#I would definitely linger in a library to catch a glimpse of us though

[gonzodangerfeels]

A flash of us watching tadpoles in a ditch for capture

Me: see no matter what you gotta get me from a ditch

[onceupon]

London Boy - Part 4: Just friends

summary: You wake up to find Rafe Cameron in your bed. Even though nothing happened, you’re still left trying to make sense of it all.

pairing: Rafe x reader (slowburn)

warnings: swearing, drinking

word count: 5k

a/n: thank you so much to all of you who have been reading along <333 sorry in advance if you want this to progress faster haha, it simply must be this slow, sorry I don't make the rules (even tho I do lol). Not canon Rafe!! 

masterlist

Your eyes slowly flutter open as the early morning rays wake you up. You didn’t even remember falling asleep. As you slowly gain consciousness you’re startled by the weight of Rafe’s arm draped across your body. What the hell? When did that happen? He spent the night in your bed?

Your mind races at a million miles an hour as you slowly slip out from under his hold. You were careful not to wake him up, not wanting to face any awkwardness. You throw on fresh clothes and grab your backpack, desperate to make your escape. You had wanted to get to school early today to work on some homework anyways, never before so eager to trade in the comfort of your bed for the library. 

After a quick pit stop to pick up a coffee and a croissant, you swing the heavy wooden doors open. You liked campus at this hour, the morning light still soft, the air crisp, and the atmosphere silent. As you scan your eyes for a spot to sit, you notice the unmistakable sight of fluffy brown hair hunched over a table. 

“Liam?” your whisper. “What the hell are doing here?”

That classic cheeky grin spreads across his face as he looks up to find you standing in front of him. “I go here, Y/n. Forget already?”

You roll your eyes, “I just didn’t know you were the studious type.”

“Not gonna lie to you babe, I’m not. But Rogers is already all the way up my ass over this class, and I’m not letting that prick hold me back a year.” 

You pull out the chair across from him and go to sit down, spreading your books out on the table. 

“Who said you could sit with?” he asks, and you shoot him a look. You’re not in the mood. “Geez alright, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed… you good Y/n?” he slows, taking in your disheveled appearance. You hadn’t so much as brushed your hair. 

“Can you promise not to tell anyone,” you stare dead into his eyes. 

“On my life,” he extends his pinky, and you accept. 

“Rafe… slept over last night…”

“Oh shit!” he exclaims, and your eyes widen at his echoing voice. 

“Not like that,” you hiss, not wanting to draw anymore attention to the two of you. “Nothing happened… like he just came over to watch a show and then we talked for a while and just accidentally… fell asleep. I panicked when I woke up and realized he was still in my bed so I ran out of there as fast as I could and now…. well now I’m here.” You nervously chug your coffee, heart racing. 

“So he hung out with you all night and didn’t make a move?”

You nod, nervously awaiting his analysis as you take a bite of your croissant. 

“Damn, boy must really like you,” he muses. 

“What? Definitely not,” you scoff. 

“Y/n, let me tell you a little something about guys. If we really like you, we’re gonna make the time to hang out with you, no matter what. The fact that he’s coming over your room to watch a show and hanging out with you until he physically can’t stay awake - I mean I can’t make it any more obvious to you.”

“I don’t know I just don’t think so… You don’t know Rafe like that, he’s a total player back home. He can pull any girl he wants, so if he liked me like that he would’ve done something by now. This is probably how he is with all his friends and I’m just reading too much into it. I’m sure Lily Colts will be in his bed soon enough,” you mumble. That last part stings in particular, you had already thought it, but saying it out loud made you feel… icky. 

“I may not know Rafe like that, but I know guys like him. I am guys like him. He likes you Y/n. So what if he pulls a lot of chicks, he doesn’t actually care about them. But he cares about you, probably can’t even understand why, and now it’s like bam Uno reverse. He can’t pull the cards he normally does, and now you’ve got him confused and he doesn’t know what to do. Man’s down bad. Give him time though, he’ll come around,” he explains to you calmly, stealing your coffee cup from you and taking a sip. 

“Honestly can I just start paying you to figure my life out for me. You make everything seem so simple.”

“Because it is simple. You insist on complicating it. But I know how you could pay me,” he adds with a wink and you shoot him a glare. You know he’s just joking (partially), he loves pushing your buttons. 

“Well whatever. I’ll believe it when I see it,” you resign on the Rafe matter. You wanted to believe what Liam was saying but it didn’t quite make sense to you. You were only going to drive yourself crazy trying to read between lines that you weren’t sure existed. Rafe was just used to situations like this with girls. To him last night was probably no big deal. It was to you though. You would never let ‘just a friend’ stay over like that, with his arm around you no less. But Rafe didn’t need to know that, you decide. 

—-

You manage to avoid Rafe all day, not having any classes with him on Friday’s. As soon as your last class is over, you sprint home, relieved when you’re the first back at the flat and can quickly slip into your room undetected. You set down your bag and sit on the edge of your bed. Your hand slowly runs over your comforter, still ruffled from where Rafe had been laying the night before. The indent of his head is still on your pillow; you can almost smell the scent of him lingering in your room and hear the sound of his soft whispers. You wonder what his first thoughts were when he woke up in your bed alone - was he confused? Embarrassed? He probably thought nothing of it at all. You can just picture him casually getting up with a stretch, like it’s the start of any typical day.

You slip into the shower and let the water wash over your body. It’s warm and soothing, and it’s reminding you of Rafe laying next to you, of his arm wrapped around you. God if there was only a way to shut your brain off once in a while. As much as you tried to suppress it, there had been a tiny part of you that was happy to have woken up in his embrace, giddy like a school girl with a crush. You’d always wondered how a moment like that would feel, or how a moment like that with him would feel. You had conveniently failed to mention the “arm” detail to Liam, maybe because in the back of your mind you knew it would only help prove his theory right.  

When you make your way back to your room, your phone buzzes and the Royal Fam 🇬🇧🇺🇸 group chat appears. 

Olivia: who wants to go out tonight 😈

Topper: me and Rafe have to be up early tmrw for soccer - rain check on this one ladies 

Olivia: :( 

Olivia: girls night out??

Millie: you know I’m there!

You’re a little bummed that Rafe won’t be there tonight. But a girls night sounds like just what you need to get him off your mind. 

Y/n: I’m in :)

Not even a few minutes later Olivia and Millie are barging into your room, causing you to let out a startled yelp. 

“My god, heard of knocking,” you exhale with your hand coming to your chest. Your statement falls on death ears. 

“Which jeans with this top,” Olivia asks, holding the clothing items against her body. 

“Should I curl or straighten my hair with this,” Millie follows, holding her outfit up. 

“Uhh,” your mind scrambles, “those jeans Liv. And straight, Mills,” you reply, shocked by your own decidedness. “But now you guys have to help me, I have no clue what to wear.”

“Say less,” Olivia flashes a smile. 

Within minutes they tear through your closet, picking out your outfit. Things were always much more clear with a fresh set of eyes. The three of you discuss the night’s logistics before making your way to the kitchen - couldn’t go drinking on an empty stomach. Rafe and Topper are already there, and you try your best to act natural even though your stomach ties itself in a knot the moment you catch a glimpse of his face. You haven’t seen him since you ran out this morning. 

“Uh hey I’m gonna run to Sainsbury’s real quick, I wanna get a chaser, anyone need anything,” you ask, avoiding eye contact with Rafe. Your nerves get the best of you and in terms of fight or flight, you were ready to flee. 

“Hey wait I’ll come with you. Gotta pick something up for dinner,” Rafe stands grabbing his jacket, and before you can interject, he’s leading the way down the hall and out your shared flat. 

“So what are you chasing tonight?” 

“What?” you ask startled, his question pulling you back to reality. Your mind had been running in a loop, trying to read him and the thoughts in his head. You wished now more than ever that you knew what Rafe was like behind closed doors back home, so you could somehow make sense of it all.

He chuckles at you, lost in your own world. “You said you needed a chaser?” Those intimidating blue eyes have found their way to yours again and you hastily look away, focusing in front of you instead. 

“Oh yeah- uh just for the vodka,” you laugh nervously. 

“Basic,” he mocks. You scoff in surprise and lightly hit him on the chest as the laughter leaves your lips. He’s sporting a shit-eating grin, having successfully egged you on. 

“You’re funny if you think I’m gonna do shots of whiskey before going to a club.”

“Well you do owe me one…” he says.

“Oh so he remembers?” you reply, amused.

“Of course,” he states so calm and so sure. Your head swirls at that, his cool confidence making you melt. The automatic doors slide open in front of you, fluorescent lights stealing your attention from the boy you were finding dangerously more attractive by the second.

“I thought we’re supposed to take it together? But someone’s being lame and not coming out tonight,” you say sarcastically, playing it as cool as you can manage. Rafe’s confidence seemed to come naturally, but you were more of a fake-it-till-you-make-it kind of gal.

“Hey you know I have soccer,” he defends. The Kook Prince was not one to turn down a party without cause.

“Excuses excuses,” you shake your head.

“Actually, speaking of soccer, you uh- you and the girls should come tomorrow. If you’re not doing anything. Or not too hungover I should say. Game’s at 12.”

“Can’t make any promises Cameron, but we’ll see,” you smile, earning a satisfied smile from him in return. 

You make your way to the frozen food aisle, Rafe explaining to you how they call a soccer field a football pitch here, as you laugh at him grabbing 5 frozen pizzas (dinner solved for the next week, of course). You ask him which chaser you should pick. He points out a cola, so naturally you decide to get blackberry seltzer water, Rafe twisting his face in disgust (who would voluntarily drink that tv static). You always felt so nervous at first, to be in Rafe’s presence, but all it ever took was a few minutes for you to completely relax around him. He was intimidating, yet inviting. Mysterious, yet open. He was somehow the cause of your anxious nerves and yet the source of your comfort. The fear of facing Rafe after running out this morning had paralyzed your thoughts all day, and now you could hardly remember why. He hadn’t mentioned it at all, as if nothing happened. His normalcy confirmed for you that him sleeping over was in fact no big deal, and you almost want to laugh at yourself for how much you had worked it up in your head. You two were just friends, and perhaps Rafe was used to being… a friendlier friend than what you were used to. But that was okay, you could learn to be friendlier too.

—-

Rafe and Topper had decided to accompany you guys in the kitchen as you pregamed. They slowly sipped beers as you, Millie, and Olivia pounded back shots, laughing at the way you guys got progressively drunker and progressively louder before finally heading out. And much to your surprise, the boys were still seated in the same spot hours later, when the three of you stumble back into the flat, McDonalds in hand.

“Oh look who’s still up,” Olivia slurs, taking a bite of her cheeseburger. 

“We can’t go out, we have soccer,” Millie mocks, almost falling to the floor as she trips over her heel, Topper and Rafe not making any effort to hide their clear amusement. 

“Fun night huh?” Topper quirks his brow. 

“The funnest,” Millie holds her head high, sinking down against the wall until she’s sat on the floor. You had made a beeline for the dining room table, silently admiring your chicken nuggets. In that moment, they were the best thing you had ever tasted. 

“I want Jake,” Olivia pouts, and before anyone can say a word she’s turned on her heel, burger in hand, off to crawl into her boyfriend’s bed. 

“Alright you drunk, let’s get you to bed,” Topper laughs, scooping an incoherent Millie up to her feet by her elbows. 

“M’not drunk,” Millie protests, even though she’s leaning her full body weight against Topper who sarcastically nods at her, escorting her down the hallway. Rafe sits on the couch, silently playing with the cards in his hand again, not the least bit uncomfortable with sharing your company in silence. 

“I’m mad at you,” you say matter of factly, taking a bite of a french fry. At this point, the alcohol is doing the talking. 

“Mad at me?” Rafe stops shuffling the cards and raises his head to look at you, intrigued. 

“Yeah because you didn’t come to the club,” you furrow your brows, chucking a fry at him. He catches it instantly, laughing to himself with a shake of his head. 

“Don’t worry I saw all your guys’ snaps, I feel like I was practically there.”

“That’s not the same,” you frown, throwing another fry which he catches yet again.

“I’ll try to be there next time,” he laughs.

“That’s better I guess,” you grumble, eating another chicken nugget. The room grows quiet, Rafe training his attention back to the cards.

“When are we watching the next episode Cameron,” you break the silence, chucking another fry. He barely has to look up to catch your latest throw, shaking his head with a chuckle. He puts the cards down and makes his way over to the dining table, standing right above you now. 

“Come on, time for you to go to bed,” he beckons you toward him with his arm, to which you only furrow your brows in indignation.

“I’m not done with my food,” you protest.

“Now you are,” he says, grabbing your last fry and finishing it with one bite. “Now c’mon.” You reluctantly grab onto his extended arm to help you get up. You walk down the hall together and he opens your door for you, letting you in as he leans against the frame. You immediately fall back and collapse on to your bed with a gasp, you didn’t remember it feeling so soft when you were sober. 

“Goodnight L/n,” Rafe laughs, staring down at you. 

“Goodnight Rafe,” you mumble, seconds away from passing out. He smiles to himself at the sight of you still in the outfit and shoes you had been out in, bent in surely the most uncomfortable position possible, legs half way off the bed, yet somehow already asleep. He’s about to head back to his room, but he hesitates, turning back to you with a sigh. As slowly and quietly as he can, he pulls your shoes off for you, lifts your legs onto the bed, and covers you in your blanket. And just as quick, he slips out of your room and back into his.

—-

You wake up the next morning, letting out a groan when you realize you’re still in the outfit you had worn clubbing. Your head dully aches and your throat is desert dry so you force yourself up and to the kitchen. When you see the aftermath of McDonald’s containers on the table, vague memories start flooding your brain in horror. You couldn’t have… could you? Did you actually throw french fries at him? You close your eyes and slowly run your hand over your face in realization. Great, you think to yourself, Rafe probably thinks you’re an annoying idiot. Good grief.

You hear the door of the flat opening and Olivia appears in the kitchen, holding a plate of breakfast sandwiches, your mouth watering at the sight.

“Thank the lovely lads in apartment 4E,” she laughs, placing them on the table. “Oh god, we went hard last night didn’t we,” she says, taking in the sight of the flat.

“A little too hard…” you remark.

“No such thing, darling! Now eat up and get dressed, we’ve got a match to catch,” she declares before disappearing down the hall where you can hear muffled groans of Millie being reluctantly dragged out of her bed. You sigh and sink down into a chair, grabbing a sandwich and taking a bite. Heaven. You make a mental note to thank Jake for his chef skills. You had completely forgotten that you and the girls were supposed to go watch Rafe and Topper’s match today. Your worries about having to face Rafe yesterday had been quick to melt away, but today they were back with a new vengeance.

—-

“Okay no one wander off when we get there. Y/n, fair warning, these games get… rowdy,” Millie says, as the three of you walk toward the field, arms linked.

“Things get pretty crazy at Kildare too,” you laugh, “so yeah, don’t fucking let me out of your sight.”

The three of you shake off your fits of laughter as you stumble toward the stands, finding a spot amongst the already packed crowd. You’re finally able to take in your surroundings, glancing at the field ahead. The opposing team is warming up on the pitch, clad in red. Westheath’s team is off to the side, the boys stretching and getting ready in their white uniforms. The dirty blonde immediately catches your eye. He’s jumping and jogging in place, headphones in as though he’s tuning out the physical noise around him, and probably the mental noise too. You wonder if he’s listening to one of the songs he showed you the other night. 

He pauses his jogging to stretch out his arms, his eyes glazing over the stands, when suddenly they lock with yours. Your cheeks flush pink, embarrassed at having been caught staring, but his face just pulls into a wide grin and he gives you a wave. You wave back, and he does a quick hand motion that everyone does at Kildare games back home. You laugh and do the responding gesture, as he smiles cheekily at you before a teammate comes up to him, pulling his focus away. The exchange was brief, but oddly intimate. There was a whole field and a couple dozen people between you, and yet you two were the only witnesses to the interaction. You smile to yourself, relief in the fact that maybe getting a french fry chucked at him wasn’t enough to make him hate you after all. You wonder briefly if Rafe spends half as much time overanalyzing things the way you do. Liam was right, you do insist on overcomplicating things. 

“Hey, earth to Y/n!” Olivia laughs, waving her hand in front of your face. “The game is starting!”

—

The final score flashes on the screen: 4-2, a win for Westheath. The students are going nuts, rushing the field. Olivia and Millie lead the way, pushing through the crowd until you guys reach Rafe and Topper.

“Let’s go boys!!” Olivia yells, jumping up and down with the sea of bodies and beer around you. Rafe and Topper react with equal enthusiasm, pulling each of you in for a hug. You and Rafe are the last to hug, him pulling you in brief but close against his large sweaty body, arms wrapped around you. You don’t even mind the stickiness of the hug, feeling deja vu at the warm feeling of being in his embrace again; a feeling that is foreign yet familiar, one you hadn’t felt before. 

“Did you guys see Rafe’s goal in the second half!?” Topper asks, clapping his friend on the back.

“Of course we did, super star!” Millie cheers, giving Rafe a high five as he humbly shakes his head and laughs at his friends. The mental image of his goal was burned in your head, one that your mind would certainly play for you involuntarily over the next coming days. 

“Alright we gotta go do some stuff with the team, but everyone’s going to Central Bar later. See you guys there?” Rafe asks.

“You got it,” Olivia replies, and they jog off with quick waves, you meeting those blue eyes in silent acknowledgement once again. It was that gaze that always made the rest of the world seem to disappear while his eyes met yours, making your heart skip a beat. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Just a tall, attractive, soccer-playing friend…

—

“Y/n! Liv! We’re doing a round!” Jake calls you and Olivia over to where him and Liam are already at the bar, four shot glasses ordered and lined up.

“On three! One, two-“ Liam chants, as the four of you down the alcohol. Central Bar had been buzzing with what felt like half of Westheath’s student body all day. After the game, you and the girls had gone back to your flat to nap and eat, before meeting up with Jake, Liam, and the rest of their boys to head to the bar. Rafe and Topper were already pretty buzzed when you guys got there, playing a round of table tennis with you before the rest of the soccer team and their other friends pulled their attention away. You couldn’t help the way your whole body tensed when Rafe greeted Lily with a tight hug, humbling you with the confirmation that Rafe’s actions toward you weren’t anything special. You resolved yourself to a night of drinking and dancing your worries away with Liv and Liam instead.

“Alright, round of table tennis? You two against me and Y/n?” Liam challenges.

“Please, I saw Y/n playing before, you guys have nothing on us,” Olivia flashes an evil smile, her competitive side coming out.

“Oh it’s on Liv,” you laugh, as your foursome stakes your claim at the pong table. While Olivia and Jake gather the balls and paddles, you notice Liam grimacing off into the distance. You follow his line of sight, landing on Topper and Millie drunkenly dancing together across the bar, a bit too close for comfort.

“What is she doing with that geezer,” he mumbles.

“Liam! Jealousy is unbecoming of you,” you gasp in mock disbelief.

“I’m not jealous,” he scoffs, and you quickly realize that he actually is, even though you had just been joking. Your jaw falls slack as you put two and two together. Liam and Millie were always by each other’s side, at school, at the pub, when you were all watching a movie at his apartment a few nights ago. He would tease her relentlessly and his own words rang in your ears If we really like you, we’re gonna make the time to hang out with you, no matter what. 

“Shut up! Shut up!,” you whisper yell, hand coming to your mouth. “I should have realized this whole time… of course you like Millie! Everything you’ve been telling me you think exists between me and Rafe has actually been about her! She’s your Uno reverse card!” You’re shocking even yourself at these revelations.

“No no no, you can’t use my own words of wisdom against me, that’s not how this works Y/n. So what, maybe I slightly give a shit about Millie? Who cares. Her and I both know that’s never gonna happen. I still stand by everything I said about you and Rafe so don’t think your getting off so easy on that.”

“Then tell me why you’re staring at Millie while Rafe hasn’t so much as glanced my way since the minute Lily Colts got here, hmm?”

“Oh Y/n, Y/n Y/n Y/n,” Liam tuts, shaking his head laughing as he turns to the game your group of four is about to begin. You don’t have the energy to argue with Liam over the matter right now, oblivious to the fact that Rafe had indeed been glancing your way, several times. In fact, he was glancing at you right now, as Liam reached his arm over yours to help you actually hold the paddle the right way. You just hadn’t been glancing back to notice, scared of what you may or may not see between him and Lily if you did. 

—

The night dies down and it’s time for the pilgrimage back to your building. You’re walking with Millie when Liam quickly falls in step with you two. You give him a knowing smirk, to which he responds with a glare behind Millie’s back, but you let the two banter as you fall behind, now walking alone. You stare ahead, eyes mindlessly settling on Lily walking in between Callum and Henry at the front of the pack. You don’t notice the pair of legs that begin moving in pace next to your own. 

“Tonight, by the way,” Rafe’s voice startles you as you jump next to him. He chuckles at the confusion written all over your face. “You asked last night when we’re watching the next episode. And my answer is tonight, L/n,” he states.

“Haven’t you been up since like the crack of dawn? Aren’t you tired?” you ask incredulously.

“Too tired for Game of Thrones? Never,” he scoffs, Liam’s words ringing in your ear. If we really like you, we’re gonna make the time to hang out with you, no matter what.

“Well then tonight it is,” you smile. “Sorry about the french fries last night by the way,” you say meekly, looking down at the sidewalk in front of you, cheeks burning.

“Seriously L/n, talk about a horrible throw. Room for improvement,” he jokes with a comforting smile, saving you from yourself.

“Good game by the way,” you add, grateful for the way he was letting you off. 

“Thanks,” he looks at you, shoving his hands in his pocket. You turn to look at him too, and after a few moments laughter is taking you both apart. Nothing funny was said. Neither of you knew why you were laughing. And yet it felt natural, not an ounce of awkwardness in the air.

As your whole group walks into the building, people begin to peel off, splitting towards staircases and off elevator stops. 

“I’m fucking beat,” yawns Topper, as you and all your flatmates file into your hall. 

“I’m gonna sleep like a baby tonight,” Millie yawns in agreement. One by one everyone files off into their rooms. You open your door, backing into yours, Rafe across the hall from you backing into his. Laughter tugs at both your faces once again, as you let your doors close. You manage to change into your sweats and brush your teeth before you hear the light rap on your door. Rafe enters, in a t-shirt and gray sweatpants, your weakness. But you feel comfortable being alone with him now. The Rafe jitters had finally began to subside. 

“Alright L/n, episode 4, you ready for this?” he asks, plopping down in his spot next to you. 

“Oh I’m very ready,” you reply, sitting up to reach for your laptop which was resting by your feet. As you lean back, you find yourself in Rafe’s arm. He had extended it out before you sat back, effortlessly catching you against him. His hand rests casually on your arm, and you gulp, pressing play. You pray he can’t feel the way your heartbeat quickens and your body flushes. So much for those jitters being gone. 

The episode plays, you and Rafe making comments here and there before your chatter eventually dies down, leaving just the sound of the show to fill the room. You can feel Rafe’s body lean further and further down, becoming heavier and breathing slower. You very slowly turn to check, and sure enough he’s fast asleep. You sigh, and shut your laptop, careful not to stir him. You could easily shake him awake, tell him to go to his bed, but for some reason you don’t. You don’t mind him here. In fact, you almost prefer it, his body heat keeping you warm. He had already slept over once before and it clearly hadn’t been a big deal, so what was the harm in letting it happen again? You’re just friends after all, you remind yourself, not sure who you’re trying to convince. And so, the two friends fall asleep in the same bed again. 

---

🏷: @hopebaker​ @pogueslandia​ @mardema​

[minor-solemnity]

hi omg i love you so much!!!! every time i see you post i get so excited!!!!! if requests are still open can you please write over protective tom! i'm a simp for tom x reader when he is super protective over her! thank you😘😘

Eee, thank you! You’re the sweetest omg <3 I really hope you enjoy this! (We all simp for super protective Tom, don’t we? I definitely do)

Tag List: @naps-and-lemons @jinxqsu @riddles-wifey @cakesarecute @mostlynonsense

The Dark Forest

“Stand up for me, and stay close now.” You follow his instructions, the basket and the flowers lying forgotten at your feet. There is something about the way Tom’s holding himself, his back is a straight line of tension, his shoulders are taught, the grip on his wand rigid. He looks like he’s ready for a fight.

The Forbidden Forest is a strange and remarkable place. From afar, it looks like a solid wall of black that fades into hazy mist regardless of the time of day. You’ve always held a certain fascination with the forest, spending a lot of your free time edging the perimeter and peering in through the thicket, trying to get a glimpse of what lies within. You’d given up Care of Magical Creatures as an elective when you had learnt that Professor Kettleburn had made it quite clear to you that he had no plan to ever lead students inside. It had been one of your favourite things to complain about in fourth year, and your secret hope that you’d one day find an excuse to venture beyond the borders.

You suppose the phrase be careful what you wish for was penned for situations such as the one you find yourself in now.

You trudge along the narrow path, one hand gripping your wand and the other holding onto the wicker basket that Professor Kettleburn had given you to collect the stella syriaca flowers before sending you and Tom off into the forest. The only light source you have is the lumos you’ve cast to guide you through the forest and the pale, white-blue light your wand emits turns the forest into a strange imitation of nature. In this light, at this moment, you can almost convince yourself that the trees and the undergrowth are abstractions of nature, an impressionist’s depiction of what a forest might look like.

This in itself isn’t a problem - you’re not so easily scared that the dark and unfamiliar are frightening in themselves. The problem is that you’re fairly certain that you’re being followed. Not that you’re going to mention this particular concern to Tom. He’s already been dragged out to the Forbidden Forest unnecessarily because of you, you don’t want to annoy him with your paranoid imagination. “Tom, do you have any idea where we are?” You ask, trying to keep your voice and calm. You don’t want him thinking that you’re scared, not when it’s your fault that you’re both in this mess.

“If the directions that Kettleburn gave us are to be trusted, we should be nearly at the clearing,” He responds, and unlike you, he doesn’t sound like he’s pretended not to be scared. He just sounds unbothered by the situation, like this is as normal as a trip to the library or a walk around the lake. He glances down at you and frowns slightly as he takes in your clenched fists and tight expression. In the light of the lumos, his concerned expression turns sinister, strange shadows forming under his eyes and distort his usually beautiful features into something otherworldly and dangerous. When he talks though, his voice is soothing and calm, “Are you alright? I would have thought that you, of all people, would enjoy this particular punishment.” You hum in response, unwilling to voice your current thoughts but unwilling to lie either. Lying never works well with Tom anyway - his talent for spotting lies is as good as his talent for the art itself.

“I’m just sorry that I dragged you into this mess,” You murmur, which isn’t a lie. You are sorry that he’s had to give up his evening to escort you into the forest. “You shouldn’t have to do this just because I was being an idiot.” And the fact that this is essentially all your fault rankles you immensely. The issue is… Well, the issue is that you don’t really have anyone other than yourself to blame. No. No, that’s not entirely true. You can definitely blame the school for your current situation; it’s insane that they would send students out into the Forbidden Forest at night unaided and alone as a punishment. Professor Seprenta’s petty desire to take out her frustrations on her students by sending them into potentially perilous places is nothing to do with you. But the circumstances leading up to your detention?

Well, that’s all you.

You wish you could pass the blame but frustratingly you can’t. You decided all by yourself that it would be a good idea to sneak out after curfew to practise summoning circles. It’s also your fault that you’d (stupidly) chosen an empty classroom that just so happened to be next to Seprenta’s office and had forgotten to cast a silencing charm. She’d found you, chalk dust up to your elbows, scattering bay leaves, lavender, and mandrake roots in the four corners of the room.

Needless to say, she hadn’t been impressed, and you’re still not entirely sure if it’s because she caught you out after curfew or if it’s because Seprenta has a weird grudge against any magic that doesn’t involve the direct use of a wand. Either way, it hardly matters now. What matters is that you had been landed in detention and Tom is the one who volunteered to watch over you, ostensibly to make sure that you didn’t skive off, but in reality, you know that it’s because he doesn’t like the idea of you venturing off into the forest alone and without protection.

Next to you, Tom stills and grabs your shoulder, using his leverage to turn you in place until you’re face to face. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t take responsibility for my own actions, it’s terribly narcissistic of you.” He says and despite the insulting nature of his words, you find yourself reassured. Tom is… not the best at kind words and sweet nothings, not unless he’s employing them to get what he wants that is. When he’s being honest, he has a tendency towards bluntness that borders on rude. It says a lot about his feelings towards you that he is rarely charming and sycophantic. “If I hadn’t wanted to come with you, I wouldn’t have, so please, save your guilt for when you need it.”

With a small, weak laugh you nod, “I’ll keep that in mind… Thank you.” Even in the alien lighting, the small smile that lifts Tom’s lips is pleased and soft and maybe a little surprised. The fact that he so rarely hears honest thanks is more than a little heartbreaking. The pair of you continue forwards, Tom leading the way and you following close behind, ever conscious of the… thing watching from the shadows.

You’d first noticed the thing about twenty or so minutes into your exploration of the forest - a silent shadow, no bigger than a bulldog, that flickered in and out of existence in your peripheral vision. You’d not paid it much attention, to begin with, there were plenty of strange things that lived in the forest, after all, and you’d been confident in your assessment that the professors wouldn’t actually put you in the way of any real harm. That confidence has diminished the further in you’ve gone, even with Tom by your side. Now, when you catch a glimpse of it, the shadow looks bigger - maybe the size of a large sheep and a lot more defined. It melts into the darkness whenever you try to get a better look, but you’re fairly sure that it’s more solid than it had been when you’d first seen it.

You tell yourself you’re being paranoid, that the stories the ghosts like to tell you about what goes on in the forest at night have finally gotten to you, but the longer you walk, the more certain you are that there is something in the shadows. “…Tom? Tom, I think something’s following us.”

“I’d be surprised if there wasn’t, darling. You know as well as I do that these woods are alive with more than just birds and trees.” His words are not at all comforting and you find yourself growing annoyed with his flippancy. What you might lack in foresight, you make up for in common sense and your senses are telling you to pay closer attention to the shadows that encroach and creep and linger all around you.

“Tom, I’m being serious. Something is watching us.” He must pick up on the vaguely panicked edge to your words because he stops again and flicks his wand in a complicated motion and a vibrant flame erupts from the tip, floating just above your heads. You give yourself a moment to marvel at his ability before the matter at hand takes precedence and you cast around to try and catch sight of whatever it is that you’ve been seeing. “It was… It was right behind us,” You say, scanning the trees for any sight of the thing. Whatever it is, it’s nowhere to be found. “I swear it was here.”

He hums in response, and when you look at him, you can tell that he’s sceptical. Still, he sends the ball of flame in the direction that you’re pointing and the light seems to reverberate around the dark forest, revealing leaves and branches and thick patches of undergrowth but no moving shadow. Satisfied, he flics his wand again the flame extinguishes. “Keep an eye out - if you think you see something again, tell me.” You nod and bite your lip, pressing a little closer to his side as you continue your trek. You feel like a small child, huddled under your blankets to hide yourself from the darkest shadows in your bedroom. Fear is a funny thing, it’s an almost tangible emotion, prickling the back of your neck and sticking to you like sand on wet skin. Still, you’re almost at the clearing and then all you need to do is pick the flowers and get out.

The stella syriaca flowers only bloom at night, the tiny flowers growing in spherical clusters. Under the glow of your wand, they blossom pearlescent and delicate, like miniature moons rising from the forest floor. You set the basket down and begin to pick the flowers, careful not to crush the petals as Tom watches over you. “You don’t fancy helping?” You call over your shoulder and somewhere above you, Tom breathes out a huff of laughter.

“I hardly see why I should - this is your punishment, is it not?” He counters, wry humour coating his words and you roll your eyes but laugh nonetheless. Now that you’re in the clearing, you don’t feel so afraid, the knowledge that you’ll soon be out of the forest bolstering your confidence. Silence falls upon you and you get lost in the monotony of plucking the flowers, the repetitive actions lulling you into a daze so much so that you don’t immediately notice the rustling in the trees towards the edge of the clearing or the way that Tom’s posture tenses and his eyes turn to slits.

You startle when his hands brush the top of your head, and you look up at from where you’re kneeling on the ground to see what the problem is. Tom looks… He doesn't look scared, which you think is probably a good thing, but he does look agitated. His expression is shuttered window, no light or levity flickers behind the darks of his eyes, no ironic smile curling his lips. You only ever see this side of him when someone displeases him in a particularly grievous manner and he’s never looked at you with that cold blankness that reminds you of ice storms and black tar. You spare a thought for his enemies because you imagine you’d probably drop down dead in an instant if he were to ever turn this particular expression on you.

When he talks, his voice is tight, “What did you think you saw earlier?”

“A… I don’t really know—” Tom makes a low, irritated sound in the back of his throat and the hand that’s resting on your head tightens slightly. “—It was like a moving shadow out of the corner of my eye. It disappeared whenever I tried to look at it, but I think it was getting bigger the deeper we went.” You can’t keep the nervousness out of your voice as you scan the perimeters of the clearing, trying to get a glimpse of whatever it is that’s got Tom on edge. The darkness of the forest seems to loom and though you can’t see anything, you can feel it watching you, can feel the way it sizes you up the same way your cat sizes up mice in the courtyard before she pounces. You’ve always thought it was cute - the way her eyes would grow large and black and her lithe body would scrunch up before she attacked. You don’t find it cute now, though. Not when you’re the mouse.

Tom hums in response and he almost sounds relieved, though you can’t think of a single reason why. “Stand up for me, and stay close now.” You follow his instructions, the basket and the flowers lying forgotten at your feet. There is something about the way Tom’s holding himself, his back is a straight line of tension, his shoulders are taught, the grip on his wand is rigid. He looks like he’s ready for a fight. “Stop the lumos, darling.” At your noise of protest, he shoots you a quick smile which you think is supposed to be reassuring but in reality, looks vaguely foreboding. “Trust me.”

“Nox. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Oh, yeah, you sound really— Merlin, what the fuck?” The shadows in front of you shift, and something big and black and not really there seems to collect in the near pitch black. Vapours in the air that pool and swirl until they coalesce into a shadowy thing the size of a shire horse. For a moment, it just hangs there, waiting and watching and anticipating.

And then it lunges.

In the grand scheme of things, your life is relatively unimportant. You’re not so narcissistic that you believe that the world will be irrevocably changed or diminished if you were to meet an untimely end - sure, your family and friends would be sad for a while, your cat would wonder why you’re no longer around to give them treats and ear scratches, but nothing would fundamentally change if you were to die. You know all of this and still, you’re staring down the proverbial barrel of a gun and the only thing that’s running through your mind is, Dear Gods, why me?

You realise in this instant that you are not made for combat. This shouldn’t be a surprise to you - you’re pretty good at Defence, but you’ve never enjoyed duelling. In contrast to your frozen reaction, Tom responds immediately. The rigidity of his posture melts into something fluid and instinctive, and he’s stepping in front of you in one smooth motion and slashing his wand through the air in the next. Violet light arches through the darkness and the thing rears back, as though wounded before it pushes forward. You scramble backwards, staring in horror at the thing. In the spell-light, you can see now that its body is made up almost entirely of shadows - living, sentient shadows that join and divide around a curling skeleton. The only thing standing between you and the shadows is Tom, who is in his element, a whirl of controlled energy and deft wand movements. You’ve seen him duel before, but only in the relative safety of Defence Against the Dark Arts, and watching him now, in an environment where he doesn’t need to hold himself back, where every ounce of his focus and skill is directed at a real-life foe inspires awe and wonder and fear inside you.

The thing slinks around the two of you and tendrils of shadow and darkness curl out and whip at Tom’s feet. You think it must realise that of the two you, Tom is the more immediate threat. Tom leaps out of the way and advances, seemingly without fear for care for his own safety and you’re dimly aware that you’re yelling for him to get back and away. He either doesn’t hear you over the sound of his own casting or he doesn’t care - he just keeps moving, ducking neatly out of the way of another tendril as he sends a jet of golden light that splinters and pierces the monster’s shadows. You keep a tight grip on your wand, trying to think of any spell that might do something against an incorporeal monster.

The monster lets out a shriek and you’re not sure if it’s in pain or just angry but Tom is already moving again. He reaches for you blindly, not taking his eyes off the thing that is currently writhing on the forest floor. Before it can get a chance to recover, Tom raises his wand a final time and the bright white light of a lumos encompasses the shadow being burning and blinding until all that remains is a charred husk a skeleton that matches no anatomy of any creature you’re familiar with.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” In contrast to the surety with which he duels, his voice is wrecked, a kind of frantic worry lacing his words. When his hands find yours, his grip is tight to the point of it being painful, as though he’s half-convinced that if he lets go you’ll fade into the shadows along with the monster.

A feeling of warmth and affection surges inside of you, far stronger than the fear that courses through your veins and you grip his hand back, clinging just as tightly to him as he is to you. “I’m fine— Tom, are you okay? I’m sorry for dragging you out here with me,” You say, anger at having gotten him into this mess and anger that the school would harbour some kind of shadow demon in the forest forging your voice into something sharp and hard.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” He says and you’d be insulted by the way he brushes you off if it weren’t for the way that his thumb brushes your knuckles as he pulls you closer to his side. You know him well enough to hear the unspoken worry in his words. “This is exactly why I came with you.” You know he’s telling the truth. Since you’ve known him, Tom has always had an uncanny ability to know when you’ll need him, has always been there to help and protect you. Usually, that involves editing your essays and handing out detentions to people who trouble you, but you shouldn’t be surprised that he’s taken his chosen role to heart and would gladly put himself in harm's way if it meant you didn’t have to.

Nestled against him like this, you feel the fear that’s been with you since you first entered the forest fade, leaving behind a tired sort of fondness and relief. He’s still glaring at the place where the thing used to be, still tense and stiff as though he’s waiting for it to rise up and start attacking you both again. Tentatively, you reach up and brush your fingers against his jaw, willing him to turn and look at you, so that you can see for yourself that he’s okay, that he’s still here, with you. After a pause, he grants you your wish and your heart quickens at the ferocity lingering in his eyes. “Thank you,” You breathe and just like that, something shifts in the air around you and the tension leaches out of him.

He leans down and brushes a kiss against your forehead and you wind your arms around his back, one hand splayed firmly against his shoulder blades, the other running through the short dark curls at the nape of his neck. “I’m okay, I promise. Thank you for being here.” And you’re not just thanking him for tonight, though are you grateful, you’re thanking him for every instance he’s stepped in to look after and protect you.

“I’d never let anything happen to you, you must realise that by now.” He murmurs, and in the hushed silence of the forest, you can hear the unspoken promise clear as you can feel the warmth of his hand in yours.

[random-imagines-blog]

Post Red Part ii {Viktor Krum x Reader Oneshot}

Sequel to : Post Red Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2385 Summary: When you go to Hogwarts to support your school in the Triwizard Tournament, an unfortunate familiar face makes an appearance. More than once.

Your first glimpse of Hogwarts was spectacular. The ship erupted above the water, and you were finally able to see where it was that you were going to be staying. The glorious castle managed to look beautiful, even through the foggy September morning. You looked towards Viktor, who was sitting beside you, leaning his head to try to look out of your window. “Can you believe this is going to be home for the next year? I’m so glad that my parents let me come with you rather than stay alone at Durmstrang,” You spoke to him in your home tongue. Though you would be having to get used to speaking English more and more regularly, with all of the English students. You looked out the window again, your heart leaping in your chest. This was almost as exciting as going to the World Cup had been.

“It is a little small,” Viktor said, arms crossed in front of him. His loyalty was obviously to Durmstrang, and its own towering peaks. But you were used to his gruff behavior and just ignored him, focusing instead on the sights that were around.

You had no plans of entering the Triwizard Tournament. You were just there as a part of reaching out to other schools, building a sense of community, making friends, trying to see things from another’s perspective. So you did not go in with the dramatics of the seventh year boys, but rather lingered and stepped in after the displays, making yourself at home at a table with a Snake motif. It’s not as if you and the others were going to be noticed once Viktor had come in at your headmaster’s side. All eyes were on him, and conversation immediately erupted upon seeing his face. That grouchy Viktor face.

He slipped in across from you as the Beauxbatons students came through, and immediately started to put food on his plate. There hadn’t been a wide variety of food available on the ship that brought you here, so you were starving, loading your own plate up high. But you paused when you saw that Viktor had. He was looking down the table with a glare in those dark eyes. “Is that-?” He questioned with a motion of his head.

You looked down in the direction that he was staring at and it became very apparent just whom he was glaring at. Draco Malfoy. How could you forget that name when he had drilled it into your head during the World Cup? You couldn’t forget that head of silver hair either. You wrinkled your nose and nodded a yes. It was. Viktor started to stand, but you reached out and grabbed hold of his arm, fork dropping onto the table with a clattering sound. It had happened just as the Headmaster of Hogwarts had paused in his speech, and many eyes went to you and to the Quidditch Star. Or at least the ones that weren’t there already. You smiled uneasily and took your hand off of Viktor’s arm. “Not here,” You muttered.

“He disrespected you, he deserves to be punished,” He said, still standing, still glaring, despite all of the attention on him. Draco, on the other end of the table, looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. It almost seemed worth letting Viktor go, to see that expression on his face when he would come hulking over. The young boy must have put two and two together. He recognized you, and that’s why there was that fear. “Y/N...”

The teachers were looking at you as well. Only Karkaroff would be able to understand what you were both saying, since it was still in your native tongue. He looked furious that you two were causing such a ruckus, and it made your cheeks redden in shame. “Please. Later.”

Viktor finally seemed to notice all of the eyes on him, still standing, fists down on the table. He held a hand up to excuse himself and sunk back down onto the bench. You let out a breath of relief, and Dumbledore continued on with his speech about unity. All Viktor was thinking about was uniting his fist with Draco Malfoy’s face, no doubt. While you focused on uniting this amazing food with your stomach.

-

Viktor had been chosen as Durmstrang’s Representative in the Triwizard Tournament. You were both proud and deeply worried about him, but promised that you would help him along every step of the way. The first task was dragons, as he had found out from Karkaroff. He was growing distracted with trying to figure out ways of defeating a dragon, fighting a dragon, winning over a dragon, that he had nearly forgotten about Draco Malfoy. But Draco Malfoy had not forgotten about you. How you had turned him down, humiliated him in front of his father and the Minister of Magic. And he managed to catch you alone as you were heading back to the Durmstrang dormitories after a study session in the library.

“No bodyguard to protect you this time,” He said with a smirk, pushing himself away from the wall that he had been leaning against. There was no reason for him to be in this hallway, so far as you knew. So this crazy kid must have been waiting for you. He made you feel extremely uncomfortable for the second time in months.

“I do not need a bodyguard,” You said, in slow and careful English. “I need to get to my room.”

“Let’s go then,” Draco said, standing beside you. “I’ll go with you. I’m still waiting on that apology.”

“An apology? I’m waiting on one too, from you. You have been a pest since the World Cup. I would hate to have to report you to Karkaroff.”

You could have sworn that he grew a little paler, not that you thought it was possible with how white his skin already was. That made you feel a little better. Your headmaster as an intimidating man. “You won’t be getting any apologies from me, when you have been the little tease-”

“You’re one to talk about little, fourth year,” You taunted, since clearly being polite, and being avoidant wasn’t working. So you had to make sure that he wanted nothing to do with you. “If you do not leave me alone, I will tell Viktor, and the rest of Durmstrang, and Karkaroff - and they will all believe me about the annoying gnat you are. And then the word will get to Beauxbatons. Do you really want those pretty ladies laughing at you? If not, then you better back off.”

Malfoy took three steps back and you let out a breath in satisfaction. You hurried forward, slipping into the shadows of the castles to make your way back to your dorm. Once you were safe in there, you decided to write a letter to Viktor and tell him what had happened. Malfoy seemed like the sort of boy who liked to retaliate, and you wanted to be prepared in case he got any ideas. Maybe you did have a bodyguard after all.

-

Viktor started going with you everywhere, even after he was chosen as the Durmstrang Champion. It really was almost like being at your own school, and things were normal. Viktor was the person in this world that you were closest to, even more so than your parents. Nobody from Durmstrang batted an eye when you say beside each other at meals, or went for jogs together or went to the library. There was some people from Hogwarts and Beauxbatons who wanted to know about your relationship with the handsome Quidditch star; Viktor always answered them by putting his arm around your shoulders and grunting. He wasn’t a man of very many words, this Viktor Krum.

Whenever Malfoy was around, Viktor went in full shark mode, like he had when you were taken to the bottom of the lake and he had to rescue you as one of the tasks. He snarled and bared his teeth at the boy, and you usually ended up having to drag him away before he would put the blonde in the hospital wing. You always told him that he wasn’t worth it, and that after Viktor would win the Tournament, they would go back to Bulgaria and would never have to think of that rat-faced bastard again.

English slang was really starting to rub off on you.

When the Yule Ball was announced, you thought that perhaps Viktor was going to ask the cute, brunette fourth year that was always in the library, but he hadn’t. He asked you. And you, of course, had said yes. Not only just because him being around you had scared off any other potential suitors, but because you knew you would be comfortable enough around him to actually dance and have fun. Just another day, but he would be letting loose in front of other people as well.

You dressed up. And so did he. Though he definitely looked good - most Quidditch Players did, it was in their fitness regiment, he looked especially great tonight. And by the smile on his face, you thought you must have made a pretty picture yourself.

“Are you prepared to dance, Mr. Krum?” You asked in your native tongue, slipping in beside him and walked towards the winter-wonderland that the Great Hall had turned into. You waved and smiled at your friends, none of them surprised at who you were with. In fact, bets had been taken for who was going to ask who. Very few people lost a few galleons that night. “Because I am so ready.”

The Ball was a blur of fun, punch and music. Your feet were sore from all of the dancing. As were Viktor’s, because he did most of his sport above the ground. You definitely wore out your dancing shoes, and would have to awkwardly tell your parents that you needed a new pair for formal events. Once you explained that it was because of Viktor, you were sure you would have no problem getting more.

But the ending of the night wasn’t as fun, and it was because of that Ferret, Malfoy. He was pushing every last button that you had, which meant that he was poking at Viktor’s as well. All it took was one smug comment to his friends about how you had been ‘all over him’, trying to get all cozy during the World Cup, and Viktor saw red. You hadn’t seen that kind of anger in him before.

He went straight after Malfoy the way that a bull went after a matador. Nose blowing smoke. If he had horns, Malfoy would have been pinned to the wall by them, without a doubt. But as it were, all Viktor had was his brute strength - he didn’t even think about magic. Straight in with a punch to that self-approving face. Malfoy went down like an under-inflated balloon, sinking under the weight of that hit. But that didn’t stop Viktor - and neither did the other fourth year Slytherins trying to have their friends back. You even got involved, trying to pull Viktor out of the developing dog-pile.

It didn’t take long for the chaparones to notice that there was a fight going on, and you were all torn apart from each other by magic. You were now against the wall, feeling like someone had just cast petrificus-totalis on you. Your eyes rolled to find Viktor, only to see that he was beside you, with a bruise developing over one eye. One of those boys must have got him good. You wished you could see how they had come out of the fight. Viktor was sure to have given out twice as good as he got.

“What is the meaning of this?” Professor McGonagall, one of the teachers here at Hogwarts, demanded to know. “A champion? Taking part in a physical altercation?” She looked between you and Viktor, and then to the three Slytherins.

“My fault,” You said, giving up on the struggle against the magic. “I - tripped - fell on boy - Viktor defend me.”

Your English was still a bit rough, but that seemed to be working in your favor. You didn’t have to use as many words if they thought you didn’t know them. But obviously you were going to jump in and lie so that Viktor wouldn’t get in trouble. This tournament meant as much to him, if not more, than Quidditch did. You weren’t going to let him get kicked out just because of some rat-faced boy.

“Well,” McGonagall said, fixing her robes. Your mood perked just a little. She wasn’t even going to ask for the boy’s side of the story? She barely even looked at him now, except to give a hard stare. “20 points from Slytherin.”

“But Professor-”

“And be thankful that it isn’t more!” She said, and with a wave of your wand you were all set free. “I suggest you spend your time on different sides of the Ball this evening.”

“We will, thank you,” You said with a nod, taking Viktor’s hand and pulling him to the left side of the room. “You need to learn how to control your temper, or you  might get kicked out of the tournament. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking he needed to shut up,” Viktor said. All of the good mood had been sucked out of the both of you by the encounter.

“I hope he learned his lesson,” You said. “I hate liars. It should be obvious I would never be all over someone like him.”

“Good,” Viktor said. “He makes me see red.”

“Makes me mad too,” You nodded. “But let’s not think about him, and enjoy the dance. Shall we?”

Viktor nodded and took your hand, bringing you back out to the dance  floor to dance those emotions away, and forget that anyone else - especially a boy named Draco Malfoy - ever entered into your lives.

[blitzturtles]

Title: Nothing Else Matters

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): NaraFugo / FugoNara

Summary: [In a world where it takes Pannacotta a while to come home after the events of VA...]

Patience is not a concept, but a word that bounces around in Narancia’s mind. An echo of syllables rather than something that has meaning. He can repeat it to himself as many times as he would like, but he will find none of whatever it was that Bucciarati wished to impress upon him when he spoke the word in the first place.

Notes: Also, this was honestly an excuse to write Fugo with long hair and scars.

-

Patience is not a concept, but a word that bounces around in Narancia’s mind. An echo of syllables rather than something that has meaning. He can repeat it to himself as many times as he would like, but he will find none of whatever it was that Bucciarati wished to impress upon him when he spoke the word in the first place.

Narancia is not patient. He is not capable. His only lapses in action come when he sleeps or when it is absolutely necessary for survival. The only things he has ever waited for are food and medical care; the latter of which nearly killed him. For Narancia, there is no virtue in patience; only unending anxiety. Worry that gnaws at his already chapped lips and pulls the threads loose in the cuffs of his sleeves. It keeps him up at night with questions that never receive answers.

How is patience a form of high moral standard (what does that even mean?) when it could mean that Fugo is out there by himself? Possibly in danger. With no one to watch his back in a Passione that is rapidly changing around him in a way that he surely is not prepared for.

It’s been a year. One very long year, and that’s accounting for the fact that Narancia spent several miserable weeks in the hospital after a two week long coma. He remembers looking out the window, unable to see the street from so high up, yet hoping he might catch a glimpse of white-blonde hair off in the distance. He had never given up hope that Fugo would stop by one day, even if only to sneak in for a moment. That day had never come, and now countless more have passed.

Giorno does his best to reassure Narancia that Fugo is alive, but that only brings about more questions and concerns. Alive is a pretty low bar to set, but it’s better than some of the scenarios that have run through Narancia’s head. It’s better than dead at Diavolo’s hands-- indirectly or otherwise--, but it only does so much to soothe Narancia’s nerves.

He can’t bring himself to ask how Giorno knows that Fugo is alive. That he’s at least surviving out there in the world where the most powerful crime syndicate is undergoing significant restructuring. Has Giorno seen him? Spoken to him? Does Fugo visit him?

Giorno’s got eyes in more places than Narancia can wrap his head around, so it’s possible that Giorno’s monitoring Fugo from a distance. And Narancia tries to ignore how that thought makes his chest ache. As if Fugo is some kind of threat to them.

The problem is that Fugo could be a threat. If he had it in him. He has more information on those closest to the Don than anyone else in the entirety of Passione combined, but he’s not a traitor. Narancia knows that like he knows the sky is blue, an observable and undeniable truth.

What almost hurts more is the thought that Fugo is talking to Giorno directly. That he’s gone to see the Don on more than one occasion, or that he has some means of reporting to Giorno that none of them are privy to. That Narancia knows of, anyway. He wouldn’t be entirely surprised to hear that Bucciarati also knows of Fugo’s whereabouts, but that thought doesn’t hurt nearly as badly as the idea that Fugo is avoiding him.

Narancia does some avoidance of his own. Mostly, it’s calendars that he can’t stand to look at. He tries his best to steer clear of them, but it’s been hard ever since he started up school again. Everything operates on a damn schedule with school. Tests, homework, tutoring (remote and not through Fugo, and he hates it)... It’s never ending, and the moment he gets his hands on one, he’s counting back all the time that’s passed.

Today marks one year, two months, and three days, and patience has gotten him absolutely nowhere.

______

Giorno sends for Narancia while Narancia is busy studying in the mansion’s library. He gives Mista-- the one often sent to collect for the child Don, whether it be man or money-- a look of confusion, with one eyebrow cocked and eyes searching, but Mista only shrugs,

“Dunno, dude. You’re gonna have to go see for yourself, I guess.”

Narancia doesn’t know how Mista can sound so detached. These kinds of things drive him crazy. He wants to know, and he wants to know now. Patience is bullshit, and he’s tired of pretending otherwise.

______

The door to Giorno’s office is a large, heavy oak thing carved with expert hands. Narancia’s fingers sink into the grooves that make up the design of foliage and wildlife. He’s found himself tracing various parts of this door more times than he can count. The scene is beautiful. One of the artist’s whim, but she had clearly understood her client, given how perfectly it fits Giorno. It’s often the first impression people get of the Don when they’re called upon. The door comes across as unnecessarily ornate, but, truly, it’s a reminder. Besides, the whole thing had been a gift. Not a single penny had been spent (well, not in commission, anyhow.)

Narancia likes it because he can usually find something he hasn’t noticed, some groove he hasn’t touched. The surface is surprisingly smooth for wood, and it feels nice under his fingers. He’s used it as a distraction before; a way to pass the time while idling outside of Giorno’s office, either as a living radar or as an invited guest.

He’s almost never there for a mission briefing. It’s rare that he gets sent out on field work at all anymore. He’s technically an ex-mafioso now. School is supposed to be his priority (it’s not), which means mafia work is saved for everyone else. Most of the time. Which raises the question: what does Giorno want?

“Come in!” Giorno calls loud enough to be heard. It startles Narancia out of his thoughts, but he brushes it off quickly and reaches for the door, only stopping for a moment because he can hear a second voice. A quiet murmur that Giorno responds to in a gentle cadence of his own. One that’s meant to be reassuring, yet sends alarm bells off in Narancia’s head. He flips Aerosmith’s radar over his eye, checking the signatures in the room. There’s definitely only two, but that doesn’t give him a whole lot to work with.

Rather than keep his boss waiting any longer, Narancia pushes the door open and peers inside, half expecting the stranger to be holding a weapon of some sort. Instead, the man stands there, stiff as a board with his back facing Narancia. He has a ratty hoodie on with the hood being pulled up in such a way that Narancia can’t see any of the man’s features. It does nothing to settle his unease. Something is going on, and he feels wholly underprepared.

“It’s alright,” Giorno says, standing from his chair and moving around his desk. Narancia doesn’t know if he’s trying to reassure the stranger or him, but he has a feeling that neither of them feels any more at ease than before the Don spoke. And what Giorno says next makes even less sense, but is definitely aimed at the stranger, “He’s been waiting for this.”

Slowly, the unknown man reaches up to lower his hood. It seems to take an eternity, but the moment Narancia sees his face is the moment when he feels like someone has punched him in the gut hard enough to go through layers of skin and muscle and fat. There’s a horrible twist in his stomach before an odd, detached hollowness settles in, and all he can do is stare in disbelief.

Fugo’s fingers linger on the rim of his hood. He holds it tight around his neck, still partially obscuring his hair and part of his jaw. His fingers remain clenched in the fabric so tightly that his knuckles have gone white, and he stands there, seemingly frozen part way through his reveal. His mouth is too obscured to see the full extent of his expression, but his brows are drawn in a frown. Bright red eyes dart suddenly from Narancia to Giorno, searching. He looks ready to run, and that’s enough to kick Narancia’s brain back into gear.

“You bastard!” Narancia’s lunging at him in an instant without bothering for his knife. He grabs at Fugo’s hood, and his fingers clasp tightly in the bunched fabric before Fugo’s hands.

Giorno moves to get between them with a hand raised, prepared to force the two apart if need be. Gold Experience manifests behind him, no doubt prepared to create a literal barrier to prevent any bloodshed.

“Don’t,” Fugo breathes, eyes darting to Giorno. “Don’t,” he repeats, “It’s fine.”

“Fuck you!”

Fugo doesn’t flinch at the exclamation, though he does sink his gaze downward and refuses to look up at Narancia. No amount of time could have prepared him for this particular reunion. Getting into contact with Mista and Giorno again had been hard enough, and that hadn’t exactly been his choice. This is an entirely different matter. One more complex than he knows how to deal with, and that’s exactly why they’re in this situation now: because he hadn’t known how else to do this.

Rude as it is to stick Giorno in the middle of all of this, it’s the only way that Fugo could assure that he would follow through with his plan to finally reintroduce himself to the rest of the team. He’s already proven himself to the Don. To Giorno. And to Mista. Though he hardly feels as though he deserves their trust. No matter how often Giorno reassures him otherwise. Still, this is more complicated.

Narancia stares him down with a fire in his eyes. Aerosmith’s radar vanishes from existence, which at least means Fugo won’t be shot, but that’s little consolation given the rage rolling off of Narancia in waves. His fists press into Fugo’s jaw, causing him to wince, and just like that something… snaps. Either inside of Fugo or in the air. It’s like a crack of thunder that rings in his ears.

“I hate you,” Narancia nearly sobs into his ear the moment he gets his arms around Fugo. He pulls him into a crushing hug with no warning and repeats the phrase ad nauseum. They both know the words aren’t true, though Fugo deserves them to be.

“I’m sorry,” Fugo breathes his response, and not just because Narancia is trying to squeeze the life out of him. His own eyes are burning with tears. Months of pent up emotions spill forward in an unstoppable avalanche, and all either of them can do is hang on tightly to the other until the worst of it passes.

Fugo barely has a moment to catch his breath before Narancia is reaching, and he flinches. Narancia’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open a bit. Nothing needs to be said for Fugo to know that he’s added one more hurt to a very long list.

“Just,” Fugo tries and glances helplessly at Giorno, but the Don seems to have made his escape in the little outburst of chaotic emotions once he had realized the two weren’t a threat to one another. “I’m different.” It sounds ridiculous in his own ears, and it doesn’t cover the reality of what he’s hiding behind his hood and his clenched fists.

Narancia laughs. A startled sound that gets ripped from him before he really processes the words, or the look on Fugo’s face. He feels bad almost immediately and tries to recover the situation by saying, “You’re you.”

Fugo inhales deeply and holds his breath a moment before he drops his hands away finally. The hood falls down around his shoulders, and he has to steel himself to avoid turning away.

“Oh,” Narancia sucks in a breath. He reaches his hands to either side of Fugo’s mouth, only hesitating a moment when Fugo stiffens, but he forces his own hands steady enough to brush his thumb over the newly gnarled skin. Well, not that new, he supposes. The scars are healed enough; no longer the bright, angry red that they once were, but it’s clear they had been painful. They may still be. Narancia thinks it must hurt when they pull at the corners of Fugo’s mouth whenever he speaks.

“Purple Haze,” Fugo explains without really explaining. He gives a half shrug and stares down, but he’s startled when Narancia surges forward and kisses him. Of all the reactions he had been expecting, that has to have been the last on his list.

It’s not as if kissing is new to them. They’ve done it plenty of times before, when they were together. Before Fugo chose to stay behind and watched Narancia swim off after the boat without him. When his feet had been cemented to the ground underneath him and his heart had been hammering in his chest and his stomach had been doing its best to turn itself inside out because they were all going to die, and nothing he could do or say would change it.

He doesn’t deserve Narancia now. Doesn’t deserve his undying devotion and his freely offered affection. He can’t justify asking for forgiveness, much less another chance at what they had before, yet here they are.

Narancia draws back with a gasp of air. His eyes bore into Fugo’s, searching, and he must find whatever he’s looking for because he’s grinning wide. “You look badass, Panna,” he says and steals a second kiss while Fugo’s brain reels violently.

The next time they break apart for air, Narancia runs both hands and eyes over Fugo, undoubtedly searching for more marks. More changes, and he finds them in the form of Fugo’s hair, which has gotten absurdly long in his time away. He can’t bring himself to let anyone cut it, and it hardly bothers him.

There’s a moment he worries that Narancia might hate it, but Narancia has his hands in the soft, white locks with that same, goofy look on his face. “You look so pretty with your hair like this,” he tells Fugo with so much love in his voice that it almost burns.

“How can I look badass and pretty?” Fugo asks, though it isn’t important. It’s something to focus on. Something that means nothing at all. His hair is inconsequential. A safe topic for him to latch onto until his heart stops pounding painfully in his chest.

“You’re asking me!” Narancia says in a non-answer. He brushes his fingers through Fugo’s hair again and again, and all Fugo can do is lean into the touch that he’s missed for so long. He hasn’t been able to let anyone else get close since that day with the damned boat. It had been like being thirteen again. Where he felt alone and scared; every noise making him jump and check over his shoulder, prepared for something ugly and unspeakable, but the only real, irreparable damage that he’s taken is from his own Stand. A penance for all the hurt that he’s inflicted on those that he cares about most.

“Does Bucci know you’re back? He’s going to lose his mind, but oh! Too bad, because I call Panna time first, and I’m not giving it up for nothin’,” not even to Bucciarati, who Narancia has the utmost respect for. He doesn’t care; he’s waited so long for this, and Fugo came back with new scars and pretty hair. They’re both things he wants to commit to his memory via the longest cuddle session he can get away with.

“Not yet, and I think he’ll understand,” Fugo replies with the barest of smiles.

“Good, let’s go!” Narancia moves his hands from Fugo’s hair to grasp at one of Fugo’s. He intertwines their fingers and tugs hard enough to nearly knock Fugo off balance, but Fugo recovers enough to allow himself to be dragged along.

He still feels like a raw nerve. Fight or flight are just on the edge of his conscious brain, and his ribs ache from the way his heart continues to beat too hard and too fast. There’s a lingering feeling that he doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t deserve any of this, but he pushes the self-hatred down for now. Somehow, Narancia doesn’t hate him, and nothing else matters.

[drakewalkerfantasy]

The art of surrender. (Tatum x F!MC)

Summary: When the anger takes over nothing lefts but the truth. Will it be enough for Tatum to be ready to admit the truth. And will it be enough for Claire to finally demand the answers she needed. 

Words: 3170

Authors notes: I really hope you will enjoy this. Please let me know if still want to be tagged and what I can improve. Huge thank you for @jamespotterthefirst​ for proofreading and reading this for me and being amazingly supportive friend. Also huge thank you for @choices-bound​ for being supportive and also reading this before I published. Also thank you for @annekebbphotography​ for finally helping me decide what version I should use. You amazing friend so never forget that.

Raiting: to be safe 17+

**Warnings: confrontation/couple of curse words probably and if you squint really really hard some dry humping**

See Part 1 Part 2

From the moment Claire opened her eyes the following morning she felt annoyed and defeated. The sexual frustration she felt the previous night, though a little bit relieved, but still not enough for her mood to get better. And definitely not the way she would hope it will happen. She closed her eyes for a moment reliving the memory of Tatum’s hands gripping her hips a little bit harder. His body so close to hers that she could feel every inch of his hard, warm body against hers. And she could breathe in his familiar scent that was still lingering in the room.

She rolled over pressing her face into the pillow to muffle a frustrated groan. Angry at herself that she was so bluntly throwing herself at Tatum, that she clearly misread all the signs. Angry that despite the hope she still held, even so many years after, he still wasn’t interested in her the way she dreamed of.

Along with her anger at herself came anger at him, at the guy, she had a crush on for for so many years. At the guy, who was her best friend. At the guy who will never see her the way she would want him to finally see her. And at the one who ran away so abruptly as if her touch burned him.

Angry that despite everything she was still holding a fracture of hope that someday he will finally see her the way she did him. Hoping that someday he would want to be more than her bodyguard. And more than just her best friend.

She felt angry that even now, despite everything that happened yesterday she still wanted him. Even knowing that he didn’t want her the same way.

She felt scared thinking that she may lose him by crossing the unspoken line they drew between them so many years ago. Knowing that the friendship they had was the only thing that kept them afloat in the world they lived in.

She felt hurt by the way he pushed her away. Knowing that it was only to protect her even if she didn’t want it.

And she felt confused as when she pressed her body to his, she could feel how his length was straining against the zipper of his jeans undoubtedly wanting her the way she wanted him.

And she hoped... she hoped that this would be enough to make him surrender.

However the way Tatum acted this morning as if yesterday never happened... as if yesterday didn’t impact him the way it did her made nothing to improve her mood. Or make her believe that what she wanted would ever happen. Even though she still could feel that here was something between them. Even though the sparks she thought she felt so many years ago before he suddenly left to the army were back. And no matter how hard he tried to hide it she could feel them every time their eyes met. But even so whenever she tried to get closer to him, he pulled away. And she was so afraid of losing him that she simply didn’t know what else to do other than to make him tell her the truth. To finally tell her what happened with her Tatum... her best friend... her rock... the only person in the whole universe who never let her down. To the person who always knew how to make her smile. Wanting him finally to admit why he acted so afraid to get closer to her.

It was still early in the morning, when he came to walk her to the library. The simple summer dress was fluttering lightly around her thighs while the wind was blowing through the campus grounds. She was walking fast trying to match Tatum’s long strides. Her high heels clicked on the ground. And she huffed in frustration trying to catch up with him, finally having enough of Tatum not even meeting her eyes. Having enough of him pretending that yesterday never happened, looking rather like a solid stone made statue and not a breathing, living human being.

“Tatum...,” Claire called after him, when Tatum continued to walk in front of her in silence without even slowing. The stoic mask she used to see during these past weeks back in place.

And the only sign of recognition of what trespassed between them yesterday was the way his hand nervously fixed the cuffs of his jacket and how his eyes darted to her parted lips when he came to her apartment to pick her up. The only sign of remembering how her lips softly pressed to the corner of his lingering there for a moment too long, while her head was spinning from a musky scent of his cologne. Looking as if this didn’t affect him at all. As if his pulse didn’t skyrocket by a single touch of her fingers. As if his eyes didn’t become a shade darker when he saw her in the sinful dress she wore the previous day.

She peaked up the pace trying to match his, starting angrily to walk after him when he didn’t stop. Her long legs still unable to make as long strides as his almost running now on her high heels. Her hair fluttered in the wind, while her eyes prickled with tears of frustration, thinking of how much of the foul she made of herself yesterday. Her breathing coming in huffs, while she tried to calm her racing heart. And her next words came as a surprise even to her. “You don’t have to pull away from me again, not after yesterday.”

Her words came out with a broken sob, which finally made him stop and turn to face her. His eyes widened, when he caught a glimpse of the first tear rolling down her cheek. Her brows furrowed angrily and she tried to turn away from him to cover up another stray tear rolling down her cheek. Her chest rose and fell, trying to suppress another sob that tried to escape her throat. But it was too late, as she felt his fingers gently curling around her elbow and turning her to face him. His intense gaze met hers and before she could lower her head he placed the knuckles of his other hand under her chin, tipping it up.

“Hey... hey, what’s wrong?” Tatum asked with so much concern in his voice that it seemed that her Tatum... her best friend was finally back and this made her want to cry even more, knowing that here is no way she could hide anything from him.

“Nothing.” she stubbornly replied, noticing how his eyes narrowed and instead of letting go of her hand he led her toward the alcove in the end of the garden. The one they passed by the other day noticing how beautiful and secluded it was, like the one in her mum’s garden, where they used to spend so much time together. Like a piece of home. A piece of their friendship.

“CoCo,” he uttered gently, turning her to face him, when they entered alcove far off from the prying eyes if any of the paparazzi or her fellow students would sneak here. The childish nickname he used for her and only her slipping easily from his lips, while he studied her face. Her heart fluttering at the familiarity and warmth. But he could still see that the angry, hurtful frown that cut through her brows earlier didn’t go away and he repeated the question patiently waiting for her reply.  “What’s wrong?”

“I thought you said the other day that as long as my life isn't in danger, I’m on my own. And also something about you being here only as my bodyguard and not as my friend,” quietly reminded Claire.

“Claire...,” he breathed softly, regretting the words that he spoke so harshly before. He didn’t mean them or at least he didn’t mean that he didn’t care about her. And this single breathless utterance of her name was enough for her to understand how much he already regretted the words he spoke and that for him she still was more than a simple assignment.

“Okay...,” she mumbled, lifting her head. “What happened to you?”

“What?”

“Why--- did--- you--- leave?” she asked. Her annoyance and anger clear in the way she pronounced the words, punctuating every single word.

“Because it was my duty.”

“No,” she shook her head, not buying his weak excuse, noticing him licking the corner of his mouth. The telltale of him not telling the truth.

“Because I wanted to protect my country.”

“No,” she snapped angrily. “You didn’t protect it. You were deployed to the country my mother so desperately wanted under her heel... and you... you of all people wouldn’t go there willingly. What means you were forced to go. So WHY? WHY did you leave?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled quietly, knowing that his reply will hurt her. But also knowing that this reply is far better than the truth itself. Still trying to protect her no matter what.  “I... I cannot tell you.”

“Really? This is your reply?” she looked at him with such a hurt in her eyes that it wrenched his soul. But he didn’t say anything else, simply watching her turn toward the garden without saying another word.

“Wait...” finally said Tatum breaking the silence, swallowing hard before asking his next question. “Why? Why did you want to know.” Expecting anything else but not the reply she gave him.

Quickly... almost instantly, she whirled around. Her eyes pitch black, fuming with anger at him. Her hands curl in small fists, and her cheeks hollowing on the inhale.

“Why??? Really? WHY?” she spat the words taking a step closer to him. “You left me without a care in the world. You left me like I meant nothing to you... NOTHING,” she shouted angrily, the sob ripping out of her throat.

“What?” asked stunned Tatum. His heart twisted painfully as anger started to rise inside him at her words. “You want to know why I left?” he asked. His voice rising until he was shouting his next words at her. “Do you really think I didn’t care for you enough to stay? I left because I cared for you. Because I tried to protect you. Because I fucking loved you! And I came back because I STILL love you.” He shouted out breathing heavily.

The words, leaving his lips even before he could stop them. The truth, the one he never was able to admit even to himself, finally out. His eyes locking on Claire’s, but before he could say anything, he felt her small hand placed on his, while she took a step closer to him. So close that he could see tears welling in her beautiful eyes. 

His fingers brushing away a tear hanging from her thick black eyelashes before it could drop to her cheek. And then as if not able to help himself he ran them over her cheek, gently outlining its contour before stopping under her chin and tipping her head up to meet his gaze.

For a second she closed her eyes, too afraid that she would see a regret for the spoken words. But when she finally opened them to meet his, she found nothing but the intensity of the man who wanted the same thing as her. The eyes of the man who wanted her no less.

“You... you love me?” asked Claire in a soft murmur, moving closer to him. Her heart skipping a bit, when she stepped into his space and he could do nothing but nod. Not able to find his own voice to reply. He could feel how her heart fluttered against his chest. His own heart thumping violently when she tiptoed toward him pressing a soft kiss to his cheek before hesitantly sliding her lips to the corner of his. Lingering there just for a split second. His hands gently coming to the dip of her waist feeling the silky sensational of her bare back under his fingers, while he pulled slightly away to meet her eyes. To search in them for any indication that she wanted him to kiss her. For any indication that maybe... just maybe they still wanted the same thing after all.

Slowly, hesitantly he pulled away, still holding her in his arms. Giving her the opportunity to push him away if she would want to, but instead he felt how her fists curled around the lapels of his suit jacket pulling him back to her. Their lips just a breath away. His hands sliding from her waist to her hips. His eyes holding hers intensely. His pulse picked up the pace meeting her gaze, and he couldn’t wait any longer when he dipped his head toward her finally meeting her lips in a tentative kiss.

It seemed that the time had stopped when their lips met. Their hearts fluttering in anticipation, when his fingers tensed on her hips, claiming her lips with his. Tasting barely perceptible flavour of her peach gloss.

He could feel how his dick twitched in the confines of his pants, while his lips captured hers again and again. Kissing her deeper and harder, intensifying the kiss. Sending the warm sensations straight toward her core, making her slick and wet with desire.

His hand ran up her back, groaning when it finally tangled in her hair angling her head for better access. Taking more than he ever could have imagined possible. The warm tip of his tongue trailed along the seam of her lips probing for entrance that she granted willingly. Her lips parted and she felt him washing over her like a wave of warmth as he deepened the kiss, swallowing her soft moan. His tongue sliding inside her mouth, gliding against hers in sinuous dance, kissing her tantalisingly slowly. He could feel how his desire grew stronger with every kiss and every touch, feeling her hand resting on the back of his head pulling his head even closer to her. Kissing him desperately... willingly.

Her body melting into him when his knees buckled slightly hitting the edge of the bench, pulling Claire in. His mouth claiming hers over and over, hungry... intense. His hands sliding up her legs and under her summer dress bunching it up. Her knees placed on the both sides of his thighs, and her body leaning into his.

He catched her lower lip between his pulling it slightly into his mouth, sucking on it with a groan. Letting his tongue slide against it before capturing her lips in a kiss. Kissing her with abandon, finally letting go of every single restraint he had.

Her toes curling, unfurling all her senses as the taste of him nearly silenced all thoughts. She wanted more. Her hips grinding against his growing hardness, no doubt feeling every single inch of his throbbing length. His hips rising to meet hers with the groan of desperation. Parting only for a split second just for an air, before digging in to kiss her even harder and hungrier. Letting go of years of restraints and doubts. Letting go of every bit of self control and resistance. The only thing he wanted to feel was her. Her lips. Her scent. Her touch. At this moment... and this moment only he didn’t care of any warning her mother gave him. Of any pain she would cause him. Or any heartache it could bring. The only thing he cared for and what’s mattered was Claire and she loved him, the way he loved her for so many years. The way he never stopped loving her.

He kissed her vigorously, whispering the words of adoration and love in between. Feeling how she started to move faster and harder against his throbbing flesh separated only by the thin material of her panties and his suit pants. And he was close... oh my God how close he was already. He was so close that one roll of her hips would be enough for him to explode right there and then... Only one more...

With the last sloppy desperate kiss and incredulous self-restraint he tightened his grip on her hips sliding her off from his laps and onto the bench. His breathing came out in hard and heavy puffs. His eyes still glossy from their kisses. And his lips lightly ghosted over hers before reluctantly pulling away.

“Why did you stop,” she breathed. The fear of rejection, of him pushing her away again reflected in her eyes so clearly that he could almost feel her pain. Her lips red and swollen from the way he kissed her just moments ago. So temptingly beautiful that he couldn’t resist it but kiss her once more.

She could feel how his lips softly pressed to hers, kissing her sweetly and tenderly for just a moment longer before pulling away. His fingers gently brushing away the stride of her hair from her forehead. His gaze locked on hers before dropping to her lips, fighting the desire to kiss her again. The heat in his gaze made her core quiver, and the tip of her tongue ran over her lips making them glossy, making it even more difficult for him to resist the temptation.

“Claire...,” he breathed heavily, taking her hand in his, placing a soft kiss to her knuckles. His other hand sliding around her waist, bringing her closer to him, resting his chin on the top of her head. They sat like that for a moment both unable and unwilling to break the moment of peace between them. Both unsure what will happen if either of them would start to speak. Thinking that if they will start to speak that the truth will finally come out and there will be no going back for either of them. “Claire,” finally said Tatum breaking the silence.  “Earlier you asked me a question... two questions. The ones, you tried to ask me for weeks since I came back. The ones I always tried to avoid to answer. But not today. What do you want to know?” asked Tatum, brushing his thumb over Claire’s knuckles. Still unable to let go of her hand.

“Everything... I want to know everything,” whispered Claire with a bated breath before asking her final question. The question she was so afraid to ask, but the one she couldn’t go another day without knowing the answer for. The one she shouted at him in the moment of anger. And the one she cried out in the quietness of her bedroom while no one could hear her. “But most of all I want to know why you left me?”

He nodded silently, looking into the distance. His eyes somber, and his hold on Claire’s waist becomes a little bit too tight as if whatever he was about to tell her would change everything between them. And in some way it will.

Tagging: @jamespotterthefirst​​ @choices-bound​​ @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​ @openheartthot​​ @ramseysrookiex​​ @shaylan211 @annekebbphotography​​ @boneandfur​ @mercury84choices​ @xxrainbow-princessxx​

[rons-wheezely]

That’s Definitely You || Fred

[requested!]

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You never thought your first kiss would be taken by your best friend, Fred Weasley. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.” 

Fred x Gryffindor!Reader

A/N: Weasleys are going to be the death of me lol

--x--

Tonight was almost like any other game night; one filled with cheers and laughter. The busy crowd trying to worm their way in early to find good seats. Tonight would be the first game of the year, and not only that, but word had gotten around that Harry Potter was playing as Seeker this year. You were standing outside the tent, waiting to get a glimpse of your favorite players. 

Fred saw you and instantly his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Y/n!” He said.

“Hey Fred,” you smiled up at his tall figure,” Just wanted to wish you boys good luck.” Your arms glide around his torso as you pulled him in for a hug. You let go, and find that Fred’s face contorted into that of a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just wondering how bad the Slytherins will feel after we beat them with little ‘ol Harry here,” He stifled a laugh, already imagining another win at the end of the night.

“Oh bug off, Fred,” You giggle,” That’s only if you win.” You cross your arms defiantly for a moment before bubbling up with another round of giggles. “Only joking, you know. I’ll see you from the stands then?”

Fred’s face was still, and he was staring. (at you, might I add) “...Fred?”

“Y..Yeah,” He looks down with a sheepish smile. His cheeks were rose colored, but he brushed it off before you could ask. “I’ll see you.” And just as quickly as the visit started, he waved goodbye and walked back into the confines of the tent.

The stands were filled to the brim, just waiting to see Harry’s first match against Slytherins. You stood in the stands waving your well-worn banner with your good friend, Dean, a fellow Gryffindor. It reads: “We love our Weasleys” with little sparkles glimmering every once in awhile because of a charm you casted.

The match was an absolute rollercoaster. Jordan’s commentary had filled the stands with information as you watched on in awe. You never really knew how quidditch players did it. They looked so cool and brave whizzing around up there, scoring left and right. It was a fairly matched game tonight, with the exception of a cheating Slytherin and despite having a new player on the team. 

Dean handed you her pair of binoculars when she noticed you squinting. “Here, sweetheart,” She chuckles,” I know you want to see your boyfriend up there; whichever twin it is.”

“Oh for merlin’s sake,” you scoffed. “He isn’t my boyfriend.” You know she’s only teasing you, but you can’t help but burn up a little when Dean mentioned it. You had to bite your tongue when you almost said Fred’s name, the name sounding so natural next to the word ‘boyfriend.’ Being in love with your best friend was hard, and it was even harder to contain yourself in public about it.

Looking through the lens, you spotted Fred whirling the bludger to the opposite side of the field. You smiled to yourself as you see the happy look on his face when the iron ball zooms straight for a Slytherin’s broomstick. He always looked attractive whenever he played, but that was a secret you’d gush about later to Dean. 

After sitting through one of the most thrilling matches yet, Gryffindors won! You could hear the ‘I told you so’ and ‘can’t believe you doubted us’ already haunting you before you even approach the twins as they exited off of the field. Fred was still glistening with sweat when you and Dean approached.

Fred opened his mouth, but you cut him off saying,” --If you say what I think you’re about to say, I’m leaving.” 

He paused for a moment, casually wiping sweat off with a towel. You tried your hardest not to stare, but to be fair, he was being very distracting. “I told you so, y/n.” A shit eating grin covered his face because he knew those were the exact words you didn’t want to hear from him. 

“--I can’t believe you had the audacity to doubt us!” George called out from a distance before catching up with the conversation. You rolled your eyes, but the playful smile you sported told them that it didn’t mean any harm. 

“After the crushing win today,” Dean briefly looked back at the stands,” I bet the after party is going to be wild tonight boys.” 

“We’re counting on it.” The twins said in unison. Fred winked at you, and you watch as George nudged his arm. The Weasleys walked off towards their dorms to get ready, leaving Dean to deal with the aftermath. 

Aftermath: you gawking. “...Am I reading too much into that?” you squeaked. A warm, almost burning, feeling was in your cheeks, swirling around and making you flush. Dean rolled her eyes as she dragged you away to your dorm.

“If you stare anymore, you’ll burn holes onto the back of that weasel’s head.”

---

The celebration was booming in the Gryffindor common room. Music, food, and chatter hit you immediately upon entering. “Y/n! Dean! Glad to see you blokes.” George yelled over the noise. He just let loose one of the many contraptions him and his brother came up with, letting it whiz into the air and explode into a big ball of confetti. 

“Where’s Fred?” you asked.

“Oh boy,” George grinned,” wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Very funny.” you quirked your brow and waited for a legitimate answer. The Weasley’s were always good at dodging questions; they’d give some half answered vague remark and then disappear, which is exactly what just happened. “George?”

Dean snorted as she watched George run off somewhere into the crowd. “Good luck getting anything out of him.”

You let yourself enjoy the party, the tray of catered butterbeer satisfied your taste buds as you leaned against a wall. Dean had wandered off long ago to find her brother, leaving you to your lonesome. The room was packed in, so much so, that some even left to party quietly in the halls. You gazed at the many people on the makeshift dance floor before getting whisked there yourself by someone’s hand.

“Fred?”

“No,” he scoffed,” George.” 

He twirled you around in his arms, and grooved to the music. His ginger hair swayed along, and you laughed in his arms. “That’s definitely you, Fred.”

“What?” He beamed,” How did you know?”

“Only you shimmy around like that and call it dancing,” you stifled your laughter when he mocked an offended look. He gasped and looked at you with wide eyes.

“I was going to call you clever,” he joked,” but that was quite hurtful you know.” The music was muffled as you got lost in Fred’s presence. It was only the two of you dancing like you always did; no one else mattered in this moment. The way he smiled, and the way you smiled back was just plain romantic. Only lovers look the way you do, but you’d never admit that out loud. Not to your best friend, at least.

The biggest shock of the night happened when he spun you around and dipped you like in one of those muggle films. You held tightly onto him, worried you might fall but loving the thrill all the same. Fred pulled you back up, your face inches away from his. He hesitated for a moment, like his nerves were all jumbled up.

His breath was warm, and you saw the way his eyes flicked from your eyes to your lips. Fred licked his own and leaned in closer, letting your lips touch together for the first time. They were soft and sweet, the lingering taste of butterbeer shared between your lips. And to think, your very first kiss was taken by your best friend, the one you wanted to do it with the most. His forehead was still against yours when he pulled away, cheeks glowing hot as he stammered. 

 “--I’m sorry... I should’ve asked I--”

You pulled him under for another one; the muffled music now coming back at full volume. You could hear the people closest to you whistling and cheering. This kiss was rougher than the last, but the stupid grin on his face when you pulled away was worth it. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that..” left your lips with a smile. “The least you could’ve done was take me out first, though.” 

His hand that was in your hair moved to rest on your cheek. “I could take you out,” he suggests, “but I quite liked that kiss. It’d be a shame to pretend it didn’t happen.” He looked at you before you both tumbled into a fit of laughter, lost in your own world. “To be honest y/n, I’ve never done this before,” Fred admits.

“Me neither,” you chuckle. “I’m glad it’s with you though.”

--x--

A/N: Do y’all have any good hogwarts date ideas? I wanted to do something other than the Yule ball/ Hogsmeade trip for Ron; do you think he’d be up for a study date in the library?

[sahbibabe]

Hello, hope your doing well! I love your writing it's really good! Can I request a soulmate Au for Sekiro/wolf x reader, no.24 in a series format please?? 😊😅 I feel like sekiro doesn't get enough love Lol!

YES. YES. YES. Here you go~! I loved writing this. The timeline is extended more than it is in the game because it took me more than a month to beat the whole game and I doubt it takes just one day to go everywhere that Wolf did in that time.

Also, I have really strong feelings about the whole toxic 'family' relationship between Owl and Wolf. It makes me angry and pretty salty. It just came out in this.

Enjoy! ♡

"LORD KURO HAS EXPRESSED his desire to meet you." Emma sat across from you on a tatami mat, carefully pouring an herbal tea into two small cups. The glare of the sun, filtering through the open window where a nightjar stood guard, revealed dozens of sparkling gray strands in her hair, attesting to the sudden stress─and worry─that she had been confiding to you for the past couple or so weeks: that Lord Isshin grew steadily worse in condition. "He remembers you only vaguely and wishes to reacquaint himself… Should you wish, Lady [Name]."

      That was your title: Lady. Not washwoman, servant, maid, cook, or soldier; it was Lady. You had been elevated to that status on account of your military prowess long before Kuro had been revealed to be the Dragon's Heritage, but you had made it a point to be there when his mother, tragically, could not. Not after the fire.

      Kuro could have called you many things, if you had lingered in his life. He could have called you his aunt, his friend, or even his advisor, if he wanted. But he reminded you too much of your sister, his mother, and so you couldn't make yourself stay. It would be torture for him to see you, a twin reflection of his mother, as much as it would pain you to see him, a perfect resemblance of both father and mother. You had divested your abode─a small attachment towards the Serpent's Shrine, guarded by the sword wielding monkeys who favored your presence─of mirrors since then, unable to look at your own face.

      "If that's what he wants," you replied carefully, watching the shining beacon of your soulmate's danger meter rise steadily over the kanji for 'safe', 'threat', and jump right up to 'lethal'. You had watched this phenomena happen for years now, except for a brief period after the fire, but you couldn't say who it belonged to. There were plenty soldiers who risked their lives every day, but none of them had managed to cheat death so often as yours. "I don't believe he'll be safe in Ashina, not with the Dragon's Heritage."

       "You are correct." Emma set the tea pot down and offered you a cup. You took it from her one handed, preferring to warm your other hand in your lap. She took no offense, used to your daily problems with the chill. "Lord Kuro has already been taken by Lord Genichiro once. I do not doubt he would try once again. And there are others, a particular shinobi, whose motives are a mystery to me, that I don't trust."

       "You speak of Owl. Not… Wolf." You hesitated to call Kuro's loyal shinobi by that name. While it was common to do so, just like the names Orangutan and Kingfisher, you had difficulty equating such loyalty to a shinobi who most definitely would reject the Iron Code if given the chance. The meter dropped down to 'safe' again, and that knot in your throat lessened just a bit. "Am I right?"

       "Yes. He has been absent in all of this, and it's too suspicious for him to be so distant in the middle of such strife. With the ministry rallying, it's only a matter of time before things go from bad to worse. Which is why, if something happens to Wolf, as it did during the fire, I would like for you to be there to protect Lord Kuro."

       You were still young, still in your prime. You hadn't counted in many years, but you had to guess you were thirty five at the most, your sister being thirty when she passed. You were almost close to not being a spring chicken anymore. "If that is what you wish, my friend."

       Your journey to Ashina Castle was a short, but boring one. The soldiers bowed to you as you passed, putting up no sort of issue, glimpsing the family crest you wore attached to your obi. You had decided on a neutral colored yukata, designed for winter, and a thin haori to go over it and block out the cool air. Wearing a kimono would just be difficult at this point.

       When you made it to the tower lookout, you were greeted─surprisingly─by Kuro himself. Emma had told you that he rarely left the archives now that Genichiro was out on the loose, run rampant by the Rejuvenating Sediment, so it was a bit of a shock considering what you had been told. You realized that he had been watching you leap across the rooftops, too lazy to take the proper way, with a nightjar at your side to keep you from falling to your death.

        By his side, hand on a katana that had been named Kusabimaru, stood Wolf. You knew, almost instantly, that he was the one who had been causing your meter to skyrocket at various times of the day and fluctuate wildly. It was almost like a seventh sense, drawing you to him even though you didn't take a step in his direction. By looking at his face, the soulmate pull had been overrode by the desire to protect Kuro, and you found that admirable.

       So you looked away, those dark eyes still trained on you guardedly, and faced Kuro once more. He looked more and more like his parents as he aged, so much so that it was almost painful to look at him.

       He seemed to be having similar thoughts, eyebrows creased just slightly.

      "Lord Kuro," you greeted him, bowing slightly at the waist. That was where you differentiated from your sister; your voices were very different. Where your sister held a stern, throaty voice, yours was very soft and quiet, but held a hard edge that had Wolf on alert. "It's nice to see you again."

       "Lady [Name]." Kuro stepped forward, Wolf in his shadow. He reached out, hesitantly, but propriety stopped him from touching you. "I…"

     You smiled and kneeled down just slightly, careful not to dirty your yukata, and took his hands in yours. "It's alright. I know I look a lot like her. It's hard, isn't it?"

     He didn't say a word, but you could see it in his eyes that it did. You squeezed his hands and stood back to your full height, allowing his fingers to slip from yours. He was still so tiny.

      "Let us go inside. The birds have ears, here," you urged cautiously. Wolf seemed to realize what you were talking about and his eyebrows lowered suspiciously; typical.

       For the next few days, you relearned how to deal with children burdened with an enormous task. Sometimes, Kuro just wanted to be normal and have a normal life, which you understood. The life of the Dragon's Heritage did not come peacefully or cheaply; it was dangerous, rife with struggle. It was why, he told you over tea while Wolf was gone, that he wanted to end it.

      And you, like Emma, didn't want that to happen.

     You also, somehow, figured out that Wolf knew what you were to him, too. He never said much of anything at all to you, perhaps because of your relation to Kuro, and kept his distance when he was present. You were certain that Owl had ruined him in more ways than one with the Iron Code; you saw the drawn muscles in his face, when you were too young to have a soulmate meter, the ribs underneath that threadbare yukata. You knew that Owl starved him, probably beat lessons into him, to make him a cheaper asset to deal with. That was how Owl worked.

        It didn't stop you, or Kuro, from pressuring him to eat. Emma seemed to not want to cross that boundary of necessary acquaintance with him, which you were fine with. Kuro was good at coaxing him into eating, when he was even there, but all you had to do was set food in front of him and level him with an expectant stare, then turn to the window.

      Words seemed to escape him, most of the time, with you─but body language seemed just fine. It was easier to read to him, you supposed, being a shinobi, because intent was laid bare unless you knew how to hide it. You did. You didn't see the point when all he wanted was to protect Kuro.

       One night, while Kuro labored away over the books in the library, determined to find the source of a white flower, Wolf appeared in your quarters. He was severely wounded, the Dragon's Heritage unable to fix it quickly enough, and you darted towards him, catching him before he fell to the floor. He was worryingly light.

       As you laid him on your bed and began to clean out his wounds as best you could, you had to wonder why he didn't go to Emma. The gourd he had was empty; shouldn't she have been able to refill it? You let the gourd fill up a little bit and then made him drink it, careful to let him swallow on his own time and not choke.

       The flesh knitted before your eyes, as fast as lightning, but it was still fresh and raw, so you placed bandage wrappings over it. Whatever had attacked him had extremely long claws, as long as your body, and had gouged inch deep holes into his chest and back. They would scar, but he had plenty of other scars to be seen.

      You situated his clothing back to the way it was, returned to the windowsill where you had been reading a scroll lent to you by Isshin, and waited.

       Somehow, you had drifted off without noticing, the wooden scroll loose in your hand. You clenched it unconciously and opened your eyes, shocked to see the sun and not the moon. When you looked over, expecting to see Wolf still asleep, you were surprised to find him kneeling in front of you, head bowed, as if he had been waiting for you to wake up.

      "Wolf?" You whispered, voice hoarse, sliding sideways to place your feet on the tatami mat. "How long have you been awake?"

       "Not long." That could mean anything to him.

      "I see. How do you feel?" You got to your feet and kneeled down, resting your hand on his shoulder. He never looked at you, though you felt the muscle in his shoulder twitch in response. "You should still be resting."

        "I'll be fine. Thank you."

        "Of course." You blinked, eyes wide. "I'm your soulmate, aren't I? I wouldn't just let you bleed out and die."

        The telltale silence told you more than he could say.

        He had expected you to let him die.

       "Oh, Wolf," you sighed, urging him to his feet. He did so reluctantly, wary of your closeness but not fighting to push you away. "Owl ruined you more than I can even begin to understand."

       Again, he didn't speak, but he knew it was true.

       You smiled sadly at him, then reached up and pulled the ribbon keeping your hair tied in a loose bun. You grabbed his hand and pressed it into his palm, closing his fingers around it with your own.

       "There." You gently removed your hands; he opened his fist to stare at it. "Any time you feel any negative emotions, just look at that ribbon and remember what I told you. You can come here anytime you need me."

       He never said anything else, just left out the window he had come in through. For the first time since you had met him, he looked marginally more relaxed, more reassured, as if the idea of returning to someone who explicitly desired his presence was a comforting one.

      Over the next few months, Wolf never did pop in while you were awake, but he did leave little things for you to find when you awoke, like a small amount of rice from the Divine Child, a branch of gorgeous blossoms from the Fountainhead Palace, or even Lapis Lazuli, a precious stone that you had converted into a makeshift pendant.

       Kuro eventually slipped up and called you his aunt, which you delighted in. Isshin called you over for sake and old war stories, which you both recalled with excitement and solemnity. Emma brought you to visit Orangutan, who took one look at you and found himself remembering you on the battlefield; she helped you give offerings to your sister and brother-in-law's graves.

      But you knew that all of it was coming to an end.

       Just days before, Wolf had returned with the Gracious Gift of Tears. He had met your sad stare with one of hard resolve, and you knew that it was almost time. With the everblossom in hand, he had told you his decision secretly.

      He would die so that Kuro could live. And you had no issue with that; that was his life's purpose, the only purpose that Owl had given him that had benefited him. His love for Kuro was bright, innocent, and strong, even if he was oblivious that it was love.

       You had shed a few tears, of course, but you knew that above all, Kuro had wanted a normal life. There had been nothing else to discuss.

       That night, before Wolf was due to fight Genichiro one last time and─Kuro would tell you afterwards, when the sun had risen, Isshin as well─he had given you all he could offer a woman, and more, because after daybreak, the last immortal would be condemned.

       You had awoken to sunlight, bare and satiated, sad with the knowledge that your soulmate was no more. The meter flickered out of existence as if it had never been there to begin with.

      With Isshin and Wolf departed, there was no reason for you to remain in the rotting ruin of Ashina any longer. You gave Kuro your blessing to journey the world, as he had wished, and sent him off alongside Emma.

      Three months later, you would realize that Wolf had left you a gift; something most precious and valuable, something you would love until the day you died, and forever after that.

        A child.

       When you gave birth, Emma was there to help you. Orangutan had even departed from his temple to stand guard outside and greet the new life that had entered the world.

        It was a boy, Emma revealed with a small smile, and handed him to you. He looked nothing like you. With a faint dusting of black hair and dark eyes, he was every bit just like Wolf.

      And somewhere, out in the distance, you heard the Divine Dragon begin to sing.

[saltfics]

“You’re panicking?! I’m the one who got fucking *insert injury*!”

Blood, Gore & Injury Sentence Starters Thanks for the ask @bibliothesoph !! I made an Ao3 work for this and future sentence prompts here! But the whole fic is posted under the keep reading as well!

If you want to go really hard on the appreciation, you can tip your fellow writer here. Hope you enjoy!!

 Having famous last words is one way to go down in history. It’s not even just the profound ones that get all the credit. Sometimes, the ones remembered are those that were so cocky and topped with just the right amount of irony to be rendered iconic.  Alex has never forgotten John Sedgwick since he learned about him, not because of his great work as a military officer, but because he had the gall to say ‘they couldn’t shoot an elephant from that distance’. And then they did. 

Alex thinks he has a high chance of going down the same way. In fact, his last words might turn out to be, I can run that fast.

The light for the pedestrians switches from green to red just as he steps on the crossing, but the cars are still far away. Henry’s waiting for him outside the university library, and Alex is already twenty minutes late. I can run that fast, he thinks and dashes instead of stepping back. He doesn’t notice the car that’s mid-turn, a turn that’s far closer thanwhat he based his calculations on. I can run that fast. 

Famous last words.

There’s a precise moment when he realizes he’s completely fucked up, and he wastes one whole sixteenth of a second hoping it’s not the last time he ever gets to fuck up like that. He’s in the middle of the street, too far in to back away, too far away to make it to the other side. It’s a two-car lane. If he takes a step back, there’s something coming his way. If he takes a step forward, there’s another car coming his way. If he stays there  … Fucking fuckity fuck.

If he dies, Henry’s going to murder him.

Metal connects to his side and all that crap about your life flashing before your eyes? It’s still crap, but later he’ll swear time does slow down for him to think. Or his mind goes into overdrive. Same difference. He feels the first slam and he thinks, hey that wasn’t that bad.  He can’t see around him, can’t register his surroundings but he still manages one single, impossible thought in the middle of disaster: Brace yourself. You still have to land.

And maybe that’s why when he does fall on the asphalt, a good two feet away from where the car hit the breaks, his hands are out to protect his face. When his vision returns, he’s on his hands and knees in the middle of the street, his palms stinging from the rough slap against the asphalt. His legs are spread behind him and his backpack is too heavy on his back, pulling him to the side.

Alex is breathing hard, trying to take mental stock of his body. He’s afraid to try moving his legs, but he’s still in the middle of the fucking road, one of the lanes paused because of his stupidity. Okay, okay, he has to move.

He searches his body for any extreme aches that should cause him to panic, but the adrenaline must still be pumping through him because he doesn’t feel any pain. Relief spikes through him for a second. He’s fine. He’s actually fine. Henry’s not going to kill him. June is not going to have his head.

Then he actually tries pushing himself to his feet. Shit, nope, he’s wrong. He’s very wrong. Fuck.

Pain strikes, angry and bright like lightning up his leg, the second he considers putting some weight on it. The effect on him is still blurred, his mind reeling too much to properly panic or wonder what that means.

He doesn’t register the people walking towards him until two sets of hands grab his arms, while a third pries his backpack from his shoulders to lessen his load. Together they guide him to the nearest sidewalk. Alex is sure he says something to them. Thank you, or sorry, or an endless stream of both mixed together into a string of mumbled nonsense.

“Dude, are you okay?” one of the guys supporting him says.

“You should have been more careful,” reprimands the lady who’s still holding his bag. “Why did you cross like that?”

They lower him down into a sitting position again now that he’s not obstructing traffic anymore, and Alex’s head is starting to return to him. A small crowd is gathered around him, talking to him, asking him if he needs anything, but mostly just looking on, curious and worried in equal measure. He looks around for his backpack again, just to make sure it’s nearby. His laptop, including his fresh 25-page paper is in there and he has his priorities straight, damn it. 

He catches a glimpse of what he’s pretty certain is the car that slammed into him drive away as soon as the street is free again. Fucker.

“We should call an ambulance!”

“Should we drive you somewhere?”

“Is there anyone I can call for you, honey?”

That’s when his mind actually connects. “Oh, shit! Henry! Where’s my phone? I-I was holding it? Fuck, is it still on the street?” One of the guys who helped him pushes his phone into his hands. Alex is pretty sure he’s in his class. Shit, he needs to learn his name. Why is he such an ass with this stuff? “Thanks, man,” Alex offers him a guilty smile. “I’m—I’m good. I’m good, everyone! Thank you so much! I’ll just call my boyfriend to-to pick me up! It’s—”

“Alex?”

“Or he’ll find me first.”

The crowd parts as Henry pushes his way through, and soon starts to scatter. The lady hands his backpack to Henry as she leaves, and he accepts it, confused. Alex watches as Henry’s eyes roam over him, widening as he takes him in, sitting on the dirty sidewalk, his leg spread out carefully, his clothes rumpled. And he’s grateful there’s a lack of carnage on him, no blood or torn clothes, that he’s just mildly disheveled, because he can’t imagine putting Henry through that.

Well, he’s also grateful he didn’t die, but again, priorities.

“Alex, what happened?” Henry asks, crouching next to him. He pushes a tangled mess of curls away from his face, letting his hand rest on his cheek. “Why are you on the ground? Are you okay?”

Okay, shit, how does he tell his beautiful, barely calm boyfriend that he was stupid enough to get slammed by a car in one of the busiest streets in New York? “Uh, okay, don’t freak out.” Which is the wrong thing to say, and the fastest way to get Henry to do just that.

“What? Why? What’s wrong? Can you get up? Are you hurt?”

“Yes. And yes. Actually, I think. I don’t know.”

“Alex…  what?”

Alex groans. His leg is still throbbing in a steady pulse, but that’s about it. Even his hands have stopped stinging. “Help me up? Please?”

Henry nods, still confused and Alex doesn’t want to exchange the confusion with whatever’s going to come next. He wonders how much he can play the injury off. He can say he tripped, and with his level of injuries it’ll probably be believable but he doesn’t want to lie to Henry. If it was the other way around…

Alex hisses the moment he’s on his feet. Henry fumbles to readjust his grip on his arms, squeezing a bit too tight as if Alex might break if he doesn’t hold on with all he has. “Shit, sorry. I, uh, okay. So, I had a little accident.”

“You—what kind of accident?” The color washes from Henry’s face as he pulls him closer, shifting his arms so one of them is around Alex’s back instead. “What happened?”

“I’m okay, I promise! I was just really stupid. And crossed the street too carelessly and well…” he shrugs, giving a vague gesture towards his left leg.

Henry looks back towards the street for a moment, and when he turns back to Alex he looks like he’s the one who got struck. “That street?” he asks, voice small. “Are you okay? Are you—Okay, we need to go to the hospital. I’ll call Shaan to come pick us up, do you want to sit down again? Does it hurt? I’m sorry, I—”

Alex places both palms on the side of Henry’s face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “Hey, hey. Look at me.”

Henry hesitates for a second. When those precious blue eyes turn to meet his own, hints of moisture linger in their corners. He’s much paler than he was when he arrived, and Alex wants so desperately to kiss some color back into those lips, watch a rosy pink dust his too cold cheeks.

“Baby…” he coos. “You’re panicking? I’m the one who got ironed. Breathe.”

Henry flinches, his face inching away from Alex’s hold. “Don’t use that word. That’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chuckles. “Would it help if I went to the hospital with you?”

“Would it help? Of course, you’re going to the hospital! ‘Would it help’, he says.”

There’s no chance in hell Henry is going to take no for an answer, so Alex waits for him to call Shaan, lets him help him to the car without any protest. On the way there he gets three phone-calls, the level of exasperation increasing with each one. Apparently one of those kind passerbys was also kind enough to post a photo of him on the sidewalk on his Twitter. His dad calls first to make sure he’s okay. Then June, who upon learning the location of the accident just responds with ‘and you’re still alive?’, which is fair but also very rude, though when he complains to Henry about it, he’s sure he must be using all his patience not to glare at him for the nonchalance. He’s definitely glaring when Zahra calls and Alex just hands the phone over to him with the biggest, most pleading eyes he can muster.

Other than that, Henry stays quiet, eyes glued up ahead and staring at nothing. One of his hands is holding Alex’s own and he squeezes it every few minutes like he’s trying to make sure Alex is still there. It’s scaring him a little, but no matter how many times he insists he’s okay, that it barely even hurts, Henry doesn’t relax. He turns to him, gives him a small, tense little smile, then resumes looking at nothing ahead of him.

It’s fine. They’ll go to the hospital, they’ll get some tests done, and Henry will see he’s in perfect health. Then they’ll go home and cuddle until he forgets how much his leg hurts.

Unless he has some internal bleeding. That would be unfortunate.

The hospital visit passes faster than even he could have predicted. After describing his symptoms, Alex is quickly examined by an orthopedist and taken for x-rays to make sure nothing is broken. Everything comes out clear and in an astonishing show of competency, they’re out of there less than two hours later. Hell, the waiting room took twice as long as the tests themselves.

They stop for some painkillers on the way home, and he’s all set. He won’t even have to miss a class.

But Henry doesn’t perk up with the news. His breathing calms and he gets a hint of color to his cheeks as they drive home, but he’s still quiet. Withdrawn. It hurts more than the leg.

David rushes to greet them when they return, all little jumps and wagging tails. Alex feels a pinch of hurt when Henry grabs the puppy before he can jump on him. He doesn’t reprimand him, of course. Henry never yells at David, not even when he chews on pages of his work that he was foolish enough to leave out, but he’s too listless to play with him either, and it’s that apathy that finally breaks Alex’s heart.

“Henry? Baby, talk to me,” he pleads, leaning on his good leg with one hand against the nearest wall. “I’m fine, so what’s wrong?”

Henry doesn’t look at him. “I’m going to take him out for a bit. We won’t take long. Maybe I can bring food on my way back? What do you feel like having?”

“Henry.”

“Is there anything you need before I leave? Water? Tea? Do you want me to help you up the stairs? Maybe we should just fix up the couch for tonight…”

Alex sighs, limping over to where Henry is still looking away from him, bent over to secure the leash on David’s collar. He wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him upright. “Sweetheart…” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, as he’s still turned the wrong way. “Please.”

It takes a lifetime to hear his voice. “You’re such an idiot,” Henry breathes, too shaky to hold any bite. He lets Alex turn him around and leans forward to press their foreheads together. “You’re such an arse.” He’s not crying, though he’s shaking, and Alex rubs some warmth up and down his arms, along his back. “Do you have any idea how lucky you got? That was a dangerous fucking street, Alex.”

It’s the lack of anger that truly does him in. Henry might be mad at him but it’s not enough to overpower the fear that’s been rooting within him for hours. “I’m sorry. I know. I’m so sorry.” Alex pulls back slightly to give him a soft smile. “Would it help if I said I was rushing because I was so desperate to see you?”

“Alex. ”

“Nope, I made it worse. Got it.” He presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It was stupid, even for me. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’ll look both ways. Twice. I’ll fucking study physics to calculate the speed of cars versus my chance of running into them if I have to!” A smile trembles at Henry’s lips and Alex grins. “Watch me! Hey,” he says, softer now. He presses another kiss, this one to his cheek, smiling against him when Henry tilts his head towards the touch. “Anything to wipe that look off your face, and never have to see it again.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I worried you.”

“I know.”

David squeezes between their legs, pawing at Henry, nudging him with his nose.

Alex smiles. “It’s okay, buddy. I upset your daddy a little bit, but we’ll be fine. Right?”

Henry nods, bending down to scratch the top of David’s head, before heading for the door. “He doesn’t like it when I’m upset.”

“We have that in common.”

Henry makes sure to wrap him into the biggest hug before he leaves, even though he’s all kinds of dirty from lying on the road, and probably still smells like the hospital. Alex presses his face into the crook of his neck, breathes him in. Guilt churns in his stomach when he really stops to think about it, how stupid it was, how Henry must have felt. He squeezes a bit tighter before letting go.

And because he’s a total hypocrite, but he got himself too worked up not to, he calls out after him before he shuts the door.

“Hey, look both ways before you cross the road!”

Henry loves him, anyway.

[it-stheaulifeforme]

You were sitting in the library, just trying to focus on your reading when it happened. You weren’t one to be exactly noticed by others and frankly you preferred to keep it that way. The library was a form of solace that you never hoped to have disturbed, but it was quite the horror to have it be one person in particular.

Edgar wasn’t exactly one to exude the most pleasant of presences, I mean, his look felt enough of a giveaway by itself. He was a royal and most definitely taller than you, keeping out of his way all the time lest he catch onto how intimidated you were by how he looked and who he was. Revealing your vulnerabilities was too much, and certainly not something to let him know whatsoever. His reputation was well enough known for you not to add to it.

Although frankly, you had the almost undeniable feeling that you were being watched, hairs pricking up on the back of your neck as if someone was there. But you shrugged it off, getting on with things and not wanting to add to your paranoia. After all, didn’t it help not really being noticed by people? Why would you of all people stand out to a royal, of all people, let alone anyone else?

You were focused on a book on the table, trying not to fall asleep when you heard the wooden library doors open in front of you. You looked up wearily from the pages, doing a double take with wide eyes as you caught sight of him in those red and black robes and a self-satisifed grin you swore was his default expression 90% of the time.

“Ah,” he said, his regal voice deliberating over even the simplest of words as he considered you, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about...something important.”

He approached you slowly, strolling over by the side of the long table covered with books, face not budging from a considerably disturbing expression of malice he didn’t even try to hide. Your body responded by shooting upwards from your chair that screeched backwards on the stone floor, your heart thudding against your chest to the point it made you feel sick.

There seemed to be an audible clanging of metal on metal further up ahead and your head snapped towards the doors, mouth open. I mean, did you just imagine that? Sure, magic was real, but you refused to consider anything about it in this moment in time.

Words were failing you, but to the contrary, your body (specifically your legs) were not. You were running on panic, and despite him being there did not stop you. To be fair, you weren’t even thinking, just fuelled by your desire to remove yourself from his presence as soon as possible.

You slammed right into the wooden doors, a lump catching in your throat as they refused to yield. You blinked, a tight feeling sitting in your chest. Metal clanged together in response, giving a look of confusion as the door didn’t budge. You tried again and even a third time, but anything you did, did nothing. You heard a low, amused laugh from behind you and you froze, swallowing, staring wide eyed at the doors that didn’t move in front of you. Oh god, you didn’t want to believe this. You didn’t want to believe that somehow this man had managed to lock the only way out of this place.

“As I was saying,” he said, sighing, his voice chillingly replaced by his more conversational tone that was still nonetheless intimidating, “I said I had something important to talk to you about.”

You cursed internally, feeling that prickle on the back of your neck as you heard him make a few steps forward behind you. This is why you avoided him, why you kept to yourself. You convinced yourself you wouldn’t be of note to be approached by a royal of all people for anything, and now you were locked in with him against your will. You were angry, you were scared, and you dreaded the fact that he was knowing exactly how intimidated you could be by him when you were around him.

You felt a sudden compulsion to turn around, too quick for you to be confused about your lack of intention to do so. He was standing a few feet from you now, your body frozen in fear and pressed against the wooden doors as you couldn’t help but look up at his piercing blue eyes, a malicious gleam that seemed to strike you at the very heart of yourself.

“What could possibly be so important to talk to me of all people by locking me in a room with you??” you stuttered, fire in your veins, fists balled by your sides and yet fear was something you couldn’t keep out of your voice especially when you couldn’t resist looking into those eyes. It was very clear he was noticing this reaction in you, his grin taking on a more condescending look, eyes raised in amusement at your attempt to be angry.

“I assure you, it’s very important,” he replied, lingering on his words as he took a couple more steps towards you, his eyes burning into yours, “that’s how I had to make sure that we wouldn’t be...disturbed.”

That last word sent an icy chill through your veins and it was enough that he was towering over you, a step or two away from blocking your escape entirely. The tightness in your chest increased and you felt suffocated, still unable to look away from his eyes as you felt an undeniable sickness grow in your stomach.

It was easy to say words were failing you and so was your body as you couldn’t understand your inability to stop looking in his eyes. Normally you’d be looking away and avoiding eye contact, but this new compulsion was...puzzling to say the least. Especially since he’d been able to shut the door of his own accord; but even with the use of magic that you knew was possible, you refused to deal with the possibility that Edgar of all people used it for controlling people, of all things.

His grin faded a bit, but a more conversational tone took over in his voice. “The very important thing I want you to do is,” he finally said, and your eyes caught the glimpse of a sharp blade he had produced in front of you, you yourself feeling like a deer caught in the headlights at this no uncertain possibility presented to you, “is simple. Just kill my nephew, Charmont...with this.” His grin grew wider and so many of his teeth were showing, almost as if he was a shark. “Just right through the heart. It’s all I ask.”

The prospect of murder ran through your head and you felt sick, frozen for what felt like eternity. Your heart was thudding way too hard against your chest and you refused to comprehend, refused to listen to what he asked in the most disturbingly civil tone possible. Your body seemed to yield against your will, about to reach up and take the damned weapon of choice, but you dug your fingers painfully into the door before somehow resisting enough to pull away and take several steps away, breathing heavily.

You could tell you were shaking but you proceeded to talk regardless. He had done enough trapping you in here, but it was horrifying enough that he was asking for you to outright murder. You should’ve expected this, but frankly you never pictured the prospect of him ever approaching you to do this. You were in the background, always trying not to catch anyone’s attention. Why you of all people?

“I’m not murdering someone for you! I won’t have someone else’s blood on my hands!”

You sounded surprisingly coherent and indignant despite your nerves, having turned from him to avoid that undeniably magnetic gaze. Though you could feel his calm demeanour behind you, clearly not roused by your cries of resistance. You felt tears prick your eyes and it became even more evident just how scared you were not only of him, but the fact that he could see you like this.

He took a step or so towards you from behind, and you instantaneously froze. Emotions were bubbling underneath but you couldn’t get yourself to do anything else as you heard his cruel laugh run down your spine before he spoke again.

“Well, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but...it appears you don’t have a choice in this.”

You could feel your body begin to move without you willing it, turning around and raising a hand to take that Edgar was still holding, forcing yourself to pull back and turn away because you couldn’t understand how your body was doing this, as if it didn’t belong to you anymore. You did try and hold yourself back, trying to grab your arm and pull it back as he looked on, amused, as if this was simply some sick puppet show that he was watching. Your own mind seemed to not feel like your own, head swimming at the prospect of simply trying to resist.

You could feel your body fail as you took the dagger from his hands as he looked very much pleased with himself and you gazed at the weapon in your hand. You didn’t understand...he couldn’t...possibly do this? The possibility that he was able to get your body to betray itself like this was feeling like its own dagger through your heart, and you felt a sudden burning sensation of anger across your face and through your veins as you manage to use the semblance of control you had to throw the thing as far as you could across the library with a clang at the other end.

It was then seeing his face drop momentarily to one of displeasure and even surprise before malice dripped from his signature, sinister grin that replaced it. “If that’s how it’s going to be,” he exclaimed, as if disciplining a rowdy child, “then so be it!”

The once angry emotion that you temporarily embodied had faded, taken over by wide eyed fear and panic and sudden unbearable agony that ran from your head and down your spine. One second you could breathe and now it felt like your chest was on fire and everything was burning---

You didn’t comprehend that your body had hit the floor in front of him, the impact of such mental and physical agony making you collapse almost completely and you felt the disgusting feeling as tears uncontrollably sprung from your eyes. Was he expecting you to beg at his feet? The entitlement could not be more obvious as you tried to hold yourself up, making every inch the effort to resist his gaze and ever so much, his obedience.

You felt his shoe press against the underside of your chin, clearly not content with simply demanding your attention. You couldn’t help but turn your head to look up at him, your focus on resistance draining as his piercing blue eyes now felt icy with his more than contemptuous gaze down at your figure on the floor.

“Oh, really, what did you expect?” he condescendingly remarked, pressing his shoe now against your throat and you sharply inhaled as if it wasn’t already hard enough to breathe, “Maybe you should’ve known what I do to people who don’t give me what I want.”

He removed his shoe from your throat and you forced yourself to look at the floor with whatever resistance you had left, but it was evident from your head that was throbbing and the rest of your body that was aching to hell and back that you seemed to be fighting a losing battle. You could feel and taste a metallic liquid drip from your nose and you became all too aware that this man could very much kill you like this if he didn’t need you alive.

“Please...” you could hear yourself say, hear yourself sob, and the fact that you had been reduced to pleading at this man’s feet hurt more than what you were being put through, “...don’t do this.”

He laughed, darkly amused at your attempts to beg in your condition. There wasn’t much else you could do, wasn’t much else you could say to him. “It’s a bit late for that now,” he said, feeling his blue eyes burn into the back of your head, “It’s not like anyone’s going to believe you over me, especially someone that always likes to avoid the attention of everyone else.”

There was the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach that had every right to confirm your paranoia. It seemed you had nonetheless caught his eye and your attempts to avoid attention still put you very much in his regard. Someone people didn’t really know much about. Of course it didn’t come to your mind that keeping to yourself would attract certain attention, and frankly you were kicking yourself that it had led you to this.

“Now, if you don’t mind, why don’t you go over and pick up that dagger of mine that you so carelessly threw and do exactly as I say?” he demanded, at first in a civil tone before it became laced with spite. He spat enough poison as much as what you felt was running in your veins and your head felt dull, vision swimming with both pain and tears, feeling yourself stumble to your feet and over to the dagger, shaking.

You were aware that this wasn’t you doing this, something in the back of your mind feeling like it was telling you to stop but it was drowned out by the mental invasion; you picked the dagger up and it seemed to have a different gleam to it. This wasn’t you, was it?

You heard Edgar’s footsteps behind you until he was standing next to you; you looked up, his blue eyes appearing more soft and his grin appearing more genial, albeit with a hint of menace. He reached a hand out to gently cup the side of your face in what felt like an almost loving gesture, gingerly wiping away the blood under your nose with his thumb. You didn’t even flinch.

“That’s it,” he said affectionately, nevertheless with sinister undertones, pretending nothing had just happened, “that’s better now, isn’t it?”

[akinnie75]

The Promised Iris (Part 1/2)

Pair: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Slight Angst, Slow Burn, Fantasy, Soulmate AU

Word Count: 20k

Summary: During one rainy summer day at the park, a stranger name Jimin suddenly confesses that he’s in love with you. At first, you thought that Jimin was a stalker, but it turns out that there’s something he’s hiding from you.

You balance yourself by the edge of the sidewalk. It’s been painted in red for ‘no parking’. It’s hard to walk in a straight line with it being dark outside so you walk in a ‘T’ position for balance. There is, however, light illuminating from the restaurant’s entrance doors.

Standing by the door is your father and Lynn, his coworker, standing unusually close to each other, considering that they’re just being friends. You stop walking so you can observe your father holding hand with hers. He leans down and kisses her softly on the lips, then bids her farewell one last time with a ‘I love you’.

Once your father’s trivial conversation with her is done, he walks to you, and you skip to him with a wide, goofy smile on your face. He looks the happiest you’ve ever seen him be, even looking back at Lynn one more time before you try to get his attention.

“Did you like Lynn?” Your father asks you.

You nod excitedly. “Mm-hmm! Mrs. Lynn is a very nice lady. Will we get to meet her again?”

“If you want to, then sure! I’m sure Lynn would love to be friends with you. Come on, let’s go home.”

Your father takes ahold of your hand and walks to his parked car. You playfully hop over the cracks in the black tar as you hum a tune in your head. But your father’s last words to Lynn lingers with you. He said that he loves her, and there’s something about it that disturbs you. You don’t know why he said that to her if they’re just friends.

“Hey Dad?”

“Yes, (Y/N)?”

“Why did you tell Mrs. Lynn that you love her?” Being the youngster that you are, you couldn’t help but let your curiosity get the better of you. “You said that you only tell it to the person that you like the most.”

Your father is silent briefly before thinking of how to respond to your question. “That’s true, and I do love Lynn. I like being with her and she’s very nice to you, isn’t she?”

You nod, now feeling a bit more hesitant to answer to your father.

“I’m glad that you think that she’s nice. She can become a good mother for you, you know.”

Your smile fades away. There’s a knot in your stomach—your instincts telling you that what your father is doing isn’t right. Even for a five-year-old, you know that this isn’t acceptable.

“But...you always tell Mom that you love her too...and you always kiss her before you go to work. Wouldn’t Mom get mad if she saw you say that you love Mrs. Lynn?”

You feel a tight squeeze around your hand, causing you to flinch. Your father is still smiling, but you can sense that underneath it, he’s beginning to get annoyed with your constant barrage of questions.

“(Y/N), do you remember what I said?”

“...If Mom doesn’t know, then she won’t get angry.”

“That’s right. It’s a secret between you and me, and if you ever tell Mom, she’ll get mad at you.” He points his finger in an accusatory fashion.

------

A droplet of water hits your cheek, waking you up from your slumber. Your eye twitches upon contact with the liquid substance, realizing that you’ve fallen asleep on a bench at a park. You thought it was rather strange that you suddenly felt the need to expose yourself to such vulnerability and fall asleep at a park of all places. Your school projects and finals must’ve finally taken a toll on your mental health, even to the point where sleeping anywhere is fine.

The park lacks the existence of other people, but it is explanatory when you reach your hand out and find that it’s raining, even though it’s still summer. You hate summer rain, being wet but at the same time experiencing the humidity that sticks onto your skin. You can’t tell if you’re sweating or wet from the rain. To your best of luck, you were under a large enough tree to protect you from the rain, but your clothes still stained of drops of rain. You read the forecast in the morning, so thankfully you had brought an umbrella with you to keep dry.

Unbeknownst to you, there’s a person standing next to the bench, his direction facing you. You look up, and it’s a man drenched from the rain. There’s a large, black guitar case on his back being held by a strap. He’s clutching the ends of his jacket with both hands tightly, his eyes seeming as if he’s on the verge of tears.

His eyes won’t leave you, and it makes you anxious. You wonder if you had done something to make him stand before you with no words, so you open your mouth to say something. But he beats you to it first by breaking the silence.

“I love you!”

You blink profusely, unsure if you heard that correctly. Perhaps the sound of rain is making it more difficult for you to hear, but you could’ve sworn that he just confessed to you.

The man quickly covers his mouth with both hands, jerking backwards as if he said something forbidden. The man looks just as shocked as you, and you knew without a doubt that you heard exactly what you heard.

“Uhm...excuse me…” You flee from the bench, escaping from this stranger.

------

You had no idea who that man was, but all you knew was that it isn’t normal for a stranger to suddenly confess his feelings. You assume that he might be from someone in the past. When you try to pry through the deepest sections of your memory to see if you recognize that man from anywhere, but nothing comes up. He doesn’t look familiar, so it can’t be someone from back in the day.

In your school’s library, you sit by yourself at a circular table, tapping the end of your pen on your textbook. You tried studying to get him out of your head, but your mind won’t leave him. Each time you try to focus, your brain refuses to listen to you and drags you back to the man. His words repeat in your head, making your cheeks turn red.

You hide your face in your textbook, groaning as you try you beat the end of your pen on your heading, hearing nothing but the constant clicking of the pointy end appearing and disappearing. That was the first time someone has ever confessed to you, and honestly, it makes your heart race. The man wasn’t the ugliest, but you convince yourself that if he were some older man, you definitely would’ve been disgusted.

You’ve been studying at this near empty library for hours now, so you think it’s time to pack up and call it a day.

------

Outside, you meet a familiar face that you weren’t expecting to see again. Under the heavy rain is the stranger from the park, staring into the distance and holding onto something. He still has that large guitar case on his back. When he catches notice of you, he sprints towards you, using his forearm to protect him from the rain, though it does little to no help.

You take a step back once the man is close to you, standing over you with a smile that can brighten this dreary weather. Although he smiles, your eyebrows crease with suspicion. Now with a better glimpse of him, you can definitely tell that this man is rather handsome, but that shouldn’t justify how he knew you’d be here.

“You forgot this.”

He shows you what he kept hidden in his hands, and it’s your pink umbrella. You must’ve taken it out but stopped when this man said that infamous three-letter sentence to you. That must’ve been when you left it behind in desperation to escape that uncomfortable situation.

“Th...thank you...but how did you know I was here?”

 This man struggles to find a reason, observing his surroundings as if looking for an excuse. “A hunch...I guess?”

You raise an eyebrow, as this supposed ‘hunch’ screams nothing but ‘stalker’ to you. Though you are definitely creeped out by how he knew your exact location, you do feel a bit sympathetic since he stood under the rain just to return your umbrella. You don’t even know how long he’s been waiting.

When you make another glance at him, you can tell even under this darkness that he’s blushing. You’re immediately brought back to a few hours ago when he confessed to you, and you’re starting to feel nervous again.

“My name is Jimin...by the way.”

“Oh, my name’s (Y/N). It’s nice to meet you...uh...Jimin.”

“Uhm...I can walk you home...It’s really late, and it’s raining too.”

He must’ve realized how weird it sounds—someone who you just met just hours ago and asks to walk you home late into the night. In your eyes, he’s just plain suspicious.

“Wait…! Then let me walk you halfway...Is...that alright?”

In any normal situation, you’d say no, but you can’t help but pity him. He has no umbrella, and he waited for you all this time just to return it. Also, he’s carrying a large instrument on his back. With how timid he seems, there’s no way that this person can harm you.

“Halfway is good enough. Thank you.”

Jimin’s face gleams with pure happiness, but he retracts immediately, trying not to come off as weird.

------

You thought that the situation couldn’t get any more uncomfortable, but it just did. You and Jimin are under the same umbrella, having this unwanted closed space between you two. You don’t dare look at him, wary of what he might do to you if you aren’t on guard. Initially, you let him walk you home because you felt bad for him, but now that you’re in the situation you never wanted to be in, you want to run away from it as quick as you can.

“So...are you from here?” You ask simply to break the awkward silence.

“No, I’m a traveling musician.”

You glance at his guitar case, now making sense why he’s carrying something so large on his back.

“I have a bad habit of never being able to stay still,” Jimin chuckles slightly. “I’m just staying here temporarily, performing on the streets and hoping to catch a few gigs.”

You can’t help but make connections to Jimin being a hippie. For someone so shy, you would’ve never thought of him as a traveler. But since he’s also traveling around the country, you wonder if he’s homeless or stays at hotels for the time being.

You’re dying to ask him about his confession, but with you two alone, you don’t know if it’s even safe to ask. It might trigger something inside Jimin if you bring it up. After all, you might’ve misheard and thought he said those words. You decide that it’s better to remain on the topic of him being a musician.

“So you must be talented at composing music.”

“Not really...I only sing covers. I’m no good when it comes to writing my own songs.”

“Oh…”

The atmosphere once again becomes silent, recreating that heavy tension previously. Your mind once again goes back to his confession, but you keep telling yourself that it’s you that misunderstood. There is no way that a stranger who suddenly confess like that.

------

At the corner just by your apartment complex, you stop. “This is good enough. Thank you for walking home with me.”

“It’s no biggie. It’s not right to leave a girl alone at night,” He chuckles. “Then I’ll be heading back.”

He turns around and walks, leaving you surprised that he really didn’t do anything to you. Of course it was dumb of you to have faith in a stranger you just met, but there was nothing menacing about him. Now that he’s returning to the rain again, you once again feel that guilt of leaving him vulnerable to sickness from exposure to the weather.

And without thinking, you call out to him. “Jimin!”

He turns around, as if expecting you to call out to him.

You approach him, handing him your umbrella. He looks surprised, not wanting to take it.

“Here, take this.”

“Are you sure? I-I mean, you could get sick and…”

You shake your head. “My apartment is just close by. I can use my textbook to cover myself from the rain, so it’s alright. It just doesn’t sit right without returning my thanks.”

Jimin’s cheeks turn slightly red. “O-oh, thank you. Uhm...I’m going to be at the fountain in the town plaza tomorrow at 6 P.M. We can meet and I can return your umbrella.”

“Okay, that sounds like a plan.”

And just like that, you made another plan to meet him. It wasn’t your intentions to meet him again, but you couldn’t leave him alone. Beside the fact that he’s like a stalker who also confessed to you, Jimin seems like an alright person. There’s something tugging at you, telling you that it’s okay to trust him. Though, you should’ve at least asked for his phone number before he ran off with your umbrella.

------

Your phone says it’s 6 P.M., and you’re walking around the town plaza that’s buzzing with life. Friends, couples, family, and even single people are walking around, either on their phone or talking to the people next to them. There are Christmas lights wrapped around the pillars in the plaza, even though it’s not remotely close to the winter holidays.

Jimin mentioned something about being near a fountain, so you search for it. You’ve only been to the plaza when you just moved to town on the first day of school. You don’t remember much on that day, but the only thing you do remember is that concrete fountain with a sculpture of three angels hovering around a large vase, pouring out the water in the fountain. Jimin was kind enough to suggest a place that you are familiar with, so the search won’t be too difficult.

At the meeting place, there’s a small crowd of five to six people circling something or someone by the edge of the fountain. It’s quiet, but you can hear the melody of a familiar tune, and it’s coming from a guitar. When you walk a little closer, you’re not surprised to see that Jimin is in the center, sitting by the edge of the fountain playing the song.

The song he’s singing has a jolly tune to it, as if you’re experiencing cherry blossoms during spring for the first time. Jimin keeps smiling while singing the lyrics.

In a perfect situation, at the end of our fate

Each person’s scar goes into each’s fate

It’s made into a memory, the quiet scars

To each’s fate, to each’s fate

The lyrics are adorable, and though it’s most likely a cover from another musician, Jimin sings it with so much soul. Despite many people walking past him as if he’s just another struggling musician, there are a few people who do stay and appreciate his performance.

When I think about it, I guess we were probably not meant to be

If only I was there when I should have been there

When it comes to destiny and fate, I guess timing is important

If only I was there when I should have been there

Back then

You can’t help but feel the sad undertone of the song. He sings it with so much energy, but it sounds so sad at the same time. You almost feel like crying, but you hold it in, thinking that it’s ridiculous to cry over lyrics. You never really stop to listen to people sing on the side of the streets, so you never really knew the amount of passion they put into their songs.

Before you knew it, the song ends, and Jimin receives only one applaud from his small audience before everyone else walked away. But that didn’t matter to Jimin because you were there to listen to his performance. His face immediately brightens up once you two made eye contact.

Jimin settles his guitar down on the fountain and runs to you, but then he forgot to get your umbrella. He returns to his guitar case that’s lying open on the ground, picking up your umbrella, then runs back to you, now out of breath.

“Your umbrella.”

You chuckle, taking it from his hand. “Thank you. That was a cool performance.”

“Th-thank you!!”

“What song was that? It sounds familiar…”

“The one I sang? Love is Timing by Busker Busker, have you heard of them?”

“I knew I heard that song from somewhere! I heard the song before, but I didn’t know that it was by them.”

“They’re really good, so I usually sing a lot of songs by them. I think their music expresses how I feel most of the time…so I sympathize with their lyrics a lot.”

Jimin returns to his guitar and case before anyone can steal it. You follow him unknowingly, unsure of what else to do. Jimin is wiping off the dirt that got on his guitar, and you can’t help but peek into his guitar case. In there is a thin, leather wallet, a guitar pick, and a woven talisman. In the center of the talisman is the symbol of the flower, the iris. You don’t particularly mind the pick and the wallet, but you don’t understand why he has a talisman. Is he religious? But what religion would need a talisman?

Before you could observe the talisman any longer, Jimin puts his guitar away, zipping up his case.

Jimin glances at you, then looks away quickly. “Uhm...if you’re not busy...is it alright if I treat you out for dinner?”

“O-oh...I…” You clearly look uncomfortable eating dinner with someone who you just met.

“I-I want to repay you for letting me use your umbrella. Can I? Please?”

You want to say no, but with that puppy face of his, you can’t bring yourself to say no. You don’t want to extend your stay in Jimin’s life any longer, but you’d feel guilty if you didn’t say yes.

“Alright…”

Jimin flashes a smile, ecstatic that you agreed to the dinner date.

------

“I’m actually from Busan, but I’ve been traveling around for years that I haven’t returned to my hometown in a long time. I don’t know if anything changed.”

While eating dinner at a burger joint, Jimin talks about his life, mainly about his experience moving from one place to another. Before he had time to do street performances, he worked at laboring jobs, even working at a fishery for quite some time. Once he saved up enough money, he was able to make some time to perform on the streets.

“Have you ever thought about returning?”

Jimin pauses briefly, contemplating your question. “Not really. Even though it’s my hometown, it...never really felt like ‘home’ to me,” Jimin sits back, staring at the ceiling as if thinking about what he had been through throughout his entire life. “Actually...I don’t think I ever had a place that I ever considered as home. I guess that’s why I travel a lot...because I’m used to it.”

You drink your glass of water, your eyes not leaving Jimin. He never specified why he’s used to moving from one place to another. Perhaps he and his family move around often because of job-related reasons—that’s the safest assumption you can make.

During this entire time talking, he never once asked a question about you. It’s either he knows everything about you, or he’s not interested in who you are, but you don’t mind because you don’t feel comfortable sharing your background, unlike him.

By the time you two finish eating, Jimin pays the bill. Though you did offer to pay, he insisted that he pay since he was the one who brought you here. After that, he offered to walk you home because dinner lasted longer than expected. You thank him again for walking you back, to which he says that it’s no big deal since he, once again, says that he can’t let a woman walk by herself at night.

At the corner close to your apartment, you make Jimin stop here again. “Thanks for dinner and for walking me home. Oh, also for returning my umbrella.”

“Mm-hmm.” Jimin nods.

You wave goodbye, expecting this to be the last time you’ll ever see of Jimin. Now that you got to know him a little bit more, you feel a little sad saying goodbye, but it isn’t like it was meant that you two to be together. You two are completely different people walking different paths, after all.

“(Y/N)...”

You turn around. “Yea?”

“What I said back at the park...uhm...I really meant it. I really do like you.”

It takes you awhile to remember what he said, but then it hits you. You had completely forgotten that this man had confessed to you.

“I was gonna take it slow, but I’m a bit impatient,” He chuckles. “So I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He walks off nonchalantly, as if he never said that. You can’t believe that this man said this to you. And what does he mean he’ll see you tomorrow?? You realize that he also knows what university you go to, and he knows that your apartment is close by. At this point, it’s not wrong if you consider him a stalker. Your cheeks turn red, wondering how you should get out of this situation.

------

You made sure not to go to the plaza again. Although you don’t think Jimin is necessarily a bad person, you just don’t feel comfortable knowing that a stranger likes you. It isn’t like Jimin is disgusting or anything, but just the thought that someone likes you. You’ve never met him before, or at least you don’t think you did, so you don’t know what it is about you that he finds attractive.

During the entire lecture, you couldn’t pay attention because of what Jimin said last night. Each time you thought about it, your face would turn red, and all you had in your head was Jimin’s face. You try not to think about it too much though, as you have to focus more on school than him.

Once lecture ends, you walk out of the building, planning to head to the library to catch up on your studies but right in front of the building is someone familiar—Jimin. He still has his guitar case over his shoulder, hands in his jacket pockets while he waits for you. You thought about finding an escape route, but he already saw you.

Jimin beams from just the sight of you, running to you with open arms. It almost looks like he was going to hug you, but he stops himself from doing so. “How was class today?”

“How did you know where my class was?” You ask in an accusatory tone.

“Eh...I just guessed it?”

It was just like the time at the library. He knew exactly where you were, and it’s coming off as very unusual. It’s almost as if he’s following your every move.

“Really?”

Jimin nods.

Last time, you didn’t push the conversation further because you were distracted when he returned your umbrella. But now would be a great opportunity to ask why he knows where you are all the time.

“But seriously, how did you know that I was here?”

Jimin doesn’t answer immediately. “It’s...kind of hard to explain.”

You don’t find it difficult for someone to admit that they’re a stalker, but maybe the stalker himself would deny that he is one. Even though he sometimes feels a little creepy, you just don’t see a single mean bone inside of Jimin. He looks almost too...gentle to be one. You don’t want to doubt him when he looks like such a nice person.

“Let’s go on a date!” He abruptly changes the topic.

“What?? But I have class in an hour.”

“That gives us enough time! Let’s walk around the campus then. That way, you won’t feel cautious of me when we’re alone.”

Your cheeks turn red. “I wasn’t…!”

Did you make yourself seem too obvious? You were hoping that he wouldn’t notice how distant you are, but it looks like he could already tell.

Seeing as you won’t move from your spot, Jimin takes you by the hand. “Let’s go.”

He drags you away from the lecture hall you were just in, feeling this pit in your stomach when he touched you. You don’t like how he’s being forceful, and you never agreed to going with him in the first place. Why does he think he can do whatever he wants with you?

------

By your university’s canteen, Jimin drags you there where it’s filled with people. You’ve been trying to slip your hand away from his, but Jimin holds onto you tightly. You thought that Jimin was a shy person, but you were completely wrong.

“I’ve always wanted to try eating at a college campus, drinking coffee while on my laptop and working on assignments,” Jimin goes on, talking on his own.

You feel eyes glaring at the both of you. You two aren’t doing anything specifically outrageous, since you’re just holding hands, but you don’t feel comfortable showing this much public display of affection. You shamefully keep your head down, avoiding all eye contact.

“Jimin...can you please let go of my hand?”

“Hm? Oh, sorry.” Jimin does what he’s told.

“You said that you were serious about...liking me, right?” You finally muster up the courage to talk to him, but you feel sick thinking that someone likes you. “Have we met before?”

He shakes his head. “The park was the first time we met.”

“So then why do you like me if we’ve never met before? What is it about me that you...like?”

You don’t think highly of yourself, so you can’t find anything redeemable that Jimin would like. Even now, any girl would be glad that someone as kind and handsome as Jimin has romantic feelings for them, but you don’t. In your mind, you can’t help but think that there’s someone else better for him.

But Jimin smiles only, not a single hesitation in sight. “Because you’re the girl of my dreams.”

You look up at him, not expecting that answer. You know you should feel happy hearing that, but with the way he says that, it seems like you’re just his ‘type’, meaning that there are a number of girls who are just like you. Just like there are different types of Barbie dolls, you can easily be replaced when there’s another type just like you. It reminds you of your parents’ relationship.

He can tell that you’re not satisfied with that answer, but he continues to smile. “You can take my word for it.”

But how can you? For all you know, he might be playing with your feelings, playing some crude bet to make someone as boring as you to fall in love with him. You haven’t known Jimin long enough to know when he’s being serious or joking.

“Hey (Y/N), it’s not my intention to hurt you. You don’t have to be so afraid of me.”

It’s as if he can read your mind. You look away, still unsure.

“Excuse me?” A voice calls from behind Jimin.

You and Jimin turn around to meet an unfamiliar man approaching. His appearance is the definition of a hipster: gray beanie, red flannel, grey scarf, black jeans, and a cup of joe in his hand. He’s wearing thick, black-framed glasses and has a goatee.

“You’re the guy who did that street performance of that Busker Busker song, right?” He points at Jimin, speaking in a thick American accent.

Jimin nods.

“Oh okay, I don’t know if you remember me, but I was one of the people who were watching you last night. You were awesome.”

“Thanks.”

“The name’s Miles,” Miles reaches his hand out to shake Jimin’s. “I’m from the United States who’s studying here in Korea, and I’m in charge of the Garage Band Club.”

“‘Garage Band Club’?”

“Back in the day, American teens used to perform in the front of their homes with their garages open, performing classic rock songs from the 70s and 80s. I was wondering if you wanted to join.”

“Oh, I don’t go to this school..and I don’t know a lot of American songs.”

“That’s cool. You don’t have to attend this school to be a part of the club. Sunhye is from a different college, but she comes here during band rehearsals. Besides, we don’t usually play American songs because most of us don’t know any. We do bands like Sanulrim and Crash.”

“But they’re not really in my field of interest…”

At this point, Jimin is making excuses not to join. His interaction with Miles is similar to how he met you for the first time: timid and a bit drawn-back. So this makes you wonder if Jimin is naturally shy.

“Please? We kind of need an acoustic guitarist because our guitarist broke his arm, and we’re desperate to find someone before our concert. You just have to perform with us for this concert, then you can leave.”

“When is the concert?”

“October 13th.”

Jimin looks stunned, as if that day is not a good day for him. For a brief moment, there was a flash of melancholy overcoming him before he returned to normal.

“Yea...I know that’s probably not a good day because that’s around the start of the fall term, but there were no other openings on campus.”

Jimin looks at you, contemplating something, when he comes to a conclusion. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

“That’s great! We have our rehearsals in the west side of the art department, room B113 first floor every Tuesdays and Thursdays from 6 to 9 PM,” Mile takes out a yellow sticky note, writing the location, date, and rehearsal time, as well as his phone number. He pulls off the note, giving it to Jimin. “Here’s the info and my contact number. I’ll see you soon!”

And just like that, Miles leaves as fast as he appeared. You and Jimin stare at each other, unsure of what happened.

“Can you come with me to the first rehearsal??” Jimin asks frantically.

“What?! Why??”

“Because I’m scared!”

“Then why did you agree to do it??”

Jimin blushes slightly. “Because...that’ll give me an excuse to see you at school more often.”

Now you start to blush. Does everything he does have to relate to you?? You’re flattered, but he’s holding you too high of a pedestal.

“Alright...I’ll come with you.”

He looks relieved, showing that radiant smile of his, making your heart thump a little faster.

------

You and Jimin stand in front of the classroom, room B113 just like Miles said. You can hear the sound of people plucking the strings on their instruments, the beating of a drum, and a long, steady note that plays throughout the room. Jimin looks nervous, gripping the strap of the guitar case as if strangling it.

“You don’t have to be so anxious about it. If it doesn’t work out, then you can always call it off.”

“I know but...I’ve never played in a band before. I’ve always done solo performances. I’m not...very good with people.”

“Hey, you can talk to me, right? If you can do that, then you can do it with other people too.”

Your words are enough to soothe Jimin’s shakiness, and he grins. “Yea…”

You and Jimin enter the classroom, catching the attention of everyone in the room. Everyone stops playing, letting the sound of that long tone play around the room. There are four people in the room, two girls and two guys including Miles. The second guy is sitting on one of the large, black speakers with a cast over his right arm. Miles is standing in front of a microphone, an electric guitar in both his hands. One girl with jet black hair and dark makeup is sitting behind a drum set, and the other girl, appearing tomboyish, is standing next to Miles, tuning her bass guitar.

“Is that the guy you were talking about, Miles?” The drummer girl speaks.

“Yea, lower it down a bit, Nozu.” Miles approaches you and Jimin.

The guy with the broken arm gets up and heads to a stereo containing everything that controls the sound system in this room. The long tone that has been playing lowers. Miles flashes a wide grin, glad to see that Jimin didn’t flake on them.

“It’s nice to see that you’re here,” Miles leans to the side and notices you. “Hey, you’re that person who was with him the other day. Sorry I completely ignored you.”

“It’s okay, my name is (Y/N).”

You and Miles shake hands.

“I’m just here to watch the rehearsals. Is that alright?”

“Oh definitely! By the way, these are my bandmates. The bass guitarist is Mido, the one with a broken arm is Nozu, and the girl behind the drums is Sunhye.”

The three of them wave at you and Jimin to which you two wave back. Nozu makes his way to Jimin, observing him from head to toe as if checking for possible qualifications as to why he’s being replaced by him.

“So this is the guy who’ll be replacing me?” Nozu asks in a husky tone.

Jimin nods.

“Alright, I trust Miles’s taste, so you better be good.”

Nozu pats Jimin on the shoulder, surprisingly not picking a fight with him. He returns to his spot on the stereo, heightening the long, constant sound again. The two other girls continue to mess with their instruments. Not knowing what else to do, Jimin heads to the side of the classroom to set his guitar down, and you follow from behind.

As he unpacks, you once again lock eyes on the talisman that hides inside his case, staring back at you as if it’s a living being of its own. There’s a strange aura that comes off of the talisman, but you aren’t sure why. What you do know for sure that it makes you uncomfortable, so you look away, avoiding it as much as possible.

Jimin takes out his guitar, bringing the neck of it close as he plucks to hear the sound his strings give off. He seems focused—his demeanor taking a complete 180 from before.

“Why do they keep playing that sound? It’s really annoying.” You point to the speakers, still playing that steady tone.

“It’s a music note. It helps tune our instruments.”

He twists the pegs on his guitar, plucking as he listens to the string distorting slightly. When one string sounds in unison to the elongated note playing through the speakers, he proceeds to the next string, then the next after that. He continues this pattern until all of his strings are in tune. Around the time he finishes, the rest of the members finished as well.

Miles searches through his folder with piles of music sheets, his middle and index finger running through each page corner to find the right ones. He pulls a stack of them to give to Jimin. Jimin looks through the thick stack of music sheets, and he returns his confused gaze back at Miles.

“These are the songs that we’re planning to perform. I think, for now, you should practice these on your own before playing with us. Try to learn them by next Thursday, then we’ll work on it together. How does that sound?”

Jimin nods his head, taking the papers and hiding in the corner of the room to practice on his own. With nothing else to do, you follow him. Jimin spreads the music sheets in front of him on the floor, reading each of them closely to get an idea of the songs. When reading the titles of these songs, you know nearly none of them except for one.

The End by The Doors, You, Fool by Kim Sa Rang, Why by Thornapple, and...Yeosu Night Sea by Busker Busker. Now you see why Miles was so interested in Jimin after he played Love is Timing. Jimin looks so immersed into the music as if he already has an idea of how the songs sound like. There is a lot of music notes that you can’t read, but it looks like nothing to Jimin. You can’t help but stare at Jimin as if you’re finally learning about what kind of person he is.

------

By the end of rehearsals, Miles tells everyone that it’s time to leave. Jimin gets up from the corner, organizing the music sheets given to him, though in a sloppy manner with pieces of paper sticking out. He puts his guitar back into his case, just like everyone else.

“Hey, good job today.” Miles shouts from across the room.

“Sorry I couldn’t practice with you guys…”

“Don’t worry about it. You have a lot to catch up on anyway,” Miles waves his arm. “See you next rehearsal.”

“It’s nice meeting you, Jimin!” Sunhye, the drummer, waves goodbye.

Despite her goth outlook, Sunhye seems like a sweet lady. She walks off with Mido who waves goodbye to you and Jimin, followed by Nozu. Once they left, it just leaves you and Jimin alone together.

Jimin head peaks up as if something hit him just now. “I just realized something!”

“What?”

“I made you stay out late!” He groans.

You huff out a single laugh, finding it humorous that that’s all Jimin was worried about. “Don’t worry about it. I stay out late on campus all the time.”

“But still...it’s dangerous for you to be walking around so late at night.”

“I could say the same thing to you. You’re not familiar with the city right? You could get lost and someone could mug you.”

“Are you worried about me?”

You blush slightly. “N-no...I’m just saying…”

Jimin hums joyfully, enjoying that bashful expression of yours. “For a second, I thought that since you stayed with me this entire time, you were worried about me. I was starting to think you like me.”

“It’s just that you were really nervous, s-so I stayed…”

“Oh…” Jimin looks hurt, but he still smiles. “It’s understandable. It isn’t like you can fall in love with me in an instant...though I wish it were…”

“What did you say?”

Jimin mumbled the last part, so you couldn’t really hear.

“Nothing. Come on, I’ll walk you to that corner again.”

For the next couple of weeks, Jimin has been going to the rehearsals as planned, playing by himself in the corner to practice his parts alone. Occasionally, Nozu would help him with the parts that he can’t understand. And with every rehearsal, you made it a habit to come with him. You would always sit next to him, silently watching him as he plays through his parts, concentrating on nothing but the music sheets.

Whenever he isn’t rehearsing, he’ll pick you up at your classes, always excited to see you. Each time you see him waiting for you, his face always looks so serious, but when he sees you, his face brightens up. Ever since that time at the canteen, he’s stopped holding your hand, keeping a good distance from you to make you feel comfortable being with him.

Today, in particular, is different because it’s the first time he’s rehearsing with the rest of the group. Because he practiced so hard on his own, you’d expect him to be great when playing with everyone else, but it’s actually the opposite.

“Stop.” Miles orders.

Everyone stops their part, and Nozu lowers the metronome that plays the tempo for the song, Why. Everyone has their eyes on Miles, who clearly looks frustrated.

“I’m sorry guys…” Jimin lets out before lowering his head.

“It’s fine...All you need to do is listen to us to stay consistent, but also don’t get so distracted whenever it’s our solos. Whenever you get lost, count the beat in your head. Don’t wait for us to tell you where you are.”

Jimin nods his head, and Miles has everyone start from the top again. Jimin must’ve been used to playing by himself that he is can’t cooperate with the rest of the band. You can see from his expression how frustrated he must be not being able to work with everyone else. He wasn’t lying when he said that he’s not good with people.

They’re playing the beginning of Why again, and you can see Jimin trying his hardest to stay on beat with the rest. However, he keeps looking at Mido when she plays her part as if trying to listen to her. But once again, Jimin loses his part in the song, slowing down by half a beat and distracting the other members.

With another frustrated sigh, Miles stops playing and orders everyone else to do so. “Alright, stop again.”

“I’m sorry! I promise I won’t mess up next time.”

“Jimin, why don’t you leave early? I think you’re stressing yourself out too much over this. We’ll see you at the next rehearsal, alright?”

“But I-”

“If you keep staying here and messing up, then you’ll only mess us up,” Mido chimes in. “We won’t go anywhere unless you learn how to work with other people.”

Jimin wants to retaliate more, but Mido is right. They won’t go anywhere unless Jimin learns teamwork. Jimin agrees, dragging his feet to his guitar case, packing his guitar. He waves goodbye to the members before leaving.

When you look at your phone for the time, you see that it’s 7:42 P.M. Jimin clearly looks bothered by what the members said, but he tries to act as if he’s alright. You’re worried for Jimin, as it isn’t normal for him to be the depressed one. Usually, he’s the cheery one, but now that he’s upset, you don’t what to do to make him feel better.

That’s when you have an idea. Without his permission, you take him by the hand to get his attention. Jimin is caught off-guard by that, looking at you with a confused expression, but you only grin.

“Hey, you didn’t eat before coming here, right? Let’s go get something to eat. I’ll pay this time.”

“But…”

“Let’s go.”

------

You drag him to the plaza that’s surrounded with places to eat. As per usual, the town plaza is buzzing with life—the off-season Christmas lights on, people walking with their loved ones, and every place booming with the music of their choice.

“Gosh, I’m so used to you coming to my school that I forgot that you still play at the plaza every night.”

You turn your head, waiting for Jimin to reply, but he doesn’t answer. He’s so spaced out, thinking about what happened in the rehearsal. You tug on his arm a little to get him to listen to you.

“Huh? Oh, yea.”

It isn’t like Jimin to be dozing off. Is what they said really beating him down this much?

“Where do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know...It’s up to you.”

You lower your eyebrows, unamused by his uncertainty of where to eat. You always dislike it when you ask where to eat, but the other doesn’t know where to eat. Still, you try to be patient with him because he is feeling down.

“Why don’t we just grab something at the supermarket? Something cheap.”

“Sure.”

------

You two are sitting together at the fountain with trays of cold meals that have been microwaved. You bought the chicken katsu sandwich and a can of cola while Jimin settled with a cup of spicy ramen and water. People are walking past by you, a few making glances at Jimin’s guitar.

You eat your sandwich, staring at Jimin not touching his food. You look down, unsure of what else to do to cheer him up. You’re not used to being the one having to lift someone else’s spirits up, so you quickly run out of ideas as soon as you bought him the ramen.

“...I’m sorry for making you do all of this for me,” Jimin finally lets out a portion of his worries. “I feel like an idiot having you to deal with my problems.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not doing this because I’m entitled to your needs. I’m doing this on my own volition.”

Jimin clearly heard you, but he doesn’t make a response.

“Hey, don’t worry about what they said. You’re a great musician. Well...I know that probably doesn’t mean much because I’m no musician, but believe me when I say that you’re good.”

“I couldn’t reach the note on time, and I’m always too slow.” At this point, he’s not listening to you and is mumbling to himself about his mistakes. “I can never do anything perfectly.”

You never knew he was the type to be hard on himself when he makes a mistake. He must be a perfectionist. He looks like he’s going to cry at any given moment out of frustration, and you can’t stand seeing him like this any longer.

You shove the rest of your sandwich into your mouth, wiping your hands on your jeans, and stand up. You catch Jimin’s attention, but he’s not sure what you’re going to do next. You use your forearm to wipe the crumbs off of your lips, nearly choking on the large chunks of the chicken from all the rush.

“Take out your guitar.” You demand.

“Wh-what??”

“Take out your guitar and play right now.”

For a moment, Jimin thought you were just joking, but seeing that seriousness in your eyes, he retracts from his initial thought.

“B-but...th-that’s too sudden. A-and I still have to warm up and...stuff...”

“Stop making excuses and just play. You play here all the time when it’s not rehearsal night, right? So, what’s the matter?”

It seems like Jimin has more to say, but he keeps his mouth shut, laying his guitar flat on the edge of the fountain. He unzips the case as slow as a turtle, grudgingly taking it out. He tries to think of a song to play, but nothing comes to mind directly.

“I can’t think of any songs…”

“Play another Busker Busker song. You said that you can sympathize with their songs, right? So play them.”

Jimin takes a moment to think about it more, and that’s when a song pops up in his head. He sits down on the fountain, getting into playing position. The moment he brushes his fingers down those six strings, you can already tell what the tone of the song is.

I persuade you to play badminton with me

I call you out for a cup of coffee

I persuade you to talk a walk around town

But you never

say yes or no

Though in the beginning, Jimin’s voice was a bit shaky. Once he got into the mood of the song, he was the same Jimin that you saw for the first time playing his guitar. The song is upbeat despite the lyrics. Jimin quickly grabs the attention of a handful of people, stopping to give him a listen. You sit next to him, staring at him while he does a side smirk, enjoying the mood of the song.

The flowers, the flowers,

yes, yes, they have bloomed

The flowers, the flowers, that one flower,

yes, yes, it has bloomed

Once there is a big enough group, people start clapping and cheering for Jimin, though it is a small group. Still, the lack of numbers doesn’t deter Jimin’s entertainment in singing and playing. He glances at you for a quick second, then gets up from the fountain. He no longer faces the crowd, but at you, as if you’re the only person in the crowd that matters.

The countless people on the streets,

the people on that street

Yes, how special am I to you?

That’s the hard part, that’s the hard part,

that’s the hard part

After listening to the lyrics, you realize that he’s speaking directly to you. His performance catches the attention of more people, misunderstanding the scene at him proposing to you, though in some ways, it is a proposal. More people start coming to you and Jimin, and you crunch your shoulders up, not expecting this many people to be eyeing you and him. You wish you can tell them all that this isn’t what they think it is, but at the same time, your attention is only drawn to Jimin—that beaming smile of his, the way his lips curls up. It’s probably the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen.

I persuade you to grab some delicious food

I call you out to watch a movie

I persuade you to take a walk around the lake

But you never

say yes or no

Suddenly, one of the other street musicians recognize the song, The Flowers, so he excitedly takes out his harmonica to play a duet with Jimin. This distracts Jimin, making him trail off of the beat for a moment, but he returns to the pace. His cheeks turn red, but when he looks behind at the crowd, they all still seem to be having fun as if his mistake never occurred. Jimin then turns his attention to the harmonica player, and he smiles as well.

At this point of the song, there is a harmonica solo, so Jimin gets a quick break. He’s breathing heavily from having to use his stomach to belt out the lyrics, but his grin remains. The crowd applauds, various whistles and some people coo-ing at you and Jimin.

The harmonica solo is coming to an end, so Jimin has to return to his part. But before he turns away from you, he mouths the words, ‘thank you’. You felt your heart skip a beat, your face heating up. You look down at your lap, still sitting by the edge of the fountain while Jimin leaves the crowd in awe. You never realized how radiant Jimin is—and even though you’ve made it clear that you don’t like him, he’s making you change that thought. The time that you’ve spent with Jimin...it’s as if his charm is working. You think...you might’ve fallen in love with him.

------

You and Jimin are walking back to the corner by your apartment complex. You and Jimin haven’t said a single word, and you’ve been walking ahead of him. You’re too embarrassed to walk next to him now because of your revelation that you may have fallen for him.

“Hey (Y/N), are you mad at me for dragging you in? I-I’m sorry if I got you upset. I just really got into the mood…” He apologizes frantically.

“I’m not even mad, so you can stop worrying, Jimin.”

“Then why are you trying to avoid me?”

You’re technically not trying to avoid him. You’re still with him, but you’re just a bit shy having to look at him in the eyes.

“...Why did you make me play the guitar?” Jimin changes the subject suddenly, probably getting the gist that you probably won’t respond.

“...You looked bummed after Miles and his band were harking on you about your playing. I kind of noticed that you’ve been stressing yourself out too much the past few days about the concert to the point where you didn’t look like you enjoyed music anymore.”

You already feel too embarrassed having to say all this, so you can’t understand how Jimin can say things as bold as saying that he likes you and such. Perhaps you’re just the type to bottle things up.

“So...I wanted you to play and remind you how fun music used to be for you. You saw how happy the crowd was, even when you made a mistake,” you inhale deeply, preparing to say the next lines. “People don’t want to hear something perfect and soulless. They want to hear something filled with life and passion, even if there are mistakes in the middle.”

Though it didn’t sound like an issue thinking that in your head, saying it out loud is too much, especially for someone as secretive as you. You can feel your cheeks burning up, realizing that you must’ve sounded a bit cheesy. You must’ve sounded so cheesy that you even made Jimin cringe.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, and you’re too ashamed to look back. This is the first time you spoke your mind to someone, so you can’t bring yourself to see what kind of reaction they’ll make. You want him to hurry up and tell you that you sound cliche—that the point you were trying to make is dumb.

But instead of that, you feel Jimin’s arms wrapping around your stomach, holding you very gently while he buries his face into your shoulder. Your face burns up even more, stuttering out words but with none of it forming proper sentences. You can feel his breathing on your neck, and strands of his hair tickling you.

“...I really, really like you…(Y/N). Honestly...I hate speaking because it’s so hard to find the right words to express how much I’ve fallen for you,” Jimin chuckles, but there’s a slight shakiness to it. “I like you so much that I hate thinking about ever separating from you.”

You don’t like it when people touch you so casually, but Jimin is an exception. Before, you felt somewhat disgusted whenever he tries holding your hand. However, tonight is different. Now, you don’t want him to let go of you either.

“I was so worried about the concert because I want to make it perfect. I want to make it the best performance you’ll ever see. I guess that took a toll on me, but thank you for reminding me the feeling of enjoying music. You don’t understand how glad I am to have met you.”

You don’t know what to say to him. He’s still nuzzling his head on your shoulder, hugging you from behind. This might be the first time someone has ever expressed this much love for you, despite only meeting Jimin weeks ago.

“This is a bit selfish but...can...can I kiss you?” Jimin asks in a timid voice, nearly to the point of whispering.

Your face is flushed with red, not expecting him to ask something so bold such as that. He can already tell that you’re hesitant, so he draws back a little. But you don’t want him to think that you’ll reject him like usual.

“Okay...but only on the cheek.”

Jimin looks so happy to have your permission that he can’t hide his smile. You close your eyes, anticipating the kiss, but the suspense is too strong that your chest can’t take it anymore. At any moment, it feels like your heart is going to jump out.

But instead on the cheek, he kisses you on the lips. You open your eyes, surprised he did actually kiss you. Jimin pulls himself back before you can push him away, unable to keep that sly smirk of his away.

“Good night, (Y/N).”

And just like that, he walks off, not even giving you a chance to process what happened. You feel your entire body burning up, having your first kiss stolen by Jimin. You’re overflowing with an array of emotions: excitement, happiness, and giddiness...but at the same time, nervousness and doubt.

Most of all, you’re scared. You’re absolutely terrified that everything Jimin says to you is a lie. You don’t want to end up like your mother who naively believed everything your father said. As much as you like Jimin, you’re just as afraid that he’s going to be like your father.

------

“HOW COULD YOU FUCKING DO THIS TO ME?!” You hear your mother shout from downstairs.

“Shh! Shut your mouth before you wake up the entire goddamn neighborhood!” Your father raises his voice at your mother, ironically being a hypocrite.

You curl up in bed, covering your entire body with your blanket. You’re shaking, trying your hardest not to cry when listening to your parents’ heated argument. Though they’ve been really distant during the day, which you dislike, it’s the nighttime that you hate the most. They assume that you’re asleep, so they shout at each other with all their might, thinking that you’re a deep sleeper, even though they’re the reason why you’re now a light sleeper.

You can hear your mother’s voice being strained, crying with both anguish and disgust for your father. Though your father’s voice is calm, you can that he’s clearly annoyed by her.

“Don’t you fucking dare try to make me look like the bad guy. You fucking think I’m stupid that I wouldn’t see the texts you sent to that fucking skank?!”

“Hey, don’t call her that! She’s just a friend!! How come you won’t fucking believe me?!”

“Oh, so it’s okay if you call me a dumbass, but if I call your fucking girlfriend names, you defend her?! I’m your fucking wife!”

Your father made it sound innocent meeting Lynn, his mistress, covering the truth of it being infidelity. You feel even more guilty keeping this a secret from your mother. Had you known who Lynn really is to your father, you wouldn’t have been so compliant. But then again, you’re five years old after all. No one taught you how to spot a cheater.

“Why do you think I call you stupid?! You think I’m going to have respect for someone who dropped out of college and leech off of my money?!” Your father spouts.

“Don’t FUCKING bring my education into this! I dropped out because you knocked me up with (Y/N). I fucking cook, clean, and raised her while you went to school every day. You probably fucked other girls while you were at school, weren’t you?!”

“Stop, just...fucking stop. I have work tomorrow.”

You can hear your father try to walk away from your mother.

“DON’T FUCKING WALK AWAY FROM ME. I’M NOT DONE TALKING ABOUT YOU AND THAT WHORE!”

“STOP CALLING HER A WHORE!”

Suddenly, you hear the sound of a slap, preceded by a thud echoing from the first floor, to the second floor, then to your bedroom. The shouting has stopped, and there is only dead silence. But it is quickly broken when your whimpers start to increase, but you cover your mouth to prevent your voice from being heard. You’re terrified to even imagine what happened downstairs.

“Ow…” Your mother whispers out.

“Oh...hey...I didn’t mean to- I just...it’s just that- I mean, your face got in the way...You shouldn’t have gotten close to my hand. See? You should’ve moved faster so I wouldn’t have swung my arm.”

You hear your mother’s cries crescendoing, shattering your heart into pieces. You cry along with her, listening to your mother feel so hurt by your father’s selfish decisions. Though it’s your father who broke the vows he made on their wedding day, it’s your mother who has to clean the mess.

“Hey, hey...I love you, honey,” your father shushes your mother as she sobs. “We can get through this challenge together. You...me...and (Y/N). As a family, we can always work things out, and that’s how it should be. I love you so much.”

“You promise…?” Your mother asks.

“Yes, I promise.”

Had you known that those ‘I love you’s that he whispered to your mother were just fakes to get your mother to shut up, then you would’ve convinced your mother to leave your father a long time ago. His words of ‘working together as a family’ is all just lies, simply saying it to control your mother’s trust so he can continue cheating on her for the years to come. You should’ve known that your father is manipulative, and he enjoys using words to weaken you and your mother to make him the victim.

And he’s done a good job at making him look like the victim. He knows how to twist his problems and make it your fault. It’s because of him you’re terrified to fall in love and put faith on other people. If your own parents’ marriage can fall apart, what makes you think you can ever have a stable relationship?

“Also…” your father continues. “You should talk about this with (Y/N). She kept saying horrible things like how Lynn is a better mom. I don’t understand why she said that…”

------

The one thing that you probably hate the most about this town is the rainy season during the summer. You don’t like walking out to feel the wave of humidity then having to protect yourself from the rain. It’s too hot to have a coat on, but it’s also too wet to be wearing only one layer. It makes you look forward to the fall season once this dreadful weather is over.

However, today is unusual because right after class, Jimin would be waiting for you as always, but this time, he’s nowhere to be seen. You thought that maybe he’s waiting somewhere else because there’s a lot of people here, so you stand by the doors of the lecture hall, checking the time and see that it’s 3 P.M.

As time goes on, Jimin still doesn’t appear. You had forgotten your umbrella, so you use your binder to cover you from the rain, but it has its limits. The rain slides inside your binder, soaking your papers in the process. Though your head is protected from the rain, your shoulders and pants are getting wet. You can’t find Jimin anywhere, so you give up in waiting for him and head to the library. He does have rehearsals tonight, so you thought you’d meet him there later.

Despite being with him for more a month now, you two have not once exchanged numbers, so having long-distance contact is impossible. The topic of asking for his number never came up because you two were always together every day. You feel bad for leaving without letting him know, but there’s no other way.

Even after leaving and focusing on your studies in the library, you always end up thinking about Jimin. You wish you can ask him where he is through text, but you don’t have his phone number. You’re worried that he might be careless and be out there waiting for you in the rain like that one time, but you shake your head, believing that he isn’t dumb enough to do that for a second time. Jimin can never be that committed to you.

It’s almost time for the rehearsals, so you head to the music room, praying that Jimin would be there. It’s still raining hard outside, so you run across the campus in hopes that you’ll run into him. Unfortunately, you didn’t see him. You enter the room to see that the four of them are already prepared to start the rehearsal.

“Hey, have you guys seen Jimin?” You ask while out of breath.

“We were about to ask you the same thing,” Miles answers. “We thought you would know.”

“Fuck, and we don’t have any way to contact him either.” Nozu curses under his breath.

“Is everything alright?” Sunhye asks.

“...Yea…” Or at least you hope so.

If he isn’t here, then he must be at the only other place you know: the plaza. You run out of the room, hearing the bandmates telling you to wait, to which you ignore. Right now, you want to see if Jimin is there.

------

Because of the weather, there’s no one at the plaza, making it easier for Jimin to stand out if you find him. You’re covered in sweat and rain, but it doesn’t matter to you. You need to find him as soon as possible.

To your relief, you do find Jimin at the usual spot at the fountain. However, he’s in the fountain, bent down as if looking for something in the water.

You run to Jimin. “Jimin?! What the hell are you doing?!”

But he doesn’t respond. He looks so frantic, searching for whatever he’s looking for in the fountain’s dirty water. His guitar is hanging on his back, and he’s drenched from the rain. You continue to call his name, but he won’t even look at you.

Having no other option, you climb into the fountain water, standing in front of him. You cup both of his cheeks and raise his head up to make him look at you.

“Jimin! Look at me!”

But when you feel Jimin’s cheeks, they’re scorching hot. You press the back of your hand on his forehead, and it’s hot as well.

“Oh my god, you have a fever! What are you doing in the water?! Are you stupid?!”

“The talisman…” He whimpers out.

“The...what…?”

“The talisman...I have to look for it...I can’t lose it...or else...or else…” Jimin breaks down into tears.

You don’t know the importance of his talisman, but you do know that it’s important enough for him to skip rehearsals and jump into the fountain to look for it. You pull him in for a hug, having him cry on your shoulder.

“I have to find it...If...if...I don’t...then you’ll…” He trails off, sobbing even more.

He must be speaking nonsense because of his high fever. “Hey, calm down…”

------

You unlock the front door to Jimin’s studio apartment. The place looks nearly empty with the exception of a futon in the corner with a thin-layered blanket. The walls are growing mold, and you could’ve sworn that you saw a mouse run across the room. You can’t believe that all this time, Jimin was staying in a place with poor condition.

You help Jimin to his futon, aiding him in taking off his clammy clothes that have been matted onto his skin. It doesn’t look like he has any spare clothes, but you do see a towel by the opposite corner of the room, so you put that on top of his chest.

Jimin hasn’t stopped crying, most likely because he’s lost something important and he isn’t thinking straight because of his fever. “(Y/N), you have to let me go back and look for the talisman. I’m scared...I’m really scared.”

“Hey, focus on getting better.”

“You don’t understand! If I lose it, then...then…” Jimin wells up again. “...I’ll lose you...”

His crying reminds you of your mother, that desperation in his throat, pleading for you to let him return. It reminds you of the time when your mother was on her knees, hugging her stomach as her face is practically kissing the carpet, begging your father not to divorce her. But the difference is that Jimin’s the one begging you, and you’re the one who’s not fulfilling the promise.

You sweep his damp hair from his face, seeing how swollen his eyes are from the crying. “What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere.”

Have you ever met anyone who loved you this much? It scares you—the thought that Jimin might like you more than you do. You don’t understand why he likes you so much to the point where he’s terrified of losing you. You haven’t done anything to make him like you, and even though you like him too, you’re worried that he’ll grow tired of you, learning that you’re not the ideal, caring girlfriend. After all, that’s why your father left your mother in the first place.

You’re scared of Jimin, but more so scared that you’ll leave him disappointed and ends up hurting you by leaving you for another woman. You wish you can tell him to stop caring about you this much, but you don’t have the courage to break his heart.

After a while, Jimin finally falls asleep due to exhaustion. You look around his small apartment in search for medicine, but he has literally nothing. But then again, it makes sense because he is a traveler, so there’s no point in carrying anything when he’s moving around often. You have no choice but to go out and buy the necessities.

You walk out of the convenience store, tying the grocery bag to prevent the rain from leaking in. You walk at a fast pace back to his apartment, using your forearm to protect your eyes from the raindrops.

However, you walk past the fountain. You stop to stare at it, remembering Jimin’s desperate expression while searching for the talisman. You can’t stand seeing Jimin sad, so you think that the least you can do is look for his talisman.

So you return to his apartment, seeing that he’s still asleep. You quickly spoon-feed him the medicine, warming him up with the blanket that you bought for him, then you head back out to the fountain. You roll up your sleeves and pants, dipping into the fountain again to look for the talisman. Though he never fully described how it looks like, you have an idea of its physical attributes.

------

After a few hours, Jimin gets up from the bed, but nearly falling back again because his body is still weak. He can’t remember where he’s at, until he realized that he’s in his apartment. Sitting next to his futon on the ground is you, sitting and leaning on the wall while you check your phone.

“(Y/N)...!”

“Hey...what’s your phone number?”

“Huh…?” A bit thrown off by your sudden question, it takes him a moment to reply. “I don’t...have a phone.”

“Why?”

“Since I travel a lot, I don’t have time to make friends. So I found no point in keeping a phone if my contact list is going to be empty.”

“...None of us could get in contact with you, so we were all worried about what might’ve happened to you.”

He immediately remembers that he had rehearsals tonight. He had completely forgotten because his talisman fell out of his guitar case and was looking for it.

“The rehearsal…!”

“It’s okay. I already contacted Miles after you fell asleep. Also…”

You show him the talisman he was looking for. He’s in utter shock, taking it from your hand and sighing in relief.

“Where did you find it??”

“It didn’t fall in the fountain like you thought it did. It was by the side of a trash can. Luckily the water didn’t sweep it away.”

After hearing that, Jimin finally notices how wet you are. Everything, even the carpet that you’re sitting on, is covered in water. That must’ve meant that you went back to search for his talisman and never returned to your apartment to change. You stayed here all this time to wait until he woke up.

“(Y/N)...you can’t imagine how thankful I am...I really owe you.”

“...If you owe me, then can you explain to me something?”

“What is it?”

“Before I left, you said that if you lost the talisman, that also meant losing me. What did you mean by that?”

You turn off your phone, finally giving him all of your attention.

“How do you know me? You always knew where I was and what I did. Does it have anything to do with the talisman?”

Jimin seems hesitant to answer.

“Jimin, please...Of all people, I don’t want to see you as suspicious. If you really like me like you say you do, then can you tell me just...what exactly am I to you?”

“...Then if I explain it to you, can you promise me not to think I’m insane?”

“I won’t.”

Jimin inhales deeply, then exhales. “I have...visions of you.”

...For a second, you almost thought you heard him wrong. He knew you weren’t going to believe him if he told you.

“I-I know it sounds really crazy, but believe me! I thought it was a fake too, but...it’s the truth.”

“Visions? Visions of me…? Of what exactly?”

“Well...a few months ago at the town next over, I went to check their night market. In one stand, there was a woman who claims to be a psychic...and she told me that if I bought this talisman, then I would have dreams of my destined soulmate.”

...Soulmate?

“I thought it was a scam, but the psychic insisted that I take it and try it out. All I had to do was put it under my pillow and go to sleep. That night...it was the first night I dreamt of you.”

You can’t believe your ears. A part of you feels like Jimin really has gone insane, but you know that he isn’t lying through his teeth.

“In my dreams, you were always smiling, laughing, just...the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Whenever I dreamt of you, I was overwhelmed with happiness that sometimes...I would wake up crying, knowing that you weren’t with me in real life,” Jimin pauses. “I’m...not the type to want to make commitments but...after having all those visions...I couldn’t bear to have you only in my dreams. I really, really wanted to be with you, so I went back to the psychic and asked her how to find you. She told me that if I pay attention to my dreams, it’ll lead me to you, and so here I am.”

Your jaw drops, not expecting him to drop some fairytale-like excuse as to why he knows you. You were at least waiting for him to say something similar to having meeting you in high school—anything more logical than having dreams of you.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I’m not lying. I really did have visions of you.”

“W-wait…” you shake your head to wrap everything Jimin said together. “So...everything that has happened has already been shown in your visions? Does that mean you can see into the future too?”

“Not exactly...The events that take place have been the same, though somewhat a little different, but mostly the same. But the whole thing about me joining Miles’s band and the weather have been consistent.��

“So then...what is it that’s different?”

He points his index finger at you. “You.”

You’re surprised that he said it so blatantly. You thought he would cake his words a bit to prevent you from getting hurt, but it isn’t like that.

“What…?”

“In my visions, you were always happy and looked out for me. You were always so caring, and even when I didn’t say anything, you knew exactly how I felt. But I guess they’re still just dreams. You’re a lot more...distant in person. The you in my dreams was so straightforward about her feelings and was so affectionate, it almost felt like I didn’t deserve you.”

“...I...know I said I’ll believe you but..”

Jimin isn’t surprised that you don’t believe him, so he already has something planned. He points out the window, the both of you watching the raindrops tapping on the window gently.

“In a few seconds, the rain will stop, and you’ll notice something out the window. You’ll point outside, and you’ll say to me, ‘look Jimin, there’s a rainbow! Beautiful, isn’t it?’ and you’ll have the smile that I fell in love with.”

And just as he said, the rain stops, making your jaw drop at how accurate he is. Then, a rainbow appears, but...you don’t say what he claims you’ll say, nor did you smile.

“I...didn’t say it.”

Jimin shrugs his shoulders. “It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting you to say it anyway. Even if you didn’t say it in real life, this moment is something I cherish the most. Because I think it was in this dream that I fell in love with you.”

You jolt back, feeling a bit guilty that you didn’t end up doing what he most likely has been anticipating all this time. It somewhat hurts a little knowing that you ended up not being his ideal type. From what you can tell, you’re already nothing like the ‘you’ in his dreams. The person he describes in his dreams is nothing remotely close to how you really are.

“If I’m nothing like me in your visions, then why do you still choose to follow me?”

Jimin reaches his hand out to play with a lock of your hair, twirling it with his index finger. “Though everything about you is different, there are still some aspects that came true. You still came with me to rehearsals, I waited for you before the end of your lectures, you still watched me perform at the plaza, and...we still kissed that day.”

You blush, suddenly remembering how close and intimate Jimin was when he kissed you.

“Though, all of those memories happened differently from my dreams, like today for example. In my dream, I was sick, too, but I didn’t remember ever losing my talisman. But just like earlier, you found me and took care of me,” Jimin chuckles, reminiscing that vision he had of you. “But in my dream, you were crying. It was really adorable because you were like a kid who believed that a simple fever meant heavy consequences.”

Even though you know that you would never do that in real life, it still embarrasses you that the ‘you’ in your dreams is so naive to even cry because of some small fever.

This entire time, you and Jimin haven’t made eye contact, but he manages to finally look up at you. His cheeks are turning red, and his eyes keep trying to avoid you, but he gathers what remains of his confidence to look at you in the eyes.

“So...now do you believe me?”

There’s no doubt that he isn’t lying. It makes sense now why he didn’t want to tell you the reason because this is definitely not realistic whatsoever. But at the same time...the person in his dreams isn’t you. If anything, they’re just a figment of his desires, and the physical appearance just so happens to match you.

Though you are the one who asked, you can’t help but feel a little jealous of the person in Jimin’s dreams. She seems to know Jimin so well, but you, on the other hand, know nothing about him. Jimin fell in love not because of you, but the one he envisioned. You knew you shouldn’t have fallen in love with him because it’ll only hurt you in the end.

There’s an aching pain in your chest, and you feel the need to cry. But over the years, you learn that tears only make you look pitiful, so you hold them back. You aren’t going to become weak like your mother, nor are you going to become as heartless as your father.

“(Y/N), are you okay?”

“Yea, I’m good.”

------

The day of the concert is getting closer. Jimin has improved exponentially in terms of cooperating with the bandmates. Though it took a long time, Jimin finally learned how to work with other people. You’ve been going with him to the rehearsals as usual, but ever since that day when he told you about his dreams, you’ve been more distant from him. You don’t mean to push him away, especially since he admitted that he’s madly in love with you, you just can’t bring yourself to look at Jimin, knowing that he’s chasing after the wrong person. So far, it doesn’t seem like Jimin has noticed your distant behavior, either that or in his visions, you were like that as well, and he’s waiting for the right time to comfort you.

During one rehearsal, you are sitting at the corner next to Jimin’s guitar case while he’s practicing with the rest of the band. Since you’ve been dedicating most of your studying time to be with Jimin, you use this time to catch up with your assignments. So most of the time, you’re not paying attention to their practice sessions.

They had just finished playing The End, and there’s a wide grin on Miles’s face. “Alright, good job, team. We’ve been hitting the notes right, but Mido, play your part a little louder. It’s kind of hard to hear you.”

“Got it.” Mido does a salute, acknowledging his criticism.

Jimin massages his wrists since they’ve been playing consecutively without any breaks in between. He twirls his neck around, cracking it in the process. This catches the attention of Mido, so she leans over close from behind him.

“Starting to feel sore?” She asks.

“Huh? Oh, yea...I’m just not used to playing this much without resting my hands.”

“It’s because you’re applying too much pressure on your fingers, so it makes your wrist tense. Loosen it up a bit more so that way, your hands won’t hurt. Also, slouching will give you serious back pain.”

“Thanks.” Jimin smiles.

You watch as Jimin gets comfortable with Mido. You feel your chest tighten up just seeing him interact with her, and even Sunhye sometimes. You can’t help but think about how they could easily replace you, especially since those two girls have more similarities to Jimin than you do. Unlike you, they like music as much as Jimin does.

Suddenly, your phone rings, which is rare because you don’t keep in contact with many people to have them call you. When you check the contact name, your eyes widen, surprised to see your father’s name across the screen. You haven’t spoken to him in nearly a year, so if he’s calling you, then it must be important.

Your ringtone gets the attention of everyone in the room, so you point to your phone, letting them know that you have a phone call. Miles gives you permission to leave, so you scurry out of the room to pick up your father’s call.

You clear your throat, having forgotten how it’s like to talk to your own father. “Hello?”

“(Y/N), how have you been?”

“It’s been good. Nothing much has happened.”

“Oh, that’s nice to hear,” and just like that, there’s already silence between the two lines. “...Man, it’s really been a while since we last spoke, right?”

“Yea…” You can’t even remember what you two spoke about last time.

“How’s your mother? Has she been well?”

Hearing him say the word ‘mother’ with his voice makes you feel disgusted. You know he’s asking only to be polite. It isn’t like he really cares about her.

“I dunno...I haven’t spoken to her since you two got a divorce.”

“That’s...too bad.”

You’re starting to feel impatient, tired of having to hear your father trying to make trivial talk with you. You know that this isn’t the reason why he called you.

“So, why did you call?”

“...The truth is...I’m getting married again.”

You let his words ring in your head for a moment before answering. You thought you heard him wrong. No, you wish you heard him wrong.

You can feel your hands shaking, gripping onto your phone tighter out of pure anger. Your face turns red out of fury, tears blurring your vision but not enough to run down yet. You clench your fist, biting your bottom lip to contain your temper.

“Dad...you just left Mom not too long ago…”

“I know, but-”

“Don’t you think you’re rushing it a bit?”

There’s silence once again.

“Is that all you wanted to say to me? I have someplace to be, so please make it quick,” you want to end this conversation as quickly as possible, leaving this sour taste in your throat as soon as possible.

“I just wanted to let you know that I was thinking of having you meet her for dinner this upcoming Saturday.”

Does your father think you’re still five? Does he really think that after all those lies of ‘working our issues as a family’ bullshit, you’ll come around and accept him again?

You roll your eyes, scoffing that your father for even having the confidence to say that. “Sorry, but I’m busy that day.”

You wanted to blow up at your father even more, but you don’t want to create a scene. You can hear your father sigh in frustration on the other line.

“You know, I called you to let you know about my second marriage because I thought you’d support me, but I guess not. And why are you talking to me in that tone like I did something wrong? Have you forgotten that I raised you?”

There he goes again, manipulating your emotions to make him the victim and you the villain. He never raises his voice when he accuses you or your mother of anything, but he knows that it’s because a soft voice is always more welcoming than an aggressive one.

This time, you’re the one sighing, rubbing your temples from a headache. “Dad...I don’t want to argue.”

“And I’m not the one starting it. Look, I’m just asking you to have dinner me and my fiancée.”

You know why he’s asking you to eat dinner with her. It’s just like when you were five when he introduced you to his first mistress: show that he’s a family man, make it seems like he has a stable enough income to support a child, but worst of all, drag you into his affairs so he can also put the blame on you for supporting him.

You’re starting to remember that awful time when you met Lynn, knowing that your father lied to you and your mother about having to work overtime so he can fuck her. And those times when he left you and your mother alone during holidays, claiming he had ‘business trips’, only to be traveling to Lynn to spend the holidays with her. But you will never forget how you unknowingly betrayed your mother’s trust, meeting Lynn and claiming that Lynn is a ‘good person’.

“(Y/N), I really need you there to show that you support me as my daughter. Are you coming or not?”

You let out another scoff. “So it’s okay for you to get pissed off if Mom talks to any other man, but for you, it’s excusable?”

“...You don’t understand. You know I wasn’t satisfied enough with your mother-”

“FUCK YOU!!!!!!” You shout from the top of your lungs.

You shouted so loud that your voice echoed across the empty halls.

“GET YOUR FUCKING HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS AND LEARN HOW MUCH OF A FUCKING HYPOCRITE YOU ARE. YOU KNOW, I SHOULD’VE TOLD MOM THE MOMENT I FOUND OUT THAT YOU WERE CHEATING ON HER FOR SOME TWENTY-SOMETHING-YEAR-OLD.”

Your veins are popping out, and your temper is boiling over. Your face is heated from the adrenaline, your heart racing. This is the first time you exploded on your father for his mistakes, tired of him never learning what he’s doing wrong.

At this point, tears aren’t stopping, but you still manage to let out a chuckle. “Remember that night when Mom found out about your affair? Remember what you said after you ‘accidentally’ punched her across the face, that the only way to go through our problems is by going through it together as a family? Well...as my father and the source of my problems...help me ‘heal’ by never calling me ever again.”

You hang up, throwing your phone across the hall. You crouch into a fetal position, pulling your hair in the process while you scream out all of your frustrations. You can’t stop crying anymore, upset that your father had to call you.

You’re absolutely angry that your father had to tell you that he was getting married. Because...despite the multiple love affairs...the verbal abuse and manipulation...the lies...you still had hope that one day...your parents would mend their relationship and fall back in love. You secretly longed for the day when you were still just a mere toddler, looking up as you watch your parents stare at each other lovingly.

Where did it go wrong? Was their marriage bound to fail from the beginning? Were you the reason for their mishaps? After all, you were an unplanned child—unwanted. Was there...even a time when your parents were truly in love?

Suddenly, you feel something press your shoulder. You look up to see Jimin, completely concerned for you.

“(Y/N), are you okay?!”

Don’t look at me with those eyes, it’ll only make me feel bad. You shove his hand away, not in the mood to see him. You run off, leaving Jimin to bite your dust.

------

It’s been a good thirty minutes since you ran off, and you ended up in the park where you met Jimin for the first time. You’re sitting on the same bench. You don’t know what brought you here, but you knew that this was the place to be.

You were able to calm yourself down, using the method you used when you were a kid, which is blocking everything out and thinking only happy thoughts. You lean back, your head facing the night sky, but the view is being blocked by the overbearing tree. Though you stopped crying, you can’t stop the hiccups. And that aching sensation in your chest won’t leave.

You hear footsteps approaching you. When you look, you see Jimin. You sniff, wiping your runny nose on your forearm, not caring if you appear disgusting to him.

“Let me guess, you had a vision similar to this, so you knew that I’d be here.”

“...Yup.” Jimin takes the spot next to you, setting your phone on your lap. “You left this. Luckily you didn’t break it.”

“Thanks.” You say in a cold manner.

You’ve always done a good job at hiding your emotions whenever it came to the topic of your parents’ shattered relationship, but it must’ve been a mistake because it was too much to bottle up. You just want to never be reminded that you’re associated with them and wish to continue with your life as it is.

“I know...what happened.”

You turn to him.

“In my dreams, you told me that when you were little, your dad cheated on your mom, more than once. You hated him for it, and you hated your mother for believing every lie he said, but you still love both of them. Your parents’ divorce was finalized just a few months ago, but you were upset that your dad had already moved on and found another woman.”

You sigh. “Wow...the me in your dreams is such a big mouth.”

You can never imagine telling people about your personal issues. It was always hard talking about something as sensitive as that, especially when you tell it to people who don’t know how it’s like to see your parents fall out of love. It makes you wonder what kind of person ‘you’ are to Jimin in his visions—to have that much courage to tell someone as troubling as that.

“I guess so. Also, you were a big crybaby. You always liked following me around like a duckling. It was so cute.”

You blush, embarrassed on behalf of the immature ‘you’ in his visions. “How can you stand me when you dream about me?”

“I mean, whenever you cried, I was so weak to it...but I really like it when you smile. At least that would let me know that you weren’t hurting inside.” He grins cheekily, remembering that precious smile of yours from his dreams.

You’re once again reminded that you’re not the ‘you’ in his dreams. You draw your eyes down to your hands, folded on your lap. When you turn on your phone, you see that it’s been cracked, and there’s one missed called from your father.

When you return your gaze at Jimin, you start to think about your future with him. As a pessimistic person, you know that your relationship with him is bound for failure; you were never meant to be with him, even if he claims that you’re his soulmate. He’s just so pure, loving, and friendly, and you...you’re just downright depressing and awful to be around.

“Jimin, you really seem to love me in your dreams.”

“Of course.”

“Would you still have fallen for me if it weren’t for your dreams?”

“...What?”

“What if you rejected that talisman and continued on with your life? Then that would’ve meant that you would’ve never come to this town and look for me in this park. We would’ve continued our lives without ever knowing each other.”

You’re scared to even think about that. You hate that you doubt your love for him, even though Jimin has put so much faith into you, but you can’t help it. You don’t want to become gullible and become a fool.

“Even if you accepted the talisman, what if you actually mistook me as your ‘destined’ partner? What if I just so happen to look like her? What if...your soulmate was Sunhye...or Mido? Besides, you travel a lot, right? Are you willing to settle down with me?”

You lean closer to Jimin.

“Tell me...would you still have fallen in love with me without those visions?”

Jimin can sense how much you’re doubting him. It’s almost as if you want him to say that he made a mistake and go off his merry way.

“Yea, I’d still fall in love with you.”

“Wh-what??”

You were expecting him to be more hesitant, but he didn’t. How can he say it so easily?

“Are you taking my words lightly??”

“I’m not. I’d still fall in love with you without a doubt,” Jimin puts his hand over yours, stroking your knuckles with his thumb. His hands are cold. “You may not be exactly the girl of my dreams, but you still have things that I love about you. You were uncomfortable with me in the beginning, but you still wanted to help me. Besides, dreams are just ‘idealistic’, not ‘realistic’. And you...you’re real.”

Jimin leans forward, pressing his forehead on your shoulder. You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s smiling.

“Even if we were to meet in some alternate universe, whether I become a dying hospital patient or a secret governmental bioweapon, I know I’ll somehow meet you.”

“Those are oddly specific...and how do you expect to meet me in those circumstances?”

Jimin shrugs his shoulders. “I dunno. I’ll become your pen pal if I’m a hospital patient. And if I’m a bioweapon, you’ll become a scientist and maybe...maybe you’ll try to find a cure and make me a normal boy!”

You chuckle. It’s the first time you really felt like laughing, and it feels nice. Though the atmosphere is light-hearted, Jimin isn’t laughing. He’s been captivated by your smile, and you feel the grip around your hand get tighter.

“Hey, (Y/N)...do you want to know what happened tonight in my dreams?”

“What?”

“...You were crying on this bench...and I came here to comfort you. After I cheered you up, you smiled, then without thinking, I kissed you.”

Your face turns red, but Jimin’s face is red as well. He hides his face with his forearm, cringing when he remembered he did something so embarrassing such as that.

“Ugh...I don’t know why, but in my dreams...I was such a rash person. I did things without thinking and I’m just…” Jimin sighs, but he ends his whining there. “Anyways...is it alright...if I make that come true?”

Your heart is thumping faster. You rather have him kiss you suddenly to spare you the embarrassment of having to say yes. But...you appreciate that Jimin is asking for permission, just like how he did the first time.

You nod your head.

As if dying to do this, Jimin doesn’t waste a second to kiss you. You hold in your breath, squeezing your eyes shut, feeling Jimin’s soft lips pressing against yours. At any rate, you think you’re heart is going to explode. It’s burning too much in your chest, but not because you’re angry. It’s because you really like Jimin.

He pulls himself back slowly, cupping your cheeks and wrapping his fingers on the back of your neck. You open your eyes, suddenly feeling shy at this intimate moment. Jimin’s face is so close to yours that you can’t see anything else.

“...(Y/N)...you once told me that you’re afraid of becoming like your parents, but I can guarantee that you’re nothing like them, and you never will.”

Even though you never asked him to say that to you...you still wanted someone to say that to you. You can’t help but let out more tears, just overjoyed to hear that there’s someone out there who thinks that you won’t end up in the same path as them.

Jimin runs his hand in his jean pocket, taking out the woven talisman. He puts it in your hands.

“The fortune teller who gave this to me said that a talisman is supposed to bring good fortune,” Jimin points to the center, right at the flower, the yellow iris. “And she told me that an iris means ‘promise in loving relationships’. I’m going to give it to you.”

“What?? But you were so keen on keeping it and…”

“It was so I can give it to you. Take this as my promise that no matter what happens, my feelings for you will never die.”

You look at the talisman, the yellow iris staring straight back at you. Jimin seemed to cherish this, but he’s giving it away so casually. To give it to you, it makes it hard for you to doubt him even more. Maybe...you really do have a chance with him.

“Thank you…”

------

It’s finally the day of Jimin’s concert, October 13th, and they’re performing outside the canteen. There’s a stage already set for tonight, and you’re behind the stage with Jimin and the band. The crowd isn’t huge, but it’s still a decent following. The band looks nervous to perform, but Jimin looks the most nervous.

He’s been stiff the entire day. Whenever you don’t talk to him, he would space out and look so depressed. When you try to walk somewhere without him, he would tug on the bottom of your shirt and follow you like a child. You can’t help but think that it’s cute. However, you want to know what’s been bothering him lately.

You tap on his shoulder to get his attention. “Hey, you’ve been down this entire day. Are you nervous about your performance?”

“Huh? Oh, yea...I guess I’m just a bit nervous. I just need to make it perfect.”

“Hey, remember what I said? People don’t want to hear a robot. Keep playing even if you make mistakes.”

Jimin heaves out a single breath, forcing a pained smile. “Thanks.”

“Miles! You and your band is going to head out in five minutes!” A staff shouts from the other side of the stage.

Jimin and the band gets ready. You wish him good luck before heading out to the front stage to watch him perform. You’ve gotten used to seeing him perform at the plaza, but this is your first time seeing him perform on stage, so you’re excited.

The band before Jimin and his bandmates finish, letting the last note on the electric guitar linger in the air. Once that sound faded away, the crowd applauds. They walk off the stage, and Jimin, Miles, Sunhye, and Mido walk on stage. The crowd screams and claps, and you can’t help but do the same.

“Hello, we’re the Garage Band Club, and tonight, we’re going to perform some classics for you all,” Miles speaks through the microphone.

The crowd cheers.

“We’ll be performing The End by The Doors, You, Fool by Kim Sa Rang, Why by Thornapple, and Yeosu Night Sea by Busker Busker.”

Miles looks at the band, and Sunhye taps her drumsticks together to give them the beat of their first song. The first song, The End, is an iconic song, so of course the crowd goes wild for it. Though, you’ve never heard the song before this, so you can’t really feel the vibe as much as the crowd does.

With each song, it feels like time goes by faster, and you couldn’t get your gaze off of Jimin. You can’t help but be a fangirl and think about how cool he is on stage; the colored lights illuminating on him, his sweat pouring down his face, and his intense focus on playing his part.

Their second to last song already completed by the time you know it, realizing that their concert is coming to an end. The crowd cheers for them, and Miles pulls the microphone off of the stand.

“Alright, and for our last song, we’ll be having a special guest sing it instead.”

You don’t remember this happening during rehearsals.

“This guy is a talented musician, and I know this guy is going to do great in the future. I found him performing on the streets and thought that he was a fantastic musician. Please allow me to pass the mic to Jimin, and we’ll begin our last song.”

The crowd cheers for him, and he smiles timidly. Miles returns the mic to the stand, and Jimin stands in front of it, clearing his throat. Sunhye counts the tempo for him, and Jimin starts playing his guitar.

The Yeosu night sea

There is a beautiful story

Underneath this light

I want to let you hear it so

I call you–you ask what I’m doing?

I’m at the Yeosu night sea

The Yeosu night sea

You heard them rehearse this a million times, but tonight feels like the first time you’re actually hearing it. The song is slow, the entire outdoor canteen surrounded by nothing but Jimin’s voice and his guitar. His voice is soft, and he’s closing his eyes to get the feeling of the song. Even though it’s a romantic song, Jimin’s tone makes it sound so...sad. It’s almost as if this song sounds like a farewell.

I want to walk here with you

I want to walk along this sea with you

I want to walk this street with you

I want to walk along this sea with you

You can feel all of Jimin’s emotions expressed through this song. This might be the first time you saw him put his everything into a song. It’s like you’re falling in love with him again.

Jimin locks his gaze on you, singing this message to you and only you. Now you know why he was so desperate to make this perfect. He wanted to sing this song because words aren’t enough to express how much you mean to him, and you can definitely feel it. You understand how he feels. No words can express how much you love him too.

------

“That was amazing!” You exclaim.

You and Jimin are walking together in the neighborhood close to your apartment. You can’t hide your smile anymore because the concert was that amazing. It was short-lived, but it’s memorable.

“You guys were super cool! If I didn’t know you guys, then I would’ve definitely become a fan. I wish you guys did an encore though.”

You continue speaking, but Jimin hasn’t said a single word since you two got together. You don’t know what’s eating Jimin inside for him to be down.

“Jimin? Are you okay?”

“Yea, I’m fine.”

You hold onto his hand. He looks up, seemingly confused, but you smile. “The concert’s over. You don’t need to worry about it anymore.”

He forces a smile. “You’re right…”

Just like before, he’s not listening to you. You don’t know what’s gotten into him.

Unfortunately, as much as you want to pester him, you two are already at the corner. You have to go back home now. You brush it off for now since it’s late, and you decide that you’ll cheer him up tomorrow.

“Well, goodnight Jimin. If something’s bothering you, don’t let it get to you. Let’s go on a date tomorrow since we’re both free.”

“Ha ha...we should.”

Your smile fades away, hurt to see Jimin be down. You pull him in for a hug, hiding your face in his chest.

“Huh?”

“Congratulations on tonight’s concert. You did amazing.”

You hug him for a little longer, but then you pull yourself away once you’re done. However, Jimin drags you back in, hugging you even tighter than you did. His entire body is practically wrapped around you, not wanting to let you go.

“(Y/N), I love you.”

“What’s the matter, Jimin? Are you feeling sick again?”

He lets out a chuckle, which makes you relieved because he’s smiling again. “I guess so.”

Jimin finally lets you go, and you got to see his smile before the day ended.

“Sorry for worrying you the entire day. Sleep tight.”

Jimin walks off. You thought that that interaction was somewhat odd, but you don’t think about it too much. Jimin seems to have cheered up, and that’s all that matters to you. You think about the places you want to show him tomorrow since the two of you never really went anywhere.

Now that you think about it, this is the second time Jimin has said that he loves you. The first time he said it was at the park, and since then, he refrained from using it. Most of the time, he just said that he likes you and that’s it. You wonder what’s so special about today to push him to say that.

------

You’re eating at a cafe with your friends, having just finished school for the day. Your friends sigh as they toss their bags on the chairs.

“I just want to hurry up and take off this stupid uniform.” One of them complains.

“I know, right? Junior high didn’t make us wear shit like this, so I don’t know why our high school makes us wear it.”

You’re too busy looking at the menu, letting their words go through one ear and out the other. You’re the quiet one out of the three, preferring to listen to them talk while you’re left alone with your thoughts.

But then, the cafe starts playing a song. It sounds really cute and upbeat, but you don’t know the name of it. It starts to bother you that you don’t know the name of it.

“Hey, do you guys know what this song is called?” You ask.

“The one that’s playing right now? Love is Timing. I forgot who’s it by though.”

“Oh, it’s the one with that weird name. Busker Busker.”

“Hm, okay.”

It’s one of those songs that you think is good that you had to ask for the name. But you don’t bother writing down the name. You tell yourself that you’ll remember when you get back home, or at least you hope you’ll remember.

“I think the song is so adorable.” One of your friends says.

“Yea! Ugh, when I get a boyfriend, I want him to sing this song to me. Right, (Y/N)?”

“...Yea.” You answer half-heartedly.

You honestly don’t really care because it isn’t like you’ll find someone who’ll like you. You’re not interested in romance like the other girls your age, which can be unappealing for some men. You never got into watching TV dramas or those tragic romance movies because they’re unrealistic. You lost your fascination for romance a long time ago, and there’ll never come a day where you want to live for somebody else.

------

“...What…?”

“Oh my god...you mean, you didn’t know?” Miles is at a loss for words. “I assumed that you knew because you were the last person with him last night.”

Miles is standing on the outside of your entrance door. He claims that Jimin gave him your address just in case something happens. You thought it was strange, but then it makes sense because of Jimin’s visions, so he must’ve seen something coming.

“But...everything I said is true. He really did try to stop his neighbor’s ex-boyfriend from breaking into her apartment, but the guy pushed Jimin down the cement stairs and he hit his head really bad,” Miles pauses, dreading to say the words to you. “Jimin...died before the ambulance came.”

…..

….

…

..

.

No, that can’t be true.

“Wh-what are you talking about? I just saw him last night. I saw him walk away. He’s still alive.”

Miles doesn’t know what to say to break you from your denial. “Jimin has no relatives, so the police contacted me to identify his body because they found my phone number on a sticky note. He’s...really dead.”

“You’re just trying to scare me, right? I get it, it’s almost Halloween.”

Suddenly, Miles grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you. “(Y/N)! Why would I joke around about Jimin’s death?! He’s really dead!!!!”

…

Miles lets you go, his arms dropping as if all of his strength left. “...The band and I were thinking about holding a small funeral for him. I tried looking for other people he was close to, but he literally only spoke to us.”

“NO!” You shout. “Jimin isn’t dead, so why are you talking about his funeral so soon?! He can’t be dead…! He...he promised that we would hang out today. He wouldn’t…!”

You run out of your apartment without putting on your shoes. Miles calls out after you, but you don’t bother stopping. You have to go to Jimin’s apartment; you need to prove to Miles that Jimin’s still alive.

------

At the front of his apartment, you see yellow tape all around the base of the outdoor stairs, blocking you from going upstairs to his apartment. There’s a police car and a policeman, guarding the scene. You try walking through the police car, but the policeman catches you. He tries to stop you from going to his apartment.

“Ma’am, I can’t have you go any further.”

“Please let me go! I have to meet someone upstairs.”

You try pushing the man’s arms away, but he’s too strong. You become impatient, wanting to see Jimin as soon as you can.

“This place is still under investigation. Having you trespass the crime scene can tamper with the evidence.”

“I need to see Jimin! I have to see him and make sure that he’s okay!”

You try to fight off the policeman, kicking and screaming. You grab the attention of the neighbors and the people passing by. Because you’re causing too much trouble, the policeman calls for backup to have you sent to the police station.

While he calls through his radio, you are able to break free from him, dashing under the yellow tape. When you get close enough to the scene, you felt your heart stop beating for a moment. From the second to last stairs, there’s a dry splatter of blood, and at the base of it is a pool of dark red blood, staining the concrete ground. Surrounding the blood is white tape, forming the shape of what Jimin’s body must’ve looked like after he fell.

This can’t be his blood...It can’t be. You just saw him last night, hugging you and saying goodbye. His smile...was the last thing you saw before he walked off. He wasn’t worried about anything.

You fall to your knees, trying your hardest to deny the fact that Jimin died. You start to cry uncontrollably, curling up into a ball. All the neighborhood heard that morning was your aching, sorrowful wails.

------

It’s just like what Miles said, Jimin has no relatives. It was only him, the three other bandmates, and you who came to his small funeral. The ceremony has to be short as well, as you all are renting the church for a short moment only.

After his death, you got to learn more about Jimin, realizing how little you actually knew him before he died. You learn that Jimin grew up in foster homes, moving one home to another, never being adopted. That explains why Jimin wasn’t intent on making friends and so used to moving around. You were really the only person he was willing to settle down for.

When you saw his death certificate, you realize that Jimin was born on October 13th...and died on October 13th. Had you known that he was going to die on his birthday, you would’ve made it more special for him.

As you sit in front of his casket, you thought about how Jimin had visions of the possible future. Did he know that he was going to die on the 13th? He must’ve because he was so depressed on that day. You can’t imagine what the few months have been for Jimin, knowing about his death in the near future. How was he still able to be happy, smiling all those times with you, knowing that he was going to die soon?

There was really nothing Jimin had—just his guitar, his wallet, and a few spare clothes. On your lap is the talisman with the iris imprinted on it. This is the only thing he left behind for you, the object that drew him to you.

The funeral ended shortly thereafter, and it’s been raining all day. You went your separate ways from Miles and his friends, though they offered you to stay with them. However, you declined, as you wanted time to be alone.

You didn’t want to go home. Going home would mean having to walk through that corner street, the place where you could’ve stopped Jimin from going to his death. You decide to walk around town for a while until you’re ready.

Your feet brought you to the park, the place where you met Jimin for the first time. You didn’t bother bringing an umbrella, so you’re wet. You search for the bench where Jimin found you and confessed to you. Once you do, you sit down, not caring if your black dress gets soaked from the bench. You were sitting in this position when he saw you, so you try remembering that timid man’s face when he confessed that he loved you. It was somewhere towards the end of June when you first met him, and now October is coming to an end. It doesn’t feel that long since you met him, so where did all those days go? Why...didn’t you treasure them before Jimin left?

You can still remember that smile of his, his cheeks perking up when he smiles. And when he gets shy, all he wanted to do was hide his face. Jimin doesn’t look like he likes sharing his problems, but you knew when he was stressed whenever his head was down. You can never forget his love for Busker Busker.

Jimin knew that if he told you about his death, then you definitely would freak out. But he also knew that he wouldn’t have enough time to express how much he loves you, so he did it by singing. Going back and reading the lyrics to all the songs he sang, they were all meant for you: the things he wanted to do with you but couldn’t, his doubts, but also his trust in you.

It finally stops raining, and the grey clouds disappear. You notice a rainbow across the sky, and it looks so gorgeous. Were rainbows ever this beautiful before?

You point at the rainbow. “Wow, it’s a rainbow. It looks pretty, doesn’t it, Jimin?”

You turn to your side, having already forgotten that Jimin left. You got so used to having Jimin around you that it became natural for you to speak to him. But...he’s gone now, and you’re talking to nobody.

The realization just hit you. From here on out, you won’t be with Jimin. You’ll grow older than him, live a life without him, most likely will never experience what you felt with him with anyone else. You don’t want that...You wanted to grow old with him, get married, have kids...spend every second of your life with him.

You curl up in a ball, sobbing loudly. You didn’t cry once during his funeral because you were in a daze, but now that you’re not going to be with Jimin anymore, it just hurts. There are no other words to express how you feel other than hurt.

You take out the talisman from your pocket, crushing it with all your might. You throw it across the field, cursing at it. That talisman is a lie; it never brought you good fortune nor did it ever for Jimin either. That symbol of the iris is a fake too. If that talisman was meant to bring good luck for your relationship with Jimin, then why didn’t it protect Jimin before he died?!

“Jimin...I can’t do it…”

You continue to cry...unable to stop. You wish you could spend one more time with him so you could let him know that you love him. You never once told him how much he meant to you when he was alive.

But during the midst of your tears, you hear footsteps approaching you. It gets louder...and louder...and louder until it stops right in front of you. When you look up, you see the shadow of a person. It’s an old lady.

She stretches her wrinkly hand out, taking you by the hand and returning the talisman. You’re confused, questioning who she is and why she gave you back Jimin’s talisman. You want to ask her who she is, but you keep hiccuping, preventing you from speaking.

“Oh dear, it would’ve been troublesome if you lost this,” the old lady speaks. “After all, Jimin gave this to you for a reason.”

Your ears shoot up the moment you hear her mention Jimin’s name. “H-how…? Who…?”

“My apologies. I should introduce myself. I’m the psychic that gave Jimin the talisman.”

Your eyes widen. Though you knew Jimin wasn’t lying, you didn’t expect to meet the person who led him to you. But thinking about how she brought him to you, you can’t help but get angry.

You grab her by the collar of her shirt, pulling her in as you could punch her at any moment. “Why did you send Jimin to die?! If you had kept your mouth shut, then Jimin wouldn’t have met me...and he wouldn’t have to die…”

Once again, you feel your throat choking up. The elderly woman doesn’t try to fight you off, as she must understand what you’re going through. She puts her hand on your hands, holding them gently.

“If you just didn’t persuade him to meet me...then he would still be alive, living his life to the fullest. If it means not being able to see him live, I rather die.”

“Oh dear, please don’t rush to irrational conclusions. You mustn’t be giving up so soon. Your journey doesn’t end here.”

[End of Part 1]

Chapter 2: HERE

Masterlist

[eilonwiiy]

Bookends ; a Witchlands AU

Chapter 2

A night at the Cleaved Man turns both Safi and Iseult's worlds upside down after an explosive confrontation with an uptight Nubrevnan and an unexpected romantic gesture from a close friend...

Summary: Iseult det Midenzi never expected to go to a top university, so when her mother falls ill and she is forced to drop out to make ends meet, life has never seemed so unfair. But when she starts working at the local library and is unexpectedly assigned in the Children’s Room, a certain monosyllabic man and his thrice-damned demon child start showing up and Iseult begins to wonder if the threads of fate have a plan for her after all.

Previous chapters: 1

Ships: Iseult/Aeduan, Safi/Merik, and more… stay tuned!

Tags: modern AU, college setting, family, friendship, humor, fluff, slow-burn, romance, eventual smut

Read on AO3: here

Tag list: (please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @lseultdetmidenzi

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

There was a certain art to it, Iseult had to admit.  Bartending, that is.

Safi darted every which way behind the bar, hands reaching for bottles and canisters without thought and pouring liquids and syrups of all colors into an endless supply of glasses at breakneck speed.  Just when Iseult thought the place had reached its peak hour, a fresh wave of college kids invaded the counter. Iseult wasn’t sure how a place as cramped as The Cleaved Man managed to pack so many bodies.  For a bar as ancient as it was, she supposed being forced to get up close and personal with eligible strangers was half its appeal.

Not for Iseult though.  She isolated herself on her usual perch at the very end of the bar by the swinging half-door that led behind the counter, still wearing the outfit she wore at the library: a thick black knitted sweater, matching jeans, and laced-up boots.  No one bothered her, save for one unfortunate soul at the beginning of the night. He looked relatively harmless - if you could call a salmon pink polo shirt and khakis shorts in mid-winter harmless. But that didn’t stop Iseult from squeezing a lemon slice in his eyes when he wouldn’t take a hint that she wasn’t interested.  

When he had turned to Safi, face dripping wet and eyes stinging red, clearly expecting to see some sort of reprimand dished out, she only shrugged.

“That’s what they’re for,” she said and plopped a fresh slice into the drink she’d just finished mixing and offered it pointedly to a girl on his other side.  “Good luck out there,” she told her.

The girl grinned and raised her glass to Safi in thanks, turning to leave, but not without giving the open-mouthed guy a meaningful look.  

After that, the evening was considerably less exciting.  For Iseult, at least. For everyone else, the night was just getting started.    

Walking into the Cleaved Man, you could easily expect its raucous crowd to break out into a sea shanty at the drop of a hat.  It was like stepping into one of Iseult’s beloved swashbuckling tales, with its musty smell, fat wooden tables, and rickety benches.  There were even giant beer barrels tucked into the tight space’s dark corners serving as makeshift seating that Safi swore were older than the bar’s current owner.  Ornate, wooden chandeliers hung from iron chains, strewn with strings of white lights, a nice modern touch that doused the room in a soft, golden glow. While swarms of college kids hovered around the bar, smaller, more intimate parties clustered together in cozy booths, each with a single candle flickering bright upon the table, illuminating the smiles and laughter of their occupants.  Only a few diamond checkered stained glass windows lining the front of house offered the passersby a small glimpse of the merriment contained within.  

Iseult appreciated the fantasy of it.  There was something romantically atmospheric to it.  In a historic sort of way, if that was possible. If it weren’t for the thrumming music and the mounting inebriation pressing in on all sides of her, she would have loved to come here with a book and simply read.  

“How are those limes coming, Iz?” Safi called over the music, not looking up from the glass she was shooting Sprite into.  

“I’m almost -” Iseult began, but Safi was already there, sweeping whatever slices she had off the cutting board into a tin bucket and hurrying away, “-done.”  She speared another lime and got back to chopping.

Friday nights were one of the busiest nights of the week, but they became even busier when you were working for two - as Safi was tonight.  She wasn’t technically alone. But Stix seemed more interested in picking up girls than serving drinks.  

Whereas Safi was a whirlwind of frantic energy, Stacia “Stix” Sotar leaned completely at ease against the counter at the other end of the bar.  Across from her a girl with badly dyed red hair spoke animatedly, eating maraschino cherries from a glass and wearing a dollar store tiara. She was clearly the matriarch of her group, as the rest of her friends - overly made up for a night at the Cleaved Man - stood adoringly around her, sipping their drinks and bursting into fits of laughter more often than was believable.  The birthday girl’s heavily painted eyes never left Stix, and Iseult had lost count of how many times her hand consciously fingered the bedazzled sash advertising “21 and HOT, buy me a SHOT” draped across her generous chest.  

Well, Stix had clearly seen to the shot.  What service.

Iseult’s attention lingered a moment longer before sparing a glance to the rest of the bar.  The evening was definitely in full swing. People had long since moved onto their second or third drink, graduating to shots and plates stacked high with wings or cheesy nachos.  At the eye of the impending storm, Iseult spotted a familiar face that could not have looked more out of place.  

Lounging languorously in sky blue, Leopold shuffled a deck of cards at one of the small round tables in the center of the room.  Keeping him company were his roommates Lev, Zander, and - much to Iseult’s displeasure - Chiseled Cheater. It shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did.  They lived together after all; he had as much right to hang out with them as anyone else. Still...

As though hearing her thought, Leopold turned in Iseult’s direction and met her gaze.  His face lit up and he flashed her a criminally stunning smile, burning like a beacon amidst the sweat and alcohol swirling around him.  He immediately beckoned for her to join them. She shook her head.

Why? he mouthed.

Iseult skewered a lime and held it up.  

Leopold’s lips pursed, accentuating their natural pink plushness.  His finger tapped the table, and with a quick word to his companions, he tossed the cards down with a little more flourish than was necessary and slipped away.  As he made his way towards Iseult, he moved through the crowd like a snake, disturbing no one and going unnoticed. Well, not completely unnoticed. A fair amount of heads turned to catch more than a periphery glimpse of his deliciously carved cheekbones and silky waves of strawberry blonde hair.

“Was that lime a metaphor for what you’re going to do to me for sharing a drink with Caden?” he drawled, sidling up to Iseult.  “Or have we seriously fallen to such a level of co-dependence that our dear Safi can no longer do her job without pawning some of the load off onto you?”

Iseult sliced into a particularly juicy lime and let the satisfying squelch answer for her.  Leopold shook his head with an amused chuckle, and before Iseult could protest, he plucked a slice from the cutting board and popped it into his mouth.  

“Mmm what a sweet death it will be,” he said in between suckles.  If it had been anyone else, Iseult would have been disgusted by such an obnoxious display - and in a public place no less.  But Leopold had a way of making even the grossest practices seem sophisticated. Sensuous, even.

“Limes are bitter,” Iseult corrected.

“Not with you at the end of the knife.”  

Iseult looked at him.  He licked a runaway trail of juice from his thumb, far too invested in the lime to notice Iseult staring.  His lips were red and wet, glistening obscenely under the halo of stringed lights hovering above him. She couldn’t help it; her face warmed.

But when he tossed the lime into the open garbage can behind the counter, it was like he’d said nothing.

“Do I need to call social services?” he pressed in a mock whisper that was sure to reach Safi’s ears.  “Is she keeping you here against your will?”

“Ha-ha,” Safi interjected, slapping a towel onto the counter and wiping it down.  Leopold lurched back as she made a pass near him.  

“Watch the sleeves, love,” he chastised with a small, but noticeable pout that only made Iseult stare at his lips again.  

“Oh Polly, you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t fussing over your designer shirt of the day, but you came to the wrong place if you expected to not be spilt on at least twice.”

Leopold gave a disdainful huff.  “Tell me about it,” he muttered, scrutinizing a spot on his shirt that was only visible to him.  After a moment, he clicked his tongue and abandoned the fabric with a note of disgust. “I’d be at Arlenni’s Loop if it weren’t for the company - which brings me back to my original question.  Are you going to keep poor Iseult here shackled to you all night or are going to let her actually enjoy herself?”  

“She’s keeping me company.  What could be more fun than that?”

Iseult kept her gaze downcast, suddenly needing to cut each lime slice with exact precision.

Leopold turned away from Safi like she hadn’t said anything. “You should join us.  We were just about to start a game of-”

“We don’t need to play any more games with your lot, thank you,” Safi cut in, brandishing her rag and earning an affronted glare from Leopold.

“Excuse me, since when does ‘Iseult’ mean ‘we’?  And what exactly do you mean by “my lot”?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”  Safi gave the table he’d just left a withering glare.  Leopold followed it over his shoulder, then turned back to her, frowning.

“For Noden’s sake, Safi.  This is overdoing it - even for you.”  He watched her, waiting for a response, but she said nothing, attention trained on the row of glasses she was now wiping dry.  When it was clear she wasn’t going to concede, he breathed an impatient sigh, then, designer sleeves and all, leaned against the counter and drew himself closer to Safi.  Understanding softened his expression, but his lips twitched.

“Now, love,” he began delicately, “I know you fancied yourself his girlfriend-”  

“I did not!” Safi barked, slamming a glass onto the counter and sending water droplets flying.  She glared at Leopold, eyes blazing. “He stole our apartment, Leopold!”

Leopold was entirely unaffected, despite his shirt was now spattered shirt.  He simply drew away from the counter, straightening and crossing his arms. “Oh boo-hoo, Safiya.  So you let slip to a guy you made-out with that you found the perfect off-campus apartment and he swooped in and snagged it for himself.  That hardly makes him a thief.”

“It’s how he got the information that matters,” Iseult intervened, feeling that she had let the two childhood friends’ bickering go on long enough.  Safi nodded fervently in agreement.  

Leopold clucked his tongue in distaste.  “Oh stop that. A lot of things happened at Vaness’ end-of-the-year party, but you being taken advantage of was not one of them.  Call him an asshole if you must, but don’t turn him into something he isn’t.”

Iseult’s heart lurched at the mention of Vaness’ infamous end-of-the-year party, but she swallowed it down.  “He took advantage of her feelings.”

“We all do at one point or another in our lives, whether we mean to or not,” Leopold said, giving her an almost pitying look.  “Heartbreak, dished out or taken, is an unfortunate side effect of having feelings.”

Iseult’s nose twitched.  What her mother would have had to say about that.  But even as she looked into Leopold’s sparkling sea green eyes, she couldn’t help but feel a trail of unease crawl up her spine.

“Why does it even matter?” he pressed on.  There was a strained edge to his voice as he ran a distracted hand through his perfectly coiffed hair.  “I saved the day and now you have an open invitation to our place at my behest and can torture Caden with your presence til the end of your days.”

This part was true at least.  Leopold had swooped in and snagged the fourth room Caden, Lev, and Zander needed to fill.  And he had used his status to forgo any scrupulous tenant screenings and ensure the landlord’s lease papers were signed before anyone could do anything to stop it.  It had been brilliant, actually. And he had done it all on his own.

“What am I supposed to do?” Leopold looked imploringly between Safi and Iseult.  “Not talk to them?”

Safi sniffed and raised her chin in the air.  “That would be preferable, yes.”

Leopold stared at her.  “You are impossible,” he declared finally, to which Safi merely shrugged.  Annoyance flickered across his face and he ran his hand through his hair again, cursing under his breath, “At least you got a good lay out of it.”

“What??”  Safi sputtered, eyes blown wide with panic and darting between Leopold and Iseult.  “We didn’t- did he tell you that?! ”

“No,” Leopold admitted sounding equally unamused.  “That was wishful thinking on my part.”

The two of them glared at each other, neither one looking happy with the other.  For a second, Iseult thought Safi would throw something at him. Her dirty rag perhaps.  Or a bar glass. That would be a first. But instead, her expression frosted over and she hefted the plastic bin of newly washed glasses against her hip.  They clinked noisily against each other.

“Go away, Polly.  Or you’ll have more than a stain on your shirt to cry about.”  She regarded Leopold cooly, then strode away, leaving him and Iseult alone.

Iseult shifted in her seat and situated herself back over her cutting board.  “I’d take her advice seriously. Those bar guns shoot surprisingly far. I’ve seen them in action.”

“If it means getting a drink…” Leopold trailed off, and to Iseult’s surprise, he drew up an empty stool seemingly out of thin air and plopped himself down next to her.  He leaned into her conspiratorially. “What are the odds of her making me a drink that isn’t laced with strychnine? Should I go bother Stix?”

Iseult glanced across the bar.  Stix was still working her magic on the “birthday bitch” as she’d overheard one of her loud friends dub her.  Her obnoxious red curls bounced as threw her head back and let out a shriek of laughter at something hilarious Stix apparently said.  Iseult noticed Safi roll her eyes in irritation as she tried to take the order of a big burly guy towering behind the group.

“You’d have to be a girl to get her attention,” she muttered, reaching for a lemon.

Leopold frowned, eyeing the group with mild interest.  “Surely I’m as pretty as one, wouldn’t you say?” He drew himself back, so that his form was on full display for Iseult.  He grinned and gave her an optimistic sort of look that brought out his natural boyish charm. “Couldn’t hurt to give it a shot.  Especially if it means avoiding my untimely death.”

Iseult didn’t respond.  That prospect didn’t sound so bad right now.  Leopold seemed to have read her mind because after a moment of awkward silence, he reached out and covered the hand holding her knife with his.

“Iseult," he said softly, and Iseult’s hand twitched under his.  He paused.  "I didn’t mean what I said.  Safi means more to me than… well, anyone. I’d never do anything to intentionally upset her. I love her.”  

His voice was pitched low so that only Iseult could hear him, but every word rang true and clear.  She slowly turned to look at him and something in his face relaxed when her eyes met his.  He was so close to her she could see the little flecks of blue in his them bloom with every blink.  The strands of red in his lashes. He licked his lips... and she hated herself for looking there too.  

“But,” he resumed cautiously, “I’m tired of her getting on my case for this.  It’s not fair. I haven’t done anything wrong, and look... I know you would face Noden and his Hagfishes before admitting it, but I think you know that Safi needs to let this go.  If not for my sake, then for hers.”  

Iseult blinked.  No one knew her better than Safi… which was why she was so stunned with how close Leopold came to hitting the truth.  But it was like he said, she’d take on Noden and his Hagfishes before admitting Safi was wrong.

Leopold squeezed her hand in understanding and let go.  Iseult immediately pulled it into her lap, only then realizing how warm it had felt under his.  She clasped her other hand and fidgeted with the silver ring around her index finger.    

Leopold hopped off his stool and brushed his hands on the front of his pants, as though he’d dirtied himself through the mere act of sitting.  He pointed to Iseult’s half-empty glass. “Do you need another juice box?”

Iseult grabbed the drink out from under the scrutiny of his finger and took a defensive sip from her straw.  It had a watery taste to it, all the ice cubes nearly melted to nothing. “No, I’m good.”

The corner of Leopold’s mouth curved up and the dimple on his cheek became a winking star.  “Yes, you are,” he purred, backing away into the crowd, “So very, very good.”

And then he was gone.  Iseult gaped at the spot, not sure of what had just happened, and turned in a daze to the end of the bar where Stix stood.  Sure enough, Leopold reappeared, slipping smoothly between closely pressed together shoulders and then leaning against the bar without taking any notice of the half dozen or so faces gawking at him for so blatantly cutting the line.  Or maybe he simply didn’t care. Even Birthday Bitch was looking at him like she couldn’t believe he was real as his lips moved with ease. That is, until Stix started laughing at something he’d said. A true, genuine sound.

The girl didn’t like that.  

With a scandalized look at the pair, she swiped her drink off the counter and took a pouty sip as she hobbled off her stool.  Leopold gracefully took her place without sparing the girl a glance, and even had the audacity to plop a maraschino cherry in his mouth.  Iseult saw Birthday Bitch peek over her shoulder a couple times to see if Stix had noticed she’d left.  

She didn’t.  Not even a little, judging by the pen and napkin she was sliding Leopold’s way.  

“Unbelievable,” muttered Safi, joining Iseult and watching Leopold scribble what could only be his name and number onto the napkin.  

“Admit it, you’re impressed,” Iseult said.  Safi only let out a mirthless laugh and turned her back on them just in time to miss Leopold slide the napkin back to Stix with a wink before disappearing back into the crowd.  She grabbed a lemon slice and shoved it in her mouth.

“He even got her to work,” Iseult added, ignoring the loud noises coming from Safi’s passionate assault on her lemon and nodding over her shoulder to where Stix was miraculously making a round of drinks.  “He’ll have you groveling at his feet by midnight.”

Safi swiped another lemon slice and made to shove it in Iseult’s mouth.  Iseult dodged the attack, and when Safi tried again, Iseult only scrunched her face and ducked a second time.  As childish as it was, it set both girls to laughing, a welcome sound to Iseult’s ears after such a long night.  Safi and Leopold bickered all the time, but she hated to see her so wound up over something so inconsequential as Chiseled Cheater.  Her friend didn’t wear hurt as well as she thought she did.

Safi finally stuffed the lemon into her own mouth.  “At least I can take a break now,” she said grudgingly, though her expression remained at ease.  She swung her hair over her shoulder and stole a glance at Stix. “Who do you think it’s for?”

Iseult wasn’t sure if she meant the drinks or the napkin Leopold slipped Stix.  She decided on the napkin. “Stix, of course.”

“Please, he’s not that good,” Safi muttered distantly as her eyes scanned the bar.  “My vote is for the birthday bazongas over there.”

“Safi.”

“What?  They’re huge!” Safi made an emphatic, and entirely unnecessary, gesture with her hands.  “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice!”

Iseult’s nose twitched, but didn’t say anything.

“See,” insisted Safi with with all the maturity of a five-year-old.  “And trust me, if we noticed, Polly definitely noticed.”

Something needled Iseult’s chest.  “You don’t know what kind of girl he likes.”  

Safi opened her mouth to comment, but a tray of drinks magically appearing interrupted them.  

“Special delivery,” trilled Stix, lifting a glass off the tray balanced on her hand and placing it in front of Iseult.  Her braided white hair was piled high on top of her head and up close, Iseult could see blue and silver beads woven into the tightly wound strands.  

“I didn’t order anything,” she said automatically, eyeing the colorful concoction like she didn’t know what it was.  

Other people might have been put off by Iseult’s inflectionless voice, but Stix only smiled, showing off the gap between her two front teeth.

“You can thank Prince Charming over there,” she said, with a nod and a wink.  Both Iseult and Safi’s heads spun to where she gestured, but somehow Iseult already knew who she’d find.

Gold waves rippled under the lights as Leopold tipped his head back and shook with laughter.  The deck of taro cards was back in his hands and he was in the process of dealing a round to Lev, Zander, and Chiseled Cheater, the cards flying from his long, delicate fingers and sliding across the table.  Dumbly, Iseult turned back to beverage sitting in front of her and inspected it. It was like a sunset in a cup, all orange, yellow, and red bleeding brilliantly together. She didn’t reach for it, though, to give it taste.  

Iseult eyes slid to the napkin set beside beside it and she noticed there was something scrawled on it.  She peeled it off the bar and slowly held it up to read.  Her heart was pounding.  Why was her heart pounding?   Stasis, Iseult.  Stasis.

Iseult looked up from the napkin and back at Leopold.  He wasn’t even watching to see what her reaction would be.  In fact, the only person distracted from their card game was Chiseled Cheater, and he definitely wasn’t looking at Iseult.  

Even from afar, Iseult could see the small line that wormed between Caden’s brows whenever she caught him looking at Safi.  He was in the middle of drinking his beer when his gaze strayed to her, the bottle hovering briefly over his lips before he indulged in another long swig and turned away.

Unfortunately for Iseult, Safi wasn’t paying attention to him.  The only thing she was gawking at was the fruity monolith standing between them.

“You’re right,” Safi declared breaking the silence.  “I don’t know what kind of girl he likes.”

Iseult said nothing.  She picked up the glass, set it down next to her cranberry juice, wiped away the ring of condensation it had left behind, and returned to her knife and lemon like the drink had been a figment of their imagination.

Of course, Iseult knew never in a million years would Safi leave it at that.

“So when did this happen?”

A surprise spurt of lemon juice shot into Iseult’s eye, but she willed it not to blink through the stinging pain.  Stasis, Iseult.  Stasis in your fingers and in your toes.  “Nothing is happening.”

“Uh, this very loud drink begs to differ.”

“Well, drink it and then it’ll shut up.”

“I’m not drinking your love juice.”

Iseult’s breath hitched in disgust.  “Please don’t call it that.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to call it?” Safi asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation.  “You won’t tell me what it is!”

“It’s nothing,” Iseult replied evenly, blank expression betraying nothing.  Because it was nothing.  There was no way Leopold had feelings for her.  They were strictly friends. That was it.  

Safi snorted when she told her just that.  “Right. And I’m the queen of Cartorra.”

“That explains it then,” a voice called.

Both Safi and Iseult looked around to see who had spoken.  It was difficult with the bar crowded as it was. Then, a young Nubrevnan man sitting a couple seats away wearing a crisp white shirt unbuttoned dangerously low leaned forward and cocked his head.

“Why you can’t be bothered to serve your subjects,” he elaborated, acknowledging the people on either side of him with a curt nod before drawing back to Safi.

Safi and Iseult shared a look, one that confirmed the unspoken: this guy was an ass.  

The corners of Safi’s quirked and she turned back, slow and purposefully, to the man.  “Can I help you?”

The flat of the man’s hand slapped the table.  “Now she hears me!” he exclaimed in mock surprise to the crowd, playing them for a response and flashing a good-natured smile despite his antagonizing demeanor being anything but.  Annoyance fluttered in Iseult’s chest as people laughed.  Drunk people were so easily amused.

“Excuse me?” Safi shot back.

A man - no, scratch that - a giant standing behind the seated Nubrevnan leaned down to speak loudly next to his ear.  “May have spoken too soon, Cap.”

More people laughed, but Iseult only mentally rolled her eyes.  Cap?  As in captain?  Oh yeah.  This guy was definitely a douche.

The giant flashed Safi what Iseult assumed must have been a smile, though it twisted unnaturally across his pale face.  Iseult discreetly nudged the bucket of freshly cut lemon slices towards Safi, but she waved her off, not taking her eyes off the man sitting in front of her.  Though, Iseult didn’t miss the nearly indistinguishable nod letting her know she knew it was there in case she decided to change tactics. Now all she had to do was sit back and enjoy the show.

“Are you going to order anything or not?” Safi asked in a bored voice.

He made a show of considering it.  “I don’t know,” he mused loftily, resting his well-tanned arms on the counter.  He leaned forward. “What are the odds of getting our drinks within this calendar year?”

“Slim,” Safi replied automatically.  She approached the counter, meeting his advance with a little extra swing in her hips, a lioness hunting her prey.  “But how would you even know?” she added as she planted herself in front of him. Her hands swept deftly over the burnished wood counter, arms stretching long on either side of her until she was taking as much space as possible.  “You clearly don’t own a calendar. Did you not notice that it’s January? Or do you not know how a button works?”

Much to Iseult’s satisfaction, the man flushed.  He glared at Safi. “I know how a button works.”

“So you’re just stupid, then” she retorted.  A murmur of amusement rippled through the crowd, music to Safi’s ears, and she stood a little taller.  Her mouth twisted as she gave him a cursory look. “Why even bother putting on a shirt if you’re just going to wear it like -” she gestured vaguely to his exposed chest “-that?”

The giant’s eyebrows shot up.  “Are you saying he should take it off?”  He turned to the crowd as he suggested it, opening the heavy-handed question to everyone.  He knew what he was doing. The bar immediately erupted into cheers. The space was so small that even people who weren’t close enough to know what was going on hollered their support, clapped their hands, pumped their fists into the air - anything for a chance at a flash of nudity.  

The giant circled the spot where he stood, towering over the crowd and nodding his approval.  “The people have spoken!” he declared over the noise and the bar responded with another enthusiastic cat call of approval.  The giant’s smile grew bigger and more terrifying. He clapped his friend on the shoulder and gave him a friendly jostle.

But the man merely shrugged him off and sank lower into the bar, keeping his gaze downturned.  Several strands of his dark swept back hair fell across his forehead, but weren’t long enough to hide the crimson flush from earlier that had deepened on his bronze cheeks.  Then, without warning, his rich brown eyes fluttered back up to Safi and he looked nothing like he had moments ago. Now he looked shy. Handsome .  

Iseult couldn’t see Safi’s face, but she knew.  She knew all it took was one look and Safi would melt.  She had learned that the hard way with Chiseled Cheater.

But Chiseled Cheater had never looked at Safi like this.  Chiseled Cheater was a practiced player. He tossed around charming smiles and easy jokes, dished out compliments in heaps, lured young women into shadowed corners with promises and heady kisses - and through it all, his mask never fell out of place.  

Not this Nubrevnan, though.  In his silence, he was completely bare to Safi.    

But a second later, whoever had been sitting before Safi - looking at her like maybe he’d wished they could start over - was gone.  The young man’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed with a keen sharpness.  

“I know you,” he murmured, almost to himself, scrutinizing Safi like he was seeing her clearly for the very first time.  Safi opened her mouth to object, but he barreled through her protests. “Yeah,” he said with more confidence, and suddenly his eyes were on Iseult who, up until that point, had gone unnoticed by the Nubrevnan.  He wagged a stiff finger from her to Safi. “I recognize you! You’re the Breakfast Bandits!”  

“What?” Safi snapped at the same time Iseult blurted incredulously, “They call us the Breakfast Bandits?”

The man crossed his arms triumphantly, rolling his broad shoulders as he leaned back on his stool.  The gesture pulled his shirt open even wider, exposing a generous amount of his muscled chest. Clearly, his modesty had been short-lived.

Safi mirrored his pose.  “So what if we are?”

Whatever amusement the man had gained from messing with Safi vanished.  His tone turned serious. “You’re stealing food.”

Safi gave a disbelieving laugh.  “I’d hardly call it stealing. Not when we’re paying thousands to go their precious little school.”

Iseult pressed her lips together.  It probably wasn’t worth mentioning that Safi had a fully-paid scholarship or that she’d dropped out five months ago.

“Besides,” Safi spurred on, “where do you think all that leftover food goes at the end of the day?  In the garbage. We were just taking what would have been thrown away.”

Strangely, this seemed to anger the Nubrevnan even more.  “That food doesn’t get thrown away,” he gritted out.  “That food is divided and delivered to local homeless shelters.”

“Oh?  And how would you know that?”

“Because I’m the one who does it.”

The space between them dropped dead.  Iseult could practically feel Safi’s stunned shock pulsing off her.  Somewhere overhead, Lizzo cried about great men.

“You-” Safi stammered, reminding Iseult of her own cursed stutter.

“Me and my crew,” the man explained, scowl deepening.  There was no triumph in his voice this time. “We divy what’s left over at the end of the night, load it up in my truck, and deliver it to shelters here and in neighboring cities.  Every day. We usually finish up around 2 in the morning.”

It was a first.  Safi was at a loss for words.

Still scowling, the Nubrevnan shook his head and rose up from his stool.  Standing, he was a full head taller than Safi. He glared down at her, his eyes searching her face.  Despite the obvious contempt pulsing off him, it was almost like he was hoping she would say something.  

But she didn’t.

He breathed in deeply, struggling to remain in control of his emotions, and his nostrils flared.  “You may think it’s just one hash brown,” he finally uttered in a low voice, “that you’re entitled to it. But to someone who hasn’t eaten in a week, it’s the difference between life and death.”

Again, Safi said nothing.  Iseult noticed that the giant was no longer smiling.  In fact, no one was smiling.  And the longer the Nubrevnan glared at Safi, the more fed up with he seemed to become, until finally he succumbed to his anger and ripped his jacket off his stool.  A violent movement that made Safi flinch.  

“You can forget about those drinks, domna,” he announced as he punched his arms through the coat sleeves.  He didn’t look at her. He simply flicked up his jacket collar and spun away on his heel. People stepped out of his way as he marched towards the front entrance in long, determined strides.  The giant and the rest of his crew followed in his wake.  

However, when he reached the door, his hand hesitated on the handle.  His head turned half a centimeter, then froze. Like he had to actively stop himself from turning to look back.  But his gaze slid to Safi anyway, two dark moorings along the brim of his jacket collar. For a second, Iseult thought she caught another glimpse of that shy young man from earlier, but before she could decide if what she’d seen was real or not, he yanked open the door and stormed out into the night.  

Safi stood motionless, staring after him long after the door slammed shut.  Iseult ransacked her brain for something to say, anything... but nothing came.  It appeared that the Nubrevnan had not only taken Safi’s voice, but Iseult’s as well.  

The rest of the night passed in silence between them.  Safi went about serving customers and making drinks, though with none of her previous vigor.  She navigated the bar on autopilot, any exchange made subdued. Iseult recognized the faraway look in her eyes.  It was the same one she wore whenever she was preoccupied with thoughts of her Uncle Eron. The notion that the words from this complete stranger could have the same effect on Safi as one of Uncle Eron’s drunk debauckles made something in Iseult’s chest worry into a knot.  

When the last tankard was hung and the final table wiped clean, Iseult followed Safi and the happy jingle of keys that signaled it was time to go home.  Bundled up in a dark wool coat and thick scarf, Iseult held open the door for Safi as Stix switched off the lights and filed after her.  

At some point during the night, it must have started to snow.  A light dusting of white covered the sidewalk and the cars parked along the street, and lazy, slow-falling snowflakes floated down from the starless sky as the three of them stood outside the Cleaved Man.  After tugging the door handle and making sure it was securely locked, Stix zipped up her leather jacket and happily wished Safi and Iseult goodnight, setting off downtown. Her night was apparently just getting started.  

The sound of Stix’s boots hitting pavement echoed in the distance and Safi and Iseult turned to face each other.  For a moment they just stared at each other, both looking as tired as the other one felt. Everywhere else on their block had closed up for the evening, and after a night spent in the Cleaved Man where the noise never stopped, the street sounded unnaturally quiet.  

“Home?” Safi finally asked.  It felt like forever since Iseult had heard her voice.  Big, chunky snowflakes clung to her knitted beanie.

Iseult nodded.  “Home.”

As one, the girls turned, linked arms, and set off in the direction of their apartment, leaving a trail of footprints along the snow covered sidewalk.  

It wasn’t until Iseult was lying in bed that she realized she never did see Leopold again.

[spyder-m]

Shumako Week, Day Three: In Absentia

@shumakoweek​ Day Three: Distance

AO3

Summary: “Every moment they had shared together, every bond they had forged was gone; yet his memories of her remained intact. The world was holding her at a distance from him, daring him to reach out and cross the threshold.” New game+, Makoto (re)awakening her Persona.

.

She was shadowing him again.

Morgana had spotted her from his bag one day. Trailing closely behind as they made their way out of Shibuya station. 

Ren had already known, of course. After all, it was around June, right after they'd changed Madarame's heart.

Just like before.

The first time, Ren had been surprised.

With his Third Eye growing stronger after every use, and their time spent crawling through palaces overrun by Shadows, Ren had noticed her easily.

Not that the prim student council president was particularly well hidden, with her face buried behind a thick manga volume.

He'd have thought someone of her apparent intelligence could come up with a subtler way of tailing them.

His lips pulled into a smile, a familiar, flutter of warmth rising in his chest.

Having grown closer to her over the course of a year, he'd come to learn that it was a glimpse into a side of Makoto not many people knew. Makoto who was endearing and, despite her studies, in many ways, quite unfamiliar with the world.

It was the side of her he had come to fall for. 

He wondered if there was a part of her that had, to some degree, enjoyed the prospect of staking out the Phantom Thieves. As if it was something out of Like a Dragon, or one of those detective novels she loved so much.

Though, the memory brought Ren pain, almost as much as it did happiness; serving as a reminder of what he'd lost the first time around.

Every moment they had shared together, every bond they had forged was gone; yet his memories of her remained intact.

The world was holding her at a distance from him, daring him to reach out and cross the threshold. It took every ounce of restraint within Ren to not approach her.

Things needed to play out as they had before.

His heart was aching to hold her like he had that night Crossroads, or on the couch in his room. To tease her and watch her face break into its adorable pout. To be her study partner.

But, they didn't know each other like that. Not yet.

He had only spoken to her briefly in the library, watching her carefully across from the study desks. Pretending as thought he'd been staring into space if his gaze lingered too long and their eyes met.  

He could faintly sense the voice inside. The strangled calls of her true self, desperate to find its way out. The potential had always existed inside her, to fight against the injustices hidden in plain sight. But she was still too afraid, too weighed down by feelings of helplessness, too pressured stay the course set out before her.

Having already experienced it once before, Ren truly understood the depths of her struggle. Feeling much more patient and tolerant of her presence than Ann or Ryuji.

.

The transfer student was definitely suspicious. That much Makoto was certain of. 

There had always been rumours of abuse surrounding Kamoshida. The physical condition of his volleyball team, his altercation with Sakamoto. But because of the reputation he afforded the school, people kept quiet.

It wasn't until Amamiya-kun turned up and was threatened with expulsion that something changed. Even Makoto, who had held suspicions, had been powerless to do anything.

Despite his quiet disposition, he stood out.

He spent most of his time with Sakamoto and Takamaki, two of Kamoshida's victims. With Takamaki also being close to Suzui; the second-year who had tried to take her own life under the anguish of the volleyball coach’s abuse.

The motive was there.

Makoto had no doubt that those three were the Phantom Thieves.

But for now, all the evidence she had was circumstantial. She needed something solid if she wanted to secure her letter of recommendation from Principal Kobayakowa.

Sakamoto was pretty loud. Perhaps if she set her phone to record, she could catch them in the act. But she would need to be careful.

The transfer student seemed much craftier than he left on.

"Niijima-senpai? Is there something I can help you with?"

Makoto's stomach lurched, startled by the sudden, instrusive voice. She stumbled, almost losing her footing and the grip on her manga.

"A-Amamiya-kun. My, what a coincidence."

He watched her with a wry smirk, dark, messy bangs casting shadows over his eyeline. Makoto flushed, the intensity of his gaze penetrating through her, her words holding little weight. Had he known she was there the entire time?

He extended his hand, offering to help right her.

"Are you alright? You should be more careful."

"O- Oh. I simply lost track of where I was going. I was just enjoying this manga too much."

Cocking his head, Amamiya reached out, clasping the book by its spine and gently prying it from her hands. Makoto, though taken back, didn't resist, her grip easily loosening. Strangely, for all her suspicion, all the gossip surrounding him, Makoto felt as though she could trust him.

With a chuckle, he turned the manga right-side up before returning it back to her grasp.

"I'll bet you were."

Their fingers brushed momentarily, the sensation jolting through Makoto's entire body. It seemed to pull at something deep within her. The spark of a memory. Faint whispers of those same fingers, catching in her hair, and caressing her cheek.

His voice broke through her reverie, rooting her back to the present.

"I'll see you soon, Makoto." He uttered.

Makoto swallowed as he turned to leave; a flurry of thoughts overwhelming her.

She had been so engrossed in tailing Amamiya that she hadn't noticed that she had been holding the manga volume had been upside down. The mistake had completely given her away.

Somehow though, despite catching her, Amamiya hadn’t seemed upset. It was strange. The rumours had painted him as short-tempered, likely to lash out at anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way.

Yet, his expression, his entire demeanour seemed... light-hearted and playful. There was an intimate, teasing nature to his actions, one that surprised her.

Perhaps the most baffling was the way that he had addressed her, his senior, in such a familiar, informal manner. It was disrespectful, improper. Yet, somehow it stirred fondness rather than anger within her.

Makoto’s cheeks darkened, embarrassment seeping into her skin. She normally prided herself on being collected and mature, an example for her peers and kohai. How was it he managed to fluster her so easily?

The sensation, oddly, wasn't entirely alien. It held a familiarity, a longing from deep inside her

Perhaps what stood most of all, was the way her name carried so naturally from his lips; as if he'd said it a thousand times before.

There was a look in his eyes of genuine adoration as he spoke, an expression she’d almost lost of sense of. It was one that existed in the deepest recesses of her memory, only to have faded with them. She could see it in the warmth of her father, of an earlier, almost ethereal vision of her sister; long lost. It had been so long since she could remember such affection being directed at her.

The gesture felt undeserved, as if misplaced. In a sense, it was. Intended not for her, but the things she would do, the person she would become.

With an exhale, Makoto dusted herself off, slipping the book into her bag.

Her fingers were still tingling from where he his hand had touched them.

.

In an instant, it all came flooding back.

The sensation that had started as trickle was now flowing freely through Makoto, as the voice spoke clearly to her.

Power. The means with which to finally rise against the injustice that lorded over her.

It returned to her.  

The engine roared into life as Makoto cut through shadows with a cloud of Frei. Her persona shifted easily beneath her, as she turned and weaved with precision.

Noticing she had brought the others enough time to regroup, Makoto turned back to join them. Skidding to a halt right beside Joker, she slid perfectly into formation.

As the flames engulfing her simmered out and she raised her fists, Makoto found Joker through her periphery and felt her breath hitch.

The stark white of his mask accentuated the wonder, the utter adoration coating his intense, grey orbs. Ren could hardly contain the relief, the joy that flooded through him as Makoto awoke, finally finding herself again.

The same eyes that had been such an enigma to her, Makoto recognised. The expression she couldn't quite place and had filled her with doubt, now felt honest, genuine, as though reaching to her very core.

Slowly, gradually, the pieces fell back into place.

Overwhelmed, Makoto could feel her own throat tightening, and eyes beginning to bead. 

For a moment, amidst the turmoil that surrounded them, they stepped towards one another, determined to cross the threshold that persisted for so long.

It was exhilarating, freeing. To have finally severed the chains that held her in place.

To have finally returned to her true self.  

[halfway-happyyy]

Anywhere I go, There You Are

Anonymous request: So, seeing as we’re both from Canada, I figured that you might be willing to write something where Bill’s girlfriend is Canadian & she goes to Sweden with him for the first time (maybe her first impression when they arrive in Stockholm is: ‘well, the cold weather’s definitely familiar to me’). Anyway, he takes her on a series of mini dates which revolve around sightseeing/relaxation; then, for the last one, he takes her on a very fancy dinner & proposes.

Disclaimer: Sorry in advance if you aren’t Canadian! Just close your eyes and picture yourself surrounded by a bunch of igloos and majestic moose, sipping on a large double-double coffee with two creams that you paid for in loonies, with a bowl of steaming poutine sitting next to you! 🍁🇨🇦💙 

It starts off as a playful conversation between two long-term lovers. You’re seated face-to-face, the only source of light in the darkened room emanating from varying degrees of melting candles. “If you could have anything for Christmas this year, what would it be?” Bill’s arm is slung over the back of your wooden chair, his other hand resting loosely around the stem of a white wine glass.

You push the almost empty plate of food out of your way and steeple your hands under your chin. “This is a loaded question.”

Bill shakes his head grinning, he lifts the glass to his lips and takes a hearty sip. “Its not, because I have a feeling I know exactly what you’d like. I’d like to hear you say it.”

You take a sip of your own wine, savoring the slightly bitter tannin against your tongue and set the glass down with a resounding clank against the marble tabletop. “I’d like to travel to Sweden with you. More specifically, Stockholm. You’ve been home to Canada with me a few times. You’ve met my family and vice versa, but it’s just… time.”

Bill tips the last of the wine into his open mouth, his gaze lingering on yours. “Well,” He beams brightly and produces two folded sheets of paper from his denim pocket. “I can’t even begin to fathom how much more beautiful Stockholm will be with you in it.”

Eleven hours and thirty minutes, and you don’t think you’ve ever been more excited to travel to a place in your life. Just as you begin your descent into Stockholm, Bill turns to you and murmurs, “I should warn you that it’s not very warm this time of year…”

You cock your eyebrow in mock surprise and fold your arms over your chest matter-of-factly. “Were you aware that the coldest day ever recorded in Canada was -63°C? We live for the cold. It’s what makes us Canadian.”

Bill tilts his head back and elicits a laugh, nodding his head. “Fair point, my love.”

Stepping foot into the Stockholm Arlanda airport is a welcome reprieve from any of the airports back home; there isn’t a single person gawking embarrassingly at Bill, there are no tacky cameramen or autograph hunters. It’s delightfully peaceful and Bill is absolutely reveling in it. Retreating out into the evening Stockholm air, you’re quite prepared to pull your jacket tighter around your body but when you realize that it’s actually only -2°C, you turn to Bill. “This? This is your perception of cold?”

Bill’s green eyes widen and he throws his hands into the air. “When you’re used to the climate in California anything below zero is considered cold!”

Though it’s incredibly dark out, and Bill’s brother Sam is driving inherently fast, it’s easy to see how beautiful the city of Stockholm truly is. You can’t help but feel utterly giddy about what Bill and his family have in store for the next two weeks. When you arrive to Bill’s mothers house in the south of city, she is still awake and standing on the porch outside the house. Sam exits the car and heads to the trunk to grab your luggage but Bill’s already halfway up the sidewalk. You stay behind to help Sam with the bags, but he simply smiles and gestures to his mother. “She’s been waiting weeks to see you both. Go on.” You watch in awe as My cradles Bill’s head between her hands and kisses both of his cheeks passionately. He gives her hug and makes way for you, which she does a variation of the same greeting. “So happy to finally have you both here.” She smiles warmly at you and leads the way into the brightly lit house.

You’re pretty much dozing off on the couch to the sounds of Bill, Sam and his mother speaking fervent Swedish. It’s such a beautiful lull that you don’t want to leave but Bill eventually takes your hand and says, “Its been a long travel day. Let’s get you into bed love.” Bill actually drifts off to sleep before you, a small smile etched across his delicate features.

You’re jolted awake after what only feels like a few hours of sleep, to the sound of arguing in the kitchen. Tentatively, you stretch your arm over to Bill’s side of the bed, which is cool to the touch. A bright morning sun filters in through white lace curtains and you strain to make out the cacophonous voices in the distance. Bill says something in Swedish and before the sentence has even left his mouth, a female voice interrupts him. You grin in spite of yourself.

Eija.

You throw on a pair of pants and a sweater of Bill’s and pad out into the kitchen where, sure enough, Bill and his sister Eija are having a heated debate over two cups black coffee at the kitchen table. As soon as she spots you in the corner, her blue eyes light up and she excuses herself from the table to wrap her arms around you. “Y/n! So happy to see that Bill has finally brought you home to the motherland!” She tosses a cheeky wink in Bill’s direction, to which he simply rolls his eyes at. “What have you guys got on the go for today?” She asks, and returns to the table to take a sip of her coffee.

You glance expectantly over at Bill who is already shrugging his shoulders. “It’s a surprise.”

Eija nods her head, checking something on her phone. “Well as long as you’re both back here before dinner. Dad and Megan are doing a family dinner tonight.”

“Here?” You ask, slightly confused.

Bill shakes his head and removes himself from the table to rinse out his empty coffee cup. “Mum and dad live on the same block.”

You spend about an hour getting ready to go out before Bill proposes that you wander around downtown for the day, (which is exciting in itself because it means you get to shop). You’re quite content to be by Bill’s side regardless of what it is you’re doing. This occasion just happens to be particularly special because Bill is home, he is happy and you don’t know if you’ve ever seen him this relaxed. After a few hours of gallivanting around downtown (and an hour’s worth of relaxation during fika) Bill suggests you retreat to famed art hotel At Six. It’s a beautifully modern, stone structure. Seventies vinyl’s play softly in the background of the lounge; Bill glances at the menu and orders what he would like in Swedish. When it arrives to the table, it is an ornately decorated ceramic teapot. You eye it cautiously and Bill grins. “Its gin. Try it love, you’ll like it.” Sure enough, it is gin and it’s going down fast. Halfway into babbling nonsensically about something unimportant, and trying in vain to ignore the way Bill is amusedly watching you, he slides his hand over the table to cup yours. “I don’t think I could ever describe in words how happy I am that you’re here with me.” The only thing you can do is sip more of your alcoholic tea and nod your head happily. Bill’s about to order your second pot when he manages to catch a glimpse of the time on the underside of his wrist. “Shit,” He breathes out. “We’ve got to catch a taxi to dad’s.”

Stellan Skarsgård is leant against his front door, full glass of red wine wedged within his grasp. He lifts a hand in greeting, passes his wine glass to Bill and wraps you in a bear hug. When he pulls away, he’s grinning from ear to ear. “Sweden is a lot more beautiful with you in it tonight, Y/n. Come in and make yourself at home.”

It’s a full house this evening; all of Bill’s siblings are in attendance and Eija is seated next to her mother at the end of the table. You join her there, finding a seat between the two. “I should warn you now,” Eija leans in close to you so that she can whisper this into your ear. “It will inevitably get quite loud in here.” And sure enough; after the feast of pickled herring and traditional Swedish meatballs has been consumed, plates are cleared and conversations are started. Eija, who seems quite intent in not getting involved, eventually finds herself in another heated debate, this time with Alexander and Valter.

Stellan finds a seat next to you, and pours what is left of a red wine bottle into your glass. He bends his head to your ear and simply says, “I’ve taught them everything they know. I tried to teach them to question everything as children and they’ve become perspicacious, opinionated conversationalists because of it.”

You can’t help but smile softly at this. “That’s what I love so much about Bill.”

Stellan chuckles at this, clapping a broad hand over your shoulder. “Ah Billy… He’s found an absolute gem in you I’m afraid.”

The evening continues on in that fashion, late into the night. Every now and then you’ll catch a glimpse of Bill’s gaze on you from the other end of the table. It’s tentative and happy, and when you fall into bed that evening, sleepy and drunk and entirely too content, Bill wraps his strong arms tightly around your body and tells you sincerely how much he loves you.

“Bill?” You ask, sleepily.

Bill nuzzles in closer to your neck, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “What is it baby?”

“Can’t wait to marry you someday.”

A week and a half vanishes by as quickly as it had began. Lazy days spent traipsing around Stockholm, visits to the National Library of Sweden, art galleries and bars, and even lazier evenings spent in the company of family and amazing food. You were in a constant state of denial over the idea of ever leaving Sweden but somehow you knew you were going to be making trips back regularly. “You must visit again soon,” Eija pleads on your last full day there. “Honestly… just come without Bill if you want to.”

You giggle softly at this, and press a gentle kiss to the apple of her cheek. “I know I’ll be back again, Eija. You couldn’t keep me away from this exquisite country if you tried.”

You’re halfway through dessert and cocktails at the most beautiful restaurant that you’ve ever been in. Oaxen Krog is a wonderment of a building; a quaint glass encasement floating on the harbor of the Baltic sea. Your flick your gaze to Bill’s and ask teasingly, “If you could have one thing for Christmas this year, what would it be?”

Bill shifts back in his seat, the dim light of the restaurant casting him in the most beautiful glow. You study him intently from across the small table, his green eyes alight and blazing happily. “You.” He simply says. You roll your eyes with a smile but Bill stops you, shaking his head. “No, no. I don’t just mean I want you in a, ‘I want to rip the clothing from your body and have my way with you on this table here’ kind of way…” He hesitates and you can feel the heat begin to pick up in your neck and cheeks. “I mean I want you, in the most simplest of terms. I want you warm and raw, and real. I want you beside me when I wake up in the morning, and beside me when I fall asleep at night. I know how greedy this is all sounding but life is short and I’m a fucking idiot if I don’t get this out now.” Bill falters and your breath catches in your throat. “I would like to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re my best friend; I couldn’t imagine not spending the rest of my life with you. I want the fights, I want the memories, I want babies,” You laugh at this, sending a tear rolling down the length of your cheek. Bill reaches for your hand over the table, interlocking your fingers with his. “Do me the honor of being my wife.”

You’re already nodding your head before you can get the words out, wiping the tears away with the pads of your fingers. “Of course, my love.” Bill produces a ring from the pocket of his trousers, sliding it on to your finger with ease.

He comes around your side of the table and holds your head between his hands, pressing a kiss to the center of your forehead. “Look at that, huh? A Canadian getting engaged to a Swede, in Sweden.”

“Doesn’t get much sweeter than that, does it?” You giggle, peering down at the brand new breathtaking piece of jewelry on your finger.

Bill brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear, taking your hand and pressing it to his lips. “Sure as hell doesn’t, y/n.”

[soybeantree]

a grim moment - pt. 2

pairing: hyungwon x reader genre/warning: angst, mentions of death/dying word count: 7.2k+ parts: o1 | o2 description: Straddling the line between the world of the living and the world of the dead means you’re the only person who can help a devastatingly handsome reaper with an impossible task.

After one final read through of your short answers, you put your pen down and start to pack up. Three finals down and two more to go. Your brain is fried, your body is exhausted, and your emotions are a jumbled mess, but you’re still alive. Handing in the final to the TA, you take a deep breath. While you’d like to spend the remainder of the day resting, the library calls to you.  “Y/N!” You spin at your name to find Minhyuk racing down the hallway after you. He’s a gangly mess as he runs, and his face is lit with a smile. It’s infectious, and you find yourself returning it. “Hey.” He’s breathless when he reaches you. “What did you think of the final?”  “Definitely as hard as Professor Min said it would be. But it’s over now, and if I work my schedule just right, I won’t have to take another one of his classes.” You start walking again, and Minhyuk falls into step with you, chuckling.  “If I ask really nicely, will you let me copy your schedule. I don’t think I’ll survive a class with him on my own.” You chuckle yourself, as you pull your hair up into a bun. Minhyuk stops, his eyes fixed on your hands.  “Is something wrong?”  “Sorry.” He blushes. “I was just looking at your watch.” He continues on his way, but your body remains frozen while your consciousness hurtles back to that day beside the reaper. You watch the car pass by and can see the six passengers through the windows. One turns revealing a glimpse of his face, his smile. You watch the car crash and feel the moment when Minhyuk leaves this world. You’re back in the present. Minhyuk stands a few feet in front of you alive and well. He has stopped and is staring back at you. “Y/N?”

 “Sorry. I, um, I was lost in thought for a minute. What did you say?” You force your voice to be calm, even as your body quakes with the knowledge that the boy in front of you will die in three days.  “I asked if you wanted to grab lunch with me, and my friends before you lock yourself in the library. I don’t think you’ve met them yet.”  “Maybe next time.” You attempt a smile and manage a grimace. Though if they’re who you think they are there might not be a chance for a next time. Like Minhyuk, they may all be dead in three days. The thought hits hard, but you force yourself to remain standing. “I should get going.” Without giving him a chance to respond, you spin on your heel rushing down the hallway. The minute you pass through the main doors, you take off. You’re feet pound across pavement as your body threatens to collapse. Not Minhyuk. Not the boy who smiles everyday and does everything to bring a smile to those who need one. Not the boy who saves you a seat whenever you’re running late. Not the boy who brings coffee to class because he knows you spent the whole night studying. Not him and his friends.  You run until you reach the park where you’d stood with the reaper three days before. Rasps of breath fill the air as you recover from your dash and the shock of everything. Tears well in your eyes, blurring the world around you and reminding you of the world of the dead, the world Minhyuk will soon enter. You want to scream and kick and hit, but there is nothing to hit or kick and your voice won’t make a sound. Instead, you stand and as silent tears stream down your cheeks.  Your life or theirs. Your life or theirs. The words have been your constant companion for the past two days. Even as you study and sit for your finals, the words whisper through your mind. The words change now. Your life or Minyuk’s. Your life or his friends. Your death is not an absolute certainty. The reaper said you were in danger of dying, but Minhyuk and his friends, their death is certain. You watched it, felt it. It is a re-occurring nightmare that replays in your mind whenever there is a lull.  The watch weighs heavy on your hand. You raise it to eye level, and for the first time can see the names on each hand. Minhyuk, Hyunwoo, Hoseok, Kihyun, Jooheon, Changkyun. Turning your wrist over, you undo the strap and hold the face in your hand.  “You’ve made your choice.” His deep voice fills your mind, chasing away the lingering doubts.  “I know Minhyuk. He’s in two of my classes.” You begin as you replace the watch on your wrist. “I’ve never met the other five. He asked me to grab food with them today. I couldn’t do it.” Your voice warbles, and you breath deeply to steady it. “I couldn’t sit across from them, knowing they would die soon. I won’t let them die.” You turn to face him. He’s as elegant as ever in his three piece suit, not a wrinkle in sight. But, there’s something different about him today, a lightness in the way he stands, an ease in his face. “What’s our first step? I’m assuming it’s not as easy as telling them they’re going to die in three days if they get in that car.” He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t change anything. Death would still find a way to take their lives. Death always claims what belongs to it.”  “Then what do we do? If Death always gets its way then how are we supposed to save them?” Frustration laces your words. When he came to you for help, he made it seem like he had some grand plan in place and all you had to do was play your part.  “I was hoping you would know.”  You snort in disbelief. ‘Me.’ You mouth pointing at yourself. “How the hell am I supposed to know? You’re the damn reaper. Didn’t you go to reaper school or something.”  “As a reaper, you are taught how to keep order not break it. And you, you’ve cheated Death before and lived.” He pauses, his eyes gaze off and his shoulders fall, and you remember the look on his face when he watched his friends die. As imposing and fierce as he appears, he is just a boy trying to save his friends.  Clearing your throat, you break the silence and draw his attention back to you. “You mentioned that before, but I don’t remember ever doing that.”  “It was when you were little. You went on a hike with your parents. You were playing to close to the edge of the cliff-”  “I fell.” You remember the day. Your mom had scolded you not to play too close to the edge, but seven year old you thought you were invincible. It had rained that morning and the stone was slick. You’d slipped and fell backwards.  “You should have died.”  “There was a man at the base of the cliff. He saw me falling and caught me. We were both in the hospital for a week. I broke my arm and my leg and cracked his ribs and skull, but we both lived. Was he supposed to die that day too?” He shakes his head. “His time hasn’t come yet.” The knowledge brings a smile. After you two were discharged, you never saw the man again. You’re glad to know that he’s still alive.  “I lived because someone who wasn’t supposed to die interfered at the moment of my death.” You whisper as your mind mulls over the information. “Put like that I guess it’s pretty simple what I have to do.”  “They die in a car accident. How are you going to interfere at the moment of their death?” That part wasn’t as simple. Coming between a little girl and the ground was less dangerous than coming between two speeding cars.  “I just figured out what I have to do. Can you give me a minute to figure out how?” The words bite as fiercely as the wind, and you regret their harshness as he retreats into himself. You huddle deeper into your jacket and clear your throat. “I doubt I’ll figure it out standing here freezing to death. There’s a little hole in the wall place near here that makes great soup - not that you eat - but I do and food always helps me think better.”  “Are you asking me out on a date?”  “What? No! I-” And that’s when you catch him smirking. “I didn’t realize reapers could joke.”  “The longer you’re a reaper, the less human you become which only makes sense. Why does a reaper need to have human tendencies? They only get in the way of doing your job.”  “And sometimes those tendencies keep you from doing your job.” You two have started walking, but he stops a moment before smiling and shaking his head. His smile is a small thing, but it transforms his face completely.  “How long have you been a reaper?” The question has nagged at you since you found out what he is.  “A years.”  “Does that mean you died a year ago?” He shakes his head, and you fall silent. “It’s not painful to talk about. I’ve accepted I’m dead, and being a reaper isn’t bad. People misunderstand reapers and our job. We don’t kill people. We’re there to help them when they die. Without us, they would endlessly wander the world of the dead and never find peace.” You’ve seen the world of the dead, a dark empty place filled with the blurs of the living. Wandering it for eternity would be the worst kind of hell.  “Did you choose to be a reaper?”  He nods. “I want to be there for my friends when their time comes. I just don’t want it to be now.”  “And it won’t.” You promise if only to bring back his little smile. “I won’t let it be now.”  “Don’t say anything more.” You start to turn. “Don’t look at me. Keep walking. Don’t turn to the left or the right. Just continue forward.” His words quicken your heart and release a burst of adrenaline, but you force yourself to remain calm and continue walking. Rounding the corner, a woman stands in your path. She wears a perfectly tailored three piece suit, her face is smooth as glass, and her hair is coiffured in a severe bun. While she lacks the elegance of your reaper, she is a reaper just the same. Squaring your shoulders, you continue forward and straight through her without flinching. You force your gaze forward as you head towards the soup shop.  A warm blast of air hits you as you enter, and your shoulders fall as you sigh. The owner greets you with a smile and tells you to take your usually table in the back while she gets your soup. Unwinding your scarf, you drape it on the back of your chair before plopping onto it. You rub at your face and take a series of deep breaths.  “Are you okay?” Your head whips up.  “What just happened? Why was she there?”  “I told you Death likes order. I thought I was being careful, but it seems I’ve drawn their attention to you. If you see another reaper, will you know?” You shake your head. “Good. Just pretend you don’t see them. No matter what they do, just pretend they’re not there. If they find out you know about us, you’ll be in danger. You also shouldn’t wear that anymore.” He indicates the watch, and you instinctively pull your wrist against your chest.  “I thought you said that there wasn’t any danger in me wearing it.”  “There is no danger in wearing it, but if a reaper sees you wearing it, you will be in danger.” You pull your wrist away and glance at the face. The names on the hands glare back at you. Without a word, you undo the latch and hand the watch over.  “How will I contact you without it?”  “I’ll come when it’s safe.”  “What if it’s never safe? I can’t do this alone.”  “You won’t I promise.” His eyes hold yours, and instead of pulling you into the dark void, they anchor you. Before you can respond, he’s gone. The owner comes with your soup, fussing over how skinny you are and how tired you look. You smile at her and thank her for her concern, but your mind is elsewhere as you contemplate how to trick Death.

Finals come to an end, leaving you with one day left before Death claims Minhyuk and his friends. The reaper has yet to return, but his brethren are everywhere. They haunt your paths, and while you do your best to ignore them, it’s no easy task, especially when they pop in out of nowhere. The worst moment had been while you were in the library studying. You’d glanced over at your computer to find a reaper standing in it. By some miracle, you had kept yourself from screaming. But, you’d had to move your computer to use it.  Their constant presence has made devising a plan difficult that and the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing. You have a plethora of questions for the reaper, but with no way to ask them, you fester over the problem. Minhyuk has texted you several times, asking to get drinks to celebrate the end of finals, and each time you come up with an excuse why you can’t. You’re running out of excuses and time. If you could just lock them all up until the end of tomorrow, you would, but you know it would be useless. The reapers who surround you would interfere, and all of your lives would be forfeit. You have to trick Death at the moment of their deaths.  Not knowing what else to do, you return to your coffee shop. Your favorite spot affords a perfect view of where everything will happen as well as the spot you stood with the reaper when he showed you. Your eyes travel to that spot wondering if he’ll be there, if he watches this spot like you. But all you see are the living.  “I knew you’d be here!” Minhyuk’s voice breaks through your revere and sends your heart racing.  “Minhyuk. Hey.” Your greeting is flat, and the way his face falls let’s you know that you’re not the only one who thinks so. He pouts and doesn’t take the seat across from you despite his hand resting on the back of it. “Sit.” You gesture to the seat, but he remains standing. “Please.” You add with a forced smile. He finally does and places a coffee on the table for you. The gesture twists your heart. “Thank you.” You whisper as you pull the cup closer to you. Your eyes drift back to the window and to the spot where Minhyuk will die in less than a day. Tears well in your eyes, so you close them before they can fall.  “What’s wrong?” His voice is soft and sweet, and you can hear his little lisp as he speaks.  “I’m just-“  “If that sentences ends with tired just stop right now. You’re not just tired. Even when you’re tired, you still talk to me, and you’ve been avoiding me.”  “Tell me about your friends.” The spot on the street still holds your gaze, but out of the corner of your eye, you catch him shifting in his seat.  “Why do you want to know about them?”  “I saw you with them the other day, and you all seem so close. I was just wondering how long you’ve known them and why you haven’t mentioned them before.” The lie comes easily.  “Ah...” he pauses for a minute. “We’ve known each other since middle school. We’ve always been close, but a year ago...” he pauses again, his voice thick, and your eyes leave their spot on the road to watch him. “Something happened, and we all lost touch for a bit. But, we’re better now and going forward we’ll be by each other’s sides no matter what.” His smile returns, but its light is dimmer now.  “I’m sorry. Whatever you went through must have been hard. I’m glad to know you’re better now.” He nods pulling at the straw in his drink. You want to ask him more to know if the event he refers to is the reaper’s death. You want to know who the reaper was, what his name was, and why his death tore them apart instead of bringing them together. But you don’t. You don’t want that smile to dim further. Not today, when today may be his last day.  “We should celebrate the end of finals.” You announce breaking Minhyuk out of his gloom. Minhyuk huffs and shakes his head at you. You blush and clear your throat. “I know, I know. I have no right to suggest a celebration after I’ve ignored all of your attempts, but can’t you just accept my apology and we celebrate together?”  “You haven’t apologized.” He points out.  “I’m sorry.” You add extra cheese to your smile, and he laughs, nodding his head in acceptance.  “Fine. But I already have plans to celebrate with my friends tonight. But, I don’t think they’d mind if you tag along.” Your smile falters, but as it does, a determination solidifies in your gut. Tomorrow will come, and it’s outcome may be inevitable, but tonight you can change.  “I’m in. When are you meeting up with them?”  He checks his imaginary watch, his face twisting in thought. “Now.” He chuckles. You blink at him as he stands up and comes around to your side of the table. “Come on. You said you’d come.” He pulls on your arm, jumping and pouting. The other patrons eyes him, but his antics bring you laughter. Standing, you barely have time to slip on your jacket before he is dragging you out of the coffee shop. You glance once more down the road and make a silent promise. Down the street from your coffee shop is a pub much frequented by college students. The door sticks whenever you try to open it, and you often have to shove it open with a shoulder. But the extra work is worth it when the first whiff of food reaches your nose. The pub has the best local brews on tap, but what it’s truly famous for is its kitchen and the little old lady who works in it. She’s the owners wife, though everyone calls her ma, and she has fed generations of college kids. She calls them her children and never lets any of them leave hungry. It’s here that Minyuk’s friends have gathered. They sit in the booth at the far back corner of the pub, but their presence is palpable from the moment you enter. You hear their laughter first before they come into view. They’re an eclectic group. The two biggest sit at the end, a wall between their friends and the rest of the pub’s patrons. However, despite how muscular the two are, they aren’t intimidating. One looks like a giant teddy bear and the other has a smile nearly as infectious as Minhyuk’s. Two others sit nursing their beers while the third tells a story, his face morphing to match the ridiculous voices of his characters.  Minhyuk clears his throat as he approaches, drawing their attention to the two of you. He introduces you first and then his friends. You know their names. They are etched into your memory as clearly as they are on the clock hands. Hyunwoo is the teddy bear, Wonho, the one with the smile. Jooheon is the one making faces. Kihyun smiles at you politely, and Changkyun stands up and bows formally. Minhyuk explains that he’s just weird. The five make room for the two of you and order another round of drinks.  Two drinks in, and you feel like you have been friends with these boys all your life. They tell you stories of their high school days, and you nearly choke on your beer. They were reckless, and you wonder how they lived to college. Sitting with them, your mind refuses to believe what tomorrow will bring. Nothing could remove the brightness of these boys’ souls from this world. They belong here with their laughter and their zest for life.  After the third drink, your bladder prompts you to stand from the table. The boys are quick to move out of your way. Changkyun even takes your hand to lead you around the booth until you stand on the outside. You chuckle at his antics and promise you’ll be back soon. Halfway to the bathroom, you trip on your own feet and fly face first towards the floor. Someone catches you before impact and places you back on your feet.  “Thank you.” You smile as your eyes focus on your savior. “Reaper!” You gasp as you recognize the smooth features and three piece suit. “What are you doing here? What if the other reapers see? Wait. How did you catch me?”  “Do you really think this is a good idea?” He hisses.  “You answer my questions first.” You wag your finger in his face as you sway from side to side.  “You’re drunk.”    “Damn right I am. Do you know what I’ve been dealing with the past three days? And where have you been while I’ve been trying to figure out a way to save your friends? Hmmm?” He hushes you and pulls you through the wall and into the bathroom. That sobers you, and you step back as your stomach roils.  “What just happened? How did you do that?”  “Drinking loosens your grip on the world of the living, just like when you’re exhausted.”  “Okay, but never do that again.” You threaten as you crouch down and lower your head between your legs.  “Are you okay?”  “I’m drunk and was just pulled through a wall. What do you think?”  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, but people were coming.” He looks away from you, but your eyes stay on him. The world whirls around you, but he stands still in the center of it all.  Breathing deeply, you sit back and examine your reaper. No longer does he wear his impassive mask. Worry creases his brow while a frown pulls down the bow of his lips. Your hand itches to smooth the wrinkles and curve the bow into a smile. But the watch hanging on his wrist stills all thoughts. Its tick, tick, tick chases away the last of your buzz, leaving you tired. You meet his eyes and in a whisper say, “I know what tomorrow is. I know what will happen. But I don’t know how to stop it.” A sob chokes you as you admit the truth. You bury your face in your knees, letting your hair form a curtain around you. You can’t look at him. You don’t want to see his face. “If tonight is their last night, I want it to be a celebration.” Tears gurgle your words, but the gentle hand on your shoulder let’s you know he heard.  Peaking through your hair, you glimpse his face. Gone is the worry, replaced with defeat. You can see it in the way his shoulders slump and the way his chest rises and falls. The movements are slow and shallow as if he no longer has the strength to breath.   “I’m sorry.” The words are his. Pushing back your curtain of hair, you stare at him more fully. He takes a seat next to you, mirroring your posture. His long legs stick out at awkward angles as he pulls them to his chest. For a moment, you glimpse the man he was. You can imagine him as a gangly teen hanging out with Minhyuk and the others ready to get into mischief. “I shouldn’t have come to you. I knew it was a long shot. I was selfish and didn’t care how much it could hurt you.” His voice is a deep whisper, soothing your frazzled mind. You reach over and lace your fingers through his. His hand dwarfs yours, and the feeling eases the weight on your shoulders, reminding you that your hands aren’t the only ones carrying this burden.  “Even if you shouldn’t have told me, I don’t regret that you did and I don’t blame you for how I feel. Minhyuk is my friend too, and now the rest of them are. Even if I can’t save them at least I know I tried.” A tear slips down your cheek. His finger is light against your skin as he brushes it away.  You smile at him before leaning your head against his shoulder. The stress of the week and all your worries mix with the alcohol to lull you into a half sleep. Your hand remains in your reaper’s as he rubs small circles on the back of it.  “You don’t need to worry anymore.” He whispers, brushing your hair off your face. “When my friends go, I’ll go with them, and I’ll take your memories with me, so don’t worry anymore okay?”  “Mm.” You mumble snuggling against his neck. A pounding wakes you, and you find yourself alone in the bathroom, propped up against the wall. Minhyuk’s shouts can be heard through the door, threatening to come into the bathroom if you don’t come out. Pushing yourself to your feet, you pull open the door to stop your friend from getting himself in trouble. With a start, you realize he’s not alone. Hyunwoo stands behind him, and the look on his face lets you know that Minhyuk wouldn’t have charged into the bathroom alone. You apologize profusely, telling them you fell asleep. They decide that means it’s time to call it a night. You argue against the decision, but it’s six against one. They walk you back to your apartment and wish you goodnight while promising to get home safely. Watching them walk away, you almost wish they wouldn’t. If something happened to them tonight would that mean that they wouldn’t die tomorrow?  Entering your apartment, you throw your purse on the floor and trudge to your bed collapsing on it. You stare at the ceiling as tears race down the sides of your face. Your mind is full of their smiles and laughter and the crazy stories they have, but overlaying each happy memory is the image of their car tumbling over and over and the feeling as each of their souls leaves this world. All you have to do is interfere at the moment of death, but how do you interfere in a car accident? The thought chases itself through your mind, lulling you into oblivion. Music blares from your phone, pulling you out of sleep. Sunlight fills your room, and you wonder when the sun rose. Your phone continues to sing to you, so you slide your finger across it and bring it to your ear. “Hello?”  “Wow, you sound horrible. Did you sleep at all last night?” Minhyuk chirps at you, and his voice is so bright and cheerful it makes your insides twist.  “I can’t remember.” You croak.  “I was calling to see if you wanted to get breakfast with us where going to that dinner down the street from the coffee shop you like, but I think you should just go back to sleep.”  “By the coffee shop? Are you driving there?” Your voice quavers with panic, and your hand shakes so much that you can barely keep the phone against your face. Silence fills your ear. “Minhyuk!”  “Calm down.” He chuckles. “Hoseok was talking to me. I’ve got to go. Hyunwoo just pulled the car around. Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you later.”    “No! Minhyuk! No!” But the line is dead. “Minhyuk. Minhyuk.” You fumble with your phone as you call him back. Your call goes straight to voice mail as does your second and third. “No. No. No.” You whisper as your clock flashes the time at you. How could you have fallen asleep? How could you have wasted so much time? You try to call again as you throw on shoes and a jacket but still no answer. You have to get to the coffee shop. You have to stop this from happening.  Hyolyn is coming out of her apartment as you race down the stairs. In your mad dash, you plow right into her. Both of you go flying as do your purses and everything in them. You stutter out an apology as you shove everything back in your purse. Her keys sit next to your foot, and as you reach for them your mind starts turning over an idea. Hyolyn hasn’t noticed the keys yet. She’s still busy collecting everything else. Your hand closes over the keys, pulling them to your chest. With a final apology, you race past her. What your about to do is illegal and crazy and stupid, but with any luck it’ll work.  Hyolyn’s car is older than both of you and wears its years without grace, making it easy to spot parked on the curb of your building. You hurry to it and start it up before Hyolyn makes it out of the building to find you stealing her car. You make a silent promise to pay her back and speed away towards the coffee shop. Your eyes shift between the road and the clock, and you push the gas a little harder, zooming between the cars around you.  “Stop the car.” The words jolt you and nearly send you swerving into the car on your left.  “What the fuck?” You screech at your reaper who now sits in the passenger seat. “Can’t you see I’m driving?”  “Stop the car now!” You remain silent as you continue to switch between lanes. “What the hell are you thinking?”  “You asked for my help, and I’m helping.”  “I also told you not to worry, but you’re choosing to ignore that.”  “I can’t let them die.”  “So you’re going to die instead?” His voice is a slap to your conscious, and your foot eases off the gas.  Taking a deep breath, you swallow the lump in your throat and continue. “I might not die. The man who saved me didn’t die. We both survived that. All seven of us might survive this.”  “You were a little girl who fell on him. These are cars colliding. You really think you’ll survive this?”  “If I stop now, they die.”  “And if you continue, you die.”  “You warned me helping them could lead to death.” You reason with him and yourself. “I knew the consequences when I agreed.”  “This isn’t what I was talking about. There was the possibility that Death would learn what we planned and send the reapers for you. You’ve escaped the reapers’ notice. You’re in no danger now, so stop the car.” He lungs across the car to pull your hands off the wheel, but his hands pass straight through you.  “I’m fully in the world of the living. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.” The coffee shop looms before you, and the clock ticks away.  “Y/N, look at me.” The way he says your name breaks your heart, but you refuse his request. “I won’t let you take my memories.” He growls, and you know if he could he would pound the dash. “What do I look like to you?” The question is pointless, but you need a distraction.  “What? What does that matter? Stop the car!” “Everything looks blurry in the world of the dead. Do I look blurry to you?”  “You’re vibrant.” His voice pulls your eyes to him and nearly robs you of your resolve.

“Y/N, please.” He pleads. Closing your eyes, you push on the accelerator. Tears stream down your face as the car lurches forward coming abreast with the boys’ car. The moment of death, you can’t interfere until the moment of death or your sacrifice will be useless. “Stop the car!” He screams as the car in front of you runs the red light. You thrust your foot against the accelerator, peeling out in front of the boys. You hear their tires squeal then the ear shattering screech of metal pushed beyond its limit then nothing. The world goes silent around you.

The void surrounds you, and this time your reaper is not there to center you. You are alone surrounded by black nothingness, but the fear you had before no longer exists. You exist in this void free from all emotion. You’re waiting. For what, you don’t know, but you know you must wait. 

Steps sound behind you and beside you and all around. Whirling, you search for their source, but nothing disrupts the blackness. It continues in an unbroken ribbon around you. The foot steps stop. You are not alone. A woman stands before you hunched over a cane, but when you blink, you realize you were wrong. She is a young man with an inquisitive brow. You blink again and he is both man and woman. You blink again and they are neither. “You’re Death.” Your voice echos through the void, and the being in front of you smiles and nods. “So I died.”

The beings shakes its head. “So I’m alive.” The being shakes its head again. 

“The void exists between life and death.” It’s voice is deep and soft but loud and forceful. It surrounds you and resounds inside of you. “You Are neither alive nor dead, so you exist within the void.”

“Will I die?” It tilts its head and fixes you with a cursory gaze. 

“Do you want to die?” The question is simple curiosity, and you find you don’t know how to answer. “I wouldn’t mind if you did. Twice you have eluded me. Once happens. I’m quite busy. The dead far out weight the living after all. But twice.” Death tsks at you, and the emotions you thought you were free of return. Worry creeps through your veins. Death likes order. Your Reaper had reminded you many times.

“Will I die?” You ask again. Dying doesn’t worry you, but Death does. The look in its ever shifting eyes leaves you with a sense of unease. Your Reaper said that without guidance souls would wander the world of the dead forever. Would Death leave you to wander as penance for your defiance? “Can I become a reaper?” 

A slow smile splits Death’s face. “You wish to join my reaper.” Death waves a hand, and your Reaper is before you. He stands still in his three piece suit, his face masked once more. You call to him, but he doesn’t hear you. You take a step towards him but find yourself no closer to him. Death waves a hand again, and he’s gone. You stand, staring at the empty spot. 

“I can make you a reaper.” His offer is a choice. 

“I don’t have to die.” You meet Death’s gaze, “I’ve asked you twice if I will die and twice you have avoided the question. You offer me the chance to be a reaper, but I don’t have to take it. I don’t have to die. I can live.”

Death nods. “Order sits upon a fulcrum. As you were not supposed to die this time, you won’t have to die, but as you were supposed to die before, you should die. Order would accept either.”

“And my friends?” 

Death shrugs. “They didn’t die. I have no right to them.”

“So I can live?”

Death nods. “But order must be restored.” You blink at that. “The living have no part in the world of the dead. If you choose to live, you will be fully in the world of the living with no memory of my world and only death will bring you back to it. Your clock will start again.”

Life is the obvious choice. Life with your family and your friends and all the possibilities that lay before you. It’s what you would have had if your reaper hadn’t come to you. But despite the obviousness of the choice, you don’t make it. Not yet. You pause and think of your reaper. He would want you to choose life. He had begged you to choose life, but still you hesitate. For the rest of your life, you will never see him again. You will never remember him. He stole your memories once, and their absence had gnawed at you, robbing you of sleep and leaving you a shadow of yourself. Could you live that way the rest of your life, knowing you are missing something, feeling half-formed?

“Will my reaper always be a reaper?”

“No.” Death shrugs. “No reapers remain for all eternity. All who were once living must pass on eventually.”  

“When would he?”

“Whenever he chooses.” His words from the bar come back to you. He’ll go when his friends come. You stopped their deaths. As long as they live, he will remain a reaper, alone watching over them. 

“Can I speak with him?” You want to tell him not to wait that you’ll watch over them for him, and when the time comes, you’ll all join him.

“He has no place here.”

“But you-he-” You point to the space he had occupied.

“An image pulled from your conscious.”

“So I can’t say goodbye?” The words are a whisper.

“You’ve made your choice then.”

You nod. “I want to live. 

Voices sound around you. They speak in soft whispers, their words indiscernible, and below the voices is a steady beep, beep, beep. This sound above all others keeps you from slipping back to sleep. Sleep grows further and further from you, and in its place, it leaves pain. Your chest burns with each breath and a dull pain throbs through your right arm. You try to move and adjust yourself, but your body refuses to respond.  “I think she’s awake.” A sob warps the whisper, but the words reach you. You are awake, though your eyes won’t open. “Sweetie, can you hear me?” A hand grasp your left hand. “If you can hear me, just squeeze my hand.” The task should be easy, but it takes ever ounce of your strength to curl your fingers around the hand. A sob sounds, and the hand in yours begins to shake. The other voices grow louder and closer, but you’ve used the last of your energy.  The next time you wake, you are able to open your eyes. Your mother sleeps in a chair to your left. You call to her, but your voice is a croak in the silence. She still hears it and is up and at your side in an instant. Over the next few days, consciousness returns in greater lengths. You learn you were in an accident, and that you nearly died. Minhyuk comes to see you the day after you opened your eyes. He cries when he sees you awake and runs from the room. Your mother brings him back, and he apologizes saying that it’s all his fault. He forgot his phone after he hung up with you, and he should have just told Hyunwoo to come pick you up.  Hyunwoo and the others come later that day. They bring you flowers and balloons, and all of them bare the same face as Minhyuk. They blame themselves for what happened. The crash is a blur in your memory, but you assure them it wasn’t their fault. You had been driving recklessly. If anyone is to blame, it is you. None of them accept that, and they proceed to dote on you during your stay in the Hospital. When the doctor clears you to leave, you cry in relief. Your apartment is blessedly empty, and you tell the boys that if they come over you will personally unman them. The silence in your room is a comfort, but even still it weighs heavy on your shoulders. The silence holds something a question? A memory? Whatever it is, it remains just out of your reach. When the boys invite you to their Christmas party, you gladly accept.  Getting ready is difficult. A cast still wraps itself around your right arm, and you struggle to zip up your dress. The boys said it is an informal party, but you’ve been wearing nothing but hospital gowns for the past week. You want to feel pretty tonight. Checking yourself out in the mirror, you catch a glimpse of something in the corner of your room, but when you look, you find the spot empty. Shaking your head, you slip on your jacket. You’ve had several similar instances since returning to your apartment.  Walking down the stairs, you smile at Hyolyn as she exits her apartment. Your near death experience had deflated any anger she had about you totaling her car. Plus, she had been planning on scrapping it any way. The two of you walk down the stairs together, chatting about your holiday plans and predicting what the coming semester will bring. When you walk out into the chill winter night, you find Hyunwoo waiting for you with his car. The sight sends a chill down your spine, unrelated to the winter wind, but you swallow your trepidation and smile as Hyunwoo holds the door open for you.  The party is at Hyunwoo and Kihyun’s apartment. There are more people than the seven of you. The boys have quite a collection of friends. And you find yourself keeping to the fringes of the party, exploring the boys’ apartment rather than interacting with the unfamiliar faces. As look through their bookshelves, your eye catches on a photo. Judging by the boys’ faces, it must be from their high school days. You smile as you pick out baby Changkyun and Hoseok before he started working out. Your smile falters as you notice a seventh member in the group. He’s sitting next to Minhyuk with his long legs pulled up to his chest. A lazy smile graces his face. As you stare, tears fill yours eyes.  “That’s Hyungwon.” Minhyuk’s words jolt you back to the present. You clear your throat and wipe at your eyes before he can see your tears. You don’t even know why you were crying.

“You guys seem really close with him. Why haven’t I met him yet?”

“He died a year ago.” The knowledge tugs at a memory, but when you try to grasp it, it flies away. You’re left staring at Minhyuk flapping your mouth as you try to formulate a response. Minhyuk throws an arm around your shoulder and guides you away from the picture. “We should be celebrating. You’re alive and well, and Christmas is around the corner.” You nod and let Minhyuk pull you back into the party. Neither of you notice the man standing by the bookshelf. He stands, elegant in his three piece suit. His face, smooth and crisp in its shape, holds no emotion. His arms hang languidly at his side, the thumb of his left hand loops lazily in his pocket, pushing up his sleeve and revealing the edge of a worn watch, the first of seven he will wear.

[strengthrequireskindness]

Aaaaa I wanna write a Batfam fanfic but my brain is fried

So I'm gonna post a Drabble here and see the response it gets

@this-canadian-girl and @desolationofzara this one's for you! Thanks for your help!

---

Najida sighed. Like every day before, her mother's eyes were unfocused, staring off into space. Sliding onto the bed, she leaned forward, waving a hand in front of her face. Nothing.

She didn't know why she kept hoping for a miracle. She should know by now that Gotham didn't deal in miracles. All it gave was hurt.

The doctors at Leslie Thompkins' clinic had been very clear when they said Tien Tran would never regain her memory, or even her ability to walk. The injuries to her head and spine were too severe. The once-proud Arkham guard, on a fast track to promotion, now couldn't even remember that she had a daughter. All Najida was to her was a stranger who, for some reason, was assigned to look after her.

Sure, it hurt a lot. So did knowing that she had to take care of her mother instead of getting the education she so desperately wanted. Her father had helped at first, taking a high-risk job at a new biomedical company. Apparently, high-risk involved finding your father's body in a pool of blood and a nightmare creature standing over it....

She shook her head, adjusting her hijab so it wouldn't fall in her face. There wasn't time to reminisce now. She was running late already.

Shoving the disused wheelchair in front of the door to the side, (it had broken a year ago, and they couldn't afford to replace it) she rushed out the door, snagging her heavy bag as she did so.

A blast of cold air hit her in the face as she jogged down the steps of their crappy apartment. December weather wasn't always snowy in Gotham, but it was never not freezing.

She picked up the pace a little, her borderline-threadbare jacket doing no part of its intended job.

---

Living in the Narrows sucked. The library was tiny, crime was rampant, and they had the good fortune of being smack-dab next to Arkham Asylum. But hey, Najida thought sarcastically. At least we have a coffee shop!

Personally, she hated coffee. It tasted awful no matter what you put into it. And the manager was a jerk. If so much wasn't at stake, she would definitely have quit a long time ago. But she needed the money. If she didn't have money, she and her mother would be out on the street in December weather, with nowhere else to go.

Crime wasn't an option, either. Even if she wanted to (which she didn't), she was the kid of an Arkham guard. Any gang worth their salt would kill her on the spot.

So she grit her teeth and headed in, preparing for yet another dull day as a barista at the Bat-Bean.

---

It had been a slow day. Most baristas didn't want to work on such a cold day, and the manager was off yelling at another poor employee, leaving Najida to man the counter. Even when she took a break at lunchtime and after to pray and eat, there were still no people coming in. Just a few more minutes, she told herself. Then your shift's over, and you'll be home free.

There weren't many customers, most people electing to do their Christmas shopping instead. As a Muslim, Najida was happy not to have that problem. Too much stress if you asked her.

She was surprised when the bell on the door jangled, heralding the arrival of the first and also the last customers she'd had all day. Even before the door opened, she could hear them bickering.

"Grayson, this is stupid."

"What's stupid about getting Timbo his much-needed coffee?"

"You didn't have to take me along."

Even from her position at the counter, Najida could hear the disdain in the kid's voice. Perhaps this day would actually turn out to be interesting. If nothing else, she might get to see a tantrum.

They moved up to the counter, and she was able to get a glimpse of them for the first time.

The kid was short, about ten if she had to guess. His features were Middle Eastern, but the country of origin she had no clue about. Contrary to what most people thought, the Middle East was actually a pretty big place. The glare in his eyes promised murder, though. It reminded her a little of the homicidal kids in a horror movie she shouldn't have watched when she was little.

The other customer seemed to be in his twenties. His build was sleek and muscular, without an inch of fat on him. This was a guy who definitely worked out. Black hair and blue eyes completed the look, making him seem weirdly similar to the kid next to him. Maybe they were related?

She cleared her throat, and both heads whipped around to look at her, eyes lingering on her for a bit longer than she was comfortable with.

Najida was used to stares. As a part-Pakistani, part-Syrian, and part-Vietnamese kid of immigrants, she definitely stood out. And that was even before you factored the hijab into the equation. That didn't mean she had to like the attention, though.

"Um, hi. As interesting as your argument is, do you want to order?"

The smaller customer made a noise of annoyance. "This isn't your concern, bar wench."

Najida made a similar noise of annoyance. This kid was definitely a brat. "Excuse me?"

"Damian!" The other customer sharply whacked him on the back of the head before turning to her. "I am so sorry. I swear, we raised him better than this."

"It's fine. I've heard worse."

"If you're sure." He grinned a little. "What's with the name?"

"The Bat-Bean? Oh, that's a stupid thing my manager came up with. Something about thanking Batman for what he's done. Now, I get that, but jeez, at least be creative about it!"

A small chuckle came out of his mouth. "Fair point. I'd like two Bat-Brews, please."

"All right then. I'll be just a minute."

---

The customer-Grayson, she guessed-was happy to get his drinks. "Tim's gonna love this. Thanks again..." He trailed off. "Sorry, I never got your name."

Damian snorted, but whether it was out of frustration or humor, she couldn't tell. "Her tag says Najida."

"Thank you, Damian. Najida, then. Pretty name. Arabic?"

"Yeah. Not many people know that. What's yours?"

"Richard. But people call me Dick."

Now it was Najida's turn to chuckle. "And you let them?"

As Dick sputtered, a grin like the edge of a knife cut across Damian's face. "Apparently, you're not as idiotic as you seem."

That was it. She was done with this smug little brat. "I swear, you have a gift for subtly insulting people. Now, I'm running on three hours of sleep and pure sarcasm, so either you shut up and be polite or I dump hot coffee down the back of your shirt."

"You wouldn't." Okay, he definitely looked more murdery now. Dick looked nervous, like he'd seen this sort of thing happen before and wasn't keen on how it ended. But Najida couldn't back down.

"Don't tempt me."

Dick squeezed the kid's shoulder. "Seriously, behave. That was uncalled for."

Wonder of wonders, Damian finally was quiet, but his eyes were still glaring daggers at Najida as Dick hustled him out the door.

----

It was still as cold as it had been earlier when Najida got off of her shift. Unsurprisingly, her coat was still as ineffective as it had been that morning. But now it was darker, which was bad. The dark was when the shadier side of Gotham came out to play. She had to get home quick.

Najida was four blocks away from her house when she heard it. Footsteps, loud and ominous. More than one set too. And to top it all off, they were coming from right behind her.

Her heart sped up, frantically beating in her chest like a bird against the bars of a cage. This was not good. This was very bad. A tidal wave of panic swept through her as the footsteps got closer and closer. She tugged her jacket close to her, as if it might provide some sort of protection.

It could be nothing, but she wasn't taking that chance. She sped up a little, clenching her hands into fists. She needed to get away. Just a few more blocks, and then she could lock the door and she'd be safe.

Just as she was ready to scream from the tension, it happened. Something cold, hard, and shaped like a circle pressed hard into the back of her head.

"Don't move." The voice was colder than the metal, if that was even possible. "Walk straight into the alley or I'll blow your brains out."

Trembling, Najida obeyed. It sounded childish and stupid even to her own ears, but she didn't want to die. Hell, she didn't even want to be shot. It sounded painful and scary and generally like something she wanted to avoid.

It was hesitant and small, but she finally managed to find her voice. "What do you want?"

The man lowered his gun, the pressure on her head from the weapon thankfully easing as he did so. "Turn around so I can see you."

That was definitely not a tone she liked. Not only was it threatening, it was also creepy. Reluctantly, she turned to face her attacker.

He was big and brawny, with day-old stubble, greasy hair, and a whole lot of tattoos. Bloodshot eyes looked her up and down like she was his latest catch.

Okay, bad train of thought.

Glancing at the entrance, she saw that it was blocked by several other thugs, all either muscular or with weapons. Plus, the gun their leader had was still pointed at her. So escape wasn't an option. Great. If escape wasn't possible, she really had only three other options. Give up, stall for time, or fight. Strangely, she wasn't that fond of the first one.

"What do you want?"

The leader grinned, showing a mouth full of sharp yellow teeth. "This ain't personal, kid. It's just business. Some rich guy in a suit's paying a whole lot of money for me and my boys to kill you."

He might have said more, but Najida had stopped listening. These people had been paid to kill her. Why? And for what purpose?

With a concerted effort, she managed to focus on the man in front of her. He was still smiling, to her frustration. Either her distress gave him pleasure, or he was just an idiot.

Whatever. She'd ponder the scary piece of information he'd just given her later. If there was a later. Right now, she needed to try not to die.

"Now, the suit said we had to kill you. But he also said we had to make it look messy. So this next bit's gonna be both business and pleasure for me." Tossing his gun to one of his cronies, the man in front of Najida moved forward, arms out and hands reaching for her.

This was only getting scarier by the second. She knew what was going to happen next if she didn't do something. She knew she had to fight back. But she also knew that she stood no chance against him with nothing but her tiny fists.

Okay, so she had the basic outline of a plan. Time to do what she did best and improvise.

The wooden plank was heavy in her hands as she picked it up, holding it out in front of her like a shield. Silently, she thanked whatever person threw out their empty fruit crate.

She knew she'd read something in the Quran about not harming people, and this was pretty much the exact opposite of that. But she was being marked for death by a shadowy biotechnology company. Maybe that could be an exception to the rule?

Ah, hell. He'd probably understand.

As the man lunged for her, she yelled a war cry, swinging the board with all the strength she had. It smashed over his head with a sharp crack, and he let out a howl of pain. He wobbled, swaying on his feet as the pieces of the board fell to the ground.

One minute went by, then two. At the three-minute mark, she cursed as the man struggled to a standing position, blood streaming from the top of his head and pure hate in his eyes.

Great. All she'd done was throw away her only advantage and make things worse. Still, it was better than having done nothing.

"You're dead, you bitch!" he spat. Najida's mouth went dry as she spotted a glint of silver in his hand. Of course he'd have another weapon. It looked like a knife, and a sharp one too. Or was it the gun he'd threatened her with? She didn't know. Panic tended to do things to one's memory and vision. Whatever it was he had, that man was going to kill her.

She turned her head to the sky, closing her eyes. "Yaa Allaha, yaghfir li wahramani wadaeuni tasil 'iilaa rafiq ealaa."

Oh Allah, forgive me and have mercy on me and let me reach the Companion on high.

Just as the man's hand grabbed her arm, wrenching it painfully and forcing her back into the brick, she heard it. Or rather, them.

Four soft thuds. That was all the warning she got that her world was about to change forever. Even from her uncomfortable position against the wall, she'd have a hard time not seeing the people who were dropping from the roof up above.

The first person to land was garbed in black and blue, an unmistakable chevron design across his chest and a black domino mask obscuring his identity. Two metal sticks hung in a distinctive X across his back. Nightwing.

The second person to land had a dark brown jacket, a gray uniform with a red bat insignia on the chest, and a red metal hood covering his entire head. He held two guns in his hands, the weapons trained squarely on the thugs. The Red Hood.

The third person to land didn't technically land at all. Wearing a black and red uniform, he had the same domino mask as the first person, but he also had red bladed wings stretching out from his back. He twirled a bo staff with the ease of an expert, clearly excited to fight. Red Robin.

The fourth person to land was smaller than the rest. He had a yellow and black hooded cape, green domino mask and gloves, a red tunic, gray pants, and a golden R on the right side of his chest. Two-Batarangs, she thought they were called-were in his hands, tensed and ready to let fly. Robin.

Najida's eyes widened. This just got even more serious.

(To be continued! Part 2 will be up soon!)