#**COMET TOO. it makes bright bursts in the sky more than usual so that makes it slightly more visible…..naked eye towards the end of its

[gontagokuhara]

happy eclipse day everybody. dont get caught slipping and go blind staring at the sun

[ryukoishida]

QZGS|The King’s Avatar Fic: In which swordsman!HST and fox spirit!YWZ do the do.

Title: Efflorescence Fandom: The King’s Avatar / Quan Zhi Gao Shou Character(s)/Pairing(s): YuHuang Summary: When laying together is no longer just a simple healing process. [Fantasy AU] Part: 1/1 Rating: NSFW A/N: The extra scene with the extra juicy bits. ;) It’d be best if you read the main story first.

Writing Commission | Editing & Translation Services

Beneath the Cherry Blossom Tree

Parts:

i. Encounter ii. Awakening iii. Confession iv. Survival v. Blossom

-

+ i. Efflorescence

For over nine centuries, Yu Wenzhou had felt no physical desires or emotional craving — not for any materialistic object or for any particular person. The seed in his heart was frozen in time, having no want to break out of its shell, content with its isolation and silence.

Yet his encounter with Huang Shaotian ten years ago changed everything.

Like the blistering sun of the high summer, Huang Shaotian broke through the permanent thick clouds and indestructible wall of ice inside his silent, peaceful world. In a matter of speaking, this ray of sunshine was too bright, too hot — blinding, fleeting, unpredictable. He was enraptured by this small, brave child with eyes the colour of golden leaves, reckless valor of a young lion, an honest and generous heart endowed with crystal clarity, and the sweetest blood Yu Wenzhou had ever tasted.

Huang Shaotian was an accidental encounter that Yu Wenzhou didn’t realize he had been blessed with until recently, and he wanted nothing more than to treasure the moments he had with him. After all, a snow fox spirit could live for a long, long time. To Yu Wenzhou, humans lived and died in the blink of an eye, and so Huang Shaotian would only be a dazzling comet that flashed across his eternal night sky — a burst of light, of vibrancy and life — and then, nothing more. One day, and that day would be approaching sooner and sooner as time went by, one day Yu Wenzhou would find himself alone again at the summit of Blue Rain Peak, as if nothing had changed.

“Wenzhou… Oy, Yu Wenzhou!”

When he didn’t get a response from the fox spirit, Huang Shaotian frowned, and tried again, “Oh, the greatest lord snow fox of them all, are you present?”

“Yes?” The regal snow fox spirit stared down at his young lover with arched brows when the swordsman’s voice pulled him back from his dark reverie.

“Don’t give me that look,” Huang Shaotian pouted, and Yu Wenzhou, with a quiet chuckle, was instantly reminded of a petulant child who didn’t get enough attention, “I recognize that expression of yours, Yu Wenzhou. You are worried about something — probably something that won’t even be happening for a long time or has a small chance of happening at all — and then you start overthinking and ignoring me. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is for me to be lying beneath you in such a… such an indecent state?”

As the volume of his voice lowered towards the end of his sentence, Huang Shaotian averted his gaze and bit his lower lip so that no more words could escape.

He was referring to the fact that his body was currently bare and exposed for Yu Wenzhou, his lower half was only scarcely covered by the thin fabric of his upper garment, but despite his irritation aimed at the still quiet fox spirit, Huang Shaotian’s obvious excitement was impossible to ignore.

At the sight of the usually loud-mouthed and boisterous youth clamping his mouth shut and his cheeks tainted in such a lovely, tempting shade of pink, Yu Wenzhou’s lips curved up into a soft yet playful smile, the light in his violet irises an animalistic glow in the near-dark cave where they usually met whenever Huang Shaotian came to visit him amidst his busy schedule as the town’s most renowned constable.  

“I sincerely apologize, Shaotian,” Yu Wenzhou purred as he lowered his head to place a small kiss against the corner of the swordsman’s mouth — a teasing, little gesture that left Huang Shaotian craving more — and continued in a heated whisper as he ran a clawed hand down Huang Shaotian’s side, causing the other man to shudder at the touch. “You are right. It is simply unacceptable for me to disregard you when you have offered yourself to me in such a generous manner. What do you suggest I should do to redeem myself, hmm?”

“W-Well, I mean, I wouldn’t want to demand your lordship to do anything that you don’t want to,” Huang Shaotian mumbled, turning his head away in coyness at the suggestive way the fox spirit was speaking to him, but that only made it easier for Yu Wenzhou to scatter butterfly kisses down the column of his neck, those light, barely-there touches of his lips lighting up a trail of flames that made it more and more difficult for the swordsman to counter with his usual snark. “But maybe you can start by, ahh… actually what you’re doing now is a fairly good start…”

Yu Wenzhou laughed, his voice low and smoky and full of want.

“Is that so…?” he licked a strip down the swordsman’s neck and began to nip on his collarbone and shoulder, marking him with bruises and scent, making him his and his only. Where the fox spirit’s fangs had scratched against his sensitive skin, Huang Shaotian would shake helplessly in his arms, whimpering, arms encircling around Yu Wenzhou’s waist in an attempt to pull him closer, so close that they could hardly breathe and all they could feel was each other’s shallow gasps and heartbeats that threaten to drown out everything else. “Then I shall indulge you as you wish.”

The first time they had lain together, it was simply a desperate measure to heal the snow fox’s core and restore his vitality; there was nothing sexual or beautiful about that instance — the act had been the most logical, and so there had been no hesitation for either of them. But now, this — this shared bond and union of body and soul — took on an entirely different meaning from before.

At Huang Shaotian’s breathless urging, the fox spirit kissed his way southward, snow-tinted hair falling over his elegant shoulders and the tips brushing lightly against the swordsman’s skin, making him squirm. While he let his fingers danced and wandered along Huang Shaotian’s sides and lingered on his hipbones, Yu Wenzhou paused briefly to suck on his nipples, teeth grazing suggestively on the sensitive flesh and leaving them tantalizingly pink and erect.

“Ah… Wen… zhou…” Huang Shaotian whispered his name, dark hair falling haphazardly into his eyes, the plead in his voice clear as the winter constellations above them and trembling with desire — desire that the swordsman was still too timid to word out loud. Strange for a man who didn’t know how to stop talking at times, the snow fox thought with amusement.  

Yu Wenzhou curled his tails — thick, white pelt soft and warm to the touch — protectively around the swordsman’s bare body, providing heat and comfort, while placing a soft kiss on his mouth, amethyst irises staring down at him with a slight smile to his lips. In the past, those eyes had reflected many, many emotions: indifference as a demi-god to a mortal, interest as a child towards a plaything, hesitant warmth as a man opening up his heart to someone else for the first time, passion and hunger as a hunter towards his prey.

Though Yu Wenzhou was a creature who didn’t display his emotions on his face or with his body language, it wasn’t difficult for Huang Shaotian to discern those flickering, ever-changing feelings as he spent more and more time with him. He’d learned to watch for the nuances and the intricacies: a twitch of his lips meant that he was pleased, a slight narrowing of the eyes meant that he was furious.

Yet the expression Yu Wenzhou had when he was looking down at him right now — unbridled affection, like he was the most precious star of his life — was something new, something Huang Shaotian was still getting used to.

“What is it, my love?” Yu Wenzhou asked, his deep rumble sending trills of excitement down the swordsman’s spine.

Huang Shaotian’s brain blanked for a good moment before he realized the fox spirit was referring to him with the intimate title, and he blinked up at him, molten gold ringed in black, and murmured with only a hint of rose pink painted on his cheeks, “m-more. I want more, Wenzhou. I want all of you.”

As if he wasn’t being obvious enough, Huang Shaotian ran his hand down the fox spirit’s chest, his skin comparatively colder and smoother beneath his fingertips, until he reached Yu Wenzhou’s manhood — aroused and a few degrees warmer than the rest of his body. The swordsman wrapped his fingers experimentally around Yu Wenzhou’s shaft, glancing up at him with half-lidded eyes to observe his reaction, and stroked him a few times, his thumb rubbing the tip when he felt beads of sticky moisture coming out from the slit along with quiet moans that Yu Wenzhou was attempting to hide.

“You want me just as much, don’t you?” Huang Shaotian asked, mesmerized by the face that Yu Wenzhou was making when he continued to pleasure him with his hand. He had no idea that the fox spirit was capable of making that kind of expression, letting out that sort of sound from the back of his throat — the tormented need, the rampant want.

“You have… no idea,” Yu Wenzhou uttered, unable to help it when he thrusted his hips almost instinctively forward to seek everything that Huang Shaotian was willing to give him: those skilled, attentive fingers, roughened and scarred, sliding against his length and pulling out sounds that Huang Shaotian didn’t realize Yu Wenzhou was even capable of making.

When he sensed that the fox spirit’s breathing became ragged, Huang Shaotian ceased his movement and circled his arms around Yu Wenzhou’s neck, bringing him ever closer, so close that all he could see, all he could smell, all he could breathe was him.

When their lips touched again with rougher kisses, the vitality inside both of their bodies began to churn and flow, their cores echoing and calling for each other from within. Like molten lava, a surge of power drifted through their bloodstreams, first trickling like raindrops when their kisses slow down a little, their movements became more in sync and languid, and then it became a fervent, consuming flood, causing their cores to burn and their vitality to accelerate through their systems, the particles vibrating, permeating through their skin in strands of soft, white light.

The warmth engulfing them wasn’t simply from their body temperatures anymore; their shared heat and vitality renewed their physical bodies and internal cores like the rain and the sun did for a shriveled flower.

Before Huang Shaotian realized what was happening, he felt the fox spirit’s tails tightening around him, restricting his movements and pulling him even closer until he could feel the tip of Yu Wenzhou’s length at his entrance, the heat and stretch unbearable as it was, but Huang Shaotian wanted nothing more than to take him in, to swallow him whole.

And then he paused.

“What the hell are you stopping for?” Huang Shaotian was going for an intimidating tone, but at this point, he was certain that his breathy threat was as useless as a dulled edge of a sword, and so instead of using his words — his second-best weapon after Ice Rain — the swordsman encouraged the fox spirit by grinding upward, hoping Yu Wenzhou would take the hint.

“Shaotian…” Yu Wenzhou pleaded, eyes fluttering close at the sensation and frosted lashes casting shadows on his pale cheeks, “I do not wish to hurt you like last time…”

They both recalled their first time together: the pain when Yu Wenzhou entered him with a ferocious thrust, the soft apologetic kisses afterwards, the raw and animalistic manner in which the fox spirit had swallowed and absorbed the mortals’ vitality through their entangling limbs. It was true that the pleasure built up soon afterward, but Huang Shaotian still remembered how tempestuous Yu Wenzhou’s movements had been, and the marks he’d bear the next day still made him blush in embarrassment.

The swordsman’s heart trembled when he saw how torn Yu Wenzhou looked, teeth snagging at his lower lip, chest heaving deeply when he had to maintain absolute control.

“You won’t,” Huang Shaotian said, certainty colouring his voice as he looked up at his lover with brightened eyes and a small grin as he raised his hand to tuck a strand of snow-white hair behind the curve of Yu Wenzhou’s ear, “I know you won’t. Didn’t you say that you’ve entrusted me with your life and your heart? Well these things go both ways: I’ve entrusted with you mine, too. I believe that you will treat me well and that you’ll do all you can to care for me and protect me… Is that not enough to convince you?”  

“Thank you for trusting me,” Yu Wenzhou whispered.

‘Thank you for loving me.’

He kissed the swordsman on the mouth before aligning his hips and gently nudged his way forward.

Huang Shaotian hissed at the fullness as the fox spirit gradually entered him, and when Huang Shaotian sensed that Yu Wenzhou was about to stop again, he muttered while pulling onto the spirit’s hair warningly, “Don’t you dare, Yu Wenzhou…”

“Impatient little thing,” the fox spirit only chuckled and nuzzled into the crook of Huang Shaotian’s neck affectionately before he pushed himself all the way into that sweet, wet heat with a low moan.

The white light embracing them intensified, the undulating waves of heat, too, as did the coil of pleasure resting below Huang Shaotian’s abdomen when he felt Yu Wenzhou beginning to move in earnest, pulling out and driving into him until Huang Shaotian swore he could see stars and feel prickles of fire on his skin. But those were no stars he saw — they were merely the twinkling eyes of the fox spirit looking deeply into him: the rampant desire, the utter adoration.

Yet the pace was still too slow for the swordsman, who felt like he was dangling at the edge of the cliff below which was the ocean of bliss; he wanted to let go but Yu Wenzhou refused to let him, just barely held on by a thread.

Huang Shaotian’s hands were restless, grasping desperately, wandering with frantic air; he tried clawing into the fox spirit’s back and leaving half-moon imprints on his snow-pale skin, but Yu Wenzhou’s pace remained frustratingly calm and even. The friction where they were connected was just enough to inflict sparks of ecstasy along his spine and make the swordsman whine wetly into Yu Wenzhou’s mouth, yet never enough to completely push him over.

“Wenzhou… Wenzhou, please, I beg you…” Huang Shaotian whimpered, his pride and dignity all scattered out into the winds, and that was the last thing he cared when he was so close to his release. His hands continued to caress the fox spirit’s lithe frame, seemingly at random, until they reached the dip of his lower back.

Yu Wenzhou’s breath hitched and his back instantly arched at the swordsman’s touch, much like a feline did when being petted. Despite being completely enamored by the fox spirit, Huang Shaotian was still an observant man, his opportunistic streak still presented even in such a situation, and he almost instantly noticed the sensual way Yu Wenzhou responded to the location of his fingers near where the base of his tails was.

“Hmm? What was that, Shaotian?” Yu Wenzhou was still seated deeply within his lover, but whatever Huang Shaotian was doing with his dexterous fingers, flickers of lightning were flaring up in small, unsatisfying spurts, which made him growl with a lower tenor. “What is it that you would like me to do?”

Huang Shaotian considered answering him honestly, that he’d really like him to stop fooling around and make him come, but because he’d always be the mischievous little devil, the swordsman stayed quiet instead, and allowed his hands to roam even lower until one fingertip was pressing lightly against the spot on his lower back directly above Yu Wenzhou’s tails.

The effect was instantaneous: Yu Wenzhou moaned against Huang Shaotian’s neck, teeth grazing his succulent skin there until a thin trail of blood trickled from the cut; he zealously licked the saccharine liquid clean, swallowing down the pure vitality, and drove his hips forward deeper into Huang Shaotian.

“Hnng, now what’s this?” Huang Shaotian laughed breathlessly, lips twisting upwards with wicked intent as he ran fingers through the fox spirit’s sweat-tinted locks. “Is that what I think it is? Did I locate your weak spot at last?”

It took a few moments for Yu Wenzhou to recover, and he lifted his head away from Huang Shaotian’s neck, glaring down at him coldly though his skin was flushed slightly as well, the violet markings on his cheeks and around his eyes made more striking against his pale skin than usual.

“And what if you have? What are you planning to do with this fact?”

Huang Shaotian pretended to take his time to ponder on the question, and then he burst out laughing when he saw how worried Yu Wenzhou was becoming. With gentle fingers and a sweet smile, Huang Shaotian traced the lovely markings on Yu Wenzhou’s face and said, “I’ll take full advantage of this knowledge, of course.”

With that, he quickly found the sensitive point on the small of the fox spirit’s back again and massaged that spot with more urgency than his first attempt. A violent shiver started from the base of his spine, and the sparks of lightning tore through and along his vertebrae and spread to other parts of his body like a wild, intense fire of pleasure. The tails not wrapped around the swordsman were swaying eagerly behind him and the only way to seek release was to bury himself deeper into Huang Shaotian’s heat.

“Ahhh… haaaah… Wenzhou… feels s’good…  I’m almost—”

His words collapsed into a warbled chaos of moans and broken syllables of pleading and Yu Wenzhou’s name.

It only took a few more powerful thrusts for Huang Shaotian to climax, his hole convulsing and squeezing around Yu Wenzhou’s swollen length while he spilled messily between them, and soon, the fox spirit, too, came inside of Huang Shaotian, his groan muffled only because he was biting hard into the swordsman’s shoulder. His teeth drew blood, which he languidly lapped up while he felt Huang Shaotian shuddering in his embrace as the remnant of his climax left his system in tendrils.

Yu Wenzhou was drunk on the sweet, aromatic taste of Huang Shaotian’s blood; the vitality that coursed through his veins wasn’t his, but he had long become accustomed to its presence, allowing it to reside within his core, to integrate and become one and the same. He was intoxicated by Huang Shaotian’s power, yes, but more than anything else, he was drawn to the mortal man who could make his heart race with just one look, make him furious with just one word, make him fall irrevocably in love with just one breath.

The warm light subsided and the cave became much colder, the sweat prickling on their skin as their bodies cooled down too rapidly in the night air. Yu Wenzhou wordlessly wrapped his fluffy tails to cover the swordsman and keep him warm; he frowned when he saw the bruise and teeth marks on Huang Shaotian’s shoulder that he’d created in the throes of passion.

“I have hurt you again,” Yu Wenzhou gently touched the bruise with his fingertip, his eyes darkening.

“What, this little cut? Come on, it’ll heal in a few days,” Huang Shaotian grabbed the fox spirit’s hand and laced their fingers together, continuing, “don’t worry yourself about it, all right? Besides, it had felt really good at the time.”

“It did?” Yu Wenzhou raised an eyebrow.

“Would I ever lie to you, Yu Wenzhou?” Huang Shaotian rolled his eyes.

“No, I suppose you would not dare.”

Huang Shaotian snorted, and allowed the fox spirit to pull him up into a sitting position. He readily accepted the small porcelain cup filled with fragrant floral wine after Yu Wenzhou poured them each a drink. Instead of drinking it right away, he was staring at it with a quiet, thoughtful expression, golden irises especially bright in the darkness.

“What are you thinking?” Yu Wenzhou swallowed the wine in one graceful mouthful and placed the cup down, glancing over at his lover curiously.  

“I was just thinking whether our relationship would become similar to this wine,” the swordsman replied sheepishly before taking a small sip.

“I do not understand your metaphor.”

“You’ve heard of this, right? — that the longer the wine has been aged, the more fragrant and richer the taste is — so it made me start thinking how our relationship will change in the future, if we would last just as long and remain just as we are now.”

Huang Shaotian tipped his head back and finished the rest of his wine in one final gulp.  

“Do you think we will have a future?” Yu Wenzhou was forced to return his thoughts back to the dismal contemplation he had before he was distracted earlier that evening.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Huang Shaotian asked with a scowl, and then he yelped, “wait a minute, wait a minute! You’re not considering ditching my mortal ass after what we’ve been through, are you?! You promised, Yu Wenzhou, you promised you’d take care of me and protect me!”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Yu Wenzhou snapped, and then his voice softened when he saw the swordsman’s mischievous grin. He had clearly been joking, and once again, Yu Wenzhou had fallen for the boy’s trap. Regardless, Yu Wenzhou winded his tail possessively around the swordsman’s waist and brought him closer, promising, “I would never abandon you, but…”

“But?” Huang Shaotian noticed that the fox spirit was genuinely worried, and he shuffled closer, cradling his cheek with his palm.

“But being as powerful as I am, even I cannot fight against time,” Yu Wenzhou leaned into Huang Shaotian’s hand. For once, the great nine-tailed snow fox sounded utterly defeated. “I may live for a long while yet, but you… Shaotian, you are human and one day, you will grow old and weak like the rest of them; one day, you will… You will die, and I despise myself for being unable to stop that from happening.”

“Is that what you’ve been worried about?”

Yu Wenzhou only hesitated for a brief second, and then he nodded once, as if he was afraid of what Huang Shaotian would think.

He held Yu Wenzhou’s face in between his palms and leaned forward to touch his forehead against the spirit’s.

“You’re a fox spirit, Wenzhou, not a god,” Huang Shaotian reminded him gently, and placed a light kiss against his lips. He could taste the sweet, tangy fragrance of osmanthus from the wine on Huang Shaotian’s mouth. “Only a god can dictate how much time we have on earth, right?”

“You are oddly rational when it comes to matters like this,” Yu Wenzhou’s lips quirked up in a small smile. The hefty weight in his heart was still there, but at Huang Shaotian’s words, he felt the weight had been lifted just slightly, and breathing became somewhat easier when his lover was in his arms.

“I want you to understand this, Yu Wenzhou: As long as I have you with me in this life, I am content.”  

The blazing, determined light in Huang Shaotian’s eyes rivalled the warmth of the sun, and the sapling that had broken through the shell during these last ten years and began to take root in Yu Wenzhou’s heart was beginning to bloom. For how much longer the flower would continue to blossom, Yu Wenzhou didn’t know, but for the moment, it was enough.

“I, as well,” Yu Wenzhou simply said, and Huang Shaotian held him close.

---

A/N: Yeah… looks like I can never not write angst when I’m writing smut. It’s my style lol. Aye well here’s the last chapter of the series. Thank you for sticking around to read this fic!

[quillerqueen]

Waifs and Strays, or An Orphan Christmas

Author’s Note: Dearest shipmates, I hope you enjoy this little story written for the amazing Outlaw Queen Advent project. Let me transport you for a bit to the Enchanted Forest, where Queenie Regina and Robin of Locksley discover an unexpected gift (or seventeen?) that keeps giving. Happy holidays! :) FF.net

When they reach her old castle, for a moment Regina fears the portal must have spit them out in yet another parallel universe.

 Queenie’s certainly made her fair share of adjustments—but none of them more pronounced than the ongoing reconstruction of the entire first floor. Walls have been knocked down and new ones raised, nurseries and classrooms built, old and musty bedrooms redecorated and furnished in bright colours. Children and teens mill about the place, quite at home in the once hollow halls.

 A sparkling diamond adorns Queenie’s finger and a matching wedding band Robin of Locksley’s. The home they’ve built is pragmatic but rich in comforts, and their holiday traditions a medley of elements borrowed and pieced together: Christmas trees and Yule logs; nine-branch candelabra and seven-branch ones with black, red, and green candles; snippets of habits from the Land Without Magic, the Enchanted Forest, Agrabah, and beyond.

 They sit together—Regina, Henry, Peanut, Roland, and Queenie—for the first time at one table, chasing lost time. It’s bittersweet, and it feels incomplete. Queenie’s soul mate may be a mere arm’s length away; Regina’s is out of reach.

 And yet she’s never felt Robin’s presence more than tonight, as she listens to the tales of their darker counterparts—and their seventeen children.

The castle is positively overflowing with holiday decor, and Regina is still going.

 She ties one last elegant scarlet bow to the banister festooned with garlands of holly, and with an elaborate flick of the wrist makes half a dozen wreaths rise in the air and fasten themselves onto robust marble columns. The cool halls are aglow with warm hues of the torches, each of them emitting a different scent: apple and cinnamon, pine and fir, orange and vanilla. The long dining table boasts intricate floral arrangements and bowls of fragrant apples, while strings of pine cones adorn the ornate chandelier. The drawing room is a cosy fairy tale with roaring fires and mantels sagging under the sheer number of candles amid the miniature forest sceneries Regina conjured up to make a certain outlaw feel more at home. Yet none of the ornaments are a match for the majestic tree towering in the far corner of the room, strung with fairy lights and topped by a comet emitting soft (and perfectly safe) sparks. By the time she’s finished for the night, magic icicles will be hanging from every which ledge the castle boasts, both inside and out.

 In short, Regina is well on her way to fitting every last square inch of their home with the most sickeningly cliché, picture-perfect trappings.

 The only thing festive the castle is not fit to bursting with is the proverbial good cheer.

All that fragrant pine reminds Regina only too acutely of just who’s missing.

 Aside from her son, who she can’t quite give up hope might miraculously show up from a realm apart to pay her a rare visit, Robin’s absence, too, has created a void no amount of lavish decor could possibly fill.

 She thought he’d be back by now. They’d fought, sure, but they’d had worse before. Temperamental as they both are, it usually does them good to cool off separately after an argument, and Robin likes to storm off to the woods for some down time. He always comes back to her though… At least that’s the mantra she’s been repeating to herself over and over for the past few hours. When echoes of heated words hurled at each other in affectation don’t push the would-be-comforting thought mercilessly out.

 Don’t you think you’ve gone a bit bloody overboard?

 But Regina, too stubborn to rest and too proud to wallow, only decorates more profusely.

The light seems to have gone out in the sky as the wind picks up, whizzing past the castle’s spiky spires and blasting through the hall as the double door flies open.

 “Majesty!” cries a clearly agitated Roland, curls bouncing wildly as he bounds towards her and very nearly trips over his cape. “Help!”

 Regina catches him just in time to stop him from toppling over, steadying him in a loose embrace. Little John emerges behind the child, his heavy footfalls much too rapid, filling Regina with a sense of dread. It’s Robin, isn’t it, some ill must’ve—

 No—no, for heaven’s sake, Regina, keep it together.

 “Roland, honey,” she forces her voice within the realms of calm, “what’s the matter?”

 “It’s T-Tillie,” Roland whimpers, folding into her arms. He’d struck a fast friendship with the little girl with inquisitive eyes peeking from under straight-cut bangs, an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and a penchant for practical jokes, shortly after his return from Storybrooke. “She’s gone,” he sobs into Regina’s shoulder. “And so’s everyone else—and so’s their h-home.”

 “Fire,” Little John says in answer to Regina’s questioning look, shaking his head ruefully, “at the orphanage.”

When Robin decided to boycott solstice celebrations, this certainly wasn’t what he had in mind instead.

 Sequestered in close quarters instead of spacious chambers, Robin presses further into the hollow of an old oak, its gnarled bark pressing back in a reassuring if annoying manner. The chill still nips and twists and burns his skin despite layers of clothing, but the sting is less than in the wide open. The old, twisted, bare-branched tree may not be much, but it provides some semblance of shelter at least against the raging elements.

 The blizzard came out of nowhere.

 Well, not quite. Storm clouds had been gathering from the south for days, but the most they’d amounted to before had been a trickle of flurries so tiny they’d melt halfway to the ground. Yet today around noon, the steely shapes haphazardly hung in the pearl grey sky gathered in what seemed like an eye blink, as if some invisible force had summoned them to do its bidding. Within minutes, the sky had gone charcoal and the ground was strewn with a fresh, blinding duvet of snow—and more came pouring down, fat flakes falling thickly and obscuring Robin’s vision as gusts of wind whipped them like shards of ice into his eyes.

 How’d he get himself into this pickle again?

 “I just don’t see the point in all this,” he told her gruffly after she’d had a village worth of decorative material brought out of storage. “Celebrating solstice at least makes sense—nature’s course and all that. But this Christmas of yours—”

 Regina’d explained it before, many times over, approaching the subject from different angles with ever growing frustration at his scepticism. He’d heard of the holiday in the Enchanted Forest of course, or at least one similar to these Christmases Regina’d described from the Land Without Magic; but he’d never been particularly spiritual in any way, and he truly didn’t see the sense in the odd charades her holiday—or most others, for that matter—required.

 “If a gift is what you want, Your Majesty,” he teased, “just say the word. No need to go to all this trouble.”

 At which Regina only rolled her eyes and launched into yet another exasperated explanation that for Robin went in one ear and out the other.

 “Look, I’d be perfectly fine celebrating your version of the holiday instead of mine,” she spat, clearly ruffled to have her willingness to compromise snubbed at. “If it involved more than eating and drinking yourself to death.”

 Yule had logs and trees and wreaths as well, and apparently had inspired this Christmas festival’s symbolism; but Robin had never observed it this way, nor had he given much thought to the weight of the occasion—the reversal of sun’s waning presence in the sky. Regina’s hurled insult wasn’t without basis—perhaps that’s why it stung so much.

 She must have decided to employ every possible measure, to pull out all stops, to decorate every last nook of the place—but why? Just to get her way? Because of her competitive streak? In hopes of converting him to her way of thinking? Robin was stubborn, too, and it would take more than trinkets and the obtrusive smell of sickly sweet mulled wine to change his mind.

 “Don’t you think you’ve gone a bit bloody overboard?” Robin snapped. “Overcompensating much?”

 Regina’s mouth hung open for the most fleeting moment; then her jaw tensed and pointed upwards as she raised her head high.

 “Yes,” she said icily. “For your utter lack of consideration.”

 Robin knew even then he’d hit the nail on the head, and hit where it hurt, with his carelessly flung accusation. He’s still not particularly adept at resolving conflict—mastering his quick temper, putting himself in the other person’s shoes, and approaching the conversation with the necessary amount of vulnerability are all things both he and Regina have been working on, with varying degrees of success—and even if he had been, she’d stalked off before he could collect his wits.

 Dark thoughts swirling in his mind like so many snowflakes buffeted by the wind, Robin peels himself off the weathered bark and, bent almost in half against the angry wind, he plods heavily towards the single landmark able to provide reasonable protection from the calamity (the one raging outside at least).

 The abandoned estate tucked near a crossroads between three kingdoms used to be a veritable viper’s nest, a criminal lair to thugs of the worst kind, murderers who preyed on innocents and leeched off children—until Regina and Robin stumbled upon their dark secret and, with the fortuitous help of the Merry Men, rescued half a dozen children from a dank, noxious cellar, whisking them away from a life of maltreatment, abuse, and forced thievery. Now it’s a hideout Robin of Locksley shares with the Merry Men—as peculiar a thought as it is for him to find himself sharing common ground with them, or anyone at all for that matter, both literally and figuratively.

 It’s this house Robin heads for, ramshackle though it is in its half-fixed up state.

 The hinges creak as he falls through the door and pushes against it with his entire weight to shut the cold out again. The wind blows through chinks in the windows and wails ominously in the chimney. Cosy this place is not, but it’ll have to do.

 Robin heads for the bedroom stacked high with warm furs for emergencies such as this one, wondering just how cold the bed will be before it warms from body heat under the many layers as he steps close and throws back the covers.

 Only there’s already someone lying there.

To walk among ruins and breathe the stench of death brings forth memories that make Regina’s insides squirm and her skin crawl.

 Not even her magic was fast enough—the orphanage had been all but reduced to ashes by the time she materialised at the scene. Despite the Merry Men’s speedy reaction and concentrated efforts, the best they could do was make sure no one burned inside. There was one casualty nonetheless—the caretaker, a kindly woman by the name of Flora, had succumbed to injuries sustained, no doubt, while she was trying to secure her charges’ safe escape.

 The trouble is, they’ve found not a soul in the vicinity of the orphanage that should have been full of children.

 Even now, they’re combing the forest for tracks or traces of the missing children—despite chances of success being slim to none in the wake of the slowly abating blizzard. While they have nothing of the children, a locator spell is out of the question, and so Regina’s set out to inspect the rubble, looking for a charred toy or scrap of clothing, wishing with all her might it’s not a charred body she stumbles upon instead.

 Deflecting the ugly thoughts, she opts for a methodical approach that doesn’t require concentration, and directs her mind elsewhere.

 To a certain man of the forest, not to be bested by a mere storm.

 Or at least that’s what she tells herself to ease her guilt.

 Because Robin wouldn’t be out there in the first place if it hadn’t been for their quarrel earlier, would he?

 Truth be told, Regina’s never been much of a Christmas enthusiast. With the exception of her youngest years and then Henry’s, she’s been ambivalent at best about the holiday. Robin, however, has been a regular Ebenezer Scrooge—so much so she almost expected him to growl humbug at her one of these days instead of his usual bollocks.

 Still, as hurtful as Robin’s outburst was, she can’t deny his observation was astute. It’s not like her to go so sentimentally overboard with the trimmings and trappings—that, she rolls her eyes with much less, would be Snow White’s domain—but this time she undoubtedly has. And now that she’s exhausted both her ideas for decorations and herself in general, Regina has no choice but to confront the truth and put her true motivations under scrutiny.

 Robin had sulked and grumbled at the very mention of festivities in any shape and form, and even though Regina had qualms about the holiday herself, it mattered a great deal to her how this time most often associated with love and cheer pans out in what they’ve yet to call, but what to her very much already is, their family.

 And it’s not like she was forcing him to participate, or even to do so under the guise of her holiday rather than his—she’d have been perfectly content to adopt his holiday traditions, be it winter solstice or Yule or pretty much anything else, if only he had any. But he seemed to have none, and showed not the least bit interest. Surely the plethora of Christmas songs and movies Regina’d been subjected to in Storybrooke had given her the tools to explain the true meaning of the holiday to Robin? Perhaps in time, with the aid of festive surroundings, it’d work its magic. Roland sure was looking forward to the unique fusion of observances from each holiday, and she certainly wasn’t going to disappoint him. So she may have taken things to the extreme—so what?

 Well, it seemed to piss Robin the hell off, for one—the exact opposite of its desired effect. And she should probably have caught on to that, shouldn’t she?

 Which in itself bears a highly unpleasant question she’d rather not delve into… But hurling fireballs left and right is hardly an acceptable coping mechanism anymore—the pitfalls of being a redeeming villain.

 Was it really Robin she was trying to cheer up—or was it herself?

 But there’s no time to dwell, because the old, crumbling, out of use stables Regina’s worked her way to reveal a peculiar sight.

 A rope is drawn from one end of the best-preserved stall to the other, boasting wet laundry covered in soot, and a bed—or perhaps nest would be more accurate—is made up in the humble layer of hay strewn in the dirt. A jug of milk stands in one corner, half a loaf of bread in the other, and just as she steps in, a field mouse’s tail flashes by as the rodent flees with a chunk of cheese.

 A muffled gasp carries from beyond the wall.

 “Show yourself,” Regina commands, a fireball springing to life in her palm. “Are you responsible for this?”

 Hasty rustling is followed by scampering, and a young girl emerges apprehensively, drawing herself to her full height as she stands between Regina and the caved in stall.

 “I didn’t set the fire, madame, I swear!” She cowers slightly under Regina’s withering glare, hands folding instinctively atop her round belly. “I was just trying to help.”

 A pang of regret—untypical, yet not unheard of anymore—shoots through Regina, and her voice comes out considerably milder though still borderline suspicious.

 “How did you know then? The Merry Men’s camp is closest, yet still not close enough.”

 “I sleep in here sometimes,” the girl shrugs, as if there could ever be a universe where such a thing is even remotely acceptable. “Flora can’t put me up because I’m already of age, and no one else will have me because—because of my obvious disgrace.”

 Regina’s nostrils flare in indignation—but not over the girl’s condition.

 “I wouldn’t call being with child a disgrace.”

 “I’m unwed.”

 “I figured. And it shouldn’t matter.”

 The girl regards her with deference still, but her hands drop to her sides, one reaching to rub the small of her back as her face twists in discomfort.

 “I spend a lot of time around the orphanage,” she admits. Regina’s declaration must have gained her some amount of trust, because she offers more. “I came the moment I smelled smoke. Bambi likes to sneak away to explore the forest, so I thought the others may have lost sight of him, and went to check.”

 Regina can’t help it—the image of a cartoon deer pushes absurdly to the forefront of her mind—until the girl steps aside, clearing her view of the stall.

 Inside it sits a baby boy, tufts of hair sticking up adorably, grabby hands waving about fistfuls of hay, his mouth hanging open in rapture or surprise or both.

 “That’s Bambi,” smiles the girl. “And I’m Fantine.”

Robin stares down at the two figures huddled under the furs, blinking up at him fearfully in the flickering candlelight. He’s seen them both before. They’d been scared then, too, of their captors, and suspicious at first of their rescuers—except for Regina, who clearly had a way with children. She’d not only managed to learn their names but to gain trust and provide comfort mere minutes after a near-deadly injury sustained in their defence.

 “Oliver, is it?” Robin says as a memory stirs, of Regina addressing the boy from her sickbed.

 When Oliver nods, Robin squints at his companion—there’s not a chance in hell of getting his name right, or even making an (ill-)informed guess. The boy grins in his too-big, too-adult clothes, adjusting the hat perched precariously on his head even as he leans against the headboard.

 “Dodger,” he says with would-be nonchalance—a truly flimsy effort to hide his obvious pride. “Artful Dodger. And you, unless I’m mistaken, are Robin of Locskley.”

 Oh, he’s a shrewd one, isn’t he. Proud of his skill, even though he didn’t choose the trade but had it thrust upon him. Robin doesn’t fault him for that—how could he?

 “That’s Prince of Thieves for you,” he counters. “Since we’re doing titles.”

 “Sorry, sir,” pipes up Oliver, offering Robin half of his stack of furs. “Jack here is having a bit of a hard time adjusting to a lawful life.”

 “I like me a good sleight of hand,” shrugs Jack, much to Robin’s—probably all too obvious, and Regina would surely roll her eyes at him—amusement.

 She’s visited the orphanage a couple of times, Regina, to check on the children rescued from this very house. Robin’s been reluctant to get up close and personal just yet, but he’s done his bit to help from afar, with generous donations liberated from rich bastards’ pockets, wondering if he even has more to offer to these children anyway—especially if they’re all like Roland’s little friend, who at barely six is a more formidable reader than Robin had ever hoped to be.

 Roland, though a point of contention between him and Regina at first, is a shocking enough addition into Robin’s life.

 Perhaps the most strain their forming relationship has undergone so far had been in the wake of Regina’s clandestine meetings with Other Robin’s child behind Robin’s back. Why did she do it? What did she hope to accomplish by bringing the boy into their lives? Was this the shadow of his father looming over them again? He feared—and fumed at—the thought he may be expected to stand in that man’s shoes because his own weren’t deemed big enough. Then there’d been the fact that, for reasons that had nothing whatsoever to do with Roland specifically, Robin had resolved years ago he was no good with children and to never ever take on the role of a parent.

 Look at him now—teaching the boy to hunt and shoot and track alongside his merry uncles. It’s taken a while, finding the right balance, the right dynamic for them that doesn’t feel like encroaching upon Other Robin’s space. They’re more uncle-nephew than father-son, and much to Robin’s surprise, it seems to work rather well most of the time.

 How does one treat two young fellows on the run though, that’s a whole another question.

 “Has your lot not improved, for you to have fled here of all places?”

 “Oh, but it has. A whole lot.”

 “And now we’re homeless, ain’t we? The fire’s destroyed everythin’.” The mischievous light in the Dodger’s eyes dims.

 “The fire?” Well, shit. Does Regina know yet? Is anyone taking care of the kids? Are they safe? “But where’d the others go?”

 “We got separated,” Oliver sighs miserably. “Pippi, Tom and Huck wanted to flee on water—they’ve been building this boat for weeks now, you see. They said we could just row upstream and have an adventure.”

 Well, building a boat is an admirable goal and Robin is rather impressed with the three youngsters, and the siren call of adventure is all too familiar to him, but rowing up the mere trickle of a rocky stream in even the best boat laden with three kids is much too far-fetched in the most favourable conditions.

 “I don’t trust those treacherous vessels though, and nor does Oliver. I trust my own two feet better. Dry land only for the Artful Dodger, thank you very much. So we parted ways.”

 And while that was probably a smart decision on the twosome’s part, the three friends will not have gotten far in that boat—especially not in a bloody blizzard. Where would they have gone after their plan’d inevitably failed? Would they have found shelter? A way out of the woods? And what about the rest? Regina’d spoken of thirteen children altogether housed and raised by one Miss Flora. Are they all wandering in the woods in this calamity?

 Thirteen in total, five somewhat accounted for, only two of them decidedly safe.

 They’re not the first children to run from calamity, subjecting themselves to a dozen other potential dangers; not the first on Robin’s mind either. His brother Will’d had his young, tortured life cut short, thanks to their complete and utter abomination of a father, by an unfortunate tumble down a ditch, with no family there to see him off to the afterlife. Robin’s never quite forgiven himself for not doing more to protect Will, although oddly enough the debilitating guilt has eased somewhat since he’d confided in Regina, the first and only person to hear him tell the tale.

 Just a lad himself back then, he hadn’t been able to help his brother; but he’s a grown man now, and he can do for these kids what his younger self couldn’t.

 And he’s not going to stop until every last one of them is safe, and sound, and home.

He should probably offer some words of comfort, but Robin’s a man of action, not pretty prose, and frankly he’s not sure what to say to these poor devils, orphaned and homeless, that could possibly make them feel better.

 Jack and Oliver tread dutifully after him, soot-covered cheeks peeking from furs as cumbersome as they are warm. The blizzard has lulled to a gentle snowfall, with thick, fat, fluffy flakes drifting and adding to the crunchy layer underfoot. Other than the crunch of their steps and the babbling of the brook, the forest is eerily quiet. An owl sits in a tall pine, stirring and hooting indignantly as Robin’s shoulder brushes against the lower branches and upsets its balance.

 A tree towers in Regina’s drawing room, and sitting in its shade unwrapping gifts, warm and—yes—loved, doesn’t seem so bad an ordeal right now. Ludicrous, he’d called this Christmas of hers—and every other holiday, winter or otherwise. He doesn’t discriminate; he detests them all. When had he become so bitter anyway?

 They’re meant to be celebrated with family, and he hadn’t had one since his youth—and even then it had been plagued with his father’s perpetual ire. But he’s no longer alone. He has someone who cares enough to go out of her way for him now, to try and make the winter festivities enjoyable—even if she’s a tad too pushy about it at times. At least she’s putting in the effort; all he’s done is shoot it down and turn more and more into himself. He’s prone to brooding; she’s quick to take offence. How, then, can they hope to reach an understanding?

 “Look—that’s their boat!” Oliver shouts gleefully, pointing ahead.

 Or what’s left of it anyway—for as they approach, they’re greeted by a gaping hole in the hull, and a large chunk of the starboard pried off. The former is easily explained; the latter, not so much.

 “They’ve come this far,” he says, genuinely impressed. “That’s more than I thought possible. Now come along, they can’t be too far off—if I’m not mistaken, they’re lugging quite some weight with them.”

 His words, or more likely the prospect of reuniting with friends, seem to inspire renewed courage in the boys, who follow closely, the Dodger even nodding in agreement—or possibly just giving his head a well-practised twitch to keep his trusty hat on.

 There are no tracks to speak of—they must have come ashore before the storm was over—but Robin keeps his eyes and nose trained for traces of smoke. If his theory’s right, there’s bound to be plenty to give the crew’s position away.

 Sure enough, just a half a mile onward, his nostrils catch the characteristic smell of burning wet fir; a few dozen step closer, and his straining ears pick up voices. With a meaningful glance at each other, the three of them approach.

 “Are they…singing?” Oliver puzzles, and the Dodger bounds forth with a shit-eating grin.

 And singing they are—terribly loudly, awfully off key, the words slurred beyond recognition. Robin recognises the symptoms at once, even without Jack’s delighted:

 “Look at the lot of ‘em! Werily inebriated!”

 It takes quite a bit of wheedling to gather where the three’d come to the wine, but the rest doesn’t take a genius to figure out: they’d fled, got shipwrecked, took what they could from the damaged boat for firewood, and used the stash of wine to help stave off the cold. And now Robin has five youngsters on his hands, three of them giggling drunkenly, swaying on their feet as they hold on to each other.

 Bloody brilliant.

Regina watches Fantine wolf down her second bowl of stew as she dries Bambi off after his bath. Covered in suds head to foot, the simple dress she changed into for just that reason looks freshly washed rather than worn, but she doesn’t mind at all. Not with a warm, squeaky clean, happily babbling toddler on her hip and a ravenous mother-to-be smiling gratefully as she has a third helping pushed towards her.

 They’re staying at the castle for the night, Regina told the girl firmly, and for every night after until a suitable place is found for them to stay. There is room enough for the two, and all the other children left—again—without a roof over their heads. Or there will be, as soon as they’re found.

 The thick fog settling upon the forest is by no means helpful to the mission. Regina’s just put Bambi down for the night for the third time and retreated to her study, rolling up her metaphorical sleeves—wouldn’t want to do that to her actual velvet ones—to look for a magical solution, when the door is thrown open and in walks—

 “Robin!” He’s covered in snow, hoarfrost melting off his stubble, and his weary steps leave puddles in his wake. Having mud tracked on her pristine floors has never left her colder, and she doesn’t even have it in her to tone down her elation as she meets him halfway and melts into his waiting arms. She shivers at the contact—he’s getting her cold and wet (usually he gets her hot and wet, and this seems like an odd thought to have right now—what’s wrong with you, Regina?) Gods, she was so worried—the fight, and then all the snow, and the fire only added to the ominous sense of doom hanging over her, and: “How did you—?”

 “Get here through the sodding fog-infested woods?” he smirks, wasting no time to bury his fingers in her hair. “Well, Your Majesty, I stand corrected—those magical twinkling lights are not such a pointless endeavour after all. The ones strung along the forest paths have been especially helpful in finding our way home.”

 Our way?

 He grins in response to her raised eyebrow.

 “I have five youngsters in the kitchens, ready for supper and,” he adds with a grimace, “for three of them, hopefully a hangover remedy.”

 Regina’s mouth hangs open—though not for long. Unfortunately, she has a good idea of just who the culprits might be even before they make their way to the kitchens ringing with laughter and series of whoops.

 “Ha,” calls a voice Regina recognises even without the customary lofty words. “What a way to honour a dare! Wery ‘spectable indeed.”

 She barges in, with Robin in tow, just in time to see Pippi, Huck and Tom huddled under the mistletoe, decidedly unsteady and clutching half-spilled flasks of clear, cold water. Of course it’s the three of them—it’s always the three of them, if their poor late caretaker is to be believed.

 “You just focus on that drumstick, Jack,” she tells the boy, who tears off a hearty chunk of meat with his teeth and salutes her with a cup of cider, “while I sort the rest of you out.”

 “Jus’ to be clear,” slurs Pippi, spunky as ever, twirling her ginger braids absently into ever odder shapes, “no kisses for me. Not even on a dare. I’m a snog-free zone. They did the kiss-kissing,” she adds on a hiccough, pointing at Huck and Tom, each leaning on the other to stand somewhat upright, while Pippi remains surprisingly lucid for her state.

 “It doesn’t matter who kissed whom,” Regina states categorically. “What matters is you’re way too young to be drunk.”

 Part of her considered letting them suffer the full consequences to teach them a lesson about excessive drinking, but she dismissed the idea quickly—they have enough on their plates already, and Flora’s loss is going to be a bitter pill to swallow. Besides, if what they told Robin is true, they hadn’t delved into the wine just for laughs and giggles but to get through a rough winter night alone in the open. There’s a time for tough love, but this is not it. If she can help ease these kids’ suffering in any way, she’s damn sure going to try.

 Robin may have enquired about a hangover remedy, but Regina has something better—something to settle their stomachs, soften the symptoms, and let them sleep it off and wake up as good as new.

 “Now, Penelope, kindly drink up. You as well, misters.”

Regina hands them each a steaming mug filled to the brim, and exchanges a meaningful glance with Robin when the trio cough and sputter in unison, cursing and complaining profusely, if inarticulately, about the atrocious taste. Robin can barely hold his smirk, and she merely returns a smug smile of her own. Just because she wants to spare them the brunt of a hangover doesn’t mean they should get off entirely without a lesson, does it?

 The mugs clatter to the ground, empty now but retaining a foul stench, and the patients sink onto the bench with plaintive groans.

 “Right, I’ll carry this one to bed,” Robin grumbles, but it’s entirely without bite. The boys’ drooping eyelids choose that moment to seal shut, heads dropping onto the table. He sighs melodramatically. “And then I’ll come back for the others.”

 Regina’s heart flutters. Who does Robin think he’s fooling anyway, gentle as he is lifting the dozing Oliver from his seat?

 “What a silly dare,” mumbles Pippi as Regina helps her to her feet. “As if they didn’t already kiss whenever they think no one’s watching.”

By far his favourite thing—and, judging by the way she clearly enjoys ravaging him in return, her favourite as well—about their arguments is the steamy make-up sex that inevitably follows. Robin’s lying sprawled across the bed, sated and spent, fighting to keep his eyes open long enough to fall asleep alongside Regina. It’s been a long day after all, and they’ve an even longer one ahead with seven more children unaccounted for and a full-scale search and rescue awaiting them. 

“What sort of name is Bambi anyway?” Robin muses as he watches Regina comb her hair before retiring for the night. He’s missed this—the bedtime ritual that’s as soothing as it is sensual.

 Fuck, he loves her.

 Not that he’s had the guts to tell her yet.

 “Well, his given name is Barnaby. Fantine tells me the nickname comes from his mispronouncing bumblebee.” She smiles wistfully, rubbing lotion into her hands. “He’s quite the nature lover.”

 Robin, preoccupied with tamping down the urge to pull her back into the sheets and make his confession the best way he knows how—with his hands, and mouth, and cock—takes a while to answer. Only when her practised movements still and her eyes settle on his reflection in the mirror of her vanity does he realise she’s tensed up waiting for his response. Quite the nature lover, eh? He feels a the tiniest prick of panic at what she may be suggesting—is she pointing out the similarity between them for a specific reason?—but the deepening crease in her forehead tells him she doesn’t mean to press or push him into anything, and also that she’s already afraid he’s taking her words to mean exactly the opposite.

 But they’ve been through this, been through their fair share of heart to hearts, because despite the obvious merits of make-up sex, it doesn’t actually solve problems. So they’ve been learning to communicate, to talk and listen to the other, and to—who’d have thought—compromise. She knows how he feels about children and why, and he trusts her promise to let him do things at his own pace.

 “Little tyke has good taste then,” he winks at her, stretching on the too-empty bed.

 She breathes a sigh of relief—not loud enough to hear, but he can make out this sort of thing just by the set of her shoulders and the slope of her neck, can see the tension leaving her body. (Holy shit, he needs to just tell her how he feels already; he knows she feels the same…right?)

 “You don’t mind, do you?” she asks, biting her lip. “Having them stay with us? Only until we find them a new home.”

 And what kind of monster would deny a homeless orphan a roof and a bed in a spacious castle with hundreds of rooms?

 “No. I don’t mind.” Robin feels the truth of his reply loosening something inside him, lifting a burden long weighing upon him. He’s not lying, or wishful thinking, and the knowledge that he’s now at a place where that’s his truth makes him feel lighter than the feather loosened from one of the pillows during their passionate romp. “I don’t mind one bit.”

 She smiles down at him, and, finally, climbs back into bed, into sheets still warm and arms already aching for her.

 “About the lights, and the holiday—” she whispers hesitantly.

 “We should revisit that,” he agrees with a sigh. "Only—could we postpone it till tomorrow? I’m dead on my feet, and these sheets are soft and warm…”

 She teases back with a sleepy but husky you had plenty of energy before that makes warmth pool in his belly and a chuckle rumble out of him—and then she’s curling up against him, tangling her legs with his the way she likes.

 Yes, the sheets are soft and warm…

 Almost as soft and warm as she is, he thinks vaguely as he nuzzles into her mere moments before sleep pulls him under.

For hours, they’ve been wading knee-deep in snow.

 Regina, Robin, the Merry Men, and a handful of volunteers from the nearest village had set out at daybreak, chilled almost to the bone despite thick furs, bright torches, and flasks snapped to their belts with tea and spirits in ample supply. And if they suffer from the cold this much, how do the children fate out there, at the mercy of the elements for days now? John and Tuck uncover a few well-preserved tracks here and there, but never consistent enough to actually follow.

 The first real breakthrough doesn’t come until midday. Robin’s broken off from the group to inspect a shrub that seems perfectly ordinary to everyone else—but within seconds, he’s waving them over.

 “See that?” he points at a broken twig. Little John immediately regains his formerly dwindling enthusiasm at the sight. “That’s not how branches snap naturally.”

 “Someone’s been marking the way,” Regina surmises.

 And so it seems, for the trail continues for the next mile or so—long enough that they all learn to recognise the pattern and advance quickly. They dodge bulks of snow sliding off overburdened boughs, and take it in turns to call the children’s names until their voices go hoarse—to no avail. Just as numbness threatens to descend on the company again, Regina senses the stirrings of something else, too.

 “We’ve no more left to go on,” Robin tells her, silently fuming.

 Regina quite understands the frustration, but shakes her head all the same.

 “Maybe we do,” she says absent-mindedly, following a trail invisible to the eyes but as tangible to her as physical tracks are to him.

 Traces of magic linger in the air, clinging to trees and shrubs, guiding her onward. In her few visits, none of the orphanage’s residents ever confided in her about being magical. Perhaps they’d never told anyone—or didn’t know themselves. She only hopes they’re safe—untrained magic, unharnessed magic, can be unpredictable.

 The group follows Regina at a distance, letting her feel her way through the forest as if she were guided by an invisible thread.

 “She’s turning around,” Robin observes, walking quietly behind her. “Heading towards the castle.”

 “They are. Everyone’s magic has an element unique to them,” Regina explains, her breath rising in little puffs. “Like a signature, or a footprint. The traces I’m picking up are from multiple practitioners.”

 “How many?”

 “Two at least. Possibly three, with the third being accidental use, so it’s impossible to tell for sure. And, of course, there might be more—but they either don’t have magic or haven’t used it.”

 Dusk creeps up on them, and an eye blink later darkness engulfs the world. They keep going, their trail marked by magic, then broken twigs, then magic again—until they come across a fork in the road. The path on the left leads to the castle; on the right, deeper into the forest.

 “I would’ve gone right,” says Robin.

 “But the castle—”

 “Was too far away for them to reach by day. If they knew these woods at all, they’d have gone right. There’s a clearing there, ample water from a stream and a cave just big enough to make a fire and spend the night.”

 “Fine, to the right it is. Just stay behind me—there might be protective magic ahead, and I think we agree the last thing we need is a freak acci—”

 Regina stops mid-sentence, her breath catching as a peculiar charge resonates through the air. With every step, the air seems to grow warmer, until her heavy mantle becomes a hindrance rather than necessary protection. The snow begins to melt, giving way to dirt and dead leaves and tufts of grass, and instead of her breath coming in clouds, sweat beads on Regina’s forehead and wisps of hair curl and cling to her face.

 The others call after her, worry lacing their voices at the inexplicable phenomenon, but she gestures for them to stay put. Magic is clearly at play here—powerful magic at that. Either one of the children has powers, possibly unmastered, the likes of which Regina hasn’t seen before, or they’re up against a mighty enemy. Either way, caution is paramount, and she’s not taking unnecessary risks when others hang in the balance (her other half would be proud).

 When she peers onto the clearing Robin has told her about, there’s no trace of snow anywhere. The air smells of rain, of apple blossoms and freshly awoken earth, and of spring. Smack-dab in the middle, a rabbit is roasting on a spit over bright red embers, and four girls sit huddled around the fire, laughing.

 “Isa’s going to get us home tomorrow with her latest invention.”

 “It’s not my invention, Elena,” Isabel chimes in. “Just an improvised compass. Anyone could make one.”

 “Not just anyone—but you can. Diana’s kept us fed, Ororo’s kept us warm—”

 “And you’ve helped mark the way for others,” Diana adds sweetly.

 “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” says Elena, ruffling her hair affectionately.

 “You really do,” Regina gives them, impressed, as she steps into the clearing. “Now let’s get you back to the castle, shall we?”

The trek back is a joyous one, the mood hopeful again now that four more of the thirteen have been uncovered with not a hair on their heads harmed.

 Isabel is a real chatterbox, and fills them in on the details of their adventure, starting from the moment they rushed off into the woods in the commencing snowstorm. They were trying to get away from the fire, but soon became disoriented in the blinding snow. Lacking provisions, tough little Diana took to hunting, while Elena gathered herbs and roots. Isabel unearthed the materials to assemble a makeshift compass, and Ororo at long last managed to create their own weather bubble once they made camp for the night. Working together, they would have made it back the very next day, even without outside help.

 Despite the largely successful day, Regina can’t help but think of those still stranded somewhere. Judging by his deeply furrowed brow, Robin has the same pessimistic streak taking over.

 “Three to go,” he says under his breath as his hand brushes hers. Despite the double gloves hindering direct contact, she still draws comfort from the gesture. “Third day out there tomorrow.”

 He’s gritting his teeth, working his jaw, tense to the point of snapping, and Regina knows why, remembers the night he’d chosen to tell the tragic story of his brother’s untimely death.

 “Robin,” she tells him firmly, “we’re getting them back.”

 “False hope is worse than none,” he says darkly.

 “I quite agree.” That’s not what this is though. (And when did she become the one giving hope speeches?) “I think one of them has magic. That’s who they were marking the way magically for.”

 Robin nods, though his shoulders are still way too squared for him to be even remotely relaxed at the thought.

 Magic, while not the be-all and end-all, can definitely tilt the scales for the missing trio, and Regina is somewhat relieved the kids have some on their side. She directs her eyes to the front of the group, where Little John is leading the way with Elena, Isabel and Diana walking swiftly by and, it would appear, showering the Merry Men in questions about living in the wild. Diana soaks it all up like a sponge, savvy already with traps and snares and all manner of survival techniques. If Isa’s sharp, to-the-point queries are any indications, she’s about ready to begin constructing some latest invention, perhaps to enhance the fire-making technique, or—

 “Say you had a straw you could use to drink from puddles without getting sick,” Isabel muses to Friar Tuck, her pace brisk with sparking excitement. “Or a collapsible bottle that doesn’t take up much space when emptied!”

 The trek is a joyous one at first, but one person has completely isolated themselves even amid company—Ororo is walking with her eyes trained on her feet, her face hidden behind a curtain of braids.

 “You’re awfully quiet,” Regina says softly, careful to keep any trace of accusation from her voice.

 The girl still flinches. One brief glance at Regina, and she’s retreating again.

 “Regina?” Elena falls back to walk by her side. “Your Majesty?”

 “Just Regina’s fine.”

 “I was just wondering,” Elena says, clutching the cape over her red dress, “what happened to the others?”

 Regina exchanges a look with Robin. She hates to be the bearer of bad news (oh how the tables have turned), even though she’s obviously seen the question coming. It’s no surprise that Elena is the one to ask, either—as a once heiress of a small kingdom, she’d have been taught to take an interest in her people. So Regina gives them the facts, desperately trying to strike the right balance between objective and sensitive, to not keep the truth from them but to be considerate of their feelings.

 A hush falls over the previously chatty group.

 Ororo rushes forward, face averted, and doesn’t speak a word for the rest of the way.

If the return journey and subsequent reunion were a joyous affair, dinner is a subdued one.

 The dent left by those missing among them is palpable. Four seats are left unoccupied—one for each missing child, and the last one for Miss Flora, sorely missed.

 The silence is only interrupted by the clattering of spoons and—or so it seems to Regina—heavy swallowing. The festive surroundings do nothing to lift their spirits, but merely underline the tragedy of the moment instead. Regina wishes she’d never put those damn decorations up. Perhaps she’ll burn them to the ground after the children’s bedtime. Yes, that’s an appealing idea. She can’t fucking wait.

 On her left, Robin pushes away his unfinished plate, reaching for the jug of ale for yet another refill. Regina slips her hand under the table and finds his fingers—his fist is clenching and unclenching, digging into his thigh, so it takes some effort to gently tease them free and lace them with hers. He grabs on to her as if his life depended on it, throwing her a tortured look. His eyes dart from their joined hands to where he’s clutching his ale, and he lowers the untouched goblet with a sigh. Regina exhales, squeezes his hand, and scoots imperceptibly—or perhaps not, she finds she doesn’t really care—closer on the bench, enough for their thighs to touch. It might be her imagination only, but he seems to breathe more freely.

“Majesty?” Roland pipes up, leaning his curly head against her side. His fork’s been drawing nonsensical patterns into his mashed potatoes for the better part of the evening. “What if Tillie never comes back?”

 “Tillie’s coming back.”

 Roland sniffles, then lets out a small whimper that shoots straight into Regina’s heart and cleaves it in two.

 “That’s what my Papa said, too.”

 Shit, there’s that sting of tears in her eyes now. Shit.

 Robin steps up then, reaching behind her back to pat Roland’s little shoulders. It’s clumsy, but it’s genuine, and the child collapses into Regina’s side, burying his head in the folds of her skirt as she strokes his hair and says nothing at all, because she’s too choked up to get a word out and even if she weren’t, what is there really to say?

 Shuffling feet begin to file discreetly, miserably, out of the dining hall, shepherded by Fantine and Friar Tuck. Warm beds await them, and hopefully better news to wake up to. Perhaps even a Regina who has her shit together again and can actually be of some use to them, not this useless, pathetic—

 “I summoned the blizzard.”

 Three heads shoot up in unison.

 They thought they were alone, but no—Ororo is standing in front of them, her face stricken with guilt and eyes ablaze with defiance.

 “It was meant to be rain!” she exclaims. “It was meant to put out the fire, not make everything worse.”

 “Was this the first time you used your magic to manipulate the weather?” Regina asks, her voice almost level.

 “Of course I’ve done it before, I’ve used it since I was twelve, but never for anything this big. Never with the stakes so high. And I fucked up, and now Flora’s dead, and who knows how many mo—”

 A howling, barking cacophony descends upon them, the royal kennel apparently going out of their way to render them all deaf. Robin’s jumped to his feet and made it halfway to the double door when a series of short barks rings through the marble halls, followed by high-pitched voices.

 “Sandy!” shouts Roland. “That’s Sandy!”

 A golden-brown mutt with pointy ears bounds into the dining hall, slipping on the polished floor and knocking plates off the nearest table—and in its wake come three pairs of scuttling feet, shoes and stockings drenched.

 “Tillie!”

 Glass shatters as Roland slides from his bench and over the tabletop, winding up in a heap of arms and legs that is him, Matilda, Annie, Salima, and Ororo.

 “Are dogs allowed in the dining hall, Your Majesty?” Robin smirks, doing absolutely nothing to stop said dog from gobbling up their food and frolicking in overturned bowls. But that teasing spark’s back in his eyes, that insufferable—and really, really attractive—arch of his brow back in place, and Regina feels a veritable boulder lifted off her shoulders.

 “After she’s led three kids out of the woods?” she throws back. “The dog can do whatever she damn well pleases.”

The stars fade along with the strings of fairy lights crisscrossing the Enchanted Forest. Daybreak approaches, bringing with it a chilly breeze that raises goosebumps on Regina’s bare shoulder. She presses back into him, and Robin pulls the warm furs tighter around them. He’s not a sentimental man—or he used to not be one—but there’s just something about a sunrise. Something reassuring. Something that seems only amplified when savoured with the exquisite woman in his arms.

 “Was this the traditional Christmas then?” he asks softly. In this moment in time, there’s no bitterness left in him, no ill will towards celebrations. A pleasant weariness, yes, and an odd sort of calm he’s never quite experienced before.

 Shortly after the miraculous reappearance of the last missing children, their pyjama-clad friends poured back into the dining hall amid shouts of joy, tackle-hugs, and endless recountings of everyone’s adventures.

 Obviously there could be no thought of sleep anymore. Regina had the festive menu served on the spot, and after a scrumptious meal, when every last crumb was cleared off the many plates and platters, the company moved into the drawing room. Robin may not have been keen on the idea of a grand celebration, but even he couldn’t help but indulge once they were all seated amid cosy cushions, drowsy and drunk on eggnog—or so the children thought, for Regina’d made sure not a drop of liquor touched their cups (the triple terror—Pippi, Huck, and Tom—gave even those perfectly safe beverages a wide berth).

 The braver and more sweet-toothed amongst them roasted chestnuts on an open fire in the courtyard, where the Merry Men had temporarily moved their camp so Roland wouldn’t be torn between two parts of his family. The Yule log, put out the day of the fire at Roland’s request, served them well as a makeshift bench, and gradually even the cautious ones filed out to stargaze and rush back in for warm furs and hot chocolate.

 Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, a few of them casually—or hopefully—alluded to the castle as their new home. Regina and Robin exchanged a look—and didn’t correct them.

 Robin’s favourite part of the night, however, is this, right now: standing on the balcony with the woman he loves. Yes—loves. Once scary, the realisation now fills him with keen anticipation.

 “Not traditional in the least,” she chuckles. “Was it all right for you?”

 “Yeah.” He exhales a long, deep breath. This still doesn’t come easily to him—but damn if he won’t at least try. “Look, I shouldn’t have shat all over something that clearly mattered quite a bit to you. If it’s the perfect trimmings and trappings you want, then perfect you shall have.”

 Regina squirms, surveying the artificial icicles and ice sculptures lining the courtyard below.

 “It’s not about that,” she shakes her head in frustration. “I wanted it to be perfect because I hoped it would—I don’t know, magically infect us with good cheer. You said your family holidays always sucked. Which I assume is why you were so averse to the idea of it in the first place.” She sighs as he sucks a kiss, then two, then three, down her neck, humming his agreement. “You know what the irony is? My Christmases as a child used to be just like this. Extravagant. Perfect on the surface. But underneath…just, strife. I don’t want that for us.”

 Bloody hell, their parents really were quite something, weren’t they? They fucked them up good and proper. But not staying that way is a choice only they get to make—no one, not even a tyrannical parent, can take that away from them.

 “Then we shan’t have that,” he tells her. “We can pick and choose, yeah? Create traditions of our own. I promise not to be a complete arse about it next time.”

 She laughs at that, tells him she’ll believe it when she sees it, and turns her head just enough for a kiss—sloppy and awkward, but there’s tongue nonetheless, and gods, what a minx.

 And she’s his?

 “Do you miss your family? In Storybrooke, I mean.”

 She hesitates, but it’s not the trap she’s likely trying to avoid. Just an acknowledgement of what she’s given up, and how that must feel particularly this time of the year.

 “I—”

 “Wish Henry were here?”

 “Well, maybe not here,” she quips, rubbing her delectable rear against his crotch. “But yes, it would’ve been nice to see him.”

 The sun is rising over the forest, spilling soft golden light over the pristine snow, blinding and shimmery. The dazzling spectacle is in stark contrast with the raging calamity of mere days ago. A calamity, as it’d turned out, not entirely natural.

“You knew about the snowstorm.”

 Looking back, it all makes sense—the timely onset, the wild intensity, and the girl’s evasiveness.

 “I guessed,” she shrugs. “It’s easier to spot magic when you have magic yourself.”

 “Will you teach her?”

 “I’ll try if she asks me to, but I don’t think I have much to offer. Ororo’s magic is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. She’d be better off with a mentor who knows what they’re dealing with.”

 And because there’s no one like a thief to spot a fellow thief, Robin has an observation of his own to share.

 “She happens to be quite the skilled pickpocket as well. Nicked my handkerchief. I almost didn’t notice.”

 “Almost?” she teases, elbowing him in the ribs playfully. “Am I supposed to believe you just let her have it?”

 For a moment he hesitates. He could play it the usual way, the safe way, and counter with a joke. Or he can go down the other, less-trodden path, and show her another piece of himself he’s only just discovered himself.

 “She gave it to Roland,” he says quietly.

 For the longest time, Regina doesn’t respond. Her hands find his under the fur, sliding over his wrists, and her fingers wrap around his knuckles. Her voice is thick with emotion when she finally does speak.

 “And you think you’re no good with children.”

 How does she have so much faith in him, and see good where he sees none? He used to think it was because of Other Robin—and it may well be, but not the way he believed. It’s not that she sees him, Robin of Locksley, as a mere shadow to be shaped in Other Robin’s image. Their—for lack of a better word—other halves had the roles reversed: it would be Robin who’d have faith in Regina even when she doubted herself. And this Regina, well, she’s doing the same for him.

 He can’t help wondering if perhaps she’s wrong about him after all.

 “I didn’t know what to tell them,” he confesses, ashamed yet relieved to finally get this off his chest. “To comfort them.”

 She turns in his arms then, stepping all over his feet in the process, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she looks him straight in the eye, her face both hard and soft at the same time, just like her heart—and his.

 “Most of these kids have heard plenty of promises in their lives, Robin,” she says darkly, “and had almost as many broken. They’re sick of empty promises. Actions speak louder than words to them—and you’ve been helping. Really helping.”

 A knot he wasn’t aware of loosens in his stomach, forming instead in his throat, and he swallows thickly to get rid of the nuisance.

 “They’re tough kids,” Robin muses, clearing his throat, and she nods. “Capable. They’d have gotten out of the forest without our help.”

 Much like Regina and himself, they’re each formidable on their own—but they’ve come to realise they’ll always be strongest as a team.

 He’s not entirely sure if it’s the comfort he finds in the thought, or perhaps the way the first sunlight illuminates her features, but Robin suddenly can’t contain it any longer.

 “I love you,” he blurts out before he could chicken out again; and before she’s the chance to react, he’s kissing her—deeply, passionately, with all the feeling he can muster, pouring it all into the meeting of lips and tangling of tongues. Their breathing grows heavy as kisses heat up and touches grow bold—and then she’s pushing him away, gently but surely, and Robin parts from her with a frown and a niggling worry at the pit of his stomach. Not for long though.

 “I love you,” she pants, eyes ablaze, as if she’d been holding back for ages—and she may well have been, waiting for him to be ready, to be sure of her and of himself—and then her lips are on his again, and everything else fades.

 The world is bathed in hues of pink and orange by the time they part again for more than a few shallow breaths. Somehow, at some point, they’ve relinquished their hold on the fur, which lies forgotten pooled at their feet as they find themselves standing on the balcony in all their naked glory, trembling in the morning chill.

 “Now then,” she arches a perfect brow at him, that devious smile playing on her lips. “Care to take your queen to bed, Thief?”

. . . 

Regina is dozing off with her back pressing into his chest when his world shifts again.

 “I’m glad you’re home,” she whispers with such vulnerability it knocks the breath out of him. All her darkest fears and brightest hopes are summed up in those few words she lays at his feet, and he can’t bear the thought of her doubting them for another second.

 Kissing along her jaw, he draws her closer, wrapping himself around her and relishing her contented hum as he buries his nose in soft, silky hair strewn across the pillow, cocooning himself in the delicious smell of her before he breathes:

 “Now I am.”

[inktae]

away from the sun

↳ soulmate au 

◇ pairing: taehyung | reader ◇ genre: fluff and soft angst ◇ word count: 20.409 ◇ warnings: none ◇ author’s note: this story involved a whole lot of research involving many topics (read on if you want to find out hehe). I tried to represent them in the best way I could, but there are probably a few inaccuracies, so I apologize in advance for that. anyway, this is just another long plot with a bit of cheese on the side. please enjoy :) 

Once every five years, when the June solstice arrives and graces the sky with the midnight sun, a comet dashes by.

It is more than just a blinking light that moves at an unhinged speed. According to what you’ve heard, it looks like it stills in the middle of the vastness of space, and its tail flickers and shimmies in long tendrils of vibrant colors full of meaning — a subtle force that speaks to the humans who look up to the stars and set their eyes on the glowing meteorite, unique but just as intense for every single gaze. It speaks of soulmates and fate, of heavy truths and indelible bonds.

Each person sees a different pool of colors. You’ve heard more than a thousand stories, of people who saw the colors of the fireplace and others who were seized by the soothing hues of woodland during dawn. You’ve read about colors that go from the red blush of a beach beneath the sunset to the ivory traces of a wintry hill covered in thick snow. The colors do not give them the name of their soulmates, but once they find their other half, they will see those rich tones reflected in their lover’s eyes.

It is the most fascinating fairytale you have ever heard, and you have a hard time accepting it is all real, even if it’s been a reality that has existed long before you were born. And even if you haven’t been able to stare at the comet with your own eyes, you still look up to the day of your twenty first birthday with a fervor that never dies down. Every time you close your eyes you can almost see the set of colors blinking back at you, thousands of kilometers away but nearer than ever.

And more than knowing how the eyes of your soulmate will look like, you long to feel that exhilaration others are able to describe so distinctly, of getting a glimpse of something that goes beyond anyone’s perception. Something that’s not quite human, yet still feels close to home.

“Hey, the sunset is almost here. Mom will scream at you if she sees you staring out of the window.”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you turn your head towards your older brother, giving him a guilty smile as you get off the windowsill of the living room. Seokjin stands under the threshold of the room with his hands inside his pockets, and his eyes do not hold the usual subtle mirth you always found comfort in. It is easy to read them, going by the way they keep flickering towards the scenery on the other side of the window.

“You look terrified,” your smiles turns more mischievous as you approach him, batting your eyes obnoxiously as he rolls his eyes. “We could trade places, you know. If you are not ready to look at the comet tonight, then I can do it.”

“You keep forgetting you’re only sixteen years old,” he ruffles your hair, fingers playfully digging through the strands and making you whine in pain. “Mom— or anyone with common sense, for that matter, would never let such a young teen look at it.”

“But you’re just eighteen,” you grumble, making him chuckle. “Besides, I’m sure half of my classmates are going to look at it in secret tonight.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules. Besides, you know it can be dangerous,” he removes his hand from your hair, smile vanishing as his lips form a straight line and his eyes turn serious. “Young people feel the colors more intensely, for some reason. Mom is just afraid you’d run away from home, or do something equally crazy.”

“As if,” you mutter, though you know Seokjin’s absolutely right. Albeit knowing yourself better than anyone, the looming fear of losing your sanity stops you from insisting.

“Waiting five more years seems painful, I know,” he cards his fingers through your hair again, but he’s gentle this time, a reassuring touch that eases some of your frustration away. “But you’ll be twenty one then, and much wiser than you are now. Hopefully.”

You swat his hand away at that, though the smile you give him lets him know his words have had a positive effect.

“Are you afraid because you’re eighteen, then?” you ask, finally voicing the doubt that’s been echoing in your mind ever since the day begun. He grimaces at that, and you know you’ve hit the right spot.

“I never said I was afraid,” he states, though his words fall flat when his voice wavers. “I mean, it is considered the youngest age allowed to look at it. If the authorities say so, then it should be fine… right?”

The fact that Seokjin is actually seeking reassuring words from you makes your mind start reeling, quickly nodding your head with a conviction you do not truly feel.

“Of course. Besides, you already behave and speak like a forty-year old. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

He whacks your forearm as your chuckles fill the room. The silhouettes of the living room are starting to turn dimmer and softer beneath the beginnings of the sunset, which is already twisting the colors of the sky. As soon as the night descends, the comet will shine clear and bright for millions of eyes to feast on.

You know that the moment the door opens and your mother arrives home from work — which should not take too long now —, you’ll be sent to the guest room to spend the night, which has no windows to look out of. Though you already filled it with countless forms of entertainment, your mind will stay hazy and clouded for the next twelve hours, unexplainable hues of colors you’ve never seen flashing past your mind as you imagine yourself five years into the future, eyes wide and flickering with reflections of ice and dust.

Seokjin is right — it won’t be easy, and it might sting your chest once in a while. But you suppose the wait is worthwhile, knowing that your life will change and spin on a day like this and that your turn to get a glimpse of the universe is set in stone.

You can only hope that Seokjin shares the same need of finding his place within the glowing pigments. Maybe you can live through his own happiness before your turn comes, and hear his stories over and over, of the colors he saw and what they reminded him of. Maybe you’ll also get to hear of his first encounter with his soulmate, and how invigorating it feels to complete the bond with the person he’s meant to be.

Until then, you can only wait.

/

Two years later you’re standing on top of a hill, gasping for air after walking up a precarious trail for more than thirty minutes.

The sun is starting to go down, and the scenery beneath the mountain is nothing short of breathtaking. Though it’s your first time visiting this town, there’s a sense of warmth and closeness as your eyes survey the small, charming houses that spread in rows and rows across the land. Narrow streets worm their way between the buildings, old and new, almost struggling through the clustered town that seems to burst with houses and farms. Much farther away land turns into coast, forming a weaving shoreline that extends boundlessly. The sea is calm today, bashful under the bright sunset, and it makes you wonder if it’s like this every day, waves always hiding under the blue surface.

You wipe your clammy hands against the fabric of your light jacket, taking a long breath and wishing you were visiting this place for other reasons. To meet your soulmate, for example, or accompanied by your friends with the sole purpose of relaxing and forgetting about the real world.

Reluctantly, you tear your eyes away from the view to focus on the building that rises high in front of you. It is your first time seeing an observatory up close, and you can’t help but feel extremely intimidated as your eyes slide up and down. Three stories tall and topped with a dome, the building clearly carries countless years of history, jagged and weak-looking, but appealing nonetheless. The sunset casts sharp shadows over the red brick walls and shines above the white dome, giving it an eerie glow that makes you feel like you’ve entered an entirely new dimension.

You take another deep breath as you start walking towards the door, eyes swiping over the name engraved above the entrance. Reading the words Kim Observatory makes your heart beat a little easier, assuring you that you’re in the place you’re supposed to be.

Your legs feel like jello and your weak hands tremble as cool gusts of air ruffle your hair. The rising cold prickles at your cheeks and you almost take it as a sign to turn around and leave, but then you remember who is it you’re doing this for, and your thoughts shut down as your hand finally reaches towards the bell and presses down.

It happens too fast, then — suddenly someone’s opening the door in a hasty, fast movement that makes you jolt, and all you can see is a tall frame and wide eyes blinking through clunky glasses before you’re dragged into the darkness.

It is not completely dark, but the lights are distinctively dim as the tall boy pushes you towards a set of unreliable stairs that squeak under your shoes. Your heart’s ramming against your chest as a deep voice eats at your ears, excited words quickly mingling together, and you’re too stunned to make any sense of them as your mind struggles to come up with a retort.

The only thing stopping you from tearing his hands away from your shoulders and bolting outside of the building is the fact that this is the Kim Observatory — and everyone remotely interested in the comet knows that this is the place that holds all of the answers. You don’t really know what that entails, but you’re aware that coming here was the right choice. Even if your mind is currently frozen in fear, and even if your legs keep tripping and stumbling as he guides you upstairs.

He lets you take a long breath when you reach the third floor, not as dim under the natural glow of the rising night that filters through an opening in the rounded roof of the dome. The moment your mind becomes clear you’re finally able to focus on his words, eyes widening as he walks towards a large table cluttered with foreign objects and messy stacks of papers.

“…let me find the list of candidates, I swear it was around here. Jimin, did you move it again?”

It is then that you notice the third person in the narrow room, who’s giving you an apologetic smile from his spot on a timeworn couch placed against the wall. He gets up, completely ignoring the other man’s words as he walks towards you and extends his hand in your direction. His pale pink hair looks striking under the moonlight, and a white lab coat covers lean figure, reaching down his thighs and making him look even smaller.

“I’m sorry for that. I’m Park Jimin, nice to meet you,” he shakes your hand, and it’s then that you realize your lips are still parted. You close them rapidly, blushing in embarrassment as you squeeze back before letting go.

“I’m sorry, but… I don’t know what’s going on.”

“I figured,” Jimin sighs, speaking in a low tone as he glances back at the other man, who seems to be too lost in his thoughts as he continues to rummage through the chaos on the table. “You didn’t apply for the job, did you?”

You blink at that, feeling more confused than ever. “I… no, I didn’t. What job?”

“Jimin!”

“Sorry, wait,” Jimin runs towards the table as the other man steps back, taking his glasses off as he closes his eyes tightly. You can only stare as he rubs at them, a grimace forming on his lips as Jimin continues to search diligently. He finds the sheet of paper in a matter of seconds, and the dark haired man puts on his glasses again, giving Jimin a grateful smile before squinting at the handwritten words.

He finally looks at you, making your stiffen.

“Are you Minji?”

You shake your head, opening your lips to clear it up, but Jimin beats you to it.

“Taehyung, Minji is Yoongi’s girlfriend, remember? we met her the other day at school. Besides, she only said she’s willing to help out during her free weekends.”

The man, Taehyung, only rolls his eyes at Jimin’s words. “We met her during the day, Minnie. How do you expect me to remember how she looks like? Anyway, I took that as a yes. I’ll keep her on the list.”

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” you finally intervene, head swimming and sight turning fuzzy. “I literally did not understand a word you just said. I just… I just came here because I was told I could find answers here—”

Jimin lifts his hands, making you realize your voice started to rise in the heat of the moment. You allow your voice to vanish, cheeks burning in a fiery blush as you purse your lips.

“Sorry. I’m just… I came here looking for the man in charge.”

“And that would be me,” Taehyung lifts his hand, giving you a dazzling smile. “I’m Kim Taehyung. Sorry about that crazy welcome, by the way. I thought you were here for the job and I got too excited,” his voice stalls then, allows the silence to stretch for a few seconds before his features light up. “Wait. Are you unemployed right now?”

“I… yes, I am, but—”

“Oh, that’s perfect. Jimin, write down her information, I’m going to start preparing the telescope. You don’t mind doing a quick job interview, do you?” he asks as he walks towards the large, heavy equipment placed under the opened roof, quick words firing past his lips in a way that Jimin seems thoroughly used to.

Your heart starts racing again, stomach churning under the overwhelming turn of events. Jimin picks up a blank sheet of paper and signals you to come closer, eyes soft and gentle as he sits down with a pen in hand. You sit on the chair placed next to his, swallowing as you look back at Taehyung. The latter keeps waltzing across the place, humming under his breath and looking completely engrossed in his own thoughts.

“Look…” Jimin sighs, and the way he lowers his tone indicates he doesn’t want Taehyung to hear his following words. “Me and Taehyung are the only ones keeping this observatory alive. The town actually wanted to shut it down, since too many expenses are going to the maintenance of the equipment, but he’s been so adamant in keeping this place in one piece, and—” he swallows, seemingly overcome with emotions, and something tugs at your chest at the way his eyes turn forlorn. “I have to leave town, but he needs another assistant if he wants to keep running the place just as smoothly.”

You find your words a few seconds later, and your voice is barely a whisper when you open your mouth. “He only needs an assistant?”

“This job entails more than that. It’s just a way to call it,” Jimin smile, a secretive curve of lips that hides countless experiences, a past you cannot imagine. “It’s precisely how important it is that we’re having a hard time finding people for the job. Not many want to work for Taehyung, and that… that breaks my heart.”

You still at his words. “Why is that?”

“Okay, I’m done here. Did you take her information, Jimin?”

Jimin bolts at Taehyung’s booming voice, turning his head around as he laughs nervously.

“Ah, I’m on it!” Jimin turns back to the blank sheet of paper, starting to write the words Job Application #3. Jimin leans closer then, a slight shift that makes you perk up. “Can you just humor him, at least? Please. I’m sure he’d appreciate it. Besides, you said you came here looking for answers…” a smile graces his lips, seemingly confident he’s about to convince you with his next words. “You can get them afterwards, as a reward. He’s not one to give out important information to a stranger, but I’ll ease him into it.”

It is undoubtedly tempting, and you find yourself already giving in at the prospect of getting your questions answered. It is just a job interview, after all — it is not committing to the actual job, nor is it taking the seemingly huge responsibility of being Kim Taehyung’s assistant. You might ridicule yourself through the process, because you are no astronomy expert and your job experience is limited to crowded bakeries and small cafés — but it does not truly matter if that means taking one step closer to the truth.

You find yourself giving your information to a beaming Jimin, who writes it down in earnest, smooth traces of black ink. He gets up when you’re done and you quickly follow his movements, hands clammy again as the rising nerves bubble up your chest.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he continues to grin, reading your name on the paper before flickering his eyes back to your face. His voice is filled with gratification and you can’t help but smile back, nodding quietly. “Taehyung will take over now.”

You finally slide your gaze towards the telescope. Taehyung is sitting on the plump chair that accompanies it, already staring intently into your eyes. It almost makes you lean back, even though there are already a few feet of distance between you both.

Jimin hands him the paper sheet, and his eyes slowly swipe over the written words, analyzing the clean handwriting.

“Do you need help with that?” Jimin asks him, standing by his side with a closeness that seems comfortable for the both of them.

“It’s fine,” Taehyung murmurs, giving you a smile as he gives the information back to Jimin. “Y/N, right?”

You nod, posture stiff as your fingers dig into your thighs. You start rubbing at your knees while Taehyung continues to gaze silently, swirling gently on the rotating chair as his unnerving stare burns into your face.

“You’re eighteen, so you graduated high school not too long ago,” he starts, making your heart skip a beat. “How did you do in math and physics?”

“Decently… I think,” you grimace at the clear disinterest in your words. High school was just a stepping stone for you, so you did not put in as much passion as you should have — you were reserving it for the future, though your dreams have been stalled now that you decided to take an entirely different path. One of seeking answers that might be too hard to find.

Taehyung starts asking you about the subjects, then — concepts that you are fortunately able to remember, such as slightly complicated math operations and the main laws of physics that currently rule the universe. You trip over your words here and then and some of your answers are full of doubt instead of confidence, but Taehyung does not seem put off at all. He looks elated instead, briefly allowing you to really look at his features and the way they seem to soften under the moonlight.

The night has fully settled now, but the colors of the sky are still rich and glaring as they pour onto the observatory. It illuminates every single corner, from the frayed couch to the littered table and the countless foreign objects misplaced on the floor. The chaos clearly rules the room, but Taehyung and Jimin seem utterly comfortable with it, fond, even. A calm smile, faint and barely there, is fixed on Taehyung’s lips as his eyes continues to inspect your own, and you can’t help but give him the same scrutinizing look as your eyes trace the large glasses he’s wearing and the soft-looking hair that falls on his forehead. He looks young, not at all like the mad scientist you expected to see, and you inevitably grimace at the absurd stereotype that formed in your head long before you came here.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he says after the vague answer you give him for his sixth question. Feeling slightly mortified at your notorious lack of knowledge, you try to ignore the fiery flush that spreads across your neck and ears as he signals you to come closer. He gets up and pushes the chair away, and his next words immediately freeze you in place.

“Look through the telescope and tell me what you see.”

You give him a bewildered look, briefly taken aback by his closeness. “Um— I’ve never…”

“That’s okay, Jimin will help you.”

The latter swiftly appears at the mention of his name. Jimin gives you an encouraging smile before he briefly explains how to gaze through a telescope, where to touch and where to look, and his explanations are simple enough for your anxious heart rate to go back to normal. You follow his instructions hesitantly, not daring to touch the instrument too much as you lean closer to the eyepiece.

A gasp gets stuck in your throat when your eye finally focuses on the sky. You almost forgot one of the reasons this town is known for — though small and faraway, almost forgotten behind the big, shiny cities that entice with their countless forms of entertainment, its lack of overflowing lighting allows a raw view of the night sky and the endless universe that lies behind the clouds. In a town like this, one light show in particular shines the brightest, a sight you would never find in any other city.

“What do you see?” Taehyung asks, dragging you out of your reverie.

“The sungrazing lights,” you speak up, and your own voice sounds distant in your ears. You notice some reverence laced in them, still in awe as you continue to look through the telescope.

“Can you tell me what you know about them?”

“They’re similar to the aurora borealis— the only difference is that the sungrazing lights are actually all over the planet, not just the northern and southern hemispheres,” you explain, staring at the waves of lights that entangle with each other. “No one really knows why they’re always up there, or where they come from. We’ve just accepted their existence, just like the Yugen comet.”

You finally lean back, blinking as you adjust your sight to your surroundings. Taehyung and Jimin are both giving you quiet, unreadable stares, and you place a strand of hair beneath your ear as you look away bashfully.

“That’s just what I’ve heard. I don’t really know anything about it.”

Taehyung grabs at your wrists then, bringing your hands closer to him and making you shriek in surprise. The way he’s staring into your eyes makes you squirm, though you are not be able to tell if it’s in a good or a bad way.

“Please, let me hire you.”

You find Jimin’s eyes then, connecting your bewildered ones with his soothing stare as he gives you another one of his reassuring smiles. Your heart is galloping wildly at this point, and Taehyung is still staring in that fervent way that makes your insides rattle, thoughts running a hundred miles per hour as you start considering all of the possibilities, all the consequences your following words could bring.

Saying no means leaving as soon as possible, not without finally voicing your questions out loud and hoping for an accurate answer that could give you a new lead. Saying no means a fifty-fifty chance of leaving with a new direction.

Saying yes means working with Taehyung. Working with Taehyung means getting a glimpse of his seemingly unbounded knowledge; it means settling, at least for a while, while conducting your own personal research on the side. It means finding an answer and a place to stay.

Because you did not plan to return home, not yet, at least. You knew, the moment you packed your things and stepped outside of the only home you’ve ever known, that searching for your lost brother would not take you one day or two. He has been missing for two years, after all, and one answer from Kim Taehyung is not going to lead you to his whereabouts in the blink of an eye. You know a question will only lead to another, and that you will find yourself walking into countless paths that have no exit.

Maybe this is what you need, you realize. Maybe a fresh start will put things into perspective, one that might illuminate the right path and lead you towards the real exit.

And even if you do not know what being Kim Taehyung’s assistant truly entails, you figure there are some risks worth taking, especially if they mean getting one step closer to your brother.

You nod, and Taehyung’s smile widens. There’s a warm inkling forming within your chest already, one filled with hope and anticipation, surrounded by the lukewarm assurance that comes from right decisions and bright prospects.

You just took your first step, and maybe this was the first answer you needed all along.

Three years later

You glance at your wrist watch, fidgeting on the spot as a loud huff leaves your mouth. There are only ten minutes left before the first class starts, and you can already imagine the students congregated in the room, waiting for their occasionally punctual teacher to arrive. You do not need for Taehyung to take it slow now of all times, and the impatience is rapidly winding up your muscles as your feet starts tapping the floor. Loudly.

It takes you ten seconds to give in, walking up the stairs again after dropping your bag next to the main door. You pass the second floor — where two small bedrooms are located — and saunter straight to the dome, knowing there’s a hundred percent chance of finding Taehyung there.

Just as you expected, you find the man snoozing on the table, face hidden in his arms and body almost falling off the chair. Striding in his direction, you don’t hesitate to jab at his shoulders hastily, forcing a sleepy groan past his lips.

“Damn it, Taehyung. Did you stay up until late again?”

He groans again, making you exhale. Patience.

“I shouldn’t have to deal with this. I’m your assistant, not your mother.”

He finally stirs at your frazzled voice, lifting his head and blinking sleepily before closing his eyes shut again.

“The blinds. Close them.”

Some of your anger vanishes when you finally notice the brightness of the room. You both usually keep the windows open during the night, but it seems like it slipped past your mind to close them afterwards this time. You shut them down in a hurry, only a faint glow allowed inside as the sunlight grows unmistakably dimmer between the walls.

“Thanks,” Taehyung’s up now, putting on his dark shades and blocking the sight of his eyes from your own gaze. He’s grinning and you huff again, though there’s a tiny smile lifting your lips now.

“I’m still mad, you know. Get up, the class is supposed to start in…” you look at your watch again, a long sigh getting stuck in your throat. “Five minutes.”

“I still have yesterday’s clothes on.”

“Yoongi said he’d kick your ass if you were late again.”

“Ooookay, let’s go,” he grabs his satchel off the table and sprints towards the door, making you laugh out loud as you follow him downstairs. Gone are the days when you witnessed his movements in silent awe, stunned at the flawless way he navigated himself within the walls of the house slash observatory.

Learning about his condition and living with it every day only made you realize how trivial it was, at least most of the time — just like his characteristic boxy smile, or his particular taste for old-fashioned glasses or his sun-kissed skin that glows under daylight, it is just another trait of him; one that does not define him, even if most people who don’t know him think otherwise. It is just one more little thing joined to his other countless attributes, all fixed together in harmony and forming the essence that is Kim Taehyung.

A young genius who loves space and being late.

Taehyung puts on the usual cap he wears for daylight, shadowing his face from the sun as you both run out of the observatory. You have no time to gaze at the view on top of the hill like you always do — you can only focus on your own ragged breathing as you try to keep up with Taehyung’s pace, whose long legs allow him to double your own speed.

He knows the walk to the school by memory, and he does not need you to guide him in any way — which only reminds you he can leave you behind in any second. Another thing you’ve learned after working with Taehyung for three years is that he can be very vengeful sometimes.

“Slow down, will you?” you gasp as he practically jumps down the hill. “We’ll get hit by a car if we keep up this crazy pace.”

“Not happening. I’m too scared of Yoongi,” he pants, two or three steps ahead of you as he tilts his head in your direction.

“You’re just mad I used that against you.”

He doesn’t look at you, but you can see the smile lifting his cheeks. “Maybe. Hurry up, we need to run if we want to get there on time!”

You don’t mention you’re going to be late no matter what, and that he’d need teleportation powers to actually start the class at eight am. You don’t think you could speak, anyway. Taehyung won’t stop until you get to the school, and all you can do is try to breathe as your tired legs send a burning sensation up your body and your chest aches with the urge to rest.

It takes you half the usual time to get there. The school is relatively close to the observatory, eight minutes away by foot and located near the liveliest area of the town. It is flanked by sugar maples and enclosed by snug houses, only two blocks away from the commercial main road.

Once again, you cannot allow yourself to observe your surroundings. By the time you’ve reached the school you’re wheezing, breaths loud as you walk through the empty hallway that leads to the classes. Taehyung hushes you and you give him a long glare, and even if he can’t see it, you hope he feels it on his skin.

Taehyung crouches down when the shrill sound of instruments grow louder, and you can’t help but laugh when you realize you’re passing the door of the music room, the small window on top allowing you to get a glimpse of the inside. Taking a quick peek, your eyes quickly find the focused stance of music teacher Min Yoongi as he prepares the school band for practice.

“He didn’t see us, did he?” Taehyung mutters, straightening up and stopping in front of his own classroom, only a few feet away.

“Oh, he did. I think he mouthed the words, tell Taehyung he’s done.”

“Very funny,” his hand touches the handle of the door, head tilting in your direction. You wish you could see his eyes right now, but the lights of the hallway have always shined with blazing lights, as if to wake up the sleepy students that come straight away from dreamland. Taehyung never dares to take off his dark shades inside, and with good reason. “No noise. That’s a good sign.”

Taking a look through the window of the door, a fond smile quirks your lips at the seated students that whisper amongst each other — no mess in sight.

“They really care about you, you know.”

Taehyung huffs, but there’s a somewhat embarrassed smile brightening his features and the hint of a blush coloring his cheeks.

“Well, who doesn’t love a mad scientist?”

He opens the door then, raucous voice making the students jump. You hide a chuckle behind your hand as you start following your everyday routine, movements instinctive as you take out Taehyung’s notes from your own bag and start writing today’s topic on the chalkboard. Meanwhile, Taehyung commences the class with a poise and a casualness that keeps reminding you of how good he is at teaching, even if you’re dealing with sulky fifteen year olds that could very well turn on him in any second. But their behavior always seems to switch for the better whenever it’s time for physics, which has earned Taehyung a solid reputation amongst the teachers of the school.

Being the cool teacher does not mean he lets things slide, though. You cannot help but smile at the following words that resonate through the room, quickly mixed with groans and sighs from the students that you’ve come to know very well.

“I didn’t forget about last week’s homework, by the way. Come on, hand it in. I think I’ll make it ten percent of your final grade.”

It is a great routine, indeed.

/

Being Kim Taehyung’s assistant involves a lengthy number of tasks, but above all, it means working with him, not for him.

Only three days passed after your perplexing job interview before you were informed of Taehyung’s condition. You can recall the moment with clear vividness, because it is the only time you’ve ever gotten a glimpse of Taehyung’s personal life, which lies on the other side of a thick wall that still stands high and mighty within your working relationship.

“I have complete congenital achromatopsia,” he explained that day, and you can remember how easily the words rolled off his tongue, so casual and nonchalant. “Which means I grew up unable to perceive colors. My eyes are also very sensitive to the light, and I can barely see a thing if it’s too bright outside or indoors — but I can get by with normal glasses if it’s dark enough. I’m only farsighted, fortunately,” and he ended that with a laugh.

You did not have time to delve into your faint surprise. Taehyung quickly followed his words with the tasks you needed to take over, making you pull out a notebook and a pen to scribble down the rapid words that flew past his lips. The more he told you about your involvement in the observatory and the school, the more you understood how important this job was, and how hard you needed to work if you wanted to follow the path Jimin paved for you.

You needed to grade exams and help him prepare the classes in the afternoon, because the nights solely belonged to research and observation, and Taehyung was very rigorous about that. It did not take you long to realize how deeply implicated he was in one topic in particular — and that was the mystery of the Yugen comet and the sungrazing lights.

Taehyung already published papers, countless of them, put theories together that are now recognized by scientists whose names you’ve undoubtedly heard before. He has, quite literally, dedicated all of his life to the enigmatic lights in space.

And paired with this realization, another detail became fully clear to you as the weeks and months passed — which is that Taehyung is an utterly absorbed workaholic.

Ironically so, he barely mentions the topic of soulmates, which plays a huge part in his main researches. The only time he did happened two years ago, when the question slipped past your lips during a particularly calm night of investigation.

You needed to know his stance of them, almost trembled with curiosity and wonder after mulling about it for so long. But the answer he gave you froze the blood cursing through your veins, turning your skin cold before a rush of heat spread across your cheeks.

Because how could you not realize it before —

“Did you forget I can’t see colors?” he wondered, smirking as he lifted his gaze towards the speckled night sky. “You can only know your soulmate and form the bond by looking at them. I can’t, so no soulmate for me— unless they find me, of course. But it is still bad news for them, since for me it is just a ridiculous, commercialized concept. People mistook this… strange chemical reaction for some romantic play of destiny, and now society is milking it for all it’s worth. How funny is that?”

And that was the last talk of soulmates you had.

You know there’s another one coming soon, though. The June solstice is finally here, and even though you’ve stuck to your routine as the day drags down with its usual fast pace, the realization that today is the day springs to the top of your mind every five minutes, stalling your movements and making you blink in mild awe. It’s as if your subconscious is being highly insistent on keeping you from forgetting about it — a simmering fear curling and burning low on your stomach at the prospect of accidentally missing it, and having to wait another five years.

The feeling is not one of excitement, though. It almost feels like an obligation, one you’re not too keen on going through, because your mother and brother’s history can only remind you that luck with soulmates definitely does not run in your blood. It might be easier to pass it up, to focus on the piles of work Taehyung gives you every morning, but you know the what ifs would plague you for another five years — you just don’t have it in yourself to wait again. You have been patient enough, even if the comet now leaves a bittersweet taste in your mouth instead of the magical flutter that used to make your eyes glint.

Classes at school pass in a daze. It is almost a blur as you pick up piles of homework, and time seems strangely fuzzy as you and Taehyung meet up with Yoongi and Hoseok — the PA teacher known for his bright smile, and the number one crush of the giggling schoolgirls —, casually discussing about your students over bland coffee.

No one mentions your disoriented state, but there’s a hunch nagging at the back of your head as you walk back home with Taehyung, who’s been unusually silent ever since you left the school.

“Spill,” he says after crossing the main door, making you sigh.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you wonder, placing your jacket on the hanger. The thick curtains are drawn and it is almost pitch black inside, so you occupy yourself with a couple of dim lamps, turning them on so they give off enough glow to illuminate the silhouettes.  

“The comet? But… you never saw it before?”

You turn around at his surprised tone, frowning. “I was sixteen last time.”

He takes off his shades, and it is almost relieving to get a glimpse of his eyes again. You still have no idea why the sight of them eases the tension off your shoulders, but you stopped looking for a logical explanation months ago.

“Ah, I keep forgetting you’re two years younger than me,” he smiles, eyes unfocused as he rummages through his bag to get a hold of his normal glasses. Even though he only considers himself farsighted when the lights are dull enough, his sight is still evidently blurry, going by the way he wholly depends on his reading glasses within the darkness — and even so, he rarely gets to experience any sharpness with his own eyes.

You smile, taking off his hat to place it on top of your jacket. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It’s still a little surprising. I looked at the comet when I was around thirteen.”

“Christ,” you blurt out, air leaving your lungs. “What for?”

He only snorts, putting on his glasses before starting to walk towards the stairs. “Well, I was desperate to know if it’d still work while not seeing any colors, that maybe my sight would heal miraculously or something. It didn’t.”

There are no heavy emotions in his voice, and you wonder if thirteen year old Taehyung spoke with the same aloofness when referring to the comet. You doubt it, especially at that age — when things hit you the hardest and your feelings are the most alive but also the most confusing. The image of a younger version of Taehyung crying hits you then, making your chest tighten. You push it away just as fast, following Taehyung up the stairs.

You bump against him when he abruptly stops after reaching the slightly murky dome, barely lit up within the closed curtains. He yells five seconds later, sprinting forward to embrace a smiling Jimin in a tight hug. Silently stunned, you wait until Taehyung lets him go to give him a welcoming smile, which Jimin returns just as brightly.

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be visiting next week,” Taehyung pats his back strongly, and the dry sound echoes against the walls as Jimin grimaces in pain.

“Just.. wanted it to be a surprise,” he scratches the back of his head, looking bashful under your intent stares. “How are you guys doing?”

Taehyung scrutinizes him for a few seconds, eyes narrowing as Jimin all but shrinks under his unwavering gaze. “Hmm, what a coincidence, coming here on the day of the comet. Are you sure it’s just a normal visit?”

“Actually…” he clears his throat, redirecting his gaze to you. “I wanted to have lunch with Y/N, if you guys didn’t mind.”

The words take a few seconds to register. Taehyung reacts faster, though — waving his hand dismissively as he walks towards the cluttered table.

“If she wants to, go ahead. I need to record some stuff for my research, anyway,” he says casually. Knowing Taehyung and his obsessive ways, he’s most definitely telling the truth.

“We’ll be back,” Jimin adds as Taehyung opens his laptop. “I expect you to give me some of your free time by the time we come back, you need to stop working so much.”

“Sure. Have a nice meal!” he replies cheerily, throwing you both a quick smile before flopping down on the chair and opening the text to speech software. Jimin sighs before turning to you, signaling towards the exit with a muted smile. You give Taehyung one last hesitant look before walking away, still feeling helplessly confused as you take the stairs down.

“Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong,” Jimin assures you when you’re both out into the sunlight. You can’t help but squint at the sharp brightness, hitting your eyes mercilessly after the gentle glow of the interior.

“You want to talk about Taehyung, then?” you wonder as you both walk side by side. Jimin lets out a silent sigh, hands inside his pockets as he saunters down the hill.

“About a lot of things. But it’s not serious, I promise. I just want to… keep up with things. Ask a few more,” he chuckles. His hair is not pink anymore, but rather a soft shade of brown that fits him naturally. The last time you saw him was four months ago, and he does not look much different — a little bit leaner, maybe, and if you look closely there are hints of tiredness clinging to his features, but his smile is still the same and his eyes have never lost their warmth.

He takes you to a small restaurant you’ve come to know very well over the years — located close to the shore, it mainly serves seafood, and the salty smell of the sea is faint and moderate as it weaves through the dining tables. You’re both seated right next to the large windows, which allow a breathtaking sight of the calm waves that glint under the sun rays.

“So… what is it?” you ask him after ordering your drinks.

Jimin, quietly sitting in front of you, sighs as his eyes slide towards the scenery of the outside. The lights are razor-sharp on your skin, and it almost feels out of place to be able to glance at Jimin with so much clarity, eyes never squinting nor trying to delineate any fuzzy shapes. It makes you wonder if it feels the same for him, even if he has not worked for Taehyung in almost three years.

“He was right. I came today because… well. The comet. You told me you’d be looking at it this year the last time we saw each other.”

You lean back, biting your lip while cursing Jimin’s ability of making you spill with terrifying ease. Every time he visited you ended up alone with him, somehow — and every time he prodded, every time you gave in. This time is no different.

“Yeah, I guess I will,” you play with a napkin absentmindedly, feeling strangely nervous all of a sudden. “Why are you showing interest? Aren’t you living with your soulmate already?”

“I am,” he smiles, eyes gently flickering at the memories of his soulmate. “It’s because of Taehyung. I doubt he has said anything, but he’s probably worried sick right now, you know. Wondering if you’ll leave after seeing the colors to search for your soulmate. I didn’t leave right away when it happened to me, but… it did play an important part in my decision,” his smile evaporates, eyes lowered as he continues to speak in a mellow tone. “So. I just want to know what you’re thinking, or if he has said anything…”

“He hasn’t. Look… I’m terrified,” you blurt out, words a little bit too loud. You try to contain yourself, a fiery blush quickly crawling up your skin. “I don’t really want to do it, but I feel like it’s something I should know. I want to stop feeling like I’m waiting for something. Whatever… colors I see, I’ll probably stay in the observatory, so don’t worry about that. I’ll just close that chapter and move on.”

Jimin nods, though he doesn’t look very pleased yet. “And what about your brother? you should tell Taehyung about it. I’m sure he’d help you.”

Ah, the other reminder that your subconscious is always painfully aware of. You almost tear the napkin in half, and a long exhale slips past your lips as you keep your breathing in check.

“Nothing yet. My only lead is still that vague call mom got two years ago. He told her he was okay, but… not hearing it from him myself is just— painful. I’ve been monitoring a few websites where people talk about their not so happy experiences with the comet. And the other lead you gave me didn’t work, either,” you gulp, blinking away tears of frustration. “Taehyung is just too focused in his research. I don’t want to burden him—”

“Aren’t you guys friends?”

Jimin parts his lips in quiet bewilderment at your sudden silence.

“We— we are! Kind of. Well, not very close,” you stammer, placing your hands on your lap. The napkin is already shredded to pieces, lying in messy bits on top of the table. “I mean. How do I get closer to someone like him?”

Jimin narrows his eyes. “Like him how?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you shake your head, nerves rising even faster. “He’s just… I can’t… keep up with him. No matter how hard I try. I’m not you, Jimin,” you can feel your shoulders slumping and your lips twisting into a grimace. It is not something you ever voiced before, and it feels both mortifying and relieving to let it out. “He’s always so overwhelming. And that’s— that’s a good thing. I like that. But no matter how hard I try to stay by his side, I always feel like I’m one step behind. Besides, he’s not too fond of sharing, either.”

He grabs your hand then, fingers caressing your wrist and easing some of the building tension stirring under your skin. “Y/N, he was reserved with me and I’ve known him ever since he was six years old and had no front teeth.”

His words are definitely reassuring, and a smile replaces your pout at the mental image. Placing your elbow above the table, you rest your cheek on the palm of your hand, muscles slowly starting to unwind.

“What should I do, then? All we talk about is… work. And more work. Sometimes we fight over which coffee brand to buy, but other than that, there’s nothing much.”

Jimin’s eyes light up at your words. “You’re still living together, then? It’s honestly surprising.”

A recollection of images springs to the front of your mind, one that’s strangely vivid amidst your cluttered memories. It happened two months after you started working for Taehyung. You’d been living in a hostel for the time being, not really sure of what to do about your accommodations since you accepted the job so abruptly. One cloudy morning, Taehyung offered you to take the spare bedroom — it was sudden, no buildup whatsoever, but your answer was just as startling, if not more.

“I know. I think he wants to kick me out sometimes,” you chuckle, eyes glazing with fondness. “He’s so damn stubborn with the supper. We have to get his favorite brands or we don’t get the food — how did you manage to live with that?”

“Just like you are. Barely,” Jimin snickers, and the worry that was etched in his features is finally dissolving. “Anyway… I’m kinda glad to see things are not that bad. Just… try and get a bit closer to him, yeah? It won’t hurt any of you.”

“He’s my boss, though.”

He arches an eyebrow. “And you’re living together.”

The blush that blossoms across your cheeks is completely involuntary. You avert your eyes, feeling strikingly sheepish. “Yeah, you got me there.”

“Honestly…” Jimin muses, voice lower than usual. You drag your eyes back to him and you definitely do not like the playful look he’s giving you, heart stuttering at what might be hiding behind them. “It’s also strange how nothing has happened between you both. I mean, you’re only humans with needs—”

You might start burning up in any second now. “Stop. Don’t go there.”

It stops there, fortunately — and the conversation does not delve into that topic again, switching to more trivial matters concerning the town and the other teachers at the school. Overall, the meal is thoroughly enjoyable, and you feel like it’s been ages since you spoke so much about things that were not work related. It takes you a while to notice the shift in your gestures and the way you smile, but it’s easy to point out the source: you are not scared of the comet anymore. Still nervous, but not terrified, at least.

You are not sure what changed your mindset, but you can only feel deeply thankful towards Jimin, and your chest feels light and your steps are weightless as you both go back to the observatory, a peaceful smile fixed on your face.

You hold onto the hope that it might not turn out entirely disastrous when the sunset drops. After all, you still have the observatory, which became an unexpected home after three years.

No matter what happens, you’re completely sure it’ll be there for you, always embracing you under its satisfying darkness.

/

“Taehyung?”

You quickly realize your voice is unwelcome — Taehyung’s recording something on his computer, and the look he gives you as you enter the dome makes you wince. The brightness of the screen has made him averse from typing, choosing instead to voice out anything he needs registered.

You decide to wait, walking towards the closed windows as Taehyung’s low tone fills the room. He’s recording tomorrow’s physics class, which you’ll have to read over later. Though he’s only talking about magnetic fields, his voice is exceptionally pleasant, making your nerves simmer down as you lift the curtains gently and take a peek outside. Sunset is approaching fast, and the time left for the comet is now reduced to minutes.

You pinpoint the moment he’s done, shutting down his laptop as he gets up from the chair. Given by the way he digs his hands inside his pockets and leans against the table, all in complete silence, you realize he’s probably aware of what kind of conversation is about to take place.

“You don’t have to work with me tonight if you don’t want to,” he starts, meeting your eyes through his glasses. He doesn’t sound angry, or elated — just indifferent, and that knowledge is strangely frustrating. “I mean— it’s an important night. I’ll need to make a lot of observations since I only get this chance once every five years. And your help would be very welcome, but… just do what makes you feel the most comfortable. It’s fine.”

“Did Jimin tell you to say that?”

His eyes widen at that, making you giggle.

“I knew it.”

“I practiced!” he squeaks out, looking completely stunned. “How could you tell?”

You smirk, silently thankful for the sudden banter. “Because you sound like him. So nice and selfless.”

“What does that mean?”

“Is it true, though?” you ask, licking your cracked lips. “I mean… I honestly don’t know how I’ll react— I’m not sure if I’ll need the night off. But it’s reassuring to know that I can be alone if I need to.”

Taehyung scratches the back of his neck, suddenly floundering. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with the information you just gave him, which came out sounding more personal than you intended, and you almost pity the way he seems to squirm on the spot.

“I mean— yeah. Of course. And… I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he finally smiles, in that natural way that makes him look more like himself. “It’s not like your family is cursed or something. Right?”

A forced laugh makes its way past your lips, raising the awkwardness to a painful level.

“Yeah.. that’s right. Thanks,” you clear your throat, trying to behave normally. How did you usually behave? It is strikingly hard to recall. “It’s just some rare chemical reaction, like you said. No big deal.”

Taehyung blinks at that, tilting his head. “Like I said?”

“You did— three years ago,” blushing hard, you laugh again, in that shrill, fabricated tone that expresses anything but joy. “I… I have a good memory.”

“You probably can’t even remember last week’s physics lesson.”

“The sun is starting to go down,” you mumble, ignoring his words as you give the curtains a brief glance. “I’m think I’m gonna go to my room now.”

“Sure. See you later,” you don’t miss the way Taehyung exhales deeply, as if relieved the conversation is finally over. He’s already turning your back to you, focusing his attention on the table while searching for a nonexistent object. It is both ridiculous and endearing, and you have to repress a chuckle as you get out of the room to walk downstairs.

You lock yourself in your room, too narrow but remarkably cozy, a comfortable space that always allows you to breathe a little easier whenever the days grow somewhat overwhelming. There’s a thin ledge under the only window of the room, wide enough for you to take a seat. It is the only room in the observatory where you’re free to keep your curtains completely open, and the walls and furniture are already sheathed in the vivid colors of the outside, tangerine tones trickling inside as the sun starts to go down.

For the briefest second, you wish you still were on the third floor. Taehyung would probably mind his own business on the other side of the room, protecting himself from the light as you observed through the window. He’d probably sense your nervousness, then — and instead of working silently he’d start talking loudly, muttering to himself loud enough to ease off the tension of the room. Taehyung loves to talk, even if it is only about work, and the fact that you’d gladly hear him banter about galactic tides and the effects of radiation pressure for more than two hours is probably worrying. In a way you’d rather not think about.

Sitting on the windowsill, you try not to bite your nails as you wait for the sky to start darkening. It feels absolutely bizarre to think that the moment is finally here, that you’re no more that sixteen year old who longed for the next five years to pass in the blink of an eye. And they did, in a sense. But a lot has changed, in ways you teen self would never have imagined, and the realization provokes a sudden pang of nostalgia within your chest.

You do not dare to think about Seokjin, knowing well enough that your current vulnerability wouldn’t handle it. Instead, you focus on the sky and its unsteady shades, hands clasped together on your lap as your heart picks up the pace. Starting to drown in your own reeling thoughts, you almost miss the orange dissipating as the night finally takes over, gracing the sky with a bright blue that slowly grows darker.

And just like that, the comet winks from above.

Your eyes struggle to trace its shape at first, head tilting as your body unconsciously leans forward. Your hands shake as you open the glass, and the usual vertigo that would make your legs tingle is completely gone as you incline your body towards the sky, precariously keeping your balance on the windowsill.

It is… obviously not what you expected, because your imagination could never conceive something like this. The first thought that comes to your head is I’m looking at a burning star, and you know Taehyung would faint if he ever heard you use that comparison, but it’s the most similar concept your brain can find. It is bright, so bright, glowing and pulsing as if it was alive, burning and stirring as it stills in the sky while barely moving in your eyes.

And the colors. You always found it strange how detailed and intricate other people’s descriptions were, but you get it now. The words are on your mind long before you start thinking about it, and it’s easy to interpret them as the shades of the galaxy, wide and powerful and glinting with speckled stars amongst a rich, deep blue. They are striking against the light blue of the young night, and it’s all your eyes can see and feel. You’re in love with the colors, even if you do not know who they belong to yet.

Except there’s a growing suspicion in your chest that keeps rising and rising, until it turns so loud you have to look away. Space. Dark blue. A vast starry night.

The view that welcomes you every single night at the dome.

“So… how did it go?”

Taehyung’s words are distant in your ears as you enter the dome, and you’re deeply thankful for the dim illumination — it is hopefully shadowing your stupefied expression, features frozen as you stop a few feet away from Taehyung’s table. Sitting on the desk with a recorder in hand, he probably just finished registering everything his eyes could catch while you were gone. There are some notes handwritten on paper, letters clumsy and clearly fast paced, which strikes a faint guilt through your hazy thoughts.

You lift your gaze to his face slowly, deliberately. He’s already staring at you when you reach his eyes, observing your stone cold face with intent. You have to hold back the urge to beg him to take off his glasses, desperate to look at his new eyes at a closer angle.

He doesn’t know it, but they’re completely different now. Still the same dark color, it is now tinged with a beautiful shade of navy blue, flecked with glinting stars. It is a different kind of universe, one contained inside the eyes of your soulmate.

You wince at your own thoughts, skin heating up. Taehyung chooses that moment to speak up, and you try hard to keep your focus on reality, struggling as your thoughts threaten to swallow you up.

“Are you okay? Do you want to throw up?”

“I’m fine,” you nod your head, mostly trying to convince yourself. Taehyung’s still giving you that scrutinizing look, one he reserves for complicated equations that keep his thoughts reeling. You have to look away, because his gaze feels a thousand times more intense now and you are not sure if you’ll ever be able to look at him straight in the eye again.

“Do you think you can work tonight?”

“Yes,” you don’t care how eager you sound — the need to distract yourself and let Taehyung guide your movements with his countless orders is so powerful you’re almost trembling, too overwhelmed by the emotions billowing across your body. He gives you another curious look before nodding, pointing to the telescope as tasks start spewing from his mouth.

You don’t look into his eyes again, and Taehyung has probably noticed — but he doesn’t say anything, and neither do you.

/

It only goes downhill from there.

Even if you never considered him a close friend, it has always been an easy, casual relationship, one between two people who happen to get along naturally within the workplace. After three years working with Taehyung your tasks became routine, one that is exciting instead of dull or tiring. And when the nights are long and heavy thoughts start to cram your mind, you even dare to confess that your desperation to find Seokjin has simmered down, making the guilt strike in the most unexpected moments.

The town turned into your place of comfort, one you can proudly call home, and your job with Taehyung became your source of happiness amidst the confusion and anger that brought your past.

In hindsight, you should have never called Taehyung a workaholic. Not when you’re probably even worse.

But now that comfort has found an inexplicable wall, so tall and tough it almost seems irrecoverable. The gentle smiles you share with Taehyung are now strained and painfully fabricated, and the involuntary cold shoulder you’ve been giving him has apparently spread to him — long gone are his long, one-sided chats that made you smile to yourself as you graded tests and looked over half finished homework. There are no more abrupt trips to the store because he forgot to get his favorite junk food, and the easy banter that always defined your relationship melted like ice under the sun. Even if it was only between coworkers, it was all you got from him.

And it is so, so painful.

Not knowing if it’s the (one-sided) soulmate bond that’s making you hurt or not makes it even more frustrating. There is, technically, no bond formed — but you thought there’d be some kind of shift after gazing at the colors, that maybe a new bundle of feelings would magically emerge from your chest and extend to your fingertips. You have heard all kinds of stories, of people falling in love instantly and others feeling a sense of rightness and slowly fell for their partners.

Somehow, Taehyung’s words start acquiring some logic. Maybe it is all in your minds — as humans who long for love and affection, the ones who believe in their soulmates the most probably delude themselves into this extraordinary romance, claiming an unyielding love that’s probably not even there. Maybe, there are others who felt hesitant about it at first, but seeing the colors made them believe how they’re probably meant to fall for that person in particular, so they just… do.

It would make sense, given your confusing, peculiar feelings for the man. Ones that are not particularly romantic — not yet, at least. Maybe it is no more than a rare reaction that humans cannot explain yet, and you’re just getting tricked into it.

Or maybe you’ve just been around Taehyung for way too long.

The strained atmosphere almost lasts two weeks, and it is actually Taehyung who breaks the ice. It is so unexpected you can’t help but break down, bottom lip trembling as you struggle not to cry.

“I’m so sorry— I’ve behaved like an idiot these days. I understand if you want to fire me,” you say in a shaky voice as you get up from your desk, starting to pace around the room as Taehyung sits quietly on the couch, recorder in hand and laptop precariously balanced on his legs. He’s still wearing his shades even though you both came back from school two hours ago, which makes you wonder if it’s his way of hiding his expression. “I… I can explain. I think. It’s weird, I’ve been feeling weird—”

“Leave that for dinner tonight,” Taehyung says, making you close your lips. The faintest smirk lifts his lips and your chest floods with relief — it’s been too long since you saw his face brightening up. “We can go to that seafood place near the coast and… talk. What do you think?”

The way he says talk does not sound entirely casual, as if there’s a hidden meaning behind it, one too big for such a short word. You still nod, though — quickly following it by a loud yes when you remember he’s not wearing his normal glasses.

“Now hush. I need to send an email to the Mauna Kea Observatory.”

“...Aren’t you the important boss.”

He snorts, hushing you again before starting to recite his email to the laptop. And even if the conversation ends there, you know things are definitely going to get easier, and a hint of normalcy is finally visible in the horizon.

The day passes evenly, and you both decide it’s time to go right after the sun drops. It is an unusual sight to see him get out of the house with his normal glasses — they do not help him see flawlessly after all, but they still allow him to watch his steps and to glance at your face with clear recognition in his eyes.

You reach the seafood place in no time, and you’re given a table placed against a secluded corner. The faint realization that they probably assumed you were a couple hits you as you both take a seat, which makes your cheeks flame embarrassingly fast.

It is impossible to concentrate on the menu in your hands. Your mind seems to be on overdrive tonight, and you can’t stop wondering if there’s someone around who can see the amazement that overcomes your features whenever you look into Taehyung’s eyes, still incredibly hypnotizing as they glint with burning stars. Someone can probably overhear the sweetened thoughts running through your head, which only makes your embarrassment grow and god, you should have asked him to wear his darker shades instead—

“Oh my god, stop thinking.”

His sudden words make you lift your eyes from the menu, which you haven’t read a word from. Taehyung’s giving you an amused stare, one eyebrow arched as you let out a strained laugh.

“That’s… a bit rich, coming from you.”

“I know, but you can get worse sometimes. You know that, right?”

You huff, no retort forming in your tongue. You might not be as smart as him, but you have to accept that his exhausting ways have adhered to your everyday life. The conversation does not delve any deeper from there, and you almost feel calm again as you both place your orders and start waiting for the food to arrive.

However, he’s quick to pick it back up. With his hands above the table and features softening, he looks straight into your eyes — something you have thoroughly avoided for days, because you still cannot get used to the swirling cosmos in them — and opens his mouth to speak.

“I understand if you want to leave.”

“What?” out of all the things you expected him to blurt out, that definitely was not on the list. “Leave? Why would I do that?”

He clears his throat, a distasteful grimace curving his lips. “The whole… comet thing. You’re clearly beyond uncomfortable with our current arrangement, so—”

“That’s not why I was—” you take a long, deep breath, forcing yourself to remember that blurting out the truth would not lead the conversation in a desirable direction. “I… I don’t care about the soulmate thing. I want to move on from it. So don’t worry— I’m going to stick around.”

You’re not entirely sure how much is a lie and how much is the truth. It is all jumbled together, coming out of your lips in unrestrained, confusing words. You can only feel confident about wanting to stay — that conviction has never dwindled in your mind, even if Taehyung being your soulmate has twisted things in ways you can’t quite understand yet.

He seems slightly startled by your words, eyes not quite focused as his expression freezes.

“Things are going back to normal, then?”

You nod, turning serious. “Is that okay with you?”

“Of course. Yeah. It’s great,” Taehyung nods, the faintest smile stretching his lips. His eyes are inscrutable as he looks down at the menu again, and he does not meet your gaze when he speaks again. “We’re sticking to our routine, then.”

His words spark a slow realization, one that grows alive and clear as your thoughts finally start rearranging, shaking off the confusion that has clouded your mind for the past few days. Hearing him say that is actually relieving, and you can now understand the countless, different journeys of soulmates, how some of them connect in a heartbeat and how others go through a slow burn, like the gentle glow of the lamps inside yours and Taehyung’s home.

Maybe you and Taehyung are not any of those things — and the thought of you being platonic soulmates does not sound all that wrong in your head. He can’t see your colors, after all, and you suppose it was meant to turn this way all along. And then Jimin’s words ring in your head like the twinkling sound of a morning clock, assuring you that it can’t hurt you to be friends.

Friends. Yeah, you think you can do that, even if his eyes still try to rob the air from your lungs whenever you’re not careful enough.

/

The switch is so abrupt, it almost feels like it was all a bizarre dream — the days of looming awkwardness and reluctant chatter never existed, dissolving into thin dust and completely invisible in your eyes. None of you voice it out loud, but it makes you wonder if it’s his way (and yours) of saying how much you missed working with each other.

The routine is remarkably comforting, fills you with warmth and easiness, but you have not forgotten about the promise you made to yourself during dinner three days ago. It makes your mood shift and triggers twisting nerves all over your body, which are particularly awake today — an opportunity has finally presented itself, and even if you wanted to ignore it, you’d berate yourself endlessly if you dared pass it up.

“Taehyung?” you call, lifting your gaze from your laptop as you squirm on the couch. He stops fiddling with one of the telescope’s lenses, looking in your direction with his usual casualness. You can only beg internally that he doesn’t notice the way you stiffen at the sight of his eyes through his thick rimmed glasses, too staggering even if they hold no more than faint interest.

“I’m not going to make you work tomorrow, if that’s what you’re going to ask,” he smirks, as if knowing your words before they’re out in the open. “Like I’ve told you countless times, Sundays are just for you. Try to enjoy them, will you?”

“That’s not— I was just—” you clear your throat, frustrated at the way your tongue suddenly ties itself. “The Yugen festival.”

“What?”

You sigh, holding back the urge to slap your burning cheeks. Okay. One more try. “Tomorrow’s the last day, isn’t it?”

Taehyung frowns, nodding. He doesn’t seem to understand yet and you’re already wishing you could backtrack, too mortified as you fail to form a coherent sentence in your chagrined mind. The way the colors in his eyes keep swirling doesn’t help, either.

“We should go tonight,” you finally spill, failing at making it sound nonchalant. It should not be a big deal — all kinds of people visit the Yugen festival, which takes place after the comet sweeps across the sky and lasts for about two weeks. It all revolves around the comet and the sungrazing lights, which, unexplainably, shine even brighter after the comet passes. Soulmates might be the main protagonists of the event, but families go, friends go, and it should not be too strange to invite Taehyung, a boss slash coworker with whom you’ve been coexisting for three years.

Voicing the offer out loud should not make you feel like bolting out of the room in less than a second.

“Oh,” he perks up at your words, eyes glinting, and for a second a swell of hope floods your chest. “Do you want to do research? That’s actually a really nice idea, we could get a new perspective from there. I can even take the smaller telescope I have around somewhere. I think it’s broken, though—”

A shaky laugh bubbles past your mouth, swell of hope rapidly shrinking. “Ah, no. I just thought it’d be fun. Not work related.”

“Oh,” he repeats, face turning blank. “Uh. Sure, I guess?”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to go—”

“I want to,” he says, words fast and clear. “I’m just not sure how I’ll do with all those lights. Festivals tend to be very… shiny.”

Your skin flushes even more at your following words. “We can avoid the crowded spots.”

And then he’s beaming, bright and radiant like you rarely see him, and your embarrassment finally feels somewhat justified.

“Sounds like a plan, then.”

You should know better than to imagine a plan going smoothly in your head. 

Only three more hours pass before the sunset starts drifting down, and the sky feels calm and unruffled when you finally get out of the observatory. Something you’ve come to love about this forfeit town is its fresh weather, which clings firmly to the ground no matter how many times the temperatures rise or drop. With July just starting, clothes are supposed to stick to your skin and the air is meant to hit you with rough heat, but it’s been three years since you felt that sense of suffocation crawling through your veins.

But then you reach the festival, sky rapidly darkening as trails of bright lanterns start to light up the path to the packed stands — and if you feel overwhelmed already, you cannot imagine how it must be for Taehyung, who brought in his dark shades just in case. He’s wearing them already, lips tightly closed as you guide him through the loud mob.

By the time you reach a somewhat secluded spot — right on the other side of the festival, where a foothill begins and leads to a scarcely dense forest — you’re already sweating from the heat of the crowd, cleaning your forehead as you sneak a glimpse towards a serious looking Taehyung.

“What’s with that face?” you ask with a laugh, trying your best to sound cheerful. You pat his shoulder before looking at the hill, undoubtedly less illuminated as the moon starts to rise between the trees. “We could hike the mountain. It doesn’t look that high.”

“You wanted to see the festival, though,” he mutters, disappointment oozing from his voice. You ignore the stir in your chest, smiling gently before shaking your head.

“It’s okay. Besides, I’m sure we can get a nice view of the sungrazing lights up there. What do you say?” you offer, already knowing he wouldn’t resist such a proposition. Taehyung explained, some time ago, that they’re not painfully bright for his eyes — it is mainly sunlight and artificial lighting what gives him pain, which you’ve unconsciously started to avoid as well.

It takes him a couple of seconds to finally smile, nodding eagerly.

“Well, look at you. You know me more than I thought.”

You can only laugh at that, a yelp flying past your mouth when he starts walking up the hill without notice. Just like always, he seems to know his way around, though the darkness makes him stumble once or twice and you have to start pointing out particularly sharp slides or obstacles in your path.

You have not overlooked how strangely quiet Taehyung is tonight, as if being outside and not focused on his work makes his usual fast pace slow down a little. He’s always buzzing with energy, words never stopping as he babbles on about new researches and discoveries, but tonight he reminds you of a zephyr, with his mellow steps and restful aura that allows him to glide up the hill as if he was walking on clouds.

You pick the spot for you two — right on top of the medium sized mountain and next to a particularly thick tree that stands out amongst the rest. You can see the lights of the festival from up there, which extends a few miles across town. Much farther away, if you squint enough, you can almost see the other hill, crowned with the observatory that you now call home.

The sight on the ground pales in comparison to the one on the sky, though. The sungrazing lights have always shined in the distance, its glow as soothing as the moon’s, but tonight they’re a little bit more defined and polished, stirring and pulsing just like the comet you saw two weeks ago. You can only compare the lights to the vivid stripe that separates land from sky after the sun goes down, weaving violets and blues and oranges like the wistful strokes of an artist.

These lights seem much more alive, though. They move and sway, forming an entrancing dance that is still too foreign for the human brain. You and Taehyung take a seat against the tree, and it’s with a muted smile that you watch him take off his glasses, leaving his eyes bare to the light show.

“Hey, stupid question,” you start, clearing your throat. “Why are they called sungrazing lights?”

Taehyung turns at that, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

“Just tell me,” you huff, mildly mortified. “I kinda accepted it, never asked myself why they have that name.”

“Well, aren’t you a great scientist!” Taehyung laughs openly at his own joke, making your cheeks flare.

“Gosh, nevermind.”

“Wait, I’ll tell you,” he chuckles, laughs vanishing but allowing a faint smile to stay. “It’s part of how they were discovered, almost seventy years ago. It was actually this really skilled hiker who saw them for the first time— according to his story, he reached the top of a high mountain right as the sun was starting to rise. He said he could see the curvature of the earth from the top, which is actually a lie, of course,” he rolls his eyes, making you bite your lip as you restrain a laugh. “But what surprised him the most were these strange lights that seemed to surround the sun as it rose from the east. When he came back from the top, he just kept referring to them as the sungrazing lights, and the name stayed.”

“That’s… not what I expected.”

“I know, right?” he exclaims, voice rising as his eyes flicker with excitement. “When I heard the name when I was a kid, I thought it’d be related to the orbit of the comet—”

“You thought that as a kid?” you’re still restraining your chuckles, lips curved upwards as he gives you a somewhat embarrassed look. “Sorry. I keep forgetting you’re a genius.”

“Wow, thanks for forgetting.”

Laughs pour out this time. The minutes dash by like tickling seconds, conversation flowing effortlessly while the sky darkens. The lights start simmering with even more vigor, and with the fall of the night comes a new kind of feeling, one that’s more than silent awe and lightheartedness. Something slightly heavier, a sense of intimacy that lodges itself within your chest.

It is noticeable in the way your voices grow dimmer, as if to allow the lights to shine brighter. Taehyung’s shoulder keeps brushing yours and it’s hard to think of him as no more than a platonic soulmate, someone whose connection with you is not meant to overstep any boundaries. And right as the trivial conversation dies down, you know there’s a topic that needs to be touched, one you have to share if you want a new kind of friendship to start forming.

“Taehyung.”

“Hmm?” his eyes are hooded as he observes the light show, almost lethargic as he turns to you with a questioning gaze. His face is perfectly clear under the glow of the lights, and the sight mixed with the dark blue of his eyes makes you falter, words stumbling out of your mouth.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time,” you begin, clearing your throat. “Maybe you suspect already, though.”

“Is this about your secret research?”

You whip your head at that, eyes widening as you look into his own. He does not look the least resentful, a tiny smile tugging at his lips as he shrugs.

“I almost made Jimin spill once, but he’s too good at keeping secrets.”

You sigh, relieved at the light expression on his face. “Sorry. I just didn’t know how to talk about it.”

“Don’t worry, I understand. I mean— we talk about work from the moment we wake up ‘till midnight. It’s a little difficult to break through that.”

“Aren’t we right now, though?” you ask without meeting his eyes, voice involuntarily smaller. Your muscles tense up as you wait for him to answer, eyes sliding towards the sungrazing lights to distract yourself from your own nerves.

You almost jolt when you feel him ruffling your hair, a quick but fond gesture that leaves you stunned.

“Yeah,” he nods, beaming. “So… tell me about this super huge secret you’ve been keeping for three years.”

The glare you send him holds no hatred, too busy preparing the words scattered in your mind. “It’s… about my family, actually,” your voice cracks, and you clear your throat. “I have a brother that’s two years older than me. His name is Seokjin, and we got pretty close after��� um, when my dad left. He got to see the lights right after his eighteenth birthday. I was sixteen so I couldn’t be there with him, but now I wish I was. By the next day he was gone, and we haven’t seen him ever since.”

Taehyung’s face has grown serious at your explanation, lips pursed as he plucks glass from the ground absentmindedly.

“You have no clue where he is, then?”

You shake your head, shaking off the sudden tightness in your chest. “He called my mom once, just to tell her that he was alive and well, but he never specified where he was. A part of me wants to believe that he just… wanted to vanish. And that’s— that’s his decision, even if if hurts me, but what if that’s not all that true? What if he needs help? That’s why I’ve been trying to get a clue of where he is. I’m the worst detective ever, though,” you laugh, a sound that holds more helplessness than mirth. “I am sure it is related to his soulmate. For some reason, it reminds me of my parents— they fell in love when they were very young and they couldn’t see the comet yet, so they vowed to stay together and never look at it. But ten years ago he just… broke that vow. He looked at it, found out his soulmate was someone else, and disappeared just as fast. The Yugen comet is always praised and worshipped, but in our case… it just seems like it only jinx us.”

You allow the silence to take over, then. Taehyung takes his time to mull over your words and you let him, silently unrestful over his thoughtful face. When he speaks again, his voice sounds somewhat closer, even if you’re still sitting in the same position — shoulder to shoulder, knee against knee and gazes leveled.

“I’m going to save you the ‘I could have helped you three years ago and we might have even found him by now’ lecture, and say instead that I’m willing to help you now,” he smiles, a subtle twitch of his lips that turns your breaths easier. “I have a question, though.”

“Ask away.”

“Did you get jinxed, too? On the night of the comet?”

“No,” the word escapes your mouth before you can even register his question. Though he seems unaware of being your own soulmate, the urge to clear it up is still strong in your veins. He may never know it’s him, given his inability to see the colors and his clear dislike of the concept — but he should at least know that you’ve come to terms with it, that your fate is definitely more comforting when compared to that of your mother’s, or Seokjin’s. “I’m okay with what I got.”

You truly are, especially with the easiness floating in the air and the reassuring darkness that engulfs you both, dotted with unusually bright lights in the sky. Taehyung’s closeness has never felt so relieving and freeing, warm and hushed by your side, making you realize that this other side of him — less frantic and more quiescent — is not so bad, either.

“Hmm. How cryptic,” he smiles in your direction, making you return the gesture. “Can I get a name, at least?”

“That’s super, super secret. And don’t try blackmailing Jimin, he doesn’t know, either.”

He drops his head back, looking at the sky and sighing. “Okay, then— enough soulmate talk. I also have something to say.”

Your heart skips a beat at that. “What is it?”

“I’m really, really starving right now, and I would love to get my hands on some food.”

You can only huff as he gets up from the ground, extending a hand in your direction to help you up. You take it and notice the everlasting smile enlivening his features, making you realize that this was undoubtedly better than any plan of your imagination.

Unable to restrain yourself, you smile back.

“Lead the way.”

/

You thought time passed in a blink during your usual routine with Taehyung, but it is nothing compared to the way the days fast-forward now that you’ve formed a solid friendship.

No break from work is left vacant now — and your days of locking yourself in your room just to nap or read a book whenever you could have now turned into random trips to the commercial main road, or walks along the shore or short visits to the forests that surround the mountains enclosing the town. One or two times you’ve even visited Yoongi and Hoseok — who received you both with flabbergasted stares — and if you’re feeling particularly giddy on a Friday night, Taehyung takes you to the bar where he got drunk for the first time (“I started fighting this guy who believed the Earth was flat. Don’t laugh, I got a black-eye!”). Some other times, you lead him back to the hill where you saw the sungrazing lights shining the brightest, a spot that has now become safe and comforting.

It’s as if you held yourselves back during three long years, adamant to make up for all the time you lost now that the wall has been shattered.

The days slip in a blur and soon enough twenty days have passed, and even if the lines between work and spare time have started to blur, Taehyung is back to his busy, restless self tonight — there’s been a particularly strong solar flare recently, which makes him ten times more eager to monitor the light show during the dark.

“If the theory I’ve been working on for the last five years is right, then the coronal mass ejections should make them disappear for a while, or at least dull out the colors. It should be happening tonight, which is why I need you even more focused this time, okay?”

“Yes, boss,” you quickly shut down your computer, getting up from the couch in less than a second. Going by the time on your wristwatch, nighttime will be here in a matter of minutes.

“You were surfing those random forums where frustrated teachers vent about their students, weren’t you?” he asks after surveying your nervous expression. He’s fiddling around the largest telescope of the dome, fixing lenses and checking everything is in order.

“I— I wasn’t!” it is obviously a lie, but Taehyung doesn’t prod. That only emphasizes on how concentrated he wants to be tonight, which in turn makes you grow serious as you start checking if everything is in place. You will probably start out noting down Taehyung’s fast observations, but there’s also a high chance you will be needed in the telescope, since the colors observed will play a huge part in Taehyung’s research.

“I’m nervous,” you finally say when everything’s ready. Instead of waiting by the telescope, Taehyung walks up to you and places his hands on your shoulders, making your body freeze as your eyes widen. He looks straight into your eyes, and his gaze seems to be scintillating behind his glasses.

“If we get this right, I could get my name out there. And I mean really out there,” he says in a soft tone, sending chills down your spine. “It could change things.”

Is he implying something? You can only give him a reassuring smile, lifting your hand to squeeze his wrist gently. “Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.”

He nods as he sighs dramatically. “What if I get too famous?”

You roll your eyes, making him chuckle. “Don’t flatter yourself. Let’s start, shall we?”

The night is, surprisingly, exceptionally quiet. Taehyung’s concentration seems to have reached new heights, and he glides across the room in silent steps as he checks the equipment over and over, which register numerous parameters you’re not too familiar with. You keep watch on the telescope as the hours drag down languidly, seconds painfully stagnant as they lengthen indefinitely.

It probably has to do with Taehyung’s quietness, so unnerving within the cramped walls of the dome, making you feel like you should break the silence, somehow — but you’re aware that he needs it right now, what with the looming knowledge that you might be about to discover something very, very big.

It happens at two in the morning. Taehyung sees a shift in the spectrometer he’s studying, which makes you turn to the telescope to gaze at the sky, already focused on the sungrazing lights. Except they’re barely there, and you can clearly see their colors dulling out, losing their sharpness as they grow paler and paler, turning so faint they’re no more than a speck in the sky. Within seconds the hazy remnants start to disappear, until the sky is dark and bare, no entrancing glow in sight.

“You were right,” you breathe, speechless as Taehyung takes over your place. “Taehyung, your theory was right. I mean, we still have to check if they come back in a few hours, but — that means… you just discovered where the lights come from.”

He observes through the telescope for a few seconds before stepping back. The look he gives you is of pure awe, and you can almost see burning stars within the universe in his stare.

“Oh—” he stammers, looking around in a frenzy. “Quick, quick, let’s write all of this down—”

The celebration can wait, you suppose. You stay up working until five in the morning, making sure the lights slowly come back to life while finishing up Taehyung’s latest investigation, which is about one hundred pages long. You have never typed so fast for so long and by the time you’re done your wrists ache and your sight hurts, but there’s a huge smile on your face as you save the document in a USB stick, getting up and turning to a disheveled — but still stunned — looking Taehyung. You hand it to him with a grin on your face, stretching your cheeks and making them hurt.

He grabs it and returns your smile, and something aches in your chest at the utter joy on his face.

“Eureka,” he whispers, before leaning forward to press a loud, big kiss on your mouth.

He runs out of the dome then, leaving you standing in the middle of the room as you try to make sense of what just happened. It was too swift for you to process, but the warmth of his lips on yours still lingers, making them tingle pleasantly. Your skin gradually flushes as the realization takes form in your mind, a squeak escaping your mouth as it finally hits you — we just found out the truth about the lights. Taehyung kissed me.

Your legs feel weak, but you still run out of the dome, walking down the stairs with shaky steps until you reach the first floor. Taehyung’s on the kitchen, for some reason — phone on his ear and words flowing clumsily as he explains what just happened to the person on the other side of the line.

“Yes, yes I can— thank you,” he exclaims, voice wobbly. He smiles again when he hangs up, grin widening when he notices your presence. “The city’s observatory — they want me to go there right away.”

“And we’re going,” you add, heart stuttering. Taehyung nods as he puts the phone back on his pocket, a long sigh slipping past his lips.

“We’re going. I mean— if you want to—”

“Yeah,” you nod, streams of adrenaline pulsing through your veins already. “Let’s do it.”

It takes you seconds to get out of the house, with bloodshot eyes and tousled hair and clear fatigue slouching your features. The recent events keep you both awake as you practically run towards the train station, blood still fizzling with burning exhilaration. Thoughts still on overdrive, you haven’t stopped to think about the kiss or what it truly entails — the only image you can focus on is Taehyung’s radiant face, a burning light that hasn’t abandoned him yet.

Ten minutes later you’re already buying the tickets while Taehyung checks the departures’ screen. No words are exchanged as you join each other again, walking side by side towards the correspondent platform. You feel like you can breathe again when you check the countdown and see there are only four minutes left, and your body almost melts onto the floor as the burning sensation brought by the thrill starts to dissipate.

“Well, at least we’re not late. We would have waited thirty minutes had we missed this one—” turning towards Taehyung makes your voice halt, body numbing as your eyes make sense of the sight in front of you.

He’s sitting on one of the benches, face pale and hands clutching his knees as if his life depended on it. The look on his face reflects utter horror and it makes a chill run down your spine, legs almost bucking as you approach him. You kneel down right in front of him, hands covering his as the fear starts to churn low on your stomach.

“Tae. Are you okay?” you know it is a ridiculous question to ask, of course he’s not okay — but you feel utterly helpless as he continues to breathe deeply, eyes slowly opening to look into yours.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks out, voice weak like you’ve never heard it before. “Can we go home?”

“Of course. Can you get up?”

He nods, taking a few seconds to breathe some more before moving. You hold each other’s hand as you go back, but none of you say anything — it feels right and natural to keep some sort of contact, keeping you and him firm on the ground as you allow the silence to spread. You decide to take a detour then, still holding his hand tight as you reach the darkened shoreline.

Summer nights in this town are probably your favorite — seized by the perfect balance between heat and cold, and never failing in helping you achieve a peaceful state of mind. You can only hope it’s the same for Taehyung, not daring to speak yet as the sounds of the faint waves crashing against the shore replace the stilled silence.

You turn around when you feel Taehyung’s hand slip away from your own. He has stopped walking, a long exhale leaving his mouth when his eyes meet yours under the glow of the moonlight.

“I’m sorry about that,” he scratches the back of his head, gaze lowering. “I thought I could…” his voice vanishes. He seems to be struggling for a few seconds, taking deep breaths before talking again. “I haven’t left this town in more than ten years. I got a bit… used to how comfortably I live here, how easily I can manage by myself even if it’s daylight— I know every step I need to take, I know all the roads and corners and houses, and going to a place where I can't do that, even during the night… is just— it’s terrifying.”

You nod as Taehyung’s words echo within the walls of your mind. Hearing such fragility in his voice is not something you’re used to — Taehyung has always been strong and determined in your mind, an unrelenting force that dashes across the universe like the Yugen comet. And he still is, but it is now that you realize how such an impression is far from being realistic. Taehyung is… just like you, and you can see it in worried eyes and the heavy bags under his eyes. Unbearably tough, but also hit with occasional bouts of unsteadiness.

“I was so ecstatic— I thought the adrenaline would help me get over it,” he explains, giving you an awkward smile. “I guess not.”

“It doesn’t need to be today, Taehyung. You’ll get through it, eventually.”

“I guess you’re right. But I thought today was it, you know,” he sighs, looking towards the sea. “Thanks for bringing me here, by the way.”

You glance at the reflection of the moon above the sparkling surface. It is soothing to the eye, and reminds you of the lethargy you’ve been holding off for hours now. Your eyes are starting to droop, and the blurry image of your bed flickers across your mind, already feeling warm and inviting.

You go back home, and not holding hands again makes your fingers itch. He doesn’t say another word, entering the house and walking up the stairs in complete silence, heavy and hushed under the stillness of an early morning. Your attention goes back to Taehyung when you reach the second floor — and the drowsy goodnight forming on your tongue never leaves your mouth, vanishing when he speaks up first.

“You don’t pity me, do you?”

He’s giving you a drooping smile, voice drained and sleepy. The way his eyes seem clearer eases off the clenching sensation in your chest, and it’s not that hard to smile back at him, gesture genuine.

“How could I pity the smartest man on Earth?”

“You forgot most handsome.”

You laugh, feeling deeply relieved. “Don’t push it. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Right back at you,” his smile grows a bit dimmer, intimate. Your heart speeds up in a matter of seconds, making you fidget as a flood of heat simmers under your skin. You bid each other goodnight then, and it feels strange to end the series of recent events on such a quiet, abrupt note — but the sleepiness is too heavy to ignore, and you’re barely able to change your clothes before crashing down on the bed.

Just like that, dreamland engulfs you, swallowing down the swirling thoughts that revolve around lights and comets and one particularly warm kiss.

/

Waking up with a clear head forces you to recognize two important things.

One, that Kim Taehyung’s name is probably going to spread across the world like wildfire.

And two, the kiss was most definitely a casualty, one that surged from the heat of the moment and nothing more.

None of you mention it after waking up, sun already high in the sky as it announces the arrival of midday. Taehyung spends the afternoon dealing with numerous phone calls, and you busy yourself with some unfinished work from school. There’s a strange hangover looming over your head, one brought up by the rampage of emotions you both went through last night — but instead of nagging headaches and fuzzy memories, there’s only a sense of clarity in your head and a lightness in your chest.

You feel like there are no more walls between you and Taehyung, and when he finally meets you at the dome right after sunset, the smiles you give each other are bright and transparent.

“Wanna go eat something outside?” he offers, dropping his phone on the table. “I’ll leave the phone here, I’m tired of scheduling Skype meetings.”

Your heart throbs at the sound of his voice, which doesn’t surprise you. You’ve probably been whipped for the boy for a long time, and it is almost ridiculous how something as simple as a random kiss unleashed what you just didn’t want to see. It became relatively easier as the friendship grew — the less you saw him as your nagging, chatty boss, the more comfortable it got to accept the feelings stirring in the background — which are ridiculously far from platonic. It ultimately exploded, which you should have expected a long time ago.

You accept Taehyung’s proposition — and instead of hitting the seafood place like you usually do, you decide to get street food near the coast instead, taking a seat a few feet away from the waves of the sea as you accommodate yourself on the sand. It feels painstakingly natural for him to sit right by your side, his knee brushing yours as you both fill your mouths with delicious, unhealthy food.

“I have something to tell you, by the way,” he begins after swallowing, glancing at you from the corner of your eye as the breeze caresses his fringe. “There’s another reason why I wanted to try leaving town.”

“Oh?” you take another bite, unable to control your hunger. “What is it?”

“Eat that first. What I’m about to say might make you choke.”

You swallow the food down, looking at him with more intent. His shoulders are hunched and he seems to be having trouble meeting your gaze, which you can only identify as guilt. You wait, trying to push down the nerves tickling your skin.

“I have an inkling of where Seokjin might be,” he says, almost making your heart stop. You’re already parting your lips to speak, but he continues, forcing you to gulp down your words. “I had this silly plan of going by myself and giving you a surprise, and for that I needed to learn how to leave. Besides, I’m not completely sure he’ll be there, so I just… wanted to spare you the disappointment if that wasn’t the case. But now I know how stupid that was— and I’m sorry for not telling you before.”

You take a deep breath, trying to control the shaking of your hands. “That’s okay, Taehyung. This is my issue to solve, and you shouldn’t go through all that trouble. This place you’re talking about… where is it?”

He looks immensely relieved now, smiling gently in your direction. “I’ll give you the details when we go back home. And, well— it doesn’t have to be your issue. After all, you’re more than an assistant, or a coworker—” your heart jumps at his words, making you fidget. “—You’re a friend. Friends do these kind of things for each other… or at least that’s what Jimin says.”

You laugh, feeling suddenly giddy and nervous and overwhelmed, all at the same time. A sudden realization strikes your mind, then — in the form of a grounded truth, one that says how you would have probably fallen for Taehyung one way or another, soulmate bond or not. You can feel that knowledge reinforcing your feelings, warming your insides while the freshness of the sky after sunset cools your heated skin.

Now you know that you need to say something.

But first, there is an entirely different matter you need to attend.

/

The direction Taehyung gives you is not something you would have imagined for your lost brother.

You lost count of the days and nights you spent wondering if he had a shelter to sleep under, if he was hungry or cold, if he was taking care of himself enough, if he was happy. Countless questions plagued your mind for months and years, which became a tortuous routine that sprang to the top of your mind at irregular times. With no firm lead to work on, you could only search with what little resources you had, aided by the limited help brought on by Jimin and your mother.

Had it not been for your work with Taehyung, the guilt and the feeling of inadequacy and helplessness would have swallowed you whole. Which is why too many years spent worried sick can only turn into faint confusion when you arrive at the magnanimous house located three hours away from town, lost in the countryside and surrounded by beautiful, carefully groomed green areas.

And that confusion slowly turns into blind, sizzling anger when you arrive at the door and ring the bell, only to be received by your own brother ten seconds later.

Your hands curl into fists by your sides as your mouth parts to say something, but your voice never comes out. Your throat makes a small, frustrated sound that never evolves into words, and your gaze starts turning blurry as Seokjin’s eyes widen. Seokjin, looking as healthy as ever, face a little bit more mature looking but still dotted by that pink hue that seemed permanent attached to his cheeks.

Seokjin, your own brother by blood — alive and well right in front of your eyes.

You push him hard, making him stagger back as you turn on your heels and stomp away from the place. Angry tears run down your face, stinging your cheeks as your throat tightens, and the hand that suddenly curls around your wrist and forces you to stop doesn’t surprise you. You pull away from his hold and look at him through your watery gaze, cleaning them angrily as he recovers his breath from running.

“Let me explain,” he finally says, voice as smooth as always. “Please. Let me talk first.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you sniff, trying to regain your composure. “But I’m not going inside that place,” you don’t know what it is, anyway — but you’re confident he’s not the only one living there. The place looks like it could shelter at least twenty people, if not more.

“You can’t, anyway. Come on, we need to find a secluded space,” Seokjin urges, still unusually serious. It doesn’t fit him, not after enduring his ridiculous jokes for more than ten years. He guides you around the house, and your steps falter when you get a glimpse of the gardens behind it, extending infinitely towards a thick forest a few miles away. You feel slightly intimidated under the distinct atmosphere, one that screams comfort and extravagance.

He guides you inside of them, taking a seat on a bench strategically placed between two large shrubs that hide you both from prying eyes, surrounded by thick trees that sway with the tender winds. The back of the house is practically hidden from your sight now. You still join him, looking at him straight in the eye as a frown forms between your brows.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

He sighs, long and loud, as if mentally preparing himself for his next words. You can’t help but imitate him, knowing that you probably need to prepare yourself, too.

“The day of the comet, I saw bright shades of purple,” he begins, eyes casted down. “And I immediately knew who it was. I don’t know if you remember— you were young, and I didn’t want to bother you with my love issues, but… you do know who Namjoon was, right?”

You nod, gulping. Though you only remember them as friends, you always had the hunch of something more going on. He breathes again before continuing, exhales shaky as they glide past his lips.

“Well, the moment I saw the purple, I knew it was him. And the thing is— we had a really bad history, Y/N. One I’m glad you didn’t get to see,” he licks his lips, looking down again. “To sum it up, we were together on and off, and so in love, but he wanted the world to know about us and I… I didn’t feel ready for that. Our different views in our relationship made us fight constantly— we basically drained each other, so we decided to end it, together. It was a mutual choice.”

He takes a few moments again, silence broken by the rustling of leaves.  

“Anyway… by the time I saw his colors in the comet, it’d been a year since I last saw him. And I felt such… desperation, this need to go where he was, to find him and tell him sorry for all the things I said—” he shakes his head, as if recalling the memories with pain. “That urge was one of a kind, Y/N. Maybe I was too young… maybe I should have waited another five years. But I didn’t, so I decided to leave the house and follow the instinct that was eating me inside. I found Namjoon, two hours away from home… and god, I hope you never experience the pain that comes from getting rejected by your own soulmate.”

The absolute torment in his voice takes your breath away. The anger you felt before has dimmed down dramatically, leaving a stirring sadness that latches around your neck, not as strong to block the air in your lungs, but still firm enough to feel a slight discomfort.

“He never wanted to see the comet because he had a feeling that it’d be me, and he was right. Hearing the words he said triggers this… feeling. I’m sorry, but I just don’t know how to explain it— not even after five years,” he gives you a stilted smile, one you return just as quietly. “I spent a few days in a daze, until I found this… nomad group who were just like me, and fed me will all kinds of bullshit about finding a cure for my pain— but I was desperate, so I joined them in this search of a cure that was never there. I worked for them and all the money I earned went to their so called research, but I escaped when I found out there wasn’t any— two years later.”

“Christ,” you breathe.

“Yeah,” he huffs, chuckling. “But then I found this place,” he gestures to the house, silent and gentle looking in the background, with its white walls that glow under the sunlight. “Who also help people like me. But it is mostly spiritual — they help you cleanse your soul with different practices, and you get to go to therapy and try all kinds of methods. I know, I know what you’re thinking— that this is probably bullshit, too. And it may be. There are some things I don’t agree with, but I like it here. The people are nice, and I’ve gotten better, even if it’s been a bit of a slow process. It’s quiet and refreshing and I have friends— and honestly, it is all I could ever ask for.”

“Seokjin,” you start, words strained as you allow them past your throat. “You could be dealing with the sketchiest cult of the country, you could have joined a dangerous gang, I don’t care. I just wanted to know you were well, I wanted to hear your voice.”

It’s been a while since you sounded like that — like the sixteen year old teen who felt comforted under her brother’s reassuring words and warm hugs. Small and weak, and so unaware of the world. Seokjin hugs you then, and you welcome his embrace like you would’ve had five years ago. Without any hesitance, giving him as much comfort as he’s currently giving you.

“I’m sorry, but I am not allowed to keep any contact with the past,” he finally explains, patting your back as he pulls away. “They have good intentions, I promise. It’s just that they believe a fast recovery comes from a total cleanse, and that includes pushing your previous life away, at least temporarily. I’m sure mom told you about the call I made— I managed to sneak one in, but I almost got caught and I can’t afford to get kicked out. I’m already being too reckless by talking to you here.”

“Then promise to recover fast,” you sniff, wiping away the lone tear that managed to escape. “Get better and find me and mom afterwards.”

Seokjin nods, smiling again. The gesture is real this time, making a spark of hope flare within your chest. You get up with urgency, feeling restless now that you know you shouldn’t be here, talking to him.

“If you really like this place, then I’m okay with you staying,” you declare, swallowing thickly.

“I really do.”

“Then I should get going,” you glance around, biting your lip. “I don’t want you to get caught.”

You give him another tight hug, clumsy and rushed.

“Get better,” you repeat, so softly, before turning around and walking away.

“Wait!” he calls, making you halt as you look behind. He’s still sitting on the bench, fingers digging onto his knees, and there’s a new kind of anxiousness brightening his eyes, as if scared of the next words he’s going to voice out loud. “Your soulmate. Have you met them?”

You nod, smiling widely. “I have.”

You don’t need to give him more explanations — he can probably tell already, just by the look on your face. His own features brighten, making your chest swell at the thought that maybe, just maybe, your own happiness could give him a slight push towards his recovery.

You do leave this time, steps a little bit more confident and heart beats picking up, face flushed and eyes glazed as a million thoughts race past your mind. You know it is time — the moment you go back, you’ll face Taehyung and tell him how you feel, how you’ve felt all these days and weeks. For Seokjin and your mother, who never got to find true happiness under the colors of the comet.

It is the least you can do, for them and for yourself.

/

“Y/N!”

“What are you doing here?”

Taehyung’s waiting outside of the train station, sitting on a bench and facing the empty parking lot. He’s wearing his dark shades, protecting his eyes from the vivid sunset that’s starting to melt the sky. He gets up when you voice the question, boxy smile stretching his lips as he approaches your voice in eager steps.

“Did you find him? How did it go? Tell me everything.”

“Well, aren’t you a busybody,” you chuckle. “Yeah, I found him. Come on, I’ll tell you on the way home.”

You allow the words to flow freely, not holding anything back as you walk side by side, crossing roads and passing the shoreline before reaching the familiar hill that leads up to the observatory. The sunset’s falling and the lights on the sky are not so bright anymore, and by the time you get t the familiar facade Taehyung is able to take off his glasses, stopping and narrowing his eyes at the poorly lit sky.

He looks at your face then, and closes his eyes. It is something he does sometimes — when the light is not quite dark enough, he tends to look at something for the briefest second before letting his eyelids drop, observing the image inside his mind at his own pace. The fact that he’s currently looking at your face, imprinted in his eyes, makes a deep blush crawl up your neck and cheeks.

“Hmm. You look so happy,” he opens his eyes again, deep blue flickering as he looks into yours. “I’m glad you got some closure with your brother.”

“Me too,” you swallow, squirming on the spot. “There is another closure I haven’t gotten, though.”

“Oh, no. You’re letting me talk this time,” he smiles, making your limbs freeze as your lungs constrict. “First off, I need to apologize for being a liar.”

“A— what?”

“A liar,” he repeats, clearing his throat and lowering his eyes, in that way of his that shows his own mortification. “I lied when I told you that I looked at the comet when I was thirteen.”

You blink, stunned. “Why would you lie about that?”

“Because I’ve always been too scared of the stupid comet,” he laughs, running a hand across his face. “Of what I’d see if I ever looked at it. I started telling that lie when I was fourteen, and it kinda stuck. I never got around to backtrack my words. Until now, that is.”

You swallow, nerves surging through your insides. You do not know where the conversation’s going, but there’s a flash of hope making your legs tremble.

“Why now?”

He meets your eyes again, clear and intense, just as bright as the day when Taehyung made his discovery. “Because I looked at it this year. The same night as you did.”

“Oh,” the air escapes your lungs, leaving no air in your body as you try to maintain your composure. “Oh. What did you see?”

Taehyung smiles, still speaking in that unnervingly slow pace that does not match his usual frenzied prattle. “I did not get cured magically, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m still the same old Taehyung, averse to sunlight like a damn vampire.”

You can’t even laugh at his joke, too distressed by what he might have seen that night. “But…?”

“But I did see something. And the thing is— I don’t know what color it is,” he sighs, gnawing on his bottom lip. “And I don’t think I’ll ever know. After all, how can I compare it? Everything else is just… dull. And there is this color, that I saw in the comet and that now I see every time I look at your face.”

“You— you never said anything—”

“Neither did you!” he huffs, cheeks burning. “You looked so ill after that, so I just figured you didn’t want to have to do anything with it. And you still believed the comet didn’t work for me, so it was easy to just— bury it down,” he winces, running a hand through his hair. “But then you seemed to get used to it, so I supposed you just wanted to be friends.”

“Those are too many assumptions, Taehyung. Hasn’t science taught you to trust facts over guesses?”

He smiles at that, biting his lip again. “I mean… I was always able to hold back my feelings, not to let them intervene with our work. But with us… being friends, and actually doing things— it got more than I could handle. I would have cursed my weak heart in the past, but now I know better than to let it consume me,” he continues, voice a bit livelier as he connects his gaze with yours. “So… yeah. I just wanted to put it out there. I’ve been in love with you for two years now—” he confesses, making your thump loud in your ears. “And honestly? the comet had nothing to do with it.”

“For having made one of the biggest discoveries of the decade,” you mutter, blinking away your tears. “We’re both dumb. So, so dumb.”

You kiss him, catching him off guard as he stumbles. It is almost too overwhelming, especially after your trip to Seokjin’s mysterious treatment center, but your body moves on its own as your arms circles Taehyung’s neck, pressing yourself flush against him as he starts gliding his lips gently, almost too focused as his hands caress your back.

“Let go,” you whisper against his lips, smiling at his reddening cheeks.

“Sorry, I’m still coming to terms with the fact that you actually feel the same—” you cut him off with your mouth, moving your lips against his as ripples of pleasure curse through your body up and down. It is too good, too ideal to be real — and your overworked mind almost convinces you that there’s probably a catch, a tiny detail you missed that will crumble everything down, reminding you that you’re not meant to find happiness like this—

But it’s easy to shut it all down as Taehyung breaks the kiss and grazes his lips against yours, smiling wide as he closes his eyes to see your face against the walls of his mind, mixed with the colors in your eyes that he can’t describe.

“I’ll find out what color it is,” he murmurs, eyes still closed as he presses another peck against your lips. “I promise I will.”

“Hmm. Good luck with that.”

“Is it the sea? It’s probably the colors of the shoreline,” he pulls away, and you have to restrain the whine bubbling up your throat. But his eyes are flashing with pure joy and the smile on his face never falters, turning into a mischievous smirk as he starts walking down the hill. “I bet I can race you there with my eyes closed, and still win.”

You laugh, and the bubbling sound gets lost into the darkening sky. It has acquired that hue of vivid blue that reminds you of a rising dawn, not quite dark but not quite pale either — and you’re already missing the way the comet glided past Earth, how Taehyung’s dark blue contrasted against the sky after sunset.

You can’t wait to see it again in five years — and the next five years after that.

“Come on. Are you chickening out?”

You snort, taking a deep breath as a fond smile breaks through. Oh, I hope he never changes.

“I never do. You’re on.”

[rauliskafan]

A Hard Lesson in History: Chapter 14

Authors’ Note: Happy Thursday, everyone!!! The time has come for the final chapter of our latest installment!!! Thank you all so, so much for your spectacular feedback; it means the world to us!!! Read on for more, and keep your eyes peeled for some surprises coming your way very soon!!! @vintagemichelle91 and I hope that you enjoy!!!

           Change was hard. Yet some things stayed the same. Like the twins content and smiling just before Lucia left. Natalia cooking and smiling as Violetta set the table and made sure to pull out an extra placemat. Over these things, Cutter… the bar association… their power was meaningless. Wherever his next step might take him, Rafael would not make the journey alone.

           The cool evening air swept around him as he nursed a glass of scotch and looked up into the night sky. Very few stars were scattered across the ebony blanket hanging overhead, but those that were present bounced their rays off the moonlight and the balcony. His family’s home. This was the place where the twins now slept peacefully in their nursery, and Violetta’s giggles brought a smile to his face along with Natalia’s voice filtering through the French doors, reading a story of other princesses in far away kingdoms.

           “Mr. Barba?”

           Turning at the sound of the soft tone, Rafael found himself face-to-face with Ashtonja, but he welcomed the intrusion on his peaceful reverie and beckoned her closer.

           “Ashtonja, please. We’re past the formalities, don’t you think?” Rafael asked with a slight smirk. The girl had always been so proper when he came around to hand her grandmother an envelope, to see if they were doing alright. Even then, she could have… should have been on far more familiar terms with him. And now that she had saved Natalia’s life and was living under his roof, it was time to let the last mask slip away and try for a fresh start.

           “Okay… Rafael. I wanted to thank you for---”

           “No need to thank me,” Rafael said, lowering his glass. “If anything, I should be the one thanking you. For helping my wife make her way back home to us.”

           Ashtonja’s eyes flickered up towards his gaze. “It was nothing.

           “Yes it---”

           “Okay it was,” the girl agreed with the smallest of smiles. “But I… there’s still something that I need to say to you.”

           “You have the floor,” Rafael said as he leaned back against the railing and crossed his arms over his chest. What was on her mind? Earlier at dinner, he had noticed that she seemingly had something to say. But Violetta monopolized the table to the point where no one else could hardly get a word in edgewise.

           “I… it’s kind of different being here,” Ashtonja started.

           “As opposed to being with you grandmother?” Rafael carefully asked. The girl merely nodded, taking a moment to gather her thoughts before she found his eyes once more.

           “It’s like… you all… even your friends. Everyone just seems to really care about each other here.”

           “We do,” Rafael assured her. “We care about you, too.”

           “Guess I need a little time to get used to what that feels like.”

           Ashtonja took a deep breath, her gaze drifting towards the few bright stars, and she bit down on her lip before she spoke again.  

           “My memories of my mother are happy ones,” she finally continued. “She wasn’t all bad, you know?”

           “I do, Ashtonja.”

           “And it’s just… seeing your wife with your daughters… I can’t help but think that’s how my mom was. I mean, the good days… there weren’t a ton of good days. But sometimes I think…”

           When he saw her hesitate, he reached for her hand.

           “Go on; I’m listening,” Rafael assured her with an encouraging smile. Maybe he should have listened to her long before. Not just sent a check and hope for the best. But that was in the past, and now that she was here…

           “Sometimes I like to imagine that she’s still alive,” Ashtonja admitted sadly. “Not for the big things… well maybe a little for the big things.” At the sight of her blinking back tears, he instinctively wanted to take her into his arms, but Rafael kept his distance and silently urged her to keep going.

           “But you know; just like someone to share secrets with and laugh and stuff. I think that’s what I miss most.”

           Right on cue, there were happy voices from inside the townhouse. As if pulled by some invisible string, Ashtonja inched towards the sound only to stop.

           “What is it?” he asked.

           “I… maybe I was never supposed to have those things. My grandmother constantly told me that my mother was no good. That I reminded her of… that she’d be better off if we both were…” Her soft voiced cracked, and despite the sensation of blood boiling in his veins, he kept calm and simply shook his head.

           “That’s not true,” Rafael offered. “And for the record, your mother was very brave. She helped me… she saved countless women from being assaulted. She was a hero. Just like you, Ashtonja.”  

           When her smile expanded, Rafael felt relieved.

           “That’s how I like to think of her,” Ashtonja said. “Like she’s some super woman who’s off saving other parts of the galaxy. You think she misses me? Wherever she’s at?”

           “I know she does,” Rafael assured her. “And she would be… she is so very proud of you.” How like her mother she looked. If he had it to do over again, he would have kept a closer eye on Marianna Abreu, seen to it that she stayed on this planet to fight another day. Wishing for as much was as fanciful as believing the late woman rode comets with a sword in one hand and a shield in another. But actually having a second chance to do right by her via her daughter? That was close enough to touch.

           And he was not going to fail either one of them this time.

         “Guess it’s story time,” Ashtonja said nodding towards the French doors and looking in at Natalia and Violetta sitting on the sofa with Harold snuggled between them.

          “Every night,” he said. “Natalia usually handles the fairy tales. I do the lullabies.”

           The girl cocked one eyebrow before she blushed and bit back a chuckle.

           “What?” Rafael asked.

           “Nothing. Just… you’re a good father. They love you.”

           “Same here,” Rafael agreed. “They’re my whole life. I never thought I would have all this.”

           “And I bet you never expected me here. In the way.”

           That was her grandmother talking, and Rafael clasped her hand again, his voice coming out gentle yet firm.

           “That’s the last thing you are,” he swore. “We want you here.”

           “Yeah but I’m just one more mouth to---”

           “Stop,” he said, waving one finger before her eyes. “I like you. Natalia likes you. Violetta designed an entire bedroom for you. She doesn’t do that for just anyone.”

           “She is very… entertaining,” Ashtonja said with a small laugh.

           “You haven’t seen the half of it,” Rafael remarked. Suddenly, as if she heard the conversation, Violetta burst through the French doors giggling.

           “Ash! Come play with me and Harold!” She reached for Ashtonja’s hand and glanced at her Papi. “I know. In ten minutes, it tubby time.”

           “I’ll meet you there,” Rafael said with a wink.

           Violetta stated to lead Ashtonja back inside, when the older girl looked back.

           “Thanks for the talk,” she said. “We’ll have to do it again some time.”

           “Any time you want,” Rafael said.

           Once they were back inside, Ashtonja fell into a seat at the tiny table holding all sorts of teacups and imaginary scones. Violetta happily poured the pretend tea and chatted away with her new friend.

           “All good out here?” Natalia asked, joining her husband on the balcony.

           “Better than good,” he said, kissing the top of Natalia’s head and wrapping his arms around her waist.

           “I think that conversation between you two was long overdue,” Natalia agreed, sliding deeper into his embrace.

           “As always you give the best advice, hermosa.”

           “Thought you would have that all figured out by now, Atticus,” Natalia teased with a smile.

           “I have you figured out in more ways than you know,” he whispered in her ear, her fingers sending a pleasurable shiver up his spine.

           “Care to show me?” she asked.

           “Later tonight,” Rafael promised, kissing her cheek.

           “I’m going to hold you to that,” Natalia said, her soft laughter causing his hear to swell.

           “I look forward to it, hermosa. And tomorrow. Whatever it brings.”

[raccoonsinqueen-taxes]

Six Skeletons, One Maid (Now With Twice As Much Daily Fiber) <Chapter 2>

“g’morning.”

You jumped at the voice, turning quickly. You knew that some of your masters could teleport, and you assumed that Mr. Crimson could, as well, but you certainly weren’t prepared for the frequency at which he used this ability. He was leaning lazily against the wall, the small bony wings peeking out from behind his back and dull gold and brown fleece he wore and the usual drowsily sharp grin fixed on his skull. “Good morning, Mr. Crimson.”

He tilted his head. “‘s fine if you just call me crimson. just no numbers at the end.”

You nodded. You had forgotten. “Sorry, Crimson.”

“eh. just wonderin’ how monsters’re doing back home.” He shrugged. “also, i have somethin to ask you. any wide open places ‘round here that wouldn’t mind a bit of landscaping?”

You paused, thinking. “Well, there is the field out back. It was a garden, once, but none of my masters have either interest or skill in gardening. You should most likely ask Master Sans before doing anything, though.”

He winked. “thanks, kid. stop by later for a show?” You turned around, the sound of his bare feet on the floor abruptly ending as he shortcutted off, presumably to ask Master Sans.

 “SABLE AND CRIMSON ARE GOING TO SPAR LATER TODAY!”

You turned around at Master Papyrus’ excited exclamation to Masters Blue and Orange. Master Blue looked equally excited, Master Orange less so.

“i dont see whats such a big deal about it, theyre just going to toss around a few attacks.” your honey-loving master shrugged.

“BROTHER, IT’S NOT JUST THROWING AROUND A FEW ATTACKS! IT’S PRACTICALLY CHOREOGRAPHED, THEY’RE SO GOOD!” Blue cried, then, in an afterthought, “NOT THAT THEY COULD TOP THE SANSATIONAL BLUE, OF COURSE!”

“So that’s what Crimson planned, he asked me about an open place and invited me to come look at it later,” you said, thoughtfully. You noticed how Master Orange’s expression became tense.

“GREAT! YOU CAN COME WITH US!” Master Papyrus and Master Blue were practically bouncing up and down at you.

You looked down the laundry basket in your hands. “I’m not sure, I have a lot of work to do…” Although, you had hardly, if at all, ever seen any of your masters ever throw any magical attacks around, and from the way your two most excitable masters were fired up about it, Crimson and Mr. Sable must be very good.

Master Orange nodded quickly. “she does.”

Master Blue pouted, “WE INSIST. YOU CAN GET IT DONE LATER!”

Master Papyrus nodded, giving you pappy-dog eyes. You sighed in mock defeat, and in exasperation at the pun most likely induced by an excess of pun-lovers. “Alright. I’ll come later.”

Masters Papyrus and Blue looked like you had just given them a pound of monster candy. Master Orange looked like you had just thrown out his entire stash of honey.

 Mr. Sable and Crimson were standing at opposite ends of the wide grassy field in the back of your masters’ mansion, and you, along with all of your masters, were standing on the sidelines. Masters Papyrus and Blue had had to drag Sans, Black, and Red. You didn’t know why Master Orange was there.

“READY IN THREE?” yelled Mr. Sable to his brother. Crimson replied with a nod, summoning three bones to hover in front of him. The bones fire up into the air, dissipating with a faint sparkle of magic about twenty feet up. As the last bone disappeared, Mr. Sable leapt forward, a wave of jaggedly sharp femurs bursting up from the earth. When the attacks and skeleton reached where Crimson was standing, he simply was not there. You looked around, and there he was, just behind his brother, wings flared and clawed hand swiping at the other’s exposed neck. You almost gasped in fear, even though you knew he wouldn’t really kill his brother, and Mr. Sable turned around, blocking the shorter skeleton’s blow with his radius and ulna and twisting the force against him. The shorter skeleton found himself heading straight for the ground, but he rolled, and pushed himself off of the ground, his arm outstretched at Mr. Sable, and a flurry of long bones, crackling with red energy, flew at him and he met them with a barrage of his own, plain and gleaming white. And then Crimson was at the other side of the makeshift battleground, crouching, and Mr. Sable was still there, tall and proud in the scuffed dirt, and his gleaming slit eyelights fixed on the smaller whose right eye was bright white and whose left was more apparent than ever, and a wall of bones grew up behind the taller, interlocking ribs and femurs and humeri and bones you didn’t know the name of, in an ivory twist like an impenetrable bramble. And an army of skulls, long and draconine, with hinged lower jaws, and sharp jagged horns on the back, came up behind Crimson, and a whine filled the air as light was sucked into their half-opened maws, and then the bones rumbled and hissed as they flew at Mr. Sable’s opponent, and the whine crescendoed into a scream and the day darkened and the jaws opened wide, like a hundred white snakes ready to swallow the world whole, and white beams pierced the air, meeting the bramble-bone-wall. You shut your eyes tightly, sure it had gone wrong, and at silence you opened them, and sunlight shone through dust and Mr. Sable and Crimson were still standing, and grinning, and Crimson wasn’t there anymore and he was leaping at the sky and Mr. Sable was crouching, all deadly grace, and bone clashed with bone in midair and Crimson’s wings were flared and sickly red lightnings were flickering across his bones and his lashing tail and he his eye was shedding a comet-tail of red magic. Your eyes flicked away from the two fighters, at the huge disembodied talons that had formed around Mr. Sable, flickering with bright red. Your eyes flicked to Crimson, who was smirking, his hand held up, clawlike. The behemothic talons around Mr. Sable closed in tighter, and tighter, clenching as Crimson clenched his upheld hand, and then he leapt up them like a huge stair or vertical hopping rocks in a stream, but deadlier, all feral grace and oiled lightning. And he leapt at his brother, and the hands were gone, and Crimson was helping him up, offering his hand. Mr. Sable looked Crimson straight in the eyelights from the ground, poker-faced, and he accepted the hand, and you almost burst out laughing at the sound of the whoopie cushion.

“good spar, bro?”

“GOOD SPAR.”

Master Sans poked your arm, and you suddenly realized that you had began clutching at his hand sometime during the brothers’ alleged spar. You let go quickly, feeling embarrassed. Looking back at Crimson and Mr. Sable, you saw that they were walking over. The moment they arrived at where the group of you were standing, they were swarmed by Masters Blue and Papyrus.

“WOWIE, THAT WAS AWESOME!”

“CAN YOU SHOW US HOW TO DO THE HANDS?”

“AND THAT WALL OF BONES! SO COOL!”

“PAH, I COULD HAVE DONE IT IN MY SLEEP.” You looked at Master Black, his arms crossed as his skull in what looked to be a scowl.

Mr. Sable walked over to him, sauntering like a big cat, but with more bravado. Wow, where were these poetic synonyms coming from? “WHAT, EDGE? NOT JEALOUS, ARE YOU? AFTER ALL, THE SECOND-IN-COMMAND OF THE ROYAL GUARD COULD NEVER BE BESTED BY A SCIENCE EXPERIMENT, RIGHT?” Mr. Sable said condescendingly, leaning on Master Black, “OR WOULD YOU LIKE TO BACK YOUR EMPTY WORDS WITH A SHOW OF STRENGTH? I’M SURE IT CAN’T BE TOO HARD, SEEING HOW SURE OF YOUR OWN ABILITIES YOU ARE.” Master Black seemed about to rise for the bait, until Crimson stepped in, pretending to stumble backwards into Mr. Sable. Which was slightly awkward, since Crimson was barely taller than half of Mr. Sable’s height. “BROTHER, WHY?” the taller skeleton exclaimed, turning his eyelights skyward. You noticed he didn’t try to push the shorter skeleton off of him, in fact he stopped leaning on Master Black to pick his brother up by the scruff of his fleece.

“im like a bike, im two tired, i think id just fall asleep in the middle of your allegedly epic battle with edgypants here, and youd hate it if your favorite bro missed even a second of you trouncing someones coccyx. please wait for me.” Here, Crimson flung an over-dramatic hand over his face. Mr. Sable sighed.

“BUT ONLY BECAUSE YOU’RE MY FAVORITE OLDER BROTHER.”

“and with all the extreme competition, im very glad that i have been granted that very esteemed spot, coolest bro of mine.”

“CRIMSON, YOU RAISED ME. I HARDLY REMEMBER WING.”

“STOP YOUR BANTER, I WILL FIGHT YOU TOMORROW,” Master Black huffed, tired of being ignore.

“cool.”

“I HOPE YOU CAN BLACK UP YOUR WORDS, EDGE,” smirked Mr. Sable with a chuckle as the other stomped off in the direction of the mansion, Master Red trailing nervously behind him. Crimson gave his brother a thumbs up.

“Umm, that was very… intense,” you said to Master Orange. “Are their spars usually that death-y?” He opened his mouth to respond but someone beat him to the punch.

“sometimes, but other times they’re pretty funny,” Crimson poked his head in.

“YES. I HAVE THE PICTURES FROM WHEN WE TAG-TEAMED.” Mr. Sable put in. “I CAN SHOW YOU, IF YOU WANT, (Y/N), THEY’RE ON MY PHONE.”

You nodded eagerly, curious who they would tag-team with. The tall skeleton set Crimson down (who proceeded to peer over your shoulder), and pulled out his phone. He leaned down, showing a picture of a yellow, dinosaur-like monster sitting on the shoulders of a tall, bright-red-haired ultramarine-skinned fishy monster, and then the next photo, a broadly-grinning Crimson piggybacking on an equally-happy purple fire monster in rectangular glasses, who looked a lot like a different-colored Grillby. “THAT’S DR. ALPHYS WITH HER GIRLFRIEND UNDYNE, IN THE FIRST PICTURE.”

“and me with the ol’ b-f in the second,” added Crimson.

“wait what?” said Master Orange, looking over quickly, “you have a boyfriend?”

Had he been jealous? Wow, these skeletons have a problem.

Crimson looked puzzled, then he smirked. “yeah, i have a boyfriend. really hot guy, makes a mean burg ‘n’ fries. name’s grillby. bro’s in a relationship with almsal, his sociopathic brother.” At your and Master Orange’s puzzled looks at Mr. Sable, Crimson added, “other brother. sable just got out of one, wing’s with almsal.”

“Wing?” you asked, “That doesn’t seem like a normal skeleton name.”

Crimson laughed. “his full name, well, theres a reason he doesnt use it much. professionally he likes to go by-” He broke off, glaring at Master Orange, who had been desperately signaling for him to shut up. “what, dont want your pretty little maid to know the esteemed name of-”

“shut up,” said Master Orange abruptly.

Crimson huffed. “his last names the same as the collective of green and yellow.”

What was it again? Your masters had only mentioned it once, but they had made such a big deal when you commented on the strangeness of the name. Faster? Gastly? Oh, Gaster.

“ASHTRAY, WHY DON’T YOU WANT (Y/N) TO KNOW OUR FAMILY’S LAST NAME?” asked Mr. Sable, flatly using a fairly insulting (but strangely fitting, in your opinion) nickname and putting his phone away.

Suddenly, Crimson cut in. “you have a nice ‘ghost’, ashtray.” When Master Orange turned around, Crimson wasn’t there anymore. Mr. Sable sighed, turning to walk back inside. Wait, what did the ghost have anything to do with this? And why did it sound like he’d put the word ghost in quotations? And… thinking back, Mr. Sable had referred to himself as a science experiment? What was with that?

Also Crimson had a Grillby as a boyfriend. And a brother other than Sable. That was new.

You decided to head inside, to catch up on the duties you knew at least one of your masters would berate you for not completing.

(Umm, yeah, I tried submitting this once before but I don’t think you got it, anyway, yeah. Sorry for the badly written action scene, and the fact that it seems like two different people wrote this. I think I’m sorta imitating the writing style of 6S1M, but then for the action scene it was more my own. Also Wing (a.k.a Dr. Wing Dings Gaster, The Royal Scientist and designer and builder of the Core) is Crimson and Sable’s brother, same age as Crimson. And he’s going out with Grillby’s adopted brother, a smoke elemental named Almsal. ALL UNNECESSARY INFORMATION. But, I don’t care. *dumps it on your head* And next chapter Sable will be a gentleman and help with dinner. He can actually cook something non-lethal. I believe it will be lasagna. For two reasons, being that I like lasagna, and he’s kinda an offshoot of Fellpap. And I like to think that he can make more than one kind of noodlething. or anything. wait thats three things WHO CARES. *shuts up before the exposition gets any more long*)

Goshawk-Gyrefalcon

This is blessed <3<3<3 I didn’t get it before, so thanks! Excited for the next chapter!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

[nezzfiction]

ENMY Ch. 28 - The Quiet Ones

Chapter Synopsis: Sometimes, the quiet ones have the loudest thoughts and the biggest actions. That certainly fits the description of one Neopolitan, as she conveys herself through smiles and blades. But what about the more subtler things? For that, she can only rely on a pencil and a humble notebook.

Series Synopsis : Team RWBY is disbanded, and Yang must find herself new allies. For her, yesterday’s enemies are today’s friends(?). Joining up with the likes of Emerald, Mercury, and Neo, the four comprise Team Enemy.

Links to read the series: Ao3 or FF.net

Or hit the jump below

The Quiet Ones

.

A picture’s worth.

.

“How do these even find me?”

In Team ENMY’s dorm, Emerald scowled at the chocolates that were delivered to her mailbox. The candies piled up on the dining table like a mound of sugar. She picked one up, and scanned the brand.

“This one’s really expensive. Wonder if I could resell it.”

“Seriously?” Mercury asked, while playing games on his bed.

“If only they included a gift receipt. Some people just aren’t very thoughtful.”

While the two had their exchange, Neo was busy drawing in her picture book. It was something she had been working on, ever since Yang bought it for her on their shopping trip a while back. As time went on, and her project was nearing completion, Neo started dedicating unhealthy amounts of hours to it.

Bags were developing under her eyes, and trace amounts of fidgetiness could be seen in her movements. Still, despite the fatigue she was feeling, she pressed on. This was important to her, more than few things she never knew would.

She reached for her coffee mug and found it empty.

A tad annoyed, she went over to the dining table, grabbed one of the chocolate bars, ripped off its wrapping, and snapped it off between her teeth. Not savoring it for a second and only wanting to consume it for its sugar, Neo stuffed the rest in a blink of an eye.

She then, plopped down on her desk, and started drawing again.

“Neo! I was going to actually eat that one!”

But Neo paid no attention to Emerald’s complaints.

“Hm. She’s been working on that a lot lately. I thought she was just doodling in it as a hobby, but…You know what that’s about?”

“Caught a glance once,” Mercury replied.

“Yeah? And?”

“She almost stabbed out my eyes.”

“I don’t care about your eyes, dummy. What was in it? Creepy, gory pictures of horrifying proportions?”

“Nah.”

“Hentai?”

“Hen-what?”

Just as they were talking, the doors to the dorm opened. Yang walked in and set several shopping bags full of Valentine’s Day chocolates on the table next to Emerald’s. If one were to compare them, higher numbers would likely fall on Yang’s side.

“Hey, guys. So you found some in your mailbox too, Em?”

“Yang wins,” Mercury commented.

“It isn’t a contest,” Emerald grunted.

“I dunno…Those truffles say otherwise.”

“Whatever. I don’t even go to class so—Hm?” Emerald took a closer look at Yang’s chocolates. “Most of these are from girls.”

Yang only shrugged and continued to stare at the pile.

She didn’t really know what to do with them. She would feel bad for throwing it out, but it was too much to eat. More importantly, there was Neo.

Yang turned to the girl and half expected her to be threatening to filet her with a mean look, but she was still busy drawing in her notebook. Yang tried a few times to take a peek, but every attempt usually ended with Neo biting her or smothering her. It seemed she would only see it when Neo allowed her to see it.

Yang sighed.

And with a loud voice, she announced, “Valentine’s Day can be so boring!” she stretched. “So, let’s do something fun.”

“Oh, yeah? Like pick fights with all the couples, and smash their love-struck faces?”

“No, Merc—is that your idea of fun? It’s late, but I wanted to celebrate the Lunar New Year!”

“Pass.”

“That means firing off fireworks~”

“Still, pass.”

“But we don’t have fireworks, so we have to use the cannons of a decommissioned airship.”

“And, why are we still talking about this? Let’s go, blondie!”

Mercury hopped off his bed and started walking out the door. Emerald rolled her eyes and followed.

“Come on! Where is it?”

“Hangar 12!” Yang answered. “FIRE Team should be there too!”

While her two teammates already left, she stayed back since Neo hadn’t budged from her seat.

“Hey, you. Let’s go.”

Neo gave Yang a brief side-glance, but her pencil resumed its movement after a momentary pause. Undeterred, Yang went behind her and rested her hands on her shoulders.

“I really want you to come. Please, Neo?”

Neo closed the notebook so Yang couldn’t see it. A slight frown on her face.

“You’ve been kind of off lately. I’m not saying it’s bad or anything…” Yang awkwardly scratched the back of her neck. “I guess, I’m just a little worried.”

After being met with no response, Yang became more disparaged. She lingered for a minute longer, before turning away.

When she did, a small hand grabbed hers.

.

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

.

It was the dead of night when Team ENMY and FIRE Team sneakily flew out an old model airship from Haven Academy.

Unlike most modern aircrafts, this one was constructed almost entirely of wood. The engine was old, and had been repaired and renovated in countless iterations. The sails were worn, and relied on an old propeller for propulsion. It seemed more ornamental than practical in its design—at least, in these times.

“How did you guys get your hands on this?” Emerald asked Inna, on the ship’s deck.

“Well, me and Yang know this kid takin’ classes in the pilot course. They used ta use this baby here fer teaching material. Y’know, practice flyin’ and tunin’ up on. But with the new models bein’ developed, it’s useless now to teach with this one. They’re plannin’ on convertin’ it to a civilian transport ship and removin’ the guns. So, I figured it’d be nice to take it on a joy ride, while it still had some bang.”

“Huh. Makes sense.”

“I’ll be honest. I din’t think you’d go along with Yang, when she asked ya.”

“Yeah, well. A lot of crap is going to happen soon. I wanted a small breather before getting into it.”

“Dun’ we all. Ma team’s got deployment orders bright and early.”

“You sure you should be stealing an airship before then?”

“Are you kiddin’? It’s the perfect time to steal an airship. What are they gonna do? Discharge me right before they need me for over-watch? They’ll look the other way. ‘Sides, we could all be dead tomorrow. Sounds damn foolish to leave any opportune moments unexploited.”

“Hm,” Emerald showed a small smile.

The two stared out over the edge, into the dark blue sky. A cool breeze tickled their cheeks and brushed their hair. Nothing but quiet mountains in the distance, and shadowed forests below. As clouds drifted by, they reached the point far enough out of the city to cause as little problems as possible.

“I’M LIGHTING HER UP!” Mercury yelled across the intercom from the artillery station.

“There goes our resident child,” Emerald groaned. “What is it with certain types of people and explosions?”

“Their big, pretty, and dangerous,” Inna laughed. “What’s not ta like?”

“Spoken like a true gun nut.”

Meanwhile, Mercury and the rest of FIRE Team loaded the first incendiary shells and launched them.

High whistles pierced the serene sky, like birds in flight. Followed by a roar of fire and carnage, raining from the detonation. The blooming flowers of orange and yellow dispersed the shadows. A quiet just about to settle when another barrage was blasted into the air.

The young men and women aboard remembered they were still children. Reckless delinquents, who hijacked an airship to set off some fireworks. Right before they had to fight their own respective life-or-death battles.

On the back end of the deck, leaning against the railing, Yang and Neo sat.

The small woman was having trouble putting the finishing touches on her drawings. Somehow, they didn’t seem enough. The images didn’t look as defined as she’d like. Reviewing them again, she wanted to scrap them and start all over.

Depression and insecurity set in. The odd sense of vulnerability wasn’t an emotion she experienced for quite some time. Never since her more younger years.

“Thank you for coming, Neo,” she heard a voice beside her say.

Yang stared up at all the “fireworks” with a slight blush and a sheepishness to her voice.

“I don’t really celebrate Valentine’s. I don’t know how—chocolates and all that stuff. And I don’t know what to call…us, but,” the girl continued to struggle to find the right words. “I just—It means a lot that you’re here. I…kind of did this for you.”

For the first time since the show began, Neo looked up at the explosions as well.

Loud and all-consuming. It was a wonder how something so simple and fleeting could inflict such a sense of awe.

“Haha,” Yang chuckled at a thought. “Maybe, that’s the answer to true peace. Fireworks. Just loud and bright fireworks that everyone can just get shut up by.”

The stars that burst into shimmering comets around the ship danced in Neo’s eyes. Their cracks and shockwaves made her heart pound. It was almost like they were blowing away all her unnecessary thoughts.

She turned to the side, and stared at the firework next to her. Yang, who was brighter than anything.

Neo understood now.

In truth, she had finished the notebook long ago and had been procrastinating.

It was the first time she was going to open up this part of her life. A part of herself she never shared, not even with Torchwick. Something she deeply regretted.

Neo didn’t want it to be too late…

She didn’t want to be too late again.

“Hm?” Yang felt something slide into her hands. “Neo?”

The small woman leaned on her shoulder and continued to watch the fireworks. Her hair conveniently hiding her expression.

Yang looked down at the drawing pad Neo gave her, and opened it.

She turned the first page…

Then, the second.

Then, the next.

Entranced by the images and what they held, Yang felt herself being pulled along. The only thing existing in her world was her eyes, the book, and the fingers that turned the page.

Neo’s grip tightened with every slip of paper. Any manipulations to her form was released, and her true appearance was exposed.

She didn’t remember the last time she simply let go.

Would Yang think she was ugly? Disgusting, even? Would she back away the moment she looked beside her? Neo’s head circled these questions again and again.

And then, she heard the book close.

Yang finished viewing the picture story Neo drew about her life up to this point. The abusive childhood she endured and the cruelty she experienced from others. They hated her because she was different. When she changed, they hated her more. They ridiculed her speech so she chose silence.

Neo didn’t speak.

And Yang saw the picture book for what it was.

It was Neo’s voice.

.

Yang closed her eyes and felt for Neo’s lips. When she found them, she planted a kiss on her.

Yang didn’t care what she looked like. It saddened her that an issue as simple as looks could affect someone so much—to cause so much damage. Especially in someone like Neo, who was easily one of the most formidable people she’d ever met.

Yang opened her eyes, already accepting of everything the girl before her was.

“Huh?”

Neo’s heart stopped at the reaction. Hurt, she tried to turn away, but Yang grabbed her.

“Wait, Neo. You’re not…Um—“ Yang paused in a way that was troubled, but also awestruck. “You’re…really pretty.”

Neo couldn’t do anything, but look at her incredulously.

“No, really. I know what you drew in the book, but just look in the mirror.”

The small woman frowned and reluctantly conjured a mirror with her Semblance…

And couldn’t understand the face staring back at her.

“I think growing up changed your appearance. So…yeah. I didn’t care if you weren’t pretty. You know that, right?”

But Neo ignored Yang, continuing to touch parts of her face to make sure it was real.

“Neo?”

She took back her sketch pad, wrote something on a page, and held it up like a billboard.

I’M SEXY!♥ ( °□°）

It read.

Yang couldn’t control herself from laughing. Rather than the circumstance, it was the sight of Neo’s silly expression that brought her joy. The purity in the way she conveyed emotions was missing in recent days.

And as quickly as the childish smile came, a hungry kind of look took its place. Neo bared her teeth, while gazing at Yang with a sadistic grin.

“Huh? Neo, could you wait a second? You’re kind of—There’s people here! Neo! Hey!”

NkQ+zMcY˜�~��

[sf9pentagoner]

Chapter One - Starcatcher

This is Admin Ari’s Pentagon Fanfiction. I can never stick to an update schedule so I’ll post chapters as soon as they’re finished and edited. I hope it lives up to your expectations.

“I wonder. Maybe those aren’t stars at all, but a map to get out of this place.” ~ Erin Van Vuren

It was a Tuesday at sunset when you left the shop behind. A quick twist of the key to lock the door- not that anyone ever stole from you- and you were off.

Journal in hand, your bare feet flew over the damp soil. It clung to the bottom of your dress and between your toes, soothing in the way only its earthiness could be.

You looked back once to make sure Dawon, your little brother, wasn’t following you. It had only happened once, but it had taken you far too long to convince him that you weren’t up to anything, and by then you had missed your chance anyway. He was old enough now to take care of himself for a few hours anyway.

The hill you liked was almost ten minutes from your cottage and shop. In other words, just far enough that the only trace left of the sun was a faint smudge of fiery orange on the horizon, and the sky had faded to the sort of rich midnight blue only the exceedingly wealthy could afford to wear.

It was the stars that captured most of your attention. You knelt down on a patch of sparse grass, and opened the well-loved journal carefully so as not to smudge any of your work. The journal was very large; nearly the length of your entire arm and almost twice as wide as a normal book. You’d saved up for two years to have it made by the local bookkeeper, and the journal had repaid you tenfold. Almost a year of work was carefully inlaid in its parchment pages.

You opened to the next blank expanse of paper and dug your ink pen out of the pocket of your dress. The pen was running low on ink. You hoped you would be able to collect the few extra coins you needed to purchase new ink for it before the current supply ran out.

Looking up, you began to sketch. At first, it was only little markings that would seem meaningless to an outsider. As an hour passed, two even, the markings came to life. Feather-light lines connected them across the page, forming the outlines of beasts and men not of this world. When you were finally finished, it was easy to see what you had drawn so carefully. It was the shape of the sky.

As you were looking over your work, a marking in the corner caught your eye. You looked at the sky. It seemed you’d drawn one of your stars in the wrong place.

Nine months of perfect drawings, and I mess up now? you thought, sighing at the ink.

Something didn’t seem right though, still. You looked at the sky again. You’d been too hasty earlier. It wasn’t drawn in the wrong place. That star was moving.

You hadn’t seen a star move since the comet you once saw as a young girl. And even then, it hadn’t really been a star, as you learned later. Now this one was moving- fast- and growing bigger too. Wouldn’t that mean it was coming closer?

Alarmed, you hurriedly closed your journal and dusted off your dress. Magical things only came from falling stars in stories.

You made the trip home faster than before, and burst through the front door of your cottage in such a hurry that Dawon screamed and dropped the piece of cheese he was holding.

“What the heck, Y/N?” Dawon cried accusingly, pointing a finger at you as he picked up the cheese and dusted it off with a towel.

“Sorry, there’s a star falling,” you explained, breathless from your run.

“There’s a what now?” he deadpanned.

“I said what I meant. There was a star moving and I think it’s going to crash down here.”

“If we’re about to die, then I’m going to eat this whole piece of cheese and not just a slice.”

You ran to the window over the kitchen sink, peering between the moth-eaten curtains at the bright light, which had grown much larger in the time it had taken you to run home. Now you could see something else, too: a dark shape at its center.

“Wait, don’t eat the cheese. I think it’s just a comet,” you said.

“That’s still going to cause some major damage.”

Dawon, after rifling through every drawer and cupboard you owned, joined you at the sink. “We’re out of knives.”

“You broke the last one. I told you to get a new one today,” you replied, eyes never leaving the shape in the sky. Your journal was still hugged tightly against your chest.

“I don’t think that’s a comet,” Dawon murmured, fixing his gaze as well on the shape.

“What is it, then?” you asked, more rhetorically than literally.

Lighting up with joy, Dawon exclaimed, “UFO!”

Thinking it was just a word he’d learned from the boys in the village, you repeated, “UFO? Do you even know what that means?”

“Sure I do! Unidentified Flying Object! It’s probably full of aliens!”

“Come on, let’s go check it out!” Dawon shouted, pulling you out of the cottage by the hand, his cheese forgotten beside the sink. You wanted to tell him to go back and hide it away before mice got in and ate it, but you were already running away from the cottage.

The shape, now obviously a giant cube, was hurtling toward the ground at breathtaking speed. The only thing you’d ever seen move as fast as it was the government hovercrafts.

Your stomach made a little flip at that. Please don’t let it be a government ship, you thought.

The air started to warm up as the object got closer to the ground.

“Dawon, be careful!” you warned, finally pulling him to a stop. “Let it land first.”

Reluctantly, he stood beside you, and the two of you watched as the huge cube. It moved too fast for you to make out the glowing symbol reflected on each of its sides. Spinning, it crashed into the ground with an explosive boom. Chunks of rock flew up and rained down around you from the impact. You had to turn away and shield your face from the dust and bright light, not to mention dropping to your knees to avoid losing your balance at how the earth shook and pitched at the impact.

When the air started to clear, you led Dawon toward the crashed object. It had carved a huge crater around it when it landed, and the closer you got, the less the dust had settled. Instead, it hung in the air like a fog, obscuring your vision.

You clambered over rocks and eventually crawled up to the edge of the crater. Since you had no idea if whatever was in that cube was friendly, it would be better to stay out of sight. Now if only Dawon would stay quiet and not shout…

Squinting through the dust, the giant cube was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it had shattered upon impact? Ten forms were moving around in the haze, poking around like they were investigating their surroundings.

Alien life was fairly common around here, but most of it had been on this planet nearly as long as humans. Moreover, it was predominantly plant matter, and harmless as long as you didn’t piss it off. It also didn’t look remotely humanoid.

These aliens looked identical to humans, though. In fact, they looked like ten extremely good-looking boys.

“They don’t look dangerous,” Dawon muttered, squirming beside you in the dirt. You were about to tell him not to go up to them just yet when there was a loud shout from across the crater.

“Hey!” The voice sounded like it wanted to say something more, but someone had slapped a hand over its mouth before it could continue.

Regardless, the ten boys at the bottom of the crater snapped their gazes in unison to the source of the voice, as if they were robots. Whoever had gotten their attention like that had to be an idiot. You muttered a curse under your breath.

“Language, Y/N,” Dawon scolded. You scoffed at him to shut up.

Rowoon and Zuho, the two marshalls of the nearby village, stood on the other side of the crater. Zuho was holding back Taeyang, their apprentice, and had a hand over his mouth. A crowd of villagers watched nervously from several feet behind them.

The boys in the crater looked around, and began to climb up the sides of the crater to get out. You were awestruck by their incredible strength and agility. Like monkeys, they swung easily from one rock handhold to another, even leaning down to help each other up from precarious positions.

“Come on, let’s get closer,” you said. You and Dawon, doing your best to stay out of the villagers’ sight, scurried along the edge of the crater, and ducked behind a boulder for cover when you were close enough. If you laid on your stomachs, you could peer under a scraggly bush to watch the action.

The boys stood in a perfect line before the marshalls and villagers when they reached the top of the crater. All ten wore dark clothing very different from the traditional attire of plain shirt and trousers for men. Theirs were loose, and included rag-like coverings for their mouths like slaves wore to work in the mines.

“State your names and origin,” Rowoon demanded. You could see now that his right hand hovered over the handgun he always kept in a holster at his waist.

“Hello, we are Pentagon!” the boys shouted in unison, then bowed aggressively. Rowoon and the villagers bowed as well.

When they made no move to say more, Rowoon repeated, “Where are you from?”

You could see the boys exchanging nervous looks. Maybe they really were sent by the government? But usually government-backed groups weren’t shy about stating who they worked for.

“Well?” Rowoon asked.

“We don’t know,” one of them said.

This gave Rowoon pause. Zuho stepped up for him. “You don’t know? How can that be?”

Before the boys had a chance to answer, Taeyang managed to break free thanks to Zuho’s distraction. He pointed a finger at them threateningly and shouted, “Are you here to kill us? Did the government send you?”

The villagers began to mutter amongst themselves.

“We are not sent by the government,” the boys replied.

“Then what are those markings on your wrists?” Rowoon asked, eyes trained on the area in question.

You tried to wiggle forward for a better view, but only succeeded in getting your hair caught on one of the bush’s branches.

“Why does this thing have to have thorns?” You growled as Dawon helped you disentangle your hair from the offending branch. Your head stung with little cuts from the thorns. When you got home, you would put a salve on those.

“They are our mission,” one of the boys declared.

Well, that was rather dramatic, don’t you think?

“Is your mission to kill us?” Taeyang demanded. Zuho shot him a look, and the younger boy visibly backed down.

“Our mission is to help,” a boy said.

Rowoon and Zuho shared a look. Never taking their eyes off the ten strangers, they shared a brief and private conversation.

To the villagers, Rowoon asked, “The aliens do not seem immediately dangerous, but without knowing where they are from, we cannot trust them.”

To everyone gathered, he announced, “Until we can determine if they need to be removed, we will allow them to stay.”

“Don’t let them in the village!” a woman protested immediately.

“Yeah! Make them stay out here!” another suggested.

“Where do you suggest they sleep? On the rocks?” Rowoon asked.

“What about their spaceship?” a villager called.

One of the boys replied in a regretful tone, “Our spaceship seems to have been destroyed in the landing.”

“Then with Y/N!”

“Yeah, Y/N! Keep all the freaks together!”

There was no longer any pain in them calling you a freak. It wasn’t even because of you, really. They resented you, but not for who you were, for you had only shown them help and kindness.

“Alright, then they’ll stay with Y/N. She has that barn, doesn’t she? We’ll bring them there now,” Rowoon declared. Zuho and Taeyang moved behind the ten boys to escort them.

Before the group could go far, you stood up, dusted yourself off, and ran to get their attention.

“I’m right here!” You called.

The group stopped, and under the weight of their dark, mistrustful gazes, you stopped running towards them. It had always been better to keep your distance from them.

The ten boys, however, watched you with an air of curiosity and interest. Even young children in the village didn’t look at you like that. Irrational as it was, you immediately felt closer to these boys, just for that.

“This is Y/N,” Rowoon explained. “You’ll be staying with her.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” one of the boys said. Then they all bowed, and walked toward you.

You met Rowoon’s eyes around the approaching boys, and for a second, thought you saw a spark of pity in them. He was leaving with the other villagers before you could be sure.

“Come on, my home’s this way,” you murmured, turning around and leading the boys back to your cottage.

When you looked for him behind the boulder, Dawon wasn’t there. Hoping he’d run home ahead, you just continued towards the cottage.

Now that you had a few minutes of silence (the boys, eerily, made almost no noise when they walked), you could process the strange events that had happened tonight. A shooting star had turned out to be a giant cube that crashed landed barely a mile from your home and released ten super handsome boys, whom you were now leading back to your house, despite not even knowing any of their names. It was time to change that.

“Do you guys have names?” You asked, walking backwards so you could look at them. It was the first time you’d gotten to have a good look at their faces. You’d been too nervous until now.

“We do. I am Hui,” one of them said. He’d done most of the talking earlier. The others all introduced themselves too, and by the time you (kind of) remembered who everyone was, you’d arrived back at your cottage.

With guests behind you, your little property looked even shabbier than usual. Candlelight shone through the kitchen window, lighting up part of your impressive garden. You grew everything from fruits and vegetables to herbs and alien plants, including some extremely rare ones. Your little apothecary’s shop was on the corner of the property closest to the village. The hill you lived on overlooked the village, now quiet and dark for the night.

On the opposite corner of your property was your barn. This was where you led the boys to.

“You’ll have to stay out here since I don’t have enough room for you in the house. In the morning, come on inside for breakfast. Don’t mind my brother Dawon, if you see him,” you said, opening the barn door and leading them inside.

You lit the candle you kept near the door and held it up so that they could see the barn. It wasn’t very big, but it had room for your cow and two horses. All three were eating peacefully and paid you no attention. Dawon must have fed them when he got home.

“This way,” you instructed, climbing the ladder to the loft. It was blanketed in hay, and dusty. You hoped the boys’ masks would be enough to keep the dust out of their lungs as they slept.

“I’m sorry it’s not much, and I only have these to give you,” you apologized, handing them the three spare blankets you kept in the loft. The one you remembered was Shinwon took them from you.

“Thank you for your hospitality. This is more than enough,” Hui said. The boys all voiced their thanks. You left the candle up there for them, then climbed back down the ladder.

Wandering over to the stalls where your horses lived, you listened to the boys move around and get comfortable above you. After a few minutes, the candlelight went out, leaving the barn silent but for the chewing animals.

Rubbing one of the horses’ faces, you whispered, “Take care of them,” before pressing a kiss to the animal’s face.

With one last glance at the silent loft, you closed the barn door and returned to your cottage for the night.

••• Ari

NOTE: Admin Ari has since left this blog, so there will be no further updates, but this fanfiction will remain published.

[inyri]

(Un)certainties- a Mass Effect story

Hello, @cullenplzhalp! I’m your Secret Santa this year, and I’ve written you a story about your Kira. Here’s what you told me about her- “For research purposes only my Shepard is named Kira and she’s a soldier. She’s a paragon but extremely passive aggressive. Has a lot of courage and doesn’t ever get scared in action but behind the scenes has a ton of anxiety and questions all of her decisions, asking Kaiden for advise and encouragement. Aside from Kaiden, she loves long conversations, great food, and her best friend is Garrus. She prefers to relax on her days off rather than going out. Kira doesn’t dislike much but HATES breakfast foods (eggs especially) and huge crowds.” I hope I did her justice.

(Also, if you prefer, I’ve posted this over on AO3 for ease of finding again.)

(Un)certainties (or, four times Kaidan was right, and one time he wasn’t)

for @cullenplzhalp

she is falling, falling, falling from such a great height that it almost feels like flying; she opens her arms (only the one, really, the other still stubbornly refusing to function) and-

*

She can’t sleep, even with him there, so she watches the stars go by through the skylight above the bed.

After an hour or two- it's so easy to lose track of time in the passage of constellations- he stirs into wakefulness beside her. Out of the corner of her vision she sees his head turn in her direction; when he notices her still-open eyes, Kaidan frowns. “Shep-” he catches himself before he says it, which she appreciates; she's told him a hundred times that she has a name and that it isn't Shepard- “Kira. You should be sleeping.”

“I can't. I keep thinking about Legion. I wish I could have-”

He interrupts her then, slipping a hand beneath her far shoulder to turn her to her side, facing him. “You stopped a war that lasted hundreds of years. You gave the quarians back their homeworld and the Geth are helping them rebuild it. Isn't that enough?”

She sighs. “I know, but-”

“But you want to be able to save everyone. You always did. I remember.” Kaidan kisses her forehead. “This is war, Kir, and we’re all soldiers. We knew what the risks were when we enlisted.”

“You and me, sure. But the rest of the crew- Mordin-”

He snorts. “Mordin was ex-STG. Bad example. And even there- curing the genophage? From what you told me he clearly felt it was worth the sacrifice to save an entire species.”

”Someone dies so somewhere, someone else can live. Ruthless calculus, Garrus calls it.” It’s been rattling around the back of her brain: the Bahak system, Earth, Palaven. “Shame I was never any good at math.”

Something passes overhead at that moment, incandescent brightness that illuminates the whole bed, enough to make her lift her hand to shade her eyes- a comet, perhaps, or a piece of wreckage coursing through the void of space. There is more of that around, these days.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not true. I’m pretty sure you know that’s not true, either.”

“Damn your biotic logic.” Propping herself up on one elbow, she prods at his chest with the outstretched index finger of her free hand. “But you’re right. I’m just second-guessing myself, I think- after the Blitz I promised myself I wouldn’t lose anyone else, not if I could help it. I screwed it up with Ashley, but I brought my whole team back from the edge of a black hole, even when everyone said it was impossible. I hoped-”

He catches her hand in his- she lets him, of course; even without biotics she’s just as quick as he is and usually she’s faster- and shifts in closer, pinning it between them. ”You’re doing the best you can,” Kaidan says, “better than anyone else would ever have been able to do. No one’s going to fault you for that.”  

“I let that cyborg bounce your head off a shuttle. Not my finest moment.”

“I got better.”  

It sounds like the punchline to a joke, so she can’t help but laugh. “That’s a matter of opinion, I-”

When he kisses her again their joined hands move, slipping down between their bodies, and she forgets what she meant to say.

*

-and she lands and oh, God, it hurts so much. but as she lays there, looking up at the sky as the colors fade from her vision, pieces of Reapers arc downward like a million shooting stars and it makes her smile, just for a moment, before-

*

Of course they want her to speak.

First Human Spectre, savior of the Krogan, Arbiter of Peace, trotted out by the Alliance brass as a morale booster- God knows they need it, after the disaster that was Thessia- when she looks at it objectively, it makes perfect sense. She’s used to being a figurehead. But she is standing in the wings of a stage on the Presidium, waiting to take the podium in front of a crowd easily ten thousand strong; her heart’s pounding hard enough to fly out of her chest, because she would rather be doing anything else but this.

Backflip out of a troop ship at high altitude? Drive her Mako up the side of an active volcano? Play chicken with the main cannon on a Reaper? Bring it on: all in a day’s work. She’s felt the air leach from her lungs into the void of space and her heart slow and slow until it seized in her frozen chest, looked death in the eye as it reached out to claim her- and kicked it square in its stupid dead face. She’s got too much to do to worry about mundanities like dying. Public speaking, though?

Nope. No way, no how.

“Why did I agree to this?” As Councilor Tevos finishes her introduction, she’s standing at attention but she’s got her hands clutched tight behind her back. “This was a terrible idea.”

Garrus, at her right shoulder, nudges his knee into the back of her thigh. “Relax, Shepard. Just read off the prompter and picture all of them in their underwear. Isn't that the saying?”

“Your confidence is reassuring, if unwarranted, and I’m not sure that’s a good plan.” She chokes back a giggle, looking past the curtain at the front row of assembled dignitaries. “You’ve seen the new ambassador from Noveria?”

“Hm. Fair.”

Kaidan, to her left, leans close and murmurs into her ear. “I’ve heard it helps to focus on one person.”

“I know who I’d pick.” She whispers back over the burst of applause from the gathered crowd. “You sitting in the front row, Spectre? Need to know where to look.”

“Nope. Behind you on the stage.”

“Not sure that’s useful. I can’t exactly look back over my shoulder the whole time.”

As the audience quiets and Tevos looks toward them, beckoning them onstage with a wave of one perfectly manicured hand, she can hear the smirk in his voice. “Well, then,” Kaidan says, “you’ll just have to be creative. You’ve got this.”

It’s just like going into battle as she steps out of the wings, Garrus and Kaidan flanking her in the same tight formation they’ve fallen into so many times over the years. Her eyes adjust to the bright lights more quickly than they should, thanks to her enhancements; she takes a deep breath, looking up into the corner for the projection of her speech on the prompter screen.

She’s got this.

In the pauses between sentences she blinks, picturing him, every muscle and freckle and scar of a body she’s learned every inch of, on the backs of her eyelids. If she blinks a little more than usual during the course of her speech- well. The lights are very bright.

*

-someone’s yelling.

“sir?” again, louder, frantic. “sir! over here- she’s still breathing- i think it’s-”

*

The morning after the party Shepard wakes at 0900, alarmingly late by military standards, to the smell of coffee and something frying wafting in from the kitchen.

Kaidan’s nowhere to be found, his side of the bed empty but the pillow rumpled and his boots still lined up next to the end table. He was here, she’s certain- she mostly remembers going to bed, with Kaidan beside her, at the end of the party, after everyone else had crashed out on couches and under tables. She’d closed the bedroom door, no thanks to the tripwire and the biometric sensors Zaeed and Garrus had managed to rig up at some point when she wasn’t looking, but- oh, God.

She’s pretty sure there was someone in the hot tub- possibly several someones, if she remembers the noise correctly. Still dressed, she rolls out of bed; they can’t have seen much, at least. She hopes not. She’ll never hear the end of it, otherwise.

When she peers into the bathroom, Grunt, on his back like an overturned turtle, is snoring contentedly in the empty tub, and Javik’s curled beside it with his head resting on the tile surround. As she stands in the doorway, he groans faintly and shifts, turning away from her. Apparently, even Protheans get hangovers.

So do Commanders, of course- oh, her head aches. She needs coffee.

Kaidan, irritatingly, looks perfectly sober and far too cheerful when she drags herself into the kitchen. “Morning, sunshine. Coffee?” When she nods enthusiastically, he turns from the stove just long enough to hand her a mug before he returns his attention to a pan full of frying…

“Eggs?” She tries not to wrinkle her nose. It’s funny, now that she thinks of it: in all their time together, he’s never made her breakfast. On their rare days off they just skipped it, preferring lazy mornings in bed, and on duty it’s always been ration bars or protein shakes or MREs, which is just fine by her.  Breakfast, as far as she’s concerned, is a wasteland of food options, each less appealing than the next.

Especially eggs. She hates eggs.

“Stomach not up to it? I can make pancakes.” Kaidan glances up at her as she takes a sip from her mug; he caught her expression, clearly. “I think everyone else is still unconscious, so I’ll let you set the menu.”

She shakes her head again. “No, thank you. I’ll pass.”

“You really should eat something. Crepes? I make great crepes.”

That one gets a thumbs-down and another sip from her mug.

His forehead’s scrunched in thought, now, as he tries more options. “Oatmeal?”

“Ew.”

“Bacon.” He eyes her, a desperate look on his face. “You can’t not like bacon. Everyone likes bacon.”

“I do,” she says, “like bacon.”

Kaidan grins. “Bacon and coffee- breakfast of champions. Coming right up.”

*

everything hurts. there is less everything than usual- when she tries to move she can't, like her muscles aren't there at all, and she cannot see out of her right eye and her jaw refuses to open, but still there is light and a hand holding hers-

*

She knew, of course, what the risks were. They all did.

But it doesn’t make it any easier to watch each lifeline flicker red in her HUD, her crew- her friends- taken down one by one by a merciless tide of monsters. They’re all still alive, for now, but as each status changes from ACTIVE to DISABLED the knot in her chest pulls a little tighter and she’s never been one for religion but she’s never prayed so hard in her life.

She can see the conduit at the bottom of the hill, a pillar of light cutting through the smoke, and the way down’s as clear as it’s going to get; she signals to Kaidan and Garrus and they all three start forward, out of the safety of their cover spot behind a half-ruined wall, and-

The Reaper’s beam hits them almost immediately.

When she forces her eyes open she’s sprawled on the ground, half-buried under rubble, and two more lines on her HUD are flashing red. She can’t find them on the display at first but then the sensors ping, Kaidan about ten feet to her right and Garrus, beside her- where? She can’t see him.

“Garrus?” Her left arm won't work. Wedging her rifle under a chunk of rock, she levers it off her right leg until she can move and rolls to her stomach, looking around. “Talk to me, Vakarian. What’s your status?”

The pile of rubble shifts. “I'm here-” a cough, a groan- “but I don't think I can make it to the Conduit, Shepard. My leg-”

She does what she can, one- handed, to clear the debris, and when she gets a better look she winces. He's right; his leg’s clearly broken. “We’ll get you out of here. You've got an evac beacon?”

“Yeah. Go find Alenko. He-” Garrus swears, raising his rifle to his shoulder. “Marauders on your six. I'll cover you. Go!”

She half-runs, half-hobbles as he starts to fire, each shot punctuated by a keening shriek and the thud of a falling body, scanning the ground as she goes, looking for-

Kaidan.

At first she thinks he’s just sitting, leaning against a crumpled van. She reaches down to help him to his feet, though, and he doesn’t move, and then she sees the rebar through his shoulder, pinning him to the driver’s side door.

“It’s okay,” he says, though his eyes say something different, “I’m fine.”

“You are such a liar.” There’re too many pockets on this suit of armor; she searches for her cutting torch- she can’t pull him free, she knows, not without knowing what the metal pierced through, but there’s no time to scan him, no time-

He raises his hand to her face as she crouches down beside him. “You’ve got to go, babe, you can’t-”

“Not without you.” She finally finds the torch and lights it, the little blue flame heating the rebar to brilliant orange until it snaps, just behind his shoulder, and he leans forward with a gasp.

“I’ll only slow you down.”

“I don’t care. I-”

When he kisses her it lands sidelong. “You can do this, Kira. I know it.”

His beacon’s shattered; she gives him hers, sets it up beside him carefully. She won’t have a way to signal rescue when she gets to the Citadel. She has a sick feeling, deep in her stomach, that she won’t need to. “I love you, Kaidan.”

“I love you, too.”

She kisses him again, hard, tasting the blood on his lips before he raises a barrier around himself, and then she runs.

*

“miranda.” a familiar voice near her ear, the same weight on her hand. “how is she?”

“better. you were here last week when she woke up? without the tech it’s been slow going, but I think-”

she opens her eyes.

*

It takes her almost two months (plus the four that she spent, sedated, in the hospital, before she finally woke up for good) but when he comes to visit her that day she is ready.

Dressed properly, she sits on the edge of the bed, feet firmly on the floor. He’s nearly here now- she can hear his footsteps coming down the hallway, a steady cadence she’d recognize anywhere. She can do this.

“Hey, babe.” Kaidan smiles, gesturing toward the wheelchair in the corner. “You ready to roll? The sun’s actually shining, so I thought we’d go out to the atrium if you feel up to it.”

“That sounds great.”

He goes to move the chair next to the bed, the same thing he’s done every day since the doctors gave her the all-clear to get up.

“Kaidan?”

“Hm?”

“How long did you say you thought it’d take until I could walk on my own?” She wills her legs to stop shaking.

He isn’t looking at her, which is perfect, his attention focused on the brake release and the blanket draped over the back of the chair. “Well, the therapists thought it might be up to six months. They don’t know you like I do, though, so I bet three. Why?”

“One month and twenty-seven days.”

When he turns back around she’s standing up beside her hospital bed, and she takes a step toward him, holding out her arms, and he leaves the wheelchair where it is and holds her tight.

“Pretty sure,” she says against his mouth, “that means you owe me dinner.”

Happy Holidays Harvesting!