#But no somehow I managed to watch all of that and NOTHING clicked until freshman year of high school 😔

[lemonadehtwooh]

Guys, Honey Senpai saying the t-slur in the anime is okay because he too is trans and can reclaim it!!!!!

[write-a-bad-romance]

Good in Red (Mozart x Isaac)

Pairing: Mozart x Isaac

Rating: T

Word Count: 3390

Prompt: Yandere, Gakuen AU

Ao3 Link: Here

Happy Halloween! I hope you're up for something a bit more experimental!

There was a downpour outside. That much Wolf could tell.

Lately, the white-haired youth found it laborious to roll off the bed and step outside. Not like there was anything to do in the living room.

The constant pangs in his head made it worse. Thank God the room he was kept in was just right across the bathroom. It was one of the few acts of mercy he was given in this otherwise appalling situation.

There was a water dispenser installed by the desk, with fresh mugs replaced daily. Lunch was... unusual,  to say the least. Every day, there'd be a lovingly crafted bento box packed with snacks (and sometimes a carton of milk) left on the desk with a post-it note attached,

The cutely worded messages betrayed the sinister implications of Wolf's predicament. They were better suited for husbands leaving for the office or a child about to spend lunchtime for the first time in middle or high school.

It didn't fit the perpetually frowning boy, whose scent still lingered on the pillow next to his.

Wolf first saw him at the end of a recital, cherry blossom orbs full of wonder as the young conductor eye's swept over his roaring audience.

He was a friend of Leonardo, one of his violinists and a second grade. He was the president of the science club, and he confirmed Wolf's newest fanboy to be one of his members.

"A bit shy, that kid. But definitely full of potential." The Italian spoke between drags of sweet-scented cigarettes (like the chronic chain smoker he was, Wolf's nose curled in distaste) one afternoon. "He doesn't talk much, always standing by himself in the corner. But when he gets talking, boy. He's definitely going places someday, maybe even Todai*. Or MIT."

"Never seen him before, and I'm good at recognizing faces." Wolf's eyes scanned the cafeteria and spotted a female underclassman waving at him. He didn't return the gesture. "Is he a transfer student?"

"Try asking your best friend about him," Leonardo winked as he rose from his chair and gathered his tray. "His other best bud seems to be thick as thieves with the kid."

His name was Isaac, and he loved physics.

Wolf had no need to seek the freshman out himself. It was the school darling Napoleon who ambushed him after rehearsal one afternoon, a fidgeting redhead in tow.

Wolf had no patience for his type  — painfully shy and ready to burst with a single poke. Wolf figured Napoleon was used to secondhand embarrassment as the bumbling schoolboy tripped on his own introduction.  

I'm Isaac, and I love physics.  The exact same words.

"N-nice to meet you." he blushed. "I've been coming to your recitals, you see. And I'm-"

Wolf zoned out on the remaining words as he expertly masked his growing disinterest. At least the boy seemed sincere.

The boy brought a sizable bouquet full of gladiolus and lily-of-the-valley. His face must have been burning behind the flowers as he presented them to Wolf.

"H-here." He thrust the bouquet in Wolf's face. "I hope this isn't too much."

He'd been given roses, chocolate, and even stuffed animals from secret admirers, boys and girls alike. But the straightforwardness with which Isaac gifted him the colorful array was novel.

"Danke Schoen." Their fingers touched as Wolf received the offering. Isaac was trembling. "You didn't need to go this far."

"But I- I wanted to!" The boy exclaimed with passion. Wolf was so astonished that he had no time to fight the red blooming across his cheeks.

Visiting the music room outside club hours had been Wolf's habit since his first year. It gave him time to practice and space to breathe new ideas into his compositions.

Before, there was nobody but him and the lustrous grand piano. Isaac became a new addition to his routine, unwelcome.

But only at first.

"Ah, Wolf-senpai. You're still here. Again," He would barge in at the end of every song, after unsuccessfully concealing himself near the door. "You don't ...tire, do you? It's after hours, and you're still fiddling with the piano."

It's the uneasiness in his voice that made the exchange endearing.

"And Leonardo should be looking for you by now." He smirked. "Don't you have science club?"

"Oh, there was nothing much, just a meeting and... stuff. I suppose you don't mind me intruding on your...uh, practice."

Wolf wanted to say he did mind. The line suited someone with a little more dash and charm, like Napoleon, better. The way Isaac stuttered and stumbled on his own words was amusing if only a bit awkward.

Few people could withstand Wolf's aloofness, and most would cower away after the slightest click of a tongue. There was a reason why he was dubbed the 'Ice Prince' by the school population.

The gratuitously assigned title always gave him and Jean (the other Cold Beauty of the School) a good laugh during lunch breaks. Except for the select few, no other person in the entire student body dared to disturb their exclusive, distant bubble of companionship.

Isaac was either admiringly bold or dangerously foolish for inviting himself into Wolf's presence. The music prodigy thought the effort was worth applauding.

Not that it was failing.

"I've got still got some sandwiches here. If you'd like, we can- "

" Sure, I've got some time to spare."  Wolf smiled as he gathered his sheets. Isaac looked like he could drop dead on the spot.

"I didn't know you had this much interest in music,"  Wolf commented one breezy afternoon as they shared earphones on the school's rooftop. Without too much deliberation, he decided to let Isaac listen to his demos.

The boy was surprisingly candid with his critiques on Wolf's compositions, despite being a fanboy (which he refused to admit).

"I grew up on classical music," The boy replied. "Nan always said it contributed to my IQ or something."

Wolf held back a snicker. It was very much Isaac to drop hints of his own superiority, even behind a self-deprecating tone.

"I'm glad you did. Jean doesn't really listen to them. He's hopeless when I ask him for opinions."

Isaac dropped his fork onto the plastic food box with a loud clack.

"You talk to him too?" Wolf imagined Isaac drooping like a puppy. "Of course. He's your best friend."

Wolf only thought it was cute at the time.

"You're living by yourself?"

Isaac nodded as they walked side by side, cherry blossom trees in full bloom along the road. It was the start of a new school year, and Wolf had accepted Isaac's invitation to walk home together that day.

"You should try making unforgettable memories before you graduate." Jean urged him after hearing his best friend's recent development with his new best friend.  "It's not often you get the chance to score with your favorite underclassman."

"Sure. Good luck scoring with Napoleon, yourself."

Wolf barely took notice of his surroundings as he was led to a massive apartment building. Even he knew no student would be able to rent their 1DK* units on part-time wage and parental subsidy.

"You're not the only one with fat wads of dosh." Isaac playfully smirked as he opened the door to his apartment.

Wolf could feel his heart thumping against his chest as he took his first step into the threshold.

There was no window to the outside world besides the TV. His iPhone was stashed away somewhere in this godforsaken apartment, most likely dismantled beyond repair.

Wolf curled on the too-small couch as the sound of rain muffled whatever trite noises the TV made. These days, there was nothing to watch but variety shows and drama.

He had no stomach for anime. His jailer, however, would drag him out to eat dinner while watching his favorite series.

He'd laugh and talk to him as if this was normal. Wolf supposed it was, for the aberrant. Had he been a girl, the freak would somehow bring get his hands on a marriage registration form and force him to sign it.

Alright, that was harsh. But judging from Wolf's current circumstances, maybe his prejudice towards the other boy wasn't entirely unjustified.

He fell for his kindness, and his hormonal, teenage self drove sealed his fate. What he thought was a mutual exchange between two touch-starved boys turned into a one-way transaction with no way out.

Wolf laid down on his back. The shadows playing across the ceiling gave him a sense of deja vu.

He could still feel the weight of a warm body on his own and the scent of strawberries clinging to his black sweater. His eyes and head were full of nothing but Isaac, Isaac, Isaa-

If that afternoon felt like a dream, then this must be a nightmare. The next time he opened his eyes, he would be back in his own bedroom, Nannerl's voice waking him from outside the door.

"Where on earth did you manage to get that? You don't have a sister."

"Be still, "Isaac admonished, leaning so close that he was partially sitting on Wolf's lap. "You don't want me to smear this all over your face."

You're not answering my question.  Wolf wanted to know why Isaac was able to produce a glossy lip tint from his bedroom. He'd seen girls at his school carrying that particular brand and type. It became en vogue several months ago, and he still remembered his sister saying it was a best-seller.

Why a schoolboy with no girlfriend kept one in his bedroom, he didn't know. If this were somebody else, Wolf wouldn't pry. But this was Isaac.

He needed to know more about him. Peel away his layers and uncover the many different faces no one else would ever see.

Wolf put up mock resistance as the pointed applicator (apple-scented. Curious.) drew closer to his lips. Knowing that struggling would only lead him into having one of his eyes poked, the taller boy decided to lay down and let Isaac finish the job.

He gently swept the tint over Wolf's lips back and forth until he was satisfied. He reared back to look at his handiwork adoringly.

"Ah, as I thought, you look perfect in red." Isaac was quick to don back his signature frown. Only this time, there was a furious blush spreading across his cheeks.

Wolf said nothing as he pulled Isaac's tie until dry lips crashed on his lacquered own. The younger boy was just as eager as he was, an inquisitive tongue slipping into Wolf's welcoming mouth.

"I haven't seen you as often lately." Isaac caught him one day in the shoe changing area. "Been going somewhere?"

Wolf smoothly fought his desire to brush back Isaac's bangs from his forehead. "I'm now a third-year, and I'm attending the university prep class. I need to devote my time to studying."

"Is that why you're hanging with Leonardo-senpai all the time in the library?"

"What do you think? Of course," Wolf rushed towards the exit. He had no time for Isaac's nagging. "My parents have high expectations of me, you know."

"But what about your music?"

Wolf stopped in his tracks and turned toward the panting boy. "What about it?"

"I thought you got a recommendation from a music school somewhere. Why do you need to spend all your time studying?" the redhead yelled, his outburst a rare display of candid emotion.

What's with this naivety you're suddenly showing me?  "My portfolio alone won't be enough to get me into a good school. I also need good grades to help me pass. I thought that's obvious, especially to you."

No high-achieving student like Isaac would suddenly fret over having to achieve higher grades to get to a reputable university.

I thought you wanted to get into astrophysics yourself? Does it not require outstanding grades?

"Isaac, what-"

"Then, does that mean you'll stop going to the music room and play like you used to?" Isaac strode to catch up with Wolf. "Does that mean I can't come and see you anymore?"

Wolf reached out and grabbed Isaac's sides, unaware of the attention they drew from bystanders.  "If that's what you're worried about," he sighed. "We can go on weekends when I'm able. How does that sound?"

He didn't like the slight trembling of Isaac's lips. Here, he couldn't kiss it away. Not if it meant risking becoming the topic of gossip among students for many months to come

Wolf's phone vibrated for the fifth time over the last twenty minutes.

"Are you not picking that up?" Jean pointed at the device, eliciting a groan from its owner.

"That's just Isaac. Ignore it." The white-haired youth snatched his phone and switched on silent mode. "He's just a lot clingier lately."

"Why don't you block him? I'm sure this is not the first time." Jean regarded him calmly, his eyes focused on the problem that they were in the middle of solving. "Doesn't it bother you too when you're studying alone?"

"That's a little too harsh, even for Isaac." Wolf threw the phone over his head, and it landed on the bed with a soft thud. "Besides, weren't you the one shoving me towards him?"

Jean tapped the butt of his pencil against his lips. "I didn't expect it would turn into anything like this."

"Like what?"

"That he'd turn out to be this... possessive." Jean selected his words carefully. "I'm surprised you even let him go this far."

Wolf sighed. His friend was right. Nobody had ever driven him up the wall quite like Isaac. "He's always been lonely," Wolf concluded, violet orbs focusing on the mechanical pencil he was twirling. "I can't just leave him alone, can I?"

"Even so," Jean murmured. "I can't bear to see you like this. I've seen you approached by admirers before, and you turned them down all down without trouble."

What's so different about him? was the real question he didn't ask.

"He's... entertaining, to be honest. Makes you want to take care of him." Wolf explained, matter-of-factly. There wasn't a single tinge of red on his cheeks. "But, to be honest, his clinginess does irk me a bit."

Jean came over to ask help from Wolf for his math homework. He wasn't here to listen to him drawling about his (honestly hopeless) love life.

Wolf brought his attention back to the workbook they had abandoned. His brows were knitted in thought.

"You think it's a good idea to call it quits with Isaac?"

After a while, the rain finally quieted down, nearly lulling Wolf to sleep. Losing himself to slumber was the easiest, least painful way to deal with this hallucination-gone-horribly-real.  

There was light rain on the day he asked Isaac to talk in a cafe not too far from here. Wolf remembered it like it was only yesterday. There was the posh interior, girls from the nearby Catholic school giggling at them, the aftertaste of the cafe au lait he ordered. He could vividly picture the delicately plated apple pancake in front of Isaac, piping hot and enticing.

He would never forget phantom tears prickling in the corner of Isaac's rosy eyes.

Everything considered, he did what he'd always done: tell the other they needed to part ways, calmly explain the reason why, and set boundaries. "I won't be answering your calls or messages, and I won't be waiting around for you after school."

"I will no longer be visiting the music room. You won't find me there."

Unexpectedly, the boy only heaved a sigh and shook his head. No screaming or begging involved.

"I see. I had a feeling it would turn out this way." He continued to finish his dessert silently.

Perhaps it was out of genuine love (or even pity) that he brusquely offered to walk Isaac back to his apartment building one last time. Wolf didn't consider himself a poor judge of character, so it must be his heart winning over his head.

And what a blunder that was.

He nearly collapsed onto Isaac's side, barely listening to the boy fretting and calling to him in distress. "Senpai, what's the matter? You look pale. Let's get you inside so you can lie down."

The unwitting Wolf was led straight into his awaiting den.

Wolf awoke to the sound of the front door unlocking and a quiet I'm home,  followed by some shuffling and other sorts of ruckus the clumsy boy caused.

Footsteps approached the couch he laid on. His heart no longer throbbed like crazy by now whenever the other came near.

"I'm home, Wolf. Why didn't you answer?"

His boyish voice used to be the reason why he was drawn to Isaac. But now, it only made his skin crawl. Wolf seethed and averted his eyes as far away as possible from his 'guardian', wishing he could regurgitate his lunch all over the plush carpet.

"Are you still sulking? Don't be. It doesn't become that lovely face of yours."

If you weren't drugging me daily, I would have strangled you.

"Were you lonely without me? It can get pretty dull as dishwater 'round here." Wolf tried to distract himself from the hands, grabbing him and propping himself up. " 'suppose it's about time I get you a keyboard to play. It'll be like the old days."

I wish I never let you inside the music room that day.

Cold fingers combed through unruly silver locks. "This is all 'Leon's fault. Bummer. He insisted on waiting for Jean-senpai."

Isaac squeezed himself into space next to Wolf's rigid figure. The elder closed his eyes as an arm snaked its way around his waist. "Yeah, we couldn't exactly run under heavy rain."

Wolf's eyes were fixed on the screen. Would there ever be a chance of his face showing on breaking news, a shot of his parents crying over their missing son, or interviews with fellow students from his school?

Anything but the white noise the darned TV emitted. Or the unwanted hand now caressing his burning cheek.

Poor sod looked like he was missing you for real. Napoleon invited him to walk home with us because he 'couldn't bear to see him in distress." His voice dropped into a whisper. "But if you ask me."

"They're prolly trading making out in some dark alley because Jean-senpai can't stand being alone,"  Isaac mocked. Every syllable pouring out of his lips made Wolf's stomach churn. "I take back what I said about him missing you. He just wants dick in him, thinking it'll help him get better."

The plastic remote clattered on an uncovered part of the wooden floor. Wolf wanted to pry away his imprisoner's claws from his shoulder. Fingers that used to radiate heat all over his skin now left nothing but disgust in their wake.

"He likes to pretend he's all prim and proper when really, he's just an attention-seeking slag." The venom was so palpable and potent in his voice that it made Wolf overlook the fact that the bastard was muttering directly against the back of his neck. "I don't get why you kept putting up with him, that fraud."

Nobody else would ever be this genuine to you, Wolf-senpai.  So the boy mumbled to him every night before sleep.

All sheepish pretenses were thrown and cast aside as conveniently as changing clothes. Wolves were affectionate creatures, the young composer once read.

But they're still wolves.

"I don't know if you'd be fine with electric keyboards," Isaac sighed into his hair. "If I had more money, I'd buy you a real red piano  — the polished kind that looks like a toy. Ah, I used to see them all the time at a toy store when I was a kid."

Isaac's delirious rambling convinced Wolf that he wasn't the madman. That this was real and that there was no waking up from this long, bad dream —

Wolf violently shut his eyes as Isaac drew him closer, tighter. To Wolf's impaired senses, Isaac's words were losing to the sound of rain. There was a downpour outside.

" I found a picture of you from when you were in middle school. You were already stunning, sitting in front of your family's white piano." He went on. "It's always white, grey, light blue. Ever thought that you'd look perfectly good in red?"

Glossary:

*1 Todai: short for Tokyo Daigaku or Tokyo University. Basically Japan's most legendary university. *2 1DK: a Japanese term referring to an apartment unit with two rooms with a kitchen and dining space separated from other areas. The D stands for "Dining" and K stands for "Kitchen".

I originally planned this to be a shorter fic from Isaac's perspective, but I switched to Mozart's instead and got carried away.

[namjoonsyoongi]

blurred lines | namgi

summary: what’s a few blowjobs between friends?

rating: M

word count: 4610

genre/tags: friends to lovers, friends with benefits, university au, comedy, crack, fluff, angst 

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18663031

Namjoon and Yoongi have known eachother for as long as they could spell their own names, but that wasn't enough to keep Namjoon from wanting to slap his friend upside the head sometimes.

What did keep him from doing so were the little things. The song Yoongi wrote him for his seventeenth birthday, a last minute rap that lasted all of fifty seconds written on a crumbled sheet of lined paper; A song that Namjoon wouldn’t be able to remember even if someone put a gun to his head and told him to recite it. The way that he could read his mind on any given day and act accordingly, and how they’d have a conversation with one another through brief glances and raised eyebrows alone.

Yet he still managed to discover a way to be utterly infuriating.

The other night, the all too allusive Min Yoongi, cat-eyed and full of indifference, crawled into his bed in the middle of the night. Have you ever watched the flicking tongue of a snake as it slithered toward a mouse, and then looked away before it could swallow the mouse whole? That's what Yoongi was to Namjoon on nights like these, intruding into the covers and tangling himself in Namjoon's longer limbs.

Namjoon wouldn't have any issue with a few nighttime cuddles, Yoongi's was just one of the many affectionate boys in their group of friends, and wasn't anywhere near the worst of it. Jimin could be more attached to him than his own skin, and Taehyung was like a puppy in the way he needed constant verbal and physical affirmation to make sure they were, in fact, best friends forever.

Yoongi's not like that, not most of the time. He came with a purpose.

"What's wrong?"  

"Nothing's wrong," Yoongi was simply laying by Namjoon's side at this point, before rolling over into him. "I'm just annoyed with this project. I texted my lab partner, Seungwan, and she’s more lost than I am. I'm never gonna finish this dumb fucking -- stupid fucking -- fuck this project. I'm getting pissed just thinking about it."  

"You should have never took engineering."

He really shouldn't have, but Namjoon knew why he did. He'd spent enough time at his house growing up to know of the expectations his parents had for him, as did every parent. Namjoon had almost fallen into the same trap, on track for medical school until one day, with the lyrics of Epik High's Fly on loop in his head, something stirred in him to stand up and say no. Namjoon spent his first year as a music major estranged from his parents, while Yoongi spent it as the epitome of the perfect son, and unhappy.

Namjoon spoke again. "On the brightside, only one more year."

"Shut up, please."

That was not the first night, where everything was different. Where those lines between friendship and lover blurred, for just an hour, sometimes two.

Yoongi, rather than sulk and complain, opted to release a kiss onto Namjoon's neck - and then another.

"Mm."

He keeps going, further and further, and Namjoon never tries to stop him, even when he knows he should. He palms the bulge in Yoongi's track pants, which seems to be exactly what he wants, and gets to work, going for just long enough until the warmth was enough to burn away any remaining irritation.  

Namjoon never went all the way with Yoongi, but it would probably be pretty nice.

Yoongi's lips had that sweet taste of rum the first time, and it calmed the bitter flames of the vodka present in Namjoon's throat. He couldn't say for sure who made the first move, but he could perfectly recall the pleasant fuzz that clouded his senses, and the way Yoongi moaned as if no one could hear them, as if Jin wasn't in the next room over.

When Namjoon awoke, the faint memory of Yoongi's weight in his mattress was all that remained. Any semblance of permanency floated into the air like dust, he greeted a smirking all-knowing Jin the next morning and went to class none the wiser. A dream, he chalked the whole thing up to, just a weird dream.

"Can I be honest?"

"Go off."

"I'm starting to think Yoongi isn't exactly straight."

Silence.

Like a choir, Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung burst into loud, screeching laughter, accompanied with celebratory hand clapping and Hoseok throwing himself into Namjoon's lap because he can't keep his balance with the sheer humor of it all.

"-And you just realized this!?"

Namjoon swallowed something stuck in his throat.

It's during a brief period of peace with Yoongi, who's laying sprawled against Namjoon's chest, when he asks about it. Namjoon had meant to approach such a subject with the utmost eloquence and thoughtfulness - You can trust me with anything you know, sometimes I feel like you tell the others things you won't tell me. I never would have judged you if you told me you like more than just girls. Do you even know how much respect and appreciation I have for you? That I'll always have for you?

But what came out of Namjoon's mouth is, "Do you give all of us blowjobs?"

Yoongi didn't answer immediately. Namjoon lifted his neck, but all he could see was the black waves of hair on the top of his head, leaning against his chest. The air in the room fogged with the added tension, and Namjoon could only guess what Yoongi's face looked like.

He said nothing. Nothing . He shuffled out of the covers and away from him, leaving the room with the mundane click of the door closing behind him.

That was something Namjoon had always known about Yoongi, his silence was louder than anything, he never had to yell.

"Fool me once? Shame on me. Fool me twice? Shame on you. Suck my dick a third time and 'no homo' is officially off limits." Jin yelped into laughter at his own joke before Namjoon could even process the words.

This was why Namjoon came to Jin for absolutely nothing.

"You're not funny."

"You're gay," Jin said, practically basking in the glare he's earned from Namjoon. "-No excuses, you sucked his dick."

Namjoon rose from his seat. "Don't tell the others."

"Why not? The rest of us admitted we were at least a little gay freshman year, we've been waiting for your coming out for years - years!"    

So you knew about Yoongi too? Namjoon wanted to ask. There was something humiliating about the fact people who Yoongi had known for three years knew more than the one who knew him for fifteen; An anchor of shame dropped silently into his empty gut.  

"Not about that," Namjoon said instead, digging into the fridge for a can of beer. "About me and Yoongi, what we've been...you know."

"Oh no, I won't. That'd scar Jungkook and you know it, that's like when you find out that your mom and dad have sex for the first time."

He tossed the can of beer in his hand, not caring enough to see where it landed, if it smacked against the handsome face that was the older's pride, or broke something along the way.  

"...I don't."

Namjoon detached from him, and Yoongi groaned once the cold air met his wet length. "Wh-What?"

"I don't give the others blow jobs, you're an asshole for saying that."

"I know, I'm sorry. Really." Namjoon, about to dip his head back under the covers, stopped to continue his thought. "Also, It's really hard to have a conversation with you while your dick is in my mouth." He moved to go under for a second time, and halted again. "Also, neither do I."

"Neither do you what?

"Give the others blowjobs."

"Good."

Shards of glass could cut you so easily, a sharp end that sinks deep into your skin, yet you don't immediately feel it when it does. That was the thing about them, he and Yoongi; Their bond was like glass, clear and delicate, it could break at one wrong move, with the simplest of words that hit the other in just the right place.

With someone as clumsy as he was, who has broken more than enough glass made objects, a connection like that was futile. Or that's what he thought, cause no matter how bad the fall, no matter how worse the cut, they somehow put themselves back together as if it had never been touched.

"Joon, your cup!"

Snapped forcefully from his reverie, the weight that had been steady in his hand slipped out before he could save it. The jarring sound of shattering glass cut out the white noise that had been playing as a soundtrack to his own thoughts.

He cursed, watching the reflective shards twinkle menacingly on the tiled floor. "Shit."

"You know, sometimes me and Jimin talk about getting a plastic set just for you." Jungkook jokes, it wasn't anything new to him.

"Let me guess! Namjoon bumped into something again." Jimin calls out, turning around the corner to be met with the new mess decorating the floor of his kitchen.

"He spaced out, I think."

"The last time you did this shit, I was stepping on tiny - like I swear microscopic pieces of glass that we couldn't clean up."  

Jimin ushers Namjoon out with mumbled reassurances that everything was fine and the two of them would clean it up. Today was one of their regular get-togethers, but it'd be the last one before they'd return home for the holidays. Jimin thought it appropriate to replace their soft drinks with alcohol, alcohol which Namjoon had just spilled half a glass of onto the ground, along with the cup.

In the living room, sat the rest of them, gathered close around Jungkook's flat screen. Namjoon could hear the muted yet very present sound of crunching as Jin and Taehyung shared a bag of chips. Hoseok lounged in a recliner, leaning back and huddling into his blanket, mindlessly flicking through Netflix.

With midterms having marched to and fro and subsequently ruined their lives, Yoongi had been a bumbling mess of yawns and naps for the past month. All both Jin and Namjoon had seen of their roommate was him fast asleep on their couch and drooling on his study notes, and glimpses of him going to and from the school before locking himself in his room.

He wasn't here, Namjoon's shoulders slumped.

"Where's Yoongi?"

"Canceled," Hoseok muttered with a deep-set pout, not looking away from the screen.

"Since when?"

"Five minutes ago."

"Hobi's still pissed." Jin chimes in, the bag rustling as he picked it up and held it out to Namjoon.

Namjoon took a handful of chips, and watched as Hoseok’s pout only deepened, a rare darkness in his eyes that only appeared when you had truly committed the worst of his friendship sins. "I wouldn't be if it weren't for this being our last night here, or if he weren't ditching for Seungwan. I would never...we would never!"

The room lapses back into a silence, as if they imagine Namjoon can understand every word and name that had just left their mouths.

"Seungwan?"

Despite everything, Yoongi was always the one to initiate things. Even when he wore his favourite black skinny jeans, and Namjoon's eyes became glued to the gentle curves of his thighs and the belt that hugged his waist. Even when, just like that snake, he wanted nothing more to devour him whole - he didn't, he waited for him.

It felt strange to take what he knew wasn't truly his.

Then came those past two months, where Yoongi tiptoed around Namjoon, as if coming any closer would break him. Namjoon thought it all in his head, Yoongi was busy, he was an engineering major, he just had to focus. Namjoon thought he was the one who could always make him focus, rejuvenate him, perhaps he was wrong. He was fine with that.

In reality, however, there was Seungwan. Pretty girl Seungwan, with her delicate face and cherry coloured lips. Slim and yet plump just where it mattered.

Jin's words hit so cold that icicles could have formed from his lips. "Seungwan and Yoongi have been dating for the past 2 months."

Why didn't you tell me sooner? Namjoon wanted to yell back at him. Why didn't any of you tell me sooner? Why didn't Yoongi tell me sooner? His heart raged against his ribcage, it wanted to scream and shout too, it wanted to run away from the man child it was stuck in, and who idiotically decided to fall in love with his best friend. The best friend he didn't know was gay until he found his way into Namjoon's sheets, the best friend who never spoke about their moments of passion in the day, the best friend who couldn't care less.

"I'm gonna go get another drink," he said instead.

And so he moved on, moved forward. Swallowed the feelings and let them dissolve somewhere in his gut. The next time he'd see Yoongi, with Seungwan hanging off his arm, he'd smile graciously and greet the both of them. Observing Yoongi as he'd mask on a disinterested demeanor when he did something thoughtful for her. He'd welcome Seungwan like the morning sun, he'd laugh at the jokes she'd quip about all the little ticks Yoongi had that Namjoon was long accustomed to and support her when she’d eventually come to him with questions like “what type of food would Yoongi want me to get?”, “Do you think Yoongi would like this as a gift?”. He'd listen attentively to every word, as if she wasn't just echoing the thoughts and feelings that had planted into his very being like a weed, sprouting once again every time he thought he’d picked it out.  

Or at least that's what he would have liked to say happened, and that's what would have happened, had it not been for the long road trip he was stuck on the morning after Namjoon found out about her.

A blanket of mist settles across their driveway like smoke. The overnight storm pelted away the flames of his intoxication, but the subsequent hangover pounded just as relentlessly.

By the car, a phantom stood, posture hunched. Yoongi looked like he was sinking into a black hole with his oversized winter coat, it was almost endearing.

Cute. Adorable actually.

Yoongi smirked. "Wow, who hit you with a bus?"

You.

The grey scarf flew from his pocket as he wrapped it around his neck and up his face, until all but his swollen eyes showed. "Let's just get this over with," He uttered, voice muffled.  

It wasn't a ritual more than it was convenient for Yoongi to drive him back home for the holidays. Their houses were five minute walks between each other respectively, and Namjoon, with his immense lack of grace and poise, has never dared touch a steering wheel in his life. Yoongi liked to say he was his personal uber, then again he also liked to complain about how annoying that was.

On the passenger's side, his eyes catch a rip edged into the cushion with the tiniest of threads holding it together - How is this piece of shit car still alive, honestly? There he sits down stiffly, another place he has essentially spent the past several years making a home of, and the two set off.

The nausea was already striking, and not just from the hangover. Something boiled unwelcome in his chest, and ran all the way down to his abdomen.

Apparently he isn't doing a good job of hiding it, cause Yoongi speaks up and says, "Don't throw up in here."

"I won't. " He snaps back.

Fuck.

He used to think he was better than this, better at setting emotion aside in favour of the overall peace that'd remain instead. Lips zipped shut meant tranquility, and Namjoon valued that; Especially with him, he who he hates more than anything right now.

How...how? How did he fall for this badly acted charade, of course Yoongi never wanted him - like that - if he did, he would have said so.

Stop. Shut up. It isn't that serious.

His jaw locks.

But it really is.

Namjoon's an atheist, but for the first time in years he prays.

He prays that this ride will proceed in silence, because if not, the emotions he didn't have enough time to bury will overflow and drown whatever was left of he and Yoongi's relationship.

Fortunately, the prayer is answered, though sparingly. Identical looking streets pass by wordlessly, with Yoongi twisting and turning through roads and towns that Namjoon can't recognize. His eyes are too exhausted to focus on anything, not that there was anything worth looking at; Every building becomes a blur of mild colours, and the sky is as gray and dull as watching cement dry.

"We're close," Yoongi says.

Namjoon hums, along with the engine as the car slows down, going up a soft incline into a gas station.

The driver's side door opens, Yoongi huddling into his coat as a gust whistles into the vehicle. "I'll be right back."

Don't come back. Just leave me in here to shrivel up and die.

When Yoongi returns, rushing into his seat before shutting the door and ramming the engine again, he says nothing. But Namjoon can hear him, his indifference, a quality which he once admired.

He'd cut his tongue out if it meant he'd keep his mouth shut, but all he can do is sink his teeth into his bottom lip, deeper and deeper as the car pulls out.

"...Yoongi?"

"Yeah?"

Don't say it.

"What am I to you?"

The engine whines, filling the emptiness of the car.

"My best friend."  

The nonchalance cuts Namjoon to the bone, until his lungs are clinging for life. His labour breathes repeatedly stab through the silence, and all he can do is stare, unanswered questions overflowing in his skull.  

They've never talked about - them, what they were and what they did. Any conversations that went past platonic stayed in Namjoon's room and Namjoon's room only. Which is why now even implications of their deeper relationship felt forbidden, his lips clipped shut when the vaguest of words pass his mind.

But Namjoon doesn't have to be the one to say it.

Yoongi laughs, scratching his ear. "Maybe a best friend with benefits?"      

The sharp edges of his eyes go a deeper shade of red, the hurt settling into the crevices. Acknowledgment, shouldn't that satisfy him?

"Still?" Namjoon asks, his voice barely a whisper.

The pink that dusts over Yoongi's cheek is rare. The sight nearly makes Namjoon's heart swell, until he's hit with the thought that Seungwan is on the older man's mind.

"I mean..." Yoongi clears his throat. "Yeah...if you still want-"

"And what about Seungwan?"

His brows furrow, almost offended. "What about her?"

The response boils in Namjoon's ear, like an off key note.

"Can't you be straightforward with me? Like you usually are?" Namjoon says.

"I am."

A snap cuts out his next thought.

They return their attention to the windshield, and watch as the wipers twist unnaturally before flying off the car into the highway, making a couple vengeful scratches across the windows along the way. All that's left of them is two little useless black nubs, which twitch as they try to operate without their second half.

"Aw, shit!" Yoongi curses, a veil of white particles smudging onto the windshield. The flight of snow has accelerated, rushing to the ground and with nothing to push the snow off their windshield, their view of the road is being eclipsed in white at an alarming rate. "I've gotta pullover."

The gravel hisses as Yoongi's car pulls over into the side of the road, coming to a full stop and leaning into his seat with a groan. "The wind must have been too harsh, they completely snapped off. I'm gonna have to call my parents to pick us up, we can't drive like this."

"Are we just leaving the car?"

"We'll lock it and probably get like - I don't know - someone to pick it up. That's gonna cost a shit load."

Namjoon expects the older of the two to pick up his phone and call his parents, but he doesn't and favours sulking back in his seat, hands rubbing his eyes and grumbling to himself. The stare catches onto his peach lips, and the way he's nibbling on his bottom lip.

"Yoongi..."

"Hm?"

"You looked stressed."

"Do I?" He remarks sarcastically, a grin pulling his lips.

Thoughts of Seungwan sink into the very corner of his head as he stares at his companion, someone who he truly has loved so dearly for as long as he could remember. He just wants to pretend he’s his, and hold him so tight that the mere thought of him ever leaving can’t cross Namjoon’s mind.

I just want to be with you, even if it’s only for a second.

"Do you want me to help?" Is all he says.

There's a pause, one that sucks all the air out of him. Yoongi almost laughs, a giddy smile on his face. But slowly, agonizingly, Yoongi's hands tumble down his face until they settle onto his neck. His eyelashes hover, and Namjoon follows them until they finally open and take in the eager and desperate man right in front of him. Yoongi's eyes, so deep and dark, swirling with a curious lust that the other is sinking into.

He doesn't speak, he nods earnestly, as if it was the question he’d been waiting to be asked all day, He leans into Namjoon's space, until their gazes tangle together. His lips, slightly chapped, barely brush over his, testing him.

Namjoon says yes; His large hands envelope his thin wrists, and pulls him forward so that their lips connect. Starting from the soft plump surface, the fuzzy feeling that alcohol can never recreate the same way runs into his veins, and he feels his heart already urging him forward with the strong and abrupt ache that develops.

He goes further, deepening the kiss as Yoongi's arms find their place around Namjoon's neck.

He doesn't know how long the kissing last until he manages to groan out a husky "c'mere," between the mess they're becoming. He breaks the kiss, waiting for Yoongi to come to him as the smaller tries his best to crawl onto Namjoon's lap in the cramped car. It's in that quiet moment that Namjoon realizes both of their coats are already off and probably somewhere in the backseat, lost to the heat of the moment.

He can already feel the growing bulge in the Yoongi's jeans, and the man impatiently moves to pull down his own zipper before Namjoon halts the action.

"Let me." He demands, voice husky and out of breath. His fingertips barely graze the metal, and stay there, playing with the sharp criss cross that leads up to the metal tab and enjoys the way the other fusses. Yoongi's head scurries into Namjoon's neck, biting in some kind of retaliation.

"Yoongi..."

"Godammit, what!" He exclaims, huffing warm breaths onto his neck.

"I want to go all the way - well, I wanna fuck you, I guess is the proper way to put it."

He feels the way Yoongi tenses up, and thrives in the flustered tremble that sticks to his voice.

"Y-Yeah. Then...Okay."

Finally, he pulls the zippers down, and helps Yoongi to raise himself up and pull it down to his ankles. Namjoon's hands strokes the newly exposed skin of his thighs, pale and covered in goosebumps.

Yoongi's hands in the meanwhile, begin to fiddle with the leather belt looped around Namjoon's own jeans. His eyes glazed with steam, like fresh mocha. Namjoon, for a first, lets him have his way as he loosens the pants and fights to pull them down.

"-And one more thing..." Namjoon whispers, leaving a kiss on the shell of his ear.

"What?"

"I love you. You know that right?"

"I love you, too." He says, adding the last part after a hesitant pause. “As more than...best friends. A lot more, actually.”

Namjoon smirks, lips trailing down the length of his neck.

"...Then prove it."

"Do you think it worked?" Jimin's voice flutters into the air; His chin is on the young Jungkook's shoulder, watching as his nimble hands maneuver a paint brush across the canvas, lips tight in concentration as he adds a strike of black.

Snowflakes dance gracefully across the glass window to their side, the ice that had once tangled into the earth leaving a mild frost in its wake. Nothing but whispers of the raging winter night was left.  

"Of course it did. It was my idea." Seokjin declares, hands on his hips as he views the large gallery in Jungkook's workroom. He's bullied the youngest more than a few times about having a useless major, but his collection of artwork never ceased to amaze him. Maybe he won't be a beggar on the streets once he graduates afterall.  

"What if they hate each other after this?" Hoseok says, a pout weighing down his face, a real one this time.

Seokin's broad shoulders shrug. "Then you'll have to live with the guilt, couldn't have done it without your A plus acting. Can't wait to see you at the Oscars next year."

A furious slap from Hoseok lands right on his upper arm, and Seokjin cries out as if he's just been stabbed, doe eyes wide and flickering with false innocence.

Taehyung grins, linking arms with Hoseok. "Don't worry about it too much, Hoseokie. Namjoon and Yoongi aren’t stupid, it won't be that long until he figures out Seungwan and Yoongi were never dating."

Is that so...Because they also spent the last year certain that no one but Seokjin knew about their frequent late night rendezvous, something Seokjin quickly learned was quite the opposite.

"Can someone remind me why Jin said they were again?" Jungkook chimes in.

"Jealousy makes the heart grow fonder, Kookie." Seokjin claims, the eldest always seemed to have wisdom to pass on, even if such words of wisdom fell on deaf ears. "Or I guess, more possessive."

"Why can't people just say they love someone when they love someone, it's not that difficult." That was easy for him to say. Jungkook's one and only crush throughout his first years of college was currently leaning over him and giggling softly into his ear, arms hugging his center.

Whenever he recounted he and Jimin's personal love story, it was a few short sentences, and went something along the lines of "met him at orientation and I thought he was cute. Became friends, then I told him I wanted him and we've been going strong ever since."  No one in the room could even imagine a world in which Jungkook's desire could be rejected, or not returned back tenfold, let alone by lovestruck Park Jimin.

The pause in conversation lasts too long, and Jimin pipes up. "They're probably fucking in the car as we speak."

The room bursts into a series of gasps, boos, and broken laughter. The ringing that follows is barely audible, but Seokjin feels the phone buzz in his back pocket. He hushes the rowdy group, before picking up the call without much as a second thought.

“Hello~?”

There's a shuffling of clothes on the other side, but Yoongi's exasperated voice eventually comes onto the line.

“Each and every one of you are so fucking dead to me.”

[inactiive-shit]

Live A Little

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Title: Live A Little

Prompt: Ghost!side

Warnings: death, implied (past) murder, ghost, blood

Pairing: Platonic LAMP

Words: 2,213

@sanderssidescelebrations​ Chim-chim-churree, bucko. I tried for fluff and my brain kept trying to make me incorporate angst so this is kind of bittersweet. But I love my child. Here is the best I have:

This time of year was, objectively speaking, the best.

Logan was not biased, don’t think that he would ever let his current circumstances affect his opinion. It was a simple fact that fall was the best time of year. The beautiful trees and the pleasant chill in the air and the smell of crisp early mornings were, objectively, some of the best things in life.

And Logan would know that because he had lost his life. About twenty years ago, and he won’t go anymore exact than that because he still looks like a twenty-something college kid, but he would digress. Logan knows these are the best aspects of life because they are the things he misses the most and also the things that he can feel the best even after death.

His liking this time of year has absolutely nothing to do with Halloween, or the thinning of the veil, or it being the only time of year he can be seen by everyone, or that he can feel things, or that people don’t run screaming from him when they see him. They actually congratulate him on such a realistic costume, and Logan has long since given up on trying to convince anyone he’s actually dead. They always think he’s inebriated or pulling some sort of prank. He doesn’t mind so much anymore. He’s just glad that he can hold any sort of conversation with someone who isn’t a particularly enlightened cat.

Things start to get fun every year around eight p.m. That’s when Logan becomes corporeal again, and also when he is finally able to be seen by the masses. So, as eight p.m. rolls around, Logan steps out of the stupid house he is confined to every other day of the year and begins walking.

His legs tingle like he’s been sitting cross-legged too long and now they’re coming awake again. He relishes in the feeling, even if it’s not pleasant. It’s something, and that’s a lot better than nothing. The wind batters his face and a beautifully orange leaf smack into the tacky blood pasting his hair down and sticks. He smiles, pulling it off and tossing it back to the elements. He watches as it whisks down the street in the first breeze he’s felt in a year. A few drops of rain land on his hand, so Logan tilts his head back and lets the rain sprinkle onto his face. After a year without even the slightest bit of liquid touching, the rain feels exquisite. He fights the insane urge to giggle and allows himself a few seconds of basking in the rain. Then he composes himself and continues walking. As much as he’d love to drink in all these sensations forever, he only gets twelve hours. There is so much more he wants to do before this night is over.

There is a house about four blocks away. It is more of a mansion than a house, and nobody owns it. Students from the local college flock to it every Halloween for the biggest party that anyone in the state has. Logan knows, because even back in his day it was an impressive party. The police have a long standing deal with the college students: it doesn’t get too loud and nothing gets destroyed, nobody gets arrested. This, too, has been in effect since Logan was as young as he looks. The students had, of course, been banned before, but they kept coming back. Now the truce has been in place for over two decades. Logan’s never been more happy that a law can be so casually broken.

Logan only went to a few parties in his life (nowhere near enough, if you ask him now. He loves the socialization more than anything else.) They were all good parties for the time, but now is a whole new ball game. There are amazing lights and decorations and types of food he’s never seen before. People bring their handheld cellular phones with them everywhere, and it’s a technology Logan had never imagined in his life. They contain cameras, make calls, send written messages, access the internet (something Logan wishes to high heaven that he’d had in college), and so much more that is far beyond his comprehension, given his limited time to interact with them.

Even with all of that, all the crazy things he can’t even fathom having existed before, he loves these parties. He can drink (though never get drunk), he can eat (though he is never hungry), he can talk (and be heard), and he can touch others. Logan never realized how much he took his senses for granted until they were revoked like some cosmic joke. But for now, he has them. He can stew about not having them once they’re gone again, and he’s back to being no more than a semi-famous news story and The Poltergeist of Auburn Street.

Logan walks into the party and the very first thing he does is grab a cookie. It’s a simple little pumpkin, and the gel-like icing is dripping off slightly, but it is delicious. He purposely bumps into a few people as he makes his way around the already packed room. It is not yet eight thirty, and already ‘Spooky Scary Skeletons’ is blasting from the speakers. Strangers are making out in strange places, and Logan watches them for only a moment before turning away. He hadn’t really been a fan of such things when he was alive, either, and it is one societal expectation that he does not miss at all.

Logan mingles with the warm bodies around him until nine o’clock when he sees who he���s been waiting for: Patton Foster. Behind Patton walks Roman Prince, brandishing his smile like a weapon. The last person in, loitering in the door like a vampire, is Virgil Avery. They make the most interesting trio that Logan has ever seen, none of them have anything in common, and that probably has a lot to do with why he fits in with them so well.

“Lolo!” Patton cries and throws his arms around Logan’s neck as soon as he steps into his path. “How’ve you been? What have you been doing?” Patton is easily the most genuine person that Logan has ever met. When they met in Patton’s freshman year at this very party, Logan was just sitting on the stairs, watching. Patton had asked what was wrong like he’d known just from a glance, and they’d talked, and then he’d met the other two, and they all clicked together like puzzle pieces, separated years ago by an errant creator.

Somehow, it seemed fitting that Logan would make the best friends of his life after he died.

“Good, Patton. I’ve been good. Not doing much.” Logan wiggles out of Patton’s embrace, and Patton lets go quickly.

“Not doing much?” Virgil grumbles. “Wouldn’t you have seen the whole world by now, calculator watch?” Logan has no idea what that is supposed to mean - the nickname, not the sentence. What the cherry-covered fuck was a calculator watch?

“There is a lot more to the world than places, Virgil,” Logan says. They bump fists and then Roman drapes an arm around Logan’s shoulders.

“Where did you spend this year, again?” Roman asks, eyeing the crowd like a vulture. The first year Logan had met them, at the end of the night, all three of them had been devastated to find out that Logan didn’t go to their school. He told them he was traveling; all over the world. It was why he was never here longer than a night, and it was why they never saw him on campus.

“Australia,” Logan says. This is probably not where he told them he was going last year. He doesn’t remember where he told them going, only that it was far enough away they wouldn’t try to visit.

“What’s that like, kiddo?”

“Hot, dry. A surprising amount of deadly fauna, even knowing about it beforehand,” Logan says. He doesn’t want to be questioned about a place he’s never been, so  he asks, “What sorts of things have been going on for you?”

“Nothing good,” Virgil says, but he looks too happy in his skeleton costume for that to be true.

“Stormcloud passed his biology exam,” Roman proclaims, loudly, in Logan’s ear. Logan leans more into the sound and the heat.

“Barely,” Virgil says, but there’s no venom in the word.

“But you did pass,” Logan says. He pauses and adds, “I loved biology in high school. It’s a lot different in college though.” Logan can’t even begin to guess how far the field has come since his most recent knowledge of it. He had been majoring in biology; he loved the field work involved.

“That’s the spirit!” Patton says. Virgil and Roman laugh. Logan groans. A pun. A halloween pun. A Halloween pun that just so happens to hinge on the thing Logan is. How Patton manages it, Logan hasn’t found out. He may be a witch. He may be psychic and not know it. Whatever the case, he’s using his power for puns. It really is such a Patton thing to do.

“I starred in the school’s production of The Breakfast Club,” Roman says. He puffs out his chest. They reach the drink table and everyone picks up something.

“A wonderful movie,” Logan says. “I didn’t know there was a play based on it.” Roman stares at him with outright incomprehension.

“So you get my 80s movie references, but you’ve never seen an Avengers movie? Or Tangled? Or-or even something nerdy like Interstellar?”

“I have read the Marvel comics,” Logan suggests. Roman rolls his eyes, and Logan surmises that is not quite considered the same. “And I have been meaning to watch Interstellar since you told me about it last year. Though I have absolutely no clue what Tangled is supposed to be.” He grins as Roman goes off on a tangent about all things Disney. It’s endearing, if obnoxious, Logan thinks as he makes eye contact with Virgil and Patton. All three of them devolve into laughter, but Roman keeps going, undeterred.

“And Frozen! Elsa’s going to be a lesbian, and the Prince was the bad guy-that’s how you know he was never a real prince. A real prince like myself would never commit a betrayal like that! And what about The Princess and The Frog? An underrated masterpiece to be sure, but stunning! Everything about it was amazing! And there’s…” Logan’s not sure if Roman’s taken a breath since he started talking, and he’s only understanding about a third of the words he’s said.

Roman is the easiest to rile into such an impassioned state. He loves so much so fiercely that anything could set him off. Less often to see passionate is Patton. Not excited or even elated about something, but to see Patton with a bright gleam in his eye as he talks until there are no words left and you can feel his very own passion in your soul is beautiful. Least often to feel so strongly about something is Virgil. Logan has only provoked him into one passion-fueled rant (about caterpillars, of all things. Odd, but fitting.), but he is just as capable of feeling and expressing as either of the others.

Passion, Logan has found, is the heart and soul of life. Nothing quite compares to watching someone breathe life into something just from their sheer love of the subject.

But dancing comes close.

“Want to dance?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at Roman. Roman grins, takes a breath, and then extends a hand toward Patton.

“Padre? Would you do me this honor?” Patton giggles and jumps up.

“C’mon, Virge! It’ll be fun!” Patton and Roman are bouncing excitedly - in entirely different ways. Patton’s is a sort of rocking back forth from his heels to his toes over and over, as though he cannot possibly not move, even when he’s not walking. Roman’s is more of a jump, bending his knees slightly and then springing back up, so eager to get moving that he won’t wait for the time.

“I don’t know, guys.” Virgil withdraws into his hoodie slightly. Logan admires the patchwork design, something so lovingly hand-crafted that it could never really be replicated correctly. “Dancing’s not really my thing.”

“Come on, dark and stormy, nothing bad is going to happen,” Roman prods. He starts to pull closer to the other dancing people. Virgil doesn’t look completely convinced, and there’s only one thing Logan can advise here.

“Live a little,” he says, and he smiles because Patton would love the pun if he knew, and then he takes his own advice and for exactly one night, Logan lives. At the end of the night, he’ll tell his friends good-bye, regale them with ideas of the next far-off place he’s heading for, and then he’ll go back to his dilapidated house and come up with new ways to keep from going insane until next year’s Halloween party when he gets to see them all again. But until that happens, Logan won’t think about it. He takes Virgil’s hand, draws him into the crush of moving, breathing, living bodies, and they live.

[strawberrymarshmallowstories]

Oneshot | City Lights (Jung Hoseok)

Title: City Lights Pairing: Hoseok/Reader Rating: SFW Summary: Inspired by City Lights - TVXQ U-Know ft. Taeyong

A/N: Guyssss, this song is a bedroom jam. Even if you don’t read this, listen to this song. You will not regret it. Seriously.

***

Your eyes met across the floor. You hadn't even realised you'd been looking his way, not until it pulsed down your spine. The realisation, the old what-if's, and the tingling shiver of fear.

You hadn’t meant to look at him. Not now, not ever again.

Jung Hoseok was a campus god who was loved by all, his name a breathy whisper on many lips the second he walked by. Everyone loved him, for he was perfect.

Or was he?

You glanced at the drinks bartender placed before you. It must've been a mistake, Hoseok must've mistaken you for someone else. He couldn't have recognised you.

'Oh god look at him, would love to bite into that piece of ass,' Melly whined, fanning herself as if the mere thought was too much to handle.

Perhaps it was. You pushed over her pornstar martini and raised your own drink, one far less colourful than hers, but it had nothing against the dripping sarcasm in your voice. 'Cheers to your boyfriend.'

She only laughed, the sound free and inhibited as it bubbled out of her. 'He gave me a free pass for Hoseok, even asked if he could join in.'

'How nice of him,' you muttered, lifting the drink to your lips. The sweetness of the lemonade hit your tongue before the heat of the alcohol.

But when it made down your throat, it burned.

'And how about you?' Melly scoffed. 'You who tripped over nothing the second he asked you to be his lab partner?'

'Oh shut up, that was ages ago.' You managed a smile that to anyone else would've seemed polite. Melly would've known it to be one of annoyance.

Yes, he was hot, quite breathtaking in his element - no one would dispute that. But he was too hot, too popular.

And you had enough of that the first time around.

~ The dark night thickened on the first floor ~

~ The city lights spread, and your hair ~

~ In the space between my half-closed eyes ~

~ You shine, yeah I close my eyes ~

'Hey Mels, what are you up to?' A familiar voice brushed over you, with an intimate caress of an old lover.

How strange, as he wasn't one.

Melly raked a hand through her hair and flashed a flirty smile. 'Much better now that I’ve seen you. But I thought this was supposed to be the party of the year?’ A gasp. ‘Wait, are you losing your touch?'

'As if - you're in the wrong room ladies, this place-,’ he laughed, gesturing wide, ‘is for the commoners.’ 

The past year had been good to him. But he’d lost something, his childlike smile that'd first caught your eye. Now his each line and move was as if he was dancing, sensual and rich in texture.

Warmth spread all the way down to your core. Your eyes snapped to his - too easy to imagine that laugh against your lips, the gentlest of a chuckle while his hands wandered over any bare skin revealed.

And you didn't miss the mischievous glint in his eyes. As if he'd just read your mind.

~ In the space between that blurred focus, you draw nearer ~

~ Skin against skin, until we can’t be any closer ~

~ When I feel you with all my senses ~

~ It’s endlessly faraway, come ~

 'Come on!' Melly's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. And before you could protest, she'd dragged you along, through the crowd for everyone to see.

You saw the glances, of jealousy and of despise. You knew it was a thing, a stupid thing, but still a thing. You'd just been called to the party within the party. And the signal it sent was that you were considered inner circle.

One that could get you into trouble. Stupid politics of an elite university.

You'd been there before, had no care for it. 

But you could not deny it was impressive, how all thoughts disappeared under the loud welcoming cheer, the exact moment you stepped through those doors. A completely different world.

All for Hoseok, of course, who got a number of welcome pats on his back and a beer shoved into his hands. He shook his head, but you could tell that was his closest group of friends - his family.

You waved at people you knew, from the first year that now seemed so long ago. Your circles naturally overlapped in places, so you'd made acquaintances. But what had been a start of a good friendship had been ruined by one passionate guilt-instigating night where you used him and he used you.

And the next day you sat on a plane, to fly off for your internship. Just as scheduled many months before, and filed that night away in the box of momentary pleasures of a first-year freshman. That’s all it had been, right?

You'd felt awful, filled with anguished nights that kept you awake. Worst at times when you couldn't wash away the heat of your bodies aligned, his each touch as if perfectly planned, his each word purest silk against your senses.

You took another sip to wash it all out. Melly had disappeared somewhere, but it was too easy to find her blue bob in the crowd. Leaning against the counter, you watched Melly sneak up to her boyfriend.

She loved him with all her heart, and it showed in everything she did.

Would you ever love like that?

Would someone ever love you like that?

'So, how have you been?' You heard, a haunting voice not even dreams could save you from. A little lower, a little darker, a little more dangerous.

You smiled and raised your glass. 'Not too bad, and look at you,' you teased, nodding at the group of girls behind him. 'Lord almighty's here with his fanclub.'

Hoseok flashed them a quick smile before turning back to you. And before you could protest, he pulled you into a hug of surprise. A couple still seconds passed, his breath hot against your cheek. 'You still smell so fucking good.'

'Hi to you too.' You couldn't help the breathy whisper, all while your eyes scanned the room.

All those eyes, on you. Once again. Like on so many days over a year ago. Hidden glances when you walked down the hallway, judging every word you said in Hoseok's vicinity.

This wouldn't do. But with his hands warm on your hips, how could you resist?

'That's enough now, your little fanclub's ready to shoot me.' You intended to push against his chest, but somehow your hand laid flat over his shirt, feeling the lithe body underneath the cotton tee.

He only pushed further into your palm. 'You know what they need, a show,' he joked. But you knew that was no joke.

'Your girlfriend's one of them?'

'You’ve got some false information little birdie, I've got no girlfriend anymore.' He stepped closer, hands in pockets. You took a step back just when his nose touched yours.

'But I like that you enquired after me, makes me feel..' A nip on your lower lip. 'Special.'

~ Like a dirty joke, it’s a night in which I can’t sleep ~

~ You radiate, shine even brighter ~

~ It’s a night twisting in seduction ~

~ Like an instant, and you’ve got me ~

Your back hit against the closed door, the lock clicking into place. As if starved, Hoseok claimed your lips in a bold kiss that had your back arch further, to draw even closer. Every brush against his body, every kiss and every sound pure wild energy waiting to be unleashed and needing to be used.

Thank god there was a wall at your back, for you would've collapsed otherwise.

‘God you’re beautiful,’ he whispered, his lips tracing an invisible line down your neck. Light butterfly kisses - ones you’d always loved, in a way you loved. The way he took his time, each touch a calculated temptation. Ones he wouldn’t even know of, unless he too remembered the night you’d shared.

And while you two had lost the timing for a blooming friendship, you wouldn't deny yourself the pleasure of having him once again.

Without regrets.

***

[dingdonghun]

Sugar Coated~

Characters: Seunghyun, y/n

Genre: Fluff

word count: 11,098 characters

I haven’t written in a while but here I am lmao dflkihjgfdlhg. I have had an urge to write again but I couldn’t think of a concept. Then I got in the shower and was like... *shrug* Fake it until you make it!

Summary: Your friends managed to drag you out of your introvert cave and to the amusement park, a place you admittedly were terrified of, those rides are dangerous, you know! Incredibly unsafe! Though when you got there, you ran into your old childhood friend, Seunghyun. Quite literally. It had been years since you’d seem him, and he has definitely changed.

“Y/n, I don’t understand why you came along with us if you aren’t going to get on any of the rides!” 

One of your best friends, Ellie, furrowed her brows at you in judgement. Being nagged by Ellie was normal, honestly. You’d think she was your mother. The only reason you agreed to come along was because she was always begging you to take part in the friend group activities, and your introversion always kept you at home. Eventually the guilt built up and you told yourself that the next time your friends ask, no matter what it is, you would go.

If you had known that the next time they would ask would involve an amusement park, you would have never made that promise in the first place.

“Ellie, please... I have gotten on a couple! You make it sound like I’ve done nothing!”

“You basically haven’t!” Your best friend huffed. “I know you are afraid of rides but you have to get over that fear at some point, don’t you? We won’t let anything happen to you.”

With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, you looked over to your best friend, unable to hold back the slight glare.

Ellie had long jet black hair that she usually wore in a thick braid, easily bringing out her bright blue eyes and freckles, which she hated. Though nobody understood why. She was the most beautiful girl you’d ever seen, but she was so modest about it. Right now, however, those blue eyes were squinted at you, as if daring you to argue with her on the subject.

“I don’t see why--” 

Before you could finish that sentence, your entire body slammed into the back of a tall figure, earning a quiet snort of a laugh from your friends. 

“You should watch where you’re going, y/n” Ellie teased, earning a sharp glare in her direction before you quickly faced the poor soul who you’d bashed your entire body into.

“I am so, so sorry! Are you okay??”

As your eyes traveled up, you saw a tall man wearing what appears to be a trilby, which somehow he pulls off shockingly well. The hat hid his hair for the most part but from what you could see, it was a dark brown. He had an intimidating presence, and you immediately regretted bumping into him.

That thought was quickly pushed aside as soon as a look of concern flashed over his face and he reached out to you as if to steady you, but second thought it and pulled his arm back. This happened multiple times.

What an awkward guy. You held back a chuckle at the mess of a man in front of you.

“No, I am sorry! I wasn’t paying attention. I should have been paying attention. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

You raised a brow at the man in disbelief. “I’m... I’m the one who ran into you, what are you saying?” A chuckle slipped out before you could stop it, earning a laugh from your friends in response, whom you had already forgotten were there.

“I am sorry again, I should have been watching where I was walking.” 

You paused for a moment, narrowing your eyes a slight bit at the man. He looked... vaguely familiar.

Just as you began to examine him, he appeared to be doing the same in return.

He must have had a better memory, because his eyes immediately widened. 

“Y/n??”

You froze. You recognized your name being said in that tone. It took you a few moments, but it finally clicked.

“... Seunghyun?! Choi Seunghyun??”

The biggest dumbest smile spread across your childhood best friend’s lips, his deep dimples as prominent as ever. If you could say anything about Seunghyun in that moment, it would be that time had definitely treated him like fine wine.

Seunghyun’s long arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest in a tight hug so fast that you barely had time to react. He had always been like this, but it had been so long since you had seen him last that it definitely caught you off guard. 

... Why is my heart racing? You tossed the thought aside as quickly as it came and hugged him just as tightly in return.

“Y/n, it has been so long since you moved away. Why didn’t you keep in touch?!” 

Ellie butted in once more, reminding you that you had forgotten they were there for a second time.

“Y/n, aren’t you going to introduce us to your tall friend?” She smiled up at Seunghyun, who gave an awkward half-smile in response.

“Oh, of course! Ellie, guys, this is Seunghyun! We used to be neighbors when we were kids. I moved away freshman year of highschool and we lost touch.”

He gave a couple of nervous polite bows, earning laughs from your friends. 

“Well, Choi Seunghyun, are you here alone? Do you want to hang out with us?” Ellie placed her hand on her hip. “We can’t seem to get y/n to get on any rides. perhaps you would have better luck.”

You let out a loud groan and rolled your eyes once more. “Ellie, please, those are so dangerous!”

“I bet you I can ride more rides than you can.” 

You narrowed your eyes at Seunghyun. He used to do this a lot when you didn’t want to do something. He would make it into a challenge, which you found very hard to refuse. You couldn’t let him win, after all.

“That isn’t going to work on me this time, hyun.”

“How about you win, I will win any stuffed animal in the whole park for you?”

you immediately scoffed at him. “You think you have that much skill? These games are rigged you know.”

“Try me.”

“...” You sighed, aware that you couldn’t say no to your childhood friend.

“Alright, fine.”

Seunghyun threw his hands up to celebrate his small victory, which only fueled your determination more.

“Alright, you’re on. I WILL win this!”

“We’ll see, shrimp.”

The next two or so hours were full of you forcing yourself to get on rides with your friends and Seunghyun, who always made sure he was sitting next to you, friendly competition, and the reassuring gentle hand squeezes he gave you when he noticed your fear getting the better of you. Though there was a competition going on, he made sure to gently rest his hand on top of yours, on your shoulder and your knee throughout the entire time. He had never acted like this when you knew him back then. It was slightly confusing.

Though you weren’t quite aware of what was going on, Ellie was. She noticed every little touch Seunghyun made, every little glance in your direction when you were looking the other way, the soft smile on his lips every time you squeezed his hand in fear as the rides dropped. She knew you were oblivious, but she didn’t know you could be this oblivious.

“Hey, y/n, Seunghyun, the rest of us are going to go to the restroom real quick. We will come find you later!” 

Before you could respond, your friends ran off and left you alone with him. 

“... That was awfully fishy.” You muttered as you turned to face him. 

He was unexpectedly close to you, looking down into your eyes, a curious glint in his.

His words came out rushed and messy as he took your hand in his. 

“Y/n, I need to say this now or I will lose the courage. So please just listen until the end okay? Don’t say anything yet”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, only nodding in response as you waited for him to continue.

The hand that wasn’t busy holding tightly onto yours reached up and gently brushed your bangs away from your eyes. He was staring deeply into them now, and for some reason your body felt quite hot, despite the cool weather. You broke eye contact to examine your old best friend.

His big dark eyes are actually quite beautiful, you thought absently. Was his jawline always this sharp?... No. He was on the heavier side back then. You had no idea he had such sharp features. His dimples that you used to find cute, now seemed deeply attractive to you.

“Y/n?”

You snapped out of your trance, looking up at a worried Seunghyun.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you, what did you say?”

He gave you an exasperated look, but it seemed a little relieved as well.

“I said, I like you. I like you a lot. I’ve always liked you, but I never did anything about it back then. I don’t want to let you slip away again without letting you know...”

You froze.

Here he was, after years of no contact, years of not being in each others lives, and he was confessing to you as if his feelings had never faded in the slightest.

He was staring at you with worry, waiting for a response, but you were still in your own little world. Seunghyun had always been protective of you, gentle and playful at the same time. He always rushed to your aid at the smallest things, like scraping your knee or tripping on the steps. You had always thought that was just something he did for everyone, but now that you were looking at him, it suddenly made so much sense. How could you be so clueless?

“Y/N!”

You laughed, snapping out of your thoughts once again at the oh-so-impatient man in front of you. 

“I heard you this time, I promise!”

He let out another sigh of relief, thankful that you weren’t disgusted by his confession.

“Well... What do you think?” He asked awkwardly, not sure how to farther the conversation.

“I think...” you paused, a small smile forming.

Seunghyun stared at you , clearly nervous.

“... I think, you owe me the biggest stuffed animal in the park.”

“...What?”

“I won. You didn’t go on the twister, remember? You had to go to the restroom. I won. You owe me!”

His brows furrowed in preparation to argue that it doesn’t count, but you quickly cut him off, leaning up and pressing your lips softly to his.

His eyes widened for just a moment, it was the last thing he expected you to do, after all. Soon he shut them, though, and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest. His free hand gently tilted your chin up as he deepened the kiss, all of the passion he had been holding in for all of these years, made quite clear. 

After a moment, the two of you pulled away. Seunghyun was the first to speak.

“Though you cheated and got on a ride while I was gone, I yield. I will win you any stuffed animal you want. We call it even, as long as you don’t leave me again.”

A gentle laugh left your lips before you pinched his cheeks between your fingers. 

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

“Hey, lovebirds! Mind keeping the PDA to a minimum?” 

You looked over to see Ellie and the others heading back to you, holding chili cheese fries for the both of you.

“I didn’t know what you’d like, Seunghyun, so I got you what y/n likes, I hope that’s okay!”

An embarrassed smile spread across his lips as the two of you separated from each other’s arms. “Sure, I love those, but you didn’t have to do that!”

“Well, seeing as we will be seeing a lot more of you from now on, we figured we’d welcome you into our friend circle with a greasy gift of friendship.” 

You let out a sigh, but couldn’t hide the smile that followed, and took the fries from your friend for the both of you.

“Thank you for always being so meddlesome, Ellie. It is oh so appreciated.” Your voice was laced with sarcasm, but you knew she wouldn’t acknowledge it.

“Alright, let’s go watch big guy over here show off his famed amusement park game skills!” 

Seunghyun jokingly puffed up his chest, dawning a serious expression. “I have been unbeatable so far, I am the king of these parts!”

All of you laughed at his ridiculous silly act, he was unphased though and grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before all of you started towards the balloon darts.

[mitchmarnier]

ask me to stay. | chapter one | 6k.  

“Your lip is all busted,” Eddie said, as though pointing out that Richie’s lips were injured would somehow make it okay that Eddie was paying attention to them. Richie’s hand came up, long fingers wrapping around Eddie’s tiny wrist, and he gently guided Eddie’s touch away.

Eddie finally wrenched his eyes away from Richie’s lips and met his best friend’s gaze. There was a softness there that he rarely got to see, not even the smallest hint of teasing or joking there. It was just Richie, just Richie looking at him and Eddie looking back. For a single moment, it was just Richie and Eddie alone in the world. Nothing to bother them, nothing to live up to.

[or: the year is 1994, and Eddie Kaspbrak is in love.]

chapter warnings: minor depictions of violence, gay slurs. it’s the 90s man.

click title to read on AO3! 

The final bell rang through the class, and it took every inch of self control that Eddie Kaspbrak had not to toss the papers on his desk up in the air and cry out with joy. Richie Tozier, it seemed, had much less self control than Eddie did- and Eddie had Richie’s papers landing on his desk and Richie’s shouts in his ears.

“ Mr Tozier,” Ms Campbell, their junior AP English teacher, gave him a long withering look but Eddie could see her fighting off a smile. Richie seemed to be the only person in the world who’d mastered annoying and amusing somebody at the same time. “I can still give you detention for this afternoon.”

Richie gave her a small half smile. “But I’m pretty sure that you’re just as excited as I am to get out of here, so you probably won’t.”

Richie Tozier was all things that a good girls’ daddy would warn them about. His hair never laid flat on his head, and his clothes were always rumbled with wild patterns and mix-matched styles. He still forced his feet into the same pair of Dock Martens from freshman year, even after growing up them back at the beginning of the year, and it gave him a permanent skip in his step. He wore braces on his teeth even at sixteen years old, and the grudging white women down at the salon always seemed to have something bad to say about the Tozier family.

Eddie wasn’t like Richie. It sometimes felt like Eddie’s mother still dressed him, even if he technically chose out his own outfits every morning. Eddie Kaspbrak was similar to Richie in one way; he was also the kind of boy that men didn’t want around their daughters. No man wanted their daughter running around with a boy who dressed like a faggot. Eddie may not choose his clothes, but that didn’t make all of their claims untrue.

Ms Campbell shook her head, fully smiling now. “Get out of here, Richard.”

Richie let out another excited noise, slightly quieter this time, and grabbed hold of Eddie’s hand. Eddie barely had enough time to grab up his own things before Richie was dragging him from the building. He seemed to not have any regard for his own belongings that were scattered all over the classroom. Eddie had known Richie Tozier for pretty much as long as he could remember. A real sandbox love, and Richie had been this obnoxious ever since Eddie could remember. Richie had been a messy child, loud, and Eddie’s mother had forbid him at four years old to ever see the boy again. Being friends with Richie Tozier had been the first time Eddie had ever disobeyed his mother, and every time since had been Richie inspired.

Richie openly pranced into the hallway, slipping and high fiving some random person that Eddie barely recognized. He looked ridiculous in his too small boots, and jean overall matched with a Hawaiian print shirt that lost what little fashion cred it had back in the early 80s. Richie quickly returned to Eddie’s side, tossing an arm around his friend shoulder and pulling Eddie into his side. “Eds, my love, I have a feeling that this is going to be the best  summer of our lives. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Don’t call me that, dick,” Eddie shoved at Richie, but not enough that they actually broke contact or that Richie would pull away. Richie just grinned down at him. “You say that about last summer and then I spent the whole six weeks with a  cast on my wrist. Thanks to you, I might add. So, sorry if I maybe don’t take your word for it.”

“Eds…” Richie sighed, shaking his head. “I’m telling you. This is the summer of Losers.”

Richie dropped his arm from around Eddie’s shoulder and skipped towards the doors to freedom. Eddie slowed his steps and watch Richie move, a small smile growing on his cheeks.

→  → →

Beverly Marsh tucked her hands into the pockets of the much oversized jean jacket that she’d stolen from Richie, and watched Bill Denbrough upend his pack into the green garbage can outside the school. She was pretty sure at least three calculators and an actual full-sized novel fell out and into the garbage, but she didn’t make a peep.

“Don’t you think you’re going to need those things?” Ben Hanscom asked as he approached. Ben had always been a cute kid, Beverly remembered when they first met in the seventh grade. He had been, for a lack of better word, fat. He’d hit a good growth spurt the year before, and gone out for the football team with Mike Hanlon in sophomore year and it had slimmed him out a little bit. His sandy brown hair still flopped all over his face, and his cheeks still pushed out with chub, and Beverly wouldn’t have had any other way. She would never tell anybody, but she thought that out of all her friends Ben Hanscom was her favourite.

Bill Denbrough looked up and smiled. This past year, Bill had started letting his hair grow out and it now tickled at the back of his neck, and fell well into his eyes. Richie hadn’t yet managed to convince Bill to tuck it back into a ponytail, and Beverly often wondered how Bill even saw. He glanced down at the bag, seeming to think about it for a moment, then tossed the whole bag into the garbage behind his belongings.

Mike walked up to them, still wearing his red-and-white letterman jacket that Ben would never be seen wearing outside of game days, and grinned. Mike Hanlon was definitely the nicest jock that Beverly had ever met in her life. The Hanlons were on the of only black families in the very town of Derry, Maine and they lived out of the outskirts on a beautiful farm. Beverly practically lived out there when she could. Mike had been homeschooled through their elementary school days, and she’d only known him through reputation until then. He’d fit right in their little group of Losers immediately, and they’d all been inseparable since.

“That was overkill, Billy, don’t you think?” Beverly asked, pulling out the package of cigarettes from the pocket of the jacket and lighting one up. She supposed technically they were Richie’s, but she told herself that Richie would never have started smoking if it hadn’t been for her, so that made them partly hers. “You really didn’t need to throw out the whole bag, dude.”

“I don’t want to th-th-think about school for the next s-s-six weeks!” Bill announced, cheeks turning pink the way they always did when his stutter came through. It was remarkably better than it was when they were children- the speech therapy his parents had been taking him to Portland was working wonders- but it seemed to slip through just often enough that he couldn’t quite live down the nickname of “Mush Mouth.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not going to need that stuff next year, man,” Ben said with a laugh. In the past few months, it had seemed that Ben Hanscom had been trying pretty hard to give himself a newer image. His sentences got shorter, he’s words got rougher, and his little black notebooks stopped appearing in his hands. Beverly figured that he was still writing poetry- or at least, she hoped he was- but Ben had effectively been shutting himself out the last few weeks.

“What are we talking about?” Richie’s voice carried over to them, wrapping an arm around Beverly and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Junior year had done wonders to Richie’s height factor, springing him up almost a foot and prompting him to finally catch up to the other boys in their grade.

“Bill here thinks that because the school year is over that he can just throw out all of this stuff from this year- backpack included.” Ben informed Richie, reaching into his own bag and tossing the curly-haired boy a PEZ dispenser that had Daffy Duck from the Loonie Toons on it.

Richie caught it without concern, grinning a little sheepishly as Eddie Kaspbrak came up to them. He was a little wheezy from trying to keep up to Richie’s larger steps, but had that same mischievous grin on his face that he always did. “That’s nothing,” Eddie said with a cocky wiggle of his eyebrows. “ Richard here tossed all his shit up into he air once the bell rang like they were graduation caps, and then left them laying around the classroom.”

Beverly and Mike burst out laughing in the same moment, turning Richie’s slightly embarrassed grin to the genuine smile that always came out his friends laughing. Eddie looked at Richie’s smile, and the sound of Bev and Mike’s laughing sort of dimmed in his ears.

“Where the hell is Stanley?” Bill finally asked, looking around as the court yard quickly emptied around them. Most days the courtyard would be filled for hours after school let out, with clubs and teams all loitering around for meetings, but nobody wanted to stand around on school property once summer had officially started. “It’s not like him to be late.”

“He had a meeting with the counsellor after school, said it wouldn’t take long.” Richie said, popping out three of candies and popping them into his mouth.

“Probably discussing a way to get Stan valedictorian over you,” Mike said with a smirk. Richie clicked his tongue and winked at him.

Eddie’s gaze moved towards the loud rumbling of a certain Chevy truck that was moving down the road towards the school and his chest hitched. “Oh, shit. Incoming.”

Beverly groaned, quickly reaching down to tighten the laces on her combat boots. “Don’t they ever get tired of harassing innocents?”

“Nah,” Richie said, looking towards the truck with the few expression of true disgust that he owned. “People never get tired of the things that get them off. Why did you think I spend so much of my time picking fights with Eddie’s mom?”

“Oh my GOD!” Eddie squeaked, whacking Richie on the air. “You’re so fucking gross, Tozier, I swear-“

“Okay, we gotta move,” Mike said suddenly, reaching out and taking hold of Bill’s arm. Bill had already squared his shoulders, readying up for the fight as he always did at the sight of Henry Bowers and his gang. It was sometimes like there was a tiny part of Bill’s soul that burned for getting his ass handed to him by bullies twice his weight.

“What about Stan?” Eddie asked hesitantly, glancing back at the building. The last thing Eddie wanted was to be caught in any sort of altercation with the Bowers gang that he’d so carefully avoided since they’d graduated from Derry High the year before but he also wasn’t the type to leave a man behind.

“Don’t worry about it,” Richie said, patting Beverly between her shoulder blade and ushering her towards Ben. “Patty boy and I have an understanding. You guys just get out of here.”

Eddie’s chest clenched slightly, and he noticed the same panic settled over Beverly’s face. “Babe, we can all go. We don’t even know how long Stan is going to be in there, we don’t know that they’ll even still be around when he’s done.”

“I don’t know,” Richie said in a voice sung with false confidence. “I’ve sort of missed them. It would nice to have a reunion with our old pals.”

“You’re on your own feeling that way,” Mike said with a nervous laugh. The truck was approaching rather quickly, and he pressed an arm around Beverly’s shoulder. She ushered her away, Ben right on their heels. The truck started to honk, and Eddie squeezed Richie’s wrist before taking off after the others. Richie turned slightly, making eye contact with Bill, who grinned back at him. Richie lowered his hand slightly, and Bill met it with a low five.

Patrick Hockstetter was jumping out the passenger door before the truck had even skidded to a stop. His black hair was longer and greasier than Richie remembered it being, and his clothes looked like they hadn’t been washed since the last time they’d seen him. His boots were caked in mud, and it was definitely the same flannel that had once been oversized. He grinned at them wolfishly, actually going as far as to lick his lips. “Well, well,” Patrick said with a chirp. “If it isn’t my two favourite Losers. Where are the rest of your gang?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Richie asked, raising his brow and matching Patrick smirk for smirk. “Seems the end of days has finally come. Everybody else was raptured up to Gods playground and we’re the only poor bastards left on Earth.”

Bill snorted and tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. As Patrick limbered closer, Richie realized that he was actually the same height now and he couldn’t control the pride that settled in his chest.

Henry and the other two minions that mattered a whole lot less all came strutting out of the truck and towards them. “Huh-huh-huh-huh-hey buh-buh-buh-Billy,” Henry Bowers exaggerated stuttered as he approached. It was weak and overused means of teasing, but it still made Bill clenched his fist and grind his jaw. “You guys all alone here?”

Richie exhaled hard, with an overdramatic roll of his eyes. “We’ve been over this. If you’re going to show up late, at least have the courtesy to be quiet.”

“Oh, Trashmouth Tozier is telling me to be quiet? That’s rich.” Henry stepped towards Richie, a good several inches shorter now. For the first time in his life, Richie Tozier felt he might have the upper hand in a situation. Until Patrick opened his mouth again.

“Hey, Tozier, where’s you’re little fairy friend?” Patrick slurred over to him. Richie’s posture stiffened and he heard Bill let in a small inhale behind him. “I wanted to give him a special hello if you catch my drift.”

Richie saw Patrick grabbing at his crotch from the corner of his eye, and forced a smile onto his face. “You know what I love about bigots.” Richie said, forcing laughter into his voice. He could practically feel Bill vibrating behind him. Richie turned quickly from Henry to Patrick, socking the bully directly in the nose. “Nothing.”

“OH SHIT!” Bill shouted behind Richie, grabbing at his friend’s arm and pulling. Richie stumbled slightly as they took off in the opposite direction of the school.

I picked the wrong day to wear shoes that don’t fit, Richie thought to himself. He could hear the angry shouts of Patrick and his buddies as they chased the two of them through the crowded Derry Park. Richie took a running jump over the park bench, and laughed breathlessly when he heard the distinct thud of Belch Huggins running into it.

Bill took a sharp left and slid underneath the singing out legs of a child on the swing, and nearly fell when he heard Vic Criss shout when the girls feet landed directly in his face. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Hockstetter mad dive forward and tackle Richie into the sandbox. Wincing, Bill turned away as Patrick began to rub Richie’s face into the sand.

“You ever going to learn to watch that fucking trashmouth of yours?” Patrick growled at him, pressing his face angrily against the dirt. Richie flailed, but he knew it was no use. He and Patrick may be nearing each other in height these days, but Patrick had always had superiority upper body strength. Or really, all types of strength except possibility intelligential but given his recent actions- maybe even there. “Always been a problem for you, hasn’t it, Tozier? Never, never learn.”

Richie could dimly hear how Henry and the rest of the goons were cheering Patrick on, but he was pretty sure he was getting sand in his eyes at the moment so he couldn’t make out any words. Patrick’s words, he could still hear nearly clear as day. “Are you really this stupid? Is that what this is? Or is it because I made fun of your fairy friend there? You protective of little Kaspbrak?” Richie thrashed all the harder, even though he knew that it was only going to make things worse for him in the end. “Oh, ho ho! Did I hit a nerve, Tozier? Should I go find him, maybe? Do you think that you could save him from me?”

Richie managed to push himself onto his back, fighting at Patrick’s chest and trying to blink through the sand that had settled all of his over face. Patrick was grinning down at him and there was something hard that was not a knee pressing into Richie’s side, but he couldn’t think about that right now. It seemed like Henry was gone- bad news for Billy – but Richie had to focus on Patrick right now. He’d take the most brutal beating Patrick Hockstetter had in him if it meant that he’d leave Eddie alone.

Patrick was practically drooling, so if that was any sign to what Richie was in for then this was going to be a long couple minutes. Richie spit out a mouthful of playground- possibly peed in, oh god, was there pee in this? – at Patrick and scowled up at him. “Why don’t fucking pick on somebody your own size, Hockstetter? Afraid to loose?”

“Last I saw, Tozier.” Patrick’s breath smelled like the worst kind of mixture of marijuana and the Orangesicile smoothie down at the Prince’s on main. Richie’s stomach churned, and he had to fight not to turn his face away. “We are the same size.”

Richie’s last thought before Patrick’s fist came falling towards his face was- predictably- fuck. He didn’t know how long it went on, could have only been a few minutes but it easily could have been hours. But the next thing he knew, Patrick was pulling back and kicking at Richie’s side. Richie groaned and curled into himself.

“Be seeing you, Tozier.”

Richie laid there for a short moment before Bill seemed to appear from thin air and help him up to his feet. “You’re a piece of shit friend, you know that, right?” Richie groaned, pulling on the sleeve of his shirt to wipe at the blood underneath his nose. “Just let ‘em beat me.”

He wasn’t serious, and Bill’s laugh sounded that he knew it. “Hey. N-not all of us are guh-g-gonna go Huh-huh-Hulk to defend suh-suh-somebody who isn’t even h-h-here.” Bill said, letting Richie move to stand on his own. “P-p-pick your b-b-battles, Rich.”

“I pick plenty of battles,” Richie shot back, winking at Bill even thought it definitely hurt his rapidly bruising eye. Bill rolled his eyes.

“Pick fewer battles, Richie.”

→  → →

Eddie rubbed his hands together, and looked up out the window of the Denbrough’s kitchen. Eddie had always thought it was weird how Bill’s kitchen faced out onto the street, growing up neither his, Richie nor Stan’s had been placed that way, but he was thankful for it right now. Every year on the last day of school, starting way back in the second grade, they had always had a sleepover at Denbrough’s house to celebrate the start of summer. Throughout the years, the sleepover had gotten larger, then smaller again last year when Bev’s aunt had deemed it inappropriate for her to be sleeping over with so many boys.

Eddie was fretting, and he knew it. Bill and Richie weren’t back yet, and it had caused a deep anxiety to settle itself in his gut. It had been nearly a year since Eddie Kaspbrak had needed to use his inhaler, and it had been three years since he- with the help of Richie’s overly enthusiastic support – had started weening himself off it. At thirteen, Mr Keene down at the pharmacy had told him that all of his medication were actually falsehoods brought up by his mother. Misted water and sugar pills, all of them. It had broken Eddie, for a long time. He was sure that he’d never be the same person again, that he would never trust the same way again. He was better now, stronger he believed, but if Richie and Bill didn’t show up soon- Eddie might regret not bringing his inhaler.

"Why don’t you wake outside, Eddie?” Georgie Denbrough asked from he kitchen table where he seemed to be doing some sort of homework despite school being over for the term. “It’s the perfect kind of summer night you love. The kind where you have to wear a sweater.”

Eddie smiled softly. Bill had been complaining for the last few months that Georgie had become a pain in the ass, going through some sort of angst-y teenager phase that was annoying to Bill and his parents alike, but Eddie had never seen that sort of behaviour from him. Anytime Eddie was around, Georgie seemed like the same sweet child to Eddie.

Eddie picked up his hoodie from the couch on his way outside, nodding at Stan and Ben who were sitting on the couch. He walked out the front door and hummed to himself as the soft summer wind hit his face. There was a chill to it, but Eddie sort of like the sting it brought to his skin.

He walked across the Denbrough’s lawn, that was sort of getting a little overgrown and no doubt Bill would be roped into mowing in within the next few days. He looked up to the big maple tree on the front of the lawn, and grinned to himself. A good hundred times a year, Eddie could have to yell at Richie to get out of it before he’d hurt himself. Last summer, he’d finally let Richie convinced him to go tree climbing with him- and it hadn’t been a normal sized maple in their friend’s front yard.

“I made soup.” Bev and Mike both startled and looked down at Eddie.

“What did you make soup for?” Beverly asked, still giggling slightly and Eddie shook his head. Richie and Beverly had been together so long that Eddie could barely remember that days before their relationship. Dim memories of believing that Bev and Ben were going to be together, even dimer ones of the days when Bev and Bill were childhood sweethearts. Yet, sometimes Eddie believed that he knew Richie better than Beverly ever even tried. But maybe that was just wishfully thinking.

So Eddie just shrugged, and contemplated it for only a second before scaling up the tree himself. He wiggled himself in between Mike and the trunk, looking down at the ground a little nervously.

“It’s not that high,” Mike said with a small smile. “Don’t worry.”

Eddie cast him a dark look, frowning deeply. “Last time somebody said that to me, I broke my fucking arm.”

“I…” Mike cleared his throat then nodded. “Okay, yeah. That definitely happened.”

“Why are you guys in the tree?” Stan called up to them, Ben standing beside him. Stan had shown up at the Denbrough’s house not long after the rest of the Losers had gotten there. He’d been quiet since he’d gotten there, more so than usually, and kept worrying his bottom lip. He hadn’t given up any sort of information about his meeting with the guidance counsellor, and Stanley Uris wasn’t the kind of person you pushed. (Unless you were Richie Tozier, who pushed everybody.)

“We’re waiting for Bill and Richie,” Eddie and Beverly answered in unison. They quickly pointed at each other and shouted “JINX!” and then burst out laughing. Mike smiled and looked back out to the street, tuning out Eddie and Bev’s continue attempt at jinx through their giggles. He saw Bill and Richie making their ways down the street before anybody else, and Richie wasted no time coming forward and slapping Stan on the shoulder.

The boy looked a little worse for wear, dirt and blood streaked on his cheeks, eye already seeming to be bruising. But he was smiling none the less, a regular old Tozier grin, and he looked up at his friends in the tree. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”

Beverly giggled but Eddie jumped out the tree as though he had some sort of Spider Man powers and hadn’t just been fretting about the height. Mike crinkled his brow, as Beverly jumped down from his other side.

Eddie touched the cuts on Richie’s cheeks and his lips tugged down in a worried frown. “What the hell happened to you?” He asked in harsh words that didn’t match the concerned tone of voice.

“Patrick beat him up in the sandbox.” Bill came practically skipping up onto the lawn. “It was like being seven again, which i-i-isn’t something I thought I n-n-n-needed but I really enjoyed.”

Richie scoffed and rolled his eyes. “The only thing you enjoyed, Denbrough, was chatting up that weird newspaper girl in the park.”

“That’s n-n-not true,” Bill challenged, but the flushing of his cheeks implied that it was at least a little bit true. “I also enjoyed you p-p-p-punching P-P-Patrick.”

Richie grinned and nodded but Eddie let out a horrified squeak. “You punched Patrick? Have you lost your absolute goddamn mind, Richard? What could be possibly say that would make you do something so stupid?”

Richie and Bill exchanged a quick look between the two of them, almost a silent conversation, before Richie was reaching out and ruffling up Eddie’s meticulously styled hair. “Awe, don’t you worry about it, Eds. Just trust that he deserved it.”

“Of course he deserves it,” Eddie snapped but he was starting to smile. “Doesn’t mean you should be stupid enough to actually do it. Now, come on. Let’s get those scratches cleaned before you get an infection and they have to cut your dumbass head off.”

Richie wrapped an arm around Beverly and grinned as Eddie pulled him towards the house by his hand. “Did you at least make soup? You know I love soup after getting my ass handed to me.”

→  → →

Richie was rested on the Denbroughs kitchen counter, as Eddie rummaged through the cupboards and complained about how ill stalked it was. Mike chuckled into his bowl of soup, knowing that all Richie really needed was a some soap and hot water. Toss the lanky boy into the shower, and he’d be good as new.

He turned to where Ben and Beverly were both sitting, talking quietly to each other and seemingly blind to Eddie’s frantics not three feet away from them. They all snapped to attention as Bill and Stan came into the room. They both seemed a little knocked off kilter and Mike felt concern settle into his gut at the sight of them.

He didn’t seem to be the only one, Richie shifting to sit up straighter on counter. “What happened, dudes?”

“Somebody is m-m-m-moving into the old Gr-gr-Gray house.” Bill stumbled through his words. “A f-f-family, I guess. There was a g-g-girl…”

Richie waggled his eyebrows and grinned deeply. “A girl, yeah? Is she hot?”

Beverly grabbed one of the bread rolls off the dining room table and wiped at Richie, nailing right in the head, at the same time that Eddie whipped him with the dish cloth in his heads. Richie yelped, rubbing at his arm and pouting. “DAMN! Forgive a man for asking a damn question.”

“You’re not a man,” Stan told him dryly. “You’re an extremely tall, skinny infant that was somehow cursed with the ability to speak.”

Richie blew him a kiss, and Stan rolled his eyes with the tiniest hint of a smile playing on his lips. Stan moved over to reached past Eddie to the rubbing alcohol that was on a shelf just out of Eddie’s tiptoe’d reach. Eddie tried to force himself to sound grateful as he accepted it.

He moved back to Richie and took his chin between his hands. Looking the marks over. It wasn’t as bad as it had looked outside, a singular black eye and some scraping on the side of his cheek. Richie had winced when he’d jumped onto the counter, which likely meant his ribs were bruised but Eddie saw no point in fussing with them just now. Richie had been walking fine, so they weren’t broken.

He still couldn’t help but frown as he dabbed Richie’s cuts with the rubbing alcohol. Richie let out a louder cry than was necessary, and Eddie gave him an unimpressed look. “Aren’t you getting a little old to be running around getting into fights?”

“Aren’t they a little old to still be beating up kids?” Richie challenged with a smirk that quickly turned into a wince as Eddie dabbed at his slit lip.

“Your lip is all busted,” Eddie said, as though pointing out that Richie’s lips were injured would somehow make it okay that Eddie was paying attention to them. Richie’s hand came up, long fingers wrapping around Eddie’s tiny wrist, and he gently guided Eddie’s touch away.

Eddie finally wrenched his eyes away from Richie’s lips and met his best friend’s gaze. There was a softness there that he rarely got to see, not even the smallest hint of teasing or joking there. It was just Richie, just Richie looking at him and Eddie looking back. For a single moment, it was just Richie and Eddie alone in the world. Nothing to bother them, nothing to live up to.

Then Bill’s voice broke through and shattered the moment, and Eddie tried not to be annoyed. As soon as the moment was over, Eddie had to question if there had even been a moment at all. “Did you m-m-manage to convinced your aunt to let you stay, Bev?” Bill asked, no doubt knowing what the answer would be. Almost immediately after Beverly’s fifteenth birthday, sleepover with the boys permission had been yanked. Eddie wasn’t sure what her aunt been trying to stop from occurring, as Beverly already been dating Richie for years. It certainly wasn’t stopping her from having sex, if Richie’s jokes were anything to go by, and Eddie knew from personal experience that if Richie wanted into somebody’s house… he got in.

“Nah,” Beverly responded with an eye roll. “Got her to let up and extend my curfew. 12:30. Which means if I’m not home by 1, I’m dead meat.”

“I’ll walk you home, babe.” Richie said, popping his lips. He dropped his hand, letting Eddie’s wrist fall from his grip and down to Eddie’s side. His skin was cold where Richie’s touch had just been and it felt him feeling unsettled.

Stan scoffed from where he was leaning against the counter at Richie’s side. “Please, Tozier. We’d have to be way more concerned about you out in the night than Bev.”

Richie pouted for a moment before breaking into a large grin. “Okay, then Eddie and I will both walk Bev, and my Eds will make sure we both make it back here to Billy’s safe and sound.”

“Don’t call me Eds!” Eddie snapped, ignoring just all too many things lately. “And who the fuck said I agreed to that? Why would I leave a perfectly comfortable house to go baby-sit your ass in the middle of the night?”

“Because you love me?” Richie suggested with a toothy grin. Eddie pursed his lips together to keep back his smile. There had never really been any doubt that Eddie was going to walk with Richie and Bev, and he tried to ignore the little thrill it gave them that Richie was inviting him along when he easily could have been using it as an excuse to be alone with his girlfriend. He cursed himself for being so weak.

“Oh, Eddie, don’t bother pretending.” Stan said, waggling his eyes at Eddie from Richie’s other side. “We know you’re going to do it.”

Eddie stuck his tongue out at his friend and tried to ignore how he was flushing right down the back of his neck. Richie squeezed his eyes shut and leaned closer so that Eddie could resume wiping at his face.

It didn’t help Eddie’s whole blushing issue.

→  → →

The dark streets were a comfort to Richie. He’d always preferred night over day, it made him free in a way that he could never been when the sun brought light down on all of his actions. He could more himself at night. He could put down his walls, remove his false face and be just a little bit more true.

Not very many got to see how Richie got under the darkness of Derry’s street. Derry felt endlessly safer at night, when the peering and judgment eyes of his snobby neighbours had gone to bed. Sure, he had to worry about Henry and his goons but he had to worry about them just as much in the light of the day so it couldn’t be a bother to him.

He looped an arm around Eddie’s shoulder as he guided him down and away from Beverly’s house. It wasn’t the best part of town to be hanging around in, he knew that, and it was far from where you wanted to get yourself stranded or cornered. And even so…

“I don’t want to go back yet,” Richie said, quieter than he would usually speak. It just felt a little wrong to be breaking the soft stillness of the night. He felt Eddie stiffen for a moment, before he learned into Richie’s touch. “Let’s go to the Quarry.”

“I am not swimming in the middle of night!” Eddie squawked, a little predictably. Richie chuckled, squeezing Eddie’s shoulder to keep him from pulling away when he felt his friend start to squirm. ”Don’t laugh at me, jackass! Even if it’s kind of warm out, you can still get pneumonia! And die! Do you want to die?”

Richie pursed his lips, shaking his head a little bit. “Can’t say I want to die right at this moment. Ask me again tomorrow, maybe.” He could feel Eddie’s startled and concerned expression pouring into them and Richie wanted to shut this possible emotional moment down before it started. “I didn’t mean swimming, Eds. Let’s just go and... sit at the end of the world for a while.”

Richie glanced down at Eddie, finally, and found his best friend looking back up at him with an expression that Richie couldn’t read. Eddie seemed to realize that Richie was trying to get inside his head, because he wiped the look from his face and replaced it with a soft smile. “That’s pretty profound, Richard. What are you thinking?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? What was Richie thinking? God, wouldn’t it be so much easier if he knew. As it was, Richie was more confused now than when they first introduced Algebra into his life. Sighing, he kept his arm around Eddie’s shoulder and guided him to walk towards the Quarry in the opposite direction of Bill’s house. Eddie slipped away from Richie’s hold, and they walked side-by-side, not touching, the rest of the way. Richie supposed that it should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. It was never awkward with Eddie, always comfortable.

They hiked up the cliff and moved to sit with their legs dangling over the edge. Richie tilted his head back to stare up at the stars- always more visible out here than anywhere within town. He wanted to put his arm back around Eddie, missing the warm weight under him. He’d learned better, though, in the past few years. He’d stopped chasing Eddie after the boy pulled away, knowing it often only lead to a fight. There was only a few times that Eddie would pull back but want back under Richie’s touch- and he always made it clear.

Like now, when he pressed up against Richie’s side when they were settled and seated. Richie pressed his lips together sharply to hold back his smile, and let his arm drop around Eddie’s shoulders once more. “I’m thinking of breaking up with Beverly,” Richie blurted out in a typical-Tozier fashion. Eddie blinked at him, tilting his head back.

“What? Why?” Eddie didn’t sound as though he felt one way or another about it. Or maybe he did, and he wasn’t letting it show. Didn’t make Richie feel any better, and it sure as hell didn’t give him an answer to Eddie’s question.

“Why?” Richie asked with a bit of a nervous chuckle. Then he hummed, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. “Why… I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, I guess? I’ve been with Beverly so long, and I never really… planned on it at all. We just kissed at that party, and suddenly- you know? Bev and Rich. Rich and Bev. And it’s been… years, yeah? And I just… I don’t know if I see myself being with Beverly for the rest of my life.”

Eddie was looking at Richie very seriously, a little softly, and Richie could get lost his Eddie’s eyes in this moment. And he felt a little guilty about it, and he had to look away. “Like, I love her. Obviously. But I don’t know if I’m… actually in love with her. You know? Sometimes it just feels wrong.”

Eddie swallowed loudly enough that Richie could hear him. For a long moment, it was just the two of them breathing. So close together that they shared air, and Richie’s heart was thrumming with anxiety. “You need to do whatever makes you happy, Rich.”

Rich just hummed, and dropped his head down on top of Eddie’s and stared back out to the endless water.

[shirtclad]

pairing: TIN x CAN series: Love by chance

;;( Had to post this for clousure purposes. This show is good until the last episode. Thought I’d fix it. ) 

Regret doesn’t hit him as quickly as some would think.

It does manage to bloom within the depths of his chest and it lodges itself heavily where his heart resides but the pain doesn’t come ’til much later. It starts as a dull throb while he’s standing where Tin had left him and, that night in bed, staring at the phone Tin himself had bought him, it causes his stomach to sink and confusion turns to sadness.

Why he doesn’t know. He’d been honest, he’d meant nothing but the best so, why did it feel like he’d swallowed rocks instead of being at peace with his decision?

The week carries on at a snail’s pace and Good’s monotone worry does nothing to reach him. It’s only at lunch, days later, that Pete comes to him.

“… Ai Can? “

Can had missed Pete’s greeting entirely. He’d been losing focus gradually and, with it, the usual boost of eagerness he seemed to show for anything and everything. Can’s hands bury themselves in messy hair and he gives a frustrated whine. Why did losing Tin feel like this? Why was he so invested in someone meant to be nothing more than a friend? Pete’s words are said gently, carefully even but that didn’t make them any less honest.

“ Ai Tin refuses to even say your name when I ask so I thought I’d come to you. He might not seem like it but I think you hurt his feelings… “

Pete trails off. He’s overstepping but, at the same time, it’s something Can needed to hear. While Pete was in the dark over just what had happened, he knows the key to resolving things lay with Can so, here he was. Can’s back goes rigid and that tells Pete he’s struck a nerve.

“ I said I’d be his friend! I begged him! “

And he’s facing Pete with such a tormented look on his face that it causes the IC student to pause, if only for a moment, before nodding gently, as if with those words, he understood it all.

“ Well, I don’t think you’d lose yourself over a casual friendship. I know Ai Tin would not. You’re similar in that way. “

And Can feels that empty space of confusion morph with Pete’s words. He’d asked for friendship, but he’d also asked for a kiss before then. He’d shamelessly held Tin’s hand while trying to force the premise of friendship on him with all his might. While Can’s lips had spoken one thing, his actions had conveyed a truth he wasn’t ready to accept.

He buries his face in his hands and Pete finds himself reaching to gently touch his shoulder. Can is sitting in the middle of the canteen on a hot weekday afternoon when he realizes he’s in love. Pete gently helps him to his feet and Can clings when tears begin to fall. Ae looks up from his own table but forces down his reflex to whisk Pete away. Can wasn’t a threat, at least not until he buries his face in Pete’s crisp, white shirt. Ae and Good quickly stand and usher a bawling Can away while Pete collects the footballer’s things before running to catch up.

***

He hits ‘replay’ for what had to be the hundredth time and watches the clip again. The chair rocks eerily and, like before, a woman’s ragged and demonic face appears. Tin’s once fond memory had turned bitter. The clip had been Can’s attempt at saying ‘Goodnight’. It had been one of the many steps they’d taken together, steps Tin had thought would lead to him getting what he wanted. He stares at the ghoulish woman and sees nothing but regret. Why hadn’t he accepted Can’s offer? Why had he let pride win out if it meant he’d lose the one person he actually cared for?

Because Tin had taken Can’s confusion and pleas for friendship as an utter betrayal.

Can had let him get invested, had let Tin buy him things and while that would be all it took to make him one of Tin’s most hated people, Tin’s heart refused to let go. While he felt defeated and raw there was an inkling of hope inside himself he just didn’t know how to squash. He can’t turn his back as easily as before, can’t turn around and make Can’s life a living hell even if he truly wanted to. Revenge would mean hurting Can and that wasn’t going to happen.

Tin gives a rough growl as he sits up in bed and flings his phone against the wall. The device is reduced to nothing but broken glass and warped metal and he leaves it be in favor of glaring at the wall. There’s a dent, small but noticeable. Another blemish Tin can’t fix in life. He shifts to stand when he hears the faint sound of his instant messenger go off. He pauses, suspicious, as he walks towards the laptop on his desk to see just who would message him this late in the afternoon.

He’s only half disappointed it’s Pete. He’s confused when, instead of writing, he sees a sound clip. It was very much unlike his friend to forgo writing a simple message in favor of a recording and Tin hesitantly clicks ‘play’.

At first, all he hears is the rustling of clothing which leads him to believe Pete had been hiding his phone as stealthily as he could. What he isn’t prepared for is the crying. It’s loud, a bit gross even, but when Can’s voice accompanies it? It makes him clench his fists. Pete is gently trying to calm the wailing freshman with Ae telling Can to ‘calm down already’ in the background.

“ I messed up! “

Tin feels his body go rigid as the cries turn to light sobbing as Can tries to speak.

“ I’m so stupid! I lied and everything! “

Pete gently points out that Can would have to explain what he meant. Tin leans in when there’s a pause in Can’s voice to allow a few sobs to escape before he presses on, sounding just a bit calmer.

“ I told Tin I didn’t love him but if this isn’t that then why does it hurt so bad Ai Pete? “

The clip cuts off after Can’s confession and Tin is left shaking in his seat. At first, he thinks it’s another bout of anger but he’s wrong. He feels himself rise out of his seat and practically trips over his feet to get to the door. Anger would cause him to lash out but right now all he wanted to do was talk to Can. He was done lashing out, done hiding his feelings when it was deemed inconvenient for everyone else.

He’d bare himself to Can one more time and, if he failed, he’d move forward.

***

They drop Can off at home in Pete’s car. It’s the middle of the day, no one would be home and Can could wallow in self-pity in peace. Can thanks his friends and drags himself up the stairs and into his bedroom. He lays in bed, eyes on his ceiling as he remembers just where he’d been the week before. With Tin, his hand on Tin’s neck and his lips against the other’s. It had felt good, hot and right and now he lay in bed with nothing. Can scrubs his hands over his face, body twisting and jerking as he gives a low cry at just how frustrated with himself he was.

Cantaloupe was no longer sweet but rotten.

Can huffs, tears making his eyes itch as they start up again only to be pulled from his thoughts and pity party by insistent knocks at his front door. Anger is quick to rear its head as Can bounds down the stairs, eyes wet as he rips his door open. He parts his lips to yell, to tell whoever that this wasn’t their home and they had no business pounding on his door when he stops. Tin meets his gaze and while he’d looked upset, it morphs to worry the second he takes in Can’s appearance. Tin steps forward, close enough for Can to feel the heat of his body when he speaks.

“ Let me in. “

At first, Can wants to refuse but he finds himself reaching to rest his hands on Tin’s shoulders. The feel of him is surreal and instead of answering Tin as he should, he tugs him forward, pulling the taller boy into a hug. Tin closes the door behind himself when they’ve made it inside and, only when its shut, does he pull away from Can’s embrace. He shifts and holds Can at arm’s length, his eyes stern yet, somehow, still soft as he asks Can the question he’d refused to hear out before.

“ Go out with me. “

And Can gives him that same look of confusion as before when he’d rejected him. Tin’s grip on Can’s arms tightens as he leans in, voice tight, commanding even.

“ Go out with me, Cantaloupe. “

And Can’s mouth moves without permission. He speaks without thinking but, this time, he’s more honest than he’s ever been.

“ Since I love you, I guess I will. “

Tin feels those words steal his breath away. Can is quiet but his actions speak louder than his words as he closes the gap between them and gently gives Tin’s lips a shy peck. All the words he’d never said, all the things he’d deemed too embarrassing to feel, let alone convey to Tin? It was like it had been said all at once. The fire inside Tin’s hollow chest comes back with a vengeance and he’s tugging Can closer, deepening the kiss. He doesn’t let him go as the smaller boy protests against him.

It’s a miracle they make it up the stairs, let alone Can’s room.

“ Ai Tin! “

And Can’s in a rather vulnerable position. His arms are above his head, hands pinned to the pillow as Tin leans in to trail his lips along his neck. Can gives a soft whimper when Tin begins to suck tender flesh and, when his hands are free, he buries them in Tin’s thick head of hair, biting his lips to keep quiet as Tin devours him.

***

Pond sighs. He’d picked a nice, shady patch of grass beneath a tree to sit on as he waits. Ae and Pete had gone for drinks.

“Knowing Ae they had to stop and fight for Pete’s honor. “

Pond snorts at the thought. Ai Shorty would fight the world if it dares harm Ai Pete. It was sweet, a bit twisted but it suited Ae’s personality. Pond then suddenly spots Can near another nearby tree and cups his hands around his mouth to call the other over before he almost swallows his tongue in shock.

Tin walks up, taking one of the drinks Can had in hand, and he smiles as Can pouts. He says something Pond can’t make out when Can rolls his eyes and, gently, presses a kiss to Tin’s cheek. Pond thinks it’s a mistake, that Can has lost his mind, or worse, a bet, but Tin turns his head to catch Can’s lips with his own and it’s like the world around them doesn’t matter. It’s soft and gentle and Pond’s loud cheer is the only thing that breaks it up.

“ Oi CAN! You landed a big fish too, didn’t you buddy?!”

Can ducks his head as Tin wraps an arm around his shoulder and, glaring in Pond’s direction, leads his boyfriend away.

[fortisfiliae]

Against the Odds - Part 2 [James Potter x reader]

Prompt: College AU ❃ Jocks are disgusting. Too good looking, too aware of it, too drunk and too dumb. Or so you thought.

A/n: This is the second part for @marvelcapsicle ‘s writing challenge. Pic is not mine (also look at this smiling cutie). If you need to zoom in on the texts, just click on the picture to do so.

Find the other parts on my Masterlist linked in my bio!

Warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of needles and blood donations

Word count: 2.8k

Part 2 - My sandwiches, my soda, my blood

Sunday:

So James had texted you. He really had. Wow. And he had managed to come off even more confident by only using six words and a winking smiley-face. Douchey. But somehow still cute. How he managed to be arrogant and sweet at the same time would forever be a mystery.

You lay in bed and read those six words over and over again, your fingers hovering above the keyboard on your phone. What should you answer? Should you answer at all? Or should let a couple hours pass, to not seem like you waited for him to text you? Oh, this texting-etiquette where everyone wanted to come off as not interested at all, was a huge load of crap. Still, you contemplated what the right thing to say was. 

You weren’t even sure if you wanted to see him. Alone at least. You didn’t know him so it would be really unsafe, wouldn’t it? He could be a mass murderer after all. But he was Remus’ friend, so he probably wasn’t. It would be so easy to decline. Just a “No thanks”, or simply blocking him, like he had suggested yesterday. But there was something about him. Something that made your tummy tingle. So you kept on thinking. He wanted to meet on Wednesday. Wednesday, Wednesday... Oh damn, Wednesday! You had plans already. Convenient for the part of you that didn’t want to meet him, frustrating for the part that did.

Yikes. That sounded rough. Better add something to make it less bitchy.

Good. A reasonable explanation. Not mean, just honest.

That was... Nice! Nothing a mass murderer would say. Right? Probably not. You smiled to yourself and put the phone back on the nightstand, your attention wandering back to your laptop. You went for a couple of episodes of The Office, something light and funny. It was good, made you laugh here and there, but you caught yourself looking over to the nightstand a couple of times, just checking if a text had arrived that you hadn’t noticed. 

Some hours later your roommate Louise returned from her boyfriend’s and plopped down on her bed.

“Hey,” she mumbled into her pillow. She’s seen better days for sure.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

She raised her head, her hair tousled and makeup smeared across her face. “I am. Just a rough night.”

“Where have you been?”

“The frat party,” she said and scratched the back of her head. “Hey, is it possible that I’ve seen you there?”

“Um, yeah. I’ve been there.”

“Really! I knew it. I saw you sitting on the couch with these guys. First I thought it might be someone else because I’ve never seen you at the frat before. But then I saw you talking to this Remus guy and I know you’ve told me you’re friends with him once.”

“Yeah, he invited me. It was nice actually. Very loud and stuffy. But fun.”

“Are you going out with him?”

“With who?”

“Remus.”

“No. No, no. We’re just friends. He’s really nice though. Introduced me to some people.”

“Oh, I see,” she said and grinned mischievously. “Well, good. Glad you had fun.”

“Thanks! Glad you had fun too!”

“Ugh, yeah.” She sat up with an effort and went to open the drawer with her toiletries. “I smell and feel like shit. I’m going to take a shower. See you then.”

Monday:

A few minutes past 11, you were in bed already and listened to Louise breathing slowly in her sleep. Lights were out, it was completely dark in your room, you were on the verge of sleeping, but checked your phone one last time. Just in case some jock had texted you. Not that you were thinking of him, or anything. Just in case. 

Tuesday:

It’s been a long day. You were reunited with your laptop again, watched this futuristic horror-show and tried to overhear Louise on the phone, talking to her boyfriend. How much time could a couple spend together until they’d start hating each other? What did they even have to tell each other anymore? She had come to your room twenty minutes ago and was talking to him for at least ten now. That means she had last seen him about half an hour ago. Well, everyone’s talented in their own ways. You tried to push your headphones further into your ears and put the sound up a little more, to concentrate on the plot of the episode, when your phone vibrated once. 

Wednesday:

You went to the blood drive at 8.30, half an hour before it would open, so the staff could show you around once more. The red cross had pitched up a huge tent, in which you had to sit at the entry to welcome the donors. A guy in his fifties handed you the sign-up sheets and told you what questions you had to ask each person. Easy peasy. It was pretty quiet all morning. Not a lot of people could be bothered to wake up early if they had a day off of school apparently. Some freshman came, probably to skip classes, since all of them asked for an attendance note. It got quite busy around noon - the line of people got so long from time to time, that some had to wait outside.  The afternoon was when it got tiring. Not because there were more people, they came and went in waves. But you were hungry and asking the same questions all day had become annoying. You felt your concentration fading with each sheet you gave out and were looking forward to closing and go home.  It felt like an eternity had passed until the older guy, who had shown you around in the morning, came up to you and told you that there were only a few people left in line and they would be done for the day when those one’s had donated.

Finally. You didn’t even know how late it was, probably around 6 p.m., when the last person in line eventually came up to you. You looked up and saw a familiar pair of brown eyes behind some wild, black curls. James.

“Wha- Hi.” You said and caught yourself raking your fingers through your hair. “You here?”

“Hey,” he said and grinned, his hands hidden behind his back. “Last person for today, huh.”

“I guess so,” you said, a smile on your face as you slid a sign-up sheet across the table. “I got to ask you two questions.”

“Go ahead.”

“Did you drink and eat enough today?”

“I have.”

“Did you drink alcohol in the last 24 hours?”

“I haven’t.”

“Didn’t you say you had a beer last night?”

“Oh yeah. Root beer.”

You frowned. “Root beer?”

“Yes, root beer.”

“Did you really plan to come and donate?”

“I did, on Sunday.”

Had he planned it since you had told him about it? “Good.” You cleared your throat. “You need to fill this out, please. There are some more detailed questions on the list. The guy over there has to check your answers before they’ll draw your blood.”

James nodded and bent over to fill in his data while putting a brown paper bag on the table. He started scribbling his name and day of birth when he asked: “Did you donate too?”

“I wanted to do it before I’d go home, but I think I haven’t eaten enough. Practice what you preach, you know.”

He chuckled and pushed the paper bag closer to you. “I bought you a sandwich.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I thought maybe you wouldn’t have time to eat, so I figured I’d bring one. And a coke, for later.”

You opened up the bag and looked inside to see a cheese tomato sandwich and a can of soda, which looked like a five-course meal at that moment. “Oh my god. Thank you so much. You don’t know how much I need this right now.”

“No problem, darling.”

Darling. He was the only person to ever call you that. You cleared your throat again as you opened the plastic wrap of the sandwich. “Do you want some?”

“No,” he said and grinned again. “I’ve had mine on the way. Eat up. And fill out your registration. I don’t want them to stab me alone.” 

It was quiet in the back of the tent - only a few people were left to donate. They were all lying down on what looked like portable hospital beds, while five of those beds were empty already.

A short woman with curly blonde hair brought you over to two of the empty beds. “Alright, who wants to go first?”

James looked at you as if he wanted to ask if he should volunteer, but you said: “Can I go first? So it’s over faster.”

“Sure. Ladies first.”

You sat down on the bed, while James did the same on the one beside you when the woman started to arrange the needles and other props. After rolling up your sleeve and positioning your arm so she could insert the tube into your vein, you tried to avoid looking at what she was about to do. The thought of it alone made you nauseous. You let your head fall back, looked up to the ceiling of the tent and inhaled heavily.

“You okay?”, James asked from the side.

“I’m nervous,” you said. “Not a big fan of needles.”

“Alright. Look at me.”

You did and watched him pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. He just sat there and stared back, looked into your eyes and tilted his head slightly with a tiny smile on his lips.

“Aren’t you supposed to distract me?” you asked jokingly.

“I am. Look. It’s all done.”

The lady nodded and handed you a small plastic ball, that you had to squeeze until the bag attached to the tube in your arm was full. She went and did the same to James, who turned to look at you, one eye squeezed shut. 

“Not my favorite thing to do either,” he admitted.

“Alright, you two. Here’s your ball, Mister. You can keep them,” the woman said. “I’ll see you in a few minutes. The devices next to the bags will beep when it’s done.”

You watched her go looking after the other donors. She seemed tired as well but was better at hiding it than you were. It was a strange sensation, squeezing the ball and feeling warmth leaving your arm. You tried to distract yourself from this thought again and looked over to James, who was looking around aimlessly as well.

“You have no idea how bad I want to drink that coke right now,” you said after a while. “Thanks again by the way. That was really sweet.”

James smiled, his eyes lit up for a brief moment and he looked like he wanted to high-five himself. “Anything for you,” he said playfully. “My sandwiches, my soda, my blood.”

Even though you rolled your eyes, it made you laugh and a minute later the devices attached to your blood bags started beeping.

“So, are you going back to your dorm now?”, James asked when you had left the red cross tent.

“Yeah, it’s only five minutes away.”

“Mind if I walk you home?”

“Uh, sure. Yeah, sure!” you said and took the can out of your bag. Finally. The low hiss that escaped when you cracked it open was worth every ounce of blood. “You want some?”

“No, it’s yours,” he said as you started walking.

“Come on, you’ve earned it.”

James laughed, took the can and had a sip. “Thanks.”

You walked slower than usual, sharing the drink after every other sip and wondered why Netflix suddenly didn’t have the same appeal anymore. Conversation ran surprisingly smooth. It was like he always knew what to say. James sure was funny, but he was really good at making small talk interesting. Maybe that’s why Louise talked to her boyfriend non stop.

You could have easily gone for another five (or forty-five) minute walk, but no matter how slowly you tried to walk, you eventually took the last sip of coke and arrived at the doorstep of your dorm.

“So,” you said and turned around to say goodbye.

“So.”

“Thank you for coming today. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime darling. It was a pleasure to be stabbed next to you,” he answered and winked. What a dork. “Text you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Or tonight?” 

He suddenly took a step closer, a sly smile on his face - you didn’t know what was going to happen. Would he kiss you? What was he doing? Before you knew, he placed a peck on your cheek, quickly turned around and left.

James turned his head after a few steps and called: “Bye darling.”

You watched him go, grinning stupidly but unable to answer, and looked down to the can in your hand. It was crushed. 

Find the other parts on my Masterlist linked in my bio!

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[yeosanggf]

All I Want for Christmas is You

Pairing: Lee Haechan x Reader

Summary/Request: Donghyuck finds himself falling for his best friend at the worst possible timing | ooohh, can u write a platonic haechan angsty christmas scenario pls? thank u in advanceee💜💜💜@orijeonal

Genre: angst

A/N: hello, loves! im sorry if this doesnt really count as platonic, i kind of got stumped at the angst request haha. haha I hope this doesnt make you hate Mark haha more than you probably already do haha - dia :)

“Fuck.” Donghyuck swore aloud to himself in his room, the lack of sleep finally getting to him. It was a pattern, tossing and turning over and over again. He let out a loud sigh as he creeped out of his room to the kitchen to make a 4am snack. All night he’d been awake, thinking of you, Y/n, his best friend of a year and a half now.

In September last year you both started your junior year of highschool, and now you were finally seniors at the end of your first term. You met in psychology. After proving to the teacher you were both troublesome with your respective friend groups, she removed you from them and put you two together. And by doing this, somehow, she managed to cause more trouble. You had the same sense of humor and wish for destruction. You and Donghyuck clicked instantly, merging your two friend groups within three weeks of school starting. It was legendary, really.

Donghyuck fixed himself a bowl of cereal and sat in the chair nearest to him, resting his head on his arm and staring at the Christmas tree his family had put up in the living room. His mind was racing, and yet it was still. His heartbeat felt so loud, it was as if it shook the spoon in his hand. He knew he was falling in love with you. He had known it for weeks now, yet he chose to ignore it. The way your hair fell, the shape of your eyes, the curves of your lips. He had tried to ignore it all, and he couldn’t do it any longer. The Christmas tree was soothing, in a way. The time of year had always been associated with happiness for Hyuck, and looking at the tree softened his heartbeat for the time being. He thought of you, and decorating a tree together as if you were married. Hanging stockings for you and your kids… Goddamnit, Y/n stop lurking in my head! He dropped the spoon back into the bowl when the cereal was finished, letting a loud clank sound through the room.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. One for every step he took, until he was back in his bed, under the covers, staring at the ceiling once more.

“That bitch,” he smiled to himself, knowing that if you’d heard the insult your jaw would’ve dropped in fake shock and your hand would have raised to hit him, “I can’t get her out of my mind.”

Donghyuck went to school the next day on two hours of sleep, which was unusual for him. Lucky for him, he didn’t have to see you until lunch, which gave him more time to ignore his classes, mull over his feelings, and decide how to act with you. He’d try to think logically, but every time his mind went to how much he loved you.

There’s just something about her, I guess. He’d think as his teachers talked. I want to be with her. All the time. Which isn’t logical… So… That’s love, right? Being willing to do irrational shit for someone? I’d electrocute myself for her. Ugh, fuck, yeah that’s love.

By lunch, he still had no plan. Defeated by his own thoughts, he got his food at sat at his normal table. my friends’ table, he reminded himself, ‘friends’. Seated to his right was Mark, his best friend since freshman year, and to his left was Renjun. Mark and Donghyuck had every class together in ninth grade, and Donghyuck spent all of that time getting on Mark’s nerves. But, he couldn’t escape the fiend and eventually grew very fond of him. So fond, that four years later they haven’t had a class together since then and still consider each other best friends. You and your friends had been the newest addition to the group.

“Hey, man.” Mark slapped him on the back. “You’re late.” Donghyuck forced a smile, though his brain was throwing around so many things that this extra operation made him look more uncomfortable than he actually was.

“You okay?” Mark asked, noticing the unfamiliar dark circles under his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. How late am I?”

“Meh,” Mark shrugged, “Only like five minutes.”

On Mark’s other side, was you.

“Hyuck!” You called over to him, blinding him with a sweet smile. “Are you going to the Christmas Ball?”

The Christmas Ball was a school dance, much more informal than it sounded. It was supposed to be a thing for dates, but the kids in your grade tended to stick to friend groups, except when slow songs were on, of course. This year, though, you’d be going with Mark Lee. You and Mark had been dating for only about a week now, but you’d decided to keep it a secret from the rest of your friends until the Ball, which is why you were both intent on making sure everyone went. You’d admired Mark for a while, so a week ago when he asked you out, it was a pretty easy answer.

“Yeah, I am.” He stuttered slightly. He wasn’t really in the mood for a dance, but if anything he’d go for you. He could confess to you at the dance, that’d be romantic. Christmas romance, it’d be like a movie! He smiled to himself, feeling cocky about how good his idea was. He kept to himself this lunch, which was odd for the rest of you. Now all he could think about was the dance.

It’ll be perfect. I can catch her alone and tell her I like her and badabing badaboom! We’ll dance and as the night is ending, we’ll finally kiss… He tried to imagine the moment. How beautiful you would look. You wore a silver dress last year, and even then he couldn’t deny that you looked amazing. He remembered your red lipstick and how your hair bounced as you danced, wondering if it’d be the same this year. Or maybe the only difference would be that you’d be with him…

The day of the dance came and you wore a golden dress with red heels and matching red lipstick, the same one as last year. Mark wore a suit, like the rest of the boys, and had a red tie on to subtly match you. Donghyuck came fifteen minutes late, trying to look his absolute best. He didn’t want to mess up, but if he did, hopefully his looks would save him? Unlikely, he thought, as he adjusted his hair, taking great care anyway. The room was packed full of students, and your friend group was filing in slowly. He got himself a soda and stood against a wall, scanning the crowds for anyone he knew. Ideally, you. Seeing as there were too many people around, he decided to look through the crowds. He threw out his soda cup and started walking. After a couple steps he saw you across the room from between the dancing kids. He froze. Just like last year, you were undeniably beautiful. Taking a step forward, he started pushing through the crowds, cautiously at first. His pace sped up as he got closer, never taking his eyes off of you. It was when he was only a few feet away that he saw you holding hands with Mark and smiling widely, looking deeply lost in his eyes. Again, Donghyuck froze. He watched as Mark moved his hands to your waist, leaning in to kiss you. Donghyuck looked up, hoping to see mistletoe above you, but no. He felt his limbs grow weak. He was afraid if he so much as lifted a hand, it would start shaking. He started to turn, wanting nothing more than to run out of the room, but you caught his eye.

“Hyuck!” You waved him over. “Come here!” He fiddled with his hands and begrudgingly made his way to you and Mark.

“Hey Donghyuck!” Mark said, putting an arm around your waist. “Guess what? I asked Y/n out last week, and now we’re dating. Friendship, am I right?” He smiled. Hyuck put on his best act, appearing perfectly happy, avoiding your gaze and focusing on Mark. He was afraid that if he locked eyes with you, his tears just might overflow.

“A week, huh? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He smiled back, giving Mark a playful punch on the arm.

My best friends… dating… and they didn’t even tell me.

“We thought we’d tell you all today, considering the spirit and all.” You responded. “Cute, right? A Christmas romance.” You looked back at Mark, pulling him closer.

A Christmas romance. Like a movie. That was supposed to be with me.

“Yeah,” Hyuck said. His sorrow slowly turning into anger. He wanted to punch Mark, his own best friend. He wanted to wipe the smile off his face and make that boy feel how he was feeling. Pain. “I’ll be around, if you need me... Not that you should.” He needed to get away, as fast as possible.

Just like before, he made his way through the crowds. Slowly at first, getting faster and faster with every step until he was running out the door. The cold wind hit his face. The tears rolling down his face felt like they were freezing, but he kept running. He ran past streetlamps. Light hit his face, and disappeared, and came again, and disappeared, making the tears on his face shine with every other step. He stopped only when he couldn’t go any further, his stomach in his chest and his lungs in his burning throat. Water was flowing down his face like the Niagara had buried itself behind his eyes, and he couldn’t get it to stop. The beating in his chest got so loud, it was as if it vanished completely, leaving behind a harsh burning sensation. He couldn’t picture anything but you with your lips on Mark. His own best friend, with his other best friend.

Hyuck got home, eyes swollen and sinuses blocked, sniffling as he shut the door behind him. He walked into the kitchen, intending on eating cereal once again. He took off his tie and suit jacket, throwing them onto the table he sat at. He plopped down on the same chair as before and propped his head up on his arm, stirring the cereal around with his free hand and staring into space. His eye caught the light of the Christmas tree. The happiness he felt from the tree was crushed. Shattered into a million pieces with his heart on the floor. He teared up again as he gazed at the star on top, hoping for something, anything. He’d get to see you everyday… but he’d be seeing you with Mark. He closed his eyes as he turned away from the decoration. The tree had a new association for him. It wasn’t festive, and it wasn’t comforting, but an endless pit of loneliness that fostered deep in his heart.

[briannamarguerite]

Happy belated birthday to the utterly fabulous @suddenclarityharry who sent us the above prompt. I hope you enjoy this self-indulgent drabble thing!! (it’s kind of different, but that means other people can still use the prompt)  xoxo

The squeak that Harry let out would have been mortifying if he hadn’t already reached his peak level of embarrassment.

“Oh, no. No, no. No, no, no,” Harry said into his palm, which had flown up to cover his mouth once he’d clicked on the stupid post. “Nooooo.”

This was not happening. It couldn’t be. The person had even used his name. Harry. They didn’t go to a big university, everyone was going to know it was him.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, a small cough interrupted the mental fuck-shit-i-have-to-move-and-change-my-name that was blaring on repeat.

Harry’s eyes snapped up. And of course it was Louis Tomlinson standing over him. No one ever came to this corner of the library, it was Harry’s special place that he could escape to when he wanted some peace and quiet. But today of all days here was Louis Tomlinson, one perfect eyebrow raised, his hip cocked, looking ready to dive into action if Harry needed saving of some sort.

“You okay, mate?” Louis asked, pitching his tone low. His voice was still beautiful and raspy and would have made the butterflies in Harry’s stomach dance had they not all been paralyzed from sheer mortification.

He sucked in air, about to attempt some sort of chill answer despite the circus music that had started playing in his brain, but his tongue tangled on itself and all that came out was “Mmghfiph.”

Which brought out the crinkles by Louis’ eyes and made Harry want to crawl under the table. It was just… he looked so soft and beautiful, in joggers that hugged his thighs and a comfy sweatshirt that brought out the bit of green in his blue eyes. He’d thrown a beanie on over his lovely brown hair, completing the effortless, I just rolled out of bed and still am hotter than you look.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Louis said, as he slid into the chair across from Harry… and that really would not help with the forming of words thing at all. “Harry right?”

And … what? “Um, yeah. Harry. Me. I’m Harry.”

The crinkles were back, but Louis pressed his lips together as if to hide a smile. It didn’t seem mocking. “Me, I’m Louis.”

Harry groaned and dropped his face in his hands. Maybe if he closed his eyes this would all be a horrifying dream. Then a foot brushed against his shin. Not quite hard enough for a kick, but persistent enough to get his attention.

“Hey, for real, are you alright man?” Louis asked, and when Harry dared peek up, the amusement had faded from Louis’ face. Harry missed the warmth of it.

He sighed, and tried to get his shit together. In the end, he simple twisted his laptop toward Louis so he could read the stupid post. The one that detailed what he’d thought had been a nice act of kindness on Saturday night.

A girl had come to the bar at the fancy movie theater he worked at to order a bottle of wine and two glasses. When he’d informed her he’d need to see both IDs, she’d told him that she was there by herself and had been too embarrassed about ordering the whole thing alone.

Since he’d been about to get off his shift, and her eyes had gone a bit damp (at least he’d thought they’d had) he’d done the kind thing and watched the movie with her.

Now, it seemed she’d been on a date all along. And everyone would know about it, because she’d posted on their university’s confessions page.

Harry watched Louis closely as he read over the post, gnawing on his thin, but lovely, bottom lip. When he finished, he looked up, his eyes tracing over Harry’s face for so long that Harry flushed an even deeper pink and actively talked himself out of crawling beneath the table.

“You did that?” Louis asked, tipping his chin toward the screen. Not a trace of humor was left.

The only thing Harry could do was nod, as his mouth still wasn’t fully under his control, and he didn’t want to test it.

Their eyes locked, held, and some sort of tension pulled between them. The throb of it pulsed in Harry’s chest, and he couldn’t blink, or breathe, or look away.

But then Louis broke the moment. Without saying anything he stood, turned and walked away.

Harry let his forehead drop to the table, the thunk of it loud in the quiet library.

****

When he got home that night, there was a post-it stuck to his dorm room door. It was neon green, a bright beacon at the tail end of a terrible day. Harry had spent the whole thing trying to avoid people’s eyes as he heard whispers and giggles follow him where ever he went.  

One girl had tried to ask him on a date, and he didn’t know if she was mocking him, but he’d had to awkwardly stumble through the whole coming out to a stranger thing, and that was never fun. A few people had smiled kindly at him, but he read that as pity and moved along. And through it all he tried to forget the way Louis Tomlinson, the kid he’d had a crush on for his entire freshman and sophomore year probably now thought he was a gullible fool.

He grabbed the post-it, blinking a few times so that the words were more than just a jumble of scribbly slashing lines. Mackey’s coffee shop. It was signed with a smiley face with two x-es where the eyes should be.

Harry led a pretty boring life. He was studying pre-law at a small university in the middle of the state. He had some close friends and went to parties, but he wouldn’t exactly call himself adventurous. Bottom line, he wasn’t in the position to turn down a mysterious invitation. 

Especially not when his brain was whispering that he’d seen that smiley face doodle before. On Louis Tomlinson’s notebook.

Dashing inside to brush a comb through his hair, and spritz a little citrus water on his face, he swapped his school bag for just his wallet and then headed back out.

When he got to Mackey’s his stomach dropped when the only person who was there was Tabby, a nice girl in his stats class. She looked up when he walked in, but didn’t move to approach him further. Harry bit his lip, his stomach clenching at the nothing that he’d managed to eat all day. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Sweeping his gaze over the small room just in case he’d somehow missed a person hidden by shadows, Harry turned to leave.

“Hey,” a voice called from behind the register. “You Harry Styles?”

Harry swiveled, but it wasn’t Louis, of course it wasn’t. Instead a brunette kid Harry recognized but didn’t know was holding something out to him.  

“Yup,” he confirmed as he took the small box. His fingers trembled but he waited until he was back outside to open it. A post-it sat on top. I like it how you always laugh at Professor Stevens puns, a big, lovely laugh that escapes even when you try to hold it back. Hawkins Building Rm. 312

Beneath the note was a key chain of a little box of fries. IT’S FRY-DAY, the lettering across the bottom wrote. A laugh-sob slipped from his lips, and he took off at a much faster than normal pace to get to the next location.

And so it went, all over campus, a scavenger hunt. At each place, there was a little box, a message and a small gift.

When Lacey Jones forgot her wallet, you paid for her coffee that one day. Along with a Keurig cup.

I could listen to you talk about Dickens for hours. That one had come with a miniature cock and Harry hadn’t been able to stop the honk laugh that his admirer apparently liked so much.

And so it went until ...

The baseball field.

Something about the post-it felt like the last one. Perhaps because it was lacking a compliment. Harry started running, because, he could be honest with himself, he was embarrassingly excited to see (who he hoped was) Louis right now. His breathing was ragged, and there had been multiple instances of uncontrolled tears, and all of his little presents bounced around in the pockets of his jeans, and he just needed to be at the baseball field. Right. Now.

The lights were on, and he jumped over the low fence in a move that was more graceful than everything else he’d ever done in his life combined.

And there, right by the pitcher’s mound was Louis Tomlinson, his hands clasped in front of himself, dressed in black skinny jeans and a lovely red tee. He looked beautiful beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.

Harry came to a stop less than an arm’s length away. “You,” he breathed, because the only other thing he could think to do was kiss the boy.

Louis’ lips tugged up at the corner. “You disappointed?”

“Never,” Harry said, the word coming out even before Louis stopped speaking. “Never. I’ve liked you forever. Since English class our freshman year.”

Everything about Louis relaxed, and it was only when it did that Harry realized how tense the boy had been. As if he had anything to worry about. “I didn’t want to seem creepy, I hope it wasn’t creepy. I’ve just, yeah, I’ve liked you too.”

Harry honked out another full-body laugh and wasn’t even embarrassed because Louis liked when he did that. On cue, Louis’ crinkles came back around his eyes. 

“Not creepy. I’ve noticed you, too. I knew it was your smiley face.”

Louis snapped his fingers like he was disappointed that the mystery had been ruined, but he didn’t try to hide his full-on smile. “Thwarted by my attempts to be cute.”

“You don’t have to attempt it, you always are,” Harry said, and then rolled his eyes at his own cheesiness. Except. Well, he guessed Louis might be cheesy himself. He’d just sent Harry on a romantic scavenger hunt that ended in a grand reveal in the middle of an empty baseball stadium.

“I wanted you to have a lovely date,” Louis said, reaching out to grab Harry’s hand. Louis’ thumb brushed over Harry’s knuckles and the thrill of it rushed through his bloodstream. “You are so, so lovely and you deserve the best date possible. Or at least the best I could come up with on a half-day’s notice.”

Harry groaned. In the excitement of the past hour he’d forgotten the stupid post. “I’m so mortified everyone knows about that,” he whispered the confession. “People must think I’m so foolish.”

Louis shook his head, and tugged Harry’s hand, pulling them both down onto the blanket that Harry just noticed was spread out on the field. A picnic basket sat on one corner. “You don’t realize how amazing that post made you look. You have such a kind heart Harry.”

Blushing, Harry ducked to avoid Louis’ searching gaze. He couldn’t think of what to say.

“Everyone’s going to want to date you after that,” Louis said, and there was a hint of insecurity in his voice that made Harry’s gaze snap to his.

“I only want to date you,” Harry rushed out, beyond coyness at this point.

He was rewarded by a blinding smile. “Well, that’s very convenient, because I only want to date you,” Louis said. “Alright, now how bout some wine.”

Harry groaned again, dropping his forehead to the nook in Louis’ shoulder and they collapsed to the ground laughing.

***

When Harry got home much, much, much later that nigh with kiss-swollen lips, he logged on to the stupid website with the stupid post. There were tons of comments that he didn’t bother looking through. He maneuvered the cursor to the box, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Don’t worry, I found someone worthy.

[jadagul]

How Social Bubbles are Made

I have a lot of reactions to the latest Slate Star Codex essay on the variety of interpersonal bubbles we manage to maintain. In particular, I think I have a pretty good understanding of at least some of the forces that drive them.

This is something I've noticed a lot in my life. I had a good friend in college with a Steve Jobs-level Reality Distortion Field (unfortunately, this friend didn't really use his powers for good). My father has a likeability field, and I myself have a "trustworthy" field: people meet me and instantly decide that I'm safe and trust me completely.

And on the one hand, this feels mysterious and magical from the inside. On the other hand, I've spent a lot of time watching these people, and I have a pretty good idea of at least some of what they're doing.

My experience of the world is that everyone likes me and wants to help me and make me happy. I trust everyone pretty much by default. I definitely don't have Williams Syndrome as Scott describes it, but I'm much closer to that end of the spectrum than to the paranoid side.

And somehow, this has never really caused a problem for me.

Now, there's a lot you could say about this, and a lot of people here will point to my privilege. And I am tremendously privileged. If you make a checklist of "ways a person can be privileged", I check almost everything on it. This protects me a lot.

And yet. This is all narrative, in a very hedonic witchcraft sort of way.

I was originally going to write that I check "everything" on the hypothetical privilege-list. But I'm quite neurodivergent, in ways that can cause me substantial problems. I was a major bullying target from grade school through tenth grade, and somewhat socially ostracized. (My mother says I was having regular suicidal thoughts in fourth grade; I have no memory of this). And there's some moderately complicated family stuff that I don't feel comfortable describing here in detail, but that doesn't exactly scream "privilege".

But none of that stuff shows up in my self-narrative. My self-narrative says that nothing goes wrong and everyone is on my side, because that's what feels real to me. Which brings us back to the top of this section: I'm atypically trusting, and that seems to work out.

Reflexive Emotional Projections

There are two related ideas that I want to use to explain this. The first comes from How to Win Friends and Influence People, which I read freshman year of college on Paul Graham's recommendation. It's a good book in general, and a quick read; I definitely endorse Graham's recommendation.

But the big idea I took away from it is this: people like to be liked. People like people who like them.

The problem is that it's hard to fake this. People can tell. Maybe not consciously, or immediately, but if you're going around pretending to like people all the time, it will wear on you and it will show through the cracks, and people will think that you don't like them and also you're a phony.

(There are people who can pull of this sort of sustained deception. We tend to call them sociopaths. I have no idea if that is a psychologically accurate descriptor).

So how do you square this? You want people to feel like you like them, and pretending won't work. So what do you do? Carnegie suggests you should become the sort of person who likes people. Then it will show, and people will think you like them, and they will like you. This allows you to Win Friends (and Influence People).

But there's a chicken-and-egg problem here, because you are also a person and if everyone else doesn't like you, it's hard for you to genuinely like them. I can think of three (and a half) ways out.

The first way out is to have extremely atypical control over your own emotions. This is where you get stuff like meditative practices working towards universal acceptance and brotherhood.

The second is the slow boring of hard boards. Push yourself to like people a little more. This will make other people like you a little more. This will make it easier for you to like other people, which will make them like you a bit more, etc.

If done right, this launches a virtuous circle. The problem is that it's not always a terribly fast circle, and you spend the entire time deliberately putting yourself in the deeply uncomfortable position of pushing yourself to like other people more than feels natural. So this is possible, but slow and painful work.

(What often happens, I suspect, is that you by luck stumble into a group that likes you, and you like them, much more than average. This can push you above equilibrium and launch the virtuous circle on its own. There's a certain amount of luck involved; but this is probably responsible for the pretty good advice to "try meeting a bunch of different people until you find a group that clicks with you").

The third route is just to be lucky. Be the sort of person who naturally likes everyone. Then you're pretty permanently in the good side of the equilibrium, because you started out there. Everyone likes my dad, because my dad likes everyone. Everyone trusts me, because I'm open with and trust everyone. People can tell.

There are other thinks people can project, of course, other than "like" and "trust." In his essay, Scott brings up examples of being calm and intellectualized, rather than emotional. Imagine the stereotypical "deescalation": someone who's good at that projects "calm deliberation" so forcefully that other people get pulled into the field.

(In contrast, an effective demagogue is the opposite: good at getting people's emotions ratcheted up and taking off the brakes. It's basically the same process, but in the opposite direction).

I suspect most emotional reactions can be generated by this sort of projection-and-mirroring process. But I've only put serious thought into some of them.

Asshole (and other) Filters

The other idea comes from this excellent Siderea post on the Asshole Filter. I feel really uncomfortable summarizing the post because it's a really good and rich post with a lot of interesting bits and pieces, so please go read it. (It's a much better post than this one is).

But the basic idea is that a lot of people wind up surrounded by assholes and don't know why. And it's not so much that they attract assholes, but that they have some sort of filter set up that disproportionately keeps away non-assholes.

An asshole filter happens when you publicly promulgate a straitened contact boundary and then don't enforce it; or worse, reward the people who transgress it.

If you are the sort of person who is good at policing your own boundaries, and expressing your desires, and maintaining your own personal and emotional space, then you have a mild force pushing assholes away. They can't transgress your boundaries, so they find easier situations.

If you're the sort of person who basically doesn't express boundaries, then you're an easy target for assholes and predators, but you also aren't really driving non-assholes away, so you see both kinds.

But if you're good at expressing clear boundaries, and then bad at policing those boundaries, you're in the worst shape. People who are willing to respect your boundaries will respect them, because that's what they do. And people who will violate your boundaries will find that they can get themselves plenty of "exceptions".

And then over time this drives the respectful people away because they're getting treated less well for being respectful. Hence the filter.

But even with all that complexity, when you set up a situation in which other people's choices are between, on the one hand, respecting your espoused wishes and being significantly disadvantaged, and, on the other hand, transgressing against your wishes to be effective, you have essentially posed a test that discriminates against those who are less willing to transgress against your espoused wishes: an asshole filter.

If you tell people "the only way to contact me is to break a rule" you will only be contacted by rule-breakers.

Once you recognize this filter in action, you see it all over the place. Siderea is talking mostly about professional interactions, but notes that it occurs in dating life and elsewhere. My favorite mental example is a friend who used to radiate this really clear boundary against people asking her out or dating her---and then was confused as to why everyone who asked her out was a jerk.

And this phenomenon forms the counterpoint to the symmetric liking I discussed in the previous section. Your bubble is shaped by two forces. One is the things you do that get like reactions out of other people: you like people and they like you. You trust people and they trust you. You bond with people and they bond with you.

The other is the (usually unconscious) filters you are running. If you're lucky, and you radiate "self-confident person with boundaries", you filter out assholes and get decent people in your life. If you're unlucky, you filter out non-assholes and everyone you deal with is a huge jerk.

And since this is mostly subconscious, it's really hard to control. So some people wind up with asshole-filled lives, and other people live mostly asshole-free. And they both accept this as "the way things are".

Acting with Intention

But all this becomes most obvious when you observe people who can control it---people for whom it's not subconscious. These people tend to be the true masters of their crafts.

The best and most famous example I know of is a story about Marilyn Monroe:

Marilyn had never been in a subway. Wrapped in the camel’s hair coat, her famous hair subdued, she walked to the Grand Central stop of the IRT and down to the platform. Nobody recognized her. Eddie’s camera kept clicking while she stood straphanging on the uptown local. No heads turned.

Back up on the street, Marilyn looked around with a teasing smile. “Do you want to see her ?” she asked, then took off the coat, fluffed up her hair, and arched her back in a pose. In an instant she was engulfed, and it took several shoving, scary minutes to rewrap her and push clear of the growing crowd.

But she's of course not the only one who can do this---just one of the all-time greats. I have a friend who once asked me for an explanation of something: At school, no one would ever notice her. And then she'd go to parties, and she'd be the center of attention all night. The hottest woman in the room.

But "hotness" isn't just your body. My friend is good at projecting the emotions she wants to project. When she's looking for attention---when she wants to be the hottest woman in the room---then she is. But when she wants to be overlooked, it's not hard.

(And because I'm autistic, most of my social skills are trained, and thus deliberate. I don't play at their level, but I do generally know what I'm doing. People who've met me only for ten minutes at party see me as a radiant charismatic whirlwind.

And then I run out of the energy I need to sustain that, and I half pass out on the sofa for an hour).

Too Long, Didn't Skim

Scott's idea of "niceness fields" and "meanness fields" describes a real phenomenon. I've seen it happen a lot, as we probably all have.

There are two components that combine to shape our personal fields. The first is what I've been calling reflexive projections: emotions you can project, which lead people to respond in kind.

The second component is (mostly-subconscious) filters: who are you disproportionately pushing some groups of people away? And are they the people you want to push away? (And what sort of treatment do you reward?)

Since most people create these fields entirely subconsciously, they're a bit mystified by how they're projecting their own fields---and sometimes quite confused about what fields they are projecting. But these "fields" are a major force in how we experience our lives---and understanding them can let us reshape our lives for the better.

[pixelgrotto]

Olly olly oxen free

Night School Studio’s Oxenfree is an interesting game. The first time I beat it, after about four and a half hours on a Sunday night, I thought it was decent but missing that extra “kick” to make it stand out amongst other indie adventure games of its ilk. But then I played through it again the following day, mostly because I had a nagging feeling like there was still more stuff to see, and also because I’d enjoyed watching the series of documentaries that came included with the game. (Always been a sucker for a good “Making Of” docu, ever since the days of King’s Quest VI.) Lo and behold, there was a New Game + option that carried over certain things from my first playthrough and ultimately led to an alternate ending, and I enjoyed the game a lot more the second time. And now, the more that I think about Oxenfree, the more I think I like it a lot. 

(There will be big spoilers ahead as I explain my up-and-down pogo stick of impressions regarding this game! So come back once you’ve played it. Or forge ahead if you don’t care!)

The game on its surface level is a coming-of-age story about a group of teens who get stuck on an island during a pre-graduation party trip. The character you play as, Alex, accidentally uses a radio to free the spirits of a nuclear submarine crew who were sucked into another reality after their ship blew up in a freak accident near the island. These poltergeists start messing with the flow of events, throwing Alex and her friends into constant time loops as they run around and try to figure out what’s going on, and there’s the risk that they’ll end up possessing these characters for good before the night is done. All of this is solid set-up for a mildly creepy romp that channels the whole “kids get into supernatural trouble” schtick that’s been popular since the days of Scooby-Doo and seems especially popular today, and for my first playthrough, that’s what I thought the game was - solid, but not mind-blowing. The gameplay was a tad slow, with a lot of time spent trudging around to different island locations, and the radio puzzles were interesting at first but quickly became routine. I did like branching dialogue options, the graphical style and the game’s female characters, but the male ones annoyed me. Ren, Alex’s stoner friend, seemed like a putz, and Jonas, Alex’s new stepbrother, wouldn’t shut up. Also, I felt like everyone kept talking not like a bunch of 17-year-olds, but like a bunch of 17-year-olds who were reading dialogue that had been written by a bunch of 30-somethings. (I also thought that their occasional pop culture references - like The Boxcar Children - were things that today’s crop of teens probably wouldn’t know about, but then I learned that they apparently made a Boxcar Children movie in 2014. The more you know!) 

Despite my nitpicks, though, apparently enough clicked to make me want to replay Oxenfree right after beating it, which is something that I rarely do. (Supergiant Games’ 2011 freshman effort, Bastion, was the last instance that comes to mind.) And to my pleasant surprise, everything seemed a lot more enjoyable. The guys were still a little irritating and the puzzles rote, but suddenly, everything started making more sense, and details that seemed nebulous in my first run, like the dialogue of the poltergeists, suddenly became crystal clear. 

Because I was also playing on Oxenfree’s New Game + mode, I also got to see Alex and the poltergeists remember certain things from my first playthrough, which leads me to the big Inception-esque reveal of the game - due to the nature of the ghost’s control over reality, you’re trapped in a time loop that constantly resets after you leave the island with your friends and “beat” the game. The ultimate goal, then, isn’t merely to “escape” - it’s to send a message out to an alternate reality version of yourself, warning them to stay away from the island. Doing so will theoretically break the loop...or at least one timeline’s version of it. 

I’m usually 50/50 when it comes to these Christopher Nolan-style mind fuck twists in video games. I mentioned in a previous post that two other games that I recently played, Kathy Rain and Doki Doki Literature Club, also employed similar “let’s mess with your conception of the rules” tricks, with varying degrees of success. I’d say that Oxenfree falls into the more successful region of that spectrum, at least once I’d completed my second run and achieved the “true” ending, and the replay value and intriguing reveals that the game eventually provided were what finally elevated it in my mind to “something special” status.

Maybe it’s appropriate that I had to play this game twice to really dig it. After all, the name comes from the phrase “olly olly oxen free,” which I haven’t heard in over two decades. I think I remember saying it in games of tag or capture the flag when I was a really little kid, and it basically means that the teams are switching sides or the next round is beginning. Thus, Oxenfree the game, especially when you consider the time loop aspect, tells a story about “rounds” that go on and on... Until you somehow manage to break the loop. And that’s pretty nifty.  Incidentally, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t warm up to Oxenfree at first. Polygon had the similar experience, and they published not only a middling review, but a follow-up article that expends 348 words saying absolutely NOTHING! Ahem. I hope I’ve done a bit better vocalizing how this game grew on me, and I feel glad that I now know about Night School Studio. Their next project is a cool game where you play as a guy and a gal who are trapped in hell and are trying to drink their way out. Can’t wait to play that one and have my expectations subverted all over again! Screenshots are a combo of ones I took during my two playthroughs as well as some images I stole from the game’s website. Shoutout to Rachel, who recommended this in the first place and popped up in-game to offer useful advice thanks to Oxenfree accessing my GOG friend list, hah.

[amillionsmiles]

“You started sitting by me at lunch because I’m alone at my table but we never talk to each other” AU (Sheith or plance whatever inspires you!)

combined this with another college AU I saw floating around somewhere that said: “You’re the RA and you’re trying to bust me for having hermit crabs.” I’m sorry but I’m also not. here ya go, Justine ;)

[Ao3 link] in case you want to read there bc it got a little long

“Hey, mind if I sit?”

Keith looks up from his Econ 1 reading to find Shiro hovering by the seat in front of him, a plate in either hand.  A well-balanced meal, Keith notes—one plate has been dedicated specifically to fruits and vegetables, the other piled with careful portions of today’s chicken stir-fry, eggplant, and brown rice.

Shrugging, he says, “It’s a free country,” mostly because he knows that Shiro will sit down anyways.  It must be an RA thing: the ability to, at any time, locate one of your residents and administer whatever aid is needed.  In this case, Shiro has noticed Keith’s empty table, swooping in to save his freshman from being That One Kid Sitting By Himself in the Corner.

What Shiro has overlooked, however, is that Keith is eating alone by choice.  He has twenty minutes to scarf down his food and assemble an understanding of the income elasticity of demand before he heads to section.  More like twelve minutes, once you factor in how long it takes to put up his dishes and dash across campus.  So yeah, not much time for small talk.

Unfazed, Shiro sits down, swiping some napkins from the table dispenser.

“I’ll leave you to your work,” he says knowingly, eyes twinkling with good humor as he raises a fork and knife and busies himself with cutting up his lunch.  Keith blinks, a little, at that, before shoveling the rest of his cornbread in his mouth and relocating his paragraph on the page.

He reminds himself that Shiro gets paid for this.  It makes him feel less guilty.

*

The thing is, Keith has a secret.

While other people choose to stock their dorm rooms with succulents, coffee machines, or decked out desktops, Keith came to college certain of one thing: he was taking his hermit crabs with him.  Rescued from a booth on the boardwalk during the senior year field trip, Pearl and Raf have remained safely in his care for a year now.  There wasn’t anyone back home he trusted leaving their tank with, so they had to come here.

Rolo has been an accommodating roommate, for the most part.  Largely, Keith suspects, because Rolo just doesn’t give a shit.  Their relationship revolves around the age-old motto of “you do your thing and I do mine.”  Each boy’s junk stays on his respective side of the room.  The trash gets taken out on time. The system works.

And if Rolo ever does decide to throw Keith under the bus of the “no pets” policy, well.  Keith knows where Rolo hides his weed.

Still, these reassurances don’t protect Keith from the miniature heart attack he suffers when someone knocks on their door.  Hurriedly, Keith scoops Pearl and Raf off his desk and back into their tank, throwing a tarp over it.

When he eases the door open, Shiro is standing in the hall, one hand braced against the doorframe.  The pose pulls his shirt tightly across his chest, accentuating his pecs, and Keith is reminded that his RA is a junior on the swimming team.  Those arms could probably heave Keith over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and it would be no problem for Shiro to muscle his way into the room.

Shit. The realization smacks Keith in the face.  Shiro knows about the crabs.  He’s here to confiscate them.

Keith is not going down without a fight.

“Keith!” Shiro smiles, which is already suspicious.  “How are you?”

“Fine,” Keith answers.  Wary.

Shiro nods.  “Good.  Because we’d love to have you join us for the hall meeting…” He trails off, raising an eyebrow.

Keith glances behind him to the clock on his table.  10 PM. Wednesday. Hall meeting.  That was…definitely an email that was sent, which he might have deleted without reading.

“Right,” Keith says, squeezing through the small opening he left between the door and the frame.  Shiro steps back to give him space; Keith tries to hide his relief when the door clicks shut behind him.  Pearl and Raf will remain safe for another day.

“Well?” he asks, starting ahead.  Behind him, Shiro is watching him strangely, the hint of a smile on his lips.  “Let’s go.”

*

It is 3 AM in the goddamn morning.  Keith shifts from foot to foot for warmth, blowing air into his hands.  The fire alarm continues to screech, whistling through the wintry air as the rest of the dorm residents stagger outside.  Lance, who lives down the hall from him, walks over, some sort of white paste caked to his face.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

“No,” grunts Keith.

“Don’t know why I thought you would,” Lance mutters, leaving to find someone more helpful.

“Smart, grabbing your jacket,” someone else says; Keith turns to find Shiro grinning at him, clad in nothing but fraying red pajama pants and a black muscle tee.  The cold doesn’t seem to faze him.  Makes sense, since Keith is pretty sure Shiro was meant to be a bronze statue somewhere and just got lost in transit.

“Yeah,” Keith says, not wanting to betray the fact that currently, there’s a hermit crab shoved in each pocket of said jacket.  He hadn’t been sure if the fire was real or not—better safe than sorry.  It’s not going to be good for Pearl and Raf, though, if they stay out in this temperature any longer.

Shiro places a hand on his shoulder.  Keith nearly jumps under the touch.  “I’m going to go make sure everyone else is okay.  Stay warm, all right?”

“All right,” Keith says, finding his voice, but Shiro has already disappeared into the crowd.      

*

Saturday night, the common room smells like blueberry pancakes.  People poke their heads in, shuffling away when Shiro gives an apologetic look and says, “Sorry, guys, I’m out.”  It’s almost 2 AM and his on call is winding down; on the couch, Keith settles in, closing his eyes and readying himself for some blessed peace.

“Keith?”

Slowly—and not without a hint of annoyance—Keith opens his eyes.  Shiro frowns at him over the top of the sofa, a streak of flour dashed across the bridge of his nose, somehow.

“Wouldn’t you rather sleep in your own bed?”

“Can’t,” Keith grumbles.  “There’s a sock on my door.”  He’d known it was only a matter of time—Rolo and Nyma had been orbiting each other all of this past month—but the sexiling is a bit of an annoyance.

Shiro bites his lip, but his amusement at Keith’s predicament shows in the upward tick of his eyebrows, the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

“You can crash in my room, if you want.”

“It’s okay,” Keith says quickly.

“Seriously, Keith.  I’ve got an extra mattress and you’ll be undisturbed.  Plus that way you’ll be safe from anyone drawing on your face or taking a picture for the dorm slideshow.”  This last part, said teasingly.

Keith thinks about it a little longer.

“All right, fine,” he decides, sitting up.  He just barely manages to catch the keys Shiro tosses at him.

“I need to finish cleaning up here.  Leave the door unlocked—you know where my room is, right?”

“How could I not,” Keith says, shuffling out of the lounge.

He pushes open Shiro’s door carefully.  He’s caught glimpses inside it once or twice while passing by, but he’s never set foot in it before, despite numerous invitations.  It’s small but well-kept: a spare mattress underneath the lofted bed, a couch pushed up against the other wall, a nice monitor and various posters—Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and one that probably makes sense to history majors but which Keith is too tired to try and figure out right now.

He toes off his shoes and sets them aside so Shiro won’t trip over them, then goes to the mattress, curling up on his side.  There’s even a blanket, which he draws to his chin; that sends its smell wafting toward his nose, and suddenly he’s no longer tired.

The door handle turns.  Keith snaps his eyes closed, feigning sleep.  Shiro’s feet tread quietly across the carpet as he putters about the room; a few minutes later, the bedsprings above Keith’s head squeak, the sound of a body rolling into place.

Turning over onto his back, Keith stares up above him, eyes straining in the dark.  Shiro’s breaths come in soft, quiet puffs—a sound that should be soothing, but one that, instead, sets Keith’s heart beating faster.  Weird.  It’s never done that before.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep.

*

The rest of the year passes by uneventfully.  Keith decides that he most definitely is not going to be an Econ major and, at the same time, discovers a hidden passion for pottery.  Summer comes and goes, and soon enough he’s back on campus, trying to decide if he really has the stomach to eat today’s green bean special.

“Keith?”

It’s been a long time since he’s heard that voice. Even more shocking: the realization that he missed it.

He turns and Shiro is there, two plates like always, white-dyed tuft of hair swooping over his forehead.

“Hey,” says Keith, strangely self-conscious.

Shiro smiles.  “Are you sitting with anyone?”

“No.”

“Great. Let’s catch up, then,” he says, tilting his head, and there’s something new in the air between them now, their old lines and roles fallen away.

Keith follows.  He’s ready to talk.

*

Somewhere after the fifth time Keith makes Shiro laugh and the second time Shiro asks him on a date, they end up back at Keith’s place.

Thank god I drew into a single this year, Keith thinks as the door clicks shut behind him, Shiro a long line of muscle against his front, shifting under his hands.  Shiro’s shirt comes off and Keith kicks out of his shoes, stumbling forward in the dark—fingers grip his waist tightly, yanking him closer, and there’s a heady power to this, the knowledge that he can just keep guiding Shiro backwards with nothing but a press to his chest, backwards and backwards until they both fall onto his bed—

A teasing bite against his collarbone; his heart stutters for a beat, hands fumbling at Shiro’s belt, and then he trips over something and hits the corner of his desk.  

“Fuck,” Keith swears, partly because of the throbbing pain in his hip and partly because Shiro has just licked a stripe up the column of his neck.  Squinting through the blend of pain and desire, he turns on his desk lamp, just to make sure they haven’t knocked anything over.

To his relief, his haphazardly stacked column of books remains intact.  And the tank is fine, too—

Shiro, who up until this point has been doing an admirable job of working Keith free of his pants, stops.  His hair is mussed, his lips bitten red, a throaty disbelief in his voice as he turns toward the light and says:

“Are those…hermit crabs?”

[whydontweband]

The Melody In My Head (A Jonah Marais Imagine)

Masterlist

Part One

*As Requested*

Disclaimer: Because this request contained more in-depth plot-lines and story segments, it will be divided into three parts, posted at different times

Have a lovely day!

Word Count: 2329

Description: In which your boyfriend, Jonah, hears you singing to yourself and, on a whim, records it. Funny, how one simple recording, posted to the internet, can change someone’s life forever.

    I’d never been a very outgoing person. Even as a kid, I’d always preferred the company of my own imagination and thoughts to those of other children. I never tried out for any extra-curriculars, never managed to make more than a handful of friends, never really became anything. I was always just Y/N, the girl at the back of the class, with my head in a book, keeping to myself, not rocking the boat. I was a freshman in university at Stanford now, my dream school, because being smart had always been the only thing that I really excelled at. That may come across as sounding insecure to some people, but I don’t think of it that way. I never really valued anything over my education, not even my social life. Which made it particularly shocking to the few who know me well when the word broke that I’d started dating a rising international pop star. I remember the first day after the word hit the internet, a few articles had hit the tabloids, and a few photographs of us on a date at the park had surfaced; my mom called me up on the phone to make sure I hadn’t had a social breakdown. My few closest friends had called to see if I was being held against my will. Of course, neither of those things were true, but to this day I’ll get comments on how different we are- and truthfully I don’t know if I could explain how we fell in love if it would save my life. Some things are inexplicable, and when they happen it takes most everyone by surprise, even though it suddenly becomes the most natural and comfortable thing in the world for you. I’d been with Jonah for about a year now, and while most everyone is supportive, I’d be lying if I didn’t notice a blog post here or tabloid story there, talking about how odd it is that such an outgoing and self-assured guy like Jonah would be dating such an introverted, anti-social Brainiac like myself. I’d seen more than a few fans comment how it reminded them of Troy and Gabriella from High School Musical, but I’d never seen much of Gabriella in myself. Maybe Kelsey, but without the piano skills, or Ryan Evans. Nevertheless, we somehow fit together, and somewhere along the road, he’d become my favorite person, which is a massive step up from my previous favorite person- no one.

“Hey babe, the boys and I are heading out for pizza, you sure you don’t wanna come?” Jonah shouted from down the hall. I nibbled absentmindedly on the edge of my ballpoint pen as I continued copying down the notes from last weeks lecture into more legible handwriting. Smiling softly, I shook my head, before realizing he couldn’t see me.

“No, that’s ok! You guys have fun!” I replied, loud enough for him to hear as I went back to shuffling through loads of scrap paper that I’d assembled in a quasi-organized heap on Jonah’s bed. My apartment was much closer to campus, but on the weekends breaks I would come stay at the boys house. It was currently almost summer break, and I was doing some last minute cramming before finals- before I would be free for the entire summer. Jonah peeked his head in from around the corner of the door, smiling cutely as he walked in, wearing a yellow and black Thrasher t-shirt, torn black skinny jeans and a pair of grey Yeezy’s. I smiled, sighing as I laid back on the cushions of his bed, tired from all of the work I’d been doing as he leaned over me.

“How’d I get such an amazing girlfriend?” He mumbled softly as I giggled.

“Probably because your lame-ass was scouting for girls at the library, and I was the only one there under 100.” I chuckled. Jonah laughed, shaking his head as he leaned down and kissed my forehead.

“And I thank my lucky stars every day that I chose you over Ruth, you’re a lot prettier, and your teeth are a lot more real.” He quipped. I smiled, rolling my eyes as I shoved him slightly.

“Go on, have fun with the guys.” Jonah pouted, pretending to be offended as I giggled.

“It’d be more fun if you came too, ya know.” I shook my head, pursing my lips jokingly and shaking my head like a difficult child.

“Mmm, hard pass.” Jonah sulked playfully as I shook my head.

“J, clubbing is so not my scene, you know that.” I replied softly. Jonah smiled, nodding softly.

“I know, Y/N. Alright, well listen- we should be back around 1 or so, but don’t wait up. Tomorrow I promise we’ll have a night in, just you and me.” I smiled, biting my lip bashfully and nodding.

“Ok, sounds good.” Jonah grinned, towering over me as he leaned down and kissed me softly.

“I’ll see you later, baby.” He takes my hand in his, our fingers weaving together as he squeezes it tightly, before letting it go.

“Mkay, I love you.”

“I love you mooooore.” He cooed as he made his way towards the door. I rolled my eyes playfully, waving him off as I replied.

“Not even remotely possible.” Jonah smirked, shaking his head.

“Argument for another time, then.” He patted the doorway before heading out, and I listened as his shoes collided one by one with the stairs as he made his way to the front door where the other guys were inevitably waiting. I smiled to myself, before sitting up and continuing my work.

    After several more hours of note taking and study materials, my brain had been officially fried. Rubbing my sleep-deprived eyes, I sighed, making my way downstairs to grab some water from the fridge. As I went, I turned on every light in the house, which was arguably one of Jonah’s biggest pet peeves about me, but I couldn’t help it if I didn’t like the dark.

As I took a glass from the cupboard and turned the faucet, I began humming quietly to myself. It was nothing in particular, just something to pass the time and fill the silence I suppose. Checking my watch, I realized it was around 1:30am.

“Boo!” I jumped, dropping the glass in the sink and spilling water all over me in the process as Jonah laughed hysterically, stepping out from around the corner where he’d been hiding. Still in shock, I scoffed.

“Jonah you ass!” I exclaimed, laughing slightly, as I looked down at my sopping wet pajamas. Jonah giggled, smiling as he extended his arms.

“Babe, I’m sorry- you’re just so damn gullible.” He giggled. I crossed my arms, still aggravated but defenseless against his adorable “I’m sorry” face. Rolling my eyes, I gave him a hug, dampening his t-shirt as I did so. He smiled.

“When did you get home? I didn’t hear you come in.” He shrugged, picking up my glass and re-filling it.

“Just a few minutes ago. The other guys headed to bed, I was just coming in to get some something to drink, great minds think alike I guess.” I blushed slightly, funny how even after a year of dating the littlest things he would say could still make me blush.

“I guess so.” I retorted. He smiled, handing me my now full glass of water and grabbing a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge.

“Alright, well I’m gonna turn it in, are you coming up to bed?” I nodded in reply.

“Yeah, just a minute, I need to wipe up this mess.” I pointed to the puddle of water beneath me that I’d created in my moment of terror. He smiled sympathetically.

“Sorry about that.” He smiled, I shrugged.

“It’s ok, I forgive you for being a horrible person.” I teased. He clutched his heart mockingly as I smiled, kissing his cheek.

“I’ll see you upstairs in a few minutes.” Jonah nodded, taking his Gatorade and disappearing around the corner.I sighed, running a hand through my Y/H/C hair as I grabbed a washcloth from one of the cabinets and blotting the puddle that had collected on the tile floor. As I grew lost in the moment, I began singing softly to myself. I hadn’t really realized what I’d started singing until I reached the chorus- I’d been singing “Made for” by Why Don’t We.

Jonah

      I had just started making my way back upstairs with my Gatorade when I heard a soft meoldy coming from the Y/N’s direction. Raising a brow in confusion, I quietly made my way back, peeking into the kitchen quietly and noticing Y/N sitting on the tile floor, cleaning the puddle of water I’d accidentally made her spill. Just as I was about to turn around, the melody occurred again, and I realized that it was her singing. Singing one of our songs. Smiling quietly to myself, I listened for a moment, before instinctively pulling out my phone. The truth was, in a year of dating Y/N, I’d never once heard her really sing. She was phenomenal. It was like the voice of an angel, and singing one of our songs. I couldn’t help but let my face spread into a smile as I listened, recording her voice so that maybe she would one day see how amazing she is. The talented, incredible person I’ve always seen her for. Her voice lulled into a contented silence as I stopped the recording, smiling to myself as I headed back upstairs without her ever realizing I’d heard her.

After I got back to my room, I played the recording once over, listening to every little hum and lilt in her voice, the way she dragged out the sound of her R’s, and the way her inflection fell like flakes to a snow-covered ground. I couldn’t help but smile when I listened. Everyone deserved to hear how amazing she was. Sighing, I rubbed my eyes, completely exhausted as my thumb hovered over the Instagram app on my home screen. I bit my lip, clicking on it and I opening the video. I won’t post it. Not until I show it to Y/N. As amazing as it was, she’d never forgive me if I posted it without her knowing. My thumb hesitated for a moment on the post screen as I looked at it for a moment longer. There’s no way Y/N will let me post this. Never in a million years. She’ll make me delete the video, and no one will ever have the chance to see how talented she truly is. I wanted more than anything for the world to see her for the amazing person I saw her as…and maybe this would do that. Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair, shaking my head softly to myself. Regardless of what I wanted, I wouldn’t go behind her back. I’d ask her in the morning. Just as I was about to cancel the post, a voice in the doorway startled me.

“Hey you.” Y/N chirped cheerily. I gasped, my hand shaking as my phone dropped to the bed. She giggled, smiling as she walked over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re such a scaredy cat, J. It’s so cute.” I smiled, heart still startled as I returned the kiss.

“Yeah, what can I say, I guess I’m just in a constant state of shock that someone as beautiful and smart and awesome as you would wanna be with lil ole me.” I teased. She laughed, shaking her head as laid down beside me, wrapping her arms around my waist and turning out the light.

“You’re crazy, Jonah.” I smiled, kissing her forehead.

“I love you too, Y/N.” By the time I’d finished my sentence and looked over, she was already drifting of to sleep. I pulled the covers up farther, quietly grabbing my phone from it’s place on the bed where it had fallen, preparing to set it on my bedside table when it vibrated. I raised an eyebrow, cautiously turning it on. Who was texting me at nearly 2 in the morning? I realized however, that it wasn’t a text. It was a comment from Logan on Instagram. My latest post was from a week ago, and he already commented on that. I through to myself groggily, opening up the notification. As tired as I’d felt, in an instant I was wide awake. Oh my god oh my god oh my god. My eyes grew wide as saucers as I came face to face with the post he’d commented on. A video, posted 1 minute ago. To an Instagram account with almost a million followers. The video. My hand must have slipped when I got startled, and now the entire world had access to Y/N singing. The view count ticked up by the hundreds every second. Comments were pouring in, all of our biggest fan accounts had already reposted the video in its entirety. It was too late now. The whole thing was out there for the world to see, and somehow it didn’t feel as good as I’d been hoping. It felt like a betrayal of her trust, and of course it was. But a part of it felt good too. The comments were overwhelming positive, including Logan’s which read:

@LoganPaul: DAMN BRO, WHY IS Y/N NOT THE SIXTH WDW MEMBER ALREADY?!

I couldn’t help but laugh a little, until I was brought back to reality by the fact that it had only been a couple minutes, and it already had over 50,000 views on my profile alone. It was going viral, and nothing I could do, not even deleting the video, would change the fact that Y/N’s life was now altered irreparably. There was no going back, no covering my tracks. I had approximately 8-10 hours, and then I’d have to face the music- both figuratively and literally.

End of Part One

1/3

(If you’re interest in the 2nd part pls let me know, and I’ll get to it faster.)

[justtwentyonewriters]

Goner (4)//Josh Dun Fanfiction

Pt. 1 

Pt. 2 

Pt. 3 

Xx

               I was about to apologize for the small intermission. Had some stuff to take care of, you know. Josh shifted his arm on screen, although it was dark in his room you saw the dark lines contrast against his pale skin. You couldn’t tell if it was an honest mistake letting the viewers see it—or if he had full intention. You bit your lip, this would be the last one you watched today. Your mother said you weren’t sick, no fever, no puking. So you’d be going to school the next day, unless some objective evidence came up. God you wished that there was some sort of objective evidence to come up. Then I realized—these are all recorded. It doesn’t matter if I take 2 minutes, or 20 between each—as long as they’re done and ready for tomorrow. He recorded this the night before he tried killing himself. You felt your stomach lurch at that thought. So at this point in our story—I am bitchboy and faggot—thanks to Cos and Urie. Funny, two people who hate one another find a mutual interest in me. Who would’a thought. You watched as Josh grinned a little, shaking his head as he continued. This next one will blow your mind as well. One of my only friends in that hellhole I called school—Ms. Williams, would you like to hear part one of your story?

               Hayley. As in Hayley Williams? She couldn’t have done anything—the two were best friends since he got there. You saw them hanging out all the time. Laughing and hanging out like friends who had known each other for a lifetime.

               I should thank you though—you were probably the first person to take me under their wing. So, thank you for the good times. And to everyone else, yes this is a bit of a timejump back. Remember my second day at school?

Xx

               Josh groaned internally—the school was still beyond new to him. So he had no idea where he was going, nor the exact location of his locker. So doing what any socially awkward teenager would do—he managed to make himself lost looking, rather than asking for help. He was so focused on the locker numbers in fact that he didn’t even notice the girl standing right in front of him—talking to her friend against the lockers.

               So needless to say, a distracted Josh bumped into a distracted Hayley and sent both falling to the floor.

               “I am so sorry!” Josh apologized, scooping up the girls belongings as quickly as he could. Leaving his on the floor for now. “I wasn’t paying attention, and are you okay?” He asked, finally looking up at the girl. Right as his eyes met her face he smiled—he could see himself being friends with her. Her hair was varying shades of orange and yellow—it reminded him of a campfire. Occasions he only got to experience one or twice in the summer while camping with friends.

               “It’s okay. Just, watch where you’re going next time.” Hayley laughed, reaching around to pick up his stuff. “Here, your stuff—and are you new here? I can’t say I’ve seen many other people with flamingo hair around this place.” She laughed, gesturing towards Josh’s hair.

               “I am new, yes. Just started yesterday. Which is kind of why I bumped into you. I was too focused on the lockers and didn’t see the fire-hair in front of me.” He grinned, heart slamming widely inside of his chest. He was never the greatest at talking to new people.

               “What locker number are you? I could probably help you find it?” With that, the two went off. Hayley’s friend bidding her goodbye with a wink as she went to class—leaving the two in search of locker 182. “This is your locker my boy.” Hayley gestured toward the gray locker sitting in front of them. “I can’t help you with the combination though—that’s your thing.” She laughed.

Xx

               You sat in shock—pausing the video as you sat there, mind going back to that day.

               “Hey! Did you manage to finish the bio homework last night?” You asked Hayley, who was pushing her bag into her locker. “I swear, it was almost the death of me.” You had known Hayley for a few years prior—the two of you meeting in freshman year, both sitting awkwardly along the side of the freshman orientation. Somehow the two of you connected over mutual awkwardness.

               “Barely. I don’t see why I’m still in the class—I just don’t understand it anymore. Ever since Mrs. Pyle left, I’ve been doing worse and worse. Probably because this new guy talks at a million words a minute.” She growled. Even though her heart called out for music, she was still pretty keen on getting good grades—and when something got in the way of her and an A, watch out.

               “Please don’t drop the class. I need someone there with me.” You gave her a small pout, expression brightening when an idea hit. “You can borrow my notes after class—catch up on what you couldn’t hear from him. I go through the textbook as he drones on anyway.” She was just about to answer when a guy walked into her—sending them both to the floor.

               That was the first time you met Josh..the two of them were hitting on each other so much you decided to leave them to it. You hadn’t even thought of it at the time. You took a deep breathe before hitting play again—hoping any other random memories like this wouldn’t hurt any worse.

Xx          

               “So what class do you have first?” Hayley asked, leaning against the locker with her English book in her arms.

               “Uh, English with Mrs. B.” Josh read off the schedule he was provided—looking into his locker for the proper book. “I’m guessing you have the same class, or just love reading textbooks on your free time.” He joked, pulling out his textbook and binder.

               “I do, and so does my friend Y/N, the one I was talking with earlier. You can sit with us, we have an extra spot at our table.”

               And that’s how it all started, you were my best friend—showed me around school. Introduced me to your other friends. You made me feel like moving would turn out to be a good thing in the end. Too bad that didn’t last—but like I said, that’s another story for another time. This was to give some background for later. So, consider this one 2.5. Since it wasn’t a full story. I’ll see you at number 4.

               You squeezed your eyes shut, reminding yourself of the promise you made yourself. But like Josh just said—it wasn’t a full story, so technically you could watch one more before stopping without breaking your promise to yourself. With a deep breath, and curiosity taking over common sense you clicked on the 4th file—watching as his face popped up on your screen once more.

               Now, as I should have promised. A full story. Can the captain of the basketball team please step forward—don’t be shy. Nobody will see you, its all just me recording in my room. Which you should remember pretty well—we spent a bit of time here. Right Tyler?

               Tyler, like the kid that gave you his number? Asked if you were alright? You pushed your laptop to the side and dove toward your laundry basked—sifting through the clothes until you found the jeans that you were wearing. Grabbing the paper you pulled open your phone and sent a quick text.

What do you know about these recordings? You’re on them. –Y/N

               In less than a minute a response came through.

I’ll explain tomorrow—you’re going to be at school right? Meet me at the front gates after school. Can’t talk now. –Tyler

               You sighed, knowing tomorrow was going to feel like forever. So you continued on watching the recording—seeing what information you could get about the jock.

               Here’s a surprise for everyone, Tyler and I were actually pretty close friends. Yeah, the guy who shoved me into lockers every other day was one of my best friends for a bit there. Well until his reputation was at risk. But we’ll get to that.

Xx

               One thing the town knew about the Dun family, was that they went to church each and every Sunday. They would go, meet with other families who shared the same belief, listen to the word of the lord then come home. A usual tradition—which Josh didn’t complain about. Considering there was a boy there. A bit younger than him by about a year, but seemed to have some of the same interests.

               “Hey, you’re that kid from school. Jay is it?” The guy asked, looking confident, but if you looked into his eyes you could tell he was terrified.

               “Josh, and that’s me. You’re that bigshot from school Tyler aren’t you? The basketball team captain, dating the girl that everyone swoons over.” He laughed, leaning back against the wooden pew. Letting his head rest against the top. Though he didn’t mind coming to church, he wished it started later in the day. Waking up at 6 in the morning on a weekend wasn’t his cup of tea.

               “I’m nothing special, even though everyone seems to think I am. Just your usual guy who needs something to get him to college.” Tyler laughed—which started a conversation between the two. A conversation about their respective families, what they aspired for their futures, what classes they took, what Josh thought of the new school, and Tyler’s warnings about people who to talk to and who to avoid. It started a tradition between the two. Every Sunday when their families arrived they would sit next to each other and talk about how the week went, and try to make plans to hang out (After a couple of weeks anyway).

               “Uh, are you busy after this? It would be sick if we could hang out. You’re a pretty cool dude.” Josh smiled over at his newfound friend, who rolled his eyes upward. Thinking about if he had any plans later in that day. “It wouldn’t be right after church, like both of us would need to change and figure out where we’d want to hang out if we do.” Josh began rambling, getting cut off by Tyler.

               “I’d like that. Sounds like a sick as frick time.” He laughed, blushing slightly when an older woman from the pew across from them got angry at him using inappropriate language in the house of the lord. “So where would you want to hang out, my place or yours?” Tyler whispered as the priest began walking in front of everyone.

               “Uh mine? I don’t know the neighborhood very well. I live on 51st ave, house 789.” Josh whispered back, casting a sideways look to Tyler. Who’s face lit right up.

               “You live almost directly across from me.” He laughed—only to get shushed by the people around him.

Xx

               It was 2 hours since church had let out, and Josh was shaking in both excitement and fear. He grew really fond of having Tyler to talk to these past few weeks—though it didn’t help his argument about not being gay when the first person he invited over to his house was male.

               “You’re way too nervous for this. Calm down or mom is going to think it’s your boyfriend coming over.” Josh’s sister, Ashley laughed—watching as the older male paced back and forth in his room. Eyes wide. Josh opened his mouth to make a comeback, but was cut off by the doorbell ringing.

               “Josh, your friend is here.” His mother called, causing the boy to make a beeline for the front door. “Come on in Tyler, he should be down any minute—oh Josh. That was fast.” She laughed, letting the younger boy in.

               “Thank you Mrs. Dun.” He smiled, looking over at Josh. “So, where to?” Josh nodded toward his room. Quickly telling his mom that they would be hanging out, and to call them for dinner.

               “Oh before you go, Tyler—is there anything you don’t like food wise. If you’re staying for dinner.” Mrs. Dun asked, watching as the younger boy turned, smiling softly at her.

               “If it’s okay with you I’ll stay, and I don’t really like bannanas, any other food I’ll happily eat though.” He smiled, watching as Josh’s mom smiled and rolled her eyes. Commenting on how the two were so close already that they disliked the same foods. “You don’t like them either?” Tyler asked, following Josh to his room.

               “Nope. They’re like yellow devils.” Josh laughed, flopping onto his bed, “Sit wherever you like. I actually cleaned it so there are places to sit.” Tyler chose the chair by Josh’s desk—which had been the surface where most of the stuff on the floor had been piled.

               “You play drums?” Tyler asked, after a moment of silence. Josh merely nodded in response, face turning red for an unknown reason. “That’s sick. I play piano and think I can sing.” He laughed. “We should totally start a band one day.” And that’s what sparked their friendship.

               Everything was going great for the first bit, wouldn’t you say Tyler? It started out as us hanging out on weekends, and slowly turned into us talking to each other in the hallway. Well until your buddies on the basketball team started calling you a faggot for hanging around me. You just couldn’t handle that, could you?

               Josh went to talk to Tyler, a smile on his face as he saw one of his best friends standing in the hall.

               “Hey Ty!” Josh called, only to get a scowl in return. “What’s up, did I do something?” The boy asked, confused as to why he was receiving such a negative response.

               “Get lost faggot.” The younger boy growled, receiving some laughs from the rest of the basketball team. When Josh didn’t move, Tyler turned, grabbing his arm and pulling him against the lockers. When his back collided with the cold metal surface—it did more than just physical harm. “Are you a bit hard on hearing? Get. Fucking. Lost.” Tyler snapped, shoving Josh in the opposite directions. “I don’t have time for your dick sucking ways.”

               That’s what happened folks. I went from having a best friend who used to play music with me in my basement to being told I was too gay to be around him. Then Brendon used that as fuel to his fire. Telling everyone about the time I apparently sucked Tyler off.

               “Guys!” You heard Brendon run over to where your group was standing, talking about what happened on the latest episode of Supernatural. “You will never guess what I heard!”

               “What now Urie?” Hayley groaned, she obviously had some sort of insight on what he was about to say. Whereas you were clueless.

               “I heard that a certain Mr. Dun sucked off our schools basketball captain at Cos’s party last Friday.” You raised an eyebrow, you never took Josh to be the party type—or Tyler to be the gay (or bisexual, since he was dating Jenna) type. “Can you all believe it?”

               You wanted to throw up, considering you had thought you seen some truth in the statement at the time. You bit your lip hard, squeezing your eyes shut. Almost as if it could make you travel back in time and stand up for the poor boy.