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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 3 years ago

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New York High Rise {3}

Series summary; What does Steve think of what just happened? Well, not only will his next client get to know but also a dear friend of the mob boss.

Pairing: mob!Steve x mob!reader

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Chapter 3/5

Word; 6.2k

Warnings; canon type violence, death, anything you could expect from a mafia!au

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: I just want to warn anyone, this chapter revolve around Steve and contains graphic scenes so if anyone feel like they may get triggered, I have now warned you. If you choose to read anyways it is YOUR choice.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Steve was fuming. He could practically feel the steam rising from the top of his head. This time, compared to earlier, it wasn't because of the feverish warmth inside the club. Nor the sunny season's air outside. It was because of the folder resting on the table.

The Canine boss could still hear the echoing slap the orderly stacked papers had done when landing on the table. Even your words reverberated in his head like an annoying tune he couldn't help but mutely sing in his mind.

This was not how he'd thought this meeting would go.

Steve had planned to get his will through, to expand his empire from Brooklyn to the most successful part of New York, Manhattan, your territory. But no. You'd decided to be as stubborn as a mule and as stuck up as the bureaucrats that he needed to handle in exclusive deals.

Now he understood why so many said your empire wasn't the usual kind, rather something new. You'd built your syndicate from the best, or worst in regard of how the Canine for the moment saw you, of two worlds.

"Bitch", you were long gone, so the growled curse aimed at you went unheard. However, the walls around Steve caught the profanity he uttered whilst snagging the folder from the table and pursued to head out of the room.

Only the guards stationed outside the corridor leading to the conference room was still in the club. Yet, the Canine boss paid them no mind as he stalked out of the private area, making them scramble to follow him. The rest of his party, even those previously undercover, must have either retreated for the night or waited outside. Concerning how Steve himself hadn't left yet, he suspected at least his most trusted team was waiting by the car.

Passing through the lobby, the mob boss frightened some of the staff lingering about. Not only thanks to the authority he always carried himself with but also his visible darkened features. However, Steve's attention didn't stray to the people following him with wary eyes. Instead, he looked straight forward, focusing on his guards where they lounged around the black Chrysler he'd arrived with a few hours earlier.

Seemingly, they had enough of an engaging conversation that they shared some laughs. But that changed the moment Steve stepped through the door a bouncer held open for him.

Usually, the Canine boss' hard exterior dissolved somewhat among his men, seeing how they'd become good comrades. Although now, when the dark-blonde man came out of the club looking like he could kill someone, their easy smiles and carefree stance immediately smartened up. Backs straightened and jaws clenched upon seeing the fury Steve not only emitted with a scowl but his whole body.

"How did it go?" One of the guards questioned, more out of courtesy than curiosity, concerning it was clear how it went. As suspected, he got nothing more than a glare from Steve, seeing how his anger hadn't flickered out the slightest, only heightened when feeling how his fingers clutched the folder in his hand even tighter. Your folder with your contract.

"Where's Barnes?" Some flinched by his bark of a question.

"He's still inside...", the rest of the answer fell on deaf ears as the blonde rounded the car, not caring too much where his head bodyguard was for the moment, only that he would hurry up to finish whatever he dealt with.

"As soon as he's back, we go", the driver, who had noticed the Canine boss and stepped out of the vehicle to hold open the door for him, didn't even get the chance to do what he intended. Steve all but tore open the backseat door and climbed into the car. Leaving the chauffeur to stand there and look at his boss in perplexity, as the Canine didn't more than touch the black leather seat before he slammed the door shut again.

That Steven had a temper everyone in his vicinity knew. But how he now acted reached not only a new level but contrasted heavily to how you'd appeared.

You'd left about ten minutes ago, looking indifferent to how everyone in Steven's patrol had seen you when first entering the designated conference room. That guard of yours had led you to the car parked mere ten feet from their own boss'. There, your chauffeur had greeted you with a smile and a few quiet words none besides you were meant to hear. Neither was your response, that likewise was accompanied with a smile, able to be distinguished.

As you stepped into your transport, none of the men trying to read your expressions noted anything more than a similar politeness Steve could show them once in their company. However, when comparing it to the state of their own boss once he exited, it was clear that the meeting didn't favour the Canine boss, but rather the Feline. And though none who had accompanied Steven knew what the two of you'd discussed concerning the meeting had been a closed-door discussion, they knew their boss hadn't brought anything with him earlier. So when spotting the portfolio that the mob boss had held in his hand, it only sealed the deal further.

That was why none of the guards nor the chauffeur intruded on the solitude Steve had sought inside the car, merely waiting for the right-hand man of the Canine boss to return so they could head to their next stop.

And it was good none did either, seeing how Steve mulled over everything that had happened with curses leaving him every five seconds. Additionally, anyone who would've opened the opposite backseat door would have got your folder smack in the forehead, seeing how the blonde man had thrown it as harshly and as far away from himself that he could, once in his own confinement.

He didn't need to hold the damned contract you'd offered him, even less open and study it, to know he would read it in your annoying voice. And that aggravated Steve even more.

It annoyed him that your voice echoed as a constant reminder in his mind. It annoyed him that you'd prepared a contract, which so obviously cried you hadn't even come here to listen to him in the first place. It annoyed him to such a fucking degree that you'd played him by a mere act of forced courtesy rather than a gentlemen move, to use your own words, that it felt like he could just tear the contract to shreds.

Still, he didn't.

The blonde man seethed, turning his head to look at the folder. 'If you don't sign it and have it delivered to me, I know you've declined my offer and this war will be ended in another way.' He knew you were serious about that, so perhaps that was why he hadn't left it behind in the conference room. Nonetheless, it had taken a great effort for Steve to push away every ounce of pride in his body to grab ahold of it. And when he finally held the stiff cartoon folder, it had almost felt like it burned him like some crucifix. No, it burned like a sign of defeat.

Joseph Rogers would never have done it, never admitted when he was defeated.

At the thought of his father, Steve's hand fisted where it rested on the armrest dividing the two seats in the back of the car. What would he say? He probably wouldn't have said anything, just walked out as you had done to him. A vibration deep in his chest made a low sound leave him at the realisation you actually played the game his father always had and Steve himself only thought he had.

Fittingly, or unfittingly in his own mind, the door connected to the other seat opened with a click to interrupt the abusive thoughts of his father.

Although pulled out of his mind, Steve didn't glance to see whoever plucked the folder occupying the seat beside him before they climbed in themselves. There was only one person that first and foremost would dare to be in his presence right now. On top of that, also knew he was the only one who didn't need to repeatedly ask for permission to join him.

Not even when he saw the person shift in his peripheral, from simply holding the folder to actually waving it slightly to catch his attention, clearly wanting to ask him a question, did Steve look towards them. Although, he did speak up.

"Not a word, Barnes", the Canine boss raised his fist, so it was levelled with his cheek as he said this. By now, his nails had dug into his palm and there was no question small crescent moons would be dented in his skin.

"Maybe I should've stayed, after all", the sentence was followed by a chuckle, the sound making Steve snap to watch the man sitting beside him.

"Didn't I say you should keep your mouth shut?" The blonde stared at the brunette. Who, unlike earlier, now had pulled his hair into a low bun in the nape of his neck. However, no matter the fury the Canine's cold blue eyes conveyed, Bucky Barnes saw no real threat.

"You often do, but you have so far not put a bullet in me", Bucky shrugged with an easy smile.

The mob boss remained silent as his head bodyguard leaned forwards far enough to knock on the wall beside the still open windshield that could separate the driver from those in the back seat.

"Close it up", Steve honestly thought the brunette would've given the chauffeur, who now had taken his place behind the wheel, directions of where to go. Gauging by his act, he must have done it before getting into the car. Hence, the driver did nothing but nod to signify he heard what the guard said before closing the visor, leaving whatever Steve knew Bucky wanted to talk to him about for only him to hear.

He felt the car rock to a gentle start, the road underneath the vehicle sending small vibrations throughout Steve. Tilting his head, he saw the scenery blur as he didn't concentrate on anything specific they drow by.

Despite the initial silence of the car ride, the blonde saw how the man beside him shifted, angling his body just slightly more his way. The minimal change of where Bucky attention laid told the mob boss he would initiate a conversation. And as on a cue, Bucky spoke. "So what happened? 'Cause clearly you scared half of your squad enough for them to want to take a week off".

He didn't redirect his gaze, fearing that his now fisted hand would connect with his friend's jaw if he didn't control himself. What happened? The question taunted in his mind, enough so that Steve clenched his jaw. Everything that shouldn't have happened.

"You have the folder", he gritted out, continuing to aimlessly stare out of the window, now concentrating on how the scenery changed from the narrow streets the nightclub had been located in to instead manifest the glittering sunset reflecting off the water in East River.

Beside him, he felt how Bucky shifted and shortly afterwards came the sounds of papers starting to be turned over. The head guard sat silent as he read the contract that not even the Canine had looked through.

The lack of verbal confirmation of Steve's evident loss in this meeting spurred the blonde, whether he wanted or not, to glance at the brunette.

Bucky's brows were furrowed. Consequently causing the grooves on his forehead, which always appeared when he pondered something, to become extremely visible. His features remained this way as his eyes scanned over the rows stitching together the contract. Then, for some reason, they changed.

From an expression showing the brunette tried to fathom the situation that had made Steve considerably harsher to anyone in his close vicinity, his face now fell and a smirk began to toy with his lips. On top of this, he let out a low whistle turning to the next page.

The smouldering anger in Steve's chest flared up to the same intensity it had burned with earlier. Back when he had sat in silence and glared at the folder inside the club. He ground his teeth together, feeling how they caught in each other's pointy edges.

"What?" He demanded to know what the man all of a sudden found so entertaining. Yet, the answer didn't come immediately. Instead, Bucky sat there with the same expression pinning his face while finishing the document in his grip.

Not until the brunette had closed the binder and waved it similarly to how he'd done when entering the car did his gaze meet Steve's. His eyes, also blue but slightly greyer in colour, was crinkled in the corners. The amusement, or whatever caused the mob boss nostrils to flare in agitation, was only further displayed by the shake of his head.

"She's good".

"What?" Bucky almost hadn't finished his nearly wordless reply before Steve barked his requirement of an explanation.

"Whether you want to admit it aloud or not, I know you think about it in that analysing brain of yours", the brunette begun, pushing the folder underneath the mob boss' arm on the armrest. Steve, who followed the act with disdain, shuffled in his seat directly afterwards so he wouldn't be touching the contract which you formerly had been carrying around.

Watching the blonde's action, Bucky only continued, now even less worried his words might be wrong and evoke further anger from the Canine. Of course, he might still get mad, though Bucky knew he at least was right. "She is good, Steve. If not shown by this contract, which I suggest you read, then at least how she's gotten to you".

The blonde man elected to ignore the last part of his bodyguard's sentence. Hence, only questioning the first part. "Why should I read it?"

Arrogance was a trait many shared once someone stepped on their pride, but never had Bucky witnessed such amounts of it exhibited by the Canine boss. His nose twitched in the corner as if the mere thought of opening the papers offended him. The mistrust in his voice showed he didn't believe what just was advised to him, nor that the words of you being competent could be true. All signs of denial, a damaged pride.

"Sometimes I wondered how you even could've come this far to rebuild your father's empire when you're so stubborn to see the truth at times", the comment made Steve cock his head.

"Is that a threat or a call for resignation, I hear?" Bucky simply rolled his eyes and turned to fully face the man, now giving him his undivided attention.

"I may have been here from the day you called me and asked me to join your plans, but believe me, working outside this world for some time, especially in the field I was in, you learn to see who is good at their job and not".

Although Bucky had known Steve ever since they were kids, essentially because their fathers had been partners when the Canine empire was worth more than its own power in gold, the two had fallen out of the regular touch they'd kept after Joseph had passed. Steve had remained close to his mother. While Bucky returned to have both his feet in the ordinary world.

His name had never been brought into the discussion of conviction or any kind of youth crimes, essentially thanks to his father never being proven guilty of the few charges raised against him. Another favour his old man thanked the former Canine boss for. For Bucky, it made things easy to find live his life as if he didn't know what went on underneath the city he walked in.

He went to school, took a degree in law. Which his father before passing as well, considered humorous. Though, Bucky didn't start working directly even if offered jobs. He'd been young and not really knowing which direction he would go. He had no mothers footsteps to follow, seeing how she'd passed before he even had a memory of her. His father shoes still felt too big to fill, so he decided to follow a path he felt natural.

Bucky joined the army. Not more than a few years and two trips. Nevertheless, it was easy pocket change concerning two factors. His father had urged him to take the same martial art classes as Steve's father had done to him. He'd also lived with one foot in the syndicate and the other outside during his whole childhood. The concept of order, planning and warfare wasn't anything alarmingly new to him.

Then he'd begun to explore more, starting to step into the low tier position as an intern at different firms. It was easy to get in, concerning his degree and quickly, he gained enough working experience to get a promotion. His former boss at the advocate company may have thought Bucky was a natural talent or a genius from school. But, it was all thanks to his upbringing he possed the requirements a higher position demanded.

It's mainly thanks to his years working within the judiciary before reconnecting with Steve and began working as his head guard Bucky knows you fall into the group of people who are good at what you do.

The blonde had sat silent this whole time, never breaking away from Bucky's stare. It made the brunette believe that his friend would settle whatever resent he had towards you personally and at least read through the arrangement you assembled for the greater of his empire. Apparently, he was wrong.

"But now you're not working with that anymore", Bucky actually let out a low scoff of annoyance.

"I'm working as a head personal guard for someone I'm swaying on keeping alive at the moment, I know. And I do this because we both know I'm better at the combat part than you, ever since we were kids", despite the jab, it was the mention of how the man, despite being roughly the same size as Steve, always had been slightly better at fighting then himself that made the blonde bite his inner cheek. "I also know that I'm still damn good at what used to be my former profession. Which, you actually also should know concerning you never shoo me out of the room when discussing with your official advisors of the plans to come", when he finally ended the point he wanted to prove, he cocked a brow at Steve, who now had furrowed his brows.

Bucky saw the ire still lingering in the blondes' eyes, making them go cold rather than warm. Nevertheless, he said nothing. The Canine boss simply gave the folder, which hadn't moved from its settlement no matter how much the two men gently had rocked with the turns of the car, one last glare before he altogether turned away as much as his seat let him.

The head bodyguard was close to letting the comment of how similar the mob boss, who'd made a name for himself lately of being indifferent to everything standing in his way, was to a rebellious child. Yet, in the end, he didn't, knowing the car ride would become even more atrocious than it already was set to be.

As suspected, the whole drive from the club to the luxurious hotel, where the Canine boss' next stop was, went by in complete silence. And, when they finally pulled up outside the building, the car had almost not stopped before Steve opened the door without a word. The brunette couldn't but let out a huff and follow the man out of the vehicle.

As Bucky tracked a few steps behind the blonde mob boss, he nodded to a few of the other bodyguards to follow as well. Whatever he might have remarked about considering to keep Steve alive was very much said as a dig at the moment to remind the man he might be written as his subordinate, but he was true to nature working side by side with him. After all, Steven was his friend and Bucky didn't desire to get his blood on his hands.

When the little party of Canines neared the entrance, both men stationed on each side of the doors opened them without further ado. Either they thought Steve looked like someone fitting to live here, or they could've been paid to do so. The brunette figured it was the latter concerning the overall safety measures, not only this hotel but the district in general upheld. Although, he didn't question it way too much as he now concentrated on the slightly denser crowd of people in the lobby.

Not only did they blend in quite well, concerning the people living at this hotel was flanked by at least two bodyguards each. Bucky also noticed how some of the former rigidity in Steve's shoulder lessened as he weaved through the lobby.

Though anyone else may find it excellent that the physical aspect of the blondes former irritation trickled off, it unsettled Bucky even further. Thus, having grown up with Steve, he knew that the silent seething anger was worse than the outgoing one. This, in other words, didn't bode particularly well.

However, even though the brunette had a raising suspicion, along with fear, that this visit the mob boss had decided to do after his meeting with you wouldn't have a good outcome, he had no chance to voice his worry. Essentially because the elevator they'd taken to reach the floor they were heading to now stopped.

Bucky was first to exit the elevator. Checking that the coast was clear before looking back to the Canine boss. He tried making the blonde meet his gaze, now seriously doubting if Steve was fit to meet the partner he'd had an escalating problem with the past weeks. Yet, the blue-eyed man kept his attention straight forward and didn't even spare his childhood friend a glance.

A thousand things were running through Steve's mind as he headed down the corridor, spotting the door his business partner was on the other side of.

He knew Bucky tried gaining his attention with the repetitive looks he threw his way. His most entrusted bodyguard and friend could read him like an open book. Thus knowing the silent facade that he'd put up was just that, a facade. Still, he continued to ignore him as he'd done ever since their conversation was over half an hour ago.

As the party stopped before the door, Steve decided to give the inclining nod to one of his other guards to step forwards and knock on the door.

Following three rapid knocks, a call of 'no cleaning' followed by a similar set of knockings later, footsteps could be heard near the door from the other side. A few seconds after, the door swung open, revealing a man currently trying to fasten his cufflinks.

"I said I didn't...". Even though the brunette's eyes had been cast down as he'd began to speak, the second they flickered up to watch, what the man must have assumed would be a hotel maid but rather was the Canine mob boss, he trailed off in his sentence.

"Good day Mr Jefferson", if the man's body hadn't already gone rigid, his shoulders bounced up even closer to his ears after Steve's greeting.

In a hurried attempt to smarten up, he completed his attempt of fastening the jewellery pin.

"Mr Rogers", he breathed out almost shakily while pulling a hand through his hair, some of the strands sticking to his scalp while others simply fell forwards once more. "Why do I owe the pleasure?"

Without answering, Steve stepped forwards, forcing the man to open the door wider.

As he walked into the pad, the blonde gazed around it uninterestingly. It was lavish. Probably like most rooms were in the hotel.

"I'm here to talk with you". Steve answered his associates question the second he heard the door closed. Taking the liberty, he sat down in the couch group occupying a vaster portion of the entry room's space. "Sit", with a wave of his hand, the Canine motioned to the sitting place at the other side of the dark oak table.

Jefferson, who glanced warily at the guards that had stationed themselves around the room -one by the window, another two directly behind Steve and the last lingering by the door out to the corridor- had no other choice than to follow the mob boss' directions.

Sitting down at the edge of the seat, he swallowed around the lump in his throat.

"How's business going?" The mob boss asked as he leaned against the couches backrest. One arm was slung over the ridge, fingers tapping against the material, while his other hand rested on his thigh.

"Bussines is going well".

"Good, always nice to hear companies you invest in are going strong", Steve hummed, noticing the minimal shift Jefferson did as he said this. "How's my money going?"

"Ah... t-that question is a little more complicated...".

Even though the brunette continued to ramble about all the different reasons his payments were late, or not even that, non-existing, the Canine boss didn't listen. He knew he was being screwed over by the man opposite him. He'd gotten the information weeks ago that the CEO of the company he's worked with since the beginning of the year wanted to change sides.

At first, it had been more of a rumour and he hadn't been able to dig up where Jefferson's company was heading. Then it became clear they would switch partners to one of the other godfather's around New York. However, even if Steve thought he didn't like how they tried doing so in the shadows while still upholding their deal, the worst thing was when he got to know who they shifted their alliance to. You.

Seeing how much unfavourable publicity you'd given his empire in the last few months was aggravating. However, listening to the man talking his ear off as if Steve hadn't already figured why exactly fifteen percentages of the profit capital was rolling into your account instead of his was the last drop.

Without even noticing it himself, Steve's hand that had rested upon his thigh raised and were tucked into his suit.

The metal handle he gripped wasn't cold anymore, not after having rested so close to his heart for over an hour. Nor did it get cooled down as he hastily pulled it out of its holster and aimed it at the man opposite him.

"I don't like rats, Landon", the use of the man's first name rather than surname would've made him quiet if the gun aimed his way already hadn't silenced him. "Pray you don't get reborn as one in your next life as well".

On the firearm, a silencer was mounted. So the characteristic bang sounded much more like a pop. Therefore, the noise of the gun was even less intimidating than the ricochet. However, neither of the telltale signs of a shot made Steve flinch, not even as he watched the bullet penetrate the space in-between his former associate's eyes, did he react.

As the mob boss stood, Jefferson's upper body slumped forward, hitting the table with a heavy thud and ugly clap as his head was the first thing that connected with it. No tears were trickling down his cheeks. Only a red streak that steadily created a near-invisible puddle on the mahogany table.

"Steve!" The silence and peace Steve found in watching the body was cut short by Bucky's voice.

The Canine glanced to his side, regarding how his head bodyguard rounded the couch and stood before him with one single step.

"What the fuck was that?" The brunette exclaimed, hand motioning to the dead body.

If any other person than Bucky would've done the same thing in this instance, they either would've ended up joining peaceful Mr Jefferson, or they wouldn't work within the Canine empire anymore. However, concerning that it now was his childhood friend staring at him in disbelief, Steve made sure none of the options was carried through.

"Problem-solving", Steve answered, about to take a step forwards but were stopped with a hand planting itself on his chest. He looked down before looking up with a cocked eyebrow.

"That ain't how we solve shit!"

"Not we, but I", Steve said, gripping Bucky's wrist, ripping it away from him. "You see, now both our problems are solved. He doesn't need to fear his cover being blown and I don't need to lose more money". That was all Steve said before taking a step around the brunette, whose eyes had narrowed considerably.

As most of his colleagues trailed after their boss, Bucky stayed back just a second longer, looking at the lifeless body giving a new sheen to the table whilst staining the carpet underneath. He'd known Steve had taken your conference badly and he also knew it hadn't been a good idea to have this appointment so shortly afterwards, especially when it was connected to you, but in such a different way. Still, he hadn't believed it would take this much of a turn.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"Damn that fucking thing!" Steve roared, not thinking when he swept his hands over his desk. Everything from pencils, an empty coffee cup and other things crashed to the floor. However, it wasn’t solely that which now was littering the ground. The papers of your contract had flown out of the folder as well.

Staring down at the mess of shattered glass and paper from his standing position. The Canine boss felt a sneer enter his features. Ever since returning home late last night, he'd been locked inside his study. Primary because it was the place no one dared to disturb him in, but also because he didn't feel like arguing with Bucky.

He knew that after the stunt, as he knew his friend and bodyguard would label his approach to the Jefferson problem, the brunette wanted to speak with him. Yet, with the residue anger of not only a restless night, one Steve had powered through thanks to copious amounts of coffee. But also the subject now taunting him on the floor, a conversation with his right-hand man would lead nowhere.

He and Bucky didn't often get into fights, but Steve was convinced this was one of the matters that could force such a confrontation. He'd still not gathered his bearings enough to admit that he needed to yield. Because that was what he would need to do.

The mob boss switched from watching the scattered pieces of the contract to instead stare straight into the oaken surface of his desk as he now leant on it, knuckles turning white from how strongly he held the countertop. By now, he'd read through the four-page agreement. Something that was a step in the right, or in Steve's regard wrong, direction.

He didn't want to admit it. But as Bucky had mentioned yesterday, it was a top-certified contract. He couldn't find any loopholes. No grey-zones. No area that he could play you on.

Steve knew that you would be hard to crack, but he hadn't anticipated this.

Despite knowing that you and the Felina empire had overtaken his father's grip on New York, he had underestimated you. A woman running the empire you did was so uncommon he thought you would have some weak spot regarding how you had no one else to look up to. Nor did you have any previous family connections to the underworld. Which honestly made your success even more astonishing.

Almost so much it was questionable if you had done it yourself.

Steve had assumed you hadn't. Someone else must be the brain behind the operation, simply using you as a puppet. However, it seemed he'd made a tremendous mistake by assuming just that. It wasn't anyone else running your empire. You were involved in every little part of the well-oiled machine.

Once more, the canine boss let out an irritated noise, sounding more like a growl than a harsh sigh in his own ears.

He pushed off from the countertop and, in one motion, had side-stepped his chair. Now, with the room behind him, Steve stared out of the windows lining the wall furthest from the entrance. His arms had crossed over his chest and remained there as he stared out at the bay not far away.

Ferries and other boats travelled the waters. Breaking the tension and creating small waves. If it wasn't for this, it almost would've looked like they travelled through the city. Regarding how not only New York's but also Brooklyn's dusk lightning reflected in the water.

When the Canine boss finally felt the sight before him lessened the tension in his shoulders, a knock came from the door.

If his features ever had lightened, the sound immediately beckoned a furrow to take its place. Even more so when the door opened without him having given the person on the other side permission.

He knew who it was, Bucky.

"What do you want?" Steve's voice was cold, harsh.

"I want to speak with you", instantly, the mob boss noticed how his friend's voice didn't carry that joyous tone when he spoke to him as just that, friends. Bur rather the more levelled one, the professional one.

"I won't speak about Jefferson".

"Neither is that why I'm here", glancing over his shoulder upon hearing the rustle of paper, the Canine boss saw his guard pick up the pieces of the contract from the floor. He arranged them before putting them back into the folder. Contrary to how Steve would've caused the map to give away a whack when flinging it onto his desk. Bucky's hand followed through the whole movement. His fingers even resting upon the grey folder as it laid placid on the middle of the counter.

"I'm here to talk about the real problem", Steve turned to face the brunette. He didn't say anything. Still, Bucky knew that having gotten this much attention was a sign he either was about to be shot or given a limited amount to talk.

"I know this is hard for you, Steve... actually scratch that, it is hard for everyone who's supported you. But I'll be damned if you let everything we've worked for go to waste because you don't have it in you to lose a battle in favour of winning a later war"

All of a sudden, Bucky's face twisted as an unexpected crash echoed. His fist had smashed onto the table. Enough for the countertop to rattle.

“I love to give you the most personal advice I've ever had”, he started, not even holding back his pent up frustration. “Sign that fucking contract, pal". The canine boss' blue eyes narrowed as he met the stormy grey ones of the man before him.

"Get out", Bucky clenched his jaw and straightened himself.

"I'll be waiting for the call to come and pick it up", was the last thing the brunette said before swiftly turning on his heel and heading to the door.

Steve followed his oldest friend with his eyes until the door echoes shut behind him. Even after Bucky's footsteps were long gone, did the Canine boss stare forward. He did it simply because he didn't want to let his eyes flicker down to the contract, now turned to the last page where the paper waited for his signature.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A day later, Steve still stared at the folder resting un-signed on his desk. It was out of pure spite he hadn't signed it. To keep your victory at bay.

Two days later and he felt how the clock on his wall ticked louder than before. How the voices in his head escalated from whispering to shouting at him. 'Sign that fucking contract, pal.'

Three days later and Steve felt how time was running out.

Even if he didn't want to admit it aloud. To not sign would be foolish. Sure, he had the resources to continue this war. Hence, the short extra time the meeting and his delay in signing the contract had abled him to recoup. But still, his empire was lacking a significant piece his father's syndicate had, time. He needed more time to grow but wasn't given that. So yes, he could continue this battle, but he could not win it.

Therefore the mob boss gripped the pen and pressed the ink dipped tip to the dotted line.

His signature was darker than usual. More colour bleeding onto the paper. The curves of the letters were not as smooth as regular either. Instead, straighter, pointier. Forced.

Steve didn't look at his name shining back at him once he raised the pen and put it back in its stand. Instead, Steve stood and dialled a number on his phone. One tone was all it took before the person on the other end picked up.

"Get it out of my sight, Barnes", was all he said before instantly hanging up. The call had lasted four seconds. Even so, Steve deleted it from the history of his 'latest' list.

Shoving the phone into his pockets, the blonde man stood from his chair and headed to the office doors. He didn't look back once at the folder left behind on his desk. Not even when he closed the doors behind him.

Series taglist: @njrronaldo7 @fanfic-love-show @gabycamargo22 @fckdeusername

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theepisceswriter · 4 years ago

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Jealous!Reader with AOT characters pt.2 (Porco, Bertholdt, Pieck, Zeke)

A/N: y’all really liked the first one I made here, so here’s a pt.2 with different characters

TW: none really apply, sort of suggestive for Zeke, Modern AU, GN!reader

PORCO GALLIARD

I am a firm believer that in a modern AU, Porco and Reiner would be the type of people to go to sport restaurants like Hooters, Buffalo Wild Wings, or Twin Peaks. They give me that macho man type of vibe. Of course though, Porco would make you tag along with him almost every time he went. He feels that it’s a very nice way for the two of you to bond. Which honestly it is.

You have a deep sense of security within yourself and enough trust in Porco to not be bothered by the waitresses there, as you should, knowing that it’s only their job to be enticing like that. Hell, you even enjoy it when the waitresses would flirt with you sometimes or you’d get the really pretty ones who look like they’re straight off of a magazine. Not to mention that you visit places like this often, so most of them know you and know that you and Porco are in a relationship together.

They all respect your boundaries and don’t try to push at them at all.....until this one waitress comes around. You can quite obviously tell that her flirting is different from the “trained” flirting that the other girls often do. She lingers at your table a little longer than she should be trying to talk to Porco to the point where other waitresses have to tell her to go check on other tables and she’s disregarding you completely, asking Porco questions that should be aimed at you and being very rude in general.

Porco is hardly paying her any mind, too focused on the game to really pay attention to what’s going on, but any piece of attention he gives to her she latches on too it. But still, you remain cordial and calm on the inside. Not wanting to come off as one of those significant others and cause a scene that doesn’t need to be caused. If someone looked at you for too long they might notice an eye twitch or two coming from you.

Really it’s Porco’s hand holding underneath the table that’s keeping you sane and reminding you of how secure your position in your relationship is. You almost calm down entirely, but of course the waitress has to come back and try desperately to get his attention again. At one point he zones out into the game and to try and get his attention she attempts to tap him on his shoulder.

Strong on the attempt because you grabbed her wrist before she could even brush her fingers against his shirt and gave her a stern “Aht! Aht! That is not going to be happening tonight and definitely not in front of me.”

And Porco, this menace to society, finally speaks up like, “I was wondering when you were finally going to say something. I was getting afraid that I didn’t mean anything to you anymore.” He would’ve eventually intervened himself though if she was actually successful in touching him.

The waitress gets the hint for the rest of the night, but just incase she doesn’t he holds you close to his side with his arm draped over your shoulders.

BERTHOLDT HOOVER

Despite his soft spoken nature and personality that sometimes falls on the shy part of the spectrum, Bertholdt is actually an easy person to come up to and start a conversation with. Of course, you have to be the one to start the conversation, but after that it’s like he can’t shut up, likes he’s compelled to answer back to everything and keep a conversation going.

It’s a trait of his that you’ve come to love, but also come to hate on days when you’re out in public with him and can just see the twinkle in a girl’s eyes when she’s getting ready to come over to him to flirt. It’s usually in awkward situations too like when you’re out shopping and he’s standing off to the side because he has no business looking at what you’re shopping for, so the fact that he’s kind of alienated from you and doesn’t know how to respond to flirting all that well in the first place really has him in an awkward chokehold.

He’ll get asked for his number and instead of saying flat out no, because he doesn’t want to be harsh, he struggles to let words out at all as he tries to think of what to say. And people really prey on his shyness and don’t even give him the chance to respond before they’re forcing themselves on him more, handing their phone out to him just waiting to input a number.

Imagine the shock and anger on your face when you turn around from your shopping happy ready to show Bertholdt what you got and instead you see a girl trying to get his number! You’re over there in an instant, legs carrying you as fast as they can and a scold on your face as you go over there and the first thing you do is push that phone as far away from him as you can.

“I know my BOYFRIEND and something tells me that he is not interested in the direction this conversation is going with you whatsoever, so I suggest you leave him alone before I make you 😤” The girl leaves like immediately after that.

Bert is just behind you the whole time with a ☺️ look on his face like “Yes, that is indeed my significant other!” Which is so funny because he’s like 6’3 and towering over you, but you’re the feisty one!

He does feel kinda guilty for not cutting off the interaction before it got that far, so he wraps his arms around you and nuzzle his face into your neck all like, “I’m sorry baby 🥺🥺 you know I don’t like anyone else but you 🥺🥺 I was trying to tell them no thank you but it wouldn’t come out 🥺🥺”

You couldn’t stay mad at him even if you wanted to, that’s all it takes for you to forget about it altogether.

PIECK FINGER

It’s almost impossible to see someone as fine looking as Pieck and not shoot your shot. If I saw Pieck out in public the first thing I would do is shoot my shot.

It happens allll the time whenever you two go out. Out at the mall shopping for clothes? Someone’s going to come up to you two and try to hit on Pieck. At the club minding each other’s business and trying to have a good time? Some guy is going to come over and try to ruin that for you too.

At first it was like a bragging rights thing for you. Everyone noticed your hot girlfriend was hot but you were the one who went home to her everyday and not them, but at some point it switched from a bragging right to down right annoying. It’s like you can’t leave her alone for more than a couple of seconds because here comes someone breathing down her neck being a weirdo!

Poor Pieck doesn’t even know what’s going on half of the time because she be baked out of her mind, thinking about nothing but how some ruffles and ice cream can really hit right now. So she’s just going along with the conversation like “mhm, yeah ☺️” every ten seconds hoping that they’d get the hint that she’s not thinking about them at all and to leave her alone. But, of course, they don’t.

Her body language becomes stressed out and agitated, not knowing what to do because you’re in the gas station buying snacks for the two of you while she’s far away at the gas pumps doing her best to get an ending with this weirdo where they don’t kidnap her.

Luckily, just on time you exit out the gas station and even before you get any closer to Pieck you’re already pissed off at the fact that someone is probably hitting on her, but after you see her do that awkward little shuffle with her feet signifying that she’s uncomfortable? You’re over there in a heartbeat.

See, maybe you would’ve been a bit nicer if her body language didn’t tell you that they had been pestering her for a while despite how everything about her screamed ‘not interested.’

So what do you do? You take the bottle of sprite you bought and bop them on the head with it. Head empty no thoughts just ‘protect my stoner girlfriend.’

Pieck is so messy too, she’s in the background like “Ohhhhh shit *giggle* fight! Fight! Fight!” You were ready to rumble too, but if you were so ready to hit them in the head with a sprite bottle the other person definitely didn’t want to know what else you were confident with doing. So they recuperated from their sprite bottle hit and went running to their car.

This was a proud girlfriend moment for Pieck the whole drive home. She could not stop talking about how much of a badass you were and how she loved that you would do anything for her.

ZEKE JAEGER

I wrote soft Zeke already, so now it’s time for me to give y’all the menace Zeke y’all have been waiting for.

Zeke is the type of significant other who’s big on teasing and messing with his partner is general. There’s something about seeing them all flustered after he does something to embarrass them, like fake propose to them in public or something, that really cracks him up. That being said, he’s not opposed to flirting with someone in front of you to get you riled up and see your reaction.

Let’s set the scene; He drags you to Sam Ash with him, because we’ve all just collectively decided that modern day Zeke is a music pretentious asshole, to go get something for his guitar or at least that’s what you assume he was complaining about. You weren’t even listening, just excited to go and mess with the drums and guitars there. It’s the first thing you do once you get there and Zeke sees this as his opportunity to finally mess with you.

He goes over to the drum set display you’re playing on and calls over and employee with “inquiries” about the set you’re playing on. He pretends to ask a few genuine questions at first but eventually he’s able to get the conversation to shift to something a little more personal. Which isn’t terrible, but once he starts throwing out lines like “Oh you like (said band)? I’ve always found myself gravitating towards people who like them. They’re always the most attractive people, I’ve found 😏.” Is when you start getting agitated.

You’re just trying to play We Will Rock You on the drums and here he goes killing your vibe immensely. And it’s hard to ignore when they’re standing right on the side of you. Not to mention how the employee is eating all of this up, blushing and all. It’s at the first mention of numbers being exchanged that you’ve decided you’ve had enough. Without a word to Zeke you get up and storm out of the store.

Was this a dick move on his end? Absolutely, but you’re a couple who’s relationship is filled with debating and bickering, bickering especially, so part of him thought you would play along with his little game and be like “Whatever. I don’t care.” But instead, you were genuinely upset. You didn’t even know where you were going but you were going somewhere. And that somewhere was the outside of the Sam Ash store because you realized you really didn’t have a choice.

Sorry guys, but I have to switch over to soft Zeke now.

He comes running after you, “y/n! Y/n it was a joke!” But that just makes you even more mad and oops, a year drops down your face and he feels terrible.

Kisses all over your face, words of assurance spilling out his lips, and a tight ass beat hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m such a dick I know. I didn’t mean to make you this upset though.” He would get down on his knees if he had to!

I guess you can forgive him just this once, but only on the terms that you get Sub!Zeke tonight and get to act as a pillow princess/prince cause he has a lot of making up to do.

#sorry if there are any typos i was kinda rushing #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #porco galliard x reader #bertholdt hoover x reader #pieck finger x reader #zeke yeager x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #aot imagines

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nonbinary-kaz · 3 years ago

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Fuckt Up Lil Bros Intro:

a fic that won't get finished so I'm putting it here

When Wylan was eight, his father had finally gotten fed up with him, and had packed Wylan and his mother into a car and taken them to see a specialist. His mother had argued the whole way there, saying Wylan would learn to read when he felt like it, that the strange outbursts would end eventually. After all, Wylan was a child! Children were unpredictable, at best, she’d said. Stubborn. His father had growled something under his breath, along the lines of Wylan being less stubborn and more of a problem.

Then they had walked away from the specialist hours later, and his father berated his mother, throwing all those words she’d said back in her face. Wylan didn’t quite understand, especially not when his father had slammed the car door shut and called Wylan something that Wylan wouldn’t realise until much later was a disgusting, horrible word. His mother had already known, and she had hissed at him to not say such things.

“He’s our son,” she’d said.

“Not mine,” his father had said. “Not if he’s like this. My genes wouldn’t pass this on.”

“Jan Van Eck,” she snapped.

“Your father was always strange,” he said. “Maybe this is from him.”

“I don’t care who this came from,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. He’s still your son. None of this matters.”

“How can this not matter?” he demanded. “He can’t read, Marya. He’s socially inept, and he will evidently remain so for the rest of his life. He’s not normal. He’s not right.”

And she had murmured something lowly and dangerously, something Wylan couldn’t hear from the back. It had shut his father up, though.

Wylan was both too young to understand and too old not to understand words like “dyslexia” and “autism” and “severe anxiety” and whatnot. Looking back on it, it didn’t matter if he knew what it was or not. All that had mattered was the noticeable change in his father’s behaviour to him.

That had also been when all the therapies started. Physical, to get him over how awkward his body was. Occupational, to stop him from getting upset about “minor things.” Speech, in hopes that it would help the reading. Tutoring, because that should have helped the reading. Drugs, to stop him from being timid all of the time.

He hadn’t needed most of those; the most use they gave was to keep his father hoping that he could someday “get better” until they ultimately proved ineffective to his standards. Granted, the medications would continue to help throughout his life, just not the way Jan Van Eck had thought they would.

If Wylan had to pinpoint where his life had gone to hell, it would be that moment he stepped in the car to go to that specialist.

Though, if he had to pick a second point, it would be months later, when his mother had died. He didn’t get to go to the funeral. That was when things had gotten worse from his father, with his mother no longer around to mitigate, to stick up for Wylan. His father started hiding him then, keeping his contact with the world as minimal as possible. He had his therapies, he had his tutoring, he had whatever nannies his father hired, and he had the occasional parties he couldn’t get away from.

He hated those parties. They were loud, and everyone always bothered him, and the food was gross, and his father always yelled at him later for acting like a fool and disgracing the Van Eck name.

The third hellish point in his life, though, was the moment that “Van Eck” ceased to have meaning at the end of Wylan’s name. He could no longer disgrace the name, if the name no longer signified his ties to Jan Van Eck.

Perhaps he should have been happy. He no longer had those parties, no longer had those therapies and tutors, no longer had his raging father. He was free of it all.

But he wasn’t happy. Mostly, he was just… scared.

Wylan hadn’t even known he had second cousins twice-removed until the day he’d been disowned. Maybe that would have been obvious to most people, but his father had cut ties with most of his family. Wylan was certain the only people Jan Van Eck was legally related to anymore was Alys, his new (and insanely young) wife, and their future child (the reason Wylan was finally let loose).

After a long taxi ride, oh-so graciously paid for by his father thanks to Alys’s bleeding heart, Wylan had enough time to fully terrify himself with catastrophic thoughts of what these “cousins” would be like. Jordan Rietveld and Kasimir Brekker could possibly be worse than his father. Hell, the name of the second one sounded intimidating enough.

Wylan spent a short while wondering why they had separate names if they were full-blooded brothers. He’d asked, but at that point, his father had stopped bothering with him altogether, and had walked away halfway through Wylan’s question.

The cab driver said something, but Wylan had lost himself so deep in thought that he couldn’t catch what the man had said.

“Sorry?”

“Five minutes,” the cab driver grunted.

“Oh. Thank you.”

And Wylan sank into his seat, panic beginning to eat him alive.

Wylan had only three bags with him. Two were packed with the essentials: clothes. Just clothes. Well, and the remnants of this month’s medications. But other than that, it was his sweaters and shirts and jeans and underwear and socks and two pairs of shoes. And that was all. The other case had been filled with things Wylan had snuck with him. Paints and easels and canvases and brushes and pens and charcoals and pencils and his flute. He had no clue if his father would’ve let him take them, so he’d hid them in the suitcase and bolted before his father could inspect anything. Perhaps that had been pointless—Jan Van Eck had stopped looking at him the moment he’d announced Wylan would be disowned.

Two of those three suitcases were dropped unceremoniously on the side of the curb by the driver. Wylan had fortunately grabbed the bag filled with his supplies, so nothing broke when the bags thudded to the grass.

“Thank you,” Wylan said to the driver. “I’d tip if I could.”

The driver just shrugged. “Whatever, kid.”

Then he disappeared back into his cab and drove away. Wylan watched as the taxi turned the corner and disappeared, suddenly feeling his heart thud louder and faster than ever before. Everything felt both too real and too unreal at the same time.

“No panic attacks before noon,” he told himself quietly.

“Wylan?”

Wylan nearly jumped out of his skin, and his heart likewise nearly flew out of his chest. If pain was painless, that would be the feeling of his heartrate returning to the pace it had previously set before as Wylan tried to regain his breath.

He turned towards the voice, suddenly filled with so much anxiety that his stomach hurt.

Two people were just a short stretch down the sidewalk, slowly making their way over.

“Wylan Van Eck?” one of them asked, clearly the owner of the voice that had previously called for him.

“Yes,” Wylan said. He discreetly wiped his palms against his pants, trying to get the sweat off of them. “Hi. Um. Jordan and Kasimir?”

The speaker began laughing, and Wylan suddenly noticed his face. It was painted in large scars and marks, a patchwork masterpiece of pristine porcelain and burnt blemishes. They had no distinct pattern, and clearly did not hurt the man, as he smiled widely through them. Wylan did also note that the half-eyebrow missing did add a bit of intrigue to his face, but otherwise… well, Wylan averted his eyes. He found staring at people’s faces to be unbearably uncomfortable in the first place, but this just made it worse. He knew he shouldn’t look at all, really. Didn’t people always find that rude? But according to his father, Wylan not looking people in the eye was rude, too…

“It’s Kaz,” said the second person, his voice harsher than rock grating rock.

He had no scars on his face—which seemed young and fresh, making him seem hardly older than Wylan, despite the hardened lines of his permanent scowl. Either that, or he already despised Wylan. Neither seemed favourable. Perhaps his taxi-ride fears weren’t totally unfounded.

But what stood out more to Wylan was the cane he leant heavily upon.

Jesus Christ, Wylan thought to himself. No wonder Jan Van Eck had never mentioned being related to them before. If he had hated Wylan…

That was rude to think that, though. He shouldn’t think of how his father thought of things. His father’s view of the world was skewed. At best.

“If you call him Kasimir,” the first guy said, “he might kill you.”

Wylan glanced to the kid—Kaz—and then immediately dropped the gaze to the ground. The scowl had gotten deeper. Kaz did indeed look murderous.

“I’m Jordie,” said the first guy, his smile balancing Kaz’s serial killer glower. He stuck out his hand to Wylan. “Jordie Rietveld.”

“Wylan Van Eck,” Wylan said, shaking the preferred hand.

“We know,” said Kaz. He did not offer his hand for Wylan to shake. Wylan noted the dark leather gloves that covered his hands. Interesting, especially when balanced with Kaz’s otherwise dark and grim attire.

Jordie, on the other hand, wore a white t-shirt and faded jeans, looking like a completely normal person. And the lack of near loathing on his face made him preferrable to Wylan. Even if Kaz wanted to kill him, perhaps Jordie wouldn’t hate him.

Not until he learned how much of a fuck-up Wylan was, anyway.

“So, you’re our cousin,” Jordie said conversationally. His eyes searched Wylan’s face, perhaps trying to find the similarities there.

“Not that we knew it,” Kaz said, his rasping voice filled with an unamused tone. Everything about Kaz screamed “unamused,” really.

Jordie coughed loudly. Kaz glanced over to him, something temporarily erasing the annoyance on his face. But then Jordie send Kaz a meaningful look of some sort, and the look returned to Kaz.

“Sorry,” Jordie said.

“No, it’s okay,” Wylan said quickly. “I didn’t know either.”

“Hm,” Kaz said.

“Anyway,” Jordie said, raising his voice somewhat. It reminded Wylan somewhat of whenever Wylan dared speak in his father’s presence at one of those parties, when his father would speak right over him to draw attention away from Wylan. Hiding his screwed-up son. But Jordie didn’t seem… well, Wylan couldn’t say that for sure. He had just met the man. But he did seem to only be doing it for Wylan’s sake, to keep Kaz’s irritation at bay. Again, Wylan couldn’t tell for sure, though. Only time would tell, he supposed. “I suppose… welcome.”

“Thanks,” Wylan said.

“Shouldn’t ‘welcome’ wait until he has actually seen the apartment?” Kaz asked dryly.

“Right,” Jordie said, frowning and blinking. “Right, yeah, that would…”

He trailed off, staring somewhere off in the distance. Then he shook his head, looking back to Wylan.

“Would you like to come inside?” he asked.

“Sure,” Wylan said, because what the hell else was he supposed to say? Someone different could have perhaps found something far more eloquent to say, but Wylan was not someone different. He was unfortunately just Wylan.

“Great,” Jordie said, smiling once more.

He bent down and grabbed one of Wylan’s clothes bags before Wylan could take them himself. Wylan shouldered his supply bag, ready to grab the last bag, but Kaz had already taken it. Guilt rumbled through Wylan’s chest. They shouldn’t help him. They’d already burdened themselves with taking him in; they shouldn’t add more to that. But Jordie had already begun walking away, towards the apartment complex Wylan now bothered to look at. Kaz was directly behind him, limping even worse than before. Wylan’s guilt likewise compacted.

The apartment complex looked… to be fair to the place, it wasn’t the worst place Wylan had seen. He’d seen way worse on his drive over here. But it was rather bad. The white paint had lost most of its life, living a now grim existence as faded yellow ivory. The windows and their sills looked old. That was the most Wylan could say about them. And the fire escapes everywhere looked rusty and rickety. Wylan wouldn’t trust those with his life. He hoped he’d never have to.

Jordie unlocked a side door to the place, then pushed through. Kaz followed, hands too busy with bag and cane to hold it open for Wylan, who had to rush to make sure he wasn’t locked out.

Inside looked about as dreary as out—old, matted carpet covered the stairs that lead to all of the floors, and decaying plant matter and dirt tracks and bug remnants scattered across the tile landing. The popcorn walls had crumbling and faded paint, much like the outer walls.

“Oh, boy,” Jordie said up front. “Here we go.”

Then he mounted the first stair with a sigh. Wylan frowned, wondering what that was about.

He figured it out after the first flight.

“Inhaler,” Kaz said, almost bored, as Jordie wheezed and coughed, leaning against the wall.

Jordie nodded, shouldering Wylan’s bag so he could root around his pockets. He pulled out a white and blue inhaler, popping the cap off as he began to shake it.

“I can take my bag back,” Wylan said, now feeling another layer of guilt. “You don’t have to carry it.”

Holding his breath as he removed the inhaler nozzle from his lips, Jordie shook his head. Kaz just scowled over his shoulder at Wylan, his cane held horizontally in the same hand that held Wylan’s bag as the other hand clung to the railing.

All of this burden they placed on themselves, only for them to sooner or later realise that they wasted it when he showed them just how useless he was.

They had to go quite slowly after that, but they eventually made it to the correct floor. The Rietveld apartment (Wylan assumed it was under the Rietveld name, anyway; Jordie was the older of the two, and Wylan was now dead certain Kaz was near his age) was the first door off the staircase. Convenient, in a small way. Not convenient that the place had no elevators, but Wylan wasn’t about to ask why they lived here and not a more accessible place. There was a reason why people lived in a place like this: money (or the lack thereof).

“Home, sweet home,” Jordie said, unlocking the door to the apartment.

Wylan’s first thought was: It’s bare.

His second thought was: It’s small.

The living space held a crackling old leather sofa, a brown corduroy reclining chair, a coffee table scattered with dents and mail, and flatscreen TV. The TV was the only thing that looked remotely new; Wylan suspected the rest were either hand-me-downs or thrifted.

Beyond that lay a kitchen, removed from the living room by only an island bar. It had space for a refrigerator, oven and stove, sink, and a small stretch of countertop that was surrounded by cupboards and drawers. If all three of them stood in that room, Wylan figured, it would become quite crowded.

He couldn’t see the rest of the place, but a hall led away from beside the kitchen. That likely held the bedrooms and bathroom, and whatever else could possibly be in this small place.

Jordie dropped Wylan’s bag on the sofa. Kaz set the other beside it, continuing to walk until he disappeared down the hall.

“Don’t mind him,” Jordie said, not once losing his cheer. “He’s always a grump.”

“Oh,” Wylan said, unsure what else to say.

“Anyway, this is it,” Jordie said. He began gesturing around the place. “Living room, kitchen… down the hall’s going to be your bedroom on the left. Me and Kaz’ll sleep together in the other one. Bathroom is last door on the left. Um… yeah. That’s about it.” He turned to Wylan, smiling ruefully. “Yeah. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“It’s… nice,” Wylan supplied.

Jordie laughed. “You’re funny. No, it’s okay. You don’t have to lie. This place is a shithole.”

Wylan wouldn’t have put it like that, but yes. He’d seen the hole in that one cupboard, the chunk missing from the faux marble island counter, the dents in the wall, the crack in that corner of the ceiling…

“It’s not so bad,” Wylan said, generously.

“It’s cheap,” Jordie said, placing his hands on his hips and surveying the ceiling. Oh. Another crack. “That’s what it is.”

“Oh.”

“So,” Jordie said, looking down at Wylan. “Want to see your new room?”

Wylan shrugged. “Sure.”

This time, he managed to grab both cases of clothes before Jordie could reach them. Wylan’s arms felt like they were being torn off, but at least Jordie wasn’t burdening himself for Wylan. Plus, the short hall was nothing like that staircase.

Jordie led him through the hall, pushing open a door with a hole in a conspicuously shoulder-height place. Wylan eyed that warily until the door had swung fully open.

If the rest of the apartment was barren and small, then this was… Wylan didn’t even know the words.

The walls were popcorn white—as with the rest of the place—but they were studded with holes of previous tenants nails and tacks. Nothing lay on the walls currently other than those holes. There was a bed pressed against the back right corner, taking up most of the space. Half of the bed rested below the window (which seemed to lead to this apartment’s fire escape). Another large portion of the space was taken up by a dresser and desk combination. A small stool went along with it, tucked beneath the desk portion. And in the far corner across from the bed, a shallow cut-out of space denoted a closet.

“Used to be my room,” Jordie said. “But I’m in with Kaz now.”

“Oh…” Was there anything that wouldn’t make Wylan feel like guilt was piled so high atop him that he might sink beneath the ground?

“I assume you don’t have a toothbrush or shampoo or anything?” Jordie asked.

“Um, no,” Wylan said.

Jordie nodded. “Thought not. Well, you can use mine for the time being. Shampoo, anyway. Please don’t use my toothbrush.” Wylan managed a feeble smile as Jordie grinned broadly at him. “Use your finger, or something.”

“I do, um…” Wylan fumbled to find the right words. “I have some medications… I don’t know where—”

“Medicine cabinet’s behind the mirror,” Jordie said quickly. “You might have to rearrange a few things to get your stuff in there, though.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“For what?” Jordie asked.

“Moving your stuff around, I guess.”

Jordie frowned strangely at him. “I toldyou to do it. You don’t have to apologise. Hell, you haven’t even done it yet.”

Wylan pulled his lips into his mouth, biting them together. Jordie studied him for a short while longer, then shook his head to himself. The easy smile returned to Jordie’s face.

“I’ll leave you to unpack, then,” Jordie said. “Oh, and we’ll get you those supplies tomorrow. Or sometime soon.”

Then he disappeared out of the room. The door creaked as it swung most of the way shut behind him. For reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom, that summed up exactly how Wylan felt.

Wylan didn’t have hangers for his clothes, he discovered.

“Oh,” he said to himself. “Okay. Um.”

He refolded the sweater he had just pulled from one of the bags, then shoved it back inside. He zipped the bag back up. With any luck, the clothes wouldn’t get all wrinkled. He highly doubted that this place had an iron.

The dresser, he figured, would likely only need to house his underwear and socks. Those could all get tossed in the same drawer. Thus, he could appoint all the other drawers for his art supplies.

Organising those drawers gave him a good hour of clear headspace. He organised them one way before deciding he didn’t like that, then started over.

When he had nearly finished with the drawers, he stopped, staring at the oil paint tubes in his hand.

Why was he doing this? He had no right to. He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t belong here, for any number of reasons. This wasn’t his place. He couldn’t be a burden on two other people—people who looked like they had enough burdens of their own to bear. Yet, here he was, unloading all of the life he could carry into drawers and closets that weren’t his.

Ungracefully, he dumped the paints back in his bag, followed by all of the other supplies he had just spent forever organising. The only thing he left in the drawers was his canvases. Those shouldn’t get tossed around so much. He only had five; he had to treat them with care. He could spare exactly none of them.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a loud cough came from somewhere outside of the door. It hit him, moments later, that he had dimly heard coughing in the background for a few minutes now. But that particular cough was unexpected. And quite horrible.

Wylan moved to the door, cracking it open. He saw a dark head of hair outside, bent over as another cough came. Jordie’s head raised, elbow pressed against his mouth as he coughed again.

“Wy—” a cough cut him off for a moment “—lan.”

He shook his head, then dropped his elbow to reach into his pocket and grabbed his inhaler. Wylan looked away as he primed and then used the inhaler. It was awkward, watching him… well. It was just an intrusion, wasn’t it? And rude. Nobody was supposed to stare at anyone different. Not Kaz’s cane and limp, not Jordie’s scars, not this.

“Sorry,” Jordie said a minute later.

Wylan heard the click of something closing, and he looked up to see Jordie capping the inhaler and ramming it in the pocket of his jeans. Jordie had an amiable smile on his face.

“Asthma,” he said, as if the coughing had been merely some bug he’d swatted away.

“I’m sorry,” Wylan said.

Jordie waved a dismissing hand. “Don’t. I get enough of that in my life.”

“Sorry.”

“Well, that’s new.” Jordie’s smile had broken wider, genuine and confused amusement splitting his face. “An apology. For an apology.”

Wylan tried another, “Sorry?”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t had an actual apology in this house in…” He trailed off with another disregarding wave, but Wylan got the point. Kaz didn’t seem to be the relenting and apologetic type. “Anyway. I came to ask…”

Wylan watched him, waiting for the question. Jordie simply frowned. He looked over to the wall for a second.

“What was I going to ask?” he murmured to himself. “Shit.”

Unsure of this new situation, Wylan felt his fingers fumble for the fabric of his shirt’s hem. Jordie kept frowning at the wall, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as he concentrated.

“Jordie?” Wylan asked after what seemed like too long.

Jordie’s head snapped back to Wylan, frown deeper for a split second. Then it erased, reverting to an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I can’t remember what I was going to ask.”

Wylan knew that feeling all too well, but something about the way Jordie had zoned out bothered him.

Suddenly, Jordie snapped loudly, his index finger pointing to Wylan. Startled, Wylan drew back somewhat.

“Dinner,” Jordie said, amusement lighting his face once more. “Dinner. I was going to ask about dinner.”

Still uncertain, Wylan merely stared at Jordie.

“What do you like to eat?” Jordie asked. Before Wylan could even begin to think how to answer that, Jordie said, “We don’t do fancy rich people stuff, though. We’re cheap.”

“Oh. I didn’t… I mean, I’m not… you don’t have to worry about that,” Wylan said, words stumbling ungracefully. “You can just… make whatever you want, I guess.”

“Okay, I’ve heard that before, and that never goes over well,” Jordie said. “Nina’s the only person that has ever worked for.”

Wylan did not know who Nina was, but he still felt guilt gnawing at him. He really did not want to make Jordie change whatever meal he had planned.

“Seriously, it’s okay,” Jordie said. “Just tell me so that you don’t starve and then I don’t have the police investigating me.”

Wylan blinked.

“That was a joke,” Jordie said. He waited a second longer, expecting Wylan’s laughter. Wylan managed a grimaced smile. “Okay. No jokes. Um. Fine. Look. This is what we eat on a regular basis. Chinese takeout. Pizza. Uh. Boxed noodles. Frozen vegetables. Any easily-heated meal. Any of that repulsive to you?”

Truth be told, Wylan wasn’t entirely sure. He’d never had boxed noodles before. Or easily-heated meals. He knew he didn’t like most vegetables—they all reeked or had unpleasant textures (broccoli being the worst offender of all)—but maybe frozen made them different?

“No,” Wylan said. Even he could tell he sounded unconvincing.

“Fine,” Jordie said. “We’ll start with pizza. Nobody hates pizza.” He turned and walked away then, grumbling under his breath, “Not even Kaz.”

Wylan slowly closed the door, utterly confused by that entire encounter.

(and this is all I have written lmao sorryyyyyy)

#lets hope this all fits in one post lmao #its 4k so who knows lmao #wylan van eck #kaz brekker #jordie rietveld #jan van eck #marya van eck #six of crows #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone #fuckt up lil bros au #if i ever write more i'll reblog but that likely wont happenlmao

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cassava-49 · 4 years ago

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Death 1

Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7

The water looks so inviting mostly after all that has happened to you. Marinette felt numb, not really caring whether or not people, other than her family, would care. She didn't feel like the bubbly girl that she was since the start. She didn't feel the responsibility of being Ladybug surge through. All that filled her head was how everyone in class turned against her because of Lila's lies.

"Marinette can you stop being so jealous and possessive and manipulative for once!" Alya shouted at her. "Alya, can you stop blaming Marinette for once!" Adrien shouted back. "I know that Lila's lying and I know Marinette's telling the truth. Can you stop! For once, stop thinking that Lila's such a perfect angel!" he added. "Adrien, just stop, please," Marinette pleaded him. "I-i-it's a-alright Alya, Ma-ma-marinette didn't mean to," Lila cried, hiding her victorious grin. "Sh, sh, don't worry Lila, but it's not okay," Alya comforted her. "Dude, you should apologize," Nino said to the pair. The two then scowled at their ex-best friends, but before they could retaliate, Natalie appeared to the scene. "Adrien," she sternly called. He flinched, knowing what will happen. He then took Marinette by the wrist and walked towards the exit with Natalie following behind. "I'm sorry Adrien," Marinette said as he got into the car, he then gave her a sad smile and a curt nod.

That night she waited for his call. Anxiety teasing through her body, finally after dinner, she heard her phone ring. She immediately answered it and heard Adrien's shaky voice on the other line. "What happened? How did it go?" she asked. "H-he, m-my father," he stuttered. "He's pulling me out of school," he said. "What! Why?" she asked, worry slowly sunk in. "He said that you're a bad influence and so is the school, he's sending me to New York," he replied. "I-I'm so sorry Adrien," she replied, feeling the tears attempting to escape. "It's alright, it was my choice anyway. It was either going to school but ignore you, or go to a different country but be able to contact you," he replied. "If I chose the former, it would break my heart seeing you, and it's not like I have any other friends," he added. "Promise that we'll keep in touch," she whispered. "I promise, but I've got to go now, I need to do something," he answered. "Yeah, sure, good night," she replied. "Good night," he responded.

Once the call ended she summoned her transformation to vent out by swing across the city. She arrived at their rendezvous point to find a crying Chat. Without hesitation she walked to him and wrapped her arms around him. "Chat, are you ok?" she asked. "My lady," came his response. She then sat beside him as she let go. "What's wrong?" she queried. "I'm leaving," he replied. "Why?" she asked. No please, not Chat, I can't lose them both at the same time, she thought. "My father, he wants to transfer me to New York," he answered. "That's why I have to give up being Chat Noir. I'm sorry," he said in between sobs. "When?" she pressed. "Tomorrow, he already got the papers done this morning, with all his connections and money, I never doubted it," he let out a strained chuckle. "I planned to give up my miraculous after patrol. One last taste of being Chat Noir. Never had I wanted an akuma attack so badly," he cried. He then felt Ladybug pull him up to his feet. "Let's go have one last run together, until you come back," she said with tears in her eyes as she wiped his. He gave out a small smile as they raced on the rooftops of Paris.

After their run they heard a blast, making both of them smile and eagerly defeated the akuma. With five minutes remaining, they raced on the Paris rooftops with Ladybug leading. Ladybug grabbed his arm and pulled him onto her balcony. "Why are we at Marinette's?" Chat asked. "I want to tell you who I am," she replied. "A-are you sure?" he asked. "I've never been more sure. I want you to know," she replied as both of their transformations fall. If they were not crying earlier, they were crying now, crouched down in each others arms. Adrien Agreste WAS Chat Noir, Marinette Dupain-Cheng WAS Ladybug. They smiled at each other and hand in hand entered her room The two then spent their time in her room as Plagg floated next to Adrien, knowing that he'll miss his presence. It was one in the morning when Ladybug returned Adrien to his room with a longing kiss goodbye, promising to be together once he's back.

That was our plan, Marinette thought as she leaned on the railing if the bridge. The bridge where she and Adrien bought ice-cream from André's. This was the bridge where she and Kagami became friends. This was the bridge where she shared her ice-cream with Luka. Unfortunately, Adrien's plane crashed in the Atlantic, the cause was still unknown. If he had the horse miraculous, he would have survived, she thought again. Ever since his death, she gave up her miraculous giving it to the new ladybug holder as she apologized to Tikki. She also told her parents the truth and asked them to be part of the order of the guardians, and taught them the secrets to the miraculous.

It's been weeks since Kagami and Luka became the new Lady Luck and Monsieur Noir of Paris, they still reminded Paris about the original Chat Noir and Ladybug, who will always remain in their hearts, they even asked the mayor to make their debut Ladybug and Chat Noir's day. As for Lila, she began making more lies as to why Ladybug quitted like, "She felt too much pressure and wanted me to become the new ladybug but I had to refuse since I didn't feel worthy and it would be too obvious because I'm the new Ladybug since I'm her best friend, but I helped in picking out the new recruits."

Lies, lies, it was all lies, Marinette was the one who gave Kagami and Luka the cat and ladybug miraculous. It hurts, it hurts, so much. With one last look at the stars, she fell into the icy cold water of the Seine. She didn't feel anything else, until her head collided with a sharp rock at the bottom.

...

Marinette woke up with a massive headache. She found herself in an hospital ward, but her clothes were what she had been wearing when she tried to commit suicide. She watched her parents stare animatedly at her but said nothing. She then realised something, her parents were not looking at her, but something behind her. She followed their line of sight to find herself. She had her head wrapped up in bandages, her hair was down, a pipe was in her throat for food. Her nose also had the typical dexterous to help her breath, another was connected to her large intestine for excretion. That was when she knew, she was in her astro form. Her soul left her vegetable body and is free to wander since she was in a coma.

She got up and began walking towards her parents. Their tear strained eyes watched her wistfully, hoping that she would wake up soon. Her grandfather's bread was in a basket next to her bed. Her Nona's helmet was found in one of the chairs, signifying that she was there. She touched her father's cheek, only to have her hand pass through his face. She was a ghost, or a spirit, either way she was neither dead nor alive. She went to her mother who was walking towards her body taking her hand, she felt warmth, a sign that she can still feel and not exactly dead. She watched as the monitor showed that her heart beat was normal and resting.

All of a sudden her classmates, along with Lila were inside her room. All with devastated faces, even Lila, which surprised her. Alya and Nino was crying along with Rose, Mylène, Chloé and basically everyone was crying except for Lila who still had shock written all over her face. Although the same couldn't be said for her parents. Tom got up as Sabine moved closer to Marinette's body. "Leave," he said. "What? Why? Marinette is our friend, we have to be here for her," Alya exclaimed. "Really, so you have no idea as to why she committed suicide?" Tom asked with a growl this time. "Isn't it obvious? It's because Adrien died," she answered. This time Sabine got up and threw her Marinette's note. Alya dropped to her knees as she read it out loud, causing everyone to cry harder. There she explained that Adrien was not the reason as to why she died. He was the reason as to why she still lived even though he passed, but she said that she could not take it anymore, all the bullying, all the rumours, all the lies and the threats. After reading the note, Alya turned to Lila asking for an answer. But this time she was crying, was it guilt or were they real.

"Get out," a growl erupted from behind them, to find Marinette's grandfather. "I-I'm so so-" Alya tried to say. "Don't give us your half assed apology, the damage has been done, now get out!" Sabine shouted. They all but rushed out of the room with Marinette's ghost. Once the door was closed they all turned to Lila for an explanation and as if some divine intervention, Jagged Stone appeared with his mascara dripping down with his tears as he pushed past the teens to enter her room.

"Mr. Stone?" Kim asked. "What! Can't you see I'm in a hurry to see my niece!" he exclaimed. "Niece? But isn't it just Marinette in there?" he asked. "Just Marinette," he says in a low voice. "Just Marinette! This is my niece we're taking about, the sweetest, kindest girl I'll every meet!" he exclaimed as Penny arrived. "But what about Lila?" Kim asked. "Lila? Lila! That crazed girl who thinks I have a kitten and deliberately bullied my niece! She's here? Where is she!" he exclaimed with outrage only to be held back by Penny.

If Marinette was still alive, she would have enjoyed watching Lila's lies crumble down, but now she doesn't feel anything. "What a mess?" she heard someone say from behind. She turned to find a boy around her age standing beside her. Not really minding, since he couldn't see her, she returned her attention towards Jagged and her classmates. But she turned her attention back to the boy when she saw a nurse pass through him. "Y-you're a ghost?" she asked catching his attention. "You can see me?" he asked. Now looking at him she thought that he resembled Adrien, like a lot. He was blond with green eyes, a head taller wearing a grey Polo shirt with a black vest she tie. "I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng," she introduced herself unconsciously. The boy stared at her and replied, "I'm Felix Graham de Vanilly." They turned their attention back to the commotion as they watched Alya punch Lila letting out her anger once she found out the truth.

"I'm sorry, they're my classmates," she huffed. "What's the deal with the girl in the glasses and the Italian?" he asked. She sighed and replied, "It's actually a very long sob story. Are you sure you want to hear it?" she asked. Felix smiled and replied, "There's nothing wrong with a long story, it's not like I'm going anywhere." Marinette smiled as Felix lead her away from the commotion as she began telling him her story.

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chicksung · 4 years ago

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ok so i just had this weird fic idea and i feel like you’d write it WAY better than i would. so you know those reversible octopus toys? idk if you’ve ever seen them but people use them to indicate mood. i think it’d be a cute idea if like y/n had a bad day so she turned the octopus to the sad face and kun sees it and tries to make her feel better? idk i just had the idea and you could probably write it better than me akdkxkdkckxck

Inside Out and Upside Down || Qian Kun

Genre: fluffy fluffy fluff fluff

Pairing: idol boyfriend!kun x fem reader

Warning/s: would you count a bad day as a warning?

Word Count: 0.9k

Synopsis: You were never one to properly express your emotions through words and an octopus plush seemed to do the talking for you. But the last thing Kun wanted to see when he got home was a frowning octopus and a upset girlfriend

A/N: Another request from my luv, @peachy-beomie aka EMMA! I had very little knowledge of these plushies going into this but I think it’s such a clever idea. Thank you for requesting luv!

Work. Everyone had to do it at some point in their lives. It was unavoidable, if you wanted a stable source of income that is. So, just like you do every other morning, four out of the five weekdays, you got up at 5am, busied yourself with making breakfast, getting dressed and ready and making sure to take enough time to make your boyfriend, Kun, his lunch. And by 6:30, you were out the door.

However, today had not gone your way. At all.

The coffee machine broke during your busiest hour, the eggs in the fridge had gone past their expiration date without any of the other employees noticing, which mean you had the delight of taking them out, through the kitchen and out the back to the dumpster, found two teenagers doing less than appropriate things behind that dumpsters, you had dealt with four rude customers in a row and at this point, you were ready to curl up in a ball and cry until your tears made a big enough river to drift your sad self all the way back home.

You pushed through ‘like a trooper’ your boss, Denise, put it and you almost sighed with relief when you clocked out. Waving goodbye to your coworkers, you left the coffee shop and dragging yourself into the car to drag yourself home.

You reached home and unlocked the front door and groaned as soon as you stepped through the threshold. The warm homely feeling wrapped your body comfortable, but it didn’t do anything to help your current headspace. You entered the bedroom you shared with Kun, scurrying around the room, snatching up a pair of your sweats and your favourite shirt of Kun’s, a light blue colour that reached your mid-thigh.

You changed quickly and flopped onto your bed, releasing an exasperated sigh before your eye caught something. The tiny soft plush of a octopus.

Kun had gifted it to you for your birthday. He knew you weren’t very good at expressing your emotions through words. There were times where he’d come home to you crying into your pillow or sulking on your bed, but no matter what he tried to try and coax you into telling him what was wrong, you always just ended up communicating through grunts. It was a better way to communicate anyway, only having to signify your emotions by flipping the octopus’ soft insides to face you with a tiny frown on its blanket soft face.

You huffed and grabbed the plush toy, flipping the pretty royal purple colour into a red colour, the stitched on frowny face staring back at you. You continued to stare at it before hugging it to your chest and letting your emotions crash over you.

The sound of keys jingling together on a keyring caught your attention. You glanced at your appearance, puffy eyes, red cheeks, hair sticking in every possible direction. You looked like an emotional train wreck. Well, at least you were expressing your feelings.

Kun, your wonderfully talented boyfriend, waltzed into the house and shimmied his way to the bedroom.

“Baby~” He called out as he opened the door, eyes connecting to the emotional wreck of you, his face contorting into concern. “Hey hey hey, what’s wrong?” He rushed to your side, leaning down and grabbing your hand, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. You shook his head at him before you buried your face into the covers and began to sob uncontrollably.

If there was one thing Qian Kun hated, it was seeing you cry.

Kun sat on the bed, gathering you up in his arms and squeezed you tightly, rocking his body back and forth, like a mother soothing her upset child. He noticed the octopus plush in your arms and saw the colour. Red. She’s upset.

“Oh my darling princess.” He cooed as he embraced you tightly once more. He released you from his bear hug and sighed. You had stopped crying but you were shaking and looked like a mess. A very adorable one in his own humble opinion, but that was beside the point.

“Work didn’t go well. Hell, today didn’t go well. I’ve just had the worst day. I’m surprised I didn’t stub my toe on the way through the door.” You admit that you were being a little over dramatic but with your emotions mixed together like some strange cocktail, it makes more sense than it would if they weren’t.

Kun heard you sniff, absorbing everything you just told him and kissed your temple. “I’m sorry today didn’t go your way, my love. Anything I can do to make my princess feel better?” He asked you, pulling you away from his shoulder and looking you with his sparkly brown eyes. You pondered on his words for a moment, nodding your head in return.

“Yes. There is.”

“When I asked you if there was anything I could to help you feel better, this wasn’t exactly what I pictured.” Kun said as you tied his hair into tiny ponytails, his eyeshadow done meticulously and his eyeliner miraculously even. You only giggled as you applied a light layer of blush to his cheeks, occasionally slapping his arm to stop him from moving away from the brush (he claimed it was tickling him)

“You said I could do whatever I wanted, and this is what I want.” You playfully huffed, turning his face closer to the light so you could see your artistry in a better view.

Kun smiles. “As long as you’re happy, I really don’t care.”

#kpop #fanfiction #nctnetwrite #kpop fanfiction #nct fluff #nct fanfiction #kpop fluff #kpop smut #nct smut #wayv kun #wayv fanfiction #qian kun #wayv fluff #wayv smut #neothestars

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thelemoncoffee · 4 years ago

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https://twitter.com/danganronpawiki/status/1378167423715704835

NOW THAT WE HAVE THE FULL BODY DESIGNS!

i have some snazzy little opinions, so let’s just go down the line:

!!Really long post under cut!!

-Makoto is a basic bitch, always and forever, and we stan that -Taka looks like a Penguin and you cannot change my mind -Byakuya is just trying to look rich- -Mondo’s outfit is so extra i love it- he even added some probably temporary dye to his pompadour that was hard to see due to the lighting in the group pic -LEON! everyone was calling his fit ugly in the group pic and honestly i’m salty because he and i have the same sense of formal fashion. work it king! -Hifumi’s honestly suits him just fine, i was iffy when i saw it in the group pic but it doesn’t look too awful in full -Hiro..... buddy- i- i mean- what do i say??? it’s ugly as shit and really nice at the same time?? -Sayaka’s formal wear is a massive step up from the outfit she wears in her splash art- i never really liked that dress that much- even if it does have a cultural significance the design the picked felt cheap. But this one is really nice, and i dig it way more -Kirigiri looks pretty, it looked waaaay more purple in the group pic, but looking back the whole thing was over saturated for the lighting affects they did, so i shall forgive. she looks oddly nice in blue actually. -AOI LOOKS LIKE A BETA FISH AND I’M LIVING FOR IT! GO QUEEN!! -Toko’s dress looks way better in full than i expected, because so much of it was covered up i kinda didn’t like it all that much in the group pic, but i’m really digging it now -QUEEN SAKURA! BEAUTIFUL!! A DAMN SUNSET OF A DRESS!!! i love seeing her indulge in being a gorgeous queen despite people’s remarks on her physique -Celeste! also beautiful, but girl are you a vampire?? the layers on that dress- and that’s a massive veil- she’s gotta be overheating in that thing. -JUNKO! Fashionista know’s what’s up! it’s alot less gaudy than some of her casual outfits, but in a way that’s actually pretty good. i love the masquerade mask, it’s a nice touch -Chihiro....... Lucky Charms-

-Hajime’s outfit actually looks better in the group pic than here, i think it’s cause the yellow is more vibrant due to the saturation filter, so it stand out more -Nagito’s outfit is great honestly, i love how they put the shirt design on the sleeves, and i love the half-up hair, and the crooked bowtie- it’s great! -Twogami is a king, all he did was invert Byakua’s outfit and he just pulls it off so much better -Gundham’s is honestly underwhelming. This is Gundham Tanaka for fuck sake! Junko’s is more in character than this. where’s the drama sir???? -Kaz... buddy..... the colors look nice on your jumpsuit, but not an actual suit. I love the suspenders though -Teruteru’s outfit actually make him a bit cute. i’m about 80% sure the brown is suppose to be mud as to reference the fact that he’s characterized as a pig in more ways than one, but i’m choosing to call it a cola pattern ‘cause fuck you i’m going to be nice to him for once -Nekomaru’s suit is... it feels like a cursed amalgamation of a noir detective, a car sales men, a mobster, and a casino owner- and i just works so well on him -Fuyuhiko! i love it, fits him well, but the rolled up slacks are odd and kinda distracts me from the rest of the design- showing off some Bi pride there boss baby? -AKANE IS A DAMN QUEEN!! GOD PLEASE SHE COULD STRIKE ME DEAD IN THAT AND I’D THANK HER -Chiaki’s is simple, but it looks really nice on her -SONIA MY QUEEN! the oversaturation in the group pic did her dress dirty! i saw the blue originally and went “that isn’t her color”, but now seeing it without all the lighting crap she looks alot better.... and also a bit Elsa-ish -Hyoko’s in a lovely Kimono, but she’s always wearing pretty Kimonos, so it’s somewhat underwhelming compared to the rest -MAHIRU YOU SUMMER QUEEN! Mahiru has the best sense of fashion in the whole series imo, her wardrobe’s vibes make me so very happy. I grew up in a christian household (i’m not religious anymore btw) and use to be brought to services, and her dress gives me mad Easter Sunday Potluck nostalgia that i just can’t un-notice -Mikan looks too much like a hooker- i’m sorry, they really just went with the fan-service crap here and i don’t like it at all. Even if it wasn’t meant to be fan service, the dress looks tacky and has a shine on it that signifies it’s latex, so that’s just gotta be uncomfortable as hell- and for a clumsy character like her to try and survive a party in??? -IBUKI LOOKS LIKE FANCY RAVE COTTON CANDY!! THAT’S ALL!!! -Peko’s Kimono looks surprisingly nice on her, she wasn’t a character i’d assume to look good in a checker pattern but damn. i also appreciate how she still has the sword, bet- Fuyuhiko tired to convince her to leave it behind but failed

-Rantaro looks like a Used Car Salesmen. -KOKICHI MY BELOVED!!! i already voiced how much i adore his outfit when the group pic came out, so instead might i point out that he’s wearing high-water slacks and tall socks? it’s just as jarring as Fuyuhiko’s bi-slacks, but this is Kokichi so i feel like he did it on purpose. -Kiibo??? he dead ass changed his plating i-???? idk what i’m feeling towards it, but boy howdy am i feeling -GONTA!!! i love his suit, it’s out there in a good way, and i also love how he’s holding what looks like his casual coat. -Shuichi looks lovely in that suit, and i’ll never forgive everyone ever for saying he looked like a grandpa in it. It make him look a bit more Sherlock-esque and i love -3- -KORK IN A DRESS EVERYBODY MOVE!! i love how Androgynous his outfit is, both in gender and in time. like- is it feminine? masculine? modern? 1800′s england? who the fuck knows! -Ryoma looks good, but the fedora- who tf on the design staff decided to get cheeky?? eh- he’s vibing, doesn’t look too bad so long as you don’t hyperfixate on the pointy groin-stabber fedora -KAITO YOU SNAZZY GALAXY PATTERN SNORTING BASTARD! i swear he’s allergic to putting his right arm in it’s sleeve-. anywho, i love how even his dress jacket has a galaxy lining in it, i think it would have been funny if he was wearing galaxy dress shoes too but Maki would have chopped his dick off for that one -Kaede looks like her dress was inspired by one of those cinnamon peppermints- ya know the ones, they have the pink center and all that jazz? -Miu looks like she’s ready to hit up a casino in LA and honestly that’s such a good vibe! her skirt is a bit funky so it took me a hot sec to realize it was indeed a pencil skirt and not a fancy jumpsuit. -Tusmugi’s looks nice, i don’t have much else to say- kinda fitting considering her Plain Jane shtick -TENKO LOOKS LIKE SHE’S THIS CLOSE TO BREAKING OUT INTO A TAP DANCE AND I’M SO FUCKING HERE FOR IT!!! GO QUEEN!!!! -Kirumi is- well- i don’t go to Genshin Impact, but she looks like that one Genshin character, you know the one right? i think their name was a Starbucks drink size- they have a harp?? yeah -Maki’s dress is really pretty, it is a bit odd for her to wear that considering her character, but i can’t say she doesn’t rock it like the queen she is. -Himiko would be nicer without the transparent extra part- it make her looks like one of those half sphere popper things my friends terrorized me with in middle school. Other than that, you go you cute little magical girl you! -ANGIE OH MY FUCK!!! i love- i- dfj;adgad;jdgd!#2342nh;werkw??? i have no clue at this point what culture she’s suppose to be from, but that definitely looks like some traditional garb she’s got going on and holy crap is is pretty

Over all, i think the staff did a great job with this, i love a good lot of the outfits alot more than i though i would from the group pic. I do wish they would have added at least Komaru and Mukuro though- gimmy my queens yo!

#danganronpa #trigger happy havoc #drthh #Super Danganronpa 2 #sdr2 #New Danganronpa V3 #ndrv3 #all characters #danganronpa 10th anniversary #Kai time #long post

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psychedellic-phase · 4 years ago

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Fifteen (pt 13)

(gif by me! I use the iphone app momento)

tw: language, angst, mentions of drug use (relapse), mentions of miscarriage

word count: 7.3k (im sorry)

masterlist

series masterlist

Spencer got up from the cold tile floor, fuzzy unicorn in hand, and faced the window above the kitchen sink. He stared out of it, admiring the snow that was still falling lightly, wondering if it was raining in Seattle. His memory flashed to the last time he stood in the rain with you, but he tried to shake the images away. Instead he watched the snowflakes hit his windowpanes and melt. He hoped that maybe you were somewhere staring out of a window, admiring the dreary weather, and thinking of him too.

He found his place against the dishwasher again, sliding down as his mismatched socks gave way so he could stretch his long legs out fully. He pulled the nearly empty box onto his lap and appreciated the light weight of it, as he continued with his twelfth letter and thirteenth item. Thirteen, a number whose history of unluckiness stems all the way back to the thirteen attendees of the Last Supper, and tracks through the number of steps leading up to the gallows, all the way to the number of letters in the names of some of the most infamous criminals.

Thirteen was a haunted number, which rightly accompanied a haunting letter.

“This one’s long. It’s a month of tarnished memories packed into a few pieces of paper. So far I’ve gone through half of a college-ruled one subject notebook and I’ve had to change pens twice. It’s nearing 2:30, and the wine is finally hitting my empty stomach. Sorry in advance for the way my handwriting will be. I’ll try to make this make as much sense as I can.

If you look at your thirteenth item it is the notepad I stole from that resort in Florida. There isn’t much around to signify this letter. You don’t keep mementos from one of the saddest days of your life, but for some reason I took this useless paper and shoved it in my purse on my way out. Good thing I did, or you’d have no item to attach to these memories. Though I suppose that might be better.

The resort was where we were going to be at for our ‘babymoon,’ whatever that is. What a dumb idea, I’m still mad at myself for letting Garcia talk us into one. She just made it sound so appealing.

Once everyone knew I was pregnant, Hotch pretty much sat me in Quantico with Penelope. There were a few local cases where I was lucky enough to go visit the ME’s office, but usually I kicked my feet up in her lair while you were out in the field.

“A what?” I said one day as she ran DNA through CODIS. The two of us were drinking herbal tea, and I was barely 16 weeks. I just looked like I had a big lunch in my stomach, not a baby the size of an avocado.

“A babymoon. It’s like a honeymoon, but you go when you’re pregnant. It’s one last trip for mommy and daddy to go on and spend quality time together. How many trips have you and Dad-Wonder even been on?”

I shrugged. We didn’t travel much for pleasure. We traveled for work, so on our rare days off we liked to be at home.

“I mean we’ve gone to Vegas and Connecticut a few times.”

She rolled her eyes, “Visiting family, my dear, is not a vacation! I was thinking you two would go to the beach. You guys relax and wade in the ocean and Spencer can build sandcastles that defy every law of physics!”

I laughed at that. You and the beach? It just didn’t feel natural to me. Probably because you aren’t capable of actually relaxing.

“That does sound fun,” I said and I spoke to my barely there stomach, “And it would make daddy take a few days off.”

Penelope squealed and started clicking at her computer, “I’ll find a resort online right now! Okay so how about Marco Island? It’s gorgeous and in Florida, so it’ll be like eighty and sunny, even in the beginning of December.”

“I’ll have to talk to Spence about it. I mean I know it would be fun and all but we really should be saving money for a crib, and car seat, and bassinet, and high chair, and a rocking chair, and a baby swing, and a—“

Garcia stopped me from spiraling out of control, “That is why you throw a huge baby shower! People buy those things for you.”

I rubbed my tummy again, “Oh no, Daddy is very particular about what things are bought.”

“That’s why you have a registry, Momma Bear. Now, no more excuses.”

Before I could even call you, she had put in both of our requests for days off and we had a week long reservation at this fancy resort that you see listed at the top of this notepad, the “Crystal Cove”.

I was only slightly mortified that she did all this without me asking you. Mostly, I was happy. I was afraid you wouldn’t say yes, but if PG already booked it, you kind of had to agree. And to my surprise, you did.

When you got back from that case we were at home, you eating something I had poorly made from a random cookbook on a shelf. I had decided to start cooking more, so I could make homemade meals. I wanted to be that mom who cuts sandwiches into flower shapes and always has fresh baked bread and cookies laying around. I wanted us to be those parents; the ones who are so sickeningly in love that their kids roll their eyes every time they kiss. We were those parents, kind of, if we could even be considered ‘parents.’ At that point, I don’t think we were. But we were definitely in tooth-rotting, sickeningly sweet love.

“So, I have a surprise for you,” I said, coming up behind you and rustling your hair.

“Hm?” You said, stuffing your face like you hadn’t eaten in days. You probably hadn’t. You’re the king of forgetting to eat. Maybe that’s how you stay so skinny.

“I booked a trip, well I guess technically Garcia did.”

“A trip?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, a trip, to the beach. Penelope called it a ‘babymoon.’”

You laughed, “A babymoon? I’m not familiar."

I smiled and sat across from you, “It’s like a honeymoon, except it's just me and you relaxing and spending quality time together before this lil dude makes his appearance.”

You smiled, “I’m telling you, it’s a girl.”

I rolled my eyes, “It’s definitely a boy, but stop ignoring my offer.”

“Well, it’s not really an offer so much as it is you telling me that we’re doing this.”

“Okay, yes Garcia helped me book it already, and yes she put in our requests for days off, but you can say no.”

You did your little nose twitch scrunch thing, “I’d never say no to quality time with you, Love.”

You leaned over and kissed me, and I squealed, “I’m so excited! I have to buy maternity bathing suits now! Oh and a sunhat!””

Spencer smiled fondly, recounting that day. He was thrilled to go, minus the part where he’d have to wear shorts, and flip flops. Something about the piece that goes between your toes makes him squeamish. He was looking for the right opportunity to use something special he had bought for you, and you had just given him it. A week on a beautiful beach with the love of his life? That would be the perfect time to ask you what he had been waiting to ask you since JJ’s wedding. He was going to take Hotch’s advice; stop waiting, start doing, and get down on one knee with a blue velvet box.

He never got the chance to. The trip was supposed to be in the beginning of December, around your week twenty-four. You never got that far.

He got up from the ground, immediately digging around in a drawer full of pencils and compasses and rulers, finding the blue box in a corner. It was covered in pencil shavings and dust. He hadn’t looked at it in months. He held it delicately in his hands before opening it.

It was plain, but he remembered you said that was what you wanted.

“Oval, of course and silver,” You had explained to Penelope and JJ at a night out years ago. Derek and Spencer sat on the opposite side of the table, but his ears perked up at the mention of rings.

“I like just the band,” JJ said, admiring her own ring, “And I have Henry’s birthstone, the citrine, so I didn’t need another one.”

“What kind of stone Y/N? I’d love a pink diamond! Or a ruby! Imagine!” Penelope gushed.

You shook your head, “I’d take cubic zirconia, if it was coming from the right guy.”

Both Penelope and JJ stuck their tongues out, “Nuh-uh!” Garcia said, grabbing her phone to scroll through more pinterest photos.

“Spence will be getting you a diamond.”

You rolled your eyes and whispered, “Don’t jinx it JJ! And I don’t want a diamond.”

Her mouth dropped, “No diamond? Really.”

“Diamonds aren’t ethically sourced.”

“Lab grown! Get lab grown!” PG piped it, showing you a picture of a ring, just an oval in a plain silver setting.

“That! That’s the one!” You said and Garcia giggled, going on a rant about her dream wedding.

Spencer had gotten that exact ring. Lab grown, oval, classic, beautiful. It was what you wanted, and you deserved everything you ever wanted.

Spencer looked at the notepad. He could tell you had a hard time picking an item for this letter. He knows this letter is the end, the other two are the epilogue of a story he wishes you kept writing. Crystal Cove is the place where he had planned on asking you to marry him, but it ended up being the place where your love story ended. He tossed the notebook to the side and decided that the souvenir for this letter was now going to be this ring. This ring that sparkled and shined, even in the dull incandescent lights of his kitchen. This ring that belonged on your finger, and not in the back of a drawer. This ring that you didn’t even know existed, but if you had, maybe you’d still be together.

“I did buy three maternity bathing suits, and you bought shorts. Spencer Reid in shorts. It was going to be the best trip ever. We were going to snorkel and look at sea turtles and sunbathe and drink virgin piña coladas by the ocean. We were going to get couples massages and spend every moment loving and appreciating each other.

The actual trip? Much different than the one we had planned on paper, but let’s first discuss that time between the hospital and the trip.

It was four weeks. Four weeks of me sitting at home while you were off at work. Four weeks of the door opening and Derek walking through, not you. And on the odd chance that it was you opening the door, you’d be appearing at odd hours of the night to grab a new suit or a file or a snack and then getting back in your shitty car and going to your apartment. Each time I heard that comforting sound of your satchel hitting the floor, I’d crawl out of the cave of blankets I was in to find you, and you’d act like I wasn’t even there.

For the first few days, you asked me how I was and if I was feeling better, then you’d check your phone and wave goodbye. After that, I was lucky if you’d say hello, then I was lucky if I even got a glimpse of you. You never held me. You never kissed me. You never told me you loved me.

I got all my information about you from Derek. Every day I texted you, “Have a good day at work! Talk soon?” And everyday you didn’t answer, so I’d ask Derek if you were okay. He’d always tell me what you were doing. Usually you would take a stack of files of cases to a dark room and make preliminary profiles to send back to the departments, alone. I’d tell him thank you, and the next day would be the same nonsense.

Those four weeks dragged. It was like every minute was an hour and everyday was a year. I was healing, even without you, everyday I felt better and better. But that’s relative to the day before. I haven’t felt ‘good’ yet. I haven’t felt ‘happiness’ yet. But I will. And I’m counting on that.

My mandatory leave was four weeks, and at the end of that Hotch called me in for a ‘mandatory psychological evaluation.’ I didn’t tell you about it because you weren’t speaking to me, and even when you did you were angry and snappy and rude.

I didn’t pass the evaluation. Even though the BAU wrote those damn questions, I still didn’t pass. When my four weeks were up, you were expecting me at work, and I never showed. You didn’t notice how not okay I was because you were too busy handling your own feelings, which I understand. You have to take care of yourself first, deal with your own trauma before touching anyone else’s. So, your trauma was none of my business, a concept you should've applied to my healing process.

I was supposed to come back on a Monday and when I didn’t show you came to the house. You opened the door and yelled my name. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in weeks, and it felt good. I thought you had finally come home. I thought you were finally ready to heal with me, but you weren’t. You were there to judge me.

I think I ran to where you were, a smile on my face that I didn’t think I was capable of making, “Hey!”

You looked so put together in a neatly pressed suit, but your eyes exposed you. They were bloodshot and the bags were so large they almost reached the end of your nose. I had on one of your shirts; it was comforting at the time. Not so much anymore.

You looked me up and down, a small scowl forming on your face, “Where were you today?”

I took a deep breath, and I lied, because lying to you felt easier than telling you the truth. The truth that I was not deemed stable enough to come back, even though I wanted to. I needed to be distracted. I was ashamed, scared, confused.

“I-I didn’t go.”

“Didn’t go? You’ll get fired Y/N.”

I sighed, “No, my leave got extended.”

I could feel the way your eyes bore into my skull as I dodged eye contact.

“Extended?! It’s been four weeks.”

“I’m not ready!” I desperately wanted you to see through it. I thought I was ready, but the papers disagreed.

“Hotch let you do that?” Your voice was increasing and I found myself inching away from you.

“He encouraged it!” Another lie. He didn’t ‘encourage’ it. He forced me.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your bag and opening the door again.

“You’re leaving? Spencer c’mon I-”

You cut me off by slamming that door in my face.

That’s when I started closing myself off. I started dreading the sound of your feet against the floor at three am. I started to put my own walls up, but they would dull in comparison to the Great Wall of Spencer you built around yourself to keep me out.”

Spencer was always good at putting walls up. In fact, you were the only person to ever get him to take (almost) all of them down. There’s a side of him he doesn’t show anyone, a side of him that he reserves for himself, and when something happens, that’s where he goes. He goes to the corner of his brain where he feels safe, and the walls come up to protect him.

And in those last four weeks, he did just that. He put the walls up, shut you out, and decided that was better. Except it wasn’t better, it just was easier. It was easier for him to bypass you and find a new outfit for work tomorrow. It was easier for him to disappear in the office until the odd hours of the morning. It was easier for him to hide away from you, because when he’s exposed he always gets hurt. It was easier to act like everything was fine, even though everything was the opposite of fine.

He never needed to go to the house, part of him was drawn there like a moth to a lantern. He was drawn to you. As much as he didn’t want to see those four walls, he still needed to check on you. He just did it in his own damaged way. He’d get a glimpse of you in old sweats and a shirt with a hole in it, hair a mess and mascara from two weeks ago adding to your eye bags and he’d be reminded that he couldn’t be there for you. He would never be enough, and he’d retreat into the comfort of solitude.

He was so preoccupied with being hurt, that he didn’t realize just how much he hurt you too.

“I had forgotten about the stupid trip, and so had you. You were too preoccupied with work and not speaking to me and I was preoccupied with crying and trying to speak to you. I only remembered the trip when I got an email from the airline about the flight, they had to move our seats or something stupid. I decided that was a reason for you to actually need to speak to me like I was a person, so I took advantage of it.

I intercepted you at home one day. I had been sitting in the kitchen waiting for you. You came home at two am.

“Hey,” I said, immediately as you walked through the door. You looked surprised that I was up.

“Hi, I’m just gonna—“

“Spencer, stop. We have to talk.”

You crossed your arms, not leaving the threshold of the door, “No. I told you a million times Y/N, I don’t want to talk.”

“Not about...” I couldn’t find the words and you started up the stairs.

“Are we going on this damn trip or not?” I said, my voice cracking from lack of use.

You stopped, looking over the banister at me, “You didn’t cancel it?”

“I didn’t think of it until now. We’re supposed to leave in two days.”

You groaned, “Why didn’t you cancel it?”

I threw my hands up. As if all of this was my responsibility?

“I was preoccupied! Did you cancel your days off?”

You shook your head, rubbing your face, “No, God. Can we still get a refund?”

I was hurt that you didn’t want to go, but not surprised. As I stared at the front door from my spot at the kitchen table I decided that I was going to go no matter what. It was going to be refreshing to look at the ocean instead of an empty nursery. That would be my distraction.

“I-I’m going. I’ll pay for your half, but I’m going. I’m losing my mind here, Spence.”

You looked at me again, still contemplating your options.

“I get it, okay? You can’t be in this house, but neither can I. Maybe we can talk and stuff on neutral ground. I-I just want you there with me, the way it was supposed to be.”

Then you took me by surprise, you nodded, “Yeah, yeah we’ll go.”

I’m sure I lit up like Rockefeller Center at Christmas, “Really?”

You rubbed your eyes, “Yeah, we can go Y/N.”

I was feeling lucky, so I pushed it, too hard, “Are you staying tonight?”

Your voice went from sleepy to sour, “No.”

And you vanished up the stairs, taking all my hope in us with you.

I knew deep down it wouldn’t end well. I knew it was going to be fighting and yelling and arguing, but any time with you was good time with you at that point. And I favored the little bit of serotonin and dopamine you flood my brain with as opposed to staring at the gray walls of the kitchen alone.”

Spencer only agreed to go because he thought he was getting there. Everyday he felt a little better when he’d walk through the door, but he still wasn’t ready. He thought a week of no work and no one to talk to except you would bring the walls down. This would finally be the catalyst in a reaction that was taking far too long to complete. He also couldn’t stand the thought of you flying and spending a week alone. He felt better about you being alone here because you weren’t really alone. You had Derek visiting, Garcia dropping off baskets, phone calls from Emily, the odd visit from Rossi, and apparently phone calls to Hotch, but on that island you’d really be alone, and he was worried about how you’d handle it.

“So two days later we got on a three hour flight to Miami, and I drove our rental car to this resort. We didn’t talk much the whole time, besides some small talk about the flight and other odd comments. It was painfully awkward, and I regretted even coming.

We didn’t speak until I used the keycard to open the door, and we stared at the one king sized bed in the room.

“Oh,” was all you said when you realized you’d have to share with me.

“What?”

“There’s only one bed.”

I rolled my eyes, “Spencer, we’ve shared a bed for three years.”

You just stood at the door with your hands fidgeting on the handle of the suitcase, “I’ll call down and ask for a cot to be brought up.”

“A cot? Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe you, “Why come if you wouldn’t even share a bed with me? I said I’d be fine alone.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but changed your mind.

“Great communication skills Spence. Really, I’m impressed.” You rolled your eyes and finally started to unpack your bag, “I came because I was worried about what you’d do here all alone.”

Part of me was happy you were worried, but a bigger part was annoyed, “I’ve been handling being alone fine, thanks.”

You scoffed, “Yeah. That’s why you need Derek to bring you food everyday, because you’re doing so well.”

I bit my tongue and tried to speak calmly, “Well at least someone checks on me everyday.”

That shut you right up.

The three days you were there went as follows: we slept as far apart from each other as we could, despite how badly I wanted to cuddle into your arms. We’d get up in silence, eat breakfast in silence, walk to the beach and read in silence, eat lunch and dinner in silence, and each night we’d yell at each other until we fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed.

Remember what I said to trigger the fight on December third, your last day there? How could you forget? It’s the fight that broke us up.

“So, I was thinking of going to a counselor,” I said, staring at the waves lap the sand from the balcony of our room. The air felt cold for eighty degrees. But maybe that was just because the air between me and you had been cold for weeks.

You were sitting next to me, but I could tell you were worlds away.

“Spence,” I nudged, trying to snap you out of your daydream.

“Hm? What?”

“I said I’m going to go to a counselor.”

You twisted your face, “A counselor? What for?”

I shrugged, “I-I think it’d be good for me. It’s a grief counselor.”

You turned to look at me, your brow covered in sweat and your eyes watery. You were incessantly bouncing your left leg, rubbing at your nose, and you seemed disinterested in every single thing I was saying or doing. In fact, you’d been acting that way since the first day you disappeared to your apartment.

“Counselor? Yeah,” You were fidgeting, barely making eye contact.

A feeling I can only describe as pure dread formed in my stomach. I thought I might puke, but I swallowed the feeling and kept talking, “I got a recommendation from Hotch. He said he went to Dr. Stevens after Haley died. He said it really helped.”

You were still not listening.

“I think it’d be good if we went together.”

That finally got your undivided attention. “Together?” You snapped, “No.”

“Why not?” I said it with an air of exhaustion and despair. I was tired of this. So fucking tired of it.

“I’m not going to a damn therapist, Y/N,” You seethed, your metal deck chair scraping against the concrete as you stood in front of me.

The sky looked stormy, palm trees whipping in the wind as you came before me. The bags under your eyes looked like bruises, and you had on sleeves. It was eighty and you had on sleeves.

“Okay, I’ll go alone then. I think he could really help us though.”

I was giving up on fighting. I didn’t understand how when I was at my absolute low you could just keep kicking me while I was down. All I wanted was for you to go to someone and talk about it. That’s it. You were acting like I’d asked you to move a mountain for me, which, might I add, at one point you would have done.

“He? You really think a male therapist is going to help? You lost a baby, Y/N—“

“WE,” I clarified, for what felt like the fiftieth time, “We lost a baby.”

You rolled your eyes and ignored me, “You lost a baby. How does a male therapist help you through that?”

I was angry now. It was bubbling up to the top and I thought I might explode.

“He’s a grief counselor! He’ll help me through my GRIEF! And I think you should go because clearly you have a lot going on. You always have! You should’ve been seeing someone for years.”

“Oh, I have a lot going on?” You sneered, “Of course I have a lot going on! I go to work everyday to bring you home a paycheck so you can sit around all day and do nothing.”

I stood up, got close to your face, “I’m on leave.”

“Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that.”

You bypassed me and went inside, and my hot anger turned into wet anger and fat tears were rolling down my cheeks.

“Do you know how traumatic this was on my body? Do you? Everything hurts and you were supposed to be there! You were supposed to take four weeks off too! You were supposed to be there for me!”

“Yeah and who’s there for me!” You yelled, louder than I think you ever had; at me at least. You had thrown your suitcase on the bed, haphazardly grabbing your clothes from the drawers and shoving them in.

“I would’ve been,” I said softly, coming up behind you to grab your arm lightly, “If you had let me.”

You pulled back, “Don’t touch me!”

I reached up to wipe my eyes and crossed my arms in front of myself defensively, “I want to be there for you, Spencer. I do. Why won’t you let me?”

You didn’t answer, because even you didn’t know why. You just stood over the suitcase, one arm on either side of it, hair matted to your sweaty face, panting and panting.

The facts I had chosen to ignore were staring me in the face again. Or maybe I was just that oblivious.

“I’ve never seen you like this. This isn’t you, Love,” I tried to say in my most soothing voice. The dread had clawed its way back up to the back of my throat.

“Or maybe this is me,” you said softly, and I swear you were crying. Or maybe I hoped you were, that way we were both sobbing. That’s as close to togetherness as we could get.

“Maybe this is who I am now, or who I’ve been all along.”

I reached out for you again, but stopped myself, “No, Spencer. The real you isn’t this angry, and bitter, and mean.”

You slammed your hands against the bed, “Yes it is!”

“Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?” I said sadly, shaky breaths between words, “Is that what you’ve been going to your apartment and doing?”

You turned around, skin sweaty and eyes red, “What? What are you talking about now? God, do you ever stop talking?”

I snapped, ignoring your last jab there, “Are you using?”

Your face contorted into a sour expression, “Am I using?”

“Yeah, Spencer! Are you? Because I can’t see any other reason for why you’re so irritable and sweaty and out of it! So I’ll ask you again, are you going through withdrawal?”

You looked like I had literally punched you in the gut, and I kind of had. It was a low blow, I’ll admit it, but I was seriously worried about you. If an event would trigger you, this would’ve been it.

“What? No!”

I wasn’t sure whether or not I should believe you, but I knew I had to support you either way. I love you, even when you’re angry at me, I still love you. Even when you throw clothes and seethe at me through gritted teeth, I still love you. That’s my fatal flaw. No matter how many reasons you give me to stop loving you, I never will.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, lower lip pinched between his teeth. Was he really that terrible? He didn’t remember being so spiteful. Reading it back, he understood why you thought he was high, and he had thought about it more than he cared to admit. But he hadn’t touched the stuff in seven years, and he wasn’t about to start again now.

‘No matter how many reasons you give me to stop loving you, I never will.’

That line made him want to cry, hands clenching the ring box as if it were a stress ball. That line simultaneously felt like a stab in the gut and a breath of fresh air. He had given you so many reasons to walk away, and the one reason to stay was there in his palm, unused.

““It’s okay if you are. I understand this is a... hard time. I’ll support you through this,” I put my hands out to touch your chest.

“I’m not high and haven’t been in years!” You swatted my hands down.

“Then what the hell is going on!?”

“I’m angry and I’m sad and I’m heartbroken!” You yelled, going back out onto the balcony to stand in the rain that had started pouring down in sheets.

“Spencer! Stop!” I followed you out, tears mixing with rain to the point that I didn’t know which was which.

“I’m just confused! It’s hard to see the point in all this anymore. Maybe it’s just not worth it,” You said, yelling at the ocean not at me. Rain soaked our clothes instantly. Part of me was hoping this scene would end like the ‘notebook’ we’d kiss and you’d spin me around. I guess this is kind of like the notebook, it’s a story to help you remember us. Except you don’t have Alzheimer’s and I wrote 15 letters, not 365.

“Maybe what’s not worth it?” I was yelling too, just so you could hear me over the sound of the wind and the rain.

“This!” You gestured between us. I felt like you knocked the air out of me, my whole body stinging.

“But I love you!”

“All of this has made me realize that love isn’t everything! I love you too but we need more than that!”

That was the first time I’d heard you say ‘I love you’ in a month, but it was a double edged sword. I bit my lip so hard I think I started bleeding, “Love isn’t enough? Are you kidding me, Spencer?”

You swallowed thickly, “No! I’m not kidding. I’ve never been more serious!”

“So what? That’s it?” I said it quietly, but I wanted to scream at you. I wanted to scream that you were being an idiot. You were being ridiculous. You were being unnecessarily cruel. But I didn’t. I was tired and water logged. I had finally given up.

You ran your hands through your hair, “No–it’s–we we aren’t over Y/N. I’m just saying that it’s gonna take more than love to fix us.”

“Well maybe if you were ever home, we could actually try. But you aren’t. You’re always gone! So explain to me how we’re going to fix this. What’s it gonna take Spencer? What do you want from me?”

You took a deep breath, uttering words I was so sick of hearing, “We need space and time.”

“Space? Time? It’s been a month Spencer! I let you go to work. I let you spend every day at your damn apartment. I stopped calling. I stopped checking in. How much more space and time do you want?”

“Thirty-four days,” you mumbled, just so I could barely hear. The thunder rolled, mostly drowning it out.

“What was that?”

“It’s been THIRTY-FOUR days, Y/N. Thirty-four. I don’t know how you expect me to be okay after only thirty-four days.”

“I don’t expect you to be fine! I expect you to speak to me! To look at me! I want to go to bed crying and have you there next to me. I want to be there for you when you’re crying. The only way we get better is if we do this TOGETHER!”

The anger looked like it melted off of you, and I took that as my opportunity to approach. I threw my arms around your soaked body as you shook with sobs into my shoulder. I held you like my life depended on it, because in a way it did. You wrapped your arms around me too, and everything felt okay. We were standing in the pouring rain, holding each other as we cried, and somehow I felt more okay than I had in the thirty-four days prior. It felt like maybe you were coming back to me.

You weren’t.

We stood like that for what felt like hours, and eventually I pulled you inside. I wish I didn’t. I wish we stayed there, holding each other in the rain until the sun came up and dried us off. I foolishly thought the rain washed our sins away.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said, my head on your shoulder as we wrapped ourselves in towels, “I promise.”

You shrugged me off of you, going back to packing your bag.

“Spencer, stop packing, please,” I begged, grabbing the items you were putting in and taking them back out.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you said plainly, taking a shirt and putting it back in.

“I-I thought—“

“Thought what, Y/N? That because I cried to you and told you I loved you that we were magically okay?”

I stammered, “No. No! But I thought it meant we were in this together now.”

“You just accused me of relapsing an hour ago.”

“And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, but that’s not a reason you should go,” I pleaded, reaching for you again. I thought if you walked away I’d never see you again.

“You don’t trust me,” your voice cracked.

“No, Love, I—“

“Don’t call me that.”

The pain in my chest bloomed, sending a wave of heartache through my entire body. A heartache I still haven’t been able to shake. It’s still there. Some days it's a thunder crack and sometimes it's a low grumble, but it’s always there. The rain hasn't stopped.

I hadn’t even realized that you were completely packed until you zipped the suitcase shut.

“You’re really leaving?”

You stopped at the door, hand on the handle, to turn and face me. I didn’t need to use my profiling skills to see how much pain you were in, and my pain doubled at the sight. I’ve always been an empath when it comes to you, feeling what you feel like it’s my own.

“I am.”

I crossed the room and threw my arms around you, sobbing into your chest. To my surprise, you wrapped your arms around me lightly.

“I understand,” I said, looking into your eyes, “We can’t be there for each other the way we need to.”

You nodded into my shoulder, “Stay. When you get home from this we’ll talk. I just need a few more days.”

I shook my head, finally coming to the realization that we didn’t work anymore. We weren’t healthy anymore.

“Don’t bother. The writing’s on the wall, Spence,” my voice wavered, and I regretted every word as they left my mouth, “I’ve been waiting for that person from the hospital to come home to me. I’ve been waiting for the Spencer who lends me his shirts and fact dumps and eats IHOP and ice cream with me to come home.”

I felt your breath stop under my arms, “But that Spencer, the Spencer I love, isn’t here anymore. We need to be alone.”

I felt you shake with tears under me, and that triggered mine, “We have to break up.”

I wish I never said it. I wish I gave you those few days, but we both know those few days would’ve turned into weeks and months and we would’ve ended up here anyway. I wish you didn’t let me say them. I wish you kissed me to shut me up and told me I was being stupid. I wish I didn’t watch you go down that elevator, tears on your cheeks. I wish I didn’t spend the other four days in an empty king sized bed, crying for you.

I realize now that you changed. I did too. Instead of wishing for the old you, I should’ve learned to love the new you. I think I would’ve, if I had given it a chance. Actually, I know I would’ve. I think I’d fall in love with every version of you that could ever exist or has ever existed. You and I, we’re meant to be together.

I know you probably don’t believe in it, but I like to think that we’re twin flames; we’re two halves of one soul that somehow ended up in two bodies and constantly pull to find each other again. I’ve read a lot about them recently. Twin flames don’t necessarily end up together. They can even just be two people with an intense friendship. They’re people who help each other grow, even if that means they’re only in your life for a short time. I like to think that we are that case, and that in some parallel universe I’m with you and we have our daughter and we’re happy. I just wish that I was in that universe now.

I know it’s for the best that we went to the damn Crystal Cove and broke up. I’m sure someday in the future I’ll be pleased with that decision, but for now, I still regret it.”

Spencer stared at the notepad, eyes flicking between that in his left hand and the ring box in his right. He took the ring out and admired it in the light. It glinted and glimmered, delicately refracting light onto the cabinets. He slid it halfway down his ring finger because that’s as far as it would go. He imagined it was on your slender, perfectly manicured hand instead of his, but an ache formed where his heart was when he realized it’d never end up here.

Spencer grabbed the notebook. It was unlined and the paper felt flimsy and thin. He got up from the floor to find a pencil in the drawer the ring had been hidden in, and took it out to scrawl his own letter to go with his own memento. A sixteenth letter for a sixteenth item you had no idea even existed.

“Y/N,

I’d like to consider this letter sixteen, to go with the engagement ring that’s in my palm. I bought this ring the day after we ate dinner at Rossi’s and showed everyone tiny FBI onesies. I have your perfect ring here in my hand, a plain silver band with a lab-grown diamond in a four-prong setting in the center, just like you told Garcia you wanted. I should’ve given it to you the day I bought it, but I waited until the perfect opportunity presented itself.

What you didn’t know about the trip to the Crystal Cove was that I was going to propose to you there. I was going to get down on one knee in the sand at sunset after dinner. I even had a whole speech planned. I was going to tell you that I never thought I could love anyone as much as I love you, or that anyone would ever love me the way that you do. I was going to say that it amazes me how everyday, I wake up and love you more than I did the night before. And everyday I think it’s be impossible to love you and our daughter more than I do right now. I wanted to tell you that I want to wake up every morning and feel that for the rest of my life. I want the good, the bad, the ugly, I want it all. I want Korean film festivals and IHOP breakfasts and to talk to the moon. I want tubs of ice cream and overly sentimental flowers hanging from the wall. Most of all I wanted to say that I want to spend every day of my life making you happy.

That speech still applies today. I still love you enough to ask you, but I don’t think you love me enough to say yes.

It’s okay. It really is. I haven’t decided what to do yet, but if you do read this, just know that it’s okay. I promise you, it’s okay. I’m not the bitter, angry man I was at the Crystal Cove anymore. I changed again, and I hope you’re right. I hope we are twin flames and your soul will come looking for mine, and I hope it happens in this universe, not the infinite parallels that may or may not exist. I miss you and I want nothing more than for you to come back. Come home, Love, please come home.

-SR”

He stared at the notebook page, before tearing it off and folding it in half, placing it in his pocket for safekeeping. He went on his computer and bought the cheapest one-way ticket to Seattle that he could find. He needed to see you. He needed you to see this letter, see this ring. He needed to make this right.

The flight was a red eye, leaving at midnight, so he’d get to the Seattle field office by eight. He looked at the leather watch and saw that it was nearly nine. He decided had to finish, and he had to finish now, as he grabbed letter #14.

PART 14

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

Taglist!

@l0ve-0f-my-life @aperrywilliams @helloniallslovelies @random-ravings @ajwantsapancake @andiebeaword @boiled-onionrings @frnks-stuff @icantevenanymore1 @mellifluouswildbluebells @rottenearly @sammypotato67 @blushingwueen @peaxhyjaes @justanotherfangurlz @juniorgman187 @mbowles23-blog @blameitonthenight21 @goldentournesol @rainsong01 @thelifeofadumbbitch @swimmingtrashwobblersludge @youre-a-wallflower-charlie @eldahae

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer x you #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #cm #matthew gray gubler #mgg #dr spencer reid

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xiaodejunletsact · 5 years ago

Text

8 letters | park jisung

word count: 18,247

genre: highschool!au, baseball player!jisung, a lot of angst and fluff. childhood friends to enemies to friends to lovers lmao

warnings: mentions of bullying, a lot of emotional baggage from jisung’s part, physical fighting, basically lots of high school angst.

author’s note: hey everyone! im finally back from the dead lol, thank you to everyone who has waited to long for this and sent me nice messages, they really encouraged me :) anyway, a couple of things you guys should know before you start are: i tried to make this jisung a lot like real jisung idk if i did but i hope it worked lol and i tried to make as unfiltered of high school experience as you can get. so jisung faces bullying and social pressure in this and the 2000 line and chenle are all the same age as jisung in this. its a long one but i really hope you like it! thank you! (Btw!! this one is for all my 2002 liners who are going into senior year, lets make this year the best one yet!)

synopsis: 4 years ago, you and jisung’s long term friendship came to an abrupt end. now in senior year, the two of you find yourselves being forced together again by your mothers. suddenly, jisung begins to ask himself what is more important: his reputation or you.

alternatively;

if all it is is 8 letters, why is it so hard to say?

It had been a long time since you sat at the polished marble table that resides in the Park Household. The mix of colors on the table are weaved with bittersweet emotions as you stare down at them, the spaghetti his mother had served you grew cold as you took in the words your parents were throwing at you.

“We know you guys don’t really get along as well as you used to but the streets are getting dangerous nowadays. Just the other day they jumped a kid from your school!” Your mother says, exasperated. Her eyes were wide as Jisung’s mother nods her head in agreement across the table. The conversation has been going on for a half hour now, despite your clear distaste for the argument.

“I get that, mom. I just don’t see why I can’t just walk to school with Renjun.” She sighs at your words, making eye contact with Jisung’s mother across the table. You tear your gaze away from them to Jisung who scoffs in response to your words. “Is there something funny Jisung?”

“Our moms want us to go to school together so we can be safe, and you want to walk with that twig? He can’t protect you for shit.” He spits out at you, his mother giving him a warning to watch his language before you reply.

“And you can?” He falters momentarily at the sharp gaze you send his way, before shooting one back. Your stare down ends only when your mothers tell you to settle down.

“Jisung has a car now, y/n. It’s safer and you won’t have to take the walk to school every morning… I don’t see why you can’t just do this.” She looks at you with a pleading look, the type she knows you’ll give into. You shift your gaze away from her face and sigh. Jisung speaks up.

“Shouldn’t I have a say in this? It’s my car!” He sounds as frustrated as you feel. His mother laughs.

“Remind me, who pays that car?” This shuts him up immediately, producing a chuckle out of you while he huffs. Your mothers watch the interaction with a sigh. “Please guys, we just want you to be safe. You guys used to be best friends! How hard can it be to spend 20 minutes together?”

Very hard.

The air in the car is thick when Jisung picks you up the next Monday morning, the silence between you two is filled with an indie pop album that plays on the radio when you get in.

The inside of his car smells strongly of cologne, though it’s unfamiliar to you. You figured he started using it after you guys stopped being friends; it wouldn’t be the only thing that has changed while the two of you were apart. Like the bright laughter and easy conversations that one surrounded you two, that is now replaced with thick silence and tension. There’s also Jisung, who seems a lot more mature now, who joined the baseball team and became one of the most popular guys in school or the fact that he has a car and also the fact that he hasn’t talked to you since he told you he didn’t want to be friends anymore at the beginning of your freshman year of highschool.

Even now, you try to figure out what changed. What tables turned in Jisung’s head that caused him to react the way he did towards you. At the time, you supposed it was one of those friendship fallouts you see in movies, where things just don’t work out; that’s what split you two apart. However, you know that wasn’t the case when Jisung arrives the following week to school, contacts replacing his round glasses you loved so much and his arm wrapped around Jessica - the most popular and bitchiest girl in school. You recall the nauseating feeling you got when you saw him; it being the exact moment you realize that things had really changed, that this wasn’t just a friendship fallout, Jisung cut you out of his life so he could start a new one.

Without you.

Though it took a while, you began to realize that the Jisung you knew was long gone, no longer will he be fanboying to you about a new video game he’s into or a baseball game he has watched over and over. No longer will he be putting cute sticky notes in your locker. No longer was he your best friend. He was now popular guy every girl in school had a crush on, that wears his hair up and hangs out with the resident school asshole jocks.

The best thing you could do was ignore it, pretend it didn’t happen by stuffing all of his things deep in your closet and never looking at them again. You occupied your thoughts by making new friends and picking up new hobbies, which led you to Renjun -who helped you through everything and was there for you when Jisung wasn’t. He took your mind off things and kept you busy and although he was your rock and you appreciate his company and friendship immensely, there are still times where you find yourself falling down the rabbit hole of questions and thoughts surrounding the Jisung situation.

When your mother suddenly starts questioning what happened, where he is and saying that she misses him. You can only shrug as your mood dampens at his mention, rushing to your room and holding down the words that are threatening to escape:

Me too.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of an opening car door, you barely have any time to process the scene in front of you because Jisung is already rushing into the gates of the school. Leaving you alone in his car.

You watch as he jogs up to his jock friends and becomes one of them. He puts on his baseball jock skin and fits right in like he was never the boy who would sneak into your house when he was feeling lonely.

He wasn’t anymore.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and exit the car and walk into school, preparing to do what you do best: pretend it doesn’t matter.

You try especially hard to pretend it doesn’t matter as you wait for Jisung outside the school for two hours after the dismissal bell has rung. Your foot taps impatiently on the ground as you send him a 4th text asking him where he is. You can’t help but feel embarrassed; he stood you up, left you stranded on there and is on his way home probably laughing his ass off.

You were foolish to think he would actually hold up his end of the deal and just be a good human being this once. You sigh and shake your head, trying to brush off the embarrassment off your mind as walk towards the school gates, starting the journey to your house. Trying your best to not think about it until the sound of your shoes against the sidewalk is disturbed by the sound of Jisung’s voice.

“Hey!”

He’s standing near the entrance of the school, his hair wet, his torso covered is a loose T-shirt, different to the one he was wearing this morning and his chest was heaving like he had been running. You’re too far away to tell if the look on his face is upset or confused. “Where are you going? Get in the car!” You scoff at him and march your way up to him. Pointing an accusing finger at him you spit out.

“You left me waiting here for nearly 2 hours! I was going home!” Jisung looks at you with a confused expression before shrugging his shoulders.

“I had baseball practice, I thought you knew.”

“How would I know? I don’t keep up with the baseball team. You didn’t tell me either.”

Jisung sighs and open the door to the passenger gets side, “Can you just get in so we can go?”

After staring harshly at him for a few seconds, you reluctantly get into the car. Jisung closes the door behind you and you watch as he walks around the car to the drivers side, seating himself before starting the car.

At first you drive in silence, which you figured is better than fighting, until Jisung turns down the radio.

“Since the season is starting, I’m gonna have practice everyday after school for the next few weeks.”

You nod at his words silently planning in your head what the hell you're going to do at school for 2 hours. Before you can think of a reply, Jisung turns up the radio, signifying the conversation is over. You bitterly settle back into your seat.

When you arrive to your street, Jisung pulls into his driveway and just like this morning, rushes out of the car and into his house like you have the plague, without sparing you a word.

You cross the street from his driveway to your own and look back at his house one last time. The light of his room is turned on now, you can see his silhouette faintly through the curtains as he moves sound his room. You shake your head as you look away, rushing into your house without looking back.

Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve interacted more with Jisung in the past two days than to have in the past two years or maybe you were just feeling nostalgic, because there could be no other reason you find yourself reaching into the deepest part of your closet later that night, taking out the box for the first time since you bid that part of your life farewell all those years ago.

It’s covered in a thick layer of dust that floats through the air as finally bring it out. You take a seat on the floor of your room and place the box in front of you, taking a deep breath before taking out the first item. A handheld mirror.

You instantly find yourself smiling, the mirror had been a birthday gift from Jisung. You flip it to see the faded words written on the back, that cause your eyes to gloss over:

“E`````very time you tell me that you hate the way you look, I lose brain cells bc you’re one of the prettiest girls out there. Please see what i see. Happy birthday, y/n - Jisung <3”

You remember using the mirror for practically everything after receiving it, feeling that it somehow made you beautiful. You turn it once again and look at your crying reflection, and you can’t help but think that maybe the effect has worn off after so many years.

Wiping your tears, you continue to pull out items which mostly consisted of small drawings, key chains and picture frames. The last thing in the box was one of Jisung’s sweatshirts he had given to you a few days before he told you he didn’t want to be friends. You pull it out and examine it, you had worn it many times before he had given it to you but it still had his smell lingering on it. You don't know why but suddenly you’re being engulfed in his scent and your body is covered in warmth, the hoodie wrapping around you feeling so familiar it brings tears to your eyes once again.

You decide that you didn’t care if this was Jisung’s hoodie. It’s your hoodie now and you can wear it whenever you want (of course deep down you know that’s just an excuse to feel close to him once again.)

Just as you’re about to start putting the items back in the box, you notice an envelope at the bottom of the box. You gasp gently as you pick it up, hands wrapping around the old worn out envelope, thick from all its contents. You spill them onto the floor and feel a tear drop down your cheek as you see all the different colored sticky notes splayed across your floor, all containing motivating messages and small drawings to make you smile. Jisung would give you one everyday and you would give him one in return, although you doubt he has kept his.

Hundreds of papers that accumulated during the long years of friendship stare back at you. You cry as you read through them; some sweet, others silly and some that made your heart flutter even now. You try your best to stop your tears as wonder how all of these notes that meant the world to you, could cease so easily as if it never mattered. But then again, after the way things played out, you figure it never did.

Your interactions with Jisung for the rest of the week consists of nothing bit of small talk and one word responses. Until 4 days later, on Friday morning, Jisung breaks the silence after turning down the radio.

“You know, you should wait by the bleachers after school from now on.”

His words produced a confused look on your face. The bleachers? You had just found a comfortable spot at a picnic table where there wasn’t many people that you comfortably do homework while you waited for him after school. “Why? What’s wrong with the picnic table?”

Jisung’s grip tightens on the steering wheel as he searches his mind for a response, “It’s outside of the campus, something could happen to you.”

Your eyes widen as you take in his words, did he just imply that he cares about you? After all these years, is the caring Jisung you knew coming back to you?

“And my mom would kill me if something happened to you.” He adds, you’re sure that if he were to have been looking at you, he would have seen you visibly deflate. You should’ve known better.

“I’ll be fine at my picnic table by myself.” You miss the perplexed look Jisung tried to conceal as you disagree with him. He rushes to search for another excuse to get you to do as he asked.

“The,” he pauses before adding quickly, “your picnic table is at the farthest point to the parking lot, i have to wait an eternity for you to get there after practice!”

You scoff at his selfishness and look out the window, “I’d rather you wait a bit than expose myself to those man eating baseball jocks.” It is a mutter, but Jisung hears every word.

“Man eating baseball jocks?”

“Yes, man eating baseball jocks. They’re all a bunch of assholes.”

Jisung scoffs, offended. “We are not!”

“I didn’t say you were, I said they were.” Your words seem to ease the tension in his body as he relaxes a bit in his seat before saying:

“They’re… not that bad.” He doesn’t sound too convinced himself, his words sound forced and fake. Even then, you turn to him with a shocked look.

“Not that bad? Those guys terrorize almost everyone in our school and traumatize underclassmen.” You click your tongue, frustrated. “After everything they did and said to us, you’re telling me they’re not that bad?”

It’s Jisung’s turn to be shocked at our sudden outburst for a few seconds before he composes himself once again, “That was back then, y/n. People change.”

You stop yourself from reaching up as grabbing onto your hair in frustration, sitting back in the chair and looking out the window. You then say the words that would cause a longing silence for the rest of the ride to school; words that remain in Jisung’s head for the rest of the day.

“I know that better than anyone.”

Jisung ponders your words for the rest of his day, absently staring at blank walls and laughing it off when his friends call for his attention.

He knows that you have every right to be mad at him but he couldn’t help but feel knives prick at his heart as he runs the memory of you saying those bitter words that held so much weight and sadness to them. He reminisces all the times where he told you he would always be there for you, that he promised to be by your side forever, and tries to stop the stinging in his eyes. He wishes things could go back to the way they were, that he could tell you how sorry he is and you guys would be best friends again.

As he stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, he shakes his head slightly, reminding himself that this is for the best. He tries his best to conceal his bloodshot eyes, rubbing his hands over his face and staring back into the mirror. Jisung practices his fake smile (although he’s almost a professional at it considering how much of that he’s been doing) in the mirror, and does what he always does: adjusts the new skin he has given himself and pushes old Jisung into a cage, throwing away the key.

It’s for the best.

You chuckle halfheartedly at something Renjun says as you walk down the hall after school later that day. You feel a bit guilty that you’re giving your friend only a quarter of your attention but you can’t stop your mind from being preoccupied with Jisung. The guilty feeling in your heart after your harsh words to him this morning being the only thing on your mind when a hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks and demanding your attention.

“Come with me.” Jisung stands towering above you, you give him a confused look, making a pathetic attempt to take your wrist out of his grip, only to have it tightened.

“Why would she want to go anywhere with you?” Renjun barks at Jisung, who sends a glare his way.

“Because I’m her ride home, asshole. And I don’t want her sitting centuries away from the parking lot and then leave me waiting for her.”

Renjun scoffs and moves forward only to have your free hand press against his chest, pushing him back. “Renjun, it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Renjun shares an uneasy and concerned look between you and Jisung. You reply by nodding your head and smiling reassuringly, which causes him to finally cease and pull into a quick goodbye hug before walking towards the school gates.

Jisung pulls your arm, dragging you towards the bleachers where he sits you down with the calm words, “Wait here.”

Your eye roll is a 7.1 on the Richter scale.

The rowdy baseball team leaves the locker room loudly, alerting you of their presence immediately. You take in a deep breath and try to make yourself as unnoticeable as possible though, you know your plan failed when a shadow is cast onto the notebook sitting in front of you.

“Look who it is!” Over you stands, Jeno: captain of the baseball team (and mind controlling leader of all the jock minions. He is man eating baseball jock at its finest.)

He smiles down mockingly, bringing himself closer to you. “What’s wrong princess? Cat got your tongue?” The taunt causes you to roll your eyes, moving to pack your stuff before things got bad.

However, you figure Jeno’s plans seem to be different when he rips your backpack out of your hands and throws it on the ground next to you. He grabs your jaw harshly and forces your eyes to meet his, he speaks again, only this time, he says it lowly for only you two to hear.

“You trying to get back in Jisung’s pants, huh? After all this time you still don’t understand that he doesn’t want you. He’s one of us now, y/n.” Jeno clicks his tongue as he pulls away and watches the emotions that inevitably settle in your eyes, no matter how much you try to conceal it. He laughs and reaches into his gym back, pulling out a water bottle and taking a short sip. He smirks and before you know it the cold liquid is being poured over your head, soaking your hair, clothes and school books. Jeno laughs once again, “You’re such a pity party, y/n.”

Humiliated, you avert your gaze from him and meet eyes with Jisung, who watches the scene with an expression you can’t quite pinpoint, silent and making no attempts stop Jeno. Not that you expected him to. Even then, you get the same angsty feeling you get every time you realize he’s not who he used to be.

You realize that holding in your tears is harder than you thought it would be when Jeno finally leaves, you pack your things as quickly as you possibly can and bolt out of there. Leaving a conflicted and guilty Jisung behind.

All that’s to be heard around you as walk home is the sounds of your small sniffles and the thud of your sneakers on the pavement below you.

The cool autumn wind blows against your wet clothes and causes you to shiver, your body growing colder.

Frustration and humiliation push you to walk faster as you feel the presence of a car moving slowly beside you. Jisung rolls down the window.

“Y/N! Get in the car!”

You turn your face to him and begin walking faster, practically sprinting. Once you think he’s finally gone, you hear a car door slam shut and footsteps racing to catch up with yours.

Jisung grabs your shoulder and spins you around to face him. “Getting home alone will only get the two of us in trouble.”

You scoff, trying to mask your bloodshot, gloss eyes and emotional state. “Is that all you care about?”

Jisung is quiet for a few seconds before asking, “Are you crying?”

You freeze knowing you’ve been caught before turning and beginning to walk away, “Go away, Jisung.”

Jisung moves to stand in front of you, and speaks in a boardline soft voice. “Just get in the car.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry about what happened, okay? I didn’t think they would do something like that.”

You remain quiet, taking in his words. Jisung was never one to apologize even when you two were friends, his words shock you momentarily before you remember that this isn’t the Jisung you used to know. Maybe new Jisung says sorry without meaning it like the rest of the baseball jocks do.

“Aren’t going to say anything?” Jisung masks his nerves over saying those words that are foreign on his tongue with impatience and indifference.

Another breeze blows and Jisung watches in concern as you shiver, wanting nothing more than to rip the hoodie of his body and cover yours with it.

“Take me to my house, please.”

You figure it’s because of the unfortunate weather paired with your unfortunate situation or maybe it’s the fact that Jisung is standing before you asking for you to get in his car and saying sorry to you for the first time in his life.

You wish it was the former.

As soon as the car comes to a stop, you reach for the handle to open the door to no avail. You turn confusedly to Jisung who sits in the driver's seat looking forward hand sitting on the control where the locks of the car are.

“What are you doing? Open the door.”

Jisung shakes his head and looks your way, “You never accepted my apology.” His eyes hold something truly desperate and troubled, you are shocked once again at the emotion you see in the boy who has been cold as ice to you for the last two years.

Still, you recall the events that took place earlier that day and find yourself feeling bitter. “Was I supposed to?”

“Yes!” Jisung looks at you wide eyed and offended, thinking you would know him enough to know how much those words meant to him.

“You don’t get to decide that, Jisung.”

He scoffs, trying to mask his insecurities and guilt with frustration. “It wasn’t even that big of a deal.”

You let out your own scoff and turn in his direction, your glassy eyes causing Jisung’s stance to deflate slightly. “It was to me! I was so humiliated by those jerks and all you did was sit there and watch! You probably tricked me into going there in the first place, you... set me up. I should've known something like this would happen.”

Jisung feels the cracks in his heart deepen as he takes in your words, the way you view him now evident. Even then, he tries miserably to defend himself. “I would never do that, I’m.. I’m not that cruel.”

“I didn’t think so either Jisung. Not today and not four years ago when you left me to be one of those man eating, toilet licking jocks!” You look him straight in the eyes with your tear filled ones, “But you said it yourself: people change. And I don’t know who you are anymore.”

The cracks go further down until they’ve snapped off completely, splitting Jisung’s heart in two and letting the pieces sink down his chest, pass his lungs to his stomach where he thinks it will remain for the rest of his life.

You, on the other hand, can feel nothing but the fear and embarrassment of having shared too much. Your hands move on their own as you attempt once again to open the door.

“Y/N I-“

“Open the door, please.” This time, he does. No words filling the air as you rapidly gather your things and basically run into your house leaving Jisung alone in his car.

Poor Jisung looks down at his poor hands, clenching and opening them to feel like he has control over something in his life.

He’s not who he wants to be. He wants to be able to outwardly fanboy about video games and baseball to you like he used to. He wants you to call him stupid but still show interest to whatever nonsense comes from his mouth; he wants you.

His new skin has never fit this badly before.

Why the fuck is high school so hard?

When Monday morning comes around, Jisung holds his sweaty hands against the steering wheel of his car, waiting in front of your house. You’re late, (23 minutes to be exact; not that he’s counting) the fact making Jisung think that maybe Friday was the last straw for you, and that you were done trying to tolerate Jisung even for your mom’s sake.

Even though he knows you have every reason to hate him, the mere thought makes it harder for him to breathe.

Deep in thought, Jisung doesn’t notice the figure walking towards the passenger side of his car until there is a knock on the window that causes him to jump.

Jisung calms down upon seeing your mother at the window, an amused/slightly concerned look adorning her face.

“Honey, I’m sorry for scaring you! I thought you saw me coming!” She chuckles out the last words and all Jisung can do is laugh nervously in response. “Anyway, Y/N isn’t going to school today, she has been sick all weekend. I think she got caught some rain on Friday and has a cold, she’ll be better soon I’m sure.” Your mother stops her rant to send an apologetic look Jisung’s way, “I’m sorry you had to wait, I told her to let you know so this wouldn’t happen, I guess she didn’t.”

Jisung shakes his head, “It’s okay, ma’am. I hope she feels better soon.”

She gives Jisung a motherly smile that he has missed so much. He remembers all the days he would spend at your house and how your family basically became his own, all the times she would give him that smile before ruffling his hair. Jisung feels his eyes glass over and looks away. Your mother seems to notice and says in an affectionate, motherly tone: “Honey, everything is going to work out in the end.”

Jisung sniffles as he lets tears freely fall down his cheeks, “I don’t know what to do.”

She just smiles and leans further into the car, just enough to be able to reach out and wipe the tears from his cheeks. The familiar motherly gesture from her making him feel a little at ease for the first time in 4 years.

“What do you want to do?”

What does he want?

He wants to play baseball, he wants people to like him, he wants to be captain of the team one day, he wants to be the Park Jisung everyone loved and wanted to be.

But… he also wants to be able to be the Park Jisung he used to be, who would obsess over video games and hang out at your house more than his own, who had you as a best friend and didn’t have to go to school worrying about his reputation

Now pacing a few feet from your front door, left hand holding a bag carrying your favorite soup and right hand rubbing nervously at his jeans, trying to get the sweat off of them, Jisung thinks that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

What if your favorite soup changed?

What if your dog doesn’t like him anymore?

What if you don’t want to see him and tell him to get out?

What if-

“Jisung?”

He nearly gets whiplash from how fast he turns to face your father who stands at the doorway smiling. “Long time since you’ve been here, what’s up?”

Jisung laughs nervously, “Yeah, it’s been a while…” He pauses, unsure on whether to ask for you or not.

Then he realizes, just like your mother, your father was a second father figure to Jisung all throughout his childhood, he sees right through him and smiles knowingly. “She’s in her room.”

Your house hasn’t changed one bit since he stopped coming over. The same beige carpeted floors and the same pictures of the walls, even some of the two of you together as kids.

He hears thudding on the floor and suddenly he’s being knocked over by a giant ball of fur that licks his face and excitedly wags its tail. Jisung feels some weight lift of his shoulders as he pets the dog, “I missed you too, Jojo.”

It’s strange how everything can be exactly the same but at the same time totally different. How everything between you two turned cold and these walls and this home were just waiting for him to get some sense knocked into him and come back finally.

Maybe the walls weren’t the only ones waiting.

After knocking on your door for several minutes with no response, Jisung decides to open the door a crack, just enough for him to be able to look inside and see you fast asleep. He ponders over what to do at your doorway, nervously looking at you from the door frame.

After considering his options, he opts for just leaving the soup on your desk and leaving quickly, hoping your father tells you he stopped by. However, as he sets the bag on your desk something draped over your desk chair catches his eye.

His sweatshirt.

Jisung reaches for it hesitantly, hand shaking for a reason he can’t pinpoint. His fingers meet the soft material of it’s fabric and he feels himself remembering all the times he had seen you the sweatshirt whenever you stayed over at his house. He recalls the night he walked dolefully to your house with the sweatshirt in his hands, on his way to cut things off with you. At the memory, he immediately reaches into the pocket, letting his hands search through it until it comes in contact with something.

It’s still there.

He wonders if you haven’t read it, or if you did and stuffed it back in the pocket and pretended you hadn’t, choosing not to dwell on the boy who left you.

He also wonders if you wear it, if you ever think about him when you have it on.

If you get sad or if it’s warmth reminds you of the good times you spent together. Jisung grips the material in his fingers and brings it up to his chest. Eyes closed, he presses the sweatshirt close to his body.

It smells like you. But it also smells faintly of him. Jisung smiles as breathes in the mixture of scents that brings back good memories.

He can’t believe this sweatshirt as managed to keep the two of you together as he tore you apart. His want to fix things with you grows stronger and stronger as he stands in your room, gripping onto his sweatshirt.

Jisung hears a gasp and his eyes snap in your direction, your previously laying figure sits straight up on your bed with a frightened face, your hand over your heart. He freezes, unsure of what to do.

On the other hand, your body relaxes slightly as you realize that it’s just Jisung and not a crazy axe murderer, although you can’t even imagine why he would be in your room right now.

“Jisung?” The boy flinches as you say his name, before dropping the item he had previously in his hands onto the floor. You direct your vision to it and see his -your- sweatshirt which makes your confusion grow further. “What are you doing in here?”

Jisung can’t help but look at your window like he wants to jump out of it. This was definitely not how it was supposed to go. “I- uh well uh your mom told me that you were sick and I thought that maybe you- wanted something to eat? I don’t know. So like I stopped by to bring you this soup. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to I just figured since you were sick and stuff you know… maybe you would want some… soup.” He finishes off his rant by pointing to your desk where he had set the bag earlier.

You almost laugh at how awkward he’s being, though your confusion outweighs every other emotion. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you bring me this soup? Why are you in my room right now?” Your defenses start to come up as you realize how personal the situation is.

Jisung is standing in your room for the first time in 4 years, he was holding the hoodie that used to belong to him and he brought you soup from the place you two used to go as children.

Does he suddenly want to remember? Is this him trying to get back what he gave away?

“I just -“ He sighs, averting his gaze from you to the ground. “Look, I know what I did is terrible and that… you probably hate my guts after what happened… but I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry about everything that has happened between us, including Friday, I just… wanted you to be able to see you and know that you were safe. Not for my mom but for me. I’m sorry for not defending you when the guys did that to you. I let my fear get the best of me like I always do.” He pauses to take a deep breath, simultaneously looking up finally to meet your eyes, you feel your heart contract at the sight of his red, tear filled eyes. “And I’ve been using my moms wishes as an excuse to be with you after so many years but it’s time you finally knew that truth, and it’s that I miss you and it’s sad but spending this week with you has made me feel more than I’ve felt in the past 4 years,” he hiccups as he speaks, “and I know that you probably don’t want anything to do with me and I get that. I really do but no one knows me like you do. No one. And you know I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t mean it but I’ll say it again and again and again…” A tear falls from the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry, y/n.”.

You feel like you’ve been punched but also kissed and hugged tight after Jisung ends his emotional rant.

His words cause a division in your heart and mind over what to make of them.

Your mind says that this will end up like the last time, you’ll buy into all his fake promises and tears and fall for him all over again, only for him to leave you to pick yourself up after he decides he’s had enough of you.

However, your heart gives voice to the fact that this Jisung is strikingly similar to the Jisung you knew once upon a time. He is nothing like the Jisung you’ve seen for the last 4 years who is cold and mean; he is vulnerable and soft spoken, this Jisung just poured his heart out to you and is now standing with his arms wrapped around himself, awaiting your reply.

“Jisung, I-“ you stop yourself and try to choose words carefully while your heart and mind have a heated debate. “I think it’s best if you go.”

The way Jisung curls even further into himself makes your heart hurt, screaming even louder to let her opinion be heard. Fresh tears gather in his eyes that he immediately blinks away, nodding slowly. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to make of all this.” You try your best to not make him feel too horrible while simultaneously protecting yourself.

His broken voice comes stuttering out, thick and sad, “Don’t be sorry, please.”

He spares one last look your way before disappearing through your bedroom door. You hear his quick footsteps as he practically runs out of your house, leaving you alone with your conflicting thoughts and cold soup.

The energy of the events that took place in your room earlier seemed to still be circling around the room, bouncing off the walls and onto you. Sad and conflicting thoughts running through your head 100mph, leaving you restlessly tossing and turning in your bed later that night.

You sigh as you stare up at the ceiling, finally giving into the thoughts that have kept you awake.

What did this mean to Jisung?

What tables turned in his mind that caused the stone cold boy to come into your room (while you slept) with an order of your favorite soup to break down in front of you and go on a rant about how sorry he is?

And if he’s so sorry, why did he do it in the first place?

What changed from Friday to now?

Just when everything was getting better, why did Jisung have to come back into your life and make it complicated for you?

Should you forgive him?

There’s a chance you could get your best friend back… but there’s also a chance he might break your heart again.

You shove your blankets to the floor in frustration, rising off your bed and waking across the room to your light switch. However, on your decent, you step on something soft, only to realize that it’s the sweatshirt Jisung had been holding with tears in his eyes just hours ago.

A sudden confusion washes over you for a different reason, why had Jisung been inspecting the sweatshirt in the first place? You curiously begin to reach into the pockets, immediately feeling the texture of paper on your hand.

Your eyes widen as you pull it out, dropping the sweatshirt back onto the floor. The slip of paper is nearly folded and worn out at the edges, like it had been that way for a long time. Once unfolded, these slightly blurred words stared back at you:

‘My y/n, please understand and please keep me as your favorite boy after this. I’m so sorry. When it’s time, please forgive me -Jisung’

You don’t notice that your eyes fill with tears until they’re dropping onto the small paper below you.

Friday hadn't been the first time he said sorry to you, it was in this little slip of paper years ago.

You were sure he had put the paper in there knowing you probably wouldn’t find it, because there is no way you would’ve let him leave you if you heard those words then. There was no way you would let go of him.

There is no way.

Jisung seems shocked when you knock on the window of his car the next morning.

He had been waiting in front of your house, only 25% expecting you to actually ride to school with after what happened yesterday. Just as he was about to give up and begin his journey to school you present yourself before him with a familiar sweatshirt draped over your figure.

He’s speechless as you get into the car and settle into your seat, only opting to talk a few minutes later.

“What does this mean for us?”

He’s hopeful. God, he wishes he wasn’t this hopeful.

You smile slightly, “I read your note… and I went through some of the letters you gave me a long time ago and some of our other stuff. And… I decided that if you’re really sorry, and if this isn’t some kind of sick prank… then maybe we can be friends again.”

Jisung tries to bite back his wide smile as you finish your sentence, but fails when a giggle leaves his mouth. He’s so so happy. This is the happiest he’s ever been.

You can’t help but smile as well, watching how giddy Jisung got, “What is it?”

Jisung gives you a close lipped smile and shakes his head slightly although, there is still a big smile waiting to break free. He remains that way while he puts the car in drive and pulls out of your street and onto the main road, where he suddenly says: “Does this mean I’m still your favorite boy?”

Now it’s your turn to hold back a smile, “Maybe.”

This time, Jisung lets him smile free, allowing you a view of his pretty, gummy smile and crescent moon eyes. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and smiles all the way to school.

Things at school remain the same after that.

You two pass each other in the halls as if you were strangers, which, you admit, does leave a slight sting in your heart. However, that sting is overshadowed by how much things have changed between you and Jisung outside of school.

No longer is the air thick or is there a silence that falls over you two as soon as you get in his car every morning. And no longer do you race out of his car as soon as he parks it in front of your house. Now, the atmosphere in the car is full with playful banter and laughs (with the occasional snorts.)

It’s a light feeling; like you’ve put the last 3 years of your life behind you and have defied gravity and are currently floating multiple feet in the air, Jisung’s laughter and playful words surrounding you entirely.

Even though things aren’t how they used to be, in some way, they are better. The new Jisung and the new Y/N get along surprisingly well despite what you may have thought.

Especially at times like these, when Jisung hops into his car excitedly, animedtaly telling you to strap in quickly.

“Where are we going?” You ask, though you’re smiling and slowly fasten your seatbelt. Jisung’s hands comes to rest on the back of your seat and he drives the car in reverse and out of its parking spot.

“You and I are going to Billy’s.” His gaze shifts to you briefly, before focusing back on the road, still smiling. He misses the way your eyes widen and your whole face brightens.

“I haven’t been there in a while.” You say, the driving boy nods in understanding.

“Me neither,” he progressively breaks his car until it comes to a stop at a red light. He takes this chance to look over at you and smiles softly, “We can go back together.”

Once you get to the ice cream shop, Jisung leads you to a table inside. “Wait here. I’ll go order.” You watch as approaches the counter, smiling brightly at the cashier, who greets him enthusiastically. Exclaiming for the whole shop to hear.

“Jisung! You’re finally back, man! It’s been ages!” You recognise the voice as that of Jaehyun, who had been a new worker when you and Jisung were regulars here. You’re shocked that he even remembers him. “Where have you been? Where’s your girl?”

Jisung’s face flushes, he clears his throat, “My girl?”

“Yeah! What was her name again…” There is a pause in his sentence before he snaps his fingers, finally remembering. “Y/N!”

Even though you knew what was coming, you still startle at the sound of your name; you anxiously await Jisung’s reply which comes a bit later, “She’s right over there.” He points to you and you immediately look away, pretending you weren’t listening. Jaehyun looks at you in shock before turning back to Jisung.

“It’s difficult to keep a girlfriend for that long in high school, I’m glad to see you guys together.”

Jisung looks over at you once again except this time, you don’t look away. A soft smile rests on Jisung’s face.

“Yeah, me too.”

“So I’m your girl?”

You and Jisung are on your way home now with ice cream filled bellies after sitting in the shop and talking for 2 hours. You were wondering if you should address his interaction with Jaehyun the whole time, afraid that you would be overstepping. However, once the words leave your mouth, his cheeks flush a deep shade of red; darker than the one at the shop and enough to make your heart flutter but also swell with pride.

“Well, he said that.. And you know, I didn’t want to correct him or make him feel embarrassed or anything so I just went along with it. But if you mind, next time we-”

“I don’t.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t mind.” You’re feeling especially brave today, wanting so desperately to keep that blush on his face.

Jisung looks over at you for a split second with a bewildered look on his face, coughing a bit, he answers in the most stable voice he muster, “okay.”

His answer is a calm and collected one, but his insides are all jumbled up and going crazy, the butterflies in his stomach reeking havoc.

3 days later, you sat at your desk with a thick textbook sat in front of you, you had been tentatively reading the pages for about two hours now, trying to cram as much information as you could for your test tomorrow when you are suddenly startled by a ‘ding!’ coming from from your phone. You smile as you see the message gracing the screen.

jisung park [10:38pm]: hey :)

jisung park [10:38pm]: you still up?

y/n [10:40pm]: yeah, studying

y/n [10:41pm]: what are you doing up?

jisung park [10:43pm]: i was about to go to sleep, then i saw your light on. decided to text you.

jisung park [10:45pm]: just wanted to check on you

Your heart speeds up and you allow yourself to smile widely, you begin to type a reply but halt as soon as you see the three dots appear on your screen indicating the Jisung is typing.

jisung park [10:47pm]: don’t overwork yourself

jisung park [10:48pm]: wait i have an idea

Suddenly your phone is ringing, Jisung’s contact flashing on the screen only briefly as you answer, “Hello?”

“Come to your window.” You can hear the excitement and enthusiasm through the phone and walk to your window, seeing the boy sitting by his own window, curtains pulled back to show his smiling face which becomes brighter the moment he spots your face through the glass. When he speaks his lips move before his voice reaches your ears, but the lag is only a slight one.

“Now its like we’re hanging out, isn’t that cool?”

You chuckle at the purity of this action and the shyness that drips off his words, “Yeah, how come we didn’t think of this before?”

“I don’t know. I guess i’m just a genius.” He laughs when you laugh at his joke.

The next few hours are spent talking about absolutely everything under the sun, school, friends, a new video game Jisung is obsessed with and the fact that the ice cream at Billy’s tasted better now that you guys went together again.

Its nearing 1am when you finally look at the time, gasping. “Jisung, its almost 1.”

“Is it?” Jisung brings his phone away from him ear, looking down at it. His eyes widen when he spots the time, “wow, it is.”

He brings the phone back up to his ear before looking at you, neither of you says anything, only staring at each other and listening to one another’s breathing through the phone. You can’t help but suddenly feel giddy, biting your lip slightly before chuckling, Jisung’s own chuckle following.

“We should probably go to bed…” You watch as Jisung leans forward resting his forehead on the window sill, sighing.

“Yeah.”

When he makes no effort to move, you laugh and says in a sing-song voice: “Goodnight, Jisung.”

He smiles warm heartedly before letting his soft voice transmit the words, “Goodnight, y/n.” Before you both hang up, he adds, “You turn off your light first.”

You do as he says and he bids you farewell before the line goes dead, you stare happily at your ceiling while giggling and smiling to yourself. And in the house across from yours, Jisung is no different, hugging his pillow close and trying to contain his giddy noises.

You both dream of each other that night.

You knew Jisung was cute, but you didn’t know he was this cute.

The realization comes 3 mornings after that night, the moment you step into Jisung car to go to school. He immediately shoved his phone in your face. You grow soft as you see the sight on his screen.

“I made us a playlist!” He says enthusiastically, “so we don’t have to listen to shitty radio every morning.”

The playlist was titled ‘y/n and jisung’s epic morning time playlist :D’, and it featured songs from all of your favorite artists.

“I put songs in it I thought you would like, or that made me think of you.” He pauses, his cheeks flushing as he recalls his last words. “A-and some songs that I like too.” He tries desperately to play it cool but ultimately fails. However, you think this is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

“That’s really sweet, Jisung. Let’s give it a listen.”

Neither of you talk for the rest of the drive to school, choosing to listen to Jisung’s playlist. Which is the only thing heard aside from the occasional hum or drum of Jisung’s fingers on the steering wheel.

Once you arrive, Jisung stops you from leaving by grabbing your hand. You turn around to see what’s wrong and sees the blushing face of Jisung who is currently avoiding your eyes.

“There’s a game today after school… do you maybe… wanna come? I mean, I know you never really go to these games but I thought maybe since we’re like friends now you might wanna come.” He rambles and you try your best to keep a straight face.

You watch him become nervous at your stoic expression before chuckling, as soon he looks up at you and sees you smiling face he relaxes. “Of course I’ll go, Jisung.”

“Really?” You nod, his smile grows and he’s suddenly leaning over the center console and kissing your cheek lightly, deeming it your turn to blush.

Jisung smiles smugly as he steps out of his car and walks towards the gates of the school, a pep in his step as he approaches the rest of the baseball team.

When you were making your way to the baseball field, you found yourself thinking that maybe coming here wasn’t the best idea. Considering how things went last time you were there and the fact that you and Jisung’s aren’t supposed to know each other in school.

But now… you couldn't be more glad you came. Not when Jisung is tearing it up on the field, running at the speed of light towards each base, you can practically see the passion and determination to become victorious that takes control of his body and plays vigorously.

He stands at the 3rd base, sweat dripping down his face, making way down his neck and pooling on the collar of his white uniform. His eyes are watching the player that’s about to bat. Slowly, he crouches slightly, putting his body in a position to run. And immediately after the sound of the ball hitting the metal bat rings through your ears he’s taking off at the speed of light towards home base, easily making it and leaving the opposing team’s players to huff frustratedly in the cloud of dirt that was left behind him. Jisung smiles smugly as everyone starts cheering for his home run. He knew they would never be able to catch him, not even in their dreams.

It’s kind of hot.

As he walks towards the dugout, his eyes trail over the expanse of the bleachers, searching. You allow yourself to hope that he’s searching for you just this once and wave your hand slightly as his eyes meet yours. His narrowed eyes fully open and a smile graces his pretty face as he raises his hand to wave back before quickly looking away and walking into the dugout, the smile you had caused remaining on his lips.

Jisung is staring at his reflection in the locker room mirror, ruffling his hair repeatedly, trying to get the perfect visual for you, when he feels a hand clap down on his shoulder. He recognizes it as Jeno almost immediately, he tenses up. “There’s party at Jessica’s house tonight, post game celebration, you coming?”

Jisung maps out all the different ways to say no and not get questioned. Looking back on it, maybe the one he went with wasn’t the best idea.

“I have... diarrhea.”

Jeno steps back, confused. “Diarrhea? You were just on the field!”

Oh shit oh shit oh shit, “It was one of those sudden ones, you know? Kinda snuck up on me.” He tries to laugh it off, but feels himself cringing. “Wh-”

“Its really bad so i gotta get home as soon as possible or im just going to shit… everywhere. So i gotta go,” he begins to make his descent to the entrance of the locker room, grabbing his gym back quickly before Jeno can question him further. “Bye!” he quickly slips out the door, leaving a suspicious Jeno in his wake.

“You told him that?” You say through your laughs, hand falling over mouth as you snort loudly at Jisung’s red face and embarrassed smile.

“I had no other choice! It was either that or get interrogated by Jeno for another hour.” Jisung can’t stop his own chuckle as he glances over momentarily to see hunched over, laughing loudly. He tries to conceal his laughter but eventually lets it out, “It is kind of funny…”

“Its hilarious!” Another snort leaves you and Jisung finally bursts out into loud laughter with you.

Your laughing fit lasts another few minutes and ends with the sound of your phone ringing. Your mother’s contact illuminates the screen, with laughter still evident on your voice you answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hi honey, how was the game?”

“It was good, we’re on our way home now.”

“Good, well, your father and I decided to go out tonight, you know… like on a little date.” You find it endearing that you’re mother still becomes flustered when talking about your dad as if they started dating yesterday. “So that means you’ll have the house all to yourself, is that okay?”

Your eyes travel to Jisung, an idea comes to your mind. “Yeah, mom. You guys have fun.” She laughs lightly on the other line saying she’ll make sure to before hanging up the phone.

As soon as you put your phone down, Jisung glances at you briefly before looking back at the road. “Was that your mom?” You hum in response.

“She told me her and my dad were going on a date,” He chuckles, “that means I’ll be alone tonight...” Jisung nods slowly, not getting the point. You sigh, wondering whether you should even bring it up or not. When you think about it, the thought of you and Jisung alone at your house was oddly… suggestive. Even though those weren’t your intentions at all, the possibility of Jisung thinking that you wanted to get with him made you nervous.

However, it seems Jisung had the same ideas as you because he’s suddenly taking a deep breath nervously drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “You know if you don’t wanna be alone… we could hang out?”

You can tell he’s unsure and nervous and the fact makes you feel somewhat better. “You can come over to my house, it will just be us though, is that okay?”

Jisung turns red which causes you to also turn that shade of crimson but even then, he nods. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

Neither of you talk the rest of the way home, but the silence that surrounds you is comfortable, only serving to give your erratically beating hearts a break.

“Jojo!”

Your dog’s ears perk up as soon as she hears Jisung’s voice, quickly standing up to run at full speed past you towards the boy. Who crouches down and lets the dog lick his face excitedly, all while wagging its tail wildly.

“Jojo! What about me?”

Jisung laughs when Jojo completely ignores you to shower him with love. On the outside, you pout playfully at him but on the inside, your heart is doing somersaults at how cute the sight in front of you is. ...Also the way Jisung falls right back into his place of puzzle that is your life so perfectly it’s like he was never gone. He looks so at home in your house even if he has grown about 2 feet taller and gotten more mature throughout the years. He’s still the same piece that your puzzle has been missing to be complete.

He’s still the same.

Jisung notices that you’re deep in thought and walks towards you, also noticing how you smiled slightly. “Is something wrong?”

You shake your head quickly, smiling. It’s the kind of smile that never fails to make Jisung smile.

“Nothing at all.”

4 movies, a 2 hour long conversation and 3 tickle fights later, you and Jisung are hungry.

So you find yourselves in the kitchen, scavenging like racoons for anything you can find in the seemingly empty kitchen.

After 5 minutes of searching and moping and whining from Jisung about how he’s to die if he doesn’t eat right now, you open a cupboard to see what might’ve been the equivalent to gold for you two at this point.

Ramen.

Only problem was: it was on the very top shelf and way out of your arms reach. Still, you try and reach the packets of noodles searching your arm to painful heights with small grunts and frustrated groans leaving you every now and then. They are immediately halted by the feeling of a body against your back, towering over you and reaching above for the ramen packets, whipping them off the shelf with ease.

Jisung’s scent is surrounding you and overwhelming all your senses. When he doesn’t move away, you turn around to face him. You are so close you can feel his breath on your face and you can count every single one of his eyelashes. “Why didn’t you do that sooner?” You attempt to make the situation playful, but your low voice fails you. Jisung smiles slightly down at you before shrugging, “I wanted to watch you struggle for a bit.” His chuckles and flinches at you poke his side with your finger. His face settles into a soft smile as he looks down at you and you can feel yourself blushing.

Jisung walks closer and closer to you until your fully pressed against the counter, never taking his gaze off you. “What is it?” You question, flustered.

Suddenly, he raises his hands to cup the sides of your face and leans down to press a lingering kiss on your forehead before pulling away completely, turning to the stove and setting up the pot like nothing happened.

You watch incredulously as the boy calmly rips open the ramen packaging, setting the water to boil.

“What was that for?” You question the back of Jisung’s head, his neck is beet red as he shrugs his shoulders.

“I couldn’t…” He hesitates, before turning around slowly, his eyes are staring at the ground, avoiding your own, “I couldn’t let that moment of courage pass. I’ve always wanted to do that and I was afraid if I didn't do it then, I wouldn't do it ever.”

Forget somersaults, your heart is doing full on acrobatics.

Jisung looks up when you don’t reply, only to see you staring at him. He becomes increasingly more nervous under your gaze, that is until you find your words finally.

“I was thinking earlier about how crazy it is.”

“What?”

“You being in my house and looking like you never even left, how something’s really didn’t change…” you take small steps towards the tall boy, trapping him in between your body and the counter, as he had done to you earlier. “Yet others did.”

The words would’ve sounded bittersweet in any other context, but in that moment, Jisung understood exactly what you meant. He brings his hands up to cup your face once again, but instead of moving to kiss your forehead, he leans down further.

Jisung’s breath fans on your face and his hands move further into your hair, lacing through it as you two come closer. You can practically feel his lips on yours, his-

“Y/N?”

The two of you shoot apart quickly at the sound of your mother’s voice, Jisung turns to the stove where the ramen was currently boiling and you turn towards the counter and act busy with your phone.

That’s how you are when your parents walk into the room, shocked to see Jisung there with you. “Honey, you didn’t tell me Jisung was staying over tonight.”

“Yeah, I forgot, sorry.” You say, your eyes stilling training on the counter top, your mom seems to notice the tension in the air when she asks, “ did something happen while we were gone?”

You dare to look at Jisung, only to see the blushing boy already looking at you. He gives you a soft, knowing smile and you return it. Turning to your mother, you say, “Nope.”

Which ultimately translates to ‘definitely’.

Neither of you bring up the almost kiss you guys shared that night, but boy… did you think about it. While laying in bed, at baseball practice, during the morning car rides when you guys acted like you hadn’t basically confessed to each other just a few days ago.

It was the only thing on Jisung’s mind for the next few weeks, and he knew you were thinking about him too. From the way you would glance at him whenever you thought he wasn’t looking, to the silence that fell whenever you were deep in thought.

Even though your thought revolves around Jisung, the are much different than the ones in his head. While Jisung was thinking about how you made his life brighter once again, yours were filled with an overwhelming amount of questions.

What does this mean for the two of you?

Are you two going to date?

And if you do, will Jisung even allow you two to be seen out together?

Will you be able to be Jisung’s girlfriend, out in the open?

You remembered every time he had passed by you in the halls, as if you two hadn’t stayed up talking for hours the night before. As if you didn’t know each other. The thought of Jisung keeping you hidden from everyone forever scared you to no end.

Although you knew that you were in for this when you decided to give Jisung your trust once again, you wondered how long you could handle being hidden, and if it really affected Jisung as much as it did you.

You try desperately to settle your racing mind by telling yourself that you should just enjoy being with him for the time being, to appreciate the present instead of worrying about the future.

So you don’t worry when Jisung pushes past you in the halls with the rest of the baseball team and you don’t worry when Jisung trails behind you as walk down the sidewalk when he sees someone from school and you also don’t worry when Jisung tells you to just wait a bit longer.

But you should’ve been worrying.

You should’ve been worrying a lot.

A week later, Jisung tells you to come down to the locker rooms and wait for him there since practice was going to drag on a little longer than usual.

You do as he says and walk down towards the gym, a pep in your step at the thought of seeing the boy you haven’t had a moment with all day. You movements are halted suddenly as you hear the echo of Jeno’s voice through as you wait by the door of the locker room. Jisung’s familiar voice reaches your ears as well but you can’t really make out what he’s saying. Out of curiosity, you lean closer to the door.

You hear Jeno’s voice first.

“-That chick has been hanging around you a lot, recently. Are you guys a thing or something?”

You were aware you were ‘that chick’

Jisung freezes. “ What chick?”

“Y/N.”

You tense at the mention of your name, growing nervous at of the things they would say. “Oh…” you hear Jisung say, “Well, I already told you, my parents make me drive her to school.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you guys are always together, I see you after school at Billy’s, you know.” Jeno questions him with no mercy, causing Jisung to grow more and more nervous, racking his mind for any words to get himself out of the situation. “You know I would never date her, man.” He pauses, “I left her for a reason, my mom would kill me if I left her alone every day, she barely has any friends.”

You feel like you’ve been stepped on by Jisung’s shoe that he keeps twisting and stomping with you under until you’re nothing but dust scattered across the gym floor. “Good, cause that would be embarrassing, dude.”

“Yeah, totally, she’s nobody to me.” Replies Jisung.

Nobody to him runs towards the door gym entrance and keeps running until she reaches the school gates, desperate to get away from the boy who has successfully, once again, broken her heart.

The continuous vibrations of your phone cause a frustrated groan to come out of your body. You reach angrily into your bag and pull it out seeing the contact you had expected to see: Jisung. There’s plenty of texts from him too, asking where you were and telling you that you should probably go home since it’s late. You shut down your phone and shove it back in your bag, taking a deep breath before continuing your walk, despite the heaviness of your feet and the want to just lie on the ground and cry.

Why did he have to fuck everything up? Just when everything was so perfect? Just when things were getting back to normal, and you two shared the same heart you did 4 years ago, why did Jisung have to remind you of the harsh reality that he cares more about his stupid reputation than your feelings? Why was he such a coward?

So many thoughts run through your head that you don’t notice a car pulling up next to you until you hear a voice shout out: “There you are, I figured you left ‘cause I took too long at practice, hop in.” He unlocks his car and looks at you expectedly.

You ignore his words and keep walking forward, a new found determination to get away from Jisung and into the comfort of your room, where you can hide under your covers and never come out again. You hear his voice but are to focused on getting away from him to comprehend any of the words leaving him mouth.

That is, until he’s standing directly in front of you. “What’s up with you? Did something happen at school today?” Once he catches sight of your eyes, his widen in concern, hands immediately reaching up to grab your shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

You push his hands off your shoulders bitterly, “You don’t have to worry about waiting for me tomorrow morning or any day after that, I’m walking myself to school from now on.”

Jisung’s face contorts in panic and confusion at your words. “Woah, what?”

You make an attempt to walk past him, only for his hand to wrap around your wrist. You meet his desperate eyes with your own, “Y/N, just tell me what happened and… I’ll fix it, okay? Just tell what’s wrong.”

Your lip quivers as you stare at the boy across you. “I heard you, Jisung.”

“What?”

“When you were talking to Jeno earlier in the locker room, when you said I was nobody to you. I heard you.”

Jisung freezes and you watch as the confusion on his face is replaced with realization, and fear. His chest dips more as his breathing grows deeper. “Please…”

You yank your wrist out of his hand which remains suspended in the air between you in shock. “Please? Please what? Forgive you? Why did you say that, Jisung?” You run your hands through your hair in frustration before feeling your shoulders deflate. “I thought that maybe we had something… or that you liked me or whatever but I guess not-“

“I do like you. I do, but it’s… not that simple.” He avoids your eyes like the plague now.

“Why? Why is it not that simple?”

He breathes in deeply before carefully replying, “You know how it was back then… with the baseball team and the bullying. I don’t want to do that again, I’m… I’m sorry.”

He’s trying to tell that you bring him down. You bring your hands over your eyes to conceal the tears in them and turn away from the guilty boy. “Just let me go home.”

He grabs onto you once again and desperately pulls you against him, hugging you close to his body. “No. Please, I don’t want our friendship to end again. What we have right now is good, let’s just get in the car and we can go to Billy’s and I’ll buy you a milkshake and-“

You shove Jisung away from you and look him directly in his eyes that are filled with regret and fear. “I don’t want to get milkshakes with you! What we have isn’t good! I’m your secret! I’m like a guilty pleasure of yours and I don’t deserve that, Jisung.” Your lip quivers once again as Jisung nods at your words, hands reaching to grab your shoulders.

“I know that, it’s true. You don’t deserve anything I’ve put you through but please, don’t leave me, I’ll do anything.”

Your sadness is masked by a sudden surge of anger. Want to hurt him the same way he hurt you takes over you as you push his hands off you roughly. “There’s nothing you can do. You wanna know why? Because you’re a coward Jisung. And you have to realize that all your problems would be fixed if you would just grow a pair!” You breathe deeply as you watch Jisung’s face scrunch up at your words. “And this time, it’s me leaving you and it hurts, doesn’t it?”

Jisung watches in silence as you turn and walk around the block,out of his line of vision.

Once the door of your room slams behind you, you lock the door to prevent any questioning from your mother and immediately hide your body under the covers.

The sound of your soft sobbing flow travel through the space of your dark room. You take this time to let your brain tell your heart “I told you so!” And reprimand it for even thinking that things with Jisung would be any different because he brought you fucking soup.

You were so naive to even hope that he would give up his stupid reputation for you. That he would’ve said anything else to Jeno that day. That you thought he liked you enough to be able to put you first.

God you were so stupid and naive.

The frustration and sadness you felt was none like any other, you wanted nothing more than to rip every single one of your hairs and never leave your room again.

The only source of light into the room is your window, you frustratedly get up, throwing the covers off of you angrily and march towards the window. Once you reach it you catch a glance of Jisung sitting by his own bedroom window, leaning against the frame and looking outwards your house sadly. He perks up when he sees you at your window, he is hopeful. You falter but then remember what just earlier that day and make direct eye contact with him as you let the blinds fall over the window, plunging your room into complete darkness.

Never again.

The spot on the bleachers where you sat last time is empty, causing an angsty feeling to rise in Jisung’s chest. The kind he’s been getting a lot recently when he sees you leaving your house every morning without him, and type he gets when he sees you in the halls laughing with your friends, knowing that could’ve been him if he hadn’t been such a pussy.

The rowdy boys around him yell and stretch, prepping for the game ahead. However, Jisung can’t find it in himself to even move, staring at the dirt below his sneakers and ignoring anyone who tries to start a conversation ; his teammates’ confused stares going unnoticed by him.

As he stares at his feet, he catches sight off the worn down marker ink that you had drawn under his shoe, which you had written a few days before he joined the team, before he walked out of your life. You had been just as excited as him (maybe even a bit more) when he told you he was trying out for the team. He told you to write something that would give him strength on the field; you enthusiastically grabbed a marker and write on the side of his shoe:

“You’re going to do great today! You’re my favorite boy! <3”

He moves his foot to get a better view of it. A faint smile dusts on Jisung’s face, before immediately disappearing when he remembers what he did and that those days were no longer. Because he ruined it. Again.

“Alright boys! Showtime!” The Coach Suh’s loud voice causes the dugout to immediately grow silent as he begins to discuss strategies with the team, all the players listen attentively. Jisung tries his best to listen to the coach’s words but still can’t focus on anything but that damn empty seat.

As Jisung waits in the dugout from his turn to bat he is still not able to keep his mind off you. He keeps trying to focus on the game instead of you but it seems like Jeno has other plans.

Jisung feels Jeno tap his shoulder to get his attention, when Jisung faces him, he smiles smugly and leans back, crossing his arms. “You weren’t at the party last night, should’ve been.”

Jisung shrugs, “I wasn’t feeling it.” Jeno leans forward to whisper into Jisung’s ear.

“That y/n was there, I had to have a go.”

Jisung feels his blood run cold, nerves and new waves of angsty feelings rushing through him at the thought of you and another guy. Of you and Jeno. It can’t be true. You wouldn’t. “A go?”

“You know, like sex.” He replies easily, laughing. “She said she didn’t want it though. But they always say that, she’ll come around.”

Heavily breathing, Jisung questions, “What makes you so sure?”

“She’s a slut, Jisung. She’s always wanted to get with one of us. Why do you think she was after you? She’s just a lonely slut looking for some dick.”

Jisung knows better, he knows your likes and dislikes, she knows that you would never value sex over anything. He knows you’re not any of the things Jeno says you are. “That’s not true… she’s not a.. slut.”

Jeno scoffs before nudging Jisung slightly. “Come man, don’t be like that, I’m just saying the truth, she’s just a little whor-“

Jisung’s face flushes with anger and his hands begin to shake, before moving on their own and landing a punch on Jeno’s ill speaking lips, causing his head snap back at the force.

His fingers graze the fresh cut on his lip as he sends Jisung an incredulous look. “What the hell, Jisung?”

Jisung can’t believe he just did that, however, the adrenaline and anger provoked action felt amazing. Protecting and defending you felt amazing. And he’s not letting that go now.

It doesn’t feel that good when Jeno lands a punch on his face in return. It makes him dizzy for a second, the world spinning while he tries to recover from the blow the stronger boy has given him.

A sudden determination comes over him, and suddenly he’s straddling Jeno while landing punches on the boy’s already bleeding face, Jeno gets in his blows too. Busting Jisung’s lips and bruising his skin for sure.

It’s unknown to Jisung how long the fight lasts, or how long it takes for the coach to notice what was going on before he leaves the field and rushes into the dugout to stop the fight.

The Coach’s voice sounds distant to Jisung’s ears when he yells for the to break it up, like hes at the bottom of a swimming pool at a party, listening to the music, talking and laughing of the people above the surface. “Park, Lee! Break it up!”

The two boys are relentless, struggling against each other on the dirty ground of the dugout. One is battling for his own pride and image but the other battling for so much more: for the person he was, for the girl he left behind all because this toilet licking asshat baseball jock told him he wasn’t good enough.

This is it. Jeno can’t control him anymore.

Arms wrap around Jisung’s waist and pull him off of Jeno, who continues to glare and yell things at Jisung that he can’t make out as Coach Suh drags him out of the dugout away from Jisung. The person carrying him pushes him on to the bench of the dugout. His closest friend, Chenle, begins to speak.

“What the hell was that, man?” Chenle questions, looking at his best friend with a look that was both confused and concerned. Jisung feels the eyes of the entire baseball team on him. It makes him a bit uneasy but even then, he replies as calmly as he could.

“He was saying stuff about Y/N.” Chenle immediately calms, knowing the struggles his best friend has with the girl in question. However, another curious player makes his own question for the boy.

“Bro, why do you care? I thought your parents were making you babysit her?” He is taken aback by the reply he is given.

“I care because I’m in fucking love with her, man.” Jisung drops his head into his hands, not in shame, but in frustration. Because those words feel so good coming out of his mouth; so honest and pure. And he held back from saying them all these years due to his own cowardly mindset. He ruined all his chances to be with you and betrayed your trust beyond repair. Before he can stop them, tears flood his eyes and a sob claws its way up his throat.

The other players watch their teammate break down after proclaiming his love a girl in shock, standing still, not knowing what to do. Chenle is the first to react by approaching his friend, carefully saying: “You should take a shower to cool off, it’ll help you.”

Jisung nods weakly and lets his friend lead him to the locker room.

As he watches the distraught Jisung disappear into the locker room, another player goes on a guilt fueled search for Y/N.

The sound of your footsteps echo off the walls of the empty hallway, you’re absolutely positive all the students are at the game. You bitterly think of all the plans you and Jisung had made for this very day. How you guys would get milkshakes after they won, how after the season was over you were planning to tell Jisung how you felt and especially about how all those plans were crushed under the rough soul of Jisung’s playing shoes.

You sigh as you make your way towards the entrance, ready to curl up in bed and forget the world (something you have been getting exceptionally good at recently). When you figure out that -once again- the universe has different plans in store for you.

The universe comes in form of player number 13, Jaemin Na, clutching on your wrist and halting all of your movements. “Y/N?”

Once your mind registers the face in front of yours, you instantly rip your hand out of his grasp. “What do you want?”

Jaemin looks slightly defeated at the sound of your tone but tries his best to explain the situation. “Look, I know that I have been absolutely terrible to you throughout the years, i'm sorry about that and I understand if you don’t want to hear a single word i have to say but this is about Jisung.”

You ears practically perk up at the mention of his name and you grow concern as you ponder what it is Jaemin could be talking about. “What happened to Jisung?”

“There was a fight during the game today, Jisung was involved.”

“He was involved? Is he okay?” You don’t bother to hide the concern in your voice when you throw the questions at the boy in front of you.

“He’s fine, physically. But I think he needs you right now, Y/N.”

You look at the boy incredulously for a few seconds before looking down when you realize that he was serious about his words. You wrap your arms around yourself before shaking your head. “No… he can’t need me, he said I was nobody to him.”

Jaemin scoffs at walks closer to you making direct eye contact, “I don’t know what he said before, but the reason he got into a fight with Jeno was because he was saying some shit about you.”

“What?”

“And he just told the whole baseball team that he was in love with you.”

“WHAT?”

You try your best to process that information, staying silent while Jaemin stands anxiously in front of you.

“You love him too, Y/N.”

You stare at him while you think.

What if this ends up just like last time? With your heart in a million pieces all because of Jisung’s unhealthy concern over his reputation? But he said he loved you, and in front of the whole baseball team, apparently.

So what does this mean? What should you do? What if now Jisung is ready to be there for you like he couldn’t be before? Maybe you’ll get the happy ending 14 year old you always wanted…

“He needs you, y/n. Please.” Jaemin pleads, his eyes staring into yours and suddenly everything clicks.

He needs you. Like…really needs you. And before he was the boy who left you stranded and broke your heart, he was your best friend who was always there for you whenever you needed him.

You throw all selfish feelings to the wind and nod your head towards Jaemin, who sighs in relief.

You go to turn before stopping in your tracks and facing the baseball player, who looks at you with a confused expression. You smile softly at him, “I forgive you, Jaemin.”

You miss his teary smile as only seconds later your taking off down the hall in direction of the baseball field.

After asking around, you finally get the information that Jisung was currently in the locker room. Which you stand in front of, breathing in deeply before pushing open the door.

Most of the players have gone home, resulting in you being greeting with an empty locker room. The only sound is that of a single shower turned on and the silent sniffles of the boy you were searching for.

“Jisung?” You say hesitantly, taking small footsteps towards the showers. He doesn’t reply.

You knock softly on the shower door, “Jisung, it’s me. Are you okay?”

He sniffles once again, though this time, you can tell he’s trying to sound fine. “Yes.”

Not convinced, you say in a gentle tone: “Can you come out?”

It takes a few moments before you hear the stream of water silence and the towel hung up on the shower down disappears from your view. Then the door opens revealing Jisung, who’s hair is sleek against his forehead and his eyes are trained towards the floor. You can’t help but gasp as you see his face, cut and bruised, it makes your heart hurt. There’s nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips, which allow you a full view of his bruised torso.

You want nothing more than to take his face in your hands and somehow take all his pain away. “Jisung…”

“Hi.”

If you thought you had Jisung at his worst, you were wrong. Not only was he physically hurt. His eyes were bloodshot and his bony shoulders hang low from exhaustion. He looks so vulnerable, standing basically naked in front of you, looking like the world just betrayed him in the cruelest of ways.

You do the only thing you can think of doing. You reach forward and pull his body against yours, hugging him close.

It takes him some time for him to hug you back, but eventually his arms wrap around you slowly before they completely engulf you, pressing you harder against him. He lets the tears fall from his eyes and onto you shoulder, his body shaking with sobs.Your bodies slowly sink down until you’re both sat on the floor, his significantly larger frame fitting into your arms as you continue to hold him tight, letting him cry into your neck and chest. His large hands hold onto you, tightly gripping your clothes and bringing your body closer to him.

You stroke his hair in an attempt to calm him, gently telling him It’s okay, that you’ll be here until he’s okay. And to not worry, that you’re not going anywhere.

Your words make Jisung look up at you with blood shot eyes, sniffling softly. His eyes search yours for any hint of insincerity but all he finds is the comforting, caring gaze of his best friend. He smiles although ever so lightly. Your hands move to his face and you use your thumbs to wipe his tears away. You lean forward and press a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Let’s go home, okay?”

It isn’t until 3 days after you drop Jisung off at his house that afternoon that you finally see him again.

3 days of planning scenarios out in your head on how you would go about this moment when it finally arrived and pondering whether Jisung meant every word he said that day. If he’s finally ready and what that would mean for you two.

These led you to right now, laying in bed staring restlessly at the ceiling, when your phone suddenly illuminates, a loud ‘ding!’ sounding through the room. Before checking your phone, you look towards your bedside table where you alarm read in bright read letters: 2:56am.

Confused, you grab your phone to see who could be messaging you at the ungodly hour.

You gasp slightly and feel your heart rate pick up as you see the notification.

jisung park [2:54am]: come to your window.

You hesitate, wondering why he wanted to talk now of all times, but eventually find yourself slowly walking towards your bedroom window. Once you arrive, you see Jisung, who had been looking at your window expectedly only to nervously look away when you came into his line of vision. You can’t make out what expression he is wearing but you’re aware of his nervousness, that matches your own.

Jisung looks down at his lap, where his phone was, taking it into his hands and waving it slightly at you. You nod, and even though you were expecting his phone call you still startle when the ringtone blasts through the room. Jisung watches carefully as you pick up your phone, silent raising it to your ear.

The silent remains, the only noise present is the sound each other’s breathing through the phone. After some seconds, Jisung is the first to speak.

His soft voice sounds so hurt and broken in your ear, it takes you back to that time in the locker room when you held him in your arms as he cried, “Y/N…”

“Jisung,” you pause, “what are you doing up so late?”

He chuckles bitterly, wiping away a tear you hadn’t known was falling. “I couldn’t sleep, and I just… wanted to see you.” Jisung avoids your eyes, and picks sadly at the cracking paint of his window frame.

“Are you sure that’s the only reason?” You ask. Jisung finally looks at you, before slowly shaking his head.

He breathes in deeply and keep his eyes on yours. His gaze is intense enough to make you feel like he was in the same room and not in completely different houses.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” you grip your phone tighter at his words. “At the locker rooms that day and all those years ago when I told you I didn’t want to be friends anymore. I just… wanted to be on the baseball team so bad and I wanted to have this high school fantasy that I saw in all the movies and I let Jeno get into my fucking head, I believed him when he told me that the me I was then was worthless, and that I had to leave everything behind to be like him. I believed him like such a fucking pussy, y/n. And I hurt you. Over and over again because of my god forsaken reputation that he kept telling me I had to keep.” He raises his free hand in frustration, “and this reputation took so much out of me, it was like whenever I looked in the mirror I was this manufactured version of myself that I created just to satisfy Jeno and the rest of the man-eating toilet licking baseball jocks,” you chuckle softly as you recognize those words as your own, “and then you came back into my life… and at first I thought that I could do it, that I could keep this front up but I was wrong. Because the second you came back to me, I already felt like myself again. It was like an instinct to be my unfiltered self around you and it scared me so bad, y/n. It scared me because I liked being myself with you so much and I couldn’t hide it…” he breathes in, “so I allowed myself to keep you a secret, and to hurt you and treat like a guilty pleasure all because I wanted Jeno to think I was one of them. And now I realized that I don’t have to be like him or anything he wants me to be,” Jisung’s pleading gaze looking at you through your window and you realize that your own eyes are leaking tears on to your cheeks, which you brush away, “I just wanted to be yours, and I’m sorry that I didn’t put you first like I should have.”

When you don’t say anything he adds, “I’m sorry for ranting so much, I j-“ Jisung stops talking as he sees you shaking your head.

“Don’t be sorry, Jisung.” You take a minute to compose yourself. You take a minute to think if what you are gonna ask of him is even reasonable on any level, or if it even makes sense. Ultimately, you decide that nothing that has happened in the last 4 years has really made any sense at all, there was no use in trying now.

“Can you come over?”

You watch Jisung’s expression turn from anxious to shocked in a matter of seconds, “wh- now?”

You now assertedly, “Yes, now.”

Jisung ponders over it for a few seconds before nodding, “okay. Yeah.”

You hang up first and walk away from the window,.

You move towards your closet, taking out the box you had stored Jisung’s belongings in. You search for the worn down envelope you had stored all his letters in, you take out the one he had stored in your sweatshirt and run downstairs.

The desperate need to see Jisung overcomes you, your feet moving quickly towards your front door which you hastily rip open to reveal the face of the boy that occupies the majority of thoughts.

You catch of his open bedroom window behind him, and his disheveled hair, a clear indication that he snuck out that way. Your eyes widen, “Did you just jump off the roof your house?”

Jisung breathlessly looks back at his two story house and nods, “I guess I did,” He looks back at you, explaining, “It would've been too noisy to go out through the front door.”

His serious expression reminds you of why you called him here in the first place.

You hesitantly hold up the note to his face:

‘My y/n, please understand and please keep me as your favorite boy after this. I’m so sorry. When it’s time, please forgive me -Jisung’

He looks down in shame when he sees the note, the regret of his actions behind the note washing over him as soon as he finished reading it over. You shake your head at his actions and reach forward to grab his chin, stepping into his line of vision. Once you’re assured that you two are holding steady eye contact, you begin to speak. “Don’t feel bad, please. I brought this down here so you could see it and know that… I forgive you, Jisung. For everything. Now that i know why you did what you did, everything feels so much better. I thought that you had dropped me because you didn't want you me anymore and I was so scared and upset and I told myself I would never talk to you ever again. I told myself that I didn't need you. But I did. I still do.” You stop to collect your thoughts momentarily, “When you left there was a Jisung shaped hole in my life that couldn't be filled by anyone and when you came back, you fit right in like you had never left and everything was just so … perfect. It was like I was not really me while you were gone, it was so weird.”

Jisung nods, “I felt the same way.” This makes you smile, which makes him smile.

“I think that the reason I was able to keep up that front for so long, because we weren't together, I don’t know what it is but you are the best part of me, and without i felt like an… unfinished puzzle.”

He watches you nod eagerly as you agree, “Yes!”

You two stay in a comfortable silence for a few seconds before you’re stepping forward so that your faces where less than an inch away, Jisung looks down at you before smiling and wrapping you in his arms.

He feels emotional suddenly, the very fact that he has finally achieved the one thing he’s wanted for the past four years: your complete forgiveness. Jisung grips your clothing and pulls you closer, assuring that every part of your body is pressing against his. “I’m-“ he cuts himself off as he hesiatates, “I don’t know if this is too sudden or anything but I just- I wanted to- I- fuck-“

You can’t help but chuckle at his nervous stuttering, you pull away from your hug and look at the once again nervous boy. “What is it?”

Jisung breathes in, “The day you overheard Jeno and I had bought you this,” He shrug off the backpack you don’t notice he had on and reaches inside of it pull out what looked like an animatronic penguin holding a pink heart that read, ‘I love you’. “I was going to give to you that day and like confess? I guess, I didn’t know what you were gonna say when you told me to come over but I figured if I bought it I should give it to you.” His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck in a nervous habit. “I was going to tell you how I felt that day, but you know things didn’t go as planned that day. And if you don’t feel the same that’s totally fine, I just.. wanted you to have it.”

You breathe in to speak when you thought his rambling had come to an end but Jisung stops, he leans down quickly to set the penguin on the floor of you patio before pressing a button. Music plays from the toy as it cutely dances. “It… dances.”

Jisung is sweating. You almost feel bad for him. “I can see that.” You reply with a chuckle.

It dawns on you that there was nothing (nothing) more Jisung, than this.

There’s nothing more Jisung than him standing in front of you, sweating, confessing to you with an animatronic dancing penguin.

Nothing so Jisung, nothing so like the boy you love.

Suddenly, you’re stepping over the penguin separating you two, and closing all the distance between you and Jisung, crashing your lips onto his. It takes the shocked boy a few seconds to process the situation, before his hands are finding their place on either side of your face. The way he moves his lips against yours is clumsy, but it’s everything you could’ve ever imagined.

Jisung sighs, and you can tell it’s everything he’s ever wanted too. He attempts to pull you as close to him as physically possible, wanting nothing more than to be closer to you.

You pull away for air, but don’t move away from Jisung, who breathes deeply through his smiling, pink and swollen lips. He laughs breathlessly, “oh my god.”

His laughter produces a chuckle of your own. “What?”

He shakes his head, smiling. His forehead rubs against your as he does so, and his hair tickles your face. “I’m so in love with you.” He watches you with soft eyes.

You think that your heart is past the point of just bursting; it's like an atomic bomb that is capable of wiping out the entire population if Jisung didn’t stop being so damn cute.

You peck his lips softly before hugging him tight. “And I love you.”

And there you stay, until the sun rises and shines upon the two of you, whispering faint confessions of love to each other over and over while the penguin continues to sing It’s cheery tune next to you.

“What the f-“ your mother stops in her tracks as soon as she opens her front door to find you and Jisung asleep on the patio of her house, curled up to one another for warmth.

She looks around confusedly, wondering what the hell happened last night. But then she notices the way Jisung’s arm wraps around you tightly, keeping you close and the way you hands grip his clothes even while you sleep and she thinks she has an idea of what went on here last night.

After snapping a picture of you two to send to Jisung’s mother, she watches you and sighs, making eye contact with brightly colored penguin standing by her feet.

“What are we gonna do with them?”

[1 year later, Senior Prom]

“I still don’t get why we can’t just get ready together.”

You sigh as Jisung complains through the phone for what feels like the 100th time. “I already told you Jisung, I want you to be surprised when you see me! Remember that I’m not just your best friend anymore, I’m your girlfriend now, and I wanna look pretty for you.”

“You always look pretty to me.”

“I know! I just- It’s prom, okay? I want it to be perfect.”

“It will be, okay? Come to your window.”

You do as he says and peek through your window to see an extremely not ready looking Jisung through his window. “Jisung! Prom is in an hour!”

“I know. I just wanted to be alone with you for a bit before we have to spend the whole night with our friends.” He pauses, and points to the window frame recalling the memory of last fall when he did this exact same thing fri the first time, “it’s like we’re hanging out, isn’t it cool?”

You chuckle lightly, “Very funny.”

“Come on, y/n! Don’t you think I look better in my jersey anyway?” You take notice of the familiar jersey that is draped over his frame. It’s his baseball jersey that he never seems to take off ever since he was named Captain of the team when Jeno was kicked off last fall. And though he should be already wearing his tux, you’ll admit that the jersey does look a different kind of hot on him.

“It’s not that bad.”

He laughs at your comment and takes a breath to speak, before being interrupted by his mother coming into his room and yelling at him to hurry up and get ready. He sighs and tells her he’s on it. “I guess that’s my cue.”

“I’ve been telling you it’s your cue for the past 4 hours.” You say playfully, Jisung laughs. You watch him reach for his towel and throw it over his shoulder, waving at you through the window.

“I love you, babe.”

You smile when he says that, feeling like it’s the first time he’s ever said it. “I love you too, silly.”

“Ohhh, are you blushing? That’s so cute!” He coos point a finger at you through the window.

“Go get ready!” You say in stern yet playful voice as you attempt to conceal your flustered date from your boyfriend. He laughs and says he’s going before hanging up to phone and leaving you to finally get ready in peace.

“Woah.”

Is all Jisung can say when he finally sees you. You walk down the steps of your house to meet him at his car, the tail of your dress flowing behind as you approach him.

Now, Jisung always thought you were the most beautiful person in the world but… shit! You look so gorgeous. You give him chills.

“Jisung?”

He realizes he’s just been frozen this whole time, and finally takes action reaching into his car and bringing out the corsage he bought to match your dress. He puts it on you, and steps back to admire you. Jisung takes a deep breath through his mouth and leans back, dramatically. The dramatic action from your boyfriend causes you to laugh. “What?”

“You look like… ugh! You’re so beautiful.” He reaches forward and brings his hands to your face, bringing you closer and pecking your lips lightly as to not ruin your lipstick. You laugh and step back to admire your boyfriend.

His black tux suited him well, and his hand styled his hair up for the night, giving him a cooler and sharper look to the one you’re used to. You like it. You liked it a lot. “What about you? You look like a million bucks! All the girls are gonna be all over you.” You say it jokingly, but Jisung leans forward once again.

“Too bad I’m taken, and I’m whipped too so I wish them luck trying to get through to me.”

Yo laugh at his words and push his shoulder lightly. He smiles at you and attempts to wink, only fail miserably and a laughing fit to interrupt in between you two.

After posing for pictures at your mothers in front of your house for what feels like forever, you and Jisung finally arrive at prom. Jisung holds your hand as he walks in.

Chenle and Jaemin, two of his friends from the baseball team you had grown fond of, and Renjun find you guys first, immediately pulling you to the remotely empty dance floor. “Guys, no one is even dancing yet!” You exclaim, to which Chenle shrugs.

“Then let’s be the first!”

And so that how you spent the rest of your night between dancing with your own friends and Jisung’s friends you find yourself barely having any alone time with your boyfriend.

You search for him in the crowd as the announcer introduces the prom royalty competition, that is until his name is called out and he goes up to the stage to accept his crown. You watch confusedly and amusedly as Jisung awkwardly accepts his flowers and allows the women to put the crown on his head. You laugh as he meets your eyes, sending you an awkward smile.

“And the prom queen of the class of 2020 is…” she read the card and smiles brightly, “Y/N Y/LN!”

You freeze when you hear that. Jisung brightens up on stage, cheering. You stay in your spot until Renjun is ushering you to the stage to accept your crown. He helps you step onto the stage and you thank him, when you finally reach the stage, you (just as awkwardly as Jisung) accept your crown and bouquet.

People in the crowd cheer for their favorite couple when the announcer says it’s time for the king and queen to have a dance.

Thus you have your first dance with Jisung of the night. And the way Jisung is looking at you almost makes you forget that literally everyone staring at you right now. You smile and pull him closer. He chuckles, “This plastic crown really suits you, it brings out the color of your eyes.”

You snort as you two continue to sway gently side to side. “I know, it’s a good look.” You poke his own plastic accessory as he laughs.

You two dance in comfortable silence before Jisung says in a soft voice, “I’m like... really in love with you.”

You laugh bashfully before looking at your boyfriend. “I’m crazy in love with you too, Jisung Park.”

It dawns on Jisung how much he has changed in the past 5 years of his life. From your best friend, to the boy that broke your heart, to the baseball jock, then to the boy that broke your heart again and finally to your boyfriend. (He stills thinks about what happened with a heavy heart but knows that maybe things wouldn’t be the way they are now if they had never occurred.) He turned from a nervous kid who let his bully get the best of him to a bright young man who was willing to do anything for the girl in the pretty dress in front of him. He smiles as he realizes what he can do now that he had gotten over his fears.

“Watch this.”

You have no time to react as he suddenly grips your waist tighter and brings you closer so he could press his lips to yours. In front of all the people watching you, -which included teachers!- you hear Jaemin whistle and laughs into the kiss, causing Jisung to laugh as well. He pulls away.

“It feels so good that everyone knows you’re my girl.”

He then pulls you in for another kiss and another and another and another. He basically kisses you for the rest of the night and you can’t find anywhere in yourself to complain because you admit it also feels absolutely amazing to have everyone know Jisung is yours.

Now you know why everyone always said senior year is the best year of your life.

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