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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

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Let’s Be Bad, Henry, Let’s Be Really Bad

Word count: 4327

TW: Discussion of self harm, blood

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“Any reason why you wanted to go drinking as a way to hang out? A movie or nice dinner would have been a lot better in my opinion.”

“I just wanted us to get out, Lina! One more day of wildness together!”

“One more day? Elizabeth, I am not THAT OLD!”

That was the last thing Bessie remembered, however, before everything went black...

Waking up felt like wrestling her way out of a sticky, smothering cocoon, and when she finally managed to peel her eyelids open, even the dim morning light filtering in through the closed blinds and drawn curtains made her head ache. Her mouth tasted like something died in it, and she swore she could actually feel whiskey oozing out of her pores. Smell it, too. She was still mostly dressed, aside from her jacket and scarf and scratchy jeans, and was sweating through her clothes.

It was not the most disgusting she had ever felt, but it was definitely up there.

Bessie levered herself carefully upright, moving slowly both out of respect for her pounding head and unsettled stomach, and because she really didn’t want to draw attention to the other people living in the house. She had a feeling that when they noticed her awake, they’d want to talk, and they really…probably should, but she just couldn’t. Not right now.

There was too much on her mind.

There was a glass of water and two round white pills on the bedside table. A note in Aragon’s handwriting sternly read, “DRINK ALL OF THIS WHEN YOU WAKE UP!!!”

So Aragon was here, because this was her own bedroom… Well, at least that relieved parts of the anxiety chewing away at her brain. She wasn’t in a stranger’s home. And if Aragon was there, then she was still okay.

Everything about last night seems disjointed and hazy, especially after the last five drinks or so, but the vague memory of Aragon remained. She couldn’t remember what pub they were at or why exactly they were there, but she remembered dressing nicely- mainly because the clothes glued to her body by sweat were some of her nicer outfits. Too bad they were now permanently saturated with perspiration.

She thought for longer, positioning herself on the edge of the bed, holding the glass of water in one hand and the painkillers in the other. However, she couldn’t bring herself to take either of them when the memory of a man appeared in the fog shrouding her mind.

He was a relatively nice-looking guy- dark patches of a beard, nearly combed brown hair, blue eyes, a warm voice when he told her--

Bessie’s stomach churned audibly. Her eyes were wide, fearful as the memories continued to register.

The door to the bedroom opened and Aragon peeked in. She walked in fully when she sees that Bessie was awake and approached slowly so as to not startle the bassist.

“Good morning, Elizabeth.” She greeted softly, making sure to keep her voice down. “How are you feeling?”

For a moment, Bessie couldn’t answer. Or breathe. She just stared at Aragon, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

She had to get away. She couldn’t bear to look at the queen, not after what had happened.

“C-can I take a shower?”

Aragon blinked. She clearly hadn’t expected a question to answer her own question.

“Ah-- Sure, but first--”

“Thank you.”

Bessie stood up sharply and made a beeline for the door--

--only to pitch forward halfway there and nearly careen face-first into the carpet if it weren’t for Aragon grabbing and steadying her.

“Woah! Easy, Elizabeth! Easy...” She said. “Take it slow. You’re probably not feeling too great.”

“No--” Bessie squirmed in the queen’s grasp. Her breathing hitched and she made a feeble, heartbreaking whimper that told Aragon that she was in much worse condition than she had been expecting. “I-I need to--shower. Please. I need to-- shouldn’t be near me-- I’m sorry--”

“You can, Elizabeth. I said you can, I just need you to slow down before you pass out again.” Aragon told her. She wrapped an arm around Bessie’s waist, causing her to keen in fright and shove her violently.

“Don’t-- Stop!”

“Elizabeth--”

Bessie managed to break free and hightail it out of the bedroom and to the upstairs bathroom. Aragon didn’t pursue her.

“Woah,” Maggie, who nearly got run into by the panicked bassist, commented. “She okay?”

“No.” Aragon said. “She’s not.”

“I’ll get Maria.”

Aragon rolled her eyes, but didn’t stop Maggie. She began to resettle the bed, dragging the trash can over because she knew Bessie probably wasn’t going to feel very well when she got out of the bathroom. If she weren’t already emptying her stomach, that is.

“How is she?”

Aragon turned to see Maria there. “Not good,” She sighed. “She kinda freaked out the moment she woke up. My fault. I shouldn’t have grabbed her like I did.”

“What happened last night?” Maria asked. Aragon could see that she was replaying the images of her carrying an unconscious, drunk-out-of-her-mind Bessie inside the night before in her head.

“Elizabeth wanted to get out,” Aragon said. “She hasn’t exactly been feeling well lately. Mentally, I mean.” She rubbed her forehead and sighed again. “I should not have let her drink when her depression was flaring up.”

Maria frowned. “Oh.” She said, then lowered her voice, “Is that what this is?”

“Yeah.” Aragon nodded. “I’m worried about her, Maria. She’s been closing herself off more than usual.”

“I know what you mean,” Maria nodded. “She’s been acting really weird for, like, a week now. Barely eats, doesn’t talk much, always looks so guilty. She kept saying ‘I’m sorry’ in her sleep over and over again until I was able to wake her up. I think she’s relapsing from the affair. It’s making her--” She sighed. “I told her I wouldn’t tell you this, but… Catalina, she’s cutting herself. A lot more than usual. When I asked her why, she just said she had to ‘make up for it’ but wouldn’t elaborate any further.”

Aragon’s body went hot, then cold, then hot again. It felt as if she were the one getting cut open with a razor blade.

“What?” She whispered. “Sh-she-- Her wrists looked--”

“She doesn’t do it on her wrists.” Maria informed her grimly. “Her stomach. And her thighs. I’ve seen them before. Before it got really bad. When she was changing. She always made excuses to try and not change in front of us, but…” She shook her head. “Catalina, I’m so worried.”

Aragon staggered back, feeling like she couldn’t breathe. She sat down on the bed and ran her fingers through her hair. “Oh god… I knew she wasn’t doing good, but…”

Maria sat down next to her and set a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault that this happened. She wanted to try and fix herself on her own terms, so she wouldn’t disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?!” Aragon yelped in shock.

Maria nodded. “I think she’s afraid of being sent away again. Or just being ignored. She doesn’t want to upset you. You mean so much to her.”

“And she means so much to me,” Aragon said. “What are we gonna do? She clearly isn’t getting any better on her own.”

“Yeah,” Maria rubbed her palms against her thighs. “I think--I think she needs to be with you. Especially right now.”

Aragon tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“She should stay with you for awhile,” Maria specified. “She needs you. I don’t think I can take care of her like you can. And she’s been getting worse. Maybe you can get her to open up about what’s been eating away at her lately.”

Aragon nodded, understanding. “Yeah. I’ll take her.”

Maria gave her a small smile. “Thank you. I hope it’ll do her some good.”

Maria got up and began to pack some things for Bessie, while Aragon went to the bathroom. Even over the sound of the spraying water, she swore she could just barely hear the sound of whimpers and hiccups.

“Elizabeth?” She knocked gently on the door. “Honey? Are you okay in there?”

There was a reply, but the shower muffled in. A moment later, the water cut off and she could hear shuffling coming from inside. Then, the door opened and a very bedraggled, tired-looking Bessie looked up at her with deeply anguished eyes.

“Hey, baby,” Aragon reached a hand out, and Bessie pressed her cheek into the palm. Her skin was hot and clammy against her own. “How are you feeling?” Bessie shrugged, looking away. Aragon rubbed her thumb against her cheekbone in an attempt to comfort her.

“I’m sorry,” Bessie croaked. Her voice was hoarse and weak from crying. “I-I didn’t want to. I’m so sorry. I-I just--” She made a choked noise and her face crumpled, fresh tears bursting free from her eyes.

“Oh, Elizabeth,” Aragon bundled Bessie into her arms, holding her tightly. “Oh, my poor, poor baby girl… You haven’t been feeling too great lately, huh?” Bessie shook her head, smothering her wet face against Aragon’s chest. “I always feel awful, Lina. All the time.”

“I’m going to help you,” Aragon said. She leaned Bessie back and cupped her cheeks. “You’re going to come stay with me. I’ll take care of you.”

Bessie blinked. “Wh-what?”

“Maria and I discussed it already,” Aragon said. “We think it’s what’s best for you. So I can keep an eye on you.”

Bessie’s mouth opened and closed, clearly unsure on what to say about the news. And then she nodded silently and buried her face back into Aragon’s chest, crying even harder, now. Aragon rocked her back and forth, stroking her hair.

The two of them stayed like that for a long time until Maria came over with a suitcase packed and a wry expression on her face. She gently rubbed Bessie’s back, which made the bassist twist around to her with a sorrowful look.

“I’m sorry…”

Maria shook her head. “Don’t worry about it, Bee. I just want what’s best for you. And I know spending some time with Catalina will do you good.”

Bessie sniffled and nodded. “Okay…”

It wasn’t long before Bessie was being driven to the queen’s house. She leaned her head against the window, not ever looking over at Aragon. Her guilt over the whole situation was very clear.

“How do you think they’ll react to me?” Bessie eventually asked. “The other queens. What if they don’t want me around?”

“Then they’ll just have to deal with it,” Aragon answered.

That didn’t seem to make Bessie feel any better, but Bessie said nothing about it. She simply slouched against the window and stayed that way until the car pulled up in the house’s driveway.

Bessie seemed hesitant about entering, but Aragon was able to urge her forward, saying, “They won’t be mad, sweetie.” And then she opened the door and stepped inside.

“I’m home!” Aragon called.

Jane’s head popped out of the kitchen, followed by Cathy’s. They must have been making lunch together. At the same time, Cleves looked up from the couch, and she beamed when she saw Bessie. The cousins came downstairs to greet Aragon.

“Welcome back, love,” Jane smiled. Her eyes shifted over to Bessie. “Hello, Bessie.”

“Hi,” Bessie whispered.

“Bessie is going to be staying with us for awhile,” Aragon said, wrapping a protective arm around Bessie.

“Oh, that’s cool!” Kitty said.

“Yeah,” Cleves nodded. “More time to spend with the most talented person on earth.” She grinned at Bessie, who ducked her head with a blush. Even when Bessie was depressed, she still got easily flustered by Cleves’ compliments. Aragon wondered when they were going to start dating…though it may not have happened yet because she was always giving Cleves warning glares.

Bessie spent the rest of the day practically glued to Aragon’s side. She ate dinner with the queens, being a silent spectator to an extravagant conversation over whatever the hell was going on with America, until she actually piped up with her own opinion on the matter, which surprised Aragon. She was happy to see her girl talking, though.

After dinner, Bessie cuddled up with Aragon to watch a movie with the other queens. Then they went to bed, and Bessie decided to sleep with Aragon, not that Aragon minded. She had been hoping Bessie asked.

Tangled in each other’s arms, the two of them fell asleep, safe and warm.

---

Bessie was on a part of the castle that was so steep that her ascent was vertical.

An impossible storm brewed above her; lightning crackled and struck the ancient towers viciously, burning its mark into the marble, and snow fell in torrents from sinister black clouds. And through it all, Bessie could still hear the distant voice at the top and knew she had to get to it.

Her fingers were numbing, locking into place around the ledges of the part of the palace she was on but she couldn’t stop to flex them; it was too dangerous to stop climbing. Lightning struck again, uncomfortably close to Bessie and she flinched.

Shit.

She began to climb faster, pulling herself up the palace. She had to get to the top. She had to.

Bessie was breathing heavily as she ascended but she didn’t notice. She couldn’t hear it above the vortex of wind roaring over her and the cracks of lightning like whips lashing against the marble. It was deafeningly loud but absurdly, she could hear screaming above it and her blood ran cold.

She climbed faster and finally, finally made it to the top, throwing herself into a towers that was open to the sky on all sides. She threw her arm up to shield her eyes through a torrent of rain and snow, giving herself a chance to adjust to the harsh elements. Her lungs burned as she struggled to breathe in the brunt of the wind and her hair whipped against her skin, stinging her face and shoulders. The ripped tunic she wore offered little in the way of protection and Bessie felt every grain, every splinter, every rock caught up in the mad torrent tearing across her exposed skin. Her clothes were wet with the melting snowflakes that accosted her and the cold sank beneath her skin, seeping into her bones.

A scream rang out from in front of her, crystal clear over the roar of the hurricane winds rushing past her ears.

“Elizabeth?”

“Catalina!” Bessie yelled back, squinting against the storm and the sheer force of the wind as she tried to find her. She was close; Aragon’s voice was just in front of her but she still couldn’t see anything. Her eyes strained to make out forms in the distance but Bessie couldn’t be sure if she could trust what little she was beginning to make out or if it was only her imagination twisting itself in knots to give her what she wanted to see. She fought her way forward, pushing hard against the wind and another cry echoed out, filled with desperation.

“Elizabeth!”

“Catalina!”

Bessie took another few lumbering steps forward, anchoring her feet as best she could on the ground. She kept crouched, lowering her center of weight to keep her balance as the wind battered her. Out of the blinding mist of illumination, she swore she could make out the silhouette of a person reaching out towards her.

Right size. Has to be.

“Catalina!” Bessie cried again, launching herself towards the shadow. She ran towards it, fighting for every inch against the torrent of wind and snow that tried to drag her backwards. Her heart was pounding against her rib cage like a wild animal thrashing to escape its calciferous cage. She could taste the bitterness of fear in a hot acidic lump at the back of her throat.

Bessie had never felt so bloody terrified in all her life. She could feel the terror in her veins like a black mist; dense and heavy as it clouded up her bloodstream. Not an altogether unfamiliar feeling to her now but with a meaner edge to it. Something was colder about this. Something was wrong.

But the urge to survive that had forced her this far kept her moving forward, putting one foot in front of the other. The adrenaline sang through her body, forcing her limbs to keep moving, keep going, keep going, don’t stop. Bessie couldn’t stop, not even for a second.

“Elizabeth!” Aragon’s voice was full of relief as she broke through the border of elemental fury separating them and Bessie felt it flood through her system like morphine, diluting the fear in her veins. She always felt braver around Aragon, even when she was still terrified.

But as Bessie surveyed the scene around her, the hope was sucked right back out of her. Fear doubled down its hold on her, clutching to her chest in icy tendrils that constricted her lungs. The ice spread along her spine to the tips of her fingers and down into the soles of her feet like arctic sea water lapping over her. A tsunami of nausea crashed over her and Bessie was frozen to the spot, sickened to her stomach as she looked on in horror.

Aragon smiled at her warmly and Bessie could feel the color draining from her face. Aragon looked hurt at the lack of response and stepped towards her, arms outstretched, attempting to garner some grander reaction out of her. Bessie stayed where she was, feeling as though she had been cemented to the ground.

“You’re late,” Aragon told her.

“I-- Catalina--” Bessie’s mouth was too dry to speak. She felt as if she had swallowed desert sand. If she concentrated, she could almost feel it in her throat, choking her. Or maybe it was the frost creeping up from her chest that was squeezing her throat shut. She couldn’t tell.

She couldn’t breathe.

“I started without you,” Aragon continued, glancing over her shoulder at the pile of bodies she had been perched upon. Bessie knew it hadn’t been there when she had seen Aragon’s silhouette; she had been standing and hers was the only shadow- Bessie would have seen this sadistic mockery of a throne in the outline and it was impossible but it was there and it looked very real and it still made her stomach lurch and she was still very close to being sick.

The bodies of everyone she ever cared about lay in a grotesque pile, arms and legs and necks twisted in unnatural angles. They were all there; Maria, Cleves, Jane, Cathy, Anne, Kitty, Maggie… Even Bessie’s parents could be seen clearly which made no sense; they shouldn’t be here. What were they doing here? They shouldn’t be here!

“You killed them,” Continued Aragon calmly, taking another step towards Bessie, who was trying to fend off a panic attack. Her hands trembled and she clenched them into fists and held Aragon’s eyes desperately, waiting for something to make sense, pleading with it to. She was frozen solid, as cold as the snow that fell around them and her skin was slick with sweat and water. Bessie could feel it, feel the heat pooling in her cheeks and the back of her neck and across her shoulders. She was too warm and too cold all at once and nothing made any sense anymore and that was the absolute least of her problems right now.

“You weren’t quick enough and you killed them all.”

Bessie’s resolve wavered and she allowed herself a quick stolen glance back at the pile of bodies. That was a mistake. The pit of her stomach dropped into her shoes, like the ground had given way beneath her. All of the bodies were the same; grotesque grimaces plastered across their faces, carved into their cheeks almost like smiles. Every one of them was stained with blood; thick rivers of crimson smeared across their neck from the dark lines sliced into their throats; another scarlet smile echoing the hollow expressions on their faces. Their glassy, lifeless eyes stared at nothing and yet Bessie couldn’t help but feel that they were trained on her, watching her and cursing her to hell for not being fast enough.

They had all been tossed carelessly into a huge pile in the middle of the tower they stood in. Aragon had been sitting on them. She was covered in their blood. Their blood was on her hands. Their blood was on Bessie’s hands. Aragon had killed them. Bessie had killed them.

“Should have been faster,” Aragon tutted, shaking her head disappointedly as she looked at the bodies. Bessie trained her eyes back to her. It was better than the alternative. She couldn’t face the judgement from those dead eyes. “But us being dead… Wasn’t that your plan? Wasn’t that why you did it?”

As Bessie dragged her eyes back to Aragon’s face, her expression changed from the cool, detached smile into a look of pure terror. Aragon didn’t look like a monster anymore. She looked like a woman who was every bit as scared as Bessie was.

Aragon dove forward desperately, grasping her Bessie’s forearm and the blonde’s grip tightened reflexively around a sword- an axe- a knife that she hadn’t been holding before. She didn’t know what to trust here. She wanted to trust her mother but her head was too messy with panic to think straight anymore and her instincts were screaming “threat” at her. She wanted to run but she held firm where she was.

“Elizabeth, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Aragon pleaded with her, her voice wavering as she clung to Bessie’s arm, holding so tightly that Bessie could feel the bruises forming under Aragon’s fingertips. Her body screamed at her to get out of there.

Bessie was torn between pulling away in disgust and dragging the brunette into a hug and promising to never let her go again. Aragon was going to die because of Bessie. Everyone died because of Bessie. Everyone was dead. Everyone was dead, everyone was dead and no one was coming back. Aragon was going to die and Aragon was so scared, so scared and Bessie was so scared and she couldn’t move and she was cold and too hot, too hot and she was shaking? When had she started shaking?

Bessie lunged. Aragon screamed, but wasn’t fast enough. The knife slashed and blood squirted across Bessie’s face. The taste was rancid in her mouth but she lapped it up like a dehydrated dog.

“Catalina!” Bessie shrieked, dropping to her knees beside the body she had just harmed, beside Aragon. She placed her hands over the wound trying to hold it close but she had cut through the queen’s aorta and there was so much blood gushing out. It was forcing its way out past Bessie’s fingers, sliding between them, rushing down Aragon’s neck like a ghastly river. Bessie’s hands were slippery with her mother’s blood as she tried to pressure the wound shut but it was too late. Aragon was limp on the floor and nothing Bessie could do was going to save her. She was too slow, too slow, too slow, Aragon was dying, dead, she was dead, Aragon was dead and it’s Bessie’s fault. It’s her fault.

“No, no, no, no, please, Catalina! I’m sorry. Please! Don’t die on me, please don’t die! You can’t die! Please, Mama!”

Bessie begged and begged the queen to move, to sit up, to open her eyes, to breathe; anything that meant she wasn’t dead. Aragon was dead. Aragon was dead, dead, Aragon was dead.

Bessie couldn’t see what her hands were doing any more. Tears streamed down her face, falling onto her lap and onto Aragon’s lifeless body. Her voice tore at the inside of her throat like shards of broken glass, ripping gaping holes inside of her. Bessie was like a dying star, collapsing into a black hole. Destruction surrounded her and it was finally catching up with her too, crushing her down and down and down until it would kill her in a violent explosion and she would take everything else with her, one final catastrophe to file under her name.

---

Bessie awoke with a gasp, sitting upright in the bed. She was soaked in cold sweat from head to toe, but it felt more like blood that didn’t belong to her. At her side, Aragon was still asleep, unaware of her terror. Gazing upon her mother figure’s peaceful features, Bessie knew what she had to do.

She got out of bed and changed into more appropriate clothes for the weather outside. Then, she slipped out of the house and walked down the dark streets until she wound up at the castle. It looked even more imposing at night. Just like it had been in her dream.

“The deal is off.”

The man from her bar memories looked over at her. “What?”

“The deal we made. It’s over. You can’t have the queens.”

For a moment, he was silent. Then, he said, “That’s a bad, bad decision, Bessie.”

“I have something better for you,” Bessie went on quickly. “You want a son. And you were going to use the queens to do that. But even if you impregnate all of them, you won’t get a boy and you know it. They’re incapable of delivering what you want. They’re weak.”

“Go on…”

“I was going to let you do whatever you wanted to them regardless. Because I thought about myself. But not anymore.”

The man was silent.

“You can’t have the queens,” Bessie said. She untied the lace of the robe she had put on, dropping it to the ground, and spread her arms outwards, presenting her naked body to the king. “But you can have me.”

Moonlight caught on Henry’s wide, toothy smile. “Oh, what a wonderful turn of events…”

#six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fic #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #anna of cleves #katherine howard #catherine parr #bessie on the bass #maria on the drums #maggie on the guitar #henry viii #tw: self harm #tw: blood #let's be bad henry let's be really bad

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sweetestrequiems · 5 years ago

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The Tower of London

Requested by: A lovely and wonderful Anon! Thank you for sending a letter. <3

Character(s): Anne Boleyn (Other Queens are in it too, and even the Ladies in Waiting! But like Silence is Never Better, the focus is on one queen’s internal monologue.)

Summary: Anne Boleyn, the mystery. The one who changed history–– the temptress. What history tended to call her, when she just honestly lived her life. After one long two show day, Boleyn finds herself stuck inside of her head, unable to get out. As the Queens had a free day the next day, they were making plans to stay up all night and marathon movies. Little did they know though, that Boleyn was having another episode of nightmares. Slamming the door shut, she feels compelled to head to the Tower of London, needing the quiet of the square to allow herself to scream.

TW: References to Insomnia, Depressive Thoughts Mentions of Boleyn’s beheading/Flashbacks Nightmares Panic Attacks

A/N: This will also be posted on my AO3 account! But enjoy the Boleyn angst. She’s my favorite queen to write about. And yes, I have double and triple checked the foreign languages (French/German, since Spanish is my native language). This is fairly long, just a disclaimer of that. Enjoy it!

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“Anne Boleyn, don’t you dare walk out that door.”

“Watch me.”

But it was too late. The wooden door was slammed shut, leaving five women in bewilderment at what had just happened. This was not normal behavior for Anne Boleyn, and anyone could attest to that. What had been festering in her head over the past few days would not leave her alone. The slamming door made Katherine Howard flinch and hunch her shoulders reflexively.

“Annie?”

Now, what happened during the day that Boleyn acted out in such a manner?

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Bright and early morning.

One could smell the coffee, and that partly due to the fact that Catherine Parr used a french press. There was the sounds of the morning bustle with a rather surprising outburst of laughter from Catherine of Aragon. The last of the queens to wake up was Anne Boleyn. With how she had been feeling lately, the second wife found herself staying up later than most usual nights, and that was late enough to hear the occasional groan of frustration from Parr while she wrote.

As the door to the room opened, the other queens heard it. And enthusiastically, they all looked over at Boleyn. Katherine Howard’s eyebrows furrowed just a little, but she just shrugged it off and carried on with her bright expression after a few moments. “Anne! You’re up late. You... okay?” Her cousin in pink ran over to her and grabbed her hands. Boleyn just looked up and yawned, nodding. A small smile came to her face. “Yeah, of course! Just slept in a little later than usual.”

“That’s how we all tend to get sometimes after our days off,” Anna of Cleves gave a laugh. “Come on, slowpoke. The last seat is yours and Jane didn’t want to start breakfast without you.” The German pointed at the chair next to the second empty one, which was Howard’s as she was up and holding on to her cousin. “We’re a big family, and as such, we will eat like one. At least in the mornings, because sometimes you ladies are crazy.”

“Easy for you to say. You and Anne are the craziest of them all,” a quiet snort from Jane Seymour. The blonde woman just shook her head and allowed her smile to be present. “Come on, you two!” The cousins looked at each other with a nod and went to sit down. “Now that we’re all here, we can––... why is it that you always only drink coffee in the morning?”

A little huff, and a bit of a heavier Manchester accent from Parr. “I like coffee, what can I say? I also eat a bit while I stay up at night, you can’t blame a girl.”

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1:30 pm. Thirty minutes before show time.

“Good afternoon ladies! This is your thirty minute call.”

A soft mutter from Boleyn as she responded, “Thank you thirty.” Aragon opened the door to the dressing room up, sitting down next to the green queen. “You still haven’t done your hair, bombon? Want me to do it for you?” A sigh was the response. Anne just looked up with tired eyes, shrugging. “Yeah, you can. I just haven’t been sleeping well these past few nights, is all.” Standing up, Aragon placed herself behind Boleyn, running her hands through her hair for a moment.

A knock. A collective “Come in.” came from both of the queens.

The one to open the door was Maria. “Hey. Parr wanted me to pass a message to you both,” the drummer found herself leaning against the door frame. “She wanted to ask if you two in here wanted to go eat after the first show. We’re all going, Maggie included after we convinced her to. A qué les parece eso, Lina?” There was a pause. Anne didn’t really want to go. She didn’t want to feel like such a negative ball of energy when the other queens were happy.

“Me parece bien. Necesitaban algo más, Maria?” Looking over to the door, Aragon’s hands kept working with Boleyn’s hair, trying to get her ready for the show. She had everything else done, and she was in costume, but her hair wasn’t done. “No, that was all. I’ll tell them that you’re undecided. Is that fine, Anne?”

“Oui. Je vais leur rendre visite plus tard. Merci, Maria.” Maria gave a very confused look at Anne, before realizing what she said. “Ah, okay! Yeah, no problem.” Then again, she just heard the “Yes.” and “Thank you, Maria.” as her clues to smile and give the queens a thumbs up. “I’ll leave you two to get suited up to kick Tudor ass. Ah, Lina, no te olvides de lo que hablamos.” Anne Boleyn just stared at herself in the large mirror. Something about her mood definitely did seem off. What was going on through her head? What could’ve possibly been burning at her core that she just couldn’t get off her chest? Well, the answer to that... quite simply put, is nightmares. She was reliving traumatic nightmares from the day of her beheading. She didn’t really know if she could get through the two show day without freaking out.

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A thunderous knock rattled the doors of where she was being held in the Tower.

Why was Anne in her modern body? Was this another nightmare? It was, and she could feel herself reliving everything.

Her right hand clutched onto her chest, the rattling of the door getting progressively louder. The once bright-eyed queen felt herself cower into the corner. Why was this happening again?

Just as soon as the rattling became a thunderous boom, the nightmare seemed to stop. This was not the case. Anne found herself now outside of the Tower of London, trembling. She felt herself be pushed down, and her head be almost thrown to the scaffold. Looking up at the massive crowd, she saw herself. Another modern version of herself, who looked just as mortified as the Anne Boleyn on the literal chopping block.

Right before the sword struck her neck, everything went black.

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Anne jolted back into her reality, almost jumping through the roof when Cleves put a hand on her. The sudden short breaths from the one in green made the fourth wife worried. She helped her counterpart up, and gently pulled her towards the door. “Beruhige dich! Geht es dir gut?” The German woman gave a side hug to the second wife, with a nod being the thing she responds with.

“Ladies, this is your final places call.”

“Thank you, places!” Aragon closed the door to the dressing room and gave Boleyn a pat on the shoulder. “You’re okay. You’re with us. Come on, let’s go kick some serious Tudor ass and take our stories back.”

––––––––––

To think, that was only the first half of the day. The second half went much worse.

Normally, Anne Boleyn was one to go and greet the fans. Take pictures with them, sign things. But she quite literally could not handle the crowds tonight. Sure, it wasn't the first time this happened, but not even to this degree. Sitting in the dressing room, out of her costume and back into the pair of sweatpants and oversized pullover she loved to wear. Her hair remained down and all. Taking just a few deep breaths, her left hand came up to the choker.

It was burning like crazy. Her scar would not stop hurting. Her head would not stop pounding.

“Anne? Hey, are you ready to go home?” Katherine Howard, her beloved cousin. She wished she could share what was paining her with the girl, but she could not find the strength to open up. A nod came from Anne as she grabbed her bag and followed Kitty outside of the room, and to the exterior of the theatre where everyone else was waiting. “I got her! She was just zoning out.”

“Sorry. I just... I needed to breathe.”

“Well relax, babe. Everything’s all okay with us. You know we’ll give you the space if y’need it,” Catherine Parr nodded. The Ladies in Waiting all stood with the Queens, with nods going across the board. Maggie stepped up, gently taking Boleyn’s hands in her own and whispering. “Est-ce les cauchemars? You look pale from it.” Just a subtle nod from Anne. “Oui.”

“I figured so. Call me when you get home, okay? I’ll try to help you calm down,” with a smile, Maggie pulled Anne into a hug and then headed back to the other Ladies in Waiting. The four waved and headed off on their way, with the Queens all heading back home themselves.

This is where things begin to get messy.

––––––––––

It was about maybe 11:45 at this point. The stars were out and the queens were all in the living room, with Katherine somehow laying across all four of the other women sitting on the couch. Anne Boleyn? No where to be found. Probably in her room.

She was staring at the scar in the mirror, choker tightly gripped in her hand. It felt like a fever dream–– standing in front of the mirror and seeing her head. The second wife felt herself beginning to shake. Her legs felt weak, her chest began to crush itself underneath its weight. Why wouldn’t it go away? Why wouldn't it leave her alone? She slammed the choker down on the vanity in her room, the thud getting the attention of everyone else.

A rather worked up and on the verge of tears Boleyn stormed out of her room, and snatched Jane’s keys from the key rack. That brought instant concern to Jane Seymour and the other queens. Katherine Howard sat herself upright and leaned forward. “Anne? Anne, what’s going on?”

“I can’t take the constant thundering knocks and the crowds! Everything burns, damn it! I... I need to go! I need some sort of closure for this,” Anne Boleyn started for the door. Jane Seymour immediately stood up, and started to pace over to the queen about to exit the house.

“Anne Boleyn, don’t you dare walk out that door.”

“Watch me.”

“Annie?”

––––––––––

It was going to be one hell of a drive. And she made sure to take her time.

But Anne Boleyn knew exactly where she was going.

The car seemed to have jerked to a stop, but it didn’t.

Shuddering, she got out of the car and closed the door, keys going into her pocket. Her steps began to feel like they were echoing in the silence. Looking up, her fists closed. The Tower of London, the very dreaded spot that she met her untimely fate, and where her cousin was murdered by Henry for things out of her control. Looking around, she realized she was alone. And for the first time that she could recall, she just fell to her knees, and let out a shrill scream.

“Damn you, damn you! Why don’t you ever leave me alone?!” Her hair fell over her face as she started crying. If she walked any father, she would’ve been where she was so many centuries ago, watching a crowd and awaiting for her head to get sliced off. “Let me live in peace! I just want to sleep one damn night!”

Forcing her tear-stained face to look up, she tried forcing herself to take a deep breath.

The silence wasn’t unnerving, but rather welcoming. It was almost telling her to come closer to the Tower, and to the very spot she once stood in centuries ago. Standing up, with her whole body now shaking and her fighting back tears, Anne Boleyn began to walk forward. A slight breeze began to blow from the west, and it helped move some of the hair off of her face. Feeling herself fall to her knees again, Anne just screamed.

She was screaming. Yelling. Crying. Anything she could do to release her frustration. Her hands came up to her neck, and held it rather tightly in attempt to ease the burning down. She knew her throat would be shot from this. She knew she would not be able to sing, but she needed the release of emotion. It was almost cathartic to her. The Tower of London was giving her a second chance at letting her emotions out, as she couldn’t really do it on that fated day.

The breeze picked up as Anne continued to holler out and do whatever she could. The tight, crushing feeling of her chest was slowly going away.

That was all she needed. She just needed to focus her emotions on something. This was that something. The silence was the something, and she could cry out to it and feel safe. There was no judgement, no looks of concern. Just Anne Boleyn and her feelings. Managing to stand up, she looks up at the night sky. Stars littered everywhere, but she can't help the anger from the recurring nightmares being her focus.

“Why, you bastard! Why did you have to kill her! Why us?! What have we ever done to you to get treated so terribly?! You broke Aragon’s heart, took my life, forced Jane into submission, made Cleves have terrible self doubt...” Her voice just got louder. “And Kitty! Poor Kitty died because of your total bullshit! It wasn't her fault! It will never be her fault! Do you hear me, Henry?! It was never her damn fault!”

––––––––––

She didn’t know the time.

Boleyn found herself at a lot more ease. Screaming until you literally couldn’t was not the healthiest thing to do, but it was the only thing she felt compelled to do. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she looks at the screen. Missed calls and text messages from the other queens. And Katherine’s was the most recent one.

Annie... please come back home. We’re really worried about you.

All she did was respond with, I’ll be there soon. I promise.

And true to her word Anne Boleyn was. She showed up back at the house maybe at around two in the morning, with the other queens all swarming to hug her when she got back. For the first time in maybe... a while, Anne could say she felt okay. She felt... fine. And being in the silence for a few hours truly was what made her feel so okay.

#Kano Drabbles #six the musical fanfic #six the musical #anne boleyn

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nehswritesstuffs · 4 years ago

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Sometimes All It Takes is A Song

A/N: I recently completed a (drawn-out, mind) rewatch of the Slayers TV anime (a first-complete-watch, in the case of REVOLUTION-R’s case, to my shock), and it should be no surprise to anyone that this means I’m back on my teenaged bullshit and writing Slayers fic again after nearly fifteen freaking years.. All I wanted was something light and fluffy, so this happened.

1454 words; takes place vaguely in the beginning of REVOLUTION, before Pokota actually becomes a member of the group, in a lull between explosions and Wizer’s antics; I likely have more up my sleeve but I have other active projects and wanted to slam something out real quick there

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Sometimes, all it takes is a song.

It was late and the group had long made camp and eaten dinner. Despite the fact she was being hunted via an arrest warrant, Lina was already asleep, snoring on the other side of the clearing, while Gourry was off finding firewood, Amelia was writing, and Zelgadis was cleaning and tuning his guitar. He enjoyed the instrument enough—it was one he had picked up during their adventures a while ago now—and it too needed a bit of care. Taking a worn string off, he tucked it in a pocket and produced a different one; he didn’t want it to snap prematurely while playing, after all. Even if his skin was stone, it wasn’t as though it didn’t hurt when it happened…

“What are you doing, Mister Zelgadis?” Not even lifting his head, he glanced over at Amelia, seeing she was watching him. “I thought you replaced the strings not that long ago now…”

“I did, but,” he held up his right hand and wiggled his fingers before getting back to work, “I tend to wear them out quickly.”

“Ah… that makes sense.”

It was quiet for a short while after that, the only noise between them being the popping in the fire. He finished the repair job and examined it in the wan light—looked good enough. Plucking a couple notes proved his theory correct and the clear tones reverberated through the night air.

“I don’t think I ever asked where you learned to play.”

Zelgadis looked at Amelia and found she her attention was still on him, her letter seemingly discarded. He shrugged nonchalantly and went back to idly playing a long-learned melody.

“Who are you writing?” Good, a change in subject; a decent enough distraction.

“Oh, just Uncle Christopher; my father’s letter is already done.”

He blinked. “What are you writing him?”

“He wanted to know about Ruvinagald separately from Daddy��if anything happens, he’d be the one to be sent, after all. I don’t think Uncle Christopher has been here since he was my age.”

“Then it’s been a bit,” he nodded. “He probably didn’t have to deal with exploding magic tanks and magic-casting stuffed animals.”

“I think he would have preferred that—he was here for a ball before he met my aunt, and because he was single, a Ruvinagalder noblewoman was a bit too friendly, if I remember the story correctly.”

“Sounds like a horror story.”

They both chuckled, then silence.

“You still didn’t answer my question, Mister Zelgadis.”

Damn.

“A long time ago.” He continued playing and tried to ignore the fact that she was beginning to move about the camp now. “It was Rodimus, if you’ll believe me.”

“Of course I believe you, Mister Zelgadis. I just didn’t know.” She put away her letters and pen in her pack and went to sit down next to him. “You play well.”

“I wouldn’t say well…”

“…well enough for me. Were you little when you first started learning? I can imagine how big the guitar was next to you.”

He let out a real laugh—not a chuckle or a smirk, but a genuine laugh—and stopped playing. “No… Rodimus thought I needed another outlet besides magic and swordsmanship and he was right. I was what… thirteen…? Fourteen? He said it would be relaxing for me.”

“Was it?”

“In a way.” Zelgadis went back to his song, feeling the weight of Amelia resting on his shoulder as he did so. Using her cape as a blanket, she was curled up against him, sharing warmth that the campfire could not entirely provide. He raised an eyebrow at her, anticipating her response. “It was how I got my first kiss.”

“What…?!” Amelia snapped to attention, sitting straight up as she stared at the chimera with wide eyes gone even wider. Lina snorted from the other side of camp and tossed inside her bedroll, which caused Amelia to lower her voice. “I didn’t know you’ve been kissed before.”

“When I was sixteen, playing for fun while my great-grandfather was out, going to the square and letting people listen,” he explained. “She kissed me,” he tapped his cheek, “right here. I couldn’t play for the rest of the day out of sheer nerves and hormones.”

“You made it sound more romantic than that,” she huffed. She glared at him out the corner of her eyes, watching as he made a slight tuning adjustment to the strings. “Who was she?”

“…someone in the village—about my age—thought the fact I could play guitar was cool.”

“I didn’t think you were that kind of man, Mister Zelgadis.”

“Maybe I fancied myself one as a kid, but you’re right… I’m not that kind of man. This body of mine ruined any chances of me going down that path.”

“I didn’t think it was your body…”

He blushed at that and attempted to play it off as though it weren’t there. “Still… that entire potential trajectory changed when I changed, and not for the better…”

Amelia knew he didn’t have to elaborate: his great-grandfather, Rezo the Red Priest, one of the greatest sages of the time and a man who led a profound life, had turned his life on its head by conducting a chimeric experiment on him. Even when they were alone, Zelgadis often had trouble saying his name in relation to himself… as a relation to himself, and it made her sad beyond measure. It was a sadness that reminded her of her Uncle Randionel and cousin Alfred… men who also betrayed their family in the search of power that ultimately destroyed them in the end…

…because of Randionel and Alfred, Seyruun nearly lost a future. Rezo, on the other hand, had a much different game he had been playing.

“Maybe… in the end…” she mentioned, “it wasn’t too bad. You met Miss Lina and Mister Gourry that way, after all.”

“…and I met you—don’t discount that, Amelia.”

“Never said I did.”

They didn’t say anything for a while after that, with Amelia sitting quietly, listening to Zelgadis play the guitar. She remained curled up against him, relishing in his warmth and that of her cloak-blanket; he was like a stone taken from the bottom of a hot spring and left to set—a low, lasting heat that seemed to melt her aches and pains away. He leaned against her just so—the gentle waft of her perfume reaching him as they sat there. It was a luxury for travelling as they did, that was for certain, but she insisted she take a bottle, considering her royal position and the fact they were at-risk to landing in some Ruvinagalder court.

The song ended, another was played in its entirety, and they were partway through a third when a very sleepy-looking Gourry shuffled back into the camp. He dropped his pile of kindling along the camp’s edge and made his way over to Lina’s side without a word, crumpling next to her and falling asleep before his head even hit his arm as he used it for a pillow. His other arm splayed out, draping over Lina, who unconsciously punched him, knocking him into a spread-eagle position where he kept on sleeping.

“Only those two idiots,” Zelgadis noted. He saw how closely Amelia was clung to him and smiled inwardly. “You cold?”

She nodded.

“Then let’s go to bed,” he offered.

After his guitar was put away and their cloaks folded neatly, they added more wood to the fire, laid out their bedrolls—hers closer to the fire, his on her other side—and laid down. Zelgadis was nearly settled when he felt something soft against his cheek and opened his eyes. Amelia was right there, her face so close to his that he knew precisely what happened.

“I think it is pretty neat that you play the guitar, Mister Zelgadis,” she admitted.

“Just neat?” he teased.

“Okay… it’s kind of cool too.” She laid back down and took his hand in both of hers, holding his forearm in place against her chest with her own, before closing her eyes. “Mmm… warm…”

“Good night, Amelia.”

“Good night, Zelgadis.”

“No ‘Mister’?”

“Not tonight.”

Morning was certain to come as others had: a smoldering ash heap in place of the fire, Lina and Gourry competing for how cranky and hungry they were, and a sense of urgency to make haste before Lina’s insistent pursuer caught up with them. Breakfast was quick and packing was quicker, yet that didn’t change how Amelia looked at Zelgadis’s guitar, or how he lifted it onto his shoulder before they set off.

It was a small change, but it was a start.

#The Slayers #Zelgadis Greywords #Amelia Wil Tesla Seyruun #Amelia x Zelgadis #oh and Gourry and Lina are there too #it's been so long I don't even know how to tag this stuff #fan fiction #fluff #shameless fluff #nothing happens but whatever #let's be honest with ourselves: this scene can happen most anytime #fun fact: I first started writing this ship fifteen years ago so this means I'll likely still be writing Whouffaldi in 2029 #this is also proof my taste in ships hasn't really changed in that amount of time either so yay for that #all we're missing is Zel being taller but what's a few inches when his smol is 5'1"?

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severalspoons · 5 years ago

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Liveblog: Rewatching Trigun, The Rest of Episode 18

Because there’s more to Episode 18 than a single sentence.

We open with a flashback.

Knives cuts off Vash’s arm in a single shot. But when Vash turns on him he actually sounds shocked: “Are you actually pointing at me? Are you actually shooting at me again?!”

Knives makes Vash’s angel arm appear by snapping his fingers. How and why does that work?

There’s a moment of silence after Fake Vash the Stampede (or as I prefer to think of him, Pig Man) blows up the saloon where Wolfwood’s hanging out at the bar and Lina and Ericks are taking refuge. That awful, “Who’s going to do something?” silence. And because no one else steps forward, and Ericks can’t not help, Ericks does.

But he’s the one with the most to lose. He can’t act too competent, which means he’s gonna get hurt.

Why doesn’t Wolfwood do anything? There’s even a child involved. And I’m pretty sure he recognizes “Ericks,” if not by appearance than by voice.

More than that, does Ericks notice Wolfwood at the bar, and if so, why does he know Wolfwood won’t step up, and do it himself instead?

Wolfwood is suddenly at the window comforting Lina. For some reason she doesn’t freak out about some random stranger putting a hand on her head? Especially after that ordeal with pedo Pig Man outside? It’s not your fault, he has his reasons. :’-(

Poor Vash. I can’t look. OK, maybe I can look at that shot of his back. ;)

It occurs to me, there are more reaction shots of Wolfwood listening to Vash sing that stupid song than during this scene. As far as we know, he hasn’t seen Vash’s scars. Wolfwood’s seen some shit, so he wouldn’t freak out in the same way Meryl and Milly did, but it would matter to him. I feel like if the insurance girls had been present instead, we would have seen more of their reactions. But who knows. Maybe the animators just took pity on us and spared us from more secondhand embarrassment.

Weird moment I didn’t remember. Pig Man looks like he’s about to cause more trouble. Wolfwood looks out the window over his sunglasses, which sparkle, in a dangerous way. Pig Man actually backs off and leaves. Does Pig Man recognize Wolfwood? Why didn’t Pig Man see him earlier? Why didn’t Wolfwood show himself earlier, if Pig Man would run away?

It’s a weird culture where “your pride or your life?” is hard to answer. I’m 100% with Wolfwood when he bangs their heads together and reminds them that they’d be dead if not for “Ericks.”

Sheryl is tough as knives and protective, even more than Lina. Love her. I can see why Ericks is so at home with them.

Sheryl and Lina reminiscing about the many times Ericks has previously been in the hospital. One of them, not surprisingly, involved protecting someone. The previous one involved falling off a Thomas. Some things never change. (Geez, you’d think after all this time he would have learned to ride some sort of transportation).

I’m not sure if no one notices Wolfwood because he’s actually a good assassin, or because they’re just oblivious.

Vash, are you... sparkling? I’m sure there’s a perfectly heterosexual explanation for this.

What sane doctor would let someone who just slapped a patient in the face be alone with said patient?

Vash at probably the most open and vulnerable we’ve ever seen him. A little self pitying, but he’s earned it.

Now he sounds like Fred Marlon: “Whenever I do anything people die.” So he’s refusing to do anything at all. Speaking of Fred Marlon, he repaired Vash’s gun for free. For talking him out of that exact same attitude toward life. Kind of funny, isn’t it.

“If you want this pathetic little existence so bad you’d give up everything else...” Wolfwood has seen enough to know why the existence is meaningful to Vash and not exactly pathetic. But this is Wolfwood, who has experienced very little kindness in his life. Who expresses kindness with a slap to the face. He’s in tough love mode. And it seems like there’s only so much he can be kind without being a dick.

6 months? Wow, it’s been a long time.

Hmm... not the top item of concern right now, but how does Wolfwood know about Knives, or Vash’s commitment to stopping him? 0.0 :3

It’s crucial that Wolfwood leave the room and let Vash freely decide what to do. It’s crucial that he hook Vash in by telling him about Knives. And it’s crucial that he expects Vash to make the right choice and waits patiently outside.

Vash admits how much he really wanted to stay. Wolfwood actually sounds sympathetic when he says, “sorry, them’s the breaks.”

That moment when they get serious and go save Lena (”showtime”) is amazingly hot. Vash in competent mode is amazing enough. I’m swooning.

“100 each? That’s not fair to them.” Love it.

Wow, as soon as they figure out Ericks is Vash, they want to run him out of town?! Did they seriously just forget Ericks saving so many of them on multiple occasions? Did they forget that just as Ericks was really Vash the Stampede, Vash was really also Ericks? Fuck these people.

“You could end up alone with no one there to help. That’s what worries us the most.” Very wise, Sheryl. Fortunately, he’s not going to be leaving alone.

Sheryl telling Wolfwood to take care of Vash and basically saying “unlike you, he’s a good, pure person.” Not quite true, but damn.

Ah, the symbolic haircut. Vash just isn’t himself without that spiky hairdo. As usual, someone else does it, even though if baby!Knives did a creditable job, Vash could surely manage.

Vash and Lena saying goodbye is so touching.

Vash basically just hugs Lena’s head. This is relevant to any discussions about Vash’s sense of boundaries.

Adorable photos of the three of them together.

Lina says (and I think Sheryl feels) like she wants to help him, but in the end, he ends up helping her. She feels a little guilty for that. But it’s exactly what Vash needed.

A lot of my earlier posts have focused on how lonely Vash’s life has been. I’m elated that he found a family who love and support him.

Even though he has to leave and change his identity in order to keep them safe, I hope he really feels that he has a place to return.

***

This is one of my favorite episodes. There is so much unconditional love, from Sheryl, Lina, and Wolfwood. And for once, Vash is receiving it, not just giving it.

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cherrysurf · 1 hour ago

Note

NEW THEME AGAIN IT LOOKS SO CUTESY!!!! I love ur themes Iris oh em god

yes i saw u had a new theme and wanted one too LOL TYYYY I RLLY LIKE THIS ONE TOO🤭

and no ur themes cook so hard they are my inspo trust

#FREAK AH LINA #cherrysurf speaks

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janeyseymour · 4 years ago

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Escape- pt 10

pt 1. pt 2. pt 3. pt 4. pt 5. pt 6. pt 7. pt 8. pt 9.

Jane Seymour has stayed with Henry long enough. Cue Catherine of Aragon and the rest of the girls to save her.

Cath asks Jane to dinner. Jane finally begins to come to terms with the fact that the woman she loves may very well be in love with her too. Kind of a fluffy chapter.

“Margaret! Marge!” John yelled through the house.

“John, what could possibly be so important that you have to interrupt my baking?” She emerged from the kitchen.

“Oh shit! I’ll come to you.” He followed his wife into the kitchen. “I just got off the phone with Cath, and let’s just say that you’re going to be paying up any day now!” He teased in a singsong voice.

“Oh I know,” Margaret sighed, fighting the urge to grin. At this point, she was ready to lose the bet so her daughter could finally be happy with the woman of her dreams.

“Yes you wi- wait. You know?”

“Yes. I just got off the phone with Janey. She told me she thinks she’s in love with Cath, and the lord himself knows that girl worships the ground our baby walks on. I’m still not giving you any money until I’m certain though,” she stated curtly.

“Did she tell you they’re going on a date tonight?”

“She told me it was only dinner, so I’m not admitting anything just yet.” She smiled smugly.

“Dammit woman.” He rested his hands on her waist.

“Don't you even think about it.” She knew what her husband was up to. “I have a cup of flour in my hand, and you’re cleaning it up if I drop it!”

“Well worth it,” John laughed as he tickled his wife’s sides.

Jane was running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

“Jane, what are you doing?” Kat walked into the blonde’s room as she watched the woman clad in a towel throw multiple articles of clothing around.

“Kat!” Jane whipped around, eyes wide. “You’re the perfect person to ask for help!”

“Oh!” Kat became excited at the idea that she was useful. “What’s up?”

“Lina and I are going to dinner, and Anna has it in my head that this might be a date and-”

“Finally.”

“What?” Jane raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t act like you just figured out that you two totally have a thing for each other.”

“Am I the only one who hasn’t known about this?”

“Yes!” Anna called from her room.

“Yes!” Cathy called from her room.

“Yes!” Anne laughed from behind Kat.

“Oh god,” The blonde muttered to herself. “I can’t find anything to wear.”

“You’re right. I’m just the person to ask.” Kat scavenged for an outfit for less than thirty seconds before she presented a look to Jane.

“That’s a bit revealing, isn’t it?” She eyes the low-cut top being handed to her. “And a little tight maybe?”

“You wouldn’t own it if you didn’t look good in it. And besides, you’re not showing yet, you still have the figure to wear it. Might as well be sexy for as long as possible,” Anne encouraged her to put the shirt on.

“Turn around,” Jane instructed. The two listened and she quickly changed into the outfit. “How does this look?” The cousins turned around and admired Jane in the gray blouse with tight fitting jeans.

“Wowza.”

“If this doesn’t have Cath drooling, I’ll be amazed.”

“Anne!” Kat exclaimed.

“What? I’ve seen Cath practically drool over Jane when she’s wearing sweatpants and has her hair in the messiest bun.”

Katherine and Anne were helping Jane with her makeup and hair while Catherine and Cathy lounged i n the living room.

“Okay, get out of here. I’ve got this from here,” Catherine shooed her younger cousin to her bedroom.

“Don't fuck this up Aragon,” Anna teased on her way out of the house.

“Hey Jane? I left something in the car. I’ll be back in a minute, and then will you be ready?”

“Yeah! Just finishing up,” Jane called from the room Catherine had been banned from.

“Okay. I’ll be back.” The older woman walked out of the house and proceeded to her car. Slowly, she sat down in the driver’s seat to prepare herself for tonight.

“Don’t fuck this up Cath,” she said to herself through the rear view mirror. “You’ve been waiting twelve years for this.” She checked the time: 5:55. Close enough. She grabbed the flowers she picked up a few hours before and jogged to the front door. Hesitantly, she knocked and immediately found her shoes quite interesting.

The door flung open, and Jane laughed, “Did you lock yourself out or something?”

“No, I came to ‘pick you up’ like I told you I would. I know I’m like five minutes early, and I’m sorry for that, but I couldn’t wait. You look-” she took in the blonde’s appearance. “Wow.”

“Thank you,” Jane blushed.

“These are for you.” Catherine handed her a bouquet of flowers.

“Lina.” Her eyes began to well up.

“What? What’s wrong? Did I get the wrong flowers?” She began to panic. “I’m sorry. I thought these were the-”

“No, they’re perfect. You’re so sweet. You remembered my favorite flowers from like, senior year.”

“Of course I do. Come on, I’ll take you to the car.”

She was running late the one day they actually needed to get to school on time. She saw Jane run to her car and jump in holding a bottle.

“Hey Lina. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. What’cha got there?”

“Perfume.”

“Ah, that’s why you always smell so much better than everyone else. You actually bathe and use perfume. It all makes sense now,” Catherine joked.

“Haha, very funny. I didn’t actually put it on yet. I’m going to have to do it when we get to school I guess.”

“If you want, you can just put it on in here.”

“Really?” She looked genuinely surprised. “Henry never lets me do that.”

That’s because he’s an idiot, she thought before wisely saying, “I don't mind. It smells good anyway.”

“Thanks. I hope you don’t mind me spraying the scent of roses.”

“Your favorite flower?” She asked with a smile. Jane bobbed her head up and down.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” Catherine chuckled to herself.

She quickly ran ahead of Jane and opened the passenger door before helping her in.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Jogging to the driver’s side, she asked, “You ready and buckled? Precious cargo you know!”

“Very funny. Yes I am. Let’s go! I’m starving.”

The two were enjoying their dinner when Catherine broke the silence.

“So, I have to ask you something, and I don't want you to freak out.”

“Catherine-” Jane shifted in her seat. “If this is what I heard you talking about to my dad earlier,” she continued.

“You heard that?” Catherine began to panic; “How much did you hear?”

“Not much. Just enough to know that whatever your planning was okay to tell my mother.” She averted her gaze to the meal in front of her.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Is this a date?”

“Well, no? I mean, kind of, but I never asked you as a date. I really think we should be together, but not until you’re ready. I know you’re dealing with a lot right now, and I’ve waited for twelve years. I can wait a little while longer.”

“I love you,” Jane blurted out.

“Of course I love you too. I thought you knew that.”

“Apparently I was the only one who didn’t know. Anna kind of made me realize today that it was really. Up until a few hours ago, I thought it was all in my head.”

“It definitely isn’t, but that’s not what I wanted to talk about tonight. I wanted to ask you if I could be there for you and the baby when it arrives. I just didn’t know how to- why are you crying?”

“You’re just so sweet and so good to me, and I’m such a bitch! I eavesdropped on your conversation, and I assumed things. I have no clue why you’re putting up with me. I’m so sorry. I have to go to the bathroom and get myself together.”

“Okay, but when you get back we need to talk about this.” Jane nodded and sped away to the bathroom.

After twenty minutes, Catherine was still waiting patiently for Jane to return. It was clear the blonde needed some space, and despite her concern, she waited.

“Ma’am?” a waiter with a water pitcher approached.

“I’m okay, thank you,” she replied, assuming the man was offering her some more water.

“No ma’am. The woman that came in here with you is in the bathroom violently ill. I was told to come find you.” By the end of the waiter’s sentence, Catherine had already taken off in a sprint towards the bathroom.

“Ma’am, you really shouldn’t go in there,” an employee who was unaware who Catherine was warned.

“I’m the one she came with.” The employee stepped out of the way and allowed her to go in.

“Janey, are you okay honey?” When she heard no response, she walked in a little further, the foul smell of vomit hitting her.

“Janey,” she sighed as she found the blonde with her head in the toilet.

“I think I’m done. Can we please just go and forget this happened? I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Come on.” Catherine scooped the woman into her arms, and the two made their way towards the main entrance of the restaurant.

“Ma’am,” an employee tried.

“I’ll be back tomorrow to pay for the food, but right now-”

“We took the liberty of boxing all the food, and it’s on the house tonight. We hope your partner feels better soon.”

“Thank you very much.” The employee secured the bags over Catherine’s wrist, and the two made their way towards the car.

“We need to talk about our situation later. We have to sort everything out before more things start to happen,” Jane mumbled.

“Of course sweetie. Anything. Front or back?”

“Front.” She allowed Catherine to lower her into the front seat before muttering, “I’m going to sleep.” The woman fell into a more peaceful state than she was in a few minutes before.

“So,” Cathy drew out from across the room after Catherine had set Jane up in their bedroom. “I guess it didn’t go too well? You guys came back pretty quickly.”

“It could’ve gone better. I found out she overheard my conversation with her dad. She did admit that she loves me, but that conversation quickly ended when she started crying and then twenty minutes later I was carrying her out because she was puking.”

“It’s something though?” the younger cousin tried.

“I guess.”

“At least she didn’t straight up reject you,” Anne quipped.

“Thank you Anne for yet another encouraging comment,” Aragon deadpanned.

“Anytime Cath. Anytime.”

“Okay but seriously, it’s about time you two got it together,” Anna added.

“Well, we’re not together yet. I told her I’ve waited twelve years, and I can wait a little longer. I know she has a lot on her plate right now, and the last thing I want to do is overwhelm her with a new relationship.”

“Did you like the outfit she was in?” Kat asked out of curiosity and also hunger to know that she had picked the right look.

Catherine swallowed awkwardly before whispering, “She looked stunning.”

“Did you drool?”

“No Boleyn. I did not drool.”

“Bullshit. I’ve seen you drool over the woman when she’s in sweatpants and looking homeless.”

“I can’t help that she just always looks beautiful.”

#six the musical #six musical #six musical fanfic #six fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfiction #aramour

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hollywoodhangar · 4 years ago

Note

YOU'RE SO FREAKING CUTE LINA

ic prompt // anonymous // always accepting!

Heels go flying over head as the small woman is barreled backwards across the surface, arms clumsily flailing about until they catch hold of a napkin folded at the end of the table, saving her from a potentially very painful drop! Oh, what was THAT? It was a voice but it was so loud, it threw her off her guard!

The barleyborn climbs her way back onto her feet, balance off-kilter and arms out to her side to provide some semblance of recollecting it. “Uuuuhwhaa? Huh? Are you talking to me?” It’s undeniable - they said “Lina” and to her knowledge, she was only “Lina” for miles! Which, in her perception, means worlds apart. “I.. ah.. thank you! I guess? .. You don’t want to marry me, right?”

#(( ksdfaskdf PFFFF #be careful! she is literally so smol!! ))#♈ [ THUMBELINA; IC. ] ━ 『 visiting. ☼ 』#♈ [ BLOG; ASK. ] ━ 『 letters to hollywood. 』#♈ [ BLOG; SAVES. ] ━ 『 *peaceful and thankful saving music* 』

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floralseokjin · 6 years ago

Text

— crystallised 02 (m)

crystallised /ˈkrɪst(ə)lʌɪz/ (verb) make or become definite and clear

Six weeks, that’s all it takes to forget about the threesome you shared with your boyfriend, Yoongi, and your past...fuck buddy, Seokjin. After all, it’s no big deal. Yoongi and you are doing better than ever, there’s no reason to regret such a night shared. That is until you hear some gossip in the library one day, and then slowly, little by little, everything starts to fall apart... Can you begin to make sense out of all this confusion, or is it too late?

pairing; min yoongi x reader, kim seokjin x reader genre/warnings; love triangle (? if you can call it that, more so just a lot of confused feelings by everyone involved), college au, lots of flashbacks, smut, fluff (take it while you can), yoongi based chapter, angst…welp (sorry) words; 14,895

sequel to; memoirs of a mistake and lostmyhead

chapters; 01 ⤑ 02 ⤑ 03 ⤑ 04 ⤑ 05 ⤑ 06 ⤑ 07⤑ 08 ✓

Roughly five months previous

“So…uh…” Yoongi’s awkward sounding voice began by the side of you. You’d been set an individual assignment to do for the last hour of class, but no one was taking that into consideration, and the tutor hardly seemed to care that everyone was chatting away. You turned to Yoongi, watching him scratch the back of his neck. He seemed to always do that when he was nervous. Mostly when he was asked a question, put on the spot, his voice all low, bashful smile on his face… Not that you’d been paying much attention to him.

You hardly knew him really, had started talking to him because of this class. You saw him once a week when you sat next to him for two hours. You knew of him beforehand. Min Yoongi. Captain of the basketball team with an avid interest in music. Always have his earphones in. He’d only started taking them out in this class since you two had got friendly. Friends, maybe that’s what you were. Slightly. You enjoyed his company in this shitty class and he seemed to enjoy yours. You said hi when you saw one another on campus, and he even added you on Facebook not too long ago, liking your occasional selfies sometimes. (You ended up liking his too. He had a killer selfie game…) You’d even so recently studied together in the library a few times, gotten to know one another better. You’d actually be quite sad when this year would soon be over and this class was no more. He was funny, and quiet. Scrap that, he was normal. Better than most of the guys you knew or had known around here.

He sounded strange now though, and it caught your full attention, waiting for him to continue with a tilted head. “I was wondering if you–” He broke off to chuckle awkwardly.

“–erm, if you’d like to go out sometime…? I don’t know what you like…movies? Food? Both? Something different?”

His rushed words took a little time to sink in. When they did however, you couldn’t quite make sense of anything. Your cheeks felt hot, which was unlike you. Put on the spot and indeed taken by surprise would do that to a person, you guessed. Your heart was beating a little quickly too, dropping your gaze to your books. He was asking you out? On a date? You hadn’t been on one of those in so long. Your last boyfriend had hated shit like that, and well, Seokjin wasn’t dating material. Unless, you called hooking up in his bedroom a date, then you dated quite frequently… Yeah, you didn’t think so…

Deflecting. That’s what you did best, and weirdly nervous, this seemed the perfect time to start up again. “That’s different,” you mused, picking up your pencil to jot some notes down. Yoongi waited patiently. “You’re asking me out on a date date? Or is it a trick?”

“…A trick?” Yoongi puzzled.

“My track record with dates and guys hasn’t been… the best,” you explained, unsure why you were giving him the third degree. “Is this another trick? Another excuse?”

You managed to look up at him, one eyebrow raised. His cheeks were tinged a lovely shade of pink as he tried to fight for his words. You laughed, signalling you were only messing around and he shook his head. “No.” He insisted. “Ah, no,” he tried again, swallowing thickly. “I’m not like tha—I mean, I’m not into that…yeah…” He trailed off, giving up finally. He was just making it worse. Well, that’s what you figured he thought anyway.

It was actually quite cute. Maybe this was a test? Your subconscious testing his genuineness. It seemed to have some kind of effect on you anyway… Yoongi was a handsome guy, but it was his bashfulness that got you, his shyness… The guy could get nervy over the smallest of things. Cute. He was cute, and he was asking you out on a date… You were the nervy one now.

You went back to your work, pretty much shutting down the conversation, but your heart was still beating heavily in your chest. Yoongi went back his notes too, but he couldn’t sit still, pulling at his clothes and scratching the back of his neck like he had fleas. He was probably feeling like an idiot for getting turned down. You hated that. That wasn’t your intention, not really. Maybe if you really thought about it, Yoongi and you had been…flirting around lately? You were certainly more aware of his existence recently, content in his presence for those two hours a week, and the rest you’d spent studying. What did you really have to lose? Pretty much nothing. Yes, you and Seokjin were still fooling around, but that’s all it was ever going to be. He made that clear a lot, not that you were looking for more with him. Fuck no. It was just a complicated situation to be in. Thinking of the end... However, it was just one date… There really was no harm in it.

“So,” you began as class ended and you grabbed your bag, side-eying him almost coyly. God, you were flirting. It felt kind of exciting. “When do you want to do this?” Yoongi looked almost blank, trying to make sense of the turn in events. “Take me out? Are you free this weekend?”

He blinked away the shock, the strap of his backpack sliding down his arm as his hand went limp, and then he brightened up, the smile on his face making your heart feel weird. “I-I… Yeah, I’m free… C-can I take your number?”

“Oh, no,” Yoongi insisted, his hand reaching out to stop yours going into your purse. Your fingers touched and you were momentarily shocked by the warmth of his skin. You blinked up at him, coming to when he pulled away to reach for his wallet in his back pocket. “I’ll pay,” he shrugged.

“Really?” You asked, surprised in a different way now. You’d come from the movie theatre to a little diner across the road. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you were pretty sick of burgers because you worked around the smell sixteen hours a week. Besides, you really were having way too much fun to even think about what you were putting in your mouth.

“Unless you want to.” He backtracked, looking worried. Like he’d said something he shouldn’t. “Did I offend you? It’s just I wanted to take you out on this date so it’s only right I pay.”

“It’s fine,” you smiled, letting him happily pay for your food. He’d already paid for the movie tickets online, so you’d just naturally taken it that you’d be splitting.

“But Yoongi,” you nestled up to him as you left the diner, looping your arm inside his. He froze for a second, taken aback by your forwardness. Truthfully you shocked yourself too, but it felt nice, and you carried on walking, slower than before, as he waited for what you had to say. “I agreed to come on the date, so it’s not like I was held against my will.” You laughed. “I’ll pay next time?”

“Next time?” He repeated, reaching his car at the same time. You nodded and broke apart, stopping beside him, feeling weirdly nervous. You hoped you hadn’t assumed wrongly. That would be the most embarrassing thing ever. You’d had fun tonight, and it would be sad if that was all it was. One night. You sort of wanted more. Was that wrong?

But no sooner had he processed your question, he was grinning. “Right… next time. Where do you want to go? You can choose.” He offered.

You had a lightbulb moment. “Oh, well… Actually never mind.” You shook your head before you could begin, realising it was probably a stupid idea.

“No, come on,” he insisted, fingers wrapping around your wrist as he tugged gently. Your heart jumped. You were not used to this. Your heart only ever jumped where sex was concerned. A date to watch a movie was usually not what made your pulse quicken. But here you were, desperate for a second one. “Where do you want to go?” He looked like he was eager to do whatever it was.

You looked down at your feet, and Yoongi’s fingers traveled to your hand, holding it loosely. You hadn’t held hands in while. You remembered you did it once with Seokjin just to freak him out, but that didn’t count because well, it was Seokjin. Your mind fleeted to him for a moment, wondering what he was doing right now… You couldn’t help it. You’d felt a little guilty when you’d told him about the date. Even though you shouldn’t, and he wasn’t even bothered… Whatever. Now wasn’t the time.

“Well, it’s just I have two tickets at home for a textile exhibition at this museum pretty close by…but it’s tomorrow. So. Short notice.” You shrugged, easily giving him a way out if he found the idea too boring. Lina was supposed to go with you but it turned out she had to go visit her grandparents for the weekend. You could go on your own, it was no big deal, it’s just you had the spare admission.

“No. That’s fine,” he smiled. “I can do tomorrow. What time is it?”

“Noon.” You replied quickly, still unsure. “Are you sure? Do you like things like that?”

He chuckled, letting go of your hand to step backwards and open the passenger’s side for you. You got in as he spoke. “Textiles is like fabric, right? Clothes?” You nodded, laughing along. He shrugged. “I like fashion a lot.”

“That’s good then.” You suppressed your grin. You could tell Yoongi had some kind of interest in clothing by the way he dressed. No one was born with a fashion sense like that. Actually, that was one of the first things you’d noticed about him. Clothing always caught your eye. You waited until he was in the driver’s seat before you spoke again. “I major in fashion history and design.”

“You do?” He asked, sounding instantly interested.

“Yeah,” you lifted your shoulder casually.

You spoke in his car for an hour before he drove you home. You used the time to get to know one another more, telling him all about the major he previously didn’t know you did. You didn’t know he majored in physical education either, but it made perfect sense. He even invited you to one of his games next month. When he bid you goodnight he insisted on getting out his car, making plans on your doorstep to meet tomorrow morning. You were driving this time.

The exhibition date went really well. Yoongi even dressed up a little flashy. Texting you that morning to double check the dress code. You had never seen a guy suit a pair of loafers before, but there he was, looking fine as hell in them. If he found the place boring he didn’t let on, and he even helped you snap photos for your project that was due. By the end of the exhibition his fingers had found their way tightly laced with yours. You could get used to this hand holding lark, you thought to yourself.

The afternoon went by too quickly, and sadly you had to settle going for a quick coffee instead of finding a little café to eat at because you had work in a couple of hours.

“Where do you work?” He asked, looking interested.

You wrinkled your nose. “At Wendy’s”

“You don’t like it?” He chuckled. Even a fool could read your expression.

“No, I love smelling like grease all day.” The sarcasm tasted funny in your mouth before you shrugged. “It’s okay. Could be worse.”

He gaze on you lingered for a moment before he suggested something. “Wouldn’t you like to work somewhere a little more suited to your passion?”

“I don’t know,” you said, looking down at your mug. “I have thought about it…” To get out of that burger place would be a dream.

“Go for it.” He encouraged cutely. God. Cutely. What was up with you? It did make you giggle though. “It’ll look popping on your resume.” And then some.

“Popping on your resume,” you repeated, high pitched and in disbelief. “What are you? A middle aged uncle trying to be hip?”

“Shut up,” he whined quietly.

“But thank you,” you told him, reaching for his hand across the table to give it a grateful squeeze. “I’ll bear that in mind.” Your hands stayed like that until you were ready to leave.

He kissed you for the first time too that day. Or did you kiss him? You couldn’t really remember, it all happened so naturally. You were at your door again, both hands lightly holding one another’s as you said goodbye. This time there was no talk of a third date, but you could tell it was to be the natural progression.

He smiled down at you. You smiled back, and then your lips were meeting. It was a brief kiss, lasting no longer than 5 seconds, but it was warm, and gentle. Had your lips tingling all night, made work more bearable.

“You’re a really good kisser,” you told him as he pulled away, blinking a little too quickly, because you were not used to this feeling. You were not used to a small kiss making your knees weak and your head dizzy.

“Thank you.” He smiled, cheeks round, growing pink at the apples.

He text you just as you arrived at work, making you laugh out loud like an idiot, much to the puzzled eyes of coworkers, but you didn’t care.

Yoongi (17:45pm) Hi What I should have said was “you’re a good kisser too”

You (17:46pm) thank you why don’t you tell me that in person next time :’)

Yoongi (17:46pm) lol and when is this next time happening?

That evening you actually served people with a smile, much to the astonishment of your boss. Little did he know you were imagining every customer to be Yoongi.

Dating Yoongi was a new kind of fun. You’d never known the excitement something like that could bring. Although you were insanely sure it was because Yoongi was the guy in question. With each time you saw him, each time you messaged one another, you seemed to fall a little harder. It would be correct to say you’d never felt like this before. Your relationships in the past seemed to happen hot and fast, ended quite the same too. You were into them because you were attracted to them. Most of the time you didn’t take into consideration whether your personalities worked well together. But almost every time, you were left confused and dejected when things ended. You hid it well, but it was a little worrying to think how all your past relationships had ended so offhandedly. The last straw had been when your most recent ex had cheated on you. Nothing had made you feel more insignificant. Unwanted.

Granted, you had rushed into the hook up with Seokjin, but that was the exact difference. It was a hook up. You’d never done that before, and while dubious at it first, it seemed like the best thing you’d done concerning guys in general. There was no stress, no worry as to if he wasn’t into you as much, because all it was boiled down to was sex. In some ways the arrangement with Jin had been a breath of fresh air. A friendship had formed, and even though you teased one another back and forth continuously, you knew he thought so too. You were unofficial friends. Unofficial friends who fucked.

That’s why you were a little bit sad when things ended. Inevitable really. Things had been different ever since you’d told Lina. You couldn’t explain it, you’d just become more self-aware. More realistic. You couldn’t carry on this fuck buddy thing forever. It had to end sometime, and well, Yoongi showing an interest in you sped that process up. Since you’d shared that brief kiss with him there’d been some guilt tearing at your chest. With each kiss that followed it grew harder to ignore, and that was what made you acknowledge your feelings towards him in the end. You wouldn’t be feeling like this if what you and he were doing meant nothing. You didn’t want to continue this if you were still involved with Seokjin. It was unfair to both of them. You knew that.

Although Seokjin seemed unbothered by it. Expected, but it still seemed strange to leave his apartment one last time. The sex that night has been pretty shit, your mind elsewhere, worrying and wondering how things would go. Seokjin felt alien to you now that you were a little besotted with Yoongi. The things he said, the way he acted, they seemed different all of a sudden. He realised things were off too… Maybe that’s why it felt so strange. It was over just like that, you didn’t really have much time to dwell on it. You were instantly distracted, your new relationship with Yoongi taking up every thought and feeling you had.

The guilt gone, you felt freer than ever, could fall for him as hard as you wanted. Yoongi was different to any other guy you’d dated in the past. He was sweet, keen to take things slowly, and in the end that just drove you wilder. With each kiss and hug goodbye he gave you, you were beginning to itch for more.

“Want to come inside?” You asked him one night on your doorstep, one of his arms slung around your waist, one of yours around his neck. He’d just kissed you so painfully slow you thought you’d surely pass out, tasting hints of his tongue that you desperately needed more of.

He’d looked a little hesitant, but there was an offer of food to go with it, and that seemed too good to pass up. He’d taken you to a gig, one of his favourite bands were playing down town, and while super fun, there’d been nothing to eat there. You were starving by the end of the night and so was he it seemed. You made him cup ramen as he stood awkwardly by your refrigerator. Adorably cute as always.

“You live alone?” He asked. It was kind of hard not to notice the one roomed apartment. Small but cosy, you’d fallen in love with this place as soon as you’d viewed it. Your father had been quite pleased with how efficient (and cheap) the place was too, so that helped with getting your own way. You’d been desperate to move out for a while, and your parents had to let go of their baby girl some time. It wasn’t that far away from your family home though, so you didn’t have to admit you missed them quite yet, able to visit regularly.

“Yeah I moved in not so long ago thanks to my parents.” You smiled sheepishly. You paid all the bills that came with it, but admittedly, they paid the rent.

“Oh. I see.” He teased. “Someone’s spoilt.”

You laughed, acting affronted. “That’s what…” You trailed off, realising who you were about to mention. Seokjin always teased you like that. You were certain, although you couldn’t be sure, that Yoongi had no clue about your history with Jin. You’d debated on whether you should tell him or not, but the timing was never right and now it seemed pointless. Besides, there was no competition. If there was a choice, you’d chosen Yoongi. As soon as you’d realised your feelings, you’d stopped things with Seokjin. Simple.

“That’s not entirely true,” you started again, hoping your save worked. “They only pay the rent.”

Yoongi carried on smiling, stepping closer. If he noticed something, he didn’t let on. “Fair enough. But I guess that’s why you always let me pay for stuff, huh?”

“Lies.” You huffed, pushing his cup of ramen to him so he could take it, stopping him short of wrapping his arms around you. Which was a mistake, because you really wanted that. The flirting was fun though. “We share it as much as you let me.” He kept buying things in advance, refusing to tell you how much they were.

You showed him to your couch where you switched on the TV, hoping this would at least persuade him to stay a little longer tonight. You were still on a high from the gig, feeling all giddy inside when you remembered how he’d held your hips from behind, rested his chin on your shoulder. You were desperate to feel his lips on yours again. He hadn’t kissed you all night.

Once you’d finished eating, empty cups on your coffee table, you settled on watching some lame movie you’d found on one of the cable channels. You hoped as you shifted nearer to him it looked natural. You felt his gaze on you, and when you looked up, he was smiling fondly. Your heart did that fluttering thing again, but it didn’t have time to settle because he was cupping your jaw, leaning down to meet your lips.

The kiss was quick. He pulled away to wait for your reaction like he usually did. “Finally.” You murmured. “Took you long enough.”

He whined lowly. “We were eating. Remind me to put mints in my pocket next time.”

You rolled your eyes. “Like I care about that.” You’d taste the same in the end. That seemed to do the trick anyway, and soon he was kissing you again.

He was slow at first, like he usually was, but this time it wasn’t a kiss goodbye. It was just a kiss. A kiss you’d been longing for. For a while. His tongue swiped against your bottom lip, like it had many times before, but this time he didn’t just stop it at that. He didn’t just stop it when your tongue brushed against his, stealing hints like you did usually. This time he pushed deeper into your mouth, his hands gripping your face tighter, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

It grew hot fast, your mind clouded instantly. No matter how long you’d hoped for this, you still weren’t ready, finding it hard to keep up with his constant change in motions. He kept switching from rampant presses of his lips against yours to wide strokes of his tongue. One of his hands moved to your side, gently squeezing and stroking the skin over your clothing.

“Yoongi,” you breathed, voice shaky when he pulled away to catch his breath. You were about a second away from climbing on top his lap, needing to feel his body against yours somehow, but like minded he began to settle you down into the sofa, following suit as he pushed his body into yours, meeting your mouth again.

This was even better. The feeling of his weight on top of yours as he ran his hands down your body carefully. The eagerness of his mouth and tongue. You clung to him, hands sliding down his back, one slipping under his hoody because you couldn’t help yourself, feeling the smooth skin of his back under your fingertips.

You were both out of breath, but he sounded so sexy, each exhale getting more and more laboured, almost panting against your mouth. You panted too, but each one ended in a sweet sigh and it seemed to drive him wild, tongue licking more determinedly, desperate to make you continue. When he groaned in the end, you couldn’t help but circle your hips into his, the heat between your bodies driving you wild, and that’s when you felt his erection against your inner thigh. Your hand slid out from under his hoody, pushing down against his hip instead, desperate to feel more. He gave it to you in the form of a grunt, grinding down against you.

Something changed that night between you. You’d never been so sure of your feelings.

“Are you going to make me cum still dressed?” You laughed weakly, pulling away from Yoongi’s mouth but still unable to stop grinding into him. You’d been making out for what felt like hours, Yoongi underneath you, straddled on your couch, where he was most nights since you’d invited him in the first time.

He didn’t reply, just gripped your ass, pressing you down on his hard on. It only reminded you how wet you were, underwear sodden, stuck to your core. You ached for some type of release, and if he kept this up, you’d cum soon. You couldn’t take much more, skin hot and sticky, uncomfortable.

“Yoongiii,” you whined into his mouth, sounding desperate. You hoped it would work. This had been the usual set up for a week or so. Practically dry humping like a pair of hormonal teenagers. It seemed to get worse every time. Sick of only feeling his dick, you wanted it inside you instead.

He pulled away from your mouth slowly, something in his eyes that told you he was unsure of something. When he spoke, you realised why. “You’re…you’re not still hooking up with Jin, are you?”

You were shocked to say the least, but you quickly realised how stupid you had been to think Yoongi had no clue about your past. Suddenly, Seokjin and you seemed like a dirty little secret. You panicked. Already fighting over words to try and explain everything but stopped yourself. He deserved the simple answer. At least, for starters.

“No,” you shook your head slowly, weaving your fingers into his shirt, looking down at him. “I ended that a little while ago.” You really needed to say more. It wasn’t enough. “Yoongi, I—”

“Good.” He cut you off, your mouth open in surprise, but before you could close it again, he was kissing you. Harder. Faster. Hands trailing down your body, slipping under your top, pawing at your clammy skin. “God, I want to feel you so bad.”

You moaned immediately. His words what you’d been longing to hear for a while. Up until now, the erection was the only real sign that had told you he was into you. Words never seemed to be his forte, but you took that as him just being quiet. However maybe he’d been worried about what type of relationship you had with Seokjin instead.

“Say my name again,” he asked into your mouth, one hand gripping your ass, kneading the flesh. Your head was a little thrown. You’d gone from horny and desperate to guilty, back to horny and desperate. You knew maybe deep down you should try and at least talk about the Jin thing, but Yoongi seemed like he couldn’t care less now that you’d given him a straight answer. Like he’d needed that confirmation and now everything was fine.

“Yoongi.” You gasped, giving him his request. “I want you too.”

“Cum first.” Your body jolted as his command. Woah, okay. Where did that come from? He pulled away from your mouth to smile a little, but he was out of breath, each exhale shaky and he jerked into your touch when you ran your hands down his chest, shuffling closer.

“Cum like this. You’re nearly there. I want to see your face.” He rasped, nudging his hips into yours. It really wouldn’t take you long. You’d worked yourself up all night. Longer than that even, and Yoongi was super hard. His dick rubbed against your core every time you circled over him, getting yourself off on his body as he watched. He stayed silent after his little outburst, which was hotter than you expected, and soon, under his gaze, you came. It was hard and fast, your body almost shivering as you lifted from him, fingers digging into his sides. It was one of those orgasms that were an odd mix between satisfying and frustrating. Satisfying because it knocked you for six, but frustrating because a) you’d given it to yourself, and b) you wanted Yoongi more than ever now.

“Shit,” he muttered as your hands raced for his fly, unzipping him clumsily. You were acting with a buzzed mind, desperate and impatient. You needed to see him, get your hands on him. You needed to feel his dick in your hand. “Aw, y-yeah,” he panted when you finally did, jutting into you, desperate for some friction.

“Yoongi, you’re so hard,” you murmured, looking at him with your mouth parted slightly. He was so hot and solid against your palm you wondered if it was painful in any way. It just made you want him more, owning the fact you’d made him this hard.

“Gonna explode,” he strangled out with a weak chuckle, eyes fluttering downwards as he watched you rake your fist over him. “God.” He groaned, digging his fingers into your hips. “Can we? I mean,” he shook his head, correcting himself. “You want to have sex?”

You could have screamed yes from the rooftops, nodding your head widely. “Took you long enough,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck as you moved closer, letting him tug your shorts down. His hands squeezed at your ass, fingers hooking under your underwear to pull that down too, and you worked together to wiggle and kick them down your body and onto the floor. He pushed you back so he could get a look between your legs, satisfaction audible as he began to rub two fingers across your folds.

No. You were going to blow up if you didn’t feel him inside you immediately. You couldn’t take much more, especially as you felt his dick graze against your core, making you physically ache. “Condom?” You rushed out, looking down at him, shaking him slightly. “Do you have a condom?”

“Back pocket, back pocket.” Words jumbled out of him, just as impatient, and you practically lunged behind him, hand grabbing for his wallet clumsily as he tried to hover, letting you reach. “Fuck,” he grunted in frustration as you struggled. It would definitely be easier if you broke apart for a moment, but that didn’t seem possible, and finally you fished the leather out of his pocket, opening it and searching for the little foil packet. You found two, grinning at him. “You came prepared.”

He gave you a sheepish smile but was too horny to let your teasing embarrass him, his hands falling to his crotch to tug his jeans down. Excited, you grabbed a condom and ripped it open, bringing it to his dick. “Ready?”

He nodded as you slipped it on, cupping your face to pull you closer. He kissed your mouth gently. “If I cum immediately I swear I can go again. Just give me ten minutes.”

“Yoongi,” you whined weakly as he chuckled.

“What? It’s true,” he grinned, wrapping his hands around your waist to lift you up and align you with his dick. “Now, quit making me wait any longer.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “You’re the one that made us wait.”

He kissed you again, smiling into your mouth before you broke apart. “You can’t rush a good thing.” Your heart fluttered, smiling too. That seemed about right. The longer you’d waited, the happier you’d gotten. Your face may split in half from all the grinning, still there when he slowly stretched you out, never taking your gaze off one another.

“You good?” You asked breathlessly, once he’d bottomed out, chests rising up and down in sync.

He hummed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Feel like I’m in heaven.”

“Wow, cringe,” you rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck as you began moving.

Yoongi made no attempt to speak again, but at this point it didn’t throw you anymore. His silence still made you wet, still got you hot, and by the way he was looking up at you as if you owned his entire world, that was enough. He came in a sweat, arms wrapped tightly around your middle as he stiffened, panting loudly together. When he came to, he tugged at your top, words blending into one another, voice low. “I need to get you out of these clothes.”

Forty-five minutes later you found yourself wrapped inside your sheets in bed, sticky with sweat and out of breath. Yoongi really wasn’t joking around when he said he could go again. It felt nice to lay beside him, your head on his chest as he played with your fingers, and in the comforting silence, you felt the urge to apologise.

“Yoongi,” you began, spreading apart from him so you could see his face. He looked at you questioningly. “I’m sorry I never told you about Seokjin.” In hindsight, that seemed like a terrible idea on your end. Yes, maybe Seokjin and you were nothing serious, but that still didn’t mean you should’ve kept it a secret. It should’ve been the first thing you’d told him.

His expression softened, hand reaching to brush through your hair lightly. “You didn’t really need to,” he shrugged. “Pretty much everyone knew.” His casualness relieved you a little, but if you really thought about it, that made it worse because he knew that you were staying silent. Not that he seemed to mind. You heard him chuckle, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I saw you together at that party once, remember?”

No wonder everyone knew. How had you been so oblivious? What would people think now? You’d gone from one guy to another. No, you couldn’t think like that. What did it matter anyway? Who cared what people thought. You knew the truth. “What party?” You wondered, curious as to why he seemed so amused.

You couldn’t even remember what party he was referring to, but he seemed a little sheepish as he shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. “It’s nothing.”

“No, c’mon,” you urged, rolling back into him. You were interested now, wanting to recall that night. It couldn’t have been bad if he found it funny. “Tell me,” you grinned as he wound his arms around your waist, squishing you into his warmth. It was hard not to kiss him outright. But if you did that, you’d just get distracted, and you were trying to do the right thing here and talk.

He lifted his shoulder again, but gave in. “It’s just I went to get you a drink that night. I saw you on your own.” You frowned, trying to rack your brains. “And right as I was coming through the doorway you came whizzing out. Straight upstairs.” He laughed at his own misfortune, making sure to look you in the eyes as he finished. “You came down with him half an hour later…”

Oh. You remembered now. That was the night Seokjin insisted you fuck him in a closet. How could you forget that Yoongi had been there? Thinking back, the memories became clearer. You had liked what Yoongi was wearing that night. You’d said hi to him. Did he ever say hi back? If he saw you that night with Jin, you couldn’t really recall, and now you felt bad…

“I’m sorry,” you winced, pulling a face. It was lame, but you meant it.

“No, don’t be,” he shook his head, smiling. “It’s kinda funny.” It made you feel better to know that he wasn’t bothered by the past. “Doesn’t matter now anyway,” he added, your heart stopping when he kissed you. You got lost for a moment, just enjoying the way his mouth felt against yours. You really could kiss him forever and never get bored. “I can’t believe this actually happened though,” he admitted when he pulled away, your noses rubbing together slightly.

God. When had you ever felt this content? It was a foreign feeling, one you had never felt before, and deep down you knew you owed it to yourself to be truthful. You were sometimes so scared of being happy and just letting yourself feel, that opportunities past you by. You didn’t want Yoongi to pass you by. You wanted him to stay. He was a good guy.

“Yoongi…” You began, voice slightly shaking with nerves. He tilted his head, a hand playing up your back. You took a deep breath. “I like you. A lot.” You had never been so honest in all your life. You could hear your heart thudding inside your chest. You didn’t give him a chance to reply, already freaking out. “Is that scary? It sounds scary.”

“No,” he exclaimed, moving to cup your face. “No, why would it be scary?” He chuckled.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice small. It was scary because you had just confessed your feelings. It was scary because he may not like you back. It was scary because it didn’t seem real. It was scary because this was all new… You could go on, but for some reason, you couldn’t tell him all that.

“It’s not scary at all,” he insisted. “It’s brilliant, because I like you too.” Your eyes widened, still unable to get your hopes up, but he carried on and it was getting harder and harder to stay pessimistic. “More than a lot. Just wasn’t sure you liked me back,” he smiled. “Now I am.”

He found your lips again. You got lost once more. This was really happening. Everything really was working out. “So, what does this mean?” He asked eventually, when you were out of breath from all that kissing. “We’re dating?”

“I thought we were dating this whole time,” you said, voice small. Dates meant dating, right? That’s what you’d been doing for weeks.

He smiled and nodded, like he’d needed confirmation. “We were. Okay, so…” He raised an eyebrow. “We could make it official? Boyfriend. Girlfriend.”

“I’d like that.” You’d more than like that. You could probably keel over from how happy you were right now.

“I’d like that, too.” Another kiss. This time he flipped you on your back, rolled on top of you. Once again you were getting sticky under your sheets, out of breath and pulsing with desire. “You know what else I’d like?” He hummed, running a hand down your stomach, hair a little messy from where you’d run your fingers all through it. “To taste you…”

That was the night you found out Yoongi had been blessed by the pussy eating god. You came fast, in a daze, legs shaking, wondering how you’d lucked out so good. Yoongi was a little worse for wear. It turned out going down on you really got to him too. He was hard again, dick brushing between your legs and he whined in your ear, annoyed with himself. “I really wish I’d carried more than two condoms with me.”

You giggled, reaching for his tongue, tasting yourself. “It’s okay.” He let you roll him over easily, watching you curiously. He looked good in your bed, you thought to yourself. If you had your way, he’d never leave. You smirked. “How about I return the favour?”

You’d never really considered yourself a nostalgic person. The past was the past for a reason, and you rarely let yourself get caught up in memories. However, that was changing now. It had been three days since the party and three days since you’d seen Yoongi. You were too scared to message or call him, especially because he hadn’t made any attempt to either, and you’d grown sick of religiously checking your phone every few minutes. You didn’t want to assume you were over, especially because there had been no argument involved, but you had a bad feeling in your gut, and with the radio silence, all you had were your thoughts.

All you had was time to think about how good things had been and now wondering what went wrong? Nothing made sense. Why would Yoongi suggest such a crazy thing? Another threesome? It seemed so absurd, so unneeded. You’d been so happy for these past few weeks, ever since… Maybe you were stupid. You’d been a little deluded, thinking what happened between you, Yoongi and Seokjin was a good thing. Unconventional yes, but it had seemed to work… There had been no consequences. Until now…

Now, the first point of call was to blame yourself. Thinking back to the beginning of your relationship with Yoongi, everything had been perfect. You replayed the memories over and over before bed at night. Yes, he wasn’t what you were used to, and sometimes he was hard to read, but you never questioned his feelings towards you. You’d never questioned yours either. You’d just questioned your compatibility. Sometimes it felt like he didn’t get you. Sometimes it felt like something was missing. Was it a sexual thing?

So what if he liked to stay silent? So what if you didn’t have sex as often as you were used to? It seemed silly now to know you’d felt that way. It was the most minuscule problem in the world, but somehow you’d found yourself comparing everything to how it was with Seokjin. Or at least the sex. Because that’s all you and he ever had been. Maybe you could try and blame him? Seokjin was the one who’d messaged you that night, but it just felt wrong to place all the responsibility on his shoulders. You hadn’t ignored him, you’d played along, and you’d enjoyed it.

But why had Yoongi said yes? You shouldn’t blame yourself if he agreed to the threesome, if he’d enjoyed himself. Because he had. He was different that night, but it felt natural. Like he’d been holding back on you, and things had changed. Afterwards, you were happier than ever. You were closer. The sex got better, and even though you both outright didn’t acknowledge the threesome after that, you were on the same page. But that night was supposed to have been a one off.

So you guessed you weren’t on the same page because he’d tried to make it happen again. Why, you were stumped. It made you question everything. You had no desire for a repeat. You were under the impression Yoongi and you were working towards something more serious. This was the longest relationship you’d been involved in. An actual relationship. Where you labelled it just that. How could you have been so wrong? There was no other explanation. The first threesome had happened when you were both maybe feeling the uncertainty of a new relationship, but to ask for a second when you thought you guys were as fine as ever was a blow your heart couldn’t handle. Especially because you had no explanation from his end.

Yoongi was supposed to be different to the other guys you’d been with in the past, but right now you weren’t so sure. You were lost, relationships like this over your head. You didn’t know how to handle it. You didn’t know how to solve it. You’d always looked at Yoongi for some direction, but now he was nowhere to be seen…

That’s why you were so relieved when he turned up at your door a day later. Any anger you had at him for pretty much ignoring you dispersed as soon as you saw his face. It was a little pathetic, but you didn’t care.

“Hey,” he greeted you. A tiny sheepish smile tugging at one side of his mouth, hands in his front pockets. “Can I come inside?”

You nodded quickly, stepping back to let him in. You were still a little shocked to see him, honestly about to hit the hay and call it a night not moments before even though it was only 7pm. Classes had been shitty today, and it was getting pretty difficult pretending things were okay between you and Yoongi when it came to Lina. She still had no clue about your threesome, so you couldn’t very well confide in her now. Besides, she was on cloud nine after going on a date with the guy she’d met at the party, so you didn’t want to be a downer.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Yoongi started immediately as he shut the door. For a moment those words scared you. Were they a I’m sorry but it’s over kind of apology, or I’m sorry, please forgive me? You stayed silent, not really trusting your own voice. He continued.

“About everything. The other night. The awkward, stupid predicament I put you in.” He raised his hands to his head, tugging at his grey beanie. He sounded sorry at least. The dread left you a little. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. Almost immediately.

He shook his head, insisted. “No, it’s not.”

“Yoongi.” You stepped closer to him. “I’m just glad you’re here…apologising.” And you were. For days you thought you wouldn’t even have that. You were scared things would just fizzle out without an explanation. That’s how things usually went for you. The relief flooding through your body right now was something you’d longed for.

“I was really, really drunk,” he said, stopping and starting as he hovered like he couldn’t relax. “I lost my head a bit, and I’m embarrassed.” He couldn’t look you in the eyes, and you felt bad for him, reaching for his hand. He stopped in his tracks, finally his gaze flickering over your face. “I didn’t know if you wanted to see me. You didn’t message me, so I…”

“I didn’t think you wanted to see me.”

“No, what?” He sounded guilt-ridden, his hand squeezing yours. That was the first bit of physical reassurance he’d shown you. “Please don’t ever think that.”

“You said you didn’t want me to go with you.” Your voice was small, and now it was your turn not to look him in the eyes. To feel unwanted wasn’t something you enjoyed, regardless if you were imagining it or not.

“I know,” he murmured. “That’s just because I felt awful over everything.”

That did make sense. He was embarrassed because of what happened. You would be too. But still… You didn’t really have a clear enough explanation. He was very drunk that night, yes, but why was his first thought to proposition Seokjin and you? It was really out of character. It didn’t make much sense. Why he’d want a redo if you were happier than ever… You could question him more. Or at least try to, but what use would that do? His apology was sincere anyway, you could tell that. You knew him. Pressing for a logical reason probably wasn’t the best thing to do. You just wanted to forget about it. Move on and pretend it never happened.

You stretched a smile across your face. It wasn’t fake. It was just a little hard to do. “That’s okay then.”

He looked over your face, like he was trying to read your expression. He must’ve seen something he was hoping for because slowly he wound his arms around your middle, smiling softly. “I’m sorry for leaving you there. With him…”

The distaste in his voice took you by surprise. Yes, it seemed like he and Seokjin weren’t the biggest fans of one another, Yoongi had tried to fight him after all a few nights ago, but like he said, he was drunk. You really weren’t expecting the outright disdain. Maybe because you never really spoke about the other guy, and more so because Yoongi had been the one to suggest a repeat. He couldn’t have it both ways. That just didn’t make sense.

“It’s fine,” you reassured him, wanting the awful experience just to be over. There was no point keeping it going. What good would it do? “Seokjin and I talked for a bit. He’s okay with it,” you shrugged offhandedly.

“It’s not really fine though, is it?” He persisted. “Nothing happened, did it?” Your heart stopped. What did that mean? Was he asking you if something happened between the two of you? The near kiss popped into your head. If it was even that. Seokjin had intercepted it so well you couldn’t be sure if you’d even tried in the first place. You hadn’t wanted to kiss him, you’d just been upset that night. Seokjin had been nothing but a friend. For the past couple of days you couldn’t even let yourself think about him anyway, too distracted with Yoongi and your relationship near to tatters.

“He wasn’t a dick to you?” Yoongi continued, confusing and easing you at the same time. He wasn’t asking you if anything happened, but he was making stupid assumptions.

“What? No,” you chuckled awkwardly. “He’s not like that. He’s…” You stopped yourself from sticking up Seokjin. What good would it do? It was pretty irrelevant. It had nothing to do with Yoongi and you. Nothing to do with your relationship. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just forget about it,” you shook your head, hooking your arms around his neck.

It was strange. You’d resolved things but it still felt weird. Yoongi was acting strange, not like him, and you damned the evening you’d ever agreed to go to that stupid party. It had fucked everything up and it wasn’t fair. You just needed to forget it ever happened. Murmuring his name you kissed him firmly, wanting to distract him. Make things better. It took him a moment to kiss you back, but once he did that didn’t matter anymore.

“I missed you,” you told him as you broke apart, tilting your head.

He viewed you once again, gaze lingering, reading you. It was like he was searching for something, a reaction from you. When he smiled and reached for your lips again on his own accord, you felt like you’d passed whatever silent test he’d created. You didn’t care anyway, not when you were in his arms.

“I’m sorry again,” he said when you began dragging him to the sofa. “It’s okay if I stay?” He asked, when the back of your knees hit the cushions.

“Of course!” You exclaimed, pouting. “Unless you want to leave…”

He laughed and shook his head, popping down and tugging you with him. You relished each tug of his mouth, each swipe of his tongue. His arms still wrapped around your body, holding you to him. Your hands slipped under his hoody, wanting to just feel him. Just to feel close in any way possible after you’d been so sure it was over.

He stopped you soon after that, wrapping his fingers around your wrists. “Hey, wanna just lie here?” He asked softly, kissing your forehead.

You nodded. “Yes, please.” To be honest, whatever he thought you were trying to do had been wrong. You were just content with cuddling him, being close in other ways. Kissing and feeling were enough, just to remind you that you guys were okay and happy. He’d probably mistaken your wondering hands, no big deal.

“Tell me about your day. What you’ve been up to these last few days…” He hummed as you laid your head on his chest, one of his hands playing with the ends of your hair.

And you did. You talked for so long it reminded you of the start of your relationship where you were just getting to know one another. You spoke for so long you began to get sleepy, eyes feeling heavy and droopy until you were practically asleep. You could tell he’d nodded off too, and you couldn’t wait to follow, but then your brain betrayed you. In the silence it had time to start up again. You were doing an awful lot of thinking lately.

You should’ve felt happy. At ease now that Yoongi and you had made up, and while yes, you’d spent the evening catching up and acting like usual, something still felt off. You were on edge for some reason, and you hated it. You’d never felt on edge with Yoongi. But now you were impatient, waiting on something you didn’t know. Didn’t understand. Why did your relationship seem stagnant already? Like you’d come to a stand still. Hit an imaginary wall. You’d been together for a few months, shouldn’t things have gotten to the next level by now? Feelings should have grown to their full capacity. You were sure of it, but they seemed to be lying dormant instead. There were no love confessions, no sappy words. In all honestly, that confused you. Like you were expecting something that didn’t seem to be coming. Maybe in the deepest part of your mind this felt like a waste of time.

You’d felt like this once before. Not earning for more, just bored with what you had. With Seokjin. This feeling right now. It was just like how you’d felt before you began dating Yoongi. Impatient for no reason. Bored and dejected. That scared you. It scared you more than anything. Yoongi was the one. You were sure of it. So why did you feel like this? Why were you letting yourself think of Seokjin right now?

He hadn’t crept into your mind for so long. Not since the Sohee thing anyway. The library incident had messed with your head, but even after last weekend, you still ploughed on, too preoccupied with your relationship to think about how much you’d enjoyed his company as he’d talked to you and walked you home the night of that party… How surprisingly it wasn’t awkward, despite the last time you’d seen him, the last time you’d slept together… How much his reassurance had comforted you when he’d told you there’d been no one else since Sohee. Just you. You. Seokjin and you.

What you and he had was once upon a time a friendship. A fucked up one, but it was still a friendship. You hadn’t realised what you would be throwing away once you ended things and got serious with Yoongi. What would’ve happened if you’d never given Yoongi a chance? If you’d never gone on that date? Would you still be hooking up with Jin? Or would it have fizzled out? Maybe he would have been the one to end things. The thought made your heart feel weird. It was getting dark outside now, and with the night brought even more confusion. You could hear Yoongi’s faint breathing, feel the way his chest moved under your head, but now your mind was running away with you.

It wasn’t Yoongi. It was Seokjin. You wondered what it would feel like to have him hold you like this. It would have to be the twilight zone, but just imagine. When he’d hugged you the other night it had felt nice. It made all your memories with him flood to the front of your brain. Like you said, you had never been a nostalgic person, but something was changing. Everything was changing. Without your agreement, and you didn’t know how to stop it. No matter how hard you wanted to…

Things continued to feel off for a couple more weeks. On the outside looking in, Yoongi and you looked the same as you had for months. You hung out at one another’s apartments, met up for lunch on campus, held hands, but… You still had the incomplete feeling in your chest. Something was missing. You just didn’t know what. When had everything turned so stale? Like you were just going through the motions, and this time you couldn’t try to blame yourself. In fact, you were trying really hard to get things back on track. It was Yoongi that seemed to be resisting.

“Yoongi,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around him tighter, attempting to pull him closer. To meet your lips.

“Mhm,” he hummed against you, not even bothering to kiss you back as his hands slide down your naked body to grip your hips. “Turn around, baby.” He said, lips brushing down your chest before he turned you over. You would have preferred to stay as you were, to see his face, to be able to kiss him, but you couldn't find it in you to complain, not when it felt so good, pleasure clouding your mind.

“Yeah, that’s more like it," he grunted as you got on your knees, hearing the moan tear from the back of your throat when he slid back inside you. He spanked your ass lightly before grabbing the flesh, thrusting into you harder. “Yeah, you like that." Your noises encouraged him, drilling into you faster. Your orgasm was close, and you clenched your eyes shut, face pressed into the pillow as it hit you.

“Always so good for me,” he groaned, not taking long to finish now that he could feel you squeezing around him. He came inside you, pulling out of you quickly. You felt instantly empty. A little cold too, as he touched your back, motioning for your attention. “Wanna clean up first or should I?”

“You can,” you mumbled, twisting your head to see him already grabbing his sweatpants and making his way to the bathroom.

That was it? No kiss? In fact, it seemed like you were always initiating the kissing these days. Ever since the party and the make up things had changed. It was so subtle maybe you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t already feeling iffy. Apologises were meant to make things better not worse, else what was the point? Tonight was the first time Yoongi flat out hadn’t kissed you after sex. Usually there were a few shared after the come down, a cuddle and some pillow talk. Not escaping to the bathroom first chance he got. Did he realise how shit that made you feel? Like you weren’t worried already…

You were still lying there when he came back, lost in thought but too scared to bring it up. Expressing feelings didn’t seem to be your forte, and that was okay when you were both on the same page. Now it seemed like one of you had lost it. But you didn’t know which one.

“Your turn,” he said, in his defence a little lighter than previously, a slight smile on his face as he jumped into bed. He turned to face you, running his hand down your arm, and thankfully he kissed you. It was only small, but it was enough. Maybe you were being stupid. Worried for nothing, expecting too much. “Quick,” he urged. “You’ll get cold butt naked like that.” You giggled and listened, sitting up to grab your pyjamas.

When you came back from the bathroom, Yoongi was curled up on his side, face hidden by the covers. You quietly crept over to the bed, full intentions of just getting inside too and curling behind him, but that was easier said than done. You wanted to just talk with him and it was still early. Ask him how his day had been. You didn’t have much time earlier, he was getting you naked before you could wonder how he was. Yeah, pillow talk would be nice. Especially now that you were feeling happier.

“Yoongi,” you whispered, hands on his shoulders. You waited in the silence. “Yoongs.” You sung quietly, shaking him a little.

He groaned, voice sounding muffled by the pillow. “What do you want?”

You lifted your shoulder, kissing his cheek. “To cuddle…talk…”

“I’m tired,” he sighed.

You nuzzled into his neck as best you could, wrapping your arm around his middle. You knew he was exhausted after practice, but what you wanted him for wouldn’t take a lot of energy. “I just want to cuddle you.” You hoped you sounded cute.

“Please stop being so annoying.”

It had the opposite effect. Maybe he didn’t mean to sound curt, but you couldn’t help but take it the wrong way. You pulled away from him instantly. “You think I’m annoying?” You asked. “Thanks.” You didn’t want the wobble in your voice, but it was there anyway.

“Oh, come on,” he exclaimed, turning to face you, immediately sensing the tone to your voice. “Don’t get mad over that.” He had the nerve to sound bemused, like he couldn’t understand why you were so offended. You turned your back to him, staring at the opposite wall, trying to ignore the buzz in your head. Confrontation was a new one for you guys.

You felt him move closer, the mattress dipping. He said your name. “Of course you’d be annoying if you’re trying to keep me awake.”

That didn’t cut it. It wasn’t just the comment. Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t have even bothered you. He’d probably called you annoying before, but tonight it was different. There was a weight to his words. Another meaning. The fleeting hope you’d had earlier was now torn to pieces. Nothing had changed. Well, something had changed. That was the issue. Everything you’d built together was slipping away. You couldn’t ignore it any longer.

You twisted around suddenly, sitting up to stare at him. “You know, if you were so tired you could’ve just not come over tonight.”

He frowned, shaking his head as he laughed in disbelief. It made you angrier. He probably thought you were overreacting. “Or, better yet. How come you’re too tired to talk and just lay with me but not too tired to have sex with me?!”

Your apartment was beginning to feel suffocating. The words were out, you couldn’t take them back. Yoongi and you had never had an argument. Not in all these months. Now you were on your second in just two weeks. You were scared because all the worries you’d had lately were spilling out of you. You couldn’t stop them. You hadn’t even let yourself think them properly, so it was just as eye opening for you as it was for him. You were shocked at yourself.

He stared at you, expression hardening. For a minute you thought maybe he was about to help you out. To explain why things had felt so different since the party, but instead he shot you down. “It’s not that deep.” He sighed, two arms folding behind his head as he leant against the headboard. “You’re overthinking everything.”

“No, don’t do that.” You said flatly. He refused to look at you. “Don’t make it seem like I’m the problem?” You would not have him make you believe you were just imagining all this. Why couldn’t he just acknowledge something was up. You hated pretended, and that’s exactly what he was doing right now.

“You’re the one making the problem!” He exploded, raising his hands up in the air in bafflement, but still making sure to keep his voice down. That just infuriated you even more. “We can talk tomorrow. What’s so urgent? Fuck.” He kicked back his head as he cursed, this time a lot louder. The bed frame shook a little.

You were shocked by his outburst, but did he really not understand at all? Why was he pretending nothing was wrong, when he knew more than you. He was the one who had changed. He was the one acting so strange, doing things out of character. This wasn’t the relationship you once had. Why couldn’t he admit that? What had changed and when?

The silence ballooned around you and then you were speaking again. Your words heavy, sinking. “I feel like you’re only into me when we have sex.” Your heart was beating with the realisation. Now that you were letting it out, it wouldn’t stop. This was how you felt. Since when? You had no clue.

Yoongi stared at you like he couldn’t believe it, but you stayed calm, not breaking eye contact until he scoffed and looked away. “Now you’re turning it on me.”

“How?” You demanded. He couldn’t be outright ignoring your feelings.

“I’m only into you when we’re having sex?” He wondered, but you didn’t think it was a question he wanted you to explain. He was visibly agitated now, words cramped like he was trying quickly to get them out. “If I remember correctly I thought I wasn’t enough for you.”

“What the hell?” You cried, shocked by his accusation. “Yoongi…” Where had he gotten that from?

“Are you never happy?” He wasn’t listening, nor stopping. There was a bite to his voice you’d never heard before. It contorted his face. Made him look different. “Even after everything. Even after fucking both me and him.”

The room was spinning. Your head dizzy. Yoongi’s words swirling around unable to stop. You couldn’t speak. He saw that, eyes widening as his expression softened. “I’m sorry.” He realised what he’d said, but it was too late. The damage was done. “I didn’t mean that. Shit,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his face with his palms.

You couldn’t be here. Near him. Not when he’d said such an insulting thing so flippantly. It made you feel gross. Like what you’d done had dirtied you. Is that what he really thought? Almost like you were greedy, uncaring, immoral.

You bolted. There was no where for you to go, apartment so tiny there was only one room you could hide. The bathroom. “No. Wait—” He tried to stop you, reaching out, but you didn’t give him a chance to. “I didn’t mean—”

His voice became muffled when you slammed the door shut behind you, visibly shaking as you pressed your back up against it. You couldn’t make out why you were so upset. Your head was a mess. He’d stayed quiet for so long, and for what? Had he always thought like that? When did he get so resentful? When he’d said those words they were filled with bitterness. How was that possible? After everything that had happened two weeks ago? You needed answers. You deserved answers.

You were storming out of the bathroom before you could blink, back towards the bed. So mad you felt unstoppable. “Is that what you really think?”

He was lying down again, staring up at the ceiling one hand against his forehead. That made you angrier. He should have followed you. He groaned your name, sitting up as you came nearer. “I said I’m sorry. Let’s just forget about what I said. Come here.” He outstretched his hand, voice gentle, filled with regret, but it was too late. “Let’s talk,” he suggested.

You scoffed. Like that wasn’t what you’d wanted all evening. “Yeah. Let’s talk. Let’s talk about how you asked for another threesome not even two weeks ago! How care you turn it all on me!”

His eyes flashed, hardening his features as he gritted out, “you know I was drunk!”

“No.” You shook your head, indignant. ‘That doesn’t cut it, Yoongi.” You were sick of him not telling you how he felt. You were sick of walking around pretending you were oblivious. Granted, this wasn’t how you wanted it to go, but it was too late now. You’d yell the place down if you didn’t get a straight answer.

“I let you just brush it off, but I want answers,” you demanded, voice breaking as you stomped your foot and clenched your fists. Maybe childishly, but you didn’t care. You were so frustrated. “I deserve fucking answers. I’m your girlfriend, for crying out loud!”

He shook his head slightly, looking down at his lap as he muttered. “I told you. I was drunk.”

Shit. You didn’t want to cry. You really didn’t. But everything had escalated so much you were finding it hard to hold your tears back. Funny thing was, you’d never been much of a crier until recently. Maybe you were weak. When faced with reality it was all you could do. Still, you held it in as best you could, sitting on the edge of your bed, back turned to Yoongi.

You spoke to the wall, voice tiny. “What’s wrong with us?” You were exhausted. Worn out from the night’s events. But really when you thought about it, what had you expected? If you were both so hellbent on pretending, it was all bound to blow up soon enough. Something told you that you should’ve had this conversation two weeks ago. When he’d arrived at your doorstep with his apology. But you both were too afraid, and now it had come to this. You prayed you could work it out.

“Something feels like it’s missing and I don’t know what…” You didn’t even know when it became missing. It all happened so fast.

He murmured your name. It didn’t sound good. Reminded you of the time your parents had to tell you your dog died. “I’m sorry,” he continued. The mattress dipped as he moved closer to you, but you still couldn’t look at him. Your eyes were blurry as you still stared at the wall. “It’s all on me.”

It’s not you, it’s me. God, was he really going for that right now? It was always that. How many times had a guy told you that with fake sincerity? Yoongi wasn’t supposed to be like them. He was different. He was the one who made you feel all giddy inside. Made you smile, made you laugh. He was the one who encouraged you to quit Wendy’s and take a chance at fashion retail. He was the one who hugged you from behind and kissed your cheek when he missed you. He was your first proper relationship. You felt the difference that night in bed when he suggested you become exclusive. This bed you were sitting on now. In such a short amount of time things had changed. Was it always supposed to be like this? You felt fooled.

“I just..I…” He trailed off, finding it difficult to continue. You heard him swallow. “This isn’t working out the way I wanted it to. The way I thought it would.”

You sniffed loudly, a tear running down your cheek and you acted quickly to brush it away. Okay, that was a new one. You didn’t get what he meant. Especially because everything had been fine for you. You felt his hand on your shoulder, urging you to turn and look at him. “Hey…” He said gently. “Come on, look at me.”

He sounded like Yoongi, the Yoongi you were used to. So it was hard not to listen. You slowly turned and were met with his face. His eyes looked sorry, eyes glistening a little, and you knew then that this was hurting him too. He wasn’t like those other guys. It wasn’t an excuse. He probably hadn’t wanted to hurt you. That’s why he’d kept quiet, but he couldn’t hide it well.

You sniffed again, determined to keep your tears at bay. “Is it. Is it because of what happened between Jin?” You stopped and started. “I’m sorry if it is.”

You didn’t have it in you to feel embarrassed or awkward. The zero acknowledgment had made you question a lot, but if this was going to end, you wanted Yoongi to be truthful.

“No,” he shook his head, adamant. “No, it’s not because of that.” He reached for your face. His touch was still so gentle. You wanted to close your eyes, to relish in it, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t the same. “Not really.” He continued. “And it’s definitely not your fault.” He stressed. “I wanted that to happen. I pretty much instigated it. I enjoyed it, and for a while I really thought it helped us, but…” He tilted his head, eyes searching your face. “Isn’t that kinda fucked up?”

It was funny to look back now. To see things in a new light. If you were so happy together why would you have needed that threesome? It had been a sign more than anything. A bad omen.

But you couldn’t believe that. What you felt for Yoongi was real. Your happiness was real. It was just your thoughts were messed up. Scrambled. The threesome had happened because you had a history with Seokjin. Nothing else. It hadn’t happened because there were underlying problems in your relationship with Yoongi… It couldn’t have been that. How would you explain all the moments of bliss?

“But we were happy,” you almost whimpered, holding onto his hands that cupped your face.

“We were,” he smiled sadly. “It’s all my fault.”

You wanted to ask him why, but your tongue wouldn’t work. The use of past tense was too much. You’d even used it too. He answered without being asked anyway.

“I can’t fall in love with you.” He sounded a little lost. A little confused. A little sorry. “It should’ve happened by now. I was so sure you were the one.”

“Oh, my god,” you uttered in complete shock, lifting your hands from his. You moved your head, trying to make him let go of you. Somehow you hadn’t been expecting that. Or at least, you hadn’t been expecting such a frank confession from Yoongi. Maybe he also realised it was time to be truthful. The pain in your chest couldn’t handle it though.

He held onto your face, desperate to keep you looking at him. Desperate to make you understand. “I care about you so much. Everything about us was real. Is real. I just… We’ve hit a wall and I don’t know how to make it better.”

His voice was beginning to sound weird now. Hoarse and wobbly. This wasn’t fair. Why did this have to be happening? You’d thought the same thing two weeks ago. Hit a wall. How could you be mad at him when deep down you knew he was right? But still, you didn’t want to let go…

You wrapped your fingers around one of his wrists, looking up at him, eyes begging. “Can’t you just give it time?” You didn’t care if Yoongi didn’t love you right now. You knew you’d been thinking about it lately. Wondering when it would happen, but it didn’t matter. You could wait. He was putting pressure on himself. You didn’t care about that stuff. Never had. You just wanted him.

The side of his mouth twitched, face sad as one hand moved to your shoulder, squeezing it gently. He looked you straight in the eyes. “Do you love me?”

His question took you by surprise. No answer came. You were panicking. Not expecting the mental block. You’d been so preoccupied with him taking the lead, wanting him to confess his feelings, that you’d just taken yours for granted. “I–I…” You stammered, racking your brains for an appropriate way to explain. “I’ve never been in love before. I don’t know what it feels like.” How would you know? How could you be sure?

He smiled but there was no happiness with it. His voice was light when he spoke, gentle, soft…like he was comforting you. “Baby, that’s a no.”

You blinked a few times, processing his words. You didn’t love him? You were so confused. “If you felt it, you’d know it,” he carried on. You shook your head, intent on fighting him, but one look at his face and you shut your mouth. He was correct. You wouldn’t be confused if you loved him for real. His thumb caressed your face. “It’s okay. I know you care about me too, but sometimes it’s just better to let go.”

Let go? You didn’t want to. Yoongi was the best thing that had ever happened to you. This was a relationship, like none of the other shit you’d been in before. Guys who called you their girlfriend but hadn’t cared about you. Yes, maybe you didn’t love Yoongi yet, but that would come in due time. Why was he so hellbent on giving up? It was as if he knew something you didn’t.

“Maybe it will take some more time,” you said quietly.

He pulled his hands away from you, making some distance. You knew then there was no more time. “I think,” he began, pausing as he tried to find the right words. “I think the circumstances just aren’t working out of us.”

Maybe he was correct. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was always supposed to end.

“Without love we’re just two friends having sex, and I don’t want that,” he said truthfully. You frowned. That was the complete opposite of what you’d wanted with Yoongi. It was the complete opposite of what he wanted too. It was what you’d had with Seokjin.

Yoongi was saying he would never fall in love with you, for whatever reason, and maybe you would never love him either. That was still a grey area. You were only now realising the reality of the situation.

“I don’t want to lose you from my life, but if we keep pretending, that’s what’s gonna happen.” He said after a pause.

“But I’m going to lose you anyway,” you said, voice whiny, desperate. You reached for his hands. He didn’t pull away.

“You won’t.” He shook his head, letting you link your fingers with his. His hands were warm, like they usually were, but they didn’t bring you comfort. “I want us to be friends. It may take some time, but I promise you, it’ll happen. You mean too much to me for this all to have been for nothing.”

Friends? After all this? That seemed difficult to imagine. Not even an hour ago he’d been your boyfriend. You had not pictured that changing, despite knowing something was weird between you. Your brain couldn’t cope with the whiplash.

“I hate knowing I made you feel like shit.” He said, voice low. “I wasn’t doing it on purpose. I wasn’t using you. I just… I’m sorry for everything. I should’ve said something as soon as I was having doubts, but I was so determined to make it work for us… If I could click my fingers and go back to how things were in the beginning, I would with no hesitation.”

You let his words sink in, getting more and more frustrated. It wasn’t fair. He was telling you things hadn’t worked out as he thought they would, and that just made it worse. Everything that was, everything that could have been. It was a horrible feeling.

He slowly began to drag his fingers from yours. You used all your might not to squeeze them tight. “The other week… I was drunk,” he started, sounding ashamed. You froze, knowing what was coming. The explanation. You were so scared. He sighed. You’d never heard him sound so afflicted. “I just…I wanted everything to go back to how things were. I thought another…” He groaned, unable to say it out loud. But you understood perfectly. “I thought it would cancel things out.”

“So what happened is the problem,” you stressed, lifting your hands to your head. How could he say it wasn’t. Before the threesome everything had been fine.

Maybe it was all your fault. Why couldn’t you have just left Seokjin in the past? Why had he been lingering in the back of your mind? Still was… After everything, and now even recently, you had to physically quash thoughts of him. All the worry and anxiety over your relationship with Yoongi had made you weak, confused. And now to learn it was also the downfall to everything was awful.

“No. No. It isn’t.” Yoongi shook his head, reaching for you. He hugged you tight. You tried to fight it but you couldn’t. You wanted his arms around you. You wanted to feel him. To smell him. You wanted him. Your mind was adamant, but your chest felt weird. He pulled away after a minute or so, cupping your face once again. It was getting harder to hold back your tears. His eyes still glistened. But he was stronger than you. He wouldn’t cry.

“I realised this would’ve happened either way.” What did that mean? That these past few months were pointless? A waste of energy. A strain on your heart. He looked into your eyes, like he was searching for something. Or maybe urging you to realise something. To realise the same? You didn’t want to. He exhaled softly, kissing the top of your forehead. You shut your eyes as he did so, hearing his voice fill your ears. “There’s something missing. Something in the way. That’s how life works out sometimes.”

He pulled away, but you clung to him, lifting your mouth to reach his. “Yoongi,” you murmured, praying he wouldn’t pull away. He didn’t. He kissed you back gently. Each graze of his lips numbing you. You wanted to change his mind. Even if he was correct, you wanted him to be wrong. You broke apart first. “I don’t want us to break up,” you pleaded, fists gripping his t-shirt.

“It has to happen.” He urged, pressing his forehead against yours. “It’s for the best.” You both fell into silence, chests rising together, breathing together. You couldn’t change his mind. You needed to accept that. He kissed your forehead again, pulling back slowly. “I’ll go…”

“Please don’t,” you asked, tugging him tighter. This time the tears fell. Hot and thick down your cheeks, voice breaking, turning high pitched. Couldn’t he just stay for tonight? Hold you as you slept? You weren’t ready to let go so suddenly. You needed time.

“Don’t cry,” he told you, wiping the tears from your face. You swallowed loudly, trying to get ahold of yourself. “I’m not worth it,” he smiled softly, voice lowering as he continued. “Besides, I think you’re crying because deep down you know this is the right thing to do.”

That stopped the tears. Made you think. He had to be wrong, but then…why did his words comfort you?

He took the opportunity to stand from the bed, saying your name softly. “Get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow. We can talk some more. I mean it,” he urged, making you look up at him. “I care about you a lot and I want us to be friends once things are okay.”

The next few minutes were a blur. You think you agreed, nodding, stretching a smile across your face. He moved slowly, stopping a few times to look back at you as he walked to the door, slipping his sneakers on, grabbing his keys. He said goodbye. The door closed behind him. You couldn’t say it back. You heard his car start. You heard him pull away, and then he was gone and it was quiet again. Your tiny apartment was deathly silently. So silent it felt deafening. What a horrible feeling.

You didn’t know how long you sat on your bed in the same position. Perched on the edge, arms getting cold until goosebumps appeared. You should get under the covers, try to get some sleep like Yoongi said, but you couldn’t stop thinking, and the sheets would only smell of him.

Too many thoughts in your head. Too many words. How come everything had collapsed so quickly? So suddenly? This whole time you’d wanted Yoongi to be open and honest with you. You knew something had been playing on his mind, but it wasn’t this. Never this.

He didn’t love you. Couldn’t love you. Those were his words. Was there something wrong with you? Nobody had ever confessed their love for you. Yoongi was the closest. That night you’d had sex for the first time. You were so happy. Lying in your bed, this bed. He’d told you he really liked you. He was nervous because he didn’t think you liked him back. He had been cautious back then. He knew about Seokjin. Seokjin. No. You couldn’t think of him right now.

But… How come out of every guy you’d ever been involved with, he was the only one that had never hurt you. The list was pretty long. Starting with your first boyfriend at seventeen and ending now, with Yoongi. Yes, it had hurt him too, but you didn’t want to acknowledge that right now. Yoongi was supposed to be different. You’d been in relationships in the past, called guys your boyfriend, but with Yoongi it was just different. He was quiet and kind. Laid back. Funny. Easy going. You felt at ease with him. Enough to relax and just open up. You let yourself be happy. Finally feeling like you deserved this one, even if sometimes it felt like he was too nice for you. That was just your doubts. Life was finally fitting together.

People never understood how sensitive you were. You hid it well. You hid a lot of things. Even from yourself. You hid your emotions. You hid your thoughts. So much so, you’d always prided yourself on not being a deep thinker. You acted recklessly sometimes. But never with Yoongi. You thought long and hard before getting into something serious with him. You hadn’t wanted to hurt him. To lead him on.

How ironic. Despite believing him tonight, feeling the devastation in his words, you still felt betrayed and hurt. Yoongi wasn’t supposed to make you feel like this, but yet here you were. Rethinking every little thing in your relationship. Trying to find where it had all gone wrong. When he’d realised he didn’t, and would never love you… You remembered the looks you’d find him giving you sometimes. Lost in thought. Now it all made sense. His eyes were sad. You hadn’t realised before. He was sad. He was sad because he didn’t love you.

Love. Once again you were reminded of what bullshit it was. Why had you been so desperate and impatient for Yoongi to make such a confession. Was it because you’d never been in a relationship this long before? You think you thought it was because you believed he was the one. If you could imagine your life with anyone, it would be a Yoongi. So you’d waited for each stage of a long term relationship. A love confession was one of the main things. You hadn’t given much thought on if you loved him too. That just made you feel stupider. How deluded you’d been. Deluded and desperate for nothing. Somehow Yoongi could read you like a book. He knew you didn’t love him either. How?

However, he also knew tonight would hurt. He knew it would be hard. It was probably half the reason he was ignoring it. That, and wishing it would go away. It was funny how you both wished things could go back to how they’d been. How disastrous if it was all falling to pieces already.

Maybe you just weren’t cut out for relationships. Seokjin flitted through your mind again. That one had worked well. It was probably because it wasn’t a proper relationship. All you’d been was sex. But it had worked so well. You were happy then too. It was a different kind of happy. More relaxed than anything. Seokjin and you were happy together but you didn’t necessarily make one another happy. You couldn’t imagine Seokjin kissing you or hugging you like Yoongi had, make you giggle as he tickled you…

Fuck. Why were you doing this again? Comparing them. Using memories you had with Yoongi and trying to imagine them with Jin. It was stupid and didn’t make sense. You were confused and didn’t want to be alone, and in the solitude of your apartment, one thing was painfully clear. Yes, there was only one guy out there who had never hurt you in any way.

You looked at the clock, it wasn’t even 11pm. Still early. You knew you couldn’t spend the whole night like this. You’d never get to sleep. Your mind was racing. You needed to talk to someone. Lina would be the best person for the job. Your best friend. But that wasn’t whose apartment you showed up at…

It wasn’t until you were on his doorstep, ringing the doorbell did you begin to rethink your decision. What did you look like? You’d thrown some clothes on but hadn’t cleaned your face, the tears from earlier now dried around your eyes. This was stupid. You couldn’t just turn up at his place so late. What were you looking for? He didn’t want a crying girl on his shoulder looking for comfort… But it was too late. He was already opening the door, and your urgency to see him glowed even harder in your chest.

Seokjin looked confused as he came into view, probably wondering who it was. Knowing him he was probably wishing he’d brought a knife with him. You know, in case it was an intruder. Because intruders knocked doors before the burgled or murdered you, didn’t everyone know that?

His eyes widened when he saw you, freezing on the spot. He was a whole different kind of confused now, uttering your name questioningly. He took in your appearance, stopping on your face. Yeah, you looked like shit. He frowned, sounding worried when he spoke again. “What’s wrong?”

You sniffed loudly, feeling the chill from the night’s air, and tried your best to at least give him a smile. It was not believable. Nor did it answer anything.

“Hi, can I come in?”

Written 2019. Reworked/Edited 2020 Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2020

#yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #jin fanfic #bts smut #floralseokjin:writings #fic:crystallised

1K notes · View notes

shreyamistry · 6 years ago

Text

IX. Vacation

AME Jury House

Summary: The night of the double elimination, Bianca and Jamie wind up in the Jury House with all the previously booted out cast. Together in the living room, Teagan helps set up a movie as everyone argues about Han’s pick mainly Lina. Can they survive the night together or will there be hell to pay?

A/N: Check out my masterlist here! See my specific Choices September Creates mastelist here! Requests are open, find my rules here! Don’t know what to request? See my prompt list 200 Prompts here, OTP here, Angst here!

Tagging: @choicesaholic @choices-september-challenge

Thanks for reading it! I hope you like it!

“This is pathetic.” Lina shakes her head but accepts the drink Teagan’s outstretched hand. Bringing the fruity liquids to her lips savoring the taste with a satisfied sigh glancing in Jamie’s direction sitting beside her leaning half on her. “But I guess the booze isn’t so bad, or most of the company.” A few eyerolls follow after her words, no one quite saying much before Han leans forward to look at her.

“Can you chill for one night?” Han blurts out shaking his head from Jamie’s opposite side. Han falls back into his seat crossing his arms over his chest, Lina moving to reply only to be cut off by Bianca’s voice.

“Honestly, we're all losers now,” Bianca replies from behind them, resting her hands on Jamie’s shoulders leaning down to whisper in their ear. Han and Lina exchanging a few words that no one’s quiet paying attention to in the silence. “So, what movie are we watching?” Bianca asks after a few seconds of whispers, everyone’s attention averting towards them.

“Pity party or not, just shut up and pick a movie.” Ryder barks from his recliner, pulling out the seat as he sips on his drink beside him. “The chicks on the road dig a good passion flick before we get busy.”

“Gross, no one here is going to fuck you, Ryder.” Teagan sighs, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, her hand leaning back against Jamie’s leg, as she flips through movie channels on screen. “I can sense only four of us will agree to one movie.”

“Your aura shit is starting to genuinely freak me out and we’ve only been here a whole day.” Bianca grimaces falling into the seat between Han and Jamie, resting her head on Jamie’s shoulder.

“I think it’s cool!” Han smiles at Teagan, who gratefully returns his smile. Han looks up to the TV, reading a few titles before his face widens in excitement, his hand moving to grab onto Bianca’s in the excitement getting a confused sound from Bianca. “Oh my god let’s watch Legally Blonde.”

“Oh dear god no.” Lina shakes her head leaning down to try and snatch the remote out of Teagan’s hand who expertly dodges her shooting her a glare. “Teagan, I swear-” She begins to threaten, moving to ready herself to pounce on top of Teagan, Jamie’s arm moving to hold her back much to Ryder’s protests.

“Legally Blonde!” Bianca shouts afterward, smirking at Lina, as she and Han high five with their free hand. Han looking down to notice he’s still holding Bianca’s other hand, and quickly drops it, rubbing his hand awkwardly with a shy smile at Bianca.

“Alright, I’m down.” Jamie shrugs.

“You too? I-” Lina yells, shifting in her seat to face Jamie, her hand pushing on their chest with a huff before settling back into her spot.

“Just so she yells more, I’m in.” Ryder agrees.

“Legally Blonde it is. I have a good feeling about this.” Teagan grins as she clicks the movie channel, navigating the channel button to buy the movie on Piper’s dime. “You know-” Teagan begins.

“OH MY GOD, shut up and put on the movie. I can’t do this much longer.” Lina shouts as she hits Teagan in the side with her foot getting a glare from the woman who shrugs it off confirming their purchase.

“This is basically a vacation.” Jamie laughs, nudging Lina. “Come on, you’re excited don’t lie.”

“Please shut the fuck up.” Lina shakes her head, burying her face in her hands.

“Yeah, the movie is starting!” Han asserts, resting his arm on top of Bianca looking over at her with a grin. “Have you seen this movie, Bianca? It’s amazing. Elle Woods is like my hero.” He smiles as he glances back at the TV. “I know what you’re thinking, Han you play sports, you’re not a lawyer, why is Elle Woods you’re hero and not Shaq?”

“Again, exactly what I’m thinking.” Bianca agrees, shaking her head with a soft smile despite herself.

“That’s my point. No one thought she could be a lawyer and look at her now. Or well not now, she’s not a lawyer yet, but at the end!” He smiles to himself thinking on his memories of watching the movies an amused smile on Jamie’s lips as the others look a little confused. “Do you think I could pay for her to come to my birthday party?”

“As a stripper?” Jamie asks with a laugh.

“No! She’s a lawyer, not a stripper Jamie.” Han shakes his head in disgust, “I thought you were supposed to be cool.”

“Wow, way to crush my ego.” Jamie laughs softly, as Lina bursts out laughing spitting her drink all over the coffee table in front of them, Bianca grimacing at the surface coated in her spit and liquor.

“Oooooh, burned!” Lina continued to laugh holding onto the sofa for support, sloshing part of her drink on her dress. “Ah fuck, this is your fault.” She glares pointedly at Han.

“I can’t hear you over Elle Woods talking!” Han shouts holding his hand up to her his eyes glued to the screen still playing a commercial before the film starts. “She’s amazing, someone back me up here!”

“I must admit, I already get big dick energy from her.” Teagan nods making a point to ignore the pair namely Lina, “What an aura.”

“I can’t even accurately express what that sentence made me feel.” Ryder scoffs, covering his face in his hands. “Can the peanut gallery shut up, so we can watch this chick flick.”

“It’s more than a chick flick Ryder, it’s a way of life.” Han nods, crossing his arms with a huff, before sinking further into the couch with his drink watching the movie with wide-eyed excitement. Bianca gives his shoulder a reaffirming squeeze before turning back to the start of the movie.

“God how much longer.” Lina groans watching the screen with a huff, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “I can’t believe you’re enjoying this.” She pointedly glares at the trio on the couch, Jamie watching the film lazily before glancing back at her with a stop complaining glance, she rolls her eyes but silences herself.

“Mrs. Windham you’re free to go.”

They watch on screen as the Elle wins the case, Lina groaning loudly as Han watches intensely, even Bianca and Teagan caught in the storyline playing out on screen. Lina glancing around to take in Ryder disheveled sleeping form.

“Elle, how did you know Chutney was lying?”

“‘Cause she’s brilliant of course.”

“The rules of hair care are simple and finite. Any Cosmo girl would have known.” Han repeats with her his hand squeezing Bianca’s in excitement again, this time Bianca squeezing his back shaking his hand with a laugh.

“Oh my god, she’s brilliant.” Bianca beams, “Why haven’t I seen this movie before?”

“I won’t lie, that was surprisingly heart touching.” Teagan chuckles, taking the last sip of her drink before placing it onto the table. “And I will reaffirm, that she does indeed have big dick energy.”

“Best movie ever!” Han cheers excitedly, jumping up from the couch. “I’m hitting the gym, who’s with me?” Han looks around at the group not quite reaching his enthusiastic glances, his smile flattering slightly before he shakes it off with a grin. “COME ON!”

Everyone glances at one another looking away thinking of excuses. “Fine,’I’ll go.” Jamie huffs standing from the couch. “What else are we going to do? It’s not late enough to sleep yet, and I’m a little tipsy so I can embarrass myself.”

Bianca shrugs standing next stretching her arms above her head, “Do they have yoga balls? I could go for some yoga.” She turns towards Han for an answer who grins in response.

“In every color. Come on guys, who else is coming?” He turns his attention to Lina and Teagan hopeful for their compliance. Energetically rolling on the balls of his heels.

“No ones allowed to repeat what happens, but I know a little ballet.” Lina admits standing from the couch, where she helps pull Teagan to her feet, “And only if Teagan embarrasses herself with some hippie bs.”

“It’s not hippie bullshit, Lina.” Teagan shakes her head, “But I will go.”

“Alright, Lina and Teagan!” Han shouts, quickly grabbing Lina’s wrist leading her out of the room a slight grimace on her face, everyone following closely behind. Excluding Ryder who’s snoring away with drool rolling down his chin.

#choices september challenge #vacation #ame #playchoices #america's most eligible #choices ame #choices america’s most eligible #ame bianca #ame lina #ame han #ame ryder #ame teagan #bianca #han #lina #ryder #teagan #prompt

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soaringlanddormitory · 6 years ago

Conversation

Dai, after the whole central thing happens: Well the good thing is- SoRina seemed SO strong recently.

Kaoru, holding up a sign: SouMegu

Dai, bringing his wallet out: We're betting again, huh?

Dai and Kaoru, placing a glass jar on a desk: Place in your bets, Soaring Land Dormitor-

Miray, carefully placing "Soma X Nao": :0

Christelle:

Masae: We have more than 20 jars here.

Lina: Ah. The Nene Ships, the Soma ships, the Takumi ships, the Ikumi ships, the Kaoru ships

Kaoru, surprised: Ex-fucking-cuse me?

Shizuya, hiding the jar with his scarf: Nothing.

Sung: Bold of you to assume that we haven't started the 91st generation jars

Dai, freaking out: WHY AM I SHIPPED WITH 5 PEOPLE, I'M THE SHIPPER IN THIS HOUSEHOLD

#this is too fun #more nonsense #soaring land dormitory

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calliopesquill · 7 years ago

Text

A Year in the Life: Chapter 13

It's new chapter time! Thanks for stick with me as I continue Miguel and Nell's adventures. There's more excitement coming!

Thanks again to my betas for proof-reading the chapter and for correcting my Spanish!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 13: Due Process

Marigold Grand Central Station was, to put it lightly, a complete zoo. The entire complex was overflowing with skeletons, dressed in everything from jeans and tee-shirts, to Victorian dresses and suits with massive hats. Somehow seeing all of this in daylight felt so much more incongruent, both more and less real at the same time. Skeletons at night on Día de los Muertos made perfect sense. Seeing skeletons in the middle of the day felt just a little weird, even after a morning with the Riveras. Apparently they felt much the same way about Nell. For the most part everyone was too wrapped up in what they were doing to realize that there was a living spirit among them, but those who did notice could cause quite the disturbance. One skeleton who accidentally bumped into her on the trolley was so startled when he saw her face that he almost flung himself backwards through the open door.

“Ugh, this is going to be the next year, isn’t it,” Nell sighed as they disembarked onto the station platform. “I feel like the elephant man. It’s a good thing dead people can’t technically have heart attacks.” Maybe she should invest in a hooded cloak or something.

“It’s not that bad,” Héctor said reassuringly.

The look she sent him in response was as dry as the autumn leaves back home. “Were you not on the same trolley I was? That one guy literally went to pieces and you had to save a guy from falling out completely. Even if you can’t technically die again, that would still be a hell of a fall.”

Okay, so maybe it was that bad. But that was not what she needed to hear right now. “Hey, it’s okay. Some of these guys, they’ve been here too long. They don’t handle surprises that well. They’ll get used to it. And hey, maybe the archivists found something already. You could be going home before you know it.”

Nell smiled, shaking her head. “Thanks Héctor. And hey, if all else fails, we could always get our hands on a giant stash of shoe polish and paint me up like you did with Miguel.”

“That’s the spirit! Come on. Let’s see what they found.”

They were half-way up the central staircase when Nell paused, then started snickering.

“¿Qué? What’s so funny?”

“You’re the dad friend.” Nell giggled, jogging up the stairs past him.

“The what?”

“The dad friend,” she repeated with a grin. “The one who takes care of everyone. Making sure they don’t get lost, looks after them when they’re drunk and tucks them in with an aspirin and a glass of water so they don’t get hungover, or encouraging them when they’re nervous or upset even when you are as rattled as they are. The caretaker friend.”

“I -- Isn’t that a normal friend thing to do?” He didn’t even think about it, not really. He just...did what was needed. And he was a dad, obviously. Being dead for almost a hundred years would not change that.

“To a point, but you take it to dad-levels.” Nell shrugged. “It’s sweet. And also a little funny because you are technically younger than I am.”

“What? No I’m not,” Héctor protested. “I am way older than you.”

“Technically you are 119 years old,” Nell agreed. “But you are also technically twenty-one. Maybe I should start calling you ‘hermanito’.”

Héctor gaped in mock-outrage, giving her a brotherly shove. “Bah! I don’t think so, niñita. You’ve got a while to go yet.”

They bickered over his supposed age until they get to the front desk. Luckily the receptionist was the same woman who had seen them the day before, so while she did jump a bit when they appeared in front of her, she was not nearly as unsettled as she had been that first morning.

“Ah… hola. Were you looking for Señor Bolivar?” She asked tentatively.

Nell shook her head. “Actually, could you point me towards the archives? Señora Chavez is doing some research for me and I thought I’d try to help.”

The receptionist hesitated. Señora Chavez was notorious for not wanting outsiders in her space, but if she was looking into something for the Living Girl, it had to be important. “They’re down the stairs on the left. Bottom level.”

“Thanks!”

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” Héctor asked her, shifting his grip on the shoe bags. “You don’t have to do this today, you know.”

“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “Least this way I can feel like I made some progress. And if we find something, I won’t be sitting at the house waiting for a call.” And it would keep her out of the public view so she could get away from people freaking out at the sight of her face for a while. “Go, deliver the shoes. Make some music. And don’t forget Cici’s order. We don’t want your wife to have to come after you with her sharpie because you forgot again.”

He eyed her measuringly for a moment, then shook his head with a low chuckle. “Si, si. Entiendo. Take it easy today, huh? One of us will come get you tonight.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tonight.”

Now, time to dig through some centuries-old records! She had to admit she was actually a little excited at the prospect. She would be handling documents that had never been seen by living eyes. Actual primary sources about the history of the Land of the Dead! And she wouldn’t have to worry about wrecking them with finger oils or anything, like she would in the living world. Nell skipped down the stairs, following the papel picado-like directional signs to the lower levels of the building. About three floors down the white-washed walls were replaced with smooth, cut stone, with large glyphs carved in every few feet.

I must be down to the pyramid level, Nell mused as she reached the bottom of the stairs. It wasn’t just that everything around her looked old, but it felt old as well. There was a weight here, and a settled kind of quiet. This wasn’t a place that people came to much anymore. Except for Señora Chavez and the other archivists. There was only one office on that level that Nell could see, marked with a single square glyph, and another papel picado sign marked “Archives.”

Nell took a steadying breath and knocked on the door.

There was a muffled sigh from inside. “Ugh… ¿Qué deseas? I swear to Mictēcacihuātl, if one of you boneheads misplaced another of my eighteenth century journals, I will speed you on your way to your Final Death myself.”

Ah. That might be another reason why people didn’t come down here too much.

“Ah… lo siento. Señora Chavez? It’s Nell.”

“Who? Oh. Wait. The nagual. Yeah, come on in.”

Hesitantly she opened the door. “Ah...hi. Sorry. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“If you talked to anyone upstairs, they’d probably tell you I’ve been disturbed for centuries.” Lina snorted, not looking up from the heavy, hand-bound book she was paging through. “What do you want?”

“I thought I’d see if you wanted any help going through the records.”

Lina glanced up at her, setting the book down on her already-messy desk. “Why?”

“Because sitting around waiting for an answer might actually kill me, and placing myself equivalently under house arrest for the next year is about the only thing worse than people screaming when they see my face when I go outside,” Nell replied, leaning back against the door-frame with a huff and running one hand agitatedly through her hair.

The archivist sighed. “Fine, but if you break anything or screw up my filing system --”

“You have my permission to chuck me off a pyramid. Claro.”

Lina snorted. “Bueno. So, how’s your Nahuatl?”

“My...what?”

“Well, that answers that question.” She shoved herself away from the desk, tucking the book she’d been reading under one arm and heading out into the hallway. “No Aztec texts for you. Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”

The archive itself was massive and seemed to go on forever. There were entire chambers dedicated to different periods of history. The Aztec and Mayan records each got their own separate rooms on opposite ends of the hall, and each room after that seemed to correspond with the different levels of the towers that made up the city. After that….well, Nell did not understand the system at all. Apparently the Dewey Decimal system had not yet made its way down to the Land of the Dead. She quickly resolved to bring a stash of hair ribbons or scrap paper so she could mark the places of the volumes that she took.

“Now best guess, the last nagual to cross over the bridge would have been...fifteenth or sixteenth century?” Lina said, heading to one of the heavy built-in shelves on the right side of the room. “Probably?”

So it hadn’t been a fluke the last time. Well, that answered one question, and raised a few hundred more. “Were nagual more common back then? And how does that work? Like, is it some sort of recessive gene or is it a luck-of-the-draw kind of power manifestation?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” she answered with a shrug. “Never met any when I was alive. Or not any real ones. I don’t think. Oh there were plenty who claimed they had these special abilities and demanded special treatment, but I always thought that the most vocal were the ones with the least ability. And nagual was more of a blanket term, really. It could refer to the spirit form of the person, or to their guide, and later on it became synonymous with a kind of brujo. It was said that they could travel in spirit form, leaving their physical bodies behind -- something that you have most certainly confirmed. But whether it is a hereditary trait, I couldn’t say.”

“Scared the crap out of me, first time I did it,” Nell said with a wry smirk. “Gave Miguel a pretty big shock too.”

“The Rivera kid. What a nightmare of paperwork that was. People stealing offerings is one thing, but actually getting cursed? That one is pretty rare.” Lina pulled a selection of books from the shelf, stuffing them into Nell’s hands. “Okay. Start with these. Thank Tezcatlipoca that at least some of these guys were bilingual. There aren’t many down here who can read the old languages anymore, and having to go through the whole thing myself would be a bitch.”

“How many languages do you speak?” Nell wondered. “And what about the other archivists?”

“Bah! Like I would trust these records in their hands. Anything post-seventeenth-century sure, but they’re useless when it comes to filing the earlier records. They’re taking care of the everyday stuff while I deal with this mess.” Lina grabbed another selection for herself, several covered in some kind of glyphs. “And I speak 9 languages fluently. I’m a little rusty on some of the Mayan dialects so I didn’t count those.”

Nell goggled. Nine?! There were at least a couple dozen Mayan dialects, according to the research she’d done a few weeks before. How many did she consider herself ‘rusty’ in? Nell herself only spoke two languages, three if you counted high school French -- which she didn’t. “Did you learn all of those when you were down here?”

The archivist shook her head. “I re-learned them. Some of them. I was… a translator, once. A long time ago. Pull up some ground, niñita. This could take a while.”

The other girl shook her head, sitting down and leaning back against the bookcase opposite. “Is that going to be my official nickname now? I’m not that young, you know.”

Lina smirked, gently opening the cover of the delicate manuscript she carried. What Nell had first taken to be a regular book was in fact a single long piece of parchment, accordion-folded and bound into a leather cover like restaurant menu, with long loops of leather cording. “Almost everyone here is young compared to me. Twenty-odd years is nothing.”

Nell bit her lip, her gaze running analytically over her companion. She dearly wanted to ask how old Lina really was, but got the distinct impression that it was not something she would get the answer to. But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t try to figure it out for herself. After they figured out how to get her home.

Héctor was later than he’d hoped to be. Imelda had to send Coco to get him again -- a wise plan, as his daughter stood by far the best chance of pulling him away from whatever song he was working on. But hey, at least he had remembered to get all of the details for the performers’ shoe commissions this time. The sharpie could stay safely holstered in his wife’s apron.

Coco’s appearance had been met with cheers all around. She was always a favorite when she visited (Of course she was. Who wouldn’t love his Coco?), which in itself brought a bit of a delay. Everyone wanted to say hello, catch up. Even after promising to return later in the week, it took some time for them to get out the door.

The night was warm, with just a hint of a breeze cooling the crowded streets. Marigold Grand Central was as crowded as always, but the Department of Family Reunions building was fairly quiet by comparison. There was the usual number of people here to greet newly-arrived family members, but it was nowhere near as packed as it had been on Día de los Muertos. They took the stairway down to the archives, pausing at the last landing when they heard some very angry-sounding English coming from down the hall.

“-- fucking -- ugh. How was anyone supposed to read this? Frick. Colonial Spanish is even harder to read than Tudor English, and that was fucking brutal. Why did nobody think to write a damn dictionary for this crap?”

“The first Spanish dictionary was printed in 1611.”

“That’s not exactly helpful when the book I’m reading predates it by a century.”

“Oh, stop your whining. At least they had an actual alphabet. Try reading Zapoteco and see how far you get.” Another voice retorted. “And when did you ever have to read Tudor English? You’re, like, twelve.”

“Took a class on material culture when I was in university. Spent a class looking at the kind of things people would will down to their descendants. One person left their son’s family a set of bedsheets, only they spelled it as ‘shits’,” Nell snickered.

The other voice let out a bark of laughter. “Ha! Classic.”

Coco and Héctor followed the voices to a room almost halfway down the hall. Nell sprawled in the floor beside a massive stone bookshelf, a thin, leather-bound volume held gently in her hands. Lina the archivist was somewhere behind her, just barely visible in the dim lantern light, shelving an armful of books. Coco knocked lightly on the carved stone door frame.

Nell looked up, blinked at them, then grinned. “Oh, hey! What are you guys doing here?”

“You’ve been here for almost eight hours, mija,” Coco said, laughing when she saw Nell’s eyes bug out.

“What? Seriously? That can’t be --” But when she tried to push herself up she dropped back to the floor with a groan. “Okay. Yeah. I can believe that.” Stiffly she pushed herself upright, dusting off her clothes. “Hey Lina, where do you want me to put this?”

“Just give it here,” she said, returning from the front of the shelf to take the book. “You’ll never put it back right.”

“You know, people might actually be able to put things back where they belonged if your filing system was not determined by a dart board, a roulette wheel, and a blood sacrifice.”

“Bah! Get on with you,” Lina scoffed, giving Nell a shove towards the door. “Go bother someone else for a while.”

“Yeah, yeah. You know you love me.” Nell laughed, sticking her tongue out teasingly. “If you didn’t, you’d have dropped me off a pyramid hours ago.”

“I still might.”

“Well, there’s always tomorrow.” Still chuckling, Nell joined the others in the hall. “Sorry, guys. Kind of lost track of time there.”

“Did you find anything?” Coco asked as they made their was back up the stairs.

She shook her head, letting out a soft sigh. “Not yet. We’ve narrowed down an approximate time-frame to look in, but nothing we’ve read so far references any living spirits crossing the bridge.” And with easily another couple century’s worth of records to go through, it could be ages before they found anything at all.

“Hey, it will be okay,” Héctor said, laying one hand reassuringly on her shoulder. “You’ll find something.”

She hoped so. And that it wouldn’t be too late when they did.

Nell tried to keep her head up that night, really she did. And for the most part it worked. She chatted with Coco and Héctor about the things she had found in the old records, learned about the show that Héctor was helping out with, and the designs that Coco and the other Riveras would be doing for the dancers’ shoes. But as the trolley approached their stop, she found her enthusiasm flagging. You can only act like everything was normal for so long before the knowledge that nothing was normal snuck up and clobbered you over the head again. What made it worse was how hard the Riveras were working to make it look like it wasn’t an issue, which just seemed to underline how big an issue it actually was.

The whole family gathered in the living room, spreading out over every available surface. Coco and Julio shared the loveseat, content to snuggle and just be in each other’s company. Oscar and Filipe hunched over a notebook on the coffee table. Imelda sat on the couch, reviewing the account book as Héctor perched on the arm of the couch next to her, picking out an absent tune on his guitar. Victoria and Rosita each had their own chairs and a book in their hands. Rosita was a big fan of romance novels and, surprisingly, true crime accounts. Victoria’s collection was mostly history-based, though tonight she had gone for a more contemporary thriller. It took less than five minutes for Nell to figure out that spending the whole evening in close quarters like this was an aberration. Most of the family spent the whole day together in the workshop, so of course the evening would be their personal time.

Nell appreciated the company, even if she felt guilty for robbing them of their evening. She had begged some scrap paper and pencils from the shop, and spent the next couple of hours doing studies of the family. Watching the constant shift of the facial bones was fascinating. Their faces, despite being made of solid bone, were somehow elastic, and moved as if the muscles and tissue that allowed such movement in life were still a part of it. The brow bone should not furrow when they frowned, and how bone lips were a thing she would never understand. It also made her question the mechanics of other actions that she had to very quickly force her mind away from.

Yeah… Do not go there. Keep your mind well away from thoughts of skeleton boning.

It was almost a relief when they heard the distinctive jingle of the doorbell at the gate. The Riveras exchanged looks. Who could possibly be calling this late? The shop had been closed for hours.

The twins pushed themselves to their feet and left the room, returning a few minutes later with a pair of uniformed police officers in tow. One was stocky for a skeleton, with rose-colored dots framing his eyes and green fern-like branches along his cheekbones. The other wasn’t much taller, and had a golden band of laurel leaves across her brow like an ancient crown. Though they stood with a determined kind of posture, they both looked like they’d had a long couple of days.

“Ah… Everyone, this is Officer Vega --”

“-- and Officer Flores,” Oscar finished. “They want to ask about --”

“-- what happened on Día de los Muertos.”

Héctor, who had stiffened noticeably the moment the cops stepped into the room, flexed his fingers over the fretboard of his guitar, willing himself to relax. With his many less-than-legal attempts at crossing the bridge over the last century, his relationship with local law enforcement had been strained at best. He’d had very few interactions with them that did not involve him being in some kind of trouble, and every one of them had been in the last two years. Cálmese, he told himself firmly. They aren’t here for you. Not to arrest him, anyway. No, they were here to ask about what happened with Ernesto, which was both better and so much worse.

“We’d like to collect a statement from each of you,” Officer Flores explained, her gaze travelling over the assembled Riveras, doing a barely-noticeable double-take when she saw Nell seated behind the coffee table. “There is a warrant out for the arrest of Ernesto De la Cruz, and we want to be sure that we have a complete account of what happened by the time he is brought in.”

“There has been a warrant out for his arrest for two years,” Imelda pointed out sharply. “Ever since one of your officers let him escape.”

“The officer responsible for that has been relieved from duty,” Officer Vega informed them. “After that grievous lapse in judgement, we want to make absolutely sure that there is no room for error this time around. We want De la Cruz to pay for his crimes every bit as much as you do.”

Doubtful, but the sentiment was appreciated.

“We’d like to speak with you one at a time, if that’s possible,” Officer Flores continued. “Is there a space where we can do that?”

The Riveras exchanged looks.

“The kitchen would probably be best,” Victoria said after a moment.

There was a moment of silence, then Officer Flores cleared her throat. “Right. So… Whenever you’re ready,” she said.

Nell pushed herself to her feet. “I guess...maybe I should go first. I’ll show you to the kitchen.”

She could feel their eyes burning into the back of her head as she led them across the courtyard to the family kitchen. Neither of them had said a word, but they didn��t have to. Each unasked question was a deafening shout in the evening air. When they reached the kitchen, Nell closed the door behind them.

“So, um...take a seat, I guess?” She suggested, gesturing towards the solid wooden table at the center of the room. From what she had seen, the kitchen itself was rarely used given the lack of food in the Land of the Dead, but served more as a place of family discussion. “Sorry. This is weird. I feel like I’m taking the lead here but it’s not even my house.”

“The Riveras are letting you live with them while you’re here?” Officer Vega confirmed as he and his partner arranged themselves across the table from Nell.

“Yeah. They’ve kind of unofficially adopted me after what happened.” She knew that the blame for this whole mess rested on De la Cruz’s shoulders, but she couldn’t help but still feel somewhat responsible. And now, after all they’ve already been through, the Riveras had a relative stranger staying with them for the next year. She still felt guilty about that. “They didn’t have to. But...I’m really grateful that they did.”

Officer Vega pulled a tattered-looking notebook from his pocket. He and Officer Flores had already listened to the recording taken in the Family Grievances offices the morning after the incident. Now they wanted to get their own impressions, and clarify some of the details. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

Nell’s mouth curved in a wry sort of smile. “How far back do you want me to go?”

“Let’s start with the evening of Día de los Muertos, and go from there.”

Nell sighed, dropping into one of the old wooden chairs. “Okay. I planned to meet Miguel a little after midnight…” She told them everything, the plan to astral project in hopes of reuniting Miguel with his deceased family, her own introduction to them, to the moment they realized Miguel had been taken.

“Did you know it was De la Cruz at the time?” Officer Flores asked.

Nell shook her head. “Not then. I just saw him slung over the shoulder of a big guy in a dark jacket, and ran after them.”

“Across the bridge?”

She nodded before describing the chase across the bridge, and the moment she realized it was De la Cruz who had her friend. How scared she was because she knew the history between them. The search across the city and her reunion with Buttons, and the pyramid at the end of the world. At this the officers exchanged looks. They had visited the site themselves in search of evidence, combed every inch of it in search of De la Cruz. There had been nothing left behind but footprints in the dust and a few scraps of black cloth.

“And what happened then?”

Nell sighed, rolling the hem of her dress nervously between her fingertips. She had been dreading this part. “Ernesto would have tossed Miguel off the cliff the moment he saw Héctor or Imelda, so we decided I should distract him. I went through the pyramid while the others went around the side…”

This was what they had been waiting for, the part of the story that had been skimmed over in the initial recording. Now, hearing it at last, they could understand why. They had known Ernesto De la Cruz was a thief and a murderer, but the repeated poisoning of a person just to keep them with you was something none of them had expected. Nell fought to keep her voice steady, hands clenched in white-knuckled fists under the table as she recounted Ernesto’s admission, and when she told them how he had flung Miguel off the edge, both officers jolted.

“Pepita caught him, then circled back for us.”

The rest they knew. That De la Cruz had pulled her back, and that she had been rescued by her own alebrije, who took her back to the bridge. And her final decision to throw Miguel through the barrier as the bridge collapsed beneath her.

“And then...yeah. Here we are,” Nell finished lamely. “Don’t know how long I’m here for, what’s happening to my physical body, or how long I can be separated from it… Lina -- she’s the head archivist at the Department of Family Reunions -- she said I should be able to cross back over next year but…” There was no way to know for sure if she’d even last that long.

By unspoken agreement, Héctor and Imelda chose to speak to the officers together. They entered the kitchen with their hands entwined. They had faced this separately for too long. Whatever came next, they would face it together. Héctor was grateful for the support. He tried to step back, to separate himself from the pain and the betrayal, but every word was like tearing off a bandage from a wound that had only barely begun to scab over.

“And when you saw him on the cliffs,” Officer Vera asked. “How did he look?”

“How did he look? What kind of question is that?” Imelda frowned.

“Was he angry? Smiling? Pacing? That kind of thing.”

“He was...impatient,” Héctor answered softly. He could see it now, if he let himself. “Nervous.”

Imelda shot him a questioning look. Standing at the edge of the world, she hadn’t seen a hint of nerves. She had never trusted Ernesto. There was something about him that has always rubbed her the wrong way. But Héctor had known Ernesto almost his whole life. If there was anyone who knew those small gestures, it was him.

“His fingers twitched,” Héctor recalled. “Left hand. They always did that when he was nervous. I don’t know if he ever realized.” There was something surreal about seeing those old familiar gestures after all that had passed between them. For a moment he could almost believe that the Ernesto he knew was still in there. But he knew better. This was what had lived inside of him all along.

“Anything else?” Officer Flores asked.

They took the officers through every word, every absent gesture. Hollow-voiced, Héctor recounted Nell’s attempts at a distraction. His stomach churned at the memory, non-existent but somehow every bit as painful as they day he died.

“And how did he react when he saw you?”

The same as he always had when caught in a lie. He had excused and justified and tried to turn it around on him, just as he always had. It’s not my fault. They made me. This would not have happened if… How many time had Héctor heard variations of that same tune? And as Ernesto did every time he was denied, he became angry. Héctor could see it in his face when Imelda stepped out to join him. His wife had always been able to see through Ernesto’s excuses, Héctor remembered. It was why they had never gotten along. Héctor had blamed it on a clashing of strong personalities, the filter of a life-long friendship blurring what his wife had seen all too clearly. But none of them could ever have suspected how deep Ernesto’s selfishness had run.

The rest of the interview passed in a blur. They took the officers through the flight back to the bridge, and Miguel and Nell’s desperate race to the other side. When at last they were satisfied, Héctor and Imelda returned to the living room, dropping onto the couch as Oscar and Filipe headed out for their turn. Coco moved from the love seat to sit next to her parents, leaning into her father’s side. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close and holding her tightly. Ernesto’s words from the cliffside echoed in his thoughts.

I should have just let you go, maybe even gone back with you for a time… And then killed your bitch and the squalling brat myself.

Just the memory of it had him holding her closer. Far better for Ernesto to have murdered him that night than for him to return to Santa Cecilia to harm his family. Héctor would gladly live the past century a hundred times over if it meant keeping them safe. Imelda, sensing the direction his thoughts have turned, rubbed her thumb comfortingly over the finger of the hand that she still held. That seemed to soothe him somewhat, that tangible reminder that they were safe, and they were together. De la Cruz would not separate them again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ And there is chapter thirteen!

Join us next week when we check in with Miguel on the living side of the bridge!

As always, thanks for reading!

#coco #coco fanfiction #a year in the life #ayitl #coco rivera #hector rivera #imelda rivera #crossposted on ao3

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