#How to Sneak Your Flute Into Any Performance

[thatsbelievable]

[dymme]

What instruments I think the BG3 origin companions would play (and other musical tidbits):

Lae'zel

As the Githyanki are a very warmongering nation, I'd say music would be used for training and morale rather than expression and enjoyment.

Dance is used to show stamina, skill and strength. I imagine something like a cross between ballet and wrestling. Some creches will have war dances that they perform before battle to intimidate the enemy.

Typically very powerful and rhythmic instruments, such as percussion and the big brass; think marching band, but without the higher pitches. All Gith would be taught to perfect all these instruments from a young age to teach discipline.

I headcanon that Lae'zel (perhaps like all Githyanki) has perfect pitch but doesn't think it's impressive.

"You don't know a G#7sus4 chord when you hear it? Pathetic. Even your ears are inferior to the Githyanki."

Higher-pitched instruments (e.g. violin, flute) hurt her sensitive ears, but she likes the lower-pitched string and reed instruments (e.g. oboe, cello)

She is unimpressed by the clumsy and jovial nature of the folk music they come across in taverns and on the road, but Gale shows her the art music of Faerûn and develops an appreciation of music for the sake of music through that.

Everyone is surprised at how poised and graceful she is when she one day busts out some of her ballet moves when having a music session with Gale.

Shadowheart

She can't remember if she ever played an instrument or how, but finds a certain familiar comfort when plink-plonking on the strings of a lyre.

She found it in the goblin camp a little beat up and missing a string, but felt a warmth in her hand when she wrapped her hand around the wood - right before the pain shot through it from her wound.

But she didn't drop it.

Back at camp, she sneaks off so that she can pluck at it in peace and marvel at he pretty, if out of tune, notes that are drawn from it by her tentative fingers.

Sometimes, she finds herself humming a tune she almost remembers along with her playing.

Wyll offers to teach her one day and she is completely embarrassed and brushes him off. However, whenever he plays his lyre she finds herself enraptured with how his fingers move across the instrument.

At her next private practise session, she tries to mimic what she saw. She groes a bit frustrated, as it doesn't sound the same as when he plays it, as she somehow knows it should sound.

Next time she sees Wyll, she asks him if he can replace the missing string. He is happy to help. He even tunes it for her. He offers to teach her again and she declines, but more kindly this time.

When she plays again, her fingers play with a muscle memory even she can't recall. Then, her hand is struck with that familiar pain that she will never get used to.

But she didn't drop it.

Astarion

I've headcanoned Astarion as a rogue roleplaying as a bard, so even though he can't cast any magic with it, he has picked up a few instruments in his long (un)life.

He had tried a few and abandoned them before deciding on the violin. Impressive-looking to play and such pretty notes to serenade his pretty prey. He isn't brilliant, but technically good enough to play a pleasant tune.

He can even sing a little, which he enjoys a lot more, although hasn't sang in a long time. The last time he sang was to himself while locked in the tomb by Cazador to try and keep himself sane, but that was soon snuffed out.

He slowly starts to singing to himself again while with the gang as the weeks go by. He would play violin with Wyll and Karlach every now and then, but it didn't spark the same joy.

One day, Wyll is inevitably playing an instrument around the fire at camp; a well-known tavern songs. Astarion starts off mouthing the words to himself, then humming, then joining in on the chorus and eventually dancing around with Karlach, singing and trying to get everyone up to dance with him.

He is very embarrassed about that for the next few days. He does do it again, though.

Gale

Gale had a lot of time to study when he locked himself in his tower and some of his books are to do with music: the history of Faerûn art music, studies on how magic and music intertwine and even sheet music of famous symphonies.

He mentions that the Weave is akin to music and poetry; he likes to "try his hand at poetry" so of course he would explore this different kind of magic!

He has a beautifully crafted upright piano in his library that is enchanted to always stay in tune. It is covered in different piles of books and unfortunate drippings of candlewax from late-nights of scales practice.

Tara likes to lie on top of it when he is playing calmer music and scolds him when he starts getting into the fortissimo stuff and wakes her up.

Extremely technically good, beautiful musicality and has even trained himself to have perfect pitch, but can't improvise for shit. So he would rather enjoy the show that the party put on than join in, however Astarion or Karlach will persuade him by dragging him up for a dance.

Bit of a snob when it comes to tavern songs, but enough wine and he will be singing along with the rest of the group.

His eye twitches a bit at the fact Lae'zel thinks perfect pitch is inherent.

Wyll

As the son of a Duke, he would have had the privilege of a number of specialist tutors in his youth, including a music teacher.

He can read music well and can play a number of different instruments. Music comes naturally to him and can figure out unfamiliar instruments fairly quickly.

For all his technical ability, he still prefers to improvise, jam with others and play bawdy tavern songs. His favourite instruments are the more humble and accessible sort, such as the fiddle, wooden flute, basic lutes, etc.

As well as teaching the tiefling kids how to fight, he would gather them around after training and play simple tunes while telling them heroic stories.

Is That Guy who takes out his guitar in front of the campfire without fail, but is actually good. He is especially gratified when Astarion eventually joins in on the festivities.

He notices Shadowheart has a lyre at her tent, but never sees her play it. He offers to teach her. She splutters and scoffs that she doesn't need the distraction.

After that he plays his own lyre a little more as he can see how her eyes light up when she hears it.

Karlach

She loves dancing so of she loves some music to dance along to! She loves life and has her own soundtrack going in her head.

She would play makeshift instruments on the streets of Baldur's Gate as a child to make some extra coin.

Besides doing her little dances, she'll hum, sing and whistle aimlessly. Always the one to start the group singing in a tavern and is the first to get up and dance to the tavern's bards playing, even if they aren't very good.

Hasn't been able to play any instruments since she started burning up, as they'lljust disintegrate, so has had to do with body percussion, singing and beatboxing.

When her engine calms down, she wants to play anything and everything she gets her hands one. Wyll graciously (if somewhat hesitantly) allows her to play his instruments, but she is more than able to improvise.

Not technically good on most instruments that arent her body, but more than makes up for it in enthusiasm and creativity.

Is good at drums, because girl's got rhythm and, well, SMASH!!

Begs Lae'zel to teach her about the ballet-wrestling of the Gith when she sees her bust a move. She enjoys the wrestling aspect a lot and uses her moves in the next tavern brawl. Lae'zel approves.

[nightsandreala]

something short i wrote in april for reala day 🥺 post-canon (kind of au?) fic where nights finds a nightopia based on a mall and gets reala a stuffed animal (it’s very unserious). can also be read under the read more lol 🤭 thanks for reading

For most Nightmarens, collecting things was almost instinctual. They would take bits from each Nightopia they ravaged: any Ideya the dreamer possessed was the first and foremost goal, of course, but they would also take pieces from the world’s landscape, any effects that happened to strike their interests. NiGHTS certainly wasn’t any different— in only a matter of decades the elegant nighttime garden scene that made up their lair had become absolutely trashed, cluttered with anything and everything they could find during their daily searches through Nightopia, the dark grass and cobblestone walkways littered with out-of-place seashells and jewels and stones of all shapes and sizes. Stray feathers and scraps of cloth and linen formed makeshift nests among beds of thorny vines; out-of-place flowers, long since plucked from their original lands, decorated the heads of stone-carved statues. NiGHTS’ things weren’t so much trophies as other Nightmarens claimed their possessions to be, just things that made their lair feel more ‘theirs’— it was the least they could do, a lair and whatever was inside it was the closest any Nightmaren could really get to owning anything, and even so, their lairs could be destroyed by Wizeman just as easily as their bodies could be.

Right next door, however (or at least as ‘next door’ as lairs could be in a world as twisting and turning as Nightmare), was quite a different room: Reala’s. Reala, as far as NiGHTS could remember, had always kept his lair the same way from the very beginning: red and black everywhere, making up a majority of the room from the checkered floor to the backing of Reala’s majestic throne. Jagged spires of rock lined the outside of the ring, but he made sure that not even a pebble strayed out of place if they happened to crumble. The three blue-flame lamps flickered on eternally at a steady pace, keeping a constant, comfortable level of warmth and low light. Reala’s room was always immaculate, and he had prided himself on that fact in those days, had tried to use it as an example of how NiGHTS should have kept their own space. Of course, it never worked.

“It’s so… empty, though,” they would argue, shifting uncomfortably in the seat of Reala’s throne, “You don’t have anything, it’s like you don’t even live here!”  

They would offer their twin some of their own trinkets, or perhaps sneak some in when he wasn’t looking (only to have them promptly returned soon after). And Reala, time and time again, would explain, “Everything we need, Nightmare gives us. All of your… things aren’t necessary.” 

NiGHTS would never admit it, but when they made that sudden decision to leave Nightmare behind, all their things did seem unnecessary. Maybe they had forgotten how fun it was to be able to collect things, living the way they had for so long— wandering between dreams without settling in any one place for too long, residing in the nearest tree or riverbank or warm, grassy field. With no permanent place to come back to, nowhere to keep things after their journeys ended they had learned to travel light, with only their own outfit and their flute, really, and it wasn’t as if that took up much space (none at all, actually, they would simply summon it when they wanted it and wish it away when their performance was through). More important than the lack of storage space, though, was the need to stay hidden, to not leave a single trace or clue as to where they’d been, should Reala be sent looking for them.

Those days, at long last, were far behind both of them now, though. And NiGHTS wasn’t going to be a minimalist ever again.

A majority of their house’s decor were the results of NiGHTS’ newest hobby— traveling to new Nightopias not in search of Ideya, not even in search of food or building materials for the house or anything remotely useful in Reala’s mind, but in search of things. Human things, at that. They had explained the process with a joy Reala couldn’t comprehend, about how they’d found a Nightopia fashioned after some kind of Waking World market, full of different shops, full of various items, empty of any dreamers. They had come home that day with as much stuff as they could carry with only their own two arms, absolutely beaming with delight.

“It almost reminded me of how humans used to dream back when we were still… you know, hunting,” they’d said, offering a vague hand gesture as they spread out their items on the floor to show off to Reala. “Remember? How they were always dreaming about castles and markets and feasts and all that?” 

Reala couldn’t help but smile— perhaps humans were still just as disgustingly greedy even now, but he had to admit that outrageous human desire had always made for fun dreams. The two of them had crashed many a royal banquet in centuries past, made quick work of the dreamer’s Ideya and then spent the rest of their time making even quicker work of tables of dreamed-up food, helping themselves to tastes of the Waking World that simply couldn’t be found in their regular meals of Third-Levels. 

NiGHTS had spun a similar tale of their adventure that day: “It was bigger than a castle, I think, and it had these staircases—“ They were all but flailing their arms about at this point, in a wild attempt to replicate something, “—that were moving! All the shops were inside, and each one had different things… look!” 

They had gone back several times since then, always returning home with arms brimming with whatever piqued their interest: soft and warm things to cover their bed with, small and colorful things to line their windowsills. Anything and everything in-between. Reala had to admit that their room was neater than their lair had been, at the very least. And, knowing Reala’s dislike of trinkets, they only ever brought things home for themself. Except for this particular day, when they’d merrily entered Reala’s room and tossed him… this.

“…What is this?”

“It’s a cat,” NiGHTS told him, like he already should have known. “Well, y’know, a stuffed one. I would have gotten you a red one, but pink was the closest they had.”

Reala stared at the object in his hands, soft plush material looking out of place in his rough, calloused hands and sharp yellow nails. A cat? That was the creature Clawz was supposed to resemble, if he recalled correctly. But this didn’t look anything like Clawz, save for the little triangle-shaped ears and sewn-on whiskers, maybe— and he doubted that, in pretty pink fur and black plastic bead-eyes, it looked much like its Waking World counterpart either.

Reala tried again. “But what is it, what is it for?”  

“Well, it isn’t for anything, really, you just have fun with it. I felt like you needed something like that, y’know.” NiGHTS lightly tossed their own ‘cat’ (theirs was a nice shade of light purple) in the air and caught it again, switching it between hands like a basketball. “But you could use it for a pillow, maybe. Or you could use it like this!”

Reala, too distracted and, admittedly, slightly enchanted by his new acquisition, completely missed NiGHTS winding up across from him, and only looked up just in time to be met with a faceful of stuffed animal. He reacted a second too late, clumsily swiping at nothing but air with an annoyed grumble. NiGHTS hesitantly reached for their cat, gathering it back into their arms with a hint of shame. “…I could keep yours if you really don’t want it, Rere.”

Reala tested the plush again. It would make a nice pillow. And it was soft, easy to hold and squish and knead his claws into. He could see himself becoming used to it, really, just having something for the sake of having it.

“No, I suppose I’ll keep it,” he told them, rubbing the cat’s ear between two fingers. “Just as long as you don’t bring me any more. I don’t need my room ending up looking like yours.” 

NiGHTS grinned, tossing their cat upwards again. “Fine! I’ll only get them for myself, and then I’ll have more to throw at you.”

…And just as long as he could hit them back soon enough.

[cataztrophi]

TAZ November Celebration 10: Eyes

Fun fact: I actually had a completely different fic idea for this @taznovembercelebration prompt, but this story hijacked my brain last night and made me write it. My card was "eyes," so we're talking about the things people see and fail to see. A little angst, but a happy ending and mostly just certain people being very bad at seeing what's right in front of them.

This was not how Kravitz imagined using his degree in music performance. He supposed he should have known better, with the state of the world and all, but music was the only thing he'd ever really wanted to do, and he had to at least try to make it work. So here he was, twinkling out piano covers of Christmas songs at a party where the average salary was more than he'd make in his lifetime. It was a holiday party for the big shots of some biotech company, where the word “holiday” was doing a lot of heavy lifting for “Christmas, but the trees and reindeer and assorted ornaments are white and gold rather than red and green.”

Maybe he was just salty because of the man who’d come by earlier to chastise him for making Silent Night “too jazzy.” At least he was in one of the party's side rooms, so he was spared the worst of the opulence. Elsewhere, the black tie-clad servers with whom he’d felt instant solidarity had told him, there was a chocolate fountain that was a full-size replica of a fountain at the CEO’s mansion. Here, all he had to look at was the jewelry that could cover six months’ rent for his shitty one-bedroom.

As he launched into All I Want for Christmas, he began to feel like someone was watching him. That was unusual for this party, where most people seemed to treat him like a particularly ostentatious jukebox. He figured it was either the music police again or another tipsy guest coming to hit on him. Surely no one could accuse him of making Mariah Carey’s classic holiday anthem too jazzy? 

“What’s a nice guy like you doing in a dump like this?” The voice was quiet, flirtatious, and… familiar? 

“Taako?” He twisted half around on his bench to get a look at him.

“The one and only, my man!” Taako obligingly stepped around to the side of the grand piano, wearing that same gap-toothed smile that always made his heart skip a beat in college. Unfortunately for him, time had not lessened its effects.

Kravitz stared, taking in Taako’s emerald green sheath dress, ostentatious gold jewelry, and elaborate updo studded with sparkling hair pins.

“You look incredible,” he said, feeling that familiar warmth creeping up his neck. He looked, Kravitz thought, like he belonged there, much more than Kravitz did.

“You’re looking pretty good yourself, handsome.” Taako winked, and it was like an old scab tearing open all at once. There was that familiar ache, the breathless hope, the tantalizing thought that if he could only say the right thing he’d have a chance.

“Are you….” What was the right way to ask this? Are you a corporate sellout now? Did you give up your big dreams for something that actually paid the bills? Are you single? “Are you still acting?”

“Oh, I’m acting right now, baby!” He gestured around at the party with the champagne flute he held delicately in his hand. “What is acting if not lying entertainingly?”

Kravitz frowned. Acting how? Acting happy to see him? About him being handsome? He didn’t have to wait long for his answer. Taako leaned in conspiratorially, and Kravitz mirrored him instinctively.

“I’m crashing this joint,” Taako whispered.

Kravitz almost missed a chord, but found his rhythm again before his brain ran away with his fingers. “You’re what?”

“You know, sneaking in. Doing a grift. Mission Impossible-ing this shit.” He said it like it was self-explanatory, despite being very much not. 

Kravitz blinked. “But… why?”

Taako shrugged. “What else am I gonna do on a Saturday night?” 

He could think of any number of things, including all the things he wished he was doing right now, but he doubted Taako was taking suggestions. 

“Besides,” he continued, “you wouldn’t believe the food they have at some of these things! I must have eaten my weight in caviar this winter!”

Kravitz couldn’t help but smile. At least someone was benefitting from all of this. “Okay, so how do you get in?”

Taako’s eyes lit up with a spark of mischief. “Ooh you’re curious now, huh, Krav? Want Taako to give you the Ocean’s 11 rundown?”

He nodded, half-tempted to start playing David Holmes’ Gritty Shaker, or maybe the Mission Impossible theme, but you could never tell when the piano cop was lurking nearby. 

“First, I need an invitation. The people who get invited to this sort of thing can’t help but brag about it, so there’s always some good reference photos on the ‘gram. Luckily, cha’boy knows the best forger in the biz, and she can whip one of those up in her sleep.” Kravitz nodded, remembering that Taako’s sister was in art school when they were in college and putting two and two together.

“Now, I can hear you thinking, ‘but Taako, oh clever and radiant Taako, don’t they have a guest list they check the invitations with?’ And the answer is yes, but you can get pretty much anyone to bend the rules for you if you’re rich enough, hot enough, or upset enough, and Taako can do all three.” He paused for a sip of champagne, and Kravitz took a moment to be thankful that Taako couldn’t hear his thoughts, which hadn’t been completely coherent since he’d noticed that Taako’s dress was largely backless. 

“Oh, that reminds me,” Taako continued, “if anyone asks, I’m some rich dude’s date and a runway model.”

“You could be,” Kravitz said earnestly, before his brain could catch up with his mouth.

Taako grinned, quick and genuine, and Kravitz’s heart lurched like it was going to fall out through his ribs and onto the keys. 

“Don’t let my fictional crypto-douche boyfriend hear you say that. Although,” he added, giving Kravitz a long look, “I think you could take him.”

Kravitz’s face was burning now. “Pianists… aren’t usually known for their fighting prowess,” he said, his voice barely audible over his rendition of Oh Come All Ye Faithful.

“True,” Taako said, his smile turning sharp enough to slice through whatever defenses Kravitz still had left. “I’ve heard they’re good with their hands, though.”

He really did miss a chord then, and the piano cop hurried over to yell at him again. 

“Now, listen here, young man,” he began, this time really getting into it and waggling his finger in Kravitz’s face. “We hired you because we thought you were a professional, and–”

“Oh my God, Susan, hi!” Taako exclaimed, waving to someone apparently across the room. He stepped back, eyes still fixed on “Susan” rather than where he was going, and tripped over the piano’s leg, flinging the contents of his champagne flute over the piano cop as he stumbled to keep his balance.

“Oh my goodness!” Taako fluttered over the man, his voice suddenly too high and too loud, a slight drag in his speech hinting that he’d had too much champagne already. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry! Please let me help–” 

He made a show of checking his dress for a handkerchief, realizing he didn’t have pockets, and grabbing the piano cop’s ivory silk pocket square in an attempt to sop up the mess he’d made. The piano cop stumbled backward in turn, trying to placate Taako before turning on his heel with Taako in hot pursuit, clucking out apologies the whole way. Kravitz watched the farce in amazement, if possible even more smitten than ever. 

He didn’t see Taako again after that, and he hoped Taako hadn’t gotten in trouble trying to rescue him. It left a hollow feeling in his chest as he walked out to his car. He wished he’d gotten Taako’s number, or even made plans to meet up. Not a date; he wasn’t brave enough for that in college and he still wasn’t brave enough now, but they could at least catch up, and maybe he could work up to it. Then again, maybe it was only fitting for the night to end with one more missed connection. 

He had one last choice to make that night: whether to pick up dinner somewhere or go straight home. On the one hand, he hadn’t eaten anything for about twelve hours now. On the other, he could save money on food if he just crawled into bed and passed out. Never great at keeping his own best interests in mind, Kravitz headed for home.

He dragged himself up three flights of stairs before stopping dead at the end of the hallway that led to his apartment. Someone was sitting in front of his door. Someone in an emerald green dress with hair that was beginning to fall out of its elaborate style. 

"Taako?" Kravitz asked for the second time that night. Taako’s head jerked up, and that warm smile spread over his face again.

“Took you long enough!”

Kravitz hurried towards him, excitement and confusion and relief chasing each other around his head like unruly squirrels. 

“Taako, what are you doing here?”

“Well, I felt bad about not seeing you again, and I remembered how much you sucked at feeding yourself in college, so I thought I’d bring you some goodies!” He gestured to a round, tinfoil-wrapped bundle he was holding. Kravitz continued to stare, half-convinced he was imagining all this.

“The building’s locked. How did you get in?”

Taako rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Krav, cha’boy snuck into one of the most exclusive parties in the city, you think I can’t get into an apartment building? I just waited until a nice older lady let herself in and said, ‘Oh my gosh I’m so sorry, I’m staying with a really nice guy who lives here, but I forgot my phone in my car and I just ran down to get it, and silly me I completely forgot about the front door!’ And then I shivered and channeled my inner wet cat and she let me in!”

Kravitz considered this for a moment, still slightly dazed. While he waited, Taako began unwrapping the bundle, which proved to be a large china plate clearly stolen from the party, piled high with hors d’oeuvres and pastries that Kravitz had seen but hadn’t been able to eat while he was there.

“I brought you all the best ones!” Taako said proudly. “We’ve got some fig and honey canapes, caprese skewers, bruschetta that was, eh, fine, but you can jazz it up with some salt and pepper. Let’s see, what else… we got baklava, eclairs, cannolis, wait, one of those is mine.”

He plucked out a cannoli from the recesses of the foil package and took a large bite, closing his eyes and leaning back against Kravitz’s door with a sigh of contentment. It did not help Kravitz’s thought processes at all.

“Wait,” he said finally, “you said an older lady let you in?”

“Yep! Well, old lady if I’m being honest, white hair, like, a million shawls?”

“Paloma?” If it was Paloma, she talked to him in the hallways sometimes, which meant she was definitely going to ask him about Taako, which meant he was going to have to answer a lot of questions that he didn’t really have a response for yet. Questions like ‘Why are you such a coward, Kravitz? Why couldn’t you ask a guy out in four years when you knew you liked him around day 14 of college? Why are you so bad at dating that even when the guy pops back into your life like a miracle, you still can’t tell him how you feel?’”

“That was it!” Taako gestured towards him with half a cannoli. “She seems real sweet. She said she was gonna bring you scones tomorrow morning, so either I should spend the night or you should come up with a reason why you kicked me out super early.”

Suddenly Kravitz felt very hot again, and a little lightheaded. “Spend the night?”

Taako finished his cannoli and sucked powdered sugar from his fingers, and Kravitz almost managed to be a normal human being about it, until Taako looked up through his eyelashes and made direct eye contact with him while he drew two long, delicate fingers out of his mouth, and Kravitz thought he was going to pass out.

“Is that a question or an invitation, my fella?”

He took a deep breath, shook himself a little, and earnestly pondered this for a moment. On the one hand, God, he missed Taako. He missed having him as a friend, and staying up all night watching bad horror movies, and Taako pointing out which character actors were absolutely killing it while he dissected the intricacies of horror soundtracks. He missed bad dining hall meals where Taako identified every culinary misstep, and the comfort of passing out in each other’s rooms when the stress got too bad to bear alone.

On the other hand, he’d lost touch with him for a reason. It got too painful to keep dancing around it, to watch Taako date other people and know, absolutely for sure know that he didn’t have any right to complain because he never worked up the courage to say anything, but God, it hurt, and if he couldn’t be brave then he at least had to be kind and cut the tie before that hurt rotted their friendship from the inside out. 

That was it, then. He could send Taako home, resign himself to never seeing him again, and try his best to get over it. Or he could invite him in, gather up every ounce of courage he had, and pray that being honest didn’t have the same result.

He offered Taako his hand, still not entirely sure what choice he was making, but Taako allowed Kravitz to pull him to his feet. 

“You’re covered in powdered sugar,” Kravitz said. laughing. “You look like-” He stopped himself before he said the dumb reference he was thinking of, but Taako already knew where he was going.

“Were you going to say I look like fucking Cocaine Bear?” Kravitz’s grimace was the only reply he needed. “You were, you fucking dork! I mean I gotta say, it’s the first time I’ve been called a bear.”

Kravitz snorted. “Come on, that was low-hanging fruit.”

“Now that-”

“Fuck off!”

They stood there until their laughter petered out, hand in hand.

“Here,” Kravitz said, once he’d caught his breath. He laid his hand on Taako’s cheek and brushed sugar away from his face with his thumb. Before he realized it he found himself tracing the curves of Taako’s mouth, saw Taako’s lips part slightly in response. His heart pounded in his chest as Taako looked at him with half-lidded eyes, and he found himself wondering if he’d been the dumbest person alive. He didn’t notice how close they’d gotten until he felt Taako’s breath on his skin. With trembling hands and legs that felt like they might collapse at any minute, he lowered his face to Taako’s and kissed him. 

There was one terrifying moment of freefall, when it was too late to go back and he had no idea if anything would be there to catch him. Then he felt Taako melt into him, one hand clinging to his shirt, the other wrapping around his neck to draw him closer. He put an arm around Taako’s waist and heard him whimper as their hips pressed together, felt the gentle sting of Taako’s teeth against his lip. After what might have been hours or minutes, Taako drew back from the kiss, still completely entwined with him.

“Krav,” he said, breathless, “If you don’t invite me inside in the next ten seconds I swear….”

As though his brain had been jolted back to life Kravitz grabbed his keys from his coat pocket and fumbled them into the lock.

“Come inside,” he said, his voice rough and low. Taako smirked.

“If you insist, hot stuff.”

Before he could object to the double entendre, Taako pulled him through the door and let it swing shut behind them.

[luck-and-larceny]

LFRP - MALIKA (MAL) BAJIHRI

Malika is easy-going, flirtatious, and up for any challenge where a risk or gamble is involved. She’s also incredibly reckless, impulsively throwing herself into one bad idea after another just for the thrill of seeing how Nymeia will ultimately spin her fate.

THE BASICS –––

Name: Malika (Mal) Bajihri

Age: 27

Nameday: Mal doesn’t actually know her own Nameday and, if she did, she wouldn’t give it out; she’d make a new one up every time she was asked. Her actual Nameday is: 17th Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon (October 17th)

Race: Keeper of the Moon, Miqo’te

Gender: Female

Alignment: Joyfully dancing in the rain on that fuzzy line between Chaotic Neutral and Chaotic Good and never committing to either

Relationship Status: Polyamorous; she has surprisingly committed, serious romantic relationships with Evander Winsome and Kestrel Vylbrand . Given her general aversion to commitments, the longevity of these relationships is impressive!

Server: Balmung

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE –––

Hair: Black as night, though she often adds colorful highlights to it. She will dye her hair for jobs she needs to disguise herself for.

Eyes: They’re so dark blue they’re nearly black

Height: 62.4 inches (5′2″)

Build: Unlike many of the adventurers and otherwise hard-working individuals that she associates herself with, Malika is certainly not a muscular goddess carved from stone and steel. In fact, while she is extremely dexterous, she’s a bit softer than her allies. Combat is not her strong suit; She prefers to talk, sneak, or run her way out of conflict. While she stays fit, her body betrays that fighting and hunting are not her pastimes of choice.

Common Accessories: At least one weapon that she hopes not to use (typically daggers), an instrument (usually a wood flute), lockpicks, gambling items (a bit of gil for wagers, playing cards, several sets of dice), a deck of arcanum cards, a hardsilver needle and some thread, a silver pinky ring that spins, a silver swan necklace, and a few small trinkets of sentimental value (not all of them her own).

PERSONAL –––

Profession: Malika would say that she doesn’t have one. She does street performances as a musician and acrobat and engages in high risk wagers at the Gold Saucer. Realistically, Malika… doesn’t have one. She is a thief (pickpocket and infiltration) and con-artist.

Hobbies: Getting into trouble, running headlong into trouble, leaping straight into the arms of trouble. Also: sewing, music performances (flute, harp, lute, singing), fortune telling (sometimes legitimately!; usually as a grift), acrobatics/gymnastics, drinking, getting places she should not be, taking things she should not take, games of chance, flirting, running away, collecting stuffed animals, mercilessly pranking and humiliating the rich and powerful

Residence: Malika does not have one place that she stays and that is by design. But the place most like a permanent home, where she returns to time and again, is a daycare/healing resort in the Mist housing ward.

Birthplace: She doesn’t know. She assumes The Shroud. That’s where she was stolen away as a child anyway.

Patron Deity: Nymeia, the Spinner. And she’s surprisingly devout regarding the goddess’ more fickle aspects: chance, luck, and wagers.

RELATIONSHIPS –––

Spouse: Nope. The only way this will ever happen is if it is for a con or for a joke.

Children: Nope. Nopety nope nope. Nada. Nope. Never.

Parents: She has no idea who her parents are. Similarly, she has little knowledge of Keeper culture in general as she was not raised in a tribe. She was found by a wandering performance caravan when she was a toddler.

Siblings: If she has actual siblings, she doesn’t know. But she has “adopted” a kid sister, a hyur named Maeryn. And she would kill for Maeryn if she had to.

Other Relatives: Shrug.

Pets: Oh no. Malika is not responsible enough to take care of pets. Don’t give her any.

TRAITS –––

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION –––

Smoking Habit: Not usually, she might do it socially every now and then, but it has no particular draw for her otherwise.

Drugs: Not all drugs and not regularly– but, yes.

Alcohol: Oh,yes. Definitely yes. She loves drinking and often does not have the willpower to stop herself.

RP HOOKS –––

Thief: Has someone told you that they have something “unstealable” in an “impenetrable” location? That person definitely wants someone to steal that thing or get into that place. Malika is willing to help with that. Despite being a thief, she dislikes gil and will often do jobs for the promise of mementos rather than money. She specifically wants to do jobs that stick it to those who wield their wealth disparity as a means to exert power over others. Want to do crime? Let's do crime together!

Gambler: Malika believes in Fate, but she also believes that she can gain favor with Nymeia by “keeping her spinning.” She thinks of gambling, dares, taking risks, and the like as a means to court luck and favor with Nymeia by keeping the goddess from getting too bored. It keeps Malika from being bored too! She will accept almost any offer of a good gamble or game of chance. Want to gamble? Let's gamble together!

Con-artist: If you want to interact with Mal, look like an easy mark. From fake fortunes and prophecies, to crafting situations where she can just pickpocket something off your character, Malika is a troublemaker. If she introduces herself by any other name that her actual one, she's scheming. **OOC note: I have her do this so that RP is fun; Malika wants to take advantage of the kindness of strangers, but I don't. This is also the OOC reason why she replaces stolen items with different items. You can tell me if you don't want to deal with this (in fact, please do!)

Never met a bridge she didn't want to burn:  Malika is an unreliable, chaotic, impulsive mess of a Miqo'te. She has stolen from a lot of people. She has conned a lot of people. She has left destruction in her wake. She is also not particularly cautious. If you want to RP someone she stole from, whose place she broke into, or anything like that, I'd be happy to!

Ask for help: She doesn’t really want to get involved in other people’s business. She’ll ignore a problem if she can. But if you ask her for help she will usually begrudgingly be that help. She will definitely help you if you need to escape from authority. She thinks her inability to say ‘no’ to someone in need is a weakness; it might actually be her one redeeming quality.

Talk to her at all: Malika is the cliche curious cat. She finds people fascinating. She enthusiastically throws herself into learning about others and is happy to chat up exactly, oh, let me check my notes… that’s right… everybody.

CONTACT INFORMATION  –––

Contacting me here on tumblr or finding me in game is the best bet. If you see Mal out in the world, please say hello! I’d love her to make more friends (or rivals, depending on what you think would be fun!)

I do have a Discord and I do RP on it. I don’t give that information out right away though. I’d like to interact in game or through tumblr a few times before I feel comfortable giving that information out.

I work a lot so I'm not always around. Sorry!

Other Notes –––

I love doing crime RP, but Malika isn't especially violent and does not particularly want to be involved in violent crimes (Read as: She's so very self-interested that she is especially interested in her self not being injured). If she accidentally gets in over her head, that's fun! But, primarily, she prefers mischievous, petty crime and she's not going to willingly get involved in violent/torture crime stuff. We don't need to have intricate plots for me to have fun. We can just sit around on top of roofs or inside of restaurants having our characters just chat too. I find that just as fun. I'm really easy-going. Here's a link to her Carrd if you like! It has more information if the novel I wrote here somehow isn't enough.

[korya-elana]

Long post ahead, no tl;dr provided. Music has been one of my saving graces through all the hardships in our life. It started from a very early age. I learned the guitar when I was very young. In 5th grade I began the flute. When I was in high school, I self-taught myself the piano. I've made plans to study the cello when I can afford it.

The piano is what really struck a chord. I don't even know why my parents bought the thing in the first place. No lessons were planned. None of us knew how to play. I don't know what drew me to it at first. I self-taught myself which means I had to translate the left hand into the right-hand notes I was so accustomed to. It definitely wasn't easy. But eventually I grew into a rhythm. I translated or I looked at chords and songs on YouTube until I could play them, every single one, by heart.

I would lose myself in the music. Whenever I was triggered or stressed or anxious or something horrible had happened, that piano bench is where you could find me, lost in the weaving colours and sounds of whatever song I was playing at the time. Sometimes I think it's the only reason we really survived as a teenager.

I haven't played in a very long time. My piano is at my parents' house two states away and they won't let me take it because my brother plays too. But he plays and lets them listen.

I never could. My piano was my lifeline. It was for me. It wasn't for any audience. It was my piece. I always resented the way my mother made me perform. The way she'd sneak in to try to listen to me play. I understand. I've been told I'm a talented musician and considered playing flute professionally when I was considering my careers. I’ve performed in band, orchestra and choir.

But it wasn't for her. It was for me. It was my safety and my comfort and my salvation.

Years and years down the line, I'm cleaning my bedroom, listening to music as it always does and one of my favourites by Ludovico Einaudi called "Life" (PLEASE go listen! Einaudi is so, so stunning and often mixes media with his pieces, he was a HUGE inspiration and I used to know so many of his songs by heart) and as they typically do, my fingers started playing in the air. And then I realized I ... couldn't. It wasn't working. My two hands couldn't sink into the graceful tandem movements that let me lose myself so often when I was younger.

I cried. A bit. It was so much more of a gut punch than I was expecting. It feels like I've lost a key part of myself and I haven't felt such an aching desire to return to those lovely ivory keys in a very long time. I have a shit tonne of things to save up for and unfortunately they are more of a priority but maybe someday. Or maybe someday I'll convince my parents to let me have my piano back. I have my flute and my guitar but the guitar doesn't allow me to sink the same way and my health issues make playing the flute for longer than a few minutes immensely difficult.

What a strange way to feel on your 30th birthday. Maybe I'm just reminiscent and afraid of the time I've left behind.

~Em

[missluckycharms]

You, Me and Harry make three. Part One.

Summary: Joey, Izzy and Harry are in a poly relationship. They're head over heels for one another and they can't seem to keep their hands off each another, even when they really need to.

Harry is the Harry Styles, the man who is known for being so open and lovable. He's nervous to let the world see his girls, what would his fans think If he was dating two girls at the same time? And they all shared the one bed and home? He doesn't want to know, he wants them all to himself.

This small story follows the three and their rendezvous together behind the scenes.

Masterlist.

Warnings: Switch!Harry, Mommy kink, slight Daddy kink, FxFxM threesome, fingering, oral sex f+m receiving, Male + Female penetrative sex, Female + Female sex, spanking, choking, hair pulling, sneaking around (?) masturbation and mentions of it, degradation kink, praise kink, dirty talking, anal play, biting, polyamorous relationship.

Warnings apply to both first and second part!

Word count: 3.6k words.

A/N: There will be a part two, keep your eyes out for it. I also envision the women with Blonde and Brown hair, but you can apply any hair colour you want to this scenario, I just wanted to give a description to people who find it hard to imagine people :)

—

Adrenaline.

It's rushing through Harry's veins as he finishes his last concert of his first ever world tour. His body covered in sweat from singing Kiwi and total of three times and his suit jacket is for a fact dripping from all the dancing he did, his body isn't exhausted, no, it's hyped up and he could go out and perform again if he could.

It's a bittersweet moment ending the tour he thinks, on one hand he has more time to himself, more time for friends and family but on the other hand he doesn't get to do what he loves every night for at least another year, which is perform for thousands of people.

The crew is cheering and slapping him on the back as he walks off, the band following him as they all congratulate one another on completing the whole tour. There's tears, tight hugs and even a champagne bottle popped by Mitch, for someone who seems emotionless he was the most emotional one amongst them all. He basically cried into his champagne flute.

Harry pulls himself away from the crew celebration after an hour or two, his phone buzzing in his back pocket non stop as he tried to converse and have a fair well party with his whole crew — he knew exactly who was texting him, and they won't be happy he isn't responding like he usually does.

His phone is filled with messages, some from Joey and some from Izzy and a few more in the group chat they all have together. Harry is scrolling through them all as he sits in the back of the car on the way to their hotel room. He lets out a shaky breath when he sees two photos — one of Izzy wearing a bright pink lingerie set, her dark hair all around her while Joey wears a dark cobalt blue set, her platinum blonde hair vibrant against the lace.

Izzy is laying down as Joey looks at the camera between her legs, the picture being from Izzy's perspective while the second photo is similar, but this time Izzy's panties are off and Joey's head is nuzzled into her pussy.

If anyone knew what Harry Styles was hiding behind the scenes they would be shocked, he's hiding two beautiful women who are in plain sight for all his fans to see, the pair helping out the crew and makeup department on tours while only the three of them know what they do behind closed doors. It's somewhat thrilling to have this secret, it's spurs them on more and even makes them act out and fuck one another in public places, such as Harry's dressing room or even his tour bus when all the rest of the band is asleep — they all seem to get off on their little dirty secret.

Harry never wanted to hide his girls, he feels guilty for doing so. But to protect them and himself from the hate and backlash they would get for this, he settled on keeping them himself only. Sure, there's times where they'd want to go to a restaurant, hold hands all together and feed one another dessert like couple do, but they have to settle on a professional looking dinner, each spread around the table with a large gap between them all as they try and keep their hands away from one another, cameras flashing outside and update accounts flashing the images labelling Harry to be at a business dinner.

It does take a toll on them, some nights they all cry together and hold one another when one of them has to leave and see family, they all aren't ready to tell their families so when one leaves it's like something is ripped from them, it's like they're missing a piece of themselves. Harry is the one who's away a lot, giving the media to calm down on the speculations that Harry is dating one of them — it's mainly always Joey because she's blonde and seen as "Harry's type" because of that, both of his girls are his type.

They take small vacations together, the three of them locked away in a villa in Italy or even in Spain, their own private space to lounge by the pool together or even show affection to one another more openly around the foreign country — but then cameras show up snd Harry is immediately hurrying the girls inside as he pays off the paparazzi to not leak the photos.

It's tiring, they're all exhausted from hiding, but it's what they have to do.

Harry chuckles darkly as he looks at the photos, his hand sliding down to palm himself through his suit pants as he types out a message with one hand, a lazy smile on his face as the driver doesn't suspect a thing.

Harry: told you both to wait, you know what happens when you disobey me, my girls.

It's not long after he sent the message that he's parked outside the hotel, the driver opening his door as a security guard walks out and helps Harry into the hotel under all the preying eyes of fans and paparazzis who seem to love blinding him every second with their flashes and asking him ridiculous personal questions that you wouldn't even ask someone who is on trial.

His security guard walks him as far as the elevator, Harry saying he can do the rest by himself — but in reality he didn't want anyone but him to hear the sweet little moans that are probably coming from his suite right now.

"Couldn't even wait two hours for Daddy, huh?" He says deeply walking into the room, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up as the two girls both look at him on the bed, Izzy nearly passing out from pleasure as Joey smiles evilly from where she's sat between Izzy's legs.

Izzy makes grabby hands at Harry which he immediately melts at the sight, she's the more submissive one in the relationship, leaving Harry and Joey to be the more dominant ones, and when Harry is submissive it's usually Joey fucking Izzy before him as he watches.

"Feeling good pup?" He asks Izzy brushing a strand of her hair from her face, her eyes glazed over and mouth slight parted as Joey teases her, sucking and nipping at her clit as Harry rests beside them both.

"Yes Daddy" Izzy says softly, licking the thumb that Harry brushes over her bottom lip, he slowly pushes it into her mouth as she takes it in with a small whine and suckling noises are heard from her pretty mouth.

"That's a good girl. You enjoying yourself down there?" He asks Joey more sternly, she loves when he's stern with her, while Izzy loves it when he dotes on her.

"Mmh yeah, such a pretty tasting pussy" she teases him, keeping her eyes on his as she licks a big stripe up Izzy's centre, Harry's cock twitching in his pants at the sight as Izzy keeps sucking on his thumb.

"Hope you've had your fun puppies, because you both know how Daddy hates it when you disobey him" he says with a small laugh, the two girls looking at him as he removes himself from the bed, standing tall as he strips down to his boxers.

"C'mere my girls, wanna feel both of you suck my cock" he says palming himself as he watches Izzy cum on Joey's tongue before they both jump off the bed and into their knees.

"I'm only obeying because tonight is your night, prepare for you to lose all control tomorrow, Daddy" Joey says, Harry already knowing she means what she says as he smiles at her.

"I'll look forward to it Jo, darling" is all he says as he runs both of his hands through each of their hairs, one hand on Joey's head with her hair wrapped around his arm, as the other has Izzy's hair wrapped around it, guiding them both to his clothed cock.

"Take me out, go on, know you both missed Daddy's cock" he moans out when they both palm him through his underwear, their hands immediately pulling down his boxers as he kicks them off, standing tall as both girls look up at him innocently through their eyelashes.

They both flatten their tongues and run them up either side of his cock, Harry immediately tightening his grip on their hairs and throwing is head back a little as he grunts under his breathe at the feeling. They both suck the head of his cock, their tongues in each other's mouths a little as they dance along the slit collecting his pre cum as he nearly buckles under the feeling and view he has of his girls.

"That's it, suck Daddy's cock" he breaths out through moans, his eyes fighting to stay open so he can watch every move his girls make.

The room is filled with heavy grunts and moans, small whines and sucking sounds from them all, Harry throwing his head back as he curses loudly into the air, Joey and Izzy working on his cock fast and messily just how he likes it. He's nearly scent into a frenzy when Izzy focus's on his head and pumps the rest in her hand while Joey sucks his balls into her mouth, dribbling and moaning around them which vibrates through Harry's body sending shivers all over and erupting goosebumps on his skin.

"Need to fuck you both now, onto the bed" he says sternly, taking their heads away as they both whine and try to get back onto him. Gentle slaps to their cheeks cause both girls to scurry over onto the bed, kneeling down and watching as Harry rests onto the bed, back against the head board as he begins to stroke himself.

"Izzy, do you wanna ride Daddy first? Yeah?" He asks and he chuckles lighty when Izzy nods in excitement, crawling onto his lap as he welcomes her into his embrace.

"Joey, sit on my face, gonna eat that pretty cunt of yours while I fuck our darling little Izzy" Joey smiles darkly at this, both of them looking at Izzy who's smiling cheekily against Harry's chest, her petite frame lost in his broad one.

Harry lays completely on his back, Joey coming to sit down on his face, as Izzy teases herself with the head of his cock. Joey faces Izzy, their mouths immediately catching in a sloppy kiss as Harry helps Izzy slide himself into her. She doesn't move, she grinds down a little as Joey's tongue explores her mouth, her tattoo hand holding the petite girls face as Harry holds onto Joey's plush thighs, his face nearly being smothered but he loves it — he wants to be smothered by her thighs always.

"Look at you Izzy baby, taking me all, such a good girl for me" Harry says lowly, looking at Izzy from between Joey's legs as Izzy begins to move, Harry immediately grabbing Joey's thighs and sitting her flush onto his face, his nose resting on her tightest hole as his tongue flicks and sucks at her pussy.

"Ride Daddy's cock Iz, fuck yourself until you cum like a good girl" Joey whispers to Izzy, her hand holding the girl by the jaw as she speaks to her, their lips inches apart as Izzy falls apart on Harry, the feeling sending her into oblivion as she bounces harder and faster, erupting guttural moans from Harry.

"Is he making you feel good Jo?" Izzy asks, her voice a slight tremble as she moans loudly watching as Joey grinds herself down onto Harry's tongue with force.

"Yeah, but you're making him feel so much better baby, hear him? Hear him moan into my pussy because of the work you're doing?" Joey asks as Izzy smiles lazily at her, her words making her go faster and faster on Harry's cock which ends in him meeting her bounces with thrusts of his own.

"That's it, fuck her Daddy, fuck her so good" Joey moans out loudly, grabbing Izzy before she crashes down onto Harry, holding the girl in her arms as Harry fucks up into her with all his strength.

"Fuck, yes right there Daddy" Joey moans out, Harry fucking his tongue into her while he fucks Izzy hard, the two girls holding onto one another as Harry pleases them both.

It's not long before they both cum with screams of his name and a mixture of Daddy between them all, Joey being the loudest as Izzy is barely able to speak or keep her eyes open over how fucked she is.

"Feeling okay puppy?" Harry asks when Izzy is laid out on his chest, his cock slipped out of her as she comes down from her high, Joey beside him as they both cradle Izzy and help her calm down.

"M'okay, just tired Daddy" she slurs out, the two helping her lay down onto the bed, Joey laying beside her as Harry positions himself on top of a smiling Joey.

Izzy turns her head to watch the two, Harry immediately bending down to kiss her softly as Joey kisses Harry's jawline and runs her hands over his bare chest lightly, her fingers playing with his dangling necklaces as her legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind him.

"My two pretty girls, all fucked out" Harry whispers as Joey pushes her hips up to him, signalling she's ready as he pecks Izzy's face before pulling away and focusing back down on Joey.

"Eager little thing aren't you? Such a slut for Daddy" he says to her, their lips inches apart as Izzy gasps at his language, Joey smirking and enjoying every last word that drips from his mouth towards her.

"You're also a slut for me Daddy, don't lie" she fires back, Harry shaking his head as he lines himself up with her pussy.

"Right now, you're my little slut, take it all for me, yeah?" He says kissing her chest as he pushes himself in, her moans immediately filling the room as Izzy runs her fingers over the lace bralette on Joey's skin, her head right next hers as they both look up at Harry.

"Come on Daddy, fuck me like a whore" Joey whines out as Harry begins to pound into her harshly, his balls hitting her ass as she sets a fast pace that has Joey's eyes rolling into the back of her head.

"You're going to hard Daddy, gonna hurt Jo" Izzy says nearly crying, Harry immediately bringing a hand to her face and cradling it as the other cradles the back of Joey's pulling her hair lightly.

"She likes it hard baby, she likes Daddy to wreck her pussy and call her his little slut" he says softly and calmly to Izzy who pouts before pecking his lips.

"Harder Daddy, please" Joey moans out, Harry immediately thrusting faster and faster as he holds both of his girls in his arms, Joey's legs wrapped around him as Izzy pecks his bicep every now and then with small giggles.

"Yeah? Want it harder, does my little slut want it harder? Does she want me to fucking wreck her and make her unable to walk for days?" He asks sinisterly as Joey babbles and moans under him, her words slurred and her eyes leaking tears at the intense pleasure she's feeling.

"Wreck my pussy Daddy, fucking ruin me, yes!" She screams out when Harry hits her spot over and over again, Izzy's small fingers now rubbing circles over her clit as the two of them coax her towards an orgasm, which hits her hard and fast.

"C'mere, wanna kiss you both before I cum" he moans out, his hips slowly down as his two girls push their heads together so Harry can bend down and take both of their mouths at the same time, their tongues everywhere as they all moan and grab onto one another.

"Come on Daddy, cum for us" they both moan out, looking up as Harry kneels on the bed over the two of them, their hands on their boobs pushing them up as he strokes himself fast, his eyes rolling back and his body covered in sweat.

"Gonna look so pretty painted in my cum, my two pretty babies all fucked out beneath me" he moans out, their tongues out flat as he finally cums, spirts and ropes of his cum coat their chests and some splashes up onto their tongues as they swallow it greedily, their fingers rubbing through his cum painting them more as Harry watches in awe, completely spent.

"I love you both, so much" he says smiling at them, their faces glowing and their own smiles on their faces as they look at him like he's the best thing in their worlds — which he is.

"We love you too H, right Iz?" Joey asks Izzy who's trying to fight off sleep, her small nod and smile is enough for Harry as he coos over how cute she looks, her cheeks blushing at his complements as Joey kisses her face all over making her giggle out, Harry kissing Joey's as they all attack one another with kisses gently with laughs in between.

"Think it's time for a bath, huh?" Joey laughs out as Harry agrees, Izzy laughing also as they both lay next to one another covered in Harry's release.

"Don't move, I'll be back" Harry says, the pair of girls whistling and cheering him on as he runs to the bathroom butt ass naked, his laugh loud as he wets two wash cloths with warm water.

"Are you two ever gonna not laugh at my ass?" He asks kneeling over them again, one hand clutching a cloth and washing Izzy while the other washes Joey and gets rid of his cum from their skin.

"It's funny! It's so soft and squishy looking when it jiggles!" Izzy laughs out, Joey beside her nearly snorting as she laughs along, Harry laughing and shaking his head as he throws the cloths into a laundry bin.

"You have a cute butt Mr Styles" Joey says kissing his nose as he flops his body down onto them, one of their legs resting on his waist as he rests his head between their breasts, both of their fingers running through his hair.

"We can't stay like this" Joey is the first to speak up in a few minutes, sleep nearly taking over them all before she realises they need to clean up and get ready for bed — Izzy needs to do her skincare routine while Harry needs to drink his nightly cup of tea.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Come on, bath time" Harry groans, grabbing his boxers and sliding them back on to avoid anymore comments on his bare ass, the two girls avoid eye contact with him as they bite back their laughs looking at one another.

"I can hear you both laughing!"

"We aren't laughing!"

"Yes you are!"

"Nope!"

The three of them have been dating for almost a year now, everyday bringing something new but their love for one another grows by the second. Harry cherishes small moments with them, heck, he cherishes all moments with them. When they step outside together Harry addresses them as part of his crew to not raise any suspicion. But all he wants to do is scream at the top of his lungs that these two beautiful women are his girlfriends.

Just as Harry is filling the bath, adding Izzy's favourite bath bomb and setting out Joey's favourite body wash for her, a shout and a hard knocking is heard from behind the front door to the suite, causing the two girls laughs and conversation to stop.

They look at him as he holds up a finger to his lips, shushing them both as they nod watching as he heads for the door. He opens it slowly, only revealing his head. Jeff stands outside, his hand running through his hair as he jumps when Harry opens the door.

"There's fans outside, they won't leave until you come out. Please just walk out and show your face or something" Jeff says nearly passing out with anxiety, his hands shaking from how nervous he was being bombarded with the fans who are lined up outside the hotel at nearly midnight.

"Okay, I'll be down in a few" Harry sighs, knowing guilt will eat him alive if he doesn't see his fans, but he'll also feel guilty letting the girls bathe alone and be without him for awhile again.

"We heard, go down to them. We'll have a bath and you" Joey says walking over to Harry, Izzy beside her as they hold hands, Izzy shorter than the two as she looks at them softly. "Can bring us all up some wine when you're coming back up, sound good?" Joey finishes as Harry smiles looking at them both.

"Yes Ma'am's"

[liyuesbian]

inazuma characters (+ aether, lumine, signora) and what instruments i think they'd play

part three of my genshin characters and what instruments i think they'd play series! part one / part two

notes: not sure if i've correctly characterised sayu but i tried! signora's instrument was also pretty hard to think of.. i don't rly think she would play one tbh. might make a revised edition once we get to know the inazuman characters better!

ayaka

100% plays the koto

damn she looks so pretty in a kimono while playing the instrument *heart eyes*

isn't used to compliments so will combust when you tell her how wonderful her performance was

makes other musicians resent their instrument LOL

baal

plays the cello

appears very distant and 2cool4u but will make cupcakes for each orchestra member when it's their birthday

instead of putting her instrument inside its "extremely expensive, high-tech carbon fibre case", she'll unconsciously lay it down on its side and make some complicated construct with music stands and chairs, thus blocking an exit :P

gorou

plays the bassoon

the conductor's pet, tries their hardest to impress them

sheet music is covered in written notes

goes into panic mode when he can't find his neck strap

kazuha

has mastered every kind of japanese flute

is the type to go to the park and switch between reciting poems and playing the flute to assert dominance and secrerly enjoys the stares/attention

specially chooses certain flutes depending on the weather

*flute starts playing* everyone else: "where did all these cherry blossoms come from????"

kokomi

soprano singer i.e. the one with the highest vocal range

:OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

always feels the need to lead the choir through everything, even when rehearsals are over

"oh? another solo? you shouldn't have!"

sara

violinist

has perfect pitch and is just naturally good at music

can effortlessly play all paganini caprices without even looking at the sheet music

everyone thinks she's a badass when she plays her electric violin and but she prefers the acoustic bc it's her baby :')

sayu

second chair violin

some days, she looks at the first chair seat and whispers "soon"

other days, says she dgaf, brings a blanket out, and tries to fit in time in rehearsals for a li'l snooze

is normally late to everything but she has the ninja skills to sneak in and pretend she was always there (probably bc she's tiny.. and a 2nd chair jkjk)

scaramouche

the fucking organ

"there is always time for a dramatic entrance" *villain origin story*

parents make him play at church but he's secretly an atheist

and his friends tell him to play in parties which always ticks him off because they then proceed to show him to a keyboard i.e. the inferior instrument... the OPACITY

thoma

trombone

prefers playing the bass trombone because the fart sounds are super deep ;)

depending on the day, he either plays very good or very bad, no in between

sneaks vodka (and his pet dog) into rehearsals to share with childe

yae

double bass

goes with the flow most of the time

nobody knows what she's thinking during rehearsal—she's so chill that everyone in the orchestra has their own theories about what she's really like:

is she a stripper at night? maybe she does nothing and sleeps in bed all day? who really knows?

yoimiya

bibbity-bobbity-boo! i assign the drums to you!

constant head banging

once, she was drumming her fingers without much thought against the table during class and accidentally disclocated a finger

*nervous laugh* "oops!"

aether

oboeist

malding, ugly crying when a non-musician calls it a clarinet

obsessed with his reed, has probably made an instagram account just for it

made a mistake? why not blame it on the reed!

la signora

euphonium player

nobody will forget about her instrument any longer!

will diss your playing ability if you call it a tuba

is probably the most likely to quit band/orchestra after a year (bc who needs the euphonium amirite? JKJK don't kill me euphoniums) but somehow becomes the judge at your next audition >:D

lumine

flute

if she's first chair, will fight people to keep it

otherwise, plots a way to get rid of the people in the chairs above her

loves her twin but please, can he actually learn to play his instrument properly bc at this point, he's playing the reed and not the oboe

[deepseavibez]

Nerve_14.1 || KNJ

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Nerve [Namjoon x Reader]

Prompt - @casnextdoor

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Part 13 || Relinquish

Part 14.1 || Pretenses

Part 14.2 || Pretenses

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Genre - cheating; aftermath; husband au;

Summary - You would never expect it really. He's doting. He's sweet. He's hardworking. But he's forgotten his morals. Suspecting it is one thing, but when he confirms it, will you stay or walk away.

Warning - Cheating(Aftermath); Confusion; Sadness; Pure Angst! Mental Edging;

Word Count - 4.6k

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'You know, everyone can see you chewing.'

You watched your bodyguard chew slower as he side-eyed you and your lips twitched. 

'No ones gonna say anything if you pick up a plate and pile all the shrimp onto it and just eat.' You shook your head in exasperation. 

To think he was stoic and cold when you just met him. He was a clown. 

'Come on, y/n. How do I protect you with a plate in my hand.' He supplied, with a 'duh' tone, not even looking your way. 'It'll be such a waste of good shrimp if I have to drop the plate, and I will have to drop the plate.'

'Okay then, stand next to the shrimp all night and sneak them in one by one, great plan,' you sarcastically held two thumbs up to him. 'You'll do great protecting me while you're all the way over here.'

You checked that your clutch was closed properly before grabbing your champagne flute and moving forward. 

'Wait, you're walking around?' 

You turned back and raised an eyebrow at your future brother-in-law. 

'But you don't do these parties without one of the guys. And Joon's,' his eye twitched, 'busy.' 

'Well,' you shrugged, wishing you had more confidence in your mingling skills. 'I have to learn sometime.'

You clasped your clutch in front of you, waving your glass on the other, 'Stay here, I'll be back. I might make better conversation if you're not hovering.'

'But -,' he took a small step forward. 

'I know, I know it's not protocol, and you'll be restless, but look around Ken,' you motioned with your hand, 'you were at the security briefing this afternoon, you know how many guards are here.' You pursed your lips, 'and if I leave the room, I'll get you first. Cool?'

He stayed silent, contemplating your words and you waited for his acknowledgement before making a move. 

'Any sign of trouble y/n, anything at all, I'm right here. And I will intervene.' 

Warmth folded across you, he really did care, even if this was his job. You winked and turned toward the party. 

The studio hall was big, much bigger than a simple event hall or wedding venue. It had to have room for socializing, the bar and food and three stages surrounding the main floor for performances. 

It was multipurpose, for pitches, performances, celebrations, charity events and other add miscellaneous activities like team building and staff parties. 

Right now the white walls were decorated with champagne and black drapes. The two side stages were made sociable platforms by placing chairs and cocktail tables on them; you'd walked off from the one on the right. Two  staircase entrances that faced you on your left side had peonies draped across the balustrades, twirling then dropping dramatically; intertwined with tiny lights, it looked beautiful. 

It wasn't hard to spot your family. Jin looked to be deep in discussion with Yoongi and a couple producers. 

Jimin and Jungkook stood by the DJ, who was set up on the main stage to your right. Taehyung stood above them on the balcony, champagne flute in one hand, the other resting on the balustrade, his feet crossed over as he surveyed the room. 

They all looked amazing. Their tuxedos were tailor made, their hair all black for the first time in ages, and you felt so much pride in knowing all of them. 

As for your husband, you tried to not search for him, but… 

The first thing you noticed when you caught sight of him was that his dimples were showing. His smile was so wide as he spoke to Lirrah you couldn't help but stare for a second longer in awe. He was so lovely. For all of that moment it didn't matter that you hadn't been the reason behind his smile, it didn't, it just mattered that he was happy. 

Then your chest felt heavy as you remembered how that moment came to be.

'Let's not bore y/n with details, Lirrah. I'll catch up with you later, y/n.'

You closed your eyes against the disrespect. As if you hadn't done courses on music theory because of the band you married into. As if you hadn't spent time analyzing and learning and searching up YouTube videos to understand how music production worked.

Were you a writer, no, were you going to ever produce, of course not, but you would be able to keep a conversation going, it would show that you cared to learn, that you tried and made an effort. 

'I thought you took music theory when I met you.' Kenta had leaned in to ask. 

You couldn't keep the sarcasm out of your voice. 'Apparently that's not good enough.'

Nevertheless, you'd been well and truly dismissed, and you understood why. He needed time alone. It wouldn't do well to flirt or get to know someone when a third wheel was present. 

You clenched your teeth as you grabbed a flute from a passerby waiter and walked slowly toward the seating area, doing your best to keep your emotions off your face. 

He was trying to get under your skin, and you would not let it work. He needed to take this seriously, and if that took you acting like a total bitch the whole time -- so be it. 

Turning away fast as Joon's head moved in your direction you acted as carefree as possible as you walked toward the other set of cocktail tables across the room. You were gunning for one specific person within the crowd, allowing complete appreciation to be shown on your face. 'I believe congratulations are in order.' You reached out to wrap your arms around your legal representative and friend, 'I'm so happy for you, Ji-ho.'

'Thanks y/n.' He returned your hug, patting your back lightly. 'It's been years in the making.' He added as an afterthought. 

You rolled your eyes internally. 'Finally, someone competent to work with.' You bounced on your heels making a frog face. 'I would gladly sign anything you give me.' 

He laughed. 'I can't quite believe it yet.' He brushed the back of his head slightly embarrassed at your unrestrained emotions. 'But things are going so well too. Everyone listens to me.'

You sniggered above your glass of champagne. 'That's because you're not an asshole.' You downed it in one gulp, side-eyeing your husband as he smiled at Lirrah. 'What happened to him?' You attempted to distract yourself, eyes not leaving his form, but facing Ji-ho all the same.

'Well, Mrs. Kim Y/n, contrary to what he made it out to be, you have stolen many more hearts in this company.' 

You turned to Ji-ho in confusion. 'What do you mean?' 

'Well,' he rested his arms on the tabletop, and leaned toward you, 'the president didn't stand for it, of course,' his right eye winced in agreement, 'and manager hyung was livid.' Ji-ho motioned with his hand, 'He actually questioned the hiring process.' Reaching for his own glass of champagne he smirked at you, 'We all care about you.'

You smiled despite yourself. Despite the circumstances. Despite everything that was happening right under your nose. 

'But hey,' You placed your palm flat on the table, 'if you ever need anything from me, anything regarding his life or his career, I won't hesitate.'

'No y/n.' His reaction was immediate. 'You've sacrificed enough. If you decide to go your separate ways, you will be taken care of. We won't buy you out and we will help you find a new place, check in every few months on your stability. Financially or otherwise. Anything untoward happens, for any reason that remotely relates to Namjoon, we will see to personally.' He took your hand between his palms,'You and every significant other after this, is my responsibility.'

'Ji-ho you don't have to -,' 

'Ah, shush.' He patted your hand. 

'But -,'

'Mmmm mmmm,' he shook his head again. 

'Bu -,' 

'Nope.' He popped the 'p'.

You sighed exasperated, removing your hand from his, you rested your chin on it and your eyes moved around the party again. Not wanting to search, but doing so anyway. 

'You know something though.'

Your eyes found Ji-ho as he started his sentence.

'My respect for you has grown.'

You squinted. A confused pout forming on your face. 

'The way you handled this, the way you handled Jong-woo, even now, your husband is not next to you, but you're playing the pretty butterfly wife. And it's so strong of you. But,' he tilted his head sideways, 'When is it y/n's turn for life and living, huh?'

Your lips curved up on one end, in amusement. 'I live and I'm alive.' You sounded unconvincing to your own ears. 

He looked at you in sympathy. 'You're in survival mode. You know you have a lot more to live for. This isn't the same woman that threw a stapler at my head for trying to buy her out of being Namjoon's girlfriend.'

You replied smugly, remembering the day you met Ji-ho clearly. 'I think it says something that I'm now his wife.' You felt a lash of pain, at the thought of not being his wife anymore. 

Your hands came down to rest in front of you. Absently your finger traced the outline of the gold swirl on the tablecloth. 'Ji-ho, can I ask you for a favor?' You didn't look up at him as you asked, you didn't trust yourself. 

'Whoever, uhm, whoever, he falls for, next, I mean, just, take care of him, okay?'

He didn't miss a beat with his answer. 'You'll take care of him just fine y/n, we'll fight for him together.'

'Y/n!'

You were snatched out of the deep conversation as a high pitched squeal headed in your direction. 

A few heads whipped your way and Kenta was halfway across the main floor before you motioned with your hand for him to go back. 

'Kae-Lee! I haven't seen you in ages, I didn't even know you'd be back in time.' You wrapped your arms around the brown haired ball of energy.

Ji-ho caught your eye and you nodded at him as he left. 

Turning back to the excited lady in front of you, she returned your hug with enthusiasm. 'Y/n! It's so good to see you. I wasn't supposed to be back this early. But I got a few days off since it's the end of the year and what not. Figured I'd spend some time with mom and dad.'

You pulled away as she spoke and kept one of her hands in yours. 

Kae-Lee was a twenty-five year old concept artist with impeccable taste and insight. She had just started as an intern when you first met Namjoon and you'd hit it off since your first concept photo shoot. 

At the time she was assisting, now she traveled the world because of her demand. She worked with idols, musicians and artists alike, took part in high-end photography for fashion shows and designer lines and even did free shows with her locally based company for animal shelters around the world. 

'I've missed you,' you squeezed her hand and pouted. 'I missed the ideas and the perspective, like you used to explain things to me. A lot of the artists are so closed up about their work. Which is like redundant because I see it anyway considering I'm on site if I'm free.' 

She scrunched her nose. 'Don't feel too bad, I think they're just protective. But how are things, are you holding up okay?'

'You know how damage control works when it comes to those men.'

You wanted to tell her the truth. You'd known her for years after all. But Kae wasn't family. The boys only knew because they spent so much time with all of you. 

Even then, only Hobi knew the most. 

Some things were better unsaid, even if Namjoon's actions were confusing or your words fell on deaf ears. 

'She was honestly an unintentional person. He went out with his high school friends that night and he met her, and it so happened that they were shot together. You know how the press is.'

She shook her head in disappointment. 'They made it seem so bad. I was so worried. And the day they bombarded you at Clandy's,' her eyes narrowed menacingly, 'I was livid.'

You decided to change the subject, not wanting to talk about it.

'Don't worry about all of that, I'm good, see. Now, tell me how's work?' You grabbed another champagne flute from a tray. 

'Work is amazing.' She smiled widely. 'It's been a wonderful change of scenery with this travel project. I've learnt so much and seen so much.' 

'Change of scenery can do that. Thinking of it myself.'

She must have heard something in your tone because her smile waned. 'So things aren't that great, are they?' 

'Hmm, need to know? Does that make sense?' 

She closed up slightly. You expected as much. It was instinct to protect yourself once you realized you gave more than the other person, but she was mature about it. 'I'm a bit disappointed but I can't say I'm surprised. When it comes to those men, the less people know the better. But y/n I'm here if you need to talk. We know this world and how to navigate it.'

'Thank you.' You were genuinely grateful for her offer. 

Looking around as a comfortable silence descended on you both, your eyes brushed over the figure still on the balcony, watching your interaction. You leaned into Kae-Lee wanting to tease her, just for the hell of it. 'By the way, Tae is up there.' You rolled your eyes upward, trying not to be too obvious. 

She immediately craned her neck to find him; it was her turn to blush when she met his gaze. So her crush on the older male hadn't changed, good to know. 

'He looks preoccupied, should I even go say hi. What if I'm disturbing him?' She bit her lip and kept glancing up nervously. 

'He's at a party. And he's standing alone. You can say hi,' you tried to reassure her. 

'Okay I'm going for it.' She made jazz hands and shook out her body. 'If he pushes me off the balcony,' she started walking backwards and pointed at you, 'you know my laptop password. Clear the thing. Wayyy too many Kim Taehyung pics around there.' You laughed at her. She didn't even smile as she said it, which meant she wasn't joking. 

But then you understood. You had just as many pictures of Namjoon, and that amount doubled since you met him. 

Your eyes followed her figure as she turned forward and walked toward the stairs. 

Unintentionally your gaze shifted to Namjoon who happened to be standing at the foot of the staircase. His arm was draped across the balustrade, resting above Lirrah's head, his other hand around a glass of champagne, while she looked up at him entirely focused on their conversation. 

Your jaw set; they looked akin to a couple. A guy trying to woo a girl, a sultry smirk and a shy smile. In all fairness, Lirrah genuinely looked up to Namjoon, she respected him and his work ethic, she also didn't seem like the type to go after a married man, but what did you know? 

As for Namjoon - wait, you wanted this to happen. Yeah, so things were going well. 

Yep. Even if anyone at the party looked at them right now and saw them as a perfect couple, it was fine. Even if they thought Namjoon wasn't with his wife because of the rumors that they 'couldn't withstand' , it was fine. Even if Lirrah seemed like a better match for Namjoon… It. Was. Fine. 

'If you hold onto that glass any tighter it's going to shatter in your hands.' 

You looked up to find Jin sauntering over to where you stood, a sympathetic curve on his lips that easily gentled you. You looked at your clenched fist around the glass and loosened your hold, placing it on the stand in front of you and flexing your hand lightly. 

You smiled at your so-called adopted eldest brother when he finally stood across from you. 'You look handsome, as always.'

'Ah ah, y/n. Don't try to distract me. But,' he fixed his tie absently, 'I am the best dressed here.' 

'I don't know, Jinnie,' you played along as you watched his smug self fold, pull up his collar and fold it down again, 'Jungkook could give you a run for your money tonight.' 

He searched for the maknae in question. 

'Over there at the DJ booth, chatting to Clari.'

His eyes narrowed as he set his sights on the youngest. 'He's using the same brand of tux as me. And why is he flirting with the make-up artists? More importantly, why is he flirting with my make-up artist.'

Your lips twitched in amusement. The war between the oldest and the youngest was never ending and would go on for years. It only made sense really, Jin did take Jungkook's make-up artist out on a date, so naturally the youngest had to pay in kind.

You would say something, but you would remain objective. Picking sides in the dorm didn't bode well, mostly because the scales tipped fast. 

'You're still the center of attention lovely Jin,' you whispered smugly.  

He removed his attention from Jungkook and turned to you and you did your best to remain playful, against the slight turmoil starting up inside you. 

'I have a feeling I am definitely not the center of yours.' He leaned his elbows on the cocktail table in front of you.

You wanted to play along. You really did, but the fake smile that started at the edge of your lips dropped into a frown. You sighed sadly. 

'I'm not really sure what I'm doing right now. I shouldn't be here. I could have just as easily spent the night at Yuna's or something.'

'I'm not sure what to tell you, y/n. On one hand I know he deserves what he's going through. But I also feel for him.' He glanced at Namjoon who moved to casually lean against the staircase, his body closer to hers. 

'I don't blame you for that,' you answered as you watched a brunette walk up to him and place a hand on his shoulder. 

He shook her hand and smiled politely at her. She wore a plain black dress, and had a tag around her neck. So she's a reporter. 

'I've never seen him this way.' You pulled your eyes away from them and focused on Jin. 'There have been bad days at the studio. Writer's block, not getting the song arrangement, missing deadlines, but I've never seen him this blocked, this haggard. He's even missed meals and hasn't slept and been an absolute cranky pants, but he's not himself, love. He misses you.'

You knew what Seokjin was doing. He was rallying, doing his best to fight for both of you, and you loved him for it, you did, but this just wasn't easily fixed. 

'I don't know what you want me to say.'

'You don't have to say anything. It's all on him. But y/n, what you're doing right now is not fair.'

You swallowed against the thickness in your throat, refusing to look up and meet his gaze. 'What am I doing?' 

He didn't answer, just reached for your glass and sipped your champagne. 

You felt like a child being scolded. Seokjin was so calm and unaffected. He was impervious to drama and dramatic emotions, the most calm, the most collected, certainly could rival any level of immaturity, but how did you argue with someone who stayed silent and tall. Unbending in their stance. 

'You know when I first met you,' as he swirled the last bit in your glass, 'there was this fire, this determination, where what you wanted was what you wanted and what was yours, was yours. No girl could get near him. And that didn't matter because his eyes were all for you. And now, you've pushed him to at least three new girls in the past month alone.

You fiddled with your bracelet. Not wanting to answer. You knew what you were doing but why did you feel so wrong about it. Why did it hurt to be questioned about your intentions and actions? If you believe in your own resolve, it shouldn't be this hard. Unless you were just scared of their reactions. Yes. That was it. That had to be it. 

'And now you're making yourself look busy, letting him mingle alone at a party.' 

'Hey,' you met his gaze with equal defense as to meet his accusations, 'he left me alone.' 

'He baited you and you took it. You're smarter than this.'

'What do you want me to do about it? This is good for him, this is better.' You wished you believed yourself. You wished your heart didn't feel like lead as you said the words. 'He needs to find someone else.'

'He has you.'

'No he does not. Maybe I outgrew him.'

He scoffed. 'Please, you still watch Scooby-Doo movies on weekends. Don't talk about growing.'

You were offended. More so than when he was talking about Namjoon. 'Scooby-Doo is iconic.' 

'Namjoon and Y/n are iconic.' He stared into your eyes as he made his statement. No hesitation. No lie. No contest. 

How did you even reply to him? How did you reply to those words specifically? Once upon a time you could have agreed, and something inside of you jumped at the chance, but how, with what face, and what standing. 

How, when you knew you'd find another woman staking a claim on your husband if you glanced his way. 

One and two were nothing, he'd have many, so many more so much better, prettier, smarter, talented, someone not so… broken. 

'You don't have to pretend you know,' Jin's statement cut through your thoughts. You faced him. 

'You don't have to plaster the fake smile like life is handled. I mean here sure, but not with me, not with the guys, you're a part of our family y/n. 

You have every right to feel sad, and humiliated, and we're here to turn to. You know I love feeding you. And Jungkook would never say no to a workout buddy.'

You snorted, 'Sure, I'll do yoga with his beast mode gym playlist.'

Jin's lips twitched at the idea. 'It could work.'

A tinkle of laughter had you turning to the very loud brunette, her hand on Namjoons shoulder. 

Your lips tightened and your nostrils flared. Her laugh grated on your nerves. 

You moved your neck side to side in an effort to alleviate the illogical feeling. You were sure, even if this bitch breathed wrong, you would want to wrap your hands around her neck. 

'Easy, she has no chance.' He finished your drink, still watching them. 

'What makes you so sure?' You humored him, your tongue poking your cheek. 

'Because he pushed her arm off as soon as you turned away.' 

Almost immediately you could breathe easier.

'It's okay. Even if it causes me… discomfort. He needs something different. You understand Jinnie. Something better. He wouldn't have been drawn to her otherwise. He needs a break. He needs to explore.'

'And despite still being married to him, you're giving him more opportunities to do that.' He raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. 

'I know it's not conventional. I know it's not fair. But I want him happy...even if it's not with me.'

Decidedly tired, he clasped both your hands in his. 'He's one of my favorite people y/n, he's home. But I know you. And I love you. And this big hearted crap you're trying right now, it's not going to work. Because it was just a mistake.'

His words nailed you. 'Don't def --,' 

'I would not defend cheating.' He cut you off smoothly. 'I would not do that to you. But this is not pity or guilt or choosing you because he has values he remembered he had after that night… he sees his future when he looks at you. He is yours. You're endgame, y/n.'

'Seokjin!' You heard his name from the crowd. 

He let go of your hands and held your glass up. 'I'll check in on you later and replace your drink. But y/n, listen to your heart, okay, for his sake, and yours.'

You watched him leave toward the voice. Somehow feeling lighter and yet all the more conflicted. You wanted to follow your heart, you so wanted to. But you made the biggest mistake by meeting her, and now that you'd seen her, what she was and what she did. It didn't hold a candle to you.

So many more didn't hold a candle to you. You did not deserve him. He'd see. Yes he was proving a point now. But he'd learn. And he'd find someone better. 

'Ma'am.' A waiter offered you a refilled champagne flute from his tray. 

You took it and thanked him just as they opened the dance floor. Forming a wide circle on, they started off with a slow song, one good enough for waltzing. 

You swayed slightly to the tune as you took a sip from your new glass. You saw a different Namjoon and Y/n out there. A happier version that made you smile and laugh and made your heart feel full. 

Something snapped in you as you imagined a younger, happier couple, because could you ever be like that again. 

It all felt too real, suddenly. 

His attention wasn't on you. He'd all but dismissed you. He smiled and laughed easier, without you. 

You turned to look for him, needing to see him, needing to confirm it. You thought it would be better for it to be true. But you also selfishly didn't want it to be true. 

What if he really just didn't want you anymore. What if he never wanted you. What if it had been happening for a long time, where he had to put up with you. 

Your breathing escalated as you finally caught sight of him. 

He leaned down to whisper in the brunette's ear. A low whine left you. You wanted to look away but you couldn't. You should have looked away when he caught your eye but you still didn't. 

You saw and he wanted you to see. 

Even if he was faking it. It felt too real. It felt too good to be true for any of it to be fake. 

You knew what that felt like. His breath fanning your face, his tone deep and gravelly when he lowered his register. It sent tingles across your skin every time, imagine what it'd be doing for her. 

You watched her react to his words. A slow shy smile stretching across her lips. A woman in the company of a very wonderful man. A very wealthy. A very powerful. A very one in a million type of man. 

You stood up, downed the rest of your drink in one go and walked toward the edge of the dancefloor. You hoped to comb your way toward Kenta. He'd keep you sane. He'd say something stupid and play the prison guard bodyguard and you'd be able to act okay. Maybe you'd get through the night.

Taglist - @casnextdoor @jaysdimples @belliebell @pinkcherrybombs @sweetjellyfishland @blushingatyou @jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue @somewhereinthestarss @k-brownsugar @namsona17 @taejinxkoya @notsooperfect-blog @zae007live @its-hopes-world @shina913 @bri-mal @piecesofapril11 @kissme-ornot @torisecrets @agustdmwah @lochness-butmakeitsexy @petalsofink @definetlythinkimanalien @masterpiecejoonie @gcintia @danietoww04 @roguesthetic @rjsmochii @amymikaelson @hello-kittyy [open]

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Part 13 || Relinquish

Part 14.1 || Pretenses

Part 14.2 || Pretenses

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[wincore]

act iii, incomplete | ten

pairing: ten x reader

summary: it’s the same vivid dream every time — you, a feline constellation that keeps smiling at you and a boy who won’t ever forgive you. autumn, spring and everything in between come to save part of that but the truth is this: no amount of time spent at your small town theatre with your once best friend is going to speak the words for you.

alternatively, 

best friends aren’t meant to be lovers and ten, despite the millions of roles he’s played, keeps trying for the one role he won’t ever get.

genre: childhood best friends to lovers, slight theatre au, reincarnation themes, fluff, angst

warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of injuries, mentions of death

words: 23.9k

a/n: hello i’m so glad i actually completed this !!!!! i’ve never written something like this before !!! also longest fic let’s gooo ahaha special thank you to miss cat for reading this and making it at least infinity times better i am in indebted to u <3. playlist here.

part of the almost collab by @hyucksie !! (thank you for hosting this, it was lovely to be a part!!)

ACT I: HOMESICK

act i scene i. 

For the first time in years, you hold your breath at the local theatre, the walls more and more debilitated each year. It’s the only place, perhaps, that is so vibrant in its dull shades. The key is memories. Memories keep you alive in a way death and life and sickness cannot interfere. 

A single drum beat resounds through the theatre. A second one follows before a tune from a flute sets the mood. A voice speaks out, that of a woman, and it strikes you as somewhat sad. In that moment, you believe Ten would have pointed out to you that she is meant to do that, she is meant to play the part of someone sad. The curtains stare at you as undulating as a calm sea of red and you hold your breath. 

This is a modern play and you’ve only kept up with them for the sake of watching Ten play a part in them. As for other plays, high school Shakespeare was the most formidable text you’ve ever read and you’d rather not fight for your life again.

“Has the world ever seen a woman’s love unrivalled?”

A projector displays a flower, peonies, on the curtains.

“She once fell sick, dreaming of a lover; and once sick, she grew worse. Love is not love at its fullest if one is not willing to die for it.”

You don’t think that’s quite right. The curtains are drawn right then, their velvet sheen accentuated under the bright theatre lights and two characters appear on stage. 

Your first thought is that he’s grown far too much. The second is that he hasn’t changed much. Ten stands in the character of a play you haven’t finished reading yet, in clothes that accentuate his dancer’s figure and with the look of someone that isn’t him. You had tried to read  the play earlier but you might have gotten a little too excited to complete it. 

You bounce your legs in anticipation, the music and his voice fading out—it’s not like you can focus much with the high school kids giggling and making out in the seats right behind yours. You could always make a scene but it’s not like you to steal the spotlight away from your dearest friend. Besides, you need to reiterate through the list of things you have to help him catch up on since he’s been gone. Ten wouldn’t want to miss out on some spicy gossip. You chuckle to yourself, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool yourself. 

Ten likes overwhelming responses. You like to be overwhelming. You’re the perfect pair. 

The play ends in a way you can’t tell if it was a tragedy or a comedy. You could have if you paid more attention but this isn’t literature class. You can do whatever you want now and you’re a little preoccupied with your own thoughts. Ten. Your best friend is back from Broadway after a year of barely talking. You can’t wait to hear the stories.

You get up as soon as the lights are on but when no one else does, you sit back down. The curtains part now and the cast comes on for their final bow. You shift around to see if Ten is looking at you, the older people beside you grunting in annoyance and muttering something about the youth. He’s not but Sicheng is and when you send a wink his way, he shakes his head.

You pout at the lack of attention but it’s time to make your way backstage now. The crowd is exiting and you need to get there before Ten leaves. 

Once outside, you make a beeline to the back of the theatre building and mess up Sicheng’s hair as he leaves for home. 

“He’s inside,” he informs curtly and makes as much distance possible between the two of you.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Sicheng,” you coo to annoy him. “You performed so well. Not as good as Ten though.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “Were you even paying attention?”

You cross your arms and push him onto his track. He shrugs and you watch his figure disappear behind the corner before taking a deep breath. With anticipation, comes a little unrestrained droplet of anxiety. You shouldn’t be worried, you tell yourself. This is Ten, after all.

The crows sing a song to themselves under the purple evening sun and you feel annoyed at the sound. It’s a song for ghosts. You hate the sound of it. 

You rub your temples, trying to hush away the headache. You can’t wait to see Ten.

You swing the door open in an attempt to sneak up on him. However, you take a few moments to see him barefaced, the stage makeup washed off and a red undertone running through his nose and cheeks. That dark mop of hair sticks out every which way, and no attempt has been made to rectify it. It was once your job, actually. He rubs at his sleepy eyes, a yawn escaping his lips as he stuff his belongings into a worn-out satchel bag. You gave it to him when you skipped prom night. You smile. 

��Ten!” you yell at the top of your lungs. You’ve missed him so much—an old greeting should warm him up. This town started feeling more like home once you heard the news Ten’s back.

He looks at you so cold that you stop dead in your tracks. You freeze up, the words suddenly collapsing into themselves like wilting flowers. You don’t recognize Ten all of a sudden. He wears a deep frown and empty eyes, something you cannot understand no matter what angle you look from. Everything’s changed now, hasn’t it? You truly understand what that means when you meet his eyes.

“Ten,” you repeat at a more respectable volume. “Hey. I… I missed—”

“Hey,” he responds a little too quickly. Eyes less sharp than usual, he averts his gaze. “I- I need to get home early.”

Ten grabs his bag and leaves the room, his shoulder brushing against yours. You stand there for a few extra moments, breaths shallow and quiet. When you regain the sound of your heartbeat, you leave the practice room, throat dry and a frustrated sigh on your lips. Consequences, every time it’s the consequences biting back.

The crows’ song goes unheard.

act i scene ii.

“So… you want me to get Ten to talk to you?” 

Sicheng looks at you in disbelief, the ice cream in his hand starting to melt. You’ve never met anyone who enjoys ice cream in mid-autumn as much as he does. Sore throats are foreign to him.

You nod, crossing your arms. “I don’t know why he’s avoiding me.”

Sicheng scoffs, choking on the ice cream and taking a few moments to regain his composure. 

“Thanks,” he says when you rub his back in pity. “But… you really don’t know why he’s avoiding you?”

You shake your head. It’s a lie. But the only thing you can think of is the summer he left, when he confessed his feelings and you rejected him after a few seconds of contemplation. You had good reason. You just can’t tell him that. You’re still young and there’s so much to look forward to.

"You obviously have feelings for him!"

"Yeah, anger! Why would he just ignore me like that? We've been friends for, uh…"

"Stop counting, you suck at math."

You punch his shoulder and his ice cream almost falls off. He looks at you with a glare so strong, you have to take a step back.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I thought we were like any other pair of best friends.”

Sicheng snorts. “Yeah, best friends in love with each other. Didn't you suggest getting married once?”

“As a joke,” you interject, feeling heat on your cheeks. “Actually, do you know how useful a marriage of convenience is? It's got convenience in the name. Think of all the tax benefits.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “The way you looked at each other wasn’t a joke—you know what? I’m not going to be the supporting act to your whole romance charade. You figure this out.”

You pout. “So you’re saying you won’t help?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. You won’t know if I did.”

You furrow your eyebrows, groaning in exasperation. This was supposed to be a happy reunion and yet, you’re here moping to a theatre kid, hoping he helps you. You expected Ten to not take it well but right now, you wish you weren’t so blunt. You could have said it nicer.

You’re joking, right? Haha, nice one. Best friends don't fall in love.

Oh, this is all your fault. You knew him better than anyone else. You should’ve known the consequences too—you could scream right now. In your defense, you thought college made him lose a few brain cells. You still have to make it right. 

“Fine. Whatever you might do, better do it soon.”

Sicheng shrugs, turning back to his ice cream and browsing lazily through one of the magazines. He’s supposed to be watching the store—he gets paid for it but he couldn’t care less about this place. Sicheng is something of a theatrical actor too, traveling around and performing with his theatre group. He never cared for Broadway as much as Ten did.

However, you’re all here now. This autumn is going to be spent with your best friends no matter the cost. You smile as you think of the time you and Ten surprised Sicheng with a whole bag of ice cream and he cried although most of it ended up melting. Sicheng raises an eyebrow at your expression but doesn't question.

“There’s a reunion party by the woods,” he announces. “Next week. Saturday. You have to make up before that. You know they’re going to be brutal.”

You shudder. Your classmates certainly won’t let go of the idea of your relationship with Ten. Teasing aside, they’re going to be making either one of you uncomfortable. All your excitement drains itself. Your shoulders slump and you think that perhaps, asking for forgiveness would be a better out. You recover quickly though. This has to work out, Ten has to be your best friend again—what choice do you have? You missed him and you’re going to let him know.

//

The first attempt begins right in the evening. Sicheng texts Ten after his shift, asking him to get some snacks. Lucky for you, you work at the local snack store, also called the convenience store. There’s nowhere better to get snacks. There’s also nowhere else to get snacks.

You stand behind the counter, fiddling with the drawstrings of your hoodie while your eyes trail to the hands of the clock on the wall. Sicheng texted him half an hour ago. Ten might not be the most punctual but you know he listens to Sicheng, even if it’s reluctantly.

Your impatience gets the better of you and you leave the counter to peer out the glass door. Unfortunately, someone pushes open the door right then and you clutch your nose, eyes watering at the painful impact. 

Ten looks petrified for a moment before turning around and leaving. You furrow your eyebrows, tears brimming from the pain in your nose and mixing into the exasperation from getting so bluntly ignored. Come on, Ten. You curse on your way back to the lonely counter. There goes the only thing you were looking forward to this evening. Sicheng walks in a while later, a sour look on his face.

“He actually gave me a mouthful,” he mutters angrily. “Can you believe that? Me. Who’s listened to all his lovesick ramblings about y—theatre.” 

You slump onto the counter further, the bright orange background of the store more headache-inducing than optimistic. 

“God, this is so much more difficult than I expected.”

“What happened between the two of you anyway? I thought you promised to call him every day.”

“I tried, okay? He wouldn’t pick up.”

Sicheng raises an eyebrow. “Woah. Haven’t heard about that one.”

He places the single pack of Lays onto the counter. You get up to pull the chocolate ice cream from the cooler.

“Don’t bother. It’s so depressing getting shut out like this.”

Sicheng mutters something under his breath you don’t quite catch. It’s his complaining voice though, so you don’t question him. 

“He’s going to be at the Bridge tomorrow,” Sicheng notifies. “Something about getting fresh early morning air. Now, there’s no way you can run into him and call it coincidence. So don’t do that.”

You cross your arms. “So what do you suggest I do?”

“I mean, if you’re accompanying Mr. Yang to the dahlia fields for flower shop business… that’s a different story.”

Your eyes brighten and you sit up. “You’re a genius!”

“I’ve been telling you guys since—”

You hug him and he chokes, almost dropping the Lays pack. The door opens and you hurriedly wave at Yangyang, who’s here for the next shift before running out the door in a hurricane of bad decisions and good intentions.

“I hate being the middleman,” Sicheng mutters to Yangyang who offers him a pitiful look. The evening returns to its pink skies and you race your feelings to your destination.

//

“Mr. Yang,” you whine. “You don’t need a single dahlia? I’m offering to help.”

The older man scratches his spotless white beard and looks at you in confusion. “I gathered a whole cartload just three days ago. There’s no way I need more. You know this place—no one buys flowers anymore.”

“I’ll buy them! A whole cartload.”

“And where will you get the money, child?”

“Uh.”

Mr. Yang shakes his head at your immaturity. “If you’re so eager, get me some chrysanthemums from Mrs. Leong’s sh—”

“No. It has to be from the other side of the Bridge,” you interject. 

Mr. Yang is further perplexed but you’re glad he doesn’t ask further. Having to explain your love and friendship troubles to a senior citizen has never been an ideal situation. You make a face at the thought.

“Alright,” he says and takes a few moments to ponder. “You want an errand to run, right? Could you get me some sunflower seeds from Goodwin Park?”

“That far?”

He sighs. “Do you want to go or not?”

You nod reluctantly, checking your phone to see the time. It’s early as fuck and the only person you’d wake up this early for doesn’t even know you’re doing all this.

“It’s to feed the birds, isn’t it?” You raise an eyebrow. 

Mr Yang nods.

“You know, you don’t have to do all that to get Mrs. Leong to notice you.” You offer him a cheeky grin.

“I’m assuming it’s also a person you’re doing all of this for,” he hums in reply.  

You drop your grin and take the errand money, heat rising in your cheeks. Exiting quickly, you check the time again. Ten better not have left early.

Shortcuts are better when there’s someone with you, you decide. You have gained around five long scratches at five different places on your body trying to best the hill beside Maple Street in order to get to the Bridge faster. If Ten were here, he'd laugh at you for being so graceless. 

The Bridge is empty when you arrive and you sigh deeply. You’re not sure if you’re early or he’s late or you’re astronomically late. The grass is still a golden green in colour, for autumn never truly comes in when you’re expecting it. The little stream below the Bridge is almost dried up but the wooden structure stays. You remember Sicheng broke his leg once, trying to catch Ten’s family cat pawing at fish in the stream when it used to be fuller.

You greet Mr. Santello at his garden and buy the sunflower seeds. Your errand is complete but the rising agitation in your chest makes you kick a rock on the way back to the Bridge. This side of the town is bleak except for the garden and the only fun you’ve had here is when a beehive dropped on Yukhei’s head (he poked at it himself with no provocation from your side whatsoever). The scenery is much prettier with someone to appreciate it. You, on the other hand, cannot wait to leave this town. You walk back with certain memories playing in your head, the smell of nostalgia rising with the sun. You’ve always hated early mornings; but you did have fun in them when you had to wake up for school trips. You hold your breath, stopping right before the beginning of the Bridge.

Ten leans against the wooden rails of the Bridge, Starmill Bridge, with eyes gently closed and white earphones plugged in. You smile to yourself. When the sunlight draws across his cheeks, he seems brighter than golden skies and softer than late afternoon clouds. You see the boy from your childhood, messy unbrushed hair and his favourite grey sweater. He’s so full of colour. You wouldn’t mind staring at him for as long as you can.

You take a step and your hoodie catches onto a stray nail, making you stumble onto the wooden floor of the Bridge. You look at your scattered boxes of sunflower seeds with horror but not before finding Ten plucking out his earphone to look at you. He’s so pretty even in a daze.

“Hi?” you offer. “I was on an errand, promise. Not stalking you and trying to get you to talk to me or anything. Hah.”

Ten shakes his head at you and quietly stares for a few more moments.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” he answers finally. “Stop trying.”

You look at him with a flickering guilt though you’re not sure why. He sighs and walks toward you, frowning. He takes out the cloth of your hoodie stuck in the nail with tentative care. Gathering the boxes of sunflower seeds scattered on the floor, he glances at you once before getting up.

You grab his hand before he can walk away again. 

“Ten,” you say, your voice coming off more pitiful than you would like. 

He turns back at you with lips pursed and a sorrowful look in his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I need to work some things out.”

Ten leaves you hanging for a third time in your life and you pull yourself together enough to stand up. You can’t imagine—you don’t want to imagine how much longer this’ll go on. Ten used to be an amenable boy; it shouldn’t be taking this long.

Somewhere the wind comes tumbling in, whispering the words that everything has changed and everything is still changing.

//

The third and last attempt is outside his house. Ten’s mother is bound to notice you at some point, right? Considering you’re camping out like a homeless man from the nearby gas station, that is. You hope she’s out for grocery shopping and you can just pretend you were on your way home and ‘accidentally’ bumped into her. Being the kind soul she is, she’s going to invite you to dinner since it’s late already. And where else can you spend your time while she cooks but in Ten’s room? It’s perfect and there’s no way he can avoid this.

“(name)!” Ten’s sister yells in glee. 

“Tern!” You smile at her.

“Mom’s sending me for grocery shopping. Do you wanna come help?”

You want to go inside the house but patience is quite possibly a virtue. You haven’t tried it out yet. 

“Sure.” You grin. “I’ve got time to kill.”

So, you are aware that Ten’s sister tends to shoot off at the mouth with the right person but you somehow cannot get her to talk about Ten. Apart from his life in New York, that is, which you had hoped to hear from him. 

“So… how come you’re not in our house already? No offense, it’s just you and Ten… you know.” She looks at you with an inquisitive quirk of her eyebrow. 

Ten must be a really good actor. Not like you ever doubted him but for his sister to be so blissfully unaware, he must have put on quite the show. Either that, or he really has forgotten you. You try not to feed fire to that thought.

“Uh, you know, been busy with the snack shack. We’re redecorating. Mr. Kim is going to boil me alive if I slack off.”

She giggles at your expression. “I heard it from Yangyang. He said the redecorations are ugly though.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Ten let you talk to Yangyang? A boy?”

She crosses her arms with a disbelieving laugh. “He can’t tell me how to live. Besides, he doesn’t care.”

You laugh. “Right. You have no idea how overprotective he can actually be. Older brother instincts or whatever.”

She suppresses a laugh. “And you must be facing the boyfriend instincts.”

You stammer out a response but it doesn’t make any sense. It’s alright to get laughed at, you suppose, if Tern is in fits beside you.

The rest of the conversation is about things less important. It would be rude to not engage though so you talk with enthusiasm all the way back. Part of you sees Ten in his sister. How terrible of you to see someone else in a person right beside you.

“(name)!” 

Ten’s mother looks pleasantly surprised. 

“Good evening, ma’am!” You curtsy in an exaggerated manner, and she laughs, patting your arm. 

“How come it took you so long to visit? You hardly ever came over these few years, and I’m a little upset about that by the way, but I thought for sure, you’d be in the house the day Ten came back.”

You scratch the back of your head sheepishly. “You know. Work and stuff. Mr Kim is redecorating the store.”

She exhales in annoyance. “Is that man exploiting you children again?”

“I’m—uh… I’m an adult—”

“Hush,” she instructs, voice strict and you zip your mouth immediately. Never question a mother’s statement.

“Ten’s in his room, by the way. Should I call him?” she asks, after a minute of complaining about Mr. Kim, which you would have loved to join but there are other matters at hand. She has all the gossip in town and yet, she’s somehow blissfully unaware of the silence between her son and his best friend. Are you not as important? It makes you pout but you quickly neutralize your expression.

“Ten!” she shouts when you don’t respond, a little lost in your own thoughts.

“Uh—oh no, you don’t have to do that!” you say quickly. “I’ll just go to his room.”

You hurry up the stairs, just in time for Ten to open his bedroom door and jump back in fright.

“Oh my fucking god,” he mutters, like the soul has been kicked straight out of his body. In any other situation, you would’ve loved to give him a scare.

You walk into the bedroom and lock the door behind you. 

“Ten. We need to talk.”

“I don’t wanna talk,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. You notice the change in his features—his hair has grown out, his face is more chiseled and he has an angry quirk to his brows. “I told you I need some space. You never know how to listen, fuck.”

His voice is a low whisper, in the short space between you. You don’t move from your spot, with your back against the wall and feet nervous. You shift from foot to foot and look him in the eye before looking away. You’ve never felt this way around him. You’ve never actually pissed him off this bad. You don’t know what to do.

“Just leave. God. I can’t believe you think you can just walk in!”

You frown at his words. “Ten. I just wanted to talk to you again. We’re friends—”

“How does it matter if we are? Everything’s changed. This whole place has changed. I’ve changed.” 

“But… that doesn’t mean we have to pretend we’re strangers—”

“Leave. Please.”

His voice is so low and odd that you don’t recognize it anymore. You sigh. You can’t convince him when he’s so defensive. You open the door to his bedroom to find Ten’s mom and sister in the hallway trying very hard to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping. You offer them a sad smile and thank his mother for the dinner before taking your leave. You feel too ridiculous to cry.

How do people put in all that effort in romantic comedies? You don't even know where to start. Maybe you should follow the King's advice from Alice in Wonderland. 

Begin at the beginning and go on until you come to the end; then stop.

No. No, you can't be thinking of ending scenes right now. There's a much bigger problem at hand. Saturday. You better brace yourself for the unpredictability of former prom queens and class presidents, and the predictability of this small town that never changes. 

act i scene iii.

High school reunion parties here aren’t exactly mawkish affairs. There’s alcohol, people who are meant to be adults but haven’t quite grown into it yet, the looming woods, and more alcohol. There's no room for sentimentalism when your former classmates, seniors and juniors—those who could be here, at least—are back together and it feels like nothing has changed at all. However, college-age boys always pose problems. 

“Look, if Johnny can do it, so can I,” Yukhei tells you. 

Johnny smacks his shoulder encouragingly, and a few of your friends giggle at the two lanky men, looking like they’ve discovered something priceless beside the campfire light.

“This beer tastes like crap,” you mutter before returning to a regular volume. “But go ahead and try chugging two bottles in under a minute if you want.”

Your backhanded statement backfires almost immediately because he does exactly as you said. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try not to peek at Ten, sitting beside Johnny and looking rather sleepy. It’s the bedhead, you think to yourself. It’s cute.

“Alright, who’s next?” Yukhei asks, voice booming enthusiastically. 

Yeri sighs beside you, tired from the late night and not so much from the alcohol. Speaking of which, the alcohol table is somehow still stocked and Sicheng stands beside it, looking sour from being forced into guard duty. 

“Tell him to pipe down,” Yeri mutters, pressing her forehead against your shoulder and you look at her apologetically. 

“(name) hasn’t answered anything yet!” Sooyoung pipes up and you shoot her a look she ignores. “Neither has Ten, by the way.”

A bunch of “ooh”s pass through the crowd of roughly twenty people, and you would bury your face in your hands were it not for that stubborn pride of yours. 

Truth or dare is quite possibly the worst game in the history of mankind. Ten looks somewhat flustered under the attention but he just sighs. 

“Get it over with.” He looks at Yukhei expectantly.

“Kiss (name)!”

Your heart drops and you glare at Yukhei. You should have expected it. There is no one more unimaginative than drunk boys. His cheeks are flushed when he grins at you, encouraging you with a thumbs up gesture. 

“He doesn’t have to do that.” You cross your arms. “Consent is important even in fun and games.”

The sentence is so didactic of you but you hope the seriousness in your voice makes him back off.

“But you guys are, like, in love with each other,” Yangyang blurts before covering mouth as if he said something scandalous.

A bunch of chuckles follow, though Johnny shows some concern towards Ten. You remember why you hate high school reunions now. Apart from the fact that almost everyone gets to tell their stories of big cities and big dreams they get to live in, everyone turns into a child again when at a reunion. Perhaps it’s the burst of memories or the vivid glow of old connections returning but you can’t stand childishness. Even if you’re the one to act like a child sometimes.

“I’m gonna go drink,” you say. “That’s the punishment, right? I’m not playing anymore.”

Yukhei groans. “Come on, (name). You wouldn’t be such a bore.”

“I would,” you snap and get up from your seat, Yeri muttering in annoyance before leaning onto Sooyoung’s shoulder.

Ten is glowing in the cheeks, you find when you look at him. He meets your eyes once and looks away, playing with his fingers. 

You pour yourself some beer into a cup and lift it up to show to Yukhei before striding off to a place farther than the warmth of people and the campfire. The giant log is a nice enough seat by the edge of the woods. It is cold and mossy though, and you hug yourself, sticking your hands into the pockets of your cardigan.

The sound of footsteps over dried leaves catch your attention and you look up. Ten takes a seat beside you in silence. You move the cup of beer so that it doesn’t spill from any sudden movement. It’s quiet for even longer, your pulse the only rhythm to follow.

"Ten." You smile, looking away from him and into the ceaseless stretch of woods. He hums in response, as though a habit yet to get rid of. It makes you bite down your lip to prevent the smile from turning into something sadder.

You miss him. You miss the years you spent with him. You're drawn into him, into something old, familiar and safe. 

No one can save you when you’re homesick. 

However, you do not give up easily. What is broken can be mended with enough love and care.

Ten sighs, taking the cup from you right before it touches your lips. "Don't drink that. You hate the taste and it makes you go crazy."

You pout, but can't really find something snarky enough to say. Not when he looks like that—with dry, still-red lips and tired, apologetic eyes.

“Your forehead is so oily,” you mutter.

Ten looks at you, furrowing his eyebrows. He proceeds to hesitantly wipe at his forehead with the sleeve of his sweatshirt before shaking himself out of it. Instead he just glares at you.

“It’s not oilier than your nose,” he shoots, annoyed. 

“At least my nose isn’t titan-sized.”

“My nose is perfect. Do you- do you know how many people fall in love with my perfect nose every day?”

You laugh, covering your face. His features soften and he returns his gaze to the comfort of the endless forest. It does have an end, at the fences by the railway tracks but in believing that something can be infinite, you find comfort. 

"New York treated you well. Too well. But then again, you were always a narcissist."

You smile smugly at him and he gives you an unamused look.

"I'm… I'm glad we're talking," you offer after a few moments of unacknowledged silence.

He tenses ever so slightly, running a hand through his already messy hair and looks at you. He looks away again as if in an internal debate.

“You rejected me, (name),” he says, exasperated. “How do I recover from that? Don’t answer. It was so embarrassing.”

You close your mouth. If only you could tell him the truth. You had to reject him or your sentimental boy would never leave for acting opportunities. He doesn’t have to know that. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly.

But the truth is, it’s too scary to think about. You’ve been refusing to look at your feelings for a long time now. It’s only a cliche; it doesn't happen in real life. You’re too good of friends to be in love. Isn’t that right? It certainly couldn't have been you to fall in love with Ten. There were a million other people to do that in your stead. You feel shy all of a sudden.

“That was pretty embarrassing,” you mumble, pressing down your smile and he rolls his eyes.

After a few moments in silence, a sigh escapes his lips. “I’ve had enough time for closure though. I can’t believe I actually said that. Oh, the over-sentimentalism. Yikes.”

He makes a disgusted face.

You giggle. “I can’t believe it either. You do look cute blushing, by the way. You find any lover in the big, scary city? Any rebound?” 

Ten rolls his eyes. “Too busy. And are you going to tease me forever about this thing?”

You laugh. “That’s the Ten I know. You’re always working. Sometimes you should have fun.” 

“I have plenty of fun. You’re the one that used to cry at birthday parties.”

“I was six years old and it was one time, holy shit.”

The two of you break into laughter. The cold makes you draw nearer to him.

“Hey, wanna go to the mall this weekend?” you suggest.

“Wait, it’s still there? Wasn’t it supposed to get knocked down?”

“Yeah but the townsfolk didn’t want that so they delayed it. There’s, like, barely any employees though. It’s like a ghost mansion at night.”

Ten makes a face. “The afternoons there were so bright, like, there was so much sunlight, remember? I remember you always drinking my banana milk at the food plaza.”

You laugh. “I miss skipping class to go there. Now there aren’t any classes to skip.”

“Oh my god, remember when Mr. Wilson actually caught us?”

You laugh louder. “We had to pretend we weren’t his students. Which was futile acting because he knows every student.” 

Ten sighs. 

“I missed you. God, I’m so fucking sorry—I was in over my head. I thought I ruined everything.”

“Hey.” You scoot closer, wrapping your arms around him. “I missed you too. Besides, it’s not you if you’re not being a bit of a drama queen.”

Ten elbows you in the side at the comment and you yelp, moving away and glaring at him in response. 

“Just because I’m in theatre doesn’t mean I’m a drama queen.” He mocks the tone of your voice and you giggle.

“So any special Broadway stories you have in mind? I wanna hear something funny.” You rest your head on his shoulder comfortably.

"Well, one time this actress' dress caught on fire—"

"That's not funny, that's horrifying."

Ten purses his lips. “Okay. Uh… I got told to fuck off by an eighty year old man in drag after I threw raw steak at his window?”

You snort, eyes widening and Ten throws up his hands in exasperation. "How is that remotely funny?"

"I'm pretty sure that's as funny as it gets with you."

"I can't believe you're pretending I didn't carry our sense of humour on my back for all of middle school and high school."

“I missed you," you say quietly, and he flusters, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"Really? You're not just saying that?"

You sigh, inching closer. "Yes. I did miss you, you know? I called."

"And I didn't pick up. I know. I'm sorry."

"I think you've apologized to me more times now than you have in our first twenty years of friendship."

Ten rolls his eyes. "And I mean it. It's not the 'sorry I ate your cookies' apology."

"I fucking knew you were the one eating stuff from my bag back in high school."

Ten presses his lips, making a zipping motion and you push him in exasperation. The two of you laugh, loud and clear, before Johnny's voice comes in, telling the two of you to "stop fooling around near the woods" and that it's "unhygienic".

Seasons change but people don't. You walk home with Ten for the first time in a year and suddenly, you’re in love with the idea that things can just lie in complete peace once they fall back into what was always meant to be. Perhaps it’s the writer’s utopia, but you think it’s much more meaningful this way. Ten's hoodie smells just like home.

prologue.

It was a sunlit morning when you first met Ten, but it was only a sunlit morning. There were no birds chirping or faceless adults on that sidewalk or even your friends because you don’t recall them. You recall a child with two very important teeth missing and your sudden urge to run to his side. You’d pulled his cheek with a huge grin on your face because, and you still stand by this, they were too cute and plump and red to resist.

You were three and a half years old when you met Ten and you parted when you were twenty. One year later, you're back to linking arms, joking about each other and talking about life as though it's a passing stream. 

You were six years old when you cried at Ten's birthday party because no one was talking to him. It gave you an evening's worth of attention and a huge smile on Ten's face. You still think kids are mean as hell but they care for things like they have never cared before. 

You were eleven years old when you started to lose a little bit of touch with yourself. You talked less, you looked at people more. Ten's face was still the most comforting out of all. He said he liked to listen no matter how annoying you sound. Somehow, by the time sixth grade was over, when you were almost twelve—you talked at least twice as much. 

You were fourteen years old when you dated a boy out of curiosity and left on an awkward note when he moved away. You weren't sad for some reason. The idea of life passing meaninglessly by was engraved into you, like the waves that carve the beach. Ten was distant the whole time, with a scowl and more sarcastic remarks than usual, only warming up when you showed up at his door with a homemade cake. It tasted horrible and had the texture of a mossy pebble but you laughed over it anyway. Suddenly, life wasn't meandering but a river full of vigor in spring, beside a garden of fresh crested irises. 

You were sixteen when you were pushed to audition in a play by your best friend. The play was about life and death and love, and it didn’t make sense to you the way it did to him. You had good fun backstage with the costumes and the makeup, and it was all that mattered to you. However, some part of you didn't like it, hated it even when he kissed the female lead of the play with eyes full of adoration. You looked on as Villager B and you hated every part of it.

When you were eighteen turning nineteen, you decided to save up for college. It would take time—years perhaps but you would get there. You would get an apartment with Ten in New York City or any city full of bustling, busy life and you would tend to your rooftop garden. Small town dreams, however, die and they die and they’re buried in unloved, unplanted soil. 

You finally understood what your tenth grade English teacher meant when she said everything is theatre. 

The night he left, you had a nightmare. It was a play and you were the protagonist. You couldn’t make it in time for the night of the performance, anxious and afraid as you arrived. You’d been replaced. You hated to see him on stage with someone else. You hated it. You hated it. You hated it so much. 

Of course, you knew it would be a showstopper the moment that fight broke out between you and your replacement. You were cruel in that dream—almost as if you were someone else. But you felt comfortable in that skin, like you were meant to play that part after all. As if you were the villain all along and not the sweetheart of the show. You felt comfortable and it scared you so much that you woke in cold sweat and cried for an hour straight.

It hurt how lonely you felt. It hurt without Ten and you hate that you let him go. Something took shape inside the cavity of your chest, the shape of a weed sprouting in the pulsing garden of life—you won’t make the same mistake again. You’re going to hold on with all your might, till your hands ache and till your heart has had enough. 

ACT II: YOUTH 

 act ii scene i.

“Have you ever actually shoplifted in your life?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Ten tries to suppress his smile and fails, moving so that his back covers you from view instead. A conversation about New York subways led to a conversation about anarchy which led to… this. You’ve been trying to swipe the butterfly pin from the display for the past half an hour. You weren’t actually going to steal it—you just need to prove you can.

The mall is always eerily empty. It shouldn’t be this big of a hassle. Ah yes, apart from the fact that the souvenir shop has stationed the most number of employees for some goddamn reason. You’re not even sure why it’s there; a souvenir shop for your town might as well be a forgotten relic.

“What? No,” he says quickly. “I’m not doing that. Causing trouble is your thing.”

You snort. “Right. Because everything we got into trouble for was done completely by me.”

“That’s actually true.”

You elbow him, giving him your most offended look.

“You can’t be serious about never causing trouble. You broke Mrs. Leung’s famous ruler, remember? And you always stole your mom’s Halloween cupcakes. Those were for all of the theatre crew, by the way.”

“That doesn’t sound right, darling.”

When you look up at him with eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, you find him smiling in somewhat tranquil thought. It has been rather long. 

“Yeah, I helped you way too much,” you respond, distastefully. 

The two of you straighten at the cashier’s call. Responding that everything’s fine, Ten turns to you with a pointed look.

“If you’re going to do it, better do it before she gets suspicious.”

The hint in his eyes reminds you that he is indeed the devil you know, and you quickly pocket the little butterfly hairpin. This is not ethical in any way and even so, you feel the childish exhilaration. This is to prove a point to your dear friend.

“See?” you whisper to him, exiting the shop. “I could totally pull this off.”

“Not if I start screaming ‘thief!’”

“Did you ever get to play a villain at Broadway? It’s closest to your personality,” you jab.

He sends you a sardonic smile before sticking his tongue out. You should always beware a childish man and his childish smile. You never know if he’ll take you seriously. Ten is the absolute worst and you love him all the more for it.

“Are you actually not gonna pay for it?” he asks, tilting his head. 

“And let all those proceeds go to our corrupt overlord mayor? Nuh-uh.”

Ten laughs. “We should go vandalize his campaign posters again.”

The mayor has had, you don’t know how many, little scandals accusing him of embezzlement and every time, he’s escaped easy as pie. All the things you can do with money and you decide to hoard more money; you will never understand people like him. Besides, you won’t have to worry about that any time soon.

“See? You’re the troublemaker. I can’t even vandalize good enough.”

“It’s not my fault you have zero artistic talent.”

You place your hands on your hips. “I’m sorry? I’m pretty sure I taught you how to paint.”

Ten rolls his eyes, a sneaky smile on his lips. “Yeah. You taught the whole class how to paint when you smacked Mr. Cheng with that paintbrush.”

You can’t help the laugh that comes to you, despite trying your best to hold a serious expression.

“You’re a disaster,” he adds, staring incredulously at your fit of laughter. 

You look at him and start laughing again.

“Oh my god, what’s so funny? I wasn’t even trying to be funny.”

“Okay, emo boy,” you say, finally straightening and messing his hair.

“I was going to get a haircut.”

“Don’t. You look pretty.”

Ten hums, raising an eyebrow. “But I wanna look hot.”

“That’s going to take a lot of effort.”

Ten grabs you in a chokehold, messing your hair with his hands in the most obnoxious way possible. Finally able to loosen his grip on you, you look at him with your most fearsome glare. He has to stop treating you so gracelessly.

It’s not unusual for him to behave this way; in fact, you welcome it when he’s warm and much lovelier than the usual. But something feels amiss, something dangerous like the passage of time. 

“Ten?”

“Yes?”

“I thought you’d be talking much more about New York instead of our boring old town.”

He hums, eyes scanning the vicinity of the mall’s first floor. There’s an ice cream shop opposite to the souvenir shop, unvisited due its lack of variety in flavours, and a spacious marble floor with most of the shops closed for renovation. The other two floors are closed off completely but you’re sure that with enough effort, you could sneak in. The glass ceiling at the centre allows for sunlight to wash in as gentle waves, settling on your heads like golden crowns. There are little potted plants lining the walls to make the mall space look less dilapidated but it gives off the same effect as that of something abandoned, left alone and waiting. 

“You want me to brag about it?” He addresses you with a slightly cocky grin.

You roll your eyes. “Never mind.”

The mayor wanted to turn this place into some sort of religious campus but you detest the idea of that man getting his way. He’s the very same man to reprimand little girls for their outfits and to say “dancing is not manly” so you do owe his nauseating sexism for your distaste for him. That, and he has absolutely no sense of aesthetics. You would die before you let him remove the gardens or the livelier buildings blessed with the only colours you can bear to look at. 

“Hey, (name)?”

“Yeah?”

“I think Angry Cashier is making her way towards you.”

You snap your head to the souvenir shop and the cashier is indeed eyeing you suspiciously. You reach to pat your pocket but you’re stopped by Ten.

“You are, by far, the stupidest thief I’ve ever known.”

You puff your cheeks in annoyance, crossing your arms instead. Just when you think the cashier is going to call you out, the two of you sprint over to the mall exit with a plausible enough speed.

“We didn’t have to run, you know?” Ten complains as soon as you’re out and a street or two away. 

“What’s the fun in committing a crime if we don’t get to run?”

“I don’t know, it could be a brain exercise—oh wait. You don’t have one.”

You stick your tongue out at him, walking faster to get away from him.

“Hey!”

He jogs up to you, eyebrows furrowed and ready to spit some sass at you, no doubt.

“I thought you’d be more athletic. Dancing and all.”

“Yeah, no.”

You fix the hair in front of his eyes as he leans over on his knees, a look in his eyes as though caught off guard. They’re a lovely shade of honey, his eyes. They look at you with emotions you can't quite fathom and with the innocence of a love borne between friends who have been forced to endure the mediocrity of this town together. It’s a good reason, you believe, to be friends. Friends are meant to help each other, to save each other and to be there at the lowest. You can check all the boxes. It might have been a while but you’re friends and friends that grow up together stay together. The idea is naive but you cannot possibly look into a future without Ten. There must be a reason behind everything that is given to you. Even right now, as the silence starts to nip at you, you believe you were meant to make full circle. Fate is a funny thing and you wouldn’t believe in it ever, even for a surprise twenty dollar bill vending machine miracle, but it’s comforting enough to let settle on the two of you. 

The lead actors go hand in hand.

“Are you going to keep staring at me? I know I’m tragically beautiful—”

“No, you’re beautifully tragic. Your face, that is.”

“I stopped listening after beautiful, so I believe you agreed with me there.”

You roll your eyes. 

“You and your unyielding confidence can go fuck itself. I’ve seen you cry over a cat movie.”

Ten sputters out a response. “But- but Garfield saved that dog despite every fiber of his being telling him not to. He could’ve lived a happy, peaceful life but he saved him. How is that not incredibly touching?”

“You’re weird. Garfield’s cute though.”

“Like me.”

You wrinkle your nose. “What are we, twelve?”

“I was having my rebellious punk phase then, so no. I would never have said that when I was twelve.”

You laugh. “God, you looked so funny back then.”

“I thought we agreed to not bring up stuff from our teenage years.”

You press your lips together in an attempt to stop the laugh but a tiny giggle comes out anyway. The sun is going to set in an hour. You better make use of your time.

“Ready to go vandalize some posters?” you ask, grinning.

“You know what? I have a better idea. We should go pick some flowers.”

You blink at him. “That’s not remotely punk or rebellious.”

“Shh. You like picking flowers. Remember how we used to joke you should be hired at weddings instead of the flower girls?”

You make a face. “Why on earth would I fling flowers in the air at weddings? That’s not even a respectable job.”

“It suits you.”

“We should be kinder to our arboreal friends.” You cross your arms. “I’d rather tend to a garden than pick flowers for stupid occasions.”

“Tree-hugger.”

You pull up your middle finger and he laughs, fixing his hair right back into the messy waves.

“Why do you hate weddings?” he asks all of a sudden.

“Oh, you know. Icky stuff.”

“No one’s having sex at the wedding.”

“That’s not what I meant by icky stuff. It’s that gross feeling in the air. What’s it called?”

“Love?”

“Please, there’s hardly any love at weddings. It’s all pretend.”

Ten rolls his eyes, chuckling. “You think all the brides and bridegrooms in the world are pretending at their own weddings?”

“If you say it like that…” You grumble. “I don’t believe you need to celebrate love, that’s all. It’s always there, you know?”

You look up to see Ten pressing his fist to his mouth to keep himself from laughing and scoff in disbelief.

“What’s so funny? Seriously, stop laughing—oh for fuck’s sake.”

Soon enough, Ten is crouching by the sidewalk in a fit of laughter which causes a hot flush rising over your neck. You weren’t trying to be cheesy. Now, your best friend is hellbent on making you feel embarrassed. 

“It wasn’t that cringe. Come on. Get up, asshole.”

“You were- you were just so—” He takes a moment to catch his breath, a few short laughs erupting from him nonetheless. “You looked so serious when you said that.”

Your face is hot enough for you to look away now. “Whatever,” you mumble.

“It was cute. You looked really cute,” he continues, somewhat sobered up. “And brave. You always say things with so much confidence that it’s brave. I’m glad you are the way you are.”

You look at him, slightly dazed before your cheeks puff up to prevent yourself from laughing.

“I regret saying that. You are the big, hideous regret of my life.”

“I thought I was cute?” Your snickers turn into laughter again.

“Fuck off.”

“Thanks, Ten. You’re really good to me.”

Ten shakes his head before walking away, leaving you to call after him in phrases of ‘wait up!’ and ‘when did you get so fast?’ as you try to catch up. You sometimes wonder if he likes being chased. You reach the busiest crossing in this town, with about four cars waiting at the stop sign. You’re not sure why anyone follows the traffic rules if there isn’t even any traffic.

Looking up, you gasp at the moon peeking over a still young sky. You're suddenly reminded of those afternoon naps you had in Ten’s room, the both of you fascinated by the idea of waking up and seeing the sky a whole different colour. The idea that time changes everything was still fresh in your minds then, the impact gentle if not loving. It’s quite late you found that time can steal just as much as it gives.

“Remember when we dyed your hair red?”

“I will, and I shit you not, physically assault you for saying anything about that.”

You laugh at the memory of his awkward hairdo. “No, the other time. When we were seventeen.”

“Oh yeah, I received like eight love letters for that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He did look pretty, and just in time for Valentine’s day’s theme of red roses and nauseating pink hearts.

“I have proof.” Ten leans his elbow against the street lamp, missing it completely and stumbling backwards till he regains his balance. He gives you an impish smile, running a hand through his hair and breathing out. 

You roll your eyes, ignoring his words. “I think we never took pictures of that.”

“So… what are you suggesting?”

“One good picture,” you answer, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of him off guard. Looking at it, you pout. It’s so unfair that he gets to look nice even in a hazy evening picture. 

Ten rolls his eyes, snatching your phone. “Let me show you how to take good pictures. Not whatever crap you have going on.”

You cross your arms, huffing but agree nonetheless when he forces you to pose by the street light. He blabbers on something about composition and colours that goes straight over your head but you can’t deny that the picture came out ridiculously well. You might have to change all your socials with a new profile picture.

“See? You can thank me with a kiss,” he says, a cheeky smile across his face.

You press your lips to his cheek in a swift motion, a smack sound resounding from it. It was uncalled for, you think, because Ten freezes for a few seconds in an uncharacteristic manner. He shakes his head, a scream dying in his throat before turning to you with the most scandalized look.

“Oh my god, what did you do that for?” he says, rubbing at his cheek in a teasing manner.

You wrap your arms around him, furthering his protests although he ends up smiling wide. “You asked for it, honey.”

“Nicknames are my thing. Stop trying to copy me, it’s embarrassing.”

"Okay, now let's take a picture together," you suggest pulling him closer.

He clicks his tongue and takes the phone from you, and when his hand rests upon the small of your back, you try to freeze up. His face is near yours, not unlike the usual but you feel your heartbeat hike up. It's a strange feeling.

"Now, can we go home?" Ten asks, handing you your phone. "I can't believe your background is rilakkuma."

"I'll change it," you respond, voice strangely quiet. You're only half smiling but Ten's smile is full and bright, eyes honey-pure. "To us."

Ten hums in satisfaction and offers his hand like a gentleman from another century, something you tend to exaggerate and you take it with a laugh. The two of you walk with entangled arms and playful skips over the pavement, getting the same old looks from passersby as you did as children and teenagers. The traffic lights glow a gentle hue below the mature blue evening sky, fading easily. You realize as gently as waves lapping at the shore that you missed Ten so bad it still hurts in the hole he left. 

act ii scene ii.

Any weekend in a boring little town of flowers starts with the news of parties. It used to be Johnny sending invites but now it’s mostly just Yukhei calling people for impromptu college parties. Now, you are aware that college parties are horrendous in every shape and form; you are also aware that the two hour car ride to the city college isn’t safe. But it’s easy to ignore hackneyed advice to stay away from parties and alcohol and weed when you’re young and have a ridiculously large group of friends.

The drive isn’t the worst part. At least the drive to the party isn’t; the drive back is usually too hazed to be memorable. Sicheng’s driving this time and with a lot of grumbling but he gets enough pitiful pats to the back and cheek to stop it. Ten has his feet up on the dashboard, having called shotgun before you by one fucking second. You’re stuck with Sooyoung and Johnny in the backseat, sandwiched uncomfortably at that, but you lean forward enough to nag Ten the whole time.

“(name),” Sooyoung calls in a sing-song voice. “Your overly affectionate looks for Ten are showing and it’s not even eleven yet.”

You furrow your eyebrows, stammering out a response and regretting it immediately. “You’re- You’ve been teasing me about this forever.”

“No, she’s right,” Johnny joins in. “Come on, there isn’t even alcohol involved. Yet.”

You roll your eyes, shrinking into yourself as the two of them laugh on either side of you. Sicheng says something along the lines of ‘nauseating’ and ‘idiotic’ but he gets an elbow jab from Ten.

“I’m driving,” he hisses.

“Into every sidewalk we come across?” Ten shoots back.

Another bout of laughter rings through, and this time you can smile too. It’s not that you’re particularly bothered by the teasing; it’s just uncharted territories you have no desire to chart. You always thought you’d meet Prince Charming on a balcony in a summer evening, and this is optional, but it should happen with ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift playing in the background. It’s quite inane to assume it would be your best friend, whom you have spent countless summer evenings listening to old Taylor Swift songs with.

Before you were aware of college house parties, you thought things like these would be more of a less-people-more-booze sort of situation. Turns out, the alcohol to people ratio is nearly the same. Stumbling out of the entrance to the frat house, Yukhei greets the lot of you with a dazed smile before promptly throwing up into the bushes. Rolling your eyes, you pat his back while Sooyoung gets some water from her purse.

“How many drinks was it this time, Yukhei?” Ten teases. “Half? Three-quarters? No wait, that’s a stretch.”

“Very funny,” Yukhei mutters, somehow still upbeat despite his continuous retching. “I bet you’d be drunk after a shot of whatever the hell I had too.”

Adjusting his jacket, Ten narrows his eyes at Yukhei with an incredulous look. “Okay, you’re on. Let’s go.”

Sicheng raises his hands alarmed, but Ten has disappeared into the swarms of people before any sound can leave him.

“He was supposed to drive on the way back,” Sicheng complains. He opens his mouth in sudden realization and then turns to you. You look from him to Johnny and Sooyoung who share a look and walk briskly into the party with a thumbs-up gesture.

“Oh. Oh no,” you say.

“No, yes,” Sicheng responds.

You shake your head and laugh before sprinting inside, Sicheng’s yells of protest fading out.

Yukhei wasn’t kidding when he said his frat hosts the craziest parties. There’s far too many people here, at least far too many for Ten to have fun. You like the energy of the crowd though, all in their own zones and dancing to old party pop songs. The smell of alcohol hits you so strong at first that you have to take a breather in the little garden space they have. It’s more of an overgrown shrubbery instead of a garden but any green will do. Walking back in, you feel much more comfortable when you take a shot of vodka from a girl passed out on the couch. Laughing, you look around for familiar faces. Parties, however, are not the place to look for faces at all. You think you just spotted a fur neck warmer tied around a dude’s waist while he performs some Neanderthal variant of belly dancing.

You bump into a guy of fairly tall stature, a polite apology tumbling from his lips.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you chuckle in amusement. “You’re not a party kind of guy, are you?”

He stares at you with a placid expression, intrigued. “And how would you know?”

“First, you’re not drunk. Two, you look grossed out by those dudes on the bar table. Three, you’re making conversation with me instead of dancing.”

“So you’re saying I can’t make conversation and dance at the same time.”

“I’m sorry, Mister, but you look like you’d rather not dance at all.”

He laughs. “That’s your way of saying I have a stick up my ass, isn’t it?”

You shrug, giving him your friendliest smile. “I prefer talking to drinking too. What’s your name? I need to know the name of the only sober guy in here.”

“Doyoung,” he answers. “Something tells me you’re not going to give me the same pleasure of knowing your name.”

You smile, pressing your index finger to your lips. “Names at parties are better left unknown.”

Something about him is inherently attractive, and you find yourself drawing nearer. Perhaps you could have a more fun night this way. “It’s much more fun to guess. Now, I’m guessing your party-loving best friend dragged you in here so you could get laid.”

He sighs, smiling at you. “I’m actually part of the frat.”

You gasp, hand covering your mouth. “No way.”

“Someone sober has to oversee whatever the hell’s going on here.” He shrugs. “Now, and this isn’t a guess, but you’re not from our college.”

“Nope. I’m from that little flower town nearby.” 

“Ah, I heard there’s a lovely dahlia field there.”

You nod. “And me. Just as lovely.”

You bite your tongue. That was certainly not sexy enough flirting. Ten has been rubbing off on you with his lame comebacks. Doyoung, however, laughs really loud at that. He must have a worse sense of humour than you thought.

You turn sharply at the sound of your name. Ten seems to be waving at you from a table of beer pong, looking rather distressed. You wave back with a bothered look on your face, aggressively signaling for him to handle his shit alone. He pouts and signals more desperately for you to come. Sighing, you turn to Doyoung.

“Sorry,” you say. “My friend seems to be in a pinch. Either that or he’s attention starved again in a record time of eight minutes.”

Doyoung laughs. “I liked talking to you.”

“I liked talking to you too, plot twist.”

“Is that what you’re calling me now?” Doyoung smiles at you. "Ah, I tend to forget but someone always comes along and shows me how friendships are made."

With one last smile, you leave him and walk halfway through to Ten before realizing you forgot to ask for Doyoung’s number. It’s too late to turn back now for the crowd blocks your version and you begrudgingly make your way to Ten. So much for your fun night.

“What was so important that you had to pull me away from the only attractive dude in this party?” you say, crossing your arms.

“Who, Doyoung?” he asks. “I’m at least six times hotter. And anyway, help me win this.”

You roll your eyes. If Ten knows Doyoung, you can somehow finagle your way into getting his number.

“I suck at this game,” Ten mutters. “How the hell is it supposed to hit its mark when the cup is so far away?”

“You have shitty aim,” you say, taking the ping pong ball and throwing it right into the cup. Smirking at the dude who’s already wasted on the other side, you turn back to Ten.

“That’s how you play.”

“Maybe you just have magic hands. Kiss my balls for good luck—wait, fuck, I didn’t mean that.”

You throw your head back and laugh at the disgusted look on his face. Sometimes Ten forgets to think before he opens his mouth and it might be surprising, but he does think before most things he says. He’s always been careful in the subtlest ways.

“I hate this game,” Ten says after missing the cup again. 

“Let me teach you,” you say, moving behind him and taking his hand holding the ball. He stiffens before letting you guide the angle of projection as you throw. It lands right in despite the wobbly beginning and you grin at him.

“I’m so done with this party,” he whispers, hands on his hips and stretching much like a cat after a nap.

You giggle. “I didn’t drink enough to forget everything that’s ever hurt me though.”

“You’re hurt?” he asks, before clearing his throat. “If you wanna stay, I’ll stay too.”

“I’m not a child, you know?” you say, smiling incredulously. “I don’t need you babysitting me.”

“I don’t need you talking to any more Doyoungs. You know his body count?”

“That guy?” you ask, jaw dropping.

“It’s not that much actually,” Ten continues, smiling deviously. “More than what you expect from a guy in law though. You can shut your jaw.”

You huff. “How do you know though? Did you sleep with him?”

Ten wrinkles his nose. “I would rather eat your baking than sleep with him.”

“Hey.”

Right then, the two of you are approached by a now-sober Yukhei. He must have vomited enough alcohol out of his system by now. Johnny stays beside him with mild worry across his features. Sicheng on the other hand looks like his social battery has drained out already.

“It’s time for a drinking game!” Yukhei tells the two of you. “With the… uh… not so drunk people.”

“So just the five of us? Where’s Sooyoung?”

“Doting over Yeri,” Johnny answers.

“Ah.”

“Let’s play something if you guys actually want me to stay and not die of boredom,” Sicheng mumbles in annoyance.

"Truth or drink?" Yukhei suggests. 

"Hell no," you mutter. "I've had enough of that."

"What, no dare this time," he insists with a wide smile and arms outstretched.

You hum. "What are you curious about anyway? I know you wanna know something."

Yukhei scratches the back of his head before glancing at Ten. "Well… have you two ever… I don't know, experimented with each other? Like you're best friends, right, so no hard feelings."

Ten furrows his brows, a gaze that's somewhere between a glare and a confused look.

"Experiment…?" He asks, almost afraid to.

"In bed," says Yukhei bluntly.

Ten turns a few shades darker in the face, noticeable even under the multi-colored party lights. You, on the other hand, pray your stunned expression isn't mistaken for the embarrassment you feel. You're not sure why the feeling arises.

"(Name) wishes," Ten jokes, playing it off.

You roll your eyes. "You wish, asshole."

Yukhei pulls a face and raises a hand to interrupt. "Please don't start another lover's quarrel."

Sicheng snickers at the side, although you thought he wasn't listening. How on earth does this joke not get old to them?

"Anyway, my question is answered," Yukhei says. "Best friends who are in love with each other cannot sleep together but friends who are not… they can right?"

Sicheng hums in response, a teasing smile already on his lips. Ten groans and places his hand to the back of Sicheng's neck, almost threatening.

"What would you know about sex, Sicheng?" He bickers. "You're like virgin supreme."

You narrow your eyes. "And what would you know?"

Ten opens his mouth then closes it promptly. Sicheng and Yukhei on the other hand break into laughter, mentioning something about digging graves before taking their leave from the two of you. You really don't think either of them should be drinking—considering Yukhei's a lightweight and Sicheng is supposed to drive.

Ten smacks the back of your head and you yelp, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can.

"I was trying to help us there," he complains. "You're so unfun."

You mimic his statement and he tries to pinch you in the cheeks, which you expertly avoid.

"So tell me," you say. "Have you or have you not had sex?"

Ten sighs. "Okay, yeah fine. Guilty. Whatever."

"What happened to no flings in New York?"

"Didn't feel like telling you."

"Oh, I'm so hurt."

The two of you look at each other and burst into laughter, easy to forget the scores of people around you in the moment. 

“So you definitely had a few flings in New York,” you say, crossing your arms with a smug smile.

“Like three, yeah,” he answers, shaking his head. “What does it matter?”

Some part of you is satisfied with the way he doesn’t look too interested. It’s the ridiculous part of you. The clementine light over his features make them seem even gentler than usual and you smile, pressing the back of your hand to his cheek.

“Wha—”

“Mhm. Your cheeks are so warm.”

“Oh, so now I’m your personal heater.”

Ten places his hand over yours and your heartbeat hikes, and so easily too when he looks at you with his honey eyes.

“You know what, you’re right. This party’s getting boring.” You look around, as though pretending will help you any better. But then again if Shakespeare was onto something and all the world's a stage, then you never stop pretending, right?

Ten looks at you for a suggestion and the moment pauses, contemplation on both of your faces. 

“Let’s just get Sicheng to drive us back,” you say finally. It’s not like you can stray too far for fear of Sicheng leaving behind the two of you (he’s done that before).

Sicheng jumps at the idea of going back and all of you have to participate in dragging drunk Sooyoung into the car and away from a slightly worn out Yeri. Thanking you and fixing her disheveled hair, she walks back into her own corner to what seems to be aggressively coding on her laptop and flipping the finger to any dude who approaches her. When work calls, you simply cannot hang up.

You and Ten are forced to sit together in the backseat now for Johnny sits shotgun, massaging his forehead from whatever hellsent concoction he made for himself and his friends. The drive is mostly quiet and you lay your head on Ten’s shoulder while Sooyoung snores beside you. It’s quiet like the laps of water between ripples. It feels so secure to stay like this, like the world cannot interrupt. You’ve missed your best friend. You’ve missed him so much.

You and Ten part ways with the others at the crossing and you don’t skip over the path as you used to, with the jovial youth you contained then. No, your steps are slower and perhaps more mature but still in pace with Ten’s just as ever. A cat waits by the entrance to your door, the same calico that has won over your mother’s heart and now waits patiently for treats. In a way, you kept feeding it because you thought of Ten whenever you did.

It seems these days, the only way to get kisses from Ten is to be a cat. He pets the cat with tender strokes and presses his face to its forehead with no fear of cat-borne diseases. 

“Hey, Ten. What about me?” You pucker your lips at him and he presses his palm to your lips instead, snickering.

In these short moments, moments that barely last, do you feel the three years he’s been gone. It’s funny how people change and never realize they do. It’s funny how you’re in awe of every person he becomes.

“I missed your rooftop the most in New York,” Ten says. 

You chuckle. “You hid there when your mom was mad at you.”

“Do you know how many slippers your rooftop has saved me from? I think your rooftop is more of a best friend to me than you are.”

You place your hand over your heart in mock hurt and he shakes his head, grinning.

“Well, let’s prove I’m more worthy of the best friend title then,” you say, grabbing his hand, the skin so soft to you, and dragging him into your house in quiet tiptoes. You remember coming up here back when you pretended to be pirates, when you acted out Shakespeare and when you wanted to forget the world, the terrible, cruel world you found yourself hating often. This is your hiding spot, a safe place. Ten makes it more so. 

Lying down against the rooftop, you trace the sky from star to star. The good thing about small, dimly lit towns is the clear view of the stars. So far from troubles, it must be easy to play the audience. 

“That looks a little like Felis,” Ten says, taking your hand and tracing a particular arrangement of the stars.

“Is that a… cat?”

“Yeah. It’s not a constellation anymore,” he tells you. “But I like to think it is.”

“I wish things never end too,” you mumble. “Like Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Or that new Taylor Swift song. I wish some things went on forever.”

Ten laughs airily. “I wish too.”

You turn to look at him. The curve of his nose is pretty as ever, eyelashes hanging close to the skin of his cheeks as he breathes with eyes closed. There’s a significant number of words you haven’t exchanged yet. There’s so many words you’re holding back.

“You seem tired,” you note.

He hums in response.

“Was New York that hard?”

He opens his eyes to look at you. “A little… tiring, yes.”

“Well, I’m glad you can rest now.” You smile and he returns it. 

“I’ve been running for so long and telling myself I’m still dancing,” he says, a sigh escaping afterwards. “I don’t even know where I am anymore.”

“You’re with me,” you respond. “Right here. On my rooftop.”

“Watching the stars again,” he completes, laughing aloud. “God, I wish we were kids again. All I cared about were the flavour of my cereal and how many constellations I could memorize.”

“The stars don’t give a shit about you, Ten,” you tease, repeating the line you used to tell him.

“The stars might not give a shit about us,” he agrees, “But that’s why I’d like to watch them a little longer.” 

“Me too,” you say softly.

You take a deep breath and let it out. These are the moments between the bloom of a flower and when it is picked. These moments are serene and warm and gentle, however ephemeral they may be. These are the moments between the flapping of a butterfly's wings—times when you and Ten fell asleep in detention in fifth grade for something that was very much your fault, or when he pets your head with the biggest grin after pissing you off on purpose or the proximity of the baby blue sky after your latest shopping mall mischief. But the flower will be picked someday. To live is to live in fear, and no matter how you try to buzz out the idea of it, it will come and it will prove itself.

“Sometimes I wish I were an angrier person,” you say quietly.

“What for?”

“They just seem so much more driven.”

“You’re driven enough. I think you do everything right already.”

“Working at plant nurseries, maybe. I’m not even a good enough cashier.”

“Flowers suit you.”

“You know, I could spend my life picking flowers and arranging them if I could,” you say, sitting up. “Everything moves so fast that the garden’s gone by the time I get to smell the flowers. You get me?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I wish time could stop. Sometimes it does. When I’m on stage.”

“What’s that like?”

“It’s very beautiful,” he whispers, eyes fixed on you.

It's quiet, the sounds of the night filling the space between you and him.

"You know, in dance," he starts, "the most powerful thing you can be is still. It's also the most difficult."

You hum in response. "I find it easy to be still with you though. It's like I don't have to perform anymore, you know?"

Ten laughs. "I know. I wish I could say that about my ambitions."

You place your palms against his cheeks, holding his face gently. You're not sure if it's because you're a little tipsy or Ten's lips that are driving you crazy, but you smile wide.

"You are like a flower," you begin rather wisely. "And spring hasn't arrived yet."

Ten blinks before snorting and then laughing like you just said the stupidest thing ever. 

The downside to getting along like a house on fire is that the house is still on fire and you don’t know what to do about it. Your heart is burning and you want to tell him the words you’re holding back. But if they escape your mouth, the wind might carry it away and leave you with a heavy response. You can’t say anything yet. Not until you’ve mustered enough courage to leave this town behind with him. Not until you have enough financial confidence to fall in love.

“Hey, Ten.”

“Hm? Don’t ask me something stupid and ruin the night.”

You giggle. “Will you stay with me wherever I am?”

“A little overdue but yes, until death do us part.” 

The two of you laugh, shoulders shaking and eyes brimming with an unsaid emotion. This is how you fall in love. You fall in love like flowers blossoming and withering, like you have only each other to withstand the test of time. 

“Should we dance?” Ten offers. “This time, maybe you’ll finally learn to not step on my feet.”

“That just makes me want to step on your feet more.”

It's so easy to fall in love that you fall asleep to the feeling—like the nights after you watched cartoons well past bedtime and thought that Ten was the prettiest boy you'd ever seen, after reading illicit internet horror stories in seventh grade that only made you huddle closer, after creating a pillow fort in the name of memories the night of your graduation when you couldn't say out loud that Ten really is the prettiest boy you know. The feeling slips in like you slip on your night clothes and you forget they were ever off at all. Comfort is a fleeting thing but in that moment, it felt forever.

act ii scene iii.

Halloween is undoubtedly the greatest time to spend with friends. There’s spooky stories shared, an abundance of favourite candies and if you happen to be friends with theatre kids, there’s most certainly a fun play going on. The crisp autumn air is vaguely nostalgic, brimming with memories in this town. 

Evening creeps in and once you’re done with the day’s chores, you get dressed with such speed that your mother has to convince you to slow down. It’s like you’re a kid again, and you'd like to enjoy this morsel of your childhood before you're forced to grow up.

Greeting Ten’s mother as you rush into the house, you run up the stairs and into Ten’s room, opening the door with a loud bang. Somehow, Ten’s scream is louder than that. He’s wearing a towel around his waist (only a towel), hands covering his chest with a horrified look on his face.

"Stop screaming," you say, hands on your hips. "We've seen each other naked, what's the big deal? Actually, do that pitch again, you sound like Meryl Streep from Mamma Mia."

Ten chokes, covering his mouth with his knuckles while he coughs.

"We were like four and a half! How does that count?"

You giggle, turning around. "Change. Quick."

"I mean, you can see if you like, darling," he calls, liltingly. "I know you can't resist me. Ugh. Can't stand all this pining from a friend."

You make a gagging sound and he laughs. It seems like he’s gotten over the initial shock of you barging in. The sound of the wardrobe opening and Ten shuffling through clothes follows. You are glad, however, that he can't see the look on your face. You must be looking ridiculous. You wonder if he can see how tense your shoulders and torso are. This is not the way you wanted to start the evening. Can he tell apart the distinct nervousness in your voice? It's suddenly difficult to play it cool. And isn't playing it cool something you do in front of a crush?

You catch a glimpse of his naked back and it makes you shake your head violently to get rid of the thought. How ridiculous. You can’t be lovers yet.

“Alright, you can turn around. What the fuck are you even supposed to be?”

"Say hello to the wicked witch of the West!" You exclaim, grinning ear to ear when you jump around.

"Oh, you don't have to dress up for that."

Your smile turns into a pout and you pull hard at his still-soft cheeks. He lets out a pained whine, grabbing your wrists and gently tugging them off. His skin turns red easily, however, and you're left with an image of rosy-cheeked Ten just like when you first met.

“You’re a demon spawn,” he hisses, rubbing his sore cheek. 

“No, that’s definitely your thing. Can’t borrow that,” you say, crossing your arms and smiling smugly. “Why aren’t you dressed as one? Actually, why aren’t you dressed as anything?”

Ten shrugs. “I have to wear some ridiculous ghost outfit for the play so I decided I’d rather play the part of a sexy pirate ghost.”

You snort, looking at the half-buttoned white shirt tucked neatly into black trousers. “You? A ghost? A poltergeist is the word you’re looking for.”

Ten rolls his eyes. “If I were a ghost, I’d definitely haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“Okay, ghost boy, let’s get going.” You loop your arms through his and pull him out, leaving in just as much a whirlwind as you walked in. You do walk back in though—to stuff a few of the cookies Ten’s mom baked in your mouth and walk right out with a muffled ‘thank you’ and your hand still around Ten’s wrist.

Arriving at the theatre, Ten catches his breath though he tries to not look worn out before squinting and making a show of searching for something.

“What are you looking for?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“The train you thought we were going to miss.”

You stick your tongue out and finally let go of his hand. He pulls it to himself, rubbing at his wrist with an exaggerated look of pain. 

“Oh, it’s still intact. Thought I’d have to bid farewell to my dreams of being a professional calligrapher.”

“Eat ink, Ten.”

“Ooh, it’s the rare PG-13 (name). Nice.”

A loud bang emanates from the back entrance, Sicheng looking like a rather mortified Count Dracula (which is strange because Dracula is immortal, right?) with fake blood splattered across his jaw and two little fangs poking out. Ten no wastes no time in complimenting them, making Sicheng rather flustered.

“It was bad enough having to listen to your flirting through the door,” Sicheng mutters. “Get in. Quick. Sooyoung pulled out and we need someone to fill in.”

Your eyes light up and Sicheng is about to deny your wishes when Ten intervenes.

“(name). You get to play a slightly deranged witch with a most definitely existing bloodlust. You in?”

“You bet I am! I was born ready. Except in sixth grade when I had that meh phase and I wasn’t born ready. Then I was born ready again!”

Sicheng makes a face. “Yeah sure, just get in.”

“Aren’t you glad I’m dressed for the occasion?”

“Not really, no.”

Ten whistles when he walks in. “How much fake blood did you guys get?”

“Enough to re-enact Red Wedding from Game of Thrones,” Johnny answers from a corner, in a costume which you can’t tell if it’s a werewolf or just a fursuit. You can never seem to guess when it comes to Johnny.

Ten laughs before turning to you, the sound tuning out. “I have never watched Game of Thrones.”

You pat his shoulder, laughing. In the next moment, Sicheng pushes a script towards you, expecting you to actually read.

“Sicheng, you know I’m going to improvise.”

Sicheng groans. “Shakespeare was right. Hell is empty and all the demons are here.”

Throwing a pointed glare at you when he says the word ‘demons’, he crosses his arms. It’s easy to convince him though—he’s quite amenable when he’s stressed out about details and both you and Ten know he just needs some reassurance and good, gentle shove.

You and Ten sit on either side of him on a really, really worn out couch that you’re not sure can hold the weight of the three of you.

Sicheng holds up his hands in both of your faces before you can open your mouth.

“I feel like the child of a really immature couple who is forced to grow up at a tender age because his parents are so immature.”

“Uh,” Ten starts. “That’s very specific.”

“The character I’m playing has daddy issues,” Sicheng responds casually, and a little out of it. “Actually he’s got mommy issues too. Why am I playing an eight year old?”

“Because children are crap at acting,” Ten answers and you reach your arm to smack the back of his head.

“What? Ow, that hurt.”

“Sicheng, it’s our stupid Halloween play. We do it to have fun,” you say, placing your hand 

“You going all motherly is freaking me out,” Sicheng says, wide eyes staring at you.

“You’re right,” you say, dramatically sighing. “Motherhood changed me. I can’t do evil black magic anymore. Aha! That’s a good dialogue, isn’t it?”

“Harrowing, actually, but I guess that’s what you’re going for.”

You and Ten share a fond smile, laughing to yourselves till Joohyun calls you and gives you basic stage direction. She’s almost never home except for Halloween and it makes the holiday even more exceptional.

“Ready, Wicked Witch of the West?” Ten nudges you before he has to go on stage. 

“Wait, is that actually my character?”

“No. No, it isn’t. For the love of cats—the animal, not the musical—please just keep speaking and make it worse on stage. I need a recording to laugh at.”

You roll your eyes and push him on. He looks so at peace there, the conversation from that night coursing in remembrance. It’s like everything is still, the lack of motion driving him to move. 

You never understand it yourself, however, when you’re on stage. You blabber like an idiot, as Ten says, and the audience laughs and that is it. You don’t experience what he does and it sometimes drives you a little crazy. Of course, you adding a pregnancy narrative to your witch does throw the rest of the cast for a loop but they handle it well. You just have to make sure you run as fast as you can from Joohyun after the play is done.

“Good job there,” Ten snickers after you duck behind a curtain as Joohyun passes by with furrowed brows and a frown. 

“I know right? I’m literally Oscar-worthy,” you whisper-yell and Ten shakes his head.

“Come on.” This time his hand grips your wrist. “I know the best way to sneak out of this theatre.”

Taking a flight of stairs that you were previously unaware of, you plunge into the darkness of what seems to be an attic. Ten turns on the flashlight of his phone and you yelp, the lighting not helping his already spooky makeup. He laughs before navigating through a bunch of boxes. 

“I heard they used to use this room as an execution chamber,” Ten whispers.

“They did not. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Okay fine. I did cry here though after reading an internet article about ill-fated lovers in ancient Asia.”

“Ugh. Truly horrifying.”

“Yeah, yeah. Emotions terrify you.”

“They do not.”

Ten stops walking.

“Oh yeah? Got any proof?”

You stop yourself before you can do something embarrassing. The first thought that came to you was to kiss the smug look off his face and it does terrify you. The bastard is right. 

“I… cried at your birthday party.”

“You were six. Everyone cries when they’re six.”

“Alright, fine. I cried after you left.”

The silence makes you look up and for once, you don’t really want Ten to be so speechless. You punch his shoulder lightly.

“I missed you a lot,” you say quietly. “Is that so surprising?”

He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. 

“Hello? Anyone inside?” You knock at his forehead before holding his face between your face. “You’re shivering. It’s pretty cold here.”

“I’m not cold,” he says quickly, the red rising in his face.

“Of course, you’re cold. Your cheeks are aflame, that’s how cold it is.”

Ten shuts off the flashlight and you scream at the abrupt darkness.

“It’s not from the cold,” he mumbles.

Now left with only Ten’s warm hand around your wrist, you let him guide through wherever the hell it is you are before emerging onto the second floor of 1075 Building. 

“What the hell?” You gasp. “Why wasn’t I aware there was a secret passage here? Is this what archaeologists feel like? ”

Ten smiles, in some sort of victory. “You don’t know a lot of things.”

You walk into the empty room, or rather wiggle in through the window—this building used to be some sort of housing apartment before being torn down halfway for renovation. Some ghost stories spooked the workers too much to continue. However, having been here long enough, you know that the only thing haunting this place is the abundance of cats. In fact, you can see a few eyeing the two of you from the other windowsills. The room is fairly well-lit and maintained so you guess the renovation will start again soon.

“You got us pizza?” you exclaim at the pizza boxes and cans of cola resting over a little picnic blanket.

“Yes, I did. Wait, crap, I forgot the candy.”

“Nah, that’s okay.” You show him the Reese’s peanut butter cups and Snickers you had pocketed from some unsuspecting children. They get way too many anyway. This is completely morally justified—you’re doing this to save them from cavities and poor health.

“I can’t believe you’d ever want to escape a theatre,” you say before humming at how good the pizza tastes. Pizza is always better when you’re having it someplace you’re not supposed to be in.

“Sometimes, it’s suffocating.” He finally bites into his pizza, an unreadable look over him. You don’t like it. Shifting closer so that your knees touch, you lean in a little.

“Oh, really? After all that talk about how beautiful it is.”

“It is. It just wears me out sometimes. Like you.”

Ten flushes red immediately. “I didn’t mean it—I, I… uh.”

“Aw, you think I’m beautiful.”

“Gah, I knew you’d say that.”

There’s a pause. 

“I got kicked out, actually,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“I had some disagreements with the writers and… and here I am.”

You look at him in stunned silence. “They did fucking what? I’m going to kill them.”

“No, (name). I was at fault. I overstepped. I guess city air made me a little greedy.”

“You were always greedy though.”

“If that’s your example of sympathy, you are horrible at it. Never try again.”

“Well.” You smile reassuringly. “You’re quite beautiful on stage. Too. Like me, as you said.”

“I’m a performer,” he says, a hint of satisfaction in his voice when he leans in. “You can’t beat me at that.” 

“Then put on a show for me, darling.” You raise an eyebrow, a cocky smile over your lips.

Ten’s cheeks colour. It’s silent for a few moments and you take notice of the lack of distance between your noses, your lips. He seems to lose touch with reality when he gently cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. A soft gasp escapes you, not quite ready for the contact.

Ten pulls apart immediately, a look of horror in his eyes.

“I- I’m sorry… I got caught in the—I’m sorry.”

He gets up abruptly and you still sit there in shock. When your senses are back, the room is empty and you hug yourself, feeling colder. God, you’re an idiot. For the first time in your life, you’ve come to your senses and you decide to let the only person you’ve loved walk out the door.

Your texts to him that night aren’t even left on read but you know he’s read the notifications. He always does when he’s avoiding someone. You feel the weight slithering in, pinning you down and making it hard to sleep that night. You have so many things you want to say to him and this time, you’re ready. Even if fate doesn’t let you, you will speak the lines you should have chosen much earlier.

act ii scene iv.

You don’t have anyone to show it to but the news broke you.

The idea of him keeping it all to himself, bearing burdens that are better shared makes your heart collapse its walls into itself. You’re supposed to be there. You were supposed to be there from every pitfall to the top of the world. You were supposed to be at every stage, at every afterparty and for every bout of performance high. You didn’t mean to leave the seat empty.

You were supposed to be there at every rejection and every failure, making fun of all the troubles. 

You get a text from Ten two mornings later to meet up at the new cafe everyone’s been talking about. It takes you the rest of the morning to practise what you’ll say, what you won’t and how you’ll say it. You’ve never done this much for actual plays. But you’re not acting—you just need the words to come out right.

The wall of the cafe is covered in ivy, but you cannot waste time admiring it. Your nerves have the best of you. You stop at the entrance, backtracking to say your entire speech in your head once again. The most important friendship of your life depends on this stupid monologue you came up with a night before in front of the mirror.

“(name).” 

You jump, finding Ten behind you. His nose is a little red from the cold but he looks fine apart from that. You can’t believe you’re early. This might be the first time in your life and you breathe out, slightly more confident.

“Can you… uh, not block the door?”

“Right. Sorry.”

The two of you walk in, a nervous tremble over your fingers but you clasp your hands together tight. He still remembers your favourite drink and you take a moment to try and understand why it’s surprising at all. You wish he never left.

“Ten,” you begin. “If you want to talk about that kiss—”

“Stop. I’m sorry. That was so out of line.” He lets out a distressed sigh, leaning back in the chair. 

“It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” you say quickly. That was not in the speech.

He sits up. “I… Am I taking things too seriously? You’ve been my longest friend, (name). You should tell me.”

You frown. “I didn’t mean it in a harsh way. You just think it’s bad because you kissed your best friend and—”

“No. What do you think?”

You gulp.

“See, (name)? I lied because it fucking hurts right now. I don’t want to play this part.”

“No, Ten. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you so many things but there’s the city, your job—oh. I- I don’t mean to bring it up if the wound is still fresh. Ten—”

“You don’t understand,” he cuts. “You’ve always been happy here. You’re happy wherever.  I’m not… like… that.”

There’s a pause. You pull your jacket closer, the temperature dropping despite the smell of warm baked goods and hit coffee.

“I thought you knew me,” you whisper coldly. 

Ten looks away. “I don’t. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know anything about anything.” 

You breathe sharply. “Ten, I know the city was tough but it’s all you ever wanted.”

“I don’t know what I want,” he whispers. “I don’t know where I belong and- and it just keeps getting harder.”

Your eyes soften. “At least, you were there at Broadway. You took the first step and maybe… maybe you can make a priority list, you know? Work things out.”

“(name), stop. You keep trying to cheer me up in the wrong way.” He dips his face into his palms, rubbing at it and sighing.

You purse your lips. This conversation is going nowhere and you’re holding onto the last shred of your empathy. You just want him back with you.

“You got to go out there, Ten. You went to college, you went to New York. You got to go out there and live your dreams, for whatever it was worth, while I’m stuck in this nothing town. Forever.”

“That’s… that’s not true,” he says, voice breaking. “You were saving up for college. We would live in the same city, in the same apartment with the cats and the hot pink curtains and a coffee maker—oh god, I’ve ruined it.”

It’s painful. You don’t know what to say. If this were a movie, the beautiful, romantic kind, you’d be confessing your long-kept feelings. But you don’t know. You don’t know anything about anything. It’s been a year and he’s changed in a way you don’t know and you can’t throw it onto him like this. This isn’t a movie, and you don’t have a script. Your practised words are forgotten as soon as they reach the tip of your tongue. 

People change, and you’re holding onto someone he’s already buried. He’s not in love with you; teenage love is shaky, wobbly at the foundation. He misses the years, not you. You’ve known him your whole life and yet a year’s difference makes you see things differently. You were lonely without him. You were lonely when you had to keep yourself from calling him, when you finally decided to stop sending daily texts, when you couldn’t find the same comfort in any of your other friends. You hurt him and now, you have to face it.

You pick wilting flowers at an overgrown garden. 

No, even if it isn’t you, you want him. You want him and him only, the years be damned. The past pales in comparison to what is now.

“I’m in love with you,” you blurt. “I was just shocked last night because I didn’t think you were in love with me.”

“You’re not in love with me,” he counters. “You’ve been in love with so many people but none of them were me.”

“You. It’s you—oh my god, it was always you.”

Ten glances at his untouched cup, yet undecided on what to do with his fingers when they stop tapping against the bright red plastic table abruptly.

“So what? So what if it was me? I don’t know what it’s like to play that part.”

You breathe out. There’s a silence between the two of you, one which you remember hanging stars upon. Now it's quiet in a way that has nothing to do with astronomy, or art, or music or anything, really. It’s empty. Like every other silence.

“I loved you,” you whisper in an attempt that is more delirious than for closure. “Do you really not know what that’s like?”

Ten shakes his head. “I… I don’t.”

The memories of him smiling under the sun, only memories keep your tears from brimming up. There was meant to be closure. There was meant to be an explanation. You were supposed to be closing that door you opened into each other. Ten looks at your shaking hands and for a moment, you think he might even reach out and warm them up with his sunlit ones. You press them to your face and breathe into them.

“You brought me all the way here to lie to me?”

Ten furrows his eyebrows.

“I’m not lying—I can’t care about you. You know that, right? I’ll ruin your life. Like I’ve ruined mine.”

You laugh, partly in exasperation and partly as an attempt to alleviate the pain in your chest. 

“You’re my boy. I know you better than anything else I know.”

“Don’t- Don’t do that. Don’t make me want something more.”

"Why would you kiss me?" You bite down your lip to stop yourself from crying.

Ten seems at a loss for words, looking at you with parted lips and guilty eyes. 

"I love you. I'm sorry."

With your eyes downcast, you take a shaky breath. It's now or never. Never, never, never. The word chimes like wedding bells and you think for a moment, to lie. If you pretend, if you act, you'll live it out. He cannot stay and you cannot leave. What a ridiculous pair you are.

You squeeze your eyes shut, get up and lean over the table to place a kiss against Ten's mouth. You pull away with reluctance, looking at the quiet surprise in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I got… I got caught in the moment."

Ten stares at you soundlessly, mouth moving and yet no words come out. Instead, he runs his fingers through your hair before placing his hand on your cheek and leans in again. There's a red flush over his cheeks and it makes you feel at ease.

"I didn't want to hold you back," you say after parting. "Or at least, that's what I told myself. But this year without you has been so painful."

Ten doesn't say anything.

"I… I didn't know what I felt and- and I was so scared… I didn't mean to hurt you. I hate that I did."

“I was afraid,” he says, breathing out like he was holding it in. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t care if I came back.” 

Time treats everything poorly. This time, you’ll try your best to win against it. Ten breaks into a wide, relieved smile and you laugh, rubbing at the tears that collected. God, you were so afraid you wouldn't ever be able to talk to each other anymore. Every room you’ve been in without Ten has been so empty that you had stopped opening doors at all. The coffee is hot and tastes better than ever.

//

You dream of something as ridiculous as the love you feel for Ten. 

There's a cat in the sky, made of stars and with a booming, deep voice—and you, you are little and insignificant on a forgotten rooftop. It is serene, in quiet contemplation, and you are looking at it like a neglected child at its mother. You ask something without words and it responds without words. 

All of sudden, the image disappears and you find yourself in a garden, picking flowers. The clothes you wear are not yours, the face you wear is not yours. But Ten, you'd recognise him anywhere, any time, in another lifetime.

You could see the clear distinction between the two of you however. You wore robes of royalty, the auspicious gold embroidery glistening, and he, that of a performing artist in quiet sage green. The blue irises that grew around you paid no heed to your colours and you had the thought that you should be like them. Vivid, smiling and never alone.

Ten greets you with a smile first and then stretches out his arms. You run to him, with enough force to knock the two of you onto the soft, grassy ground. No one will find the two of you here, in this flower bed. You remember thinking that royalty puts on just as much a show as theatre actors.

You didn't have to remember all of it to know that the story was a tragedy, carefully crafted by divine writers and painters. It was cruel, as is every writer's hand. You see him last under a beautiful sunset before an execution, the words ‘please’ on his lips and no hint of resentment in his smile. It was unlike him. It was so unlike him. 

You hug yourself. He shouldn’t have forgiven you so easily. It takes you a few moments to come back to your senses; this is not you. That person in your dreams wasn’t you—why did you have to feel all that pain? That person in your dream watched their lover die—no, let their lover die as though discarding a messed up sketch. Cruel. It was so cruel. 

The burning idea sprouts in your mind that it was the original script. That perhaps you were cruel and he was not and it’s been that way since forever. That if you don’t do something about it, you’ll be the villain once more. It's as scary to be young as it is lively—and not for once, did you ever think that villains were children too.

ACT III: HAPPINESS 

 act iii scene i.

If the world were to end tomorrow, Ten would spend tonight dancing with you. He says it so easily that you forget to tease him about it.

“Not like that,” he instructs, eyebrows furrowed. “Do this.”

“I am doing this.” You huff, crossing your arms.

“No, you’re not—holy shit, your arms are made of lead.”

You punch him in the shoulder and he stumbles, losing his balance. He sits down on his bed, leaning back on his arms and laughs. You join him and sit down on the fuzzy rug. He gets off immediately to sit beside you.

“I mean, you’re not that bad,” he says with a shrug.

You mimic his statement, rolling your eyes and he attacks your side with an unannounced bout of tickling. The last time you did this, you were a foot shorter and no high school dating rumours were flying around. The last time you did this, you didn’t end up kissing, limbs entangled with each other. December feels like June.

Ten pulls away from you, hovering over to kiss you once again before kissing turns into giggling which turns into laughter.

“I like this," you say quietly.

"Kissing me?" He asks with a sly grin.

"It's actually a little disappointing. Thought you'd be a ten at kissing."

"Atrocious. Disgusting. Vile. Never say that to me again."

You stick your tongue out at him and he does the same, the afternoon torpor settling in heavy as you cuddle into each other. It’s nostalgic almost but at the same time, so very new. You want to talk to him for hours and hours but when the hours end, it never feels enough. An ending is what you despise. Your thoughts meander.

“I had a nightmare,” you confess suddenly.

There’s a very brief pause. Before Ten even says anything, his arms reach out, pulling you into him. It’s warm and you smile.

“Was it your own face you saw?”

“Fuck you. You ruined the moment.”

“We were having a moment?”

You elbow him in the gut and he lets out a grunt of pain, the two of you moving away from each other just to glare. Ten caves first, sliding closer to you and placing his palm against your cheek.

“Can we resume our moment?” he asks, eyes crinkling when he smiles.

You press your forehead to his, your breathing in perfect coordination. This feels easy. This feels right. You pull away and look at him, the silence encasing your moment with him.

“I saw you in it. I… I lost you in it.” You bite your lower lip, avoiding his gaze.

“Hey. It was just a bad dream. I’m right here.” Ten draws closer, his breath mingling with yours and the warmth seeps into you just enough to forget the cold night. 

“You know what would cheer me up from a nightmare?” You nudge him.

“If you say visiting the graveyard—god, fuck, you’re gonna say visiting the graveyard. My suggestion is that you see a therapist.”

“I would if I had the money,” you retort.

Ten shrugs before furrowing his eyebrows. “Are we actually going to the graveyard? You know there are like graves there.”

“That’s… why it’s called a graveyard.”

“Don’t get smart with me, you failed seventh grade English.”

“You failed sixth grade math, Ten. Sixth grade. They teach you like fractions and shit then.”

“Do I look like I need to add three-fourths and one-eighths ever in my life?”

You shake your head before getting up with a burst of energy, and pick up your jacket from his bed. 

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” You start to chant at Ten until he reluctantly gets up. The sun is quite far from setting down yet and everyone knows the perfect time to visit a grave is twilight. Maybe the stone will give your life enough perspective to ease your anxious thoughts.

//

The town cemetery is located by the bed of dahlias which have withered in the seasonal cycle of life and death. There’s a light breeze and your jacket is just enough to withstand it. The sky is orange and pink and the graveyard doesn’t seem as looming as it does in the dead of night (which you know because you’ve visited at two in the morning on a stupid bet with Johnny and somehow Ten was the one scared shitless). You’ve heard stories of the soldiers who were buried here, the women who led the first revolution and everyone else who never got to grace history books. You’ve never enjoyed history much but you can’t gainsay that it puts everything into perspective.

Nothing else matters at the wedding altar and at the grave. 

Ten makes a face at the iron gates of the cemetery. “Okay. We’ve had our adventure. Can we please go get our evening snacks?”

“I love it when you’re antsy, Ten.”

He gives you a sardonic smile. “And I like it better when we’re in my bedroom.”

You gasp dramatically, placing your hand in front of your mouth lightly. “That’s quite scandalous of you, good sir.”

He smiles, eyes crinkling. “I consider myself something of a modern man, you see?”

You skip over the steps to the gates and do a curtsy before gesturing to the entrance. He complies with a sigh of reluctance and lets you take his hand as you pull him in. 

A loud voice startles the two of you and Ten smacks his mouth before he can scream and embarrass himself.

“What business do you have here, trespassers?” The voice echoes through the graveyard.

You look around at the trees and squint at what seems to be some children wearing masks and giggling to themselves. You roll your eyes. Johnny told you some of the town kids were mucking about near the graveyard to spook passersby. 

“You really should get back home for dinner, kids,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Silence, trespasser! You will answer our questions to pass.”

Ten bites back a laugh. “Alright, kids. Shoot.”

“Are the two of you criminals married?”

Ten wrinkles his nose. “Do we look that old?”

“Okay! Next question. Did the two of you ever… do it?”

“What?” you ask, tilting your head. 

Ten groans. “You can say sex, you know? Don’t be pussies.”

You elbow him in the side and he yelps. 

“Those are kids,” you whisper.

“I think they’re old enough if they’re asking,” he whispers back.

“No,” you answer the same time he answers “Yes”.

“What?” You look at him in surprise. 

He shrugs, somewhat guilty. “New York,” he responds in a meek voice. “You know?”

You snicker before it turns to laughter. “Why do you look like that? It’s not a crime to have sex—how the fuck did you even get some though?”

“It’s called having sex appeal. Ever heard of it?”

You roll your eyes, opening your mouth to say something when one of the kids clears his throat.

“Okay! You may pass.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “You really just the wanted to ask us about sex, didn’t you?”

“Let’s go, boys!” The kid declares before stopping abruptly. “And girl.”

A group of kids emerges from behind the trees and flock to a hole in the stone wall, laughing amongst themselves as they run out.

“Wow. Kids these days, huh?” Ten says.

“When we were their age, we convinced Yukhei to poke a beehive.”

“Okay, we were asshole kids but no one ever really told us bees were deadly.”

You walk further into the graveyard, beelining towards the same graves you visit often. They’re unnamed but they died sometime in the nineteenth century. Time passes in a way that is hard to comprehend—all these people and stories are never remembered and time is the only witness. Perspective is a luxury to those who have the time to look.

“Why do you like coming here?” Ten asks quietly, eyeing the gravestones with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“For perspective,” you answer truthfully.

He hums, a somewhat understanding note in his voice.

“They only lived for twenty-four years,” you note.

“The world ends too soon sometimes.”

“Kind of sucks.”

“Really sucks.”

The wind is cold when it passes the two of you by. Ten shivers and zips his jacket before checking up on you, fixing your jacket to cover you better.

“When I leave this place, I hope I have a nice farewell,” you whisper.

Ten raises his eyebrow. “Don’t you want it to be an awful, everyone’s-crying sort of affair?”

“No,” you respond, giving him a confused look.

“I want at least one person to be crying,” he replies, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“That’s kind of—wait a minute.” You glare at him. “You don’t have to use that against me. I wasn’t crying crying.”

“I’m not! I mean it. Like, I want to mean something to someone.”

You draw near enough to link your arms, sighing at the warmth emanating.

“And you’re lying. I know you sobbed right into the pillow like a dramatic ass Disney princess.”

“You’re the one with a flair for drama.” You chuckle.

Ten makes a reluctant sound of agreement, crossing his arms. As he looks at the graves, there’s an expression on his face you can’t quite fathom. It could be mourning—but the graves are nameless, or it could be pity—but he believes that pity is not a positive emotion to feel. You want to ask but something keeps you from it. Something tells you that the answer won’t be pleasant for either of you.

“I hope I cry too,” he whispers. “When I leave and the curtain falls and the world ends.”

You look at him, pondering.

“When I leave,” he begins again, “I want it to hurt. When everything changes, I want it to hurt bad. Then I know it meant something.”

You slip your hand into his and squeeze. “If it means anything, you know I’ll cry if you leave.”

Ten laughs. “Yeah. So when you cried, was it the ugly snot cry or the silently sobbing kind of cry?”

“Fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to retort but gets a full kiss on the mouth instead, good enough to make him forget it. It’s a nice thing to get used to. If time permits, you could do everything together forever.

You return at twilight, grabbing some snacks and arguing whose Netflix account to use and the sun sets before you come to an agreement but it’s not winter anymore inside his room. In fact, it doesn’t feel like winter at all till you look outside and see the naked trees and darker skies, and you remember when you decided last year that you don’t like winter. 

Before you can have a change of heart, you turn to him with sparkling eyes.

He smiles before you even say anything, reading your face as easily as the back of his hand. “You have good news? Or, like, a gift?” Chuckling in breaks, he runs his fingers through your hair.

“I just wanted to talk about our future.”

“Hm?” He seems a little surprised.

“I’m sure we’ll work something out for the both of us. I have faith in you. And in us.”

Ten’s smile falters but he doesn’t let it fall. “I’m glad you do.”

His ringtone startles the two of you just as you lean in, Ten muttering curses at the device. Pausing for a bit when he takes out his phone, he signals you that he needs a minute and leaves you alone in his room. 

Nothing much has changed. There's his cluttered ash wood desk with sketchbooks of varying sizes and colours, shelves with small plushies and, you notice carefully, the butterfly pin you stole. Beside it is the panda soft toy you had found at the side of the road walking back from school and felt so bad, you had "adopted" it. You let out a chuckle.

“Ten?” you call, holding the little panda soft toy.

Ten paces outside his room, speaking in a hush. His features are tense, shoulders stiff and eyes focused when he talks to the caller. Noticing you, his eyes soften for a bit and he makes his way towards you.

“I’ll- I’ll talk to you later,” he speaks sharply into the phone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, walking up to him.

“Sicheng,” he replies briskly.

“Oh.” You remember the doll in your hand and pick it up to show him. “Remember how we got this?”

He smiles but something is amiss in his eyes. “Of course I remember.”

Whatever it is, it must not be important. After all, he’s your best friend and best friends tell each other everything. Morning will come and everything will be alright.

//

The night is cold and the moon is missing. The clothes you wear are not your own once again. This dream begins when the sun has just set and you can taste bitter defeat, but of what battle you don’t know yet. 

All you know is that there is a war and you are caught in the crossfire. It hurts; you can’t feel your limbs anymore and another injury won’t matter anymore. Maybe this is the only life you won in.

No one dies in a way that matters. No one dies for anything at all. It just happens and that is a truth lying within the reach of the universe. Yet then again, when you find your last breath escaping you as you hold hands with the love of your life, you think there must be some meaning to it. You’re only twenty-four and you will be buried in a nameless grave for a war that was the fault of neither of you. 

It dawns on you the moment you wake up, brushing away the tears on your cheeks. The universe is forgetting you, and the universe is being forgotten, until there is nothing left to be remembered.

All you can think then is that you will miss Ten in the next life, and in the next and the next. 

act iii scene ii.

Ten has to tell you. He knows. He knows how the story ends. 

But he’s afraid. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking facing forward till he’d turned around just to find you gone. New York was fun and he made new friends but it’s difficult to be anywhere without you. You’ve been attached at the hip for so long, it’s become strange to be apart.

Ten thinks about the call. The director was very particular about his role and chances come by as rare as diamonds. Ten breathes out heavy in annoyance, covering his eyes with his forearm. He loves sunny winter mornings and this is the worst one he’s ever experienced. He can hear his mom cooking downstairs, the sound soothing and he groans, running his fingers through his hair. 

He should tell you. He knows he should tell you. But fear never walks in on stage with full gusto, it creeps in, slithers in till he feels a shadow behind him on stage and suddenly, he can’t see the lights anymore. Ten is afraid. He is afraid of losing his sense of self to the millions of people he’s played, and to your vibrant world of flowers and colours. You are always front stage centre. You are at the bottom of everything and he can’t let himself fall deep enough. He’s not enough.

Ten turns to face the collection of DVDs on his shelf, untouched since he'd left. What did he start performing for again? Was it the time you and him pretended to be pirates in his room, his bed your gallant ship, or the time he watched his first movie on a sweltering hot summer day, or the time he sang to you the first time (it was a birthday song remix, made by Ten himself). Surely, it was for something beautiful and not for something like greed. At that time, he thought that maybe if he stole enough lives and stuffed it into the gaping hole, it would sate his envy of the people around him. The bright vibrant colours, he made his own and yet still, he feels like a thief with his nimble feet and a stash of paint bottles in his arms. He's not satisfied at all.

It was a sunlit morning and Ten thought to himself, wouldn’t it be nice if he could paint with all the colours of the rainbow? You, who are so full of vibrance, couldn’t understand this epiphany of his.

"You keep getting on my nerves," he mutters in this empty room of his. "Everything you do gets on my nerves."

Ten decides that he’ll tell you this evening. After all, best friends tell each other everything. The theatre means the world to him but the whole world is out there, ready to be his stage. Eventually, this loneliness will turn into a performance and he’ll be grasping at identities trying to find familiarity. He will take his masks off over and over again, and he knows he’ll still be wearing one. He wants to greet you with his real face.

The world spins at the rate of a thousand miles an hour. It never stops, and that must mean everyone on it can’t stop either. 

//

The crows are singing a song, or talking amongst themselves. You can never know. The song is dyed red as the evening, and with a splash of purple. It’s the season to miss flowers and warm hands and the sweet taste of ice cream. You don't know why but the "let's go to the gardens" text from Ten gave you the most awful feeling, much like the morning after your nightmares.

“I have to go back to New York.”

You look up at Ten from the park bench beside the dahlia fields. The flowers are asleep, not in bloom until next autumn. 

“What?”

“I got a call… from someone I know.”

Your first reaction is to smile wide and jump up. “That’s great! You’re not jobless anymore.” You laugh.

But then the corner of your lips twitch and your smile drops. The word ‘goodbye’ hangs at the tip of your tongue and you look at him, slightly perplexed. Ten, who looks at you with so much kindness, will never understand this envy of yours.

“When… when do you come back?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. It depends on how well I do.”

You laugh despite the heavy feeling settling in your chest. “That- Let’s hope your acting is shitty then, hm?”

Ten frowns. “This isn't a joke. For once in your life, can you look at me with sincerity?”

You grit your teeth at his words. 

“I’m trying to lighten the mood, god dammit,” you murmur bitterly.

“And I’m saying you don’t have to.”

There’s something looming over the top of your heads, something eerie like a clock that never stops ticking or a clock that never ticks.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, surrender in your voice already. 

If you kiss him where you hurt him, will everything be alright? Can you grow the flowers he likes over his scars? Flowers… flowers—which were his favourite again? Irises or daisies? It must have been the prior; you’ve glanced over a hundred times at the endless fields of sleeping blue irises in his sketchbook. And yet, you doubt. Were those flowers chrysanthemums? You’re grasping onto memories and your knuckles are starting to hurt.

Ten looks at you with a gaze that is of the past. He looks at you like he’s mourning, like he’s keeping something grave from you. So you lean in, your lips brushing against his before you can kiss him fully. You want to feel him and for him to feel you, the idea of a relationship foreign and close to you as ever. Even so, you feel like a ghost as you run your fingertips over his skin and through his hair. He knows how to kiss you, how to hold you—and he’s known you for years.

Ten pulls apart for a few moments, breaths weaving into each other. It’s only five centimeters between your lips but it’s still five centimetres. You don’t know if you were meant to be apart or if you were not. The show must go on.

You brush the hair from his face, a lingering smile on your face from the kiss and the way his features align so perfectly. It’s easier to avoid his gaze that way. 

“I’m tired,” he whispers. “I’m so tired. I feel like my skin is losing its grip on my bones. Everything’s falling apart.”

You hum, choking up at the sound of his voice. Soft and yet, so heavy.

He takes a sharp, shaky breath. “I don’t want to go.” 

Forever is the sweetest lie you’ve told each other. 

“You’re going to go,” you pronounce the words into realization. “You’re going to go away again. And I’m going to be right here.”

Your broken heart is making it much more difficult than it should be.

“Don’t go,” you whisper hoarsely. Maybe if this time you didn’t lie. Maybe you’ll be his number one, his lead finally. 

His breathing gets erratic, and he takes a step back to cover his face with his flushed hands. It’s painful to watch him this way and you want to take your words back. But you knew. You knew what the words would result in, what the words would grow into. You feel cruel.

“I… I can’t give up,” he says finally, “I can’t- I can’t. I’m sorry, oh god. Why can’t you come with me? Why do I have to go back alone?”

You swallow, your eyes downcast. 

“I’m not going to wait,” you say finally. “We should… we should stop now. It’s been long enough for us to go our own ways.”

Ten doesn’t move, at a loss for words.

“You… I'm sorry,” he says, choking on his own words. 

Your lips tremble and you wipe at your eyes. He cups your face, thumbs swiping away the tears before you can muster enough strength to push him away. You’re a complete mess, in a way you haven’t been before. Even now, he’s the only one you can face.

“We’re not,” you say, regaining some control over your tongue, “We’re not supposed to be like this. Do you think we would even be friends if we didn’t grow up here together?”

“What- What does that matter?” He furrows his eyebrows, drawing nearer.

“I’m saying that everything could just be a coincidence and maybe… maybe things should just end sometimes.”

You just want to kiss him, in the way a romantic story ends in a sweet kiss and it’s a happy ending.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers. “But if you want distance, I’m giving you thousands of miles of it.”

You clench your jaw. “Don’t blame me for pushing you away.”

Ten throws up his arms in exasperation. “I’m not blaming—why are you so defensive all of a sudden?”

“You made me that way,” you answer, pitch low. Your throat hurts. 

Ten looks at you with disappointment in his eyes, baby pink lips in a frown you hate. "I'm sorry. I have to leave."

You nod and let the words 'see you tomorrow' slip the same time 'goodbye' slips his. He turns his back and walks forwards as he always has, and you look in from the same place as you always have. 

Eventually, you get the energy to go home. You greet your colourful room with the same look you always have before something catches your eye. The colour of your room mostly comes from the polaroids stuck to your wall—you and Ten at your high school graduation dancing to Nicki Minaj, Yukhei and you looking done holding the caricatures Ten painted of you, Sicheng and Ten and you after your first theatre performance together. There are so many smiles that you end laughing, a little crazy with the sound. Perhaps spring isn't as far as you think it is. Perhaps you will be okay.

Everything has an end. You know that. It hurts so fucking bad.

Ten was right. Because it hurts this bad, you know it meant something now. It meant the whole world to you. Winter tumbles upon you at full force even as you hold autumn dearly in your arms.

//

This time, you close your eyes to find yourself in a field of dahlias. The dream is meandering with colours and sounds so quiet that you feel like you’re stuck in time. Then a loud vibration resounds throughout the field; it is not a field at all. 

You are sitting atop a bed of stars, in the belly of something much larger than you are. There is a place in the universe for everyone but you cannot find yourself in it. 

So you sit at the places you’ve always known, at gardens and children’s parks, waiting till your hair turns grey and your skin starts to wrinkle. Time flows around you, faster with each second but you sit so still that you're not breathing anymore. You're so jealous of those who move, dance and play. Does it have to be this painful? You don't want to be all these people in your dreams. You want to paint your own mask.

The world is so busy and you are completely still. You think of sunshine in New York and how he must be loving it and for a moment, your plastered lips quirk upward. 

When you wake up, Ten is on a flight to New York with a text that reads: "I'll come back. I promise." The sunset after a farewell—even you understand the beauty of it and so, you watch him chase his dreams into the sunset.

act iii scene iii.

You know an ending scene when you see one. It’s the only scene you didn’t end up sleeping through. But this doesn’t feel like one, no matter how deep the despair runs through you. This third act love was never supposed to work out and yet, something is amiss.

Ten doesn’t come back even when the billboards proudly show his face and he’s the star of the show. In your opinion, he always has been. But people get comfortable in the present, sink their feet into it, and when they do, they forget the past. 

The world spins at a thousand miles per hour but nothing seems to move for you. Everything stops and life goes on.

epilogue.

Your youth starts to run out.

Sorrow grows into anger, then into resentment. You’re not sure what you hate so desperately but you hate it nonetheless. You’re pissed and you don’t know what to do with yourself except wake up shaking and wanting to shout and cry at the world. You were supposed to have Ten by your side even then. Even when you’re against the world, he was supposed to be there. Now you’re all alone in a world that’s crashing and burning, in a world of your own making and in a world that is no longer in the palm of your hand.

You wish you were an angrier person, you wish you could curse and scream and fight as easily as they do in movies. At least he didn't make a villain out of you when he left first. 

You don’t really have nightmares anymore though. When you have nothing to lose, you start to fear less. You tend to a little garden of your own making after Mr. Yang passes away. There’s a quiet funeral and a will written with your name on it. You did spend most of your time there after Ten left. It’s your flower shop now and you can tend to whichever flowers you want to keep alive.

Sometime in your late twenties, you get a call from an old friend. You meet Doyoung at a coffee shop near the college he went to, and he tells you he got your number from Yukhei that night you met. He says he’s glad your number hasn’t changed in all these years—he found it going through his contacts. You find it cute the way he becomes flustered when trying to explain himself. He’s a lawyer now, finished all those tough years to complete his dreams.

It makes you smile. You think that dreams shouldn’t be kept in a bottle but your shelves are full.

You go on dates at the cutest new cafes and the most ambient restaurants, sometimes to amusement parks so you can laugh at his fear of scary rides. It feels like having a friend once again and you cheer up for the better. 

But Doyoung doesn’t understand history the way you do. He doesn’t understand a lot of things—but it’s not something you expect anyway. He’s rich and he doesn’t know what small towns are like. You think you can be in love again. He proposes to you on a yacht and you nod, paralyzed from your fear of the ocean. Your parents are so happy for you that for a brief time, you feel happy too in the shadow of their joy.

You don’t visit your hometown anymore after the wedding. You don’t visit theatres at all.

Sometimes you remember the night at the rooftop after the party with Ten and smile. But it was one night, one thing you did in a lifetime of nights and things you did. It dawns on you just then that loneliness makes you fragile, fragile enough to push people away instead.

Every time you close your eyes, you’re still dancing with him on the rooftop below the stars that are yet to fade from your memory. You now pick wilting flowers at a wilted garden.

“A play?” you ask, confounded. Doyoung has never been one for theatre.

"Your mom said you liked theatre," Doyoung answers, eyes inquisitive.

"Did she now?"

He smiles. "If you've grown out of it—"

"No. No, I've always wanted to watch a show on Broadway."

"That's settled then."

You start to understand the meaning of this place to Ten. You haven't called him in years and you didn't keep in touch after the first year. Life was as busy for him as it was still for you and you understand some of it now. After all, who would ever want to leave this place?

Being a part of the audience runs a chill up your back, with certain memories drawing to the surface of your thoughts as you sink into the seat. It's a popular musical but you can't say you've ever heard of it. Time runs differently in your little bubble. 

It hurts just about as much as you expect it to. Watching Ten on stage hurts so bad you almost look away. The nostalgia scratches at your throat, filling your head with memories you shouldn't be entertaining anymore. You should've kept in touch. You should've done something. You were friends before everything else.

All you want from him now is forgiveness. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with—

You start to cry before you can do anything about it. Doyoung doesn’t notice beside you, dozed off already to the soft orchestral music.

You must seem delirious, mourning as though you’ve buried a loved one. With a shaky breath, you force yourself to look. It is the tombstone of your childhood love that stands on stage. You were rash. You were so, so young and rash. Your lips tremble again and you cry, chest rising and falling as you remember something so forgotten that it seems a dream, something so warm that’s now six feet under in the cold ground. You mourn.

But he seems happy—and that's all you ever really cared about. That's all you should have cared about.

The play ends on a wonderful musical note and you find yourself in better composure. Shaking Doyoung awake by the shoulder, you look at him expectantly. He seems partly embarrassed to have dozed off and partly apologetic.

"You want to meet Ten?" Doyoung asks quietly.

You blink in surprise.

"You grew up in the same town, right?"

"Yeah… Yeah, we did."

Doyoung smiles. "We went to college at the same place."

"Oh, I know. Most everyone from my town goes to college there actually."

Doyoung hums. 

"He invited me, actually," he says after a while.

"Oh."

It hurts only a little that he didn't invite you first. Did all those years mean nothing beyond a little romance? If you were years younger, you could be chiding him for it. If he were years younger, he would greet you with a Cheshire cat smile.

Backstage smells of sweat. A little perfume and powder but mostly sweat. You know that already. It's just that even the backstage here is grand. 

Ten looks as pretty as ever, even with half the makeup off his face. He looks as pretty as billboard posters, where he was meant to be, and in smiling Instagram posts and articles about how perfect his smile is. He's pretty but in a different sort of way.

Ten doesn't seem surprised. In fact, he greets the two of you with a poster smile. 

"Doyoung," he says first. "(Name). I hope, no wait. You guys better have liked that."

Doyoung laughs. "You'll bully me into liking it even if I didn't."

Ten rolls his eyes. "Law makes you so boring. Or maybe you were always boring."

Doyoung sighs, shaking his head. "Not everyone wants to be the life of the party. There's quite a bunch of wild stories about you on the internet."

Ten snorts. "I don't know why but you saying 'the internet' makes you sound thirty years older."

"There's no arguing with you, is there?"

"Learnt from the best."

You clear your throat. "If the two of you are done with your homoerotic banter…"

Doyoung chokes the same time Ten makes a gagging sound. What the two of them have in common is that they easily become flustered around you.

"I'm going to go wash my face." Doyoung excuses himself, exiting the backstage. 

In any other time or place, it would be fine being just the two of you.

"Ten," you acknowledge. "You look good."

"I always do."

You roll your eyes. "You don't have to mask everything with humour."

"Like you did?"

You fall silent.

“Does it hurt?” you ask.

“It does,” he whispers before raising his voice something more audible. “When I look at your—our old pictures, it does.”

"You've kept them?"

"Of course."

You look at your feet. The reality settles. You’re not going back to the way things were. You’re married to another man. Ten’s not in love with you anymore. If you had taken the step forward back then, if you had kissed him before he took that step back—would things have turned out differently? 

The stars will now gaze at lonely rooftops and empty flower gardens—an audience you never wished to entertain. But now, you're glad to have been part of his play, part of the play you made together.

“Are you happy these days?” he asks. There is no malice, no resentment in his voice.

“Almost,” you answer. “There’s just one thing missing.”

To ask for forgiveness does not mean erasure. You can't move on by letting it go and pretending it was never in the palm of your hand.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me,” you say quietly, rubbing your forearm.

Ten smiles. “We were a little confused, I think. We wanted to be loved, appreciated and found the easiest way.”

You smile back. “Yeah. It was always easiest with you.”

Ten pauses, looking around with a familiar feline look in his eyes before whispering, “So, Doyoung? Really?”

You straighten, crossing your arms. “He’s really nice. And he’s always asking me how I am, what I ate, and he buys me all the soft toys I want. And he’s a better kisser, by the way.”

Ten places a hand over his heart in mock indignation. “Now, we both know that’s not true.”

You roll your eyes before a short giggle turns into chuckling into laughter, and the two of you find yourself with smiling eyes, the look of childhood on your faces and memories unkempt. 

It is better to grieve than to never have loved anyone enough to. 

It doesn’t hurt anymore but maybe it stopped hurting a long time ago. But it meant something to you, meant so much to you and that's all that makes sense now.

notes.

the words to the play at the beginning of act i scene i is taken from tang xianzu’s preface to his own play, the peony pavilion, however they are not exact quotations. the graveyard scene and the “when everything is gone, i want it to hurt” dialogue are inspired by indie game night in the woods by infinite fall studio and i love that game pls check it out if you have the time and money!!

[ouyangzizhensdad]

What keeps stumping me is this: LWJ takes WWX to the Cloud Recesses to protect him from JC, then, when they leave with the arm, he keeps dragging him back when WWX tries to escape to, again, protect him from JC... But then, after the Xinglu Ridge, he lets him go and trusts that WWX will meet him back at the inn. Why? And anyway, what was he planning to do, drag WWX around all his life? He had duties, he couldn't have followed WWX himself to provide protection, so it would have been exactly [1/2]

that — dragging him around or leaving him shielded behind the walls of the Cloud Recesses. In theory, if "MXY" became a Lan disciple, JC couldn't have touched him... But LWJ knew who "MXY" was and that WWX would mostly refuse, like he did multiple times before. It's great that after WWX realizes LWJ doesn't intend to harm or punish him, he goes along willingly — but what if he didn't? What then? JC was still out there, after all. [2/2]

Hi anon,

I think it's a little bit of a stretch to imagine LWJ's plan was to just keep 'dragging' WWX along forever. They arrived in the CR, spent one night there, and the next day LWJ was busy with the arm which was of course a priority. What would have happened if the Lans had been able to suppress the resentful energy of the arm on that day, and LWJ had not felt the responsibility to leave to solve the mystery? It's hard to say. But now that they were in a place that was safe, and that there wouldn't have been another matter that would have taken priority, I don't think it's far fetched to believe that LWJ would have discussed things with WWX or put into place a way to bring him to a safe place outside of the CR if he did not want to stay. Considering his grief over his mother, and her situation, as well as his care for WWX’s welfare, I’m wary to believe his gameplan could ever be just ‘guess I’ll keep WWX in the CR, even if against his will, forever, bc jc is out there’.

I think it's important as well to remember that regardless of LWJ's motives, WWX does not choose to remain with him because of the protection LWJ can provide him, or simply because he suddenly decided to trust him out of a single demonstration of trustworthiness.

Even before they left the CR, WWX's words and actions revealed he was attached to and protective of LWJ--even as a crisis is occurring, his thoughts keep going back to LWJ, and whether he is okay:

When the bell of the watchtower started ringing on its own, it only meant one thing—that an accident happened to the people performing the summoning ritual inside. [...]

Seeing that Lan Wangji did not appear, Wei Wuxian had a foreboding feeling. If Lan Wangji were still in the Cloud Recesses, he would have hurried over immediately, as he heard the alarming chimes of the bell, unless…

Suddenly, the black door burst open with a bang. A white-clothed disciple rushed outside, staggering and stumbling.

[...]

Wei Wuxian grabbed his hand at once, speaking in a low voice, “Which being’s spirit are you summoning? Who else is inside? Where’s Hanguang-jun?!”

It seemed as if the disciple had trouble breathing, “Hanguang-jun told me to run away…”

[...]With the hastily created bamboo flute still by his waist, he went up the stairs in just a few strides. He kicked the door of the mingshi and commanded, “Open!”

WWX is the one who offers to go with LWJ, but of course we know it was because he thought it would be an opportunity to get away.

The few nodded, “Okay! Are you going to travel down the mountain?”

Lan Wangji gave a slight nod. Wei Wuxian had already stealthily shifted behind him, talking to himself in a loud, cheerful way, “Yes, yes, yes, we can finally get off this mountain and elope together!”

[...] Wei Wuxian originally wanted to sneak away during their expedition off the mountain. However, even though he attempted to run away multiple times, it always ended with Lan Wangji carrying him back with one hand holding the back of his collar. He changed his strategy, sticking to Lan Wangji as hard as he could. At night, especially, he would persistently climb into Lan Wangji’s bed, with the intention that Lan Wangji would become disgusted and use his sword to throw him away. Despite this, no matter how hard he messed around, Lan Wangji steadily stood his ground. Whenever Wei Wuxian wriggled into his blankets, he would use a light slap to make Wei Wuxian’s body rigid, and then stuff him into the other set of blankets in a proper position, where he would remain until daylight broke. Wei Wuxian suffered a ton of losses and complaint about his sore body after he woke up. He could not help but think: Now that he grew up, he also became less fun than before. In the past, he would become shy whenever he was teased, not to mention that he did it in quite an amusing way. But now, not only does he remain unmovable no matter what, he even learned how to counterattack. How can this be?!

However, in the same chapter, as they have spent more time together, WWX starts hating the idea of being separated from LWJ, although he cannot yet put into words why he feels this way:

After walking for some distance, Wei Wuxian unintentionally turned around and looked. Lan Wangji was behind him, still standing at the same place, staring toward his direction.

Wei Wuxian could not help but slow his footsteps.

He could not tell why, but he vaguely felt that he should not walk so fast, should not be leaving Lan Wangji behind like this.

We can also to a degree concur that WWX already feels safe enough around LWJ to seek him as a source of safety and comfort when faced with a dog, which happens a lot during the Xinglu Ridge arc, to the point that he unconsciously calls for him when JC sics Fairy on him while LWJ is away. WWX is also protective of LWJ in his own way even at that point:

Wei Wuxian immediately understood whose name he had unconsciously called out.

“It really is quite curious how far he went to protect you,” Jiang Cheng smiled menacingly, “back on Dafan Mountain.”

A moment later, he corrected himself, “No. You weren’t necessarily the one whom Lan Wangji was protecting. After all, the GusuLan Sect couldn’t have forgotten what you did with that loyal dog of yours. How could someone so celebrated for his righteousness tolerate the likes of you? Maybe he’s familiar with this body that you stole instead.”

His words were cruel and sinister. Every sentence seemed well-meaning on the surface, but was actually derogatory. Wei Wuxian could not bear with it any longer.

“Watch your language.”

“I’ve never cared for such things, don’t you remember?” Jiang Cheng responded,

“Oh, right.” Wei Wuxian mocked.

Although WWX tells LWJ that he would meet him back after they separated, he could have easily chosen not to do it. After all, compared to all the tricks he tried to flee before, it would have been nothing to go back on this 'promise'. He was in a forest, at night, where no one but JL knew he was. He could have left at any time. And when LWJ left, he knew this--that WWX would potentially not come back, hence why his expression is so shaken after having waited hours for WWX to return (now we can wonder how long he would have stayed on that bridge, waiting, hoping). But, again, solving the mystery of the arm took priority over ensuring WWX's safety (and, considering WWX managed to be discovered and taken by JC during these few hours, it's not like his fears were unfounded).

While WWX seems to realise that LWJ is on his side, there is no big moment of thinking "he doesn't want to punish/harm me". Likewise, there is no considerations of how JC could be looking for him after his escape and the dangers inherent in that. It seems almost like another unconscious decision.

He had always thought that Jiang Cheng would be on his side, and Lan Wangji on the side opposite to him. He could never have imagined that things would turn out so differently.

Wei Wuxian walked toward the rendezvous point where he and Lan Wangji were supposed to meet. Nobody walked among the sparse lights that flickered in the night. Without having to look around, a white-robed figure stood at the end of the street, standing motionless with his head hung low.

In conclusion, WWX would have never stayed alongside LWJ (or anyone else for that matter) simply for protection. As well, it is extremely unlikely that LWJ's thought process at this point of the narrative was 'I'll just drag WWX along for the rest of our lives''--but that the arm took priority over resolving the conundrum around WWX's safety, and that indeed, when the situation presented itself, he put first what I'll call his night hunting duties for a lack of a better term while taking the risk that WWX would decide to leave on his own. Is it the most 'healthy' way of approaching the situation? Honestly, I don't care. Instead I think it’s much more important to wonder: is it coherent with the characterisation, the characters' motivations and the unfolding of the plot?

[creativeashproductions]

A Distant Dream V // Luke Patterson

Summary: In 1994 seventeen-year-old Luke Patterson had once again tried to ask out the girl that held his heart. With the belief he would see the younger Mercer girl the next morning he decides to wait confess his feelings. Only to have soft music bewitched the reader into an antique wardrobe with lots of history.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, heartbreak, fluff, talk of death and fluff.

Words: 4.4k

A/N: We’ve come to the end of the Distant Dream mini-series. I truly enjoyed writing this with my whole heart. @merceret I told you I’d use Lucy’s Cordial somewhere in the series. All parts are located in the linked masterlist.

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Masterlist

The massive changes between the ’90s and 2021 slowly but surely started no longer seemed startling as it had been at first. Carlos had helped you assimilate to homeschooling once he’d admitted he knew about the boys. Ray was still kept in the dark. 

2020 ended on a high note. Mostly. With the years in Narnia providing you with the knowledge you flew through schooling. Then you took a job as a waitress at a coffee shop, one similar to the shop the band performed in. The downside to the end of the year was for the band.

Despite performing at the Orpheum, the band hadn’t received as much traction as Luke had desired. They were a step closer to the dream but not as far as the entire band had wished. During Julie’s Christmas break, Luke had overworked the band with little breaks.

“Hide me.” Julie hissed from behind the counter of Ancient Grounds. The Puerto Rican musician escaped the studio to have lunch with you.

Unfortunately, Julie failed to see that without the entire band together, Luke would go to what makes him just as happy. You. That’s precisely what happened as Luke walked in through the entrance of the coffee shop.

“He’s still pushing more practice?” You asked, stacking the clean mugs on the shelf with complete focus. How odd it is to go from being Queen to working in a city as a waitress.

“I love him like a brother, but I feel like my fingers are gonna fall off from playing the piano constantly.” Julie sighed, sliding down the counter to sit on the floor hidden from the approaching guitarist and from your manager.

“Hey!” Luke grinned once his hands fell on the counter to lean over on the balls of his feet. His lips pressed against your right cheek before he fell back onto his feet.

Not a single soul in the half-full Ancient Grounds batted an eye to your awkward stance when Luke kissed you. Not since the boys had become tangible and visible to the general public when they wanted. 

“Look to decide to grace me with his presence.” You teased. Your foot nudged Julie in her thigh to urge her to crawl to the end of the counter.

“I have no clue where Julie is. Reggie dipped to join Ray in his errands, and Alex is somewhere.” Luke shrugged, stepping aside when an older gentleman dropped a tip in the jar before leaving.

“Pick a number.” You told the male with one of your dimples on display.

“Eleven,” Luke responded, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the regular game you played together.

Each visit, you’d split a dessert from the menu with Luke along with his favourite mug of tea and your drink of choice; even he knew he didn’t need caffeine with his energy. That was Luke’s favourite thing of being brought half alive from the golden glow they’d received. You were sure Reggie had cried upon eating your Tia’s best recipe.

“Nanaimo Bar Cheesecake. A limited-edition from our Worldwide Treat menu. It’s Canada’s month.” 

Luke followed to the counter’s end, where the sweets were kept on a glass viewing shelf. With careful movements, you slid a perfect triangle of the cheesecake onto a beautiful plate. The half-ghost retrieved it to your favourite spot in the garden patio. Julie used the time to sneak out the door with Luke’s back to her.

“What is a Nanaimo Bar?” Luke questioned upon you joining him at the iron-wrought table. One teacup accompanied by a teapot with Luke’s tea and a mug of your drink on an emerald tray.

“It’s a no-bake dessert. The base is a chocolate graham cracker and coconut base with the middle layer a cream filling. The top layer is a thin layer of semi-sweet chocolate.” 

Luken nodded, “Ancient Grounds loves cheesecakes.”

“Addie adores inventing new versions of cheesecake. Her best is the Creamsicle Cheesecake during the summer. A staple on the menu.” You responded with a twinkle in your eye. You may not look like the Queen you once were, but you were just as invested in learning about people as you’d done with the Narnians.

“What’s your favourite dessert?” Luke questioned.

“I’m pretty partial to the chocolate cookies Addie makes.” You grinned, leaning closer to the male across from you. You hesitated in continuing, “In Narnia, the pastry chef Cair Paravel employed always had these gorgeous desserts with Edmund in mind. Turkish Delights with a secret ingredient.”

Luke’s smile grew as you talked about the other home you had. A place you rarely spoke about now. You hadn’t even returned to the basement to see the wardrobe like you had before.

“I wish I could have seen Cair Paravel. It always sounds so magical when you talk about it.” Luke’s tone was wistful paired with the twinkle of his hazel eyes.

“It’s a breathtaking place. Everything is lively in Narnia, and after the Witch was defeated, we ruled peacefully for the most part.” Your e/c eyes unfocused on your surroundings to recall all the wonderful times spent in Narnia.

The times you shared a table with Mr. and Mrs. Beaver in their home over the years snacking on the homemade jams. To the times you listened to Mr. Tumnus playing everchanging lullabies on his flute. Even walking the beaches with Lucy in hopes of catching sight of Aslan again. Of gossiping with Susan over the many suitors that came for her hand.

“If you could do it all over again knowing the outcome, would you still do it?” Luke questioned with a tilt of his head. He’d shed the flannel jacket as the sun rose higher in the sky.

You nodded, “Absolutely. The Pevensies were some of the greatest friends one could ever hope to have.”

As usual, Peter wasn’t spoken of in light of the ache that resonated in your heart and the awkwardness Luke felt. A poor choice of avoiding your once husband instead of communicating on the topic.

“Have you ever thought of trying to find them?”

“No point. Peter would be ninety-seven now as the oldest, and Lucy would be eighty-nine. If I recall, it was 1940 for them when we went to Narnia. It’s possible Peter may have joined the war in ’42 when he was eighteen, so who knows if he lived.” Luke was surprised by the nonchalant reaction to the potentially grim outlook on your former in-laws.

However, Luke knew the truth, that you greatly missed the four people who became family during your disappearance. You could fool Julie and Reggie, but you could never fool Alex or Luke no matter how much you tried.

“I’ll see you at home? My break ended.” You swiftly cut off any more talking of your former life. Luke merely watched as you stacked the dirty dishes, only leaving Luke’s cup and teapot.

“I should get back. Julie’s most likely back in the garage from sneaking back.” Luke’s hand pushed through his messy curtain of brunette hair. His words revealing that he’d known Julie had been in Ancient Grounds the entire time.

“How’d-”

“When she sits on the floor, she taps the heel of her shoe on the floor. Same rhythm.” Luke smirked as he chugged the last of the tea, “Don’t tell her. I like when she fights a smug smile with that certain light in her eyes.”

The brotherly role Luke had taken on with the Molina girl was heartwarming, to say the least. Sometimes Julie would begrudgingly ask for advice about her feelings for Nick to Luke’s amusement. He adored being able to tease her.

“I’ll see you later.” 

The boy dropped the correct change for the tea on his way out the door into the bright sunlight. Like clockwork, he’d turn into the alley to become intangible to poof back to the studio. 

The rest of the day passed by like a breeze in the coffee shop with the late lunch rush and then the dinner rush the busiest time. Jess gave you a ride home in her truck as usual with a promise of a cupcake of Julie’s as payment.

“Did you see him?” 

The sudden voice startled you so much your hand couldn’t help but grasp at empty air by your side. Alex screeched as you swung to face him on the Molina driveway.

“Alex! Good Aslan, you startled me.”

“...were you reaching for a sword?” Alex questioned, appalled by your reaction. Your e/c eyes rolled in response.

“Isn’t the saying old habits die hard?” You prodded the baby blue of Alex’s long sleeve shirt. One of the shirts you’d often stolen from him, “And no. I didn’t see Willie.”

Your heart clenched as soon as Alex’s shoulders dropped in defeat once more at the absence of the skater. It had been months now with little sightings of the skater you had yet to meet. The boys kept your presence on the down-low to avoid Caleb’s interest.

“I hope he’s okay,” Alex muttered under his breath. The elder Mercer began gnawing his lower lip in worry.

Gently you interlaced your hand with his hand, his deft fingers playing with the braided bracelets on your wrist. The bracelets had been a Christmas gift from Julie and Flynn with the colours of the sunrise. It grounded Alex more often than not.

“You told me the Club travels around the world. Maybe Caleb’s not in America; maybe his ego needs to recover from his loss.” You shrugged, tugging the teenager into the house. Ray barely waved from his work computer.

Ray Molina had welcomed Alex, Reggie and Luke into the family when he met them in person the day after the Orpheum performance. He’d accepted that Alex was your older brother and had been in Switzerland for boarding school. He understood that Luke and Reggie came as a package deal with Alex, so the boys had worked to clean out the basement.

A few visits to second-hand doors brought furniture for the basement renovated into the boys’ shared suite. Alex still spent most nights in your room; he still feared you'd disappear from his life again.

“I hope you’re right.” Alex muttered in false hope that something would go his way for once, “Oh! The band received an invitation to some underground music festival in England during spring break. We’re hoping to convince Ray and Julie’s aunt to let us go.”

And you could see the band practices would be growing for that breakthrough with the band. And you were correct in your guess merely hours after going to sleep.

At five in the damn morning, Luke burst into your attic bedroom to drag your less than enthusiastic brother from his sleep. You bet your ass you hit the teen in the face with your pillow, which meant you had to crawl out of bed to retrieve the pillow.

“Asshole!” Alex exclaimed as Luke roughly poofed both of them to the studio. Julie swaying sleepily in her sweater and pyjama pants, waiting for the two.

Spring Break 2021 (March 26-April 2)

The youngest member of the tourists proudly displayed her smile, catching sight of the bed and breakfast in the English countryside. Julie had been floored when Ray had given his permission to the foreign festival. 

Ray couldn’t hide his excitement for the band, plus all-expense paid, receiving the invite via a relatively small record company. 

“First birthday back together,” Luke spoke from your side. Hands intertwined together in the cool wind of England. His arms were covered by his flannel coat in the unfavourable weather of the day.

You hummed, “Never thought I’d be celebrating my seventeenth birthday in England during 2021. Besides, I’ve already been seventeen.”

“I always knew I’d bring you to all the countries in the world.” Luke’s tone was matter of fact, staring at the stage being built under a woman’s guidance in her mid-30s.

The bed and breakfast had a lovely history your tour guide Martin had enthusiastically told on the train ride from the city. 

The man with spry greying hair pointed towards the old train station providing facts that interested most of the group. Luke’s arm tossed over your shoulder focused on the songbook, a new one, open in lap. Luke and you had slowly but surely evolved from shy brushes of skin to holding hands and then Luke’s arm over your shoulder. Chaste kisses on cheeks while you reassimilated into the dating world.

“In 1940, this train station deployed countless trains filled with evacuating children away from London during the Blitz. Filled with returning soldiers, mothers sending children to safety and children were torn from all they knew. Each child had a tag to identify them.” Martin explained intently, speaking to the group his organization had assigned him to.

“Where did they go?” Reggie curled into the travel blanket he’d bought specifically for the trip.

“Anywhere safe for them and where they could be cared for.”

“This route is one of many the evacuations used. The bed and breakfast we’re heading to holds a great history as well. It was once the Manor of Professor Digory Kirke during his life and passed down through generations throug-”

Martin’s story faded into the black abyss as sleep took you over by the soothing motion of the train and Luke’s warmth. Luke met the gaze of Alex. The two guys shared a sweet smile solely for the relaxed features of the younger Mercer.

“This is just another step in our journey for Julie and the Phantoms.” Your words warmed Luke Luke when he noticed you cemented your position in his life. You saw yourself in the future of Julie and the Phantoms as a faithful supporter and friend.

“Luke Patterson, correct? I’m Eva.” Your eyes widened, meeting the eyes that reminded you of someone. Just on the tip of your tongue, “My wife Diana will be a few minutes. We’re still getting the stage put together.”

“It’s so nice to meet you. How many people are you expecting?” Luke questioned the older woman. His mind snapped into business mode for the band.

“This is our fourth year putting on the festival at this location. This is the first year we added a wild card option for fans to vote on. Your band rocketed ahead of the other bands.” Eva explained, keeping her eyes on the woman you dubbed as Diana. The pure love in Eva’s eyes is a call to the yearning in your chest.

“I thought a recor-”

“Technically, yes, a record company flew you out. Diana started a small record label a few years back. Cair Oom Records. She’s the first person in both our families to step into a non-traditional career.” Eva explained to the now interesting young couple.

Luke was interested in the record label’s history, whereas you focused on the label’s name. Cair Oom. A call to your Narnia days you remembered. 

“Cair Oom?” You interrupted the conversation in pure curiosity. Your eyes drinking in the features of Eva, her freckles and brown eyes mirroring a person from your past.

“The label name?” Eva continued once you nodded in response, “It’s from a childhood story my family passed down. Diana was close to my great-aunt before we moved out here to run the bed and breakfast.”

“Of a dream of a dream. Spare Oom.” It was whispered in the breeze straight in your ear of a voice you vividly recalled—the disembodied voice with the same freckles as Eva but with chocolate brown hair instead of strawberry blonde.

“Y/N? You coming?” Luke’s concerned hazel eyes bore into your distant ones wandering the hills of the property. You hadn’t even noticed Eva leaving towards the Manor.

Your e/c eyes search for the owner of the youthful voice but come up empty. The only people you saw included your group with the odd workers setting up under Diana’s supervision.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Luke stepped right up in front of you, “You’ve been out of it since Eva mentioned the record label.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be right back.” You mumbled, following the woman up the path. Luke stared lost as you disappeared into the door. Eva entered.

The woman stood outside a door within the home, “I never knew what she meant. Not until I saw you Y/N.”

Your foot stumbled back when Eva turned with a soft smile you vividly recalled on a certain Pevensie. Eva unlocked the door to a room with only a picture hung on the wall.

“Narnia.” You breathed, stepping right up to the detailed painting of Cair Paravel. Your fingers tracing the beautiful frame holding it up.

“Correct. My Great-Aunt, in her adult life, adored painting in her past time. It was rare she told Narnian stories, but my mother loved them so much she told them to me as a child.

“Who’s your-”

“My name is Lucy Eva Baker. I was named after my other Great-Aunt, but I prefer going by Eva.” Eva’s words pulled a deep gasp from your throat. Tears building as the truth settled in the room.

Eva shared the same smile and brown eyes as Edmund Pevensie did, even the mature aura wrapped around her. The maturity Edmund had grown into during the fifteen years in Narnia. Without a shadow of a doubt, Eva Baker was the granddaughter of your former brother-in-law.

“Your-”

“Edmund’s granddaughter.” Eva finished with a sympathetic smile, “You featured heavily in each story. I always knew Narnia wasn’t merely a story.”

And then the conversation stuttered when you finally noticed Eva spoke mostly of learning of everything by her mom and Susan. Not a mention passed Edmund being her granddad. A piece of your heart broke, and it seemed the older woman saw it happen.

“W-what happened to…” You couldn’t even choke the question out in the room. Eva’s hand reached out to grasp yours in her own hand.

“I can’t tell you much as that reason that will become clear but in 1949 just shortly before my mom was born there was an accident. Grandpa Edmund and Peter were waiting for the train at the station. The train wrecked, killing the train occupants and many people in the station.” Eva was quick to catch you as a piercing grief-stricken scream exploded in the room.

In the Manor’s tea room, the band and Ray enjoyed a genuine tea time with Diana. Ray and Diana traded stories of their young sons while Reggie restrained himself to savour the food. English tea time begging for genuine manners.

Luke raised his cup to lips before it dropped to the saucer upon an exploding anguished wail from upstairs. Thankfully the cup didn’t break as the American guitarist sprung himself in the direction of the wails—Alex hot on his heels with a call to his friends.

Your screaming drowned out the furious stomps of feet racing in the halls of the Manor to the entrance of the room. Luke’s heart shattered at the pure anguish coating your broken features. Alex roughly pushed his way to tug you into his arms.

Alex’s large hand cupped the back of your head while he rocked you in his arms, “Shh. Let it out.”

“No!” You screamed into Alex’s shoulder. You couldn’t acknowledge Luke’s comforting hand on your shoulder, “N-no.”

“I got you. I’m here. I’ll always be here.” Alex murmured in your ear so softly you almost didn’t catch what he said. Luke dropped to his knees by your side. The three teens unaware as Eva excused herself for your privacy. Eva had watched her great-aunt Susan break every time she spoke of her late siblings.

Seconds passed or maybe years as it seemed to happen to you. But soon, you simply rested against Alex staring at Susan’s painting. Barely blinking in the room causing you suffering. You barely responded to anyone as you battled the grief. You faded in and out of daydreams as the bands performed. Days mixed together. Time didn’t exist to you. You were aware enough when Julie and Ray invited you to shop in London.

To everyone, including your surprise, you agreed. The three half ghosts joining in fear you’d shatter again. Eva and Diana held hands watching the car disappear in the distance carrying a group of musicians. An echo of Eva’s words replacing in the back of your mind.

“Three of five drink at high tide. Four of nine and five of nine stand apart by time. A drop of Valiant’s potion will begin the time once before frozen.” 

“Are they-”

“Yes.” Eva spoke before her wife could finish the sentence, “She’ll be returning to Narnia. Decades separating her from the Pevensie siblings.”

Eva was correct. At the station, the location was painful as it was Lucy, Peter and Edmund’s last place they’d been alive. Ray disappeared to use the restroom, leaving the five teenagers to wait for the adult.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed, rubbing a spot on your arm with a grimace. Your eyes glaring at your tall older brother, “Don’t pinch me!”

Alex shook his head, “I didn’t pinch you!”

“Luke!” Reggie squealed, jumping away from the guitarist with a pout on his full lips. The bassist rubbing his stinging cheek, “These cheeks are reserved for my Grannie!”

Luke scoffed at his friend, “Why would I risk the chance of you biting off my finger Reginald?”

“We have bigger problems than whose pinching us! I’m losing my damn mind! First three himbos fall out of nowhere, then a girl trips out a magic wardrobe and now this!” Julie snapped, staring at their environment in the train station tunnel, “I need to be committed!”

You watched breathlessly as a strong gale storm literally tore pieces of the train and the walls of the station apart. Through the train windows, you watched as a bright blue sky increasingly grew. The colour is so clear and vivid in only one place you knew.

The train blew by. The wall behind you changed into stone—the floor into the sand.

“What the fuck?” Alex demanded, twirling around on the new scenery of a beach in what was supposed to be a train station. The poor male kept being thrown off-kilter since the alley in 1995.

You knew deep in your heart where you were. Especially when four people of different heights stood with their backs to you. One individual, the shortest, turns upon feeling eyes on her back. And at the same time, you spoke.

“Lucy!”

“Y/N!”

The two girls ran straight into each other’s arms sobbing in elation and relief at finally seeing each other after a long year apart. The seven additional people who joined the duo collapsed on the ground. Alex cleared his throat.

“Y/N? Are you going to intro-”

“That’s Queen Y/N.” Peter snapped towards the stranger with a pink sweater on. Peter could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen a man wear pink. 

“That’s my sister.” Alex snapped, standing at his full six-foot height, pinning a glare on the other teenager. Peter scoffed in response. His face faltering upon finding your hand encased in a male shorter than the blonde.

Without a shadow of a doubt, Peter knew this man was the unseen third person that filled every conversation and room between Peter and Y/N. Peter was very much aware that you weren’t in love with him. He lived with the knowledge for a decade, pretending it was he that you deeply loved. Seeing the person holding your heart hurt.

“This is my brother Alex Mercer and our friends Julie Molina, Reggie Peters and my...this is Luke Patterson.” You gestured to each of them; the Puerto Rican musician shell shocked. Julie now knew why that talking lion you spoke of sounded familiar. Narnia had seen one other visitor years before Julie was born.

Rose Molina’s bedtime stories for her children involved a lion named Aslan and a magical wardrobe made from a special tree. Julie recalled the feeling Narnia birthed if in the world as Rose described it. 

“Mercer as in...?” Edmund trailed off slowly.

“My horse. Yes. I guess subconsciously, I still remembered where I came from.”

“These are my friends Susan, Edmund, Lucy and...Peter.” You softly spoke of the eldest Pevensie. His blue eyes sadly meeting yours.

A fondness growing at the sight but a pain blossoming at the heartbreak in his features. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see Peter had put two and two together on who Luke was to you. And while Peter desired to fight for you, he knew it was a lost cause; time cruelly separated you outside the world of Narnia. You both deserved happiness, so with great pain, Peter let you go.

“C’mon!” Lucy shouted, racing out of the cave on the bright sunny beach. The rest hot on the heels of the youngest member of the conjoined group. As you all goofed around on the beach, you told the Pevensie family all about Julie and the boys.

“Welcome to Narnia, my love.” You murmured to the boy that held your heart in his gentle hands. Luke Patterson beamed. He finally got the girl of his dreams and visited the place you hold dear.

The fun aspect of being in Narnia with both of your family came to a halt when you discovered the ruins. Cair Paravel had become a pile of broken stone and sadness. Not a single Narnian in the distance nor the Beavers or Mr. Tumnus.

“What?”

Julie and the boys’ presence became static in the background while the former Narnia royalty pursued through the ruins. They found the chessboard and the gifts Father Christmas gave them during the Winter Revolution. 

Something clicked within Lucy as she almost robotically walked to each half-dead boy with her Cordial in hand. The room went silent as Lucy fed each phantom a drop of the medicinal potion. As soon as Alex closed his mouth, all three boys were enveloped in a blinding silver light.

And the true magic happened. For the first time in twenty-six years, three hearts began pumping blood. A previously frozen clock began beating to the sound of those hearts. The magic of Queen Lucy’s Cordial finished what Julie had started; the three formerly half head phantoms became living humans once more.

What a magical place the world of Narnia is.

(Above is the teacup and pot Luke uses in the Ancient Grounds coffee shop!)

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[jimlingss]

Member: Any genre: angst, angst, angst. AU: joseon?? Sentence: any Prompt: any

Man, you know I historicals are weakness, don’t you? hahah and angst, angst, angst?! Three times?! Don’t blame me if I don’t hold back.

↳ Lotus Blooms in Mud

2.3k || 100% Mild Angst || Park Jimin || Historical!AU

There is nothing safe within the palace.

Inside the four stone walls, where every commoner can only dream of entering, kindness is weakness. Compassion leads to another getting ahead instead of yourself. The only shields are silk, gold, and extravagance as the higher the status, the more power one can wield. 

Inside the palace, nothing is safe. No belonging, possession or secret. Not when every maid, minister and eunuch have ears open wide and eyes that wander. Not when anything can be taken at a moment’s notice. Even kings are killed. Kingdoms are conquered. Dynasties fall. 

But you will protect what is yours.

“Your Highness.”

Seohwa, Minister Kim’s daughter, bows to you with one mere servant behind her. You’ve seen her many times, enough to recognize her face and know who she is. Your eyes flicker down her frame to notice her pink and white hanbok that’s clearly been newly tailored with the best silks. You don’t miss the golden ornament on the side of her braided hair either. Or the rosy colour on her cheeks that’s also pressed onto her plush lips. 

“Are you here for His Majesty’s banquet?”

Her head delicately lifts and her eyes meet yours. “Yes, I am.”

“You came with Minister Kim?”

She nods. “My father thought it would be good to visit the grand palace to learn more.”

The two of you walk alongside one another with your entourage of servants trailing after you at a distance. You stop by the lily pond and take her hands within yours, offering a warm smile. “Then he made a good decision. There’s not enough girls my age at these banquets and I’ve been in need of a friend for a long time.”

Seohwa visibly brightens. “Then, if you are willing, I could ask my father if I could come more often, Your Highness.”

“Yes, of course. That would be nice.” Behind the two of you, the drums start to resound through the courtyard. “It looks like the banquet’s about to begin.” 

“Shall we?” The girl looks to you, excitement clear on her features.

You nod, but your lips remain in a tight line. “I wish I didn’t have to.”

“Why?” The girl is genuinely perplexed. “Aren’t the banquets supposed to be the best celebrations in the kingdom?”

“They are. But His Majesty is expecting me to perform today. I hurt my ankle while practicing and now I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint him.” You sigh, but then your eyes flicker to her. “You dance, don’t you?”

Seohwa grows shy. “Only a little.”

“You’re being modest. I’ve heard from Minister Kim that you’ve been performing since you were young.” You step towards her. “How about you take my place?”

“C-Can I really?”

“Yes, of course, and His Majesty should be very happy with today’s celebrations. If you do well enough, he’ll reward you with anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“His Majesty is generous and kind. Surely he will be able to grant you anything you desire,” you tell and she seems to contemplate whether to accept or not. Your gaze turns desperate. “You can do this favour for me, right, Seohwa?”

She nods after a second. “Yes, I would be happy to.”

The entire court gathers in the throne room. Each person is seated on cushions with tables of lavish food in front of them. The ministers are having their alcohol poured while Emperor Park looks out at his court on the highest seat in front.

Your eyes travel diagonally to Crown Prince Jimin who’s dressed in red with the gold emblem of a dragon on his chest. In spite of the extravagance, his smile is still sweet and his eyes are soft. But they don’t look at you. No. You catch his gaze fixing onto Seohwa down the hall all too easily. Said girl is all too bashful as well with his unspoken attention and affection.

There are no secrets in the palace. 

You have long known their tenderness to each other.

“Princess Y/N,” the Emperor pipes up as the drums cease. You re-direct your attention to him with a perfect smile, posture straight and character poised. “You have promised a performance for me today?”

Several of the men around the room murmur, nodding in anticipation.

Your voice is clear and crisp as you speak, “Yes, I was. Unfortunately, Your Majesty, I have recently gotten injured but I have found my replacement. Lady Park Seohwa is a much better performer than I. You will not be disappointed.”

“I see.” The older man’s eyes look towards the girl seated farther than you are. Then they trail to the older man beside her who’s beaming proudly. “I did not know your daughter could perform, Minister Kim.”

“Yes, she can do many things. Hopefully you can find enjoyment out of her skills.”

Seohwa stands, bowing her head towards the Emperor before she comes to the middle of the room. Your eyes narrow in on the way she glances at Crown Prince Jimin and how he shifts with a gentle smile, anticipation alight in his features.

The zither is plucked. The flute is blown. A drum keeps a steady beat.

Seohwa smiles and lifts her arms gently. She steps forward and twirls. Her skirt moves along with her body. 

Other than the music, there’s not a single sound. Breaths are held and as you look around the room, you find each and every person has become enraptured by her performance, from the Emperor to Jimin himself. He smiles and it grows wider by the second. The girl’s own expression starts to ease. Their eyes are connected to one another’s.

Once the dance ends, there is resounding applause and nods of approval from the men.

“Very good!” the Emperor praises with a bellowing chuckle and she bows. “Minister Kim, I didn’t know you had such a talented and beautiful daughter.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“For your performance, I would like to grant you one reward.” He turns to her and her head lifts, youthful eyes brightened. “Is there anything that you wish for?”

Seohwa glances at you, recalling your words and seemingly gathers her courage. “There is one thing, Your Majesty, but I am unsure if I will be allowed to have this wish.”

“Nonsense.” He gestures to her. “There is nothing the Emperor cannot give to you. What is it?”

She bows her head deeply and reverently. “Please allow me to stay by Crown Prince Jimin’s side.”

Instantly, there are murmurs that ripple throughout the entire room of court ministers. Jimin is wide-eyed at the bold proclamation. You conceal the smirk sneaking up on your lips. 

What a fool.

The Emperor slams his hand down on his armrest and she jolts. “How imprudent!” he shouts. “The Crown Prince has been betrothed to Princess Y/N before you were even born. How dare a measly girl like you get in the matter of politics for your own greed!”

“I...I…” Seohwa’s eyes are rounded and she stumbles back.

It’s your time to act.

Immediately, you stand. “Your Majesty!” You round your table and come beside her, only to fall to your knees with your forehead pressed to the ground and the sleeves of your hanbok out in front of you. You lift your head. “Please forgive Seohwa! She only said such a thing because she wants to be in the palace and continue performing for you and His Highness.”

“Hmph.” He looks at her. “Is this true?”

She frantically nods. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Rise, Princess Y/N,” he says and you get onto your feet. The Emperor shifts to Seohwa and exhales steadily. “You should thank Princess Y/N for speaking on your behalf. I have no plans on punishing anyone when this is supposed to be a joyous occasion. I will forget what you said.” He motions to the girl. “However, if that is the true intention behind your wish, I will still grant it for you.”

The Emperor exhales. “I do agree that your talents would be wasted outside of the palace, so I shall bestow you the honour of entering the women’s internal court as my new concubine.”

At his declaration, Seohwa’s head snaps upwards. You mask the smirk tickling on your lips. 

Jimin has a horrified expression and he opens his mouth, moving to speak, but he’s interrupted by Seohwa’s father, Minister Kim. “Your Majesty!” 

He stumbles forward beside his daughter, pressing a harsh hand on her shoulder and the two of them drop to a kneel. “I-I’m afraid my daughter is not suited to palace life. She’s much too clumsy and young. I haven’t taught her well enough yet.”

“Nonsense. There is nothing she will not be able to learn inside the palace.”

“Your Majesty—”

He slams his fist against the table. The both of them flinch. No minister, servant or eunuch dares to speak or utter a single word. “You dare refuse a generous offer from the Emperor? This is a higher status than you could ever ever obtain on your own!”

“Father.” Jimin clears his throat, expression composed and he turns to the Emperor. “Don’t be angry. I understand Minister Kim’s worries. Perhaps she can stay in the palace, but she may be suited to wed someone younger.”

“Who? You?” He chuckles. “You are betrothed. You cannot have a consort already.”

You look over to Jimin. 

His lips are drawn in a tight line, the furrow of his brow deeply set, and after a moment, he sits back. Jimin is a coward who cannot conjure persuasive words or change the mind of the Emperor. He doesn’t even try to.

“A father must let go of his children eventually, Seokjin. No good will be done by holding onto them.”

Minister Kim stays quiet and then raises his head. In a quiet voice, he responds. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

In one single command, servants come to take Seohwa to prepare her for tonight. The Emperor says he would love to see another dance — a private one. And that implication is enough for you and a few others to secretly snicker.

She, however, is on the verge of tears. She calls after her father who doesn’t answer. She looks to Jimin who has diverted his vision. And then she shifts to you.

You hold Seohwa’s stare, watching as she’s taken out of the doors.

Then, you smirk.

...

The moon hangs high above the horizon. The warm candlelight illuminates your room and you listen to the sound of the brush stroking against the parchment, watching as each flicker of your wrist leaves a trail of ink. 

You’re interrupted by a servant girl coming in. “ Your Highness, His Royal Highness, the Crown Pri—”

Jimin enters, steps heavy and firm, gaze darkened.

You look to the servant. “Leave us.”

She bows her head, stepping backwards gingerly until you hear the doors shut.

You set the brush down, half-way through copying the poem, and a soft smile graces your features as you gaze at him. “What’s the matter? It’s not like you to visit me so late.”

“Why did you do it?” His voice is thick and you notice the clench in his jaw, the burning of his eyes.

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t pretend you’re stupid,” Jimin spits, “You are the one who set Seohwa up! It was you!”

You scoff, unable to believe that he came all the way here for her when you thought he was coming for you. You should’ve known. “She brought it onto herself. Who told her to be that foolish?”

“You told her to perform at the banquet. It was you who kneeled in front of the Emperor and said she wanted to stay in the palace—”

“It was her fault for trying to take what wasn’t hers! She is greedy, stupid and small-minded.” 

Nothing you said is wrong. She jumped at the opportunity to show off her skills without thinking twice. She wanted attention. She carefully picked out what she would wear today, from tailoring new attire to the ornament in her hair that you strongly suspect Jimin gave to her.

His jaw is set, frame rigid. But Jimin’s glare is unmatched to yours.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t know about your feelings for one another? How that wrench was trying to take you away from me? Who does she think she is.”

“Don’t you dare speak about her like that!” Jimin shouts and seethes, “It’s your fault. It’s because of you— because of you that she has become my father’s concubine!”

“And you think you’re blameless?! You’re the only one who could’ve saved her and you didn’t. You couldn’t.”

You’re close to him, a crazed look present in your eye. Guilt flashes across Jimin’s face underneath his boiling anger. In spite of his status, he is as weak as you are. In this palace, you have to grasp onto what you can. You have to protect what is yours closely before it’s taken away. It’s a hard lesson you had to learn and one he will have to learn as well. Even as the Crown Prince.

“I will never love you.” It’s a simple whisper that befalls his lips. His expression glosses over into impassivity. “Not when you do the things that you do.”

Your heart drops to your stomach. It aches, feels like your heart has been torn from your chest and crushed in his cold hand. Your rib cage is left bruised, hollow, and tears well into your eyes.

Jimin turns around, but before he gets to the door, you make your last words known—

“You can have as many concubines and consorts as you want. You can take maids and court ladies in. But none of them will ever last.” It’s a vow you swear aloud, as strong as Heaven’s Mandate and one you will write in blood instead of ink. “I will always be by your side. Nothing will change that, Jimin.”

The doors slam open and shut.

[eirikaanemo]

A Pitch Perfect Duet

Warnings: Some kissing, descriptions of stage fright

All feedback is welcome!

Thanks to @eligaxy for giving me the idea to write this!

Venti x GN!Reader

1.3k Words

Continue below the cut

Part Two to Pitch Perfect Pair

Somehow as you stood there at the corner of the street, you wondered what in the world you were doing there. There were just so many people around and you just felt so out of place. You clutched your flute closer nervously. How did you feel so unprepared? The past month had been spent practicing! Your skills weren’t just where they were before, you’d gotten even better than you’d ever been. So why, why did you feel like crawling into a hole and dying?

Practicing had been a lot of fun, and not just because there was plenty of time to steal kisses. Just being there and spending time with Venti made your heart sing louder than your flute could ever play. His love for music was on full display, shining through his smile. And you love that smile so, so much. He had helped you through the emotional baggage that was your mother’s death and helped you love playing for yourself just as much as playing for other people.

If you had been close before you had grown even closer. He practically lives at your house at this point and he brought a kind of light with him that made you wonder if this is what you and your empty house were missing all along. It seemed to be what you were missing all along. Everything just seemed to be so natural with him, from practicing to making dinner to making out. That last thought had you blushing red and a laugh pulled you out of your thoughts.

“What’s on your mind? You’re as red as an apple!” Venti teased as he poked your cheek. “Um, nothing,” you squeaked. Venti hummed doubtfully but didn’t press. “Are you ready?” He asked. “It looks like almost everyone is here! Lisa even managed to drag Jean along.”

Your face goes from a rosy red to a pale white in seconds and Venti notices the change immediately. “Hey, is everything okay? You’ll do great! We’ve been practicing a lot! Remember how your grumpy neighbors even dropped by to complement us?” You did remember that. It was one of the strangest moments of your entire life. When they’d dropped by you had fully expected a lecture on being too loud and how you both needed to quiet down. So when they had smiled and thanked you for the music you hadn’t even known what to think!

Some color returned to your face as you nodded. “I’m just nervous,” you admitted, “I’ve never performed for so large of a crowd before. We only really played at home with each other. This is really out of my comfort zone and I’m doing my best but it’s just really hard.” Venti grabbed your hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Everything will go fine, I promise.” The sincerity in his eyes helped you relax as you nodded your head and took a deep breath. “Alright, let’s give this a try,” you said, determined.

He tugged you over, closer to the corner where you planned to perform and the crowd grew quiet. You fiddled some with your flute but did your best to give off an air of confidence and poise. Venti, ever the showman, introduced your little performance before pulling out his lyre and making sure you were ready. He strummed the first notes, you lifted your flute to your lips, and you were off.

Wanting your duet to be memorable, Venti had taught you the flute part of a song he had written and played a long time ago. It was a majestic melody. The tune seemed to soar like the birds in the sky. The harmonies felt as sweeping as the branches of Vanessa’s tree. The rhythm was different from any of the songs you knew and felt lively and haunting at the same time. Together all this created a beautiful song that brings to mind ancient days of magic, valor, and mystery.

The audience was entranced by the music that you and Venti wove expertly. Even those who were just in the area came a little closer to see where the music was coming from. Your crowd grew as you continued the song as more and more people flocked to your performance. Thankfully you didn’t notice any of this since you were in the habit of closing your eyes while you played. It helped you focus better on the music and remembering what you practiced.

So when you finished the song and opened your eyes and saw the size of the crowd you froze up. That was a lot of people. And they were all silent and staring at you. Oh no. Did you mess up? Was there something on your face? Is something wrong?

Venti grabs your wrist before you can get too wound up and pulls you into a bow. As you finish your bow, the street corner rings with applause. Someone, probably Bennette, whoops from the back of the crowd and Klee whistles from Albedo’s side. A small smile sneaks onto your face that slowly grows into a grin as you bask in their enjoyment of your performance. Practicing was nice, but other people appreciating all your hard work just gives you a special kind of feeling.

After a while of congratulations and compliments, the crowd dispersed and the two of you were left alone. Venti slid his hand from your wrist to your hand and squeezed it gently. “See? What did I say? Everything went great,” he stated confidently. “They all loved it! You had nothing to be afraid of, so don’t worry about it too much next time, okay?”

“Who said anything about there being a next time?” You teased. “But this was so much fun! Please can we do it again?” He begged, pulling out his puppy dog eyes. You never could resist the puppy dog eyes and he knew it. “Fine,” you sighed, “I was just joking anyways. It would be an honor to keep playing duets with you.”

He grinned and tugged your hand. “Let’s get home, I have a surprise for you.” Curious about what he could be talking about, you followed him home. Thankfully it wasn’t too far away so your walk wasn’t very long. Venti chattered the whole way there about how excited he was for your surprise. By the time you got there you were figuratively on the edge of your seat.

Once you got inside you closed the door he grabbed you in a great big hug that made you feel all cozy, soft, and tingly inside. You buried your head in his shoulder, returned the hug, and breathed in deeply. He smelled like dandelion wine, cecelias, and the sort of freshness only the wind can bring. This was one of your favorite smells and you’d gotten very familiar with it during the past month.

Eventually Venti released you from the hug to gently hold the sides of your head, moving so that your foreheads were pressed together. He smiled proudly. “You did so well,” he said. “I’m really lucky to have a partner like you. All that practice was worth it, we really did have perfect pitch.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your nose, and everywhere else on your face. You laughed and basked in the attention he was giving you. Pulling away for a second, he grinned like the love struck fool you’d made him. “I love you so much,” he proclaimed as he went in for a kiss on the lips.

While you’d kissed during your practice sessions, this one felt different. It was slow, meaningful, and full of all the emotion he could pour into it. Kissing him back felt natural and your heart felt full to bursting with all your love for him. It felt like you were falling in love with him all over again.

Eventually you had to pull away for air. Both of you had gentle smiles on your faces and soft eyes so full of your love for each other. “I love you too,” you whispered back, then went back in for another kiss. You spent the rest of the day in each other’s arms, enjoying every moment together.

[karlyfr13s]

One Love, One Lifetime

A Phantom of the Opera inspired Captain Swan AU

Rated M, cover art by @hollyethecurious

Chapter Two: Think of Me

Friday dawned clear and bright, and Emma woke earlier than usual. While she was normally happy to lay in bed until mid-morning, today marked the beginning of the season and the opening gala at the opera house, and she was anxious to get limbered up and ready for tonight’s performance. The day would require all-hands on deck, and Emma loved it when the whole venue was buzzing with excited and busy cast and crew members. Today was particularly special for Emma as she was given her first starring role. Regina hadn’t shown her face since the incident earlier in the week, though several of her lackies had been spotted skulking around backstage, most likely gathering gossip for her as usual. Emma was sure the managers spent most of their waking hours attempting to call Regina back and garner her favor. Sure, she wasn’t beloved by most of the crew--who she constantly berated and treated like personal servants--and a substantial portion of the cast ran hot and cold in their feelings--probably because she criticized everyone but Sidney and herself--but... Emma lost her train of thought as she stretched with her fellow dancers. Regina was the leading lady, so surely they had no choice but to try and lure her back, right?

Emma wondered aloud to Ruby whether Booth and the others were hellbent on getting Regina back on stage because they didn’t have faith in Emma’s own abilities, guessing that her managers might already fear the worst in tonight’s opening show. Ruby dismissed the thought out of hand as any best friend would do with only hours remaining before showtime. Of course, her managers had no idea how nervous Emma was, but ever since the impromptu audition on Tuesday evening, Emma had nightly conversations with her hidden Angel. He had coached and encouraged her as she practiced, working to perfect her enunciation and ensure she hit each note of the final cadenza in the complex aria with precision and confidence. Though the Angel didn’t always speak to her, Emma never felt alone in the moments she practiced despite the rest of the large venue sitting dark and silent in the small hours of the night.

As she readied herself for costume and makeup, anxiety rushed through her, sending Emma’s pulse racing and her breathing became shallow gasps. She tried to still the fluttering in her stomach, tried to shift into the single-minded focus she usually felt as she warmed up with the rest of the chorus, but doing so alone was far more difficult. Yet as she gazed at her reflection in the floor-length mirror, Emma felt a strange and sudden quiet fall over her. She could do this--she was going to do this. Tonight. She had trained for it, had been practicing numerous complex pieces for years now, had intentionally set herself the repeated challenge of playing secret understudy to Regina. With a nod to her reflection, Emma left her room and made for the theatre and the final rehearsals for blocking.

That evening as she slipped into the sparkling white ball gown, as the costuming crew clipped glittering crystalline stars into her long golden waves, she coached herself under her breath. She said a quick word of gratitude to the spirit of her father and to the Angel whose influence brought her to this moment. As she took her place backstage, Emma straightened her shoulders and Ruby snuck in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “They’ll never know you’re sweating a river under that thing--way too many layers for anyone to notice. Plus, they’ll be so blown away by your voice that nothing else will matter. Go get ‘em, girl!”

With that, Emma Nolan took the stage and had her first moment in the spotlight. It was an out of body experience. Surely it wasn’t little orphan Emma who commanded the entire stage? There was no way some girl from small-town Maine stood at the Paris Opera House-- at Palais Garnier --and bespelled an entire audience with the light, complicated, and wondrously beautiful “Think of Me”. Knowing the box would be vacant, Emma set her sights on box five and put her whole heart into the next four minutes. She could feel the swell of the music accompanying her, letting the warmth of the strings pull her onward, compelling the crowd with the sudden softness as she reached the third verse, and allowing herself to be taken over by the moment as the song crescendoed.

Recall those days

Look back on all those times

Think of the things we'll never do

There will never be a day

When I won't think of you

In the back of her mind, she heard a loud call, “Bravo!’” ring from the audience, and in the last verse of her solo, Emma felt as though she were flying. Her voice building higher and higher in the cadenza, each note crisp and clear as it rang across the theatre and back to her so that when the last two notes burst from her like some wild, magical thing they were half drowned out by the standing ovation that spontaneously began right in front of her.

Emma didn’t have time to remove her makeup or change before she was completely swamped by well-wishers. Cast, crew, and several attendees who’d somehow made their way to the hall that led backstage all vied for her attention. She couldn’t catch half of what they were saying, wished desperately to get out of her heavy gown, and found herself repeatedly saying ‘thank you’ more than anything else. It was entirely overwhelming. Thankfully, her managers interrupted, Jefferson swooped in and took a bouquet from her laden arms, offering her a flute of champagne instead. “Hell of a first night, Emma,” he beamed at her and they clinked glasses. “Seems Madame Lucas was right about you -- we’ve had to set half the stagehands to temporary security so we can get people out of the building instead of having them wander in search of you.”

“He’s right,” Locksley chimed in, freeing her other arm from the elaborate bouquet of stargazer lilies, which had been starting to make her nose tickle. “You’re quite the sensation, Miss Nolan!” She thanked him for the kind words and he insisted she call him Robin, introducing the dark-haired woman who’d appeared at his elbow as his wife, Marian. “With that, we must take our leave. Babysitters are ludicrously expensive in this city, and Roland should already be asleep anyway. Enjoy the moment, Miss Nolan, it certainly won’t be the last.”

Gradually, the crowd began to disperse and Emma was given a small amount of breathing room between introductions and congratulations. Her feet were aching and she was about to call it a night, when she saw a familiar face lingering in the crowd. “Graham?” She took a few steps toward the man, his light brown hair falling into his eyes as he grinned at her. She took off at a run, kicking off her heels, and he caught her in his arms. “I knew that was your voice -- I just knew it! What are you doing here? How?”

He spun her in a circle, the vast skirts of her gown swirling around them and clearing a space as several onlookers gawked at the pair. “My parents are patrons of the opera,” he explained briefly, kissing her cheek and blushing pink at the public attention. “When I heard tonight was your debut, I told them I’d represent the Humberts for the opening gala -- Emma, you were incredible out there!” The reunion was abruptly interrupted when Granny caught Emma’s eye where she lingered near the hall to her apartment. Granny gestured to her watch and Emma immediately stepped back from Graham’s embrace.

“It’s so good to see you, but...I have to go for the night, Graham, it’s late.” As she spoke, he took both her hands in his, wrapping her slender fingers in his warm grasp and insisting they go out and celebrate both her triumphant debut and their unexpected reunion. “I can’t, Graham, I’d love to -- it’s been so long since we saw each other -- but curfew is strict here, and I have to go. Goodnight.” She stepped back, gathering up her shoes as she fled the attention. The last thing she saw before making her way to her room was Graham with his brow knit in confusion. The image was quickly swept from her mind when she saw her whole apartment overflowing with bouquets and congratulatory gifts.

She turned to face Granny, her eyes wide. The old woman offered a kind smile, though she didn’t mention Graham or even ask who he was, which seemed odd. Instead, she handed Emma a single, perfect pink rose unlike any she’d seen. The stem was tied with a black satin ribbon and as she passed the delicate bloom to Emma, Granny’s only explanation was “He’s pleased with your performance, Emma. You sang like an angel tonight.” She helped Emma out of the elaborate costume, taking care to brush out her hair as she removed the numerous clips and pins. Emma hummed to herself as the two worked, Granny focusing on the items that needed to be brought back to the costuming department while Emma swiped her way through layer after layer of makeup until she was left fresh-faced and rosy-cheeked from the experience. She slipped behind the wardrobe screen after Granny left, changing into a soft floor-length robe.

Graham was here. It had been years since they last saw one another, and Emma tried to hold the vision of him now -- a man grown, complete with stubble on his cheek -- alongside the boy she’d spent so much of her childhood with. So many days had been spent at the top of her father’s loft, daydreaming and sneaking chocolates with Graham -- he was an excellent storyteller, and seemed to have a knack for knowing when her father was feeling particularly unwell. After they received the news that her father’s illness was incurable, Graham had become a daily presence in the house. He was always helping out -- fixing leaky faucets or repairing the shutters after a bad storm. As she sat and pondered her own reflection, Emma was drawn back to their freshman year of high school and to her first kiss -- their first kiss --she’d always assumed she’d end up with the boy next door.

That had changed with the revelation her father was taking her to Paris. Graham had not taken it well, and had stormed out her door for the last time two weeks before she uprooted her whole life with the move. She had needed him, had relied on him as a constant in her life, but almost immediately she saw him around town with someone else. Emma found out later it was some woman a few years older than Graham, and heard they had followed one another through Europe for a year before starting university in England. While that clearly hadn’t worked out, the old wound still stung. Undoubtedly, he had been through Paris several times, and he knew precisely where she was. So why had he never visited until now? It seemed likely she was only catching his attention now that it was her name on the marquee.

“Darling, who exactly is Graham Humbert to you?” came the voice in the darkness. Though Emma knew it could only be her Angel, she’d also never heard him like this. Usually the voice was low and encouraging, a mentor and gentle guide to her, but now...something was off. His pitch was too high, his pace too rapid and it felt angry somehow. She explained to the darkness around her that Graham was a friend, and had been for years. “Uncanny, isn’t it? He reappears suddenly just as you step into your own destiny,” the voice trailed off, his tone harsh and clipped.

“What do you mean? You don’t think...Graham wouldn’t do that! We’ve been friends since we were kids -- his family’s a patron of the arts, that’s all.” Emma felt oddly torn, needing to defend Graham’s intentions, while also feeling compelled to soothe the hurt her Angel so clearly felt right now.

“Men of low ambition seek greatness only through possessions -- through acquiring what is not theirs to have , darling.” His voice kept shifting, changing its origin as though he was everywhere and nowhere. “You are a marvel,” he crooned, voice softening to a low purr in her ear though he remained out of sight. His tone shifted abruptly, voice nearly a growl. “You were born for more than his small mind can imagine, and I will not see him bask in your glory. This triumph belongs to us -- to you and I alone.”

Emma realized then that she mattered to this unseen Angel, though for the life of her she couldn’t understand why . What’s more, he seemed to have eyes and ears everywhere -- had he been in the crowd after the curtain call? Had she seen him and simply not known? The thought seemed impossible; she’d always been sure she would know him the instant she saw him. “I know that,” she began, not knowing what he wanted from her, but wanting to try. “I never thought I could do anything like I did tonight, and without you, I know I never would have tried. Please,” she faltered then, wondering where to go from here and how best to help him understand how much she valued every lesson and moment they’d spent together. She squared her shoulders, looking at her resolute expression in the mirror. “Please, let me finally see you. Let me know who you really are -- who it is that made tonight possible.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear. Go on then, if you’re sure you can handle it, keep watching your mirror, Emma.” She leaned forward, at first seeing only herself gazing back until the surface swirled with crimson smoke and from the cloud emerged two brilliant blue eyes set in an astoundingly handsome face.

“Oh,” she heard herself gasp softly and she reached toward the image as the smoke cleared. She took in the black hair that tumbled artfully into his eyes, the confident smirk that gave her a brief flash of white teeth. She reached out, startling herself when her fingers found, not the solid glass she’d expected, but the scratch of the stubble that dusted his cheek.

“Come now, darling. I know you’re more curious than that,” he hummed, waiting patiently and leaning against what now appeared as a doorway rather than her mirror. She took her time, sweeping her eyes over his strong, lean frame. He wore all black from the embroidered silk waistcoat to his full-length leather coat and Emma was sure on most men it would look outlandish, but he was definitely not most men. His wolfish grin must have erased something in her brain because she realized belatedly he had a gleaming silver hook where his left hand should be. It appeared deadly sharp, and she wondered what story had led to its existence. She knew she was staring and tried to say something, anything at all.

“How?” she eventually sputtered, not knowing how to form the question she wanted to ask. He was real, and here. The man -- the Angel? Did angels look like this? -- who had watched over her for years now. The man who taught her to take raw talent and shape it into art. He was real. She reached out, laying her hand flat against his chest, her eyes fixed on the place over his heart. Taking a steadying breath, she slowly turned her gaze up to meet his eyes. “You’re real.” She felt stupid the instant it left her mouth, though his low chuckle wasn’t unkind.

“Real indeed, darling. And to your earlier enquiry: magic.” She tittered, faking a laugh at this and thinking she may have found herself at the mercy of a lunatic. He broke out in a warm laugh at her expression. “Not many people greet me in such a way, but you are not most people are you Emma?” She briefly wondered if he read her earlier thoughts, but before she could think much more he offered his arm which she took out of pure curiosity. “Perhaps a demonstration then?” And suddenly the world was shrouded in crimson smoke.

...

Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for beta-ing this piece, and @lonelyspectator12 for being an incredible brainstorming partner.

Shout-out to @eastwesthomeisbest for your artwork--it inspires me to persevere past writer's block!

Tagging CSMM Discord and those who've asked:

@kmomof4, @teamhook, @veryverynotgood, @caught-in-the-filter, @hollyethecurious, @laschatzi, @donteattheappleshook, @lonelyspectator12, @the-darkdragonfly, @zaharadessert, @winterbaby89, @jrob64, @wefoundloveunderthelight, @ultraluckycatnd, @stahlop, @alexa-fangirl-forever, @superchocovian, @monosalvatore16, @snowbellewells, @batana54

[boiolay]

Paper Scribbles | Mark Lee

summary: the one mail that made him wish he did things differently | childhood bestfriends!au + idol!Mark

genre: fluff; angst 

warnings: swearing 

word count: 6K

"Mark! You've got mail." 

It was already past midnight when they arrived at the dorm. After working the whole day on the choreography for the comeback, the only thing the boys wanted was to go to bed and sleep for as long as they could. Mark especially. He had been drained out of energy for being involved in so many activities, differents unities, choreographies, composing… He felt like his days had less hours than his members’ so everything else than work, at that moment could wait. 

"Just leave it over the table. I'll take a look tomorrow." He mumbled rubbing his eyes as walked to his bedroom.

"I think you should take a look. It's from Canada." 

He stopped as soon as he heard his home country. It wasn't unusual for him to receive mail from his parents, but they would always tell him they were sending something. He frowned trying to remember if his mother had said something and was almost sure she didn't, but he still turned around walking back to Taeyong letting his curiosity take over him.

"Thanks, hyung." 

"Don't take too long, Markie." 

Mark nodded taking the brown envelope from his hands before the older walked away. Plopping down on the couch, he twirled it around searching for the sender's address. He didn't have a clue where that was, it was definitely from Canada, but the place written on the paper didn't ring any bells from who it could be. 

Until he found your name. 

He widened his eyes and held his breath as he read the name printed on the paper a few more times checking if he wasn't just imagining. It had been years since he last heard of you. And seeing your name written by a handwriting that wasn't his was making his heart do things that he didn’t know it could do again. 

During all those years he hasn't heard of you. But you were in every little thing that surrounded him. You were on his reflection in the mirror every time he saw the little scar under his chin from when the two of you were trying to learn how to skate. You were in the black socks that he wore because you always told him the white ones were lame. You were in the stars in the sky that you used to stare as you laid on the grass from his backyard on a weekday when you were supposed to be studying. And especially, you were in the lyrics of every song he wrote. 

Seeing it, he couldn't help but let his mind wonder back to the days when you were his partner in crime. When everyone in the neighborhood knew that when one of you were seen alone you were planning something. When his parents knew that if he wasn't on his bedroom at a friday night, he would be at yours. When he thought you were gonna be forever. 

It was probably a summer morning when you met. It has been so long that neither of you remembered, and it didn't actually matter. The two of you only knew that you meet in a playground, you weren't even three yet, Mark was feeling too shy to join the other kids on the sand box, so you walked up to him and offered your favorite cookie, asking him to be your friend. Your mother once told him you wouldn't share it with anyone but him. Well, he took a bite from it and threw it on the floor. It made you cry, but as soon as he saw tears rolling down your cheeks, he felt bad and hugged you. That was when your friendship started, and little did you know that you would never leave each other's side. At least until you were fifteen. 

You were together in every memory he had from his childhood. When you started preschool, your teachers instantly fell in love with the two of you. On your first day, you came hand in hand. He had a red cap that was almost big enough to cover his eyes and you had your pigtails bouncing as you made your way to the class. You had the biggest grins on your lips, you were the only kids in the whole class that didn’t throw a tantrum to leave their parents, after all, you had each other. There was no way your teachers wouldn't fall in love at the sight of you comforting the other children. They only found out that the duo meant trouble when, a week later, in art class, you would replace your canvas with each other's faces. At the time that idea of having pink all over your face sounded just right. It would match your dress! 

Another episode that warned what was yet to come was when you were caught trying to sneak your pet rabbit into the school trip. Mark helped you to put it on his bag so you could bring it to meet it's cousins at the zoo. Your plan failed when Mark opened his backpack to put his lunch on it on your way to the school and the rabbit jumped out. Your moms had to hold back their laughters as they tried to scold both of you. 

You wouldn’t stay away from each other even when you were grounded. Whenever your parents tried to punish you for misbehavior or something, you always found a way to be with each other. Once he was grounded because he was caught eating candy in the middle of the night, and that made his parents not let him leave the house in the following day. In the next morning, they woke up to Mark laying on his belly on the entrance hall happily kicking his legs with the door wide open. As his dad walked further to investigate what was going on, he saw you on the porch in the same position as the two of you drew and talked. Mr. Lee just shook his head grinning before inviting you to breakfast. Mark didn't disobey his parents, after all he didn't leave his house.

Mark was really found of all those memories, even though some were told by his parents and others he remembered vaguely, he treasured every moment he had with you.  As he grew up, his memories became gradually more defined so as he could remember the details of them, they also became more meaningful to him.

He was able to remember, for example, you giving him a bouquet of red flowers and wearing a dress of the same colour the night he played the flute on his band for the first time, he had felt so happy to have you clapping excitedly at his performance. Or even when you spent the whole night helping him finish his biology project that was due the next morning even though you had an english test the same day. Of course he didn’t know that, otherwise he would have never asked for your help, but when a friend in common told him that, he remembered feeling guilty and selfish. So he bought your favorite ice cream with his lunch money and stood in front of your class waiting for you to leave, ready to comfort and apologize to you. For his surprise, you came out smiling. 

“Didn’t you fail?” You laughed throwing your head back before reaching to take the cup out of his hands and linking your arm with his. 

“You think too low of me, Mark Lee.” He sighed relieved smiling while you made your way back home chatting. Little did he know that you, in fact, failed, but seeing him waiting for you made it feel like nothing. 

One memory that repeated itself every year, but became more clear in his mind as he grew up was when the two of you would run between the sprinklers of your front yard in the summer, laughing and purposely getting wet to cope with the hot weather. These were his favorite memories. It was something that first happened when the two of you were still little and your parents were too distracted with the barbecue party to notice you sneaking out. When they did, you were in the middle of the lawn giggling and running away from the water jets with your chubby feet. Mark recaled the same scene a few years later, the two of you just a little older with the same happy smiles on your lips. This time, you were being chased by your siblings and were big enough to know how to use a water gun. The last time it happened, always brought a grin to Mark’s lips, all the details were clear as day. 

He ran after you with the smile he always had whenever you were around, you also ran, but away from him. You screamed for him to leave you alone, but the laugher that would come out of your mouth every time he came close to catch you told him you didn't actually mean any of that. 

“I’m serious, Mark! I don’t want to get wetter than I am!” You shouted at him as you faced each other from opposite sides of the sprinkles, you laughed at him resting your hands on your knees. You two were panting from all the running, but you couldn’t be happier. 

“Too bad you will, loser.” He smirked at you and jumped through the jets to get to you. A surprised yelp left your lips, but you reached to take the hose that was just behind you and splashed it on his face. He coughed surprised when the water hit his eyes and you turned it off as soon as you heard him, your eyes widened and your mouth agape as you watched him recover from your sudden attack. As Mark rubbed his eyes, you walked closer to him trying to hold back your laughter with the hose still in hands. You touched his back that was turned to you and caressed it softly talking with the sweetest voice, knowing he couldn’t get mad to you when you did that. 

“Oi, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to-” At that moment, he turned around and jumped on top of you making you fall on the ground. You wiggled under him to try to pull him away, but he held your wrist pinning you down so you couldn’t move. He smirked taking the hose from you and splashing all over you, finally getting his revenge. 

“You son of a bitch!” “Yah! Don’t curse my mother!” 

He laughed as stared at you pouting with your red cheeks and your hair all wet spread on the grass. He couldn’t think of a moment when you looked more beautiful. 

“I’m sorry. I forgot it’s not your mother’s fault you are an idiot.” You flashed him a teasing grin that in just a few seconds turned into a genuine smile. You stared at his sparkling eyes and soft smile that always made your heart skip a beat. His hair was all messy and wet and you couldn’t help, but run your fingers through his strands. He closed his eyes enjoying your sweet touch leaning his head closer to you. 

“Yeah, but you still love this idiot.” He whispered and when opened his eyes to stare back at you lovingly, you grinned leaning up to rub your lips against his and whispered before kissing him slowly and tenderly.

“Well, you are not wrong.”

Besides the good memories you shared, you have always been there for each other, in the good and bad moments. Like when he broke his arm and you did all his homework for three weeks, or when your grandmother passed away and he was there to wipe all your tears. But like in every friendship, you did have a lot of fights, mostly petty ones.

Once you tried to cut your own fringe and ended with just a tuft of hair on the top of your forehead, when he saw it he laughed so hard he felt on the floor out of breath. You gave him the cold shoulder for the next two days. That was until, after your soccer practice, you forgot you were supposed to be mad at him and stormed into his bedroom with your cap still on talking happily about the goals you’ve made. He looked at you puzzled as you laid beside him on the bed, you frowned at his confused face, but soon remembered you were not talking to him. And when you were about to stand up to leave, you saw him smirk and point his chin to your head. 

“Nice cap.” You punched him on the arm, but couldn’t hold back a smile. 

“Shut up.”

Another one was when you gave him spoilers of the new Spider-Man movie. He knew it wasn’t your intention, but he so wanted to see for himself that when you told him about the ending scene he ignored you for a whole day. He only accepted your apologies when you said you would go see the movie with him and would pay for the popcorn. In a minute it was all forgotten.

You were fourteen when you confessed. Neither of you knew when the romantic feelings towards the other appeared. They were just there, hidden, until it bloomed like a flower in the spring, always ready to pop up just waiting for the right moment. It didn’t surprised him tho. It had always been you, just the two of you. Maybe it sprang up was when you held him a little tighter than the other times when he came home from a trip with his family. 

It had been over a month since he had gone to the middle of nowhere, you didn’t talk during that time because he had no access to internet. Of course he missed you, you were everyday with him, how wouldn’t he? What he didn’t expected was that when you came running to him, just a few minutes after they parked the car in the garage, his heart would go on loops. He saw you coming his way with the brightest smile on your lips, your yellow flowered summer dress floating around you and your hair fluttering, for some reason he froze on his spot as watched you come. 

Has she always been that beautiful? 

He only came back to his senses when your body hit on his almost knocking him down on the ground. He automatically wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly against him not wanting to let you go and hoping you wouldn’t hear the drums inside his chest. When you pulled away, too soon, he stared at you with shining big eyes and you smiled shyly under his gaze. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.”

“You grew taller.” It was only then that he noticed he had to look down to talk to you now. He just nodded, lost of words, as you kept looking at the changes on the other. You stayed like that, secretly admiring each other’s features until his brother cleared his throat beside you.

“Are the lovebirds gonna help or we’ll have to wait until the wedding?” He was used to people teasing you like that, but you would always shrug it off or roll your eyes. However, this time it felt different. He saw you blush and mumble saying that you would help his mother before walking inside the house, he felt his ears burn and widened his eyes at his brother making the older laugh. 

Or maybe it was when he said 'i love you' after you gave him a bowl full of watermelon on one of your movie nights. You would always tell each other that, but that time it had a different meaning. It didn't held the same teasing tone as before. He had said it with so much tenderness and had the softest look on his eyes. It was such a usual moment, the two of you just chilling in the living room, you wearing his hoodie even being summer. You have said it was a bit chilly outside, but later he would find out that you liked to be surrounded by his scent. 

It just felt right to say at that moment. And he did it.

You just smiled extending him the bowl, ready to say it back like everytime you did something to him. But when you looked down at him he saw you freeze for a moment as you stared deeply in each other’s eyes. The same words you would always tell the other felt completely different now. And you could tell which that meaning was by his eyes that shined and overflowed with affection, admiration and love. When you smiled shyly with your cheeks tinted bright red and sat beside him, closer than you would before, he knew you were alright. 

"I love you too, Mark."

And it was just like that. You confessed to each other in the most intimate, yet innocent way it could have happened. And you knew. There was no need for other words. You reached over to lay your hand between the two of you and he gently placed his own on top of yours with a smile on his lips and his heart beating wild. He looked at you with the corner of his eyes and saw the most beautiful smile on your face as he laced your fingers together.

Not long after that you shared your first kiss. You guys were too shy and flushed to do it before, but just like the rest of your relationship, it just happened. 

He was walking you home after your first official date, or, after going for some ice cream. It was like before, but now he could hold your hand whenever he felt like. When you got to your front door, he reluctantly let go of your hand and pressed his lips together standing in front of you. He shifted his weight from one side to the other and saw you playing with your feet as looked everywhere but him. You both felt what was about to happen. Mark was nervous and he knew you also were, after all, neither of you had any experience in anything that was happening.

He cleared his throat softly and wiggled his body back and forth moving his gaze to you. 

“So… I’ll come tomorrow. And we can go to the pool or try that muffin recipe you found…?” “Cool. That’s cool for me.” 

“Cool.” When you raised your head to look at him, he chuckled softly noticing you had a little bit of ice cream on your chin. How cliché, he thought. 

“You complain that I’m a messy eater, but look at you.” With a warm smile, he stepped forward and held your jaw with one hand while the other gently rubbed the stain out of your skin. Your faces were closer than they have ever been. Mark saw the blush on your cheeks, but didn’t say anything as he felt the blood flood his. He stared at your wide shining eyes and you both couldn’t held back a smile. All the anxiousness from before completely dissipating as you drowned on each other’s eyes, he suddenly felt at peace. Feeling your breath against his skin, he closed his eyes. The only thing he remembered after that was his lips on yours.

It was... weird, but good weird. It was wet, there was too much tongue, teeth meeting more than it should. It wasn't his fault, neither yours, that’s just how everyone’s first kisses are. But yours felt just right. The way he held you tightly, like he was holding the world on his hands. The way he caressed your face tenderly. The way you held his hair, gently pulling him closer to you. The way you smiled against each other’s lips and giggled. The way your heartbeats synchronized into one. 

After you pulled away, eyes still closed, you just stood there with your arms around each other and beaming smiles on your faces. When Mark opened his eyes, he met yours, you have never seen his eyes shining so bright like that. You exchanged your goodbyes and he hugged you one last time pressing a sweet kiss on your forehead before crossing the street.  He was on cloud nine and so were you. 

Nobody was surprised when they found out you were dating. In fact, almost everyone you knew seemed to have made a bet on when the two of you would get together. Mark realized that when saw his brother giving yours twenty dollars, he had bet that Mark would only grow some balls to ask you out after you started dating someone else and your brother had bet that he would be your first kiss. Said and done. 

Your parents were thrilled when you told the. Although all of them knew you were eventually end up dating, your father was hoping it would take a little more time, but that didn't stop him from inviting Mark over just to ‘hang out’ as he used to say, even when you were busy. He told Mark that he felt like his second son and couldn't’ have wished for someone else to be with his little girl. He really enjoyed spending time with your father too, he felt like he belonged to the family even more. The only one that wasn't very keen of the two of them together was you, he would always laugh when you argued with your dad saying that Mark was your boyfriend, not his. 

Besides that, our relationship was much like any other. You had dates everyday, they wouldn’t always be going to amusement parks or to the cinema, most of them were the two of you sitting down while Mark played his guitar, or doing your homework in silence enjoying each other’s presence. The time you would spend just the two of you immersed in your own world was his favorite type of date.

One that he treasured was when the two of you had just finished your exams in school, he knew how stressed you were so he decided that you had to chill out a bit. He took two of the biggest blankets he could find and as much pillows as he could carry and ran across the street with his hands full. Since he basically lived in your house he didn't bother ringing the bell, he walked to your backyard and settled the things down on the grass and sent you a text that said “ i’m by the pool. bring doritos.” 

He watched as the lights of your bedroom were turned off and smiled to himself as he laid down on top of the pillows. When you came to meet him, you had a side smile on your lips and were already in your pajamas. 

“What is this?” He grinned brightly and reached for your hand, that you gladly held, pulling you down to lay beside him.

“This is me making you stop overthinking your grades.” You rolled your eyes playfully, but followed his lead and snuggled him under the blanket. 

You talked for hours. About the most silly things, your deepest desires and fears, you were each other’s safe place. At one point of the night, he was talking about whatever while staring at the stars, but you had found a much more interesting sight. You were on your side facing Mark and had your head rested on your hand, you couldn't help a smile as you stared at his profile. You couldn’t tell, but Mark saw your eyes roam every feature of his face, his almost defined apple cheeks, his pink pretty lips, his little nose… 

“Are you even listening to me?” He giggled when turned to face you and meet your mesmerized eyes. You shook your head lightly before smirking softly.

“I was not. It’s not my fault you distract me.” He laughed throwing his head back and clapping his hands as he felt a little blush creeping on his cheeks, but he moved to lay on his side to face you. You reached a hand and touch his face caressing every part you had been staring, rubbing his cheek, bopping his nose, what made he giggle more, contouring his lips with your thumb, but when you locked eyes he heard a sight leave your lips.

"I love your eyes, you know..." You blurted out. "I mean, I love all of you, but your eyes... They have a special place in my heart." You chuckled and stopped your hand on his apple cheek caressing it gently. He grinned widely and reached to hold your hand intertwining your fingers. 

"Is that so? Why?" 

"They sparkle. I feel like i can see your soul looking at them. They shine. Just like your soul, Mark. And you have such a beautiful one, baby.”

Those words stuck to him until now and whenever someone complimented his eyes he thought of you.

One thing he was grateful for was how much support you gave him. You were always there for him, supporting him no matter what, hyping him when he was feeling down and doing your best to make him happy. It was even you who he told first about the SM audition that was going to happen. You quickly ran to his house to make sure he had typed his informations correctly in the enrollment paper. He was still uncertain if he should try, he was very insecure of his abilities and just the thought of leaving for the other side of the world made his heart ache, but he just let you think that his hesitations were because of his insecurities. 

“Mark! You are amazing. I've already told you this a thousand times! There's nothing to worry about. You are so talented... They are gonna love you. And if they don’t, first their loss. Second, this is just a try out, it’s just the beginning, love. Your life won’t end because you failed one audition. Okay? Have some faith in yourself!” 

You skipped school to go with him to the audition. His brother offered to drive Mark so you could join since his parents would have asked if yours had allowed you to come, the answer would have been  no. During the whole ride to the city center, Mark had his legs shaking frenectly. You tried to sooth him by holding his hand and caressing the back of it, but he was too nervous, not even your touches could make him calm down. 

Once his brother parked the car he felt his heart stop. Mark was so tense that he didn't remember much of what happened after that. He knew his brother had talked the whole time you were waiting, making jokes to try to make him laugh and you hadn’t let go of his hand even for one second. He was glad you were there to reassure him even if it was just by squeezing his hand. 

At some point he was told by the staff that he had to go alone from there. He sighed deeply and nodded at his brother and you, if he wasn't so terrified the would have laughed, it looked like you were the one auditioning. You let go of his hand and offered him a smile, he turned around to walk inside, but after a few steps he felt your hand on his arm, meeting your gently eyes when he turned back. 

“Hey. Before you get in. I just want to say how proud I am of you. I can't put in words how amazing and talented you are. Just trust in yourself, Mark. You are gonna shine more than the brightest star in the sky. And i'll always stand by your side no matter what happens.” You winked and gave him your brightest smile. “Now go get them.” 

That was all what he needed to regain his confidence. 

The results came a week later. 

When he told you the news you screamed and laughed like never before, hugging him so tight that he had to ask you to loose it a bit. You had told him how happy and proud you were of him and gave him a little lecture about how he should trust himself more, but soon was kissing all over his face again. Before you left to go home, he thought he had seen a different shade on your eyes, but he shrugged it off at that time.

The time he had to say his goodbyes and pack was way too short. He tried to stay as much as he could with you, but he had a ton of things to do before leaving to Korea it made hard for you to have some time alone. He was feeling bad because he felt like he wasn’t giving the attention you deserved, but you reasured him that it was alright, that you understood why that was happening and that you would be with him even if he just had two minutes to talk to you.

On the day before he would go to Korea he took to spend it only with you, he took you to a walk on the park, bought you your favorite ice cream, took you to the little playground where you met and didn't let go of your hand. It didn't even feel like he was leaving, he was so happy to be able to make you laugh and look at your bright eyes that he forgot why he was doing that. 

He only remembered it later that day when he heard you on the sleepover you were having at his house. Neither of you were supposed to sleep, so you could spend more time together, but he closed his eyes and felt asleep. He woke up a few minutes later when heard the bathroom door close followed by your quiet sobbs. He realized how difficult it was for you to let him go. He knew you were happy for him, but he could understand what you were going through. Having your best friend in life that it’s also your boyfriend to move to the other side of the world while you had no choice, but sit back and watch, it breaks anyone's heart. He didn't think he could be so selfless if he was in your shoes. All the times when he thought about becoming an artist he saw you by his side,  but he realized that you always somehow knew that wouldn't be possible, that you couldn’t be part of that. Even so, you were there supporting him, wanting him to pursue his dreams, to be happy, even if that meant that you would have to let him go. 

Just by hearing your shaky breath he could tell you were trying to control your emotions, but every time you would inspire, a loud sobb would come out from your chest. It was too painful hearing you break like that. He barged in the bathroom what made you quickly try to put a smile on your face and hide your sadness, but failed. He just pulled you into his chest and buried his face on your neck letting his own tears flow down his cheeks while you resumed crying, this time on his arms. Once you were calmer, he brought you to the couch where you hugged each other for the whole night while he caressed your hair and whispered on your ear sweet nothings and promises that he didn’t know he could keep. 

You didn't come to the airport with him in the next day. You had told him that you prefered to say your goodbye on your street when you could pretend he was just going on a trip. He had laughed, but felt his heart ache. When the time came, you tried not to look at him, he knew you didn't want him to see you cry again, he knew you wanted to be strong for him, but he held your face to make you stare at him, he wanted to look into your eyes since he didn't know the next time he would be able to do it.

You didn't need to say a lot of words to make him understand everything you wanted to tell. He pulled you to a last tight hug staying like that for a few minutes. Eventually, he had to pull away since his parents were telling him they should go. He held your face between his hands, eyes roaming around your features like he was trying to engrave the sight of you on his brain.He let go of you with a nod once he felt tears start to rush to his eyes. As he was about to enter the car, you held his hand catching his attention. You walked to be in front of him and leaned up to press your lips gently against him. 

“I’m really proud of you. And I love you.” 

And then he left to Korea to chase his dreams, leaving the love of his life behind.

All those memories, those intense moments brought a sad smile to his lips and made tears well up on his eyes. He sighed deeply rubbing his hands on his face and trying to put himself back together after those old feelings that had come intensely over him all at once. Even after so long you had the same effect on Mark as before. 

Yes, of course he dated after you. He fucked around, he was at his peak of popularity, there were girls falling on his feet, he tried to forget you, he tried to find someone with whom he could share his life. But none of them felt right the way you did. He couldn't help comparing them to you and none of them came even close to be as special as you were. Even if his head wanted to let go of you, his heart wouldn't . He couldn't love them the way he loved you. The way he loves you.

Mark stared at the brown envelope on his hands and twirled it one last time before opening with trembling hands. Inside there was another envelope, but this time it was a pretty white paper sealed with a golden wax. He turned around to look at the back and he read his own name written in your elegant handwriting, just like in the notes you would leave around his bedroom or on his notebooks. He smiled fondly and ran his finger over his name feeling warmth spread on his chest. Soon, after letting his thoughts run to you again, he left out a shaking breath before finally breaking the seal and pulling another paper from inside, his heart beating wildly on his chest. 

As soon as his eyes met the first words he froze. His heart sank. Feeling a bitter taste on his mouth he read the golden letters over and over, but couldn't believe. Or didn't want to. He only realized he was crying when some words on the bottom of the paper were becoming blurry. He dropped the papers on his lap and rubbed his eyes trying to get rid of the excess of tears on his eyes. His mind was blank. How could that have happened? How he could have let that happen?

He the papers once again, but this time he noticed something that he didn't have before. 

At the back of the paper, on the top corner written on a red pen that didn’t match the golden letters printed on the paper there was a inscription scrambled on your handwriting. He couldn't help sobbing when he finished reading. It said: 

“My love, i confess, i’m getting married, but the love of my life was and it’s always gonna be you. Yours, ___ .” 

author’s note: so....??? i loved writting this so much, but i cried so hard at the end. I would really really really love to read what you guys thought of it. And if you came until here, thank you so much!!! <3