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softykooky · 4 years ago

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the habits of a broken heart.

☾ genre : soulmates au, unrequited love, art student!JK, english student!Y/N, angst, fluff, subtle enemies to lovers

☾ pairing : jeon jungkook x reader

☾ summary : jungkook and you are soulmates. so says the matching crescent moons on both your wrists. however, things are never as easy as they seem, and you are quick to learn that falling in love with someone who does not believe in love is a one-way ticket to heartbreak.

alternatively,

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

☾ word count: 26.3k (my biggest one yet!)

☾ author’s note: this took forever oh my gosh! i really hope you like it! it’s my first time writing such a big single piece, and trying a different style. thank you so much for your support, always! please let me know what you think ♡

The first time he had his heart broken, Jeon Jungkook had been 13 years old. He was fresh out of middle school and so ready to face his freshman year with an impressionable mind and plenty of voice cracks to earn him months worth of teasing. You see, at the age of 13, Jungkook wasn’t something to swoon over. He had yet to grow into his ears and Dr. Park assured him that his braces would be off as soon as she could get them. He was a little lanky and a bit too reticent to be considered social. So when a girl in his grade comes up to him, nervous and stuttering, and asks him to go to the heavily romanticized homecoming dance, Jungkook has already come to the conclusion that she might be his soulmate, even if he was far too young to get his mark yet.

Her name was Mina, and Jungkook is confronted with this memory every time he visits home and his mother makes the family flip through the photo albums dating back to his high school years. He grimaces every time he sees the picture of them together. Him in a pink button-up to match her offensively ugly ruffled taffeta dress.

Mina broke up with him three months after that picture was taken, through one of her friends no less and in front of his entire gym class. Jungkook couldn’t remember how long he cried for while he felt the pain from his first heartbreak would never go away, regardless of how much time passes. He held onto his mother and sobbed out the agony and humiliation of Mina not wanting to be his girlfriend anymore, and how he had lost his soulmate before he even knew it was her. His mother assured him that without the mark, there was no way to be sure and that there was hope. But back then, all Jungkook could think of was ways to avoid Mina the next day, especially when they sat next to each other in 3rd period biology.

At 13 years old, Jungkook thought he would never find love again.

He is 18 when he stands alongside his parents in a pale examination room and awaits his destiny. He’s leaving for college the next day, yet the only thing that’s making him nervous is the mark that will inevitably appear on his wrist in the next few minutes. The same one he would find on his soulmate’s, and Jungkook wonders if there is the possibility of scaring everyone away when the first thing he’ll ask on a date is: can I please see your wrist?

To say the least, Jungkook is petrified. Because that mark on his wrist is going to serve as a constant reminder of his missing piece, and Jungkook knows he’ll always feel lacking until he finds them. It’s a crescent moon. Small and black and nestled comfortably on his skin. He knows many times the marks don’t have any correlation with the couples, but Jungkook wonders if you are an astrologist. Or an astronaut. Or just had a weird affinity for the moon. He smiles when they congratulate him and can’t stop himself from thinking that he might be in love with you already. Wherever you are. When he leaves for university, he feels less lonely when there is a crescent moon to accompany him.

Contrary to the beliefs of his 13-year old self, Jungkook does fall in love again. Hard. This time, it was a girl with brown hair and big eyes and a smile so pretty he could see it from across a crowded room. She was a grade below him; a frazzled college freshman with no clue to where her lecture hall was, and he: a sophomore who had a compulsion of changing his major every other month. When he met her, it had been chemical engineering and three weeks before that was film composition. Her name was Yoojung, 18 years old while he was 19.

Her soulmate mark is a single star, and even though he knows she is not his soulmate, he can’t help but to think how perfectly their marks complement each other. How they would make a perfect night sky.

They had met at a frat party, no less, and the combination of cheap booze and bad hiphop music had made her look so incredibly gorgeous under the dim lighting. They had their first kiss in a random person’s living room, highly intoxicated and much too irresponsible and Jungkook had barely even remembered it in the morning until she showed up at his doorstep and invited herself in. Yet it wasn’t too long before he made a perfect space for Yoojung in his life.

Each day after his physics lecture, he’d go to her dorm and they’d chat over breakfast until she had economics at 10 o’ clock. After she was done, he’d insist that they go get a greasy hamburger at the joint his friends took him to when they got high and, she’d end up dragging them both to the health food restaurant that prided themselves on only using organic. Leave it to Jungkook to find himself a vegan girlfriend.

Sometimes though, when he looks at Yoojung, his mind drifts to his actual soulmate and a little flower named guilt blooms in his chest. But he is so young and his other half could be anywhere in the world, so Jungkook thinks there is no harm in allowing himself to indulge in a little affection. These days, it wasn’t completely abnormal for soulmates to part ways, and when Yoojung is in his arms, Jungkook likes to think that his soulmate would understand. They would want him to be happy. In the middle of synchronizing their busy student schedules and sneaking in quick kisses through cramming for finals, he had found it unnervingly easy to fall in love with her.

Deeply and blindly in love.

Yoojung brought him home to her family on fall breaks and the occasional winter vacation and Jungkook had melded perfectly into their dynamic. The son I never had, her father would tell him over the dinner table while her mother constantly made sure his plate was piled high. Her little sister was visibly in love with him, and would ask Yoojung where he was every time she came home from university, yet avoiding him at all costs when he was there.

Jungkook’s own family, however, was a different story. To put it delicately, they had liked it more when he came home by himself and left her at school. It had put a strain on their relationship sure, but at the end of the day, Jungkook loved her. A simple love.

Every day he remembers that their marks do not match. But if this is love and he feels like he is on cloud 9 with every moment they are together, Jungkook begins to doubt if the universe’s will is truly divine and successful. Maybe Yoojung was his soulmate and it did not matter what was on their wrists.

He loved her intensely, and she did him. She was the first thing on his mind when he woke up and manifested in his dreams when he slept at night. To Jungkook, Yoojung could do no wrong. Like some sort of divine being or angel that the heavens sent just for him, and he found himself thinking maybe he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life beside her.

But he would come to learn that the higher the climb...the harder the fall.

Jungkook and Yoojung were together for the better part of 4 years before she cheated on him with a guy that she’d supposedly met a couple weeks ago. When Jungkook screams at her asking why she had been disloyal, Yoojung shows him her wrist. Her single inked star.

“I found my soulmate, Jungkook. And I love you so much, you know I do. I didn’t know how to tell you so I…”

The rest of her words fade into white noise and all Jungkook can do is look at her and commit every detail to memory as he feels her fade farther away. Her teary and remorseful brown eyes. Her plush lips. The fan of her eyelashes and the mole on the side of her temple. He’ll never get to see her like this again.

“I was ready to be with you, soulmate or not. I know it’s not fair but I wanted the same from you”, he whispers, falling down on the couch and burying his face in his hands.

“Soulmates be damned, the universe was wrong. I was so hideously in love with you. How could you not at least tell me when you met him?” Jungkook feels his heart collapsing in on itself with every word of resignation. Of burgeoning acceptance. Yoojung can only mirror his desolate expression and stares down at the star on her skin.

Jungkook wishes it were a moon.

“Just go, Yoojung.”

It would have hurt less if it was only a one night stand with a stranger she did not know the name of. He was in love and spineless enough to move past a one night stand. However, Yoojung had found her soulmate and fallen in love with him. Jungkook had merely acted as a placeholder for the real deal to come along and sweep her off her feet.

This time he doesn’t cry. Just stares out the window of his living room and wonders what it would be like to disappear altogether. When the door is slammed shut, and he is left to nurse his aching soul, Jungkook apologizes in advance to the person that shares the same mark on their wrist as him. He no longer believes that soulmates exist.

When Jungkook looks back at his 13 year old self with the innocent construct of what heartbreak feels like, he wants to laugh and maybe slap that stupid boy upside the head. Yoojung had destroyed him. Destroyed the innocent and starry-eyed person that he’s tried so hard to preserve. Destroyed his vulnerability and bright outlook on life and in their place, cultivated walls of rock and steel meant to keep everyone out and him safely tucked inside. In her wake, Yoojung left behind a shell of a man who pushed his emotions so deep he became numb and forgot what it was like to feel.

So Jungkook does what he always does to push away the hurt. He changes his major; to art history this time. He stacks up bracelets on his wrist to forget the mark of a moon. He scrapes up his rainy day money and treats himself to the most expensive pair of Saint Laurent boots he’s ever worn. He tests the limits of the human liver, and takes advantage of the biceps and jawline he’s acquired since high school to establish a reputation.

To his friends, Jungkook remained raucous and always down to order infinite rounds of shots until he couldn’t see straight. To those that looked even closer, Jungkook was so completely shattered he didn’t even feel it anymore.

The second time he had his heart broken, Jungkook was 23. He promised himself he wouldn’t let it happen again.

◐

“For the last time, Jimin, I’m not going to give you a blowjob so you can pay for my student loans.”

You don’t know how many times you’ve had this conversation with your roommate. Most of the time, it was convenient to have a roommate whose parents were loaded and sent him monthly installments that looked more like small loans than allowances. You knew he just wanted to help. Heck, he probably would be willing to pay them off for you without the promiscuous favor, but you had made it clear to Jimin that you wouldn’t be riding off of his charity.

“Ugh, Y/N you’re really no fun”, he sighs, falling backwards onto your twin-sized bed and feigning devastation. You reward his melodrama with a giggle, ruffling your hands through his fried hair. Jimin had a knack for changing his hair color as quickly as his mood.

You look at the bill that’s staring back at you from your computer screen, and it feels like it’s just reached out and punched you in the face. “Hey do you think it’s a common mistake for bank tellers to add a few too many zeroes?”

“Y/N.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m rationalizing as a self-defense mechanism.” Sometimes it was annoying that your roommate had a degree in psychology. Then again, Jimin was making more money than you and your degree in English.

You sigh deeply and look up at the ceiling in attempts to quell your tears of frustration. And also because it is a plea to whoever is up there controlling your destiny: please I’m begging you. Melt my debt away.

You and Jimin sit in comfortable silence and he plays with the hem of your worn comforter while you scroll through the emails you have been ignoring in your inbox. You want to smash your head in at all the deadlines. Times like these, there is one thing that brings you comfort and always has since you turned 18.

The quaint little crescent moon that sits right atop your radius.

You had a habit of pressing your thumb against it and feeling your pulse against the mark, stupidly wondering if your soulmate’s heartbeat has synched up with your own. If he was out there somewhere, touching his mark and wondering the same about you. He was taking his sweet time, that’s for sure. Jimin sees your nervous tic and sighs again.

“You’re so hopelessly romantic it makes me want to barf, Y/N.” You scowl at his words and chuck a pillow at his unsuspecting face.

“I don’t understand you, Jimin. Your soulmate is out there and you’re not the slightest bit curious? You don’t want to do anything extra to find them?” Jimin looks at you with a knowing smile.

“That’s exactly it, though. I know they’re my soulmate and I’ll find them when the time is right. So why worry about it? It’s better not to force anything.” His statement is followed up with a grin and his fingers reach out to pinch your cheeks. This was the dynamic of your friendship. He is easy-going and flows like a careless river. You’ve read one too many books to not vie and daydream for the moment you lock eyes with your soulmate.

Your mom always said that you’ll know just from a look. It’s like getting hit over the head with a ray of sun, she said. Like suddenly their eyes are the only eyes you ever want to look into again. Since then, you’ve dreamt for the day you find someone with that same moon on their wrist. For now though, you had more immediate concerns more along the lines of crippling debt.

“What do I do, Jimin? Should I be a stripper?” He laughs and the thought makes you groan. You couldn’t even walk in heels, much less try to dance or look like you didn’t have two left feet. Stripper life just wasn’t for you.

“Hm...I could call in a few favors for you at the office. Get you an internship or secretary position.”

“Maybe. Too much nepotism. Your father owns the office you work at”, you remind him, and his eyebrows crease further in thought. God, maybe you do have to be a stripper.

“Wait!” Jimin yelps so suddenly you almost fling the computer off your lap.

“I think I know someone. He’s been looking for a model for his art portfolio or something, and he said he’s willing to pay.” Jimin reaches for his phone and his thumbs type up a storm while you watch from the sideline.

“I think he mentioned it’s about a month-long project. You’d just have to be on call whenever a stroke of genius arrives.”

“That sounds great! I’m an amazing model!” you crow, to which Jimin giggles again.

“The several candids I have in my camera roll tell a different story, Y/N.” Naturally, he receives another pillow to the face. But you follow up with a cheery kiss to his cheek as you rejoice in the new opportunity for cash flow by a celebratory dance, which looks more like a wiggle when you remain seated on your bed.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”, you chirped, “I owe you one.”

“Hey...I know how you can repay me.”

When you look towards him, his eyebrows are raised inquisitively and there’s a devilish smirk on his lips.

Jimin gets a third pillow to his face that day.

◓

Jungkook’s favorite type of arguments to get into is whether Neo-classicism or post-impressionism had the most impact on European art and architecture. Call him a snob, but he loves to prattle on about Degas and Caillebotte until his opponent tires or concedes out of pure exhaustion. Jungkook regards it as a battle strategy: bore your enemy so that they stop fighting.

He’s in the middle of a heated debate with his classmate from graduate school when he receives a phone call from Park Jimin. Now, Jungkook has no idea how or when Jimin became an installment in his life, or how he’s roped his way into his inner circle. He just remembers waking up one day with a killer hangover and finding that there was a pink-haired stranger lying on his floor. When he tried to shoo him out, the stranger shoved a wad of money in his shirt pocket, muttering “just five more minutes”, and Jungkook was in no position to deny easy cash. Jungkook now considers Jimin one of his close friends.

“What’s up, Jiminie?” He laughs into the microphone.

“I told you not to call me that, you brat. I’m older than you.”

“I’m taller than you.”

“My dick is bigger.”

“I-okay fine you got me there.” He hears Jimin wheeze over the line as he tries to rein himself in to say what he needs to say.

“In all seriousness, though. I have a proposition for you.” Jimin lilts in a mischievous tone, which makes Jungkook nervous enough to get up from the café table he had been sitting at with his friend and careen to a quieter corner.

“Shoot.”

“Okay, so you know how you were telling me about your portfolio for the gallery. The one you have to submit by the end of the season? How you needed a model on call 24/7 in case inspiration struck?”

Jungkook wants him to spit it out because he has been searching high mountains and low valleys for someone that would be willing to be his muse for a month or two. Constantly at his beck and call so he can finish this damn portfolio and get his name out there in the art world. Maybe start debating post-impressionism with the cream of the crop.

“I think I’ve found someone to do that for you.” Jungkook exhales in relief at his words.

“She’s my roommate and she’s super low on cash and unemployed with a bachelor’s in English literature, so she’s got time to spare.” Perfect. That way, Jungkook can call her whenever he needs to.

“That’s amazing, Jiminie. Can she meet me at the art building tomorrow at noon? We can start right away.” Jungkook breathes through the phone, a small weight coming off his shoulders now that another thing had been accomplished. One less thing he had to worry about on the journey to his goal. Jimin confirms the plans and they exchange pleasantries before Jungkook hangs up as the man on the other line starts screaming about his burning lunch on the stove.

Jungkook catches sight of the mark on his wrist when he looks down, and quickly rearranges his bracelets so that it is once again covered to his eyes. Out of sight and out of mind.

The gallery portfolio had been a thorn in his side. It had been months in the making and if he allows himself to reminisce, Jungkook remembers the nights he and Yoojung stayed up until dawn and talked about his blossoming interest in art. How he wanted a space of his own to display his works. Back then, she listened to him with stars in her eyes and basked in the afterglow of post-coital cuddling, promising that she would help him achieve it.

His heart sinks at the memory of the imprint of her tresses of hair spilling on his bedspread. He burned those sheets the second she left.

Jungkook represses his intrusive thoughts about Yoojung and wills her to get out of his head. He forces it down until it feels like he’s just dumped ice water over his heart and vomited out any semblance of emotion. He makes his way back to the cafe table with a sly smile that hides the internal ache he’s promised himself to never let anyone suspect of.

“So what were you saying about Renoir’s Moulin de la Galette?”

◑

The art building is situated besides a library, with a bakery flanking its left. Two years spent at the university, and you’ve never once stepped foot there. Maybe it was the daunting abstract sculpture on the front lawn or the prejudices you held against annoying art snobs on their high horses, but you often found yourself subconsciously avoiding the space in intimidation.

“Okay, Y/N, you’re going to do this so you can pay off your loans”, you whisper under your breath, words meant for your ears and no one else’s. “And if he asks you to pose nude, you run the opposite direction.”

It was easy to get lost in the building. For art students that know how to draw, they really took advantage of abstractionism to make the most confusing map you had ever seen in your life. Luckily, with some direction from the vapid front desk secretary and some intuition, you were able to to find room 62B. You don’t think you’ll be able to forget the number 62B if you tried, Jimin had screamed it to you so many times as you left the apartment.

The door soundlessly opens with a nudge of your hand and you stick your head inside.

“You know when Jimin told me he found me a model, he didn’t mention her lack of punctuality.” His voice is calm and subdued with no lingering annoyance, even if his words are uncourteous. You whip around to him and the first sight you see of Jeon Jungkook is merely a tuft of brown hair behind a vast canvas. And some expensive looking leather boots that anchor his feet to the ground.

You clear your throat and approach with an outstretched hand and the shiniest smile you can muster.

“I’m Y/N. Jimin’s roommate. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You can call me Jungkook.”

It is when he steps out from behind the canvas that you finally understand what your mother meant when she said meeting your soulmate feels like getting hit over the head with a ray of sunshine. You can’t describe it any other way, but that’s exactly what it feels like. Like the air becomes so sweet in your lungs it turns to viscous honey. Like suddenly the person standing in front of you is Valentine, encapsulated.

You know he feels it too, yet you don’t know why he forces himself to remain blasé, and if you hadn’t seen his widened eyes and heard the gasp from his lips you would have never suspected anything at all. Stranger courtesy is abandoned and you forcefully grab his wrist, turning it over to find his mark while pulling up your sleeve to reveal your own.

A little black crescent moon.

Right on the pulse point.

Just like your’s.

When you finally muster up the nerve to look into his eyes again, you wonder if it is healthy for the human heart to beat so fast and so thunderously it feels ready to jump out of your chest. Jungkook, however, still wears that same expression on his face. Flat and cold, not even a glimmer in his eyes. He stares at you disinterested and wrenches his wrist from your grasp.

“Wait, Jungkook...aren’t you….”, you sputter through a desperate smile, “aren’t you happy?” He stays silent and trains his attention on the canvas in front of him, but you can see the conflict that swirls in his iris.

“I’ve been looking for you for so long! And I’ve finally found you. In the art building no less, just my luck that-”

“Y/N, I don’t know what you expect from me but I’m not looking for anything right now.”

There were no objectively ugly words. But you think the ones that have just spewed from Jungkook’s lips come pretty close. They stoke a fire in your chest.

“What do you mean? We’re soulmates”, you faltered, sinking deeper into confusion as you stare at the unaffected man in front of you, whose only concern is the conglomerate of paint on his palette.

Jungkook sighs monotonously. Almost as if he had better things to do than be here.

“It’s only a mark on your wrist. And we just happen to have the same one. Amazing that you still think somehow one single person was made entirely just for you.” His words are bored and he doesn’t even have the decency to look you in the eye when he speaks. You think you might want to punch him if you weren’t so speechless.

“Look”, he sighs as if you were inconveniencing him, “I’m not going to sugarcoat it and tell you that I’m the one you’ve been looking for this whole time. We have the same mark, but...I’m not the guy you want.”

“B-But...I’m your soulmate. We-we’re made for each other.”

Jungkook scoffs harshly, and you want to sink into the ground. “That’s just a silly myth.”

“So you don’t...believe in soulmates?” The words felt wrong to say when all your life, finding your soulmate felt like the ribbon at the end of the finish line. But here he was now, and you felt so small under his gaze. Like you weren’t meant to be there and standing in the same room with him was a concoction for heartbreak.

“No.”

Jungkook’s syllable pangs in your ear, and you think it might be your least favorite sound. Then you leave. And if it was hard for you to meet your soulmate - the person who you’re destined to be with - who doesn’t believe in you, then walking away from him was a different cross to bear.

You take the bus home and ignore the glare of strangers when you burst into tears at a red light, and cry the rest of the way back. Your mother hadn’t described this. She prosed on and on about the feeling one gets after finding a soulmate but never mentioned to you how it feels when you find out they want nothing to do with you. What do you do when you realize the person you’ve been chasing for forever has been trying to run away at the same time?

Jimin holds you together that night on your bedroom floor, while you break apart and scratch at the moon on your wrist until your skin breaks. He listens to the words you sputter; as much as he can decipher when they are drowned out by the painful sound of your sobbing. Jungkook’s beliefs bleed into your consciousness. Perhaps he is right and perhaps there is no such thing as true soulmates, and the marks are obsolete.

However, when you fall asleep in your friend’s arms from the physical fatigue of violent crying and the sheer mental exhaustion of meeting Jeon Jungkook, your mind comes to a more painful conclusion.

A more truthful conclusion.

Your soulmate only needed to meet you to decide that he did not want you.

◒

Jungkook doesn’t believe in soulmates. He thinks they’re a stupid coy to give people false hope. An illusion to feign happiness and to take Yoojung away from someone she genuinely loved. Though in the hours of the night, when he is by himself and the bed feels too big for one body, Jungkook wonders if there is truly a reason why someone has an identical moon on their wrist. But he is still so broken and unhealed from the wounds Yoojung left behind.

So instead of soulmates, he thinks about what she must be doing. If she’s eating well. If she’s moved in with her own soulmate and if they’re happy together. Jungkook is an involuntary masochist and he pays for it with every pillowcase that becomes stained with his tears.

He sighs out an expletive after downing a shot of whiskey, relishing in the familiar burn as it slides down his throat. Alcohol doesn’t seem to be working efficiently, though. He’s only barely tipsy after years in college building tolerance, and he can still see your face each time he blinks. Like you are imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Jungkook wonders why Jimin had cancelled on the group tonight.

There is a little devil called remorse and it stands atop his shoulder, unseen by everyone but him, and Jungkook decides he will get rid of it by calling another round of shots. From his seat in the dirty booth, he can see Min Yoongi and his soulmate practically dry humping on the dance floor. If anyone asks him if he ever gets jealous seeing soulmates happy and in love, he’ll laugh in their face and tell them he pities people like that. People that are so blinded by the system. But loneliness is a stern mistress and it makes him think of you. How lovely the moon looks on your wrist. How your hand felt so warm when it caressed against his skin.

He tips his head back again. Vodka this time.

“Dude, are you okay?”

To his right comes Kim Taehyung, designated driver extraordinaire, and he looks at Jungkook with friendly concern laced with amusement. Jungkook nods contentedly.

“Soulmates are so bullshit, Tae”, he snickers, fingers tracing the rim of the shot glass and smirk on his face to mask the bitterness of both the alcohol and his heart. Taehyung spares a knowing glance, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder with the weight of knowledge of Jungkook’s past.

The night is young and so is he. He drinks until he can no longer taste the liquor and forgets altogether about what had happened only a couple of hours before. Until the crescent mark on his skin just looks like a shapeless black blob, and it makes him smile. He thinks he likes it better that way.

Taehyung drops him home and personally tucks him into bed while he is still in jeans and his shirt smells like the bar. His sleep is dreamless that night. When the morning comes and his friends tease him about how he begged Taehyung not to leave, Jungkook will laugh and blame the alcohol for his foggy memory. He won’t tell them that he does remember, and that he was only grasping at any warm body to soothe his aching loneliness.

◐

Usually when he first opens his eyes in the morning, Jungkook is thinking about the next class he has to attend and if he is late (which is usually most of the time). This morning, albeit morbidly hungover, Jungkook thinks of the apple strudels they sell at the bakery next to the art building. Mrs. Kim always gets the pastry to filling ratio just right. But when he opens the door with a jubilant smile on his face and the scent of baked goods already in his nostrils, Jungkook has a feeling apple strudels will have to wait.

There you are. In all your messy-haired glory, huffing like a caged bull in the doorway of his apartment, fiery gaze directed completely at him and all he can think to say is:

“How do you know where I live?” Jungkook schools his face expressionless in your presence. He hopes this will discourage you, but it only makes you angrier.

“Park Jimin”, you snarl.

Of fucking course, it’s always Park Jimin. Jimin who drunkenly sleeps in his bedroom and now Jimin who is leaking his address to any stranger.

“Um”, Jungkook stammers and takes a step back, “what are you doing here? Didn’t I get my point through yesterday?” He can see the statement catching you off guard, and the fury in your eyes dwindles to dejection. Only for a millisecond though, before you are aiming your wrath at him once again.

You take a deep breath. “What is wrong with you?”

Jungkook can think of a lot of answers to that query. He opts to interpret it as a rhetorical question and keep his mouth shut.

“You just...found your soulmate! I’m your soulmate! And you don’t even want to get to know me? At all?”, you scream exasperatedly. Jungkook catches the gaze of a middle aged lady who is not-so-discreetly staring at the two of you, and pulls you inside his apartment by your arm. If you weren’t so frustrated, you would have been flustered at the physical contact.

“Listen. Soulmates don’t end up together all the time. I’ve told you I’m not really interested in anything right now and it’s not a priority”, he takes a breath through his passionate monologue, “and I’m sorry that that’s not something you expected, but I….don’t want a soulmate.”

Maybe...he just doesn’t want you.

When he says them out loud to a living breathing person, Jungkook realizes how cruel it sounds. He can see it in the way your eyes have become glossy under his living room lights and the way you shrink into yourself as self-defense against his blows. He rationalizes that he’d rather tell you the truth than lie to you now, only to hurt you later. Really, he’s doing you a kindness. Right?

You turn your back to him to gather your thoughts, and wipe the tears that you refuse to let him see. The salty drops sting the raw skin of your wrist after last night, and you are brutally reminded of the current reality. His brutal honesty makes you want to abandon all hope, but you were a woman with a plan. You came here for a reason, not to just lose your temper in your soulmate’s apartment and tell him what you really thought about him.

“I have a proposition for you”, you asserted calmly, staring Jungkook in the eye as he remains unbothered.

“Now I reckon something’s happened to you to make you lose all your faith in soulmates, so I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Your eyebrows furrow when you speak focusedly.

“We don’t have to be together. That’s your will. But…”, you hesitate, pushing past the uncertainty and fear of another rejection from Jungkook, “will you let me at least try? You don’t have to promise anything. Can we just start as friends?”

Naturally, Jungkook wants to shoot down your offer, kick you out of his apartment, and pretend like he never met anyone by the name of Y/N. Call it divine intervention but when he looks at you, pleading for any semblance of connection, he feels a tug at his heart strings. So Jungkook makes another promise to himself. He would let you “try”, whatever that entails. But there was no virtual possibility of letting you any closer than necessary.

You both stand in contemplative silence before he lets out a resigned sigh. “On one condition”, he responds slowly, but there is already a premature grin growing on your face and you don’t think you could stop it even if you tried.

“You still have to be my model for the art portfolio.”

You agree before he even gets to take another breath.

“Deal.”

When you finally make your way out of Jungkook’s apartment, parting ways with an awkward number exchange and a ‘see you later’, there is a simultaneous feeling of hope and desolation. The optimism for Jungkook combines with the insecurity that perhaps you, just as you are, is not nearly enough to make someone fall in love. Especially someone who disregards their soul connection to you.

You walk back to your apartment with a heavy heart that warms with embers of determination. Jeon Jungkook was an enigma. A Bastille fortress of self-defense mechanisms and destructive tendencies, and you know that there is unresolved pain. Call it a soulmate instinct or something, but you see it in his eyes. You see it in the way his face begs to show emotion but his mind refuses to acknowledge.

You know Jungkook is not obligated to accept you after the dust settles, much less fall in love with you. Under the peach blossoms of the campus sidewalk, you make a promise anyway. To yourself and to your soulmate and the silly little mark on the inside of your wrist. Even if he does not love you, you vow to help Jungkook learn to love himself.

◓

When you are harshly woken up at 5:30 in the morning, the last person you expected to be blowing up your phone was Jeon Jungkook. If it weren’t for the pure exhaustion seeping through your bones, you would have been excited about your soulmate calling you. Alas, slumber was your soulmate now. Jungkook would have to step down.

On the other side of the paper thin wall, Jimin is frustratedly banging from his room, your ringtone reverberating throughout the entire apartment. You pick up his call without even opening your eyes.

“Hello?”

“Y/N I need you to come to my apartment as soon as you can.” There is no sleepiness in his voice. Just clean and cold like it always is and he has hung up before you get the chance to scold him for waking you up at this unholy hour. You’re about to give him a piece of your mind but you remember he is paying you very handsomely for your efforts, and reluctantly drag yourself out of bed to call an uber. Thank god he doesn’t live too far away otherwise you’ll stick a foot through his canvas for the transportation bill.

The front of Jungkook’s apartment door is strangely therapeutic, and you find yourself falling asleep standing up after you’ve rung the doorbell. Either time passes too slowly when you are sleep-drunk or Jungkook moves to get the door as quickly as your grandfather does. Whatever the case, you are about to pass out on his doorstep if he doesn’t come soon.

“Y/N, why are you just standing there? The door has been open.”

“Jungkook. Why are you making me do this so early?”, you yawn, pushing inside the apartment.

Jungkook takes in your discombobulated appearance, and almost wants to laugh. You were still in your pajamas, and the bun on your head now looked more like a heaping blob that drooped down your temple. It was obvious that you had just rolled out of bed and he almost feels bad for disturbing your sleep, but he does not decide when his strokes of inspiration spontaneously appear.

The living room is bombarded with Jungkook’s art supplies and stray canvases, and you take note of the clay sculpting table that blends in as furniture next to his kitchen. You plop yourself down on the stool across from Jungkook’s easel, eyes still half closed and impossibly tired.

In this moment, Jungkook wipes the fact that you are his soulmate from his mind. He needs to do the portfolio. That is all he’s keeping you around for, and the only reason he agreed to your plan was so that you would remain his art model.

In the silence of his makeshift art studio, Jungkook paints whatever comes to his mind, referencing your figure on the stool for the curves he can never get right without a model and need for a human presence to translate onto his canvas. You become more lucid as time goes by and the sun starts to rise from outside his window, sitting up straighter and paying more attention to his concentrated face as Jungkook pours himself into his creation.

Looking at him in this light, you realize that he is beautiful. And not just because he’s your soulmate. Jungkook’s hair is scruffy and stubbled, undereyes sporting impressive dark circles. But the way he caresses the paintbrush and the way his body moves to the beat of the painting is poetic. He glances at you sporadically, eyes darting to and fro to capture as much as he can before the creativity burns out. He is beautiful and it makes your heart ache to know that he does not want you. In spite of the bond the universe has created.

You wonder if in his focused hazed, he notices the new glaze across your eyes and the silent sound of your soul calling out for his. You wipe away the first dripping tear as quickly as it came. You know Jungkook sees, but does not bat an eye and you can’t tell if you’d rather prefer him to acknowledge it.

It’s 8:00am when he puts the paintbrush down, takes a step back, and surveys his work. His eyes trail over each organic line and areas where he decided to use burnishing instead of cross hatching. It’s far from perfect, but it’s enough.

“Okay. You’re free to go”, he announces, plucking the painting off the easel and resting it against the wall, hidden from your eyes.

“W-What? That’s it?”, you sigh disappointedly, “you’re not even going to let me see it?” Jungkook shrugs. His detachedness makes you want to rip your hair out and sob into your pillow at the same time. You don’t understand how a person could be so unfazed.

“S’not ready for debut. Thanks for showing up, though.” He doesn’t spare you another glance. Just goes back to cleaning his brushes and dumping out the glasses of murky paint water. You ignore the twinge of hurt in your chest and slide off the stool.

“Okay, fine. Now it’s my turn. Would you like to go have some breakfast?”, you smile expectantly to Jungkook, who stares at you with an indifferent gaze. His first instinct is to make up a half-assed excuse to get out of this, eager to detach himself from you as much as possible and avoid any more interaction. However, he was insanely hungry, and the glimmer in your eye just looks so hopeful even Jungkook couldn’t bear to shoot you down.

He sighs with resignation. A little breakfast couldn’t hurt, and he wasn’t going with you necessarily. You were just...going to the same cafe in the same direction as him and likely sitting at the same table. Yeah, that’s it.

“Hurry up, I’m hungry.”

“Wait...actually?”

You blinked in shock at his lack of resistance.

“Yes. Now come on. I know a place with really great apple strudels.”

You weren’t aware that by ‘breakfast’, Jungkook actually meant sitting in complete silence and wolfing down food like your life depends on it. You want to be grossed out when he inhales 3 apple strudels in less than 10 minutes, crumbs flaking on his shirt without a care in the world. Yet you just feel endeared. The sight makes you smile. And maybe if Jungkook did not detest you, you would have leaned over and kissed the cinnamon sugar right off his lips.

“So….”, you sip on a sweet coffee, “Jimin told me you’re going for a masters in art history?”

Jungkook nods halfway through a bite of his pastry. “Yup.”

“Is it something you’re really passionate about?” you inquire, desperately wanting the conversation to delve into something that wasn’t so surface level.

“Uh huh.”

“What are some other things you’re interested in besides art?”

“Totally.”

Jungkook is completely clueless. He only spares glances to the windows and occasional looks to his oh so precious breakfast treats. You want to slap him and be angry, but you only sigh. It shouldn’t be so hard to talk to your soulmate, yet it felt like trying to pull teeth when he was so completely disinterested in you. You wonder if this is worth it.

You look up at him from your steaming cappuccino cup and use your wildcard.

“In my opinion, Botticelli’s Birth of Venus did little for the Italian Renaissance movement.”

Your statement almost has Jungkook falling backwards in his chair and choking on a piece of fruit filling, eyes growing as wide as saucers when he finally processes what you just said. A flaming insult to the entire art historian community.

“What do you know about Botticelli?”, he sneers, and you internally celebrate for this is the most emotion Jungkook has shown since meeting you.

“I know that his work supposedly epitomizes the spirit of the Renaissance”, you swirl the coffee in your cup nonchalantly, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “But if you ask me, Bellini’s San Giobbe Altarpiece did much more to encapsulate the values of 15th century Italy.”

Jungkook’s speechless expression is one that you want to take a snapshot of and frame it to your wall. It is glorious, and arguably more artful to you than Botticelli himself. So what, you had conveniently forgot to mention to him about the class you took junior year of college, with a professor that made you engrave the fundamentals of Italian painting in your brain. It’s so much more gratifying to see him stunned silent.

Across the table from you, Jungkook feels a warm smile itching to display itself. Before it can appear, he disguises it as a cold smirk. He feels something akin to a butterfly at the pit of his stomach, but blames it on indigestion and the inhuman pace at which he devoured his breakfast. Yeah that must be it. There was no way he was feeling butterflies.

He cracks his knuckles, raises his cup to gulp down a lukewarm green tea, and rests his elbows on the table separating the both of you.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me your thoughts on the influences of neo-classicism in the 18th century?”

◑

“No, Y/N, turn to your left a little”, Jungkook frustratedly sighs behind the camera lens.

“Your left or my left?”

He pauses. “....left.”

To any outside eye, you and Jungkook look like two buffoons trying to take pictures on what might possibly be the windiest day of the season, under the peach blossom trees. Jungkook had called you earlier that day and stressed about how he needed mixed media in his beloved portfolio, and photographs were the next topic of interest. Though you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just set out a fruit bowl on his windowsill and call it still life photography.

Jungkook stares down at his camera, dissatisfaction clear on his face. You almost want to apologize for your abhorrent modeling skills but hey, he was the one that chose you.

“Hmm...try staring at that boat in the distance”, he dictates, standing beside you and aiming the lens at your side profile. You do as he asks, but don’t hear the shutter of the camera. Jungkook sighs again and leans forward, so close you could feel his warm breath hitting your skin. You hope he doesn’t notice the beet blush on your cheeks.

Jungkook’s hands meet your chin when he uses it to slightly tilt your face downwards. He positions you in the way that he wants you to pose and you finally understand why photography is considered an art. Because it’s almost as if Jungkook is molding you like clay, to get the silhouette he wants to capture with his camera lens. The day is brisk, but his skin on your’s lights you on fire.

“Okay, that’s…..that’s perfect”, Jungkook breathes, hurriedly picking up the camera that had been hanging onto his neck by the strap and angling it. At the moment his index finger presses down on the button, there is a gust of wind that surrounds the both of you.

The breeze loosens a strand of your hair and it falls into your eyes. You let your eyes drift close for a second, smiling into the cold air that tingles on your skin. Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat and he thanks the skies for the howling wind so you wouldn’t be able to hear his thumping heartbeat. But surely it’s only because it’s cold. And absolutely nothing else. Jungkook coughs inconspicuously to snap himself out of his trance, sighing in relief when he realizes your eyes are still closed and that you hadn’t noticed his internal struggle.

He drags you to a bridge next and makes you lay on the cold wood to which you vehemently object before you remember that he’s paying you and that you want him to fall in love with you, not dislike you more than he already does. After the bridge, Jungkook makes you kneel beside the park pond and dip your hand in the icy water and you find yourself wanting to do the same thing to his precious camera.

Before the two of you have realized, the sun sets into the horizon and tinges the sky in a combination of purples and pinks that Jungkook himself has a hard time replicating on canvas. He aims his lens at the clouds and takes a picture that he knows won’t make it into his gallery. He just felt the need to have something to remember this day by. For no reason in particular…

A buzzing coming from your coat pocket alerts you both of the time that has passed and how the sky has considerably darkened since you began the session. When you fish your phone out, Jimin’s contact photo is staring back at you while the marimba ringtone continues playing. You put the phone on speaker.

“Hey Jiminie”, you smile and Jungkook catches a glance of it. And the discomfort in his chest is definitely, 100%, not jealousy. Not at all.

“I told you not to call me that! What is with you younger people and your disrespect for the elderly?” The corner of Jungkook’s lips twitch into a subtle smile at the similarity of your’s and his conversations with Jimin.

“Okay, okay, grandpa. What’s up?”

“Can you come home ASAP? I may or may not have broken the stove trying to make soup.”

The redundancy of his confession makes you sigh, as Park Jimin desecrating your shared kitchen space was not a rare occurrence by any means.

“I’ll be right there”, you chided through the line, “please do not cook anything else before I arrive.”

“Thanks Y/N-ie, you’re the best!” Jimin’s voice is far too cheery and you make a mental note to nag him a little extra when you get home. The phone call is ended promptly and you turn around to Jungkook, eyes widening in surprise when he has already packed up all his photography gear. The sky had turned dark and the streetlights had been turned on to illuminate the park. If you had craned your neck upwards, you would have noticed the stars that awoke again to shine down upon the city. But you didn’t. You only saw the stars that were twinkling in Jungkook’s eyes.

“Uh”, he stammers, “I’ll walk you home. It’s late.”

“Oh! Uh...Thanks.” Though he was still cold and indifferent, your heart jumped in elation. Perhaps this could be considered baby steps.

The trip home is quiet, only the sounds of your tandem footsteps on pavement and the rustle of a breeze through tree leaves fill the space of silence. But the quiet is not uncomfortable. Just a bit awkward as you two try to figure out how to be around one another. Jungkook’s hands are shoved in his pockets and your fingers itch to intertwine themselves around his own. To press your soulmate marks together and feel them calling out to each other. But you and Jungkook are anything but normal soulmates. For you are already head over heels in love with him and he is adamant on not sparing you a crumb of affection.

To your disdain, the apartment was closer than you thought and the short walk with Jungkook ended before it really even began. You could practically hear Jimin’s impatience emanating from the third story of the building.

“So I’ll see you later?”, you smile meekly. Jungkook readjusts the strap of his camera bag before nodding. He is walking away before you turn around to enter the apartment building and even though it was something small and mundane, you wished he would have waited to see you get in safely. You make your way inside, more downcast than you had been before.

You don’t see when Jungkook turns around. You don’t feel the reassurance that washes over him when the door shuts safely behind you.

That night, Jungkook is reminded far too much of Yoojung. When he goes to make his usual chamomile, he finds her mug at the very back of the tea cabinet. She must have forgotten it when she packed up her stuff. When he spoons in the sugar, he remembers how Yoojung drinks her tea with honey instead. And when he feels himself start to fall apart, he remembers how Yoojung is not there to keep him together.

Jungkook pushes away his pain, abandons the lukewarm mug of tea, and opts for an early bedtime to sleep away the ache. The camera sitting on his nightstand, though, beckons him to look over the photos you both had taken that afternoon.

In the moment, he had been dissatisfied with the pictures, always thinking there must be a better angle or a better position you could shift into. However when he looks down at his camera now, in the quiet and solemnity of his bedroom, Jungkook can’t help but to think they are absolutely perfect.

He doesn’t know whether to credit his own artistic skill or you; for breathing life into his photographs. It’s the lines of your hands, the slope of your nose, and the stray strands of your hair that makes his pictures more human.

The ones he ends up picking though, are not perfectly staged and not the ones where he made you change the position of your stance for 10 minutes. No, the best pictures were the ones he took without you noticing. When you had just been enjoying the cool breeze or admiring the beauty of peach blossom season. When you point out a cool looking bird and when you stared annoyedly past the cameras lens (at him no doubt).

Yoojung is gone from his mind for just a tiny fleeting moment. For little reason at all, Jungkook finds himself smiling. And there is only the company of the moon to see it.

◒

It is ten o’ clock in the morning and Jungkook comes to a realization that in the couple weeks since he has met you, he has sighed more times than he has in the past 23 years of life. Jungkook sighs when you text him first thing in the morning about the dream you had the night before and describe it in painfully vivid details. He leaves them unanswered. Sometimes he wished you would just email him the google document instead. He sighs when you fidget in your seat when he’s trying to paint and keep focus, but you are only interested in asking him the snacks he has in his fridge or when he’s going to finish. He sighs when you and Jimin collectively trash his art studio by spamming his $1,000 camera with ugly face pictures and sword fighting with his sable paint brushes. Jungkook often has a hard time believing that both of you are in graduate school.

Today, he sighs when you bombard into room 62B of the art building; what is supposed to be Jungkook’s completely zen and peaceful creative space. You are tiptoeing around him as you always do, scared that you’ll do something to set him off and your soulmate will disown you for good. He glances at you once, eyes quickly darting back to the sculpture he is molding on the clay table and saying nothing.

��There’s a new cafe that just opened right across from the apple strudel place”, you gulp tensely. “I was gonna go check out the competition.” Your words seem deaf to Jungkook’s ear and he only furrows his eyebrows, fingers fussing over the mass of clay. There was just something he couldn’t get right. He didn’t know what it was.

Jungkook pushes away the sculpture frustratedly, wipes his hands on his apron, and finally looks at you. Maybe he did need a break and come back to it with fresh eyes. That’s all it was, though. A break. He wasn’t going because you asked him to.

“They better have blonde roast otherwise you’ll be compensating me for my time.” Jungkook is as ruthless and blunt as ever and you decide to look past it as you always do. Him agreeing to go with you was a mini success.

“Welcome in! You’ve stopped by at the perfect time. The strawberry scones have just been taken out of the oven!” The cafe employee is far too enthusiastic for receiving minimum wage and greeting grumpy people off the streets who just want to be caffeinated. His name tag reads Jung Hoseok.

“Oh, strawberry is my favorite”, you whisper, the statement only meant for your ears but Jungkook picks up on it anyway. He declines to tell you that strawberry is his favorite as well. Hoseok’s eyes light up when you and Jungkook approach the entrance, like he finally succeeded at luring a customer.

The cafe isn’t anything special. A bit more modern compared to the one across the street and you think you prefer the latter because this new one doesn’t have the owner’s handsome son standing at the cash register. He may not be your soulmate, but even you had to admit Kim Seokjin was a beautiful man if there ever was one. However, this cafe is warm and has ceiling length windows that let in an obscene amount of sunlight. Jungkook makes a mental note to try some pictures here in the future.

Jungkook’s phone buzzes in his pocket and you are already leaving him behind in the dust, walking straight to the counter and peering up at the menu deep in thought. You turn around to see that he is immersed in mysterious conversation, and take it upon yourself to order him a drink.

“I’ll have a matcha latte. And uh…”, you decide, trailing off as you wonder what kind of drink Jungkook would enjoy. “And an iced vanilla mocha latte, extra whipped cream, extra chocolate syrup. Do you guys have rainbow sprinkles?”

A little sugar never hurt anyone. Especially someone so often bitter like your one and only soulmate.

When Jungkook hangs up and makes his way to the corner table where you are situated, the sight of the concoction on the table is enough to give him an instant cavity. You hide your smile behind the mug of matcha. He grumbles and sits down swiftly, sticking the straw past his lips in defiance and you can only watch expectantly.

“Well…do you like it?”

This is when Jungkook realizes you didn’t order this to spite him. You just had completely zero idea what he liked and disliked and chose the first thing you thought was best. As cold as he is, he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that when he drinks coffee, he likes it black. No cream, no sugar, and the darkest roast with the most caffeine to push him through those nights spent in front of a canvas or over a clay table.

Jungkook fights to keep steady from the ambush of sugar and wills himself to swallow it down. There is sticky chocolate syrup on his hands and it feels cosmically more uncomfortable than paint. But Jungkook manages to look up at you and nod, to which you reward with a smile.

“I knew you would like it”, you say smugly, giving yourself a mental pat on the back. “You look like you have a giant sweet tooth.” There is a mellow giggle that follows your statement. Jungkook feels a flutter at the bottom of his stomach, and convinces himself it’s only because it sounds so much like Yoojung. He catches sight of the moon on your wrist, and pushes the feeling away even farther.

The two of you spend the rest of the midday there, tucked away in a corner of a cafe and losing track of time as you always do. Jungkook finds himself forgetting about the mountains of work he has to do to finish his art gallery portfolio, and the unfinished sculpture back at the studio that’s just not right.

Today, he allows himself to enjoy your presence and get to know you more. Your favorite color is yellow. You had a dog named Benny when you were a child. You detest beer with a passion, but enjoy a nightly glass of pinot grigio. Jungkook barely notices when the entire cup of coffee has disappeared. Every last rainbow sprinkle.

On second thought, he feels that maybe there was something sweeter than his unexpectedly delicious iced vanilla mocha latte with extra whipped cream. Maybe that something was sitting right across from him, rambling about the fundamentals of English literature with unexplained vigor.

Jungkook’s soul feels lighter when he goes to bed that night. And when he finally succumbs to Morpheus, his last lucid thought is of you; sun beams coming from the large cafe windows that comb through your hair. He looks at you through his mind’s eye and all he can see is the potential heartbreak you have the power to put him through. The fan of your eyelashes. The curve of your smile. The plush of your lips. All he can see is Yoojung as she crushes his soul in her bare hands.

Yet in the midst of his internal conflict, Jungkook’s subconscious allows him to fall in love with you a little bit. Perhaps not love just yet, but affection. Like a toe dip in uncharted waters or sticking his finger in a bowl of creamy cake batter just for a taste. The walls he has built are still there, strong as ever, but perhaps a couple bricks look a bit askew. He doesn’t know, but his soul calls out to your’s through the fortress.

◐

“Y/N I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea.”

“Oh hush, just close your eyes and point where your heart tells you to.”

In the lobby of a train station, facing a map and an ETA board is where you and Jungkook will be embarking on your next “date but not really because you don’t believe in soulmates so let’s just hang out”. It had taken a good two hours of nagging and whining on your part to convince him to abandon his portfolio for just a little bit to go an outing. Now standing here, with you excitedly bouncing next to him and a mystery destination, Jungkook feels something akin to utter regret.

“What if I choose somewhere that’s a thousand miles away? Or just in the middle of nowhere?”, Jungkook groans, still putting up an unbothered and cold front.

“Well then we will go somewhere that’s a thousand miles away or in the middle of nowhere”, you quipped back at him. Jungkook had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to get out of this one.

He reluctantly places a hand over his eyes, sighing with resignation before pointing to a random spot on the map. There is a giggle that sounds to his left and Jungkook finds himself wanting to hear more.

“Wonderful choice”, you smiled, “couldn’t have picked it better myself.”

Jungkook peeked his eyes open one at a time, scared of seeing what his intuition has chosen for your guys’ spontaneous destination. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees that his fingers landed on a town on the outskirts of the city, 20 minutes away from the university. He silently thanks the universe for not sabotaging his wallet and time.

“We’re never doing this again, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks as you are in front of him, skipping happily to the front desk to buy two train tickets.

“Wasn’t it fun, though? The thrill?”, you chuckle at his demeanor, to which he only shakes his head vehemently. You note the newest thing you’ve just learned about Jungkook: he has an aversion to uncertainty and spontaneity.

The train ride was as brief as it was uneventful. You spent the time rambling to Jungkook about all the quips and quirks about yourself and he only listened. Though he kept quiet, his face was free of any annoyance or indication that you were speaking too much. Jungkook only stared at you and unknowing to you, he soaked in every bit of information like a sponge. If anyone asked, he could tell them what foods you were allergic to, what colors wash you out, and what vegetables you hated the most.

“Wow you didn’t have to pick somewhere so far away, Jungkook.” You muse as the two of you step out of the train car. So far away in fact, that if you were to crane your head up enough, you would be able to see the university from a distance.

“Hey, you were the one who made me choose”, Jungkook spares a rare smile, “Would you rather we have shelled out our wallets to go on an 18-hour train ride?”

“Okay, fair point.”

The city was as abundant as it was big, and the both of you walked aimlessly from avenue to avenue, stopping occasionally whenever you see a dog you just can’t help but to pet or whenever Jungkook complained about his sore feet. As cold and indifferent as Jungkook made himself out to be, you’ve quickly come to realize that he’s actually a big baby. He still hasn’t let you in or even lowered his walls by a tiny centimeter, but you like to think that even agreeing to go anywhere with you could be considered significant progress.

Jungkook doesn’t notice the pounding of his heart whenever his hands graze against your’s, walking side by side so close he can feel the heat emanating through your coat. He doesn’t notice the peace he feels, just the synchronicity of his feet as he places them on the pavement.

The fraught wind that blows straight at Jungkook’s face prompts him to look up from where his eyes were cast on the ground. He almost staggers at how strong it is, but finds himself weak in the knees for a completely different reason.

Of course.

Of all the days, of all the times, of all the people in this entire city.

Of course she had to be the one that was currently staring at him from across the intersection.

The red light seems to go on forever. Either that or time has just spontaneously frozen, Jungkook can’t tell. But his eyes are fixed on hers and his feet bolster him to the concrete when all he wants to do is sprint the other way and forget he ever saw this ghost from the past.

Yoojung looks as beautiful as the day she left him.

She’s gained some weight and her cheeks have filled out, but it looks healthy on her now (Jungkook always chided her for forgetting to eat). She stares at him with a combination of shock and guilt and something he wants to overthink into affection but he won’t give himself that satisfaction anymore. She dyed her hair. Light brown looks good on her.

She looks...happy. As happy as anyone can look when they’re rushing through thick crowds of a city, traffic horns blaring like a dilapidated symphony.

In the heat of it all, it’s impossible for you not to notice Jungkook’s sudden change in demeanor or the way he has suddenly stopped breathing. When you follow his gaze, there is a girl on the other side of the street that shares the same starstruck expression and even from the outside looking in, you can feel the weight of something painful in his eyes. In her stature.

When the lights turn green, the throngs of city dwellers migrate across and you stay beside Jungkook when he doesn’t move a muscle. Not even a finger twitch. But she does. And he can only fight to keep the ache away when Yoojung gets closer with every millisecond. Until she is standing right in front of him and he can smell her familiar vanilla perfume.

“Jungkook”, she speaks, apprehension in her voice. “It’s been a while...how are you?”

Yoojung only spares you a side glance while keeping attention on Jungkook and you only grow more curious as to who this strange woman is.

He wants to speak so badly but his tongue remains frozen. He turns to you with flabbergast in his eyes and shakes his head to snap out of the daze of confusion. Of seeing the love of his life again. Or who he thought was the love of his life.

“Could you give us a minute, Y/N?”

You didn’t know why but the words that came from his lips made you feel disappointed. Perhaps you were just stupid for thinking he would introduce you. Tell her that you’re his soulmate and scream it at the top of his lungs with sheer pride. But your imagination has hurt you countless times and you had a feeling this one wouldn’t be the last. You manage a curt nod and push away the twinge in your heart. There was a boundary between you and Jungkook and today was not the day to cross it and introduce yourself as his soulmate to any random stranger.

Once you are out of vicinity and have found solace in a bookstore 10 feet away, Jungkook allows himself to breathe in Yoojung’s presence.

“I didn’t know if you were still in the city”, he falters, voice coming out quieter than he would have liked it to. But what was he supposed to sound like confronting the supposed love of his life.

“I never left, Jungkook...my entire life is here.” She sighs, smiling lightly with eyes seeping with guilt.

He scoffs. “I don’t know Yoojung, you seem to leave behind important things pretty easily.” Jungkook feels himself getting angrier and resentful by the second, and though he knows it is unfair of him, Yoojung’s mere presence brings back all the wounds he never truly healed from.

Granted, on a concrete sidewalk next to a traffic light pole was not the best place to have a heart to heart about failed relationships. But when has the universe ever given Jungkook the best things in life. He is devastatingly cynical for someone who dedicates his career to art.

Yoojung wears a frown on her face, but there is no vindictiveness there. Just an overwhelming sense of remorse that Jungkook communicates as pity.

“I don’t know how else to say that I’m sorry”, she sighs, eyes falling to the ground. Jungkook wishes it would just open up and swallow him whole.

“Then don’t say anything.” He turns to walk away.

“Wait! Jungkook can we...can’t we catch up or something? For a couple minutes?” Yoojung is visibly desperate, and her hands are outstretched as if wanting to touch him but keeping herself from overstepping the line.

Jungkook glances through the window of the bookstore, and you are situated on a chair, already nose deep in a hefty book. He wants to smile and tease you for being such a nerd, but the weight of Yoojung’s presence makes him reinforce those walls of indifference tenfold.

He exhales frustration and inhales temptation, looking back into Yoojung’s familiar eyes and nodding. Jungkook walks to a nearby bench and sits down with no words exchanged, looking forward coldly even when he feels her warmth next to him. A couple months ago, Jungkook would have set all his canvases on fire to feel her beside him again. Now, he’s not so sure.

“So…”, she starts, “who’s that cute girl you were with?”

“No one.” He shoots out a little too soon with no hesitation. Yoojung gulps.

“You know Jungkook, it’s okay to find someone. I-I know I hurt you, but I’m glad if you’ve found someone who doesn’t.” Jungkook doesn’t say anything so she continues.

“I’m really happy for-”

“I never really forgave you Yoojung.” He stares blankly at the passersby and tries to ignore the ache in his bones. The one that’s been there the day she left and took a piece of his heart with her.

“And I don’t want to blame you for my decisions but I want you to know that I push away a lot of people because of you. People that don’t deserve it.” From the corner of his eye, he can see her nod solemnly to his words and fidget with her hands in her lap. Part of him feels guilty for unloading on Yoojung. Part of him feels like maybe he deserves to.

“What you did was really shitty. Astronomically fucking shitty. And I’ve spent the past eternity hating you and maybe I still do, but…”, Jungkook takes a deep breath, “I want to forgive you now. If not fully, then partially. I hope you can understand that.” He finally tilts his head to look at her and though the smile on her face is as beautiful as he remembers it to be, Jungkook no longer feels the longing. No longer feels the sting that he usually does when his thoughts take him back to the years they spent together.

Jungkook doesn’t want to call it closure, not yet anyway. Sitting here on the bench, he still wants to scream and yell and tell Yoojung of all the nights he’s spent alone since she left. He still wants to drag her back and wonder if she could love him again like she used to.

But he doesn’t. He listens when she tells him about her new job and her new apartment right by the lakeside. They share snippets of their separate lives. Just deep enough to rekindle something warm but shallow enough to not invite anything else in.

When he walks away from the bench and into the bookstore, Jungkook stills feels the walls that he has built around himself. He is still scared of opening up and being vulnerable but the anger held for Yoojung for so long is no longer a raging fire. More so a wickering flame.

When he spots you, though, he remembers why he built those walls in the first place. He remembers how easy it used to be for him to climb a high peak and fall to his demise. Your eyes widen when you catch sight of him, lips curling into a wide smile and clear excitement in your expression. The book in your hands is tossed aside and tunnel vision reserved for him and him only. Something blooms in his chest and he can’t remember the last time someone’s been so elated to just simply see him...aside from his dog. Jungkook reminds himself to act uncaring. If he pretends long enough, he’ll start to believe it himself.

◓

The train ride home feels longer than the one there. The minutes drag by and perhaps it is because of your drooping eyes or the way Jungkook is looking at you with a different tenderness than he has been before. His stare is not harsh. It’s soft and sweet, but subtle enough for you to wonder if you are just imagining it. The night has always been unforgiving and cold even in the spring, but perhaps all that’s needed to breathe some warmth, is a 15 minute train ride and a wrist with a crescent moon.

Yet every time you become more smitten with Jungkook, there is a harsh reminder that follows you everywhere like a designated storm cloud.

Jungkook does not love you. And you are trying and you will continue to try but his eyes tell you something he is too courteous to say. You see it now as he sits across from you and admires the skyline from the window. It makes you wonder if it is soulmates he doesn’t believe in, or if it is just you that he can’t bring himself to accept. With every cold glance and wall that he puts up, you start to convince yourself that it is the latter.

“We’re here, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks quietly, interrupting your drifting thoughts. He turns around and leaves the train car with hands tucked in his coat pocket. Did you expect him to escort you out and hold your hand? Of course not. But you were tired of Jungkook being so indifferent to your existence.

You follow him glumly out the doors that slide close after you step through. Then it zips off again and you wonder where it would have taken you if you just stayed in your seat. If Jungkook would have even noticed that you hadn’t followed him when he left.

You sigh into the night air and wish it was winter so that your breath could be visible as a white cloud. Maybe then Jungkook would notice that you were a living being beside him.

“Who was that girl that we met back there?”, you murmur hesitantly. Jungkook nearly chokes on air.

“No one”, he responds curtly, effectively cutting off the conversation then and there. It makes your heart sink. She must be important and all you want to do is know every single detail about their relationship, but the look in his eyes warn you to not pry.

You don’t think you can forget the way Jungkook looked at her from across the street. Like he had been lost this whole time and she was the North star. You saw the way his eyes twinkled in the midday sun and sparkled even more when she came closer. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to have that effect on him.

“Hey, next time you should pick a place you and I both do not live in”, you giggle, nudging his shoulder with your own. It makes him smile and even though your heart feels heavy in your chest, Jungkook looks so beautiful when he smiles.

The two pair of feet subconsciously carry you both to the front door of your apartment building and the scene is too familiar from the last time. You expect him to turn around and whisper a hushed goodnight under his breath, and you’ll have to watch the back of his head disappear down the street. But he doesn’t. Just stands across from you quietly and waits for you to say something. So you do.

“Jungkook, I’m sorry if I brought up something you didn’t want to remember. I don’t really know your story but it seems you two have a lot of history.” You want to tell him how hard it is for you to be his soulmate when he is so clearly vying for the warmth of someone else. Someone who didn’t have a crescent moon on her wrist.

“I know you’ll tell me whenever you’re ready, and if that’s never then I’ll keep waiting until forever. But I’m here if you want to talk or unload and I already know I can help because…” you fidget with your hands and look around nervously.

“Well, because I’m your soulmate.”

When you say it loud and explicitly, Jungkook thought the statement would have made him recoil. But it doesn’t. It just seeps through his consciousness and feels warm when he thinks about the weight of those words. You are his soulmate, regardless of if he believes in such a thing or not. You carry the same mark as he does on your wrist and somehow, by some intangible factor, the universe had decided that you were created for him and he for you.

And when he looks at you. Really looks at you. When Jungkook processes your sincere words and how you manage to deal with his insurmountable boundaries even when you barely know him…

Jungkook has never wanted to kiss you more.

So he does.

Your lips taste like mint chewing gum and the ghost of words you wish to tell him but can’t. He feels you stiffen until you completely melt in his hold, and Jungkook cradles your face with both his hands, pulling you closer to him until there is no barrier between you but the clothes on your back and the emotional distance. You feel so far away even when you’re this near. Was it a trick of your imagination when you felt the moon on your wrist tingling?

It doesn’t last as long as you would’ve liked it to. Jungkook yanks his hands from you like your skin scalded him and takes several steps back. His chest rises up and down violently when his breath comes out ragged, posture stiffening as the gravity of what just happened finally absorbs. You’re there, he knows you’re there and standing in front of him. So why is it he can only see Yoojung. Yoojung and the star on her wrist and apologies on her lips. Yoojung and the tears in her eyes when she walks away.

You can only stare confusedly when his body goes rigid, and a sudden coldness envelops you both.

And in the haze of post-embrace, like any two normal lovers, you catch something in his eyes that sets a heavy feeling in your stomach. Before you can confirm if it’s just a trick of the light, Jungkook is already running in the opposite direction and you can only see a shadow of sullen love that follows him. He is gone and you are standing alone, wondering how moonlight could feel so cold even on a spring night.

You don’t get any sleep that night. Every time you close your eyes, there is only the sight of Jungkook’s disgust and regret to lull you to dreams.

20 minutes away from your apartment, there is a boy who doesn’t sleep either. He won’t text or call to tell you that he can’t shake off the feeling of your skin on his and your breath fanning his cheek. He won’t admit to himself that tonight, when he looked at you, he felt the possibility of falling in love. He won’t tell you that the moon on his skin longs to be traced by your hands. No, he just shares those secrets with his pillow as its linen soaks up his tears.

In the midst of it all, there is one verdict that becomes clear to him.

Jungkook wishes he had never told Jimin he needed a muse.

◑

The next three weeks is dedicated to trying to get in touch with your soulmate. Through the whirlwinds of utter confusion and desperation, you try texting, calling, emailing, even showing up at his art studio and apartment to no avail. It seemed he had a talent for avoiding soulmates.

It hurt, to say the least. That he left you high and dry after giving you the most intense

kiss of your life and doesn’t even have the decency to let you know he’s alive. The feeling of his lips still burns on your skin and you wonder if you are a complete fool for being so smitten with a person who, quite possibly, hasn’t spared you a single thought after that night. You just want - no you just need some clarity.

Jungkook makes you wait another week before replying.

It is an impossibly sunny day when you wake up. Your neck is stiff from sleeping like a contortionist and your heart aches even more than your muscles with every passing morning with radio silence from your soulmate. You want to call him and tell him you’re sorry. That you’ll forget anything ever happened. It hurts to even think about it, but for Jungkook, you would go through a little more pain so he would let you into his life.

Outside the hall, Jimin is singing along to a familiar melody of a song you don’t know the name of and judging by the aroma that wafts through the cracks of your door, he has successfully made a pot of coffee. He has been an anchor throughout this whole thing, and sometimes you make a secret wish to the stars that Jimin had been the one with a crescent moon on his wrist instead. Perhaps that way, you wouldn’t have to go through the agony of chasing love that is constantly sprinting away from you.

Your phone lays on the bedside table and buzzes innocently to start the morning. When you reach over and scroll through notifications routinely, there is a name there that makes your heart pang. Makes you want to throw up and celebrate at the same time. A text from Jungkook. Your fingers shake as you open it.

I no longer need a model for the portfolio. Thank you for your involvement. Compensation will be provided promptly.

The day you met him, you already knew that Jungkook was cold. He never dawdled around a painful truth or toed the line between bluntness and sparing feelings. Jungkook spoke his mind, collateral damage be damned. But this is a different type of cold. This one feels more like dry ice on warm skin. Like the numbing chill of a fading hope. Like winter’s first snowfall when autumn had promised you it would forever stay.

Phone in your hand and tears threatening to drip down your cheeks, you wish you would have waited a bit more before opening his text. Perhaps that way you could have spent the rest of your morning basking in the spring sun, drinking Jimin’s inevitably bad coffee, having hope that Jeon Jungkook would grow to care for you. Perhaps if you hadn’t opened it so soon, your soulmate would still seem in reach.

Jimin’s mug nearly drops out of his hand when the door of your bedroom is slammed open. He flings it to the side when he notices your red-rimmed eyes and the shaking hands that clutch onto a cellphone. You scream and sob at the universe, at anyone, asking why it was you that had to experience the chaos of longing. Jimin was there to hold you, as he always is, and helplessly listen to the sound of your heart breaking once again by the hands of Jungkook.

◒

Room 62B of the art building is a place you hope to never have to visit again. Though it’s walls contain memories of you and Jungkook, and the evenings navigating his gallery portfolio along with your convoluted relationship, the wallpaper bleeds with a longing ache. A yearning pain. And if those walls could talk, you don’t think you would want them to say anything at all. They would only murmur what you are slowly accepting to be true.

Jungkook, your soulmate, wants nothing to do with you.

When you hesitantly rap on the door with a fisted hand, the sound of him rustling from inside makes you want to run the opposite direction. It opens before you get the chance to change your mind and the sight of him nearly takes your breath away. He is beautiful as he always is, hair ruffled and mussed from undoubtedly running his hands through it compulsively. His lips are pink from biting on them and the dark circles under his eyes tells you of the dreams he has deprived himself of.

Jungkook is painfully gorgeous and painfully not yours.

“Y/N...I sent you a text earlier.” His voice is saccharine but the words taste so bitter.

“I know. I read it”, you murmur, shrinking in on yourself.

“I....Can we talk, Jungkook?”

His eyes dart around nervously at your question, chewing on his bottom lip and tapping the toe of his shoe as if he was impatient and you were bothering him. And you have known that simply being around Jungkook hurts but the light at the end of the tunnel only continues dwindling.

You understand why he is acting so restless when your gaze drifts past him and into the room. There is a girl perched on a stool, across from a canvas and easel that you know awfully well. You don’t recognize her but it’s only in your nature to begin comparing every aspect of yourself to this stranger. She sits on her hands and swings her legs back and forth, head in the clouds and eyes trailing the ceiling. She isn’t aware of the weight of her presence in the studio, nor the turmoil she has brought to you, who is standing just outside the door.

The oxygen in the hallway thins and the breath you’ve been waiting to release since knocking catches in your throat. Coming here, you prepared yourself for a long and inevitably heart-wrenching talk with your soulmate. But you hadn’t prepared for the possibility that he had replaced you overnight.

The only thought that blares through your mind is that this is your fault. For letting yourself think you were worth more to Jeon Jungkook than any other stranger. You can no longer find it in yourself to be angry at him. Just yourself.

“You…”, you gulp down a whimper, “you replaced me.”

Jungkook follows your vacant stare past him and sighs, realizing you had most likely deducted what this scene looked like. You would be right. Between the weeks of trying to understand what you were to him and the impending due date of the portfolio, Jungkook was sure the best way to move past this confusion was to just speed full steam ahead. That meant finding another muse. You were no longer an option.

You only stare down at the floor, but Jungkook begins speaking anyway.

“Y/N, I…I’m sorry.” You scoff at his words, feigning anger when inside, you truly didn’t know if you could piece yourself back together this time.

“Look, Y/N. It’s not you. It’s just that…”, he breathes deep, not knowing why it was so hard to say. “I’ve stopped believing soulmates were truly a thing a long time ago. I’m sorry.”

It’s not the first time you’ve heard these words but it doesn’t mean they hurt any less.

“I didn’t want to initiate anything, Y/N, but you did and I let you and that was my fault to let anything start. I shouldn’t have when I knew nothing would come of it.”

It was a fault to him. It never should have happened.

“So you just thought you would kiss me and decide that I meant nothing to you afterwards?”

“It was a mistake.” It was painful to think it but when you hear Jungkook say it, you experience a new kind of ache. A humorless chuckle bubbles past your throat.

“I really thought you would grow to love me. Now I know it’s not your fault that I’m a complete fool. To fall head over heels for my soulmate who wishes he had never even met me. Much less share a mark.”

You can see Jungkook’s eyes widen at your confession, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It was the truth. He deserved to hear it.

“You shouldn’t. You can’t.” He reaches up to pull at his hair frustratedly.

“Can’t what, Jungkook? Love you? You think I want to be in love with someone who wishes I didn’t exist?” You hate your voice for breaking, but its impossibly painful when he does nothing to deny your statement.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N? What can I say to make this better?”

Try: I love you too.

“I don’t need you to say anything you don’t mean, Jungkook.”

“Then shouldn’t you leave?”

Jeon Jungkook is cruel even when he doesn’t mean to be. There is oblivion in his gaze, and his question is one of genuine curiosity. But it still stabs you exactly where your heart is most tender. Yes, I should have left.

“I guess I thought you were worth the pain, Jungkook. When you pushed me away and wanted nothing to do with me, I thought you were worth hurting for just to try a little more. Worth the uncertainty of being around you but never getting to actually be with you”, you numbly mutter, uncaring about the rivulets of tears down your face. Not like it wasn’t something he’s never seen before. There is more to come on the tip of your tongue, and Jungkook stays quiet to let you speak. There is conflict in his vision, but you don’t want to give yourself the false hope that he cares for you.

Look where that has gotten you before.

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

Saying the words are revelation for you as much as it is for him. All this time, you’ve been running away from the truth in the pursuit of your soulmate. You hadn’t realized that the chase led you astray.

“And I know that loving me is not easy. I’m…”, you force the words out so he can at least hear your turmoil by his hands. “I’m never really good enough for anyone. Why did I expect that I would be good enough for you?”

Jungkook’s expression crumples into a frown. “Y/N, no, that’s not what I mean-”

“You don’t have to tell me what you mean, Jungkook. I meet you and the first thing you say is that you don’t believe in such a thing. I try to get close to you and all you know to do is push me away. And I try so hard to be enough but how can I when Yoojung still has your heart? So you don’t have to say it. I know what you mean.” You’ve stopped crying but the ache relents, and you can only look desperately at the boy who’s slipping from your grasp with every passing second.

“I’m sorry.” The message is redundant.

“I can’t…” Rip off the bandaid.

“I just can’t love you.”

The words make their way past his lips before he can stop them, and they shoot through your core ruthlessly. A sharpened dagger to soft flesh. It manifests itself in a physical pain that reverberates across your chest, and when the last strength left in you is used to stare at Jungkook through a pained and teary gaze, you are deaf to everything but those four words.

I can’t love you.

I can’t love you.��

I can’t love you.

You’re not sure what he is sorry for at this point. If Jungkook is apologizing for not loving you, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry for entertaining the possibility, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry that you are the one with a crescent moon on your wrist, well...you don’t blame him either. All your life you cherished it like some kind of gift from the universe. Now, nursing your crumbling soul in front of Jungkook, you wish it had never appeared in the first place.

You shake your head, tucking your lip in between your teeth to stop the sob in your chest from escaping. Through the crack of the door Jungkook hadn’t shut fully, the girl was still there, patiently sitting where you were supposed to and making herself scarce after inevitably hearing you bare your heart to a boy who had no interest in it.

Humiliation goes hand in hand with heartbreak, and the embarrassment that comes with confessing your love and insecurity urges your feet to run home. But even you cannot deprive yourself of looking at him one more time.

His wavy head of hair. The scar on his cheekbone that makes him look even more beautiful, if that were possible. The gloss in his dark brown eyes, and the way he looks at you through stone cold walls. You commit it to memory, however painful, before you walk out of his life.

“Be happy, Jungkook.”

You truly mean it.

◐

The sound of your footsteps getting farther away from him is a sound Jungkook thinks he’ll remember for a long time. It almost prompts him to run after you, cradle you to his chest, and profess how sorry he is again and again until you can truly feel the sincerity. But he doesn’t. Only remains behind the self-procured walls and watches when your figure disappears down the hallway.

Cold. Unbothered. Indifferent. That’s what he had always told himself when it came to you. But the hallway feels so lonely and the ghost of your presence feels even lonelier, and Jungkook wonders if he had been wrong.

He walks back into the studio, permanent frown on his face and shoulders hunched over in stress. The paintbrush feels like a stranger rather than an extension of his arm, as it always does, but Jungkook begins painting anyway. Looking at the girl in front of him, he is reminded of the look on your face when you realized he had replaced you completely in the span of three weeks, without even giving you a notice. Her presence in his art studio suddenly feels entirely suffocating.

“Mina, Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out of my studio. I don’t need you as a model, anymore. Thanks.” His voice cut through the tension of the room, like a hot knife to butter. He recognizes it as the voice he always forces himself to use around you, and grows even more aggravated.

The girl scoffs annoyedly, snatching her handbag from the floor and rushing out of the room. Obviously she had thought something more was to come from Jungkook’s art arrangement. He made sure to let her know that was not the case.

There is a gnawing in his chest. Deep and subtle, but it becomes more prominent as the window view from his studio turns from blue to black. He ponders about spending the night in here, instead of going home to his bedroom where he is forced to consult with the agony of solitude. On top of everything today, Jungkook doesn’t think he can handle that.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the pain in your face when he tells you that he can’t love you and he hears the shaking in your voice when you tell him the things that weighed on your soul. He thought the word “wither” was only reserved for flowers. Jungkook didn’t realize a person could wither until he saw it right in front of him.

In truth, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he could love you or not. And to Jungkook, that was already a feat in itself. He’s spent so many months convincing himself that his emotional fortress was impregnable. So many nights over whiskey bottles telling himself that love was only for fools and pretenders. To be uncertain about love, now, well...that’s something he is not yet ready to admit to himself. Much less admit to you. But letting you any closer was a fatal game.

Being uncertain about love means being uncertain about getting hurt. Jungkook has a feeling he wouldn’t make it out in one piece if his heart fell into wrong hands.

He does end up returning to his apartment that night. But the walk feels far too long and the air feels far too frigid, or perhaps is it because he can’t hear the tread of your footsteps beside him?

Whatever the reason, tonight feels more lonely.

The stars tell him it’s because he does not like the person he’s alone with.

Back in room 62B, there is an abandoned painting on a rickety easel. He hadn’t even had the will to wash out his paintbrush, and he’s sure he’ll pay for it the next day. Looking at the piece now, his professor would tell him that there’s too many colors. Too much contrast and nearly not enough depth in his strokes. But what was he to do when he had kicked out his new model and couldn’t get the image of your visible heartbreak out of his brain?

A familiar wrist with a quaint crescent moon sits on the canvas, and he sure as hell didn’t use Mina as the inspiration. Jungkook reminds himself to throw out the painting tomorrow morning.

◓

The grease on Jimin’s skillet pan is always so hard to clean. The dish soap never truly cuts through the oil, and no matter how much you rinse it over with scalding water, it still feels soiled. On a normal day, it wouldn’t frustrate you so much. Today, a month-and-a-half after your soulmate made it clear to you that you had no place in his life, you want to throw the pan out the window and cry on the kitchen floor until it collapses with the weight of your tears.

You settle for throwing down the sponge and making Jimin wash his own dishes.

The phone-that you usually now tend to ignore-buzzes on the counter, and you groan at your complete lack of desire to answer it. But the screen lights up with your roommate’s name and you hit the green button.

“Y/N! How are you feeling, lovebug?” Jimin’s cheerful tone on speakerphone makes you want to cry. You can only imagine how terrible it is for him to be your roommate when all you know how to do now is mope and cry about a boy who probably hasn’t thought about you since. But he’s been holding you through all your breakdowns, and even sets up the air mattress on the floor of your bedroom when some nights are a little bit harder than most.

“I’ve had better days”, you glare at the pan in the sink. “What’s up?’

“So I have a friend…”

“Jimin, no.”

He sighs over the phone understandingly, but still not satisfied. “I know it’s only been a month Y/N, but it doesn’t have to be anything. He’s not looking for anything serious either. But maybe it would be good for you to take your mind off things.”

It’s been a month. Four weeks. Roughly 31 days, and you still remember every word he said to you in the hallway of the art building. Every pause and quiver of his breath, and the way he looked so completely indifferent to your pain. Was one month enough for you to let go even after finding out Jungkook never planned to hold on in the first place?

“Look, you don’t have to decide now. I’m sorry for pushing you if you’re not ready.” His mumbling is apologetic and it makes you realize that Jimin genuinely means well. Maybe you weren’t ready to move on from Jungkook yet. Maybe you never will be. He was your damn soulmate, after all. But maybe a distraction couldn’t hurt.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll do it.”

You can practically feel him smiling like an idiot over the phone. “Really?!” You sigh into the speaker and Jimin knows better to continue talking before you change your mind.

“His name is Namjoon, he works with me at the office. Super cute. Super hot. Super smart. Checks all your boxes!”, he rambles on about the nitty gritty details and though a part you is proud that you’re making the decision to move on with life, you can’t help but to realize that no one will ever be able to “check all your boxes”.

Not if they’re not Jungkook.

“He sounds great, Jimin.” Anyone can tell your happiness is disingenuous, even through the phone. Jimin tells you that he had already planned a date (without your knowledge), and sends you on your way with a quick goodbye when his taxi arrives. The silence of the apartment after the conversation leaves you feeling even more weighted, but hopeful for the possibility of a distraction. You had a feeling you won’t be able to forget the likes of Jeon Jungkook if you tried. But, if only for a night, you were to forget the pain of loving him, you’ll take that chance.

◑

“What do you mean they all ‘feel the same’?” Jungkook is exasperated. He had drafted a complete version of his portfolio, working through the nights by the sweat of his brow. Now his professor was telling him that all his pieces felt the same and Jungkook thinks he might commit arson to the art studio.

Professor Sejin sighs contemplatively, taking off his glasses and throwing them on the table, all too familiar with Jungkook’s periodic art tantrums.

“I mean that your pieces lack any variegation. The portfolio is well done and coherent, but the completed package is one-noted. It’s consistent. But too much so.”

Professor Sejin’s words make him fall back into the chair dejectedly, shoulders slumped and disappointment in his eyes at the critique of his art. Though it is hard to hear, Jungkook always welcomes productive criticism. The older man sympathizes with his downcast eyes and the visible stress on his back.

“Look, Jungkook”, he affirms sincerely, “you just need to find some dynamic. Something to make people know that you can do more than one tone of art.” It’s obvious that the professor has a soft spot for the boy in front of him, who looks like his entire world is collapsing. The portfolio folder is handed back to him and Jungkook has the urge to burn it and not hear the word “gallery” again in the next decade.

“I have faith in you. You’ll figure out what it is that you’re missing.” The smile on the man’s face is congenial. Genuine. And even though he has an ambitious amount of work to do, Jungkook finds the will to nod, haul himself off the office chair, and begin the trek back to his studio.

The pinnacle of spring is approaching and the sun shines brighter with each morning. Not that he would know or care. He’s spent the last month locking himself inside, dedicating every fluid ounce of energy towards completing his project. It’s been surprisingly easier, and Jungkook finds himself finishing paintings, sketches, and sculptures with ease. Like untapped inspiration had revealed itself to him suddenly. Yet it still wasn’t enough...at least not according to Professor Sejin.

Headphones drown out the cacophony of hustlers and bustlers with the laughter of children as accompaniment. He doesn’t allow himself to enjoy the music of the city. Not anymore. It gives him too much space to think, and Jungkook has a feeling that’s not good for anyone and definitely not good for him.

The sight of a familiar bakery with particularly delicious apple strudels is enough to stop him in his rush, feet winding down until he is standing outside, staring at the door and wondering if he could go in without being reminded of you. Well, it might be too late for that anyhow, but further signs of protest are halted when he hears his growling stomach.

Jungkook had morbidly underestimated your presence in the memory of his favorite cafe. You are everywhere. He sees your smiling face when he looks up at the chalkboard menu, soul vying for you to be next to him and excitedly choosing a new fru-fru drink that would undoubtedly have excessive sugar. He hears your giggles ruminating through the cafe while the other patrons only hear the music over loudspeaker. He practically feels you near, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s better this way. No one gets hurt this way.

Jungkook plops himself at a corner table and buries his face in his hands, fingertips soothing over his pulsing eyebags and wrinkles he’s gotten from sleep deprivation. He desperately needs an espresso shot. Or five.

“Hey…”, a voice makes him snap his head up. Jungkook recognizes the stranger as the owner’s son, who always stands guard at the cash register. The tag on his lapel reads Kim Seokjin, and Jungkook has a distant memory of you gushing over how nice Seokjin’s hair was. He had acted unbothered back then, but Jungkook would die before telling a soul that he was annoyed and jealous when you thought the cashier was cute.

“Jungkook, right?”. He has a kind smile and a natural air of invitation. Jungkook nods.

“I’ve seen you around a lot. Where’s that girl you always come here with?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business”, he nearly hisses, antsy at the mere mention of you. He instantly regrets it though. Seokjin looks like he’s been cornered with a blunt weapon, and it makes Jungkook sigh at his own asshole-ishness.

“I’m sorry”, he mumbles, “just not a good day. At all.”

There is a pause and hesitation before the boy speaks. “Do you...wanna talk about it?” Seokjin’s question is met with silence.

There is a predictability about Jeon Jungkook. He doesn’t open himself up to anyone. He pretends that he doesn’t have problems so well, people start to become convinced. He avoids new connections like it’s the plague. But there is something so idiosyncratic about Kim Seokjin that makes him want to talk. Makes him want to trust a complete stranger.

So Jungkook nods, depositing his black backpack besides him and lets himself breathe deep.

“Her name is Y/N….”

In the lukewarm air of the café, Jungkook tells Seokjin about you. About the tiny crescent moon on your wrist that identically matches his - even unwraps his cloth to show it - and how he pushed you away hard enough to put an ocean’s worth of distance between the two of you. He tells Seokjin about Yoojung and the stars on her skin that have been plaguing him since the day she left. He tells him about that damn portfolio that refuses to be finished; one that he apparently has to start over because Professor goddamn Sejin says it's too boring. He allows himself to unload, and wow is it easier to breathe when you talk about your feelings. Jungkook reminds himself to do that more often.

The “conversation” seems to stretch for hours (if a conversation can be considered one person unleashing all their hidden baggage on the other while they sit in silence). Jin listens intently through the entire ordeal, offering occasional nods and encouragement for him to continue. When Jungkook finally finishes with a deep breath, falling back on the chair looking completely worn out, Jin fixes him with a hot tea before speaking.

“The portfolio is important to you, Jungkook. If it’s important to you, you’ll find a way. Something tells me that you’re not one to give up so easily”, he quips with a playful lilt in his voice. Jin’s genuine faith in him makes Jungkook believe in himself.

“And as for Yoojung, well, I can’t speak on your pain. You are the only one that narrates your experiences but as much as she seems like a villain in your story, perhaps she has opened a door.” Jungkook thinks his voice sounds far too wise to be coming from a guy in his 20’s.

“Would you have known how to nurse a broken heart had it not been for her? I’m sorry she did that to you, Jungkook, but..Yoojung is your past. And I see so much in your future.”

Jungkook only stares into the abyss of his tea cup. The reflection that stares back is someone he desperately wants to learn to love. When he looks up again, there is a sad glimmer in Seokjin’s gaze. Something so despondent that he feels second-hand pain.

Jin pulls up the sleeve of his knit sweater. On his wrist sits a faded marigold, so blanched it almost blends in with his skin and makes him wonder if it will just disappear one day. Jungkook feels his blood run cold.

“It’s been two years since she died”, he stares solemnly at his skin, “I don’t think a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about her.”

Jungkook’s thought about his soulmate mark disappearing before. Even hoped and prayed for it the days after Yoojung left. But now, when he sees it up close on Seokjin’s wrist, Jungkook doesn’t want to wish that loneliness upon anyone.

“She was so damn...persistent”, Jin laughs, fondness dripping in every word. “Like your Y/N in that way, I suppose. She had a goal and was hell-bent on achieving it. She was so kind and strong and much more of a badass than I could ever be. I loved that about her.” There is sorrow in his voice when he uses the past tense, and Jungkook feels even worse for pouring his heart out about his very alive soulmate.

“She was studying to be a doctor, you know? Ironic that even the best doctors couldn’t have saved her in the end.” His sentence trails off and he loses focus gazing out the window, fidgeting with the ring on his left hand with a faraway look in his eyes.

“I don’t mean to ramble about my dead soulmate for no reason, Jungkook. And I’m in no position to tell you what you should or should not do regarding Y/N. But if I could restart this life with my soulmate, there wouldn’t be one second I would waste not at her side.” Jin’s tone is not accusatory or convicting. Just honest.

“It’s normal to be scared and apprehensive. Hell, I would be more concerned if you weren’t going into it with a shit ton of skepticism. I was terrified. Yet out of the billions of people that could’ve had my mark on their wrist, just knowing that she was that one was enough for me to love her.”

The cup of tea has long gone cold. Jungkook only manages to stare at the mahogany table, thoughts too heavy to voice aloud, so Jin continues.

“I think I would give anything to know that such a person still exists for me. Someone out there that was chosen by an unknown, cosmic force for an unexplainable reason just for me. To see a mark that matches my own. Well…”, Jin breathes deeply, tears welling in his eyes but not falling, “I think that must be the most wonderful thing in the entire world.”

◒

Seokjin’s words stick with him long after he has departed from the café. Long after the tea has settled in his stomach along with the weight of what a soulmate means to this stranger whose life story he has learned in the course of an evening.

Even so, Jungkook’s not sure what he should feel. The fear of vulnerability still feels like a designated thundercloud above his head, and the thought of letting you past his walls makes Jungkook want to run the other way.

At the same time, the trepidation doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. It’s still there, and he can’t pinpoint exactly what happened but when he sees your smiling face behind his eyelids, Jungkook doesn’t feel scared. When he focuses on what you look like under sunlight, or your eyes staring at him through a camera lens, there is no fear of the broken heart you could leave him with. Just something warm. Something that feels an awful lot like...love?

But what does Jungkook know about such things?

He shrugs it off his shoulders, and readies himself for a night of inevitably restless sleep. He blames it on the impending due date of his beloved portfolio, but really, it is you. You and your insistence on trying every single coffee shop in the city. You and your convoluted idea of a date; letting your partner choose the location with their eyes closed. You and…

Just everything about you.

He falls asleep well into 4am. The thin strap of cloth sits on his bedside table. Even if it is only for the night sky to see, Jungkook lets his soulmate mark breathe.

◐

It’s been so long since you’ve dressed up or cleaned up to go out anywhere, the reflection that stares back feels like a stranger. You’ve opted for a bold red lip, meticulously applying your makeup so that even the wing of your eyeliner was sharp enough to kill. Jimin forced you to curl your hair too, of course. The girl in the mirror looks beautiful. You know that she is beautiful.

So why is it that you can only see the face that is not enough for Jeon Jungkook? A person that he is unable to love. No, not even foundation can cover the face of longing.

“Y/N”, Jimin sing-songs, “hurry! You don’t wanna be late do you?” No, you don’t want to be late. You want to not go. Maybe retreat to your bedroom and cry the night away again. But you won’t tell him that when he is so clearly ecstatic that you’re spending a night out for the first time in months.

The restaurant looks like it is entirely out of your budget. Well, you reckon any restaurant is out of your budget with all the debt that looms overhead and your painfully apparent unemployment. Waiting for Namjoon is less than exhilarating, and you spend the time fiddling with your bracelet that conveniently covers the crescent moon. These days, you can’t bear to look at it anymore. Your eyes are glued to the little mark, before a voice sounds from across the table.

“Sorry I’m late, traffic was insane. You must be Y/N, nice to meet you.” You weren’t sure what you expected Kim Namjoon to look like but were pleasantly surprised. Namjoon looks like he takes care of himself, neat and clean and sporting a very shiny watch that looks like 4 months’ worth of rent.

“And you must be Namjoon. Likewise.”

When he pulls out the chair to sit down, you can’t help but to notice the cloud on his wrist. It was smaller than yours but you had no doubt it felt just as heavy. If Namjoon felt your gaze on his skin, he did nothing to show it.

“Hey, I know I just got here but…”, he sighs and takes a look around the room, “do you wanna get out of here? Find the cheapest and greasiest food we can?” His request makes you smile, and you grab the purse that rested on the table.

“Namjoon, I think that’s the best idea you’ve had yet.”

You and Namjoon manage to find a diner that wasn’t far from the fancy restaurant, and you thank the skies that you didn’t have to pay $50 for a salad tonight. Just some pocket change for quite possibly the best and oiliest hamburger you’ve ever had.

By conversation that happens through mouthfuls of food and faces smeared with milkshake residue, you come to learn that Namjoon is an unsurprisingly nice guy. He studies poetry, but is working as a secretary at an office, hence his connection to Jimin. He loves to garden and talks about his bonsai plants to you like they’re his kids, even pulling up pictures on his phone and gazing down at them fondly. It makes you smile. He plays the piano, and likes to take long bike rides when the weather permits.

It’s nice to have someone reciprocate your effort. It’s something you haven’t experienced in a long time, all credit to one Jeon Jungkook. Namjoon is warm in all the corners where Jungkook is cold.

In a word, he is pretty damn perfect. And if he had a crescent moon on his wrist, you probably wouldn’t bat an eye or have a lick of doubt in the universe. He encompasses everything you want, so alike you in so many aspects it makes you wary. If Namjoon had your matching soulmate mark, you would already be in love with him.

But he doesn’t. And that thought alone keeps you from feeling anything but platonicity. He is not Jungkook. You don’t think anyone can make you feel the way Jungkook does. You want to curse the stars for making this so.

It’s well into the night, and you both remain planted in the diner booth, chatting and chuckling over a plate of french fries. It’s when you drift off while he’s talking about his latest attempt at focaccia that Namjoon sighs and sits back in the seat.

“What?”, you confusedly ask after he suddenly stops speaking.

He smiles. Stays silent for a couple seconds. Then speaks.

“So what did your soulmate do to you?”

His question catches you off guard and you can only stare at him, frown on your face and words lost on your tongue.

“You’ve been staring into space every 5 minutes this whole night, and fidgeting with your bracelet so much I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen off”, he explains, tenderness and sympathy in his tone.

“Every time I speak, you have this sad look in your eyes and I have a feeling you’re imagining someone else’s face, Y/N. I’ve enjoyed talking to you...a lot. But I can tell you want to be somewhere else so”, Namjoon places his elbows on the table and gazes at you endearingly, “tell me about your soulmate.”

You stare at Namjoon through shocked eyes, glistening with the onset of tears that you manage to keep from escaping. Gosh, you were pathetic. Already wanting to cry at the mere mention of him. Or maybe the fact that someone could see through your facade. You take a deep breath.

“His name is Jeon Jungkook.” Your voice quivers, and Namjoon continues listening intently. You are reluctant to continue because you know that once this conversation begins, there is a chance you might have to confront yourself again with the pain of loving someone who doesn’t want love. You internally apologize to Namjoon in advance, for you might cry on this first date.

“I…I’m completely head over heels in love with him but after everything, I’m not sure I have the slightest clue what love is. Because what sane person can fall in love with a person who has made it clear that that love wouldn’t be reciprocated from the get go?”

You fiddle with the plastic straw in your milkshake, searching for the courage to go on and tell him about every thought that you have denied yourself the satisfaction of verbalizing.

“He loves apple strudels, you know. Eats them every time like they’re the last apple strudels he’ll ever have and he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching”, you chuckle, gaze drifting off to space. There is a fondness in your eyes as you speak, and Namjoon does not miss it.

“He’s as punctual as the day is long. One time I was late to a photoshoot and he almost made me cry lecturing me about the importance of being on time. But now I’m never late.”

The memory makes you, as well as Namjoon, smile.

“He paints like his life depends on it, and he’ll get oil paint on his face without noticing and sometimes I just want to reach out and wipe it off. But I think he’d murder me on the spot.”

“How come?”, Namjoon offers his first words in the midst of your monologue. You’re not sure what to say next.

“Well...I think Jeon Jungkook might be the coldest person I’ve ever met”, you dejectedly sigh. Reality tastes bitter even with remnants of whipped cream on your lips.

“Every time I was around him, it felt like I was willingly breaking my own heart just for the chance to know that he was next to me. That in this entire world of billions of people, the one with the same moon on their wrist was next to me. And...I guess I didn’t really need him to love me yet”, your gaze locks onto Namjoon and you find he is already staring at you with utmost curiosity and subtle pity.

“Jungkook alone was enough. I just wish he could have felt the same about me.”

Perhaps the reason why the truth is so painful to speak is because people have a tendency to run from it. Then when it catches up to you, it’s a harsh trip and fall to the rocky ground. There is no cushion when you land.

Namjoon doesn’t offer advice. Doesn’t dish his own experiences to relate to your own or even make any comments from his perspective. He just sits and listens in silence, but it doesn’t feel like he is disregarding you. No, his eyes tell you that he soaks in every word. You hope you’ll get the chance to do the same for him...if he ever decides to share his story with you.

The two of you leave the diner with a prospective to be friends, and no plans of a future second date. You had a strong feeling that spending the entire evening talking about your unrequited soulmate love had something to do with that. Nevertheless, though Namjoon didn’t work out as a distraction, you were glad to have met him. It made you realize something.

Even if Jimin thought you were ready to move on. Even if you thought you were ready to forget. It might be a lifetime before you finally let go of that boy.

◓

The morning reeks of rain and dew, humidity nearly clawing its way through his window and turning his apartment into a swamp. When he wakes up, it is not to his blaring alarm clock, but the uncomfortable sensation of a sweaty shirt sticking to his back. Jungkook groans, already tired of this day. It seems hopeless from the beginning.

As much as he wanted to stay home and crank up the air conditioner so much that his landlord would come running, Professor Sejin’s voice reverberates through his eardrums.

You art is too one-noted, Jungkook.

Be better, Jungkook.

You’re talentless and will never succeed, Jungkook.

Of course, these are not Professor Sejin’s verbatim, more so Jungkook’s own mind that twists his teacher’s constructive criticism into something else. He is a master at feeding his insecurity.

Jungkook chugs down a lukewarm cup of black coffee, and his stomach growls for something with a little more sugar and maybe a dash of rainbow colored sprinkles. He guesses he has you to thank for that. The art studio is always a daily destination, and this day is no different. Jungkook has a plan to dedicate himself to fixing his portfolio and maybe finish that clay piece he never got around to.

The studio is too cold for his liking; Jungkook can’t remember how many times he has begged the superintendent to lower the AC. The cold he can deal with. The loneliness, however, is a different story. Jungkook is always alone. Alone when he’s in his apartment. Alone when he’s in class. Alone when he’s in the art room. These days, aloneness feels more haunting when he knows he had the option to escape it, but chose to stay. A part of him is ready to admit that it’s because of you.

Jungkook hums a random melody that had been stuck in his head since the morning, fingers gliding over the slick sculpting clay. The days are easier now. He doesn’t think about you so much when the sun is out and there is the bustling of the busy city to distract him. The nights, however, are just as difficult as they have been. Jungkook’s last drifting thought is of you, and your face torturously carries over to each dream. Like his entire being misses you but he refuses to accept it.

He takes a deep sigh in relief once the sculpture feels finished. Professor Sejin wanted something more dynamic, so there: his very own realist clay piece drawing inspiration from Praxiteles’ sculpture of Aphrodite. He sits back in pride, admiring his own handiwork and giving himself a mental pat on the back. It looks great. Perfect even. It looks….

It looks like you.

Jungkook pales at the realization as the clay face stares back at him. No, this was supposed to be Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love, inspired by the ancient Greek artist that sculpted her. Then why does she have your nose? Those eyes are definitely your’s and even those cheeks are identical. Jungkook hadn’t even realized that in the rhythm of his art, he got lost and accidentally sculpted your face instead.

He walks away from the clay table and hurriedly yanks off the soiled apron around his waist, confusion swimming in every cell of his body. How had he just...made a sculpture of you? With no knowledge that he was doing it?

Jungkook leans with his back against the sink, staring down at the floor with furrowed brows and a thundering heart. With a sudden epiphany, Jungkook leaps from his position and pulls out all the canvases, printed photographs, graphite drawings, and clay pieces he’s made for the past few months. Everything he can grab in the small studio space.

It is then that he comes to the daunting realization:

Holy shit.

Professor Sejin was right.

Everything feels the same. His whole portfolio has one note and no dynamic or diversity because...well, because all of his pieces are of you. Not you, necessarily, but your breath has come alive on his art in some way, shape, or form.

The multimedia painting he made two weeks ago using polystyrene sheets was supposed to mimic sunlight through a stained glass window, but Jungkook hadn’t even noticed he'd drawn the window of the café you dragged him to on its opening day. And the colors of the glass is just the twinkle of your eyes when they stare back into his.

The photoset he spent hours taking around the city, after taking a 15 minute train ride, were just repeats of all the places you two went to that one day. The book store. The park. The streetlight where Yoojung stopped him. He hadn’t even realized he only saved the photos associated with a subconscious memory of you.

Jungkook can’t explain it, but he feels you in every single picture. Every piece of art that his hands have manifested since you walked into his life, stupid smile on your face and that little moon on your wrist. He feels it...and call it artist’s intuition or something but perhaps that’s why Professor Sejin could feel it too.

Even though he stopped making you his muse months ago, you are still the root of inspiration for whatever he’s produced since. And if that’s not enough to finally tell him what he needs to hear. Finally make him realize that he’s fallen in love with you without even knowing it, the universe doesn’t know what will.

The minutes it has been since he realized your place in his life melts like slow dripping honey, feeling like an eternity when it is mere moments. Jungkook regains his focus in the haze. He knows what you mean to him now, but there was something he had to fo first.

He swipes all his paintbrushes and palette knives to the side, sweat on his brow as he furiously rearranges his portfolio. He takes out the pictures of Mina - no one would miss them anyway - and trashes all the photos he took before he met you. He only uses the art he’s created post-Y/N and tucks them in the manila folder so rapidly, there’s paper cuts on his fingers. But he doesn’t feel them. Jungkook has only one objective.

He snaps a picture of the new clay sculpture he’s just finished. The photo goes into the portfolio with the name ‘Aphrodite’, but Jungkook knows better about whose face that truly belongs to. Not that anyone would bat an eye. He thinks you are as beautiful as the goddess herself.

The trip to Professor Sejin’s office is short, unsurprising though, since Jungkook sprints the whole way there. When he arrives, and the professor can only stare as he’s bent over and huffing violently trying to catch his breath, Jungkook reminds himself to spend less time at the studio and more time on the cardio.

He throws the portfolio onto the man’s desk unceremoniously, nearly collapsing on the chair across from him and not ready to speak yet. Professor Sejin confusedly rifles through the folder quickly, too quickly, and sighs, ready to offer Jungkook yet the same critique again.

He opens his mouth, but Jungkook cuts him off.

“Before you say anything…”, he gulps, finally ready to admit the truth to himself.

“I want you to know that I’ve met my soulmate, a-and there’s a reason why you feel that my portfolio is all the same. There’s a reason why you feel it’s all one-noted or that there’s no progression.” Jungkook takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and you are there behind his lids.

“It’s because she sowed the seeds for all of them. Everything. Those paintings and photos and sculptures are just symptoms of what I’ve been feeling this whole time after meeting her. She’s practically the artist, not me.” Professor Sejin stays silent at his monologue, gaze unreadable but eyes sharp and trained solely on Jungkook.

“Maybe...Maybe art doesn’t need to be super variegated all the time. Maybe it’s supposed to be a cohesive unit and the pieces should string to each other. Maybe paintings should have a relationship to photos and them, to sculptures. Maybe you’re just...wrong.”

He is exasperated and passion flows out of him through every pore. Jungkook looks expectantly at his professor, who has the open folder in his hand and still in the process of taking in his words. When the adrenaline starts to fade, he realizes that he just dissed his venerable teacher.

“With all due respect…”, he coughs, “sir.”

Professor Sejin lets Jungkook spend the next couple minutes in complete torturous silence so that he can finish reviewing his portfolio. The tension is cut with the sound of the man’s hands slapping together as he closes the folder. Jungkook prepares himself for a stern lecture.

However, when he looks up, there is a smile on the man’s face. There’s no malice there, or even disdain. He pulls off his glasses, sets them on the table, and sits back in the office chair, arms folded over his chest. Jungkook can feel his heart threatening to pound past his rib cage.

“Jungkook…”, Professor Sejin declares, “I think you’ve got a contender for the gallery spot.”

◑

If someone had asked you what Jeon Jungkook meant to you, you would look them in the eye and tell them that he meant nothing. Because it’s easier to pretend that someone does not mean anything to you after they pretend that you do not exist. That the universe had not given you both matching marks and deemed that your souls were meant for each other. Jeon Jungkook is a stranger to you. One that you wanted so badly to love. But you’ve come to learn that no matter how hard you try; you can’t love someone who doesn’t want to love at all.

So the days trickle by as they usually do. Painstakingly slow and viscous with memories of a boy named Jeon Jungkook and the way he has hurt you enough to last a little bit over forever.

“I understand why you don’t want to go, Y/N. But aren’t you the least bit curious? Especially after that fancy invitation in the mail?” Jimin’s query is innocent. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make your blood boil.

“I don’t know...the thought of going to my soulmate’s grand art gallery when the last time we spoke, he told me he can’t love me, just doesn’t seem appealing Jimin”, you snark, burying your face into the bowl of cereal you are now spooning far too aggressively.

“But...it’s been months. And he wouldn’t have sent you an invitation if he didn’t want you to come.”

This conversation has happened too frequently since that red envelope arrived at your apartment. You cried your eyes out when you opened it, both out of pride for Jungkook and the fact that no matter what you did, the universe found a way to keep you from moving on.

A sigh heaves through your chest, and the cereal is abandoned by your loss of appetite. “I’m not going to show up there and have him tell me again all of the reasons he can’t be with me. I barely survived it last time.”

“But what if, Y/N?”

There is a glimmer in Jimin’s eye and he radiates so much hopefulness for you, you can’t help but to feel it too.

“Isn’t the what if already enough? You used to tell me that Jungkook was worth anything. Isn’t he worth the risk this time too?”

You don’t have anything else to say after that because as much as you hate to admit, perhaps Jimin is right. Jungkook is worth going through anything for, even if he wants to stay as far away as possible. Call it a fluke in the postal system that the invitation to his gallery landed on your doorstep, but can you allow yourself to read between the lines and dare say that he sent it himself? Can you put yourself through such a perilous thing like optimism?

Jungkook has left you battered and broken for the past months. But you would give your heart to him to break all over again if he asked.

◒

To say that you did not fit in with those dawdling around the art gallery was a gross understatement. You didn’t just not fit in. Your entire presence and aura defied every expectation, and suddenly, watching the upper echelon of the city mingle with champagne and gaze critically at Jungkook’s art, makes every breath feel like an insecurity.

The boy in question was nowhere in sight, and you now regret not dragging Jimin with you. The invitation had specifically prohibited plus one’s, and though Jimin whined to no end about his hurt feelings and emptily promised never to talk to Jungkook again, you managed to keep him home. Now, you wish you were back at the apartment with him.

The pieces were, in short, completely breathtaking (to no surprise, of course, this was Jungkook you were talking about). Though you knew he always held doubt in himself, in the short time he allowed you to be in his life, you had never once thought he was anything less than spectacular. Yet you could not allow yourself to completely enjoy them. Each brushstroke and paint color you remember from his palettes, or the filters on the photos that you helped him with, was agonizing to look at.

You are standing in front of a canvas titled “Windowlight” when a man comes up beside you. He nurses a flute of bubbly champagne and makes no move to gain eye contact. Unknown to you, Professor Sejin knows exactly who you are. He’s seen your face in his student’s portfolio one too many times.

“Artful use of mixed media, isn’t it?”, he mutters.

“I suppose so.”

“He’s quite the prodigy. Have you met him yet? I’m sure he’s lurking around somewhere.” The man takes a sip from his glass, smirk on his lips hidden from your eyes that still blankly stare ahead.

“Yes. He’s a...friend.” We share a soulmate mark. He hates my guts.

He hums a sound of affirmation and you ignore the weird feeling it leaves in your stomach; one that tells you this stranger sees right through you.

“Ah, how rude of me. Professor Sejin. Arts director and senior advisor.” He spares you a brief glance, but you make no move to shake his hand or pretend to be courteous. You don’t have the energy for it tonight. Just being in this building, surrounded by everything Jungkook has touched, makes you want to collapse into yourself.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” He speaks nonchalantly, and you almost miss the fact that you never told him your name. Your brows crease in confusion and you are ready to turn and interrogate the stranger, but he is already walking away, gliding smoothly across the gallery. Before he gets too far, though, Sejin cranes his neck and makes eye contact.

“Oh, and be sure to visit the one called ‘Moon’. It’s upstairs, next to the Aphrodite sculpture on the second level exhibit”, he entreats, a suspicious lilt in his voice.

“Something tells me you’ll appreciate its…sincerity.”

Honestly, you’re not sure what you expected when you came to Jungkook’s art gallery tonight. But to be approached by a stranger who already knows your name, who dubiously instructs you to seek out a mystery art piece, was not on the list of expectations. Still...Professor Sejin’s words made you curious.

Through the night, your eyes subconsciously seek out that familiar head of fluffy brown hair and a tall gait that always seems to stick out, even in a large crowd. It was as if Jungkook versed himself in complete camouflage, so much so that you began to doubt that he was even in the building.

The traipse through the gallery is done in silence and solitude, and you tune out the sounds of popping champagne and raucous laughter coming from the second floor, as the patrons undoubtedly banter over which piece to auction off. You hope he keeps them. You’ve never seen someone appreciate art the way that Jungkook does.

You catch sight of a few pieces that you recognize, ones that you remember him showing you when he had finished. You always excitedly told him every single one was a masterpiece, and Jungkook only rolled his eyes and made minimal effort at hiding the blush on his cheeks. Your steps falter when you come across a set of photographs in black and white, set in consecutive frames next to each other and it feels so warm despite the lack of color. Jungkook just had that special talent when it came to photography.

It’s the bookstore. In the city during the impromptu train ride you had coerced him to take. Your heart catches in your throat as you recognize all the other ones immediately because well...you’ve been to all those spots. A familiar pressure builds in the back of your eyes, and you swallow down a whimper of pain.

The urge to leave becomes too strong. But not strong enough to quell the slow burn of curiosity from Professor Sejin. There is a chance that you might not run into Jungkook at all tonight with the vast space and people bumbling through the corridors. It hurts to think that you might never see him again at all, but you’ll allow yourself another indulgence. Something is calling you.

Moon. He titled it Moon? You grip onto your wrist reflexively and run your thumb over the mark, like you did when you were younger and still had hope for soulmates. The pulsepoint there beats under your finger and lets you know how alive you are. Compels you to give into your curiosity, even if it might decimate your already crumbling heart. The stairs that lead up to the second floor are short, but the trek feels like it knocks the wind out of you, or perhaps that was just the anticipation of what was waiting for you on the other side.

You were right to be scared. Because right in the smack dab center of the circular room is where you see it, and your gasp is one that can be heard from each wall and corner.

A painting of you. A portrait from the waist up, with oil paint and so much detail, Jungkook has even managed to line the shallow wrinkles by your eyes when you smile. You have never considered yourself beautiful in any sense but the way he has captured you on canvas starts to make you believe that you truly are. You feel Jungkook in each streak of the brushstroke where he hadn’t spread the color evenly. It is as if the painting is alive, and though you are staring at yourself, it doesn’t feel like the way it does in the mirror. Doesn’t feel like a reflection.

No, this feels like looking through Jungkook’s eyes. It is what he sees in you, rather than what you see in yourself. And what he sees is beautiful. Through the haze of shock and confusion as to why he chose this as the centerpiece, you don’t notice the warm presence that lurks behind you. The one that has watched your every move since you walked into this building.

“Yeah, that’s my favorite one too.”

You whip your head around so quick it nearly gives you whiplash, but the sight of him is the nail in the coffin. Jungkook is cleaned up in a black suit, and an unfamiliar smile on his lips he rarely lets you see. A genuine one that he’s tried to hide so many times but now that it’s clear and up close, you resent him for keeping it from you.

Jungkook is just as gorgeous as the day you lost him.

But looking at him hurts. You don’t know why you’re even here, and why he sent the invitation, or why he was standing in front of you now and there is not a sliver of antipathy in his eyes. You don’t know why your face is plastered in the center of the gallery. Most of all, you don’t know why you are still weak in the knees for Jeon Jungkook.

“Although, I have to say, it was a close race between this one and the pictures I made you take at the lake, when you nearly dunked me in the river because it was so cold”, he breathily laughs but you aren’t able to get through the shock just yet. If Jungkook notices your starstruck state, he doesn’t let it affect him.

“And I definitely have to give some credit to the one I painted after you told me about your dream”, Jungkook prattles on, “where you were a mermaid who planted peaches under the sea, remember? That’s an honorable mention.”

These memories make you want to smile but in this moment, the best you can do is try to hold yourself together when your eyes begin to warm with tears. Jungkook stays silent when you do. He notices you haven’t said a word and your gaze refuses to meet his.

“Why are you doing this, Jungkook?”, you curse yourself when your voice cracks. “Why are you telling me these things? Haven’t you hurt me enough?” Jungkook’s smile drops off his face, and for once, you can see your own pain reflected in his eyes.

He takes a deep breath, hands hanging limply at his side that itch to wrap themselves around yours. To feel your skin. Feel your mark.

“I…”, he hesitates in his words, “I remember that day every night when I go to sleep, Y/N. Every time I shut my eyes, I just see your face when I told you I can’t love you, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt such aching before. Not even when she left me.” Jungkook’s voice is tinted with desperation but it just makes your walls rise higher.

He’s lying to you. Your tongue wants to protest, but he continues.

“I see you in everything”, Jungkook breathes out, like he is also admitting it to himself.

“The paintbrushes I can never put down to the black coffee I force myself to drink nowadays because the ones I actually like, the ones with too much whipped cream and vanilla syrup, just reminds me of you.” His brows are knitted, and his feet vie to step closer to your quivering form. But you look like a caged animal about to bolt at any moment.

“And when I’m reminded of you, I am reminded of…”, he gulps down the fear, “I’m reminded of how I am utterly in love with someone who deserves so much more than what I have put them through.”

The blood that runs through your veins drops to subzero temperatures, and you swear in the split millisecond that you have absorbed what he’s just said, your heart ceases its beating. The world stops turning, and the waves still for a brief moment. You can’t find any words just yet, but Jungkook can see straight through you and your stupefied expression.

“Y-you’re lying to me, Jungkook. Stop lying.”

“I’m not lying, please…” Jungkook knows he’s losing you by the second, but he’s promised you he would persist. He just wants you to listen. Wants you to feel how sorry he is, and how his soul screams to be next to your’s.

“I can’t explain how it happened. Like it was an epiphany. Like someone has been screaming at me and I had been ignoring them, and that someone was my own heart.” Jungkook doesn’t stumble over his words once. He does not stutter because it is the plain white truth.

“Stop, Jungkook.”

“It’s been knocking on the door of my chest and when I finally let it in, it just yells and shouts ‘oh my god, you’re in love’ and then I realized oh my god, i’m in love. In between painting you and convincing myself that soulmates meant nothing to me, I’ve completely and unquestionably fallen in love with you, Y/N.”

Jungkook can’t decipher the look on your face. Something between the lines of disbelief and heartbreak, and it makes him want to split at the seams at the pain he’s put you through. How he’s convinced you you’re impossible to love. He vows to make it right again.

“Jungkook-”

“And you’re wrong, you know. You’re not hard to love. Hell, I was dead set on never loving again and you managed to make me so smitten, I can’t paint or draw a damn thing without including some aspect of you in it.” Jungkook steps back and gestures to all the canvases and photos that hang on the wall.

“Take a look around, Y/N. It’s all you. Every piece.” Once he says it, you finally notice Every piece of art in this room can be traced to you, or a memory you two share. It’s so clear, you don’t know how you missed it before. You feel yourself in the art Jungkook has poured his soul into. Instead of making you feel elated, these words that you’ve been waiting your entire life to hear just ignites the sting.

“Just stop. Please.” It is only a weak whisper through your lips, and he ignores it.

“If you can’t forgive me, I get it Y/N. I can’t forgive myself either. But can you just know that you are enough. You are more than what I deserve. And I know you told me to be happy, but there is no way I can possibly do that without you.”

When your gaze falls to the floor, you notice that his wrist is clean of any bracelets or watches. Come to think of it, this is one of the first times you are seeing it clear and in the flesh. Jungkook doesn’t tell you, but nowadays, he doesn’t allow anything to impede on the sight of the crescent moon.

When your guard is down and you are distracted, he finds the perfect time to finally reach forward and take your hand in his. His touch is gentle when it wraps around your wrist, tugging off the ribbon that circled it, and revealing the matching mark. Your pulse jumps under his fingers, and skips a beat when he runs a thumb over the moon. You are already melting with such simple contact, and you almost allow yourself to succumb. Almost.

It’s as if suddenly his skin was scalding, and you snatch your wrist from his grasp at lightning speed. The tears that have strayed down your face are wiped away as quickly as they came. The surprise on his face is missed by your eyes because before he can comprehend what is happening, you are bolting down the staircase and out the glass doors of the gallery. No, you cannot forgive him yet. What would you do if he hurt you again? You don’t think you would survive.

You ignore the pain of seeing his art pieces as you run, now that you know you are the muse behind them all. The only noise is the sound of blood rushing in your ears, and you are oblivious to the racket of Jungkook’s shoes clapping against marble flooring as he chases after you, expertly dodging the other patrons and butlers holding trays of champagne.

And Jungkook? Well, he is oblivious to the complete turmoil that runs through your every nerve. He only sees your back, and not the way you bite your lip painfully to keep the sobs from escaping. Not the way your pain is exhibited clear as day in the crease of your eyebrow and the wrinkle of your nose.

The air outside is so cold it bites at your nostrils, but makes it easier to breathe. The wind calms the thundering heart in your chest.

He must be lying. There was no way he had a change of heart now, not when he was so rooted in his belief before. There is no virtual possibility, on any plane of existence, on any dimension where Jeon Jungkook has fallen in love with you.

Right?

The hand that circles around your wrist tightly to keep you from getting any farther tells you that you are wrong. He did come after you. Jungkook’s strength forces you to stop running, but you can’t find the courage to turn around and face him just yet. But you don’t make an effort to pull away, and he takes it as progress.

“You can run if you want, Y/N. You can walk away from me and from us, but don’t doubt that I’ll always be chasing after you. For as long as it takes.” He is panting and speaking through heavy breaths, but you hear him. Loud and clear.

“I won’t let you leave again. Not like last time.”

There is no malice. No coldness, and for the first time since you’ve met him, his words feel like warm honey instead of monotone ice. He is utterly distraught when you turn around slowly, hesitant like you’re afraid he will break your heart right then and there.

His heart shatters at the wetness at your waterline, and the way you look up at him; completely vulnerable and scared.

“Do you promise?”

There is a lot of weight in your three-word question. It’s not as innocent as meets the eye, and Jungkook knows it. He feels it. When you ask him if he promises, it is an invitation back to you. You are offering him your heart, which he has already broken and bruised, and trusting him to be careful with it this time around. Jungkook already knows he loves you. And if you let him, he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure this promise remains unbroken.

“I promise.”

It’s a commitment. One he used to be terrified of making, but it seems so easy when it’s for you.

And when you fly forward to wrap your arms around him, Jungkook feels like home. Like the stars twinkle a little brighter and the earth stops spinning for a mere second, just for the two of you. You feel him squeeze you closer, just as tightly, and Jungkook wants to kick himself for depriving you both of a simple thing called love.

You are here, souls and now bodies intertwined, and Jungkook lets the pain of past hurt fall away. Pain is so miniscule when you are by his side. When you pull back, Jungkook frowns at your red-rimmed eyes, and the tears that still persist. He wipes it away oh so softly, as if you were delicate clay and he, a sculptor.

“Please don’t cry anymore, princess, it breaks my heart. I’m so sorry.” It is the softest, most sugary tone you’ve ever heard out of him. But hearing affection from his lips makes you feel that perhaps all of this sorrow, this longing, has been worth it. He has been worth it. He always has.

“I love you, Y/N.” Jungkook’s words are almost as beautiful as he is.

His lips are familiar when you lean forward and kiss him. Yet they are different. This time, the hands on your waist hold you a bit more carefully, even closer if that were possible. You can feel his thudding heart as it beats against your own, learning to match rhythms with each other, and Jungkook cradles your face in his hand like you are the only artwork he has truly been proud of.

And it’s true. All the canvases and paints and camera film seem wasted now. Nothing he ever makes will be quite as alluring as the art he holds in his arms in this moment.

“I love you too, you goddamn idiot.”

You meant it all those months ago, and you mean it now. If Jeon Jungkook was the sun, you would gladly change your name to Icarus. If Jeon Jungkook was the moon, then you are the tides that he pushes and pulls. If Jeon Jungkook belonged to you, well...you don��t have to imagine that anymore. He is your’s, as you are his.

Old habits die hard, but they are not immortal. They wax and wane, and remind you that in the cosmic vastness of things, you are only human. Humans whose hearts beat in tandem and souls made to complete the other. Humans with identical crescent moons, lost but now found.

Old habits die hard. But you have learned to fix those of a broken heart.

☾

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justforbooks · 2 years ago

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Lamont Dozier was 20 years old when his wife, Ann, introduced him to Eddie and Brian Holland one day in 1962. She was packing records and doing typing at the offices of Motown Records in Detroit, where the Holland brothers were among many aspirant songwriters and performers vying to come up with the label’s early hits. Lamont, after mopping the floors at another label while trying to get his singing and writing career off the ground, had taken the offer of $25 a week from Motown’s founder, Berry Gordy Jr, the money to be advanced against future royalties. Once he had struck up a working partnership with the Hollands, the trio wrote and produced million-selling songs that would help define popular music in the 1960s.

Dozier, who has died aged 81, played his part in many of the songs that built the Motown legend and which now seem as impervious to the ravages of time as those of Rodgers and Hart or Lennon and McCartney. Holland-Dozier-Holland classics include Heat Wave and Nowhere to Run (with Martha and the Vandellas), Can I Get a Witness (Marvin Gaye), Baby I Need Your Loving, I Can’t Help Myself and Reach Out I’ll Be There (Four Tops), This Old Heart of Mine (Isley Brothers), Take Me in Your Arms (Kim Weston) and a record-breaking string of No 1 hits in the US charts for the Supremes, starting with Where Did Our Love Go in 1964 and including Baby Love, Stop! In the Name of Love, You Can’t Hurry Love and You Keep Me Hangin’ On.

Long after their original radio and chart success had faded away, many of Holland-Dozier-Holland’s million-sellers turned out to have embedded themselves so deeply in the public consciousness that they enjoyed second lives, reimagined for new audiences in cover versions by non-Motown artists. Rod Stewart’s This Old Heart of Mine, Kim Wilde’s You Keep Me Hangin’ On and Phil Collins’ You Can’t Hurry Love were among the many reinterpretations that kept a smile on the faces of Holland-Dozier-Holland’s song publishers as the years went by.

Born in Detroit, Lamont was the oldest of the five children of Ethel (nee Waters) and Willie Dozier, whose families had migrated north from Alabama and Georgia. Willie was 21 and Ethel was 14 when they married and settled in Detroit’s Black Bottom district, originally named for its fertile soil. Drafted into the US army soon after Lamont was born, later Willie had trouble holding down a job and it was Ethel who kept the family going with her earnings from cooking and cleaning in suburban homes.

Lamont was educated at Edgar Allan Poe elementary school, where his love of words and poetry began, at Hutchins junior high school, where he met Aretha Franklin, the daughter of a celebrated local Baptist preacher, and at Northwestern high school, where he picked out songs on a piano, already with the idea of a career in music. He was still at school when he and a group of friends formed the Romeos, harmonising in the doo-wop style and winning the $100 first prize at the Graystone Ballroom’s talent contest.

Dozier wrote and sang lead on the records they made for a label owned by a local businessman. When a song called Fine Fine Baby became a regional hit, Atlantic Records took an interest and gave it a national release. Atlantic’s offer to make further recordings was unwittingly torpedoed by an over-confident 16-year-old Dozier, who insisted that the group would sign only if they could record an entire album straight away.

By that time he had dropped out of high school and was shining shoes on the street to make money. His mother, fearing for his future, drove him to an army recruiting centre, much against his wishes. After another car rammed them from behind on an icy road and Dozier’s head hit the dashboard, he arrived for the interview with his clothes soaked in blood from a broken nose and was relieved to be turned down.

The partnership with the Hollands provided him with the focus he needed. After hits on the R&B charts with the Marvelettes and Martha and the Vandellas gave them initial traction, it was with Heat Wave that they found an application for the fervour of gospel within music aimed at teenagers, creating a template for the Motown sound. By contrast, the songs they created for the Supremes traded on a winsomeness that perfectly suited the come-hither style of Diana Ross, the group’s lead singer, tilting soul music in a different direction.

Their most adventurous work was done with the Four Tops, whose act had been slanted towards cabaret performances when Gordy signed them. After the lush romance of Baby I Need Your Loving and Ask the Lonely, a song called Reach Out I’ll Be There burst into the world in 1966 with the impact of a Like a Rolling Stone, a Strawberry Fields Forever or a Good Vibrations.

Dozier and Brian Holland had written it together at the piano, shifting the song between major and minor modes, its chant-like lines a conscious amalgam of gospel urgency with Bob Dylan’s phrasing. In the studio, Eddie Holland and the arranger Paul Riser used a piccolo on the introduction, along with timpani mallets on a tambourine head, to achieve what Dozier would describe as “a journey of emotions with sustained tension, like a bolero”. Finally, to turn it into a plea of operatic intensity, they pitched it in a key above the normal range of the group’s great lead singer, Levi Stubbs, forcing him to strain for the notes.

Although the Four Tops were sceptical of its unorthodoxy, it became a No 1 in the US and the UK. And, as always with Holland-Dozier-Holland, there was more where that came from over the subsequent months, in the shape of Standing in the Shadows of Love, Bernadette and 7 Rooms of Gloom, each almost equally remarkable.

When the trio broke away from Gordy over arguments about royalties in the late 60s, they were at the height of their success, wielding sufficient power within the music industry to form their own successful label, Invictus, whose hit artists included the Chairmen of the Board, Freda Payne, and the duo of Holland-Dozier, whose single Why Can’t We Be Lovers, featuring Dozier, became a hit. After the partnership broke up in the early 70s, Dozier resumed his singing career with a series of albums that started with the pointedly titled Out Here on My Own in 1973 and Black Bach the following year. Including the hit singles Trying to Hold on to My Woman and All Cried Out, they demonstrated his ability to create fine music without the assistance of his former collaborators.

In later years he provided songs for Alison Moyet, Debbie Gibson, Peabo Bryson and Regina Belle, wrote with Simply Red’s Mick Hucknall, and worked with Phil Collins on Two Hearts, a hit song from the 1988 film Buster, nominated for an Oscar and recipient of a Grammy award. In 2020 a sample from the swooning ballad I Got It All With You, from his 1979 album Bittersweet, provided the basis for Crazy, a hit for the singer Kelly Rowland. He and the Hollands were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1990.

Dozier’s first marriage, to Ann Brown, ended in divorce, as did a second, in 1969, to Daphne Dumas. In 1980 he married Barbara Ullman, who died in 2021. He is survived by six children.

🔔 Lamont Herbert Dozier, songwriter and singer, born 16 June 1941; died 8 August 2022

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Lamont Herbert Dozier #in memoriam

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yostresswritinggirl · 4 years ago

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If you're plate isn't too full, can I request a couple of fluffy hc's about Albedo with a photographer! s/o? Like, his s/o enjoys taking pictures of the environment and etc, and even take pictures of Albedo whenever he just does stuff, and Albedo enjoys sketching then whenever they just do a whole picture spree- they even exchange pictures too

Yes, my plate is too full and I'm confused why you guys don't see the request closed thingy in my description. But does it look like I care? No, I miss writing for Albedo and you're getting Albedo NOW-

Sepia Times

Albedo with a Photographer!S/O headcanons/scenarios... (event masterlist)

Ever since Fontaine released their newest device called Kamera, you had been so adamant in getting ahold of one that you ended up going on a travel spree to the said nation. Not even waiting for the shipment to Mondstadt, you left a quickly written note of your whereabouts before you left.

Spontaneous as ever, Albedo thought to himself as his grip on the note tightens with worry.

Luckily, three days later, you hailed from the Hydro Archon's land with your newest prized possession in hand. Triumphant and giddy, both of your lives changed drastically from there.

Albedo first and foremost, almost dismantled your Kamera. Actually he may have already done so behind your back, he was just caught the last time. He was really curious of its machinations and wanted to reverse engineer it.

He only ever lived because he was fast enough to reassemble it and show you that it still works. If not, you were already charging at him to throw hands. You did not travel for three days just for the Kamera to be broken. Whether he found what he was looking for or not, he's not allowed to touch it until he gets his own when the supply reaches Mondstadt.

Knowing your excitement, Albedo takes a sudden day off to accompany you in your Kamera spree, his own canvas and easel under his arm to also channel his artistic energy.

In just a day you managed to take 20 pictures, about to run out of film in just a day. Everytime you snap a picture, you gravitate to where Albedo is stationed to show off what you got like a crow and its shiny rocks. He finds it very endearing, stating his honest honey-covered opinion that makes you overjoyed enough to energize you to snap another, better picture.

The Alchemist sees the appeal of the Kamera and how immediate the replication of the image is. But he still glorifies the art of painting. He may not be able to capture constantly moving subjects but he can capture any detail he wants emphasized unlike the limited rasterization of a photo like that.

He watches you from afar as you skip over to different places and objects, face blooming with wonder as you position your device to snap. He dons a smile when you pull out the photo and wait for the image to materialize, and produce a chuckle when you sprint over to him to show the product. It's like your routine you developed in just a day.

So at times when he needs it the most, he will steal borrow your Kamera to snap a quick picture of something fast moving that he needs to observe immediately or wish to sketch/paint in detail in the future. One of the photos he had hidden for himself had a picture of you in your natural photographer environment as you dash around to look for a scene to capture while you wait.

What's it for? Well he made it into a more intricate painting during his spare time, presenting it to you with the little image taped at the top right corner. It was so beautiful that when outsiders were to see it after they were granted to access his office/laboratory, they always ask for the price for it. Something he adamantly refuses with the coldest glare the Alchemist can make. The negotiations usually end there.

Whenever he was far and you couldn't follow, like Dragonspine for example (the Kamera was still in development so cold temperatures might risk both the device and the processing), you always send him a picture for his thoughts. Either by asking Sucrose, Timaeus or the Traveler if they were en route to his camp, of course.

As you send one to him daily, Albedo started to look forward to your little mail every time. They range from very beautiful sights he hasn't seen before, images of the people of Mond who looks to be greeting him, or of you and the things that would remind him of you.

He keeps a haphazardly strewn journal for it, and in his camp was a board of his favorite picks, and all images of you are tacked on it. The Traveler enjoys watching his cold teal eyes light up whenever he brings the daily image, watching the picture board grow as Albedo tacks the latest one in with obvious pride and joy.

When he comes back to Mond, he brings with him his most beautiful piece from Dragonspine. You'd know it's special because everything is painted in detail, even the most unimportant parts of it. It's his gift for your little photo exchange and you have it put up on wall somewhere in your house.

When he gets his own Kamera, it was his turn to drag you to his photography spree. A little one-sided competition happens between you two where you try to one up the quality of his pictures, sometimes successful and sometimes you don't really... understand what he's doing, as he captures the strangest images.

Albedo uses his solar isotoma when you want to use it for better angles. Very supportive, as you'd hear a snap from beneath as you position your own Kamera.

The whole of Mond muses at both of your antics; as you two would most likely do the finger frame thingy impulsively when seeing something worth the attention, the people around you would chuckle at how cute you two looked, focused on your own little world.

He always gifts you extra films or anything related to photography when he can. Since he barely has time to go out sometimes, he has many backup gifts in bulk to whip out if ever he wants to pamper you with his material affection. Albedo is hyperaware of your hyperfixation and will always bring films the moment you run out, like foresight.

You can barely understand Albedo, despite the closeness you two had, he was still an enigma in most occasions. This was one of them. He had been binging on photography lately and everytime you look through the photos he captured, it didn't really make sense. The most random pictures that you wouldn't even dare use a film on strewn here and there, sometimes the photo is even cut off, and you'd think it was a mistake until he started organizing them in a system only he knows.

When you finally gathered up the courage to ask what all of it was about for, you were given a smile as cryptic as his album.

But as he pulls your hand with an excitement you've only seen when his chemical solution produces the expected buff, you somehow deduced that today would be the day you'd find out what the heck he was up to.

"It took longer than I expected it to be," he says as he starts unlocking a room in the Knights of Favonius HQ that you've never been in before, "but the end result was worth it."

Your confusion only grows as you were met with a face full of hanging pictures, most of it you recognize. Leaning over some and looking up on the higher ones, the amount of string and the confusing way they were set up, amazes you still with the amount of effort he had been using on such a big project.

Your untrained eyes loosely guess around 1000 films used for this.

The glass double doors that makes it way to the balcony opens loudly behind you. "Come here," you turn to see Albedo's silhouette open his arms against the setting sun behind him. "You're supposed to look at it from this distance." His arms engulfs you gently when you moved over, sending a gentle squeeze before he turns you back around to see the hanging pictures.

You gasp.

The depth and the splash of colors from this distance, aided with the sun, turned the hanging collage into an expertly placed collage as it shows you the bigger picture: a mold of your face of the first sketch Albedo made when you first met each other. The angles and colors measured to the dot to capture and replicate your beauty.

You feel his lips kiss the back of your head as you stared in awe.

Impromptu Albedo fluff yey

@albaedhoe @struggljng @heisenwurst @moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @traveler-lumine @nonniechan @creation-magician @hanniejji

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #Albedo x Reader #genshin impact Albedo #exile.goblet #exile.flower #sojourner specials #gender neutral #fluffyyyyy #genshin impact headcanons

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imhereformr · 3 years ago

Text

It had been years since he’d had to sneak in somewhere. Riven’s position as captain in the Magix Elite Force granted him easy access to just about anywhere he needed or wanted so long as he could justify his reason for being there. But this, he had no valid reason. It would result in his suspension, if not complete dismissal, from the force. He didn’t think he’d get caught – you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks, but that doesn’t mean they forgot old ones – but even if he did, he knew he had to take the risk.

Nabu had been the one to tell him. About the relationship; the engagement; and the – in Riven’s opinion – far too rushed wedding. He wanted her to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him. He did. He also knew he should just let her go, let her marry whatever the fuck his name was, but he couldn’t not try. She needed to know how he felt even if he was years too late.

Musa had been the one to break it off. It had nearly broken him; he’d refused to leave his room in his and Timmy’s apartment for weeks afterwards. Ultimately, she’d been right, though. They were becoming different people – growing apart – and it was better to break up now than wait until their different paths became too much and they grew to resent each other.

Musa had released her first album a year before they’d broken up. Her tour had been hard, with him having to stay in Magix for work and her being everywhere, but he’d thought they could survive it. Their relationship had already survived so much. Musa’s star, though, had only begun to shine. Over the years after the breakup, she only became more and more successful. Every bit of which she deserved, and every bit of which Riven had followed from afar.

She’d offered for them to stay friends once the wounds had healed but Riven had declined. All the news he got of her was from the guys or magazines. His therapist – he'd gone to see a therapist; Musa would have been so proud – agreed that it was best to cut her off entirely. Beyond the whole listening to her music thing, Riven thought he’d done pretty well at that. It had only taken him a year to stop looking her up borderline obsessively, he’d dated other people, he’d even had a serious relationship or two. His only problem was that none of the others were Musa. No matter how hard he tried, he always seemed to come back to her.

So here he was, the day of her wedding, climbing a tree on the side of the hotel she was getting married at, praying that he’d be able to find the room she was getting ready in before the ceremony started. And that she’d be willing to hear him out.

Riven managed to find an open window that led into the end of a hallway. He made his way through the navy halls, stopping to listen for her voice behind every single oversized door. Nabu, after some bribery and threats, had told him that Musa and the girls would be getting ready on the fourth floor. He’d begged Riven to think through his actions and not do anything stupid, but Riven was also certain that Nabu was on board with whatever his plan was. From his description of Musa’s fiancé, he hadn’t sounded too fond of the guy.

The sound of footsteps put Riven on high alert. He managed to duck into a broom closet just in time to see Stella turn the corner. Jackpot. The blonde swung her long, gently curled hair over her shoulder and punched in a code on the door pad opposite his hiding spot. From the door, he heard a sound he would recognise anywhere: Musa’s voice. Double jackpot. Now he just had to pray that the girls would leave Musa alone for at least a minute at some point before the ceremony started.

He stood in that closet, watching her door for close to half an hour when his saving grace arrived in the form of an older woman with greying brown hair piled high on her head and a clipboard in her hand. She punched in the code to the door – which Riven paid much closer attention to this time – and exited three minutes later with the five bridesmaids in tow.

And no bride. This was turning out to be much easier than he’d anticipated.

Riven seized his opportunity the minute the woman he assumed was the wedding planner and Musa’s friends were out of sight. The light on the lock turned green on the first try and he slunk into the room as quietly as possible. Musa was turned away from him, staring at herself in mirror. Lucky too because it wouldn’t have made for a very good winning-her-back moment for her to see his jaw drop and his mind go entirely blank.

Musa wore a minimalistic, figure-flattering white dress with spaghetti straps, a deep V and a low back. She wore very little jewelry: a pair of diamond earrings, her engagement ring and her mother’s necklace – the one she never took off that he’d recovered in Black Mud Swamp the year they first met. Her long, dark hair was curled softly, like she was a movie star right out of the 1950s. He missed her hair; missed running his hands through it; missed the way he could bury his face in it when they hugged so that the smell of her shampoo could envelop him entirely; missed the way she would play with her pigtails when she was nervous; missed the way her hair would fall into his face when she leaned over to kiss him before they went to bed every night. More than anything, he missed her.

“Riven?” He stumbled out of his memories and into present day at the sound of her voice. She’d turned to face him, the train of her dress bunching at her feet as she spun. It had been so long since he’d heard her say his name. He’d forgotten how nice it sounded. “What are you doing here?”

“You look beautiful” he whispered thoughtlessly. Musa lowered her eyes, her face flushing like it had whenever he’d looked at her in the early days of their relationship. She ran her hands along the sides of her wedding dress – the dress she should be wearing for him – smoothing out non-existent creases in the fabric. It made him smile to know he could still make her blush like that.

“What are you doing here?” she asked again, bringing her hands together to fiddle with her engagement ring.

“I...” Fuck. How did he do this? “...Should have written something down.” Yes, that would’ve been a good idea. He wasn’t Helia; words didn’t come naturally to him. The old Riven would have turned around and walked away, wouldn’t have even given it a shot. He wasn’t the old Riven anymore, and he wasn’t leaving this room without Musa knowing how he felt. He’d have to wing it. “Don’t marry him.”

“Riven, I-”

“Please. Just hear me out.” Her objections ceased, and she lowered the hand she’d put out in a stop motion. “I love you. I have never stopped loving you. I have thought about you every single day for the last seven years, four months and twenty-one days. Since the day you left. And every single one of those days, I have kicked myself for letting you go; for not fighting harder for you. For us.”

Riven approached her. With every step, he felt his heart beat harder, coming to a brutal halt when he stepped in front of her. Her eyes, for the first time since he’d complimented her, met his. She was inches from him; so close that the smallest movement would bring them together. The heels she was wearing made her taller – brought the top of her head to his lip instead of his shoulder. Had his mind been anywhere other than desperately wanting her to come back to him, he would have commented that she hated heels with a passion, and he’d always thought she’d wear sneakers with her wedding dress even if Stella gave her a headache about it.

He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers, not missing the way she leaned into his touch. Her heart longed for his just as much as his did for hers. “You belong with me, Muse. You know you do. We belong together.” His hand cupped her chin, pulling her into a kiss. Never had anything felt more right than his lips on hers. The second they connected; he knew everything would work out. He could beat the worst monsters, defeat his darkest demons, save the most helpless and conquer the universe as long as he had Musa by his side.

Musa’s hands came to rest on his chest, balling her manicured fingers into his thin white t-shirt and dragging him into her as they lost themselves in the kiss. The longer it went, the more certain he was that she would leave with him right then if he asked her to. He would have too, if the planner hadn’t punched in the door code and announced her presence through the heavy door.

“Gimme a second” Musa managed to shout, mere inches from Riven’s face, before the woman had entered the room. The planner shut the door, informing Musa that she would be right outside and that the ceremony was ready to begin.

Musa stepped back and Riven had to wrap his arms around her to keep her near him. “I have to go” she whispered.

“Please, please don’t marry him.” Teenage Riven would be mortified to hear his voice crack as he begged Musa not to choose someone else, but adult Riven couldn’t care less. He would beg and plead and grovel if it meant that she’d stay with him.

“It’s too late. I’m sorry.” She laid her hands on his chest and pushed their bodies apart. He watched, heart shattering, as she stepped away from him. Her voice broke, tears pooled in the corners of her eyes and her lower lip quivered, but ever his fierce Musa, she stayed strong. He wished, just this once, that she would break. Musa stepped away from him and turned towards the door, gathering the train of her dress in her hand as she walked away. She wiped her eyes quickly before grabbing the door handle.

“Musa,” he heard himself say before she had the chance to turn the knob. A deep sigh and she turned to him. He’d never been good at reading people, but Musa he knew. She wanted him to fight for her, she always had, and, for the most part, he always had. He always would. He’d just fucked up that one time when it mattered most. “I’ll be out front. If you change your mind.”

She didn’t answer, merely shook her head and then she was gone, whisked away through the door and down the hall by the planner. Riven sat himself onto the nearest piece of furniture – a fancy-looking emerald green couch in the corner of the hotel suite sitting room – and dropped his head in the palms of his hands trying to stop himself from crying and shaking.

He hadn’t felt pain like this in years, hadn’t felt anything like this in years. He hadn’t been numb – he’d known numb before and that wasn’t what the last few years had been – but life had been significantly less vivid. Everything always felt so much more with her. The lows could be soul-crushing agony, but the highs were pure ecstasy and worth every second of pain. He would willingly suffer through millennia of agony for just one hour of ecstasy with her again.

***

Musa’s mind buzzed as she followed Christina, the planner, through the hall and into the elevator, down to the main floor. The woman – an absolute godsend in the madness that was planning a wedding and a tour in the same four months – babbled on about how adorably nervous Liam – her fiancé – was.

She’d met Liam three years ago on a talk show. He was an actor – had started off as a child on a sitcom and managed to make the incredibly difficult transition from child star to serious adult actor. He’d been sweet and charming during the pre-interview and through the whole taping. They’d run into each other again a year later at a movie premiere – she'd sung the main theme and he was close friends with the star. He’d asked her out at the end of the night. He was cute – tall with broad shoulders and sharp features, just her type – so she’d said yes. It turned out that he was also funny and incredibly witty.

She loved him.

Christina led her out of the elevator and into one of the back hallways. At the end of the hall, Musa knew she’d find her friends and father waiting patiently for the ceremony to start. Musa knew what would happen: Christina would put them in order, then cue her assistant to tell the violinist to start playing – Riven had always loved hearing her play the violin, they’d talked about having one if ever they got married. Musa couldn’t let that detail go. Once the music started, the double doors would open onto the ceremony room. Hundreds of guests would be seated in the room, surrounded by thousands of dollars' worth of flowers and floating candles.

Much sooner than she’d anticipated, it was Tecna’s turn. The purple-haired fairy – her maid of honour – turned out of the waiting area and moved up to the double doors at exactly the speed Christina had indicated; not too fast like Flora had or too slow like Stella – who, realistically, had been enjoying the moment of spotlight – had. Musa’s father turned to her, a genuine smile on his face, to ask if she was ready. Musa smiled and nodded.

Her arm looped through her father’s and Christina handed her the bouquet of exquisite flowers – arranged by Flora, of course. The woman moved behind her to spread out her train. As she neared the door, the guests stood for her. Her father nodded to a few at the back that he recognised, but Musa’s focus was at the front.

Liam stood with his arms folded behind him. Riven would always stand with his hands in his pockets or his arms crossed. Liam’s smile widened when he saw her. Riven only smiled when he saw her. Liam mouthed the words I love you and Musa felt a pang. She’d just heard those words in a different voice, and they’d had so much more impact. Musa smiled at him, repeating the mantra in her head.

She loved him.

She was at the altar. Her father was hugging her and whispering that he loved her and wished her nothing but happiness. Musa was stepping up to the altar. Liam was shaking her father’s hand. The photographer’s assistant was adjusting her train for the photos. Liam was smiling at her. Tecna was taking the bouquet out of her hands. Liam was reaching out for her hands.

Musa snapped out of her haze. Her hands were in Liam’s and the officiant was welcoming the guests. Please turn your phones off. Don’t take any pictures. It’s not every day you meet someone that touches your soul. All the cheesy shit people said at weddings. Musa ignored the man they’d hired as she played the scene with Riven over in her mind.

He still loves her.

And she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t compared every boyfriend to him. Including Liam. She’d also be lying if she said that she didn’t think about him when she was alone. When she was lonely. When she wanted someone to hold her. When she touched herself. When she cried. When she laughed. When she had news to share. When she wrote a song she really loved.

It was always him.

Pressure on her hand brought her back to present day. Liam was saying his I do. He was giving her that smile that, up until fifteen minutes ago, she thought she’d be happy enough to see every day.

Happy enough.

Was that really enough?

“...Take Liam Lukas Caffrey, here present, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?”

“I...” Hundreds of eyes stared at her expectantly. She had two words to say. I do. It wasn’t that fucking hard. Musa looked up at Liam. At those pretty dark green eyes of his watching her with all the love in the world. “I...”

It wasn’t enough.

No one would ever be enough if they weren’t Riven. She’d tried to deny it, but it was true. And he was right. She belonged with him.

“No” she sighed. The love in Liam’s eyes turned to confusion. Behind her, Stella mumbled out a what. “I can’t... I’m sorry.”

Musa picked up the skirt of her dress as much as she could and walked away. She picked up speed with every step, desperate to get away from the prying eyes. Desperate to get to Riven. I’ll be out front. If you change your mind. Had he meant it? She rushed through the double doors, past Christina and through the lobby. In the corner of her vision, she saw the doorman standing to open the front doors for her, but she got there before him.

Lights flashed in her eyes as she pushed through the doors and onto the front steps. Her name was being shouted and paparazzi cameras popped at every angle, but she registered none of it. Musa searched the sidewalk for that telltale flash of magenta, trying to control her already heavy breathing and not appear as panicked as she felt.

He wasn’t sure why he’d even waited. It’s too late. That should be an obvious clue that she didn’t want to be with him. Still, he waited. He’d sat in her suite for two minutes trying to compose himself before sneaking out of the room and down to the lobby. He’d gotten there just in time to hear the music start. Part of him contemplated waiting, running into the ceremony when the officiant did the speak now or forever hold your peace thing (did they even do that in real life? It hadn’t been done at Flora and Helia or Stella and Brandon’s wedding). Ultimately, he decided not to. He’d told Musa what he had to say. All he could do now was wait.

Riven took a seat on a bench in the park across the street. He absentmindedly watched park-goers walk by, blissfully unaware that he was falling to pieces as the seconds ticked by. It took all his self-control not to think about Musa marrying someone else; to stop himself from physically and mentally falling apart. Old demons tried to claw their way to the forefront of his mind, to tell him that she wouldn’t want him, that his efforts were futile, but Riven refused to listen to them. He wasn’t that sixteen-year-old kid anymore, and he knew, he knew that he and Musa were meant to be.

Finally, after searching for what felt like an eternity, she spotted the telltale magenta hair forcing its way through the crowd. The joy that swelled in her was unlike any happiness she’d ever felt. He’d waited. Musa kicked off her heels and took off running towards him. He made it to the front of the crowd just in time for her to throw herself into his arms and pull him into a kiss.

It was heaven to feel his lips on hers, to feel his arms wrapped around her. Musa never wanted to lose this feeling. He laughed into the kiss and Musa swore it was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard. Riven shuffled forward, lowering her onto one of the hotel steps as they finally pulled apart. The smile on his face could put the suns of Solaria to shame, but, as much as she loved his smile, Musa was only focused on his eyes. She loved his eyes; loved the way they shone every time he looked at her.

Riven rested his forehead against Musa’s. Those magnificent blue eyes looked up at him so lovingly, just the way he’d longed for her to look at him for all those years. Riven swore then and there, he would move mountains to never lose that look. He was so happy he didn’t even care that all the paparazzi were watching them. Let them watch.

“I’m so sorry. I was so stupid... I-” Musa started.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

“Now and forever. I love you, Riven.” Musa pulled him into another kiss. Camera flashes went off around them but Riven only saw the stars that shone in his head every time she kissed him. He pulled away from her just enough to whisper I love you too, Musa before kissing her with all the love he could muster.

#im avoiding my other WIP #i started the AU #and season 2 #but my attention span is shit #so heres a oneshot no one asked for #winx club #winx musa #winx riven #musa x riven #rivusa #muri #winx #fanfiction #riven x musa

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lire-casander · 2 years ago

Text

chapter #12 — outro

Recovery is slower than TK would have wanted, even after being discharged from the hospital after another five days of observation, probing and poking. The doctors remind him not to take showers on his own for the foreseeable future because hypothermia has messed with his ability to regulate his body heat, so he's always accompanied by either Paul or Judd. His father has had to go back to Austin after using all of his days off to take care of him for the first few weeks after his release. Marjan and Grace are the ones in charge of taking Jonah to and from school; TK can't walk for long without feeling as though his lungs are trying to set his whole body on fire.

And the whole time, he fights against his own desire to pick up the phone and call Carlos. It just wouldn’t be fair, calling him now just because he needs him. The last thing he wants is to use Carlos.

Since TK doesn't like feeling useless, he profits from the unusual calmness surrounding him these days to actually sit down and write. Music becomes once again his safe haven, even though the side-effects of the accident don’t always make it easy; he finishes three songs and even starts a fourth one before the end of the school's winter semester. Paul keeps him updated on everything about his musical career, now on hold for the time being until he fully recovers and can resume his interviews and his performances.

"There's real interest in you recording a duet album," he announces on a Tuesday as he enters the penthouse. TK’s been so focused in his writing, with sheets of paper wildly spread around him and his guitar in his lap, that Paul's presence startles him. "Hey, didn't mean to scare you."

"I wasn't expecting you, that's all," TK says, putting his guitar aside. "A duet album, you say?"

"Yeah," Paul confirms. "You have yet to sing your song with Ricky Martin live, you even have to record it yet, but it's already a big success. Everyone wants in with you now, TK Strand the hero."

"That's crazy!"

"So you better get well soon," Paul insists. "The execs want to hold a meeting with you regarding options, and there's even rumors of a new contract being offered. I have yet to get confirmation, that's just what I've heard through the grapevine."

"I wish this would go faster," TK complains. "At least now I can shower without any of you watching me like a hawk. But this" — he lifts his hands in the air, showing off the slight tremors that course through them — "this is killing me. What if I never play music the way I did before?"

"You will," Paul reassures him. "It just takes time."

"Five weeks, Paul! I'm ready to get rid of them."

Paul pats him on the arm before getting up. "I should be picking Marjan up soon," he says. "We're going to the movies tonight. Want to come?"

"And be a third wheel?" TK huffs out a chuckle. "No, thanks. But you still owe me the story of how you two ended up together."

"What for?" Paul teases. "So you can see if you've won the betting pool going around? Don't give me that look, I know you and Judd, and the rest of the gang. I won't give you ammunition."

TK watches as his manager leaves the penthouse. He's grateful that Paul didn’t specify who the gang is; he's aware that, despite being broken up with Carlos, their friends have kept in touch. They became close during the short-lived romance that brought them all together; it's only normal that they've been in contact. They've just been polite enough to not mention their gatherings to TK.

And it's not as though TK hasn't encouraged them. He's even allowed Jonah to spend time with Leyre; his heart got broken but that doesn't mean he's heartless. His baby brother developed a deep connection with Carlos’ daughter, and TK can't keep Jonah from one of his best friends.

Alone in his penthouse once again, TK grabs his guitar with trembling hands and resumes his playing. He's humming softly under his breath, pausing here and there to jot down some chords and annotations. He's so engrossed in his music that he almost misses the clicking of the door closing behind Jonahas he tiptoes into the apartment.

"T!" he greets joyfully. "You wouldn't believe what we learned at school today!"

He smiles broadly at his brother; Jonah is a daily reminder that Carlos is still part of TK’s life, albeit indirectly. TK pats the space beside him on the couch and braves through Jonah’s explanation of everything he's learned during the day. They're comfortably sitting when TK’s cell rings, startling them out of their calm world. He checks the caller ID; he frowns when he reads the name of the detective in charge of Enzo’s case — even though everything pointed to his death being accidental, since it happened abroad a whole team of investigators was set on the case. So far, they haven't had anything to report.

Until now, apparently.

"I need to take this, J," he softly apologizes. "How about you tell me more over dinner?"

"Pizza?" Jonah asks hopefully.

"Yeah," TK acquiesces. "Now, I need to pick it up." He waits until his brother has left the living room to actually take the call. "TK Strand."

"Mr. Strand," a warm voice greets him at the other side. "Detective Sanchez. I have news on Mr. Enzo Zimmer's death." She must sense TK’s hesitation, for she continues even more softly, "I would like to see you at the precinct, if that's okay with you. It's not bad news; well, at least not worse news, but I'd rather deliver it in person. I understand you're recovering from an accident, but I hope you can come here. Are you available tomorrow morning?"

"I—I will be there," he stammers before clearing his throat and repeating, more firmly, “I will be there. Should I bring something? Someone?”

“Not really,” Detective Sanchez says. “But you can come with someone, if you’d like.”

“Thanks,” he finally grits out a few seconds before the call disconnects. Even though it’s been literally months since Enzo passed away in Japan, TK has been dreading this moment; he knew it would come, but he’s been fearing it as well. He knows Enzo had several enemies, what with having imprisoned half of the criminal population in New York City by himself, so he doesn’t know what to expect — all evidence pointed at it having been an accidental death, but TK’s aware the police don’t rule out any option until the very end of an investigation.

He's distressed the whole night; he isn't sure why he doesn't tell Jonah anything about his appointment at the precinct the next morning when they're having dinner together. TK listens to his brother babbling about his day at school once again; it's the last few days before it shuts down completely, and TK can tell that the shadow of the imminent dismantling of the school is taking its toll on Jonah. His words are stilted when he talks about what he's done, as if Carlos has run out of activities to keep the students' mind off the worry about the school.

The next day, after Marjan has thrown Jonah’s backpack on her shoulder and has stepped outside the penthouse with him, TK gets ready for his visit to the precinct. He informs Judd, who's the one in charge of babysitting him today. They have been taking turns to do that; since TK doesn't really need to step out of the house, Judd’s work has been reduced to almost none for now. He kills his time between taking care of his baby girl when Grace has a shift at the call center and taking care of TK.

"Well. This means closure," Judd tells him. "This way, you will learn what really happened." He grabs his coat from the rack by the door, and adds, "I'm coming with you," as a reply to TK’s confused glance.

"You don't need to—"

"I'm your bodyguard," Judd points out. "And your friend. Of course I'm coming with you."

TK sighs but says nothing. He braves the cold of the city as he walks the streets, Judd by his side. He keeps his head lowered, covered with a cap for disguise; the scarf around his neck covers half of his face as well, making it almost impossible to recognize him. Judd escorts him into the precinct, a few blocks from the penthouse.

"I'm TK Strand," he announces when they reach the front desk, where a bored-looking police officer perks up upon seeing them entering. "I've come to see Detective Sanchez."

"Of course, Mr. Strand," the police officer says cheerfully. "Detective Sanchez informed the front desk about your arrival. If you wait here for a moment, I will page her."

TK nods, turning around to sit on one of the chairs. Judd follows suit, sitting on the chair next to him and lifts one hand to his face. TK can read the tattoo there, Psalm 31. He remembers when Judd told him the story behind the tattoo — how it was God and Grace who saved him when he was younger, and how the tattoo was his small tribute. He's lost in his own thoughts, remembering every single appointment he's ever had at a tattoo parlor, relishing in the moments when his most sacred memories have been inked forever on his skin.

"Mr. Strand," a voice calls him. When he looks up, Detective Sanchez is standing in front of them. "Could you please follow me?"

TK jolts up to his feet, Judd hot on his trail, and together they follow Detective Sanchez through the precinct until they reach a small office with glass walls. It's a short and quick meeting, mainly to clear his doubts and soothe his soul. He leaves the precinct with the knowledge that Enzo’s death was, definitely, not related to his job as a prosecutor.

"Are you going to tell Jonah?" Judd asks. It doesn't sound like he's actually asking, though.

"Yeah, probably tonight during dinner," TK explains as they walk back to the penthouse. His breathing is heavy; he's made too much effort just by walking to the precinct. "I have to think about how to approach this. He's still so young, I want him to understand this."

"He'll understand it," Judd reassures him. "After all, it's closure, at least in a way. And it's not adding more trauma to the loss, for once."

TK has to agree. Learning that Enzo’s death was natural has lifted a heavy weight from his shoulders that he hadn't even noticed. He hopes it will help Jonah as well.

TK’s proven right when he tackles the subject during dinner later that night, over chicken tacos and a salad. "J," he begins, tentatively. "I went to the police station today."

"Why?" His brother looks up at him, his eyebrows shooting up and almost disappearing into his hairline.

"They called yesterday. They had news on your dad," TK continues. Jonah splutters as he tries to swallow the taco bite he was chewing. "Easy there, Jonah. It's nothing bad. Well, nothing worse than what it already is. They know for sure the real cause of your dad's—" He trails off, unsure as to how to treat this subject now that he's on it.

"Do they know what—what took him?"

TK smiles at the euphemism Jonah’s always used to refer to Enzo’s death. It's a coping mechanism, his therapist had explained to TK, a way to confront the problem without facing the worst side of it.

"They do," he says softly. "It was natural. Nobody did it. It was a heart attack," he continues. He leaves out that it had been caused, most probably, by the consumption of some dubious fish. Jonah doesn't ask. "I know you were nervous about this. I know you were scared. But nobody took your dad from you."

Jonah nods after a moment, eyes cast downwards once again, focused on his dinner. "It's good that we know now," he mumbles. "Can I go to my room, please?" he continues. He stands up without waiting for TK’s permission, leaving his taco half eaten on the plate.

TK sighs before he gathers everything and tidies up the living room. He washes the dishes and hangs the cloth on the rail where it belongs after he's done at the sink. He tiptoes his way to Jonah’s room after that; he wanted to give his brother some privacy before eavesdropping. When he approaches the door, the noise that comes from the inside doesn't surprise him. Jonah is crying loudly, the sobs that are surely wrecking him seeping through the thin walls. TK shakes his head but says nothing; he wants to respect his brother's need for solitude, but on the other hand he can't stand it when Jonah cries. When his mother was still alive, she had laughed at him, saying that Jonah had him wrapped around his pinkie. She wasn't wrong.

Carefully, he knocks on the door loud enough for the noise to be heard over the wails, and waits. After a beat, he hears Jonah’s choked up, "I'm fine!"

"You sure?" TK says back, leaning onto the door. "I'm here for you, Jonah."

"I—" His brother gasps for air, a tell-tale sign that he's on the verge of a panic attack. But TK doesn't want to barge in; he will, if he needs to, but his motto has always been to respect others. "I could use a hug."

That's all TK needs to be set into motion. He opens the door and peeks inside; Jonah is sitting on his bed, arms wrapped around his legs, face hidden in the crook between his knees. His whole body is trembling as he cries. TK sits on the edge of the bed and waits for Jonah to look up as the mattress dips under his weight. When his brother acknowledges his presence, TK envelopes him in a tight hug and allows Jonah’s tears to soak his shirt. He can understand what his brother's going through but Jonah has just now been told that the door on his father’s life has been definitely slammed shut. It's not that any investigation would bring Enzo back, TK is aware of that; but the notion of it having been a natural cause is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because they know; a curse because there's nobody to blame.

If TK’s feeling conflicted about this, he can only imagine how confused his eleven-year-old brother must be.

They fall asleep together on Jonah’s bed; TK wakes up to a crick in his neck and a knot in his back, but he doesn't complain. Jonah’s wrapped around him like a koala, and that's all TK will ever need. His mind treacherously supplies images of waking up on other mornings with a different body wrapped around him; they’re moments where he’d been happy, waking up in Carlos’ arms whenever either of them spent the night, Jonah and Leyre barrelling into the room at the crack of dawn on almost every weekend to ask for pancakes for breakfast and a trip to the zoo or Central Park or wherever their curious minds wanted to visit.

TK misses the domesticity that came with being part of Carlos’ life, with letting Carlos be part of his life.

The longing, the yearning, that comes with the memories is enough for TK to realize two things at once. He wants to fight for what once was; he wants to ask Carlos for forgiveness for how he behaved.

But to do so, he also needs to work hard on himself if he ever wants a chance at wooing Carlos back into love with him.

Even though his mind has been talking him out of fighting for Carlos, TK knows that is what he wants to do. He wanted to right all the wrongs back after performing his song for Carlos on stage, but back then he had allowed his insecurities to keep him from following his heart. But now he isn’t going to let his mind win over his heart.

He wants to win Carlos back.

That gives him a purpose like he hasn’t had in a long time, a sense of direction along with taking care of Jonah the best he can. TK works even harder and on even more songs, knowing full well that they’re the only language he speaks that doesn’t get muddled with anxiety or stammering — the only language he’s fluent in without any risk of miscommunication. He asks Paul and Marjan for help, earning a few chuckles and a lot of playful judgment before they agree to discreetly find out if Carlos would be amenable for a reconciliation. TK doesn’t want to overstep; as much as he wants Carlos back in his life, in any capacity, he’s also aware that he hurt Carlos badly. He wouldn’t want to impose, no matter how much he wishes he could mend what he broke the day he stormed out of Carlos’ life.

“All I’ve been able to find out is that he’s leaving town,” Marjan announces on the day TK is supposed to be on the Jesse Corbett show. “No word on when though. I don't really want to push. Tommy is being secretive about everything.”

“And Nancy and Mateo?” TK asks as Paul follows Marjan’s steps and flops down on the couch. “They’re Carlos’ best friends as well. And I know you guys keep meeting up for double dates or whatever you call it these days.”

Paul has the decency to blush, something that TK almost misses in the dim light of the living room. “They’re not double dates,” he says. “And Nancy and Mateo are usually too busy making out to come anyway.”

TK groans. “Short of standing outside his door with a giant sign, I’ve tried everything to reach him!” he exclaims.

“Everything?” Marjan quirks an eyebrow at him. “Have you tried calling him?” TK frowns at her but shakes his head. “Have you sent him a heartfelt letter, then?” TK splutters. “Oh, I know. Nobody sends letters anymore, it’s tragic. But, if you haven’t tried those, what have you done?”

“I’ve tried, very subtly, to—you know what, I don’t have to give you any explanation,” he huffs indignantly as he checks himself in the mirror once more.

“That’s code for I’ve done nothing but mope for the past few weeks,” Paul stage-whispers, loud enough to elicit a snort from Marjan. TK tries to ignore them, but it’s so difficult not to pay attention to what they’re doing.

“Listen, I’ve written him a song,” he finally says, turning from the mirror in the foyer and facing them.

“We know,” Marjan quips. “You’re singing it tonight for the first time live. The duet with Ricky freaking Martin.”

“No, not that one,” TK clarifies. “I’ve written him another song. I’ve written him an entire album,” he confesses. “But it’s so different from what the label wants me to do, I’m not sure I will ever be able to record it.”

“How come you’ve never told us about this?” Paul asks, sitting up on the couch. “What are we talking about, six, seven songs? An EP?”

“No, I’m talking about a whole album.” TK pulls at his hair nervously, disheveling his styled fringe. "A whole bunch of songs about heartbreak and not being able to move on, about undying love and forevermore."

"I find that deeply disturbing," Marjan says. "But I want to listen to the songs."

TK shrugs. He figured that, once he told them about the songs, they'd want to listen to them. He can almost hear Marjan telling him to fight for the album if that's what he wants; Paul would only pat his arm and say that he'd be there for TK whatever he chooses to do. The truth is that TK knows, deep down, that the songs are good enough to make it to an album; but he also knows they're not the beat the label has branded him with.

"I have a few demos recorded," he tells them. "Shitty quality, since they're on my phone, but still." He's about to add something when the buzzer shrills, interrupting him. "That must be Judd. I have to go now."

"Have fun!"

TK loves performing, but he hates everything else that comes along with live TV shows. Having to be on set for several hours before the show even starts is excruciating for him. At least this time he's not sharing the dressing room and makeup team with Alex; this time it's Ricky next to him. They had already recorded the song they're performing tonight before his accident, but with his recovery they haven't had time to rehearse. This will be the first time for both of them with this version of Ricky Martin's hit, and TK is nervous.

"Hey," Ricky says, leaning forward and resting his weight on his elbows on the counter they're sharing. "It will go smoothly. I promise."

"I'm not that much worried about the performance," TK confesses. "It's more about who will be tuning in."

Ricky shoots him a sympathetic smile. "Do you think he will be listening?"

"I sure hope so."

"There's still no reason to be nervous, TK. You poured your soul into this song, and the adaptation is flawless. If he's listening, he's going to love it."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then you'll have your answer." At TK’s confused frown, Ricky chuckles. "This song is a question. It was a question thrown at a former lover of mine in its Spanish version. It's now a question you're throwing into the wind. Either way, you'll have an answer."

The show passes in a blur of light and sound. One minute he's answering Jesse's questions about his inspiration in music — he thinks he babbles about the Beatles and Bob Dylan at a point, but he could also have talked about Carole King and even Ed Sheeran, and he's sure he mentions Kurt Cobain, Adam Duritz, Anthony Kiedis and Kelly Clarkson; no doubt that's why Jesse Corbett looks so flabbergasted — and the next he's looking straight at the camera with the red light on and declaring for the whole world to listen, and specifically for one Carlos Reyes, just in case, that Alex Fletcher is nothing more than a memory, a distant shadow in a past he's more than eager to forget about.

The performance goes smoothly. TK takes out his guitar, no sign left of his tremors, and pours everything he feels into the song. It's so powerful, so exhilarating and yet so exhausting, that he ends up looking down, head too heavy for his neck to keep up, as the audience's ovation rings in his ears. As they make their way off of the stage, Ricky squeezes his shoulder and whispers, "I'm so proud of you, TK," and it's more than TK thinks he deserves.

There's no message waiting for him in the answering machine when he gets back home, only Jonah’s smile and Buttercup's greeting barks as he opens the door. Paul and Marjan are there as well; when he enters the living room, Judd in tow, they both stand up and hug him. "That was one hell of a performance," Marjan exclaims, hugging him tight. "I knew the song was powerful. But it was amazing!"

"We've also listened to your demos," Paul adds, joining in the hug as Jonah holds onto TK’s hand. "The label would be crazy not to record it."

"You know them," TK retaliates. "They just want what sells. I'm just another—product."

"We'll fight them," Paul states. "We'll do it together."

They don't get to meet with the label's execs until a few weeks later. TK’s swamped with work — the promotion of the song that's now out and almost more interviews than he can handle keep him busy. The work stress combined with Jonah’s first days at the new school prove to be too much for him after his stunt in the ice; TK feels like he can't keep up with everything. Every night he dives deep down into his bed and promptly passes out, sometimes even in his jeans and hoodie.

Finding a new school for Jonah, even as short-notice as he started searching, turns out to be easier than he thought, if he knocked on the correct doors and offered the correct amount of money. It makes his stomach churn with contempt; this is exactly what they were fighting with the fundraiser so many months ago, they were trying to secure affordable education for every child out there. He doesn't know how other parents have managed; Jonah didn't have many friends at school before, and the ones he had have since moved out of town. TK pried the information out of Jonah, after much coaching and even a bargain of ice cream. Carlos and Leyre, Tommy and the twins, Nancy and Mateo — they're all back home down in Austin. He's still trying to make peace with the fact that he ruined the best thing he's ever had, but he's slowly getting there. Working on his new songs helps some, even though they're all inspired by the love he had and lost.

The day of the meeting with the execs, everything seems to be set against him. Jonah is running late for school. Paul and Marjan are caught up in New York's morning traffic, and Judd can't come earlier because Charlie's had the worst night ever and he's taking his baby girl to the doctor. TK should have taken that as a sign that he shouldn't even get out of bed. But he does; he showers and prepares breakfast for Jonah, and rushes him to the bus stop where his school bus will be picking him up. The sky is gray and cloudy, a few droplets of rain tapping on the ground as they walk at a brisk pace.

"I hope it doesn't start pouring," TK jokes. "I haven't brought an umbrella."

"Even the sky's sad," Jonah mumbles. When TK nudges at him to prompt him to explain, his brother shrugs. "Everything's sad lately, T. New York is sad without them," he adds. "You know, without Leyre and Mr. Re—Carlos."

TK feels his heart clenching in his chest. It hurts him to know that Jonah is going through so much loss and abandonment; knowing he is the cause of part of his brother's grief always puts his own feelings into perspective. "I'm sorry, Jonah. I promise I will make it right."

Jonah seems about to say something, but he's cut off by the yellow bus pulling up next to them. "Will you be here when I come back?" Jonah asks as the doors open.

"My meeting will have ended way before you're here," TK reassures him. "I'll be here, and when you come back we can go have pancakes for dinner."

Jonah smiles at him, even though the warmth doesn't reach his eyes, and hops on the bus, leaving TK alone. He rushes underneath the building's marquee as the rain starts falling more heavily. He checks his smartwatch at the same time as it begins vibrating with an incoming FaceTime call. He frowns; it's his father, and Owen Strand doesn't usually call this early in the morning.

"Dad?" he answers the call with worry. "Everything alright?" He takes in his father’s pale face — he blames it on the faint light filtering through the blinds and reflecting on his father’s features — and the slight tremor in the corner of his eyes. "It's like, the middle of the night there, isn't it?"

"Hi, son," his father greets. "Yeah, it's a bit early, but I've just gotten off shift."

"I thought you'd said you'd apply for a desk job," TK chides him. "Like, Fire Chief or something like that. A promotion, you said."

"Well, I might be forced to take it," his father says slowly. "I love working the scenes, but—"

"What do you mean, you'll be forced?" TK purses his lips. "Have you had any more anger issues? Remember that your therapist said—"

"Right before I started my shift," his father cuts him off, "I went to see my oncologist."

TK blinks at those words. He thought his father was done with his oncologist's appointments when he was declared free of cancer ten years ago. He says so much, and cringes when his father hesitates. "Dad?"

"They saw a—a shadow," his father explains. "They wanted to do a biopsy. I went yesterday to check the results."

"And?" TK is about to crawl out of his skin.

"They're not conclusive," his father tells him. "They need to do more tests. I'll be keeping you updated."

TK nods his assent but his mind is elsewhere. Around twelve years ago, when his father had first been diagnosed with lung cancer, he'd hidden the fact from TK because deep inside, Owen Strand believed that his son was weak and the news of him being sick would send TK on a spiral of self-destruction. It took him two years of chemo and appointments to recover his health.

TK’s terrified of the implications of the cancer having come back. "I can't do this again," he mutters. Louder, he says, "I'll check flights, I’ll be there as soon as possible."

"It'll be nothing," his father says in a soothing tone. "And you'll be in New York, I don’t need you hovering around me. Take care of Jonah; the kid has school."

"But I can't lose another parent!" TK bursts out all of a sudden. Some people who have been walking down the street in the rain stare up at him. "Not now!"

"Well, that is not something either one of us are gonna have a say in, TK," his father states. "No one's guaranteed anything. So we need to live in the moment. Be happy. Enjoy life to the fullest. And your life is settled in New York. Your job, your brother—everything's up there."

"Not everything," TK mumbles as he feels his eyes welling up.

"I'll be fine. I promise. Just remember to breathe and live in the moment, TK. 'Cause that's all any of us have."

TK hangs up with the distinct feeling that somethings going to change in his life. He makes it back to the penthouse, where Paul and Marjan are already, having survived the traffic, but also Judd and Grace with Charlie. Paul stands up just as TK is closing the door behind him.

"Hey, man," he greets before taking in his ashen face. "What's up?"

"I just talked to my father," TK says aloud, his voice on the verge of breaking. When he sees Judd flinching, he frowns. "You knew, didn't you?" Judd sighs. "He told you before he told me, just like the first time around."

"And like that first time, I told him to tell you," Judd says. "Seems this time he followed my advice."

"Something happened to your father?" Marjan asks. She sounds as confused as she looks as she twirls her fingers in the fabric of her hijab.

"They don't know if the cancer's back," TK explains. "I don't know if I should postpone the meeting with the label. I feel like I can't focus."

"You go," Grace tells him with a soft, motherly smile. "We'll be here when you guys come back."

TK makes his way to where she's sitting, rocking Charlie, and hugs her. He's always had a special connection with Grace; her witt and her wisdom have kept Judd — and TK — out of trouble for over a decade. TK’s grateful for having her in his life. When his father introduced him to his friend Judd, who'd been a firefighter until his whole house perished in an explosion leaving him unable to work as a firefighter ever again, TK hadn't been so sure.

Now he knows he wouldn't have survived so long without any of them.

He carefully brushes Charlie’s hair and asks what the doctor said, but once Grace reassures him that it’s just a little cold and will be fine in a few days, TK takes a deep breath and turns to the others.

"Let's go," Paul urges him. "I'll be with you the whole time. And I'll back you on whatever you decide."

The meeting isn't bad in itself, but it doesn't go smoothly. TK is distracted most of the time, mind flying down to Austin every now and then. He only lands abruptly back on Earth when one of the execs says that he's supposed to sign a contract for another duet album — with Alex of all people. And another dance-pop album as well. "Not that nonsense," the man continues, pointing to where TK’s phone with the demos is resting while TK’s mind is still stuck on the fact that they want him back with Alex. "You can't veer away from your brand now."

His father’s words echo in his mind, breathe and live in the moment, breathe and live, breatheandlive.

The screech of the chair sliding across the floor is loud as he stands up. "Enough," he says, barely holding onto his calm. “It’s my career. And more so, it’s my life. I get to have a say!”

“Well, you have a contract—” one of the execs tries, but Paul shares a look with TK and intervenes.

“Technically, the contract is up now,” he says in a professional voice that leaves no room for interpretation. “That’s why we are here, to renegotiate the terms and conditions.”

“Well then,” the same exec retaliates. “Our offer is to keep the same conditions, add a duet album and record what we think can be a hit. If you’re not willing to meet those particular conditions, there’s not much we can do.”

TK blinks. His mind is running a mile a minute; if he’s understanding correctly, the label doesn’t want to even hear what he has to say. They’re all about making money, which TK can totally get, but they want to do it on their terms, which TK doesn’t endorse. He’s always thought that his career should be in his hands, and maybe this meeting is just the nudge he needed in the right direction. Especially when the other option would be singing more songs with Alex — something he never wants to do again.

“I think I need time to think,” he says carefully, imbuing his words with as much meaning as he can. “I’m taking a few weeks off. I’ll let you know my decision once I have one.” He doesn’t give them time to react; TK pushes his chair further back and flees the room with as much dignity as he can muster. Paul follows him, and they leave the spluttering execs behind.

“That was a total diva move,” Paul tells him once they step out onto the street. “What were you thinking? Don’t get me wrong, I fully support you,” he adds when TK glares at him. “I think it was high time you did this. But what made you change your mind?”

“I think I’ve—” TK stops in the middle of the street, causing some suited-up men to stop and go around them while mumbling complaints. “I’ve had enough. I want to be the one making decisions about my life. I don’t know exactly what I want, but I know what I don’t want. And I don’t want another album focused on songs that don’t reflect who I am.”

“So, what now?”

TK looks up at the sky; it’s stopped raining and now there are no clouds, just a clear and vibrant blue. He smiles. “What do you say about some days off? I need to talk to Jonah and figure out some things, but I think I should spend a few days with my dad in Austin.”

Paul pats him on the back. “I think it’s a good idea, man. But what do you mean, days off?”

“I’m not expecting you to follow me all the way down to Austin for an indefinite amount of time,” TK tells him.

“That’s up for us to decide, TK,” Paul tells him. “Spoiler alert, though.” He chuckles. “We had a bet running about when you’d snap at the label. I’ve never been happier to lose, you know. Maybe our time off can also be down in Austin. You’ll need help if you want to take care of everything.”

“So we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this.”

For the first time in what feels like years, TK is able to breathe.

* ~ * ~ *

Carlos huffs as he steps onto the street. It's the fourth house in a row that he's visited while Leyre is at school, in an attempt to show his daughter only the best options, and it's the fourth house in a row that he discards even before finishing the tour of the first floor. They've been house hunting for almost three months now; the school year is almost over, and Carlos can’t seem to find a suitable housing solution for them.

Even though in the beginning he'd thought he'd homeschool Leyre and the twins once they got to Austin for the remainder of the school year, Carlos had eventually agreed with Tommy that the girls needed the routine a school provided; they'd contacted Zoe to ask for help finding a school for the three girls so late in the year. It turned out, much to Carlos' surprise, that things worked a little bit different in Texas, and Zoe had been able to offer them room for Leyre, Izzie and Evie at one of the schools closest to Carlos' old turf — the precinct where Fire Station 126 was also located. Call it good or bad luck, Carlos had taken it as a sign. The girls would be transferring to the new school coming the new year, but for now it was definitely a sign — Carlos should have never agreed to that; he should have stuck with his original idea of homeschooling Leyre.

Tommy had started helping Captain Strand at the 126 as a medical consultant while they waited for the new school year to begin. Carlos, on the other hand, was still jobless until August; it gave him a lot of free time to search for the perfect place.

In those roughly twelve weeks ever since they arrived in his old stomping grounds, Carlos hasn't had an ounce of luck in that regard.

There wasn't a house that didn't have a flaw; be it creaking floors or a stairway too steep for them or, in one glorious case, a hideous backyard like Leyre had pointed out. It felt as though his daughter was nitpicking for imperfections, as crazy and small as imaginable, to reject every option. Carlos himself hadn't liked any of those either, but they needed a house. Living with his parents when he'd been fresh out of college had been one thing; doing it now with his preteen daughter isn't exactly how he'd pictured himself on the verge of thirty-seven.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. "Shit," he curses under his breath. "And now I'm late."

He was supposed to be picking Leyre up at school, but he's been so engrossed in visiting yet another house he wouldn't even consider renting or buying that time has flown by. He dials Tommy and puts the device to his ear as the phone rings.

"Carlos!" she greets enthusiastically when she picks up. "Late again?"

"What gave me away?" he pants as he rushes to cross the street in between the passing cars.

"Well," Tommy laughs. "The fact that Leyre came to the station with the twins again. They're doing their homework in the Captain's office."

"I'll be there in—" He checks his watch and groans. "—about thirty? I'm literally across town."

"Don't rush," Tommy advises. "I still have a few hours left here. We will wait for you." Then, after a beat, she adds, "I heard you were house hunting. Any luck?"

Carlos shakes his head before realizing this isn't a FaceTime call. "No. Every house I've visited has something that makes it unsuitable. Leyre would just pick them apart again."

"Maybe they're all lacking something," Tommy retaliates wistfully. "But maybe it isn't a physical trait."

He already knows what she means; he's been thinking about that for the longest time. He's even reached a conclusion, but since it's something he doesn't particularly like, he was quick to dismiss it. But it's exactly the same reason why Leyre keeps shooting down all the houses as well.

When Carlos had envisioned himself on the brink of forty, he'd seen a family around him — Leyre as a beautiful, smart teenager, maybe a dog, his parents visiting from time to time, and a husband. He would have settled for a boyfriend. And since meeting TK and falling for him, the ideal image of the white picket fence in Carlos' life had morphed into a very specific dream. Carlos had seen himself sharing that space with Buttercup and his loud whines when he wanted treats. He'd seen Jonah working on Algebra on a tall stool in an open-concept kitchen. He'd seen friends coming and going, late nights playing board games, Saturday afternoons babysitting Charlie and taking care of the twins. He'd looked forward to falling into bed exhausted and blindly searching for his significant other to hold him.

In every single iteration of the dream, it had been TK’s hand squeezing his, and TK’s arms holding him, and TK’s voice soothing the creases in his soul. Sometimes, Carlos had even allowed himself to dream of a baby's cries and marking the wall with heights and placing drawings under a magnet on the fridge.

The moment he allowed TK to leave without offering an explanation, without chasing after him, Carlos knew his dream would never come true.

He muses over everything he's lost as he punches his password onto the screen and hires an Uber. It's the fastest way to cross the city now that he's given up on driving the Camaro his father's kept in mint condition for the past ten years. Carlos loves his sports car, but he's stopped driving it whenever Leyre needs to get in the car as well; it's definitely not a car made for children.

When he arrives at the station, he breathes deeply and steps into the building with his best fake smile. Every time he enters Captain Strand's realm, he feels like he's intruding in a part of TK’s life. It feels as though he can't escape the truth — he let go of the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with because he was petrified by fear. Stepping into the station and reading the name on the plaque on the wall upstairs, where Leyre usually does her homework, is always a stark reminder of what he will never have again.

Tommy is waiting for him in the truck bay. He takes in the distressed way in which she wrings her hands in front of her; he speeds up. Something's definitely not right, but before he can even greet his friend he's attacked by a giant, slobbering beast that makes him tumble down to the ground as he ends up covered in wet licks and happy barks.

"Buttercup?" he asks more than says, a whisper barely audible over the dog's happy sounds. "What—"

"That's what I wanted to tell you," Tommy says. "I just didn't know how." As Carlos fights Buttercup so he can stand up, Tommy continues, "I just found out, Carlos. But apparently TK’s visiting Owen."

Carlos stops fidgeting underneath Buttercup, who takes his sudden stillness as a sign of surrender. He slobbers over Carlos' face, leaving a track of saliva that Carlos knows from experience will be very difficult to wash away. "Buttercup, stop!" he commands. The dog, probably surprised by the change in his voice, takes his paws off his chest, leaving enough room for Carlos to wriggle out of his grip and stand up. "Tommy?"

"I didn't know," she promises, looking him dead in the eye. "I came here as always, and the shift was going smoothly. The girls came after school, and I realized you must be running late. I sent them upstairs and then they were here."

"They?" Carlos asks dumbly. His mind supplies to him the fact that TK’s now taking care of his little brother, so the plural must apply to Jonah as well.

"Jonah," Tommy confirms. "But apparently the whole gang is here from what I've gathered. Grace and Judd, Paul and Marjan—"

"Are you seriously telling me that Grace and Judd were planning to spend some time in Austin and they forgot to tell you?" Carlos snaps. He closes his eyes and sighs. "Sorry. That was uncalled for. I knew this could happen; being so close to where his father works. We're adults," he goes on, squaring his shoulders. "I can see him. It's been months. I know when to stop mourning something that wasn't meant to be. You know, if it's not meant to be—"

"—it's not meant to be," Tommy finishes his sentence. "It's okay if you're not ready to see him, Carlos. Nobody would ever judge you."

Before Carlos can retaliate, the choice of crossing paths with TK is taken from his hands as they both hear quick steps and TK’s voice calling Buttercup. "Where are you, you little dev—Carlos?"

He unsuccessfully tries to straighten the wrinkles that Buttercup's love attack has left on his shirt. "TK," he greets, aiming for nonchalant but sounding every bit as awkward to his own ears.

"It's, uh," TK continues, his green eyes boring holes into Carlos' soul. "It's good to see you. You're, ah, you look good."

Carlos doesn't know what to reply. He's dying to tell TK that he looks good too, great even, but the words get stuck in his throat. "It's good to see you, too," he settles for in the end.

"We're—" TK hesitates. The glance he shares with Tommy isn't lost on Carlos; he will have a word or two with his friend later, but right now he's too mesmerized by the musicality of TK’s voice. He mentally kicks himself; he should be over TK by now, not hanging onto every word he says. After all, TK left with good reason; Carlos gave it to him. "We're visiting my father," TK goes on. "I didn't know you would come here today, but Jonah’s been thrilled to see Leyre. I hope—I hope it's okay that I left them to catch up."

Carlos nods. Even right after the breakup, when feelings were raw and there still were tears left to cry, he'd never stopped his daughter from spending time with Jonah. Both kids have forged a bond Carlos is proud of; he's only ashamed of himself for letting his own issues affect his daughter's life when he'd sworn they wouldn't. "Are you—are you guys going to stay in Austin for a while?" TK seems taken aback by the question, but he nods his assent. "Maybe we could—I don't know, set up a playdate for them?" Carlos cringes at his words. Next to him, Tommy snorts. "I know it's not called a playdate at their age, Tommy," he chides her. He's speaking too much, and the words are coming out jumbled. "But I think Leyre and the twins would love to see more of Jonah while you're in town. That's all."

"I think Jonah would love that," TK says in an even voice. "Now, I think it's time for this little mister here" — he gestures towards Buttercup, still waving his tail happily by Carlos' side — "to go upstairs. You can't go bothering people, Buttercup!" TK gently grabs the dog by the collar and peels him away from Carlos. "It's good to see you, Carlos," he says as farewell. Carlos can tell he's being sincere; they might have dated only for a few months, but Carlos had come to know TK better than he knows himself. "I hope we—Have a nice day."

And with that, he's gone, tugging at Buttercup to follow him. Carlos stares longingly as he retreats.

"Well, it wasn't that bad," Tommy says. Her voice is tinged with amusement.

Carlos huffs. "That was a disaster," he states. "We lived in the same city for months and we didn’t even cross paths.”

“Austin is smaller than New York City,” Tommy tries to make him see reason. “Also, you’re hanging around his father’s station. And your own father is best friends with TK’s father. This was bound to happen whenever TK came to visit.”

Carlos is aware that she’s being reasonable, but he hates knowing that she’s right. “Well, this was just a one-time occurrence,” he tells his friend. “I don’t have to cross paths with him ever again. Soon enough he’ll be out of town.”

“You’ve literally just agreed to set up a playdate for the kids,” Nancy says, appearing out of nowhere and startling Carlos. “You’ll have to see him at least once, dude.”

“What the heck, Nancy?” Carlos exclaims, taking a step backward and almost losing his balance. “Where did you come from?”

“Been here the entire time,” she says matter-of-factly. “You were just so engrossed fawning over TK Strand.”

Carlos scoffs. “I wasn’t fawning. I was just trying not to look like a complete idiot.”

“Great job, then,” Nancy teases him. “I doubt he thinks you’re an idiot. I guess he knows now.”

“Nancy,” Tommy says in a warning tone. “I still have a few hours left here,” she continues, addressing Carlos with a nudge. “Could you please take the girls home?”

“Of course,” Carlos acquiesces. “I’ll just go upstairs and—” He trails off when he realizes that, by following his own words, he’ll end up running into TK once again. “Dammit.”

“Want me to go fetch the girls?” Nancy offers. “Maybe I can talk to the hotshot singer up there.” She doesn’t wait for anyone to tell her that she can; she takes the stairs two at a time and quickly disappears. Carlos stares at the blank spot where TK and Buttercup were a few minutes before, and sighs.

“It’s sad, you know?” he muses aloud. “When someone you know becomes someone you knew.”

“Do you feel like you don’t know TK anymore?” Tommy questions. She places her hand on Carlos’ arm and squeezes it reassuringly. “I know it’s a long shot, but I’ve seen you, Carlos. I’ve seen you these past few months. Maybe this is what you need. Maybe talking to him, getting closure, maybe that will help. God knows I’d love to have just one last minute with Charles.”

Carlos shrugs. “I got all the closure I needed back when everything happened,” he says stubbornly, all discomfort from before squashed down in the bottom of his soul, features schooled in the serious face that he’s mastered over the years. “I just need to accept that some people can only be in my heart, not in my life,” he mutters. “I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so—” Tommy begins, only to be cut off by the stomping of feet against the stairs and the three girls running wildly downstairs followed by Nancy, who seems unperturbed. “What have we said about running in the station?”

“But this is so exciting, Mom!” Evie exclaims. She looks back at her twin and Leyre, and the three of them share a nod. “You wouldn’t believe the news we just got!”

“Aside from Jonah being here! In Austin!” Izzie continues.

“Have you seen him, Papi?” Leyre questions. Carlos shakes his head, watching as his daughter’s face falls. “Can I go tell him to come down?” Before Carlos can say anything, Leyre is climbing the stairs once again, yelling, “Jonah! My dad is here!” She hasn’t even made it halfway up when Jonah shows up at the top of the stairs, followed by TK and Buttercup.

“Wait, Jonah!”

“C’mon,” Leyre says, ignoring TK as the singer tries to stop them. “I’m sure you want to hug my dad.”

They both make it back down the stairs to a petrified Carlos. Jonah looks up at him with his clear eyes, and Carlos could swear the kid has grown at least three inches since he last saw him, so many weeks before — when he’d been worried sick about his brother being in a coma. Jonah smiles shyly. “Mr. Reyes—”

“Carlos,” he corrects automatically. His heart swells when Jonah’s smile grows wider. “I thought we were past that, weren’t we?”

Jonah nods and lunges forward until his arms are around Carlos’ waist. Carlos retaliates immediately, hugging Jonah back and holding him close to his chest. His soul is soaring right now, feeding off the love he’s so clearly been missing — he’s got Leyre and he’s got his friends and his family, but he’s been lacking a part of himself that lights up whenever Jonah and TK are around.

“I’ve missed you, Carlos.”

“I’ve missed you too, kid. But now you’re here,” Carlos says affectionately. “What do you say, before you go back to New York, we find a moment for you to spend the afternoon with the girls?” he offers. “Maybe at a bowling alley or—”

“But that’s the best of it all!” Leyre interrupts. Carlos is about to chide her, since she knows that she isn’t supposed to cut off anyone when they’re talking, but he can feel her excitement as she adds, “Jonah will be going to our school!”

“To your school?” he repeats dumbly. He looks over Jonah’s head, searching for Tommy's gaze, but his friend looks as lost as he feels. “To the school you’re attending now?”

“Yes!” Leyre almost shouts. “But not just that! Guess what? He’ll be coming to our new school next year, too!”

“We’re, uh,” TK explains as he walks downstairs. “We’re staying indefinitely,” he goes on. “I guess we’ll be seeing each other more than you anticipated, then.” When nobody says anything — Carlos because he’s way too stunned to even think, and he can’t fathom why Nancy, the guru of always having the best reply, and Tommy, the mom friend of them all, aren’t saying anything either — TK shrugs. “C’mon, Jonah. Carlos needs to take Leyre back home. You’ll see them around, I promise. C’mon.”

Jonah withdraws from Carlos’ embrace with a frustrated groan. He says goodbye to them; Leyre reminds him that they’ll see each other at recess the next day, and he drags himself toward his brother. Once he’s next to him, TK throws a protective arm around Jonah’s shoulders as he tugs him forward. “But will we be a family once again?” is the last that Carlos hears Jonah say as both brothers make it upstairs.

Carlos exchanges a pained look with Tommy, who offers him a sympathetic smile, and with Nancy, who retaliates with a knowing glance. He doesn’t say anything else; he grabs Leyre’s backpack and hangs it from his shoulder before picking up the twins’ backpacks as well and guiding them outside. They wait for their Uber in silence; Carlos has a lot of things to think about now that his life has, once again, changed because of TK Strand.

Over the next few days, they see each other at school whenever they drop off or pick up the kids. Carlos would have loved for TK to avoid him the same way he had done back in New York, when he would wait for Jonah around the corner of the street while Carlos bided his time in his classroom to make sure not a single parent — and, more specifically, TK — would be around by the time he came out of the building. But in Austin, things are different; TK seems different. Carlos has noticed the way his shoulders are less slumped forward, as if he’s gotten rid of the weight that crushed him before. Even as some mothers recognize him and demand a picture or an autograph or for him to sing some of his songs, TK seems to flawlessly wade through life as if he belongs in Austin.

And, through it all, TK always finds a way to acknowledge him; greeting him right before the doors open and the kids burst out wildly, waving at him as he walks away with Jonah. Day after day, TK doesn’t fail to surprise Carlos; it’s in the way he talks to the rest of the parents and in the way he still hugs Jonah as though he’s the only person left on Earth. Carlos can see the TK he loved shining through the armor the singer has had to build for himself — Carlos had never been subjected to that persona TK put up for the media and the fans, which is why it hurt so much to watch TK become a shell of the man Carlos loved after their breakup.

Jonah and Leyre help them as well. The kids have taken to getting out of school together despite not being in the same grade; it looks like they wait for each other in the corridors to step outside in sync. One Friday, both TK and Carlos are standing in the sunny street, orbiting around each other — Carlos is very much aware of his tendency to just be in TK’s vicinity, and TK always seems to float around him too — when Jonah comes out of the school tugging Leyre. The twins follow suit, bidding their farewell before they even step outside the school grounds. They wave at Carlos and TK before rushing in the opposite direction; Carlos knows Tommy is working a full shift at the station as she told him that her daughters would go there after school today. He hadn’t thought much of it until now, but as he watches Izzie and Evie lean conspiratorially into Leyre’s personal space to whisper something into his daughter’s ear, he begins to think that something’s up.

Carlos can feel TK’s gaze on him as Jonah and Leyre talk excitedly about their school projects while walking together away from the school. Usually, TK and Jonah take an Uber while Carlos and Leyre take another, but today Carlos brought his father’s truck because he’s got some errands to run in town. In the few weeks since learning that TK was in Austin for good, Carlos has abandoned all pretense of trying to find a suitable house. The presence of the Strand-Zimmer family back in his life has made him realize that he was trying to get out of his parents’ hair for all the wrong reasons. He grew up on the ranch, and it was good for him. So maybe he could give that to his daughter as well; he’d talked to his parents, and they’d all agreed that Carlos and Leyre could move to the old foreman’s house now that the ranch didn’t have any more help than that coming from the family. Carlos has been working on the house for weeks on end while he gets his lessons ready for the new school year.

“Papi, you’ve taken the truck today,” Leyre says in a chirping voice as they stop in front of the car. “I didn’t know!”

Carlos glares at her. He thinks he should tell her that she’s an awful liar, but he loves that particular trait about his daughter. “I had to do some things,” he begins to explain. “Do you need a ride anywhere?” he offers to TK when the silence grows almost unbearable.

He doesn’t miss the exchange of knowing glances between Jonah and Leyre, but his attention is caught by the nervous way in which TK shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Actually,” he begins, “there’s a great tea house just around the corner. I thought that, since it’s Friday, well—if you have the time, that is. I don’t want to, uh, you know, if you’re busy or—”

Leyre tugs at his sleeve. “Papi,” she says, saving TK from dying from embarrassment. “Can we go? I’d love to try a new tea Jonah’s talked to me about.”

“It’s amazing, you’ll see!” Jonah pipes in.

Carlos ponders whether or not it’s advisable for them to go on this sort-of, not-really-defined date with TK and Jonah. He remembers he promised Leyre a playdate with Jonah and never went through with it; although the twins aren’t present, Carlos feels he owes his daughter that much.

“We can go,” he tells her. Then, looking up at TK, he smiles. “Thanks for offering. Please, lead the way.”

They actually have a nice time together for a change. In the beginning, Carlos doesn’t know what to do with himself, too busy hiding how nervous he is to be on a sort-of, not-really-defined date with TK, but once the initial awkwardness is dissolved and Leyre and Jonah are laughing together as they blow into their tea mugs, the whole situation reminds Carlos of how much he’s actually missed spending time with TK.

It’s hard for him to accept that he’s been only surviving, not really living, all these months. He hadn’t even been aware of it once he’d accepted that he wouldn’t be close to TK ever again, but he’d been just threading through life. TK’s crystal laughter is a stark reminder of what happiness sounds like. At some point, in between Jonah retelling his day at school and Leyre making a mess of her boba tea, Carlos catches TK staring at him intently. Carlos is wiping some tea stains out of his shirt after Leyre snorted half her drink on him, but he’s running out of napkins. Without really thinking, he stretches out his hand and TK places a new paper napkin in between Carlos’ fingers as he makes sure Jonah doesn’t spill his tea too.

The brief moment when their skin touch is both glorious and torture to Carlos.

Leyre and Jonah, who have been snickering the whole time, sober up immediately as Carlos finishes cleaning his shirt and looks up to meet TK’s grin.

“Boba tea crisis avoided,” TK says, before his grin turns into a pensive stare.

“What are you thinking about?” Carlos dares to ask after a beat.

TK smiles softly. “I’m thinking—we make a pretty good team.”

Carlos is taken aback by the force with which TK’s eyes are boring holes into his head. “We really do, don’t we?” he replies, subdued.

There’s a beat; Carlos can hear Leyre holding her breath and Jonah muttering something under his breath, before TK seems to shake himself out of whatever reverie he’s been in, and says, “Afraid so.”

The spell is broken by the waiter coming to their table with more napkins and the check that TK had asked for before the whole tea debacle. They split the expenses; TK kindly turns down Carlos’ offer to drive them back home. Soon enough, it’s just Leyre and Carlos in the truck, on their thirty-minute drive back to the ranch.

Carlos takes advantage of the situation to ask his daughter, “Leyre, what was that, exactly?” She looks at him in confusion. “You know what I mean. It was a set up, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she defends herself, staring out the window at the passing landscape. “It was nice to be with them again. It almost felt like the old times.”

“Cariño,” Carlos says with an exasperated huff. “I don’t want you to start thinking about things that aren’t real. There’s not—”

“I know,” she cuts him off with a dramatic sigh that she’s learned from her Auntie Nancy. “TK and you won’t be getting back together. I know. But you said I could still be friends with Jonah.” Carlos doesn’t know what to say to that; his daughter’s words echo in the small cabin of the truck, slicing through his heart. “You and Jonah can be friends, you know that. And TK and I, we can also be friends. That doesn’t mean we’ll get back together, cariño.”

“If Jonah and I can be friends, can I invite him to my birthday party at the ranch next month?” Leyre retaliates, ignoring Carlos’ last words.

“If that’s what you want,” Carlos acquiesces. “I’ll talk to TK once you’ve invited Jonah, see if he can stay at the ranch for the party.”

“Auntie Tommy and Auntie Nancy will be there,” Leyre reminds him. “And Auntie Grace and Uncle Judd with Charlie. I bet TK would love to stay.”

Carlos hums. Even though he knows that the ranch isn’t too far away for people to go back and forth for just a birthday party; when he was a child, the parents of every single kid he’d invited to his parties had remained on the ranch for their own adult party while the children jumped around on the bouncy castle. Things haven’t changed much ever since; Carlos is actually expecting to host a large number of parents for Leyre’s thirteenth birthday.

“I’ll think about it, okay?” he settles on saying.

It turns out that Friday is not the last time Carlos and TK go to that particular tea house for their boba tea, but coincidentally the next few times happen without the company of their kids. They take to spending more time together outside of the building while they wait for Jonah and Leyre, and at some point, TK repeats his invitation to the boba tea house for the following day, about an hour before classes are done. Carlos surprises himself by accepting, feeling more at ease with TK than how he’s felt in Austin in a long time.

It becomes their tradition. They meet at the tea house, spend an hour relearning how to be friends again, and then go their separate ways once the kids are out of school. Their ritual infuses life in Carlos’ soul every single day, and he misses their routine tea on the weekends. They’re also becoming braver as they spend more time together; TK’s hand on the table seems closer to Carlos’ with each passing day, and Carlos himself becomes bolder as he slides his fingers against TK’s one day. The contact sends sparks up his arm, and he withdraws his hand immediately, but he can see TK blushing as he hides his face in his boba.

“So,” TK says one day, after they’re sitting on the terrace with their tea. “Jonah’s told me that Leyre’s birthday party is coming up.”

“Yeah,” Carlos confirms, sipping from his paper cup. “It’ll be at the ranch. It’s fairly out in the countryside, so you’re welcome to stay for the party. I think Grace and Judd are coming too. Leyre can’t get enough of her favorite aunts and uncles,” he finishes.

TK chuckles. “Jonah’s the same.” There’s a pause before he asks, in a mellow voice, “Is it okay if I’m there? I mean—your family—”

Carlos sighs. The pang of pain slicing through his heart is well deserved, he’s aware of that. He’s the one who sowed that doubt in TK’s soul, the only reason why he’s asking now. “They will be there.” Carlos shakes his head, staring down at the table before owning up to what he really wants to say. “I told them,” he begins. “About us, I mean. About when we were, you know, a we. I’m sorry I didn’t tell them before. I’m sorry it was part of what drove you away.”

It’s taken him months to actually say the words out loud, and when he does they spill from his mouth in a jumbled pile of feelings, wetness oozing from his eyes as he can’t hold TK’s gaze. He knows he’s putting a dent in their newfound, tentative friendship; but he needed to say it out loud, he needed to apologize for at least one of the things he did disastrously wrong back when they were dating.

TK’s hand finds his arm and he squeezes to catch Carlos’ attention. “I’m sorry, too,” he says when Carlos dares to make eye contact. “I was scared, too. I didn’t feel safe in our relationship,” he explains. When Carlos goes to apologize again, because he feels that pain deep in his soul, TK presses on, “I didn’t consider how unsafe you felt, and how unsafe you’d felt for so much of your life. I always had my family’s support. I never stopped to think how it must feel not having any kind of support, not even from your most loved ones. I shouldn’t have left without asking. And for that, I’m sorry. I’ve been wanting to apologize for so long. I just didn’t know how. And now that we’re friends once again, it just seemed—appropriate.”

Carlos searches TK’s face for any sign of mockery, but he finds the singer is being truthful. He doesn’t know what to say, words and feelings suddenly tangled in a knot in his throat; he bites his lower lip and allows himself to just look into TK’s green eyes. They’re the only tether to this world that Carlos has ever needed.

But he doesn’t say anything else, and Carlos understands the apology for what it is — a way to move forward, to rebuild a feeble friendship. That’s all they’ll ever be, Carlos realizes. And it’s all he’s wanted — to have TK back in his life in any capacity. But the disappointment of losing what could have been hurts so much that Carlos fears his heart is going to tear up in half.

TK clears his throat, breaking the spell that has bound them together in silence. “And, uh, now that we’re friends,” he stutters. Carlos arches an eyebrow at TK’s evident nervousness.

“Yeah?” he prompts, all his previous feelings forgotten in the face of having to be there for TK. Carlos has always known that there’s nothing he won’t do for TK; apparently, squashing down his pain and putting up a smiley face is now part of that.

“I think I may need help with settling in,” TK confesses. “We, um, we’ll be staying for longer than expected. My father needs me, and I don’t have a label to go back to in New York. I might have told them to go fuck themselves,” he chuckles, “after they told me I couldn’t make the music that makes me happy. So I’m thinking about staying here. Permanently. You know all the good places, so I thought I’d ask.”

Carlos is so taken aback by the question that he scoffs out a laugh. “I can help,” he says. “But just know that I wasn’t able to find a place for us in the entire time we’ve been here. So I don’t know—”

“I don’t think we’ll need to search for places anytime soon,” TK cuts him off. “We’re fine with my father for now. Besides, I don’t think I can find the right place. So many things would be missing right now.” There’s a wistful look in TK’s eyes, one that has Carlos wondering the meaning behind those words.

He desperately hopes TK means that he’d be missing Carlos and Leyre.

Instead of voicing what he really wants to say, he asks, “Grace and Judd, Paul and Marjan, are they moving down to Austin too? Are they okay with that?”

“Paul and Marjan were transplants in New York,” TK explains. “They said they could move here again. They lived here for some months a decade ago; we actually met here. And Grace and Judd, well, you know they’re from here.” TK smiles. “Grace said she should be looking for schools for Charlie soon, and she loves being surrounded by family once again. It helps her transition from her part-time job in New York to working full shifts as a dispatcher again. So it was an easy sell to her. Judd just—”

“—goes along with everything she says,” Carlos finishes. He snickers. “Sounds like you’ve got it all covered.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Neither says anything else, but TK’s hand remains on Carlos’ arm for the rest of their stay at the tea house.

TK’s presence in Austin comes, as Carlos could have anticipated, with so many changes for them all. One of them — the best, if Carlos is asked — is that, once settled down in their old house close to the 126 station, Grace and Judd begin to host weekend gatherings. Every Saturday without fail, Carlos shows up at their door with Leyre; he usually brings a bottle of wine or a dish of tamales as an offering. The kids do their homework and have time to play, and the adults can catch up on the events of the week. Those gatherings also mean that Carlos sees TK outside the little bubble of boba tea friendship they’ve developed; Carlos feels like they’re slowly building up to a close relationship. He wishes they could be more, but he also knows it’s not only in his hands. Sometimes it seems like TK’s veering for something more, something deeper than what they already have, but it could very much be Carlos’ psyche playing tricks on him.

Life is somewhat good to Carlos, and he’s slowly learning to accept that he may deserve this semblance of serenity.

Leyre’s birthday party falls on a Saturday. Carlos is in the kitchen that morning, helping his mother with the food as she cooks for a whole army when Leyre has repeated several times that it will only be the twins and Jonah from her side — she’s still fairly new to the school and she isn’t comfortable inviting anyone else. Evidently, she’s also invited Grace and Judd; Carlos is surprised when his mother announces that she’s invited Captain Strand as well.

“Are you sure he’s coming?” Carlos asks as he points out the display of Mexican food on the table. “Captain Strand seems like the kind of person who only eats organic.”

“He doesn’t say no to your mom’s tamales,” Andrea Reyes stage-whispers as she hands him another tray full of food. “Now, go on, take this outside. Everyone must almost be here!”

The party is in full swing when it happens.

The kids have been running around in the sun, and the adults have had a nice day lying around and stuffing themselves with some Reyes family’s recipes. Carlos is sitting on the ground, his back against the trunk of an old tree as he listens to Grace retelling some anecdote that happened during her shift at the 911 call center. Nancy and Mateo are holding hands under the sun as Paul and Marjan tease them for that, all the while holding hands themselves. Captain Strand, Tommy, and Carlos’ parents are sitting at a table, and TK is nowhere to be found.

Carlos looks around for him, neck stretching as he tries to look past where Leyre, Izzie and Evie are making a flower crown for Jonah. When he locates TK, the singer is stepping out of the house through the glass panel doors that lead to the kitchen, followed by Judd. TK’s holding his guitar.

“Everyone, listen up!” Judd hollers. “TK here would like to sing a few songs.”

“That was subtle, geez, thanks, Judd,” TK grits out. He’s blushing, but Carlos can’t tell whether the red tinging his cheeks is solely from embarrassment or from having stood in the sun for hours. “I, ah, I didn’t get you a present, Leyre,” he says, addressing Carlos’ daughter, who’s perked up at the mention of her name. “I hope you can forgive me.”

“Are you singing at my party?” she asks with a smile. When he nods, she shrieks, “A whole TK Strand private show for us!”

The adults laugh at the kids’ excitement; the twins and Leyre rush to sit in front of where TK’s pulled up a stool. Jonah follows them quickly, joining in their shouting.

“It’s been a while since I last played my guitar for just family and friends,” TK keeps talking as he tunes the instrument. “But this song, well. It’s a new one. It’s the first time I’m singing it in front of people. I feel at home here, with you. You’re my family. I trust you. And I—” he hesitates. He flashes Leyre a small smile before adding, “I love you all.”

The first notes of the song fall off the guitar strings easily, and TK’s voice fills the suddenly charged air as he begins singing.

This city is sad without you And I know I'm not your favorite chapter In the book you're writing your life on But I hope that you still smile When you think of what we went through The good and the bad and the ugly The sad and the hard and the happy No one's guaranteed anything

TK’s eyes are closed as he sings. Carlos’ heart is beating hard in his chest; the lyrics sound handcrafted for their particular situation, and he realizes with a start that TK’s been writing a song about them this whole time.

There will always be a piece of you in me And I don't want to forget And I don't want to move on 'Cause this love you can't get away from This love is laced with hurt and loss Here I'll be, howling at the moon until dawn

There weren't stars in your eyes When I first looked at you There weren't stars or oceans or worlds Just this feeling of home I don't want whole worlds or oceans I don't need the stars to guide me Sometimes home is a heartbeat I just want to come back home

Please tell me I can still come home

Carlos stands up although his legs almost give out beneath him. He stumbles as he blindly makes his way to the kitchen; he ignores the whispered calls from his parents and Captain Strand as he rushes past them. He just needs to breathe, and he’s suffocating as TK keeps singing about the failure that their love was.

There will always be a piece of you in me And I don't want to forget And I don't want to move on I want your voice as the soundtrack to the rest of my life 'Cause this love you can't get away from This love is laced with hurt and loss Untangle the pain with a promise of forgiveness

We fell in love with our eyes closed And the world broke down as I opened them And maybe my life has been scarred by loss And maybe I've never been able to escape it Until you

But if you give me a second chance I'll prove to you that love Is more powerful than fear I was fearless because I had you We were forever in a second too short I just want to hold you close Until dawn

He reaches the glass panel doors and stumbles through them. Carlos’ breath hitches in his throat, and he feels like he’s choking on air. He needs a glass of water. He needs something stronger, but he hasn’t drunk anything stronger than a beer ever since he first met TK. It’s remarkably painful to realize that his whole life has revolved around the singer who’s just bared his soul for their whole world to see.

Carlos also feels rage building up in his gut. He thought they were taking steps in the right direction; being friends — at first for their kids’ sake, then for an entirely different reason — talking and sharing stories over a drink every afternoon. He hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up because he thought TK was bound to leave Austin for New York at some point — until Tk told him they would stay for good. But Carlos has already blown up their chances once. He knows there’s no possibility of anything beyond friendship. He just doesn’t understand why TK felt the need to stand up and declare a love that Carlos knows he doesn’t deserve — a love he knows can’t be reciprocated. Not because Carlos doesn’t love TK back, because he does; he does, with all his heart and his soul.

It’s because Carlos doesn’t think he deserves TK’s love, and TK’s song has just reminded him of all the reasons why they’re doomed to failure.

These past weeks have proven to him that they can be good as friends. There’s no need to rock the boat for something that they've already ruined once.

“Carlos?” he hears at his back. When he turns, TK is standing in the glass doors. The rest of the party remains outside; it’s evident they’re trying to give them some privacy, as Tommy calls for the kids to resume their playing and Judd speaks loudly over everyone else. “Are you okay?”

Carlos wants to say that he, in fact, isn’t okay. That he never will be. That he can’t be, not when TK’s out there singing songs about feelings that last forever when the pain is still too raw. But he doesn’t say anything.

He just splutters and stammers, fighting to find the right words. TK closes the door behind him and moves further into the kitchen, walking around the island and standing in front of Carlos. When he reaches out, Carlos recoils as though he’s been slapped.

“What is wrong with you?” Carlos exclaims, frustrated. He’s tired of trying — he’s tired of this game of tug-of-war, he’s exhausted and he doesn’t think his heart can take any more of this uncertainty. “What do you want from us? From me? What was that song—Why now, TK? What the fuck is wrong with you?” he repeats, taking a step forward, almost crowding TK’s personal space, forcing him to be pressed up against the counter.

To his credit, TK stands there stoically, holding Carlos’ gaze as Carlos loses the last threads of sanity he had left after the song TK just performed in the backyard of his family ranch.

“What’s wrong is that I don’t have an answer to give Jonah whenever he asks me about why you guys aren’t in our lives anymore,” TK replies, voice tinged with something that’s rawer than pure feeling. Carlos stares at him wide-eyed. “What’s wrong is that I wish you were there but I know that I fucked up and I don’t deserve you, or Leyre, or the happiness we had. What’s wrong—” He trails off for a second, looking down at his feet until he seems to muster up enough courage to look back up at Carlos, who’s entranced by the passion that oozes from TK’s words. “What’s wrong is that every morning and every night,” TK continues slowly, deliberately, as though he’s measuring every single sound that comes out of his mouth, “I lie in bed wondering why you’re not beside me. That’s what’s wrong.”

“You can’t—” Carlos backs away. TK stands his ground, hands gripping the counter behind him for balance. Carlos suddenly feels short of breath, his lungs threatening to collapse as his heart beats so fast he fears it will leap out of his chest. “You can’t come here and say those things,” he mumbles. “You can’t come here and expect everything to be miraculously fixed after—after what we said. After what I did. It’s evident it wasn’t meant to be, TK. We should accept—”

“Don’t say that! Don’t say it wasn’t meant to be,” TK cuts him off. He’s taken a couple of steps forward while Carlos was rambling, and all of a sudden he’s back in Carlos’ personal space. “Because it was. We were. Maybe only for a short while,” he muses. “But we were. We were meant to be, Carlos. Look around us,” TK continues, gesturing towards the glass panel doors that lead outside where Carlos can hear the hum of laughter coming from their families.

There’s a lull in the conversation as Carlos turns around, conflicted. He understands what TK means perfectly — they are part of a bigger scheme, more complex than two broken hearts in search of peace.

Maybe it’s as simple as those two hearts finally finding that their broken pieces simply match.

“If you want us to remain just friends, I will respect your decision,” TK mutters. There’s something in his voice that forces Carlos to face him once again. “I’m sorry if I came off too strong with the song,” he adds with a self-deprecating chuckle. “There’s, ah, there’s a whole lot of songs where that one came from. I kinda wrote an album. But I haven’t recorded any, I just—” TK cuts himself off. He takes a step back, and then another, and then they’re once again on opposite sides of the kitchen.

Carlos feels the loss of TK’s heat against him instantly, and he mourns it like the moon mourns the sun when the night comes.

“What are those other songs about?” Carlos asks after what feels like an eternity. It could have been seconds, too; Carlos is too busy getting lost in TK’s greener-than-green gaze.

“I can’t really explain,” TK replies. “They’re just—they’re all about love, I guess, and home.”

Carlos feels his heart doing somersaults in his chest. It’s presumptuous of him, he thinks, to just assume that TK’s written all those songs with him in mind; but this one song he just played in the backyard of Carlos’ family ranch during Leyre’s birthday is one written with Carlos in mind. He knows that fact.

Deep in his bones, he feels that TK is right, that they really were meant to be. They were thrown into a violent storm and they didn’t know how to brave those troubled waters, but they’re friends now. Or at least Carlos thinks they are. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been fantasizing about taking that last step and reaching out of his comfort zone just to see if TK felt the same.

Just to see if they could become the imperfect puzzle of feelings they once were.

And now the chance is right in front of him. However, for some strange reason he can’t even understand himself, he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Maybe, he tells himself, it’s time to stop fearing the worst.

Carlos takes one step forward in this dance they’re dancing right now, and another, and another, until he can feel TK’s breath on his face. “TK,” he mutters, blindly taking TK’s hands in his. TK’s grip is strong but also hesitant, as though he doesn’t believe this is happening. “I just can’t believe—that you still feel—after everything—” He doesn’t know how to continue. “I don’t know how to work around all the drama that comes with you being, you know, an international pop star,” he settles on.

“It’s not—Carlos, it’s not about the drama. We can handle that,” TK promises, pushing forward and resting his forehead on Carlos’. “But what’s more important is—It's about love. Everyone knows. Our family knows. Jonah and Leyre know. Hell, even the world and most of my fans know. Tarlos has been trending worldwide longer than Talex ever did, did you know that? Everyone knows that this love we shared, the love we share, it’s—this is the kind of love that you can't get away from.” TK becomes quiet for a moment, as though he’s run out of words. Carlos is trembling, and he feels his legs won’t be able to hold his weight much longer, but he miraculously manages to stand still as TK gathers his thoughts and starts speaking again. “And yeah, maybe my life has been scarred with loss. That part of the song is true. Everything I sang out there is true, Carlos. At times, that loss has felt inescapable. My mom, and then Enzo, and then you.”

Carlos is about to interrupt him at the mention of Gwyn Morgan, but TK shoots him a look that silences him immediately. “I heard you,” he explains. “When you visited me while I was in that coma. I heard you. I know what you think happened with my mother and Iris. And I’ve wanted to tell you that there’s nothing to forgive, Carlos. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long. The family of that other woman — I’ve wanted to talk to them for so long, but I never knew how to. I wanted to find them and tell them that we know it was an accident and that it wasn’t Iris’ fault. And when you told me—I was almost relieved. I was relieved to finally know who they were, and then I wanted to tell you that there’s nothing to forgive. But I didn’t know how to. All I know is that—that this thing never stood between us and it never will be. But maybe I was terrified you wouldn’t see it that way; that I could possibly lose you before even having you back if I breached the topic myself. I know now that that was stupid. But sometimes we do stupid things in the name of love, don’t we? That’s the risk of love, right?”

Carlos holds his breath while TK speaks about loss and love. He can’t believe what he’s hearing, and that’s probably his first mistake, because TK seems to take his silence as a cue to draw back.

And that act finally shakes Carlos awake. He reaches for TK and tugs at him until he’s holding the singer close. TK doesn’t move away, and that emboldens Carlos to act, if only he knew how to.

He knows he needs to say something. He searches his soul for the words that he should be speaking, and he surprises himself when he realizes that, contrary to the lies he’s been feeding to himself ever since TK stormed out of his life, he actually believes that they have a chance.

What was I thinking? he asks himself as he tries his best to find his voice. Did I really believe my own lies?

He’s drowning in feelings, and so he decides to speak with his heart instead of with this mind.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Loving someone means risk, yeah. But love is worth it,” he finishes his train of thought. He feels those words, though — he feels the weight of a love that never really went away.

It was just lying low, getting stronger so it could hold them both when they were ready to face their fears.

“For the first time in my life,” TK begins after a beat, “the love that I feel is infinitely more powerful than the fear of losing it. Because I’ve already lost you, Carlos, and that proved to me that I can live without you. But I don’t want to. I want to be with you. I love you, Carlos. And every moment that we're not together is a wasted moment. And, baby, we—” TK hesitates, as if the dropping of that endearment has shaken his core as much as it’s shaken Carlos’. “We only get so many.”

They remain silent in the dimly lit kitchen, the last rays of the dying sun filtering through the windows as the noises from a house full of love surround them. Carlos basks in the feeling of having TK once again in arms, and from the way TK is swaying to remain closer to Carlos’ chest, he can tell the singer definitely needs this as much as he does.

“Home can be a person,” TK finally mutters, nose sliding against Carlos’. “And I know you are my home. I just—I just want to come back home, Carlos. Please tell me I can come home.”

Maybe it’s the repetition of that particular line of the song that threw shivers up and down Carlos’ spine. Or maybe it’s the overwhelming feeling of belonging he gets whenever he’s near TK. Whatever it is, Carlos is done fighting it.

He’s done shying away from his demons.

“Well then,” he mutters, his fingers finding the back of TK’s neck and resting there as if they never stopped touching TK. “Welcome home, TK,” Carlos whispers against TK’s lips, claiming them in a kiss that both consumes him and gives him life.

They’re both, finally, home.

#the fic #lire's 911lsbb #forever in a second too short (home is a heartbeat)#911lsbb #chapter 12

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boonesfarmsangria · 3 years ago

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With Foals have been announced to headline Latitude Festival 2022 alongside Lewis Capaldi and Snow Patrol, frontman Yannis Philippakis has told NME of the band’s storied history with the Suffolk festival – and why they owe a lot to Latitude.

Ahead of the release of new album ‘Life Is Yours’, the band will top the bill at the event for the second time this July, continuing a long and eventful relationship with Latitude.

“The first time we played [in 2008] was memorable because we played in Spain the night before and had got caught up in a big fight the night before with Kele from Bloc Party and John Lydon,” Philippakis told NME referring back to whenKele Okereke accused the Sex Pistols frontman of a “racist attack” on him backstage at a festival, with Yannis and Kaiser Chiefs‘ Ricky Wilson stepping in

Foals performing at Latitude Festival 2008. Credit: Dan Griffiths/Getty Images

“I got handcuffed and a security guard put me in a neck lock and I blacked out,” Yannis remembered. “We flew in and then played Latitude for the first time on zero sleep.”

A slightly less eventful second performance then came on the tour for second album ‘Total Life Forever’, though Yannis remembered the show being stopped due to crowd surges and pressure on the barrier. “I remember thinking, ‘Oh shit, there’s all these people that really, really want to see us

Then, in 2013, Foals topped the bill at Latitude for their first ever festival headline set, in a career-defining moment that changed the trajectory of the band forever. “They were the first people to give us a shot at headlining a festival,” Philippakis said. “That was obviously a pretty amazing night for us, and I think it arguably it changed the trajectory of our career. It definitely was a significant moment for us.”

Foals headlining Latitude in 2013, their first festival headline slot. Credit: Andy Sheppard/Redferns via Getty Images.

Alongside Foals, UK indie royalty such as The Maccabees and Wolf Alice have also been given their first major festival headline slots at Latitude, and a top slot at the festival has become a defining moment on the road to success for countless British guitar bands.

It’s a great harbour for having bands work their way up,” Yannis agreed. “They take risks on their headliners and it has broken bands into becoming headliners. As daunting as it can be to headline a festival, it’s like there’s something about Latitude that feels receptive and warm as an environment. You’re not gonna have bottles of beer thrown at your head!”

The frontman added: “I think it benefits the music industry and the British music industry at large, because you have bands that are there realising their potential [at Latitude], who can then go on and headline festivals abroad and other festivals. It makes a palpable difference on the shape of the music industry and the health of the scene in the UK.”

When headlining Latitude 2022 in mid-July, Foals will be armed with seventh album ‘Life Is Yours’, a record made for communal euphoria and with dancing and movement at its core. For Yannis, it feels like a perfect festival album.

“The album was created in a very live manner, and in many ways the songs are designed for [festivals],” he said. “We wrote this record in isolation, obviously, but not with an insular mentality. We wanted to be the soundtrack to people’s parties, and we were craving live shows and we were craving nights out. So it’s made for that.”

Speaking about the band’s new album to NME in a Big Read cover feature last month, Philippakis said: “This is our idea of a going out record. We were thinking about parties, club nights and being drunk on the bus at 2am trying to get home. All of it: the excitement before you go out, meeting up with your friends, the wild abandon. ‘Who’s got the pingers? Where are we going?’ This is all of that youthful excess of going out.”

Comparing the upcoming festival to a potential third ‘summer of love’, he added: “As we re-emerge, this could be like ’89. This has the potential to be an iconic year, and I’d love this record to be the soundtrack to that – to be there for that house party, that barbecue, that drive to the ocean, when the face masks are a distant memory and it’s just you hugging your mates in the middle of a field

NME || Will Richards || 1st March 2022

#FOALS #yannis philippakis #actual reading #i make these small for consideration of your dash ya welc #Life Is Yours

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suchalonelysunflower · 4 years ago

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“She’s got You Mesmerized” (C.H)

Pairing: Calum Hod X Reader

Requested: Yes!

Summary: Based on the song “Heather” by Conan Gray. You notice how Calum seems to fall for the new intern at the studio, even when he doesn’t realize it.

Warnings: The reader uses she/her pronouns, I’m sorry if I make anyone uncomfortable by that, it was not my intention at all. Angst with a happy ending. Language. Jealousy. Mentions of Cheating. Maybe some grammar mistakes (English is not my first language, sorry)

Word Count: 2K

Author’s Note: Requested by the lovely @rime-warrior I hope I could do it justice 💕 There are some lyrics hiding in the story. Feedback, Comments and Reblogs are always welcome! I love to hear from you guys ❤️ You can read my other works HERE. Happy reading 🦋

@rime-warrior: Hi! Can you please write an imagine with Calum based on the song “heather” by Conan gray :) (yes I am in my feelings at the moment)

Relationships are hard. You knew that. They can’t survive only on love, that would be foolish. No, you need to take compromise, to communicate, to have some sort of connection beyond the physical attraction and be respectful towards each other. But, most importantly, you need trust.

And you trusted Calum, you really did, with all your heart. He had done nothing but make you happy every single day for the past two years. Of course, dating a rockstar is not an easy thing to do, but despite the paparazzi, the fans and the constant going away on tour, you made it work.

You still remember the night that he made it official, when on a cold December night he posted that picture of you in his favorite and iconic hoodie “It looks better on her anyway” he captioned it.

It was not like him to brag about his personal life on social media, and the fact that he did that just made your relationship stronger from then on, knowing that you were in this together till the end of the line.

You were happy and in love. It seemed like nothing could penetrate the little bubble that you created for yourselves. Well, that was until her.

Calum texted you inviting you to the studio that day, saying that the two of you could grab dinner afterwards. It’s been a while since you spend some quality time with him since he came back from yet another very successful tour, so you accepted immediately. You got yourself ready, grabbed the keys to your car and drove, your heart already excited.

When you got there, however, all that emotion died down a little, your smile quivering a bit when you saw Calum sitting alone in a room with another girl. He was laughing at something she said, shaking his head amusingly as she placed her hand on his knee. You had a bad feeling about this. You didn’t know who this mystery girl was, but you knew Calum, and he would never cheat on you, would he?

Almost like he could sense your presence, your boyfriend lifted his gaze and smiled as he met yours through the big window of the booth. He quickly got up and ran towards the door, wrapping his arms around your waist and softly pecking your lips, making your thoughts fade away in his embrace.

“Hello, gorgeous” he hummed, resting his chin at the top of your head.

“Hey, handsome” You said with a smile, pulling away from him just enough so you could look him in the eyes “Ready to go?”

“Yeap. But first, I want you to meet someone”

Calum went inside the booth one more time and grabbed the girl by her hand, making her stand up and follow his way to you.

“This is Heather. Heather, Y/N”

Oh shit, she was pretty. A true sight for sore eyes . Her blue eyes contrasted perfectly with her raven black hair, she had curves in all the right places and her complexion seemed angelic. You weren’t completely sure if she was real or just a vision until she extended her hand towards you.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” Heather said shaking your hand. Smiling like a kid.

“She’s been helping us with the album” Calum said looking at her “She’s an amazing songwriter. Honestly, she puts all of us to shame!”

“Oh, please stop! Cal here is just being too nice”

“No, I’m not! I swear Y/N, she’s a genius”

They started laughing and you awkwardly joined in, not really understanding if there was joke.

“Well, I’m sure if Calum says it, then it must be true” You gently, grabbed your boyfriend’s hand and intertwined your fingers with his “It was so nice to meet you, Heather”

She smiled and said a little “likewise” before heading back to the booth. You and Calum made your way to the parking lot, and as you left the building you couldn’t help but comment “She seems nice”

“Oh, she is”

“And pretty”

“Is she?” Calum raised an eyebrow at you, making it seem like she just thought about it “Huh, guess I never noticed. Maybe it’s because I have the prettiest girl as my girlfriend” He smiled as he brought you closer to him, placing a kiss on your forehead, making your heart flutter.

Maybe he didn’t notice. But you definitely did.

Over the last couple of months, you noticed how Heather was always around. On the studio, on the casual hangouts, on the nights out and on every party.. everywhere you go there she was. Always looking like an angel and always hanging around close to Calum. Maybe even too close for your liking.

Calum was always very touchy with the people he liked. Always hugging and kissing his friends on the cheek, never afraid to show affection. And that is something you absolutely love about him, but seeing him being that affectionate with her made you feel uneasy.

You couldn’t help but feel a hint of jealousy every time he put his arm around her shoulders, or how she would playfully hold his hand to compare sizes. You didn’t know if you were mad at Heather for leaning her head on his shoulder or at Calum for letting her get that close. You knew you could trust him, but you didn’t know if you could trust her.

She was nice. Sometimes too nice, actually. Making you feel bad about having those insecure feelings running around your head. But sometimes you just couldn’t help but wish she’d leave for good. Still not trusting her at all.

As the days went by, you sit and watched your suspicions came true as her flirting became more aggressive towards your, seemingly unaware, boyfriend. Not even trying to hide it or pretend to have an ounce of respect towards you as she laid her legs across his lap, play ‘pretend fighting’, laugh way to hard at all his jokes, leaving lingering touches here and there or took a lot of selfies kissing his cheeks. Even the fans thought you guys were broken up at some point, but nobody else seemed to notice, especially Calum. Maybe you were exaggerating.

You were getting ready to go out tonight, the band had just released a new single that went straight to number one and they needed to celebrate it. You were putting on some makeup when Calum came out of the bathroom, already dressed to impress.

“Hey, Y/N. Could you take a picture of my outfit? Luke asked for it so he could figure out what to wear since he can’t decide”

You laughed and nodded at his request. Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, you quickly started taking picture after picture, giggling at your boyfriend’s absurd poses. It was in the middle of all that scene that he got a text. It wasn’t your intention to open it, but your finger clicked on it by accident.

Heather 🙃💕: Thnks for the hoodie 💕💕🥰 can’t wait to see you 2nite ❤️❤️

Attached to it there was a very provocative mirror selfie of her, wearing nothing more than his empathy hoodie. The one he gave to you or that you stole from him every time you miss him and wanted to feel close to him. Your favorite. His favorite. And, apparently, hers as well.

Calum noticed how your expression changed drastically in a matter of seconds. One minute ago you were laughing with him and now it seems like you were about to burst into tears.

“Love, is everything okay?” He asked, making you lift your head, breaking your trance from the screen. You were livid.

“I don’t know” you spat “You tell me”

Turning the screen to his face, Calum’s eyes widened as he saw the picture, grabbing the phone out of your hands.

“Why is she sending you pictures like this?”

“I- I-“

He stuttered, making your face fall in disappointment “Calum, be honest” You said defeatedly “Are you cheating on me?”

Calum snapped his head at you.

“What?! Of course not!”

“And you expect me to believe you?” You said, gesturing at the phone in his hand.

“How can you say that? Y/N this means nothing!”

“You gave her your sweater!”

“It’s a fucking piece of fabric! It’s just polyester! It’s nothing”

“It wasn’t nothing to me!” You cry, not being able to hold it in anymore “I just- I just don’t know why would you ever kiss me when she’s standing right there! Practically begging you to do it. I’m not even half as pretty or talented or anything to call your attention anymore”

“What?”

“Please, Calum. I know you like her better. I see your eyes as she walks by. I see how you look at her while I die inside, you never seem to notice me but you always notice her, and I know because some time ago you used to look at me the same way. You’re spending all your time with her, laughing at her jokes and letting her flirt with you shamelessly. She’s got you mesmerized and you don’t even realize it. I wish I were Heather, maybe that way you could love me back” You whisper that last part, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

“Y/N, that it’s not true. That is not the same way I look at you at all. I love you. Heather and I are just friends” Calum said, rubbing his hand down his face.

“Does she know that?”

“Y/N..”

“I don’t feel like going out anymore” You mutter, standing up, walking straight to the bathroom and locking the door.

As soon as you closed it, Calum was banging the door on the other side “Y/N”

“Just go, Calum”

“Fucking hell, Y/N. Don’t do this!” He was getting impatient “You’re being childish! C’mon, we’ll be late!”

“Then go! I’m not leaving”

You heard him mutter a “For fucks sake” before silence came over you two, only for it to be broken fifteen minutes later by the sound of the car driving off the street. Only then you allowed yourself to cry again.

You didn’t know how much time you spend like this, sitting on the floor with your back pressed to the hard wooden door, crying until you felt like you couldn’t cry anymore. So, slowly you got up, took all your makeup and your clothes, put on some pajamas and went to bed, not sure if Calum will be back for the night. Not sure if he will be back at all.

Tears started to burn your eyes once again and you allowed them to roll down your cheeks and stain your pillowcase. Your sobs rocking you until you drifted away in dreams.

Moments later, maybe a few hours or minutes, you were woken up by a large figure laying next to you on the bed. He was back.

Calum scooted closer to you, bringing his arms around your frame and pulling you into his embrace. He hid his head on the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of small kisses down its way.

“Cal..” You whispered. Your voice hoarse from all the crying “What are you doing?”

“You were right”

His voice sounded small, broken. Not like him at all.

You turned around in his arms, facing him in the darkness “What?”

Calum let out a sigh “You were right about Heather. She was flirting with me and I didn’t notice, but tonight she tried to make a move and kiss me…” You held your breath, not sure if you wanted to hear what he had to say next “She didn’t get to do it though, I pushed her away immediately and told her to never do that again. Next thing I know I was on my way here. On my way to you”

“Calum..”

“I’m sorry, baby. I was an idiot. I shouldn’t have invalidated your feelings the way I did, I should’ve listen. You’re the only one for me, love. I only got eyes for you, always you. You’re the only one who got me mesmerized, my everything. I’m sorry I haven’t shown it a lot lately, I’ll make it up to you”

You hummed and lifted your head so you could press your lips against him. He welcomed the kiss by placing his hand on your cheek and caressing it lightly.

“I’ll get that sweater back for you, I promise” He said, kissing your forehead.

“Oh, she can have it or you could burn it. I don’t care. I have the the only thing that matters right here, right now in my arms” He chucked at your response, bringing you closer to him.

“I love you”

“I love you, more” You hummed against his chest, breaking the comfortable silence once again after a while “Does this mean that I can say ‘I told you so’?”

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moonscriptsx · 4 years ago

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Make Me Proud (M)

SUMMARY: With the release of his second mixtape and her album, the public are eating up the so-called chart rivalry between (Y/N) and Yoongi, desperately wanting to see one succeed over the other. But what they don’t know is that the two are happily together and are happily basking in each other’s success -- both literally and figuratively.

GENRE/WARNINGS: Idol!Verse, Idol!Reader; this is PWP to the max. Completely smut filled with mutual praise, mutual oral, unprotected sex (be safe, kids), dirty talk, hair pulling, and slight possessive terms. Yoongi and the reader just really, really love and appreciate one another.

WORDS: 5.6k.

A/N: This is a product of what happens when I’m drunk and listening to Yoongi’s new mixtape.

“It’s an exciting day for music today in the K-Pop world, ladies and gentlemen! BTS’s Suga surprised fans with the release of his (fire) second mixtape and MV - Agust D’s Daechwita - which set the charts ablaze early this morning -- both figuratively and literally. Not long after that, SM’s Princess (Y/N) (L/N) released her well anticipated mini album along with the MV as well. The goddess has blessed us once again with her heavenly vocals as she skyrockets to the top of the charts. Between Agust D and the sweet Princess, we’re not sure who’s going to come out as number one -- but we’re more than happy to witness this battle.”

FRIDAY - 11:15 PM

Yoongi lets out a grunt of surprise when his back hits the bed, the rapper’s arms encasing your body around his as you straddled his hips. Your chest is pressed against his as you caged his head between your arms, your lips pressing heated kisses to every inch of skin on his face. Yoongi mewled in delight as your lips found purchase on the pulse point of his neck, your teeth grazing over the juncture as you moaned in appreciation against his skin. Yoongi’s tilting his head back, the rapper giving you more access to his neck as he made a noise of approval in his throat.

“Baby,” he muttered, fingertips ghosting along the hem of your shirt. “Not that I’m complaining -- but what’s all of this about?”

Leaning one arm on the bed, you use the other to bunch up Yoongi’s shirt along his body, the rapper’s bare torso coming into view as you licked your lips at the sight.

“That fucking video,” you managed to gasp out, your lips sucking a mark into the underside of Yoongi’s jaw. “That mixtape.. Jesus, Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s hands are holding onto your hips as he raises his own, grinding your bodies together as he let a smirk dance across his lips.

“You liked it that much, baby?”

The teasing tone in his voice has you mewling in delight, your head nodding as you rolled your hips down onto his. Gripping the hem of his shirt, you’re pulling the material off of him and tossing it aside, your clothed chest pressing against his as you leaned down and feverishly caught his lips with yours. Yoongi’s moaning against your mouth, the rapper’s hands finding purchase in the tresses of your hair as he pulled the strands.

Lifting his hips up, he’s resting his feet on the bed as his thighs encased around your body, effectively trapping you between his legs as Yoongi tilted his head. The kiss grew with fervor, both yours and Yoongi’s lips fusing together with passion each time they pressed against one another’s. He’s lazily tonguing against the seam of your mouth, waiting patiently for your lips to part, and when they do, he’s speeding up the movements of his lips as the wet muscle prodded in delight against yours. Tightening his grip on your hair, he’s smirking against your mouth when you’re whimpering in pleasure, the rapper twisting his wrist until he’s made a makeshift ponytail in his hand.

“God, I can’t believe you’re this worked up, baby.”

Drawing back from his mouth, you’re sending him an incredulous look.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Yoongi?” You managed to breathe out, and Yoongi’s admiring the way your lips are red and swollen from the intensity of the kiss. “The second you came on screen I had to fight the urge to fucking jump you right then and there.”

Yoongi chuckled at that, the rapper sending you a flirty look.

“Oh yeah?” He asked, bemused. “I don’t think the boys would’ve liked that too much.”

You’re half listening to him speak as you trailed your digits across the planes of his chest, making note of the fact that Yoongi has gotten slightly broader and far more muscly than he previously had been. There’s a slight definition to his body as you trailed down the expanse of his abdomen, a hum of approval escaping you, and you’re settling your gaze on the heated one of your boyfriend’s as you lowered yourself to press kisses against his chest.

“It’s not even the fact that you looked good in the video,” you began, trailing kisses down Yoongi’s stomach. “It’s the overwhelming pride and joy that I hold for you.”

Yoongi sucked in a breath as your fingertips slid their way to the hem of his jeans, the rapper biting the inside of his lip as he stared down at your lustful gaze.

“You’re proud of me?”

His shaky voice made heat swell within your lower belly, your thighs pressing together in relief as you popped open the brass button of his jeans.

“Baby,” you purred, keeping your gaze on him. “You have no idea how fucking proud I am of you -- how fucking proud I am to call you mine.”

Beneath you, you could feel Yoongi’s cock jolt in excitement at the possessive term, the rapper mewling quietly as he looked down at you with a sedated gaze. You’re sliding the jeans down his lean legs as you slithered down his body, your digits grasping the hem of his briefs now.

“Mm, ‘m all yours.”

Yoongi’s voice is slurred with desire as he cradled your face in his hands, the rapper admiring you as you sent him a sultry look.

“My baby,” you mused, tugging his briefs down his legs.

Taking his hardened cock in your hands, you’re licking a stripe on the underside of his cock, the action drawing a loud groan from the rapper.

“My love --”

Flickering your gaze up to look at Yoongi, you licked your lips in anticipation before letting one last term of endearment escape from you.

“My king.”

The sound that left Yoongi’s mouth was near pornographic as your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, the rapper tangling his fingers in your hair as your mouth moved to engulf more of him. Your king… The words have Yoongi reeling with pleasure, pride completely engulfing him as he looks down at you, the image of you licking the length of his cock now and forever etched into his memory. He’s keening in delight as his blunt nails dug into your scalp, the rapper pushing your head further down the length of his cock.

Your mouth is warm around him, the heat from your tongue sending goosebumps along Yoongi’s body, and the vibrations of your soft hums are reverberating against Yoongi’s length and rocking his hips forward, the rapper relishing in the pleasure you’re bringing him. His hips are rolling against the movements of your tongue, his body thrashing about on the bed as he grips the shaft of your tresses.

“Holy fuck, angel,” Yoongi’s teeth are harshly gritted together, voice gruff with arousal. “God, you take my cock so well.”

You mewled against his cock at that, taking in all of the praise as you dropped your hand from his length. Instead you’re sliding your lips down until he’s completely enveloped within the warm cavern of your mouth, one hand gripping the flesh of his thigh while the other reaches down to gently grasp his balls. Yoongi is a complete mess underneath you, the rapper swearing profusely into the air as his hips rock up to fuck into your mouth. You’re humming against the movement, your hand enclosing tighter around his balls as you let Yoongi fuck your mouth.

“Jesus, fuck -- (Y/N) --!” Yoongi can barely catch his breath as he jolted forward, the rapper grabbing a fistful of your hair as he tugged the tresses harshly. “God, what did I do to -- fuck -- de-deserve you?”

You’re wiping the tears from your eyes as you steadied your gaze on Yoongi, taking in the sight of him completely unraveled beneath your ministrations as you swallowed around the length of his cock. He’s reeling in pleasure, your name falling from his lips like a broken record, and you can feel the pride swelling within your chest as you watched him. His praises have you sucking harder, tugging more frequently on his balls, as you bring him to his release.

“Oh -- fuck --!”

Yoongi’s orgasm comes in spurts, the warm liquid leaking from his cock as it engulfed the inside of your mouth, your tongue lapping up every last drop as you watched the rapper shudder in pleasure. His hands drop the grip on your hair as he sunk into the bed, completely fucked out from the intensity of his release. You had to fight the smirk that was daring to spread across your lips as you slid your mouth off of his length, swallowing every last bit of his seed.

Your hands are slithering up the expanse of his chest as you made your way back up to him, leveling your face to his. Looking down at him with nothing but admiration, you watched as Yoongi sluggishly reached up to grasp the back of your neck, the rapper bringing you down to press a heated kiss to your lips.

“You’re going to be the fucking death of me, angel.”

Yoongi’s voice is gruff, words muffled by your lips, and he’s pulling you closer to him as he tiredly runs his hand underneath your shirt, fingertips grazing the ridges of your spine as he fights the exhaustion trying to claim his eyelids.

Gently rolling to the side of him, you let your body mold into Yoongi’s as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“Sleep, baby,” you murmured, brushing his fringe out of his eyes.

“Have to make you cum.”

Yoongi’s drowsy words made you chuckle quietly, your gaze landing on the - now asleep - rapper. You’re completely reveling in the pride and joy that the man endlessly brought to you, your head resting on the plane of his chest before you fell asleep to the calm of his heartbeat.

SATURDAY - 09:08 AM

In a turn of events, Yoongi had been the first one up that morning. The brightness of the sun peeking through the white lace curtains had raised the rapper from his slumber. Wordlessly he grumbled as he leaned up to push the two curtains together, engulfing the room into a much darker setting as he blocked out the rays of the sun from waking you up. There’s a deep frown on his face as he shoved himself against the pillows, not particularly thrilled to be up at the moment. Reaching over to the nightstand next to him, he grabs his phone and almost groans in frustration.

09:08 AM.

As much as he would enjoy going back to sleep, he knew that his body would never let him do so now that he was already awake. Letting the pillows surround him, he lets a pout form on his plump lips as he unlocked his phone and opened the Google app. Immediately he’s hit with a familiar name on the top of the trending page, his curiosity piquing in interest as he clicks on the topic.

SM Entertainment’s (Y/N) (L/N) achieves all-kill almost seconds after album release!

A prideful smile painted itself across Yoongi’s lips as he read the title, the rapper clicking on the article as he skimmed through the passage. The remarks about how talented you were, that this was your best album yet -- the achievements and praise have him glancing down at the words in a look of fondness, the rapper scrolling down to the comments to gauge the public’s opinion.

[+078] She is actually fucking unbeliveable! How is this possible?! And only two years after her debut!!!

[+036] The beauty, the talent, the grace -- a complete superstar. All other idols are quaking.

[+053] She’s kicking Min Yoongi’s ass!

At that last comment, Yoongi’s phone vibrated, signaling that he had an incoming message. Closing out of the article and app, he’s thumbing over to his messages, the rapper almost letting out a loud laugh at the response.

From: Jeongguk Your girlfriend is kicking your ass on the charts, hyung.

Locking his phone, Yoongi turned his head so that he could glance over at your sleeping figure. You were lying peacefully on your stomach, one hand underneath your pillow while the other was resting on the side of you. Your head was turned towards Yoongi, the rapper drinking in the features of your face, a fond smile gracing his lips as he watched you sleep. You were so beautiful to him -- with or without makeup. The beauty you held, the grace you poised… Yoongi was beyond smitten for you.

He could remember the first time he watched you perform, the rapper almost instantly taken with you as he recalled watching you on the stage. The charisma and passion you held with you while you danced and sang on the platform was something Yoongi would never forget. You were completely and utterly in your element while you were on stage, commanding attention the moment you were front and center. Your sweet personality was overtaken by nothing short of badass energy as soon as those lights hit you. You gave everything your 110% -- and he loved every second of it.

Putting his phone on do not disturb, Yoongi is placing the device back onto the nightstand before rolling towards you. Gently grabbing a hold of your arms, he’s pulling you until your lying on your back, his body slightly hovering over yours now as he rests above you. Dipping his head down, he’s letting his lips press soft kisses against the flesh of your neck, the rapper’s mouth coaxing you awake as he littered them along the expanse of the skin.

You groan at the intrusion, your hand reaching up to swat the disturbance away only to have it caught in a grasp. A huff of annoyance escapes you as you open one eye, the smirking face of Yoongi coming into a blurred view as the rapper grinned at you with delight.

“Good morning, angel,” he cooed, bringing your wrist to his lips.

“Too early,” you grumbled, frowning at him as he littered kisses up the length of your arm now. “Let me sleep.”

Clicking his tongue at your words, Yoongi managed to squeeze himself between your legs, the rapper on top of the blanket as he caged your body in his arms.

“Angel, we have to celebrate.”

His words coax you to open your eyes, your gaze settling on his smirking face.

“Celebrate what?”

Yoongi’s smirk never dropped from his lips as he wedged his face between your neck and shoulder, tongue lazily lapping along your collarbone.

“The fact that you’re number one.”

Your eyes widened at his words, your head lifting from the bed as you made a move to look down at Yoongi only to be pushed back flatly to the bed, Yoongi’s mouth attacking your neck.

“Wh --” you breathed out, moaning softly when Yoongi nipped at the weak spot on your neck. “What do you mean?”

“You passed me, angel,” he crooned against your neck. “You’ve got the top spot.”

Yoongi raised his head from your neck then, the rapper slotting his lips against yours instead as he kissed you with fervor. His hands moved up to cradle your face as he ran his tongue along the seam of your lips, the rapper groaning softly as yours parted almost instantly. Your tongue swirled around his as he kissed you, one hand dropping from your face as it trailed down your clothed stomach.

“My talented angel,” he murmured hotly against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “My hardworking angel”

Your eyes fluttered closed as Yoongi pushed your shirt above your breasts, his lips following suit and making sure every bit of visible skin was being kissed. Tugging the bunched up hem, he’s pulling it over your head and throwing it to the side, his lips instantaneously wrapping around a flushed bud as he suckled softly on your breast. You’re keening in response, your hand tangling in the black tresses of his hair as you arched into his touch. Using his free hand, he’s kneading the other breast, thumb and forefinger teasingly tweaking your nipple.

Mewling in delight at the contrast between the harsh pulls on your bud to the kitten licks Yoongi was giving, you relished in the pleasure as your boyfriend’s free hand trailed south, fingertips ghosting along the hem of your panties and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You’re whining softly, wanting completely overtaking your mind and body as you gripped the back of Yoongi’s head and brought him up to your lips, kissing him with a fervor as your body ignited with passion.

Yoongi hummed against your mouth as his hand slipped into your panties, his digits teasingly sliding between your folds as he coated them with your arousal. You’re moaning at the contact, your hips bucking up into his touch, and Yoongi is clicking his tongue in disapproval as he pulled away from your mouth.

“Patience, angel,” he reprimanded, giving you a smirk. “I’m making up for last night.”

You watched as Yoongi slithered down your body, lips following his torso in suit, kisses being pressed to your skin in a chaste manner as he made his way down. Kneeling between your legs, he’s parting your thighs as his thumbs hooked into the hem of your panties, the material sliding down the expanse of your legs before they’re tossed carelessly to the side.

Hooking his hands around the width of your thighs, he’s kissing his way from your ankle up, lips ghosting along the flesh of your entire leg as he made his way up to your thigh. Nibbling softly on the inner flesh, the rapper cursed softly, blunt nails digging into your skin as he peered up at you through his long eyelashes.

“You talk about me looking good in my video but, angel,” he paused, moving to the other leg to repeat the same process. “You’ve never seen yourself from this angle -- keeping me locked between your legs; kissing you, licking you, sucking anything and everything. God, angel -- how are you real?”

Yoongi’s breath is hot, fanning your core as you whimpered, wanting more of his touch as he gripped your thighs roughly.

“You are mine,” he breathed out, gaze locked on your sopping pussy. “Just as I am yours -- you are my queen.”

You watched as his head dipped towards your mound, tongue poking from between his lips as he licked a solid stripe between your folds. Yoongi’s name falls from your lips with a wanton moan, your fingers twisting themselves the pitch black of his hair, and you’re relishing in the feel of his tongue as he gripped your thighs and pulled you closer to his mouth.

Your lips are parted as Yoongi suckled along your folds, tongue prodding your entrance, and you’re grinding along to the rhythm as you fist through his hair. Yoongi’s murmuring against your core in appreciation, sweet nothings being muttered against it, and you’re mewling in delight as your hips roll.

Yoongi is completely enthralled in your pleasure, the rapper tonguing any and every part of your pussy as he wrapped his lips around your clit. Bringing the bud into his mouth, he’s sucking harshly, the action drawing a near pornographic moan from your lips as you grinded against his ministrations. Blunt nails dug into the flesh of your thigh and Yoongi is bringing you closer -- if that was even possible -- towards him as he slid his hands around to grip your ass.

Large hands grip the flesh of your ass, kneading and massaging, before he’s drawing back one hand and letting it ricochet against the skin, slapping your ass as hard as he could. Your back arches in pleasure, his name falling from your lips in something akin to a shout as your thighs were placed on his shoulders. He’s completely delved in between your legs, tonguing relentlessly at your clit as he all but murdered the sensitive bud with his mouth.

You’re unraveling quickly beneath his ministrations, the pleasure completely overtaking you as you clenched your thighs around Yoongi’s head, letting him continue his assault on your core. The rapper mewls into your pussy, one hand falling from your ass as he teasingly traced a digit along your folds, before sliding it inside of you wordlessly. You’re keening at the sensation, your hips pressing into his mouth and hand as he curled the digit.

Yoongi doesn’t even wait to add another finger, the rapper sliding a second digit inside of you as he scissored them, his fingers ghosting along the velvet walls of your pussy. Between the ministration of his mouth and hands, you’re falling apart at a rapid pace, Yoongi’s name the only thing on your mind as you squealed, thighs clenching around the rapper’s head as an overwhelming warmth enveloped the pit of your stomach.

You’re riding Yoongi’s mouth and fingers as your high was washed over you, the rapper’s mouth falling open as he drew himself back from your core. You’re too wrapped up in the pleasure to even notice the shock written across your boyfriend’s face, your eyes squeezed completely shut as the white light danced across your closed eyelids, until Yoongi’s muttering under his breath.

“You just fucking squirted on my face.”

Your eyes snapped open at that, a harsh red flush skirting its way across your cheeks as you looked down at your awestruck boyfriend.

“I --” you paused, completely embarrassed. “Yoongi I’m --”

“That was so fucking hot.”

Slithering his way up your body, Yoongi smashed his lips onto yours with fervor, the rapper slipping his tongue into your mouth and letting you taste yourself. You’re whimpering against his lips as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him flush against you as he caged him between your body.

“I love you,” you breathed against his mouth, making Yoongi whine softly, the rapper encasing his lips entirely around yours.

“I love you more, angel.”

SUNDAY - 10:13 PM

“It’s been quite the battle between BTS’s Suga’s mixtape and (Y/N)’s new album. Which record will reach the top of the charts? It’s only been two days now but we can confidently say that -- has taken the lead --”

The broadcast is filled with static as the party goers booed at the poor reception, the onlookers wanting to know who was currently on top. For you and Yoongi, however, the two of you couldn’t care less. Sat in the corner with the seven BTS members and a few of your closest friends, you and Yoongi were attached at each other’s hips as your friends toasted to both of your successes. To them, you two were equal -- much like how it was for both you and Yoongi. While it was exciting to even chart, let alone be number one, for you and Yoongi, it was nothing but pride and joy for one another.

“I can’t believe you and Yoongi even left the bed,” your friend, Eunhee, snickered. “The two of you have been fucking each other’s brains out for the past two nights that I was beginning to get worried.”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but grin at her comment.

“Listen,” you began, leaning closer towards her so that the others wouldn’t hear. “Once you and your boyfriend release something the same day and they’re both successful -- you’ll understand.”

“Yoongi and I aren’t doing it just because of the success, though,” you continued, giving her a pointed look. “When you love someone and you watch them succeed and grow as not only an artist but as a person… It’s special, Hee. He’s so passionate about what he does -- about who he is. And it’s so sexy.”

Eunhee nodded at your words, acknowledging the bond.

“I believe you,” she affirmed, placing an arm around your shoulder. “Now go over to your man because he’s been eye fucking you for a good ten minutes, now.”

At that, your gaze falls on Yoongi, the rapper’s intense stare sending a warmth throughout your body as you sent him a bashful smile. Bidding adieu to Eunhee, you made your way over to Yoongi, your arm comfortably wrapping around your boyfriend’s waist as he pulled you closer.

“Did I mention that you look beautiful tonight, angel?” He asked, a soft murmur in your ear. Blushing softly, you shook your head, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip.

“I don’t think you have, actually,” you rebutted, making Yoongi click his tongue in disapproval.

“What a shit boyfriend I am,” he retorted. “How can I not tell you that you’re the most gorgeous person this whole room right now?”

The hand he had around your waist slipped around to your back, his digits teasingly lowering to the space between your ass and back.

“Part of me wants to bring you to the bedroom and fuck you right here and now.”

Yoongi’s voice dropped an octave, the huskiness of his tone sending shivers down your spine, and you’re clutching the side of his suit jacket in your hand as you pressed yourself against his side.

“Please,” you murmured, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “Let them all know who’s fucking me right.”

You watched as Yoongi’s lips curled into a snarl, the rapper gripping your wrist in his hand as he all but dragged you down the hallway towards your bedroom. Your hands are on his body before he’s even got the bedroom door closed, fingers gripping the lapels of his jacket as you pulled him towards you, your lips fusing together in a haste of passion. Yoongi’s hands are gripping your ass through your dress, long, slender fingers plucking the length of the zipper as he lifted you up and placed you on the edge of his dresser.

He’s sucking your bottom lip into his mouth as his hand slipped underneath the hem of your dress, fingertips hotly gliding along the length of your inner thigh as he pushed aside your silk panties. You’re mewling into his mouth, your own hand slipping into his pants as you gripped his hardening cock through his briefs. Yoongi groaned at the contact, the rapper drawing back from your lips as he rested his forehead against yours.

Wordlessly he’s pushing two digits past your folds, the touch sending you keening into him, his name falling from your mouth with a wanton moan. Yoongi doesn’t move, his forehead still pressed to yours, and he’s gazing down at the sight of his wrist completely hidden underneath the fabric of your dress, the rapper licking his lips at the sight.

“Mm, this is only for me,” he managed to spit out, voice filled with a lustful grit. “Right, angel?”

Yoongi curled the digits making you whimper against his cheek, your breath fanning across his face as you nodded hastily.

“Y-yes,” you managed to get out. “Only for you, baby.”

Smirking against the skin of your cheek, Yoongi placed a soft kiss to your flesh - completely stark in comparison to the rough movements of his fingers gliding along your silky walls - before fishing his cock out of his pants. You moaned at the sight, your lustful gaze drinking in the long, girthy length of his flushed cock. He’s making a move to grab the condoms out of one of the drawers when you grip his wrist, halting his movements.

“Want you to feel me,” you muttered, gripping his face in your hands as you brought him back to you. “Want to feel you inside of me -- only me.”

Yoongi’s silent for a moment, the rapper looking at you with wide, cautious eyes, almost as if he’s determining whether or not you’re serious, before nodding. Slamming his lips back onto yours, Yoongi guided his cock to the heat of your entrance, the rapper kissing you with nothing less of passion as he laced his fingers with yours. He’s pressing the head of his cock in between your folds, pushing inside slowly.

You moan loudly at the contact, completely disregarding the company out in your living room, and you grip tightly onto Yoongi’s hand as he sheathed himself completely inside of you.

No matter how many times he does so, it never gets old; the way your velvet slick walls take him in without issue, your pussy stretching deliciously to fit the wide girth of Yoongi’s cock -- almost as if it was made just for you -- as if he was made just for you.

Dropping his hand, you’re gripping the back of his neck as you pulled him down towards your neck, your hips lifting off the wood of the dresser so that you can meet his thrusts. You’re keening in pleasure, Yoongi’s name falling from your lips with a breathy moan, and he’s mouthing hotly at the flesh of your neck. His fingertips are pulling at the silk material of your dress, the article of clothing tearing apart as he ripped the seam up the slit, your thigh coming into view as he gripped the meat of your flesh harshly.

Bringing you closer until you’re completely wrapped around his waist, he’s leaning you back against the mirror connected to the dresser, his teeth barring against your shoulder as he bit into your skin. He’s leaving marks upon marks on your flesh, the rapper claiming you as his -- only his.

“Mm, you feel so good around me, baby,” he mewled in delight, hips rolling as he pushed all the way to the hilt. “So good, so tight -- and all mine.”

You’re whimpering at his words, your fingertips hastily pulling at the buttons on his shirt as you stripped him. His suit jacket fell to the floor with a quiet thump, the button down soon following, and you’re shamelessly raking your nails down the length of his back, leaving angry red marks in their wake as you gripped onto your boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Fucking yes, Yoongi,” you moaned, throwing your head back until it rested against the glass of the mirror. “Fuck me just like that -- god, you know how I like it.”

“You know I do, angel,” he growled against your neck, nipping harshly at the base. “Only me, right?”

A harsh thrust has you jolting against his body, a cry erupting from your lips as you relished in the pleasure.

“Yes,” you cried, clinging onto him. “Fuck -- only you, baby.”

Yoongi’s thrusts are speeding up, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing around the room, and he’s slipping a hand between your bodies so that he can press the pad of his thumb against your clit.

“You gonna cum for me, angel?” He murmured, bringing his lips to the shell of your ear. “You gonna cum for your king, baby?”

You mewled at his words, basking in the newly found - and loved - term of endearment. Tugging harshly at his raven locks, you’re bringing his face up to yours so that you can smash your lips against his, the rapper moaning in delight as he gripped the flesh of your ass with one hand, his thumb continuing its ministrations with the other.

“C’mon baby,” he coaxed, thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit. “Claim my cock with your cum like the queen you are.”

That alone had your head reeling, white hot pleasure enveloping your body as you arched your back. You’re pressed flush against the glass of his mirror, your thighs shaking around his waist as you let your release completely override your body. Blunt nails are digging into the flesh on the back of Yoongi’s neck, your hips riding against his cock as you ride out the aftermath. Yoongi’s lips are parted, the rapper staring down in awe at the joining of both of your bodies.

“Oh, fuck, angel,” he groaned, hammering his hips against yours as he chased his own high. “Cream all over me -- just like that.”

You’re sticky, you’re sweaty, you’re breathless -- but it’s perfect.

Yoongi is swearing profusely against the flesh of your neck, his high washing over him in hot spurts as his hips jolted forward. He’s got both hands placed on either side of you on the desk, his plump lips parted in pleasure as he stilled to a halt. Neither of you move as you fall into post-sex bliss, a sheen of sweat coating both yours and Yoongi’s bodies, and you’re humming in satisfaction, the sound akin to a purr.

Raking your fingers through Yoongi’s hair, you’re pulling his head up towards yours, your lips ghosting along the edge of his jaw as you kiss along his skin.

“I am so fucking proud of you,” you murmured, the sound reverberating against his cheek. “I don’t care who comes out on top, I just want you to know that I am so incredibly proud of you and how far you’ve come.”

Yoongi’s cock is still sheathed inside of you as the rapper nodding in acknowledgement.

“Same to you, angel,” he breathed out, his nose gently brushing against yours. “It’s been an honor watching you grow these past two years.”

You’re grinning widely at that, your head tilting up so that you can press your lips against his, which Yoongi responded to almost instantly.

You’re almost working your way up to a second round, your tongue massaging against Yoongi’s until there’s a pounding on the door.

“If the two of you are done,” Eunhee’s voice sounds, an annoyance in her tone. “They announced who’s currently at the top.”

Smirking at her words, you gripped Yoongi’s neck, bringing the rapper closer to you as you anticipated it being him.

“Who is it?” You called out.

There’s a brief pause, silence filling the bedroom, until Eunhee’s voice sounded once more.

“It’s (Y/N).”

Your eyes widened at that, lips parting in shock, and you can’t even get a word in before you catch sight of Yoongi’s smirking face, the rapper licking his lips in anticipation.

“Oh angel~” He crooned, singing softly as he pulled you off of the dresser and pinned you to the bed instead. “You’re in for a whole lot more of celebrating.”

#bts smut #bts scenarios #bts reactions #suga scenarios #yoongi smut

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