#Day 24 Graveyard Shift

[ghostlyglimmer]

Ectoberweek Day 24: Graveyard Shift

[butchstalinist]

—

[simpingsavant]

Late Night

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x GN!Reader

Summary: You are the person always working when Spencer stops by to get his fix of Mountain Dew Kickstart.

Genre/Warnings: Fluff, slow-burn. A gross man flirts w you for plot purposes. Promise it's very non-major but just in case.

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: First time posting for smosh, but not the first time posting fanfic. I made a whole side blog for this lol I'm thinking I want to post more so feel free to send me smosh requests and give lots of love so I stay motivated to write more hehe <3

Working the graveyard shift at a 24-hour convenience store is generally not a good idea. Except this one is in a nice area of LA, you’re almost always working with someone, and it’s slow enough that you can get your grad school work done.

Four months ago, when you were first looking at the help wanted sign in the window, you decided you would give it a week to see if it was actually worth it. Now, you were contently typing away on your computer as a group of middle-aged people grabbed alcohol and snacks. They were fancily dressed but the expressions on their faces were reminiscent of college students who were partying through the night like they owned it. When they came up with a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and enough snacks to last them weeks, you happily scanned the items.

The silver fox dressed in a deep, blue suit dropped a twenty in the tip jar.

“Thank you,” You said, handing him a receipt as his cohorts grabbed the food.

The bell jingled as they left. Your coworker was in the back taking inventory. You looked down at your laptop, rereading the last couple of sentences as you found your place in the research essay you’d been taking notes from.

You loved your job. You worked from 11 pm to 8 am and although it took you time to adjust to a new sleep schedule, it was worth it. You were paid slightly more since you were working such an atrocious shift and you never interacted with your boss. Occasionally, he would message you that he was coming in early to talk, but he often just texted about what he wanted you to get done.

Until 1 am, you were working with Michael, a young man who was in his senior year of college. At 4 am, Marie would come in, an older Latina woman who had been working this shift for over ten years now. She’d relieve you for your break and you’d come back just in time for the morning rush.

You liked the morning rush. Although you couldn’t get much homework done at the time, it was when you had your most regulars. You would see moms buying their children lunch before school, office workers buying cheap coffee, and students buying energy drinks.

Marie would man the register, and you would come to help if needed. During rests, you would be restocking shelves or cleaning.

From 1 am to 4 am, you would usually see only a few faces. You would see students who stay up extremely late or workers having to go in much too early. Since it was a nice neighborhood, they were all pleasant people and you never worried about your own safety or well-being. 

Only one regular came in consistently during these hours. He looked to be about your age with chocolate hair that curled at the nape of his neck. He came in just after 1 am and always sported dark eye circles. He purchased anywhere from 4 to 8 cans of Mountain Dew Kickstart and occasionally a bag of chips. 

Sometimes, you’d see him in the morning again before you were off. He’d buy a cheap coffee and some fruit.

For the first month, you were too concerned with doing your job well to start any conversations besides pleasantries. He was, however, the first customer you recognized as a regular. You couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would need so many energy drinks. In particular, why in God's name did he love Mountain Dew Kickstart?

Maybe you were so intrigued because he caught your eye from day one. He was dressed in combat boots and a worn jacket. You soon learned those two items were part of his daily attire. You liked the way his hair looked or the way his downturned eyes crinkled as he smiled.

In your second month of working there, you spent way too much time trying to think of a way to start a conversation.

So far, you only got:

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“How’s your night going?”

“Good, and you?”

“Fine. Do you want a bag?”

“No, I have my backpack.”

“Okay. Your total is $12.53, go ahead and swipe, insert, or tap your card. Would you like your receipt?”

Sometimes he said yes, sometimes he said no. A few times, your hands would brush. He was always so warm, your cold hands lingering as he bashfully smiled and looked away.

“Have a good one.”

“You too.”

His hair was getting longer and you thought it suited him well. You wanted nothing more than a reason to hold a genuine conversation with him.

During your third month, that reason finally came.

He walked in, luscious locks replaced with a buzz cut and you couldn’t help but go “Oh wow.”

“Is it that bad?” He joked, rubbing the top of his head.

“No, no,” You immediately said, hands moving rapidly. “It just surprised me.” A beat of silence followed before you added, “You pull it off.” He really did, but you also took that as a sign you liked him a little too much. You felt like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Thanks, it was for work,” He adds, voice monotone despite the little grin he sported at your compliment. He walks farther into the store, toward the opposite wall with the display of drinks.

“For work? Are you joining the army?” You question, stumbling over your words slightly as you realize that it’s finally happening—you are finally holding a conversation with him.

“No,” He laughs. “I work for this online entertainment company.” He fills his arms with five cans. “It was for a special.”

“Oh,” You reply, rolling on the balls of your feet as you try to think of ways to keep the conversation going. “Are you an actor?”

“More behind the scenes,” He replies, coming up to the counter and placing his drinks down. He grabs a bag of chips from the front display.

“That’s cool,” You say, picking up the first can as you begin scanning.

He shrugs, “I’m sure half the city does stuff online.”

“I doubt that,” You scoff. “Maybe half does entertainment, but definitely not exclusively online content.” Feeling a little bad for shutting him down, you look up at him for a moment, expecting to see disappointment or annoyance.

Instead, he’s smiling. It’s not a large smile, but it quells your anxiety.

“You’re probably right,” He answers, fishing out his card.

“I usually am,” You joke, giving him a quick look before clicking away on your screen. “Your total is $10.54.”

He lets out a short laugh that makes your insides flip with satisfaction. “I’m Spencer by the way,” He offers, putting away his card after the reader beeps.

“Y/N,” You say, tapping your name tag. “Do you want your receipt, Spencer?”

“Sure, Y/N,” He answers, putting his drinks into his backpack.

You rip it from the printer and hold it out. The way he said your name makes you shiver. He takes the receipt and bids you farewell.

You see him in the morning and you’re eighty percent sure he times it to check out with you instead of Marie. Today he opted for an iced coffee with lots of cream and a plastic container of chopped mango.

“Good morning, Spencer. How’d you sleep?”

“Good, but not long enough. What about you?”

You see a flash of realization on his face as soon as he says it, but you’re speaking before he can correct himself.

“Haven’t slept yet, but I get off in ten minutes and will be able to sleep till five today so that’s nice.”

“What’s at five?”

“Class. They’re in the evening since so many grad students work day jobs.” You tap away on the screen. “Would you like your receipt?”

“Nah, just toss it.” He picks up the drink and fruit. “See ya later, Y/N.”

“See you,” You reply, crumpling the receipt and throwing it in the small trash bin under your register before waving to the next customer.

~~

Since then, Spencer has come in every night without fail and sparked a conversation with you. You learn that the company he works for is called Smosh and you think the name is vaguely familiar. He asks you what you’re studying and why you’re always on your laptop.

The next month and a half goes by quickly. You come to expect him, anticipating his nightly visits. He has recently started staying longer, leaning over the counter and smiling at you as he talks about something that happened the other day. If another person comes in, he usually takes that as his sign to leave, wishing you well and exiting before the new customer is ready to check out.

You’re unfortunately not getting as much homework done because of this, but you don’t mind one bit. You either work during your break or just take some time before class to do more. You wonder if he’s not getting as much sleep because of this, worried you’re burdening him. Despite this, you know that you’ll selfishly never be able to turn him away. Even if it is for his own benefit.

Once, he came in before Michael had left. Your conversation was curt and he left right after you gave him the receipt. Michael stared you down the whole time and Spencer was clearly thrown off by another person being there.

“Who was that?” Your coworker asked, moving toward you from his spot behind the hot food.

“Just a regular,” You answer, trying to keep your cool. You pull out a cloth and begin wiping down the counter, wanting to occupy your hands. “He usually comes later.”

“Ah,” Michael says, nodding slowly and giving you a look. “That’s it?”

“Yeah?”

“Interesting.”

The comment piques your interest and you can’t help but ask, “How so?”

Michael smirks at you, “Why do you care?”

“Bro, shut up,” You hiss, pushing him out of your face and walking over to your stash of food. Your face felt hot as you walked past, and you attempted to hide it in the collar of your shirt. It was never fun to be caught with a crush, but you wanted to know Michael’s thoughts. So far, you and Spencer always talked in privacy, with no onlookers to comment on if your feelings seemed mutual.

“Fine, fine,” He relents, holding his hands up. “It’s just that I saw him through the window before he came in and he was smiling way too big for someone coming in the pick up energy drinks.”

“You’d be surprised. He gets those every night,” You defensively argue, “He probably has a shrine at home.”

“Oh, come on,” Michael says, rolling his eyes as you pop a chip into your mouth. “That smile dropped as soon as he saw me. I bet he wishes it was just you.”

“Don’t say that stuff.”

“Why not? Don’t you like him? You definitely lit up when you saw him.”

You gawk at your coworker, absolutely astonished at how easy it was for him to notice. This was the first time anyone witnessed the two of you interact and now you were questioning every interaction. Did he like you? Or did he just like that you gave him a confidence boost because your infatuation was so obvious?

“W-what’s your major again? Investigation?” You accuse, stuttering out of pure frustration.

“Yes, actually—”

You roll your eyes, but the sound of the door brings your back to attention. You steel your expression but are grateful the conversation ended. It was a wake-up call for you and you spent the rest of your shift trying to understand your feelings more.

Could it still be called a crush? You felt like you knew so much and yet so little about him. When did you cross the line from strangers to acquaintances? How do you go from acquaintances to friends? Did you even want to be friends?

After that, Spencer always came in after Michael left, his disposition more friendly when it was just the two of you. You didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad sign, but it was hard to think about when only a counter separated the two of you and he was radiating warmth and cracking jokes.

~~

“Okay,” You hear Michael say and all of a sudden you are back to reality, no farther in your reading than you were 10 minutes ago.

The door to the back shuts and you look at your coworker with wide eyes.

“I finally finished with inventory.”

He looks down at his phone, prompting you to look at the time showing on your laptop.

12:56

“Sweet,” He says, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “Need anything from me before I go?” 

“No,” You answer. “Enjoy your night.”

“Thanks, I’m gonna go grab my stuff before I clock out.”

“For sure. See you tomorrow.”

“Later,” Michael says.

He opens the door to the back and you turn to your computer. The break room was through those doors as was the back entrance which almost all employees used when coming and going.

You focused on your computer, reading the most important parts of the study and taking down notes. In the back of your mind, you knew Spencer would be arriving soon. It makes you nervous, butterflies erupting in your stomach as you await his arrival.

You have been thinking lately about how to advance your relationship. Maybe get more personal with the information or invite him to hang out outside of your job. The idea makes you queasy because you worry about ruining everything by trying to get more.

You finished the reading and moved on to another class assignment. Spencer came in soon after, his lips quirked up and no jacket on. The weather was getting warmer and it was rather dry. You could absolutely walk around with only a T-shirt and jeans on despite the time.

This, however, drew your eyes to his arms immediately. They weren’t as hairy as you were expecting, his beard and how quickly his hair grew back making you think they would be. He wasn’t very muscley in any way, but your eyes shamelessly lingered on his biceps longer than you wanted.

His skin was littered with freckles and tattoos, black ink that started at his forearm and rose past his t-shirt. You could spend hours looking at them, a couple of them immediately garnering your interest.

“Hey,” You greeted, your eyes snapping up to his face. You were pretty sure he caught you, but he thankfully said nothing. Maybe he was used to his tattoos being looked at, an easy cover considering you weren’t just looking at his tattoos.

“Hey, how’s your night?” He makes his way across the store with ease, eyes staying on you.

“Fine, it’s extra slow tonight.”

“That’s nice,” He’s speaking loud enough that you can hear him from far away. “Are you getting a lot of homework done?”

“Yeah,” You replied. “Finals are coming up and I’m working on all the trivial homework now so I can study and work on the final essays in the library.”

“Is this your final year?”

“Sort of. I’ll be getting my masters after this, but I’m on an automated track for my PhD.”

There’s silence as he grabs a final can and walks up to the front. It’s almost awkward, but you aren’t sure why. It seems like he wants to ask you something, but is struggling to say it.

You start scanning his items, letting him think instead of trying to fill the space with meaningless talk.

“Are you still working here over the summer?”

“I am,” You light up, realizing why he was nervous. It sent a spark through your body to think about him missing you.

God, you wanted him so bad.

“I’m also doing some research work for a professor though,” You add. “I’m honestly too busy to have a job and it will only get worse in the upcoming year, but I need the money and this is the best option for pay and the ability to do homework.”

“Damn,” Spencer sighs. “I’m sorry about that.”

His voice is soft and sincere. It throws you off for a moment, not used to this kind of sympathy. Your social circle consists of Michael, Marie, and other students who were also going through their own shit.

“Oh, it's nothing,” You shyly reply, eyes falling to the counter and lips forming a tight line as your mind races.

“No, seriously,” Spencer insists. “It must be so difficult and yet you never seem like you’re struggling.”

With a large breath, you finally accept his compliment. “Thank you, that’s very nice of you.” You look up to see that his gaze is already on you and you hold eye contact for an absurd amount of time. You’re sure any onlookers would consider the scene intense.

The pressure of the moment builds, compressing your lungs.

“Um, anyways, your total is $9.54,” You say, breaking the silence and eye contact.

“Oh, right.”

Spencer shoves his hand into his pocket to grab his wallet and you once again admire his arms as he’s busy.

“How was work today?” You ask, wanting to dissipate the intensity of the moment.

“Long.” He answers. “This week is a filming week so I’ve been busy as hell working behind the camera and being in a few videos too. Tomorrow is Friday though and I don’t have to be in till 11 am.”

You hum in acknowledgment, “That sucks.” 

Long ago, when curiosity finally got to you, you looked up Smosh. You realized quickly that the name was familiar because it was quite popular back in OG YouTube. You spent an hour exploring their channels before growing bored and looking up videos with Spencer specifically. It was weird and you could only watch in short increments of time before needing a break. You felt like you were violating his privacy, but struggled to stop when you realized just how funny he was, his humor translating perfectly on camera. He held your attention in so many videos, quick quips making you burst out laughing.

You also note the differences in how he talks to you and how he talks to the camera. Although quiet, he cracks jokes almost every time he speaks. His coworkers seem like friends and you’re sure that helps to comfort any nerves he would have on screen. However, they were obviously trained on-camera talent whereas he simply fell into it because of how much the audience liked him. Around you, he made jokes, but he also seemed to shed the demeanor he developed for videos. Not every sentence was about entertaining.

They were real. Real discussions with real problems no matter how mundane.

“Yeah, but at least we are getting it done. Next week is all at my computer or in meetings,” He adds, tucking away his card and putting his drinks into his backpack. “Anyways, so, when is your finals week?”

“In two weeks technically, but I have a couple of major things going on next week,” You answer, taking a seat on the stool next to you.

“Like what?” Spencer inquires, a light in his eyes that sends a shiver up your spine.

“Well, I’m taking four classes. Two of them have an exam and a final essay. One has a final essay and matching presentation, and then last is a group assignment that also has a presentation and essay.”

“Oh no, not a group assignment,” Spencer interjects, empathy on the tip of his tongue.

“I know,” You agree, nerves falling away as you ease into familiar territory. “People in masters programs are not as bad but they can still be pretty clueless and unhelpful.” You shake your head in frustration, “Like this one guy in my group, he thinks he is so edgy and smart. He takes no criticism but also doesn’t put in enough work. He’s basically made me his personal target and I literally have a group chat with two other members just to rant when he says the stupidest shit.”

“Damn, sounds like an ass.”

“He is,” You groan, closing your eyes. “But we are almost done. We have the essay due next week and then presentations during the finals period.” You grin in relief, “After that, I have two weeks of break before starting my internship with the professor.”

“Are you getting paid for that?” Spencer asks.

The conversation was flowing easily, his interest in your life more evident than ever. It isn’t lost on you that he’s exhibiting every sign of attentive listening and it makes your insides twist. He’s leaning forward, fingers tapping away on the counter as he nods periodically.

“Only in experience,” You sigh. “Money would be great, but I’d rather learn from this and not get paid than not do it at all. I only have to dedicate 12 hours a week to it anyway and that’s not much considering my usual schedule is jam-packed.”

“What’s the study about?” He asks, holding your gaze more often than usual. You find it hard to reciprocate, too nervous to engage in whatever he is doing. You aren’t sure if you could call it flirting because he definitely wasn’t complimenting you, but he was acting differently enough that it was noticeable.

Before you can answer, a customer walks in, the bell ringing in your ears as you look at the brunette in front of you. You expect him to leave like every time before, but he doesn’t move. Although thrown off slightly, you recover quickly and answer his question. When the customer is ready to check out, Spencer simply steps to the side but lingers near. As soon as the man leaves, Spencer is right back where he was and asking you another question that keeps you talking.

He leaves twenty minutes later, eyes half-lidded and tired. You don’t see him that morning, likely because he doesn’t have to go into the office as early as usual. Despite logic, you still miss him.

~~

When Spencer comes in that night, he’s later than usual. Not by much, it’s not even 2 am when he walks through the door. And yet, he’s apologetic.

“Hey, sorry,” He mumbles, coming right up to the counter.

Taken aback, your hands slip from your keyboard and you stand up straight. Fridays were always the busiest weekday and although you did wonder where Spencer was, you didn’t have much time to think about it.

“I was playing a game and totally lost track of time,” He continued, a touch more out of breath than usual. He runs a hand through his short, recently bleached hair.

“No worries,” You say, not quite sure why he’s apologizing. It’s not like you had a set time to hang out or do something together. “Need to come get a drink so you can keep going?” You ask, trying to dissipate the awkward feeling that was bubbling up. You didn’t want to let yourself assume more than was reality.

“No, no, I mean,” He stumbles, “I probably will go back to playing, I just—never mind.” He looks down, staring at the counter, specifically the display of scratchers in the built-in glass case.

God, this felt so weird. You shouldn’t have said that, maybe he actually wanted to see you but then you ruined it by making it about the drinks and not you.

“So, what game were you playing?” You ask, the air feeling stuffy.

After a relieved sigh, Spencer goes into the details. You listen intently because not only is he a good storyteller, but you also genuinely care about his interests.

As he rants about some game mechanic, your mind begins to wander. More precisely, you wonder if your affection for him is obvious. Even from the short interaction you had in front of Michael, he could tell there was something more going on. To a stranger would it be obvious? To your friends would it be obvious? Would they say you two would make a cute couple? Or would they not see the chemistry?

“Oh, that’s frustrating,” You say, picking up on the pause in his monologue.

“Eh,” He shrugs, “It’s life.” He leans over the counter, shoulders more relaxed than when he first entered. “I needed a break anyway. So, how’s your night been?”

“Well,” You begin. “I felt rather lost without you.” Sarcasm is dripping off your tongue and Spencer immediately smiles. “My internal clock is all screwed up.”

“You poor thing,” He says, playing along.

“You, sir, need to take your responsibility more seriously,” You laugh, sitting back down in your chair and leaning over to grab your water. “More than half an hour late, I’m sure your body is screaming for a Mountain Dew.”

“Not just a Mountain Dew,” He protests, “A Mountain Dew Kickstart.”

You giggle, just about to add something before the bell rings and your eyes immediately shift to the front door. The patron, dressed in black jeans, a blue hoodie, and a leather jacket, comes up to you immediately. In the fifteen-foot walk between you and the door, you notice he is at least twenty years older than you, skin wrinkling and sagging with age. His clothes are worn, fraying at the seams. When he pushes forward, Spencer immediately slinks away, stepping over to look at the opposite wall of food. The stranger places his hands on the counter and you see dirt under his nails.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

“Two packs of the Marlboro Red,” He commands, his eyes dragging up and down your body. Just as you turn to grab the cigarettes, you can see a smirk forming on his lips.

You sigh, taking a moment to harden your exterior before turning around to scan the packs. These kinds of customers were uncommon for the area, but still came in enough for you to pick them out of a crowd immediately. Usually, they leave easily enough.

“Anything else?” You ask, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

“Two of those beef taquitos, hun,” He says, a dirty finger pressing against the warm glass.

You feel a wave of cold at the name but move aside to grab the hot food without any fuss. The sooner he leaves the better. When you hand them over to him, he purposefully moves his hand far enough forward that it touches yours. You are vaguely aware of Spencer in the background, but force your eyes off him.

You can deal with this on your own just fine.

The stranger's eyes linger on your hand and you snatch it away, typing on the tablet to add the taquitos to his total.

“Anything else?” You echo, voice more curt than before.

“Hmm,” He hums contemplatively, putting his finger to his chin like he’s performing. “I suppose I’ll take your number too.”

You fake a laugh, looking into his eyes for only a moment before going back to your screen. “Although I’m flattered, I don’t give my number to strangers.” A few more taps to the device, “Your total is $22.37.”

“Well,” He leans forward and reads off your name from the tag. It sounds sickly coming from his lips. “My name is Mark. Give me your number and then we won’t be strangers.” He pulls out his card to pay, shoving the cigarettes into his pockets.

You give him a forced smile, resting your hand on your heart while you try to let him down gently. “Nice to meet you, Mark, but still. I am not interested.”

“Why?” He questions, “You got a boyfriend?”

You debate telling him you’re in a relationship. Maybe it will get him to leave, maybe he’ll just suggest you cheat. It’s always difficult to tell.

“Dude,” You hear a voice speak up. “You’re holding up the line.”

Mark turns around to see Spencer a few feet behind. You have to crane your neck to see him, the brunette lining up down an aisle. He’s holding some random items, clearly having wandered around the store, paying attention but trying to look like he was merely shopping.

Just before Mark can say anything, Spencer is pushing forward and shouldering past. “Just take the L and move on,” He deadpans, his voice low and foreboding. He stares down the stranger, putting his items onto the counter without even looking away. He’s half a head shorter than the guy, but his presence alone makes up for that tenfold.

“Here’s your receipt,” You quietly interject, holding it out. Half of you was thankful for the interruption, but the other half of you was annoyed. Despite that, you choose to use this opportunity to end the conversation.

With a huff, Mark snatches the receipt from your hand.

“Whatever,” He mumbles to himself, “Bitch.”

The bell dings as he exits, leaving you and Spencer in a loud silence. You let out a shaky breath.

“Oh my god,” Spencer begins. His words draw your gaze away from the door and to him. You can see the concern on his face and the disgust in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You have a moment to say before he’s talking again.

“What an ass. Do you not have a panic button?”

“I do,” You answer, “But that’s for robberies.”

“Or this!” He protests, gesturing at the door where the man had exited. “You need to stay safe.”

“I was staying safe,” You defend.

“I can’t believe they have you alone at this time of night,” Spencer continues, seemingly not registering your words. “Like, anyone can just come in here!”

“Spencer,” You say, trying to grab his attention.

“You should never have to deal with that kind of–”

“Spencer,” You repeat, finally getting him to shut up.

“What?”

“It’s fine, I can deal with this on my own. You didn’t need to help,” You explain, wishing the moment would simply pass so you could move on.

“Just because you can deal with it on your own doesn’t mean you have to,” He argues, his voice softer than before.

His words leave you at a loss, unsure how to respond. He breaks the silence before you can.

“How often does this happen?”

“Not often,” You say, struggling to make any eye contact. “This is a nice area and usually they just give up after a couple of tries.”

Spencer sighs, running a hand through his hair with an exasperated expression. “Sorry,” He mumbles, the word being pulled from him. “I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.” You can see the regret in his eyes. “I got so heated and I should have just made sure you were okay.”

“Oh,” You say, “Thanks.” His apology was unexpected but very appreciated. “I am fine.”

Spencer nods, the moment feeling slightly awkward as the resolution comes. “When does the next person get here?” He asks.

“Four,” You answer, taking a chance to grab your phone and check the time.

2:21

“Damn, that’s a long time.”

“It’s whatever,” You shrug. “It goes pretty quickly since I’m basically just talking to you and then doing homework.”

When the words register for him, there’s a glint in his eyes and a small smile forming on his face. “That’s good,” He replies. There’s a pause before he speaks again, “But damn, that’s like an hour and a half away.”

“Yeah,” You sigh, resting back on your stool.

“Can I stay?” He asks, surprising you. “For peace of mine, I mean. I’m just thinking about me leaving and that guy coming right back in. I don’t know, it’s dumb, but I just can’t imagine leaving you right now.”

“Sure,” You reply, interrupting his word vomit once you’ve regained your barrings.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” You shrug, a closed-lip grin forming. “I would love for you to keep me company.”

“Cool,” He says, a smile forming for him.

The moment is awkward and foreign. From an outside perspective, you probably both look like grinning idiots.

“Well,” Spencer begins, breaking the silence, “I’m definitely going to need an energy drink to stay awake.” He looks down at the pile of snacks he brought up. “You keep working, I’m gonna put these away and come back up with stuff I actually want to buy.”

“Roger that,” You reply, giving him a look before turning back to your computer. You don’t get much work done as you wait for him to come back up. You can’t see him in the aisles, but as he moves between aisles, he always looks at you. The security camera screen is just to your right and you can’t help but watch him as he puts away the random collection of items.

You’re nervous, too distracted by his presence to focus on anything. You were somewhat excited to spend such a prolonged period of time with him. However, you were also absolutely terrified that you would make a fool of yourself or simply seem too boring.

“Okay,” You hear him say, already aware that he was making his way back to the front. “All done.” He is now holding three cans of Mountain Dew Kickstart and a chocolatey protein bar. “Can I also get a couple of taquitos?”

“What kind?” You ask, reaching forward to start scanning his items.

“Your pick, I guess."

You smile at him and see he’s already grinning at you. You can’t help it, everything he does seems to make you happy beyond logic. “I’ll give you one chicken and one fiesta. The beef is fine and the cheese is not good.”

“Sounds like a plan,” He laughs, pulling out his card to pay and then opening a can and taking a big swig.

“Did that guy getting some make you crave them?” You ask, a joking glint in your eyes as you look up at him.

“Am I a misogynist if I say yes?” He replies, making you let out a laugh that was just a little too loud.

When you hand him the taquitos, he leans back onto the counter, head turned so you can see his side profile. He has the drink in one hand and the paper bag of taquitos in another. He takes a bite, a comfortable silence falling over you both. You occupy your time by looking down at your computer and mindlessly clicking around while you try to think of things to talk about. 

“How was work?” You say, deciding on that as the least risky option.

“Good,” He shrugs. “We finished a little late and traffic meant I didn’t get home till almost 7 pm.”

“Oh jeez,” You groan. “My commute is pretty easy in the morning because I go opposite the traffic.”

“I’m jealous,” He replies, smiling at you. “Do you live far from here?”

A shock of electricity shoots through your body. “Somewhat. This isn’t my local convenience store, but I’m not that far.”

Spencer nods, “This isn’t mine either.”

“What?”

He turns to look at you, eyebrows perked up like he didn’t just say something ridiculous.

“This isn’t your nearest convenience store,” You repeat slowly. When he nods, you ask, “So why do you come here?”

Spencer laughs, realizing his mistake. “The one nearest me is literally down the street, but they don’t always have these,” He answers, holding up the pineapple orange mango-flavored drink. “This store is only a few more minutes away and it always has them.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s because you buy our stock,” You joke. “I’ve literally had my boss ask about why we are selling so many more.”

“Really?” He gasps, leaning in closer. “I used to only make the walk here if the closer one was out, but four months ago I just stopped bothering.”

The fact that four months is when you started working is not lost on you. Feeling confident, you add, “What about when you get coffee? I’m sure the other one has coffee.”

“True.” He looks slightly caught off guard, eyes scanning the store before speaking, “I only come to get coffee here if I’m too lazy to make it at home and running early enough to…” He pauses for a second, the sentence closing as if it wasn’t the planned ending. Finally, he adds, “To see you.”

You hum, looking down because your face is warm and you’re at a loss for words. Luckily, he’s too nervous to look at you either. You feel tingly, knowing full well that this is a special moment that you’ll look back on if you end up dating.

“Anyways,” Spencer breaks the silence. Before he can say anything else, he yawns, mouth opening wide.

“You know you can go home, right?” You laugh. When you look down at your computer, you see it’s about half an hour later. “No one has come in and I doubt anyone will before Marie gets here.”

“No, no,” He protests. “And anyway, aren’t I making time fly?”

“I suppose,” You grin. “You are quite great company.”

Spencer flashes you a smile that makes your insides twist. You wonder if he is picking up on all this. If he can tell that you’re interested in him.

“I’m honored.”

“You should be.” You sarcastically quip. “I have high standards for the company I keep close to me.”

“Is this close?” He contemplates aloud. “I’ve never even seen you without your black polo, black pants, and nonslip shoes.”

You laugh, looking down at your clothes. “Don’t you like this fit?”

“I mean, I love it,” Spencer starts, “But I don’t know how much you’re serving day to day.”

“I serve even when I’m only going to class,” You protest. “Maybe when I’m done with finals, I’ll grace you with my out-of-work personality.”

Spencer grins, “I’d be honored.”

You’re on high alert, knowing exactly what was happening.

“You should be,” You echo, unsure of what else to say. It doesn’t matter though. You could say anything and Spencer would find you charming.

“Maybe we can go to competing stores and graffiti them,” He suggests, long since turned around so he can look at you fully.

“Pft,” You laugh. “I don’t want to get arrested with you the first time we hang out.”

“You don’t? That’s usually my go-to!”

“Well, my go-to is food. Or the arcade.”

“The arcade?” He questions. “All this time I’ve been talking about games and you’ve never mentioned that you’re also a gamer?”

“I am not!” You protest. “Definitely not compared to you. You’re a savant and I’m the fool.”

“I doubt that,” He replies, a grin never leaving his face as he leans in closer. “I say arcade so I can check out your skills.”

“Deal,” You say, leaning onto the counter so you are only a few feet away. “The arcade it is.”

[hanbinics]

✧.* BINNIE'S BOO FEST | DAY 11.

HALLOWEEN '24 [based off these prompts]

introducing. . . !fratboy matt

“that place was fucking terrifying,” your best friend breathes out in a rush of air from beside you, eyes still wide from the haunted house you’d just finished.

you’re walking home with a group of your friends, everyone still buzzing with the excitement of all the halloween activities going on plus the bite of october’s unforgiving air nipping at your skin. you’re not sure why, but you think the cold gives everyone a rush of adrenaline around you, and it’s infectious, the energy making you smile to yourself as you listen to your friends chatter excitedly.

“wasn’t all that,” chris snorts from a little bit ahead of you, his hand clutched tightly in another girl’s smaller one as she lingers close to his side, looking like she doesn’t agree at all with what he’s saying.

“it was scary to me,” she all but huffs, and you watch as chris’s eyes shoot to the sky before smirking.

“yeah, ‘cos you’re a crybaby,” he tuts, and although she frowns at his response, you think the soft blush on her cheeks has nothing to do with the cold.

chris nudges the arm of the boy beside him then. “what’d you think, kid?”

your gaze shifts then, directed at the stranger beside him who simply shrugs his shoulders.

matt.

you’ve seen him around before since the two of you share mutual friends, but you’ve never really spoken to him. you’ve noticed that he’s usually pretty quiet, observing everyone around him and only showing that he’s listening or paying attention when one corner of his mouth turns upwards or when he sometimes snorts and rolls his eyes at something chris has said. you’re not sure why you find yourself wondering about him from time to time, but you think it’s just because he comes off so... mysterious. you want to find it annoying, but somehow it ends up just being sort of attractive.

chris’s loud voice snaps you out of your own head. “if it wasn’t so bad, tough guy, why don’t ya’ go in there?” he points with one hand, and your gaze follows, realizing that he’s gesturing towards a graveyard.

it’s fenced in by black wrought-iron gates, the sight of it sending chills down your spine. the cold air around you suddenly feels heavier and as you watch matt take in the same view before turning back to chris with a shrug, it takes everything in you to not yell out for him to just wait.

“have my money waiting when i come back,” matt throws over his shoulder after he and chris make a bet, and you watch with wide eyes as he makes his way towards the fenced-in graveyard to start climbing the black gates with ease.

once he’s dropped on the other side, your group of friends start to tease him from the sidewalk, hollering scary noises and mimicking ghost sounds as he flips them off without turning around. everyone else seems to be enjoying the whole thing, but your heart is racing in your chest as you watch the brunette disappear into the shadows, hands shoved into the pockets of his black hoodie.

“dickhead,” chris snorts in amusement as he watches his brother disappear. a few seconds pass and the entire group starts to move again much to your surprise, your feet still planted to the concrete.

“wait!” you breathe out, eyes widening a bit. “you’re just gonna leave him?” you ask in disbelief, only to receive a few incredulous looks.

“he’ll be fine, kid. don’t worry about him,” chris insists with a shrug, glancing towards the graveyard one last time with a small smirk on his face before he’s beginning to set a slow pace again, his girl’s hand still held tightly in his own.

your best friend looks back at you with a small, sympathetic smile. “he’ll catch up, babe,” she assures you, but when you still don’t move from your spot, she shoots you a look before catching up with the others, their laughter and footsteps beginning to fade away.

you’re torn between going with them and waiting, but it’s really only the fear of the shadows stretching impossibly far across the graveyard that causes you to hesitate. your heart is sure of its answer as you step towards the gate matt had climbed over, fingers brushing over the iron fence before pushing gently—only to realize it’s open.

a soft breath leaves your mouth as you slowly make your way inside the gated area, your heart racing in your chest. it’s incredibly dark, only a few lights being placed here and there without strategy. you try to remember where exactly matt had gone, but can only remember the general direction, which you immediately head towards.

an incredibly eerie feeling washes over you the deeper you walk into the graveyard. you can hardly make out your surroundings save for tombstones littering the grass, and every little noise has you jumping out of your skin. when you near a big oak tree, you suddenly hear a crunch of leaves behind you, the noise causing you to whirl around out of fear. you can’t make out anything substantial, but there’s this shadow that seems to be looming closer to you, and you slowly begin to back up out of instinct until your spine is suddenly pressed into the bark of the tree behind you, and you can go no further.

you want to scream in hopes that your friends are still close enough to hear you, but just as you’re opening your mouth to do so, the shadowy figure is finally revealing itself to you with a low “boo!” leaving its mouth—matt.

your eyes widen in surprise as you yelp, your chest heaving with your racing heart as you watch a slow grin spread across the handsome boy’s face, eyes twinkling with amusement. you blink a few times, trying to calm your nerves, but you can’t help the way you reach out to shove at his chest despite it doing next to nothing for his balance.

“what the hell are you doing?!” you exhale accusingly, watching in disbelief as the brunette chuckles, hands shoved into his pockets still.

“what are you doing?” he asks instead, watching as your brows furrow together in confusion. his bright eyes are still twinkling, only this time with something quietly mischievous, and you watch with bated breath as he takes one hand from his pocket and steps closer to you, resting his forearm against the bark of the tree behind you, just above your head.

“what, were you worried about me?” he all but hums, his voice suddenly dropping an octave as he looms over you. you want to quip back with something snarky, but the words are caught in your throat, and you snap your mouth shut as matt leans even closer, warm breath brushing over your face.

“’s not smart of a pretty girl like you t’be walkin’ all alone in the dark.. lots of things happen where no one can see us,” he tells you in that same measured, deep voice, but your brain is entirely stuck on one thing: where no one can see us.

there’s a sharp, pleasurable coil in the pit of your stomach as matt’s gaze rakes over your face, your rapidly moving chest, and then suddenly another voice breaks through the haze and he’s moving away from you entirely.

“you guys good?” chris asks from a few feet away. he looks from matt to you, seemingly taking in your erratic breathing, and then a small, lazy smirk is tilting one corner of his mouth upwards as he looks at matt again. “wasn’t interruptin’, was i?” he asks, but he sounds like he knows the answer to that.

you don’t know how to answer, but apparently matt does as he glances over his shoulder at you. “nah. someone jus’ needs to teach the kid to be smarter,” he insists casually before brushing past his brother, already heading towards the entrance to reunite with the rest of the group.

You feel like you’re glued to the tree supporting your weight as you watch his back until he disappears, still in utter shock at what just happened. but chris only sniffs before gesturing for you to move.

“c’mon, i don’t wanna be out here all night. shit’s creepy,” he admits with a ghost of a smile on his mouth. he waits for you to finally move, only beginning to walk again when you’re caught up beside him.

you’re still reeling from the prior ten minutes, but you find yourself glancing up at chris curiously. “why’d you come back?” you ask. but he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his expression incredulous.

“didn’t think i’d really leave without my brother, did ya’ kid?”

a/n. this is also similar to the start of a !ghost matt fic i have planned, so if you feel like you've seen this later on, well, yes! you kind of did!

©hanbinics

: ̗̀➛ tag list: @blahbel668, @zayluvss, @whicked-hazlatwhore, @leviosatothestars.

: ̗̀➛ divider by @/strangergraphics

[amethystwrytes]

Safe. (Part Six)

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin X Fem. Reader X Lee Minho

Summary: A broke ER Nurse offers up her services to a large crime organization in exchange for much higher pay and benefits that are unconventional, but lucrative. The life proves to be questionable at best, and downright isolating at worst which leaves her feeling unsure, unstable and dangerous. 

Warnings: Explicit language. Explicit depictions of sex (some chapters will be more explicit than others sexually). Violence. Blood. Trauma injuries. (Organized) Crime. Emotional manipulation. Discussion of murder and physical assault. Medical inaccuracy galore. Smoking. Past addiction. Legal inaccuracies. 18+ Only MDNI

Chapter WC: 8k

AN: If I were to debate any more over this I just wouldn’t ever post it so F it, it’s out there and now I can’t take it back haha

~ PART SIX ~ (Series M. List Here)

“Is something bothering you lately?”

It’s seven in the morning and you’re tangled up with Minho in bed. After days of being apart, you were relieved to have him next to you. Though Hyunjin was more than able to keep you company (on nearly every surface in the house, no less). But now, Hyunjin is working, or rather has been working. Doing weapons and ammunition deliveries and collection always ends up being a graveyard shift activity, the dark of night used as a cloak to do bad things with bad men. Though you don’t quite understand why they think it’s beneficial, police work at night too, and you often think that doing these weapons deals would be more effective mid-afternoon in the plain of day where no one would expect an arms deal to be taking place, but what do you know? 

“What do you mean?” Minho asks, setting his phone down on the side table and rolling over into you. 

“You’ve been so restless lately, I barely see you sleep, it’s been quiet I thought, since all that happened with Taehyung. Are you uncomfortable sleeping here? We could stay in your apartment,” you suggest, holding his head into your chest, sleepily stroking his hair. 

“My apartment is in the city, loud and lit up 24/7. It’s barely big enough for me, stuffed with boxes and boxes of shit I don’t need, and I can count on my fingers how many times I’ve actually slept there and not just at my office. It’s much better here with you,” he explains. 

“Then why so restless and fidgety?” you wonder. 

“It’s like you said baby, it’s been quiet since the Casino fiasco with Kim, in fact it’s been too quiet. We murdered one of the men who attacked you and I expected that to ignite a whole blood bath, and yet nothing, nothing has happened,” he says, his hand sliding under your nightdress and fanning out over your tummy, tracing gentle circles all over. 

You suppose he’s right. If you had one of those “There’s Been [this many] Days Without an Incident” signs, you could put double digits in the number slots. You haven’t even had to nurse anyone back to health lately. Jisung tripped a few weeks ago walking down the stairs outside his apartment and rolled his ankle. Seungmin got into a bar fight over a girl he’d just met - you cleaned up his face but he didn’t even need stitches. Other than that it had been unusually quiet in your house. 

“Maybe nothing will happen, maybe Kim doesn’t care that you killed the guy,” you say, though even you have to admit it makes zero sense. 

“Mmm,” Minho shakes his head across your chest, “That’s not how it works Love, not by a longshot.” 

“What can you do?” you wonder. 

He braces himself over you with one of his arms and kisses your lips, “All I can do is wait for his next move. If I send my guys after him then all I’m doing is risking their lives for something I’m not even sure of, so I wait, and waiting is sometimes excruciating,” his fingers slide up to one of your breasts and play at your nipple, stiffening the bud of nerves and sending signals between your legs, your lips part and a relaxed breath escapes, “In the meantime, I quite enjoy killing time with you,” he grins. 

He moves on top of you, slotting himself between your legs, you feel his clothed erection press against your cunt as he ruts against you, his mouth exploring your neck, jawline, and lips. 

“Flip,” he growls, his hands heavy and pressing against your hips. You flip onto your stomach, lifting your ass off the bed, pressing yourself against his aching length, you know exactly what he wants. You hear him shuffling, shoving his sleep shorts down and your night dress up your back. You feel him line himself up with you, dragging the head of his cock through your slick. 

You brace yourself, digging your fingers around the thick comforter as he slams into you. You let out a gasp at the sudden roughness, but just as quickly your gasps turn to heady moans, wordlessly pleading for more, for harder thrusts. Minho gives them to you, his fingers impossibly tight around your hips, pushing and pulling himself in and out. 

“Minho…” you say his name, barely a whisper but also a warning. Your fingers move between your legs, rubbing yourself in soft circles so your orgasm explodes around him. He slows his thrusts, allowing your spasming cunt to milk his own high. 

He finally collapses back down on the bed next to you, chest rising and falling heavily as his breath returns to normal. 

“Can I ask a favor?” you open one eye and stare at him. 

“Anything.” 

“I want to learn how to shoot,” you say and he looks at you with a raised brow, “a gun, that is.” 

“Well yes,” he chuckles, “I didn’t think you meant a bow and arrow. I’m just a little surprised I suppose, but I think that’s a good idea,” he nods. 

“Something small, nothing that will knock me off my feet or send me reeling back,” you continue. 

“Mm,” he thinks, “I’ve got a .22 at the office that would be perfect for you. I have a meeting with Hyunjin and Felix this morning, to see how the evening collections went. I’ll send Hyunjin over with the gun after, once he gets some rest he can take you to the range, maybe tomorrow, that sound good?” 

“Mmhmm,” you yawn, your morning excursions leaving you sleepy again. 

“Go back to sleep baby,” he leans over and kisses you, “I’m going to get dressed, Changbin will be here until Hyunjin arrives later, okay?” 

“Okay,” you whisper, you feel him shift and scoot to the edge of the bed. Maybe it’s because you’re still half asleep, maybe it’s because he fucked you so good, but without really thinking you call to him, “Minho?” 

“Hm?” 

“I love you.” 

It doesn’t surprise nor bother you that he stays quiet as he rises out of the bed and makes his way to the bathroom, you don’t really care if he feels the same or not, don’t really care that he doesn’t seem to want to comment on your confession. At the moment you just sink back into the mattress, letting the warmth of the blankets overtake you and drift off again. 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“Alright Doll,” Hyunjin stands behind you at the gun range, Changbin and Seungmin have tagged along, evidently this is one of their favorite pastimes. “What you want to do above anything else is relax.” 

You snort, “You hear how absurd that sounds, right? Nothing says relaxation quite like being in a situation where I need a loud, dangerous gun.” 

“I meant you need to relax during practice,” he smirks, “If you relax while you’re practicing and get used to hitting your target, it won’t matter what kind of situation you’re in when you need it. You’ll be used to it.” 

“Okay, okay,” you grab the gun and aim at the target, closing one eye and trying to line the barrel up with the big black circle on your target dummy. 

“Why are you closing one eye?” Changbin asks, the three men looking at you puzzled. 

“I…don’t know? That’s how they do it in movies?” you say sheepishly. 

“If you close one eye you’re only going to see half as well, that’s dumb,” Seungmin says. 

“Fine, okay, both eyes open, got it,” you look forward again, your eyes trying to line up the little nub thingie with the target. 

“You’re relying too much on the front sight,” Hyunjin chuckles, “Your eyes look crossed.” 

Changbin and Seungmin giggle and you huff in frustration. 

“You know what I think would be helpful? If I actually got to shoot the damned thing. Let’s start there and then you can give me your critiques, okay?” 

Without giving them an opportunity to answer, you look back, close one eye, try to line the sight up with your target and pull the trigger…and you can’t even see where your bullet went. 

“Alright, so let’s start with number one: you weren’t relaxed whatsoever. Number two: you closed your eye again, and number three: you weren’t even focusing on the target, you were too busy relying on your sight, which is useless if you’re not looking at the target.” 

“Try again,” Changbin smiles enthusiastically. 

Seungmin cocks his gun and points it at the target then unloads several rounds, you look at the end of the range and see he’s hit the dummy multiple times in the head and center of the chest. All fatal wounds. He looks at you smugly and winks. 

You take a deep breath and turn your body towards the target again, picking up your gun and aiming. This time you take a deep breath, you keep both eyes open and pull the trigger. And again, your bullet has flown off into God knows what dimension. 

You look at Hyunjin in frustration and he cackles. 

“Sweetheart you’ve only shot it twice, don’t look so sour. That stance was much better by the way,” he stands behind you again, his hand gently bringing your arm back up to aim at the target. “Keep your other hand under the grip, to keep it steady, okay?” his lips are a little too close to your ear, and you feel his warm breath against your neck. 

“Okay…” you whisper back. Suddenly aware of the warmth. You side eye Changbin and Seungmin, who seem to be having a totally separate conversation as they clean their other guns. 

“Just like sports, you want your body to be facing the target at first, it takes a lot of practice and skill to be able to hit something that you’re not facing head on,” he puts his hands on your hips and lines it up with the target down the range. 

“Now, take a deep breath…just like that…and look at what you want to hit,” he says. You nod and stare at the big black circle in the center of the dummies chest. “Pull the trigger slow and steady while you exhale.” 

You do as he says, you repeat the steps a couple times actually, then finally pull the trigger slowly. 

You don’t hit the circle, but you can see the bullet hole has hit the lower right hip area of the dummy. You’re on the board, so to speak. 

“Look at that,” he whispers in your ear, his hand giving your hip a seductive squeeze, “that’ll do some damn good damage. Good job baby.” 

“Thanks,” you breathe, staring at his lips, “I need to go to the restroom, excuse me,” you say, your hidden fingers dancing across the zipper of Hyunjins pants. He bites his lip and looks down at you wantingly. 

You set the weapon down and dust your hands off on the side of your jeans, then walk out of the shooting range, down the narrow corridor to the rest rooms. You stand in front of the sink, looking at yourself in the mirror, wondering if Hyunjin picked up on your very telepathic message. You’ve got no Earthly idea where this horniness came from, if maybe shooting a weapon is evidently a turn on for you, or if it was the way he was so close, pressed against you, teaching you - either way, you need him, and you need him now. 

You wash your hands, straighten out your hair and just stare at yourself some more. You’re about to give up - it would probably be better to wait until you get home anyway - when the door to the bathroom swings open and Hyunjin barrels in, locking it behind himself. 

“Naughty little girl,” he growls before pressing his lips to yours, immediately pushing you against the sinks, lifting you up to set you on the questionable countertop. “Getting me fucking turned on,” he continues, his mouth trailing down your neck. 

“Fuck me, please,” you whisper. 

“Really?” he looks around, “Here?” 

“Yes,” you start undoing his pants. 

“Shit,” he moans when your hand wraps around his throbbing length. “Yeah, okay, okay, just…here sit on this,” he drags you off the counter and removes his shirt, spreading it over the surface. 

You shimmy out of your jeans and hop back up, pulling him back in and capturing his mouth with yours. 

“God you are dripping wet,” he groans, teasing you with his cock, “Feels so fucking good.” 

“Please,” you beg, your nails digging into his skin. 

He pushes into you and you both gasp. 

“Fuck!” you cry out and he chuckles against you. 

“Shhh, you’ll get us in trouble,” he whispers, his hands holding the sides of your thighs to keep you steady. 

“Feels so good,” you whimper, quietly, into his ear. 

“You’re killing me today…fuck…”

“Shit…like that…oh my god…”

“Hey,” Hyunjin grabs your chin and forces your gaze to his while he continues fucking into you deep and heavy, “I love you, so fucking much.” 

“I love you too,” you pant, “I love you too.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips against his, your cries getting lost in his mouth while you cum for him. 

He frowns at his shirt as he shrugs it back on, “A shooting range bathroom is not as romantic as your book, but I hope I got the point across, and I meant it, by the way, I love you.” 

“It was authentically us, and I meant it too,” you squeeze his hand. 

“I do not accept this dingy ass bathroom is authentically us, I am an artist god dammit,” he teases and you laugh. 

A knock on the door startles both of you and you scrunch your nose as Seungmin hollers, “If you guys are done fucking can we go get some lunch? I’m starving!” 

“Everyone knows, don’t they?” you smile at Hyunjin. 

“Yeah, you’d think it would be a cone of silence but these mother fuckers are nothing but catty gossips…and I suck at keeping my feelings for you hidden,” he says. 

“Good.” 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Mornings that you get to spend with both Hyunjin and Minho are your favorite. They typically follow a steamy night of unimaginable pleasure, for one, but you also enjoy the peaceful safety you feel when you’re all sitting at the table drinking coffee and chit chatting. It’s comfortable, much more comfortable than you ever imagined it would be. You know that Minho is still struggling with it to some extent, struggling with the relationship. He never commented on your profession of love for him, never brought it up again. It’s confusing, since he never seems to have a problem when all three of you are piled in your bed, limbs tangled, lips everywhere. He’s more than happy then, and more than happy when you’re alone with him. He also doesn’t seem to mind the morning banter over coffee, even now as you watch him talk shop with Hyunjin, a pleasant expression on his face, it all seems fine. 

Yet there are these moments sprinkled into the mix where you can feel his hesitation, feel the withdraw. You don’t feel it with Hyunjin, he’s all in, all the time. Happy as a lark as he sits on the opposite side of the table, sketching something in his notebook, laughing about something that happened on a collection run with Jeongin. You’ve noticed his sketches include a lot more Minho lately, and the expression he draws on him isn’t as dark and dangerous as it once was. 

You decide that in this moment it doesn’t matter, eventually you will have to speak on it, eventually you will have to get Minho to dredge up his feelings. Not right now though. Right now you’re going to drink your coffee and laugh with them and watch Hyunjin draw, and hold Minhos hand under the table. Right now you’re going to enjoy this moment. 

Because unbeknownst to any of the people sitting at the table, the calm before the storm is about to be over. 

It starts with Minho’s phone ringing. He puts it on speaker so he can set the device down and still hold your hand and sip his coffee. 

“You’re on speaker,” he indicates to the caller. 

“Boss,” it’s Changbin, he’s breathless, and sounds as scared as he did the night Hyunjin was stabbed. “We’ve got a problem.” 

Minho lets go of your hand and Hyunjin sets his sketchbook on the table, a serious look on his face as his eyes meet Minhos. 

“How big of a problem?” 

“A really big fucking problem,” Changbin answers. 

Minho knits his eyes closed, “Did we lose anyone?” 

Your very breath leaves your lungs and you could hear a pin drop from two houses down. You try to remain calm as the faces of the men you’ve come to care about flash in your head. You have to force yourself to stop asking if you’ll have to say goodbye to one of them, to more than one…

“No, nobody’s dead,” Changbin pants into the speaker, and the three of you let go of the breaths you’ve been holding, “but Boss…they blew up the fucking warehouse. Jisung and I pulled up after we heard the explosion, Jisung ran in like a fucking idiot - I guess to be sure no one was in there - he burnt his hands and I have Chris driving him to ___ right now but he said it’s all gone, the guns, the ammunition, all of it,” Changbin explains. 

Hyunjins eyes widen, but Minhos expression distorts into such a dangerous anger that it petrifies you. It’s only when his fist comes down hard on the table that you move, running towards the stairs to get dressed and ready to treat whatever burns Jisung has. 

“That’s not all,” Changbin says and you pause.

“What else?” 

“I’m a safe distance away at the moment, but every fucking emergency vehicle in a 100 mile radius is there. Local, federal…every type of investigator you can think of or imagine is over there snooping around what’s left of the building.” 

“God Dammit!” Minho yells so loud it shakes the china in the cabinets. He picks up his coffee mug and throws it with brutal force across the room and it shatters against the wall, leaving a hole in its wake.  

“Get the fuck out of there and meet me here at the safehouse, if you smell like fire go shower first and destroy the clothes you’re wearing so no one can link you to the area. I’m calling my lawyer.” 

Minho disconnects the call and slams the phone down on the table. 

“FUCK.” 

You try to stop your body from shaking and continue upstairs to get dressed. 

There’s Been Zero Days Without an Incident. 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Minho’s lawyer is a sharp dressed man with thick black glasses named Kim Namjoon. You watch him sip his coffee, a fresh batch you made once you and Hyunjin cleaned up the broken mess from the cup Minho threw against the wall. 

Jisung sits in a chair in front of you as you apply some antibiotic cream to his burns. Nothing too damaging, but his palms will be tender for a week or so, you warn him. 

“As much as I love watching you enjoy your coffee, I’ve got a smoked warehouse and every investigator about to descend on my front door, so let’s just get to it Kim, how fucked am I?” Minho asks after the silence becomes too loud. “Am I looking at prison time?” 

Your hands freeze over Jisungs, “Ouch,” he hisses and you realize you’ve squeezed too hard and look at him apologetically. 

“Actually,” Namjoon sets his mug down, “the silver lining here is that whoever blew your shit up cleared you out of your illegalities. Meaning that as investigators comb through your warehouse, and trust me they are, they aren’t finding anything incriminating. Old slot machines and Casino junk, nothing that can’t be explained since you do in fact own a Casino. Kim Taehyung did you a favor without realizing by stealing the weapons.” 

“Well aren’t I the lucky one? I’ll have to send him a fucking fruit basket then,” Minho seethes. 

“Do whatever you need to do, but we can work with arson and keep the investigators out of your ass as long as the guns are gone, I know that fucks up your other business,” Namjoon raises his brow, “but you know I can’t help you with that.” 

“Yes, well, when I’m dead because I’ve got a target on my back - since six fucking organizations aren’t getting their ammunition and weapons from me on time - you’ll be down a shit ton of money without that cushy retainer I keep you with.” 

“Stop,” Jisung whines and you realize you’ve squeezed his hands again. 

“Sorry,” you hiss, and start bandaging his hands. 

You watch as Minho paces the sitting area, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“We’ve got to get those fucking guns back,” he growls. 

Namjoon interjects, “I can’t be a part of this conversation, but I’ll tell you this, the District Attorney wants your head on a silver platter. You may not officially be charged with anything Lee, but it’s no secret in this city that you’re more than just a Casino owner. So I suggest laying low until this arson investigation is over, they’re going to be on you 24/7, regardless of whether or not they find shit at the warehouse,” Namjoon warns. 

“Do we have anyone in that office?” Minho asks. 

Namjoon shrugs, a smug smile on his face, “Not officially, but I have it on good authority the DA himself gets his dick sucked by a sweet little twenty-something who teaches tennis at the country club he tells his wife he’s golfing at every weekend.” 

Minho chuckles, “Well, hold that dick sucking thing over his head like your life depends on it in exchange for not serving my head on a platter, if we’re lucky maybe Kim Taeyhyung hasn’t got to him first.” 

“Will do, but it does pose a risk, we could just piss him off and he’ll try to work you harder,” he explains. 

Minho shakes his head, “I don’t have anything to lose at this point,” he says, but you don’t miss the way his eyes flick over to you momentarily, “I can’t lay low when I’ve got three quarters of a million dollars in weapons missing.” You’re not sure if he’s explaining himself to Namjoon or you. 

“Alright then,” Namjoon stands and sees himself toward the door, “I’ll play a little dirty for the moment and keep you posted on the investigation. Good luck with that target-on-your-back shit.” 

“Thanks,” Minho deadpans and locks the door. 

Everyone from Christopher to Jeongin sits around the room waiting for Minhos instruction. You busy yourself by cleaning up first aid supplies in the background, totally unsure of where you should be or what you should be doing. Judging by how quiet the rest of them are, you definitely know you shouldn’t be talking. 

“We’ve got to steal those guns back,” Minho repeats himself. 

“It’s a suicide mission,” Hyunjin says with a sigh, folding his arms, “That’s exactly what he wants us to do and he’ll be waiting to take us out.” 

“Yeah? Well what about all the organizations who have already paid for their weapons and ammo this quarter? We might be able to talk some of them into waiting, but Min and Jung are ruthless sons of bitches who will kill us all for not delivering what we already collected on,” Seungmin argues. 

“Now hold up,” Changbin interjects, “We have never lagged on business with them, not even when-” Changbin stops and looks at Minho and you know, not even when Minho was mourning his wife, but he doesn’t say that, “Not even when we’ve been down on our luck. So why would they not be understanding this one time?” 

“Sorry, are you new here?” Seungmin laughs darkly, “You think sending them a ‘Thank you so much for your business, unfortunately we’ve hit a snag’ note is going to matter to them? Why don’t you spray it with your perfume before you send it by doves-”

“Enough!” Minho thunders and the arguing comes to an abrupt halt. “None of you are wrong, there are no options that don’t pose a risk, I don’t want to do this in a way that gets anyone killed.” 

“How much would it cost to just go back to the source, to Jiyong? Ask him for a new supply of weapons?” Hyunjin asks. 

“On such short notice?” Minho laughs, “Millions. Plus we’d be on our own smuggling them in, which I’m sure would make our friends at the DA’s office happy since they’ll be watching us so closely - all of us in prison for life? No amount of blackmail could stop the DA from bagging such a big break, especially over something like dick sucking, every politician in this city is getting their dick sucked by someone who shouldn’t be sucking it,” he sighs, “But even if we could find a way to do that, Jiyong is a loose fucking cannon as it is and I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, the man is psychotic. He may fuck us over just to watch us go down, even if it means he’s out millions of dollars, he doesn’t give a shit,” Minho drags his hand down his face. 

“We have to steal them back from Taehyung,” Seungmin mutters from the corner. 

Hyunjin sucks his teeth, “If we do that, at least one of us will die doing it,” he says. 

“So we die stealing the guns back, or we die for not delivering the weapons, or we go to prison smuggling replacement weapons in,” Felix outlines, “Is that where we’re at?” 

“We vote then,” Minho stands, “We vote, because Felix is right, your lives are all on the line here, there’s not a single option we have that doesn’t end in potential death or prison. However, Jiyong isn’t an option, we just can’t trust him in a situation that’s already fucked to begin with. So, what’ll it be boys? Steal the guns back and take out as many of Taehyungs fuckers as we can, or plea for mercy from our clients and hope they’ll be gracious and not kill us where we stand?” 

“Steal them back,” Seungmin raises his hand, followed by Jeongin, Jisung, Felix, Christopher and reluctantly, Changbin. 

Minho looks sympathetically at Hyunjin who sighs, nods, then raises his hand, “Steal them back then, we don’t plead for a goddamn thing.” 

Minho smiles, “Then let’s go to work.” 

The small group disperses momentarily, probably so they can take a moment to digest the situation, something you’ve been trying to do all day to no avail. 

Minho walks over to you, “Well, I think we can agree that your term to be trusted has been met,” he laughs softly, but for whatever reason you find that his words have struck some deep emotional string and your eyes blur with hot tears. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he puts his hand on the small of your back and guides you towards the spare room you use for your medical supply storage. Hyunjin locks eyes with you and sees the tears, he shuffles over to join the two of you. 

“What’s going on?” he asks. 

“I’m trying to figure that out myself,” Minho replies, rubbing your shoulders. 

You don’t really know why you’re crying so hard, but at this point you’re audibly sobbing. 

“Babe?” Hyunjin tilts your face up. 

“I just…I don’t want anyone to get hurt…” you admit. “I’m sorry,” you gasp between sobs, “I don’t know why I’m crying so hard, it’s not like I don’t know what happens out there…” 

“It’s alright Love,” Minho pulls you into him, which for some reason only incites more tears, “this was the first time you’ve really heard us talk about things, the first time you’ve really been able to understand how deep in this we are, so it’s not shocking that it hit you hard, the reality.” 

You nod, trying to compose yourself. You take several deep breaths. What the Hell is your problem? Are you truly shocked to know that these men risk their lives? As if you’ve not had them bloodied, shot and stabbed on your kitchen table? 

You seem to get past the hiccuping sobs and right yourself, “Sorry,” you sigh, “I’m just worried about you, all of you. How will you do this? How can I help?” 

Hyunjin smooths your hair and kisses your forehead, “The best way for you to help is to be ready for anything medically speaking, making sure you have everything you need for any possible situation, that’s how you help baby.”

You nod, and look around the room, “I’ll take inventory, make a list of the things I can’t get at the pharmacy, Christopher and I can run out later this week to stock up on trauma supplies.” 

Hyunjin kisses you gently and squeezes your hand, “I’m going to go start strategy talk, our next deliveries for the quarter are due in just under a month, that’s not a lot of time.” 

You and Minho watch as Hyunjin leaves the room. 

“He really is the best I’ve got,” Minho sighs. 

“But you don’t like the situationship we’ve got going, do you?” you ask, which comes as a surprise to you. This isn’t the best time to be talking about relationships, not with everything that just transpired, and yet it fell out of your mouth anyway. 

“What are you talking about?” Minho asks, looking genuinely confused. 

Fine, you guess now is the time, “There are moments, not often but enough that I notice, where you get so quiet, where you feel so distant. I assume that’s because you’d rather it just be you and I, just the two of us together.” 

“I suppose that would make things simpler,” he says, “and it’s true that the moment you said you had feelings for both of us it hit me hard, it was a blow to my pride, but then your face flashed in my head, how you looked that day that I threatened you, how you had just asked me not to give you a reason to be scared of me and I realized that I love you, ___, and I love you in whatever way that comes as.” 

You smile, “You love me, huh?” 

“Yes,” he pulls you into him and kisses your cheeks and nose, “I love you, it’s not something I take lightly and it’s hard for me to say the words because now it’s real, now you know, and now I can actually lose you and if I do I think I might lose myself too.” 

“You won’t lose me,” you whisper. 

“Mm,” he nods, “Just promise me you’ll always be careful, always keep an eye over your shoulder.” 

“I promise.” 

“I need to go back to them,” he gestures towards the door and pulls away. 

“That still doesn’t explain the way you get so quiet sometimes, so contemplative, like you’re questioning it,” you call out to him. 

“I’m not questioning our arrangement Love,” he answers. 

“Then what?” 

He looks toward the sitting area, then back at you, “I guess I just didn’t expect to start caring about him in a different way, that one took me off guard, and yes it does pull me out of the moment sometimes thinking about it.” 

You nod with a smile, “I see.” 

“Yes, so don’t worry baby, okay? I’m just getting used to this new part of me.”

“Okay.” 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“So that’s the thread for the stitch kit, the gauze, the wound care kit, I’d like to get an extra pair of clamps and some sort of disinfectant, iodine if they have it but I suppose alcohol will do if they don’t,” you tell Christopher, tossing a few extra things in the basket. 

“I dropped your medication list off with our guy, I’ll know what he can get us and what he can’t by the end of the day,” he shares. 

“Miss ___?” a voice calls your name and you turn towards it. A man in a cheap suit smiles as he walks up to you in the aisle. 

“Don’t say anything,” Chris mutters under his breath before distancing himself from you. 

“You are Miss ___, are you not?” the man produces a photo on his phone of you and Minho, it’s from the night at the Casino. 

“I suppose I am,” you shrug, plastering a casual smile on your face. You can feel your pores opening from the impending sweat and your heart begins to race. 

“You’re familiar with Lee Minho, the man in the picture?” 

“I know who he is, obviously,” you look at the photo, unable to deny that it’s you, “and you know who I am it seems, but I didn’t catch your name?” 

“Beg your pardon ma’am, my name is Jeon Jungkook, I’m the lead Detective on an arson case we’re working at a warehouse Mr. Lee owns,” he smiles and shows you his badge. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Oh, yes, I think I heard something on the news about an explosion outside the city yesterday morning, it was Mr. Lees, you said?” you try to feign surprise but this Jeon guy doesn’t look amused. 

“It was, and I was hoping maybe you’d be willing to come into the station sometime to answer some questions about the, uh, possessions Mr. Lee seems to have lost in the fire,” he grins smugly. 

“Well I’m not sure why you’d think I’d know about anything he lost. That seems like a conversation to have with him, or perhaps the insurance company,” you say. 

“The possessions I’m speaking of aren’t ones that are likely covered by insurance ma’am, and I bet you know that,” he replies. 

You shake your head, “Then you’d lose your bet, Detective, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Right, I see,” he sighs, disappointed, then digs in his back pocket and leans in closer, “Here’s my card, if you decide you’re done protecting the bad guys then give me a call,” he looks over your shoulder, “Don’t think I don’t see you Bang, be sure to be a good lap dog and carry Miss ___’s medical supplies to her car for her,” he looks at you, “wouldn’t want you to forget anything then not be able to patch up Lee’s boys,” he winks then walks off. 

He knows. He knows who you are and what you do. He knows everything. Or maybe he doesn’t but obviously he suspects or he wouldn’t have said any of that. 

“Hey, are you good? You look pale as fuck,” Christopher asks but you don’t answer him, suddenly you’re stomach is churning, acid and bile and the iced coffee you drank on the way here bubbling and lurching up, “Hey, ___?” 

“I’ve got to get out of here,” you rasp, no matter how deeply you breathe it feels like you’re not getting enough air, “I need to get out, get me the fuck out of here!” you yelp.

Chris nods and sets the basket on a shelf, “Okay, okay, come on,” he ushers you toward the parking lot. 

It’s no use, even though the breeze is cool and soothes your skin, your stomach still twists and the nausea is too much, you brace one hand on the side of the car and bend over, vomiting all over the parking space, your shoes, and the rear tire of the car parked next to Chris’s. 

“Fuck…” Chris gags, he opens the door and leans in, plucking left over restaurant napkins from his center console and handing them to you. 

“Thanks,” you say hoarsely, wiping your mouth off, then bending over to wipe your shoes. You walk over to a nearby garbage bin and toss the napkins in. You feel better after puking your guts out and finally take a breath.

Chris holds the passenger door open for you, “Well, good thing you didn’t overreact or lose your cool or something,” he laughs and so do you. “Do you want me to go back in and buy all the shit we came here for?” 

“Yes,” you sigh, resting your head on the seat, “Please. Can you get me a lemonade or something as well?” 

“Yeah, be right back.” 

“Thank you Chris, and, I know we’ll have to tell Minho about the detective but for the love of God can you please keep your mouth closed about me having a nervous puke session after? He already worries too much about me. If he thinks I’m going to barf every time I leave the house then I’ll be trapped like a rat.” 

“I swear.” 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“Like the lawyer said baby, investigators are going to be watching, but they don’t have jack shit on us, I’ve spent my entire career ensuring that anything they have is circumstantial at best, completely inadmissible, you are fine,” Minho soothes. 

“I’ve never been on that side of things before,” you say softly, “I’ve never really been on any side of the law, I guess, but being the one approached, being asked questions - God that was awful.” 

Hyunjins hand grazes over your hip, “They’ve got nothing on you baby,” he kisses your bare shoulder. “Don’t let it bother you. Don’t let him get to you.” 

“He knew exactly what I do for you, he said it plainly,” you point out. 

“So he knows you’re a nurse and made an educated guess that you use that knowledge to help people, big fucking deal, that’s nothing, certainly not a crime, and neither is being in a picture with me, you’re safe baby,” Minho continues. “I protect my people, I would never let anything carelessly slip through the cracks, would never let anything happen to you, to either of you.” 

Hyunjins hand stills on your hip and you can feel him staring at Minho from behind you. He clearly wasn’t aware of his upgraded position in Minhos emotional capacities and you grin in spite of the shitty day. Especially when you feel Hyunjins erection growing against your backside. 

“Shower?” he asks the two of you. 

“You boys go,” you sigh, “I took a shower this afternoon. If my hair gets wet I’ll kill you and I am not fucking anyone in a shower cap,” you laugh, though if you’re being honest your stomach is still queasy and while the thought of getting fucked out in the shower is always appealing, you don’t need the shaking and bouncing right now. 

“You usually shower at night though,” Minho pouts, rubbing his nose against yours. 

“I…” you don’t want him or Hyunjin to know that you got so nervous after talking to the officer that you puked, you do not need them fretting over you, “I spilled something on myself earlier and wanted to clean up after. Besides, I feel like crap today, I’m no good,” you chuckle, stretching out on the bed with a yawn. 

“Then we’ll stay here until you fall asleep,” Minho scoots in and tucks you under his chin while Hyunjin presses himself to your back, and you instantly feel the hardness again. 

“Be right back,” Hyunjin squirms off the bed and trots off toward the bathroom. 

“What’s his problem?” Minho looks at the door. 

You giggle, “Our Hyunjin is feeling a little stiff, if you catch me, I think he went to go fix that.” 

“Oh…” Minho trails off, but you catch the way he keeps his eyes fixed on the door. 

“Go,” you nudge him a bit. 

“Without you?” Minho raises his brow. 

You cock your head to the side, “See, unlike you, I’m not possessive,” you smile and kiss him, giving his bottom lip a little bite, “Go.” 

Truth be told, the scene playing out behind the bathroom door entices you, you can feel the wet pooling between your legs, feeling uncomfortable and slick, and you think of pulling yourself out of bed to join. However, the weight of the last few days seems to be catching up to you, the level of tiredness you feel rivals the way you felt after leaving your third 12hr night shift of the week back at the hospital. You haven’t felt this sleepy in so long that not even the two men getting busy in your bathroom, wishing you were in there with them, could stop your eyes from fluttering shut and immediately going to sleep. 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

The full night of sleep doesn’t seem to even make a dent in your exhaustion. The following day you still drag your feet, unable to do anything productive despite the growing to-do list you’re making in your head. Not to mention that your stomach still doesn’t feel quite right and you begin to wonder if you’ve eaten something or caught a bug. 

When your phone rings, waking you from your second nap of the day you want to toss it into the toilet. 

“We’re about five minutes out,” Jeongin yells into the phone. 

Fuck. 

“Who is it and how bad?” you ask the same question you always do. 

“Seungmin got shot in the leg,” he answers. 

“Okay, I’ll be ready.” 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Seungmin sits on the kitchen table, his foot propped up in one of the seats as blood drips down his calf. His face contorts everytime you press the gauze to his wound and you only take a tiny smidgen of satisfaction from that. 

“It grazed you,” you squint, “but it grazed you deep. I need to flush it with saline and clean it up before I can decide if you need stitches or not,” you explain. 

“Well do that then, it hurts,” he whines and you roll your eyes. 

“I’ve got to get back to Lee and the others, tell them what we found before you got sniped in the leg,” Jeongin says, pacing back and forth. 

“What did you find?” you wonder out loud. 

“Why do you need to know?” Seungmin snaps but rights himself when you and Jeongin both shoot him a look. “Sorry.” 

“Taehyungs front business is all in hotels, that we knew, and we also know his actual business is heroin, we’ve never known where his storehouse was though, until now. We just found it,” Jeongin says proudly, “that’s got to be where he’s keeping our stolen guns. He couldn’t keep that much hardware hidden in a hotel.” 

“Go,” Seungmin says but looks behind him at Christopher who sits in the living room spectating, “take him with you, no one goes anywhere alone, you heard Lee.” 

“You two good to sit here together?” Jeongin asks with a smirk. 

“I’ll be nice if he does, and if not then I’ll just go in a little deeper with those stitches,” you smile up at Seungmin. 

“Just go, I’m fine,” Seungmin huffs. 

Chris and Jeongin leave and you continue to work silently on Seungmins leg, trying desperately not to think about how sick your stomach feels. 

You clear your throat after several moments, “You know, asking people to stop getting shot so much is a request I never thought I’d have to utter so often,” god your stomach is killing you - banter with Seungmin? Ugh. You are off today.

“Mm, so sorry Princess, that I inconvenienced your day of doing absolutely nothing. You’ve still got pillow marks on your face for Gods sake, have you just been asleep all day?” he retorts. 

“Yep,” you say, swallowing hard, trying to keep whatever is in your stomach from coming up. 

“Makes sense, you look like absolute garbage.” 

“Feel like it too,” you agree, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. 

“Well fuck __, it’s not fun being an ass to you if you just sit there and take it,” Seungmin scoffs, “What the Hell is wrong with you anyway?” 

“I don’t know,” you frown, pulling your hands away from his leg, “I just…” your hand flies up to your mouth and you run across the kitchen so you can vomit into the sink. 

“Ughhhh,” Seungmin groans, “are you sick or something?”

“I don’t know,” you pant, gripping the edge of the counter, “I think I ate something I shouldn’t have,” you say. 

“Oh sure, that’s what they all say but really you’ve probably got some disgusting, contagious bullshit,” he covers his mouth and nose dramatically with his arm, “stay away from me.” 

“Are you going to stitch yourself up then? Besides, the only people I’ve been around are you guys, are any of you sick? Hm?” 

You pluck a paper towel off the roll and wipe your mouth.

“You’re not pregnant are you?” he laughs and puts his arm back down. 

You freeze, falling back into the chair you’ve been stitching him from. Your eyes go wide as different numbers matrix-drip down your brain. You don’t remember how long it’s been since your period, but you know you’ve had multiple since you started working for Minho, was the last one at the last house? This house? You can’t remember. The realization that you haven’t remembered to get a Depo shot since you were working at the hospital, however, is a much more violent intrusion, hitting you like a semi truck barreling into a brick wall. You told Minho the first time you’d ever been together that you were good, that you were on birth control, and at the time it was true. In the chaos of everything though, you’d not been back to the doctor, you hadn’t even thought of it. How could you not have thought of it?

You look up at Seungmin, body numb and eyes wide, unspeaking. 

He lets out a windstorm of a sigh and rolls his eyes, “Oh for fucks sake.”

Endnotes:

1. Ooofffff. Don’t hurt me

2. I will do tag lists this evening 😘

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 134 }

drugstore perfume.

peter parker x fem.reader

notes: post no way home.

{ gone, today | i might just see you around | it hurts but i understand | if you can't find another reason not to stay }

there was a cute guy that often stopped by your diner, exuding a type of loneliness that kept you achingly captivated.

he orders simple meals, often opting for a lighter meal consisting of a simple sandwich with a bowl of whatever the soup of the day was. with your workplace being a diner that remained opened for 24 hours, for once, you were happy that your usual shift was the graveyard shift.

without fail, he would come in around 2 to 3am, wearing a hoodie with unexplained cuts and bruises dotting his skin. and despite the minor injuries that were kept sustained against his face, it didn't do much to mar his soft and gorgeous features.

each time you would serve him, he would give you that same, sad smile. his kind eyes always appeared grateful before digging into his meal, yet it was clear that he was keeping many parts of himself hidden from you.

you had a sense that... that there was so much more to him than meets the eye.

why was it that every time he would enter the diner, he was covered in fading bruises?

why was he always alone, never once coming into the diner with a friend or family member?

and why did you have this inexplicable urge to comfort him each time he would gaze out the diner's window, his unblinking gaze staring at the cityscape with some unknown emotion you could never quite place.

you wanted to get closer to him-

to find out all the mysteries he had to offer.

and you were finally going to do something about it.

it was like you had become so accustomed to his presence, with you getting ready for work each night whilst sporting a gentle smile on your face. once your uniform was on, you step out of your apartment and began your trek towards the diner, your strides having a bit of the bounce to them.

your walk to work was uneventful (as per usual), with you clocking right at 10pm, ready to relieve your coworker of her shift as you take her place, taking on orders for the new patrons that surrounded the diner.

you kept busy, doing your best to not look at the clock as the hours ticked by, your heart practically pounding as it neared 2am. as if responding to the late hours, the amount of customers you served began to dwindle down, leaving you alone with the cook as the diner was now empty.

with a hum, you begin wiping down the tables, eyes trailing over to the clock once more, seeing that the time read 2:05 when you hear the sounds of a door opening.

you look back to see him, flashing you a sheepish smile as his brown eyes met with your welcoming gaze. he spends a few seconds admiring you, shaking his head while fighting back a blush. a cough was heard coming from him before he looks away from you.

walking with a comfortable pace, you allow yourself to stand next to him, brushing back your hair while taking out your pad and pen.

"hey peter, your bruise looks a lot better today."

you greet him by stating his first name, shivering a bit when he lets out a hum in response. those gentle vibrations heard coming from him was enough to make your knees a little weak for him.

"uh, thanks... i told you before that i can heal pretty well."

you nod and meet his gaze, your smile kind and genuine. "what can i get for you?"

"what's the soup of the day?"

"tomato bisque."

"then i'll take a grilled cheese, with some coffee, please."

"got it, peter."

you felt yourself smiling when you turn away from peter, already replaying the interaction you just had with him within your mind. he was just so sweet, and you felt your desires to get to know him growing in response.

you linger against the cooking area, waiting by the window for the cook to finish making peter's order. paul looks at you while toasting up the bread on his grill.

"what's this about? you hardly linger close to me when i'm trying to work." paul lets out a grunt before placing the cheese on top of the slices, combining them together into the perfect grilled cheese.

"i know i know, but... this guy's special to me." you admit to the cook with a whisper, a familiar heat felt against your cheeks. "so i was wondering... could you make me a sandwich, too? just so i can talk to him a bit?"

paul lets out another grunt, "don't see why not. we ain't busy or anythin' so sure. get your boy, then."

you can feel the heat spreading across your cheeks as you waited for paul to finish. within the next 10 minutes, he places both of your orders on a tray while giving you a wink. you smile brightly at him, taking the food while making your way towards peter's table.

peter looks away from his phone, setting it off to the side as you caught a glimpse of the news article he was reading.

SPIDER-MAN STRIKES AGAIN! STOPPING AN ARMED ROBBERY AT THE FIRST AMERICA BANK!!

"here's your order pete. and oh? i didn't peg you to be a fan of spider-man."

your voice was casual as you sit across from him with your own grilled cheese and tomato bisque soup. peter's blushing face and sudden gape made it clear that your question made him feel flustered when he quickly reaches out to shut off his phone, hiding the news article from you.

"ah, y-yeah, i was just curious about him, t-that's all." his voice appeared crack, but he was all too eager to change the subject when he sees you sitting across from him with the same meal.

"oh, you're eating too?"

"yes...uhm, i just wanted to keep you company, i guess?" you admit to him with a shy smile, trying to hide your shyness when biting into your own grilled cheese sandwich.

peter's eyes were seen furrowed for a brief second before his expression changes into a sweet smile. "thanks, i think i could use your company, actually."

that was all that needed to be said when peter begins to enjoy his own meal, biting into his grilled cheese dipped into the tomato bisque. he sneaks glances at you, and you could tell that he wanted to say so much more than what he was actually letting on.

you strengthen your resolve and decide to guide the conversation first. "this may not be any of my business but... i notice that you've been coming here for a while."

"mhmm." peter looks back up at you, and you notice how his rich, brown hair falls across his forehead, making your hands itch with the urge to gently brush it back.

however, you were able to fight back such urges, keeping your hands tightly balled up against your lap in response. "s-so, what i was wondering is... why are you always alone?"

you allow your question to linger within the air, sensing that it was an uncomfortable question for peter to try and answer. his hand seemed to grip tightly at the spoon, and you watch when he seemed to bend the metal in response.

your eyes go wide when peter suddenly stands from his seat, running a hand through his hair as he grabs his phone reached into his pockets to get out his wallet.

"sorry, i have to go."

he grabs a few bills from his wallet before tossing them on the table, filling you with a guilt when you look back at his half-eaten meal. "wait, peter, i'm sorry. i didn't mean to-"

"keep the change."

that was all he said before he quickly leaves the diner, making your heart turn cold as ice was felt coursing through your veins. upon hearing the commotion, paul walks out of the kitchen right as peter left. confusion was seen in the man's gaze when he looks down at the table, seeing the completely bent spoon while letting out a whistle.

"damn, did he do that?"

yet you couldn't bring yourself to answer him, simply taking both of your half-eaten meals, being filled with a guilt for potentially overstepping your boundaries with peter.

just who are you? those were the thoughts that lingered within your heart and mind, filling you with an even deeper yearning to get a better understanding of the mysterious young man who seemed to have built a wall around his very heart...

{ ... }

your shift didn't end for another hour, yet paul could sense how distracted you had become and let you off early. he tells you that the waitstaff for the morning shift was on their way and that you could go home to cool off.

"i'll let 'em know you weren't feeling too well, so you just focus on getting some rest."

you give him a grateful smile, clocking out while grabbing your belongings together. "you're the best, paul."

he lets out a rich chuckle while stating your name, "you're damn right i am. be careful going home now, okay?"

with one last nod, you give him a wave and got out of the diner, taking in the cool, early morning air as the sky steadily began to lighten in response to the incoming sun.

"hey."

a soft voice stops you from stepping forward, and you look behind you to see peter himself waiting off to the side. he wore an apologetic expression on his face, adjusting his hoodie while coming closer to you.

"mind if i walked you home?"

you shake your head eagerly at peter, "n-no, i don't mind at all."

he smiles at you, taking a stance right next to you as he kept up with your casual pace. you look back at him and smile.

"were you... waiting for me?"

"yes." peter admits with a sigh, running a hand across his hair once more, making them appear much messier than before. "i felt like an ass for how i treated you back there."

"n-no! don't be, i...i may have gone too far with such a question. a-and, i'm sorry."

"i'm sorry, too."

admittedly, your heart felt so much lighter with your respective apologies stated clearly, no longer feeling the guilt when you continue walking back to your apartment with peter by your side.

you spent several seconds in silence when his voice was heard cutting through your thoughts. "i've lost so many people, that's why you always see me alone."

your heart clenches when you could detect the unbidden sadness in his voice. "you have, peter?"

he doesn't meet your gaze, keeping his eyes against the skyline when he nods at you. the more you looked at him, the more you could see his soft brown eyes shimmering with unshed tears from beneath the sunlight.

"yeah, i have..."

you stop walking, not liking the fact that peter was suffering so much. his loneliness truly didn't seem intentional at all. wishing to change the subject for him, you sigh and lighten up your tone.

"you know, i've been curious about the bruises i see on your face sometimes..."

peter stiffens in response to your observation, but you quickly hold up your hands in response.

"i-i mean, i don't think much of it, i just thought you were into boxing, or were an mma fighter or something."

your words succeed in making peter burst out in a laugh. "what? are you serious? an mma fighter?"

"ah, you're laughing at me?!"

you join in with him, actually feeling so relieved that he had relaxed, even just a tiny bit, while talking to you. he continues to laugh, and you allow yourself to bask within the sounds of his joy.

"sorry, that's kind of flattering, but i may not be bulky enough to be an mma fighter..." peter purposely trails off, continuing to walk with you when you see a wistful smile painting at his features.

"but that isn't to say that i can't fight."

you freeze and stop walking once more, your eyes looking up at him with intrigue. peter also stops walking again, appearing like it was taking him a herculean effort to not laugh at his very moment.

"care to elaborate, pete?"

he lets out a sigh of your name before shrugging. "nah, i don't think i will. i like keeping you on your toes."

that was all he says before walking ahead of you, making you gasp as you ran towards him, telling him how mean he was being to you while he laughs, seeming to enjoy this banter with you as he continued to walk you home.

{ ... }

your mind was constantly filled with thoughts of peter, and you couldn't seem to sit still whenever your daydreams with him would take over.

after walking with you to your apartment, you traded numbers with him and end up texting him on a near daily basis. he was charming, funny, and had to be the most attractive guy you had ever met. your happiness was so infectious that your co-workers take note of the change in your attitude, seemingly happy that things were going well for you and peter.

today was your weekend off, and you decided to spend it out in the city. you texted peter once more early in the morning, but had yet to receive a reply back from him. not thinking much of peter's sudden inactivity, you went on with your day.

you thought about your plans, and wondered if you wanted to head to a café, or your local bookstore to treat yourself to something nice. and maybe, if peter ever replied back to you, you could invite him to join you with whatever activity you wished to do.

that was all that filled your mind when you waited at the stoplight for your turn to cross the street. you stopped checking the messages on your phone and placed it back within the safety of your bag. when you saw that it was safe for you to walk did you finally cross the road-

however, the screeching sounds of tires quickly approaching you makes you freeze in response.

as if time had gone into slow motion, your eyes take in the quickly approaching car, seeing a couple arguing in the front. the driver was not paying much attention to the road, still screaming at his girlfriend as your eyes take in the close proximity of the car.

within the next seconds, the woman sees you and screams, "WATCH OUT!"

yet before the car could make its grave impact into you, you felt your body being flung away as a pair of powerful arms rescues you from the speeding car.

you were hit with an intense vertigo, filling you with a dizziness as your eyes take in the passing scenery of the city. you were so close to puking-

yet within the next second, you found yourself safely planted against a rooftop.

your steps were unsteady as the same pair of powerful arms that saved you continues to wrap around you.

"hey, hey, look at me, are you okay? you're not hurt anywhere, are you?"

your blurry eyes finally look forward, seeing the familiar mask of a vigilante, taking in the spider motif seen against his skin tight suit. you could tell that he was staring at you with concern, even with the way his mask covered the entirety of his features.

the adrenaline slowly simmers down, bringing you down to your knees as you kept on trembling within spider-man's arms.

"oh my god, i was about to- i-i nearly-"

before you could even process how you were so close to dying, you felt spider-man wrap his arms around you, bringing you closer to him as you felt a pair of soft, chapped lips pressing desperately against your own.

the way his lips perfectly slot against yours was enough to make your anxieties go away. you feel the way his hands delve into your hair, pressing one last deep kiss against your lips before pulling away from you.

"ssh, don't even think about it anymore. you're here, safe and sound in my arms. just breathe... just breathe..."

spider-man continues to distract you, holding you in his arms as he walked closer to the edge of the building. his grip on you was tight when he brushes back your hair, pulling down his mask once more while giving you a chance to calm down.

when your breathing goes back to normal, becoming even while losing its hyperventilated quality did he softly ask you, "do you want me to take you home?"

you were still recovering from the shock of his kiss and your near death experience, only managing to give him a nod in response. and despite how you couldn't see his smile, you could hear it in his voice.

"you just hang on to me as tightly as you can, okay? i won't ever drop you, and all you need to do is just trust me."

you give the masked vigilante a nod. "yes, i trust you, spidey."

wrapping your arms around him, you hid your face within his neck as he used his webs to travel quickly through the city. his webs lands with an accurate precision against the buildings, yet still remained durable enough to hold his and your weight. shutting your eyes, you bask at the sensation, feeling as though you were flying from within spider-man's arms.

in just a few minutes, he lands at the front of your fire escape, unlocking your window with his skilled hands as he climbs into your apartment with you.

your eyes go wide when a sudden wave of clarity hits you, feeling spider-man go into your room when he sits on top of your bed with you, this time, his body was trembling.

"spidey-"

he ends up holding you tight, wrapping his arms around your back while hiding his face within the curve of your neck.

"i-i thought i lost you... f-fuck, i thought you were going to be gone from my life, too."

your heart begins to pound, recognizing that broken quality of his voice when you place you hand behind spider-man's head. the hero allows you to pull his face away from you, not even stopping you when you completely lift up his mask-

revealing peter to you.

you caught a glimpse of his bloodshot eyes for a brief moment when he suddenly kisses you again, allowing you to taste the saltiness of his tears as he crushes your frame closer to his body. sobs were felt raking down his form when you gently kiss him back, all while whispering gentle words of comfort to him.

you allow him to cling to you, letting his tears fall freely when you lay back against your bed with him. as he continues to cry against your neck, allowing those warm droplets to cascade down your skin, your heart became softer for him. making sure that you were holding him tightly against you, you begin to draw invisible circles around his back, waiting for peter to catch his breath.

after several minutes, you felt him pressing a kiss against your cheek, catching your attention when he frames at your face.

"sorry, for giving me a minute to... to let it all out."

he rests his forehead against yours, and you were filled with a soft affection for him, running your fingers through his hair in response.

"did you want to talk about it."

"eventually, i will." peter manages to tell you in a breathless whisper. "eventually, but not now."

you hum in agreement, falling back against your bed while still gently running your hands against his soft hair. "take all the time that you need, peter. i'll be here... i'll always be here for you."

peter lets out a sharp inhale, now strengthening his hold on you when he slowly admits to you.

"you're the reason why i came to the diner so much."

your heart nearly bursts in response to his words, making you meet his gaze once more, seeing the love he had for you shining in them.

"really?"

"yeah...really." peter smiles while brushing the back of his hand against your cheek. "when i first came to the diner, i wasn't expecting to see such a cute waitress; one that stole my heart at first glance."

he sighs and leans forward to kiss your cheek, the action feeling quite soft and sweet to you. "at first, i just wanted to protect you; to make sure that you were safe while working. but... the more i observed you, the harder i fell for you."

peter meets your gaze once more and shakes his head, "that night, when you asked me why i was so alone all the time, i wanted to come clean to you right then and there, b-but, i had to stop myself. i knew that when i finally told you, then it would need to be the full story, with me not hiding a single thing from you-"

you cut off his words with another kiss, basking in his tiny moans of your name before pulling away from him.

"you don't have to worry about telling me, peter. i won't ever leave your side, so... you have all the time in the world."

you go back to wrapping your arms around his back, letting him rest his head against your shoulder when you reassure him once more, "i won't ever leave you, and i'll be happy to listen to your story when your ready."

basking in the way his body loosens up, you allow peter to wrap his arms tightly around you, speaking with a bit of a tremor in his voice when he asks you, "do you promise?"

"i promise." with your oath lingering in the air, you press your lips against his forehead, ready to stay by his side as you smiled to yourself, feeling happy that you managed to break down his walls- slowly becoming the absolute love of his life.

{ and as these days go by | they can't change how long we've waited for | a love that's more ... a love that's more. }

a.n. - lmao, i am so sorry it took me a whole month to get a new peter parker story out. when i realized i had gained a few new readers with joy, i knew that i couldn't stop writing for peter with just that story alone. this is unedited, but it has become one of my favorite stories that i have written in a long time. 🥹

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[liillyliilly]

An Insomniac's Guide to Dreams

konoha akinori x reader words; 4580 synopsis; Maybe he could be her guide to accomplishing her dreams. The kind of dreams where a person falls in love and then magically, as if almost impossibly, stays in love. Konoha could be that for her. She just needed him to give her that opportunity.

Konoha looked at the clock, another 2 am shift that had kicked him from this universe into an entirely different one. Nothing was normal after two in the morning.

Especially not that hooded figure.

Definitely not the hooded figure that was lurking straight to the medicine aisle.

Konoha had been working at the pharmacy as a part-time job, hoping that he could use his experience working at the pharmacy to level up and finally apply to a pharmaceutical company after he had graduated college. He was 20 years old, and his older coworker had shifted his graveyard shift onto Konoha at the last minute.

The grey hoodie floated around until they found what they were looking for. Konoha was trying not to spy on them, but it was all he could do during the lateness of the hour.

She pulled her hoodie down when she slammed a bottle of melatonin gummies near the cash register.

Konoha recognized her from somewhere, he thought.

He scanned the bottle, then remembered he had to ask some questions before selling a drug like this to people.

Yawning, Konoha began the miniature spiel, “You need an ID to buy melatonin, can I see a driver’s license or other valid form of identification.”

She rubbed her dark eye bags and gave him a bored look.

“I don’t have my ID on me.”

Konoha responded, “I can’t sell you the melatonin then.” He grabbed the bottle and shoved it under the top of the table and she hit her forehead against the counter, slapping her hand repeatedly on the counter to draw attention to herself.

“You’re like what, 18 years old? Look me in the eye and tell me that I don’t look 18 years old as well.” She put her chin on the table and gave a huge pout, looking up at Konoha. He felt his mouth go dry.

“I can’t sell you the drugs.” Konoha wishes he could’ve, just the way her eyes glimmered a little in the dull light of the pharmacy had his heart experiencing minor afflictions.

“Really, not even for me?” She stood up to her full height, and leaned over the counter, propped up with her hands on the counter.

How much could an acquaintance from high school grow up in two years? Konoha was now realizing the reality of puberty, and maybe the reality of seeing people for more than their high school self.

He laughed when he realized it was her, the same 1st year from Nekoma who had followed him around during his last summer training camp in the volleyball club. Konoha laughed a little more, slightly delirious from a combination of seeing an old friend and from having stayed up for longer than 24 hours at this point.

He bought the melatonin gummies for her with his own money. He closed the store early, and locked it up as she cradled the bottle in her arms.

“Why are you still awake, isn’t school still in session for you? It's Wednesday?” He remembered that she must be in her final year of high school. Konoha tried to remember how many more days until she was going to graduate, it couldn’t have been more than a month or so.

She shook the jar, before pressing a quick kiss to the lid. “Insomnia is a clinical issue that happens to occur in around 6% of the adult population, it’s an actual disorder Akinori.”

“I don’t doubt that, but you really shouldn’t be out and about at this time. All the creeps come out at night.” Konoha shudders, he had been exposed to too many issues and body parts late at night.

“I ran out of my sweet, sweet, medicine.” She shrugged, and her hoodie slid off her shoulder a little, exposing skin to the cold air. She could feel the goosebumps crawl over her, so she gently rubbed the junction of her neck to her collarbone trying to generate warmth.

He started to toy with his fingers, wringing them out, avoiding looking at her exposed shoulder. And also definitely trying to ignore the way he saw a lack of a bra strap on her shoulder.

Konoha wants to ask how she’s been the last few years. He wonders if that’s something he should even ask. How close were they really?

He asked where she needed to go, and she said she needed to take a train with a few transfers to get back home.

“I’ll take you home, I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to. ‘Master of None’.” He throws her old nickname out into the wind, and she cringes, shutting her eyes tightly.

“Please don’t ever call me that again. What a horrible stain on my reputation.” She rubs the top of her head in discomfort, remembering her younger years teenage follies.

Konoha chuckles into his turtleneck, letting his tan-blond hair cover his eyes as he shakes his head a little.

“I only got called that because none of those Nekoma players would never ever listen to me. It’s like I wasn’t even a manager.”

“But, oh my saints, did you love that nickname when you realized my teammates called me ‘Jack of All Trades’- you tried to climb me and begged me to listen to you explain how our nicknames meant we were meant for each other.”

She coughed a little, feeling blood coursing to her cheeks, she just cuddled her container of chewables tighter.

Konoha realized he may have teased her a little too much, so he softened the blow of his words.

“You were a cute kid. Very passionate. You could talk for hours on end if there was someone listening.”

There was something about calling her a kid, when in reality that had only been just over two years ago. Konoha knew something was shifting in his mind, something that made him realize that he had missed her.

Longing felt like a bitter pill to swallow. Initially being separated from someone who he’d grown close to was painful, and it matted on his conscience. Then as time went on, that irritation of being away from her faded. Her coming in and shopping where he worked had been a catalyst for a reaction where he grasped just how much he had yearned for her. How much he still felt for her.

“Well, you got stuck with me because you were the only one nice enough to let me talk for hours on end.” She pointed out.

He doesn’t quite remember it like that.

She was an overzealous 16 year old, but he hadn’t known that. He was a lax 18 year old. She was a manager for the volleyball team at Nekoma because her grandpa was friends with Coach Nekomata. Her debate season had ended, but volleyball was still barrelling along.

It was a sense of pride, or perhaps intrigue that drove her to put all her focus on understanding volleyball so she could be the best manager possible.

The first day of camp, she was running around greeting all the other managers, bowing and telling them that she was ready and willing to learn from them. He thought she behaved a little bit like a raging storm, nothing able to stop her in her tracks. She was a whirlwind of excitement, and he couldn’t help but want to know who she was exactly.

“Akaashi, you’re smart, who’s that?” Konoha bent forward to touch his toes, stretching before the first practice round against Nekoma.

Akaashi blinked slowly, trying to solve a puzzle in his mind, “Well, guessing by the way she’s wearing a very red jacket, and the way that Kenma keeps avoiding her while she trails him with a water bottle- I’d have to deduce that she’s Nekoma’s manager.”

Konoha lifted his head, pulling his arms from side to side to embrace the tug of muscles in his body.

“They didn’t have a manager at the last practice match we played with them a month ago.”

“I think she just joined. Kuroo was talking to Bokuto about her earlier. Apparently, she can talk for ages.” Akaashi laughed a little, going over to the rest of the Fukurodani team.

Konoha dropped his arms to the side of his body, and when she finally turned around- successful in getting Kenma to drink some water- they locked eyes. He waved politely, and she grinned with all her teeth, almost jumping up a little.

He thought she was definitely cute. A little ball of energy sure, but she radiated something beyond just excitement, she carried a sense of eternal optimism. And that was something Konoha would’ve killed to have as a high school student. It wasn’t that he had an extreme form of depression, or that his anxiety was serious enough to warrant a prescription. But he did experience the ruins of chemical imbalances more so than the next person.

She was inclined to watch Konoha, because he seemed naturally good at all the elements of volleyball. He could do everything at a level that was higher than most, from solid foundational receives to a slightly more technical serve.

To say she was infatuated would be an overstatement, because she really was just a girl with a huge crush on a boy.

Instead of sitting with her own team at the lunch break she had made her way to Konoha, asking if she could sit with him. He looked around, and saw that Komi was using his hands to make an insistent gesture of ‘no’ by slicing his hands back and forth in front of his face.

He had ignored Komi and patted the spot next to him on the concrete stairs into the gym.

Akaashi had been right, she could talk about anything and everything, her mouth moving faster than Konoha’s own brain. He only got to make small remarks when she took a bite of her lunch, chewing on the rice quickly but thoroughly so she could keep going on about a movie she had seen last week.

“What do you think?” She looked at him with expectant eyes.

Konoha swallowed his chicken, “Of Better Days?”

She nodded rapidly, Konoha’s head almost hurt a little at the motion.

“I haven’t seen it, I’m not a big fan of international films.” He shrugged, eating another piece of chicken from his plate, looking out to see groups of boys mingling.

Not once during his time with her at that camp did he wish he had spent it with anyone else. He was completely content just listening to her talk, with her occasional periods of interview-like questions for him to answer. A few times during the camp he would sit at one of the regular tables with an agglomeration of fellow players, and she wouldn’t go over to him.

When he looked around though, she was sitting alone in the same spot they had sat at during the first day. Using her water bottle to draw shapes on the grey pavement steps. He tried to wave her over, but she knew how other people looked at her. They would get this sheen in their eyes that told her that they did not want to listen to her, but that only made her talk more, trying to prove her worth.

Konoha had finished his food quickly, grabbing his own water bottle and sitting next to her.

“Let’s work together to make a drawing of Kuroo as a cat.”

The way her mood shifted, from feeling the sting of loneliness to the thrill of getting to spend time with the person she deemed as the best looking boy at the camp, was extremely beneficial for her happiness.

He didn’t mind filling the role of her friend during camp. He did feel a slight scorn for all the other boys and girls at the camp though. It was rude to be so blatant about their dislike and irritation at her.

On the second to last day, Konoha woke up in the middle of the night, needing to go get water from the vending machine in the gymnasium.

He scratched at his stomach while putting in his coins. Then he saw her, in a thin strapped black tank top and short shorts. She was playing with a hacky sack, kicking it with her knee then when it would land on her foot, she shot it up so she could alternate feet.

She was talking to herself as well. He listened to her chatter about music, about art, about that annoying thorn she’d found in her shoes that made her foot bleed a little. He could listen to her talk forever and never get bored.

Konoha put another few coins in the machine, getting a second can of orange flavored water. She was in the main area of the gym, but she had been facing away from the entrance to the gym, so when Konoha cleared his throat, she dropped the fabric bag full of rice on her head.

“You shouldn’t wear a tank top, it's dangerous.” Konoha handed her the drink when she bounded up to him.

She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side, “Why would it be dangerous?”

“Someone might think you’re trying to seduce me.” He joked, cracking open his can and taking a deep drink of the nectarine tinged fluid.

Her eyes went wide as she reached down to a bench where she had put her jacket, she slid her arms into the sleeves.

Konoha chewed the inside of his mouth a little. Maybe over the course of a week he’d gotten in over his own head, developing a slight attachment to her. He pushed the thought away, remembering that she looked slightly uncomfortable. He had created a mentality for himself, one where he was supposed to view her like a younger sister. Hell, he had a younger sister her same age.

His stomach twisted a little.

“Sorry. Sometimes my jokes don’t exactly land how I intend them to.” He brought the can up to his mouth again, needing something to lubricate his increasingly drying throat.

She zips her jacket all the way up, the collar comes up to her chin. “It’s alright.”

Konoha looks down to avoid eye contact, trying to find a way to diffuse the slight stagnation in the air, but his eyes only land on the plush of her bare thighs. He could feel his ears turning red when he saw how her shorts dug into her thighs a little, creating a divot, and then the rest of her thigh seemed even more thick.

“I heard that there’s supposed to be really bright stars tonight.” He offered, turning on his heels to exit the gym. She followed him closely.

When he stopped in the center of the field next to the gym, she rammed into his back, getting bounced backwards a little. He caught her by the arm, tugging her upright.

“Woah there, I don’t want you falling for me quite yet, I haven’t even shown you my best qualities.” He snorted slightly.

She buried her face in her jacket, he could see her furrowing her eyebrows in an abashed way. The butterflies in his stomach would not stop fluttering. The little sister comparison stopped right in that moment, as she gave him a shy downturned smile.

It couldn’t have been later than midnight at most, but the way that he kept dozing slightly and opening his mouth to fix the air pressure around his head let him know that he was staying up much longer than he should’ve.

But how could he not, when she was looking up at the sky with admiration.

He pointed to the stars that represented Orihime and Hikoboshi. Everyone knew the story of the two star crossed lovers, a princess and her cow-herder. They had been so in love that they failed to tend to their duties, so her father had separated the couple. They could only reunite every year on July 7th, when the magpies created a bridge for the couple over the milky way.

That night, that they sat together under the stars, had been July 7th.

“I can’t see them.” He could hear the way she was making a frowning face, upset at not being able to see what he could see.

“Here, let me help.” He scooted closer to her, the length of their sides against one another, as he lifted her hand and tried to point out the star Vega, for Orihime. When he was satisfied that she was pointing right at the star he checked in with her, “Do you see her?”

Her soft no comes from much too close to his face. In Konoha’s excitement, he had brought his head closer to hers, trying to replicate what she would be seeing as best as possible. They were almost cheek to cheek.

He pulled away slightly, just enough for some space to exist between them.

“I only see you.” She breathed out.

Konoha choked.

He immediately stood up.

“We have matches tomorrow, I have to get back to bed.”

She got up to her feet, nodding to Konoha’s words.

The last of camp, after all the games were played, and the barbeque devoured by rowdy teenagers.

She was helping to put away bags and other miscellaneous supplies into Nekoma’s bus. And Konoha was leaning against the bus that would take Fukurodani back to their school. Akaashi had shoved his duffel bag into the compartment under the bus and walked to Konoha.

“Kuroo told me that she’ll be their manager for the rest of the season, so she’ll be at Nationals, if Nekoma makes it.”

“Nekoma will make it.” Konoha stated it with finality. Akaashi could see how Konoha was staring at the way she was struggling to lift a heavier bag.

“You know you can go and help her right?” Akaashi inspected his fingernails, suppressing a grin.

Konoha reached into his backpack, ripping a piece of paper from his notebook and scrawling out his phone number. He passed his bag to Akaashi and tucked the slip of paper into his pocket.

She was trying to hoist the bag with her arms, leaning really far backwards. Konoha grabbed the handles of the bag from her and tossed the bag into the bus. She smiled and thanked him.

“Fukurodani’s bus leaves in another hour or so, when are you supposed to head out?” Konoha leant on his shoulder against Nekoma’s bus.

“In around thirty minutes.”

So he asked her what she was going to do over the next few days, and she talked.

She had gotten through around fifteen minutes of talking and was in her zone, completely engrossed in following the rabbit hole of her own mind. Konoha’s hand was sweaty, as he tried to think of just the right pocket in her black backpack to slip his number into.

Eventually, Coach Nekomata told the team to gather around and she bowed to Konoha, saying her goodbye to him.

He just grabbed her by the loop at the top of the bag, rushing to put the paper into the main section of the backpack. She tried to walk forward but was tugged into staying in place with Konoha’s grip.

“Uh, yes?”

“Get home safely.” Konoha beamed, “Alright?”

“Alrighty.” She tilted her head back and forth, twisting her shoulders in a content giddiness.

He moved his head up to the sky and tightened his face, “So cute.”

She wiggled a little, and he released her bag. She asked, “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Okie dokie.” She held onto the straps of her backpack, shifting it around to be comfortable on her back.

She walked over to her team, letting Coach Nekomata pat her head a little bit.

Konoha rubbed his face, climbing into his bus and slumping into his seat. Bokuto got into the seat in front of him, but turned around and put his chin on the top of the chair to face Konoha.

“What’s with the sour attitude, Mr. Jack of All Trades?” Bokuto made a face of intense focus, intent on Konoha’s potential answer.

Akaashi put a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder, giving the answer Konoha couldn’t articulate, “He’s fallen for Nekoma’s first year manager.”

Konoha stood up, not realizing he had put his seatbelt on, so he got rope burn around his neck as the seatbelt prevented him from actually going anywhere, “She’s a first year student!?”

Akaashi laughed, grabbing onto his stomach. Bokuto’s jaw dropped.

“You’ve been hanging around her all week and you neglected to ask what year she was in Konoha-san?” Akaashi wiped tears of humor from his eyes.

Konoha groaned, pulling his legs onto the seat as he hugged them.

Bokuto looked at Akaashi, “Well he’s positively forlorn. Did I use that word right?”

Akaashi nodded.

Konoha helped her get onto the train, making sure she didn’t trip from the platform to the main portion of the train. The train was mostly empty, with a few people standing or sitting a fair distance apart.

They sat side by side and she opened the container of her melatonin, lifting the lid to her nose so she could smell the berry flavored medicine.

Konoha folded his arms, bringing one leg to rest over the other.

“You know, I was surprised when, after the camp, you didn’t contact me at all.” Konoha felt a little strange, asking about something from what he deemed as a long time ago.

“How would I have contacted you? Believe me I did want to keep in touch, but we never exchanged numbers.” Just smelling the melatonin had her a little bit sleepier.

“I, uh, I put my number into your bag. When everyone was getting ready to leave, I put a piece of paper into your black bag.” Konoha rubbed his arm, getting ready to accept that maybe he had been the only one to have developed a crush that week.

“Oh, I didn’t bring a backpack to the camp. It must have been someone else’s that I was wearing.”

Konoha slumped into the seat further.

She had finally made the connections in her brain.

“You liked me!”

“It was kind of hard not to.”

“And here I was, living my entire high school life thinking that I had been head over heels for someone who had never liked me back.” She said simply.

“Had been? As in, no longer?”

She pursed her lips a little, tapping her chin.

“There’s something about the phrase ‘had been’. It carries a sense of loss, it carries with it a feeling of belonging. Like what had been was extremely personal.”

“You make no sense sometimes.” Konoha chuckles into his words.

“Maybe something better to say is, here I am. Living life wondering when we’d meet again.”

The train came to a halt, and he checked that this was the stop they would get off on. She tucked her bottle of drugs into her hoodie pocket. The street was entirely empty, and the street lights flickered a little from time to time.

“So, you want to go into pharmaceuticals?”

“Yeah, it’s a decently lucrative business, comfortable enough to live life with some extra money for this and that.”

They stood under the flickering street lamp, Konoha digging the toe of his foot into the concrete ground.

She felt a little bit like the world had frozen in time. Here he was, after two years, drawn to her yet again. She hummed for a moment. Then make a request for Konoha.

“Wait for me.”

Konoha lifted his head to make eye contact with her. Tilting his head a little, he made a look that could only be defined as inquisitive.

She really did love him. Call it instantaneous love, her crush that she had held onto for much longer than necessary, but she felt something for this sandy-haired drug dealer of hers. The way his light brown eyes almost seemed like a rushing sand dune in the right lack of light. Or the way that he had subconsciously reduced their distance from their walk, train ride, to now standing inches apart.

What kind of a person was he to show kindness to an annoying first year, taking her under his wing for an entire week. Solving emotional worries, relieving anxieties of where to sit or who to talk to, making her feel at home in a place that had decidedly rejected her before it even got to know her.

Maybe he could be her guide to accomplishing her dreams. The kind of dreams where a person falls in love and then magically, as if almost impossibly, stays in love. Konoha could be that for her. She just needed him to give her that opportunity.

“Wait for me, one more year, once I graduate. Let’s date.” She grabs his hand, and he lets her. She clears her throat a little, “Let’s give love a shot?”

“I think I’d like that a lot. It’s a deal.”

Dreams aren’t reality. Because sometimes reality is better than a dream.

She was chewing away at a piece of literature, trying to dissect Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams novel for her Sleep Science class. Becoming a Sleep Scientist wouldn’t do much for her own horrible sleep schedule if she wanted to make it through her Doctorate successfully. Despite Konoha telling her that sleeping was important for her well-being, she had the tendency to ignore what he said sometimes- it would only be one more all-nighter anyway.

He’s asleep in their bed, nuzzled into her pillow and not his own. He’s wearing one of her hoodies to bed, her favorite one from high school that had been two sizes too big.

The beige highlighter reminds her of Konoha, and she has to rip her eyes away from him to get back to her book.

Work at the pharmaceutical company had been long, especially with the rolling out of their new drug the past few weeks. Konoha was the head of the project and needed to be at work almost twice as much, even though he felt bad leaving her alone in their apartment for long intervals of time. He always brought home bagels and an apology disc, of a movie she had been wanting to watch, for her to add to her collection of physical copies of movie CDs.

Their shared shelving system was an agglomeration, her DVDs and books on one side of the shelf, and then his photos, astrology novels and miniature telescopes on the other side.

When she accidentally dropped the highlighter onto the floor, Konoha’s head shot up. It was a mess of dirty blond hair from sleeping.

“Aki, go back to sleep.” She coaxed.

“No, it’s cold when you’re not here.” He turned around and opened his arms to put emphasis on his point. “I’m basically a snowman right now.”

She closed her book, tucking the bookmark in. Slinking her way from the desk to the bed, only to slump into his arms and hug him tightly.

“Much better.” He slides over to his side so she can lay out on the bed more comfortably, and she brings her legs to lay on the bed. “I’m all warm now, thanks to you.”

Sometimes a dream is just a girl with the boy who made her feel seen.

Other times a dream is a boy who finally finds someone to let him feel a little more happy everyday.

[chogiwow]

saudade | lee know

pairing: lee know x gn! reader

genre: angst, fluff

au: exes to eventual lovers

wc: 22k+

warnings: language, anxiety, breakup, insecurities, miscommunication, slowburn, too much wallowing, just sad vibes and mc and minho longing for each other :’(

a/n: repost !

one.

The breakup was messy.

That was partially true, because you were the one who had mostly shed all the tears, but in actuality, the week long sobered up you had admitted to your delusional counterpart that this wasn’t to be a game of blame.

Minho had your best interests at heart, you heard him out and even sympathised with the logic, but at the end of the day your exposed vulnerability had set up its self defences in favour of the innate need to let your feelings to the forefront, because after all, you had worn your heart on your sleeve.

It was a mechanism that had built its wall with excruciating pain of lifting every block of brick the deeper you looked into what you had thought to be a relationship; the fonder your actions, the bigger the amount of effort you had to put into picking up that brick. Everything you had done or said ran through your muscles in painful pricks, a jab at every crevice of your being a reprimanding ramification.

You refused to talk to the man, ignoring his presence in a room and revelling in the forlorn glances thrown your way. You likened your pathetic state to his downturned mouth, intentionally swerving out of his way and going as far as to feign ignorance at the mention of his cats; you weren’t weak.

That was a sentiment you were entitled to convince yourself of, save for the conforms of your room where you could sulk and let the tendrils around your heart tighten in a chokehold.

However, there was a satisfaction of feigning your days into careless smiles and easing yourself into old routines, because it came with the bittersweet taste of regret oozing from the man causing you your miseries, coating him with the consequences of his undertakings. It lead you to believe that the pettiness on your part was only justified.

But slipping back to old habits was not easy. You still laid the table for two sometimes, still brought out two blankets for days you slept in front of the television and still stumbled upon cat toys laying around your house. It made you angry at the way Minho had seeped into your life and left parts of him still etched in your memory that prompted you to preserve those small nothings in every corner of your apartment. It was tiring having to recall small moments of genuine happiness, floundering about searching for it and holding on to it for a moment too long for you to self acclaim yourself as ‘moved on’ and ‘over it all’.

This wasn’t good. You were far too invested in this even now and had to let go of the past in whatever way possible.

So when you were looking for a job, you were desperate enough to grab one at a 24/7 convenience store, even though that meant you would probably end up with a graveyard shift on the weekends, which for you worked perfectly fine if it was to be accounted for distracting you from your thoughts.

Now, you were not so sure you had made the right decision.

It was one thing to work there on weekends for the extra pay, but it was another to drag your exhausted self there after a week of academic torture, only too aware of the pile of assignments waiting for you back home that you hadn't even spared a glance at in the entire week.

This was yet another life choice you were obligated to put in the bag labelled 'questionable and regretful' along with a million others, but you were adamant to admit it regardless of the concerned gazes of your friends; you smiled and waved it off saying you were doing quite alright.

Minho didn’t buy it.

Every single thing that had happened since the breakup had weighed him down like a soaking wet bag of cotton stuffed inside his clothes, and much to nobody’s surprise at all, he blamed himself for your haggard state.

That was saying a lot because he would show up to lectures in his sweatpants and a hoodie, not even bothering to sit upright and pay attention, choosing to bury his throbbing head in his arms for the entire lecture.

The aftermath of the situation was not something he had foreseen and just sometimes he regretted having to be honest all the time. He was torn between this urge to turn back time and never say a word about it and the desire to give in to the constant ache in his chest whenever he saw you, thought of you or dreamt of you.

Minho had never felt this way; never had this contradicting impulsion of either slinking into his seat till he melted into the plastic or the itching spring in his feet that wanted to run to you and beg you for another chance.

He did want another chance, but you had been so frustratingly clear in drawing the line, he had to hold himself back from reaching out to you. He took a step back when you were near but smiled at you though you took no notice of him; let you borrow the book he had been waiting to read for a week, even though he had carefully hidden it away from other eyes; made sure you were hydrating even though he had to put up with Jisung’s whining about how weird it was to go up to you and hand you a bottle of juice (he paid Jisung ten dollars just to shut him up).

He pretended not to be hurt when you left the book on the table without borrowing it, put up with the tight tug at his chest when you refused to accept the drink deeming the heaviness in his chest deserving.

Minho is content watching you smile from afar at someone else he doesn’t know, at something he can’t make out from the way your lips move. He closes his eyes and hopes to forget the image of you ingrained in his memory and the past that he had already ruined seeps it’s way through the cracks of your image like tendrils of a vine.

But Minho was keen and observant of people he cared about.

“Hey (y/n),”

Sighing deeply to yourself you put up a perfunctory smile.

“That’ll be 900 won.”

“How are you doing? Jisung said you left class early yesterday,” Minho says, genuinity weaving through his voice and face, innocent worried eyes peeking from under his bangs that lay across his eyes.

“Peachy keen, is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Are you sure? You look pale…”

“I’m fine, can you please pay now?”

“Have you eaten?”

“Will you pay already?”

Here’s the thing about pulling all nighters – it affects your ability to feign interest in conversations you would rather not be a part of and are especially thankful for customers on your shift who come in with clear intent of what they want and what they need, fortunately that only leaves you to deal with them quickly. So right now, you were on the edge of breaking and cracking your facade under the constant interrogation.

“I’m sorry, you just don’t look that well to me, and I’m worried about you.”

You are quick to resign yourself from feeling bad about Minho’s forlorn tone and large eyes that looked at you with sorrow; you felt like you had just told off a child for eating too many candies.

“Just…pay already,” you bite back the words waiting to tumble out of your lips any given second, then with a sigh add, “please.”

Minho fumbles around with his wallet, pulling out the bills and placing them on the counter, however, he doesn’t pick up the kimbap roll he had purchased.

“That’s for you,” he says, motioning towards the plastic covered roll with his chin as he tucked his wallet back into his pocket.

“What?”

“Don’t skip meals, it’s not healthy for you.”

You’ve obviously realised what was happening but before you could breathe out another word, you heard his hurried footsteps across the floor and the jingle of the bell above the door, leaving you leaning across the counter, your lips in the middle of protesting dismissal of his good will, but it’s already too late and you realise that with resentment as you watch the boy cross the street in a sprint and walk away, shoulders hunched and head bowed low. 

Minho may be content with watching you from afar, but he can be just as adamant as you are, and one day he hopes to make it all up to you, but until then he struggles against your cracking image, fighting against the vines that shoot past, resolute on resisting the damage of his own actions.

two.

You studied the box you were holding, flipping it over a few times in your hands, hearing the distinct rattle of small, hard somethings inside. You thought you could smell sugar, too. The box looked and felt expensive – the texture of it, the delicate ribbon looped and tied round it, the exactness of its corners. You tried to think of where or whom it could have come from. After all, you weren’t expecting anything, let alone anything important or special.

But that was definitely your name scrawled across the top of the box in a surprisingly fancy script.

You don’t recognise the handwriting, the penmanship was too exquisite.

“Look at you, got yourself a little secret admirer huh?” Jisung’s taunt was loud enough to turn a few heads your way and you felt yourself growing uncomfortably hot at the snickers you received, quickly retracting the box inside your bag, stuffing it in unceremoniously.

Your eyes momentarily flickered to your left where you knew Minho was sitting a few seats away on the row above yours, but he was busy talking to the small group of people surrounding him. He either didn’t hear or if he did, he didn’t care enough. Or maybe he did care, but just ignored it.

Not that you cared whether he noticed or not.

Turning towards the over excited boy beside you, you let out a heavy sigh at the smug grin on his face.

“I saw that,” his saccharine smile makes you flinch inwardly, the way he rested his elbow on the desk making you want to knock it off with a flick of your hand.

“Saw what?” you busy yourself taking out your supplies for the class, hoping that you wouldn’t have to be interrogated about the box inside your bag.

As it turns out, Jisung was not interested about the pandora’s box, well, in a way he was, but right now he was more interested in what he had just seen and that’s saying a lot because Jisung, contrary to his ridiculously short attention span in class and his usual aloofness to a lot of things, was a very observant person.

“I saw you looking at him,” there is a tantalising lilt to his words, one that makes you hover your hands around in the air as if caught red handed doing something bad, but you shake that feeling off with a well fed lie you’ve accustomed yourself to.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You only hear a hum of acknowledgement before being spared the further mortification of confrontation when the professor walks in. As the class settles down, mumbling a less than enthusiastic greeting at the professor, you slump over your desk, doing your best to have your face anywhere but in Jisung’s line of sight.

You don’t need to be in his peripheral vision, however, to lose your damn mind, because he happens to be very good at always having the last say of words.

“If it makes you feel better, he was looking at you too,” he whispers in your ear and though you don’t even dare acknowledge him, you can sense the smirk gracing his face, “perhaps loverboy there might have been a little jealous.”

You don’t say anything, but for the rest of your lecture you blatantly try to ignore the feeling of someone staring your back down.

Your innate ability to not even glance at Minho anymore was only at par with his ostentatious nonchalance at the same.

Before, you would always pass glances with him in classes, sticking your tongue out at him and then chortling silently when he just stared back at you with a deadbeat face, lips puckering out and the playful disdain in his head shake making you double over your desk, hiding away from your professor’s view.

Now your gaze remains stubborn on the presentation on the board, spinning your pen in one hand while resting your head on the palm of the other. He finds his eyes staring towards your bag, as if he could see the box you had stuffed inside if he stared hard enough, teeth biting onto his lips as he tapped his fingers on his desk nervously.

A nudge to his side jolts him from his state, narrowing his eyes at the culprit who was motioning in front with his head. If the implication was not enough, the telltale voice of the professor sounds out in good humour.

“Mr. Lee, if you would be so kind enough to pay your attention to my lecture rather than (y/n)’s back, I would appreciate it.”

A chorus of snickers and giggles breaks out, immediately shushed out by the professor who seemed to be enjoying the indulgence none the same.

You burned in your seat, sinking your head further down under the teasing eyes directed towards you, kicking Jisung under the table when he snickered loud enough to elicit a few more giggles and yet you never turned around to glare at the man causing you your miseries. God, only Minho would get caught in class for something like this!

Even if you did manage to cool down your face, tugging at the neck of your shirt and fanning yourself when the professor’s back was turned, your mind was churning with a trainwreck of thoughts, most of which was making you fumble around, unable to pay attention to anything except the loud buzzing in your ears. Consciously, you straighten your back and cross your legs under the table only to wiggle around in your seat when you realise there wasn’t enough leg space to do that. Your embarrassment increases tenfold.

Minho is not spared as the victim to his share of awkwardness as he all but clears his throat a little too loudly and every breath he takes sounds magnified now. It doesn't help that you stand out like a sore thumb in his eyes, fidgeting in your seat, obviously uncomfortable.

His chances of redemption were looking staggeringly low, any likelihood that you would not hate him more than you already did after he put you under public awkwardness was a shot in the dark.

When the class ended, you were the first one to dash out of the door, almost dropping the books you were trying to stuff inside your bag while sprinting across the floor. Safe to say, Minho didn’t chase you, saving his red faced apology for later.

three.

Minho was a good cook.

He knew exactly how much salt the marination required and the seasoned experience of how long he should let the broth simmer. What he didn’t know was how to bake, and he was in the very middle of doing exactly that; it would be safe to say that even though the general conundrums were proving to be back-breaking and the results were highly questionable, he hasn’t burnt anything down, yet.

An array of ingredients lie about, covering every inch of the workstation Felix had wiped clean only that morning, the powdered flour like snow on the slab and the salted chocolate mix sitting abandoned with an egg-covered whisk in it. Maybe Felix died a little inside but the state of his kitchen in shambles would have been slightly more concerning had it not been for the flour covered man sitting amidst the mess, eyes frantically skimming through a cookbook with splatters of batter speckled on it, hair sticking out like a madman caught in the middle of a very traumatic experience in a particularly intense episode of a Gordon Ramsey cook-off.

“Do I want to know?”

Felix started off timidly, torn between comforting his visibly distraught friend and suppressing an itching urge to reach out for the rag sitting so alluringly on his counter and wipe the whole thing down like it never happened in the first place.

Which were Minho’s sentiments exactly at this point, except he just wished he could start all over again.

He resigns with a sigh, slumping against the counter and abandoning his fifth batch of batter, the whisk clinking against the glass bowl, his heavy breath sifting the stray flour on the counter in the act.

“I used salt in the batter,” he says, hanging his head lower and lower as if it were a physical amalgamation of how he was losing one brain cell per second just standing there in the kitchen that smelt like chocolates and it was honestly making him sick.

“Fucking salt in place of sugar Lix, I don’t know what to do anymore…”

It only takes another heavy sigh on his end and his very much flour covered hands rubbing at his face for Felix to make his decision; Minho needed help, good lord he needed help.

“Hyung…” Felix was quick to move around the counter towards his elder, gently pulling him into a hug only to feel the telltale warmth of tears soaking through his shirt and grazing his shoulder. This was concerning.

“Hyung, talk to me, please.”

A part of Minho knows that this sudden exposure to an incorrigible vulnerability was scaring the younger boy, undoubtedly because he had never put his feelings on display like this, and that part was telling him to stop because if anything, he didn’t want to be an inconvenience, but this only made him sob harder.

Felix was inevitably taken aback at the sudden outburst, but he could not ignore the growing suspicion that this was more than frustration over failed baking endeavours. Minho did the best he could, but he would never break down completely over things he could not achieve, maybe pissed but never so despaired to shed tears over it.

“Why can’t I make some stupid fucking chocolates!” a sniffling intervention cut through, Minho’s sobs almost immediately ceasing as he rubbed at his eyes vigorously, a very alarmed Felix left to blink at the sudden change.

“Okay… a penny for your thoughts?”

Minho sniffs again, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve and carding a hand through his hair before explaining.

“I’ve been trying,” Minho shoves the recipe book in front of his roommate’s face, “to make this for two hours now, and I keep fucking up.”

Felix creases his brow at the said recipe for salted caramel chocolates, eyes flickering in confusion between the man waving it in front of him and the newly ignited frustration in his eyes before venturing hesitantly.

“Hyung, you don’t even like this…”

Whatever it was about those six words seemed to have drenched out the fury in Minho’s eyes, for he blinked rapidly as if flickering between the numerous emotions he was suddenly exposed to, only to look away abashedly.

“It’s not for me,” his words, though mumbled out softly, seemed to have stuck themselves down his throat, a visibly forced will to have them tumble through his mouth and even then they lingered in the heavy air.

A sudden realisation dawns on Felix, but before he can think anything of it, he’s blurting it out in a loud voice, surprising to even his own ears.

“What the fuck hyung, are you serious?!”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, you’re digging your own grave is what you’re doing, glad we’re clear on that.”

Felix isn’t a particularly spiteful person, but his words come out implying such a sentiment against his better judgement. Nobody can blame him because he had a firsthand experience of the complete trainwreck that The Breakup was (it was mutually decided by your friend group to capitalise on the rather dreadful affair) to the point where he had felt like he had been at least one of the involved person on more than one occasion; he was clearly upset and trepid about Minho’s sudden endeavours.

“You’re making it sound so bad,” Minho could all but huff out, crossing his arms across his chest challengingly.

“What part of gifting your ex handmade chocolates on valentine’s day doesn’t sound like a bad idea?” Felix challenged slightly more intensely.

“I never said I was going to give it to (y/n)!”

“Oh yeah, so you’re telling me you haven’t been moping around for months around the house looking like a war widow mourning the death of your husband–”

“That’s an oddly descriptive–”

“– are you seriously telling me you’re not making (y/n)’s favorite chocolates right now?”

“Have I really been looking like a war widow?”

“Hyung!”

“Jesus Lix, I’m trying to make things right!”

“By giving your ex handmade chocolates?? On valentine’s day?!”

“What part of making things right did you not understand?”

“What part of the word ‘ex’ did you not understand?”

“Okay look,” Minho sighs, leaning back against the counter, “I know this is crazy but…I feel like – I feel so…I have to make things right.”

There was a finality to his words but held a lot more things unsaid in a way they couldn’t be put through mere syllables. Felix knew how hard Minho had taken it upon himself; you had almost entirely dissociated yourself for a week and when you were back, it had seemed like Minho was nothing but a figment of your imagination that had occurred and now you were up and awake from that fantasy as if reality itself had slapped you in the face, leaving behind a harsh mark imprinted on your cheek.

It was jarring, to say the least, and your mutual friend circle had been obligated to tiptoe around the two of you until you had entirely removed yourself to save them all the awkwardness. Though it was a relief to not have to hold his breath when he was stuck with you two in a room, he was not, and neither were any of your friends, happy about the way you were distancing yourself for their sake. He would be more than happy to have his friends back together, though exempting whatever sentiments you had towards Minho, but whatever this was, Felix had an inkling that it wasn’t Minho’s brightest ideas.

“You know why you guys broke up right?”

Felix’s baritone is like a huge boulder that resounds within Minho’s chest with a dull thud, weighing upon his conscience and his cautious tone tears it through moments later.

When Minho doesn’t answer, Felix ventures to say,

“Hyung, none of us were too happy when we found out, in fact Chan was mad at you and I’ve never seen him lose his cool like that. Are you positively sure that this is something you want to make amends for already?”

Some distant voice in Minho’s head was vigorously nodding along and cling on to every word Felix said; he would like to believe that it was because he was being logical, but in reality he was scared, and had it not been the strong scent of burnt chocolate he inhaled in the few seconds he let himself mull over his words, he probably would have seeked solace in the precautionary counsel and given up.

In hindsight, he would have grown to regret that decision as well had he actually gone through with it, but he realised that even if you ended up hating his guts and purposefully tried to mend a wound that he had no experience nor the know-how about, he would have deserved it all and so much more.

The familiar throbs of dull thuds start to creep up along his forehead, his eyes closing on their own accord as the numbness settles in. Minho was far away from his thoughts at such times, a momentary relief from all the churning and buzzing his mind was otherwise bare to, letting the pain slowly seep through his entire head till he was drowning in it.

“Will you help me?”

The request is barely mumbled, devoid of any intonation, but Felix knows that this was a call for help and there was no turning back for his roommate now.

“Fine,” he concedes, “but I don’t want my name being dragged into this, I’m only helping you because I don’t want you to wreck my kitchen.” This was Minho’s kitchen as much as it was his.

Minho only nods with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

four.

“Minho did what?!”

That’s it, Felix was signing up for new friends – preferably friends who did not potentially get him kicked out of the library for yelling.

He shushes Jisung with a violent wave of his hands, fingers pressing upon his lips as did so many other people sitting beside him, their glares of annoyance turned upon the duo who bowed in apology.

“That was Minho?” Jisung yells in a whisper, eyes wide open and books long abandoned in pursuit of what he had cited as “hot tea”. Felix wondered whether he had made a mistake after all, telling his friend about it.

“Yes, but you’re not supposed to tell anyone!”

“What? Why not?”

“Because ughh,” Felix stressed, lowering his tone and leaning across the table, “Minho doesn’t want (y/n) to know it’s him, that’s why the fancy printed note!”

As if the world had finally started making sense to him, Jisung’s mouth forms into an o, eyes widening further till his eyebrows disappear under his bangs.

“Hold on, I thought Minho wanted to apologise, then why would he be so secretive about this all?”

“That’s the thing, he says he’s sure (y/n) would shut him down if they knew it was him.”

“Wow, so what, he’s trying to make them fall for him again?”

Jisung chuckles at his own theory, the mere idea sounding ridiculous in his head but his smile fades slightly when Felix doesn’t answer.

“That’s the thing, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what he’s trying to do…”

Jisung can’t say anything, quite literally, he’s been rendered speechless by this bit of information. Although, the sappy part of him agrees that it was slightly romantic, sans the part where Felix was adamant on sticking to his ‘ex stalking their ex’ theory, but really, if you ignored all those pessimistic vibes, you would have yourself a sweet little reconciliation story.

“You know what,” he says after a while, his words slow and calculative “I don’t think (y/n) is completely over him either.”

Raising a brow in question, Felix urges him to go on.

“It’s just the way this entire thing played out, you know? I know for a fact that (y/n) believed him when he…uh…confessed, and I think they would have given him a chance. Minho hyung was so adamant too…”

The pair falls silent, staring vacantly at their books, both undoubtedly lost in a stream of their shared conscience that had been prodded when the subject in question had been brought up. Felix is the first to speak after having stared at the words on his page that blurred around the edges, seemingly floating on the white void.

“You think we should have stopped him?”

Jisung glances up briefly, their eyes meeting and a pang of regret hits him square in the chest.

“I think so. Do you think we should stop him now?”

Felix shakes his head in denial, “It’s already done and he’s too stubborn. I just hope none of them have to get hurt more than they already have.”

Jisung twiddles his thumb around his pen, tapping his foot under the table when he spots you making your way over, a bunch of books in your hands and the strap of your bag barely keeping up on your shoulder. You try to dump all your belongings as quietly as you can, but he can clearly hear your panting as if you had run all the way to the library.

“Hey guys, Hyunjin was trying to get me to volunteer for the Sweet Treats ughh, I don’t think I’ve ever run this fast in my life.”

You huff away a strand of loose hair that falls across your eye, slumping in your seat with a laborious breath and greet the two boys.

“Sweet Treats huh? Hwang is what, the running president for the third year in a row now?” Jisung scoffs, squeezing the nib of his pen absentmindedly on the table, leaving an ink stain in its wake.

You exchange a knowing glance with Felix; it was no secret that Jisung had harboured a major crush on Hyunjin since the first day they had met. There was nothing to hide about it, but Hyunjin himself was obliviously unaware of the blatant flirting and stuttering compliments. It was amusing to see Jisung lose his cool over his nonchalance, it was like watching someone be furious at someone because they were too cute – which was exactly what it was.

It was typical of Hyunjin to try and recruit volunteers for fests, especially during valentine’s week and being the president of the cultural club gave him the liberty of persuading students with free coffee and extra curricular credits, and he didn’t mind the flirting.

Jisung hated volunteering because he was always stuck with decorating the gym or carrying heavy boxes, but he could never say no to Hyunjin’s incessant whining and puppy eyes.

“How about you ask him out? Like you do when you like someone…like a normal person, rather than sulk over some guy’s pouty lips?” Felix sniggers, making you stifle a giggle.

“Oh shut up,” Jisung flushes, his ears turning redder by the second.

“Are you gonna volunteer this year?” you ask Jisung who was still trying to stop fiddling about in his seat.

“You know he can’t say no to Hyunjin,” Felix supplies from beside you, squawking when he receives a pen straight to his head, immediately apologising for the disturbance. You hide your head in your hands, trembling with laughter, catching vague whisper yellings of ‘shut up!’ and ‘what the fuck?!’.

If you thought you had escaped the clutches of Hyunjin’s request, you were mistaken and you should have known better because there was no way he would give up that easily and that is how you find the seat in front of you suddenly occupied and a very flushed and surprised Jisung sitting beside the boy, tightlipped and glaring at Felix who now looked constipated.

“Hyunjin…” you groan, smiling at him painfully. He returns the gesture with a smile that looked too victorious considering he hadn’t even made the proposal yet.

“I’m gonna ignore the fact that you ran away when you saw me if you agree to volunteer for Sweet Treats,” he starts, brushing his long hair back with his fingers; you had a very accurate suspicion behind his intentions, but one look at his smug grin made you bite back your words. Instead, you shrug.

“I don’t care Hyunjin, but I don’t think I can spend weeks cutting out heart shaped streamers and filling heart shaped balloons with heart shaped confettis and leave heart shaped invitations all around the campus,” at this point you wanted to barf at the sheer amount of times you had said the words ‘heart’ aloud, cringing at the very thought of al those things you just stated.

“Come on (y/n),” Hyunjin whines like the child he is, leaning forward and holding your hand in a vice-like grip before shaking you back and forth, “It’s free coffee and credits, you love both of those!”

“I like both,” Jisung coughs in the back, momentarily catching Hyunjin’s attention who engages with the boy. You think you’re saved and are about to thank Jisung who was already agreeing to everything Hyunjin had to say, nodding along indulgently, but alas, you are fated to have a heart-y valentine’s week after all.

“So (y/n), how about we make a deal–”

“Hyunjin, no–”

“No heart filled work for you if you help with the new booth this year,” Hyunjin wiggles his eyebrows at you alluringly, tempting you to urge him but you don’t, so he continues after a dramatic pause of breath, “we’re going to do a radio show!”

“A radio show? How does that even work?” Felix leans forward earnestly, his attention finally piqued.

“We’re rolling out a portal where people can send in their confessions anonymously, or not, a week before the 14th and all you have to do is read them out through the day of the festival. It would be like little announcements, very romantic.”

“You want me to read out confessions?”

“Yes, Seungmin’s gonna be there too!”

“We never did this before, so why now?”

“Well, we’re trying out new stuff and a lot of people seemed to have something of this sort from last year’s suggestion feedback, so we decided why not.”

You considered his proposition, crossing your arms across his chest with your eyes narrowed at him, trying to decipher what the catch was.

“I won’t have to make heart shaped decorations then?”

“Nope,”

“And you won’t have me fill up balloons with a shit ton of pink and red confetti either?”

“I give you my word, I won’t.” Hyunjin solemnly puts a hand on his chest and shakes his head.

“All I have to do is read out confessions?”

Hyunjin hums in agreement, adding, “You can divide them with Seungmin if there’s too many or you can figure it out yourself. 3racha also agreed to have the PA systems working and DJ.”

“Hold on,” Jisung intervenes swiftly, “I’m a part of 3racha, why was I not aware of this?”

“Oh no, you sir,” Hyunjin ruffles his hair with a smile, “are helping me out in the photography booth.”

Jisung can only splutter, you’re not sure whether it was because Hyunjin had just ruffled his hair or basically claimed a stake on him, but you had a feeling it was both.

“What’s it going to be (y/n), are you in?”

Reading out confessions…how bad could that possibly be? At the most you were either going to coo at the adorable love letters or cringe till your fingers were physically unable to unclench from a fist. But you supposed it was better than having to be covered in glitter and glue and craft paper.

“Alright, but you better keep your word Hwang,” you concede with some hesitance, unsure of how exactly you were supposed to feel about this.

Hyunin smiles at you gratefully and before leaving ropes in a chortling Felix who was having fun at the expense of Jisung being a flustered mess, into helping at the baking booth.

You sigh in defeat; maybe it would be better to not have any expectations at all.

five.

There was still more than a week before the anonymous confession portal was going to be put out, and even though you tried not to let the visible ‘lovesickness’ in the air get to you, it was proving to be difficult when you were yourself a frequent receiver of chocolate boxes and flowers and even drinks and muffins that were already paid for!

It certainly wasn’t helping that the notes were always printed and there was quite literally no trace of the sender, and that was what had brought you here right now, in this predicament.

“Who do you think it could be?” you ask, peering at the floral patterns on the ivory coloured box that had chocolates inside, hoping that if you stared hard enough, it would reveal it’s deepest and darkest secrets.

Felix shrugs nonchalantly, typing away furiously on his phone, barely paying any attention to the object of your interest that was slowly starting to give you a headache. It was one thing to have a secret admirer, but it was another to receive gifts from them that were uncannily to your taste and liking.

The first time, you had let it slide as a coincidence on finding out the chocolates were salted caramel flavoured – your favourite, but the second and third time were hard to pass as believable.

Even today, you found yourself being handed a warm cup of vanilla latte, just the way you liked it, the barista informing you with a knowing smile that it had already been paid for. You flushed when she giggled and winked at you, leaving you to hastily make your way to where Felix was waving at you from, scooting as far away as you could till you were basically pressed up against the wall, your head in hands as you groaned in embarrassment. Felix was having the time of his life, clicking pictures of you and the warm cup of coffee and the box of chocolates you had tossed on the table with a grunt, undoubtedly saving them for blackmail later on.

Now as you regard the box of chocolates in front of you, you force your mind to come to a blank because the only person you can think of is Minho, and it was driving you crazy. All your stupid little braincells could do was chant in his name in tiny font, growing louder by the second, even though you wouldn’t associate him with something like this – giving presents for the entirety of valentine’s was just not his thing, he would rather you both skipped the crowded cafes with lovesick couples. This was so not him, and yet…yet! Your stupid little mind could do nothing but think of him!

“Maybe they’ll confess on valentine’s day?” Felix, finally putting his phone aside, supplies helpfully.

“I would rather they didn’t,” you scowl, nonetheless opening the box and eating one of the chocolates. They were good, damn it.

Cocking a brow at you in amusement, he reaches for one too, suppressing a moan at how good these were; damn, Minho was getting better at this.

“I just…I don’t think I want any part in any of this, especially now when…”

Felix doesn’t have to prod at you to know why you left your words hanging in the air, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly panicked at the prospect. If you were already showing resistance to the very notion of what could perhaps be a simple crush, how would you react if you found out it was Minho?

“Lix, they gave me blueberry muffins yesterday for breakfast, it’s as if they knew I didn’t have time for breakfast on Wednesdays and ordered me some! It’s honestly a bit creepy, how do they know so much about me or is this all a coincidence?”

Okay, maybe Minho was not the best at being subtle and he made a point to tell him that later.

“It’s a bit overwhelming, what if they think I’m leading them on? But the thing is, I don’t even know who it is, and for some reason I keep thinking that it’s Minho but–”

You stop in your words abruptly, turning your wide eyes towards Felix who had the small beginnings of a smug grin creeping up his lips.

“That’s not what I meant,” you hastily explain, scrambling up from your seat.

“I believe you,”

“Don’t sound so patronising!”

“What if it is Minho though?��

“It’s not him, I know him and he wouldn’t do something like this.”

You’re stubborn in your opinion, perhaps a bit more stronger off the front than you would be because of the previous slip up, but now that you say it out aloud, you realise how ridiculous it sounds for Minho to plant gifts in your locker and order you breakfast on Wednesdays. Or was it?

It was. It was, it was, it was!! Maybe if you said it enough times like a mantra, it would be true. Maybe it was true and you didn’t need to worry about it, but why would you worry all the same? You didn’t want it to be him; you wouldn’t be disappointed if it weren’t him.

The only adversity in this whole ordeal is that it’s got you thinking about him again.

Though you had managed to stay away from the endless possibilities of this mystery admirer, your mind kept drifting to one particular guy, his sharp nose and soft lips like a permanent engraving in your thoughts and the 15% special discount on products for valentine's week where you worked didn’t help console you.

Scanning an enormous box of pepero sticks, you force yourself to smile at the girl who had purchased it, still in high school with the slightest blush tinting her cheeks, no doubt thinking of the person she had bought it for.

“Would that be all?” you smile, handing her the packet.

She shakes her head, bowing thankfully before leaving the store.

It was getting late, your shift only an hour away from ending. The sky outside was softening it’s hue to a darker blue, the onset of spring preventing nightfall from setting in early. Glancing around the store, you figure you would restock the chocolates section, since it was running low after the immeasurable amount of purchases in the last hour itself.

Abandoning your post from the counter, you retrieve the stock in a basket from the pantry, moving along the aisles, careful not to knock down anything else. In the middle of reaching the last aisle where the shelf was, the front door opens, a fainter tinkling resounding to the back and you yell out a hasty “be right there!’ before dumping the box on the ground and heaving out a sigh of relief.

“Hi, sorry, how can I–”

Well wasn’t this a surprise.

“How can I help you?” there it was, the uncanny rigidity in your voice at the sight of Minho. Your eyes stray down, the white and black patterns on his pants painfully familiar, but it brings a smile to your lips.

As if aware of your observation, Minho shuffles timidly on his spot, internally banging his head on a wall in embarrassment. Why, of all days, did he have to saunter into the convenience store wearing the cat pyjamas you had gifted him on Christmas!

Moving on instinct, Minho joins you in the back of the store, rummaging around the instant ramen section and picking up a few bags of crisps while you restocked the chocolates, patiently waiting for you at the counter. You don’t make him wait too long, skipping across the basket and hurrying to check him out.

“Will that be all?” you ask, handing him his stuff and gulping when your fingers brush.

He nods before placing the roll of kimbap on the desk and sliding it across you. You sigh.

“Let me guess, this is for me?”

“Don’t skip–”

“–your meals, yes I know and I haven’t been skipping them; you don’t have to do this you know.”

Your words came out harsher than intended, although you had not been purposeful about it, but the brief flash of hurt in Minho’s eyes resounds through your chest with a loud gong, the bottomless pit in your stomach opening up and you feel yourself free falling in the darkness. When did you become this mean?

“Right, of course. I’m sorry if I came off too overburdening,” Minho starts in a soft voice, his eyes never leaving the spot on the counter, too vulnerable to meet yours as his fingers dig into the plastic in his hands, the crinkling sound of it barely of any comfort. You think you can hear yourself breaking his heart, and even though that was what you had intended since the beginning, seeing him hurt made you feel ashamed to have been the reason for it.

“That’s not what I meant…” it’s not even an apology, but it was a weak attempt at one.

Minho says nothing, smiling at you before turning away and leaving through the door.

The door shuts behind him, the bell tinkling briefly before the sound fades away and you’re left alone in the store with your thoughts, staring at the roll of kimbap and wondering whether this had been worth it.

six.

Minho finds himself bumping into you more often than not these days.

The added cheerfulness of the people around him buzzing about the valentine’s festivities, if he dared to call it that, rubbed him all the wrong ways as he felt his resolve grow smaller day by day when he saw you in the halls or the library or laughing along with someone.

Not much has changed; you still avoid him but you don't necessarily ignore his presence in a room. You falter in your steps, blinking away when you catch his eyes, but you don’t ignore his smile across the room, acknowledging it with an awkward nod of head. It’s weird, to have to tread cautiously, but it’s Minho – the extent of your apology would only go so far as long as you had one feet dipped in a civil apology that functioned as a way to carry the load of guilt and the other feet in the conscious reminder that this was Minho – your ex and someone you could not be comfortable around yet.

Minho didn’t try to offer you any more food on his occasional trips to the convenience store which seemed to have increased to one visit per day, but you didn’t chide him for leaving a bottle of flavoured milk or a chocolate bar behind.

You both were toeing around this invisible line that you convinced yourself to consider a huge barrier, which would have been easy to blur had it not been for the constant, painful reminders of all the couples around you walking hand in hand or kissing in the hallways. It’s like someone had suddenly injected a huge amount of pheromones in the air and everybody except you was drenched in it.

Moreover, you were additionally drenched in an immeasurable number of anonymous confessions, ranging from ridiculously cheesy pickup lines to a “my honeybun <3” and to much tsundere versions of a typical bad-boy vibe you couldn’t help but grimace at; at least they tried, so A for the efforts.

As the days passed by, you kept dreading having to read some of these aloud, unsure of whether you would be able to keep the grimace out of your voice and Seungmin seemed to share the sentiment. Although, a part of you did admit this to being romantic, you didn’t stop yourself from joining Seungmin when he threw dirty glances across the table at Hyunjin, who, the hopeless romantic that he was, seemed to be cooing at almost all the letters you had received.

“Stop giving me the stink eye, you’re just jealous you don’t have a date for valentine’s,” Hyunjin never held back on his smugness when teasing Seungmin, his urge fuelled by the disgust on the latter’s face.

“I don’t think I need any more of that in my life after going through this hell,” Seungmin points accusingly at his screen where he was scrolling through the inbox full of anonymous messages.

The three of you sat in the computer lab, going through all the mail you had received and checking to make sure they were all appropriate to be read out loud on the day of, a precaution Hyunjin had insisted upon and you had found common logic in, although nothing so far had been of that nature, except the over the top cheesiness that you had tortured yourself with through the two hours you had spent. At this point you would willingly bang your head on the wall in hopes of at least having a concussion and passing out.

You are given a respite from your miseries when the door to the room opens, Minho trailing in with his bag on his shoulder and looking straight in your direction. Some respite.

Hyunjin waves him over with a smile while you slump in your seat, listening in to their conversation but not taking part in it.

“Is that the anonymous mailbox?” Minho asks, suddenly leaning forward and peering at your screen. Startled by the sudden proximity, you wheel your chair away slightly, but his hand comes to rest at the back and now you’re trapped between his frame and the desk. 

You steal a furtive glance at his face, the tip of his nose illuminated by the screen light and glowing, his eyes blinking slowly while Hyunjin rambles in the background. Averting your gaze, you find Seungmin already looking at you two, smugly leaning back in his chair and hiding a smile. You shoot him a glare.

Minho glances at you carefully, smiling at the way your eyes flicker between him and the computer before finally settling away from him. He doesn’t hear much of what Hyunjin says, painfully aware of the distance between you two and the invisible barrier you had put up that he had yet to cross over.

He was trying, really. He kept looking for a door he could knock at, a loose link or a crack in the bottom, but the more he searched the longer the wall extended, going on and on for as far as his eyes could make out. Minho was starting to convince himself that he had lost the chance he had once had, and that he would never find that door you had willingly left wide open for him.

The sudden realisation dampened his mood, the proximity getting harder to bear when he knew he could reach out and touch your face and tuck your hair and kiss you. How had he taken it all for granted back then? When he could have easily sneaked up behind you and hugged you tight, when he could have kissed you for days on end but he whined when you did, when he could have let himself be vulnerable to his feelings; time had run out for him, leaving him feeling empty and uncertain of what the future held and the moss and dirt covering the deep dark pit in his chest start to rumble and fall apart.

His bag weighs him down, the box of chocolates inside becoming heavier by the second and the churning pit in his stomach gurgling in anxiety and precariousness. He doesn’t hope to find a door now, but he does hope that the apology he leaves by the wall is gone the next time he comes. That you would consider, but he knows not to push his boundaries and he had anticipated as much that he would no longer have the free pass to a mistake he could kiss away or buy his way out with coffee.

And although it hurts, he does not regret the time he spends on it. It was always meant to be for you. He does not expect you to forgive him all at once. So he keeps looking. Until the choice is an actual decision to open the door or turn around and look for a path that will take him somewhere else.

In fact, making you chocolates and buying you breakfast did not guarantee that either, nor was he trying to weasel his way in that way, but it was a step he took because he was desperate to even prove to himself that he cared after all. Of course he cared, he can’t believe he thought otherwise.

Seemingly done examining whatever was on your screen, Minho retracts his face away but remains standing with his hand on your chair while conversing with Hyunjin. You catch the faint whiff of a sweet scent, a familiar trace of vanilla you vaguely remember having a faint recollection of, but you can’t quite place it in your memory.

Minho doesn’t stay long, only there in the first place to collect his printouts. His hand brushes against your hair gently when he leaves; you're still mulling over the sugary sweet scent, your fragmented mind unable to quite let go of it.

seven.

“Look, if you’re worried about Minho, he’s not going to be at home.” Felix assures you on the other end of the line.

“Doesn’t he only have afternoon classes today?” you counter.

The pause is enough to make your face flush, and you’re thankful the boy himself is not here to tease you about it.

“I’m going to pretend you don’t remember his schedule–”

“It was a habit, I don’t–”

“My point is, you won’t run into him so can you please, please, please do me this favour?”

You sigh and groan, slumping further down your bed if that were physically possible, your pyjama clad legs sprawled lazily across the mattress and your phone squished in between your cheek and the pillow. Felix was really making you get off your bed on your one day off of class just to run an errand that would ultimately have you go to campus. Damn him.

“It’s not him, I just don’t wanna get up,” you groaned, and it was true. You didn’t care if you bumped into Minho or not, you were far too relaxed in the comfort of your bed that even the thought of getting up exhausted you, “besides, ask Minho, he’s your roommate.”

“If only he picked up my calls! I bet you anything he’s fast asleep and can’t hear his phone ringing over his snores,”

“Minho snores?” you’re mildly curious at this new piece of information, but try not to show too much interest in it.

“Not the point ughh are you listening to me?! My prof’s gonna kill me if I don’t hand in my assignment today and it counts for twenty percent of my entire grades, I need your help!”

You were already out of bed the moment he had started his spiel once again, you knew he would just repeat what he had said all over so you put the phone on speaker and grumpily tugged on a pair of jeans, tossing the tom and jerry pyjamas with a hole in the bottom on your unmade bed and waddled to your sock drawer.

“–I promise I will buy you coffee the entire week, I swear I will but if I fail this assignment then I’m going to make sure it weighs on your conscience forever that you could have helped a friend in need but you didn’t and then he failed his class and had to repeat an entire year and probably went into depression because god forbid I was idiot signing up for advanced calculus and economics in the same semester but regardless, you failed me as a friend and–”

“Felix, if you don’t stop, I’m going to throw you down the stairs when I come over.”

“You’re coming over?!”

“Yes,” you sigh grumpily, out of your door by this time and hobbling on foot as you try to put your shoe on, balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Only when you need something from me,”

“Chivalry is not dead.”

“Shut up.”

Felix doesn’t live that far away from you. It’s a fifteen minute walk from your dorm to his, twenty five if you stop in the way to pet a cat or dog, and there’s always a cat or dog, which is a sort of harsh yet not quite, reminder of memories attached to the long walks made bearable with the presence of a certain someone, which is funny because you just realised that now all of that is put in a box labelled ‘memories’ and that is certainly weird given your unfamiliarity to the sentiment and any suspicions of the same back when they weren’t memories.

You resist the innumerable sighs just tingling at the back of your throat; it’s too early for this.

It’s only when you’ve entered Felix’s apartment with the spare key in the teapot plant that you realise what you’ve walked into – a kitchen that looks like it’s gone through the seven layers of hell with an array of baking equipment scattered all over the counter. The boy himself had an apron on with splatters of batter specking the fabric. He doesn’t notice you, and he's definitely not expecting you.

“Why did you call so many– (y/n)?!”

“Uhh…hi?”

You roam your eyes at his condition, taking in his bewildered face and failing to hide your own surprise at seeing him bake for the first time.

“Felix sent me to get his project…it’s in his room, so I’ll just…” with an awkward gait you try crossing the distance across the kitchen and Felix’s room, ignoring the way Minho was now cowering. You want to laugh because you’ve never caught him so off guard and this would be an otherwise hilarious situation had you not been shocked by the domesticity of seeing him with a whisk, the scent of chocolate wafting through the air like a warm hug.

The minute you’re out of sight, Minho scrambles to his room, digging around for a decent shirt to put on, grimacing and mentally slapping himself when he looks into the mirror and sights the batter stained clothes. Why were you always catching him in his worst state these days?!

The blue folder Felix had told you about was on his desk, laying amongst a pile of clutter that ranged from rolled up balls of napkins and coffee stained sheets of rough papers. Grimacing at the mess, you pull the file out from under the pile of trash but it manages to knock over the precariously balanced advanced calculus books on his desk which fall to the ground before you can manage to save them.

With a resigned sigh, you bend to pick them up, stacking them in a smaller stack this time when your phone lights up, the caller ID you had expected to pop up but nonetheless making you roll your eyes. You pick up reluctantly.

“Did you get it, are you there yet?” the panicked baritone from the other end is slightly drowned by the chattering in the background.

“I just got it, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” you reply, picking up the final book and making your way out of the room with brisk steps.

“Fifteen?!” Felix shrieks into your ear making you flinch, “my class starts in five minutes, you have to get there by then!”

“Just wait out in the hallway, surely your prof’s not gonna kill you for being ten minutes late.”

“No, probably not but I’ll have to do that walk of shame ten minutes into the class and sit in the front seat…can’t you just run?”

“Felix I’m not running,” you retort sternly.

“I can drive you,” the new voice makes you turn around, Minho standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, eyes expectantly boring into yours.

“Is that Minho hyung? Great, he can drive you, I’ll see you in five minutes!”

“No, Felix–”

The beeping sound indicates that he had already hung up and you are resigned to hesitantly lower your phone from your ear and regard Minho cautiously as if you were gauging his intentions.

“It won’t take long if I just drive and Felix will probably chew your head off if we keep him waiting for too long, so let’s go,” Minho is already running a hand through his hair which is still very dishevelled while snatching his car keys from.

Quite literally, you find yourself being ushered out and into his car that you had been so accustomed to a few months ago, seemingly having no say in the matter that had been decided upon by the two roommates. You’re still in denial of the whole nostalgic sentiments resurfacing when you’re so much so close to an old habit like now, finding yourself sitting in his car as he drives you to campus. It still smells like lemon fresheners and the seats are still covered in cat hair that sticks to your jeans. You can almost hear the reminiscents of the shared laughter and kisses that had accompanied the long night drives and the coffee stain on the back seat that had remained engraved on the fabric from nights ago.

And like so many other times, your hand itches to just reach out and smoothen his tousled hair and tuck the label of his shirt under the collar and pull him in for a chaste kiss. The scent of chocolate that lingers on his clothes is overpowering, the sweetness making your throat dry up and chest constrict.

It’s suffocating, to say the least, and while it certainly weighs your chest down and numbs your mind like it so often does when it comes to rifling through these shared memories of Minho, you’re vividly aware of the said man gripping his steering wheel a little too hard. Perhaps the opportunity of doing you a favour had clouded his judgement of exactly how nervous it made him to be around you too long.

The ride is uncharacteristically silent; you grip on to the folder now in your arms like a shield in front of your chest, there to protect you from whatever it was lurking in the silence to pounce at you at any given chance and Minho bit his lips till he could taste a faint metallic tang on his tongue, swallowing the saltiness of a confrontation he was always cautious of but never knew when to expect.

And if you spend the entire day surfing through the countless websites offering advice on how to be entirely over an ex, no one had to be any wiser of it.

eight.

It’s seven days to Valentine's day, which means seven days of absolute misery for Minho and when Minho is miserable, he coops himself up in the dance studio.

As the days go by, he’s feeling less and less convinced of himself, and he fears his resolve will ultimately be reduced to a wisp of smoke in thin air, dissolving into nothingness.

For starters, he’s finding it difficult to believe that of all the goddamned people on this planet, he’s waiting to confess to you on valentine’s day, a day he had always felt bitter about to some extent. But then he falls into this vicious cycle of losing his mind over the fact that he’s going to confess to you in the first place, eventually finding himself zoning out of his daily activities as he has another mental breakdown over how exactly he was supposed to do that. How does one confess after all?

He assumes it might have been easier had you both not have already broken up and you didn't hate him – here Felix strongly interjects, stating that you, in fact, didn’t hate him, but who was to know – and how silly this all was, but he loved you.

And as he slowly let this piece of information settle, it only stirred up a gust of agitated feelings like dust in a sunny patch. He noticed how his chest squeezed at your sight, like it was trying to force it all out of his ribs, how the slightest discrepancy between his fair judgement and his elevated heart rate were always inclining towards the latter.

There is not a single seed of doubt as to what he feels about you or for you, but somewhere sitting calmly in the pile of emotions he had collected over the months, was a misplaced sense of overwhelming agitation he couldn’t help but creep up like a parasite. Leaving you boxes of chocolates on your desk and ordering you coffee felt like an immature and childish redemptive gesture, which was only reduced to a cowering dog in front of a beast when that parasite wiggled around, reaching out with its arms to move and expand.

But he missed you and he kept telling himself that. 

Neither of you had ever tread into that territory however, the one where words were exchanged with a meaningful implication, it was just there. A sense of belongingness and happiness when he was with you, but also the chain of guilt and confusion weighing him down till he could no longer take it and burst out.

The fight was huge, the confrontation had been a source of getting all the heaviness on his chest to slowly be lifted, till he realised that there are some things which are only clear when you say them out loud and even though sometimes they are better left unsaid, the hurting only lasts so long before relief settles in.

Minho thinks, had he not said anything back then, none of this would have been so messed up. If he had just kept quiet and slowly immersed himself in this new feeling, or better still talked it out without such blunt implications, time would have helped him; but then he would also have been partially lying to himself and to you.

There wasn’t another person, heck he didn’t even fall out of endearment, it just took him some time to come to the conclusion that his feelings had been there all along but when he opened his mouth, all he had implied was that he had not been in love with you, in fact, this might have all been a ruse in the first place – it was understandable that you believed he had no feelings for you in the first place.

A load of miscommunication and the insinuation of his words had hurt him, but probably not more than it affected you. You had put a whole year into this relationship, given it your all, liked him even before you started dating, all to be left high and dry with a ‘I need some time’. He sounded like an asshole even to himself. 

He had put you on the front line of his own internal dilemma, used you as an excuse to come to terms with his feelings and taken you for granted. Put in a bit of fucking around and he would be no less than a fuckboy. In fact, he didn’t deem himself worthy of your attention nor respect anymore.

While his anxiety built up, it’s basis feeding off the numerous insecurities that drowned him in it’s waves, his detachment from you grew larger and larger like a seam slowly but surely tearing apart at the edges and when finally undone, the uncertainty of where you would be in the future, whether you would be together or not, whether what he was feeling and doing for you was enough or bordering on sufficient to keep this relationship afloat. The little seed of doubt and indecisiveness had already sprouted up and begun growing like a parasite and while he never entirely got rid of it, it was starting to stir again in the pits of his stomach now.

He was now set out to face the remains of his destruction, rebuilding what he had hammered down and wrecked.

“Hyung,” a voice calls out, making him look up from the ground where he sat panting after the exertion of his dancing and thoughts.

“What are you still doing here? We’ve got class in a few…” Felix makes his way over to the sweaty boy, handing him a towel from the bench and passing one of the plastic bottles always in stock for the students, uncapping the lid to ensure the elder drank it.

“Do you think I should stop?”

“Stop what?” The confusion in Felix’s voice was clear at the abruptness of the question.

A heavy sigh fell off Minho’s lips, eyes staring blankly ahead at the mirror where he gazed at himself tiredly.

“Trying to make things right, I mean. I feel like I keep messing up… I did last time, when I thought that I was doing the right thing but it ended up being, probably the worst decision I’ve made, and talking out didn’t help. I’m not sure it’ll help this time either.”

The defeated slump of Minho’s shoulders is accentuated by the light from the half open windows, the afternoon sunlight sliding down the curve of his back and falling in a pool around him like a beacon of light, jeering at his pathetic state. His miserable foreboding was not allowing him to break out of his little cocoon of insecurities and the ultimate fear of losing you and the universe seemed to be playing its part in dramatising it with its elements.

Minho is unsure of his own actions at this point, his intentions in a muled pool of whether he was trying to reduce his guilt and doing this for his own sake or whether he wanted this for more than selfish reasons.

“Do you love them hyung?”

The question is like a sharp arrow shooting past his face, the wind whittling and ruffling his hair like a shot of breath; it almost leaves Minho breathless but alleviated from the dull slump he was in.

Felix looked on expectantly, but Minho was at a loss for words, staring back back at him with eyes that seemed hopeful of an answer from the inquirer himself. It’s like waiting patiently for someone to answer their own question if you stay silent long enough, and Minho wouldn’t mind favouring an answer that was spoon fed to him in tiny little bite sized chunks, easy to digest but what was even more convenient was that he wouldn’t have to do anything himself except chew and swallow.

He only wished that it were that easy, except of course it wasn’t and no one could feed him an answer to that. He hated Felix, for asking him something so intimate and for the further turmoil it caused him but more so because he had asked him something that deep within he knew the answer to, but as it had been the root of all causes he had stirred up, he was afraid to voice out loud, and he knew that ultimately he would have to confront that thought.

“You know what I think hyung?” Felix maintains his level tone, choosing his words carefully but never pausing in his thoughts, quite obviously unsurprised at the lack of an answer, “I think you know what you are doing and what you should be doing and also the answer to my question. You’re just too afraid to face your feelings and you think letting the guilt eat you up would make (y/n) feel better; that it would make you feel better even if just marginally. What you don’t realise is how much this is hurting you both, to see each other moping around and so upset at the other’s state.”

Minho is surprised at the words coming out of the younger’s mouth, his unexpected third person perspective a source he had not expected he would have an insight to, but all the same finding it hard to believe that you would have any mutual feeling about the same.

“I think,” Felix pauses, regarding the ground and the patches of sunlight on it with great interest, “it's time you stopped hiding behind your excuses and talked to them.”

Felix leaves after his final words, oddly feeling like he had done something monumental, leaving a befuddled Minho sitting on the floor.

There was the subtle churning in his stomach again, like he had just been told to suck up his fear of heights and jump, except this time he was almost entirely certain he wouldn’t mind the drop.

nine.

Hyunjin and Jisung were being disgusting, but they looked cute all cuddled up on your couch with their eyes barely open, scrolling through the numerous confessions you had received in the span of three more days.

You hide a smile when Jisung nuzzles his head in Hyunjin’s chest, the latter whining at having to change his position, pulling the shorter boy closer so now they were practically lying on top of each other.

“This was a bad idea,” Hyunjin says, sighing as he carefully places the laptop on your coffee table, kicking his feet out and quite literally straddling Jisung in his arms. Jisung seemed to be too tired to protest or splutter nervously at the open show of affection, readily giving in to this soft moment, yet not meeting your eyes because he could feel your teasing smile all the way across the couch.

“I don’t know why we didn’t put a limit to this, it’s like all I’ve been doing is reading confessions and they all look the same! Why didn’t you stop me (y/n)?!”

“Hey, I thought this was your idea!” you retort, chucking a cushion at him that elicits a groan from the boy, “besides, you can’t deny people’s confessions, it’s not like they’re for you.”

Hyunjin looks up when you snicker at him, “Was that a challenge? You think I haven’t had people confess to me this year?”

“Have you?” Jisung’s attention is momentarily piqued; you manage to pass the chortle you couldn’t suppress as a cough.

Hyunjin manages to soothe the boy back on his chest, patting his hair and shushing him to rest his eyes after all the squinting at the bright screens. You could almost see the hearts oozing out of his eyes as he stared at the boy on his chest now softly snoring. 

“You guys are gross by the way, all this pining is making my head hurt,” you state out, expecting Hyunjin to deny your accusation but it doesn’t come.

“I’m planning on confessing,” he simply says, his voice low and eyes droopy, fingers carding through Jisung’s hair who now looked like even a fire alarm couldn’t wake him up from his slumber.

Momentarily forgetting about your own statement, you sit up straight so suddenly, it almost makes you crick your neck, “Wait, what?”

How could Hyunjin be so calm about this all? No less, it looked like it wasn’t such a big deal to him, like he was simply validating what you said. It just felt like the most right thing to be done, as if all the clues and hints had been there all along.

“Don’t act so surprised, I’m not entirely oblivious you know? I’ve liked him for a while now, I thought you all knew?” He turns to you expectantly, but you can only gape at him in surprise.

“I mean, yeah but! What the actual fuck?!”

“Really impressed with your immaculate vocabulary, so precise, I love it~”

“Shut up, you know what I mean!”

“Actually I don’t, this was long due.”

“Wow,”

“Again with the impeccable stock of words~”

“Stop teasing me,” you whine, unable to contain the smile that was bursting out, genuinely happy for him. Your restrained squealing is what finally makes Hyunjin flush, hiding his face with one hand but his lips mirroring your smile.

“How do you plan on doing it? You’re gonna be pretty busy at the photography booth,” you questioned, abandoning your work and grabbing a cushion in your lap, leaning into conversation indulgently; you needed the break anyway.

Hyunjin doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze flickering between the laptop and the sleeping boy.

“No way…” the sudden implication of the entire thing hits you and you’re almost on the verge of yelling out loud, but stop yourself just in time, “did you do this entire confession thing so you could confess?!”

“No…”

“Bullshit, you sly bitch!”

“Hush, you’re gonna wake him up!”

“Aha, so you do admit it!”

“I said nothing,” Hyunjin is stubborn, but you can tell from the way his cheeks turn a dusty shade of pink and he squirms in his place, his resolve only barely being held by a thread had it not been for the Jisung who was still sound asleep, unaware of everything that was happening.

“That’s abusing your authority,” you tease, crossing your arms over your chest, but you were honestly dying to hold this as leverage over him.

“Is not! It was a legit suggestion and the planning committee all had a say in this matter!”

“Yeah, the planning committee that you head, therefore making you the final decision maker and of course you play it to your favour!”

Hyunjin groans, his will to fight you over this subdued when Jisung stirs in his sleep and he holds a breath in fear of having been heard but nope, the boy just mumbles something in his sleep and goes back to snoring.

“Hyunjin, you’re simping, stop looking at him with so much love,” you gag, your only aim in your life seemingly becoming an unstoppable drive to tease the living daylights out of your friend.

“What about you, I heard you’ve got yourself an admirer,” Hyunjin quickly defends his stance.

“Don’t change the subject, you can’t fight this.”

“What about Minho, does he know?”

Although Seungmin has been dubbed as the one who’s brutally confrontational. You think Hyunjin has an equal hold of that title in your group with his unwittingly innocent setups that make you fall in your own traps and the stupid victorious glint in his eyes after succeeding in doing so.

“Rude, you don’t have to rub my failed love life in my face, loverboy,” you pout, trying to hide the sudden pain that had spiked in your chest at the mention of the name that had recently been making turns in your head. The very image of the unexpected domesticity of Minho in the kitchen baking had strung your heart with a sharp twang of longingness.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Hyunjin sighs, repositioning himself on your couch as you’re the one left squirming in your seat now.

You know what Hyunjin means, but you would rather not talk about it. In fact, you definitely didn’t want to talk about anytime soon, when all you’ve been doing for the past few days is reading endless confessions and sappy love stories and imagining what it would have been like to be on the receiving end of one of these letters. You’ve tried, on many occasions, to discern the writing patterns and trying to figure out whether one of these could have been sent in by Minho, but of course that’s silly and he would never do something like that but you hope – you so desperately hope for something.

Hyunjin sees the look of turmoil plastered all over your face, your sad eyes and downturned lips.

“(y/n), can you say that you’re entirely over him?”

The words are quiet, but a dissonance in the near silence of the room that is broken by soft snores. You don’t trust yourself to look him in the eye and lie, because you find that you can’t tell him the truth either. The lie you’ve been feeding yourself for months now is like a fraying rope of twines coming undone the more you tug at it; Hyunjin had so easily managed to break your lie open with a few words, you wonder whether he was right after all; whether your heart had been into building this lie and keeping it intact after all.

Because it's hard to pretend not to notice Minho looking out for you and it’s much harder to ignore the burn in your chest when he smiles even though you’re mean to him. It’s kept you awake for nights, months after everything was over – months after you should have been over it all, to have forgotten and forgiven and moved on without ever looking back – but you always find yourself thinking about him; always looking back and finding his face in the crowd without searching for it, finding his little smile and tucking it carefully in a corner of your heart.

And when you’re alone, without his constant assuring presence, you lie to yourself and convince yourself that the stolen smile tickling that corner of your heart was never meant for you to keep in the first place. You lie a little more when you tell yourself that you don't care anymore.

Hyunjin is so skillfully there to bring your lies to the forefront just like how he was there to accompany you in your ice cream marathon, with a bag full of snacks and two whole boxes of tissue with a sufficient supply of some old and sappy rom-coms when you had first cried your heart out after the breakup. When you had bawled about not being good enough to be loved, but most utterly, entirely broken about it all being a lie.

So he knows what it is you’ve been feeling this entire time, maybe not calling you out on it, but definitely there to remind you that there were still so many chances of putting this right, because believe it or not, even your lies have been lying to you.

ten.

Three days to Valentine’s and you felt like the universe was playing it’s most cruel game with you, but it was also making sure that you were still in the game, no matter how weak willed or how close to the edge of giving up you were.

Keeping up with your part time job and the planning for the big valentine’s day celebration, which you had inevitably been more than engaged in given the need for extra hand, had you sitting beside Minho now, shoulders touching and peering at the poster design Hyunjin had changed his mind about in the last minute.

In fact, Hyunjin had changed his mind about a lot of things, which included making a new banner for the Sweet Treats and therefore having to come up with a new ensign for the posters, because he wanted it to complement each other. It was either you stuck having to cut out large hearts out of glittery foam for the new banner – which you had already been given word weeks ago you wouldn’t be required to, but when have men ever kept their word? – or it was brainstorming over the poster design.

And that’s how you found yourself sitting in the very corner of the computer lab, squeezed in between the wall and Minho, the only seat you had managed to grab because all the other computers were taken, working in a forced mental quietude with the rhythmic drone of the students in the background.

The obligatory drumming of your thoughts came as a result from half an hour ago, when Minho had been forced to scoot over to your side by a group of unruly seniors who were having a loud discussion about topics your brain could not comprehend. But that was okay, because it was nothing compared to the fact that Hyunjin had absolutely forgotten to mention the ‘someone’ who was going to help you out was Minho. But even that was fine,  because quite frankly, your mind is too buzzed to process anything, let alone supply valuable help to the boy beside you, who was actually doing the work, while you sat there, hyperventilating about your shoulders touching.

You’ve not been in such close proximity with Minho in a while, and while it never made you nervous in a bad way when you were in a relationship, now it made your stomach flutter and take flight whenever he leaned in close to mutter something about the shade of burgundy and his breath fanned across your ear.

You feel a shiver run down your spine when he leaned forward again, this time squinting at the text before leaning back again with a frown on his face. You pressed your lips in a smile – typical Lee Minho at work; he would stare at the same thing for hours on end till he could figure out what made it look even marginally better than the original format. It was a small habit that had always been there that you hadn’t even noticed you had taken note of in the first place, only realising that it was one of the things you had always liked about him, without even realising it.

Minho had had this way of easing himself into your life, seeping his habits and lifestyle into yours so subtly and gradually, that you had never quite gotten over the shock of not waking up to it any longer. It was like a part of you had been wiped off entirely, a hand pulled out of a glove in the freezing cold. It never sat right with you and you never got used to it.

Minho steals a glance at you, finding you staring straight ahead with the look you had when you were lost in your thoughts. He’s unsure if it’s because you don’t find his incessant stubbornness to get the perfect shade of red correct or you just weren’t feeling well. Well, you did look tired, he knows you stayed up all night sorting out the anonymous confession box thing he had briefly heard about from Hyunjin, and he knew you had a shift later in the evening at the convenience store. Maybe he should just tell you to leave? But that would make it seem like he could do the entire work all by himself and didn’t value your opinions but that wasn’t the case; if anything he wanted to be able to ask you to rest your head on his shoulder and get some shut eye but! He couldn’t do that either! Curse his fate!

“Hey,” your voice breaks his agitation, “wanna go get some coffee?”

For a moment you think you’ve stunned Minho into temporary speech loss but then you replay the past five seconds in you remind and realise that you’ve just asked Minho for coffee, which you were starting to hope he would decline and you could just leave awkwardly after that–

“Sure, let’s go.”

Minho is past the stage of caring, all he knows is that you offered to get coffee with him first and he was in no position to turn you down.

Normally, a coffee run would excite you but today the five minute walk to the cafe you frequent is no less than a nervous stride of awkwardness. Your heels ache with all the pressure you put out in walking, you change the way you breath at least nine times, every time closer to a skittish cliff in the fear of being too loud. You’re really worried about breathing too loudly; now you’ve seen it all.

Minho is no better. His stupid hands keep bumping into yours and the occasional cyclist makes him scoot closer to you but he’s too timid to walk behind you or in front of you. God, what happened to when he could pull you along in a good humoured headlock and berate you for your fifth cup of the caffeinated drink in an hour; he knows it’s not your first cup of the day, he can smell it on you. And he hates it so much, the mere thought of feeling the taste on his lips when he would kiss you, now he’s really resorting to inhaling the coffee scent so familiar to you.

His hand itches to pull you back and away from this stupid walk and away from it all where you could both start over again, but he’s quick to extinguish that thought; overindulging in sweet fantasies only made him long for you more.

He lets out a breath of relief he hadn’t realised he was holding when the cafe comes into view and you both enter.

“Oh hi, it’s you. Do you want the blueberry muffins today–”

Minho’s frantic gesturing cuts the barista off, their eyes widening when they see you come up, apparently digging around your bag for your wallet and they shut up immediately. You don’t seem to have heard the near slip up though, too invested in shovelling through your bag.

Without thinking, Minho’s hand reaches up to yours, your head snapping up at him and the frown on your brows slipping away into a surprised look.

“Just order, I’ll pay.”

“You don’t have to, I just need to find my–”

“Please?” The gentle squeeze on your wrist and the soft eyes appealing to you makes it difficult to turn him down. You reluctantly agree, placing your orders and waiting to have them to go since neither of you wanted to spend too much time inside the cafe that was already adorned in red streamers, the yearly specials menu of drinks and pastries making you grimace at the chessiness with which the names had been chosen. Jesus, you’d be embarrassed to even read those out.

Minho doesn’t know how to start a conversation with you anymore, his fingers drumming nervously on the counter until your drinks are out and it was killing him to stand a few feet apart from you when all around he could see couples practically sitting on each other’s laps.

You’re both glad when you’re able to leave, Minho paying and turning a brilliant shade of red when the barista hands you a blueberry muffin wrapped in plastic with a bow on top of it, citing it to be ‘on the house’ and winking at you. He’s so busy pretending not to have anything to do with this little coincidence that he doesn’t notice you speaking. When your words register though, he wishes he hadn't heard you in the first place.

“So uhh,” you start off hesitantly, taking a small sip of your drink as Minho does the same, “I’ve got some of your stuff back in my apartment, you should come by and…take them back. Sometime, when you’re free…”

It physically pains you to speak those words out, your throat constricting and this time you make sure you’re not even trying to gauge Minho’s reaction. Had you actually looked his way, you would have noticed his clenched jaws and the flash of hurt in his eyes that he doesn’t try to mask.

“That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“What?”

“The coffee, you just wanted to– you know what, never mind. I’ll drop by tomorrow to get my stuff.”

Though you had expected a reaction akin to this, the sudden coldness in his voice and his stony eyes made your heart drop. You felt guilty about bringing this up and maybe you could have tried a gentler approach, but all the same, you couldn’t put this off any longer either.

Without another word, Minho stalks off with the bitter taste of his drink infusing in his tongue like a harsh slap of reality, leaving you staring at his back forlornly as it grew smaller with every step he took.

eleven.

You opened the door in a loose sweater, the sleeves engulfing your hands in sweater paws and the resolve with which Minho had purposefully rang your doorbell with, was already starting to slip away.

Minho finds it near impossible to step inside your small apartment, knowing the walls around him would bring back too many memories he had tried hard to suppress all night the day before, screaming into his pillow in frustration when they had inadvertently bobbed back up like a cork in water, stubbornly reminding him of why he had to be here in the first place.

The first thing he notices on entering is the cardboard box on the coffee table; things only get harder from there.

He’s unsure of what to do with his hands, his head feels too big for his neck and he’s constantly tumbling down an endless spiral of emotions the longer he stares at the empty spaces in your house that once used to be filled up with his trinkets. The feeling refuses to subside when he rummages through the box, picking out articles that punch him square in the chest.

“I thought you liked this hoodie,” he picks up blue coloured fabric, careful not to crease the fold.

You shrugged in response, you only liked it because it smelt like his scent.

As he keeps going through everything inside the box, he’s visibly upset at how you haven’t spared even the smallest of things; his half empty bottle of citrus bodywash, an empty diary from last year he had bought for himself out of impulse, his favourite fountain pen that had rolled under the drawer and he had never bothered to retrieve, until he stumbles upon the small velvet box he couldn’t forget even if he wanted to.

“I got this for your birthday,” his voice rose unexpectedly on opening it and finding the silver chain intactly placed inside, obviously trying hard not to lose his mind and snap at you for the wrong reasons, but how could you return this?

“Yeah well, you also told me that you loved me right after, so it kind of lost all its meaning.” the defensive tone was not intentional, but it was exactly what it was supposed to be – a front up against Minho’s own offence.

“What must I do to make you believe that it was real?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you were ready to walk away the moment he brought up the topic, leaving him to sort things out but a tug on your wrist, harsher than intended, makes you stop in your tracks.

“I want to talk about this,” Minho is comparatively calmer now, but his eyes are livid and not at you but himself. Yet, a part of him, though wary of the sense of deja vu he was having standing here in a similar predicament as when you had broken up, can’t seem to understand you at all. He acknowledges your anger and resentment, doesn’t try to question the way you avoid him at all costs but for the life of him, absolutely can’t understand why you wouldn’t talk.

“You never gave me a chance to explain anything (y/n), you just assumed the worst and refused to believe me even after I tried so hard to explain – to show you that I love you, yet it’s like you’ve built up this huge wall that you refuse to let down and for what? What are you so afraid of, is it confrontation? What is it? Tell me, because I sure as hell don’t understand why we can’t just talk about this?!”

“Oh so it’s my fault now?! This is how you truly feel, don’t you? All those stupid boxes of chocolates and paying for my coffee and those stupid fucking blueberry muffins – I don’t even like blueberry muffins, I only ate them because you liked them! – all that was just so you could feel better about yourself, wasn’t it? And now I’ve hurt your ego by returning what’s yours, so it’s my fault!”

Your voices were slowly rising with every syllable, the anger in your eyes directed at each other in furious glares and the confrontation that never truly happened finally tumbling out in more hurtful words.

“You knew about that?” Minho breathes out shortly, the grip of his fingers around your wrist loosening when your eyes tear up.

“Not until yesterday I didn’t, but you had your fun right? Bet you enjoyed every second of it,” you hate yourself for tearing up so easily, for letting his words affect you so much that it made you shrivel up and cower in fear of more. There was something about his anger that hurt you even more than before.

The venom in your voice was amiss, the way it tumbled out wrapped in hurt and vulnerability and yet again, Minho is reminded of exactly how much he had messed up, all over again.

“I didn’t do it so I could gloat at you or have fun,” he breathes out, rubbing his face tiredly, “I’m so sick of not being able to talk to you or hold you or even–” 

His words are cut short, trapped at the back of his throat and he swallows them down forcefully, heaving his chest in exertion and blinking his eyes rapidly. 

“I love you, I really do (y/n), believe me please.”

What are you even supposed to say? The same man had told you, six months into your relationship, that he had in fact not been sure of his feelings for you, immediately nullifying any meaning behind the three syllables he had so often muttered in your ears or against your lips, and now here he was saying the same thing. How were you expected to not not let this affect you?

“Stop it, I don’t believe you anymore.”

“Give me a chance,” the sniffle breaks you, ripping your insides and swallowing you in a pit of your own pity. You won’t look at him, you won’t listen to him.

Lee Minho does not love you. He will never love, and you must convince yourself of that, no matter how much your heart faltered at the decision.

“No.”

Minho nods his head at the floor, slowly putting everything inside the box again and when the final article is put away, he stands up awkwardly with it in his hands, desperately trying to search for a single ounce of hesitance in your eyes, but you refuse to look up.

“Are you sure about this?”

No, you’re not sure what you’re sure of anymore. But this feels wrong; so, so wrong and yet this guarantees you a safeguard to your feelings, a way to ensure that you don't wear your heart on your sleeve.

“Yes.”

“Okay…okay.”

The door closes behind Minho, the silence in your house echoing against the walls and you’re left standing alone again. Outside your door, Minho stands motionless, slowly letting the parasite squirming in his stomach to reach out for his heart and squeeze it till he could no longer breathe.

twelve.

If love was in the air was a literal concept, this would be it.

The halls were bursting with over buzzed students trying out the various booths that had been put up. It had taken your and Jisung’s combined efforts and reassurances to convince Hyunjin to get a breather and man his own photography booth that he had abandoned in a panicked frenzy of ensuring all the others were running smoothly, leaving poor Jisung to fend off by himself.

The halls were entirely decked with pink and red streamers with posters pointing towards various booths put up along with balloons. The quadrant was set up with kiosks and food stalls, lovely flower arrangements lining up the perimeter, and glitter! There was so much glitter everywhere, most of the planning committee that had been directly involved in dealing with it still had specks of it in their hair, and though they gave Hyunjin the stank eye once in a while, anybody could tell they were proud of their hard work and happy about it too. Hyunjin had really gone all out, you doubted he had spared a single penny of their budget from going into this.

As for you, you were mostly in the announcement room helping with the setup and ensuring all the PA systems were connected to the hallways and running. It temporarily helped in taking your mind off things because boy was your mind buzzing with countless thoughts.

It had been only two days – two days since you turned down Minho, two days since you stopped receiving handmade chocolates and pre-ordered coffee, two days of classes without Minho, two days of nervously holding your breath in every class you shared with him for him to turn up, only to find out that the boy had seemingly disappeared the face of the earth.

Two days of Minho not being anywhere near you and you felt like you had committed the greatest crime in the universe.

Trying to talk to Felix had been futile; he had been in and out of classes in a fretful scurry, mumbling about the humongous amount of baking that had to be done for the D-day and all he could supply you with was a non-committal excuse about being busy.

In short, you hadn’t seen nor heard nor heard of Minho in the past forty eight hours, and now you were worried. Funny how the tables had turned, but oh well, irony doesn’t leave anyone unattended.

So far you had managed to pass off the gurgling pit of of anxiety reflected on your face as nerves about talking into the PA; Hyunjin had been to caught up in his worries and accepted the explanation, but it was a hard pass against Felix who you were currently standing across the booth from, trying to divert his attention with compliments about his cookies.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he deadpans, your eyes blinking at him innocently as you chew on the delicacy. You had about half an hour to report to the broadcasting room, so you were whiling away your time trying to pry whatever information you could about Minho from his roommate, stealthily disguising it under a veil of compliments. It wasn’t working.

“I know something happened between you, you don’t have to pretend (y/n),” he rolls his eyes before turning to a customer with a smile and attending to them. The duality, you do not deserve such slander. But you do decide to drop with the pretence.

“I just want to know if he’s fine, okay? I think I…I was too harsh.”

This was true, but also very embarrassing to admit. It was like one of those moments in life where you say or do something and the immediate train of regret hits you with full force, derailing you from your own resolution and dumping your limp body in a sea of embarrassment and strong desire to turn back time.

Having second thoughts was sadly a part of this whole ordeal, the deal sealed off with a nice pinch of passionate frustration and a confused temperament. Yet, you do not find yourself willing to stand up to the challenge of facing and amending the distress you were left reeling with.

There was a lot you had to admit, the heaviness of your pent up feelings weighing you down but you didn’t know how to say it out loud.

“Listen,” Felix’s attention is on you again, but not for long as more people approach him, “I don’t know what’s going on between you guys, but even a five year old can tell that there’s definitely something between you guys. Now I know I’ve never been in a relationship and definitely have no concept of timely damage control, but if you want to make things right, do it now. I don’t want to graduate from this hellhole watching two of my friends become strangers. It doesn’t matter if you don’t get back together, but you can’t let yourselves be ripped apart like this, okay?”

“I know you both love each other,” his words spread like a warm fire through you, “but you’re both idiots who won’t admit it.” Wrong, Minho did admit it, you were just too scared to let him have a part of your heart again after the first time. This was on you, and it was starting to feel scary to bear such a burden.

“And if you tell me that a month from now, you can walk past each other in the hall as if nothing had happened like there was no history between you two, I might believe you. But if you tell me that you didn’t regret doing this in the future, I will laugh in your face, because damn you would have to be convincing to lie like that.”

Stunned, you can only nod at him meekly, gulping down the bitter taste at the back of your throat at the mention of becoming estranged with someone you loved so dearly. 

“Don’t do this…this wallowing in self pity and pretending to be okay when you both know it’s far from that, just go talk to each other.”

Felix finishes with a pat on your shoulder and a gentle squeeze before leaving you to walk away with heavy steps and a strong desire to dash to the nearest washroom to force those tears back.

You realise that the first step had been to confess the very fact – Minho was someone you loved. The thought of graduating and leaving this place without him by your side was daunting. He had been half of the reasons this place had been bearable. Beyond the four walls with a projector overhead, and a professor droning about something you were too distracted to register, he had always been there to pass notes to you with silly doodles or sent you cat memes to while the time or scratched out wobbly stars in the corner of your notebooks. The little things that you had stored as memories were resurfacing and the heavy realisation of your endearing affection for them was settling in.

Everything suddenly felt overwhelming; your thoughts were tangled in a numb mess making your head throb with a dull thud. The beautiful decorations around you were a blur of red, the loud buzzing of excited people, a drone in your ears.

Love was in the air, but you were out of breath, suffocating as the voices inside your head drowned you out from the world.

thirteen.

You and Seungmin had done about a fifty confessions in three hours, all with a periodic music break where Changbin and Chan would take over, belting out beats and occasionally promoting their band. You were sure Hyunjin wouldn't mind, especially not when it was 3racha in question; the entire campus was in love with the trio.

Hyunjin had burst into the room during one such song break, cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling – literally twinkling in happiness – and spluttered out in an excited mess about how he had seen at least a dozen people ask each other out after the confessions were read out.

“Only a dozen? We’ve read about fifty of these…” Seungmin said monotonously, but Hyunjin was seemingly unfettered with the less than enthusiastic reaction.

“I’ve seen a dozen, but who knows how many more are out there? Cheer up Seungmin, I’ll get you a coffee – in fact, I’ll get you all a snack, my treat for working so hard!”

Well, someone was definitely in a good mood, and neither of you were going to turn down the offer of free food and drinks. Besides, you did kind of deserve it after all.

Aside from one bathroom break, you had stayed inside the broadcasting room for most part of the day, volunteering to stay back when the crew wanted to go out and enjoy for a while. Oh and, you had also messaged Felix every half an hour, inquiring whether Minho had come to the fest and every time he had responded with a variation of ‘not yet’ and ‘I haven’t seen him yet’. There might have been a reason you were trying not to leave this room yet.

The rational part of you agreed that calling the man in question would yield better results, but the emotional part of you decided against it if you didn’t want to freeze up at the sound of his voice and burst into tears in the middle of a sappy confession.

Speaking of confessions, it was your turn for another one and it seemed awfully familiar the moment you read out the name. Seungmin gestures at you just as Chan drowns out the last notes of the current song playing and signals for you to start.

“That was ‘On Track’, produced by none other than our favourite trio, 3racha! And now it’s time for another lovely confession! This one’s from loverboy20,” you smile, knowing only too well who this was, slightly excited at how this was going to turn out since you don’t remember reading this before, “to the guy who’s been on his mind since freshman year.”

“Hi, it’s loverboy20 here and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do this but heck, if I don’t do this now, I’ll never get down to it and then I’m going to regret my entire life about not asking out the cute guy I’ve had a crush on for ages and…I’m rambling now.

I would go back and type this out all over again, but you need to know exactly how hard this is for me and I’ve already been staring at my screen for an hour, unsure of what to type because I have no idea what to say or how to go about this but forgive me, I hope you won’t hate me entirely once this is over.

I saw you first in the freshman orientation and thought you were kinda cute with your flannel shirt and beanie. You looked like the cool kid with your guitar, sitting in the row in front of me and putting in your headphones. I don’t think anyone noticed but me – they weren’t even connected to your phone. It was cute, you were I mean…you still are.

And then I met you in the talent show where we got paired up for the impromptu segment and we had this huge fight about rapping better and dancing better and…long story short, the crush I had on you was slowly starting to feel questionable. But! But then just as I was starting to get over it, you go ahead and do something stupidly cute like paying for my americano because I didn’t have money on me and saving me from embarrassing myself. I think we started hitting it off from there and then…well, it just happened. Like…I started falling for you more and then one day it was like getting hit by a train full of those feelings. I mean, you were right there in front of me in your flannel shirt again and I just suddenly felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me.

This is…oh my god, this is so embarrassing, I’m basically rambling about how you made me fall for you oh my god…anyway…it just felt right.

Being with you, spending even the passing moments between hectic classes just getting coffee or sailing up late to talk to you while you worked; it made me happy and I want to keep doing it. I like you, a lot. You make me so happy and I have to physically stop my heart from leaping out when you’re around and can you please not hold my hands without a warning, it makes me nervous…no actually, you can hold my hand if you want to. If you want to, if you don’t hate me already. I’m just shooting my shot, you probably don’t like me and I might never be able to face you again after this, but yeah…okay.

If you don’t already know, this is for you, Han Jisung. My confession probably sucked, I can’t write beautiful words like you do or belt out a song like you but I really, really like you. That’s that then. This is loverboy20, and if you plan on getting back to me, I’ll be working with you in the photography booth.”

Jesus fucking Christ, Hyunjin had really done it. Changbin had positively squealed after the confession, hitting Chan in the chest and pretending to cry; you wouldn’t have been surprised if he had actually cried. Seungmin had also been smiling, unable to stop the surprised chuckle when he heard Jisung’s name. Chan just looked like a proud dad sending his kids off to school for the first time.

Something about this spiel had broken you though.

It felt right…

That’s what Hyunjin said. It felt right when he was with Jisung and it made him happy. And knowing Jiusng’s side of the story, his mutual feelings for him which no doubt would be finally conveyed now, they had both ultimately worked it out through their differences and fallen for each other right?

The phrase bugged you. It stuck to you like leech, sucking on your mind incessantly until you realised what it was. But of course, that’s exactly how you always felt with Minho. It had felt so right, just like the night Hyunjin had first told you, like this was meant to be and the feeling is so oddly familiar, it drowns you in it’s simplicity like a warm hug comforting you after a gruesome fight of heart over mind and you realise that wearing your heart on your sleeves was worth it if it was Minho.

It was Minho all along; you would always go back to him because you know – and the enormity of the realisation settles in with a relief – that he’s loved you since the beginning. He  had taken time getting there, maybe he had never realised or indeed never had feelings for you romantically, but he had been there as your friend always. He was there with warm soup when you were sick, with his childish berating when you pulled one too many all-nighters, there with an umbrella when you were stuck without one on campus, there to kiss you goodnight after every date.

Minho waited till he was entirely sure of his feelings for you, because in the end he was afraid of hurting you. And even then he only spoke the truth; all he wanted was your trust and time. You trust his feelings, he’s never meant to harm you before nor now. You just forgot to trust the process and the time it took for him to get there and it ashames you now. 

You didn’t cry all those weeks after the breakup because you had found it hard to accept that he hadn’t loved you just as much as you did. You had cried because you knew he did, for he had trusted you enough to tell you that, but he hadn’t found it in himself to let you down in fear of losing you. And wasn’t that what both of you had been afraid of? Treading around each other like you were walking on a floor made of glass, the inevitable fear of stepping too hard and losing each other in the midst of the million shards you would tumble down with.

There was a way – a final chance – to put this right.

What you were about to do would probably haunt you for life if it all went wrong but you loved him. You love him. You know this.  And that’s where you’ll start – by accepting it. 

fourteen.

Minho can’t fathom why he’s here. He should be anywhere but here, feeling swaddled by all the couples and the cute couple games and the over-the-top decorations.

He hates it all and he hates your voice over the speaker right now, reading out Hyunjin’s confession. He was there in person to witness Hyunjin growing redder by the second and Jisung’s brain trying to process everything. Cute, disgustingly cute. That could have been you and him.

He spots Felix’s booth in the midst of all the chaos, the boy himself looking flushed as he was constantly on the run. Word had spread about his bake sale, and people had started flocking to his booth, leaving him hassled as he was a one man army. He didn’t notice Minho till he walked right up to the front and slipped inside his stall.

“Hyung, I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Hey Lix, you look busy,” Minho states, observing from behind as he collects cash and gives out wrapped cookies and brownies, thanking every customer with a bright smile. A few students may have simpered over his boyish charms, but Felix was too busy to notice, failing to notice their obvious flirting. Minho has to hide a laugh as they walk away disappointed with cookies in their hands.

When the crowd dwindles a little, Minho could make out Seungmin’s voice on the speakers now, no doubt swapping with you after five consecutive readings. He finally gets a chance to strike up a conversation with his roommate.

“Business looks prosperous,”

Felix smirks back at him, pocketing the cash he had received before saying, “Yeah, the crowd's pretty good. Some people even came back for seconds, they love this stuff!”

“Of course they do, you’re good at it,” Minho shrugs off-handedly, but Felix could sense the genuine praise underneath.

“Hey hyung, can you do me a favour? I’ve got two cartons of this stuff in my car in the parking lot, can you bring me one? Can’t really leave the booth empty.”

Minho didn’t mind helping out, he anyway didn’t have much to do around here and he had only come because Felix had pestered him to get out of the house and stop sulking all weekend. Granted, the first thing he had heard was your voice reading out a confession like it was your own, he hadn't turned around and sprinted right away like he had thought he would have.

Felix hands him his car keys and off he goes to the parking lot, where there’s a relatively smaller number of people. It takes him a while to search for the car, all the while walking further away from the building, seungmin’s voice a faint noise in the back, and finally finds the familiar blue one parked right in the back.

Carefully taking out one of the boxes, he marvels at its weight and can only assume it’s loaded to the brim. If any of this manages to get saved, Minho has a feeling he knows what the 3 AM snack for the entire next month is going to be. Sometimes, he marvels at the younger boy and the amount of baking he can get done in a matter of a few hours.

As he’s walking back, he registers your voice which was on again on the speakers, growing louder the minute he got closer to the building. He tries his best to ignore the knot in his stomach but stops when he hears your next words.

“The next confession is to an ex, from… anonymous.”

There’s a pause on your end, but Minho is starting to anticipate this one. The word ex resounds loudly inside his head, his chest constricting when he hears the way you say it. It was as if you were taking this to heart when it wasn’t even your confession.

“Hi…I hope you’ve been doing well, I kind of miss you…maybe more than just “kind of”...

I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this right now, it seems crazy; I feel crazy doing this, but honestly? Screw it, I don’t think I can lie to myself anymore. I know I was trying to save face and keep my distance but a part of me was desperately trying to protect my feelings and yours.

I don’t think you’re here right now, I hope you’re not. Or maybe you are, in which case, good. But not really. This is hard…I don’t have this written out and I can’t do this extempore, but you’re not here, so it’s okay. Are you here though? It doesn’t matter…”

Minho is completely frozen to his spot. He was hoping for too much, but even with your face hidden, he could hear the panic in your voice. Why were you panicked?

“I know I acted like an ass, I know I messed up too but I realised that I couldn’t force you to feel the same way as I did. Maybe you needed more time, and perhaps I should have been willing to give you more of that.

I know we made mistakes – both of us – and I’m scared that this might be the end of everything, but I thought about it for so long and I want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being able to give you more time when you needed it, I should’ve never expected you to fall in love with me all at once; I forgot we all have different paces and different ways of loving.

You said you didn’t love me; maybe I’m being delusional and hopeful when I say this, but I think you did…love me. Maybe not all at once, but it was there – you were there – in bits and pieces; in the way you picked up blueberry muffins on Wednesdays because you knew I didn’t have time for breakfast, in the way you got annoyed at having to pick up coffee for me but you did it anyway, in the way you sat all night looking up my favourite shows so we could enjoy it together, in the way you added peas to my scrambled eggs because I liked it that way.

I noticed it all, but somehow I…I overlooked it. I took it for granted, getting mad at you because you didn’t or couldn’t say those three words back at me because all I wanted was for you to love me as much as I loved you…as much as I still love you. But you did,and you cared so much for me, and I failed to see it. And that makes me feel shitty, but I deserve it.

I want you to know that I still love you, I do. So stop giving me boxes of my favourite chocolates and paying for my coffee and let’s talk this out. I promise, I’ll listen better this time, and I’ll wait for as long as it takes for you to reach out. I promise I won’t rush you, and if you still never feel the same as I do, I promise I’ll not hold you accountable for it.

So Lee Minho, if you’re out there and listening to this…I miss you, so much. And I love you, and won’t ever stop loving you. But let’s talk this out, as adults, and whatever happens, I’ll accept it with grace. I owe you that, so, yeah…”

There’s a pause not many notice due to the chaos, but for those who were listening, they pick up on the abrupt music that starts playing. Minho is one of them, but he doesn’t register the slip up because he can’t, in all honesty, think of anything right now.

He was left reeling in his spot, unable to move his feet from where they were planted on the ground. Lee Minho, that was his name – you said his name. This was your confession. Fuck. 

It was hard to ignore the stare at your back and the bated breath with which everybody had been listening to your ramble, but it’s even harder to ignore the rapid beating of your chest, the only sound now drumming in your ears obnoxiously.

Before you know it, your feet are moving of their own accord. You’re pushing yourself up from the chair, ignoring the cramp that had settled after sitting for more than an hour in the same place and in a split second you’re out the door and running nowhere in particular. Nobody stops you, and even if they tried, they doubted they would be able to.

It almost looked like Felix had been expecting you. He definitely looked surprised when you panted to a stop in front of him, ignoring the weird stares you received, only two syllables coming out of your mouth, “Where’s Minho?”

“He’s in the parking lot.”

That’s it. That’s all you need before you’re running again, slithering through the crowd and wheezing when you finally reach the parking lot. He was here. Minho was here, in the parking lot, on campus and he probably heard your confession. He hates you now, he definitely hates you and the sudden realisation that he heard your confession almost makes you want to tear the world apart in embarrassment. But you couldn’t turn back now.

You were too far down this hole to climb back up any time soon and you were going to see the end of it.

fifteen.

When you had imagined this happening, you had been less daunted by the prospect. Additionally, you also had the safety of these thoughts being in your head and never in real life.

In short, you felt like shitting your pants.

Minho was not saying anything. In fact, after pulling you into one of the lecture halls inside the building the best he could with a heavy box of cookies he was least worried about for now, he hadn’t done much except quietly lean back on the desk, waiting for you to speak while you sat in front of him on one of the benches. This was nerve wracking, the unpredictability of the situation and the long foreboding silence that you had both been sitting in. you had both been riveted by a small patch of dust, swirling around in a small typhoon in a sunny corner of the room, watching the silent chaos quietly.

The room feels too big without the presence of students filling it, you’ve never noticed it before, with its large windows and the sun streaming in like golden ribbons, exactly how much silence it can hold within its four walls.

You’re the first to break the silence.

“About earlier, I don’t know why I did that. I thought you weren’t going to be there, I mean not that it’s bad you heard but–”

“Did you mean it?” Minho cuts you off, but he sounds wary, cautious of where he treads because the trepidation that comes along with a feeling of things coming to an end blankets the two of you heavily.

“Which part?” your voice is reduced to a whisper, your thoughts too loud and overpowering.

“All of it…do you love me?”

This was easier done on the speaker and spoken into a mic. Now you’re too aware of Minho’s gaze staring you down and the sound of his shifting feet on the ground; your head is held low where your own eyes fixate on the ground till you see the tip of his shoes come into view and the telltale presence of a person close to you.

“My inadequacy to love you was never your fault (y/n), I swear I have loved you for ages but I didn’t want to lose you with my incapability of being sufficient.” Minho had to bare his all for this, in a mutual attempt to right the wrong and speak the unspoken, even if it made him want to dig a hole and bury himself under for eternity.

“I know Minho, I know. I’m sorry for not being able to recognise that sooner.”

“But I want to be with you, and for that I was most certain I didn’t want to lie about anything.”

“So you said you never loved me?”

“I never meant that. You know I’m an idiot, you know I suck with words and I would rather you hated me for it than have to speak out my feelings. All of those cruel things I said, all that shouting, every waking moment I wish I could take it all back. But I’m such a fool for you (y/n), I hate what you do to me.”

“You were never insufficient, and you certainly weren’t in the wrong to tell me the truth. I was just too hurt and blinded by the people around me bent on making me believe that you didn’t love me enough…when you said it out loud, I lost it.”

“I should have never made you feel like you were any less loved than others.”

“It was never your fault, it was simply a question of time.”

“I’m such an idiot…”

It came without a preamble and so suddenly, it made you want to joke about it. Minho was anything but an idiot, only too aware of his feelings and deeply connected to them that he had felt guilty for lying about it to you.

“I know you’re an idiot Minho,” a light laughter leaves your lips, your chest gradually starting to feel lighter the more Minho talked, ignoring the fluttering in your heart.

“Is my misery funny to you?”

“No, but your blabbering is,”

“Don’t laugh, please. I feel like a fool and you’re the one who just poured their heart out in front of hundreds of people.”

“Yes, I suppose idiocy seeps into you when one’s around you for too long.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“So, is this it?”

“It is if you want it to be.”

“I just thought this would be a lot more serious. And you might cry, not that I want you to cry but I thought I would make you cry again…not that I wanted to.”

“We’ve both bared too much already Min,” Minho feels like the sun itself had bloomed inside him, the warmth of his name tumbling through your lips like sweetened honey spread through him like wildfire, “I wouldn’t have wanted this to go any other way.”

And it’s true. When you walked into this classroom, you were ready to accept whatever it was that was to befall without any complaints. Regrets, perhaps, but if your heart was to be broken when you left this room, you were prepared for it. It made this talk so much easier when it didn’t end up with a promise of tears.

You came here with an intent and it was to do your best so you didn’t lose someone you loved dearly, no matter the price.

A long silence ensues. You can hear the tunes of a soft song floating through the speakers outside, almost as if Chan had planned it for the right moment. 

Minho leans down and holds your face in his hands, closing the gap between you gently before kissing you. God, you had missed this. You had forgotten how gentle Minho could be when it came to you, how he kissed you softly but firmly, slowly prying your lips open till you were completely drowning in him.

Bringing your hands up, you gently pry yourself apart from him, feeling yourself melt when you notice the panic in his eyes. The parasite inside him starts wiggling again, had you not wanted this?

“It’s okay, I just want you to know that you don’t have to rush this. I’ll be here for you always, I promise.”

Minho feels the parasite inside him slowly withering with every word you speak and every soft stroke of your thumb across his cheek.

“I already know I love you.”

“So you won’t run away?”

“I promise I won’t. And I’ll make it up to you for eternity.”

“That’s cheesy,” your heart does miss a beat.

“I know. I’m going to regret this later.”

“Must be all the love in the air.”

“Must be…”

A cheesy verse about a boy serenading the love of his life breaks out in a tender melody, but you’re both kissing again, never rushing into the feeling of it, just quietly drowning in each other.

“You know, an eternity is a long time,” you say, breaking apart for air again and pressing one long kiss on his lips, “are you sure you’re up for it?”

“I don’t think it would be that bad.”

For the first time in months, Minho finally feels himself liberated from that tight knot in his chest and the parasite that once resided there, nowhere in sight. His insides glow warm under your touch and his overwired mind is finally calm and bereft of muddled thoughts.

The shadows shift and the dust in the corner of the room finally dies down, settling on the ground gently. 

The immense longing of your hearts finally reach out for each other, intertwining each other in a warm hug that comforts the turbulent melancholy within and the loneliness starts to fade away.

An eternity wouldn’t be that bad after all.

[aftgtandn]

We’ve been saying it this whole time but let us repeat just once more: you are INCREDIBLE. Your support of the fest and of everyone’s works is what made this possible.

We are so so grateful for your support and the reception the fest has had — we can’t take you enough for it.

It’s really been a blast, and you guys made it all possible. The guessing game and all of your attempts have been incredible to see (not to mention the bingo cards and all the memes you made!) and we know you’re all excited to see which of your guesses were right and who managed to fool you all the way until now…

We know it’s been a lot to keep up with (7 stunning art pieces, over 270k words worth of fic!!) so please continue to leave comments and kudos for our incredible participants and keep giving them ALL the love they deserve as you catch up post reveals. 🧡

To our amazing creators: Be sure to tag us when you're posting your work on your Tumblr & Twitter accounts, so that we can keep promoting you!

You can find all of the fest works in our AO3 collection, but we know what's you're really wondering right now... WHO MADE WHAT??

Without further ado… here’s the full list of works and their creators:

(JOHN 16:24)

by jinjjasyuga Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Explicit // 0 words Summary: Andrew asked so he received. (Literally.)

You Know I'm Good On My Own

by sambutwithbooks Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Gen // 4568 words Summary: Andrew breaks his arm two games into the season and it feels a little bit like Neil’s world snaps with it. (A snapshot of Neil and Andrew between Andrew coming home from the hospital and going back home to Palmetto State.) ------- Written for the AFTG Then & Now Fest prompt from alecgo: Andrew breaks his arm. They deal with everything that follows.

10 Times We Fell a Little More in Love with Kevin Day

by gleefulfoxes Kevin Day Gen // 2897 words Summary: Ten times Kevin Day stole our hearts and earned his rightful place as the internet's jock bf

Hold Me Like a Knife

by Moondal Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Teen // 1068 words Summary: What touch Andrew can tolerate he has wrestled from the minefield of his past, fought a one-man guerilla war against long-gone ghosts. The ground he has gained for himself is massive as is. He can stay within known spaces and be safe. And yet. - Thoughts on touch and an exploration of new intimacy.

nocturnal animals

by animediac Abby Winfield, Betsy Dobson, Gen Gen // 11621 words Summary: “He was an addict,” Taylor says roughly, turning away to unplug the blender. “He wouldn’t accept help and he didn’t care who he hurt with it by the end.” “He was our brother,” Abby says, sadly. “I know,” Taylor tells her. “That was the worst part."" — Memory takes the graveyard shift. Abby Winfield works nights.

Peaches and Cream

by Random2002 Aaron Minyard, Katelyn Explicit // 7119 words Summary: It's certainly well known that Aaron Minyard was head over heels for his girlfriend, Katelyn. In fact, when they are inspired one evening to try something new in the bedroom he's all for giving it a shot even though he's nervous. Who knows, maybe he'll discover something new about himself? Or: Aaron gets Pegged

Reaching Out

by TogeMythia Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Explicit // 6154 words Summary: ‘What are you thinking about getting?’ Neil smiled as he propped his chin in his hands. Andrew sat himself back against the leather of the booth and gestured to his chest. For a moment Neil didn't understand, but then the realization hit him all at once. ‘Oh.’ - or Andrew gets his nipples pierced

Invisible Smoke

by ScornedEthnographer Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Mature // 1233 words Summary: Smoking was one of the very few things in Andrew’s life that he could count as his. One of the very few constants that he allowed himself to rely on, to expect, to trust. It came from years of repetition, the same billowing taste of acrid smoke on his tongue, the stale stinging in his lungs. It was the same, over and over and over again. It was a rare constant. One of the ""few and far between”s. Unusual. Uncommon. Peculiar. But not the only one.

Quit Horsin’ Around

by JosenlovesMinyard Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Teen // 2486 words Summary: Kevin persuades the Foxes to take part in a trail ride whilst staying at the cabin. Neil finds it a lot more enjoyable than he thought he would.

Victory Lap

by justadreamfox Kevin Day, Jeremy Knox Explicit // 7665 words Summary: Kevin gets two things he's always wanted: Olympic gold and Jeremy Knox.

Truck driver POV

by Habakos Neil Josten Gen // Art Summary: First truck driver that lets Neil tag along at the gas station

on the cusp of getting it right

by orionauriga Aaron Minyard, Andrew Minyard Teen // 11145 words Summary: “So,” Neil begins, with a smirk that informs Aaron in the space of one syllable that his mood is about to take a running leap out the car window and splatter gorily across the interstate. “Is it true that you don’t have a license?” -- Andrew teaches Aaron to drive. It goes...about how you would expect.

The Golden Pipe Dream

by Gforce Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard, Kevin Day Gen // 8564 words Summary: Neil, Andrew, and Kevin compete in the 2012 Summer Olympics.

Last Straw

by mrskrementz Neil Josten, Mary Hatford Teen // 3478 words Summary: What happened in the Wesninksi household in the week leading up to Mary taking Nathaniel on the run? A look at the pre-canon events from Mary's POV

Goner

by gus_47 Kevin Day, Aaron Minyard Mature // 4871 words Summary: Aaron is the first to notice that Kevin’s alcoholism is an actual problem. He’s an addict, too — he never misses the signs.

I hate you

by itsdill01 Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Mature // 1233 words Summary: Andrew finds out about Nicky’s sexual assault on Neil.

Trials and Tribulations of Wrangling Foxes

by HalfpintPeach Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard, Gen Gen // 8419 words Summary: When the girls graduate, Neil is standing on his own as Captain of the Palmetto State Foxes.

I find you a little distracting

by lazarusthefirst Neil Josten, Kevin Day Explicit // 6562 words Summary: Kev and Neil fuck on the foxhole court

Weight Bearing

by Justthislazy Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Explicit // 4385 words Summary: Prompt: Andrew is Strong He carries Neil around and Neil is not ok. Can lead to NSFW but mainly I just want Neil being flustered about how strong Andrew is.

probably be fine

by foodforthot1 Allison Reynolds, Renee Walker Explicit // 8978 words Summary: Once they go pro, Renee and Allison end up on the same team. Now that they’ve made it out of the college/mafia drama, they can finally stop denying the spark between them

Andrew Minyard has no problem carrying around Neil Josten

by emry_stars Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Gen // words Summary: Three images (two full/one chibi style) of Andrew carrying Neil in various situations. One image (chibi) of Neil attempting to pick up Andrew

in the middle

by stabbyfoxandrew Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten, Kevin Day Explicit // 9900 words Summary: After a night of drinking has them talking about sex, Andrew reveals that his biggest fantasy is taking Neil and Kevin at the same time. They're both surprised, but very willing to make it happen. Andrew just has to decide if he likes the idea now that it's out of his head. [Set ten years post canon. Kandreil are married and living together and sooo in love.]

Buzz cut season

by H_bee69 Neil Josten, Aaron Minyard, Nicky Hemmick Teen // 2192 words Summary: Neil's bored but Nicky and Aaron keep him company

Complexity of the aftermath

by tathatisbrightassun Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard, Allison Reynolds, Kevin Day, Dan Wilds, Matt Boyd, Aaron Minyard, Nicky Hemmick, Renee Walker, Betsy Dobson, David Wymack Gen // 6545 words Summary: Betsy didn’t know what to say. When David called her after the holidays and said that some of the foxes would require an extra session with her she got a bit concerned. However, when every single fox, including Neil, booked a session, she had only one question in mind. What the actual fuck happened in Baltimore? Betsy learns about Baltimore events and she has thoughts.

Dream clouds, ghost ground (I’ve been looking at the sky to show me where I went wrong)

by Ateiluj Gen Mature // 11457 words Summary: Cass Spear deals with her son’s death, the truths that it reveals, and how it all reshapes her past with Andrew.

The Foxes go to Disneyland

by KittKatAttack Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard, Dan Wilds, Matt Boyd, Nicky Hemmick, Kevin Day, Aaron Minyard, Allison Reynolds, Renee Walker, Katelyn, Erik Klose Gen // 1547 words Summary: The foxes go to Disneyland and chaos ensues

Give, Bequeath & Devise

by the_greater_grief Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Teen // 2502 words Summary: Neil inherits the Baltimore house.

worth it

by mostly_maudlin Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Teen // 1960 words Summary: ""What makes you think I want you fighting on my behalf?” Andrew asks. Neil pulls the ice pack from his face, features tightening with a new spark of anger. “What makes you think I care if you want me to?” he asks. “It’s my choice. And I will always choose to fight for you.”

Andreil Marriage

by TeoMoy Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Gen // words Summary: Andrew and Neil getting married in the woods, with Wymack officiating and the foxes there.

right here every day

by rwnjun Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Mature // 8855 words Summary: Neil's new cat does not like Andrew.

i needed someone i could run to

by seasy33 Kevin Day, David Wymack Teen // 8608 words Summary: The idea of a father didn't occur to Kevin until after his mother died. The story about a letter, and the terrifying ordeal of finding your family.

The Later Parade

by hourafterhour Kevin Day, Jean Moreau Mature // 41152 words Summary: No such thing as a bad pass to Kevin Day.

andrew gets his nips pierced

by maddervanilla Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten Mature // words Summary:

What Makes a Family

by Aquared46 Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Explicit // 9671 words Summary: Post-Baltimore, the Foxes take a vacation in the mountains. During that time, the Foxes get to know Neil better, and Neil gets to know himself better too. OR 8 times Neil is taken care of by his teammates and +1 time Neil learns what it means to take care of himself.

Andrew Doe, Juvenile Delinquent (Art)

by WymackAndCheese Andrew Minyard Teen // 0 words Summary: Digital illustration of Andrew Minyard in a Juvenile Detention Center, pre-The Foxhole Court

Mind over Matt-er

by Twolipsliterature Dan Wilds, Matt Boyd Teen // 2633 words Summary: ""The first time the girls saw Matt shirtless, it was distraction enough to forget their conversation."" -AFTG EC Dan likes to pretend she's unaffected by Matt's charms and unbelievably hot body. Even she knows what bullshit that is.

A wall at your back

by djhedy Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten Teen // 4628 words Summary: Foxes get married

our gentle violence

by foxbyeol Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Explicit // 1996 words Summary: The opposite of cruel is always gentle and that is what everyone expects from you when you care for someone else. They treat it as a delicate, breakable thing. But the connection between them wasn't hanging on my thread of porcelain. Hands that were never taught to be gentle only know how to ground by a firm touch. A touch that is not punishing like so many of those who preceded them but a pushing want which is not only welcomed but desired. And there is a freedom in that, getting the space to be rough without ""cruelty"", a gentle violence they have made their own. OR, Andrew and Neil roughhouse and play around together without much consequences - the only being the rewarding kind.

Against The Wall

by Mystrana Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Explicit // 2882 words Summary: After years together, Andrew's finally gotten to a point where he can request exactly what he wants from Neil. And in this case? He wants to be railed up against the wall.

transferable skills

by decaflondonfog Jeremy Knox, Jean Moreau Explicit // 11111 words Summary: It’s the way Jean watches his own hands as he guides the thread through the paper, pulling the gathering tight to the spine. It’s the way Jean bends, strong and handsome, over a tiny embroidery hoop to get the details exactly right. Jeremy Knox is supposed to be spending his senior year worrying about what comes next. Instead, he’s mesmerized as he watches each stitch come to life and finds, there in between the threads, something completely unexpected.

a mother's love

by Greenfallleaves Neil Josten, Mary Hatford Teen // 9259 words Summary: In the hell that was Neil's childhood, there were good moments too. Almost all of them included his mother. Mary cared about her boy. Or 5 relatively peaceful moments from Neil's childhood.

we're one (there's nothing to be done)

by wesawbears Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Teen // 2345 words Summary: After Neil is injured, he and Andrew come face to face with how quickly everything they've worked for can be taken away when the Moriyama's check up on their investment. The two will be forced to face the emotions created by the deal that was made so long ago.

When Did You Learn That?

by Geneat Neil Josten, Gen Teen // 2635 words Summary: ""I thought Andrew was the lockpick to watch out for,"" Matt said dryly. ""It's a Masterlock,"" Neil said dismissively. Then, with no finesse at all, he jiggled the rod violently and the lock popped open. ""A toddler can open it.""

glittering eyes, sweet smile

by starscrossingfates Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Gen // 0 words Summary: Whenever Neil laughed, Andrew looked at Neil as if he was the sun itself. And Andrew was a planet unequivocally caught in his orbit. [Art]

Not fast enough

by OhThePain_333 Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Teen // 2797 words Summary: Andrew has a violent nightmare in which Neil dies. It unsettles him a lot. He needs comfort and Neil's hugs. They talk about their respective nightmares and cuddle.

Layover

by justadreamfox Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten Explicit // 3064 words Summary: The geography is fucked, but he has Neil tonight, even if it's barely more than a layover. Or, prompt #17: Andreil bang ON the mas.

hot girl bummer (we've shipped kevin to california it's fine don't worry about it JUST KEEP GOING)

by alcego Kevin Day, Jeremy Knox, Jean Moreau Explicit // 9258 words Summary: For the first time in his life, Jean has the opportunity for a quiet, uneventful summer. Instead, he has with two (fake) boyfriends who keep flirting with each other by proxy, a bone-deep weariness that's doing more to his skin than the sun, and a looming sense of inevitability about it all. He can handle one of those problems.

dashboard saints

by nanatsuyu Kevin Day, Andrew Minyard Explicit // 7750 words Summary: Andrew stands in his own way when it comes to most things in his life. Kevin Day is not an exception.

Local Man Gets Injured Getting Friend (?) Off, Says “Worth It”

by kunimi Kevin Day, Aaron Minyard Mature // 7645 words Summary: “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Neil says. There’s something thoughtful in his tone, and it takes all of Kevin’s willpower not to immediately glance at Aaron. Instead, Kevin lifts his head slowly, scanning over all his friends’ faces with a deliberate casualness. As soon as his gaze crosses over Aaron, though, he realises he has no idea what to say. They haven’t – talked about it. Not really. (Two hours ago, Aaron was teasing him about being in a rush, and Kevin’s focus had been on how flustered he was in the moment. Now, all he can think about is Aaron’s first comment. Romantic, Aaron says dryly, shaking his head. Romantic, romantic, romantic. Kevin wants. Kevin aches.) There are probably worse ways to reveal new developments in your love life than getting benched, baffling your team’s medical personnel, and accidentally announcing your sex-related mishaps to your entire professional team’s management and several members of your college one. Kevin can’t think of any right now, though. —is it a 22-night stand or a relationship? kevin day's guide to soft-launching your new man [it’s long 💀💀💀 so the bottom part is more useful for a summary, the top bit is excerpt]

hypocorisms

by mostly_maudlin Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard Teen // 2183 words Summary: Three times Andrew calls Neil “rabbit,” and one time he calls him “bunny.”

Thank you all SO MUCH!!

With all the love and appreciation in the world,

Your Then&Now 2023 fest mods

[brisquad-unit-4402]

rare matchup trade with @mysteriawrites

for one of my very cute friends. i was in a major writing slump over the summer but she encouraged me to get out of my slump by offering a matchup trade! this is my first matchup for someone and very overdue on my part so i'm excited wehe

☆ and even though it’s a matchup i tried to write a full fic with her in mind, but applicable to anyone. especially because this is a whole entire fic with 5,905 words.

mysteria sent me a super detailed description in our dms so here's a summary of it:

mysteria is 5'2, african american, a capricorn and an infj! she's kind, responsible, moody, soft-spoken, and introverted. she also describes herself as a social chameleon that can match the energy of a room, from quiet and clumsy to sassy and teasing if she's comfortable enough. she likes animals, books, reading and writing, personality quizzes, rpg/mmo/rhythm games, and sweets. however, she dislikes loud sounds, math, trypophobia, spiders, and inconsiderate people. she also dislikes when people she cares about don't properly take care of themselves, but tends to forget her own needs. she's really a caring person at heart!

your matchup is under the cut for the drama! i match you with...!

Mischievous but observant, the Phantom Thief Alban Knox!

tags: gender neutral reader, getting together, hurt/comfort, reader is an overworker, bad work environment, happy ending, breaking and entering (and other thief-typical crimes lol)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There's this little convenience store right in your neighborhood that happens to be on your daily commute to work.

The first time you visit, you realize it's about five minutes away from your home and open 24/7, perfect for late-night snack runs.

The staff is so small, the same guy works the graveyard shift whenever you visit: tousled mocha-brown hair, a lanky body too thin for his uniform shirt, and two differently colored eyes. One is dark, while the other is so vividly green it makes him look intelligent.

It doesn't take long before he starts to memorize your usual order, and for you to memorize the Hi, my name is Alban! name tag over his apron.

With time the friendly customer service starts to become just actual friend behavior. You begin to learn more about one another. He asks you about your day, and when you mention some of your coworkers at your dime-a-dozen tech job he's able to remember who's who.

Meanwhile you've seen the two bowls outside the sliding doors, one full of water and the other kibble. Alban leaves them out for the neighborhood cats, and you've been lucky enough to meet a few of them before they scamper away.

Alban is like a brother to the strays, however, and the konbini tends to be empty whenever you visit, so there's no one to stop him when the cats paw at his leg, begging him to pick them up as you rant about your latest project. They even let you pet them once or twice before they climb over Alban's shoulders, watching you with nighttime pupils. Apparently that's rare. The first time a stray nuzzles your palm, Alban secretly slides you an extra pack of the snack cakes you wanted.

"If she trusts you, then you can keep a secret," he says. The cat's tail curls around his wrist before he nonchalantly drop the cake into your bag. "Our secret, right?"

Over time it becomes a part of your routine. Work during the day, visit the konbini, relax after a good conversation with Alban. Once your company picks up a new security project, your schedule slowly folds over. With Alban's late-night shifts and you working longer hours after getting a lead position, he becomes one of the few consistencies in a hectic career.

You really do treasure the time you spend with him. Now that so much is going on at work it's like his store is the only place you can unwind before you get back to programming at home.

Not to mention he's one of the few night owls you know, and the only one that was there for you when you felt like you were falling apart.

It's not like you wanted to let your defenses down, though. You'd been working tirelessly for weeks on this security system, but today your clients blew a fuse over things out of your control. All this effort, and the way they reacted made you feel like it was for nothing.

"Welcome!" Alban's standard customer service voice disappears once he recognizes your face. "Hey, it's my favorite—woah, wait. Are you okay?"

It stuns you how quickly he picked up on your mood. The second you left work, you spent ten minutes trying to wipe the ‘on the verge of tears’ look off your face.

"Don't worry, Alban, I'm fine." You try to smile. "Just a busy day at work. What're the daily specials today?"

"Oh! Uh..."

It's pretty obvious that wasn't a convincing excuse, but he lists off the menu anyways. You appreciate that he knows how to give you space.

You decide halfway through that you'd rather get your usual, though, too exhausted to think of trying anything new. "And a donut," you add, longing for a comfort food.

While Alban gets started on your food, the aisles of bright, prepackaged snacks feels like staring at a headache. Itching for relief, you stare outside the windows instead. A grayed tail swishes along the glass outside while two nighttime pupils stare right back at you.

The air prods at your skin as the sliding doors open, and you approach the cat. You recognize her as one of the first to warm up to you when you started to visit. She continues to watch you, even as you reach a hand out. Her tail rises like smoke.

The stray's eyes squint up into crescents as you scratch under her chin. "A meal and affection for free," you muse. You're trying to not be bitter, especially since this one is skittish, but you can’t help but feel envious. "Must be nice being a cat instead of a human."

The brisk nighttime air stills. This calm makes everything feel like it’s falling out of your grasp, but you don’t have a choice in the matter. You're a resigned observer to your own life.

"I just don't know what to do," you say. Your job pays well, but you’re so sick of being treated like this, especially after such a bad meeting with your client.

The stray nestles up closer to your hand, nudging the touch closer to her body so you can stroke her back. Not a moment later, she backs away. With powerful legs and silent breaths, she pounces down from the ledge, while the smoke trails into the shadowy brush on the other side of the parking lot.

So you lean back against the wall. Cold brick outlines your back. Damn. Not even the strays are cooperating with your shitty day.

By the time you return to the inside of the konbini, your nose is reddened from the chill. The overhead lights wash the color out of your face, so bright that the night outside seems jarring.

At least you can smell your food. Alban returns to the counter with a paper bag that feels warm to the touch, and a to-go box full of donuts.

You cock your head. “I only ordered one donut, didn’t I?”

“Yep.” He seals the box with a sticker. It’s a cute cat with the same mismatched eyes as him and ‘Freshness Guaranteed!’ underneath its paw.

“So why…?”

“Because I want to give you some. It’s nice to get freebies, especially when it’s for a friend that could use ‘em,” he says. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask, but you’re not doing so hot, are you? If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. I’d be happy to. Help you, I mean.”

He slides the bag of food and the donut box to your side of the counter. “But for now, you just keep those and take a moment to yourself.”

A steady aroma follows the bag while the donut box is warm under your fingers, freshly baked and at no extra charge, simply just because. One green eye and one dark stares up at you from the sticker, blending into the white fur as your vision blurs.

"Alban."

"Yeah, what's—?"

Alban’s question falters. Instead you speak, with one hand up at your eyes, glossy and turning wetter by the second. “Thanks.”

It seems the mask has fallen now. You hunch over as you sniffle. Hot shame seeps down your back like burning oil, the tears feeling more and more like they’re boiling. It only makes you more embarrassed and frustrated, which causes even more heat behind your eyes, and the cycle continues. Now here you are, crying in the cold light of a konbini while the poor cashier has no way out. You don’t even have the heart to look up at Alban’s face.

“Sorry,” you say. Your voice sticks together. “I-I shouldn’t be like this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m acting like a big baby, and I’m fine, I’m just—just making it weird, a-and you don’t even want to know.”

“But I do!”

Even though you don’t have the strength to raise your head, you can see Alban’s hands through mottled vision; namely, how they clutch at the counter—right before he sets them both over yours. You’ve never seen him without a pair of food-safe gloves, and these are no different, a solid black that sticks to your skin while fingers rest on your knuckles.

At his outburst, you dare to look up. His eyes are closed, mouth set in a crinkled frown, barely pursed as if he wants to say something. Alban reconsiders just as he opens it. Hesitation crawls into lowered brows, and your heart pangs even harder when he looks down at the hands. Either you’re seeing things, or there’s a bittersweet look in one eye and concern in the other. “If you trust me, then I want to know.

“Because you’re not ‘fine’. If you really were then you wouldn’t be crying at someone doing one tiny nice thing,” he blurts. “Did someone hurt you? Because if they did, I’ll give them a piece of my mind, no questions asked.”

“It’s… not a someone.”

That gets him to squeeze your palm. A wave of understanding bleeds through and travels up your veins. “I’m all ears.”

You squeeze back, eyelids smashing together as another fat tear rolls down your cheek. “It’s my jobbb.”

You aren’t exactly proud of how you weep, but the way Alban listens to you erases the regret. You spill your guts about the client, the meeting, the mismanagement, and that stupid security system you’ve been working on. Halfway through, Alban flips the ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED’, thumbs off his gloves, and sits next to you properly.

By now his touch returns, resting fingertips on your knuckles and rubbing up your wrist. Without the gloves, he’s warmer than ever, and softer. He passes you a box of tissues from the office, too, and doesn’t even flinch when you honk into the tissues in-between sobs.

You explain everything, even the tiny stresses in your career. “I’m lost. It pays so much but I’m so exhausted,” you say. “I don’t want to leave but sometimes I just wish I could, I don’t know, transfer to a different location, or give the client to someone else, or hell, some kind of payback.

“But I’d not that kind of person. And even if I was…” Your eyes cast downward. The tears have slowed but they’re still so wet with misery. “I’m so tired.”

Your heart aches just at saying it. The realization has set in now. You’re tired.

That’s putting it mildly. You never noticed until now, but there’s an indescribable weight in your neck and shoulders, just about ready to snap you in two under the pressure. You used to love this job, and you still love what you do, but only now are you realizing you’ve put far more into it than your superiors deserve.

“That’s fucked,” Alban finally says, and you almost snort at how plainly he says it. Instead it comes out as a weak chuckle.

“Can’t your boss put two and two together and realize you’re already giving one hundred percent—no, two hundred into the project?” He asks, even though you both know the answer. “That’s stupid. There’s a whole staff of people, so they need to get their head out of their ass and give you a break.”

“I wish.” You sniffle. “I’m just a generic worker, but I’m the only one that knows exactly how everything operates. Makes me feel like I can't even rest.”

“Do you have any time off?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So take it. You need it,” Alban says. Then he playfully nudges you. “You know you deserve to treat yourself.”

That gets another chuckle out of you, louder than the last. He smiles softly and points out, “You’re laughing more.”

“You say things so simply that, I dunno, it makes things feel less difficult. Like when I think about it, it’s like this swirling black hole.” You exhale. “I was thinking about taking time off, earlier, but I told myself to tough it out instead of giving up. But now it doesn’t feel as extreme.”

“It’s not giving up. It’s resting. That’s a requirement.”

“Yeah. It just… doesn’t feel like it when I’m talking about me.”

“Then let me be the first to remind you that you’re allowed to relax just like the rest of us.”

You wipe your eyes again, this time with a tissue while Alban rubs your back. You’ve known that for as long as you can remember, but hearing Alban say it out loud is the beginnings of understanding. Internalizing that need.

You sniff, but rather than with hopelessness, a different feeling swells in your throat. Something like recognition, warm and loose rather than tight.

“Thanks,” you say. “For the food. And, you know, all this…”

The words get lost along the way, so you settle with a gentle tilt of your head to gesture.

Alban seems to get it without much trouble, though, and pats your back reassuringly. “It’s nothing.”

“I’d argue otherwise. I must have been a nuisance—“

“It's nothing,” he repeats. “No problem at all. If you ever walk in here crying again I’d do anything to make you feel better, you know.”

“Oh.” That makes you look away, almost scared of the fact. This type of caring is unfamiliar, and now that you’re all cried out, you can’t make heads or tails of the feeling. “That’s really sweet, I think.”

Alban lifts his hand off your body. The absence picks you up and out of your thoughts, so you raise your head. You watch as it rests back on his neck, right underneath his tousled brown hair. “Don’t mention it. Uh, how do you get home?”

“I usually walk.”

“Not that I don’t trust you, but you’re not about to walk home by yourself after crying your eyes out. I’ll drive you.”

Your eyes widen. “No, you don’t have to! I don’t want to be a bother!”

“Hey, I’m offering. No one visits at this time of night anyway, except for you.”

“Yeah, but it feels like I’m being a burden or something, and I don't want to cause more trouble for you than I already have, and—oh, forget it.” You bury your face in your hands. Your cheeks are still tempered from crying earlier, but now you can feel the unmistakable heat of embarrassment as well. “You’re not going to let this up, are you?”

He says, “Only if you’re sure you’ll get home safe. It’s late.”

“Fine, you can drive.” You pat at your face with the tissue. Your tears have long since dried, but maybe this will hide the blush. “I can’t say thank you enough.”

Alban shrugs that praise off as well, so intent on refusing your gratitude that it comes across as either sheepish or blasé. He busies himself with locking up the store while you clean yourself up (again) in the bathroom. He opens the car door for you before you can open it yourself.

The stick shift is a few years behind, but the console is rigged up to connect to Alban's phone. Before he starts driving, he hands it to you. "You can choose the music."

You thumb through a streaming service before finding a title your recognize from one of your own playlists, and at the first few notes of the song, the car enters motion. It's a quiet, comfortable silence filled up by the song and your directions to your home.

The walk to the konbini is fast, but driving is even faster, and the song barely ends as he pulls up to your home. "You got everything?" He asks.

You nod. "I do. Thanks, Alban."

"It's noth—"

"Oh, quit playing yourself down already." Before you can slip out of your seat, you lay a hand over Alban's as it rests on the stick shift, just like how he comforted you earlier. "No one at work took time out of their day to hear me out, not even my friends. You did. That means something."

"Still!" Alban says. "I wouldn't just ignore you."

"A lot of people would, and did. You're a lot better than you give yourself credit for." You poke his cheek. "Now repeat after me: you're welcome."

The poke makes his face squish up, cheek smushing into the corner of his lips while one eye closes. He blinks, uncertain, as if he entered uncharted territory. He likely has. If it wasn't apparent before, it certainly was by how long it took him to avert his eyes and say the words. “…You’re welcome.”

You squish his cheeks a little more as friendly affection. Barely visible under the overhead light, his face tints pink under the pressure of your hands. “Glad to hear it. I’ll see you later, Alban.”

“Right. Rest well?”

“I will.”

The door shuts and the headlights shine long shadows behind you as you walk away. Alban watches as you pull out your keys. You notice the shining lights only dim out after you’ve stepped inside your humble abode, and the warm feeling rises up again. He made sure you were inside safe and sound before he drove away.

It’s with that warm feeling that you speed through your nighttime routine and fall asleep in your bed.

It returns each time you visit the konbini after that night, too. Alban, in all his selflessness, still insists on giving you even more freebies than you know what to do with.

“Damn, Reader, if you visit even more often, I’ll have to order extra shipments of candies,” he quips as he scans your items—then snatches a king-size snack and slips it into your bag without charging you a cent more.

You snicker. “It’s not like I ask. You’re the one that won’t quit giving me things for free.”

“I’ve got more than enough to go around.”

“But you just said you’d have to order more.”

“How’s work? Still doing the security thing?” He asks.

You roll your eyes to the ceiling and huff not a second later. “Yep, same old, same old. One of my coworkers used the wrong parts on something, so I had to spend my entire shift today disassembling and reassembling it myself.”

"You know what I'm going to say—"

"That it's unfair and stupid?"

"—Among other things, but you're just going to say the pay is too good to leave, aren't you," he finishes.

You focus on the counter rather than Alban's movements. It's been a while since that night he drove you home and the wound has healed, but there's no mistaking the beginnings of a scar at the memory, all puffy-pink as it tries to recover to what once was.

You hate to admit it, but he's right. He quoted something you said word-for-word last week.

"I'm not just predictable, I'm mad," you say. "And tired of being mad."

"Not at anything new, is it?"

You sigh. "Nope. It's more like a lot of little things building up and just whittling me down. Same ol' soul-crushing machine as always."

The cash register dings as Alban places all your items into the bag, and you pay for half of what you should. "There isn't anything keeping you happy or loyal, is there?"

"Not really. It's all miserable, even the other departments." You even laugh bitterly. "I guess the employees get paid so much because there's no budget going into decent HR."

"You know what I'm going to say."

"Don't waste your breath."

"I can't tell you what to do."

"Gotta pay my bills somehow." The receipt inches out. Alban tears it off and slips it into the bag. "I'm looking, but I can't just quit yet. At this point, I don't care what happens to the place, as long as I get paid. Need to finish the security system before moving onto another job."

"I hope someone gives you a better offer soon. Workplace culture included."

"Me too." He offers the bag to you. You take the handles from Alban with crinkles and a skim along his fingertips. "At least I've got nothing planned tonight but binging a TV show over snacks." You jostle the bag, and the many candies inside. "In no small part because of you."

He beams at that, just before wiring his mouth into a thin smile to cover up his happiness. "We're always open! And I'm always here."

"I'm counting on it." That happiness spreads to you like watercolor on paper. "I'll come back soon, Alban."

He sees you off with the good cheer and well-wishes you've come to expect from Alban, and a request to keep out of trouble. Once the crisp white of the konbini's lights fade away into the night as you walk home, the dismal feeling returns.

Maybe you should take his advice and quit while you're ahead. It's no secret this job will kill you one day.

You bite back the thought as soon as it comes to mind. You need the cash. Quitting is tempting, but if you leave now, you won't have enough savings to fall back on.

"Until this commission is over," you mutter under your breath. You'll put in the two-week notice then, once the security project is complete, and that stuck-up client coughs up the high price for all your effort.

Until then, until then, until then. Your mind echoes as you go down the familiar path home, staving off the urge to think any more on it. All that's left for you to do today is watch some shows, relax, and hopefully, get a good night's rest before doing the same thing again tomorrow.

Even though the night in serves as a good distraction, you remember the grind ahead as you tuck yourself into bed, and with it, Alban's wishes for your happiness pushes the harsh thoughts away as you drift off.

As you'd expect, the days ahead are predictably mundane, save for the awful work environment you've become so used to over time. Some days it feels like you're the only competent person in the building. Other days you know it's true.

Which brings you to now. The coworker that sits closest to you left to go file some papers in another office—or take a personal call for the next twenty minutes, it's always a toss up with them—leaving you to your own devices as you work on something that should've been completed earlier this week. Again.

The office you're currently in is built for three at most, though it rarely fits that many. Usually you're by yourself or with another coworker, and now that you're alone, you have the freedom to sigh. You know how these things work, but having to pick up so much slack is just plain exhausting.

The lights go out.

The first thing you think is if the latest updates were saved. Your brain reminds you that the program was on autosave every minute, and you haven't typed in five. It'll be fine.

The next thing is that considering your industry, there's more than a few backup generators. There's no way it would take this long for one of them to kick in and get power back to the building.

Something's wrong. You don't have a clue, but outside your office windows, you can catch glimpses of other workers evacuating. There's no way it could be a natural disaster, and you doubt a fire would cut the lights, but considering how fast the other workers clear out, you aren't staying to find out.

You're one of the last people to leave a personal office, and you presume the last to start moving. The halls twist in the darkness, but you've memorized the layout, and your phone's flashlight guides the way.

The sound of keys on keys jingle behind you. You pivot with a start "Who's there?"

No one responds. Your light reaches a few feet ahead before being swallowed by the darkness. The ceiling boasts some LEDs for detectors, cameras, and the far-off 'EXIT' sign but not much else, and none of them are helpful at the moment.

Something else whooshes ahead, and you turn again, now starting to feel like a fish being circled by a shark.

"This isn't funny," you call out. That was stupid of you. Maybe the job is rotting your brain, and it'll be the reason behind your death, trapped in your shitty office while everyone else evacuates.

With steeled nerves you keep walking, twisting your phone around to get a piece-by-piece view of the hallways. The light bounces off the waxy leaves of a houseplant by a door. The water cooler where you refill your water bottle. Two pointed strikes of orange that shine one-at-a-time as the light flashes.

Cloth covers your mouth before you can scream.

They wire around as the orange comes into focus, now identifiable as two pins in a head full of shaggy hair. The intruder rests a finger on his lips as he shushes you, one green eye and one dark reflecting the light from your phone.

You manage to shake off his grip and hiss. "Alban?"

He blinks before widening his mismatched eyes. "Wh-what are you talking about? I don't know anyone named Alban."

"Oh, cut the crap, you—" You start, but remember the LED lights up on the ceiling. The cameras! You tug on his jacket sleeve as you dive into a corridor hidden from the security cameras, and luckily, he's shocked enough to stumble along. He slips out of your grasp in a matter of seconds, but instead climbs along the walls and hops between structures to obscure himself like a superhero out of a movie.

You push yourself flat against a wall as if it would hide you any further, while Alban clings onto the ceiling and inches down, dangling in midair. A strap is attached to the roof and around his body not unlike climbing gear.

"I'd recognize you anywhere," you say, "and if I didn't before then I definitely did the second you started talking."

Alban looks away. "Oh. Right. I should've expected that."

"Never mind that, what are you doing here? I work here!" You push him lightly, and he sways in air from the force. "Don't tell me you're behind the power outage."

He scratches the back of his head and gives you a coy smile, only half-apologetic, until you push him more. He flails before steadying himself by holding onto your shoulders. "Wait, I had a reason!"

"Uh-huh, and you're going to tell me it right now before I call the cops!"

"Psh, they couldn't catch me even if they tried—" Shove. Alban swivels around aimlessly. "Okay, okay, fine! I'm a phantom thief."

You grab him and glare. "So you decided to target my workplace after hearing me complain about it for eons. Give me one good reason not to twist you so hard we test if motion sickness can result in death."

"I mean, not entirely off?" He says with a sigh. "Okay, hear me out. The konbini isn't exactly a moneymaker. So I steal things here and there, but only from people who don't deserve it. You know, the types that steal their assets, treat everyone like dirt, exploit hard-working, good people... You see where I'm going with this, right?"

"Go on."

"I like to take only a little bit of it for myself, then forward whatever else I find to the original owners, or community projects that would use the cash way better than some hoarder. Which is why I decided to come here. It has an awful rep despite its net worth, and I dunno, it just seems like it sucks more and more of your soul out the longer you work here." Alban frowns. Even upside-down in the air, his concern is heartfelt, as genuine as that day you confided in him.

You can't even say he's wrong, not entirely. He really did listen to all your woes.

"So... I did some research. Didn't like what I saw. I don't think it's news to you, either."

"It's not great, no." You cross your arms. "So you decided to steal from them."

Alban pats down his pockets. Each of them has a hidden zipper, you realize, which must explain how he hasn't dropped any of his loot until he produces it and shows it to you. One by one, he hands you small boxes covered in secure foam. Your eyes widen as you open them. Each is a different minuscule computer part. "You recognize these."

"How could I not? These are upcoming designs. Not entirely complete, but once they are, they'll be gold standard. Maybe even more."

"Exactly. I did some rifling around in the offices, too. They'll be sold at an insane markup from the true estimated value once they're released to the public." Alban bites the inside of his cheek. "Most of the information and programming has been ripped off from programmers that either didn't consent or were severely underpaid."

"You're telling me. And the employees here will be earning pennies once it goes public."

He nods, serious as the grave. You've never seen him this dead-set on something but you recognize the blazing ambition in his eyes, and the curve over his mouth that forms when he's dedicated. He set his hand over the boxes you hold. "If you really want to return them, I won't stop you. I just want to do the right thing."

The packages aren't much bigger than jewelry boxes, and just as light, but holding them feels like handling priceless masterpieces. After all, they are.

"Why?" You ask.

"Because I trust you."

"Even after I spun you around like a piñata."

"It takes more than that to knock me out," Alban says. "Besides, even if you did, I wouldn't regret it. I think I'd endure a lifetime's worth of it if that's what it took for you to know how much I care."

You readjust your grip on the parts as Alban turns his head away again. "That sounded wrong. I mean, you work for them, not me. If this feels wrong, then you can call it off and I'll leave without anything."

He cares for me. You squeeze your lips together in deep thought. "You think so highly of me, even though I'm just a wreck that has a shitty 9 to 5 and mooches off your konbini food."

"Not a wreck," he corrects, voice tilted high in protest. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"You're such a handful." You present the boxes out and away from you. "Put them back in your pockets. There's the camera outside that I pulled you away from, and a few others in each corner of this floor."

Dumbfounded, Alban gingerly takes them just as you start doodling on a piece of paper. "You're just giving them back to me?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? There's only so much time before any authorities show up." You wait until Alban secures the parts away before pressing the paper flush against his upside-down chest while you stand at eye-level with him. "Not my best blueprint, but you can figure out the best route to sneak out from with that map I just drew up."

Alban stays still in the air, but you let go of the map as it rests under the collar of his jacket. He fumbles for the paper, narrowly avoiding any stray hits to your body due to the proximity.

While he's occupied, your eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness as well as how close you are to him. He doesn't notice you staring at all, nor how his cheeks are a rosier tone than the rest of his skin.

He manages to nab the paper and holds it back over his heart, where you pressed it. When he makes eye contact with you, you see to his core; both the smarmy phantom thief that infiltrated your office, and the understanding, generous dork that works nights at the konbini.

Your hand brushes with his as you take the cloth of his jacket collar. "It didn't sound wrong at all." In the dark, he tenses, gloved hands clutching the paper tighter while that blush grows into a muted red.

You drum up the courage he's shown you time and time again as you lean in. The momentum fuels you as he reciprocates, paper forgotten as it flutters to the floor in favor of holding you tighter as his lips brush along yours.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

bonus.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You let go of Alban's collar, all lightheaded and woozy after a long-awaited kiss. It breaks off, but his arms are still tangled around your back in a loose hug. The dopey grin on his face is full of emotion; surprise, adoration, and a shred of greed like that wasn't enough for him.

"You need to get back to business," you say, breathless.

"Uh-huh?"

"And I should go before people think I went missing."

"Oh, duh. Yeah. Yeah, you should." Alban shakes his head to jostle him out of his stupor. He raises one limb after another as the cord retracts. "I'll be—ack!"

He flops face-down to the ground with a yelp. Then a groan.

You flinch. "Alban! Are you okay?"

"Ughhh."

Expecting the worst, you crouch down and hold his arm as he rises. "Ow, that hurt... No damage done, though."

"If you say so." You dust off his shoulders as he recovers. Sure enough, there aren't any scratches nor bruises immediately forming, and the concern turns into amusement as he presses his lips together. "Alban, your face is so red."

"Wh—no, it's not."

You pinch his cheeks. His brows are drawn together, all shy and flustered. "Oh, I can't wait to see what this looks like in daylight."

"It's just because I was hanging upside-down! Blood rushes to your head!"

"Yup, right after falling flat on your face."

He wiggles out of your grasp and up on his feet in no time. "You're teasing me and I won't stand for it. Bye!"

And with that, he bolts out of the room, grappling off the walls like a parkour artist until he becomes one with the darkness.

You watch him until he disappears, but you've got places to be, too. You rifle into your pocket where your phone and wallet rest.

That is, until you realize your wallet is nowhere to be found.

You frantically search your pockets until you realize the first one you checked, the one your wallet rested in, had a card inside that wasn't there before.

It's one of the generic business cards your company provides, likely lifted from another worker's office, but along the blank white cardstock, someone had drawn a cat paw alongside a note.

"You just got mugged by the robber! (But visit tonight to get it back.)"

There's a scrawl in the corner, scratched out to the point you can't tell what it was, but a few lines against the scribble makes you think the writer doodled something.

You'll have to ask him later.

"Tonight," you say out loud. It's been a long day, and like you said, you need to get back to the rest of the employees.

But after that, the workday is sure to be cut short as the higher-ups manage the police, and now you have plans.

And you could do without a 9 to 5 looming over you for a while.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊mysteriawrites

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[sesamestreep]

Jyn/Cassian, 11

11. 3 AM and I'm still awake (from this prompt list) sometimes, in order to defeat the prompts that are still in your inbox after a YEAR, you have to go into the archives, find an AU you wrote in 2019 (ON PAPER), type it up, and post the first chapter as a prompt fill even though the full fic is incomplete and that stresses you out to think about. this is one of those times. known affectionately amongst a small circle of mutuals by its draft name "sir, this is an IHOP", I'm releasing this one from the vault, please clap... cross posted to AO3 here 🌒🌔

The question Jyn gets asked the most when she tells people she works the overnight shift at a 24-hour diner is, “How do you do it?” As if she’s just admitted to shooting herself out of a canon for a living, which, to be fair, is a thing she wanted to do as a career when she was nine, but that’s beside the point.

The answer to this question is simple: you get used to it. Or, in Jyn’s experience, your life sucks for three weeks while you get used to it and then you get used to it. After that, the weird hours and irregular sleep schedule just become routine.

To be fair, she only started doing the graveyard shift in the first place because she wasn’t sleeping at night anyway and she could get more hours that way. Now, sometimes, she sleeps perfectly well in the daytime when everyone else is at work and then, other times, she doesn’t sleep at all and becomes convinced that she’s the first human being who was born with a biological indifference to sleep. Either way, she manages. 

And it’s not actually that bad. The tips are a little worse because there’s fewer customers and they tend to be drunks or insomniacs or plain weirdos who don’t get the concept of twenty percent for good service and usually leave her whatever change they have on them. And sometimes it’s so dead that Jyn literally counts the seconds on the big clock by the door. But it’s also calmer than any other shift at the diner, and sometimes people feel so bad for her being up all night that they tip her extra, which is nice. It all balances out, really.

That being said, the overnight shift doesn’t lend itself to regulars the way other shifts do. She has some, but they don’t tend to be regular regulars. At most, she sees the same drunk college students show up there for breakfast at two a.m. but not the same day every week. Her co-workers that work other shifts talk about old couples that come in for dinner three times a week and always want to sit in the same booth, or the father and daughter who get breakfast every Saturday together that the entire staff fawns over. Jyn doesn’t get regulars like that, and even if she sees the same people, most people don’t want to make conversation as they’re inhaling pancakes in the wee hours of the morning. They barely want to make eye contact with her, honestly.

Not that Jyn minds. She didn’t get into waitressing because of her bubbly personality. She’s good at it, can be pleasant and accommodating when she needs to be, but she’s also fine with customers not wanting to chitchat. It’s one of the perks of the shift, in her mind, and why it suits her to work it, rather than the breakfast or the lunch shift.

Then, she gets a regular of her own and it doesn’t change everything, but it changes enough.

*

The first time he comes in, the restaurant is so dead that for once the manager on duty isn’t on Jyn’s case about drawing in her sketchbook while she’s working. It’s that slow. There’s a couple at a table in the corner that started out their meal by bickering with each other loudly and now Jyn’s pretty sure one or both of them is asleep at the table. She already gave them their check, though, so she’s giving them at least an hour before she bugs them about it. It’s not like she needs to turn over the table or anything.

When the man comes in, the place is so empty that he actually looks around in confusion, which catches Jyn’s attention from where she’s hiding behind the cash register. 

“Sit anywhere you like,” she calls to him, half-relieved to have something to do and half-annoyed to have to do anything.

“Oh. You’re open, then?”

“As long as it’s one of the twenty-four hours in the day,” she replies, trying to sound sunny.

“Last time I checked,” the man says, sounding unsure, which makes Jyn smile for real.

She brings a menu over to the table he settles at and offers him her more standard customer service smile. “Hi, I’m Jyn. I’ll be your server this…morning. Can I get you anything to start?”

“Coffee, please.”

“Regular or decaf?”

“Regular, thanks.”

“Sure,” she says. Then she loses her mind momentarily, because she follows it up with, “You want crayons?”

That question clearly throws him, and for good reason. “What?” He asks, blinking up at her.

“Do you want crayons? To color in your placemat?” Jyn asks, less casually. She doesn’t know why she asked in the first place—he doesn’t look like the type, by virtue of not having any children with him and looking to be older than her, if she had to guess—but she does it anyway. Maybe she’s a little punchy from having no one to talk to all night.

Thankfully, he laughs, more like he’s surprised than anything else, but it still counts. “No, I’m good, thanks.”

She nods and heads off to get him his coffee. When she returns to his table with it, she doesn’t bother asking if he’s ready to order yet, because he’s still got his head bent over the enormous menu, reading it intently. She pops back over to her spot behind the register and resumes the sketch she’d been working on of the couple at the back table. She’s sure now that they are both, in fact, asleep, which is going to make it very awkward to get them to pay their bill.

A few minutes later, she hears the man at the other table clears his throat and she looks up, trying to mask her annoyance. When she does, though, she sees he’s not looking in her direction and probably didn’t do it to get her attention. Still, she should probably go check on him.

“Are you ready to order?” She asks, pulling out her order pad as she sidles up to his table.

“I—well, actually, I have to ask: why did you think I would want crayons?”

Jyn shrugs. “Technically, I’m only supposed to offer them to customers under twelve, but I think that’s bullshit. Kids aren't the only people who like to color.”

The man nods, processing this. “Okay. Not the answer I was expecting. I thought it was your way of saying I looked young.”

“No, no,” she says, and then winces. “I mean, you don’t look old or anything. You just definitely don’t look under twelve.”

“Then my disguise is working perfectly,” he says, half to himself.

Jyn snorts. “Is this your way of saying you do want crayons?”

“No, I’m all set. I think I’ll just have some eggs.”

Jyn gets the specifics of his order from him and goes to deliver the ticket to the kitchen. When that’s done, she decides it’s past time to finally collect her payment from the sleeping couple in the back. Under the guise of cleaning plates out of their way, she makes as much noise with the silverware as humanly possible, which causes the man to wake up. When she pointedly asks if there’s anything else they need, he grumbles a response in the negative and jostles his girlfriend’s wrist to wake her up too.

“You can pay right up front,” Jyn says, cheerily, before she swans away with their dishes.

After a few minutes, they come up to the cash register to pay her, even though it’s technically the manager’s job to run the register. He can’t be bothered when it’s this quiet. They don’t give her a tip then and there, but she holds out hope that they left her some cash on the table, which she checks as soon as they’ve gone. Of course, there’s nothing there and she curses under her breath before she buses the remaining dishes. She goes back again with a rag to wipe down the table, even though that’s yet another thing the manager is supposed to be helping with during overnight shifts. By the time she’s done with all that, the other man’s food is up and she goes to deliver it.

“Do you need anything else?” she asks, once she’s dropped off his food. “More coffee?”

“Yes, but could I switch to decaf?” he asks, looking like he’s asking for a kidney rather than something completely reasonable.

“No,” she says, automatically.

“Oh, I—what?”

“Sorry, that was—I was kidding.”

“Oh.”

“It wasn’t funny,” she says, feeling her face heat with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” the man says, waving a hand. “It’s fine.”

“It’s just—it’s a restaurant. You can have whatever you want.”

“Right,” the man says, smiling faintly in either amusement or confusion, like he’s not really sure what to do with her. And who could blame him for that?

“You were being polite. I shouldn’t have made fun of you,” Jyn says, fully mortified at this point. He’s definitely not going to leave her a tip now, which means this whole shift has pretty much been a bust. 

“It’s really fine,” he says. “I probably would have caught on faster if it wasn’t…”

“3 AM?” Jyn suggests.

“Yeah,” he says, with a full, self-deprecating smile that catches Jyn completely off-guard. People shouldn’t be allowed to be that attractive without warning.

“I’ll get you that decaf coffee,” she says, trying to sneak off and preserve at least some of her dignity. He thanks her as she’s retreating, and when she refills his mug, she says as little as possible so she doesn’t end up accidentally insulting him again. 

It makes things a little weird, realizing he’s cute at the same time as he becomes her only customer in the entire diner. She’s supposed to be checking in to see if he needs anything but it also feels suspiciously like fawning over him. Has it really been this long since she’s had a hot customer at this godforsaken place? She tries to distract herself with drawing, but her latest subjects just left. She’s also not supposed to be doing that where customers can see and the man is seated right across from the counter, putting her directly in his sight line. It’s unfortunate, really, in more ways than one, because he’d be fun to draw, with his messy hair and his stubble and the lines around his eyes, but doing so would involve watching him even more intently and that’s a level of weird she just isn’t willing to stoop to.

While she’s absolutely not staring at him at all, she does just so happen to notice the moment he takes off his jacket. His table is directly in the path of the draft from the front door, so it didn't seem weird for him to keep it on, because that section of the diner is always freezing. Now, though, with the jacket off, she can see he’s wearing some sort of uniform—crisply pressed navy blue pants with a matching shirt that has a patch over the pocket that she can’t read from this far away. He’s got an ID badge too, which she also can’t read, clipped to his pocket. 

To her surprise, he’s not distracting himself from his lonesome meal by messing around on his phone, like most customers and honestly even she would be doing while eating alone in a restaurant. He is occasionally throwing a glance in the direction of the TV hanging in the corner, which is set to a channel playing reruns of “Murder, She Wrote” for no other reason than there’s nothing more interesting on at this hour.

Jyn hates the feeling of having too little to do and she especially hates having just one customer and feeling like she’s creepily watching their every move, so after what feels like an appropriate amount of time, she makes her way over to the man’s table, doing her best to seem casual.

“How is everything?” she asks when she gets there, even though she could have just as easily asked that from the counter. It wouldn’t have been professional, she decides, even if there is literally no one else around. She, of course, manages to catch him right in the middle of a sip of coffee, which is a special kind of superpower one only develops as a server.

He swallows and offers her an apologetic smile. “Everything’s great, thank you.”

“More coffee?” she asks, when she notices his mug is close to empty.

“Uh, sure. Thanks.”

“Decaf still?”

He laughs at that, for some reason. “Yes. I promise I won’t switch back and forth the whole night.”

Jyn shrugs. “Doesn’t matter, really. It gives me something to do.”

“Still,” he says. “Decaf would be great.”

“You got it.” She heads off to retrieve the pot of decaf and swings back to refill his cup. After he thanks her again, she asks, “Coming or going?”

He blinks at her in confusion for a moment. “I’m sorry?” he asks.

“No, I’m—” Jyn stops short, feeling ridiculous. “I just meant—are you coming from work, or going there?”

“Oh,” he says. “How did you—?”

“The uniform,” she replies, gesturing gingerly to his clothes with the coffee pot.

“Right. Of course,” the man says, looking down as if he hadn’t realized she could see him at all. “Uh, coming from.”

“What?”

“To answer your question,” he says, looking pained. Not that Jyn can blame him; this has been a trainwreck of a conversation so far, thanks mostly to her. “I just got off work.”

“So this is dinner, then?” Jyn asks.

The man laughs and it’s a strange, reluctant sound. “I guess so.”

“That explains the decaf.”

“Sure.”

“Not the one cup of regular coffee, though.”

That gets another laugh out of him, though he appears less surprised by it this time. “Does everyone who comes here have to justify their caffeine habits?” he asks, not sounding offended.

“Only the people unfortunate enough to sit in my section,” Jyn replies. It’s not worth pointing out that the entire restaurant is her section at this hour.

“I see,” he says. “Well, the cup of regular coffee is to give me enough energy to get back to my apartment without falling asleep at crosswalks, if you must know.”

“Ah, makes sense.”

“I’m glad you approve. You had me worried for a second there,” he says, and it lands somewhere between outright sarcasm and flirting, which is enough to make Jyn want to pull back.

“Yes, well, now that we’ve got that figured out, I suppose you deserve the chance to finish your meal in peace,” she replies, formally, and fights the urge to wince at how stupid she sounds.

“Okay,” the man says, sounding amused again as Jyn turns around and retreats back to the safe haven of the cash register to hide from the awkwardness she’s created. 

Luckily for her, after only a few minutes, she gets another table to distract her. It’s four people who appear to be college students and they thankfully don’t seem to be wasted, which is a surprise, even for a Tuesday morning. It’s a nice change of pace for the typical night shift. If Jyn had to guess, they probably just came from studying late at the library. Then again, she never did the whole college thing, so she could be wrong. All of her knowledge of what it’s like comes from TV shows. The college kids are nice enough, if a little boisterous for this time of night, when she takes their orders, which is what matters. Once she gets everything in to the kitchen, Jyn decides it’s probably safe to check on the man who’s there alone again.

When she approaches his table, she sees that he’s done eating and that he’s gotten distracted by his phone. He’s reading some message with his eyebrows drawn together in concern, but he looks up as soon as he hears her coming and his face clears in a deliberate way that suggests he knows he was pulling a face and that he doesn’t want to be asked about it. Not that she would, honestly, even without the signal. It’s one thing to be weird about his coffee ordering habits—she’s his waitress and she’s bored; sometimes people like to banter with their servers—but she doesn’t know him at all. She’s not going to ask who’s texting him. That’s none of her business, even if her curiosity seems to be piqued by everything he does.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asks, as pleasantly and professionally as possible, even as her mind fills in a fake backstory of an emotional affair with a co-worker that’s turned sour and now results in petty 3 AM text messages that make him scowl at his phone.

“Just the check would be great.”

“Of course,” she says, and goes off to fetch it. She returns and drops it off at the table with a breezy, “You can pay at the counter whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” he replies, without looking up, and Jyn retreats again behind the counter, to wait for him or for her college students’ order to be up, whichever comes first.

The man takes a few minutes to finish his coffee and get his jacket back on, but he doesn’t hold up the table, which is nice. Even when the restaurant is empty like this, Jyn hates when people linger. It shouldn’t bother her, really—they’re paying customers, after all—but it still drives her nuts. She pushes off the back wall when she sees him approaching the counter and he has the audacity to look kind of shy when their eyes meet. Has this guy never met a waitress before? Is he a shut-in or something? And most importantly, why does she care? Hot people shouldn’t be allowed in the diner, she decides. It’s confusing, especially in the middle of the night.

He hands her the check along with the cash to pay it without a word, and she sets about getting him his change out of the diner’s ancient cash register. She hands over the bills and a few coins and thanks him for coming in.

“You have a good night,” she adds, sounding folksier than she means to. “Or morning. Whatever it is.”

He smiles at that. “Thanks, you too.”

“I will, thanks.”

He’s already turning to go when he adds, casually over his shoulder. “See you around, Jyn.”

By the time she’s remembered that she introduced herself when he first came in and recovered from her surprise at hearing her name come out of his mouth, he’s already gone. Apropos of nothing, there’s some buzzy feeling in the pit of her stomach that she kind of wishes would go away, but it’s also the most exciting thing that’s happened to her all night, tragically. The cook ringing the bell to tell her that she’s got orders up is the only thing that startles her out of her reverie. 

She brings the food over to her table of college students, and then goes over to clean off the cute guy’s table. As she’s moving plates around, she notices he left a tip in the form of cash tucked under his water glass. It’s a little over twenty percent, which, given the night she’s had, basically makes this guy the love of her life. She’s pleased enough that she almost forgets to be disappointed he paid in cash, rather than with a card, making it impossible to learn his name. Almost.

[mako-neexu]

i love oberon and his status as guda's boyfriend who protect them 24 hrs ughhghhg. everyone knows how much he loves guda www by day hes the charming fairy king who gets himself into debts, attempts to kill shakespeare once in a while, be a shit to guda and cas with as much delicacy in front of others, he even helps out as someone who advises guda sometimes, being the social butterfly but then at night he has a graveyard shift over at guda's mental landscape. sometimes abby would be there or gankutsuou ww he hates the job so much but he still hacks away at the darkness in guda's trash heap as much as possible. sometimes after especially a singularity/lostbelt that affects guda severely, the three of them have to work double time while chasing away unwanted visitors (oberon instantly one shots a certain flower mage sneaking around guda's dreams at some point). oberon sometimes feels like a janitor like ughhhhghghhgh and then he'll see guda smiling later in the day and he'll go silent before annoying them to hell i love them so muhc

[hollygl125]

yo umm i was wondering and couldn't find on google so i think you could help me

the shifts in csi (like day shift, graveyard shift etc) are around which times?

Hello, lovely anon,

First of all, my sincere apologies for not having responded to your query in a timely (or, you know, remotely helpful) manner. Not as an excuse, but as an attempt at an explanation, I will tell you that I have been kind of a disaster person lately (much more so than indicated in the linked post, and even much more so this past fall than now) and don’t always have a ton of control over where my mind chooses to focus.

I should also acknowledge that, while I carried out my fall 2021 CSI rewatch (when I didn’t realize I was subsequently going to care about any of these details) with sort of rapt attention, in my (yes, many) subsequent rewatches I have often skipped scenes or storylines that don’t really interest me (e.g., where neither Sara Sidle nor Gil Grissom is anywhere to be found), and I am almost always doing two or three things at once while watching. So it’s certainly more than possible I have missed some non-GSR details in there.

In response to your question, the two things I can tell you with certainty are these:

The CSIs of CSI have three shifts: day shift, swing shift, and night/graveyard shift (this last being what the lead characters of CSI are generally working). Logic would dictate that, with three shifts and 24 hours in a day, the shifts most likely start (and end) eight hours apart. (I will not, however, state that logic necessarily dictates that the shifts each be eight hours, and I will discuss that more below.)

At the end of “Mea Culpa” (05x09), after Warrick, Nick, and Catherine are transferred from night/graveyard shift to swing shift, Warrick tells Grissom, “Well, I got to get some rest. Swing shift starts at four in the afternoon. That’s a big change.”

Based on the above (and what I will discuss below), the best answer I can give is that the shifts should start at the following times (and end approximately, though not necessarily exactly, eight hours later):

Day shift: 8:00 a.m.

Swing shift: 4:00 p.m.

Night/graveyard shift: 12:00 a.m. (midnight).

(I will also note some contradictory information below the cut, although I don’t know the source of that information.)

But the other thing I will note (and for which I will give some possibly excessive examples below the cut) is that CSI does a pretty terrible job of keeping track of these kind of workplace logistics. You might have thought the writers and showrunners of what was for a time the most popular scripted TV show in the world (or something like that) would have added a few notes to their show bible about workplace logistics (shift times, scheduling, etc.) but . . . nope, not in any way that is apparent to me! (I find wanting to write a story that is compatible with the internal logic of the show and finding there really is no internal logic of the show to be terribly frustrating.)

Shift times:

Okay, to be honest, the first place I looked for an answer to your query was in @addictedtostorytelling’s wonderful meta, both because she is an expert in (among many other things!) these finer details (e.g., dates on documents shown in the show) and because I was pretty sure I had seen a post from her that addressed shift times.

The only post I could find on the topic was this one, in which the asker states that “we know there are 3 csi shifts: day (7am to 3pm), swing (3pm to 11pm) and night (11pm to 7am).” I don’t know the source of information for that statement. (If anyone else knows, I’d be most grateful if you shared in the comments, so I can update this post!) Honestly, it’s more than possible that CSI has given contradictory information on this subject. But the one place I personally know of a shift start time being given in the show is in Warrick’s statement quoted above.

I also did a general google search on shift times (not specific to CSI or even real-world CSI-type employees). The most common answers I saw were days = 8:00 (or 7:00) a.m. to 4:00 (or 3:00) p.m., swing = 4:00 (or 3:00) p.m. to 12:00 a.m. (or 11:00 p.m.), night/graveyard = 12:00 a.m. (or 11:00 p.m.) to 8:00 (or 7:00) a.m.

In this post on Talk CSI, you can see people trying to answer your question way back in 2006, when the show was airing. One board member there noted that their (forensic, as I understand it) agency had three ten-hour shifts (with two hours of overlap at each end). Another noted that, where they worked (also apparently in the forensic context), the shifts were “12:30 to 8:30, 8:30 to 4:30 and 4:30 to 12:30 working 8 hour shifts.” @figsr kindly advised me that in her (non-forensic) experience shifts would have a half-hour overlap for handover.

I have no personal experience with this, but to me also just logically it would make sense for these shifts to have some sort of overlap for handover—so that, e.g., one team can be dealing with their beginning of shift housekeeping (shifts, assignments, memos from upper management, etc.) while the other is still primarily responsible for calls to the field.

Anyway, based on the above, I can’t give a conclusion on exactly how long the shifts are/when they end. But, as for when the shifts start, my best answer is as given at the top.

The other thing I should probably note here is that the CSIs of CSI do not stop working just because their shifts have ended; when they are in the middle of something that needs to be addressed in a timely manner, they tend to keep going, and they seem to work a lot of double shifts. They also apparently help out other shifts sometimes when necessary. (You’ll note that we see them working during the day a lot, but I don’t know how much of that can be attributed to the issue I discuss below.)

Shift times + scheduling + lack of internal logic (i.e., WTF, CSI?!):

As @addictedtostorytelling discusses in the meta I linked above (which I highly recommend reading, if you’re interested in this topic!), CSI doesn’t make much effort to depict the characters’ work schedules in any sort of realistic way, and drawing inferences about the logistics of the their work schedules is kind of a crapshoot.

Here are a few examples of CSI seeming to ignore its own shift times:

In 01x10, Sara’s asleep with her head on the table in the break room. It’s daylight (looks like morning). She wakes up as the kettle starts whistling. Grissom asks, “Did you sleep here?” Sara responds, “I was working till 4:00 a.m.” —> 4:00 a.m. should be their lunch time. None of this makes any sense.

In 07x08, Sara spends her day waiting to testify in court; they never get to her. Afterwards she goes to talk to Grissom in his office; based on the foregoing it must be late afternoon (maybe around 4:30-5:00 p.m.). Grissom has been working on that episode’s case and must have been on shift since at least the night before. He’s now sitting there reading Thoreau, and she tells him, “I won’t wait up.” —> I know he’s traditionally been a workaholic, and maybe they both have the night off, but it always strikes me as odd (and maybe a bit irresponsible?) that he’s still not heading home, given how long he must have been up and the fact that their usual shift time is in probably close to seven hours (and I always imagine him, as supervisor, arriving early).

At the end of 07x18, the TV reporter says that the suspect confessed earlier that day to the murders of the six showgirls. (The TV newscast is supposedly live, and it’s dark outside where the reporter is. He also states, “The families have organized a candlelight vigil that will begin here tonight.”) Grissom brushes a tear off Sara’s cheek then walks her out of the lab with his arm around her/hand on her back. The hallway has dim lighting and is empty aside from someone (not Natalie Davis!) mopping the floors. It’s giving very “end of the day so the lab’s deserted” vibes. —> But it’s literally never the end of the day there! They work the night shift, and the lab is always humming!

Similarly, in CSIV 1x05, Sara and then Grissom as well (“the matched set”) run into their suspect (Martin Kline) while leaving what is very specifically (i.e., with several establishing shots) shown to be a dark and empty lab. (Like, it’s clearly supposed to feel creepy when Kline first confronts Sara and she’s all alone.) —> But, again, the original CSI showed us that place was never dark and empty! It was always humming!

In 08x01, the security guard at the parking lot from which Sara was abducted says that Sara “eats at the veggie place downstairs a couple times a week.” When Catherine asks when she was there that night, he says, “I don’t know, like 7:30, maybe. That’s when she usually comes.” —> Sara eating at 7:30 p.m. is like someone who works a 9-5 job eating at about 4:30 a.m. (I also feel like their working hours are so erratic that, if she were able to pull off anything regular a couple times per week, it would be something regular she could do with Grissom—like maybe sitting down to a nice relaxed home-cooked rather than take-out meal twice per week.)

Shift times aren’t the only issue, though.

In 02x15, for example, Sara’s “Request for Leave of Absence” form states that her work week is “Tue - Sat grave.” Now, I don’t pay much heed to the CSI props department. (They did give us these nonsensical ID cards, after all.) But this would make a lot of sense to me—the CSIs all having a staggered work week, with two regular, consecutive scheduled days off each. Only . . . we don’t ever really see anything like that?

At the end of 03x22, Sara notes that the schedule says Grissom has the night off, and, when he confirms, she then adds, “Me, too.” It certainly doesn’t sound like this is a regular (weekly) occurrence. But in truth I can’t remember ever actually seeing two of our CSIs have the night off together. We almost never see them having a night off at all. Even in 03x03, when we are told Sara had the night off, it’s in the context of Grissom having called her in to work.

(I think there are a very small number of examples of one of the CSIs actually having a night off—e.g., in 03x09, Catherine has a couple days off but stops by the lab to pick something up for Lindsey’s birthday.)

Admittedly, I get this one, because of course the showrunners want for the most part for the whole cast (especially its major players, the CSIs) to be onscreen throughout every episode. So the subject of days off would have to be fudged. But it strikes me as funny that, in 04x12, when Nick is absent for the entire episode, they don’t take the opportunity to show someone having their regular days off; instead, Sara tells us he’s at the “American Academy of Forensic Science convention” (even though it’s about a month early for the AAFS conference).

Another matter that makes no logistical sense to me is the staffing changes that go on during and immediately after season 05.

In the pilot, the graveyard shift is five CSIs (including Holly Gribbs) plus Brass, who presumably does a lot of paperwork. Then Sara takes Holly’s spot and Brass is transferred out, so it’s just five very qualified CSIs (and no wonder Grissom is always behind on his paperwork, with Brass gone).

By season 5, graveyard shift is up to five and a half CSIs, basically, with Greg’s inclusion as a CSI-in-training. Then Ecklie decides to mix things up (i.e., punish Grissom and his pals), and he splits them into two shifts, adding only Sofia (to the graveyard shift). So then graveyard has three and a half CSIs (four once Greg makes CSI I), and swing shift has three CSIs. In 05x11, Ecklie acknowledges swing shift is short a couple bodies and blames budget constraints. But, if swing shift is short a couple bodies, graveyard shift must be short a body, too, even once Greg makes CSI I. How can budget constraints suddenly necessitate them being down that many bodies—especially when by season six Ecklie can somehow justify letting them now have six full CSIs on graveyard shift? Also, we know the swing shift supervisor was transferred to days to replace Ecklie, but what happened to the rest of the previous swing shift?

Now, my petty headcanon would be that the entire day shift save for Sofia quits when Ecklie gets promoted because the thought of him as assistant lab director is unbearable to them, as a result of which he moves the entire swing shift to days and pretends the staff shortages are due to budget cuts. But I find it kind of funny (again!) that, during the fifth season, when CSI really was on top of the world (e.g., ratings, cast winning the SAG award, Tarantino directing “Grave Danger”), the showrunners couldn’t at least have found a couple warm bodies to show up occasionally to round out the swing shift (even if Ecklie was punishing Grissom and his shift by leaving the graveyard shift understaffed). (In 05x16, Catherine is shown talking to three randoms in “forensics” coveralls, one of whom calls her “boss,” but no explanation is given as to who they are, and I think that’s the most we ever see in that regard.)

Anyway, thank you so much for your question, and my apologies for rambling with some of my CSI logistics grievances. My best answer to your question is as given at the top. If you should have another question, please feel free to send it my way—barring any acts of God, etc. (unforeseeable future events), I will most almost certainly be able to manage a more prompt response!

[kh-wanderers-of-twilight]

@khoc-week 2024 Day 2 - Past

For this day's prompt I will add my other two characters that I mentioned the previous day. I wanted to draw a scene for Kionas to show his past but I couldn't think of something because I didn't have time.

Note: I'm changing something a little that I wrote for Telesphoros in the previous post and changing the backstory of Aceso and Vaillant. Also sorry for my bad English.

Telesphoros(Telos), Aceso, Vaillant and Kionas(stories under the cut).

Telesphoros, the oldest son of a family of Potion Makers who live in the world of Harmonic Plateau. Before the events of BBS he used to live a normal life on his homeworld, unlike his family he used to work as helper of a fisherman when he was 12 and from the age of 8 he trained himself with wooden swords and bats/clubs to fight, sometimes his younger sister, Aceso would join him in his training for fun and play with him.

During the events of BBS, three strangers appear to Harmonic Plateau and met one of them, it was during the time he ended his shift at the docks to collect the fish, he encounters Aqua who asked if he saw any of her two friends and Telesphoros replied he didn't. Then his mother appears to find his sister who was late for lunch and she was worried that she got hurt, with the help of Aqua, he goes to the forest where Aceso goes often for walks and finds her being chased by a monster. Both Aqua and Telesphoros defeat the mysterious creature and he thanks her for saving his sister.

The next year he gifts Aceso his lucky blue headband for her birthday and few months later he loses his world to the heartless along with his heart.

For unknown reasons he appears in the world of Traverse Town and not feeling his heart(he became a Nobody), during the 10 years he took residence in this world, he changed his name to Telos, helped the people around him, trained with close combat and weapon fighting and learned that he could control light and dark (Twilight manipulation).

After he saw a member of Organization XIII, he stole their clothes and made his own corridors of Darkness to jump from world to world. Currently he is 24 years old and on a mission to find his sister and take his heart back.

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

Aceso, the youngest daughter of a family of Potion Makers who live in the world of Harmonic Plateau. Before the events of BBS like her brother she used to live a normal life in her homeworld, she used to be an apprentice of a Mage to learn Magic and under the discipline of her parents to make potion.

She was 4 years old when she met an armored figure that fell from the sky in the forest, he introduced himself as Vaillant after he woke up but he couldn't remember his past. The armored man had a strange sword called keyblade and could control the light and dark with this power he became the shadow of Aceso to hide from people and the two of them became fast friends.

During the events of BBS, three strangers appear to to Harmonic Plateau, she firstly meets Ventus and later briefly Terra when she returns home with her brother from the forest.

The next year she loses her world to the heartless and Vaillant protects her rom the creatures by sending himself and her to the realm of Sleep. There Aceso becomes a Keyblade wielder under the tutelage of Vaillant, travels in the dreams of people and helps them defeat their nightmares which she continues to do for the next 10 years.

During the events of Dream Drop Distance, she and Vaillant found a way to escape the realm of Sleep and after the events of KHIII they meet the Vanitas Remnant, later named Kionas, in the world of Keyblade Graveyard and becomes his friend.

Currently she is 16 years old and on a mission with Vaillant and Kionas to stop a mysterious foe and find her brother.

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

Vaillant, his past is unknown and has amnesia, he remembers his name and that he was a Keyblade wielder. He was found by Aceso in the forest of Harmonic Plateau and became friends.

During the events of BBS, three strangers appear in Harmonic Plateau, he senses the darkness from one of them and meets the young man named Terra and challenges him in to combat to test his will and power.

The next year, Harmonic Plateau gets lost into the darkness and protects Aceso by sending both of them in the realm of Sleep for the next 10 years he mentors the girl in the way of Keyblade and protects people from nightmares.

During the events of Dream Drop Distance they find a way to escape from the realm Sleep and after the events of KHIII they go to the Keyblade Graveyard and encounter Vanitas Remnant, later named Kionas, and take him to their adventures to defeat a mysterious foe from Vaillant's past.

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

Kionas(Vanitas Remnant), he was originally an unversed created by Vanitas before the events of BBS, he was the physical manifestation of thoughts, feelings and will of his creator and sometimes his punching bag when Vanitas was in a fool mood.

During the events of BBS he fought with one of the Wayfinder trio and lost and returned in the form of a shadow ball. He never actually disappear after Vanitas was destroyed.

For years he stayed in the same place in the Keyblade Graveyard when two people appeared and engaged them in combat. After he lost the fight, one of them, Aceso, wanted to be his friend and gave him a new name and the man, Vaillant, gave him a new haircut and outfit. He is currently 16 years old and on a mission with his new friends to save the worlds.

[stateofgracetvacousticversion]

Taylortober (my version)

Drawtober/Taylortober

Day 1: Cardigan

Day 2: mustard yellow/hunter green/maroon

Day 3: maple latte

Day 4: willow

Day 5: snake

Day 6: meet me after dark

Day 7: seven

Day 8: no body, no crime

Day 9: ivy/tolerate it (1) (2)

Day 10: this story's got dust on every page

Day 11: invisible string

Day 12: gold rush

Day 13: 13

Day 14: sad girl autumn

Day 15: memory garden/graveyard shift

Day 16: exile

Day 17: autumn leaves

Day 18: anti hero

Day 19: out of the woods

Day 20: karma

Day 21: ghosts

Day 22: 22

Day 23: haunted

Day 24: burning all the witches

Day 25: I know places

Day 26: vigilante shit

Day 27: labyrinth

Day 28: wonderland

[atamascolily]

princess tutu re-watch, episode 24

You know, there's something genius about having the narrator be truly unreliable… we now learn that the reason WHY the raven grew so strong in the first place is because he was feeding on the love the people had for the prince.

We open with Fakir and Tutu embracing, only for them to collapse as Ahiru passes out.

Autor: Wow, okay, I'm back! What did I miss? Why the hell are you hugging this girl in a graveyard??

Fakir: Hey, Autor, philosophical question for you: am I making stuff happen, or am I just writing down what would have happened anyway?

Autor: Aren't those the same thing? … JK, if your will is strong enough you can do whatever you want--even take over the WORLD! evil laughter

Fakir puts Ahiru to bed in his room just as she did for him earlier--ROLE-REVERSAL, MY BELOVED!

Ahiru: Ah, this is great, Fakir, with your power we can fix everything, no problem!

Fakir: hahaha, right!

Ahiru follow Rue to a house covered with crows and discovers Crow!Mytho (Crowtho?). In a sign of his severe personality shift, the Friend to All Living Beings (Except Crows) almost eats a live mouse instead of the picnc Rue brought for him.

Rue: You know what, let's just dance instead, okay?

Flashback to the Raven reminiscing about the old days to tiny Rue: "You know, you should marry that guy someday, Kraehe; we might be on opposite sides, but he's got style. Plus, he loves everybody, so of course he'll fall for you, too! Someone's got to!"

Ahiru, watching Rue's breakdown: "I KNEW she wasn't really Kraehe this whole time!!!"

Rue tells Ahiru that Mytho will give his heart to the raven if she returns the remaining shards: "So then we'll have no prince AND an evil raven! Nobody wins!"

To be honest, I am surprised Rue didn't try to rip Ahiru's pendant off, but maybe she doesn't know that's how Ahiru transforms. Would be funny if she tried and that's how she discovered Ahiru was a duck though…

Autor: The Raven is coming back? Fucking awesome! I was right about everything! vibrates with excitement

Fakir: Yes, and that's why I need your help--

Autor: What's in it for me?

Uzura gives up trying to explain in words and just lets ghost!Edel do it: the pendant is the last of the heart shards, and that's why it responds to them.

(on first watch, this completely broke me, Drosselmeyer is SUCH an asshole not to tell her about this. Informed consent? I don't know her!)

Crow!Mytho: gotta dance the pain away, someone help me dance the pain away…

Ahiru: Oh, shit, he can fly now!

Tutu explains to Rue that Mytho really wants his heart back because otherwise the shard wouldn't summon her, and she calls the remaining heart shards back.

Heart shard #1: You call this a body? No way in hell I'm going back in that thing when it looks like something the cat dragged in!

Heart shard #2: suck it up, buttercup, the showdown with the raven is about to begin and we need to be in peak form!

Heart shard #3: Hey, Toots, don't forget to keep one shard in reserve just in case this all goes to hell, okay?

Mytho is still a crow, and the raven--an eldritch horror bigger than the city--wakes up!

Raven: YOU'RE GROUNDED, YOUNG LADY!

Rue: Shut up! You're not my real dad!

Raven: finally figured it out, huh? took you long enough. Come on, prince, it's dinner time! OM NOM NOM

Rue's love is enough to break the curse and transform Mytho back to normal!

Tutu rescues him out of mid-air for the third time… this is getting to be quite the habit.

meanwhile, the raven kidnaps Rue and takes her to another dimension while Tutu and Mytho are having a heart-to-heart, because apparently talking is not a free action in this show. Oops.