at the papers. He knows why Naruto asks him.

Minato would say yes.

Mito would say yes.

Because they care more about Naruto than the clan.

Out of love. Out of guilt. It doesn't matter. Naruto thinks they are blinded, so he asks the man who has been able to keep him on track and grounded on reality throughout his life.

"I think you were- are in a tough spot, kid."

Naruto scoffs, because that is an understatement.

"I also think I would have taken the same choice if I were you.”

Naruto lets out a shaky breath. It doesn’t mean much, but knowing that someone would have taken his same decision is enough to make him feel slightly better. Slightly.

Because the pain of knowing what this means for everyone around him is-

“But you know what you can focus on, instead of going around in your mind wondering if what you did was the correct thing to do?”

Naruto knows. Remembers. Time after time, fall after fall. The same words.

“On the things I can do for myself,” he utters.

Jiraiya slaps his shoulder as he tries to cheer him up. He does. Or at least Naruto lets him think he did. “Let’s go train your body now, shall we?”

Naruto follows behind him, reciting the words inside his head. This is a real thing he can do to stay longer. This is something he can do without putting everyone else at risk.

This is something that will help him stay longer.

They reach one of the training grounds that Naruto likes to use. Far and secluded from the compound, where he can unleash part of his power without worrying excessively over its consequences. But now there are no flashy movements, no chakra powered moves that make holes in the ground or can tear trees in half.

Naruto sits in a patch of grass, places his hands on his thighs, and breathes in and out while being conscientious of his body. His blood flow, his breathing, the way his muscles tense and relax. The cold makes him shiver at first, but after a while his mind is so focused on the task at hand that he can barely hear what Jiraiya is saying.

“Thin out your chakra,” Jiraiya instructs, “you are supposed to become as non invasive as a rock to the chakra flow around you.”

All the years Naruto has been meditating make it easier for him to enter this trance. He usually uses this technique to correct his own flow -disrupted by the Beast's chakra- before he starts his day and before going to sleep in hopes of minimizing the damage.

Spreading his chakra comes easy, too, something he did as a child out of curiosity, then something he was trained to do in case of an attack, then as a means to further control his output, and now as a means to quench his anxiousness regarding Hinata's well-being.

"Remember to have enough to control the Beast's chakra, though." Adds Jiraiya, and Naruto wants to laugh.

As if that wasn't drilled into his very bones.

His chakra flows and he covers the inner compound without trouble, he keeps on reaching and goes halfway through the outer compound before Jiraiya stops him.

"You have to feed on the energy around you, you're just reaching out for reaching out. Focus."

There are no changes on Naruto. From the outside he remains still, impassive. But Jiraiya can feel his energy going around, he has attuned himself to catching the chakra flow around him as a fighting skill, but now thanks to the Toad Sages he can catch changes around him with more precision. Naruto is doing better than any other chakra wielding person. Better than Jiraiya did himself when he was being trained, too.

It’s a curious thing. Jiraiya can’t know for sure if the Beast’s vessels are stronger because they have to deal with their Beasts, or if it’s only because they are strong that they can deal with such an enormous chakra.

Naruto is a monster in his own right. Kushina was a prodigy, too. Sometimes he likes to let his mind wander and think about what it would have been if the Nine-Tails, no- if the Beasts were left alone like before the Beast Tamers came into the picture.

They were fighting their wars just fine.

But he guesses that someone wanted more, as always.

He wonders if Naruto likes to daydream about what-it-could-have-been like him, too. But that’s not a fair question to place upon him, so he has never shared it with him. Nor with Minato. Nor with Mito.

He has seen first hand what failure after failure does to a person.

He himself wanders the world in search of help he never finds. Takes off into places unknown in hopes of finding something, anything. This time for sure. This time for sure.

Naruto had been as full of hope as his father once. Blue eyes open wide when he came back, hands reaching for his scrolls while laughing. Jiraiya tried to lift the mood with a joke here and there, but then… time after time, the barest of progress and Naruto began to mimic him.

Minato would shake his head at their antics, and Jiraiya would indulge Naruto without missing a beat, but it was obvious, so obvious that he was as disappointed as his father.

Jiraiya rests his hand on Naruto’s shoulder. “Focus.”

Naruto is doing everything he’s supposed to do, but it is difficult enough to thin out your chakra and try to lose yourself with your surroundings without the need to stay very much conscious of your own body. Lest you bring destruction to everything around you.

“You gave yourself two months, kid, don’t rush it.”

Naruto tries to stay in control, but his chest is beginning to feel like it's shrinking, so he lets go. It’s just the first day.

The first day of many.

“It took me five months to start seeing any type of results, you know? Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Naruto stares at his hands, at their slight tremble.

“I wasn’t rushing,” he whispers. He feels Jiraiya’s stare on the back of his head, so he plasters a smile on his face and raises his head. “Let’s try again, then.”

⁂⁂⁂

Naruto is on his way to meet Shikamaru when Neji comes to him.

“Hinata?”

Neji shakes his head no before he’s close enough to be heard without raising his voice. “No, my lord, Lady Hinata is fine, she’s with Sai. It’s Lord Shikamaru.”

“I’m on my way to see him…”

“Yes, but he’s not there, he is in a meeting with the Inuzuka’s leader.”

“Tsume?” Naruto’s legs start moving and Neji follows.

“Yes, we have received a message and Lord Shikamaru has gone to check on security-”

“Again?”

Naruto hurries now. “What was it about?”

“I- Maybe we should wait-”

“No. Tell me now, what was it about?”

“The Two-Tails is asking for a meeting.”

Naruto is frowning the moment he enters the meeting room.

“My lord!” Tsume starts, her hair wild and her eyes filled with worry.

Shikamaru locks eyes with Naruto for a second before coming back to the plans on the desk.

“Grandma Mito?”

“Kiba went to get her,” Tsume informs. She shakes her head before anyone else can add on the conversation. “I don’t like this, my lord.”

And judging by Shikamaru’s deep frown, Naruto surmises neither does he. “Do we have a date?”

“January.”

Naruto stops for a second, “Oh, that’s… not that urgent.”

“A month and a half is a good amount of time to prepare, yes,” concedes Shikamaru, “but-”

“I do not approve,” says Tsume. “Putting all of the Beast Tamers that are left in one place after… after what happened?”

“Where’s Shino?”

“Hana went to look for him,” Tsume shares. Her eyes don’t leave Naruto’s face and he feels the pressure.

“What’s the purpose of this?”

“Prepare countermeasures,” Shikamaru air-quotes. As for excuses, it is one, but it is so vague, it can only be seen as-

“That we have already put in place,” Tsume snarls. “This is just a plot from the Two-Tails to fuck around with our lord. Now our clan has the upper hand, we are literally keeping things together by being decent human beings and keeping low while the whole world is running around like wild beasts. I can smell this from kilometers away! They want to take a chance and do something underhanded, I assure you, do not waste your time, my lord.”

“The Four-Tails is going,” Shikamaru says.

“A ploy,” Tsume crosses her arms, disgust on her face, “now they’re using a dead man to keep the ball rolling?”

“Allegedly,” Shikamaru sighs. Tsume glares at him, but Shikamaru only shrugs, “allegedly dead, he may well be alive and kicking, we have no way of knowing.”

“Our lord doesn’t go and what can they do,” Tsume presses, “we have our lord and Lord Gaara, whatever they can do-”

“But they can do damage,” Naruto is close to the table now, he puts down the message Shikamaru received and he knows Tsume is right. This looks nothing short of a trap.

This looks like nothing but a trap.

“We can’t just deny a call from a Beast Tamer without good reason,” Shikamaru taps his fingers on the table, “now even less, with the Beast Tamer truce we have going on and all.”

“You don’t need a reason to say no.” Tsume sighs to the ceiling, hating the direction this is going.

“You could…” Shikamaru looks at Naruto. They could use Lady Hinata’s pregnancy as an excuse, but then everyone would know about her condition and-

“No,” Naruto shuts him down, his head shakes side to side. “Hinata’s pregnancy stays a secret.”

Tsume frowns. She can see where the lord is going with this. Can taste it. Ever the one to put himself in danger to take the brunt of it all.

“This could be an opportunity,” Naruto starts. Shikamaru looks at him and the cogs move inside their brains.

A fight away from here. A fight where Naruto could potentially unleash his power without worrying about the repercussions.

A trap, sure.

But a trap they know is one.

Shino arrives a while later and without the knowledge of anyone else, they hatch a plan.

#naruto #naruhina #Naruto Uzumaki #Hinata Hyuga #uzumaki naruto #hyuga hinata #fanfiction #fanfic #beast tamers #ch.10 #part 1 #We have entered a new chapter!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧#The Two-Tails is calling for a meeting!! Off we gooo!#(But first our scheduled fluff with Naruto and pregnant Hinata DON'T WORRY I GOT YOU)#We still have time before they have to leave #The Two-Tails was nice enough for that (●ˇ∀ˇ●)#Take care and see you next week!!

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tickle-bugs · 4 years ago

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Reignite

Summary: Dean stumbles--or is cosmically shoved, more like--back upon the largest loose end in his life. This is one knot he won’t leave untied.

Took me a year (couldn’t resist the dad joke) but here’s my SPNFluffsgiving fic! I ended up writing two fics and frankensteining them together because I wasn’t happy with either on their own, and I think, all things considered, it turned out well!!! Tried something new with the present-tense vs my usual past tense, which was very, very hard for some reason. Anyways, enjoy!

Spoilers for Supernatural episode 15 x 19 through the finale ahead!

“What’s eating ya?” Bobby takes a swig of his beer and eyes Dean sideways.

“Nothin’.”

“We have all of eternity to sit here. Don’t think I won’t.” Bobby flicks the bottle cap at him and chuckles when it bounces off his shoulder.

“I like it here. It’s nice. Quiet.”

“But…?” Bobby looks at him in that very Bobby-like way, that strange blend of impatience and kindness that leaves no room to doubt that he cares.

“Something is just...wrong? I dunno. I felt a little better when Sam got here, but I still have this weight on my chest. Like something is missing. I dunno.” Dean taps his fingers against the beer bottle and slumps down in his chair. He heaves a breath that gets stuck somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“You’re saying ‘I don’t know’ a lot for someone who seems to know exactly what’s buggin’ ya.” Bobby raises his beer in a silent ‘I’ll drink to that’.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be talking to you,” Dean grumbles, kicking a pebble off of the Roadhouse porch. Bobby whips off his hat and smacks Dean’s arm, then his leg, then his stomach which really wasn’t cool.

“Ow! Okay, I’m sorry! Back off!” Dean raises his arms to shield from Bobby’s wrath, biting back a comment about Bobby being a crotchety old man.

“Think about it. Who’s the only person you haven’t seen since you made it here?” Bobby makes a little bird with his hands and raises his eyebrows as if Dean’s first thought wasn’t of teary blue eyes.

“Cas is in the Empty, Bobby. He’s gone. It just swallowed him like--like nothing.” Dean’s voice breaks and he knocks back his beer to hide it.

“Jack must have built this magic box wrong. You’re supposed to feel it when a loved one arrives.”

“What?”

“Cas is here, Dean. He helped put this all together.”

The world shrinks to a pinpoint. The beer bottle slips from Dean’s fingers and his attempt to catch it sends it soaring into the road, where it rolls far enough to qualify as a lost cause. The image of a teary Cas, seconds before destruction, grabs a swift and tight hold of the front of his mind.

I love you.

“Bobby-”

“Are you really gonna waste your breath arguing with me when I just told you that he’s out there? This may be heaven, but I can still kick your ass.” Bobby narrows his eyes at Dean.

Why does this feel like a goodbye?

Because it is.

“But-”

“Go after him, Dean. You made him wait this long already.” Bobby squeezes Dean’s shoulder and shakes him a little, fixing him with those kind-but-tough eyes. Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his face, hissing when cold metal pokes him in the eye.

Baby’s keyring dangles from his finger, clinking gently as it collides with his palm. He sighs and shoves it in his pocket, making sure to shake the little ring off of his finger.

Weird.

“Can’t escape what your heart wants.” Bobby gestures towards Dean’s hand with an infuriating little smirk, like he knows something Dean doesn’t.

“That doesn’t mean jack shit,” Dean grumbles.

“Sure, and I’m President Roosevelt.” Bobby rolls his eyes.

“Which one?”

“Teddy, obviously.” Bobby leans back in his seat with a chuckle. Dean scratches at his cheek and grunts when, once again, metal digs into his skin. Baby’s keys jingle menacingly at him, like a pushy set of windchimes, and they don’t budge when he tries to shake them away. He turns his hand upside-down and scrapes the keys off like a stubborn piece of gum, but they reappear in the other hand.

“What the fuck?” He holds them up to eye level and they sway in the breeze, jingling again. He drops them and they zoom right back into his hand, like a lame Mjolnir, and okay, someone has to be messing with him. He shakes them a few times to detect any evil (a foolproof method, in his opinion) and Baby’s car alarm starts blaring much louder than it should.

“Dean.”

“Alright, I’m going!” He trudges away from the porch, grumbling under his breath, and the car’s alarm shuts off with a pleasant chirp.

“Tell him I said hi!” Bobby waves and watches the Impala pull onto the open road, raising his beer until he disappears from Dean’s rearview.

…

Dean cuts the ignition and slides out of the Impala, squinting against the sudden warm breeze. It’s quiet out here. If it wasn’t for the constant tugging on his soul, like a bratty kid demanding attention, it would be nice. Peaceful, even.

He leans against the bridge railing and closes his eyes against the next gust of wind, this one much more powerful than the first. Everything in the vicinity rustles as the wind dances by. He leans his forehead against his hands and sighs.

What the hell would he even say?

There’s no manual for this, no prior experience or family legend to consult. Jesus, he’s like a teenager trying to apologize for standing up a date. He’d ditched Cas at the celestial prom, and now he has to face the music. No more asking Dad to leave early for the next hunt so he wouldn’t have to face whichever girl he dumped. Grown-ass men face their weird, divine love affairs with dignity, not revenge hookups in the girl’s locker room.

Highschool Dean would call Present Dean a bitch for even trying to chase after Cas.

Highschool Dean was a dick, anyway.

Okay, he needs a gameplan. Stay calm, cool, and collected--like he’s working a case. Cas doesn’t need to know about the butterflies rioting in his stomach. Dean would be smooth and chill. They’ll talk like adults--yeah, that’s it. Grown-ass men, and whatnot. He’d just send Cas a message on angel radio, he’d zip on down, and they’d be hunkydory--

“Hello, Dean.��

Shit.

He whips around, his throat already closing up in mutiny. Just seeing Cas is a punch in the gut--he looks just as Dean remembers, if not better. It’s as if not a day has passed since the Bunker, and god, Dean might not be qualified for this.

Cas smiles timidly as he steps forward, hands shoved awkwardly into his coat pockets. His head’s bowed, as if he’s in trouble, as if Dean would scold him for who fucking knows what, and his blood boils at the thought.

“Dean?” Cas tilts his head.

Something grips Dean, something powerful and terrifying in its ferocity. A force he doesn’t understand surges at the bounds of his body, welling up into his throat, his heart, his lungs. Tears spill from him at a terrifying rate but he’s numb and aching all at once. He’s shaking--no, trembling--and he pulls Cas into a kiss before he loses his nerve.

If he could quantify the triumph of nearly two decades of suffocating pining, he’d say it tastes like stale peppermint. He makes a mental note to lecture Cas about his choice in gum later—spearmint is obviously superior.

Dean pulls away when his gross, sticky hiccups start to interfere with the sweetness of the kiss. He feels disgusting but he couldn’t stop crying if he wanted to.

Definitely not one of his highlight moments.

“Cas,” he croaks. Cas, Cas, Cas, loops in his head, interfering with the static everything else he needs to say. A tumultuous wave of words presses against his lips and he focuses all of his energy on getting them out.

“It’s alright. You’re alright.” Cas cradles Dean’s face in his hands, swiping away tears with his thumbs, but he’s sobbing so hard that it doesn’t make a difference. His ‘calm, cool, and collected’ plan is effectively blown to hell and he curses himself for it.

“You shouldn’t have gone out like that, man. Fuck, I should have said something-”

“Dean, it’s alright--”

“No, it isn’t. I screwed up, Cas. I screwed up so fuckin’ bad.” Dean blinks at a tear-warped Cas, gripping his forearms as if he’d disappear in the breeze.

“When you said...what you said, I thought it back. It was easier to say in my head but I should’ve said it out loud. You deserve to hear it. You deserve everything.” Speaking his mind is like willingly chugging motor oil. He swallows thickly as his thoughts start to align into some semblance of clarity.

“You deserved more time,” Cas murmurs, and he has the nerve to look upset. He always wanted to give Dean more, so much more than he ever deserved.

“Shut up,” Dean growls. Some switch flips in him, some bristly protectiveness that has him wanting to shake the angel like a margarita until he finally admits his worth.

“Dean--”

“Nope. No more heroic bullshit. You’ve given enough, Cas. It’s enough. You’re enough.” Dean grips Cas’s shoulders and stares him down. Cas opens his mouth to retort but whatever expression is on Dean’s face presumably shuts him up.

“You’ve always had me, Cas. You will always have me. I have never loved anyone the way I love you.” Finally, finally, the words tumble out without a second thought. Dean’s death grip on Cas’s shoulders loosens. He did it.

“I love you too, Dean. I’ve loved you since the very beginning.” Cas smiles, as if it’s simple.

“Gross,” Dean quips on instinct, and he regrets it the second it comes out.

“You’re gross,” Cas fires back, squinty eyes and all, and Dean barks out a laugh that startles them both.

“C’mere.” Dean pulls him into a hug, cradling the back of Cas’s neck with his hand, and resolves never to let him go. Never again.

...

“Dean Novak ain’t bad,” Dean murmurs, rubbing a hand over Cas’s bare shoulder. The angel’s nestled into his side, huffing warm breaths into his collarbone, and he would rather die again than forget the feeling of Cas’s sleepwarm skin.

“Mm. Castiel Winchester.” His lips graze over Dean’s chest in a low effort sort-of kiss.

“You shouldn’t have to carry that name, after everything.”

“Hyphenation isn’t uncommon. Winchester-Novak?” Cas tilts his head up and scoots just slightly, trying to preserve his warm spot in Dean’s arms. He presses a proper kiss to the base of Dean’s throat and hums when he twitches away.

“Sounds less like a name and more like a spell.” Dean snorts, and Cas swats his shoulder.

“I fell in love with you, Dean Winchester, and it would be an honor to carry that name. Even if it is completely ceremonial.” Cas turns Dean’s face down towards him, forcing their eyes to meet. Dean’s a little more than breathless at the way Cas’s eyes catch the moonlight but he still manages to grin.

“Winchester is a dumb name, sorry.”

“You are blatantly disrespecting my fiancé.” Cas squints at him.

“Hmm, am I?” Dean’s eyes flit down to Cas’s lips, tongue flicking against his teeth.

“Yes.”

“Your fiancé is a dumbass for not proposing to you sooner.” Dean cradles the back of Cas’s head, absently scratching his fingers along the scalp.

“He absolutely is. But only I get to say that about him.” Cas’s face settles into a steely neutrality betrayed only by the sparkle in his eye. Dean leans in closer but Cas stops him with a finger over his lips.

“Apologize.”

“Wh--are you serious?”

“Apologize, Dean.” Cas pushes himself up on his elbow and cocks his eyebrow.

“You want me to apologize...to myself?” Dean chuckles in disbelief, waiting for Cas to admit he’s joking, but all he receives are wide, blinking blue eyes.

“Perhaps you need some encouragement,” Cas murmurs, his lips quirking into a smirk. Before Dean can protest, Cas throws his leg over Dean’s and buries his nimble fingers into his ribs.

“Wait, Cas--ahaha!”

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t kind towards yourself, I don’t want to hear them.” Cas leans up to nip at Dean’s ear, burying a few chuckles directly behind it. His fingers trail down Dean’s body, pinching every inch of his ribs and sides.

What leaves Dean next is less words and more a verbal error noise. He arches away, desperately shoving at Cas’s shoulders. All he does is turn himself around, and Cas is very quick to wrap him up in his arms. His fingers press into Dean’s lower stomach and trip over one another like he’s gliding over piano keys.

Dean curls, arms folded over his middle. Cas manages a cheeky pinch to the back of Dean’s thigh and he squeaks--apparently Cas likes that noise because an avalanche of more pinches follow.

Dean doesn’t expect him to find that devastating spot near his armpit on the first fucking try, but Cas is full of surprises and Dean is full of laughter. He clamps his arms to his sides but it barely makes a difference. Fireworks overwhelm his nervous system. In Cas’s arms, he feels like he’s flying--but he can’t tell if it’s the lack of air or the endolphins. Endorphins. Whatever.

“Cas!” His name floats out of Dean, blanketed in crinkly-eyed, heartwarming laughter. It’s all he wants to hear for the rest of eternity.

“You are everything to me.” Cas doesn’t expect Dean to hear him over his near-violent giggles, but Dean squeezes his wrist twice to acknowledge him where his voice can’t. His fingers slow, gently trailing over pinkened skin, and Dean slowly remembers how to breathe.

“We can renegotiate the name thing. Maybe,” Dean wheezes, and his shit-eating grin is nearly audible. Cas rolls his eyes and scribbles at Dean’s exposed hip, following each turn, twist, and twitch. For the first few moments, he’s concerningly quiet, only squirming with strangled noises, but within seconds his laughter catches back up with his brain and he’s cackling into the mattress.

“Maybe? Is that your final answer?”

“Nonono, please Cas!” Dean shrieks, kicking his legs as if it will help. He flails all the way to the edge of the bed but Cas is quick to pull him back into his arms. His tickly touch turns calming in an instant, tracing over muscle lines and battle scars as they both resettle.

“We’ll work on it. Together.” Cas flips him over and steals a quick kiss, drinking up the leftover laughter. Dean’s joy is sweet on his tongue.

“Together,” Dean murmurs, leaning their foreheads together.

Holding his lover—Castiel, his Castiel—in the moonlight is all that Dean Winchester-Novak could ever ask for.

There was happiness in the having, after all.

#my fics #SPNfluffsgiving2020 #SPN #Destiel #ticklish!dean #dean winchester #castiel #bobby singer

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dredshirtroberts · 3 years ago

Text

Today's been...tough.

it's only noonthirty and i'm just like "okay we're done now. we've been done for four hours and only been home for two, we're done."

days like today make me wish i were able to just like... shrink down in size to be lap or pocket sized (like a cat or a particularly cuddly pet rodent of some description) and just curl up with someone i could trust and not...do anything. just sit with them while they do whatever they want to, and just exist but not have to be like...responsible or...or have to take care of myself for the day.

I need to check out that list of primary care doctors my coordinator sent me and choose one and make an appointment. I need to have a checkup and I need to establish care with someone so I can get my whole...everything looked at.

I can't keep on like this. it's exhausting. it's too much.

i work 4 hours a day 5 days a week and I can barely do that. it's not enough to keep up with bills, not long term - i'm okay right now and for a bit (my family apparently has no idea what "hard times" actually means and I'm really irritated by the fact that they're willing to just let me struggle because I gotta earn the right to exist or something. not my fault i got born but fine whatever - this only makes sense if you know things, sorry. i'm keeping it vague on purpose because reasons) but there's no way to sustain this. i'm not qualified for the types of jobs i should be doing and i'm not capable of doing the jobs i'm qualified for because my body doesn't fucking work.

Had a total breakdown because I couldn't lift the oil for the fryer. i've been a huge bitch all fucking morning and i feel bad about it because like... sure Dingus (one of three of the gus'es at work: Dingus, Dangus, and Dongus) deserves a little ribbing but he doesn't really deserve my Extra Ire just because he's inconsiderate. He's like 20. And it's management's job to put him back in line when he fucks up, not mine.

I cried at work again. I hate crying at work. I don't like crying in front of people as it is, and in a place where i'm supposed to be professional i just...

i go to sleep tired, i wake up tired, i go to work tired, i drink my energy drink tired, i come home tired, i sit around the rest of the day tired. and that's just if i'm not also in really fucking awful amounts of steady, all-encompassing pain. It's been a long time since I pinged anywhere lower on the pain scale than a 4 - which is my baseline and i can ignore it most days. well "ignore." i can push through it. bad days spike up to an 8. I've had a lot of bad days.

It's exhausting. It's overwhelming. I just want something to blame it on so I can start maybe at least...taking the edge off. OTC meds aren't cutting it. Weed helps but like. I can't afford that shit lol. I'm just...

I'm so tired. and I hate that being so tired, feeling so badly, all of the time is my life. And that it makes me an absolute *nightmare* to work with. Because i know it does. It has to. I'm awful when I'm not feeling okay. and i hate it.

I hate everything about it. Is there like...chronic pain body dysphoria? cause i don't have trans body dysphoria but goddamn do I hate my body.

i just want answers. I don't want to have to fight a doctor to get them. I just want to know what's going on and try to make everything less more often.

I just want to curl up into a ball and cuddle with someone and not have to deal with *anything.*

#i hate that all of this also explains so much about my mom #i don't want to understand her better because I don't want to be her #but like... a lot of things are clearer if i look at her with the idea that maybe she was dealing with all of this too #and maybe that's why she never picked up on it #if you do it and your family does it and then your child does too well then it must be normal #and thus nothing to worry about #annoying and inconvenient but what can you do? *shrug emoji*#it doesn't make this any better or easier to deal with #but it's definitely enlightening #the captain rambles #chronic pain

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jiminrings · 4 years ago

Note

yES vball coach jk pls about their first fight as a couple?? maybe??

mvp: first fight

pairing: jungkook x y/n

wordcount: 3k

glimpse: jungkook is more on the oblivious sLASH insensitive side, y/n’s outlet is hurling volleyballs against the wall, and yoongi just wants to cheer everyone up with his mascot suit :D

notes: another coach koo drabble because i am unhinged <3

read mvp, the piece that started off y/n and koo!! + in which jungkook is extra clingy

you’re rEALLY used to jungkook being affectionate and clingy

no surprise really

he’s practically attached to you by the hip atleast in four out of the seven days in the week

but there’s something

just sOmething different with the way he’s hugging you from behind right now

and the trail of kisses from your shoulder to your jaw is gentle and nOt playful

almost as if he’s done something wrong and he’s making up for it

aha

....... aha ........?

“did you accidentally drop one of my succulents more than a hundred feet down again?”

jungkook doesn’t even tense up at that and you take it as a signal that he didn’t

gOOD because you are running out of lil succulents and jimin’s running out of name ideas for the lil guys

your boyfriend only huffs and frowns because for the last time he did not sabotage mr. prick !!! he was in the balcony holding him out in the sun when a giAnt dove suddenly flew to him and that’s when he panicked

“did you eat jimin’s special pasta and you’re now asking me for immunity?”

“no but thank you for letting me know”

ok that’s it

you break free from his back hug and face jungkook with an inquiring look and he shrinks at the thought of what he’s gonna say next

“then tell me what’s going on, koo.”

“it’s- uhm,” jungkook turns you around again and rests his chin on your shoulder because he’d rather not see your reaction

he knows you’re probably gonna give him the most pleading puppy dog eyes and maybe he’d cave right then and there with nO questions asked

“you know our date by the end of this week?”

“yeah!! oh my god i’m sO excited-“ you immediately gush because actually things have been so busy for the both of you and this is the perfect chance for relieving stress bUt-

“oh.”

“have to drive upstate for this workshop for coaches, baby. it’s something new for us before the season starts and uH well it’s gonna last for three days.,.,.”

three days

that’s cool :D

the season is about to start and so the pressure is on if your team could make this a back-to-back win :D

of course practice is hArd as it should be just so everyone’s on their toes as skilled and as in shape one could be

the heat is SIZZLING in this kitchen

there’s no time for slacking around

frankly, date night fell onto one of the only days that there’s gonna be a break in your team’s schedule :)))

not that it mATTERS or anything like that

you’re also pressured because your comeback after ur iconic injury that was televised made you even mOre highly-anticipated

you’re gonna bREAK one of these days ur very sure of it

“it’s okay, jungkook. it’s out of my reach anyways :))”

uGh what did he do to deserve such a precious understanding thing like you are

you’ve guess you gotten a tad bit better in your acting skills then because your boyfriend doesn’t suspect a single tHing

all ur monitoring and taehyung forcing you to watch and critique him as he practices for his auditions is paying off!!

“tae i think we both know that i’m nOt qualified to give you acting pointers!!”

“which is eXACTLY my point!! that’s why i called up my most clueless and unwilling friend ever!!! because if it’s good enough for a no-brained then it would be the bEST for people with-...”

“ok that was rude :((“

he kissed your cheek as an apology and promised to dine out with you for honey-glazed chicken and sUddenly you’re not plotting to hit tae with a volleyball to the head “accidentally” during practice tomorrow <3

but unlike taehyung, jungkook can’t fix it up with a single kiss to the cheek

you can’t help but feel upset ok it’s in your nature!!

your momentum’s deflated and the little itty bitty hope that you and jungkook can be there for each other is now cRUSHED

“i’ll miss you.”

jungkook’s heart whooshes at the feeling of you hugging him just sO dearly that he’s very tempted to just ditch this

him hugging you back with the same intesity doesn’t make it better because rn you’re mumbling to his chest

“i’ll miss you mORE :((“

ok even jimin’s gonna miss kook

his heart also goes out for you because he knows you’re beyond stressed with your comeback and all that

jimin saw you eating cereal one morning when kook wasn’t by your side because he was over at his oWN apartment

can u believe it,,, jungkook having his own apartment yet mOST of the time he stays over and even eats jimin’s stock of cold marshmallows by the fridge <3

anyways u were eating cereal and then suddenly jimin was practically alerted awake when you mumbled out of nowhere

“do you think i could serve a float as good as this cereal does?”

that was clearly a red flag that you ventured too far out into your spiral of worry because fIRST of all

yeah you do love volleyball of course!!!

but often it’s nice that not every second you spend revolves around it y’know

if your practice is done and your games are over that’s it nO more talking about volleyball pls

you could manage with the occasional praising for each other’s play over meals and rides and all that

but you don’t want anything more because it’s just can we please talk about things other than volleyball PLEASE

at the start you thought it would be difficult because well :D you are living with your best friend that happens to be your assistant coach :D

but surprisingly it was easy!! jimin shared those exact same thoughts and your flow of conversation (that doesn’t include your athleticism nor profession) is endless at this point

even became easier because now your boyfriend is the coach and he’s practically living with you

that startled jimin because you hATE talking about volleyball so early in the morning and especially over breakfast

but here you were...

talking about your damn floats just from looking in too much at your cereal

“hey, it’s okay!! we’ll get you through these three days just fine!!”

jimin hugs you as soon as jungkook takes off because he can’t have you dwelling and moping now can he

you’re just mumbling in defenseless against his chest because you obviOusly can’t do anything about it

you were tempted to pluck out his wallet just so he’d get back for it but jimin was looking at you from across the room

you were at the planning stage and jimin’s aLREADY at the scolding stage

three days!!! just three ridiculously-pressured, nerve-wracking, mind-boggling days!!

how hard could it be??

aha

spoiler alert: it is immensely hard :D

you’re so nervous and jittery to the point yoongi was concerned with how much coffee you drank and that’s coming from hIM

then you told him you drank none and you swear he ceased functioning after that

jimin had to drag you out every twenty minutes because either you were being too gentle or being too harsh that he winces himself when you spike tOO hard

and that could only mean one thing

you’re on spiral number two

which means you are nOw inseparable from volleyball

by day two you were no longer moping about jungkook’s absence and his inherent ability to calm you down

no you are even bArely thinking about him :D

you now breathe speak exhale volleyball

y/n’s monster rage play kept appearing even when you’re just against the players in your own team and now they r getting cranky little by little

they serve and then you sLAM

jimin had to call out a break for you forcibly and even used his official I’m The Coach Don’t Complain voice on you that you hate :((

“now you’re getting TOO much into playing!!”

“i don’t get what you mean, minnie!! i’m perfectly fine!! hey, wanna split the shipping fee? i added these new sports bras and shorts to my cart, you should totally add what you want to my cart so tHAT way i won’t have to pay so much and-...”

okay time-out that’s cLEARLY a time-out for you

you’re now way too much into your thoughts and that calls for a group hug

you just need a distraction, that’s all!!

jimin had to drag you over so that the both of you could go a few floors down to yoongi and tae’s apartment for move night

and there’s them giving you the reigns because well you just wanted to feel like you have control aNd that you’re not completely losing it aha

taehyung gives the best sitting cuddles as he’s at the far-end of the couch and he’s perfectly drooped for you to feel secure

jungkook nORMALLY would be annoyed when tae gets a little too cuddly but aight it’s cool no worries!! he’s just... standing in for a pillow

speaking of jungkook

well to be honest he’s doing good!! yes he does miss you but not to the degree that yOU do because well he’s just oblivious like that

there were some drills that the coaches were the ones that needed to be the players and well :D let’s just say he killed that part tOO good

for the first time after a long time, jungkook took down notes

n o t e s

wow he’s going so far he really is a coach

he also got to reconnect with some of his friend and not to brag but maybe he IS the blueprint for being the player to the coach lol

there was a no-phones rule and he could only call you on his lunch breaks and when he’s about to sleep or when the bathrooms are all empty

“can’t wait to see you tomorrow, koo :((“

“why did you miss mE?? :D”

he’s still as insufferable as ever even when he’s in a different state and you’d have to keep your chuckles down or else jimin’s gonna confiscate your phone

there’s some raining in jungkook’s background and you wonder why it was sO heavy

aha actually kook had to go outside because signal wasn’t exactly the best inside hence the louder patter

not to be that cheesy but talking to him just relieves you of your stress and it makes you pout because okay you’ll see him tOmorrow!!

“more than you know.”

cool

there’s uh

there’s a tiny hitch

well jungkook was supposed to come tonight and well he ISN’T here

you’ve tried calling him and even got yoongi help you out by texting him and jungkook doesn’t even dare to try and ignore his hyung’s texts

now you’re in panic because wHY exactly didn’t he come home??

and there’s all these worst-case scenarios running through your head but that’s when he sends you a text late in the morning that woke you up

“sorry!! the organizers needed me to stay late. i’ll see you tomorrow :))”

that wasn’t exactly right

and uH jungkook wasn’t exactly telling the truth

it’s just a minor white lie he needed to say for you to not worry!!!

uhm so

well it was raining cats and dogs right??

IT WAS FLOODING

and jungkook didn’t want to risk cooky (that’s what he named his car do nOT question him) breaking down with all the water and the pressure so he’s uh

he’s not coming home tonight

lisa noticed his struggle right when they walked out of the complex and she offered generously

“jungkook!! do you wanna sleep over at my place tonight? i live pretty near anyway. i’ll drive you over to your car in the morning!!”

wow

she’s so kind and considerate!!! :D great idea lisa thank u very much

they even had ramen together and watched some netflix, kook just slept in the guest room, woke up, and the next day lisa drove him to his car and that’s it!!

he’s back to you easy-peasy and you gave him the tightest hug ever

that’s where the problem lies though

because jungkook didn’t tell you and you don’t know the truth either

which is why yoongi is in your apartment and has been looking at you for the past five minutes while he’s unmoved on your couch

jungkook was over to their apartment to help taehyung with his PC build and yoongi is here aPPARENTLY to just have some snacks with you

that doesn’t seem to be the case because he’s lost in his thought and is fidgeting and??? he doesn’t normally fidget when you’re making him a grilled cheese sandwich lol

“why did jungkook come home a day later than he was supposed to?”

what now

the workshop was long done by a week now and you’re lost at wHy yoongi is asking this now

“oh! he said the organizers needed him to stay later. you know how jungkook’s a bit famous with them, yoongs”

yoongi flatlines at that because uh

that’s w eird

oh god how is he gonna tell you this

yoongi just pulls out his phone with an all-telling screenshot and he’s preparing himself to deal with whatever reaction you give him

it’s a story, actually

harmless if you think about it

and the username and whom it belongs to is sO familiar

not to mention the more than familiar tattooed hand holding the chopsticks to sink into their bowl of ramen

.... oh

“yoongi?”

that is too soft for your tone

something so chilling that yoongi is hesitant to even answer you

“can you bring in jungkook for me?”

oh my gOd you don’t know how to feel

you’re trying to contain yourself because maybe you’ve just misunderstood the situation

althought it’s too fucking hard for your sake, because as far as you remember, jungkook’s ex-girlfriend ISN’T the organizer for this workshop

was it even a workshop in the first place

jungkook wouldn’t cheat on you!!!

... would he??

you’re practically trembling when you ask yoongi to send you the picture and he attempts to hug you and cradle for a bit but you just stay sTILL

“i didn’t tell you because i didn’t want you to worry about me”

now jungkook is a bit confused when yoongi told him to go back to the apartment, no questions asked

and you’re looking kind of rattled which is why he’s starting to get worried

“jungkook, i’m gonna worry of you regardless!! i can’t stop floods and it’s unavoidable but wHY didn’t you tell me?”

“tell you what?”

god you’re gonna pull your hair out

he’s still playing coy of how he didn’t sleep over at lisa’s and it’s irking you right underneath your skin

“that you slept over at your ex-girlfriend’s house and didn’t even tell me!!”

okay now that’s when jungkook ticks

he doesn’t see the problem with it

“what’s wrong with that?? it was flooding and i knew no one else!! a state of emergency, don’t you think?”

“nO jungkook i get that! but what i can’t get is why you needed to lie to me!! you could’ve told the truth and i would’ve understood better!”

ugh this is just sO pointless

he doesn’t really wanna argue with you right now over something that shouldn’t be argued about in the first place

“you’re overreacting, stop it.”

“oh yeah?? it’s okay with you if i go to a workshop by myself, and sleep over at my ex-boyfriend’s place, and not tell you???”

you’re trying your best to not cry then and there because you so badly want to stand by your point against jungkook

“of course,” he’s even more stubborn than you are and he only kisses his teeth as you ask him

“because unlike you, i’m not controlling!”

oh god

that’s when the line is drawn and you just can’t take it anymore

he’s so fired up that he huffs and walks out of the apartment while slamming the door harshly

...

....

things aren’t really going well

practice is still on even if jimin offered that you take a sick leave after hearing about what happened

you’re not gonna chicken out from practice just because jungkook’s gonna be there

plus it’s not like you haven’t ignored him before at practice

meanwhile jungkook is dYing on the inside because oh god he really screwed up big-time

his apartment is too spacious and too quiet and that just meant him regretting extra

this situation felt all too familiar

jungkook hates himself because he feels like he’s done nothing but to to just give you hurt :(((

it’s him going to the gym much earlier than usual and waiting by the door

it’s him trying to get your attention and you being set on tolerating none of it

he already did that last time

but tHIS time it’s with him as your boyfriend and maybe it hurts a little bit more

he hasn’t slept properly for god knows how long

(( actually it’s been just two days ))

you don’t try to contact him nor even think about him because as per his words, you’re controlling!!!

yoongi tries to assure you as much as you can that you aren’t

he’s the only one that could get to you because well he’s the one that took this up to you

and you avoid getting jimin into this because you feel like he’s tired with all this back and forth of trying to pick you up

oh god you aren’t a burden, right??

right???

pls say right

yoongi is admittedly not the best when it comes to comforting people but he is there and that’s what matters

even brought out the mascot suit to bring out a giggle or two

and he likes you better when you’re happy so he goes ham on trying to do those cartwheels he’s mastered

anything to put a smile on your face

he was about to do the backflip he did when you showcased your rage play and you had to physically stop him because nO i will not risk you getting a concussion just trying to make me happy

you can’t avoid each other for this long

sooner or later you need to talk about what happened and from then on could you do something about it

atleast jimin knows this much

and as hesitant as he is to let jungkook in again, he knows that this is for the better and that you’re both miserable (the other is much much worse and it isn’t you)

which is why jimin let the door open wordlessly before going on the lift to stay over at tae’s and yoongi’s for a few hours

or whenever you need him to come back

because jungkook’s right in front of you and you can’t even look at him in the eye

gOd there’s only so much you can do

“i’m sorry.”

that’s what makes it even worse though

because you’re the one who apologized first and fuck that just makes jungkook wince

he’s whimpering the moment he hears you and he’d be sobbing if only he didn’t desperately want to talk to you

“why are you apologizing when you’re not even the one at fault?”

it’s the added blow because fuck you are tOO good for him and he doesn’t deserve you :(((

“you’re not controlling. i was just being an insensitive boyfriend and a shitty one at that”

jungkook’s knees buckle and he’s kneeling right in front of you and it immediately gets you trying to lift him back up

the sight itself also makes you tear up a bit because you just wanna talk!! you don’t want him kneeling as if you’re a saint and all that :((

“i’ll — we’ll work through this, right?? i can — i can still m-make it up to you, right?”

jungkook’s looking up at you with the biggest and most pleading eyes you’ve ever seen and perhaps he was even scAred to ask the question,,, in fear that he’s only just convincing himself that he could

that makes his lip tremble again because the alternate outcome of your first fight absolutely ending your relationship is enOugh to shatter him to pieces

he’s about to bow his head again but this time you put your hands on his cheeks, making you look up at him as he tries to compose himself

“we’ll work it out.”

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margarethelstone-2 · 3 years ago

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Our Sleeves Were Wet With Tears | Chapter 2

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Taichi's gaze was filled with astonishment once more as he listened to Chihaya's nearly aggressive ramble, unable to wrap his head around the situation he'd found himself in so unexpectedly. He heard the words and thought that he understood the substance – he knew what Chihaya was referring to and comprehended the meaning behind her words. And yet... Something about this whole scene was just too bizarre, too unrealistic for him to believe that it was happening for real.

Too strange to have him take it for more than yet another of his feverish dreams.

Had she really gone to his house so spontaneously, after he had as much as ignored her for the past few weeks? Had she really risked meeting eye to eye with his mother, when it was obvious how uneasy the latter had always made her feel? And why had she decided to come see him now, so long after their fateful conversation in the clubroom and with so much happening since that dreadful afternoon?

Was it in any way connected – or worse, prompted – by the photo Arata had undoubtedly sent her as well?

And if so, what was the connection?

It wasn't like the message had contained any special words or wisdom, or even anything particularly nostalgic. It was a simple photo of Arata and his teammates, with a simple greeting meant to encourage them to do their best on their part so that they might meet at the Nationals this time. It was very much like the one he and Chihaya had sent him during their first year... but that was as far as the nostalgia went.

Of course, it was possible that Arata had sent Chihaya a different email, with more than just the few words he, Taichi, had received. After all, he knew for certain that Arata had spoken to her after the Master qualifiers and since that conversation had clearly taken its toll on Chihaya, it wasn't difficult to determine what he had said. He was also aware of the advantage Arata had always had over him and that Chihaya did favour him, even if she didn't fully realise it herself...

...and still, he couldn't help but think that it was not the case this time.

It was the similarity of it to the message they had sent him that made him so sure. It was not a taunt meant at him, or another display of affection addressed to Chihaya and only shared with him for propriety's sake. There was a much simpler, and much more genuine intention hidden behind it: an honest wish to inspire his friends in the same way they had inspired him before, mixed perhaps with the pride he must have felt for both himself and his new charges.

One friend reaching out to the other ones.

Friends.

Taichi's jaw tightened, his soul filling up with disgust and shame.

Had he really forgotten that that was what the three of them were, first and foremost? Friends?

Or was he just too tired pretending that he was all right with such a setup, because deep down, he realised that even as a trio, they had never been entirely equal?

Was he too much of an egoist to accept that?

"What the heck does that even mean?" he said out loud at last, letting out a hollow, mirthless chuckle that resembled a snort more than anything else. Chihaya had already managed to reach the front gate and was just about to step onto the pavement before it but now, she stopped mid-stride; if he had waited a few seconds more – or if she hadn't held back from running like she obviously had – his words wouldn't have reached her. He almost expected them not to anyway, despite her still being relatively close.

They did, however.

In for a penny, in for a pound. He had no choice but to go for it now.

"Why do you think I needed to hear that now?" he continued, careful to maintain the air of indifference or maybe even irritation, while Chihaya slowly turned around. "I didn't say I was a coward, just that I didn't want to be one. And of course I've changed since primary school; I'm not some Peter Pan who never grows up."

He could feel her stare at him, but refused to meet her gaze this time, all too aware of the effect it had always had on him. Feigning nonchalance, he adjusted the strap of his bag, hung over his shoulder and set off, descending the stairs one by one, as if he hadn't wished to get out of there just as much as Chihaya did.

The very sight of her was aggravating to him.

He knew it wasn't fair, that it really wasn't her fault that she could not respond to his feelings in kind. She had never led him on or pretended to care for him when she hadn't. She did care, she always had, and in a way, Taichi felt like an ungrateful scoundrel every time he remembered everything she'd done for him so far, never mind if it was a small smile meant to comfort him or a crazy, complex, completely over-the-top karuta tournament organised specifically in order to celebrate his birthday with him, in the most Chihaya-like way he could think of.

She wasn't the one to blame for all this.

And yet, every time he saw her, the memory of his stupid, impossible dreams came rushing back to him, always accompanied by the one of them being crushed to bits just a few short weeks prior.

It wasn't her fault, and still, he couldn't find it in him to forgive her.

Still, in the corner of his eye, Taichi saw the expectancy painted all over her face, the same perfect mixture of perseverance and dread he'd had a chance to observe more than once now. He went right past her, resolved not to grace her with a single glance, no matter how rude or cruel it might seem, and stepped onto the pavement she hadn't managed to reach in time.

He was indifferent.

He wished to be indifferent.

So why did he still listen closely, awaiting her to make the move, to turn and look after him, to catch up with him and shower – no, bombard – him with another set of half-baked wisdoms and untimely arguments? Why had he slowed down, anxious, restless, apprehensive, aching to hear her say another word, no matter how absurd it might be?

He had been so good at avoiding her lately, at numbing the overwhelming feeling of solitude by simply making sure she did not come into view – so why did he feel like he was missing her already?

Was a fleeting encounter like this all it took to make all of his endeavours worthless?

He was hopeless.

Hopeless.

Just like all of his love for her had been.

Oh, screw it.

"There's a playground nearby, if there's anything else you want to talk about," he offered, the pathetic, self-disrespectful moron that he was. "I doubt there would be any kids there at this hour, and there are actual benches to sit on. Or I can just walk you home if that's what you prefer."

He set off right after, no longer knowing if he wanted her to respond or not. A part of him hoped that she would, that there was more she wanted to say than that random, abstract proclamation she had surprised him with – that there was more thought behind it than she had made it appear at first. Simultaneously, his other half (a third? a quarter? a mere, pitiful percent?) screamed at him to pick up his pace and leave that cursed place before Chihaya could even answer, to run away and pray that the consequences of his stupid decision from the previous minute would not catch up to him.

Torn like this, he walked on, the rationality of his mind battling with the naiveté of his heart and the ardour of his soul. Step by step, he moved forward, hearing nothing but the sound of his blood pumping in his ears and his own sharp, uneven breathing. If he focused hard enough, he could distinguish his own, weary step, but even that seemed to come from a distance much wider than the one hundred and seventy centimetres separating his feet from his ears.

No matter how hard he tried, he could not hear anything from behind him.

So she hadn't followed him.

Of course she hadn't, you idiot, he berated himself silently, clenching his hands into fists and jamming them even deeper into his pockets. She looked like she wanted to get away from there as soon as she could, and only forced herself to stay and talk because she thought it was the right thing to do.

She didn’t come to chat, to pour her heart out or to clear things up with me, mostly because there's nothing to clear up in the first place; she came because she felt she needed to, because at some point, she'd decided that it was something a good person would do and obviously, she decided to spontaneously follow the wacky idea her mind had presented to her.

A totally spur-of-a-moment kind of decision, honest but rash, misguided and ill-conceived, just like about everything Chihaya does.

He felt his heart shrink, as if it was squeezed in quite a literal sense, and yet, he refused to admit to his hurt, even if only to himself. There was no reason why he should've felt surprised, no excuse for the disappointment that was threatening to take over him. He knew her; he knew what kind of person she was. Bright, outgoing, sincere. Blunt to a fault and so very, very caring that it made his head ache at times.

Still, her consideration was just like her entire self: impulsive. She always went all out and never put much reflection behind it.

As for Taichi, he still couldn't quite determine whether he found it frustrating or just very, very endearing.

Perhaps it was a mixture of the two.

The fact remained, however: the only way he could find his way to her thoughts was through incidents like this. After all, he could hardly imagine Chihaya spending her nights lying awake in her bed, unable to stop thinking of him.

Certainly not in the way he thought of her.

He fought the urge to kick the pebbles under his feet, regardless of the fact that there was no one around to see him if he had, much less to care about it. The street he strolled through was empty, and since it was getting late, there was no reason to believe that the state of things should change. However, Taichi knew better than to indulge himself with his whims, no matter how insignificant they appeared to be. He'd been raised to be that way; and no matter how much he wanted to change, no matter how grand was the amount of effort he put into achieving it, there were things about himself he simply couldn't reform.

He couldn't tell if it were those traits that had made him the unlucky loser he undoubtedly was now; but at least they helped him cope with the fallout his misfortunes had brought.

Which was exactly why he needed to stop wallowing in self-pity and focus on getting on with his own life instead, just like he'd been striving to do recently. He'd done a pretty good job so far, studying harder than ever both for his regular classes and the cram school, fooling everyone that it was his exams that had made him quit the karuta club.

Good gosh, he'd actually let Master Suo persuade him into not giving up on karuta after all, and only changed the environment of his practice instead.

He was fine, or at least, he was going to be.

The recollection of his latest, little successes made his faith grow a little, bringing back that tiny bit of optimism he'd been looking for so desperately. His chin rose a little while his pace turned brisker...

...only to have him halt in surprise at the sound of a dull thud and a hiss that came from behind him.

Taichi turned around almost involuntarily, completely taken aback and therefore totally incapable of forming even the vaguest expectation of what he was about to see. Had he had more time to think about it, he probably would have come with more than a few reasonable explanations of the sound.

For one, it could have been an ordinary jogger, whom he couldn't have seen when he'd exited through the cram school's gate, but who'd caught up to him silently while he was occupied with his own thoughts afterwards, and who now tripped over something and now was groaning in pain. It might have been a passer-by who'd emerged from around the corner, carrying an object so heavy that they had eventually dropped it on the ground.

For all he knew, it might have been a kid running from his friends in another round of tag. Out of all people, he surely was aware how fast little children could move; how quickly and unexpectedly they might invade other people's space.

All of these he could have thought of, and yet, he still wouldn't have guessed the real cause of the noise that had startled him so.

Of course, the culprit simply had to be the one person he'd been trying to ban from his mind.

How had she even got there without him realising her presence until now?

And yet, it was her, undoubtedly, undeniably her. Ayase Chihaya, the love of his life and the greatest, most unpredictable dork of a friend, now hunched and squatting, with one knee rested against the hard concrete surface while she eyed her other one attentively, instinctively pressing her scratched fingers against the more severely injured skin on her leg. With the few metres separating them (and his still fresh bemusement) Taichi needed a moment to fully absorb the scene before him, as well as its less obvious details. Despite the initial falter, his instincts soon took over him, however, and pushed him towards the wounded girl, before he could even see the grimace on her face or observe the way in which she chewed on her lower lip.

In no time was he kneeling down before her, pulling her hands away from the wound by her wrists so that she wouldn't accidentally infect the cut with one hand, while he rummaged through his hastily unzipped bag with the other one, searching for the towel and a water bottle he was sure he'd packed in there earlier.

"Taichi, no! Wait!" He heard her protest against his actions, only to ignore it completely. "It's just a scratch, nothing serious, I can handle it myself just fine here!"

"Like hell you can," he muttered in response after he'd finally found the objects he'd been looking for. "You've just pressed your dirty hands against a fresh wound, you idiot. I don't even want to know what you were planning to do next."

"No, but -"

"Just do me a favour and don't press them like that again now, will you?" he cut her off sternly. "I can't exactly hold your hands and dampen the towel at the same time, I'd need at least one other pair of arms for that. So stop arguing and keep your dusty fingers away for just a second, while I do my job over here."

Chihaya opened her mouth to argue with him some more but shut it right after under his severe glare and bowed her head obediently instead. Seeing that her opposition would not last – or at least, that her revolt would not rise again for a while – Taichi let go of her wrists and focused on wetting the fabric in his hands, before applying the now cold towel to Chihaya's injured knee. She winced under his touch, her head jerking up once more and her eyes glued to his intent countenance.

He saw her movement in the corner of his eye, felt the shudder that jolted all of her body, however, he refused to look up himself, instead making sure that his own gaze remained plastered to the cut he was supposed to be taking care of.

Not that clearing up the skin on her leg was doing any good to his sanity, mind you.

"How on earth did you even do that?" he muttered the question under his breath, if only to make his attention shift to something else, desperately hoping it would be enough to drown out his rebellious thoughts for a short while at least. "There's literally nothing you could have stumbled upon and you don't usually go tripping over your own feet; I know you can be careless sometimes, but you're not a klutz."

"I just wasn't paying attention," Chihaya answered him, her tone slightly offended, but still quieter than he might have expected. "My shoelaces had come undone and I stepped over one."

Taichi sighed, almost impatiently.

"And fell like this? What were you doing, trying to break the world speed record?"

"I tripped! Why does it matter how I fell afterwards?"

"Because I've seen you trip about a hundred thousand times since we first met and it was always due to some crazy stunts you were doing and never because you were simply distracted," he continued to parry her arguments; with every second it became more difficult for him to maintain his grumpy, cool attitude and not let his lips curl into an amused smile at both her behaviour and the memories he'd just recalled himself. "You were constantly running around, jumping over fences and climbing trees and half the time your shoelaces weren't tied, and yet you hardly ever let that get in your way. And now you want me to believe that you've hit the ground with your knee and cut it because you'd stumbled over it? When you were walking?"

"I don't know why you find that so improbable," she replied, shifting her eyes up at him for a second only to have them cast down a moment later. Unlike her most recent retort, this one was once again quiet, so much so that it was almost a whisper.

"I never thought Chihaya was capable of speaking quietly enough to be drowned out by a bell."

Was that it? Was that how she was now?

Was he responsible for that change in her?

He shook his head resolutely and lowered his own gaze onto her knee once more. He realised he was giving in to his nonsensical fears again, finding alterations where there were none, simply because he'd felt the change so acutely. Sure, Chihaya's voice was much softer than what he was used to; but to think that it was a general transformation was a little too much. It wasn't like she couldn't speak loudly or even downright shout at him – she had proven that much with the entire 'you're not a coward' scene, and even with the little comebacks she had thrown at him a short while earlier.

She wasn't mad at him, she hadn't taken offence. She wasn't avoiding him like he had avoided her, nor was she trying to daunt him with her curt, frosty answers; if anything, she'd given him the impression that she wished to talk to him but had no idea how to do it without overstepping his boundaries.

As if she had been afraid of him.

Was she?

Taichi risked another glance at her and saw that she still wasn't looking at him or even at the wound he'd been treating for her. Instead, her gaze was turned to her right, focused on some distant spot he couldn't name unless he followed her gaze with his own eyes. Afraid she might catch him staring, he looked down again quickly, however; he could figure out what had arrested her attention later on.

He had enough to think about as it was, without adding any additional information to the mix.

"There, it's all clean," he announced after a moment, taking the wet towel in his hand away; he pressed it back to her knee almost immediately when he saw that the seemingly unserious injury hadn't stopped bleeding. "It looks like it's a pretty deep cut you've got there. Nothing that would need stitches, but you certainly should have it wrapped up, and not only because of the possible infections. That is, unless you actually want to walk around Tokyo with bloody streaks all over your calves. I don't have anything of the sort so-"

"I do!" she cut him off, energetic again. Taichi raised an eyebrow at her sudden cry and she turned away, blushing. However, she continued, "I do. Just hand me my bag, please?"

He did as he was told, and passed on the bag that had somehow ended lying behind him. Chihaya grabbed the item zealously and began to search its insides, flipping the books and other tools she kept in it with as much hurry as if her life really had depended on it. Taichi regarded her curiously, suddenly indifferent to whether she decided to meet his eye this time.

It took her a good while before she found what she'd been looking for; it was a perfect opportunity for him to have a closer look at her at last.

No matter how silly his behaviour was, Taichi made good use of that time.

She was a mess; there was no doubt about that. No longer panting like she had when he'd seen her first (something Chihaya had been trying very hard to conceal and perhaps even thought that she'd succeeded, only Taichi obviously knew better), she still seemed to be anything but relaxed. Her hair looked as if she had combed them with her hands (which she'd done often enough in the past to make his guess more than likely) and her cheeks were grey from the dust, though again, it looked like she had attempted to clean it in some amateurish way.

He wondered if the slightly darker traces he saw on her cheeks really might have been the remnant of her tears, like he feared they were.

Gosh, she really cried too damn much, never mind how serious the reasons were.

He was roused from his meditation when Chihaya finally pulled out the small first aid kit which she'd been looking so frantically for and straightened up a little, relieved. She sure was glad with herself, a softer, more placid expression finally reflecting on her face as she opened it and drew the bandage and gauze packs she needed from it, and even waved them before his eyes as if to tell him that she could take care of herself now.

That darn moron.

"I can deal with it now," she said, confirming his suspicions. "If you just take the towel away from my knee I can wrap it up just fine. But you really have to move away."

"And how do you plan to do that with your leg bent like this?" he asked, simultaneously ignoring her suggestion completely. "You're still kneeling."

"I can straighten my leg anytime, so-"

"And lay it flat on the ground? Good luck moving your hand underneath when you try to go around it. Also, are you really carrying a first aid kit in your school bag?"

It was the first time Chihaya met his eye since her unfortunate fall and boy, was she vexed. "My mum made me carry one around after I stepped onto a nail and had to block the blood flow with my classmate's spare t-shirt in middle-school. She wasn't very happy with that."

"Your mum or the classmate?"

"Neither. But at least I learnt to carry these things around, and since I know how to use them, I'm going to wrap my own injury now. I just need to stand up and-"

Without a word of warning, she leaned on one arm and pushed herself off the ground, leaving the startled Taichi to stare at her helplessly. She hissed at the pain when she put more pressure on her wounded leg but said nothing, determined to carry out the plan she had formed in her head without letting her friend interrupt.

Only, his hand was still pressed against her knee... and he wasn’t going to do anything to change that.

"You're impossible," he told her instead, the faintest shadow of mirth flashing in his eyes.

"Move your hands, Taichi, I'm bandaging my knee," she ordered him, feigning deafness.

"You'd need to dry your skin first."

"I know that!"

"Not what I heard."

"I am, but I still need you to move away. Why aren't you moving away?"

"Who knows." Taichi shrugged, raising his eyes so he could meet Chihaya's weary glare. "Maybe I'm just being awful for the fun of it. Or maybe as usual, I'm the sensible one here and realise that you're gonna need help with that stupid cut. And since the only way to make you give up is by this kind of opposition, it's exactly what I'm doing now."

Chihaya's fingers tightened around the packages. "But why?"

"Who knows," he said once again. "Perhaps I'm just too used to looking after you to simply walk away and leave you to deal with it on your own. After all, I know you well enough to realise how incompetent you are."

That little jab at the end of his reply was meant to lighten the mood, to avoid a situation in which his earlier words would sound like yet another confession on his part. He wanted to make sure it didn't sound tender – that the 'looking after you' part was a statement coming from a long time buddy rather than from the love interest he so wished to be, from an easygoing, disinterested comrade and not a suitor she was so afraid of.

He wanted to turn it into a joke, and yet, it only took a second for him to realise that his tactics hadn't worked.

She didn't answer him; didn't snap or turn away, didn't huff, offended by his remark – but she didn't laugh, either. He saw her knuckles turn white as her grasp tightened even more and opened his mouth to apologise...

...but then she straightened her arms, shoving the bandages right before his eyes, while she looked away from him, again.

She nearly hit him on the nose and yet, he was too stunned to care.

"You do it then," he heard her mutter under her breath as she moved the package even closer to him. "Just... be quick about it. It doesn't need to be that precise, I only need it to last until I'm home."

He wanted to contradict her, to say that the main reason why he'd insisted on helping her out was to make sure that the dressing around her wound would not be a shoddy one; but something stopped him. Whether it was the way in which she was so determined not to meet his eye again or how her hands trembled when he finally took the cursed bandages from her, he couldn't tell; but he couldn't be more sure if Chihaya had told him that directly.

His jokes hadn't been too terrible a strategy overall – one more challenge, however, and he could lose it all.

So he remained silent, attentively drying her skin with fresh gauze before pressing another piece against the injury and wrapping it up with utmost care. It didn't matter that it was her bare skin anymore, or that the rim of her skirt was moving gently right above his bowed forehead. He was a friend, a companion. He was willing to call himself a nurse, for goodness' sake – as long as what he did was of any benefit to her.

Now wasn't he a failure.

Bet someone else, someone like Sudo, would never let anything like that happen, he thought to himself. He probably would have left her at that gate and walked away without a word, unless it was to roast her with one of his terrible lines. Actually, I'm sure nobody I know would've acted as stupidly as I have, whether it would be Nishida or Komano, or – Arata...

"All done," he announced a little too hastily, deliberately breaking his own train of thought before it could take him too far, and stood up. "I hope it's not too tight, but if it is, just tell me and I'll fix it. We don't want your leg to go all stiff and blue while you walk back home, right?"

"No, it's good. It's perfect," she answered, shaking her head. "Thank you."

Her head and gaze were still lowered when she spoke to him, so Taichi couldn't quite tell what her expression was and so he couldn’t use that knowledge to guess how she actually felt. At first, he was sure she would turn away as soon as he was done treating her wound, and just set off towards home without further delay, or that she would at least step back, no longer needing to stay in his close proximity like she had before.

They really were standing quite close now, so close that one step forward would make her forehead rest against his collarbone, literally.

And yet, she still didn’t allow him to see her face. He waited patiently for another moment, even though his heart was threatening to jump out of his chest any moment now. He stuck around, motionless and quiet, giving her every chance to flee like he expected her to, awaiting the moment when she would leave his personal space.

He couldn't imagine her wanting to be there, not after how he had treated her today – how he'd been treating her ever since the day she had rejected him.

And yet, she was still there.

"Chihaya," he whispered eventually. "Do you want to talk?"

It was a simple question, an obvious question. It was a ridiculous one, too – after all, they'd been exchanging statements back and forth, so technically, it was way past time for asking it. However, he certainly knew that it was not a simple chat he'd had in mind; and maybe it was naive of him, but he still believed that Chihaya understood it, too.

She didn't answer him immediately, and not even after some time had passed. It wasn't because she hadn't heard him, of that he was sure... but that didn't mean that he had more than the vaguest idea of why she tarried, either.

Was his question not so simple after all?

He didn't dare to lean forward, on the off chance that she would decide to look up at him after all, in which case their closeness really might become too much for him. His eyes remained fixed on her, however, boring into her hair as if to jinx her into replying at last. She didn't move; she didn't look up.

And for the longest time, she didn't make a sound.

Until...

"Yes. Yes, I do."

#Our Sleeves Were Wet With Tears #chihayafuru #taichihaya #mashima taichi #ayase chihaya #more reposting #more new arrrrt #margaretwrites

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