#NINETY-FIVE FUCKING OCS????

[nin3kyuu]

If I make another oc I think I'm to actually fucking EXPLODE

[cookie-crumblr]

I miss professor reichsgraf

GN! Bad Student Reader x Professor OC!

Minors DNI

CW: GN! Reader, reader referred to as they/them, no body descriptions for reader, lots of swearing tbh lol, reader is RUDE (just because they’re sleepy! we still stan🥰) spanking, pet names for reader(good kitten, darling), Sub!Reader, reader has hair(not described just enough to grab), fingering (not specified which hole dw), nipple play, crying reader, tetro?, overstim, dubcon(no proper safeword), sado maso, p in hole, not proofread.

(IDK i hope it turned out okay, it doesn’t seem the way i want it, but i can’t tell rn if it’s just me T.T)

“You are, quite possibly the worst student i’ve ever had the misfortune of teaching.”

You mock him on the phone with your bestie.

“Stupid ass over qualified teacher.”

“Fur reaaaalll. my gods, what an asshole!” they respond.

“It’s too bad he’s so hot. What a waste.” You resume what you were doing and hold the phone between your ear and shoulder.

“I would tap, i wonder if he’s into that like teacher/student play…” they trail off.

“Ew. please don’t fantasize about my dickwad professor. At least with me around,” You feign gagging.

The next day in class you’re slouching, hoping to the gods that he just forgets you exist so that you can try and catch up on your assignments… But Fuck it’s so hard! You don’t have time for school work when you’re home, because you’re usually sleeping, after your two jobs. And all these pompous professors do is give homework!!! ALL OF THEM.

It’s the end of the ninety minute mark and you, along with everyone else, starts packing your things.

“Y/L/N. Stay behind a minute.” Professor Reichsgraf sighs, and tosses an empty cup into the trash can.

“Uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhg!” You groan, thankfully the room is loud enough that he might not of even—

“Gods, you’d swear I told you that you’re going to jail,” He laughs. He’s sat behind the desk a little slouched like normal, head in a hand, elbow on a stack of papers (probably so it’s more comfortable) you tsk out loud at your thoughts, before pretending to yawn.

What a class A assho-

“Have a seat,” he asks.

“This will take that long??” You sigh out frustratedly.

“Gods, you young peop—”

“Oh don’t you ‘young people these days’ Me, mister!”

“It’s Doctor.”

“Oooo big dif. Fuck off” You cross your arms and roll your eyes.

He rolls his own, “Just sit.”

With a *plop*! into the seat, you do.

The professor stands, his hand lazily traces a knot in his desk as he rounds the table and approaches you slowly. “I don’t usually do this…”

“Woah, Um isn’t there like a rule against—”

“What!?” He furrows his brow then massages it quickly between his finger and thumb. “No, i’m offering to tutor you,” He sighs in annoyance.

“Oh really?” You would still really like to at least pass… “Okay fine.”

“What? really? no deals needed?” He looks you over.

shrugging, you say, “I mean what are you offering?”

“Nope, it’s a done deal, you already signed the dotted line crossed your t’s and all that.” He steps ever closer, and leans on the table you’re sat at.

“When do we start?”

~

You’ve had a few sessions with your professor but nothing seems to be working, the information just isn’t sticking until…

“Bend over.” Reichsgraf growls, head in his hand in frustration.

“Excuse me?” Your brows raise in shock.

“Bend over my knee, right now. You aren’t learning this way.”

You think at first he’s lying. Just trying to make you uncomfortable or something, maybe a bee flew into his coffee this morning so he’s taking it out on you. You don’t know. But you do it. You get down, lay over his lap and wait.

His hand massages your rump, “Now what’s the answer to number five?”

“A?”

A hand comes down onto your flesh with a *Smack!*

“Ow!” You yelp! “What the fuck!?”

“What is the answer to number five? Don’t just guess.”

“Is it not A?” You ask, it looks right… Right?

*SMACK!”

“OW!!” You yelp again, louder this time, it stings so much more the second time!

“You know the answer.”

“C!” You suddenly remember something he said about it yesterday, and he’s right, you did know the answer!

“Good job, I’m impressed.” He isn’t lying, he really is. Only two spanks on the first time? Maybe he had been hoping for more though, to be honest.

It’s a unique way to have to learn like this, but with you, he’s happy to oblige. All the time spent being frustrated that you couldn’t commit even the simplest knowledge to memory, he can finally get rid of…

“Okay now six.”

“Do we have to do the whole assignment like this?”

“Yes. Six.”

You shout, “A!”

*Smack!*

“Shit! I mean B!” You wince.

“You guessed again. Read the answer, and tell me why it’s correct.”

“Do i have to? I got it right that time.”

Suddenly the hand on your rear moves to your clothed sex, he presses down hard and trails along the divide. A gnawing heat starts to grow in your lower half quickly.

“Hey! wait-!”

“We don’t have the time. what is the answer to seven?”

“D!”

“Good Kitten,” His baritone seems even deeper somehow, as he rubs you harder, your jeans are getting too hot to bare. “We need these off.” He tugs on your back belt loop.

“Yeah…” You shock yourself when you agree so readily. You stand to unbutton them and get them off, but he slaps your hands away and takes your pants off for you.

Your body gets thrown around until your bent over the desk and the wood’s digging into your hip bones.

“Professor-!”

A growl escapes his throat. his hair is messier than usual when you turn back to look, before he grabs yours and steers you forward.

His fingers enter you first, already setting a fast pace, he curls them and scissors them; all while pistoning so fast you feel like you’re already teetering on the edge. “Such a good kitten, you’re doing so good for me,” He hums deeply in his throat.

You whine and wriggle, until he tenses his grip in your hair and on your hip. His hand fans out over your skin and gropes you the entire way up to your chest, pressing a traveling dent into your stomach and over your ribs. Your brows peak, and your mouth hangs open.

“Seven.”

“SERIOUSLY???” You stomp, way to take you out of it.

*SLAP!* Your ass was sore from the earlier abuse, to be slapped now stings so brutally!!!

“F-fuck!!” You shake.

“Seven. Now.” His hand is raised and prepped to hit you again.

You shimmy and jump, “No, no more please!!”

*SLAP!*

“AHH!” You screech! “ummm,” You read the question rapidly through bleary eyes, “D! D! It’s D!!!” You shout and writhe in his grasp.

“I’m so proud of you, I knew you could do this,” He rubs something cooling on your ass cheek and it feels so much better!

“Oh thank you thank you oh my gods.” you let out so much air you feel dizzy. His cock starts to rub against you, making your dizzy spell last longer. it’s so hot and hard and.. LONG! Holy shit it’s so long! You’re gonna be speared to death on that thing! You drool at the anticipation! “Fuck me.” You say it in a long groan as an expression but also mean it very much.

“You deserve it, you’ve been doing so good,” Holy shit, his words strike some heavenly chord that opens your pearly gates wide for him, and he enters without resistance, taking his time to really appreciate your interior.

“Holy shit!” You can’t help the obscenities, they just fall from your lips naturally, you’re so surprised at all of this, at yourself for willingly doing it, at your hot teacher for wanting you in the first place, at so many things…. Most of all at how HOT his dick is like molten lava inside you and it feels fucking DIVINE.

“You’re such a good kitten,” He rubs you as you take his length.

His movements are calculated, every single one. No matter how fast they hit your spots like a master martial artist targeting pressure points. You aren’t getting a break from his assaults every strike is a critical blow. Even when he slows down his spongey head sweetly kisses those spots igniting obscene fires that don’t have time to burn out before being reignited fully.

You’re getting close, so painfully close to a volcanic eruption, your bubbling!

“Cum for me, darling” He leans down over your back, to whisper into your ear, his voice gravely and so low.

“AHH!!!” You scream out and your whole body goes rigid and convulses, his own cum shoots inside you and you take all of it.

“So good for me, you took me so well, darling…” His eyes practically have hearts in them.

[mastermindmiko]

Drunk (Part One)

pairing: George Weasley + OC

word count: 3348

warnings: underage alcohol consumption, slightly smutty? let me know if there's anything else

my masterlist and part two

Juliette is sitting in the train on her way to Hogwarts with Malfoy, Zabini and Parkinson. She and Draco have just gotten out of the prefect’s carriage. Currently Malfoy is talking about how much he will enjoy seeing the look on Potter’s face when he sees Umbridge.

“Juliette since you sit beside me anyway you might as well see it with me.” he said

“Yeah, sure.” she replied, uninterested in the subject. She was so used to him obsessing over Potter that after some multiple love accusations she learned to drown him out as soon as he starts mentioning his name.

“Juliette, come sit beside me.” he said, pushing Parkinson away to make space for her. If looks could kill Juliette would’ve been six five feet under at least six times a day. Pansy likes Draco and since his parents and Juliette’s are so keen on them getting married after hogwarts; they had made it their priority to urge both of them to sit together all the time.

Juliette does enjoy Draco’s company most of the time, when he isn’t being a git that is. She knew that he was mostly misunderstood, and that when he wanted to he could be a really good person. She didn’t like him in the way that their parents wanted them to, but she doesn’t let that have an impact on their relationship.

Juliette stood up and went to sit beside him, he looped an arm around her waist and she rested her head on his shoulder. They were comfortable with each other, mostly everyone in the Slytherin house knew that they didn’t like each other and only saw themselves as friends. However, that didn’t stop Parkinson from being a bitch to her.

The rest of the train ride went smoothly, she kept stealing glances at the door of the compartment waiting for a sign, the sign. She didn’t get it until there were only ten minutes left of the train ride, a face she recognised as Fred Weasley walked past their compartment looking anywhere other than the door and kept tugging on his tie.

A small smile spread on her face, tugging on their tie was Juliette’s and the Weasley twin’s sign that they wanted to talk to each other. It was painfully obvious that there was something going on because the way the Weasleys tug on their ties was so awkward and weird. She was sure that it was the only reason why they even wore their ties in the first place.

After their first train ride together, she decided that she wanted to be friends with the twins; but since she didn’t want her parents to kick her out she told them they had to keep it secret, one slap was more than enough in her world. The idea really excited them knowing that it was, as they put it, ‘mischievous and cool’ they really liked the whole secrecy aspect.

“Blood traitor filth everywhere in this school, I get disgusted just thinking about it.” Draco said, looking at Fred as he went into the other direction. She really resisted the urge to hit him, and glare at him. She has tried before, but it’s no use, so Juliette doesn’t bother replying as she hears murmurs of agreement from the two other Slytherins, and she rests her head in the crook of Malfoy’s neck and says “Wake me up when we get there.”

“There’s only ten minutes left.” He replies, looking at her weirdly but still pulling her closer to him. She murmurs against his neck, “Like I give a fuck.”

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⁀➷｡˚⸙͎۪۫⋆

Juliette is once again sitting beside Draco, but this time at dinner. He is snickering at Harry Potter’s face as he listens to Umbridge’s speech, and even she has to admit that he looks a little bit stunned. Most of the Hogwarts students look stunned except for ninety nine percent of Slytherin house, whose parents already work at the ministry, and knew that this was happening.

After a lot of speeches, the feast has finally begun. Everyone is eating and in the middle of Juliette eating a bit of Treacle Tart, which was her favourite. She was mostly excited about finally having her own room, because of her being a prefect.

She felt Draco’s hand tug on her waist, which was already there from the beginning of dinner. She looked at him with an eyebrow quirked up in questioning. “I know you’re gorgeous but he needs to stop.” He said, looking at her with a smirk.

“What are you talking about?” She inquired, confused.

He titled his head to the Gryffindor table where a particular ginger was looking at her. Upon seeing her gaze on her, he flushed and looked away. With a slight flush on her face she looked up at him and said “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes and then looked back at her, their faces close. “Juliette we both know you aren’t dumb, so tell me which one of those blood-traitors was that?” he asked with a smirk.

She pulled her face slightly away from his and replied “George, I think.” She knew for a fact that that was George, she knew how to tell the twins apart from being friends with them for this long. She was glad that he was staring, she felt less weird doing it herself now.

He hummed and looked back to his food and then he gave his treacle tart to Juliette and then returned to his meal.

Juliette gave him a grateful smile and then looked back at George and he mouthed to her ‘your dorm tonight, miss Prefect.’ She returned his smile and ate her treacle tart.

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Juliette flopped on her bed, she had finished her rounds with Draco and he had led her to her room which was surprising near her’s. She had noticed that her room had two doors, one from the Slytherin Common Room and another one which was connected to an abandoned corridor.

She took off her robe, shoes and tie; leaving her in her sweater, a skirt and her knee high socks. She heard a knock on her door; -the one that connected to the corridor- when she opened the door she saw a smirking George Weasley,leaning against the door frame.

“George! Fucking finally!” She said as she stepped aside as an invitation for him to come into her room. As soon as he stepped inside and she shut the door, he embarrassed her with a long hug. She had to stand on her tiptoes to hug him properly.His hands were around her waist and her arms around his neck when he said, “I missed you.”

“I missed you.” She replied, pulling her arms away from his neck and she settled back on her feet. “Where’s Fred and Lee?”

“They’re in detention with Filch, and I wanted to come talk to you” He said, with a smile and his hands still around her waist.

“How are you not in detention then?” She questioned her eyebrows furrowing, stepping away from him and his hand falling from her waist as she sat on her bed.

“Congratulations Snidget, you now know who is the best runner out of all of the three of us.” He replied smirking, sitting on her bed beside her. “I tried to convince them to take detention since it was only fair, but they said it’s only fair to you that someone talks to you. Considering we did the signal and all.”

She let out a small chuckle at the story and said “Well look at that, detention on the first day. That has to be some school record right?”

“Mostly likely.”

“So what did you do?” She asked.

“Dungbombs.”

“Where?”

“Filch’s office.”

“Classic.” She replied with a smile, and that same fluttery feeling in her stomach returned when she noticed that he was staring at her with a similar smile. She didn’t say anything for a second before she realised something. She asked, “How did you know that there was another door, from that corridor?” she asked, she didn’t even know that there was a door until today.

He looked nervous slightly and said “A few old friends helped me with that, they knew where everything was.” She nodded, accepting his weird answer.

She layed on her back to look at the ceiling, and she felt the mattress shift and she looked to her right to see George in the same position as her. “So, what did you guys want to talk about?”

“Do I need a reason to see you after an entire summer?” He replied looking at her, his eyebrows raised teasingly. “I actually just wanted your company.” he looked away as he said the second part, cheeks slightly tinted.

She ignored the weird gesture and went into her closet. “Look what I have!” She said in a sing-songy voice and a smile.

George jumped off the bed and grabbed the bottle of Fire-Whiskey from her and asked “where’d you get this?”

“I have five, I got’ em from my parents. Snuck them here from their wineceller.” She replied, with a smirk. She went to her bed and sat down and took a sip from the bottle.

Before she could process the alcohol burning down her throat, the bottle was snatched from her, and she saw George sitting on the bed beside her drowning at least half the bottle. She got the other one and started drinking too.

When they were both properly drunk, she saw George looking at her in an odd way. She furrowed her eyebrows and asked “what?”

George then did something that he was sure that if he was sober he could have never done. He wasn’t Fred, he couldn’t flirt with the girl he liked. He placed his fingers under her chin, lifted it up and said “have I ever told you how absolutely gorgeous you are, Darling?”

She flushed and was about to reply when she saw his gaze shift to something behind her and he let out an audible gasp and he let go of her chin and went towards whatever excited him this much. She looked behind her, annoyed that her moment with him was ruined.

She got off the bed and looked behind her where she saw George standing almost like he was going to explode from all the excitement. He was standing in front of her muggle radio, normally muggle objects don’t work at hogwarts; but charms was her best subject. She looked at George annoyed and said “have I ever told you that you have the attention span of a fish?”

He let out a sarcastic laugh and she said “you really are your father’s son aren’t you?” She obviously has never met Arthur Weasley but she heard a lot of stories of the twins speaking of their father; and her father complaining about him to know what he is like.

“I never heard about any muggle object that I liked except for those-” he said pointing to the radio and added “and muggle fireworks.”

She looked at him and asked, “do you wanna play something?”

He nodded eagerly, and watched her intently as she placed a silencing spell.

She had to place the spell to avoid anyone from her house to hear the music, she didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention. She pressed some buttons and some music started playing.

She recognised it as the music from the Yule Ball, she had gone to the ball with Draco per her parents’ request. She enjoyed the ball with him and even got her first kiss from him.

George very gailently bent down slightly and put his hand out; said with a smirk and a very posh over exaggerated accent “may I have this dance m’lady?”

She rolled her eyes, but placed her hand in his anyway and said “you’re extremely cliche, you know that right?” It was then his turn to roll his eyes. At first they slow danced, with his hand around her waist and the other in her hand, while her hand was on his shoulder and the other hand in his’. They danced for a while, until the music turned up beat, they were laughing, jumping and running around the room.

After a while they got tired and sat on her bed. By that time they had both drowned down two bottles of fire-whiskey each. Juliette layed on her bed, her elbow propped her up and she watched George drink. She watched as his Adam’s apple started bobbing up and down; when he was about to put his head down. She couldn’t control her hormones anymore and placed her lips on his neck and started placing small kisses and hickeys on his neck. She heard him groan and as the fluttering feeling started in her stomach, he placed the bottle of fire-whiskey on the floor and placed his hand around her hips and squeezed lightly.

»»————- ————-««

George felt her lips on his neck giving him a hickey and he squeezed her hips; he wants to kiss her so badly. He’s wanted to kiss her for so long; but as much as it pains him he can’t. Not when she’s drunk, he felt himself start to harden; that’s when he pushed her slightly away and said “I’m going to go to the bathroom.”

She nodded slightly pouting, they were both so drunk it wouldn’t have been right. He knew for a fact that even though she could hold her alcohol she would remember nothing from the moment she starts the second bottle, he wouldn’t want their first kiss to be like that.

After he took care of his boner in the bathroom, he got out and saw Juliette asleep in an awkward position. She let out a small chuckle and he ignored the fluttering feeling in his stomach, as he placed her wright under her blanket.

He looked at the clock and saw that it was way past curfew, not that it would have mattered to him; but he decided that because of how drunk he was there was no way he was going to not get caught by filch.

He sighed and lifted the blanket and slept beside her.

He unknowingly, in the middle of his slumber; he placed his arm around her waist and buried his head in the crook of her neck. He slept with the smell of coconut, almonds, and lavender.

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She had a massive hangover that was the first thing she felt when she woke up, she couldn’t remember a thing. The second thing that she noticed was the presence of another person on her bed, and that that person was george. Juliette felt her cheeks flush massively and then she took notice of their position which caused her to turn into the color of his hair.

She looked at the clock, and realised that she was extremely late. She started gently pushing George to wake him up, “George.” she called in a soft voice. Noticing his lack of movement, she nudged him harder; “George, wake up.”

He turned a little bit and pulled her closer to him. Juliette rolled her eyes and pushed herself out of his grip and then she yelled out “George fucking Weasley, WAKE UP RIGHT NOW!”

He sat up in the bed quickly, looking around alarmed. He calmed down when his gaze landed on her and he had a look of confusion then it was quickly replaced with a smirk. “Well, good morning to you too.”

“Go back, we’re both already late.” She said annoyed, as she started to grab her uniform out of the closet and headed to the bathroom.

When she got out she saw George still in her room. She looked at him with a wide expression, “you’re going to be late for class, we already missed breakfast.”

“You know for a fact that I don’t care about being late.” he said with a smile. He sat on her bed, which she noticed he had made for her; she muttered a quiet ‘thanks for the bed.’

She was packing her school books, while George was looking around her room; when they both heard a knock on the door of the common room.

“Juliette, are you awake? You missed breakfast.”

Juliette heard the voice of Draco Malfoy and she panicked slightly. “Um, I’m awake. Don’t come in, I’m changing.” There was a moment of silence before they heard him reply with a slightly deeper voice.

“Well um, I got you breakfast; I’ll wait for you outside.”

She muttered ‘okay’. She turned to George, and motioned for him to leave to the door. He grabbed her wrist away from the door, and went near the other door and hugged her tightly. “Wanna go to the kitchen sometime?”

When they let go of each other, she lifted an eyebrow and asked “what kitchen?” There was a smile on his face, when he said, “exactly, I’ll come to you when we can go.”

She nodded and he opened the door and left. She grabbed her bag, and went outside the door where Draco was waiting for her to go outside. She saw him holding a plate with all her favorite snacks, she smiled at the gesture and said “good morning.”

He replied with a smile of his own, “took you fucking long enough.”

She gave him a playful push, and then took the plate from him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He then started lecturing her the entire way about punctuality, taking her studies seriously, taking her OWLS seriously, and that she should finish eating before they reach the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

She however missed the slight blush on his face the entire way from her small gesture.

When they reached the classroom, Draco sat at the end of the class in the right row; they were sitting in doubles so they sat beside each other. Surprisingly they were 10 minutes early, so they talked.

“I can’t believe that Zabini was stupid enough to take Divination as an OWLS subject.” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh come on, he might be interested in it.” Juliette tried to defend her -somewhat- friend and the subject.

“No, he’s only taking it because it’s an easy O.” he scoffed, turning away from her and leaning back slightly in his chair as he crossed his arms on his chest. “Who would be interested in Soulmates?”

“I would.” Juliette said truthfully, she looked to the front classroom thinking about this matter even more. She truly had wondered a couple of times if they did exist or not and if they do who would be her’s?

“Me.” Draco said, looking at her with a smirk.

“What?” she asked, confused.

“I know you were thinking about who your soulmate might be and I’m telling you it’s me.”

She folded her arms in front of her and said with an accusing tone “how could you be so sure?”

His smirk spreaded and he unwrapped his arms. He tilted his head slightly and said “well as a first, right now, I knew what you were thinking about; without even using legitimacy. We have known each other from when we were seven, and I know you better than anyone else.”

She opened her mouth to oppose him and then shut it again, finding no response. His smirk grew at the action, “you’ll know that for a fact sometime, don’t worry; just when you do be sure to tell me.”

“Arrogant git.” she replied, annoyed as Umbridge started the lesson

an: If I'm being completely honest, when I made the poll I really didn't want this story to win because I wrote it such a long time ago and I remember that I didn't really like it that much, but it's too late to change that so...hope you guys at least tolerate it, and I'm really going to try to make it better.

[yoon-topias]

Sunday Morning battles Part Three

{ Ordinary Sunday's }

⟡ Best friend's older brother x OC

⟡ 18+ (minors DNI, mature content)

⟡ Warnings: Fluff, angst, Domestic!Yoongi {Fluff to the max} Slight teasing. Reference of one night stands.

⟡ Summary: What Sunday's looked liked before it all changed. A peek into the dynamic of Vi, Hans, And Yoongi with some special appearances. Very fluffy, and Domestic side of Vi and Yoongi.

⟡ 11.3k Words

⟡ Part one | Part Two | Part Three

⟡ Series Index

All rights belong to @/Yoon-Topias. Do not copy/ translate.

Yoongi Pov:

When I get out of the shower ridding myself of sins, I walk out to the living room and see both the girls in their respective spots on the couch. I even have my own spot which I can't complain, it's the best spot. In the corner of the couch with the lounger. Vi has the middle so she can be near either of us because ninety nine percent she will end up on one of us with her fuzzy blanket. She is a touchy feely person as I like to say and me? I'm not. Only for her. Hans has the right corner of the couch she likes to lean on the arm. They both have their pajamas and a fuzzy blanket on their laps and Vi is sitting closer to my side, guess she is picking me today.  My food is plated up for me on the coffee table and lo and behold Fruits Basket is playing on the tv. Who would've thought.  

"You both started without me? I'm offended, I bought it." 

"Well you shouldn't have been late Yoon." fuck. How did she even notice she was in the middle of a fucking battle with my sister. My jaw drops and she looks at me with a damn smirk. "You forget I'm very observant Yoon, the clock on the stove was behind Hans. Five Minutes late in fact." She didn't even turn her head when she was in the fight and didn't even move her body just continued fighting with Hans. How would she know I was behind her? Unless she wanted me to see-

"Yoongs sit the fuck down. Vi put on tv or else your food will get cold.” Hans is ushering me to sit. I'll gladly sit next to Vi. Grabbing my plate that by the looks of it Vi did because there is powder sugar on the French toast and she is the only one who does it. I get in my spot on the couch, it's a cozy day it seems in this house. As soon as I sat down I leaned over and whispered in Vi's ear "Thank you princess for plating my food." She nods focused on the tv in front of her, can't say I would pay attention if it was Slam Dunk. The French toast is from our favorite spot to eat, it's so fluffy and none of us know how the hell they do it but it's amazing. Currently we all have been on a streak of making French toast every Sunday until we get it like theirs. By the end of it I bet we'll be so tired of French toast we'll never want it again. 

Next to me I hear Vi mumbling with food in her mouth "Kyo! Tell her!" Ever since we started this show she is addicted, never seen her so engaged in a tv show. I have a feeling this is gonna turn into one of those habits she has. "Hey Vi you going out tonight with that boy?" I turn and look at Hans,  she is smirking pushing her elbow on Vi. "No too soon, gotta see his vibes more. You know this. Also its Sunday its our cozy day no boy will take that away" and Hans makes a face like she did something wrong. 

"Uh, so I thought you would since you know, you brought him home and all..I thought you'd go out tonight so I made plans with Mingyu." I see Vi drop her fork on her plate and slowly turn her head to Hans, yeah I'm not in this I'm gonna just sit back and watch. I'm an observer, always have been. 

"Excuse me? Just cause’ I brought him home to hangout does not mean I'm dating him or that he gets my Sunday's, but I can see how it looked. I never bring anyone home. He is cute I can say that, but I need to get to know him more before he gets all of me." 

After that she hits her arm in defense. It seems they both don't even care that I'm here and hear all their "girl talk". Am I just one of the "girls" now? 

"Vivi I'm sorry! Please forgive me but now I can't cancel ya know that dick is just too good." Okay I never thought I would hear the words from my sister..I guess I can mark that in my book of things I hate. 

"I know you told me all about it! But just cause’ its world shattering doesn't mean you plan on a cozy day!" 

"But you know you could get your own." and Hans is smirking, raising her eyebrows up and down.  Nope I do not want to hear about this. Definitely not. "Just cause I did some things with him does not mean. I'm gonna give him my virginity Hans!" 

Well now I know she is still a virgin and that does something to me, brings out a primal instinct  to never let him near her again. I want to mark her and claim her as mine, give her all her firsts, but I know it won't be me and I need to accept that. In that case I'm gonna have to get used to being one of the "girls" unless I make my move which I'm not ready for in any shape. Also why would Hans say something like that with me? She knows my feelings. She always has tried to push me to be ready but I can't fathom telling her when I can't even control my emotions.  It would be unfair to bring that into her romantic life. She deserves all the first to be perfect and not broken by my fucked up self. 

I need to step in and that's what I'm going to do. "Woah! You both need to chill okay?" They both turn and look at me wide eyed like they didn't know I was on the couch next to them. 

"Now I planned on staying here tonight, because it's Sunday. Hans you are gonna go out with your boy toy and I will spend the night with Vi, got it? Now let's enjoy the day before Hans leaves. Shall we?'' They both nod to my stern voice, or rather my "daddy" voice to others. To them it's just my stern voice when I'm not messing around. 

I see Hans nods she knows this is not a time to fuck with me, and I see Vi swallow hard. She blinks at me "Yes Yoon." I can tell there is a submissive side to that bubbly, determined, stubborn girl she is. "I'm gonna go call Gyu to see when we are going out." She stands up and walks to her bedroom, leaving just Vi and I. She sets her empty plate down on the coffee table and takes mine also. After she does I straighten out my legs and get comfortable.  "C'mere Vi."  She turns and looks at me with a small smile. My arm is spread out along the couch length and she grabs her blanket and nuzzles her head in the "pocket" as she likes to call it and I hear her hum. I think she likes to be close to people she cares about, because she didn't get long with her dad and her mom is another story. 

I never have minded how close she likes to be. The only time it has bothered me was when I first met her and it was a lot to say the least and after two weeks I got used to holding her hand, hugs, her wrapping her small fist around my finger, her poking my cheeks because they were "squishy", and many others actions she does. I on the other hand have never been like that since I was born, even as a baby I did not want to be held the moment I could make it known. I show my love in other ways, subtle actions. It's always been different with Vi. I know she needs more and I cave every time for her. I lean my head down and whisper in her ear "Now what did I hear about a boy, princess?" She rolls on her back and is looking up at me, those misty gray eyes meeting mine, slightly smiling. I see a small tint to her cheeks. 

"Uh, well I met him at orientation, his name is Taehyung. He's a fine arts major and we will have Latin together. He said he chose it to understand more art and meanings behind the name of stuff. But ya know what Yoon?" I give her a hum in response. I'm here to listen to everything she has to say, even if it feels like my heart is shattering, my ribs are being pulled apart, my blood draining out of my body. But to see her happy and smiling I'll live through it everyday. I did it in high school when she went on her first date, which ended in me punching the little fuck for thinking he was getting in her pants. She called me, I heard everything and raced my ass there. 

Vi rolls on her stomach and props herself up on her elbows and places her hand near my ear "I didn't even sign up for latin. It was Hans who picked my classes cause’ I was too nervous." She laughs about it. It's nice to hear that laugh every single time. "And why were you nervous, mhm?" She looks down and back up at me "Well ya know, never done it and couldn't choose my first courses. So Hans did it and even picked the ones for the first semester so I don't get too overwhelmed with my struggle classes! I would never have thought to scatter them that way" 

I gesture my finger towards her to come close and I whisper in her ear "Well you know where she gets all her smarts? Me. So technically I picked them Princess."  She doesn't need to know Hans called me freaking out trying to pick the classes and sent the log in to me so I could go in and pick them. I lined them up perfectly for any new classes, including Latin. Now I regret choosing it, but I took it and honestly find it more romantic than any language so I chose that, it wasn't too hard to grasp either. She lightly smiles "Are you calling Hans stupid Yoon?" 

"No, but we both know school was never her strong suit. She is going for fashion in a Program where she doesn't need long schooling. There's no issue with it, but who is going to college to be a mechanic?" and I poked my finger to her nose, she took her hand from her cheek and pointed her finger at me. "That's right princess." As much as I want to call her princess to be in another meaning, there's no denying it has become just like the nickname 'Vi'. It all started when her and Hans went through their fairytale phase and Vi always has to be the princess. Said "It's only right if I am." and with that she became our princess, Hans always wanted to be the evil one in whatever they decided and for me? I became a knight or peasant.  Hans said "Eww you can't be that to me you're my Bubs." To be honest I miss that nickname she gave me. It now has morphed into 'Yoongs' to match 'Hans'.  

Our nicknames may have changed slightly through the years, but to me she will always be princess. Hell she makes me get on my knees and beg if I fuck up. I'll gladly do it every time. Only for her. It's not sexual or anything for me, it's weird If I look into it because fair enough, I would call my sub 'princess' but with her I have distanced my mind from that. Okay maybe sometimes I break the door open and enter the room with silk sheets and her in there waiting for me, but that's me and my deepest secrets. She doesn't need to know.

"Yoon, we gonna have our night?'' Even if we're talking about another guy I'm still the one she wants to spend her nights with, and what does that say about me? She is mine first. 

"Of course, Princess but if you start to date they will be different so this one may be the last one. Better not take it for granted" 

"Why would they be different Yoon?" 

"Because if you're with someone I'm obviously not going to sleep in your bed huh?" That is where I'll draw the line. I will never let someone be with me in any way if they are in a relationship. I know I couldn't handle being cheated on in any slightest way and with her I'll draw that boundary for the other person cause I know she couldn't say no. It would be unfair to her and the other person involved. "But we're friends Yoon, why not?"

I put my hand on her cheek and lightly rub my thumb up and down. She leans into my touch "Because Vi, I don't think whoever the person is would like you in another bed with someone else. Let alone a man" She knows why but she is playing stupid. I know her, trying to get what she wants. I know it's not out of any harmful intent for the other person. She just does not like being alone. I see her eyes glaze over, knowing the look that's on her face; bottom lip jutted out a tiny bit "Why you upset, mhm?" 

"I don't want to be alone when Hans leaves.” Her bottom lip quivers. 

"And who said you'll be alone? I'll be here on this couch every night if needed."  That makes her smile a little bit. Yeah I know it'll suck making these boundaries, but I have done it forever so my mind automatically thinks of them now. Can't blame anyone but myself. I'd rather live like this then her experience my episodes and me being unstable. My goal is to use her time in college to get stable enough to finally tell her how I have always felt. 

Wait for the right time in both our worlds. 

"Pinky promise?" She holds out her pinky, waiting for me to reciprocate. Latching my pinky with hers, I bend and kiss my thumb and she does the same. 

"Pinky"

"Swear" 

And we press our thumbs sealing it. I'll never get over these small habits she has. I smile at her and pat her head down to get back in the 'pocket' and she accepts, snuggling in. Yet I'm just the best friend's brother. Right?  

"Wanna come closer Vi?" I whisper to her. I wanna give her what she wants, but also maybe fulfill what I want. She practically hops up and jumps on top of me "Oh my gosh Yes, Yoon!" Smiling at how happy she is, it hurts my cheeks how much I have smiled in the past few hours. I haven't smiled this much in days. Maybe weeks. 

I scoot over into the arm of the couch, stretching out my arm and she scoots into it, laying her head on my shoulder. I reach over to grab her fuzzy blanket and throw it over us. We move our bodies and get comfortable being close. I smell her Vanilla scent on her and it's mixing with my musky vanilla scent. The aroma is mixing, becoming one like we are becoming one in this moment. Our bodies are connected at our hips and I pull on hers to make her scoot in more, to be even closer as she is the little spoon. "Comfy, princess?" 

She reaches and gives my hand a squeeze. "Mhm yes." Turning our heads, unpausing the tv and watching her show. Is this what home feels like? We make no movement even when Hans opens her bedroom door and walks out. Once she makes her way to us she gasps loudly. Neither of us turn to look, we know she is dramatic. "And you both started cuddles without me? make room for Hannie!" and she runs over and rolls on top of both of us in the middle to squish us, as she does every time, and lands her spot next to Vi. "Trio hugs." I hear Vi whisper. I can picture it now, her smiling saying that. 

"Guys I'm leaving before dinner kay?" We both nod and in unison say "kay" and we spend the rest of the morning all laughing, being close. I'm going to miss the three of us together. It is filled with laughs, dozing in and out of sleep, and arguing that it's too hot but none of us ever move away from each other, nor take the blanket away. My hand falls on Vi’s hip as we lay here and I give her comfort squeezes every now and then. I know she has trauma even if she doesn't talk about it. She likes being close to people and if I can give it to her I gladly will. 

When Hans went to get ready, she said the phrase again "Dick too good." It made me want to run away and never step foot into this apartment again, or even look at my sister again. Yep we'd live through texting.  Vi currently is still passed out on my arm and I hear her little snores, I could get used to this. I think about it anytime we do end up this close. I remember when we went on a trip to the beach and she fell asleep on my shoulder the entire road trip, and insisted we stay in the same room because "I need someone to protect me." She has always been worried when she is out of her comfort zone, so if I can give a sort of comfort zone by being there, I will.  My pocket buzzes and I reach to pull my phone out.

Jin: Hobi said to tell her you love her

Me: How about NO? Not until I'm stable. Also she is talking to a guy but yet guess what?

Hitting send, I swipe down and hit on the camera icon and angle it at both of us and take a pic of her curled up in my arm, passed out. I sent the pic to Jin. 

Jin: STOP IM GONNA DIE! YOU TOO ARE ADORABLE! 

Jin: ALSO 

Jin: No doubt she's yours fuck that guy! 

Me: how many times do I need to tell you to send just one text? But yes she is mine FIRST. 

Jin: Excuse me? I'm your elder! Respect me! And that's how my brain thinks sorry not sorry. 

Jin: Have a good night with them. 

Me: Yeah you and Hobi don't crash on the couch ass naked again don't wanna walk into that again. 

Jin: You should be grateful to see my handsome body! You know you love me. 

I feel Vi stirring in her sleep and she rolls over into my chest. I hear something, throwing my phone on the other cushion, leaning my head down and I hear the smallest "Yoonie, Hungy" God she is like a child when she is asleep and I absolutely adore it. 

"Oh yeah?"  I run my hands through her hair. We haven't eaten since this morning, of course she is hungry. "Pass Yoonie his phone, he threw it." She takes her arm off me and flings herself over and her hand is searching for it, eyes still closed. "Little left." and her small hand finds it. She swings her arm and practically throws it at me. “Vi, bad girls don't get yummy food now do they?"

"I'm sorry, just eepy." I pull her back into my arms and she just accepts her fate like I do. Hans comes out of her room. It's now five o'clock and almost dinner, and she is late. She runs out of her room "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Throwing her bag on the counter and rushing to the shoe rack, hopping on one foot trying to put on her sneakers that really need to be untied to be put on. "You're gonna make an angry Vi." 

I sent Jin a text about seeing if he can make her favorite pizza. 

Me: Can you make Vi's favorite pizza? I'll pay you for bringing it over. 

Jin: Of course he will! ANYTHING for Vi. -Hobi 

"Eh she is used to me by now." She waves off my concern of waking her up and she comes to stand in front of me in a very short mini dress, which I do not approve of, but I know she won't change. "How do I look?" And as she does that she rubs on Vi’s leg, moving her head to look at her and slowly opening her eyes "Pretty Hans. Go get that dick." Can they please stop talking about this guy's dick for god's sake. 

"Thanks ViVi! You." pointing her finger at me, glaring. "Make sure you feed her favorite since I'm not here." I flash her my phone with Jin’s messages and she nods her head in approval of what I'm getting her for dinner. 

"Vivi, kill him if he tries to sleep in my room, got it?" She just lifts her thumb up and gives her a small "You got it." Now I'm offended she would even say yes to it. I give her hip a warning squeeze and she makes a sound "See you got her angry for waking her up." I give her one more squeeze and she turns into me more and mumbles "It's okay Hans. I need to get up anyway, just don't wanna." 

"You two have fun, not too much fun! Love you both bye!" And she is walking out the door, shutting it behind her and locking it. 

"Did Miss Vi have fun saying she would kill me?" She is laughing at me and turning to try and get away. "Oh no you don't." I wrap my wrap around her body and pull her into me. "Vi, you wanna kill me? You'd kill me by just being you so don't use it against me Kay?" 

"Huh?" 

"Nothing princess. Now go get the dishes out for us to eat. It should be on its way soon." I give a tap on her hip and she throws the blanket off her body and runs to the kitchen. I need to check with Jin for an update on how much longer. 

Me: Hey how much longer Hans just left

Jin: YOU DID NOT TELL ME IT WAS YOU AND VI ALONE. 

Jin: Oh and I'll be there in 15

Me: thank you, and why would I need to tell you Hans left??? 

And he reads the messages and doesn't respond. That's so him. Well he'll be here soon, time to fold up the extra blanket Hans was using and get the place tidied up a bit. Their apartment is literally like a second home and I need to make sure I stay on a schedule when I'm here. Jin has worked too and normally while he is cooking dinner I'm cleaning our place up, so here I do the same. Picking up our three glasses, taking them to the kitchen to load them in the dishwasher, I see Vi playing music low on her phone and swaying back and forth. Standing here watching her is like what I wish my future would be like. With her. 

She is placing our plates out and new cups for us behind the plates so we can fill it with whatever we choose when we eat. I load the dishwasher, afterwards I press on the volume button on her phone and hold my hand out to her "Will the princess give this peasant a dance?" She smiles at me. 

"She will, but one dance only." We have never given up our roles in our fantasy worlds. I bow to her "Yes my princess." and she holds her hands out like she is wearing a dress and fake curtsies, places her hand in mine. I pull her close and we are dancing like we always have. She places her head on my chest and we're just swaying back and forth in the kitchen that once was a battle ground. 

"You think I'll be okay without Hans?" Swaying back and forth lightly and moving in the kitchen slowly. "Why wouldn't you Vi? You're so strong you're gonna get through college and help all the people you can. You're the main character of your life, we're just the supporting characters." I move my hand and place it on her back and she wraps one arm around my back, lightly rubbing her back as we sway. "Thank you for always letting me know I'm strong enough, Yoon." 

"I'll always be here to remind you" And I hear the front door open. Now how did he get a key? I lean my head down to her ear "Did you give Jin a key to your place" 

"Huh? Why would I?" 

"Honey! I'm home!" 

"You mean. Honey! We're home!" 

And there are the two dumbasses I love. They are both laughing and I wait till the last moment to let go of her. "I guess we'll figure it out huh, Vi?" She hums in response and I'm facing the opening of the kitchen and I see both of them staring at me. Jin is holding the container with pizza in it and Hobi is holding a sprite. Of course, with his hand over his heart smiling at us. "Don't mind us! I'll leave this here" Jin goes to leave the pizza on the counter and right when he does Vi pulls away and looks at him. "You didn't! Yoon! My favorite. Jin I love you!" 

"Ha I'm her favorite you hear that?" He has a smirk on his face and she goes up and gives him a hug. "What about me?" She is lighting up so bright, my whole earth right in front of me. "Hobi!" Letting go so fast, she runs up and gives him the biggest hug. He drops the sprite but I run and catch it before it can hit the ground. The last thing we need is sprite all over the kitchen.  "Hobi please! Have dinner with us" 

"I'm offended you only want Hobi" Jin is pouting, crossing his arms acting upset. I swear Jin is my sister just in a man's body. She looks at him, still holding onto Hobi "Group hug, Jin." and Jin can never turn that down and with Hobi and Vi? Yeah he never caved fast enough in his life. He grabs my hand and pulls me with him and wraps his arms around me. I found mine around Vi. At least it's the one person I'm comfortable with being this close with. The other two? I'll just forget about them. I'm with Vi and that's all that matters. "Okay, okay, let me go" 

"Oh, Yoongi, stop being so sour. Get you some sweetness in your life." Hobi pats my back after saying. What he doesn't know is that the sweetness in my life is reserved for the girl that is in my chest.  

"Okay are we done with the hug party? Let's eat if you're staying." They unwrap their arms from each other and I bend down before I let go of Vi "Princess go get their plates and after it's Vi and Yoon time, kay?" She lets go of me but as she does I button up her pajamas one more button. Even if they are a couple they still don't get to see her in her home like this. "Thank you.” and she walks over to the kitchen and gets their plates out. 

Jin comes to my side, elbowing me. "So, when were you gonna tell me it's just you and her tonight?" 

"Didn't think I needed to. Hans had to go 'get that dick', god why am I saying it now." Hitting my palm to my forehead after speaking the words I just said. I'm unbelievable. "She left like thirty minutes ago, probably won't be back for the night." We are looking at Vi and Hobi plating the pizza all up and of course his sprite he just has to have. Vi looks at me with those wide eyes "Yoon?" Humming in response to her. "Juice or soju?" I have been not wanting to drink while trying to get my meds in order. Also coming out of an episode and drinking would turn into a disaster. "He'll have juice Vi." Jin steps up and says what I couldn't say as I started to question my own self even though I know what I should have.  

"Just don't make a fuss about it, kay? She didn't wanna be alone if Hans left and then I did too. She needs to prepare herself to be alone." He nods in understanding, walking to grab his plate and cup from Hobi holding it out for him.  Vi holds her pointer finger up and yells "To the couch!"  And Hobi yells "Pizza and sprite!" Shaking my head at their antics and grabbing my food, I walk over to my spot. When we have them over, Hobi takes Hans spot, Jin sits in Vi place, Vi takes the corner I normally sit in, pushing herself all the way back so she can stretch her legs out, and I sit on the lounge and pull her feet on top of my thighs. 

We all get comfy, putting the blanket back over Vi's legs so she is comfortable, handing her plate of not one slice of pizza, but three large ones. Thank god Jin made a large one but they aren't eating a lot because they will go home and have their late night snack like they always do. I hear them trying to whisper in our kitchen but clearly not. "So what are your plans for tonight you two?" I look at Hobi and Jin munching on their pizza. With a mouth full of food Jin starts to talk about their plans "Well, we are gonna watch a movie and then, uh? Have ‘us time’ if you know what I mean." and he is raising his eyebrows up and down. "Jin, we have our baby Vi here!" Hobi slapping his arm. 

Vi raising her hands in defense "Don't censor on my part. You should hear me and Hans." 

"Yeah, you don't wanna hear them together. I heard enough of it today." I lightly laugh thinking about what I heard today. Will it ever leave my head? Nope, might as well learn to live with it.  

"Thank you so much for bringing dinner, Jin." She smiles at him with a mouth full of pizza. There is no stopping her from talking. Before, I tried to correct her and tell her to wait until she was done. It didn't work. "Of course Vi, anything for you, just call me." winking at her, and she puts her other hand to her heart and gasps. God she is taking after Hans, maybe she should "get that dick" more often, she is corrupting our sweet Vi. 

Hobi places his plate down after finishing his one slice he wanted "So, what are you two doing tonight?" And we both look at each other and smile "Vi and Yoon night is a secrets sorry, Hobi." She says it for me so I don't have to try and explain myself. They won't question anything she says. I tap on her thigh and smile as if saying 'good job'. We all laugh, catching up and even telling them the story of hearing about my sister getting dick tonight and ditching us. It's been about probably two months since the four of us have been together because school, work, and life in general is catching up to all of us. But when we're together it feels like a damn double date every time. It makes me wonder what it would be like to actually call it a double date and not having to control my inner thoughts. Wants. Needs. Desires. 

Maybe one day we'll get to that point. Hobi and Jin have been together since our third year, guess you can say high school sweethearts. Made it through all the discrimination against them be open about it and pushed forward, both going to college. They grew together and I wish I would be able to do that with Vi. But we are growing together, just in a different way.  I'm so proud of how far she has come and excited to see her move forward in her passion.  Hobi went for dance and Jin well he went for culinary. How did they make it work? I have no idea, but they definitely made it happen. Hobi and I both get the best food we have ever had. Now when Jin was in school that was another case, he would throw random things together. We would just eat it and nod telling him it was good and he would light up like a shooting star in a pitch black sky. We'd both do anything for him. 

He met Vi a couple years ago, when I finally was okay with letting my worlds mesh together. For the longest time I wanted to keep her to only Hans and me, but that's unfair. It's part of my mind once something is mine it is MINE. No one else's. I learned to share her with Hans because technically she was Hans in the first place so I need to submit to that, but in my mind she is MINE. FIRST. 

It started with her meeting Jin and then Hobi followed a little bit after. Jin didn't know about all my mental struggles until I finally told him after one long treatment session and he got upset, saying I can't just come and go out of his life randomly. I couldn't lose one of the only people I had, so I told him and he took on this role to help me.  Once she met Hobi and found out he was studying dance she wanted to learn everything and I mean everything. So many nights they had one on one sessions. She tried to keep up with him. She only learned the basics, but she definitely gravitated toward slow dancing and all forms of it. 

I spent many nights in our apartment with Hobi teaching me until three in the morning when I had classes crazy early, just to be able to dance with her and show her she can dance with not just Hobi but with me. 

I look over and see Vi yawning, still tired from her nap. I bet if we laid back down she'd be out for the night. "Hey Jin, will you pick up oranges on the way home? We're out." using this against him, knowing the stand he likes to go to closes in about thirty minutes. Pulling his phone out to check the time and his eyes go wide "Hobi! We got twenty nine minutes, can we make it?" Vi hands over her plate for me to place on the coffee table for her since she finished. While those two are talking if they can make it, me and Vi talk, rubbing her leg "Full?" She gives me a nod and pats on her stomach with a small smile. "Good."

We both hear Jin and Hobi let out an 'awh'. Cheeks turning red, she looks away towards the window facing away from them. Leaning over and whispering "Oh is someone shy to be close to me? Is that it?" 

"No, a princess needs her peasant to save her from the two minions over there." 

"Of course, my Princess, I'll do anything. '' I bow my head lightly and laugh at how we never will not do this. Turning my head to them, putting my hand up to my neck and making the signal to cut it out as I tell them "Well you better make it to the shop for the oranges." They get what I mean.  They are holding in their laughter as VI is still looking away from them, trying to cool off her face. "Yeah we're goin' don't worry. I'm ready to be in my bed if you know what I mean." wiggling his eyebrows. I hope they have fun, glad I will not be there to hear it. "I'm gonna pick up and then walk them out, come say bye when you're ready." I tap on her legs and she takes them off me and pulls her knees to her chest taking a deep breath. I forget sometimes she is the most outgoing person I know, but on the inside she gets very shy and uses her outgoing personality to hide it. 

Stacking our plates and cups, bringing them to the kitchen with Jin and Hobi following suit. "Did we go too far?" Hobi asks, sounding concerned "Nah you know how she is sometimes, lets it get to her and shows how she feels on the inside." I shrug and let them know to give them ease to not worry. Opening the dishwasher, placing our plates and cups in it. "Hey, can you grab the washing pack under the sink?" Jin grabs it and tosses it to me, starting the dishwasher so we have dishes for the morning breakfast I know we'll have tomorrow. Betting its French toast again, that will taste nothing like the place we love. We're getting there, okay? 

"Vivi, come say bye to your favorite tall person!" and with that I hear "Ahh! Don't leave yet!" She runs into her bedroom and I have absolutely no idea why. "You need dessert!" She comes out of the room shuffling, with a bag in her hand of those damn lollipops she loves so much and why the hell does she need a 5 pound bag them? 

And why is she bringing the whole damn bag? She could have just brought a handful but nope. Jin is laughing his ass off and Hobi is literally on the ground laughing at her trying to carry it all and not spill the bag has a rip down it. Shaking my head at her, walking to her and grabbing the bag from her. "Oh, thank you, Yoon." she says out of breath. She walks over and sits down next to Hobi on the ground still laughing "So this is where we sit now? Not too comfy, huh?" He has his fist to his mouth laughing, trying to contain it but can't, his loud laugh roaring through the apartment. 

Right at this moment, Alexa goes off and we hear Hans voice sending a message. "You two better not be messing up the house! Also I miss trio cuddles! But Gyu's dick is too-" and she stopped there because he was calling for her in the background. And you thought it was only Hobi and Vi on the ground, now Jin is on the ground next to them "See? I told you Hans keeps saying it!" 

"You're just jealous you're not getting any." Hobi says while snorting laughing. 

"Oh no, he got some last night! Should have seen the girl, pissed when I said he had to get here for morning breakfast with Vi" and I want to smash my head into the wall at this moment. She does not need to know about the one night stands. I mean, technically I just heard about her and a guy, but this is different. I never wanna hear about her fucking unless it's with me. If she does move forward with this Taeyong guy, or whatever his name is, I will be drawing that line. 

My mind wants me to unlock that door and live in my utopia forever, but this is reality and when I look at Vi she has her mouth gaped with a guilty look on her face. Like she did something wrong and I need to talk to her and get this worked out, cause why would she be feeling like she did something wrong? "Okay, okay, time to go! Thank you for coming and eating with us. Jin I'll see you in the morning unless you're at the restaurant" I grab both of their arms, pulling them up. Vi is still sitting on the floor just staring straight at me. "Come on Vivi, stand up." I hold my hands out for her to take and she shakes her head no at me. That will not fly with me, grabbing her hand by myself and pulling her up and she just goes along with the motions, looking like she isn't fully there. 

As soon as she sees Jin, she smiles and puts on an act for him and I know it. "You gotta have lollipops, they’re pineapple!" and she grabs a whole handful from the broken bag on the counter and shoves it in his hoodie pocket. He pulls her in for a hug "Thank you VI, and whatever the dumbass did, he didn't mean it, kay?" We all read her so well that he even knew a switch flipped in her head once he said what he did, but he did nothing wrong. I can't get mad at him for it. Hobi goes and joins their hugs "Bye-bye, ViVi" Since they aren't bringing the leftovers with them all they have is their keys and those damn lollipops. I might as well hold a grudge against them since an inanimate object is closer to her lips than I ever will be. 

They let go and she walks them to the door, grabbing their keys and coats from the entryway. "Oh, are y'all going on a ride?" 

"Well I hoped so, but maybe not. We'll see." she replies back to him and he just nods, walking out the door and waving bye. "Jin! How did you get my house key?" 

He places a finger over his lips and whispers to her "Well, when that one," points his finger at me, "was sleeping, I took his keys and made a copy just in case." He places his hand on top of her head and ruffles her hair and she laughs at him. "Bye Jinnie and Hoba!" Coming behind her and placing my hand on her back "Bye, guys. Be safe."

She backs up into me so she can shut the door, locking it. Once she does she crosses her arms over her chest and lifts her head up and walks right past me. Oh, I fucked up. My phone vibrates and I look who it is, of course it is. 

Jin: Good luck with the gremlin! I'll plan you an amazing funeral. I didn't mean to mention it! 

I don't reply, but shove my phone back in my pocket, chasing the angry little gremlin into her room. I find her already on her bed, looking at her phone. "What'd I do?" I feel like I'm bowing down to a toddler throwing a tantrum, but I know if it was the other way around I would be way more than a toddler. I'd be on a warpath. 

I sit down in front of her and grab her phone and throw it behind me on the bed "Hey!" 

"No Vi, we are going to talk about this. Why are you upset?" 

She is picking at her fingernails and I grab them so she can't do it. "Well, you said things would change if I'm with someone, but you are clearly with someone, so why would we nap together today? I don't wanna push those limits." She thinks I'm with someone and thinks she is the one doing something wrong by being close to me. 

I laugh about it, I can't not laugh. "What? Why are you laughing at me?" She is pouting looking at me. 

"Vi, I went out and got drunk and had a one night stand. She was nothing special. I pinky promise. I'm with no one." 

I hold my pinky out for her and she squints her eyes, contemplating if she should do it. Mumbles "I believe you. You better not make me a home wrecker in someone's eyes."

She locked her pinky with mine and kissed her thumb. I do the same. 

"Pinky" 

"Swear" 

Pressing our thumbs together and sealing them together, she lightly smiles. There, that’s better. I can't take her one, being mad at me and two, upset in any way if I caused it. I wonder what she thinks of the one night stand. She didn't go further with questions about it, just wanted to make sure I wasn't with someone. I lift my hand to her cheek and of course she leans into it. Time to mess with her a little bit. "What, is my princess jealous?" She smacks my hand down, those heavy lidded eyes glaring at me. "No of course not, a peasant can fuck who he wants, but if she wasn't memorable seems like you need a better fuck." 

"And how would you know, princess, when you're still a virgin?" I glare at her back. We taunt each other with the phrases like a cat and mouse to see who will cave in first. "Who says I haven't done other things, Sir?" She fucking smirks at me and those eyes turned more suggestive. Lustful. Sinful. 

I have never seen her eyes like this and I want to lock her away in my utopia and never let her out. The way she is looking at me with no shame makes me want to make her feel that for it not being with me. Those gray eyes are not the soft, misty, doe eyes I'm used to looking back at me. Also she used the word ‘Sir’? Excuse me, she has never used it unless we were talking to elders, it makes me swallow hard. That word coming out of her mouth feels so wrong, but so right. 

"Princess, stop. You're pushing boundaries." she blinks at me slowly and her right side of her lip positions up and she looks so fucking mischievous, if I had it my way she'd be bent over my knee teaching her a lesson. Maybe one day. I run my tongue in my inner cheek and feel my tongue pricing grazing my cheek, trying to rein in my inner thoughts. "Oh, am I? But haven't we already pushed them before?" Fuck. The time we might have gotten a little too close for comfort and she felt my fucking hard on when we woke up from a nap. Me being half awake, coming out of a not so PG rated dream. I stuck my hand behind her legs and pulled her back into me and said "And where do you think you're going." And she fucking played into it and came back with "Yoon, more please" and that’s when I snapped out of it and my eyes went so wide you couldn't even see my eye lids. 

After that time I still don't know if she was fucking with me or what because when I tried to wake her up she didn't budge, she was still dead limp in my arms. I'll never know, because the true answer lies within her mind. I have tried to get it out of her, but she tells me she was asleep. Deep down I think she was not asleep but knowing. Yeah, that's what I like to think. I also have apologized for it over and over. Thankfully I have not done anything like it since the first time. Have I had to scoot away when we're waking up? Yes, but nothing like that. 

I tap under her chin and make her fully pay attention to me. I know she isn't this confident, she is distancing herself from it so she can say these things. "No more, Vi. It's time for Vi and Yoon time, but if you wanna continue Yoon will leave. You want that?" she shakes her head "No don't want that." 

"Good. Then you understand me, huh?" she nods yes to me and her bottom lip pokes out a little bit. That's the Vi I know. "Now go get the polish and snacks" 

She hops off the bed running to the bathroom, grabs the purple bag with all her nail stuff in it, throws it on the bed. Yes, I paint her nails for her but it is my pleasure to do it, stops her from biting them and I might let her paint mine every now and then. I definitely hear about it from the guys at the shop. I don't care though. I'm different and that's okay, who wants to be ordinary? I sure don't. "Imma get snacks!'' She really is something else. Opening my phone, going to the moon icon on the first page and turning on the starlight again since it turned off from the timer. 

She comes barreling into the room with those damn lollipops, chips, oranges, and two juice boxes. And right as she gets in front of the bed, the bag finally rips all the way open and she screams "Noooo! My snacks" dropping to her knees, definitely on top of some of the food on the floor. We are both laughing our asses off at what just happened. Getting off the bed, I get down and help get everything on the bed besides the lollipops. While I'm doing that she opens a lollipop and plops it in her mouth and makes a small 'mhm'. 

"Wanna help?" 

"No, I'm good" She is sitting on her knees smiling with the damn lollipop in her mouth. Might as well know what she is tasting, unwrapping and plopping one in my mouth. 

Sweet. Sweet. Pineapple. 

I start to pile them up on top of the broken bag to use as a way to transport them to her vanity. Her, on the other hand, is picking one up at time and placing it down on top of the huge pile I have already made. "Good right?" 

"Yeah" If I go farther I'll want to ask if she is as sweet as the lollipop in my mouth. If the taste matches her own juice. If she has ever tasted herself. No, stop Yoongi. Snapping myself from those thoughts before I need to leave while she is sleeping and call one of my regulars and swing by their place for a quickie. 

Once we get them all picked up, we stand up and I grab both ends of the bag and carefully pick them up, trying to not spill them all over the floor again. Setting them on her vanity. "They're all picked up. Now get on the bed and get ready for nail time" She smiles and gets on the bed and pulls the covers back waiting for me to get into place. I pull out my phone and go to amazon and place an order for a candy jar to be overnighted. "Watch out for a package tomorrow, kay?" She nods and knows I often have stuff shipped here. I work tomorrow, but she is on break before her classes start.

She is sitting criss crossed on the bed in her spot, unzipping the bag and picking out her color for this week. She already took off the red color she had on last week. "Mhm, black." she raises it up and shows me the color for this week. "Only black?" I raise my eyebrows at her as I sit down in front of her. "And one diamond on the ring finger" Okay, okay, I get it. I'm a guy that knows how to do nails and designs. Sue me. 

"Okay, pick out the stone you want this time, kay?" I might have asked Ma to help me get used to doing nails, but now she gets hers done every other week by me so I don't see her complaining.  

She pulls the, funny enough, pill case we painted purple and black and wrote on the top 'Yoon and Vi Jewels.' She said my name had to be first because I'm the one doing her nails, so technically it's my case first. 

"This one" She opens the one compartment and it has shiny lilac stones in it. I nod, opening the black polish and she sets the case to the side once she is done. Holding out her hand to take the polish bottle, we have a system, I take her right and in my left hand, holding on to her pinky with my hand. I start by going over her tiny pinky with a coat of the black paint and work my way through her other fingers. Once I’m done with the first coat, I make my way backwards and do one more coat. "Yoon, can I paint yours?" 

I hum in response to not mess up on their pointer finger. I'm working on keeping all my focus on it. Once I'm done with her first hand, I grab the bottle and move it to the nightstand and I'll have to reach over every time I need to dip into it. Placing her other hand on my leg for drying. As I work my way to her other hand, reaching over to get another dip of paint, I see her in my peripheral vision and she leans in and kisses my cheek. "Thank you, Yoonie" 

"Y-yeah no problem." and I fucking stutter. She doesn't chastise me about it though, thank god. Once I finish this hand, I lean and grab the bottle and close it. Both of her hands are on my thighs drying. She could have moved the first off, but didn't.

Grabbing the stone box, glue, and tool to apply it with "Gimmie first hand Vi." She holds it out, dipping  into the glue and placing a small dot at the base of her finger so I can apply the stone. Once I apply the stone, I look up at her. Those eyes speak a million words and they are glittering with such warmth, like sparks from a flame. "It's perfect, Yoon!" She says this every time, even when I was still learning and it would be a mess and crooked. 

We finish her other hand, putting up the stones in the bigger bag and looking at her. She is staring at her hands with the biggest smile on her face. I'm glad I can make her smile over doing her nails. What's twenty to thirty minutes of my time? To see this smile, absolutely nothing.  "You gonna pick my color and be nice or are you gonna be evil Vi tonight and make stuck with fucking bright ass yellow." She taps on her chin like she is thinking. "Nice Vi. Matching black! But with a purple ring finger since no stone." 

I look in the bag for the purple polish she has and pull out the darkest one she has "Dark purple do?" She nods head yes. Thank god, I don't know how much shit I could take from the guys at the shop with a bright lilac if she chose it. "Get into positions!" She points her finger up and reaches for her juice box, opening it, taking a sip "Juice me." She laughs and takes it out of her mouth and pushes her box toward my mouth, taking a sip of her juice.  I love our little dynamic when it's just the two of us. It's different in a good way. 

I scoot towards the end of the bed and open my legs. This is how she does it every time, in her 'pocket'. She gets out of her spot and flips herself around and sits right in between my legs and grabs a pillow to prop my hands on for drying on our legs. She snuggles in and shoves the black paint into my hand and untwists the lid. When she does, I rest my chin on her shoulder to look over and watch her as she paints them, her tongue sticks out just a little bit focusing on doing it perfectly. I so want to just poke her tongue and tell her to put it back in her mouth. "You know you don't have to do mine. I can do my own." 

"No I gotta! This is a two way street, Yoon.” She is finishing the second coat on all the fingers she is doing black on, closing the cap and grabbing the purple, shoving it into my hand again.  Vi is the only girl I let this close to me, even the one night stands are not this close to me ever. If we accidentally fall asleep in my bed or theirs, they are always far away from me. I never let them near me sleeping. That is reserved for Vi, that's her pocket no one else's. It all feels strangely intimate, but ultimately, it feels so right every time. My heart melts before it can even race and I just take in the moment, how close we are. If anyone walked in on us they would definitely think we were together but I'm just the best friend's brother. 

I lose myself in my thoughts and my body is on autopilot as she does my nails. Her scent is blurring my vision. My mind. It cascades a blanket over all the looming bad thoughts that are waiting to burst the bubble I'm in. My own utopia.  

"Hey, Yoon, you there? I finished" 

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, I'm so tired Vi. I zoned out." 

"It's okay, Yoon. How do they look?" I look down and my hands are on the pillow. Dark paint on all my fingers besides that one purple finger on each hand that will remind me of her every time I look at my hand. She has forever invaded my utopia. She just added all her clothes to the dresser in the corner. Added all her perfume on top of it. It's hers now. 

"They look perfect, princess, thank you so much." She smiles looking at me. Our faces are so close that I can feel her breath on my face. "Yoon?"

"Mhm?"

"Will we have to stop this if I date someone?" 

I nod my head "At least not this close Vi." She nods her head and takes in the information I give her. "But we'll still have Yoon and Vi nights?" I take my hand off the pillow and rub her thigh. 

"Of course, princess. How can a peasant not have his princess?" 

"You're right, what would he do without me?" She smiles, grabbing the pillow and moving it off our legs. She doesn't rush out of my legs. Hell, even staying on purpose.  "Why don't you go make the popcorn and I'll get the room set up for Kyo and Torhu time."

She nods and slowly gets out of the pocket "Don't forget to put up the nail stuff, Vi." always needing to remind her. She grabs it and runs to the bathroom, throwing it in the drawer and running to the kitchen shuffling her feet across the floor. I swear she never actually takes her feet off the ground in this apartment since it has wood floors and she shuffles across it in her socks. 

The starlight is on, curtains are closed, pillows all stacked up, projector is turned on, and the little cat plushie I got her is on her bed. Also the bane of my existence, my enemy, the body pillow that lays between us when we sleep. Glaring at the pillow. 

We are ready to finish this night, walking into the main living area, checking the door, making sure it's locked before we reside in our own little safe haven we have built together. 

The popcorn is popping and slowly stopping popping, she is hitting cancel on the microwave when I look over at her on her tiptoes, reaching up to open it. Walking behind her, I reach over her, opening it and taking it out. "Should've called for me." I turn around and open the bag and pour it into the bowl she has set out. "I get stuff out of there everyday. I didn't need help.” She is so stubborn sometimes.

Grabbing the bowl and shoving the extra juice boxes in my pockets "Let’s go, princess. Time for your tv time." She sprints ahead of me, shuffling across the floor "Wait up for me." laughing at her and she turns her head back "Nope, a peasant comes in last to the safe place."

She hops onto the bed, grabbing the blankets with her and hiding under them “Oh no, where did she go? I need to call the guards." She pokes her head out, laughing "She is here, guess you need some glasses." Meanwhile I have contacts in, but it's her that is clouding my vision.  

"Guess I do. Grab the pop." She fully emerges from the covers and grabs the bowl. I shut and lock the bedroom door. What? It's for safety. 

I walk to my side of the bed and get under the covers and scoot the barrier over a little bit. Pulling out the juice boxes and putting them between us, taking my phone and sending Hans a quick text. 

Me: You all good sis? We are about to watch fruits basket and have a snack. 

This girl is always on her phone, I swear she could be in the middle of- nope. I'm not saying it, and she would answer. 

Hans: Oh I'm DEFINITELY good. Have fun I hope y'all have good tv time. Also don't get too close to her. she's MINE. 

Hans: OH! Tell ViVi I won't be home ya know? Round two and three. I'll be home around 2pm probably. 

Me: You gotta STOP talking about your sex life with your brother. But I'll tell her. Love you Hans be safe I don't want any nieces or nephews YET. 

She just likes the message. "Hans isn't coming home, told me to tell you she'll be home around two. Looks like it's truly a Yoon and Vi night, don't gotta sneak from the living room into here and back out there before she wakes." 

Vi is munching on the popcorn and I steal some from her, turning the tv to Crunchyroll to watch her show and as I hit play on the next episode she whispers a small "Yes", shuffling her feet into her sheets.  They really are soft, pale purple pair of silk sheets. I want to mix and match my black ones with her purple ones. Hell, move them into my utopia, make my whole world purple. 

"Ready Vi?" She nods rapidly with her mouth full of popcorn. The intro starts and she starts wiggling down to cocoon herself into the pillows with the popcorn on her stomach. When I lean back, she scoots her head over breaking the barrier and lays on my shoulder "Okay?" 

"Of course it's okay, Vi" I tap on her head, smoothing out her hair.  We watch about three episodes before she is dozing off and her head starts to fall forward. I swear she was yelling at Kyo, even while falling asleep, about telling his feelings. If only she knew the feelings I've been holding inside for years. Would she yell at me too? 

I grab the bowl and move it to the other side of the bed on the ground while trying not to move her too much. "Yoon, more." 

"No, you're falling asleep. It's time for eepys." She blinks and scoots farther into the bed "Mhm comfy." 

"Yeah, I know you're comfy. I guess we're skipping teeth brushing?" 

"Noooo, do it for me" And of course I'll cave for her every time. I move her head over slightly and she just falls into the pillow. I get out of bed and walk into her bathroom and brush my teeth, looking into the mirror. Something is refreshing about the domestic aspect of this all, makes my heart melt. Grabbing her tooth brush and a cup from the counter, putting a little toothpaste on it. Walking over to her drowning into the bed "Princess, sit up." She slowly sits up, squinting her eyes to see where I am. Sitting on the edge of her bed and pulling her chin towards me and I start brushing her teeth for her. "There, can't have nasty teeths, huh?" And she just makes a small noise, 'uh huh' As I brush her teeth, I see her sleepy droopy eyes ready to fall into her dream land, slightly smiling at the girl in front me. I know I go too far taking care of her, but I can't stop. I won't stop. 

"Okay, time to spit" I hold the cup for her and she spits into the cup and grabs the water next to her bed and takes a small sip to rinse her mouth out. "All dones, Vi. Good job." and she just falls back down into her bed. I rinse out the cup and set it on the counter. I'll take it to the kitchen in the morning for a cleaning, too late to do it. I just wanna get back into bed with her.  

I turn on the ceiling fan because she can't sleep without it. She'll wake up in the middle of the night saying "It's too hot." and last time she ended up only in a sports bra and the smallest of shorts. Let's not repeat that.  At least not tonight.  

When I get into bed, she is already cuddled up into her side of the bed and I hear some small snores. "Vi, do you want your hair pulled up?" And she just makes a small sound that sounds like a yes? She leans up not sitting up fully, taking the hair tie off my wrist and pulling her hair up into a messy bun for her. I place a kiss on her forehead "There you go, sleepies time." 

She lays into her pillow, cheeks squished, lips pouted out. She looks unreal to me. I don't want no model as my person, I just want her. My perfectly, imperfect Vi. I lay down next to her and stare up at the ceiling, the glowing stars, and I hear the smallest of voices “finger” Oh, how could I let her cloud my mind so much that I forget to place my hand so she can hold onto my finger when she sleeps. Rolling over and placing my hand next to her and her small hand wraps around my pointer finger and she just lets out a small, “hm Yoonie, thank you.” 

“Of course, Vi. I’m always here. Thank you for today. I needed it more than you know”  She is lightly breathing and I hear them becoming few in between. She is about to be fully out like a light for the rest of the night and I’m glad I’m the one next to her.  “Night night, Vi. I’ll see you in the morning” 

“Night night, Yoon. We have French toast tomorrows, maybes we get it right this time.” She slurs on her word as she gets them out, I can’t help but smile at her. 

“That sounds amazing, Vi.” She gives my finger a squeeze and we both drift off into the night, connected only at our fingers, breathing in and out in sync as we both sink into our own utopias. I know where I’ll end up, in my silk sheets with her. Maybe she is in her own silk sheets with me. I just hope she’ll be there when I’m ready and no one has swooped in and saved my princess before I could.

Thank you for reading. ₊˚⊹♡

All rights belong to @/Yoon-Topias. Do not copy/ translate.

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Begin Again: Chapter Five | Spencer Reid

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Chatper Five: Ninety-Nine Percent

<< Chapter Four

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC!Charlotte Morris

Warnings: Implied sexual intercours, making out, a little bit of angst

Author's note: two posts in one day, who am I? This also concludes this mini-series. Thank you for reading! :)

Words: 2.3K

Spencer and Charlotte didn’t even realize they had been left alone by their friends/coworkers. Both of them were too engrossed with one another to notice anything or anyone else. Hands were roaming one another’s bodies, tongues were twirling in heated dances around one another. 

“You, uhm,” Spencer started, then kissed her again chastly. “You wanna take this–” Another kiss. “Elsewhere?” he asked, then allowed her to kiss him again, deep and long. 

Charlotte broke away from him for a second to nod her head before diving back into the kiss. 

“We should probably–” Kiss. “Go–” Kiss. “Then–” Kiss. 

After five more sweet pecks and one long, deep kiss, the two of them get out of the pool and dry off, tugging on a bathrobe before heading up to Spencer’s room. There, the bathrobes were quickly shrugged off and the wet underwear went flying about the room just as fast. 

They were all wet skin against wet skin, fingers grazing and tugging at hair, kisses shared. Everything Spencer had ever dreamed of ever since he had been old enough to understand what love-making was. 

“This was…” Charlotte sighed, resting her head on his bare chest. “Something.” 

Chuckling, Spencer pressed her closer against his chest and kissed her head. “That was something.” 

With a grin plastered on her face, she turned her head, chin propped up on his chest. “I liked it though,” she beamed. 

“Me too.” Spencer leaned forward, meeting Charlotte in the middle for a proper kiss. 

The two of them fell asleep together with limbs tangled, Charlotte’s head on his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her. And that was the way they woke up the next morning, too. It was nice to wake up next to someone that made her feel so calm. 

“Morning,” she greeted and kissed his jaw before disentangling herself from him and trying to find any clothes. 

His eyes were focused on her as she moved about the room. “Good morning.” 

“I don’t have any clothes here, fuck–” she muttered to herself before her eyes landed on Spencer, who was looking at her. “I’m gonna–” She grabbed one of the bathrobes and shrugged it on. Before turning to the door, Charlotte bent down and kissed his lips quickly. 

She quickly went downstairs to the spa where they had left their clothes last night. Glancing over at the corner where she and Spencer had spent the night, making out, Charlotte smiled. Though everything had started out with a string of murders, their story was starting to become increasingly more beautiful. 

The thirty-something made her way back to Spencer’s room where she found him fast asleep again. A soft smile crept onto her face as she put his clothes on the chair. She turned towards him and watched him for a second. Like this, he looked like that twelve-year-old she met seventeen years ago. 

She shook her head, trying to lose the thought. Thinking about Spencer as a twelve-year-old now would be kinda weird. 

Instead, she pushed his hair out of his face and kissed his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, revealing his beautiful hazel eyes. “Hi,” he muttered and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “I must’ve fallen asleep again.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Charlotte smiled, then a shriek followed when Spencer wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her on top of him. “Spencer!” 

He held her against his chest and sighed contently. “Your hair smells like chlorine,” he chuckled, nuzzling his nose into her hair. 

“I wonder how that’s possible,” Charlotte chuckled, then breathed in deep through her nose. The scent of bacon and eggs filling her nostrils. “You smell that?” she asked, her face lighting up at the idea of breakfast. “That’s a Tommy breakfast for ya.” 

“If it’s as good as last night’s dinner, sign me up,” Spencer said, grinning and kissing the top of her head. 

“Oh, I promise you, Tommy’s breakfast is even better than his dinner,” she promised before pecking his lips and wriggling herself free from his grasp. “Let’s go, Doctor.” 

She dropped the bathrobe and put her dress back on, no underwear underneath, ignoring how the man on the bed was staring at her with the same look in his eyes as he did last night. Once her dress was tied up again, she leaned down and pecked his lips. 

“Close your mouth, genius. You’ll catch a fly,” she muttered, repeating the same words from last night. As he put his clothes back on, Charlotte started stripping the bed to help out housekeeping later. Once both of them were ready, they headed downstairs to the breakfast room where they found Spencer’s coworkers already munching down on Tommy’s breakfast. 

“Damn, Reid,” Morgan smirked. “You dawg!” 

A chorus of chuckles echoed through the restaurant as Spencer and Charlotte slid their chairs underneath the table. Spencer’s cheeks flushed a bright red while Charlotte couldn’t help but smirk, too. 

“Did you have a good night, guys?” she asked, putting her general manager hat back on. 

She leaned across, pressing her chest against Spencer’s upper arm as she reached for the croissants. The action caused Spencer’s cheeks to flush even redder. 

“Pretty great, actually. The beds here are heaven!” Penelope exclaimed excitedly and everyone quickly agreed, making Charlotte’s heart happy. She loved it when people were happy after staying at her hotel. The exact reason why she was doing it anyway. 

“I bet Spencer had an even better night’s sleep,” Valencia teased, earning a glare from her best friend. 

After the laughter died down and Spencer’s cheeks went back to its normal color, the group fell into pleasant conversation. The BAU team wanted to know everything about Hartford while Charlotte and her friends asked them about the cases they had worked on. It was one of the nicest breakfasts Charlotte had ever had and she never wanted to be elsewhere. 

The rest of them had wrapped up their breakfast pretty quickly while Charlotte and Spencer stuck around. They were wrapped in conversation, both of them so comfortable that she set a foot on the edge of his chair, his arm wrapped around her thigh and shin, his thumb caressing her skin all while her fingers toyed with his curls. 

“I-I’d love to do this again,” Spencer told her shyly. “You know, take you out on a proper date.” 

Charlotte’s movements stilled as she retracted her hand from his hair. “Spencer,” she sighed. “I like you, I do. It’s just–” 

“We don’t really have a job that allows any form of romantic life,” Spencer finished her sentence and she nodded in agreement. “It’s fine. I get it.” 

Her fingers moved back to his curls, a pout pulling at her bottom lip. “I want to, Spence, I really do. I had so much fun last night and getting to know you again.” Her thumb smoothed out the furrow between his brow. 

“I had fun too,” Spencer smiled and grabbed her wrist, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to her palm. “And you know, the chances of us bumping into one another again in our lifetime is actually pretty high.” 

“How high?” 

“Like, ninety nine percent chance.” 

Charlotte smiled. “What about the one percent?” 

Shrugging, Spencer leaned in closer, mere inches away from her lips. “Some leeway for us in case we lose our way back to each other.” He pressed his lips to hers, which she gladly accepted by deepening the kiss immediately. 

“Spence,” JJ’s voice interrupted their moment. When the two of them looked up, they saw the rest of the team passing by the breakfast room with their luggage, ready to leave. “We’re leaving. Are you coming?” 

Spencer hummed and nodded his head. He glanced over at Charlotte and took her in as if it was the last time he would see her. From her blonde hair to her green eyes to the soft smile playing on her lips. 

He then got up from his chair and exited the breakfast room, leaving her to her devices. Charlotte started on cleaning up the breakfast, quickly getting help from Val, Nisha and Thomas. Halfway through cleaning up, Spencer knocked on the doorframe, capturing the gang’s attention. 

“We’re leaving,” he told her. 

Charlotte dropped the dirty napkins and bounded towards the hallway, her friends in tow. The BAU team was gathered in the hallway, ready to go back to Washington DC. It was sad to see them go. She actually liked having them around in an empty hotel. 

“So, you guys are off to DC again?” she asked. That bittersweet feeling washed over her. 

“Thank you for hosting us, Charlotte,” Hotch reached out his hand for her to shake, which she did, gladly. “Come visit us in DC sometime.” 

“I will, thanks, Agent Hotchner.” 

One by one, the members of the BAU took Charlotte into a hug or kissed her cheeks to say goodbye. All but one. Spencer stood back and waited until every single one of his coworkers had said goodbye to Charlotte and her friends. 

“So…” he started, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet. 

“So…” she repeated, stepping closer towards him. “Ninety nine percent, right?” 

Spencer nodded his head. He hesitated for a moment, wanting to kiss her so badly, but knowing that if he did, he would want to kiss her forever. So, instead, he planted a kiss on her forehead and squeezed her hand. 

“I’ll see you later… Lottie,” he hesitated with the nickname, but it rolled over his lips so easily and it sounded lovely, too. 

A smile fell on her lips, which she tried to bite away by taking her bottom lip between her teeth. She softly nodded her head and watched as Spencer made his way to the door. 

“Hey,” she called, making him turn around again with a quizzical look on his face. “The last bus leaves in five minutes.” 

A wide smile befell Spencer’s lips before he turned on his heel and joined his coworkers by the SUVs. Charlotte couldn’t help but stare at the space he just vacated. Her chest felt heavy and her stomach churned while also filling with butterflies. 

“Lottie Lot’s in love with a genius,” Thomas singsonged while his arm wrapped around Charlotte’s shoulders. 

Charlotte pushed him off her, though she couldn’t keep her smile off her face. Though she didn’t like to admit it, Thomas wasn’t entirely wrong. She had a soft spot for Spencer and she knew she would like to kiss him every single moment of every single day and hold his hand in hers, feeling safe and protected from all things wrong. 

For weeks, she thought of him.

When she woke up, Spencer was on her mind. When she went to sleep, he was on her mind. She could not stop thinking about the man she had met seventeen years ago and kissed mere weeks ago. All she wanted to do for weeks was go to him and kiss him. 

“You should go to DC,” Nisha told her when she was helping around during breakfast. 

Charlotte’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

“You keep thinking about him, so you should go to him.” 

Scoffing, Charlotte turned on her heel, trying to shake Yanisha off but she was quick on her feet. “No, I do not. I am busy and he is busy. It would be a terrible idea to go visit him because then I don’t think I would return.” 

“So you admit it,” she pointed out. 

“Admit what?” 

Yanisha sighed and grabbed Charlotte’s hand, stopping her from walking away from her. “That you have not been able to stop thinking about him and that you want to kiss him and hug him and repeat the events from that night in room 122.” It all came out in one breath. 

“You’re right,” Charlotte said with a pained expression. 

Her lips curled up into a smirk. “I know.” Charlotte hesitated, thinking it over. “Go. I’ll help Val around here. We can manage without you for a little while.” 

It wasn’t something she could just decide on a whim. She thought about it for a couple more days, made sure everything was set in the hotel for her absence for a couple of days, and then took the first flight to Washington DC. 

Equipped with coffee for the entire team, Charlotte made her way to Quantico. After having gone through security and securing her visitor’s badge, she went up to the sixth floor with a nervous flutter in her heart. 

As the elevator doors opened and she walked into the bullpen, she was greeted by Emily, Rossi and JJ. All three of them were happy to see her and even more so when she offered them the coffee. Their excitement quickly lured Morgan and Penelope, and even Hotch had to come take a peek to see what was going on. 

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Morgan called when Spencer walked into the bullpen. The young genius didn’t even notice the visitor as she was shielded by his coworkers. “Want some coffee?” He offered the last cup Charlotte had brought. 

“Yours has five packets of sugar,” Charlotte added, stepping back to look at him and catching his reaction to his surprise. “Hi Spence.” 

“Charlotte–” he chuckled, unsure of what to think or what to say. 

“I-I’m sorry to just waltz in like this. I should’ve called, but I just–” 

The rest of the team dispersed, leaving the Las Vegas kids alone. Spencer’s eyes were glued on her, feeling like he was dreaming. The girl of his dreams was actually standing in front of him with that beautiful smile and those sparkling green eyes. 

Before his brilliant brain could string words together, it decided to act instead of speak. He swiftly swooped her up into his arms and kissed her on the lips, something he had been thinking about since returning from Hartford. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you and I just– I had to see you,” she told him between kisses. 

Spencer smiled. “Ninety-nine percent.” 

“I've been spending the last eight months Thinking all love ever does Is break and burn, and end But on a Wednesday in a cafe I watched it begin again” – Taylor Swift

Everything taglist: @calamitykaty @n0wornever @wanniiieeee @unnowhatthisistbh

Criminal Minds Taglist: 

@boimlers-gonna-boim @samsbirks @tinaasthings @dysphoricsanity @love4lando @elenamoncada-ibarra @r-3dlips @magstheslayer @astess @sylvcaplath @tillypettitt @mordechaisworld @ssameadows @spikedhe4rt @spencers-bookworm @littlemissaddict @kirbybean

[sardonic-the-writer]

Tell! Us! About! Your! OCs!

Specific question if it helps: What’s their favorite thing to eat and/or drink?

arghhh thank you so much for sendind this ask in!!! here's a post i made a bit ago about their preferred drinks, but the food question is something new i'll answer in full here

—tracker

tracker has trouble remembering to eat three meals a day, mostly he only ever eats dinner or lunch, but one of his favorite delicacies would have to be sunny side up eggs. he never even liked eggs either up until he walked into the kitchen one morning and engineer was making some. ever since then, he had learned to perfect his own egg cooking ability, and now whenever he's hankering for something to eat, his go to is the egg carton

—shrimp

shrimp!!! loves!!! street food!!! it's one of the quickest and cheapest (if you know the right spots) ways to get food in gotham. he's gone weeks before living off of falafel, loaded tacos, and slightly overdone crepes. most of the time they pick food up after a particularly late gig with his band, or after staying up too late on a rooftop with batman discussing the next move they'll make together. the street food isn't always the best, but to him it means home, and that's something he could never part with

—puck

puck has been all over in his time on this earth. he's been to america, britain, mexico, japan, and whatever else. and in all that time, he could never find something better to eat than a nice cup o noodles. when he used to smoke, and trust me he used to, when he got the munchies it would always be for those stupid cup o noodles packs. you could buy them in bulk, for ninety nine cents a pop, and took five minutes tops to make. the amount of times 2D has walked into a room to see puck absolutely baked and slurping down his third cup of noodles is difficult to pinpoint. even after going cold turkey, puck still finds comfort in noodles, even if he eats them a lot less now

—quinn

quinn fucking loves when logan cooks. that's his favorite food. anything logan makes. it doesn't even have to be good, it just has to be done by logan. preferably while he wears one of those white wife beaters of his and his hair is still crazy from waking up

—ezra

living life on the road, and then the bunker, means that ezra is plenty used to fast food and gas station hot dogs. he bounces back and fourth between the individual tastes of sam and dean, from eating salads one day to trying a bacon cheeseburger the next, but his go to snack will always be a big bag of swedish fish with a bowl of fruit. he swears it's the perfect balance of natural sweetness and artifical sweetness, and has gotten him through enough trips in baby to count as more than reliable

[emotionalcadaver]

Part 1: The Clockwork Laws

Fandom: In Time

Pairing: Raymond Leon x OC

Summary: Rose gets a wake up call as to what it really means to be a timekeeper.

Word Count: 3,408

Notes: Warnings for depictions of violence and references to sexual content.  

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 5: Drained

“Hey, Raymond, we got a problem.”

Leaning back, chair swinging from side to side, he raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

Vaughn handed him a sheet of paper. “This is how much time was logged by the Timekeepers as being collected from Cyrus’s apartment,” she pointed to a line on the chart.

“Okay.”

“And this,” she pointed to a line further down. “Is how much was just entered into evidence.”

Raymond frowned down at the two numbers, leaning over the paper, running the numbers through his head. “That’s…”

“It’s about one duffle bag’s worth, give or take.”

His teeth grinded together, a stress headache already beginning to build behind his eyes. “Vaughn.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Please tell me that it’s possible that someone who wasn’t a Timekeeper had access to that time between when it was moved from Cyrus’s apartment to when it was logged into evidence.”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. Shit. “Shit,” he glanced back up at Vaughn. “Keep this quiet for now, okay?”

“Of course, sir.”

There was the thud of shoes behind him, and then a clatter as Rose tossed her bag onto her seat. “Okay, I know I’m five minutes late, but there was the cutest fucking cat sleeping in this little patch of sunlight right outside of my apartment building, and I had to pet him–what’s wrong?” she ended her rambling when she spotted his face, brows furrowing. Raymond glanced around the office, at the other Timekeepers bustling around them, going about their work. He made a little jerk of his head towards the hallway that led to the restrooms, break room, and stairwell. Her eyebrows raised, but she followed him out in the hall. He eyed the slightly ajar door to the breakroom suspiciously, a few mumbled voices from those getting their coffee leaking out into the hallway.

When he reached down and opened the door to the supply closet, Rose gave him a look like he’d lost his mind.

“Please?”

She looked like she had half a mind to argue with him, then huffed, stepping into the closet. He closed it shut behind him and grabbed a broomstick, wedging it up under the door handle, effectively locking it before flicking on the single bulb hanging precariously from the ceiling.  

“What if someone needs supplies?”

“Please. The only reason people come in here is to have sex.”

Her eyebrows flew up to nearly her hairline. He choked. 

“That is not why I brought you in here.”

“Uh huh, sureeee.”

“No, I swear–” his eyes narrowed as his mind caught up with his mouth and realized her tone was teasing. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

She snickered, quietly. “Mm. Sorry. To be fair, I was only about ninety percent sure that this wasn’t some weird sex thing,” she moved a step closer to him, pulling one of her shoulders in to prevent it front knocking against a shelf lined with cleaning supplies. “What’s up?”

“Okay, listen,” he leaned forward, keeping his voice low despite them being alone. “Some of the time that was taken from Cyrus’s apartment has gone missing.”

“Missing? Did the evidence room get robbed?”

“No, it was gone before they could log it into evidence.”

“So…?”

“So the only people who could possibly have had access to that time between when it was transferred from the apartment to evidence were Timekeepers.”

“Andddd you know that it wasn’t me because we spent a good chunk of the day together and then you dropped me off at home where I spent the rest of the time before the party at the base eating cold pizza in my pajamas.”

“Actually I just trust you.”

“Aw, Ray…” 

He shushed her lightly, fighting a smile. This was serious. They needed to be serious.

“Who do you think it could be?” she asked, head cocked. He shook his head, mind going through the mental list of all the Timekeepers that he kept in his head. No one was a definitive suspect. Nor was anyone definitely innocent. 

Something passed across Rose’s face. “Whoever took the time, they would have already had it before the party, right?”

“Probably. What?” he asked, noting the way her brows drew in.

“It’s probably nothing…”

“What!?”

“It’s just…Cassius had a really fancy watch on. Like…more than a month’s salary, type of fancy. But he said that it was a birthday gift.”

Raymond’s blood went cold, just staring at her.

“What?”

“Cassius’s birthday isn’t for four months.”

“...Oh, shit.”

Outside, an alarm started blaring. They shared one quick glance with each other before scrambling for the door, shoving the broomstick out of the way and bursting out into the hallway. Jogging to the open office, he came to a stop in front of the map that was beeping insistently, the section that was Dayton glowing red.

“Sir, fifty thousand years was just dispersed in Dayton,” Vaughn reported. 

“God dammit,” he breathed, already, alerts at system instability were beginning to pop up. Fifty thousand years wouldn’t crash everything, but it wasn’t good either. 

“You remember when you had Cassius drive me home, after I was released from being arrested?” Rose asked softly, standing at his side.

“Yeah?”

“He didn’t talk much, but he said something funny…something about how it must have felt nice to actually be helping people when I was with the rebellion.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Did no one pay attention during their economics class? Did they really not understand how just flooding the system with time had the potential to doom them all? Fucking idiot just wanted to be a hero. But all he would accomplish was Dayton being hit with more and more taxes until all that time he just gave them was sucked away and the people were starving and timing out on the streets. 

“Vaughn,” he shouted. “I want you to take a team and go to Cassius’s apartment. If he’s there, arrest him, if not, break down the goddamn door and turn the place upside down.”

“Yes, sir.”

He touched Rose’s elbow. “You’re with me, come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Dayton.”

∗ ∗ ∗ 

They cruised idly throughout the streets of Dayton, patrolling through the areas close to where the time had been distributed.

“You see him?” Raymond asked, gum snapping between his teeth as his eyes scanned all around them. His stress and irritation was contagious, leaving her jittery.

“No.”

The car rounded a turn slowly, cutting through the people walking on the street like a shark as they parted to make room for the vehicle.

“How much more time does he have on him?”

“Assuming that he’s only given away fifty thousand years, about another fifty thousand. Give or take.”

“Hey, wait,” she stretched her neck around.

“What?”

“Isn’t that his car?” she nodded towards the Timekeeper car parked in the near empty parking lot by a gas station. She jumped as the car nearly spun with how fast Raymond whipped them around, grabbing onto her seatbelt for stability as he brought the car swinging into the spot next to Cassius’s car. Jumping out, they both rushed around to the car, peering in the windows. “He’s not here,” Rose huffed.

“Hey, guys,” Cassius was walking from the gas station, a paper cup of coffee in his hand.

“Cassius,” Raymond said slowly. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d come out and check out that time that just went off. I was patrolling near the area anyway,” he pointed to the store behind him. “Just ducked in to get a cup of coffee.”

“How do you know about that?” Rose asked.

“I heard it on the radio,” he pointed to the car. “Thought that I would see if there was anyone suspicious around.”

Uh huh, sure.

Raymond’s phone buzzed, and he brought it to his ear, eyes near leaving Cassius. “Yes? Uh huh. You’re there?” he blinked, once. “Okay. Keep me posted.”

“Did they find it?” Rose asked.

“No,” Raymond shook his head, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“Find what?” Cassius looked between them curiously. 

“Unrelated case,” Raymond waved him away. Rose began to walk slowly around Cassius’s car, peering in the windows. Nothing looked out of place. Raymond was continuing to talk to Cassius, questioning him. Rose didn’t pay either of them much mind.

“Ray, could you unlock the trunk, please?”  

He raised an eyebrow but did as asked. She rifled through the various tools they had stowed away in there until she found what she was looking for, swinging the crowbar casually from her fingers as she went to the trunk of Cassius’s car. 

“Hey, what are you doing!? Hey!” Cassius yelled in sudden panic when he spotted her pressing the crowbar to the trunk. He made a move towards her, but Raymond had his gun pulled from his holster in the blink of an eye.

“Don’t touch her.”

Grunting, she had to put most of her weight on the crowbar before the trunk popped open. “We really should increase the security on these things,” she said to Raymond before lifting it, peering around. It was empty. She pulled up the covering for the spare tire. Nothing. Just the spare and some dust. Slamming the trunk closed, she shook her head at Raymond. His lips were pressed into a firm line. A look of silent dread filling his face.

“Cass, I need to see your clock.”

Cassius hugged his left arm protectively to his chest. “Why?”

“I think that you know why.”

“Ray, listen—ow! Hey!” he yelped as Rose rushed him from behind, grabbing his arm and thrusting it out towards Raymond. Taking the arm firmly, he pulled back the sleeve, jaw clenching at the sight of the thousands of years ticking away on Cassius’s arm.

“If I ask you where you got that, will you tell me the truth?”

“It’s just a loan.”

“Of thousands of years?” Rose snorted.

“The bank knows that I’m good to pay it back.”

Raymond tilted his head, snorting in disbelief.

“It’s not a crime to carry around large amounts of time, Raymond,” Cassius said simply, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Cassius,” Raymond said sternly. “We know that some of the time from Cyrus’s apartment was stolen before it got to evidence, and we know that it was you. So please, don’t insult me with your bullshit.”

Cassius’s shoulders slumped, before he looked at Raymond, pleading. “Ray, please. How long have we known each other? Just…” he trailed off at the ice cold look in Raymond’s eyes.

“You're under arrest, Cassius,” he said. Rose pulled a pair of handcuffs from her coat pocket, using a firm hand on his shoulder to push him to the ground.

“You know what they’ll do to me, for giving away time,” Cassius was still speaking to Raymond. “I supported you, when no one else would. When you first joined us. Back when everyone else still thought that you were nothing but a–”

“I suggest that you think very carefully about what you say to me,” Raymond growled, and Cassius grew silent as Rose cuffed him. Raymond pulled out his phone, dialing and stepping away to speak to whoever he had on the other end.

“You don’t know what he was,” Cassius said, just staring at the ground. “What he still is,” he looked up at her. “This is what he does when people don’t have any more use to him,” he shot a glare in Raymond’s direction. “He uses them, betrays them, and then leaves them to twist in the wind.”

“Shut the fuck up, Cassius,” she said simply, hauling him up and leading him over to the car.

“Heh. Given your track record, you two might actually be perfect for each other,” Cassius snorted bitterly, she shoved him into the back and closed the door behind him. Sliding into her seat. Raymond hung up the phone and joined her at the wheel.

“What about his car?”

“Someone will come pick it up.”

“Okay,” they pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the road. Raymond cleared his throat awkwardly. Watching the traffic signs pass them by, she frowned. “Ray, you missed the turn.”

“I need you to listen very, very carefully to me,” he said, still steering the car out towards the road that led to nothing but open desert. “You do exactly what I tell you to do, okay? We’ll talk about this more when it’s done.”

“What’s going on?”

He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He looked like he was in pain. “It’s just another part of the job.” 

There were a few other Timekeeper cars convened off the side of the road. Raymond brought them to a stop beside them and killed the engine. But before stepping out of the car, he leaned over, grabbing her hands.

“Trust me.”

For a long second she just stared into his eyes, taken aback at the pleading worry that shined in their light blue depth. She nodded. “Okay.”

Stepping from the car, she watched as Raymond plucked Cassius from the backseat, pulling him along down the small hill to where the other Timekeepers were gathered, talking quietly to themselves. Rose trailed behind slowly, boots kicking up sand into little dust clouds. By the time she got to the bottom of the hill, Raymond had already deposited Cassius in the middle of the circle of Timekeepers.

Joelle was standing with her arms wrapped around herself, looking anguished and furious. The moment Cassius was tossed onto the dirt she lunged forward, slapping him so hard across the face that his lip split. 

“You want to be the one to do it?” she asked. Raymond shook his head. She shrugged. “Alright. I call dibs then.”

“I’ll help you,” Vaughn said, her bright red hair fluttering in the slight breeze. Together they descended upon Cassius. Vaughn unlocked the handcuffs binding him and grabbed his left arm, forcing it out towards Joelle. Raymond began to walk to Rose, sand barely making a sound under his boots.

“Come with me.”

“Wait–what are they doing?” she asked, trying to crane her head around to see. Raymond took her gently by the arm, leading her away. “I don’t understand–”

“Rose,” he pulled her along with him more firmly, tugging her out of the circle of Timekeepers and away across the expanse of desert. But while she let him lead her away, she still kept glancing over her shoulder, feet skidding to a stop when she watched Joelle grab at Cassius’s arm. He was trying to tear away from her, but Vaughn held him in a tight pin. 

“Wait, wait. She’s taking his time–”

“I know.”

“You know!?” her voice raised a slight octave in her disbelief. She tried to rip away from him, to go and stop…whatever fucked up ritualistic killing was about to take place, but he caught her before she could get more than a step or two, hauling her up into his arms, spinning her away so that she couldn’t see, caging her in against his chest. “Rose, Rose,” he chanted in his ear. “Shh. You have to let it happen, okay? It’s going to be fine. I need you to trust me, okay?”

She only realized then that she was shaking, a memory bursting at the seams of her mind of Luke grabbing her by the arm, pressing down as the number ticked away. Please, stop, you’ll drain me, you’ll bleed me dry, you’ll kill me–

Behind them, there was the telltale pulse that signified that Cassius’s clock had run down to zero. Then a thud as a body hit the sand.

“Shh,” Raymond soothed as a hiccupping sob burst from her throat. One hand stroked her hair, trying to calm her.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, twisting away from him. “You let them–you let them kill him.”

“It’s not that simple,” he said gently. “I’ll explain on the way back, just–”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!”

“Rose, please–”

“No!” she pulled away, turning and beginning to walk away from him, climbing the little hill they’d driven down and back onto the road. Behind her, she could hear the hum of other Timekeeper’s voices, but she ignored them, forcing herself not to look back.

They’d just–they’d just executed him. No trial. No discussion of sentencing. Just dragged him out to the desert to be dealt with; like they were no better than a street gang. She felt like she was going to be sick.

The Timekeeper cars roared up the hill and blazed past her, heading back towards the city. She sighed, wiping at her brow, the heat already beginning to get to her. Damn, she hadn’t realized just how far they’d driven out.

“Rose,” one car lingered behind, coming to drive at a slow pace beside her. “Rose, get back in the car,” Raymond’s voice was more pleading than demanding.

“No.”

“You’re going to get heatstroke if you try to walk all the way back. Especially in that coat.”

“Maybe I don’t care,” she grumbled, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Well, I do.”

Her feet skidded to a stop. Raymond brought the car to an idle standstill next to her.

“You can scream at me, if you would like,” he offered after a moment of silence. Sighing, she finally looked at him.

“I don’t want to scream at you.”

“At least let me drive you back into town.”

A bubble of frustration rose in her chest and she let out a petulant growl, kicking furiously at the sand. “Fine,” she got into the passenger side of the car, slamming the door a little harder than was necessary. The car didn’t move, and Raymond sighed, hands hanging loosely against the steering wheel. “Talk.”

“Cassius was right. We couldn’t arrest him just for having a large amount of time on his clock. And even if we did, when he goes to trial, the lack of evidence would have him free in no time.”

“So you kill him?”

“This is what happens to the people we can’t provide substantial evidence for to be taken away but who, if we leave out on the streets, could cause enough damage to leave the entire system in shambles.”

“The people who give away too much time.”

“Yes,” he shifted in his seat so that he was facing her. “Rose, if we’d let him go, he would have dispersed those remaining years, probably in Dayton. And it wouldn’t do anything to help anyone, except cause the authorities to cut wages and raise taxes. And more people will die.”

“God,” she shook her head, staring up at the ceiling of the car. “There really is no way out, is there? No way to fix it.”

“Not without thousands or more dying in the process.”

She rubbed at her eyes, cursing when she realized that she probably just smudged her makeup to all hell. “How do you live with it?”

His lips pressed together sympathetically, a hand reaching out to stroke the back of his knuckles along her cheek soothingly. “At the end of the day, we save more lives than we take.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit.”

His lips quirked. “We’re all stuck in the same system. Live or die. Seconds counting down. As a Timekeeper, you have a guaranteed salary that’s enough to keep you alive for forever, if you want to. And you have enough to be able to have a life for yourself. You can have nice things. Go out and have fun, do things without needing to rush or constantly be looking at your clock, needing to make every second count.”

“So I should make my peace with being selfish?”

“I don’t think wanting any of those things is selfish.”

She licked her lips, realizing as she took a breath that she was close to tears. “It’s hard to stop feeling that way.”

“I know,” his thumb brushed away a tear on her cheek. “We can’t stop the clock. Or turn it back. All we can do is keep it running. It’s what we do,” he gave her a sad smile. “Come here,” he gently pulled her head down, until it rested on his shoulder, arms wrapping around her. “It’ll get better,” he promised. Rose closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of leather and mint gum and the slight trace of cologne, and after barely a moment of hesitation, wrapped her arms around him.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[howlofhades]

More of my ocs being absolutely batshit insane:

Irais: I'm naturally funny because my life is a joke.

-

Erix: Today at 7 am, Barks poured a Monster energy drink in his caf, said "I'm going to die" and drank the whole thing.

Skunker: I watched Barks brew his caf with Monster instead of water. Three cups in two hours. I think he ascended into the astral realm.

Storm: The survivability of the human race never fails to amaze me.

-

Storm: Why do you act like we’re three year olds?

Barks, exasperated: WHY?!?

Barks points at Erix: YOU TRIED TO HYJACK A CAR!

Barks points at Skunker: YOU NEARLY JUMPED 20 FEET OFF A CARPARK!

Barks points at Storm: AND YOU ATE MULTIPLE DRIED LEAVES AND ROCKS OFF THE GROUND!

Barks: AND YOU ASK ME WHY????

-

Storm: I haven't slept in seventy-three hours.

Skunker: Eighty. Democratically elected leader of insomnia.

Barks: Bitch, it's been ninety for me. I'm going for an even one hundred.

Erix: You guys are fucking terrifying.

-

Phoenix: Look, Lazarus, if you can fit your head down the gun’s barrel, you can assume it doesn’t have a non-lethal setting.

-

Phoenix: Hopefully Lazarus has learned a lesson about respecting other people's feelings.

Lazarus: Oh, shut up and die Phoenix.

-

Erix: Why did you guys dress up as each other for Halloween?

Storm: Barks is the scariest thing I could think of!

Barks: Storm told me I should pick the dumbest costume possible.

-

Storm: Wow, did you hear that voice crack?

Barks: That wasn't a voice crack, that was a whole voice meth.

-

Storm: That sounds super! Doesn’t that sound super, Barks?

Barks: No.

Storm: I think I speak for Barks when I say it sounds really super.

-

Barks: WHOEVER CAUSED THIS MESS IS GOING TO-

Bear: It was me...

Barks: ...Is going to be forgiven because everyone deserves a second chance.

-

Barks: If karma doesn't hit you, I fucking will.

-

Barks: Does anyone know how to relax? Asking for a friend.

-

Erix: Arson? Oh, you mean "crime brûlée".

-

Erix: ...This is one of those moments where it doesn't really matter what I have to say, isn't it?

-

Storm: The best person I know is myself.

-

Storm: I hate when people ask me, 'What did you do today?' Buddy listen, I woke up at noon and then it was five p.m., okay? I don't KNOW!

-

Irais, opening a Capri Sun: Guess I'll drink my sorrows away.

-

Irais: Not to be nsfw but I want someone to hold me while I sleep.

-

Skunker: I like wearing oversized sweaters. Not just because they're extremely comfy and cuddly, but because whenever the sleeves are really big, I get to flop them around and smack people.

-

Skunker, texting: Don't worry, I have your phone! Text me when you're gonna come get it!

-

Bear: I mean, sure, I have my bad days, but then I remember what a cute smile I have.

-

Bear: Pros and cons of dating me.

Bear: Pros. You'll be the cute one.

Bear: Cons. Holy shit, where do I begin-

-

Phoenix: Don't joke about murder. I was murdered once and it offends me.

-

Phoenix: Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my actions.

-

Lazarus: I like wearing oversized sweaters. Not just because they're extremely comfy and cuddly, but because whenever the sleeves are really big, I get to flop them around and smack people.

-

Lazarus: Like, no offense to myself and all, but what the fuck am I actually doing?

-

Erix: Where is everyone?

Storm: Bear had a nervous collapse, Barks is looking after them, Lazarus is trying to kill Phoenix, so I’m in charge.

Erix: Oh my god!

Storm: I know, right?

-

*Everyone is standing around the broken cafmaker*

Barks: So. Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just wanna know.

Everyone:

Phoenix: ...I did. I broke it.

Barks: No. No you didn't. Lazarus?

Lazarus: Don't look at me. Look at Bear.

Bear: What?! I didn't break it.

Lazarus: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken?

Bear: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken.

Lazarus: Suspicious.

Bear: No, it's not!

Storm: If it matters, probably not, but Erix was the last one to use it.

Erix: Liar! I don't even drink that crap!

Storm: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the caf cart earlier?

Erix: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, Storm!

Phoenix: Okay let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Barks .

Barks: No! Who broke it!?

Everyone:

Storm: Barks... Lazarus's been awfully quiet.

Lazarus: rEALLY?!

*Everyone starts arguing*

Barks, being interviewed: I broke it. I burned my hand so I punched it.

Barks: I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick.

Barks:

Barks: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

-

Lazarus: Man, they look like a real handful. How do you deal with them?

Barks, watching Storm screaming, Erix trying to set a sleeping Bear on fire, and Phoenix choking on air: I don't know either.

[dragons-bones]

bold all of your character’s regular truths & italicize occasional / uncommon actions!

1. Smoking: the action or habit of inhaling and exhaling the smoke of tobacco or a drug. 2. Binge drinking: the consumption of an excessive amount of alcohol in a short period of time. 3. Drug abuse: the habitual taking of illegal drugs. 4. Nail biting: a common body language sign of anxiety/tension. 5. Lip biting: a common body language sign of anxiety/tension. 6. Night Owl: a person who is habitually active or wakeful at night. 7. Early bird: a person who rises, arrives, or acts before the usual or expected time. 8. Negative attitudes: a philosophy of approaching life with criticism and pessimism. 9. Positive attitudes: a philosophy of approaching life with optimism and confidence. 10. Swearing: the use of offensive language. 11. Superstitious: an irrational belief that an object, action, or circumstance not logically related to a course of events influences its outcome. 12. Inspecting fingernails: a common body language sign of boredom. 13. Scratching your neck: a common body language sign of uncertainty. 14. Foot and finger tapping: a common body language sign of stress/impatience. 15. Nose touch: a subtle body language sign of deceit. 16. Flipping hair: a common body language sign of craving attention. 17. Twirling hair: a common body language sign of flirtation. 18. Cracking knuckles: a common body language sign of readiness. 19. Hands behind back: a common body language sign of confidence. 20. Finger pointing: a common body language sign of authority. 21. Hands on hips: a common body language sign of readiness. 22: Hands in pockets: a common body language sign of mistrust/reluctance. 23. Frequent touch: a common body language sign of warmth/familiarity. 24. Throat-clearing: a common body language sign of rejection/doubt. 25: Jaw-clenching: a common body language sign of hostility. 26: Eye-rolling: a common body language sign of irritation. 27: Head-tilt: a common body language sign of interest. 28. Whistling: to emit high-pitched sound by forcing breath through a small hole between one’s lips or teeth; usually to a tune. 29. Humming: make a low, steady continuous sound like that of a bee; usually to a tune. 30. Perfectionism: refusal to accept any standard short of perfection. 31. Photographic memory: the ability to remember information or visual images in great detail. 32. Paranoia: a mental condition characterized by delusions of persecution, unwarranted jealousy, or exaggerated self-importance, typically worked into an organized system. 33. Exaggeration: a statement that represents something as better or worse than it really is. 34: Intuitive: using or based on what one feels to be true even without conscious reasoning; instinctive. 35: Quick-witted: showing or characterized by an ability to think or respond quickly and effectively. 36: Interrupting: breaking the continuity of a conversation with one’s own statements. 37: Doodling: to scribble or make rough drawings, absent-mindedly. 38: Irritable: having or showing a tendency to be easily annoyed. 39: Gambling: to play games of chance for money; bet. 40: Travel-sick: suffering from nausea caused by the motion of a moving vehicle, boat, or aircraft. 41: Sensitive: having or displaying a quick and delicate appreciation of others’ feelings. 42: Melancholy: a feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause. 43: Chewing gum: the exercise of chewing flavoured gum which is not intended for swallowing. 44: Fidgeting: to make small movements, especially of the hands and feet, through nervousness or impatience. 45: Skeptical: not easily convinced; having doubts or reservations. 46: Neat-freak: compulsively obsessed with cleanliness. 47: Gossiping: divulging personal information about others. 48: Prim: feeling or showing disapproval of anything regarded as improper; stiffly correct. 49: Abbreviating: Giving others nicknames/shortening names/giving pet names. 50: Having a catchphrase: having a sentence or phrase typically associated with a specific person.

tagged by: @ahlis-xiv

tagging: @keltgeim, @aethericgeometry, @questir, @arko-xiv, @jhin-ffxiv, @aurelle-ffxiv, @miss-bullets-and-booze, @rolanberryshortcake, @starsandauras, anyone else interested who’s slipped my mind!

[zepskies]

And So It Goes - Part 11

Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca. 

Pairing: Butcher/OFC (Latina!OC)

ASIG Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4,700 Warnings: Language, angst

11: In Every Heart There is a Room

“You fed the stray,” Mother’s Milk grumbled. He had the surliness of a ninety-year-old man with the body of a Greek god, but Helena would not be fooled. Even through the phone, she recognized the thread of worry underneath his mild bitching.

Rolling her eyes, she sighed and opened a new package of double-stuffed Oreos to go along with the pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream she got at the store that morning.

Perhaps she was stress eating, but it was only fair, considering the very restless night she’d had. Knowing Butcher was under her roof had destroyed six months of trying (and mostly succeeding) to put him out of her mind.

“What was I supposed to do?” she said. “He showed up at my door, looking like a sad, scruffy-ass bum who lost his booze money…and he had the most bullshit excuse! Couldn’t even admit how he found out where I was.”

“Mallory’s always had a soft spot for him,” M.M. said, sounding bemused. While that point was interesting, Helena tried not to be too annoyed that Mallory had probably betrayed her confidence, even if it was for Butcher.

She supposed that’s what she got for trusting a government spy. But what Helena would fucking give to know why Butcher went to such lengths to find her…if he was just going to leave without saying goodbye.

“Yeah well, Mr. Soft Spot fled the vicinity early this morning,” she groused. “Little bitch didn’t even have the decency to leave a note.”

Or at least his new phone number…

“Decency.” M.M. let out a short laugh. “Hel, trust me. Just let the man be.” 

Helena wandered out of her kitchen with an obscenely large bowl of dessert, phone pressed to her ear with her shoulder, and somehow made it to her couch without incident. She kicked her feet up on the coffee table before she dove in. Balancing the bowl in her lap, she grabbed her phone and put her exasperated friend on speaker.

“You didn’t see him, M.M.,” she finally replied, albeit around a mouthful of ice cream. “I don’t know where his head’s at. Thinking about what he might be getting into now, it makes my fucking skin crawl.” 

She heard him sigh heavily on the line, then pause to turn away to answer a muffled question his daughter asked him. Helena felt bad for taking him away from his family, even for a five-minute chat about her own personal hell. 

“Listen,” M.M. said, “If you’re smart, you’d see this for the pure gift it is, and let that motherfucker drop the hell out of your life.”

Helena frowned. Her spoon clattered a bit too loudly on the ceramic bowl in her lap.

“That’s a hell of a thing to say,” she said. “He just lost Becca…for the second time. You all got your happy endings, and meanwhile, he’s twisting in the wind again doing God knows what.”

She knew M.M. wasn’t that heartless. There was a lot left unsaid in the brief silence that followed, but despite everything Billy Butcher had put them all through in the past, she had a feeling M.M. had more sympathy for the ill-tempered Brit than he could readily admit.

M.M.’s wife and daughter were forced to go into hiding because of his own choices. She was sure he knew the fear of losing them forever.

“I’m tellin’ you this for your sake,” he said eventually. “Where Butcher goes, shit follows. And he knows it.”

He was edging towards something. She thought she knew what he was implying, but her stomach was already in knots and she was entirely too fucking tired to play these games anymore.

“What are you saying?” she said sharply.

“I’m saying he’s never gunna let Homelander go,” M.M. said. “He’s never gunna let Becca go. So if you want to keep your sanity, and your life, then let him go.”

That was probably good advice. In fact, Helena knew it was, and she made the decision that day to continue protecting herself. After all, wasn’t that the reason she had left the city behind, along with what was left of her old life?

…Unfortunately, she also had a long, sad history of making ill-advised decisions.

That very night, she saw (caught) him in the bowels of her local pub. His third glass of dark liquor was in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth.

To date, she had never seen him smoke, and she was just irritated enough (and bold enough) to grab the cancer stick out of his mouth and diffuse it in the ashtray on the counter.

She knew he had noticed her the moment she came into the bar, and she could feel him watching her now as she slid into the seat next to him.

Her lips were set in a tight frown. Helena sighed, because not even her revered place of day-drinking was safe anymore, and this man was surely raising her blood pressure. She dumped her purse on the counter and ordered her usual beer with a shot of tequila. Lacing her fingers on the counter surface, she finally turned her gaze to Butcher. He offered her his usual smirk.  

“I thought you’d be long gone by now,” she said, “considering your aversion to goodbyes, and common courtesy.”

He eventually answered, “Found this crusty lil’ spot last night. Decided to stay one more.”

But why? she wondered. Butcher didn’t do anything without a reason, so why was he sticking around in upstate suburbia? Was he just…bored? Was he keeping an eye on her, or was it Vought-related somehow? And if it was the latter, why the fuck would he come to her? All the valuable information she might have had, she gave to Mallory.

Whatever the reason, she thought as she sipped her beer, there was only one thing she could think to say—even though M.M.’s advice rattled around in the back of her mind like red-hot warning bells.

“Look, I don’t know why you’re really here,” she started, pausing to lick the brine of tequila from her lips. “But if you need a safe place to crash, you’ve got one. You don’t have to sleep in your car or drink here all night, or whatever the fuck you do to pass the time. Got it?”

Butcher didn’t quite look at her now, but his mouth quirked wryly before he finished off his whiskey.

“Not goin’ soft now are ya, love?” he asked. She shook her head and busied herself with the beer in her hand.

“Whatever. Do what you want.” You always do.

It was a terrible fucking idea.

Bad enough to come here the first time around, worse not to roll out of town like he planned to, worst of all to fuck his better judgment and go back home with her that night.

Butcher could blame the booze, but it was hard to complain when she cooked dinner, especially when it was some bonafide Cuban shit he could barely pronounce. Some beef stew and rice, but the name, ropa vieja she said, meant old clothes, and tasted anything but.

He stayed the night and left in the morning, working some odd jobs around town while he bided his time. The truth was, he was waiting on some information to come in. He wasn’t going to Mallory again. Not until he had something concrete, something he could use.

The strange thing was, he hadn’t noticed anyone trailing him since he left the city; hadn’t felt the back of his neck burning or sensed the ever-present target on the back of his head.

It was part of the reason why he was sticking around, out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Whether it was truly safe or not (it probably wasn’t—just because he couldn’t feel prying eyes didn’t mean jack shit), he knew he was gambling, and not just with his own life. As always.

Over the next few weeks, she allowed him to come and go as he pleased. He learned, with a very rude awakening one morning, that she played salsa music loud as shit while she cleaned up the whole house—before birds, the sun, and even God were awake.

A weekly ritual, she told him, and his only entertainment was in teasing her about fitting a certain stereotype, like some Maid in Manhattan type shit.

“And you? Where the fuck is my entire stash of Earl Gray, Billy?” she demanded, hand on her hip. “I pegged you as more of a liquor in your coffee kind of Brit, not pinky raising, crumpets and afternoon tea."

"Why can't I like tea?"

"You drank it all! And my shortbread cookies, you ass." 

Granted, the mop in her hand slightly took away from her annoyed stance, but Butcher couldn’t help cracking up a bit. He liked winding her up, because she was fucking funny when she was pissed off. Like a kitten fluffing up its fur to look intimidating.

Still, while sat at the breakfast bar of her kitchen his gaze was drawn to the cupboards between the oven and the pantry, where he knew she kept her booze.  

“Yeah well, you locked the liquor cabinet so I got no choice, do I?” he said.

Helena looked at him more shrewdly then, and with some sympathy. He knew what she was doing, or rather what she was trying to do. Trying to stop him from drinking so much. He couldn’t decide if it made him angry, or if it made him respect her that much more.

She surprised him by putting down the mop and taking his hand, getting him up from the bar.

“I’ve got a better way to take the edge off,” she said with a smirk. His lips curved and his brow rose all too lasciviously. But the moment he opened his mouth, she slapped his cheek firmly enough to force a wince and a chuckle out of him.  

“Finally inviting me up to the bedroom, are we?”

“Shut up,” she snapped, “just come on.”

Helena’s smoke came out in shallow huffs with her laughter at Butcher nearly coughing up a lung. The difference was, it wasn’t with the black tar of cigarette smoke, but with the…herby aftertaste of a more organic alternative.

They played dominoes on her bedroom floor while she learned, despite his rock and roll exterior, that he was not as experienced as Becca had been in this area.

“My family owns a little café in Miami,” she admitted. “When I was little, I’d sit with my dad and my uncle on slow days while they played cards, dominoes, smoke cigars and alternated between coffee and bourbon. Every now and then, Mom would bring a new round of pastries, sandwiches, a slice of cake…”

She could feel Butcher’s eyes on her again as she flipped a domino between her fingers and considered her next move in the game.

“Sounds like a heart attack waiting to happen,” Butcher said.

“It’s no surprise that half my family’s got a Molotov cocktail of diabetes, heart disease, and hypertension.”

He smirked. “Yeah well, mine’s full of drunks and manic depressives, so you’re in good company.”   

Helena’s embarrassing snort turned into a giggle, because she couldn’t exactly help it at the moment, and Butcher’s grin was broader in response.

“When did you and Becca start with this?” he asked, passing back the blunt. Helena took another small hit and thought back. She was surprised to hear him bring her up so casually, but when she looked into his eyes, it wasn’t completely without weight.

“High school junior prom,” she said, still with a bubble of laughter. “We had no idea what the hell we were doing, but both our dates were ass, so…”

Memory seemed to dawn in Butcher’s eyes, and his smirk deepened.

“Aw yeah, Mr. Star Trek briefs,” he recalled, to Helena’s mortification. She nearly dropped the smoking blunt in her lap as her mouth hung open.  

“How the fuck—who told you about that?!”

“I have my ways,” he magnanimously replied, waggling his brow. Helena tossed her domino at his head, then another when he blocked the first one with his hand and protested.

“Heard he was a gamer, something about his fancy fingers,” Butcher hedged. His smirk took on a new edge, his body curving towards her while he braced himself with a hand on the floor, by her knee. “Bet I could beat his high score.”

Helena’s mouth suddenly felt as dry as her face felt undeniably warm. Even her brain momentarily short-circuited at the depths in his voice making her insides tremble a bit. She stared at his bearded face while her addled thoughts fought furiously to connect. Was he fucking serious right now?

“Ha. You are high as shit,” she forced herself to laugh and play her move in the game, so she wouldn’t have to stare into his eyes any longer.

But he was still watching her, closely.

Butcher didn’t come back for a few days after that. He knew that she didn’t understand what he was doing, that she was frustrated with him, but when he showed up at her door, soaked through from the pouring spring rain, she only chastised him for the first few minutes while she let him in and all but pushed him into the guest bathroom to shower.

Even with the rain it was brutally chilly out, and she was already making soup. As much as Butcher hated the word, she looked fucking adorable, all bundled up in a purple cable-knit sweater and fuzzy white socks.

Her hair was wet, rolled up in a bun like she’d just come out of the shower. He could smell the cocoa butter and wondered if it was her soap, or her shampoo. The sweet smell of her skin, or her hair? A tantalizing thought.

“Where do you go when you leave this house?” she finally asked while she rummaged the linen closet for a fresh towel. Butcher rolled his eyes.

“Does it matter?”

“Are you getting into trouble?” she pressed, her hands moving like clockwork to rest on her lovely hips. He smirked, but even fake good humor didn’t exactly reach his eyes.

“Why do I fucking bother. It’s not like you give a shit about things like respect or human decency,” she snapped. Shutting the closet door a little too hard, she all but shoved the towel at him. Her hand was briefly warm against his chest, even through his cold wet shirt.

“All right, Mum.”

“Shut up!”

Helena silently fumed in the living room while the shower ran. But she was angrier at herself than anything—that M.M. had warned her and she dug this hole for herself anyway. When the bathroom door finally opened, she wandered over and crossed her arms impatiently.

Her lips pursed, and she hoped the heat rushing at her face would cover up her blush at the sight of his naked torso with the fluffy towel around his waist. A man wrapped in hot fog and almost little else.  

He caught her stare and smirked at her. “Enjoying the show, are we?”

“I need my hairdryer,” she lied, knowing she was blushing more fiercely. He probably saw through her, but didn’t call her out on it as much as he baited her.

“Come get it then, love. I’m all done,” he replied. He had one of her small combs in his hand and started nonchalantly pulling it through his hair at the mirror.

Helena eyed him warily, but she ignored the fluttering in her stomach and entered the bathroom.

Butcher pretended to be immersed in his task while she crouched down to rummage in the cabinet below the bathroom sink. It wasn’t often that she had her hair up, and her sweater hung lower on her back. He spotted the outline of an interesting tattoo, just below her neck, heading down the curve of her spine.

“‘Ullo, that a spider on your back?” he teased.

Helena gasped. “What!”

Before Butcher could blink, her head banged up on the edge of the cabinet, hard, and suddenly there was blood.

“Shit!” she hissed, but he stopped her hands from flying to grab her head, and guided her with a hand on her neck, away from the small and now bloody nail protruding from the cabinet.

“A shoddy job they did on this place,” he remarked.

Helena winced as she touched the area around the wound in her scalp. She teared up when her fingers came back bloody.

“Shit,” she repeated, and stared up at him with pathetic doe eyes. “That really fucking hurt. Is it bad?”   

“Brilliant,” he muttered. “All right. Just get up here.”

He led her up by the elbows and sat her down on the covered toilet seat. He determined it wasn’t bleeding too badly.

“Was there a spider for real?” she asked tearfully.

Butcher covered up the sting of guilt with a short chuckle.

“Nah, but...you got a tattoo, eh?”

Anger flashing in her eyes, she sat up and slapped his bare shoulder. “You asshole!”

“Oi, oi! You want my help or not?”

She sniffed in response, her gaze reflexively roaming over his bare chest and firm-looking sternum, and the smattering of dark hair covering most of it, and she quickly skipped over the towel-covered portion before returning her gaze to the floor. “Can’t you put some pants on first?”

He smirked deeply, but he decided not to push it. Yet.

“Aye, I can do that.”

He soon returned dressed in jeans and for once a less glaring Hawaiian shirt, to find her dabbing at her scalp with toilet paper.

“Don’t use that one-ply shit, for Christ’s sake.” He pulled her hand away from the wound.

“That’s all that’s in here!” she said defensively. 

“Don’t you have any fuckin’ tissue paper, some gauze?”

“Maybe in the first aid kit. Check my bathroom’s medicine cabinet.”

“Oh, shall I, princess?”

She stared at him incredulously.

“Fine, I’ll get it myself!” she said. “Fucking excuse me, I thought you were helping.”

Again, he rolled his eyes. “All right, enough. Sit down if you’re gunna make a fuss about it.”

“No! Don’t bother,” she said. Perhaps she knew she was being irrationally emotional as she scrubbed fresh tears from her eyes. He stopped her from getting up with a slightly gentler hand. 

“Hey. Hey. Enough of that,” he snapped. “Sit down there.”

Helena felt like a child when he eventually came back with the first aid kit. She stayed grumpily quiet when he parted her hair and swabbed at the back of her head. He held it there until the slow oozing stopped. For a while, the silence in the bathroom was deafening.

“Am I gunna live, doc?” she quipped.

She knew it worked in breaking the tension when she spotted Butcher’s smirk in the mirror. 

“It’s not deep,” he said. “Should be okay.”  

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“Come again?” he hedged. Her lips pursed, even though they still threatened at a smile.

“I said thank you.” Though she did mutter some choice words in Spanish. 

For once, he chose to ignore it. 

“Clumsier than usual,” he teased. “What’re you gunna do if I do leave?”

“I was doing just fine before you showed up,” she tossed back. Maybe that was a little too close to the truth, because they both felt the mood shift into something more serious, and a little awkward.

“Yeah well, far as I can see you’re doing fuck all out here. What do you even do all day?” he said, more gruffly. More critical.

“At least I know for sure that I’m not hurting anyone! Can you say the same?” she said. When he didn’t answer, just as she expected, she stood up and took the gauze out of his hand before she moved past him out of the bathroom.

“When you take off again, do me a favor and make your fucking bed before you go. This isn’t an Airbnb.”

He lay awake in the guest bedroom that night, itching to leave. He wanted to, and it wasn’t often that he didn’t do what he wanted to, but there were things about the woman sleeping upstairs that he couldn’t ignore.

She woke up in the night almost as often as he did, from what he could hear through the thin walls. Sometimes he saw her walk past the cracked open door of his room, not in the sweatpants and oversized shirts she let him see, but in the little satin nighties that gleamed under the hallway nightlight. By his count, she had at least three of them.

He liked the red one best. It reminded him of the dress she wore the night he went kamikaze over to Stillwell’s house, and tried to trap Homelander. 

He’d known that he wouldn’t be walking out of there alive. He would’ve either avenged his wife, or not. But before that, he’d almost kissed Helena in a supply closet—the last idiot whim of a soon-to-be dead man. He hadn’t known then that Becca was alive. 

Perhaps if he’d stopped for half a second and let Helena tell him that, things would be a lot different now.

Butcher could hear her at this very moment, puttering around in the kitchen. She must’ve been more restless than usual. She’d probably make tea or grab a snack, then return to her room like a thief in the night with the entire pack of Oreos or a family-size bag of chips. Honestly, for how healthy she cooked, she had a bad snacking habit. Not that he should judge anyone about bad habits.

Even so, he couldn’t help but think there was something they could do to make sure both of them got a good night’s sleep.

He almost shook his head then, inwardly smirking. Now there was a thought to try and fall asleep on…

Until he was startled awake by a sharp crash that sounded a bit like metal breaking. His body jerked into alertness; he sat up and grabbed his gun from under his pillow before tossing on some pants, not bothering with a shirt. He stayed tense for action while creeping towards the kitchen…and eventually let out the breath he was holding.

It was just Helena, setting a couple of pans back on the kitchen counter. She looked back at him apologetically and he stowed his gun in the band of his pants.

“Sorry!” she stage whispered.

“What the hell’s going on here?”

“I’m making snickerdoodles.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Fucking why?”

“It helps me…not think, okay?”

“What’re you ‘not thinking’ about so loud that bloody cookies can’t wait ‘til the morning, huh?”

She sighed and put the pan down. Her hands found purchase on the counter and she stared down between them. He didn’t think she realized what she was doing to him, showing him the curve of her ass in a satin nightgown that barely reached mid-thigh. The black lacy hem, the thin straps clinging to her shoulders, the hint of nipple—

“How long do you think I have left?” she asked him. Admittedly, it took him a moment to hear, and then finally process that she was speaking.

“Eh?” he said coherently. She turned to him with a hand on her waist, gathering her mane of hair at the nape of her neck and nervously letting it pass through her other hand.   

“It’s so damn quiet here, I kind of hate it,” she said. “Because it feels like it’s not real. Any minute they’re going to knock on my door, or more likely, bust through the window like last time.”

“Still not following, love.”

“When I gave the CIA that footage of Becca, Vought found out in a matter of days. I’ve been kidding myself, Billy. Sooner or later, they’re going to figure out the rest. That their last Senior VP was a mole for six months, that I was working with you and the guys, and Mallory. Then they’re going to kill me.”

He didn’t know what to tell her. Regardless of whatever he felt about it, her fear was real, and he didn’t see the point in lying to her. He couldn’t promise her that she’d be fine, just like he didn’t know if he’d turn a corner and get a bullet to the back of his brain tomorrow. Or Homelander's lasers between his eyes.

“You’ve got Mallory lookin’ out for ya,” he pointed out.

“Is that enough?” Helena asked. "You tell me." 

She looked up at him with those eyes. Again, they were filling up with tears. When she inevitably broke down, he didn’t think he should be the one to catch her if he fell. But if he didn’t, was he okay with the alternative?

“Hey,” he said, just as she looked away from him to hide her face. He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, but she refused to stop hiding. He grasped her arms and playfully jostled her a little. “Eh, don’t get all soft on me again. Look at me.”

Helena bit her lip to try and stop her own sobs, her breath coming out in shallow gasps the more that the panic and stress took over. She shook her head stubbornly.

“He’s going to find me,” she said.

Butcher knew she didn’t mean Stan Edgar, or even Black Noir. A dark thought, a tendril of rage rolled beneath his skin. It was a familiar feeling. Vengeful, protective, and dangerous. He tampered it down enough, holding her just a fraction tighter.

“Helena. Look at me,” Butcher demanded. He was firm enough that she finally obliged him with a sniffle. “You wanna cry, or you wanna make these fuckin’ cookies?”

She stared at him for exactly one beat before a giggle bubbled over. Tears still streamed down her cheeks, but she was smiling again, even laughing when she let her forehead fall against his bare chest.

“You’ll really help me?” she hedged. Raising her head, she tapped her fist lightly against his chest. “Some hard-ass you are.”

A laugh threatened the integrity of his smirk, but he held it down.

“Will it shut you up?” he snarked. She laughed, despite shoving hard at his shoulder.

“You ass. For that, you get to roll the dough balls in sugar.”

“I ain’t fondling no balls, love. That’s your department.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Grace Mallory muttered. She returned the phone to her ear and took a breath, so that when she spoke, her inept assistant would hear the thinly repressed rage in her voice.

“Natalie, if you don’t get me the indexed files on Soldier Boy in the next five minutes, you’ll be handing my next assistant my order from Starbucks, because you’ll be behind the counter frothing the shit yourself. With a little green apron and everything.”

The mousy voice on the line shook, but she squeaked her understanding and Mallory hung up. She tapped her pen against one many files gathered across her office desk, a single table lamp illuminating her struggle.

In sorting through the rest of Vought's archives that Helena had provided, Mallory found that someone had accessed Soldier Boy's file just a few weeks ago.

The record hadn't been touched in nearly a decade...so why now? An uneasy feeling crept up Mallory's spine, but she took a steadying breath. It might very well be nothing, but she was never a woman to leave anything to chance. 

She was almost single-handedly running this surveillance unit that technically didn’t exist, not even on the official documents that legitimized Supe Affairs.

Handing off that project to Victoria Neuman was proving to be a Godsend, as it freed Mallory up for even more important tasks, like keeping Ryan safe. He was due to be moved to the next safe house in three weeks, and she was in the midst of scouting locations.

But her current headache had nothing to do with that, and entirely with her side project: keeping tabs on Homelander. And her side-side project: keepings tabs on Billy Butcher, as well as keeping them from keeping tabs on each other.

The former task was relatively easy. So far it seemed Homelander was too preoccupied with saving face at Vought and to the world to try and find Ryan, or Butcher, and by extension, Helena Flores. And Mallory was on that too.

The girl had been helpful, giving them information that violated her NDA a million times over. Mallory was the only one Helena had trusted with that information, and that was smart of her. Vought had their eyes everywhere, especially on former employees.

But to their frustration, Mallory was sure, they did not yet have eyes on Helena Flores. And because Mallory was good at her job, she knew that not even this CIA classified building could be trusted with the information she held.

How long she could keep it up, God only knew.

Read on: PART 12

The Boys Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

@lauraaan182 @homielander

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: mingyu x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 54K (grab ur popcorn) ⚬ warnings: alcohol, drinking ⚬ genres: SLOWBURN, back and forth PINING, angst, summer romance, spice/nsfw mentions and smut, eventual friends to lovers, brief high school!au, fluff, slight love triangle, lots of teasing/flirting.

✧✎ synopsis: when you graduate high school, you realize you’re not really going to miss anyone, apart from a cute boy who doesn’t even remember your name. five years later, after accepting an offer to pass the summer at a friend’s lake house, he’s standing right in front of you. the universe doesn’t give second chances very often. you’re not going to let the honey boy slip away twice. 

✧✎ a/n: MY LONGEST FIC YET. i did think abt uploading this as a series, but this feels like something which should be uploaded all at once. i actually did include “chapters” so that it’s easier to find the spot where you left off! ALSO, pls do not feel obligated to read this entire thing! if halfway through you’re like “this isn’t for me” then feel free to step away. i understand perfectly well that it can be difficult to stick with long stories, especially if the plot doesn’t grab us. that is natural and i don’t want anyone feeling guilty abt it. i also included some oc’s which i rarely do, but i thought it might further submerse the reader. thnk you sm for being patient!! 

*! i’ve been made aware that there are certain terms which can be used to sexualize and or exotify those with tanned skin, such as the term ‘honey boy’ itself. this is absolutely not my intention nor is kmg sexualized for his skin tone in this story-- however, regardless of intent, it’s important to acknowledge the real consequences these terms can have on poc! it is definitely something to keep in mind for those of us whose fanfic includes artists/oc’s of colour. !*

some final notes:

⇢ here is this fic’s inspo playlist  ⇢ smut chapter is marked so it can be skipped ⇢ taglist included in final author’s note ⇢ i rly hope u guys enjoy it!

CHAPTER 1: THE DOT

It’s graduation day, and you’re standing in the main foyer of your small high school, next to a table that is lined with different platters and refreshments. The line moves slowly as the students fill their paper plates. You keep staring at the gold tassel hanging off the back of Joshua’s cap, how it bobbles from side to side while he balances the plate on his arm and stacks it high with wafer cookies, flavoured in vanilla and strawberry. He grabs the last chocolate milk carton and you sigh quietly. It feels weird. You’re never going to see Joshua again once he relocates for business school.

In fact, you’re never going to see approximately ninety-eight percent of these students again. You look at some people, and you’re fucking relieved. Then you look at others, and there’s a dull disappointment. It’s not that your companionship was anything extraordinary, but there was gleeful memories and conversation and turning around in your seat for the hundredth time to ask for another pencil lead. The line continues to shift forward and you start reaching for a cupcake, but the person behind you darts much quicker, plucking it without a second thought.

You sigh again. It’s not worth it.

By the time you escape the line, your plate is rather sparse: some dry crackers, a couple pieces of cubed mango, and a juice box. The longer you stare at your plate, you come to accept that you’re not even hungry. Thankfully, Soonyoung slips by like a minnow following a shiny lure and you manage to stuff the plate into his arms. He’ll eat anything.

At the opposite side of the foyer, the yearbook committee are making their sales. You buy a yearbook and flip through the laminated pages, scoffing at a few photographs, impatiently skimming by the ones that you could care less about, until you come to the end of the book and there’s some blank pages meant to be inked with signatures. Joshua signs your yearbook, adding a poorly coloured-in heart beside his name. Soonyoung signs too, his handwriting slanted awkwardly across the paper, crumbs falling from the cookie shoved in his mouth which leaves grease on the surface.

A few others write their messages, and you think you could be satisfied. Jane, your chemistry partner for the entire first semester, just finishes signing the book when she spares a quick glance over her shoulder. She scribbles her name down in an indiscernible ribbon, pushes up her thick, foggy glasses, and calls out,

“Mingyu, wait! Let me sign your yearbook!”

Jane doesn’t even lend you a smile before she’s hurrying away. You want to bristle at how little she cares, but the indignance never reaches a boil, not when she had perfectly good reason for treating you like wadded bubblegum stuck in a wrapper.

It is Mingyu after all. He pokes above all his friends, pressing their yearbooks to the wall so he can sign them. When you look at Mingyu, something inside you flutters. At times, you smother the feeling in a crushing grip. And other times, you allow the feeling to bloom, a garden of often misconstrued, adolescent emotion.

You approach Mingyu and wait until the crowd thins. He laughs at an inside joke that Jane had written in his yearbook, to which you see that his braces are now removed, teeth straightened and pearl-white. He licks at his right canine as Jane plays with the end of her side-swept braid and reads the note that he scribbled for her.

She cups a hand to her mouth, “I still can’t believe we did that.”

Mingyu huffs a little too pridefully. “It was mostly you, but whatever.”

“You instigated it!” She laughs, hitting his chest.

Eventually, Jane wanders elsewhere in the foyer. The only two people in the corner are you and Mingyu. He squints at you transiently, then rubs his nose. You feel a bit like a criminal asking him to sign your yearbook, like it’s a grave offence, prompting the enormous lump in your throat as he takes hold of the book and clicks his pen. The point touches the paper, but leaves only a black dot.

“Damn... Uh… Sorry ‘bout this. What’s your name again?”

Oh.

The air becomes dry. It settles like powder. Irritable, chalk-like powder. Mingyu studies you patiently, his gaze gentle, mouth slightly parted while he awaits you to say anything really. The words start piecing together through your stutters.

“T-That’s okay. I-It’s—”

“Mingyu!”

Out of nowhere, Mingyu’s best friend was grabbing at the collar of his black cloak, jerking him away from the corner with a babble about how he was requested at the gymnasium, quote unquote, principal’s orders. Unable to sign your yearbook, Mingyu returns it without so much as an apologetic glance, instead swept away by Seokmin into the sea of mingling graduates. Alone in the corner, you look down at the paper, where there is nothing but a single dot. A spot of ink. The start of an affection and its blunt, unrequited end. You close the yearbook with your third sigh.

Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.

CHAPTER 2: UNDER THE BRIDGE

Over the summer, you and Jane form a friendship. 

She asks you to come over one afternoon since her parents are away, that her older sister had left some liquor for Jane on top of the fridge. You shove a few belongings into a travel-sized backpack, limited to a toothbrush, lip balm, and a pair of shorts. For a little while you sit together on the couch skimming the television, slices of cold watermelon in a container between you.

You like Jane because she has a mellow atmosphere. 

At first glance, she seems to be a studious individual, with her dense glasses and the tight weaving of the usual braid that falls over her right shoulder. She says that braiding it is easier than combatting the frizz, as her hair texture is coarse and wavy. A scar from her childhood cuts over her nose bridge, a slightly paler marking compared to the umber of her skin. Apparently it was from a rollerblading accident. She always wears a long-sleeved shirt, though it’s to hide the tattoo she got without her parents’ permission; two butterflies along the soft inside of her right arm.

When it starts getting late, Jane moves a chair from the dining table next to the fridge so she can retrieve the heavy liquor bottle. You hold it for her while she drags the chair back, titling the bottle to feel the liquid slosh around inside, a golden colour, one that tastes like a mouthful of unappreciated youth and flames.

As you down shot after shot on her bed, the sun sets beyond her window, to which you observe how the sky fluoresces with lavender. Jane grasps the bottle in her quivering hand, pouring out another shot that she’s much too eager to swallow, and throws the liquid straight into her mouth. She’s past the point of grimacing. Instead, she slaps the glass onto her nightstand and grins wickedly, scooping her phone from the bedsheets. You’re not nearly as inebriated. There’s a spinning sensation at the back of your head, and your tongue is burning, but you’re not yet floating through the atmosphere.

“Let’s text someone.” She giggles, tapping at her phone.

It takes a moment before her voice clicks.

“What?” You question. “Like who?”

“Dunno… Oh, wait. I know who.” Jane’s eyes begin to gleam and she nearly cackles. “The perfect person!”

Curious, you scoot next to her on the bed and peer at her phone screen. Except, you don’t cackle or turn loopy in a smile, rather your eyeballs nearly engorge from their sockets. Jane opens her text conversation with Mingyu. Like a metal pendulum, your heartbeat swings. You don’t know what to say, so you reach across her lap to grab the golden bottle of liquor and drink straight from the spout.

“Hmm… What to open with.” Jane mumbles. “Oh, I have a good one.” But when her fingertips press the screen, her text is a gigantic spelling error.

“Maybe you should type.” She slurs, passing over the phone. “Tell him meet under the bridge by the old paper mill. Just— He’ll get it.”

She leans against your shoulder as you send the text.

“Now, since we’re waiting, let’s text some other people.”

Around one in the morning, Jane is fast asleep on her stomach while you stand in her bathroom, brushing the liquor’s potent taste from your tongue. You swish some water between your cheeks, spit into the sink, and examine your face in the mirror, looking over the whorls of your oily skin and the thickness of your pupils. Not yet exhausted, you sit next to her on the bed while the ceiling fan spins in a dull whirr. A moment later, and Jane’s phone lights up with a ding. Everyone had replied to your texts apart from Mingyu. His name is beaming as you take Jane’s phone in your hand.

[ MINGYU | 1:06 AM ] : sorry missed ur text.

[ MINGYU | 1:06 AM ] : why though? that was a one-time thing lol.

[ MINGYU | 1:06 AM ] : are u drunk? i saw a bottle in the back of ur snap.

You don’t know why you do it. Maybe it’s the liquor fused with your blood, or the temptation that attaches when the honey boy crosses your mind. Opening Jane’s phone, you read Mingyu’s texts again and start typing a reply.

[ JANE | 1:07 AM ] : i was a little bit.

Somehow, there’s not even an inkling of guilt.

[ MINGYU | 1:07 AM ] : crazycrazy girl.

Like the tails of a fluttering kite, you clamp tight to the string and reel him closer. 

[ JANE | 1:07 AM ] : why are you only replying now?

[ MINGYU | 1:07 AM ] : was hanging out with seokmin at the park.

[ MINGYU | 1:07 AM ] : the one where u ate it on those rollerblades lol.

Your toes start anxiously curling, and your stomach knots itself horrendously.

[ JANE | 1:07 AM ] : you didn’t have to say that.

[ MINGYU | 1:08 AM ] : yes i did.

[ MINGYU | 1:08 AM ] : ur such a lightweight how are you even awake rn?

If you don’t force the phone down, you know you’ll continue to text him the entire night. For a moment, it felt wonderful to be someone Mingyu liked.

[ JANE | 1:08 AM ] : fine then i’ll go to bed, ur no fun anyways.

[ MINGYU | 1:08 AM ] : kk. goodnight sweet janey. dream of me :)

When you read Jane’s nickname, it’s like a slap to the face. Obviously, you’re not Jane, and you don’t even possess a fraction of her closeness to Mingyu. You think back to the graduation ceremony just before he signed your yearbook, and the genuine mist of his countenance when he asked for your name. No matter what, that dot is always going to be on the paper. Nothing is going to erase the fact that your crush since eleventh grade looked you square in the eyes and drew a complete blank. You set Jane’s phone back on the nightstand and lie down next to her, staring at the dark ceiling.

The next morning, Jane doesn’t emerge from her bedroom until ten o’clock, a blanket draped around her shoulders and one side of her hair matted. You make her a bowl of cereal, and tell Jane about your texts with Mingyu, that you might’ve let the alcohol sway you in the wrong direction. 

She brings the bowl to her lips and sips up the small bit of milk, mumbling that it’s no big deal. In fact, you two spend a good half-hour rereading your tipsy messages, laughing in embarrassment and shuddering shamefully. Yet, neither of you regret sending a single word.

Once Jane returns the bottle to the top of the fridge and cleans out your shot glasses in the sink, you ask her a question that seems awfully random.

“What did you and Mingyu do exactly under the bridge? By the paper mill?”

Jane becomes smitten and attempts to subdue her smile. “Stuff.”

“Like… what kind of stuff. What category of stuff?”

She shrugs, but you suspect that twinkle in her eye has witnessed far more than you ever will at your age. Not wanting to seem desperate, you drop the subject. It itches at you for the rest of the day.

CHAPTER 3: THE HONEY BOY

—Five Summers Later.

When you see Jane standing in the parking lot at the motel, you run towards her, pulling along your suitcase after handing the cab driver his pay. You embrace each other like sisters, her thick hair rubbing against your cheek as you hold her close. Though you’ve seen Jane regularily over the years, her appearance since adolescence hasn’t changed too dramatically. 

She’s switched her glasses for contacts, her long, dark locks now swallowing gracefully around her head. There’s another tattoo on her hand, an intricate cross that a close co-worker of hers, Jeonghan, had designed. She stuffs your suitcase into the trunk of her car.

Next to the motel, there’s an attached diner that’s unusually crowded. Last month Jane sent you a lengthy text about whether or not you’d be game for a summer away from home. A friend of hers owned a house along Silver Lake. 

You agree to come, even if you were hesitant at the very beginning, mulling over the thought of losing familiarity and experiencing a summer that wasn’t just sitting on your apartment terrace and taking the occasional trip to the local pool. Jane reached out to a few other people, which prompted a slight chain reaction in invitations. Upon entering the diner, you were acquainted with a multitude of new faces: Seungkwan who was spreading raspberry jam across a warm biscuit, Chan who had to pop the jar open for Seungkwan, the owner of the beach house herself, Caroline, who gave a soft handshake yet maintained a very professional, accomplished air.

You’re unable to meet everyone.

Jane had slipped away from your side, to which you glance toward the doorway and realize she’s on her tiptoes, hugging someone tall, someone with skin the colour of honey, someone who speaks with a small lisp in their pronunciation and has canines for teeth. Like a fist had just curled into your stomach, you nearly heave. Jane turns around, catching your eye, and beckons you off your stiff pedestal.

“Mingyu, you remember her, right?” Jane tucks her arm around your side, smiling.

He glances at your face with a furrowed brow. The worst part is, Mingyu is trying hard, he’s trying inconceivably hard to put a name to your face but there’s a missing piece that prevents it. Jane sighs at his ineptitude. She gives your name, scolds him for failing to recall that you even went to the same high school, and you half-expect his gaze to light up. Still, he’s lost.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Mingyu blurts, “I’m terrible with names.”

You shrug. “No, it’s okay. It has been five years.”

It feels like twelfth grade graduation set on repeat. Even Seokmin steps into the diner.

Except, Mingyu isn’t scrawny and yet to figure out how he can coordinate his awkward height. His hair isn’t a shaggy, untrimmed bowl that constantly falls over his eyes nor are his cheeks blemished with those red bumps. Mingyu is muscular. He’s sharpened like the edge of a steel blade. Glowing like a handful of sunlight. Maturity has finally settled in the deep sea of his eyes and it suits him.

“I can’t describe how nice it is to see you again.” Jane sighs.

Mingyu pulls her into another hug. He squeezes her with practiced delicacy, as though she’s a being made from petals. Seokmin then steps forward to offer his embrace and he sparks up a long-awaited conversation with Jane.

You fold your arms across your chest, looking off to the side. Mingyu rubs beneath his nose and checks the time on his phone.

“Did you ever go through with that baseball scholarship?”

“Hm?” Mingyu hums. “Oh, nah. I’m doing Film Studies.”

You nod your head and utter stiltedly, “that’s nice.”

He flashes a lop-sided grin, the kind that indicates he’d rather be wiping up the crumbs from Seungkwan’s breakfast or talking to some dust bunnies.

Mingyu then pats Seokmin’s shoulder and says, “I’m gonna grab some breakfast.”

You step aside to let him pass you, biting hard into your bottom lip. There’s a crumbling feeling inside you and it tastes sour.

Sitting in the front seat of Jane’s car, you wait for her to finish using the washroom. The parking lot trickles with the faces that’ll be accompanying you at Caroline’s beach house for the summer. You grab the journal placed on the middle compartment and slip the elastic loop from over the button. Flattening out the pages, you steal a pen inside Jane’s cup holder to scrawl the date at the top margin. For your last birthday your mother had gifted you a journal with a textured, brown leather covering. Being able to document the significant days as they slipped by had become an almost irritating habit, to the point where you couldn’t part from the journal without feeling incomplete.

Finally heading for Silver Lake today. 

There really is no room to back out now, so I better just roll the window down and enjoy the drive I guess. Mingyu is here too. I haven’t seen him since high school. He still didn’t remember me. He looks good though.

After redoing the elastic around the button, the journal rests in your lap and you look out your window into the motel’s parking lot. You spot Mingyu sitting on the hood of his car while talking to Seokmin, holding a styrofoam box that he jabs his fork into. The summer sun enchants his complexion much too fondly, and the very sight of him tugs at your heartstrings. It’s been five years. 

Mingyu shouldn’t affect you anymore. 

You shouldn’t feel the way you do when he brushes the black locks from his forehead or draws his tongue over his pink lips. However, something withers in your lower tummy when a girl you hadn’t seen before takes a seat behind Mingyu. She tucks herself in close and slides her arms around his waist, her chin snuggling upon his shoulder. Mingyu turns his head and smiles. He presses a kiss to her cheek, then takes his fork and feeds her a bite of his crispy hash browns. You feel a sharp, almost nauseating sensation develop inside you, disseminating quickly, like a nasty fog. 

Is it jealousy? A misplaced tang of betrayal? Or is it an unbeknownst pain that you’re experiencing for the first time? The driver’s door swings open abruptly and you lurch in your seat. Jane laughs as she shifts into the car. It’s only then that you realize how deeply that pain had distracted you.

“Who is that?” You ask, pointing at the girl who clings to Mingyu’s back.

“Oh, Suri?” Jane responds. “She’s Mingyu’s girlfriend. She’s staying at the beach house with us.”

CHAPTER 4: ARRIVAL 

Caroline’s beach house on Silver Lake is a magnificent stretch of property. Even as you stand in the driveway and lug your suitcase from the trunk, you can hear the distant, rhythmic waves soaking the shoreline. The air is mildly aromatic and a shade of blue that’s pale like sea salt colours the sky. Caroline is direct but helpful, and she points out some of her favourite aspects to the house: the brightness of the open living area, different paintings her mother had created over the years, but she seemed most proud to describe a tall and sparkling sapphire vase that had been an heirloom passed over for generations. You’re surprised she was even lending the house.

Caroline guides you to a corridor that contains a few of the bedrooms. Jane suddenly envelopes your hand, jerking you toward the last door on the right.

“We have a balcony.” Jane says.

When you enter the room, you discard your suitcase at the end of the bed, then nearly trip over yourself rushing toward the glass door. Jane pushes you through the threshold and onto the balcony, where a burst of summer wind greets you with a gentle sweep against the face. The trees that mottle the pathway to the beach are just low enough for you to observe the expanse of pale sand. The waves glitter so brightly beneath the afternoon light. 

Just below your balcony is the back porch. A hot tub is cozied to the left while lounge chairs are to the right. You can already taste all your acrid, upcoming hangovers. Jane’s hand touches your shoulder. Apparently, she promised Seungkwan help with carrying his suitcases since Chan had opted from doing it, and she leaves you alone on the balcony. You admire the view for a moment longer, then slip back inside to open your suitcase and check the empty drawers. As you pack all your cloths away, you hear voices reverberating from different levels of the house, elated footsteps and laughter and quite possibly Seungkwan hauling his luggage up the stairs.

Deciding to find Jane, you exit the bedroom. However, you come face to face with Seokmin and his backpack instead.

“Hi.” The word tumbles from your mouth before you can think.

Seokmin says something that surprises you: “Hey. Wow, you look way mature. I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Heat prickles across your face. The only class you shared with Seokmin was hospitality, in which he famously burnt the crepes your group was supposed to present, the pan billowing with enough smoke that your teacher was forced to run outside and bury it deep in the snow. Similar to Mingyu, the boy has bloomed into his features, and you wonder how they both got so goddamn lucky.

For some reason, he apologizes to you.

“Sorry. I meant to say something at the diner, but I got distracted with Jane.”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter… Honestly, I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“Really?” Seokmin seems astonished. “I’m pretty good with faces.”

Petrified of an awkward silence, you cling to the first thought in your head.

“Are you looking for a room?”

Seokmin nods, his fingers squeezing around the straps of his backpack.

“Yeah. Gonna room alone actually. Which is fine since I’m a sleep-talker.”

Cocking your head, you can’t help but ask, “not with Mingyu?”

“Nah.” Seokmin huffs. 

You don’t miss the shade of vexation that flashes in his eyes. 

“I thought Suri was gonna room with Blair. Not sure if you met her yet, but she’s Suri’s best friend slash clone slash - anyways, “ he hurries his pace, trying not to ramble, “Suri changed her mind last minute. He’s her boyfriend, so it’s fine.”

Swallowing thickly, you admit, “I’ve never met Suri.”

The boy slips past you, laughter rumbling in his chest. He tries the door across from yours and smiles when it opens, revealing a bedroom that’s a reasonable size for just one person. Seokmin announces that he’s going to unpack and politely shuts his door, leaving you to stand alone in the hallway.

CHAPTER 5: A GUILTY BREAKFAST

During your first few nights at the beach house, you have some difficulty falling asleep. Jane always drifts away so easily, while you’re condemned to staring at the dark ceiling, listening to Seokmin’s half-yelped mumbling from across the hall and the tide crash against the bank. At night the water seems louder, and you knew it was a sound that might take a few days adjusting to.

Today you manage waking up early enough for breakfast. 

Most have already slipped into their bathing suits and are testing out the water, or they’re taking a small hike into the forest trails that carve their way throughout the forest. When you enter the main living space, Chan is sprawled across the couch watching television while Jane and Mingyu are sitting at the kitchen island, their plates speckled with crumbs and syrup. The moment Jane notices you pouring a glass of juice from the fridge, she smiles and quickly beckons you over, to which you instantly regret not fixing your hair in bathroom before you came downstairs. Mingyu hardly spares a glance as you slide onto the stool, holding the glass close to your face like it’s a shield.  

“Finally,” she sighs, “did you sleep well?”

You nod, “better than yesterday.”

Jane spears some blueberries on her plate and drags them through the syrup. She then mumbles around the fork in her mouth, “I forced Mingyu to stay and make extra pancakes for you.”

When you look over your shoulder at the stovetop, you notice a plate next to the burner, layered with three pancakes. Grabbing some utensils from the drawer, you retrieve your breakfast, coming to sit back down with Jane and Mingyu. You spread a square of butter across the first pancake while they resume their earlier conversation, then drizzle some syrup and sprinkle a few blueberries that Jane let you borrow from her plate. Jane asks Mingyu about how he’s finding his film major, but it somehow turns into Mingyu teasing her about Jeonghan, how he’s always texting her and asking her what she thinks of his tattoo sketches. You listen without intervening, only smiling whenever Jane laughs and keeping your eyes away from Mingyu like it’s a sport.

Their conversation takes yet another turn, and suddenly they’re talking about high school. Jane mentions your name, to which you finally stare at something that isn’t your plate.

“I was just thinking about this a couple days ago actually,” Jane says, “remember that chemistry lab we did with the pH strips? And I dropped my pen in this really acidic solution?”

“Yeah,” you huff, smiling wide, “and you made me take it out and I had to go to the nurse to get tested for a chemical burn? I definitely remember that.”

Jane shakes her head. “But you were fine. At least I think you were.”

“I was. Nothing serious.”

Mingyu rolls a blueberry across his plate with his fork and scoffs blatantly at Jane. “You’re so fucking stupid.” He then looks at you, “this girl got my arm stuck in a vending machine over a granola bar.”

You can’t help but snort, a hand covering your mouth as you glance between them. “Really?”

“I’m stupid?” Jane chuckles, astonished. “I didn’t force you to stick your arm in the machine!”

“In a way, you did.” Mingyu snuffs back. “You looked like you were gonna cry. C’mon, I was just trying to be a good friend.”

Jane stands from the island, collecting the utensils onto her plate. She’s grinning on her walk over to the sink, ruffling the soft fronds of Mingyu’s hair.

“You are a good friend. But you’re as dumb as I am.” Jane coos.

The acknowledgement that Mingyu and Jane have history spanning almost a decade creeps back into your head for the first time in months. 

Vaguely, you remember the dating rumours that sparked in eleventh grade, when you were new to the school and trying to memorize the plethora of faces. It was safe to say that Jane definitely had a crush on Mingyu in your high school days, but he never seemed to return the affection and eventually Jane had to move on. Now she has Jeonghan, the co-worker you’ve only heard stories on but never met, wrapped in a little coil around her finger. 

The weird thing is, even after all this time has passed, you still theorize about what happened between Jane and Mingyu under the bridge by the paper mill. You wonder if they even remember it.

“I think they’re playing volleyball down at the beach,” Jane calls from the sink, “I’m gonna get changed and go join. You guys can come if you want. Just don’t choose Seungkwan’s team.”

As Jane disappears upstairs, you immediately reach for your juice and take a long, slow sip. Hell, the last time you were alone with Mingyu was five years ago, and you could barely handle that without stuttering like a broken record. It turns quiet enough that you finally hear the laugh track from the television show Chan is watching. Slicing the last pancake into pieces with your fork, you gulp and thank Mingyu for preparing an extra breakfast. He picks up his phone and shrugs, saying it’s no big deal.

“So... do you like cooking? O-Or working with food?” You ask while cringing at your own flustered behaviour.

He sniffs like he’s uninterested. “I don’t know, I guess. Shouldn’t everyone learn to cook? Kind of indispensable.”

And you impossibly swelter, afraid that you had just asked the dumbest question in history. Sticking a sweet blueberry in your mouth and feeling it squish between your teeth, you let yourself cool down.

“I’m not really a great cook, but I do have three signatures: macaroni, grilled cheese, and rice. Oh, I’m good at french toast too. Well, I used to be.” 

Mingyu glances up from his phone, watching you count each one on your fingers. He nods, agreeing that your list is reasonable. 

“I taught Jane how to make french toast,” he smiles, scratching the side of his head like he’s pulling out a memory, “she’s terrible at it.”

“Or, maybe you’re not a good teacher.” You make sure to laugh afterward, so he knows you’re joking. 

“Don’t expect any lessons then.” He chuckles.

You want to maintain the conversation, but you can’t even think due to the sudden congregation that files into the living area, all gleaming skin, sticky tank tops and the smell of pine. They’re returning from the hike, to which you immediately hold your next comment when Suri bids goodbye to her friends and wraps her arms around Mingyu, pressing a kiss to his temple. Her face is dappled in perspiration, the edges of her hair slick with sweat, yet you’re still astonished at how beautiful she is. 

You’re not at all shocked that her and Mingyu are a couple.

Mingyu puts his phone down and angles his head to look at her. “How was the hike? Did you have fun, baby?” His voice softens when he talks to her and it causes your heartbeat to somersault.

“It was really fun. Aw, you should have come with us, Gyu. What kept you?” Suri pouts, combing away the fringe from his forehead.

Though it goes undetected, you freeze upon recalling Jane’s earlier words, how she mentioned forcing Mingyu to stay so he could make your breakfast. You slowly place the last forkful of pancakes and fruit into your mouth, staring straight ahead. Somehow, you steep in guilt.

“I don’t know, I was feeling kinda tired,” Mingyu replies. He then takes Suri’s hand and buries kisses against her palm. “I promise I’ll come next time.”

She proceeds to lilt with a glint in her eyes, “or you could strip down and come swimming with me to make up for it?” When Mingyu agrees, she hugs him again tightly before disappearing upstairs.

The second she’s gone, Mingyu sighs and starts gathering his dishes together. There’s a distracted nature about his face, yet, when you attempt to take care of your plate, Mingyu stops you.

“It’s okay,” he picks it up, stacking it on top, “I got it.”

You shrink back into your seat, squeaking out a thank you as Mingyu cleans up the kitchen island. He doesn’t say anything, but stares at you with a faint curl to his mouth. The second breakfast is over, you rush upstairs to grab your journal.

Seokmin is really loud when he sleep talks.

But I think I’m getting better rest. I woke up early enough to eat breakfast with Jane and Mingyu. There are some people in the house I haven’t talked to yet. Maybe I should work on that. 

CHAPTER 6: FIZZLE

Down at the beach, you help Seokmin grab some rocks from the woods to create a circle for the fire pit. It’s close to evening, for the open sky flushes a faint hue of peony. Deedee helps too, and together you kneel in the sand, pushing the rocks together. Tommy steps in his bare feet along the pathway, carrying a large sum of chopped firewood that had been stored underneath the back porch. You don’t know much about Tommy, apart from the fact he’s a close friend to Suri, and that he desperately needs a haircut. His locks are a sooty-brown colour – smooth – but flop and curl down past his ears and the back of his neck. You quite like his eyes, a sparkling green. If you had never known Mingyu, then you might have had a crush on Tommy.

However, you think it’s fairly obvious Tommy likes Deedee. When you asked him earlier if he wanted to help making the firepit, he waved you off as he was sprawled across his lounge chair, soaking up the sun.

But as soon as Deedee offered to help, Tommy insisted he was only joking and hastily agreed to collect the firewood.

Seokmin appears from the jade undergrowth carrying another rock. He bends down beside you to fill the last gap in the circle and dusts the grit off his hands. Deedee sprinkles some crushed leaves into the centre before Tommy lets the logs tumble from his arms, falling into the pit with a loud thud.

“I’m thirsty,” Seokmin sighs, pressing his fingers to his throat, “I’m going up to get water.”

Tommy joins him, leaving just you and Deedee at the firepit. She’s tired also, and collapses down onto the cool sand, puffing some of the hairs from her eyes. You sit beside her to watch the waves lap against the shoreline, the push and pull not as aggressive compared to the night before. In fact, the lake is rather still. It reflects the gentle light of the sky and emanates a pink glow. You dig your toes into the sand, asking Deedee if she’s been swimming yet and she nods her head.

“On the first day, I ran in. It was cold but it felt nice.”

“I haven’t swum yet,” you tell her, “maybe tomorrow. Except I never even thought to bring two pairs of bathing suits. I hate getting into them when they’re all wet and cold.”

Deedee tucks some of the wispy flyaways behind her ear and grins. “I hate that too. But I’m sure you can buy another one in town.”

You like Deedee. She’s more soft-spoken compared to the others, and somehow, she always smells like marigolds. Her hair is thin, beach-blonde, cut sharply at the chin. She reminds you of the doll your mother use to keep in her bedroom. For a moment you quickly ponder whether or not to ask her about Tommy, if she has any inkling that he might like her or if she has any reciprocated feelings, but at the sound of footsteps blundering down the stone pathway, you both look over your shoulders to see Suri. The wind ripples the sheets of her black hair, so long it reaches past her waist, a stark contrast against the white-lace dress she wears. You haven’t had any conversations with Suri yet -- you’re not even certain that she knows your name. Deedee gulps, instead turning away and staring at the lake.

“I’m loading the coolers and wondered if maybe you guys wanted to help?” Suri pitches, smiling.

Since you wanted to familiarize yourself with more people in the house, you agree. You bid goodbye to Deedee and brush the sand grains off your legs. In silence, you follow Suri up the walkway and into the kitchen, where there’s two large ice coolers waiting to be filled with drinks.

“I think I’ve seen you a couple times, but I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Suri.” She comments while taking the plastic off some bottles of grape vodka.

“It’s okay,” you smile, giving your name in response, “I’m slowly getting to know everyone too.” You shove a couple beer cans deep into the ice, then pull out another package from the fridge.

“Right? I thought I met everyone. Thanks for helping me with all this.”

“Are you going to get drunk tonight?” You chuckle. “I heard Seokmin say he wants to pass out.”

“Of course he would say that,” Suri rolls her eyes lightheartedly, “I’ve seen him when he’s like, beyond hammered. He just cries.”

“Really?” You can’t help but snort. “How long have you known him?”

She hums, biting her lip. “Since I met Mingyu, so for about five months.”

The question jumps from your tongue a little too quickly, “where did you meet Mingyu?”

“Well, I do modelling. We met because I asked him to take my pictures.”

Settling the last few cans amongst the ice, you realize that Suri and Mingyu’s paths seem like they were meant to cross. There’s a small twinge inside your chest, but you aren’t sure of what, rather you can only compliment that modelling suits her and Suri beams. She thanks you with a blush colouring the apples of her cheeks. You grasp onto your cooler while Suri takes hers, and together you carefully navigate down the stone pathway until you emerge onto the beach. A crowd is beginning to form around the firepit as people lay out blankets and get comfortable with some snacks they grabbed from indoors. Looking down at your shorts, you want to change for when the wind cools.

Suri smiles at you again, brushing the silk hair from her shoulders. “I know I already thanked you and everything, but I appreciate it.” She retrieves two cold cans of lemon-lime Breezer and hands you one. You each pop the tab and take a long sip, the foam tingling at the back of your throat.

“If I’m not exhausted, I might hike again tomorrow. You should come.” She invites.

Sipping up more of your alcohol, you nod. “Maybe.”

You recall the twinge you felt earlier, and how you should’ve squeezed that envious pang out the second you experienced it. Suri is far too pleasant for you to formulate any jealousy toward her. Besides, your crush on Mingyu is only that – a crush. Similar to what happened with Jane, you’ll learn to let it go. Like the bubbles melting on your tongue, it’ll fizzle out eventually.

CHAPTER 7: THE YEARBOOK 

“Can someone please get Seokmin to his room? Please?”

Muffling your laughter with the half-empty bottle of Blackfly, you watch as Chan heaves a sigh and pushes himself off the blanket. He wraps an arm around Seokmin’s waist, stopping him from venturing any further toward the loud, crashing waves that strike the bank. He’s like a zombie whose brain has spent a month in decay, and as Chan guides him toward the walkway, it marks the end of the night at the beach. Most people have retired indoors. The fire was once so brilliant that it could burn the underside of the moon, but now it’s a deteriorated pile rife with ashes and scarlet embers. Only the strongest flames survive against the wind that howls off the water. Jane crushes her can of cranberry alcohol and sighs.

“I’m gonna help Chan take Seokmin upstairs. He’ll need an extra pair of hands if he wants to strap him into bed.” Before she leaves, she shoots an attentive glance in your direction.

You weren’t expecting to have such a myriad of drinks, and while you aren’t nosediving into the same stupor as Seokmin, the stars spin when you catch them at the corner of your eye. Jane asks if you feel okay, to which you simply smile and nod your head. She then looks at Suri tucked in Mingyu’s lap, who had fallen asleep around the time that Tommy was attempting to scare everyone with his lacklustre horror story. If Mingyu hadn’t polished off a whole bottle of straight liquor, then she might’ve left the girl fast asleep against his chest, but considering that Mingyu isn’t in the right state to carry her upstairs, Jane decides to wake Suri up.

“Where’re you taking her?” Mingyu whines, sitting up slightly as Jane helps Suri to her feet.

“To bed.” Jane replies. “You’re gonna drop her. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in ten minutes, probably.” She holds onto Suri’s hand and mumbles something about feeling like a babysitter.

Once they disappear, Mingyu slowly collapses back against the log you two are leaning against, pouting like a child who just gotten their lollipop taken away. Not wanting to waste your Blackfly, you gulp the remaining alcohol, even if it makes your stomach feel as though it’s bulging.

The wind fans against your warm face and you admire how it trembles the last flames of the bonfire. Usually, you would feel the pressure of being alone together, that skip in your heart and the cold sweat on your palms. The alcohol rubs against your nerves until they’re blunt and numb. When you look at him, you note that Mingyu’s eyelids are low. The breeze rummages through his hair and for a moment you aren’t even sure if he knows you’re beside him.

“Are you tired?” You question.

“No,” he turns his head and catches your gaze, “are you?”

“No.”

Mingyu’s eyes are somewhat tinged red as he blinks at you. Even though he didn’t claim to be tired, there’s a fading nature to his expression, a type of haze that indicates one half of his brain is somewhere floating while the other entreats for the consciousness to speak with you. In the soft firelight, you learn that you love to look at him. He’s much like honey, for you sink deep into the thick sweetness every time. Mingyu squints at you, his lips pressing together.

“I can’t believe I don’t remember you.” He mumbles, though it sounds like he’s talking to himself.

Your feet push underneath the sand.

“It’s been awhile. I’m not surprised.”

But Mingyu shakes his head. “No, I feel like I should remember you, but I don’t.” He sighs heavily and lets the back of his skull thump against the log. “Fuck, why can’t I remember?”

The boy pushes his hair back, the moonlight raining against his puzzled face.

“Well, I’m not sure if this will help,” you croak, “but on Graduation Day, I asked you to sign my yearbook. Seokmin came out of nowhere and pulled you away, so you never wrote anything.”

Mingyu is staring at you again. Something revolves in his head, and then his eyes light up. “Wait— that girl, was you?” he breathes out, “fuck, I do remember that.”

“Really?” You perk up much too energetically, yet you can’t contain your thrill.

Glancing into the night sky, Mingyu pieces together his memory like the stars piece their constellations. “I had to go to the gym because Mr. Cesar wanted to talk about my baseball scholarship.” He turns to you, his brow wrinkling empathetically. “I felt so bad I never got to sign your yearbook… I tried to find you after, but you disappeared or something.”

Your nails dig into the blanket sprawled across your lap. 

“I left early… I had no idea you tried looking for me. I always thought you were like ‘whatever’ and that was it.”

The boy frowns, his gaze softening. “I’m sorry if I hurt or upset you or anything. I really didn’t mean to.”

“N-No, you didn’t—” Mingyu tilts his head and raises an eyebrow, prompting you to swallow your pride and admit, “okay, it did hurt a little.”

When he chuckles at you, his lips slightly peel back and you catch the glint of his canines. “Well, I’m sorry.” Mingyu sighs poignantly. “If you had it here, I’d write something in it.”

You smile at him. The past tang of the Blackfly in your blood seems to be rapidly dissipating, and you aren’t sure if Mingyu’s effect is just so potent that it can clean your senses with ease. After recalling your graduation, you continue to silently reminisce. You remember that summer day at Jane’s house when you were still teenagers, how Jane had to push the chair against the fridge in order to pull down that bottle. Embarrassment flashes beneath your cheeks when you remember texting Mingyu using Jane’s phone. And then you’re thinking about the secret. You aren’t sure if Mingyu is willing to spill, but you might never get the opportunity to be this inquisitive.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice is hushed.

Mingyu meets your gaze, the black hairs fluttering over his eyes. He nods.

“I’m just wondering… What happened between you and Jane under the bridge by the paper mill? I mean, you might not remember… And if you do, you don’t have to tell me.”

Suddenly, Mingyu is grinning. He throws his head back and his laughter echoes far across the lake and deep into the trees. His eyes are a bit glassy when he stops slouching and sits up properly. 

“You want to know about that?” He snorts, running a hand through his hair. “Jane never told you?”

“I asked a really long time ago. She wouldn’t say anything.”

The boy smirks at you, his lids hanging low and his eyes gleaming against the orange embers. “Do you really want to know the secret?” Mingyu almost taunts, his tone descending an octave.

Once you swallow coarsely and nod your head, he beckons you closer with his hand. You shift across the sand until you’re right beside him, to which you can smell the faint, citrus scent of the alcohol on his clothing and see the pale redness that stains his gaze. You feel nervous. You feel so electrified yet so tense. But then Mingyu is holding the hair away from your ear and something inside your chest soars. He leans in, his lips pressing to your skin and his breath warm. You’re fearful of what that throaty voice could confess. How bad was it really? What could they have even done?

“We kissed.”

A second later you’re choking on your own saliva. “You what?”

Mingyu chuckles against your ear and the vibration has you shivering.

“We kissed.” He whispers once more, then moves away. “What’s wrong?” The boy hums, his gaze dark. “Not dirty enough for you, is that it?”

“N-No,” you stutter, “Jane made it seem like you guys did way more… I just wasn’t it expecting it to be a kiss from how she acted.”

He keeps a close proximity to you, smirking. “It was a big deal then, when we were sixteen. She kept bugging me about how she wanted to have her first kiss. I told her to meet me under the bridge and I gave her a peck. That’s it.”

You look down at your lap, attempting to comprehend that five years of mystery and seemingly hopeless wondering had brought you to this moment. No wonder Jane once harboured such a massive crush on Mingyu – he kissed her just to soothe some unnecessary worry, to fill some tiny hole in her heart. If it had of been you, this boy would be the sole thing you ever thought about. You think about him enough already despite never having kissed him. Upon facing Mingyu, your chest swells. He’s staring at you much too openly. Your head weakly drops again and you can’t bother containing your small, nervous laughter because what is happening to you right now? You feel like sun-warmed clay malleable to only Mingyu’s hands and you hate that he might know it.

The boy tilts up your chin with a soft touch, peering down at you through the thick fog in his eyes. Your soul leaks back into the earth. You wonder if he’s going to remember this. But then you hear the sound of footsteps pattering on the stone walkway and Jane’s voice that shatters between the trees. You move away from Mingyu hastily, and smile at her as she hops onto the sand.

“Sorry,” she huffs, “it took some coaxing, but Seokmin’s out like a light now. It’s almost three in the morning, you know. I really think you guys should come inside.”

Your knees crack as you stand from the ground. Mingyu stretches and rubs his neck. Jane has a point. If you stay up any earlier then your days are going to start beginning at lunchtime. 

Before bed, you pen out a quick excerpt in your journal.

It didn’t hit me how nauseous I was feeling until I came inside. 

I can’t tell if I need to throw up. I’m writing this next to the toilet while Jane is fast asleep. I can’t believe the only thing Mingyu and Jane did under the bridge was kiss. I feel stupid. And kinda jealous.  

CHAPTER 8: CRUSH

Walking up the stairway to the deck, you make sure to wipe the soles of your feet against the wood in order to dislodge the damp sand grains. That evening you went swimming with Deedee.

As it was your first time in the water, the coldness invited bristling skin and gritted teeth, but at a gradual pace your body adjusted to the temperature. You had even let the silver waves sweep over you from head to toe. Now, you’re wrapped in an orange beach towel while the droplets bead at the ends of your hair. You and Deedee stand by the lounge chairs, where the sunlight directly strikes, absorbing the warmth like scaled reptiles. Tommy and Mingyu are sitting at the table across the deck, listening to music on a small speaker.

It belongs to Adrian Cluett, though everyone refers to him by his last name. He’s a bit strange, but ultimately carefree. One night you had spotted him in the downstairs bathroom, running a razor along his scalp until he gave himself a buzzcut, and you even noted a stud on his nose which hadn’t been there a few days ago. Never looking like he got enough sleep, he could somehow function properly, and it seemed to give him great joy to annoy Suri. 

Together, they’re eating some fried rice from the pickup store in town. Suri sits on Mingyu’s lap with her arms around his neck.

After coming indoors the night before, you spent an awful lot of time slumped next to the toilet. You thought it was due to your indulgent drinking, but the longer you sat on the floor staring at the pages of your journal, you realized it hadn’t anything to do with alcohol.

Instead, your body felt so nauseous, so fluttery and engorged by adrenaline because of Mingyu. He seemed to have injected this immeasurable high into your blood and marrow, so that when you reached the very peak, you would slam hard, as though gravity had a blazing vendetta and you were its target. When you awoke this morning, you still remembered each and every detail of the bonfire, and as you stare at Mingyu from across the porch, how Suri clings to his neck, how he laughs at something Cluett shows on his phone, how he pokes some rice into the corner of his cheek, you wonder if he remembers too.

Mingyu glances around the deck for a moment. His eyes shift right past you. Not in an evasive or pretending-you-don’t-exist way, but in a way that expresses he doesn’t take note of you – that you’re not someone worth noticing to Mingyu. This is a crush, you think, not anything more. But undeniably it hurts. It hurts because you don’t mean to him what he means to you.

CHAPTER 9: DOUBLE SIDED 

The surface of the paddleboard is a hard plastic. Slippery-flat, white-green, and particularly difficult to balance on as you drag the oar through the water. Suri stands at the front, near the curved nose, accomplishing most of the direction as she switches her oar from one side to the other. She looks tinier than usual in that bulky, bright yellow life jacket, a fluorescent splotch against the blue which engulfs you inescapably. She knows what she’s doing, that’s for sure. Off in the distance, another paddleboard strokes by. It’s Deedee and Zaria.

A stiff breeze hits your skin and it prickles. It’s cold, but smells fresh. Like summer, wildlife, a type of freedom that you never find during the spring or autumn, and definitely not the winter. For the most part you’re paddling around aimlessly (even if Suri is doing more than half the work while you’re attempting not to lose footing) and you feel like you could stay beneath the sky all day.

“You’re good at this,” you commend Suri, moving your oar to the other side of the board, “have you done this before?”

Suri doesn’t look back, and you stare at the loose, black strands of hair that dance around her tight bun. “I was a camp counsellor in eleventh grade,” she says, “I did a lot of paddle boarding. Almost too much.”

“It shows.” You sigh, wondering why you can’t simply control your end of the board as well as her. “I’m definitely useless right now, aren’t I?”

“Oh, please,” Suri laughs, “nowhere near as bad as Mingyu. One time he sat there and made me do all the paddling. Then he pushed me off the board and stole it from me.” She looks over her shoulder, smiles comfortingly, “you’re doing fine.”

“Thanks.” It rolls off your tongue sounding gentle, but surprised, like you hadn’t expected Suri to assure you. 

She talks about the incident with Mingyu in annoyance, though you can interpret there’s fondness too, a treasured memory, and you absolutely yearn to know what such a closeness feels like. Allowing the board to glide smoothly through the water for a couple minutes, leaving a wake of ripples in its path, Suri turns around and sits cross-legged on the board, arms stretched out behind her, the oar lying across the slick plastic.

You mimic her actions, letting a leg plunge into the cool water.

“I see you and Jane are pretty close,” Suri says, “from what high school?”

“Erm, just a small one actually. Sacred Heart.”

Suri twirls a loop of hair around her finger, eyes wide and reflective. “Sacred Heart? For real? Mingyu went there!”

“Yeah,” you nod, and it feels like your neck needs oiling, “all three of us, we went there together. Seokmin too. Well – I was new, kinda. I didn’t come until the eleventh grade.”

“Difficult,” she hums, “usually at that point, you already have a friend group, you’ve known all these kids for years, now you have to just get up and leave.”

“It was nerve-wracking.” You raise your leg out from the water and tuck your knees in close to your chest, bracing against another nippy wind. “I was terrible at talking to people. Jane? We only became friends because the chemistry teacher forced her to leave her group so I could have a lab partner.” 

You mash a hand against your face, groaning, “it was super embarrassing.” 

To be frank, you aren’t sure if Suri would earnestly understand what that experience felt like, and what it entailed for an insecure adolescent who was nothing more than a fish wriggling on new land. There’s this inkling you have, that Suri’s time in high school was rather different.

“Oh, yeah,” her mouth tapers in a strange smile, like someone who was never taught empathy, trying to be empathetic, “I went to Ash Hills. So did Blair and Tommy. Deedee too.”

“That’s cool you kept those friendships. Not that many people talk to more than two people from their high school after they leave. Even three is pushing it.”

Suri chuckles, nodding her head in agreement. 

As she takes her oar and stabs it into the water, propelling the board a little further, she says, “I don’t think about those days much. It was just drama. Who-stole-who’s-boyfriend. Back-stabbing. Total weirdos everywhere.” She shudders, like a chill had suddenly wracked her body, and places the paddle back over the board. “Was it like that for you?”

Staring down at the zipper on your lifejacket, you flick it a few times with your finger, trying to word things delicately. “Not—um, not really? Sacred Heart was small compared to Ash Hills. I mean, I definitely heard rumours but I didn’t—I never started them or spread them. They were just things I heard. People forgot mostly.”

Suri scoffs. “Every day at Ash Hills was a reality TV show. Someone started a rumour that I made this anonymous account just to post gossip about people, and I almost got suspended over it.” She rubs her bottom lip. “Hmm, who was the girl who started saying that? I don’t know, Scarlet something. She used to tell me I was an airhead for wanting to be a model. But now she probably cries herself to sleep every night or something. Scarlet Tack. I remember her now, though I got everyone to call her Tacky Scarlet instead. She was a real bi—”

But then Suri stops herself. 

This shadow seems to have covered her face, despite the afternoon sun beaming with such radiance. The dark contours clear away slowly, like a drifting cloud, and a moment passes before Suri smiles again, shaking her head. You could feel your heart thumping against the lifejacket for some reason.

“Ah, forget it,” she says, grabbing the paddle and returning to her feet, “let’s start rowing again. We’ll beat Deedee and Zaria back to shore.”

CHAPTER 10: THE FEELING OF SLIPPING

“Can you slow down a bit? I’m losing my goddamn breath.”

Jane pauses next to the base of a tree truck swathed in bright green moss. Carefully, you slide off the boulder’s large precipice and drop onto the mulch below. Travelling downwards proved to be significantly harder than upwards. The forest floor is still slippery with dew and tree roots are hidden between the long grass. Mingyu is already too far ahead, and he can no longer be seen through the undergrowth. You figure he’s moving rather quickly because he promised Suri he would return before lunch for some sort of date. Jane implored him to come hiking at breakfast since he hadn’t yet reached the third summit, and promised he would have enough time to freshen up afterward.

“Be careful where you’re stepping.” Jane reminds as you navigate over the winding roots. “It’s gets really bad in these areas, especially going downhill.”

Finally, you reach the mossy tree trunk. Unzipping the small pouch attached to your back, you retrieve your water bottle and hastily empty it. Despite the trees blocking out most of the sunlight, the air remains balmy, uncomfortable. A breeze seldom trickles between the dense brush and you detect a bead of sweat that rolls slowly down your neck. You pat it away using a tissue from your bag, laughing almost unbelievably.

“This is just reminding me how lazy I am. Can we only go the second summit next time?”

Jane tucks the loose strands of her ponytail behind her ear, smiling. “The first climb always kicks your ass. Trust me.” She then sighs. “I was gonna say we catch up to Mingyu, but maybe not.”

As you two continue through the forest, Jane maintains the lead until you arrive at the stream, where the water splashes and bubbles over the slick rocks. She goes first in order to test which are shakier than others, but warns you nonetheless to be cautious of their slipperiness. However, your concentration isn’t enough to keep you safe, and it seems as though bad luck engenders your right foot to slip off the edge of a rock and sink straight into the water. Pain flashes hot against your ankle and something beings throbbing, though you only mention it to Jane once you cross the stream.

She curses under her breath and has you rest on a fallen tree trunk. Squatting down to her knees, she places light touches to your ankle, listening for any discomforting noises. Jane announces that you’ve been scrapped a little by the rock. She then squeezes gingerly near the base of your ankle where the throbbing is most apparent, to which you instinctually wince and draw away from her fingertips.  

“I’m not sure what’s wrong,” she admits, frowning, “you might’ve twisted it.”

“I think I can walk back. I just need a minute.” You reply, feeling around the tender area yourself.

But Jane quickly tuts in disagreement. “No way. You can’t agitate it.”

“What are we going to do?” You sigh, bracing your palms against the rough tree bark.

Jane brightens with an idea and cups her hands around her mouth. Inhaling a deep breath, she shouts at the top of her lungs, “Mingyu! Get your ass back here!”

By the time Mingyu manages to retrace his steps through the forest and the overflow of its emerald undergrowth, he doesn’t look very enthralled, rather his brow is pinched together in a scowl and mouth is clasped tight. He wipes the hot glimmer off his forehead, arms folded over his chest while listening to Jane’s explanation of what happened at the stream.

The boy drags a hand through his black hair, dishevelling the roots as he mutters, “so what am I supposed to do about it?”

She knocks him on the side of his hard bicep. “You’re all big and muscular. Carry her.”

You suck in a wheezing breath and almost double over on the fallen tree log, the sweat lining at the back of your neck. Mingyu’s gaze, a sunray in itself, singes at your body with the intent to scorch. It’s the most logical option no doubt, but that doesn’t exactly tame your unrelenting heartbeat nor does it amplify the notion that he is purely a crush. When you glance up at Mingyu, the light pours between the leaves and spreads smooth like butter across the gold of his skin. 

But he doesn’t attempt to put up an argument and neither do you. 

Before you know it, he’s giving you a piggyback, your fingertips digging into his shoulders while your thighs plump around his big hands. Jane starts to lead the way and your chest is pounding. The world seems so different when you’re perched on his back.

Mingyu advises, “you need to hold on tight.”

Seeing as you’re already gripping his shoulders for dear life, you’re not sure what he means. He grunts at your lack of activity, suddenly grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you forward. “Wrap your arms around my neck,” he says, “and lean all your weight. Trust me, it’s easier.”

“Are you sure?” You squeak with the certainty of a mouse, though you slowly curl your arms around his neck just as he asked. His hair tickles slightly at your face, entwined with a sharp, pine scent, and as Mingyu begins to follow Jane along her pathway, you pipe up again.

“I don’t wanna tire you out.”

Stepping over a huge root, Mingyu shakes his head. “My motivation is the sparkling shower that’s waiting for me. There’s jets in that thing, y’know? They spray from the side. All angles. It’s real fancy.”

“We don’t have a shower like that in our room.” You realize. “It’s just a regular shower. No fancy jets.”

“Oh, you’re missing out,” Mingyu grunts as he steps over a large root, “there’s a bench too. I send my emails from there sometimes. Read a couple books. Do the dishes. You know, the usual.”

You bury your laughter in his hair, sensing a strange rush of heat to your cheeks which feels like countless pinpricks. 

“Anyways,” the boy readjusts his grip on your thighs, “what did I say about holding on tight and leaning all your weight?”

“Sorry, I just really don’t want to tire you out.”

“I’m not tired,” Mingyu assures as a breeze manages to penetrate through the forest, basking wonderfully against your skin, “I could carry you the whole day.”

“No you couldn’t.” You’re unable to repress your smile. 

It feels unfamiliar to banter with him, but you aren’t opposed to the idea of it becoming a regular thing.

“Bet on it then. Winner gets rights to the fancy jet shower. Swear.” The words slither cockily between his teeth and you just know there’s a small, pink smirk on his mouth.

You hum in false contemplation, only to respond with, “absolutely not.”

The boy gives your body a slight jolt as though he’s pretending to throw you off him, and you yelp in a haze of fleeting fear and laughter. Jane peers over her should with a quirked eyebrow only to be smiled at toothily by Mingyu, therefore she shrugs and turns back around. Your arms curl even tighter around his neck and you’re somewhat concerned that he might feel your heart drumming wildly against his spine. Mingyu adjusts his hold again. Talking with him distracts you from the swelling at the base of your ankle, and as you continue to follow in Jane’s footsteps, you let your cheek press against his hair while the summer wind caresses your face.

“That’s why you hold on tight.” He snickers.

“You could have given me another busted ankle!”

Mingyu merely laughs it off, though you feel his hands grip tighter to your thighs. You hide your flustered expression in the fluffy tufts of his hair. Your insides feel too much like cotton. Something in you aches and pulls and twists and you realize that you’d give anything to always have Mingyu like this.  

When you return to the beach house, Mingyu carries you up the back porch as Jane opens the sliding glass door. He sits down on the edge of the couch, allowing you to unpeel your body from his back, and while the muscles in your legs are still sore due to the beginning of the hike, you can’t help but lean forward to inspect your ankle rather than relax. You tug off your shoe and immediately press your fingers against the swollen skin, where the heat practically radiates like an asphalt blacktop. In the kitchen, Jane busies herself with fetching you a cup of water and a cool pack for your injury.

“Here,” Jane hands you the water and leaves the cool pack on the couch, “I’m going to run upstairs to our washroom. There might be a bottle of Tylenol in the cabinet.”

You take an eager gulp of water to soothe your parched throat. Mingyu picks up the blue cool pack and inspects it for a moment, only to ask if it’s okay that he wraps it around your ankle.  You sip more water, nodding appreciatively.

He’s very attentive as he begins adjusting the cold plastic. It’s instinctual that you wince, even when he applies the lightest pressure, for Mingyu’s big brown eyes keep fluttering up to check that your face isn’t too warped by pain. He has it wrapped in a snug position and holds it. The cooling liquid squeezes around the inflammation and nothing has ever seemed to bring such relief.

“Does that feel good?” Mingyu hums, his palms collecting condensation from the plastic.

“Yeah,” you respond, exhaling, “so much better.” Nervously, you lick your lips and add, “thanks for carrying me. I mean, I could’ve walked but Jane wouldn’t ever allow it.”

Mingyu shrugs, squishing the cool pack. He meets your gaze with a small glint and a grin. “You think you’re all tough or something?” You giggle at him, and Mingyu shakes his head jokingly. “It’s alright. Seokmin twisted his ankle when we went hiking a few days ago. I had to carry him too.”

You start to laugh and cup a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise. Seokmin definitely appears more robust compared to you, or at least more skillful when it comes to hiking and enduring the swelteringly hot walk to the third summit.

“Really?” You chuckle. “I mean, I hope he’s okay.”

Mingyu maintains your shining glance for a moment, only to admit, “nah, I’m joking.” 

Sighing lightheartedly, you loll your head back and take another gulp of water, though as it slides down your throat you nearly choke. 

“You’ve got a real cute laugh.” Mingyu says, readjusting the pack.

Suddenly, Jane returns from upstairs with a tiny white capsule in her hand. She joins you on the couch and passes over the pill, which you quickly swallow. You alert Mingyu that he doesn’t have to hold the cool pack anymore and replace his hands with yours, squeezing the gel inside. Jane can’t help but to sweep away some of the hairs sticking to your forehead while she babbles about your injury, how it’s best you don’t move around too much for a few days, at least until the swelling subsides. She’s asking you way too many questions, all in her tender-hearted nature, as she continues to part the stray hairs; however, you’re staring at Mingyu who’s staring at you. But it’s not in a way where your glances connect, rather it’s the boy examining your face with the kind earth of his eyes.

You don’t know why he’s looking at you like this. It’s causing you to panic. It’s causing you to melt on the inside like an ice cream cone beneath sunlight. His gaze stops at the crest of each cheek, your glistening forehead, down to your lips. But then Mingyu meets your timid gaze directly.

“Mingyu,” Jane says, “shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

He flinches like he’s been snapped from a daydream, dully responding, “what?”

“Y’know, your date with Suri? At that lakeside restaurant in town? The one you were freaking out about being late too? Ring a bell?”

Immediately, the contours of the boy’s face submerge in colourful realization and before you can even take your next breath Mingyu is throwing himself off the couch. He sprints up the stairs, cursing about how he needs to shower, what he’s going to wear, how he’s going to make the date and not be embarrassingly tardy. Jane watches him dash away while rolling her eyes.

“He’s so weird sometimes,” she sighs, “he never forgets anything with Suri.”

CHAPTER 11: HOW TO PRETEND

Later in the evening, you relax against the pillows plumped behind your back, alone in the upstairs bedroom while the slight gap in the balcony door invites a breeze to stir the curtains. With your journal splayed in your lap, you open to a fresh page and scrawl the current date, then take a look at your foot which had been wrapped in tensor bandages by Jane.

The painkiller worked momentarily to reduce the pulsating, but little by little the ache returns. You merely sigh and take hold of your pen, jotting down the events of your day as you usually would, listening absentmindedly to the distant waves and muffled conversation that rings from the hot tub. As the pen whisks away and you start a new line, you think about Mingyu, about his equivocal behaviour, how one moment you’re nothing but a phantom and the next he’s gazing upon you like a gem discovered deep in the heart of nature. 

You don’t know what it means, apart from that it bestows the strangest, most addictive rush you have ever known.

Is a crush not supposed to be frivolous? 

Then why do I feel like this? I can’t tell if I’m okay with being a shadow, seen one moment but invisible the next. Now I’m wondering, how did Jane get over Mingyu? I wish I could just rip out the part of my chest that doesn’t know anything else but him. 

There’s a gentle knock against your door. 

Shutting the journal, you call out for their entry, only to be greeted by Deedee whose cheeks are the colour of pomegranate from the heavy heat. She smells somewhat like sun cream and her typical marigold.

“I heard about your ankle,” she frowns, sitting down on the bed, “are you okay? Have you iced it?”

You smile at her, pulling up the bedsheets that swallow around your leg to better examine the injury. Though it’s unfortunate you won’t be able to swim or hike or join the others on adventures around the small town beyond Silver Lake, there’s no sense in agitating it.

“I iced it as soon as I got back,” you tell her, “I wouldn’t be worried. I think it’s just twisted.”

Deedee tucks some hairs behind her ear, sighing with a sweet smile. “I’m glad nothing worse happened… Well, can’t say the same for Mingyu and Suri.”

“Hm?” You giggle. “What does that mean?”

During your time at the beach house, you couldn’t help but note the peculiar tension between Deedee and Suri. You remember how Deedee turned away from the girl when she asked for help with preparing the alcohol coolers. In fact, Deedee won’t even sit at the kitchen island during breakfast if Suri is making her morning coffee or hugging Mingyu’s back while he cooks. She won’t stay in the living room for movie night if Suri comes downstairs, she won’t hike if Suri is part of the group, and despite how much Deedee adores the water, she’ll avoid the beach completely if Suri is already there sunbathing. Every conversation you’ve had with Suri has been pleasant. She is quite talkative and it’s hard to get a word in, but you find most of her stories interesting anyways.

“Oh, y’know…” Deedee mumbles, looking to the side, “She’s very… Um… You just have to know her.”

“Oh, right. You guys went to the same high school and everything.” You respond, though attempt not to seem pushy or prying.

For a moment, there’s a disconcerting silence. Deedee’s thumbs are twiddling and it appears as though she’s revealed the tip of an iceberg, one that peaks only an inch above the water, yet amasses so far down that it disappears through the blackness. She doesn’t seem willing to unlock, so you don’t interrogate, rather you wave a hand in dismissal and thank her for checking on your health.

“I’m going to put a strawberry Poptart in the toaster. You want one?”

“Sure.” You nod, watching as Deedee slips off the bed and clicks your bedroom door shut.

Alone once again, the murmuring of the waves and the conversation at the hot tub has died down. You catch a glimpse of the sky between the curtains, lavender and clementine colours smoothened like wax. Just as you begin to reopen your journal, something buzzes. When you inspect Jane’s half of the bed, you note that her phone has slid between two pillows, and when you pull it out, something intangible slams against your chest and you feel a shortness of breath. Mingyu’s texts are lighting up the screen. 

It’s an all too familiar memory.

[ MINGYU | 8:35 PM ] : Suri will not stop fucking complaining about how late I was.

[ MINGYU | 8:35 PM ] : She always holds onto things like this. I don’t get it.

[ MINGYU | 8:35 PM ] : Doesn’t care what I have to say either? What the fuck am I supposed to do?

[ MINGYU | 8:36 PM ] : Pls help me Jane I clearly need ur wisdom.

Licking the leathered texture from your lips, you flip Jane’s phone upside down and leave it on her pillow. If you heard correctly, then Jane’s voice was definitely amongst the plethora that echoed from the back porch below your balcony. You open your journal and ready your pen, yet the rest of your sentiments never translate into ink, rather they helplessly deflate. Her phone buzzes again, but you don’t turn it over. Instead, you sit and stare blankly at your journal until Deedee returns with your pink Poptart sitting on a saucer. You eat together, trying to forget ever reading those messages.

CHAPTER 12: COOKIE OR CREAM?

Your ankle has seemed to improve and you feel close to recovery. Even Jane, despite her once adamant proclamations that you need to exercise it as little as possible, is beginning to warm up and allow you out of her sight. She’s dreaming soundly beside you while you’re wide awake, gazing across the midnight blue ceiling, hearing the crickets that chirp from the forest and the sloshing water. You release a sigh that isn’t much of anything, toss the bedsheets aside, and walk with a slight limp into the kitchen downstairs, your ankle still bundled in tensor bandages. 

Upon turning on the light, you start to rifle through the cupboards.

Balancing on your healthy foot, you stretch your arms up high and reach for a shelf above the dish wrack, where you spot the package of Oreos Cluett had bought this morning. You attempt to bat the cookies off the top shelf, and you nearly succeed, until you hear the dim patter of footsteps and there’s a voice thick with tire that asks if you need help.

When you turn around and see none other than Mingyu, dressed in only his black sweatpants, the firm muscle and tone of his upper body completely bare to your eyes, his black locks swept about carelessly and hands stuffed in his pockets, you ponder if you’re dreaming. As the weight returns to both feet, you hardly note the dull throb in your ankle. Mingyu comes next to you. He easily reaches onto the top shelf and grabs the package of cookies. You’re trying inconceivably hard to meet nothing but Mingyu’s face, swallowing the stick in your throat while you accept the Oreos from him.

“Shouldn’t you not be on your feet?” He questions.

You aren’t sure how to feel about it considering the fact you’re both awake past midnight, standing in the kitchen with exhaustion ripe under your eyes and failed sleep ruffled into your hair.

“Why are you awake?”

He blinks, then rubs under his nose. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Neither could I.” You confess.

Your heart is much too susceptible to the manner in which he smiles at you. It’s a tender smile, and suddenly you can’t bear to look at the honey boy because everything feels like it’s blaring.

Instead, you slump onto the kitchen floor and lean against the cupboards, ripping open the plastic in order to grab a cookie and shove it whole in your mouth. Mingyu slides down beside you. His hand dips into the package and takes an Oreo. When he stretches out his legs, they reach almost to the kitchen island. Mingyu is close enough that you can smell the airiness of his faded cologne and a fragrance that is somehow reminiscent of opal, and you know it’s Suri’s scent.

Setting the package onto your lap, you remove another Oreo and twist off the top of the chocolate cookie. You scrape the white filling off with your teeth, though a slight laugh wracks your body as you do so and you find how little you’re fathoming this situation. Sitting on the kitchen floor with this boy you’ve pined after since eleventh grade, a boy who couldn’t spit out your name when he acknowledged you for the first time. A boy who forgot you even existed until Jane reminded him. He casts you an inquisitive glance, his brow raised.

“What?”

You shove the rest of the cookie into your mouth, laughing rather deliriously.

“Nothing, nothing,” comes your unconvincing response, “just, nothing.”

Mingyu flashes his teeth and huffs. “C’mon, don’t be that person.”

“It’s really nothing,” you insist while breaking apart another cookie, “I was only thinking about how Seungkwan stubbed his toe on the barbecue.” It was the sole excuse you could muster.

However, Mingyu brushes it aside without a second thought. “No you’re not,” he deadpans, taking his second Oreo from the package, “liar.”

“What?” You gawk, staring at him wide-eyed and jaw agape. “And you know I’m lying how?”

“You’re fronting.” Mingyu murmurs, his voice a bit raspy. “Of course I know.”

Somehow, that delirium thins from your brain and the fog shimmers away with it. Moonlight floats in from a nearby window and strikes the side of Mingyu’s face, his neck and shoulder, where you spot a few bluish-purple bruises that have been suckled and nipped fervently into his skin. You discover a nick in his bottom lip, another glimpse at a hickey blotched just above the waistband to his sweatpants, scratches carved bold against his hard bicep. Mingyu smells like himself, a breath of something fresh, coconut butter and a summer breeze, but then he smells like Suri. A fragrance that cloaks his every inch and grips onto your collar and reminds you that Mingyu doesn’t care about you the way you care about him.

Looking down into your lap, the mood tensely shifts.

“You don’t know.” After a tight swallow, you practically whisper, “you don’t know me at all.”

Mingyu remains silent, watches you wriggle out another Oreo and twist off the chocolate cookie. He doesn’t speak or attempt to correct you because he knows you’re not wrong. The bare bones are exactly that. As you scrape off the cream and eat the remaining halves, the soft grit of Mingyu’s voice touches at your core in a way you never felt before.

“Okay, so I don’t know you all that well.” Mingyu admits, bending his knees and propping his elbows on them. “But wasn’t the point of coming here to try something different? Like getting to know new people?” He licks his lips, then glances back at you. “Maybe you’re not new, but I can still get to know some stuff about you, right? Better late than never.” 

You can’t look at him, and you decide that you won’t. It’s fortunate that the darkness masks most of your details because you’re petrified Mingyu can see how you’re shaking, fearful that the kitchen will collapse into nothingness and you’ll slam awake in bed, that this dream will escape your conscious. Clearing your throat, you retrieve another cookie and repeat your routine of breaking off the top layer.

“It’s a secret.” You tell him, referring to your abrupt laughter from earlier.

He reaches into the package. “I told you that secret with Jane and I.”

While Mingyu has a point – he did fulfill your longest itch to know his business with Jane beneath the bridge – your secret isn’t as lightweight compared to a teenage kiss. You have this pang in your gut that if you catch his gaze, he’ll be able to read the secret from your eyes like it’s been written by his own hand. You separate your next cookie with a complicated sigh.

“It’s not that type of secret… I can’t say. And you won’t get it out of me.”

The boy nods, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Okay,” he pits plainly, only to completely change the conversation a second later, “why do you always take off the icing first?”

A faint smile crosses your mouth. “Is this your way of getting to know me?”

“Fuck, I need to start somewhere.” Mingyu then grabs the package from your lap and slides out three cookies into his palm. “Maybe next time we should have a tea party.” He purrs, bumping his knee against yours.

You grin so widely that it hurts.

CHAPTER 13: Q&A

While the day is cloudy and the sun is sheltered, humidity grips unapologetically to the air, muffling any breeze that rolls from the water until it reaches your flesh with the most piteous strength. 

You feel brushed in a layer of liquid heat and discomfort.

Beside you, Jane lies against your shared beach towel, a magazine over her face. Just to be sure she hasn’t perished from dehydration or heat rash you slightly lift the edge of the magazine. You had never met someone who could sleep through any condition. Jane could be burrowed into the stifling underbelly of a ship amidst a thunderstorm and never stir once. You drop the magazine and let her be. Instead, you continue to watch the clouds with an arm tucked behind your head.

But then you hear all this chortling, a harsh scream.

You shuffle onto your elbows to see Blair stumbling out from the water after Suri had given her a teasing shove. Blair is Suri’s best friend, and you’ve talked to her on one occasion, though she had been difficult to click with since her attitude constantly flip-flops. She has the same long, dark hair and glimmeringly pale skin as Suri, and at a distance, they almost look like twins. Blair seems to have a crush on Seokmin, for whenever he came around it was like she’d been sprinkled with a ditzy-dust. You watch as Blair twists her hair to squeeze out the water. Mingyu drags himself out from the waves and Seokmin is close behind. Not wanting to be caught staring, you drop back onto the towel, hearing their conversation become clearer.

Blair realizes she forgot her towel on the back porch (though you aren’t certain forget is the right word), to which you can hear the pout in her words as she implores Seokmin for his t-shirt. He picks it up from his towel and hands it over, his lips pressed in a tight, unwavering line, prompting you to assume that the girl’s wheedling isn’t exactly yearned over. 

Suri flaps out her towel before wrapping it snug around the curves of her body. With your head titled to the side, you can’t help but observe how she stands on her tiptoes, whispering something into Mingyu’s ear. He grins in return, then softly grips her chin and captures her mouth in a quick, sweet kiss. Your chest balloons with a sigh, one of hopelessness, displeasure. Seokmin announces he’s going inside for a beer and Blair sticks to him like a bandaid. Suri follows, though she stops upon noting Mingyu’s resistance.

“You’re not coming, babe?” She hums, combing a hand through her damp hair.

For a split second, Mingyu catches your eye. Petrified, you turn your head back and search through the clouds as though you’ll find an escape.

The boy scratches under his nose. “Can I have a few minutes?”

Suri shrugs, then hurries after Blair and Seokmin up the pathway.

An instant later, and Mingyu is bending over you with his necklace dangling and a water droplet collecting at the tip of his nose. He pushes back the wet locks splayed to his forehead, grinning at you rather mischievously, fangs shiny and sharp digging against the rose of his mouth. A fire takes light in your abdomen and absentmindedly your teeth are grinding together.

“What?” You huff, ignoring how your fingers curl at your side.

Mingyu rubs away the droplet and smirks. “Are you hot?”

Gulping the dry air in your throat, you attempt not to cough. “I guess.”

“Come swimming with me.”

You sit up, then glance at the t-shirt swallowing your body. “I thought you were going inside?”

“I will go inside,” Mingyu reasons, “but I want you to swim with me first.”

Looking to Jane fast asleep with the magazine covering her face, you sigh as though this is a complicated decision for you, as though your entire chest isn’t screaming for the breath to agree and steal glances at how the water ripples against the grooves of his muscle. By the time you comply – faked reluctancy and all – Mingyu is already pushing into the water until it laps against his waist. He turns around, smiles at you who stands uncertainly at the shoreline, and gestures for you to follow him. Each step you take is met with a shudder, a grimace, though there is something equally soothing about how the heat is unable to gloss your skin when the water nips it away.

Mingyu groans at your apprehensive pace, though his eyes glint tenderly. 

“C’mon, are you always this fucking slow? Today would be nice.”

“It’s cold!” You shout at him. A particularly rough wave soaks through your t-shirt and touches your bare stomach, engendering you to shiver like you’d been sparked by an electric current.

However, Mingyu isn’t so patient that he can wait for your waddling, rather he starts rushing toward you with a wolfish smile as the boy curls his fingers around your wrist. He gives you a solid jerk. You fumble into the water; you shriek and feel your whole face contort as the cold licks mercilessly at your skin. Mingyu lends one final tug that has you gliding between the waves. He’s pulled you into his chest, and it takes a moment before you recognize the water rocking at your collarbone. You sniffle, spellbound by the proximity of his gaze and how it burns you up, how your heart is utterly swollen just by examining the droplets that bead at his lips. Your nails claw into Mingyu’s shoulders until he starts to hiss.

“Fuck, can you ease up?”

“W-What?” You stutter, swallowing thickly. “Ease up? You grabbed me!” In a flash of thoughtlessness, you slam your palms against his chest to push him away. He hardly budges.

“You’re welcome.” He grins.

Because you don’t want him to hear the satisfactory chime of your laughter, you sigh tersely while treading a current. But then Mingyu is sighing too, and you’re narrowing your expression at him.

“And that means what?” You ask.

Mingyu shrugs. “You tell me. I’ve never seen a person sigh so much.”

Notably flustered, you run a damp hand over your face. 

“Do you keep a tally of that or something?” You quip, though when you think about it, you realize Mingyu isn’t wrong. 

The fact he’s even picked up on a trait that had been invisible to you is a bit jarring. He swims in closer. Immediately, you look the other way, to some trees dotting far along the distant banks.

“I’m just curious.” He replies, and there’s a softness to his voice that sounds awfully genuine. “Are you upset about something?”

“No.” It leaps from your tongue embarrassingly quick and you realize it’s made you look guilty.

If you told Mingyu what’s been making you upset, then this budding between you would get squashed, you’d lose everything like a flame that had been snuffed out to the wind. Suddenly, a forceful wave gushes against him and he allows himself to be pushed even further toward you, though you know your fragility quite well and swim back. You need space to breathe, space so that your mind doesn’t run rampant with thoughts of licking the droplets from his pretty mouth.

You sink lower into the water, now able to appreciate its coolness, and wonder aloud, “can I ask you something?”

Mingyu gives an open look, and you take that as your cue to continue.

“Can you…” Attempting to act timid, you let your voice trail off and make a show of nervously nibbling your bottom lip, “can you get me Seokmin’s number?”

He opens his mouth wide, then closes it. You feel your entire body wriggle with laughter, though you’re gasping a mere moment later when Mingyu thrusts a heap of water against your face, the flavour of duckweed and moss stuck against your throat. Coughing up the unpleasant taste and wiping the blur from your eyes, your eyesight manages to focus again, where Mingyu is glaring.

“Are you being serious?” The honey boy gawks. 

“That was kind of a little bit unwarranted,” you ignore his question.

But Mingyu doesn’t seem in the mood to respond jokingly, rather his eyes reflect a certain staidness and that smirk which always lingers has turned into a frown. You didn’t expect him to feel so strongly about such a frivolous comment.

“Are you being serious?” He repeats. “Do you really want Seokmin’s number?”

You shake your head. “I’m joking, Mingyu.”

“Do you like him or something?” His question slams you like another wave and your heart is suddenly hammering.

“N-No, I don’t—I think he’s a good dude but I don’t like him as in…”

“As in dating?” Mingyu finishes your sentence. “You don’t want to date him?”

“I don’t.”

That baleful look in his eyes returns to a cordialness you recognize. The strings of your heart pull in different directions. He seems relived, but then you wonder if your brain is leaping to the conclusion that will belie a false sense of comfort, some inaccurate delusion that maybe Mingyu…

No, you won’t even think it.

As the clouds roll further into the distance and as your fingertips begin wrinkling like dried fruit, you wonder if Mingyu remembers what he earlier relayed to Suri: can I have a few minutes? Because, clearly, it’s been more than just a few minutes. But you’re inclined to lose yourself in the conversation while Mingyu is much too eager to instigate it, and the notion that someone could be interested in even the most mundane parts of your life comes as a staggering blow. Yet Mingyu asks about anything and everything. He asks where you got the small bonsai tree sitting on your windowsill, who’s apartment sitting during your absence, what you usually eat for breakfast when you’re late to class but you can’t resist stopping at the nearest coffee shop. You don’t know why he cares.

He even questions about your journal, though you play your cards close to the chest.

“I just write about my day and stuff.” You explain very ambiguously.

Mingyu rolls over from floating on his back. “Like a diary?” He persists.

“If you want to call it that.”

“Give an example of something you’d write about.” Mingyu encourages.

“An example? Uh, I’m not sure. Maybe the fact it’s really hot today.”

He groans immediately. “You’re writing about the weather? I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but that’s lame. That’s lame as hell.”

You gawk at him. “Obviously I’m not gonna spill all the details! Some of it’s personal, y’know? It’s not for the world to read.”

“Am I good enough to be a topic?” Mingyu asks, ignoring your commotion. 

If only you knew, the words echo in your head.

“Hardly.” You spout instead, tightening your lips into a snide smile.

He swims a bit closer to you, the sun igniting his beautiful skin tone.

“What would I have to do,” the boy speaks with intrigue, “to be mentioned? Like, what qualifies me to be written about in this special journal?”

Honestly, just being you. That’s enough. Breathing even. 

Again, you voice a much different thought.

“I don’t know, Mingyu. I really don’t. Maybe if you did something weird. That night when I could hear Seokmin sleep talking from across the hall, I mentioned him in my journal. Because it kept me up. There’s a better example.”

“So, you’re saying my best friend gets an entry, but I don’t?” 

You splash him with a little flick of water. “Pretty much.”

After his questions having met a brick wall, the boy finally seems to give up trying to pry any information about your journal. Which you’re somewhat relieved about. If Mingyu truthfully knew how many times he’d been a topic, then he certainly wouldn’t still be out here with you, bobbing in this vast, deep blue water with the sun glimmering in the waves around you. 

“This is gonna be difficult, isn’t it?” Mingyu says, tilting his head. 

“What is?”

Returing the gesture from earlier, he flicks some water into your face.

“Figuring you out.”

You roll your eyes, a lazy smile stretching across your mouth. “I’m not some case you need to crack. If it’s too tiring anyways, then don’t waste your time.”

A strong breeze blows in from across the lake. Sinking lower into the water, hiding from the cold, you watch Mingyu shake his head.

“I don’t think I’m wasting my time.” He replies, sounding confident. 

Out of nowhere, this sigh rises in your chest, and the next words you utter are mostly meant for yourself, even if Mingyu hears them.

“I wonder if you’ll still be saying that by the time we leave this place.” 

But then Mingyu is puffing out his chest too, and attempts to mimic your facial expression, one of blankness yet slight contemplation.

“Are you going to do that every time?” You inquire, yet the boy merely replies with a smirk.

Jane is still fast asleep beneath the magazine cover when you and Mingyu trudge through the waves and onto the shore. The air isn’t nearly as sticky. In fact, there’s a breeze that finds its strength, even carries the crisp scent of a patio barbecue toward the beach.

As Mingyu pats his face, you realize your only towel is occupied by Jane, therefore you curl your arms tight around your frame in order to preserve heat. But Mingyu notes that you’re definitely shivering after spending such ample time soaking in the lake. You hold your breath when the honey boy steps in close, when he takes the cloth and drapes it behind your shoulders, his hand then rubbing up and down your arm. 

Another shiver tingles beneath your skin, but it’s not from the cold.

“See you around.” He says, leaving you bundled up in the towel that smells a bit like him.

You watch him walk along the stone pathway holding onto his sneakers.

That evening, everyone gathers outside to eat the barbecue and roasted vegetables Cluett had taken upon himself to cook. As you sit on the stairs in between Jane and Deedee, drinking an orange soda, you can’t shake this odd sentiment that someone is staring at you. Curious, you look over your shoulder, and something drops into the pit of your stomach when your gaze clicks with Mingyu. You have yet to discard his towel, which didn’t go undetected. 

He brings a beer bottle to his lips and takes a sip, eyeing you blatantly, as though to poke fun at the fact you haven’t gotten dressed; however, you turn around and merely tug the towel further over your shoulders, trying hard not to foolishly, foolishly smile.

CHAPTER 14: THE PROBLEM WITH KINDNESS

Even though Chan assures he’s going to wash the dishes after breakfast, he’s coincidentally the first racing toward the back door when Mingyu suggests the idea of paddle boarding. While they’re enjoying a foggy morning on the lake, you’re scrubbing Chan’s cereal bowl containing all the dried remnants of cinnamon apple oatmeal. To make matters worse, the main living space is soon invaded by Suri, Blair, and Tommy. It’s not that you dislike them, but you’re fairly sensitive and easily agitated during the early hours, and Blair’s abrasive voice is like a fork to a plate.

Suri engages her two friends with another tale of modelling in Berlin, how dearly she misses the pillaring architecture and the taste of black forest gateau and wandering between the high arches establishing the Brandenburg gate. During her storytelling, Cluett enters the kitchen, grabs a slice of bread, and smears it with peanut butter and honey. You can’t imagine that he’s is one to be fascinated by modelling, especially as he slaps the bread on a plate, writing his name across the peanut butter using the honey bottle. 

Blair is baring this tight, almost painful smile that you imagine is more envy than intrigue. At one point, Cluett laughs.

“Have you ever considered running for Miss Universe?” He asks Suri.

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “No, why?”

Cluett folds his bread slice and takes a bit from it like it’s a taco.

“Becauff—” he mumbles, mouth full of food. One dry swallow later, he continues, “you talk like you’re the centre of it.”

She scoffs, pushing the hair off her shoulder. “You know what, I don’t even want to waste my time being mad at you, or your dumb comments. Now, you should take that sandwich down to the bathroom and give yourself another chainsaw trim, which is the nicest way I can describe it without hurting your feelings.”

“You couldn’t hurt my feelings.” Cluett counters, taking another bite from his snack. There’s a persuasive calmness to his voice which makes you think he’s right.

Blair smiles. “I think your buzzcut looks good, Clu.”

Pulling out her phone, Suri pits blandly, “I don’t know if I’d say that with this layering you got recently, but you didn’t want to take my recommendation anyways.”

Cluett walks past you as though you’re an apparition, not even visible to his sight. He pours himself some orange juice.

“Thanks, Blair. I’m pretty handy with a razor. Scissors too. Can’t say the same for a chainsaw. Maybe if I really honed my craft, I could look as passable as Suri.” He smiles a wide, toothy grin, and looks directly at the fuming girl from across the room, “which is the nicest way I can describe her without hurting her feelings.”

After Cluett leaves the room, Suri looks like she could explode. Pop. Just like a shiny bubble. They don’t make their resentment toward each other very discreet. Cluett is simply too outlandish and individualistic for Suri, while Suri is too absorbed and narrow-minded for Cluett. They’re almost so different that in an alternate reality you could see them liking each other. Tommy cracks his knuckles, shaking his head aimlessly. He doesn’t seem to grasp the root of their dislike, which is no surprise to you entirely since he’s quite easygoing.

“You have to let stuff like that go,” Tommy says to Suri, “learn to forget about it and ignore him. Water and oil can’t repulse each other if they don’t mix.”

Sliding a glass into the upper cupboard, you nod your head despite your lack of presence in the conversation. He’s got a point.

“That’s impossible,” Suri grumbles, “I can’t ignore him when he says idiotic things. It’s like he’s begging to get insulted.”

Tommy lays out his palms and starts explaining to her as though he’s a school teacher.  You think it must be exhausting, having to dilute things so much and taper your words. It’s like no one has ever told Suri one piece of advice in her life. Everything has to be sugarcoated. 

“You’re letting him rile you up. And he knows he can do that. If you just ignored him, Cluett wouldn’t even bother. I’m just telling you—”

“Ugh,” Suri interrupts him, her brow pinching down furiously, “you’re starting to sound like Mingyu when he thinks I need a lecture. Forget it, Tommy.”

“I’m only trying to help y—“

“I said forget it!” Suri raises her voice at the boy as she attempts to leave the main living area. It sounds like she had purposefully bumped into him too.

You can hear Tommy stumble, then he seems to collide with something. Blair screams and there’s loud, splintering shatter. As though time has stopped, you freeze. Silence swallows the living space in the worst way possible.

“That’s the vase!” Tommy gasps, causing you to turn around. “You made me knock over Caroline’s special, stupid, fancy heirloom vase!”

The tall, deep blue vase that had been a generational emblem to Caroline is now disembodied in shards across the floor, the one possession that Caroline was most aglow presenting, a jewel to the house as she worded it, now separated into sharp, jagged fragments. Suri covers her face like the entire scenario is nothing more than a shameful nightmare. You aren’t sure what to do. Leaving the tea towel on the counter, you slowly walk into the living space where the sapphire vase is scattered.

Blair licks her lips and squeaks, “should we tell Caro—"

“No, are you kidding?” Suri barks. “Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay?” You aren’t sure that Suri even knows you’re there, and quite frankly, she seems too livid for you to intervene.

“How is that going to work?” Tommy gulps.

Suri snaps her fingers. “Let’s just sweep this all into a pillowcase or something. We’ll leave it in a drawer. If Caroline does find it, then hopefully we’ll all be out of the house by then.”

Something in you lurches, and you’re quick to dismantle Suri’s idea.

“C’mon, you guys can’t do that and let Jane take the hit. I think Blair is right, just tell Caroline.”

Tommy gasps. “Have you met Caroline? She’ll kick us all out if she knows!”

You shake your head, “I’m sure she won’t. You don’t even have to tell her the entire truth! She’s strict, but she’ll appreciate honesty. I really don’t think covering this up is… I don’t think it’s fair.” Under your chest, your heartbeat is shifting each rib like tectonic plates. Suri looks to the floor again, at the expensive chunks of blue glass, biting her lip pensively. But then she’s looking at you, and her eyes flash in a manner that can only be illustrated as conniving.

“Wait, I know what to do.” Suri hops over the couch and collects your clammy hands in hers, squeezing them. “Okay – just – consider this.” She entreats to you openly. “You’re close with Jane, right? Like best friends? So… if you were to say you broke the vase, then Caroline totally wouldn’t get as mad. Caroline will trust you more since you’re Jane’s best friend. You’ll pretty much get off scotch-free.”

“What?” You can’t help but gape, and attempt to shift from Suri’s grip. “I-I don’t know—”

“No, please,” Suri pulls you back, practically pressing her nails into your skin, “you know how annoying Cluett is. He’s always bugging me! Plus, if I fess up then Caroline will make this hell.” Her eyes glimmer like winter chestnuts, and her voice is nearly shaking. “Please?” She whispers. “We’re friends. I would totally cover for you whenever.”

It’s not right. You know that Caroline will be disappointed no doubt that such a significant item has been broken, and maybe she’ll admonish Suri more than if you were to have taken the blame, but upholding responsibility matters. Suri is crushing your hands, though you don’t at all take note because you’re contemplating. Even when you shouldn’t be. And you hate it. You meet Suri’s gaze again and something inside you falters, snaps, like a brittle twig. Exhaling deeply through your nose, you squeeze her hands in solace and nod your head. 

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Blair looks happy, though Tommy shifts uncomfortably. 

While one piece of you painfully disintegrates, another is kindled with meek fulfillment as Suri pulls you into a hug and mumbles into your hair about how much she owes you. Tommy grabs a broom and dustpan from the closet to begin sweeping up the broken vase while you help Blair search for a vacuum in order to clean the smaller pieces.

“Do you think we should throw this stuff out?” You ask, looking to the debris in the pan. “Maybe Caroline will want to keep some of it. This seemed really important to her.”

Suri shoves her phone in her pocket, slouching on the island chair. “It’s broken, okay? She’s not gonna want any of it. If anything, seeing the pieces will just make her angrier.”

At first, you hesitate standing next to the garbage with the dustpan in your hand. But then Suri gestures for you to just dump them in. You plaster a cheap smile to your face as the glass shards tumble into the garbage.  

After the deed is done, you hide upstairs with your journal.

Why am I taking the fall for Suri? 

She says we’re friends and that she’d do the same for me. I don’t know why I agreed. Maybe it’s because I want to actually be her friend? I really can’t tell. 

At first, Jane doesn’t believe you broke the sapphire vase. 

In fact, she even laughs, right in your face when you’re under the covers that night, just before turning off the lights. She suspects that Seungkwan might’ve bumped it and that he’s somehow convinced you to take the damage. But then she scraps that idea a moment later because Seungkwan’s heart is nothing but a fragile pearl, and if he were to have broken it then he’d already have a handwritten apology prepared. Jane turns onto her side, a hand beneath her cheek, and asks if Tommy broke the vase.

It feels like there’s a stone sitting in the base of your windpipe as you croak out, it was me, I’m serious. The smile fades from her face, and at last Jane believes you. Sleep doesn’t come easy. You continuously toss and turn, stick your leg off the edge of the bed only to pull it back a second later. From your stomach to your back, one arm tucked under the pillow, two arms tucked under the pillow, your entire head tucked under the pillow, it’s the most restless you’ve ever been. 

The absence of the vase is easy to note. It’s a big discussion piece the next day, and you handle the brunt of it while Suri holds her tongue. Tommy finds you on the back patio writing in your journal. He doesn’t sit down, just spreads his hands over the glass table and leans in close, whispering about how thankful he is. It’s funny how often he apologizes for something that wasn’t even his fault. No matter how many times he peppers you in his gratitude, and no matter how many times you give an indifferent nod and reassure him it’s completely fine, you never feel any fuller.

A few minutes later and Suri walks out onto the patio. In each hand she holds a mango spritzer. For some reason you think she’s going to pull up a chair and slide you a drink. Instead, Suri flashes a weak smile, then disappears rather hurriedly down the stairway and toward the beach.  

CHAPTER 15: RAINY DAYS

Today is the day that Caroline visits to perform her weekly check of the beach house. You feel sick, lightheaded. Your heartbeat tremors your entire chest, your toes won’t stop curling, and you’ve taken no more than a single bite from the strawberry toast Jane handed you at breakfast. Rain pounds against the house. It was thundering much earlier, but you had already been awake.

The morning light is a common wake up cue, yet with a sky so gloomy and stroked in a grey pallor, most people remain in bed. You grab the toast again, only to realize how cool it’s become, and nibble off a tiny chunk that feels awfully hard to swallow. As though you’re attempting to hypnotize yourself, you repeat over and over that it’s no big deal. 

So what you’re taking the blame for Suri?

You shift uneasily when Mingyu and Seokmin come into the kitchen, laughing amongst themselves. Seokmin shakes some honeycomb cereal into a bowl while Mingyu pulls out a cold carton of chocolate milk from the fridge. Judging by the slight shower-dampness to Seokmin’s hair and the fact that Mingyu hasn’t switched to his contacts yet, you suspect they woke up not too long ago. As you poke around your toast on its plate, you listen to their conversation, something about how Mingyu wants to get photographs of the lakeside town for a portfolio. Seokmin starts walking upstairs with his cereal bowl, though he nods at you before disappearing.

“Hey,” Mingyu stands next to you at the island, “you want the rest of my milk?”

You huff through your nose, and push away the carton with your finger. “No, I don’t really want the rest of your milk, Mingyu.”

He scoffs, taking back his carton. “You know you’d be delighted to have it.”

Rolling your eyes, you bury your teeth into the toast and take another bite. It’s unbeknownst why you keep forcing yourself to eat when your stomach is twisting and gargling like this. You love the taste of strawberries, but now they’re causing you to feel nauseous.

Mingyu scrunches his nose, pushing up his thick, circular frames. “Stupid innuendos aside, are you sure you don’t want the rest of it? This is the only chocolate milk left. I’m just asking because I see you drink this stuff all the time.”

“It’s fine,” you flash him a torpid smile, “I’m not really hungry. Or thirsty.”

The silence that settles in the air is like a patchy dust.

Mingyu swats the carton between his hands for a moment, then sniffles. “Is everything alr—”

Suddenly, you hear the front doors swing open from down the main corridor.

Hurrying in from the rain that spits angrily at the earth is Caroline, dressed in a pink, plastic coat that looks a bit too small and swinging around an umbrella. You feel inexplicably dizzy. Grabbing the edge of the counter, you mutter out a greeting that sounds feeble and afraid while Mingyu bids a good morning. Caroline closes her umbrella and rests it against the wall, then unbuttons her coat. She smiles at the two of you, though you sense that white hot sliver of lead drop into your stomach when she begins glancing around the main living space, skimming over the pedestal where the vase once stood.

“How’s everything been? I hope you’re liking the annual rain storm that blows in every year. I’ll have to lob Adrian in the head for taking my black jacket and forcing me to wear this inadequate pink thing.”

“He’s upstairs somewhere,” Mingyu chuckles, completely unphased by the fact that Caroline had just called Cluett, Adrian. “And it’s perfect actually. I’m gonna take some shots and footage whenever Seokmin is ready.”

“Oh, your portfolio! Is this the personal one?”

Mingyu scratches a hand through his hair, still a bit puffy from sleep. “Kinda, but I’ll save a few really good moments for my new semester.”

Caroline folds her hands together and looks at you expectantly. 

“How are you?” She asks.

You don’t even think to engage in small talk, rather you practically stumble off the kitchen stool and meet Caroline face to face. She seems concerned at your appearance, to which you can only assume your anxious colour is gleaming much too bright. You dig your fingernails into your palms.

“Caroline, I’m not sure how to say this but, you know that heirloom vase you showed us?”

She folds her arms over her chest and nods tersely.

“Well, I was um, I wasn’t really being careful,” you take in a deep, quivering breath, “I-I bumped it, and it broke. I’m so, so sorry. I know how important that vase was to you and that this isn’t at all what you want to hear. But I can reimburse you if it helps! I’ll—”

“And what did you do with it?” She cuts in, her voice sharper than flint.

“W-What?” You stumble.

Gesturing impatiently with her hand, she demands, “the pieces? Did you throw them out? What did you do with the pieces?”

You fumble for the words, and Caroline pinches her brow. “Please don’t tell me you threw them out.”

The only thing you can think about is standing next to the trashcan, holding the dustpan, contemplating on whether or not to let those shards fall into the plastic. Yet, you listened to Suri rather than your own gut, and now you have to tell Caroline there’s absolutely nothing left.

“I-I threw them out… I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“You trashed everything? All of it? That vase has generations of history, it’s one of the only ties I have to my gra—,” Caroline presses her fingers against the side of her head, looking off into the corner with gloss in her eyes. She groans, grabs her chin and stares for a moment at the floor.

“Fine, fine, alright,” she bites, and the utter disappointment in her tone is a claw to your vulnerability, “I’m going upstairs for a while. There’s been too much going on this week and— I just don’t want to think about it. Damn it.” 

She begins to brush past you. Just as you squeak out that you’re willing to reimburse the cost, Caroline turns around and shakes her head, her arms slapping defeatedly against her sides.

“It’s not necessary.” She heaves and it sounds almost choked-up, “I mean, this is my fault too. I let Jane use the house this summer. I guess I was too naive about certain things. There’s no need to repay me. No amount is going to replace what that vase meant for my family. Do you at least understand that?”

You give a solemn nod.

Her footsteps begin pattering upstairs. By the time Caroline has vanished, you finally unstick your fingernails from their brutal indents against each palm. You know the feeling of disappointing someone, and yet you’d never experienced such culpability, even though you technically hadn’t done anything at all. Heat dissipates rapidly across your face and pulls achingly tight to your skin. In fact, you nearly forgot Mingyu had observed the entire debacle until you turn around and spot him with a rather disoriented expression.

Mingyu flicks away his container of chocolate milk and cocks his head.

“C’mon, you didn’t break the vase,” he speaks confidently, “who’re you covering for?”

“No one.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not, Mingyu!”

Unable to confine this instability that dwells inside, the hot tears begin to leak down your face. When you suck in a breath, it embarrassingly wobbles. You don’t expect Mingyu to understand why you’re crying, nor do you expect him to continue thinking you’re someone he wants to be around.

“Hey,” Mingyu frowns, and he rushes toward you, “hey, hey, you don’t have to get so upset.” His hand gently slides to cup your cheek. He tries to find your wet gaze but you adamantly avoid making eye contact. While you shudder in your place, the boy’s thumb catches every tear, and he swipes tenderly to remove them. “It’s okay,” Mingyu murmurs, “it’s not the end of the world.”

“She’s so disappointed.” You lament through the congestion, teetering on the edges of your feet. “I can’t believe she’s gonna think this lowly of me.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “You didn’t break it.”

“I told you I—”

He presses his thumb down firm against your bottom lip, effectively silencing you. “Say it all you want, but I know you didn’t.” Mingyu maintains his verdict. 

“Don’t try to argue either,” he leans in closer to your face, pulling his thumb away, “because I won’t believe you, alright?”

You’re only fit to nod. Mingyu removes his comfortable palm, and he taps your hip. “You need to get out of the house. Come with Seokmin and I. We’re going to take some shots of the town.”

At first, you shrug. “It’s raining.”

“So?” Mingyu isn’t convinced. “Nature’s cleansing. And you’re gonna come. For real, I’ll drag you out of this house if I have to.”

CHAPTER 16: BITTERSWEET

You sit beside Seokmin in the diner’s fabric booth, poking at the remainder of your hash browns with a fork. Despite the dreary, unpleasant weather that looms over harbour, a cold drizzle and a chilly breeze, most people are unbothered and shuffle through the doorway in their raincoats just for a cup of coffee. Mingyu is across the table clicking the buttons on his camera, examining the newest pictures he’d captured of the sailing boats and the open, misty waters. There were a few joke portraits where Seokmin had ran to the end of the dock and squatted down for a picture, half his face veiled by the large hood on his jacket, throwing his fingers up in a peace sign.

Mingyu’s espresso is so far untouched, and the steam curls gradually into the air. Seokmin angles the last slice of buttered toast into his mouth, swallows, and clears his throat.

“Are you gonna drink that?” He asks, eyeing the boy’s fresh espresso.

It’s quiet at first, Mingyu focused on his pictures. He lowers his camera slightly, mumbling, “I don’t know. You want it?”

“I’ll take it so you don’t have to waste two dollars and thirty cents,” Seokmin responds, picking at the base of his fingernail, “unless you want it?” He then casts a glance toward your corner.  

“It’s all yours.” You shrug, watching Seokmin slide the mug across the table.

With your head leaned against the window, you grin teasingly at Seokmin. “Are you still burning breakfast crepes or have you finally mastered the art?”

Each slope of his cheek ripely pinkens. 

“Now, let’s not bring that up,” he says, holding the mug close to his face, “those were very scarring times, and for me to only get a seventy-something after months of nearly suffering third degree burns? Now I don’t remember much, but I should’ve let those crepes go up in flames.”

“A seventy-something isn’t the worst,” you tilt your head back and forth, biting down on the inside of your cheek, “I remember you made great cheddar biscuits. Even if they were a little hard.”

Seokmin pits a disgruntled scoff. “I had to have been adding too much flour. All the labels on the measuring cups were rubbed off. What did you get?”

You resume stabbing the cold hash browns and murmur, “I think it was… a ninety-five.”

As he takes a sip from the espresso, Seokmin receives a mild scalding and puckers his face.

“A nifftey-fife?!” He exclaims, clasping the sore tip of his tongue between his fingers.

“It was a bird course!” You point you, smiling sheepishly. “Honestly, you could’ve got that if you didn’t dick around so much with Soonyoung. I can’t even count the amount of times I saw you two sword fighting with the garden carrots and chasing each other with the oil vats. ”

Still pinching his tongue, Seokmin excuses himself and hurries toward the counter to ask for a glass of water. You stare out the window, toward the dewy harbour across the street. There’s something strange about mentioning Soonyoung’s name. The last you saw of him was when he signed your yearbook in the front foyer, a double-chunk chocolate cookie in between his teeth. You haven’t even thought about the boy in five years. Is he still close with Seokmin? Did he ever succeed in his wish to start his own dance studio? Did he dye his hair platinum blonde like he always bragged he would?

Wherever Soonyoung happens to find himself in such an enormous world, you hope someone as colourful as him is doing well. Off in the distance, there’s a baritone rumbling of thunder and the rain splatters the windows in loud taps. A second later and you hear a distinct shutter.

In the midst of your daze, you see Mingyu lowering his camera with a pert smirk.

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

He casts you an obvious expression, a small glimpse of his tongue curling at his lip. “Yeah. You had a really pensive look going. Wanna see it?”

You shrink into yourself demurely, accepting Mingyu’s camera as he passes it over the table. Your first instinct is to wince and bite the iron in your mouth because your hair is a mess of humidity, there’s clearly an oiled sheen off your forehead from forgetting to wash your face, and the delicate crescent beneath each eye has yet to lose its puffiness due to your earlier tears. 

Shaking your head, you return the camera.

“I look like I just cried. And potentially got mauled.”

His fangs dig into his bottom lip, and his laughter is raspy. “You did cry. So you’re not wrong.” He agrees, leaning back against the booth.

You pull up the hood on your jacket and quickly flesh out the drawstrings, feeling the fabric tighten around your face. Merely from his smirk, you can tell he’s still examining your picture, and a part of you wants to get swept away down the street like the slick rainfall.

“Wait, you’re actually keeping it? What good’s it for?”

The boy drags a hand through his black locks and puffs out his chest. “It’s just nice,” he smiles, to which your heart skips a beat, “you’re very pretty.”

I’m very what? 

Now you’re beginning to feel as though you’ve just been scalded. Out of nowhere, Seokmin is sliding back into the booth with a half-empty glass of water and some lifesavers he probably scooped from the candy bowl when no one was looking. Inside, your chest flutters like a gust of petals on a windy day. Mingyu begins zipping his camera into his backpack, though his phone is suddenly vibrating against the table and somehow you already know who’s texting him.

He flips the device over. The earth of his eyes instantly cracks.

“Fuck,” Mingyu grumbles, tugging on his bag, “I need to call Suri. Be right back.”

After squirming out from the booth, Mingyu steps outside beneath the small overhang. When you specifically angle your head, you can see him through the window. He’s making exasperated gestures with his hand and mussing up his hair in an anxious tick. You have not a clue as to what they’re discussing, but the brute tension assures that you want no part in it anyways.

You face Seokmin with a sigh. “How’s your tongue?”

“In pain,” he glowers, tapping his fingers against his ceramic mug, “I think I lost a couple taste buds.”

A waitress stops at the table to begin gathering the dishes. Once you help Seokmin stack the plates, he hands them to her while she collects the cups in her other arm. She notifies the bill will be coming shortly. You sneak another glance out the window. Mingyu’s mouth is hard-sewn into a thin line and you can tell he’s attempting to listen and not interrupt.

The rain seems to be easing as you huff, “I hope everything is okay.”

“It’s hard to tell with those two.” Seokmin remarks, tearing open a grape-flavoured lifesaver.

His response prompts you to wonder how much Seokmin knows.

Mingyu’s car is parked across the street, right before the long, wooden docks that stretch from the pier, side by side like a series of floating sticks. Since Seokmin had downed his apple juice, the scalding espresso, and more water in compensation for the coffee, he’d hurried into the washroom after Mingyu came back inside and pitched a generous offer to pay for breakfast. You lean against the side of the car with your arms folded. Rather than unforgiving bullets, the rain has faded to a pleasant spray which brushes the harbour with moisture and a pale shimmer. The faraway shorelines are still shrouded by fog, but over the rolling hills you’re able to see a distant, glowing light in between the clouds.

Once the boy had finished packing his camera equipment into the backseat, Mingyu accompanies your leisurely stance, his messy locks fanned back from his forehead with the help of the precipitation. Digging your sneaker into the wet grit, you resist asking him about his odd phone call.

“Well,” Mingyu mumbles, stuffing his hands in his jacket, “did you have fun?”

Your corner lip twitches to form a smile. 

“As much fun as I could have on a day this depressing.” Though the comment is satirical, you glance at him appreciatively.

“So… Are going to tell me now who broke the vase? Or later?”

“Gosh,” you roll your eyes, “can’t you just let it go?”

The boy wipes some dew from his cheek, then raises his brow at you. His honey skin glistens as though it’s dutifully polished glass.

“You’re a very secretive girl,” Mingyu laughs, “I’ve been talking to you for weeks now, and I feel like I haven’t made much of a dent.”

“What do you want me to do?” You look to him with a facetious expression. “Spill my heart out?”

“That depends on whether or not you have something to tell me.”

Worrying that he’s captured you in a metaphorical scope, you break eye contact, instead watching a small fishing boat that putters back to one of the docks.

You fold your arms tighter. “I feel like you’ve got way too many people who’ve spilled their heart to you.”

“What’s that mean?” He questions, but his ever-present smirk betrays him.

“You know what I mean.”

Tucking some of the loose, black hairs behind his ear, he grins. “One moment, you’re sweet. The next, you’re ready to take down an entire village.”

This is the hardest you’ve ever bitten back a comment. In fact, you can almost taste the copper-like tang of blood on your lip as you sink in your teeth. Of all people to be pointing out your inconsistent behaviour, you figured Mingyu should be looking himself in the mirror. Besides, you were only inconsistent when it came to him. If you let your guard down every single time, then undoubtedly, he would have penetrated you like a needle straight through its pin cushion. He would have already known your embarrassing crush, how your knees turn to gelatine just thinking about him, how tiresome it is for you to meet his chocolate eyes and not crush your mouth to his in the messiest kiss. Sometimes, when it comes to you, Mingyu acts like you don’t even exist.

You want to think it’s for likewise reasons, but in doing so, you merely torture yourself.

Curling your fingernails into the mesh of your coat, you release a long-winded sigh. But then Mingyu is sighing too, as he usually does to press your buttons. 

Except this time you elbow him. He hesitates for a moment, and you squeak when he gently shoves you back. Your eyes widen at him as though to wordlessly convey, do you really wanna start this right now? There’s a delinquent smile upon your face as you lean into Mingyu’s side with all your weight, pushing him until he falters in a slight stumble. It’s not much considering he’s as solid as a rock, but you feel a piteous amount of victory. However, you don’t foolishly wait to be reciprocated. You try running to the opposite side of the car, but Mingyu doesn’t let you escape. Instead, he latches onto your wrist, and with a powerful tug he has you spun right into his chest.

“H-Hey!” You giggle in short breaths as the boy curls his arms firm around your waist, lifting the tips of your shoes from the earth. “P-Put me down, Mingyu! I’ll curse you out!”

You cling harshly to his shoulders, until Mingyu is pressing your backside against the metallic car. The blood pumps under your skin as though it aches to pour free. His hands squeeze your hips, and never have you been this close, close enough that you can count the individual bulbs of dew on his cheeks and smell the sweet coconut from his neck. He’s so close that you can’t think or speak, or even breathe. He presses you harder into the car, and you gulp the fire-radiant pulse in your throat. Your hands are trembling as they slide over his damp jacket, down the muscular contour of his chest.

“Curse me out.” Mingyu speaks with velvet, his hands curving possessively upon your hips. “Trust me,” he purrs, moving closer to your ear, “I want you to.”

But you can’t say anything because your voice will stammer. 

It will babble and shake and Mingyu will know that he affects you in ways he shouldn’t. You aren’t sure if Seokmin’s timing is a blessing or a curse. As soon as he emerges from the diner, Mingyu pulls away as though he weren’t just holding you brazenly against the side of his car. You sit beside the boy’s camera equipment in the backseat during the drive to the beach house, your legs crossed tight.

The second you burst into your bedroom you’re flinging yourself into the shower. A hot shower. One that fogs up the whole washroom.

CHAPTER 17: REALITY CHECK  / NSFW WARNING

Jane hasn’t come to bed yet despite the fact it’s nearing midnight. 

Seungkwan convinced her to act as his support system once Tommy pushed play on his favourite horror film – it’s one of the Insidious chapters, and even from upstairs you can hear the boy’s jarring screams. Knowing Jane is going to be anchored without remorse to Seungkwan’s side, you open your nightstand to retrieve your journal. Every word has been penned by your own hand, yet, as you cascade through the thin pages and gauge the name Mingyu scrawled over and over, you’re rather shocked.

He’s like a sticky burr that gets caught in your hair, then on the back of your shirt, along the seam of your pant leg. Whenever you think it’s been removed, it somehow manages to appear again. You feel exhausted and incapable of writing even a sentence, but you grip your pen anyways and try harder than you ever have before to not think about Mingyu.

About the honey boy. About that brown-eyed, noodle-armed, toothy-grinning boy you first saw in the eleventh grade.

About the boy who’d matured, obtained all his muscle and trim, learned how to cook and capture an entire feeling through the lens of a compact camera. Only that morning were you at his side, and now you miss him intensely. Something digs in and pinches at the most sensitive region your heart has ever borne. The thing is, you don’t just want Mingyu in the morning, or in the nighttime, or under the thick clouds of a stifling afternoon.

You want Mingyu always. Even if it’s selfish.

What would have happened if I kissed him?

The pen drags away from the paper when you note a cool breeze. Jane must’ve been outside on the balcony earlier and forgot to tug the door completely shut. You’d become so acquainted with the push and pull of the waves that you didn’t hear the water until you decided to. However, once you slide the curtain rungs toward the corner, revealing the open door, you hear something else. It’s a voice, soft, a bit muffled so that you were unable to decipher the words.

Stepping onto the balcony, the night breeze sweeps against your skin in a ragged, almost foreboding caress. It’s a shiver and a clenched jaw, your arms hugging tight to your frame. The soft voice echoes louder, followed by a grunt, notably deep. When you look over the edge at the deck below, it feels like the moon has illuminated you in a blinding stage light, as though you’re an actress who has emerged into her pivotal scene and the audience is looking with a sharp taste of dramatic irony. 

In the hot tub, Suri is seated in Mingyu’s lap, one hand sliding down the boy’s cheek, his tongue filling her mouth as they exchange their venereal kisses.

You’re frozen, and you can’t look away. Mingyu pulls at the string on her black bikini top and flings the article across the deck. Her laughter is devious and silky. He bites along her neck, scraping the razor edge to his teeth, and you hear her whine his name as he starts guiding the smooth gyration of her hips. You feel breathless as Mingyu catches her mouth in another kiss. Suri takes control in her grinding, and Mingyu is pleased, fervent and giddy. 

He groans against the girl’s ear, “keep going, baby. Just like that.”

And then you slam hard. Gravity seems to have finally attained its vendetta. You’ve been tipped over that high, and now there is only vacant space for you to plunge through. Upon shutting the door, you feel stuck in a relapse. 

Rather than looking to your journal with a sense of escape, there is nothing but heartache. Because almost every page is owned by him. This is why you always fought so hard to crush that fluttering sensation, why you always smothered the delusions that maybe, just maybe, Mingyu could glance at you and understand something beyond your friendship. Maybe, you’re just not in the stars. 

And you never will be.

CHAPTER 18: THE FOUL JEWEL

Standing before the body-length mirror in your bedroom, you nitpick at the discontent reflection which faces you. It’s a simple dress with a floral print, matching the warm tones of summer. This isn’t your first time wearing it. You had always loved how the dress bounced at your thighs and exposed the tender stretches of each shoulder, how the fabric twirled with your hips when you danced, drawing the whole room’s attention like a passionate flame. But now, as you tug at the hem and adjust the low-rounded chest, the dress doesn’t invigorate you to the same degree.

However, there’s nothing else you packed which would suit tonight’s party. Jane comes into the room and meets your gaze in the mirror. Her expression fawns with the utmost sweetness.

“That dress,” she gushes, skipping over to stand beside you, “I haven’t seen it in forever, but it’s even prettier than I remember!”

You thank her, and return the compliment to Jane’s appearance. She flourishes in a form-fitting, short dress, a sultry shade of red, accented with a lacy shawl that droops around her back.

“How do you feel?” Jane asks, sensing your disproportionate quietness.

Turning to your reflection in the mirror, scrutinizing yourself one last time, you sigh. “I don’t know. I mean, I think tonight will be fun and everything, but I can’t tell if I’m missing something.”

“Hm,” Jane slides a finger under her chin, eyes narrowing, “I think you need a nice necklace. Did you happen to bring any jewelry?”

“None.” You respond. “I was lazy and didn’t want to sort everything into baggies.”

“That’s the same reason I didn’t pack any either.” Jane laughs. But then her expression lights up and she’s already guiding you toward the door. 

“Go ask Suri, I know she has tons!”

You’re stumbling into the corridor with hard reluctance. 

Since you witnessed the hot tub make-out between Suri and Mingyu, you’d been avoiding the couple more than usual. The next morning you had skipped breakfast, even when Mingyu caught your eye over his bowl of Fruit Loops. In fact, that entire day was an agonizing chicken run of ducking into bedrooms and tiptoeing like a thief down corridors and grabbing a fistful of snacks before scurrying back upstairs.

Not allowing the obvious pattern to continue, Mingyu ambushed you after an evening swim. You refused eye contact. One glance and you’d be returned to the balcony, remembering the glowing tone of his skin, the depth to his groans, how commanding he was. Inevitably, you’d have to think about Suri too, that Mingyu couldn’t be further away from ever wanting you more than a brief summertime conversation. So you looked at his collarbone instead. It didn’t help that a large area of his upper half had been spotted by Suri’s hickies.

“I’m not an idiot,” he’d said, “I know you’re avoiding me. What did I do?”

“You did nothing. And I’m not avoiding you, Mingyu.”

“C’mon, just tell me. Please? I miss eating breakfast with you.”

“So I didn’t sit next to you once. You’re fine.”

He was acting like an injured puppy. Nonetheless, you had missed him too.

Mingyu and Suri share a bedroom, though he’s downstairs while Suri prepares her makeup and clothing for the party. When she opens the door, there’s a shower towel wrapped around her head and a white bathrobe tied to her thin body. You feel guilty, almost afraid, about interrupting her. The way her faded eyebrows raise and her mouth presses together doesn’t interpret as welcoming.

“Hi Suri, I don’t mean to intrude or anything, I was wondering if you had a necklace that might go with my outfit. Jane and I, we don’t have any jewelry. Too lazy to pack, y’know?”

As she steps aside to let you into their room, there’s a subtle burning in your chest. Your gaze wanders to Mingyu’s half of the bed. His two eyeglasses are folded on the nightstand next to a sketch pad, the black frames and then the thick, circle-lensed pair. His camera equipment sits on an armchair in the corner, for you recognize the backpack he’d been carrying on the rainy morning you went into town together. Their closet is partially left open and you see his hoodie hanging inside. You wonder if Suri knows her own luck. 

She struts by her vanity that’s lined with sterling-silver jewelry boxes and to her dresser. After rummaging through countless articles of clothes, she shuts the drawers with a sigh.  

“You’re interested in jewelry for your outfit? What will your outfit be exactly?”

“Um,” you gulp, looking down at your dress, “this.”

“Oh!” Suri keens, shaking her head. “Right, right. Sorry, you’re wearing that.” She places a hand onto the vanity and taps her fingers for a moment, the other balled at her hip. “Well, of course I’d really love to lend you something, but these collections here,” she gestures to the shining boxes lined before the mirror, “I’ve garnered all this while I was travelling, you know, all these different places. I just—I want to lend you a piece! I really do!” Suri crosses the room and takes your hands in hers, squeezing them. “But if something happened to any of those pieces, I-I don’t know,” she rests a palm over her heart like she’s a mother in distress, “I’d be so crushed. Like, it makes me anxious to lend them.”

Your mouth opens, but merely a stutter climbs out.

“And like, you’re clearly not a jewelry person so it’s fine, maybe you won’t get where I’m coming from, but I just don’t think it’s possible for me to let any of these pieces from my sight, y’know?”

“No,” you nod at her, pulling back your hand, “I get it. It’s not a big deal.”

She sighs gratefully. “Oh, you’re the best!” Then, she gives a small pat to your cheek. “Can’t wait to see you at the party, it’ll be so fun.”

Somehow, you leave Suri’s bedroom feeling worse than when you arrived.

You can’t tell if you’re appreciative or insulted that she had to let you down so gently. What you do know is that your eyes are stinging, watery, and you’d rather be outside with the breeze against your face than standing pointlessly at Suri’s door. When you come downstairs, you see the snack bowls prepared on the kitchen island and the beer pong table being carried into the recreation room. Mingyu is slicing some fresh lime wedges for the alcohol with Seokmin. The boy meets your eyes for a split-second, but you’re already hurrying down the corridor to the back porch.

The sky is pale orange and warm like a fresh clementine. There are no clouds, but a wind that dances with pleasing rhythm . You listen for the waves that somehow synchronize your breaths, and those tears which could not be either frustration or misunderstandings are nothing more than a shiny watermark to each cheek. The air is cooling down and you feel like you’re standing in your own shoes again. And just as you expected, the sliding glass door rolls open.

“Attempting to avoid everyone as usual.” His voice sounds from over your shoulder. “So, thinking about another evening swim?” 

You turn around. “Depends on if you’re going to ambush me.”

Mingyu stuffs his hands in his pockets, and his gaze constricts, though you can’t tell if it’s from sheepishness or gratification. He glows in the light of the descending sun, and his complexion is a beautiful compliment to the pearl blue, cream and gold patterning on his shirt.

“Well, you see,” Mingyu takes a few slow steps in your direction, the breeze fluttering his hair, “the point of an ambush is that you don’t know about it.” The boy leans in close to your face. “So why would I tell you?”

As you’re calculating how much trouble you’d be in for kissing him, he seems to have spotted the slight glisten to your dried tear tracks. Both his hands are cupping your face and he’s brushing them away with such fragility that you feel like a flower. 

“Now, what’re you actually doing out here? Gonna scream at the universe or something?” Mingyu asks, his hands back in his pockets.

You huff at him amusedly. “Scream at the universe? Where’d you get that?”

“Dunno, that’s just the impression I got.” Mingyu rumbles, taking a step beside you to look at the evening lake. “You make me fill in the pieces.”

“I think you like doing that.” Unable to keep your eyes off him, you speak while glancing at the side of his face, how this brilliant aurora seems to have been brushed over him by the sun.

“Y’know,” the boy leans against the wood railing, points a finger at you for a moment, “one of these days, you’re gonna get tired of this closed book act. And I’ll be there, and I’ll see it.” He grins. “And you’ll come running straight to me, tell me everything. Oh Mingyu, I should’ve just told you at least one thing so I didn’t have to keep it inside, slowly self-deprecating while I pretended everything was always fine. Oh, I’m so grateful you’re here!”

You snort, almost double over with laughter. “Is that supposed to be me? It doesn’t sound like it!”

He just raises a brow, then dares to present a bold smirk. 

Quickly looking down at your feet, you shrug. 

“I don’t... pretend,” you enunciate using quoted fingers, “I don’t think I have to concern everyone all the time, with stuff that is sort of just a me-problem.”

“Oh, I get it,” Mingyu says, raising his hand again, “you don’t want to concern people with your thoughts and feelings. Right, those stupid things. Got it.”

You crinkle your nose at him. “That’s not what I said.”

But Mingyu doesn’t budge. In fact, he looks rather serious for once, maybe even a bit concerned for you. The atmosphere turns deathly quiet and you attempt to redirect the conversation.

“Jane told me I should have a necklace to go with this dress, but I don’t have any jewelry and neither does she.”

Mingyu stares for a moment. Then, he’s reaching behind his neck to undo the clasp of his own necklace, a silver chain with a tiny bead pendant. Never having seen him remove it until now, you’re rather speechless. You sense Mingyu’s presence close behind you, a shiver tracing down your spine when he gently moves the hair from the back of your neck. Once he slips you into his necklace and closes the latch, he guides you to face him again. His fingers slide under the chain as he readjusts the pendant to sit at your collarbone.

You release a shaky exhale while peeking down at the necklace. 

The thought of wearing something that belonged to him always seemed like a fruitless daydream, but now your entire chest is soaring.

“If only you had taken a picture of me when I looked this presentable,” you chuckle, “instead of, y’know, when I just woke up and didn’t wash my face and also cried my eyes out.”

Suddenly, Mingyu is stepping backward and frames you in a rectangle made by his fingers. He then makes a clicking sound between his teeth, pretending to take your photo.

“How do I look?” You play along.

He focuses on the imaginary camera, squints for effect, tilts his head even. You laugh at him, and inside you sense warmth. It’s slightly painful to know only he can make you feel such things.

“Very, very beautiful.” Mingyu states firmly, sliding his hands in his pockets.

There’s nothing you can say to him, because your heartbeat has stifled the wind in your throat. But as soon as he returns back inside, your hands immediately cover your face and you nearly scream.

CHAPTER 19: COLD IN THE SUMMERTIME 

Mingyu reaches for the glass shaker. Jolting it once, twice, salt tumbles onto the curved top of his wrist, which he then lifts to his mouth and licks up. Straight from the square-based bottle, Mingyu welcomes the tequila, swelling fire in his mouth. His head tosses back, the dark line of his brow pinches together, and the cartilage in his throat demonstrates a sharp, grimacing bob. After a hard swallow the bottle slams back on the kitchen island, the boy’s fingers now digging into a wedged lime rind, forcing the green fruit to flower so that he can worry in his teeth and suckle the bitter juices. 

At last, Mingyu wipes his lips, throws the chewed rind to the marble with a splat, and looks at you expectantly.

You’re frozen in place, wide-eyed like a panicked rabbit, knowing that Mingyu has just subliminally nudged you to stop treating this party as though it’s a funereal and get a little loose. It’s true, you haven’t had much luck relaxing. One of your favourite songs is pounding through the surround-sound system at a decibel that could rival their live concert. People are dancing and drinking and watching the night sky morph with illusion as intoxication floods their bodies. 

Mingyu slides the tequila bottle over the counter, until it stops in front of you.

“At least one shot. I’m tired of you walking around this house like an uptight little principal.” He knows his influence to a damaging extent, like a magnet fiddling with a compass needle.

“Excuse me?!” Your face drops. “I haven’t been walking around like an uptight little—” your hands start crumpling and you glare at the shining, ice bottle of liquor, “like whatever is was that you said. People don’t enjoy things all the same.”

Mingyu doesn’t bite the limp excuse, rather he huffs, rolling his eyes, and for some reason he takes the top button of his patterned shirt and pops it. He undoes the next button, allowing the material to flap open generously at the plane defining his smooth, amber chest. You refuse to look so willfully that it’s obvious you’re restraining.

“Really?” He leans a casual elbow onto the counter, his head falling sideways, the shirt slanting with his body. “I saw you clean some dust off the cabinet by the Reading Room. That’s enjoyable, huh?”

“I was just—I was trying to—” Unfortunately, your words mush like a soaked tissue.

Pushing off the counter, Mingyu steps in close.

The boy imitates you, “I was just, I was trying to.”

At first you back away from him, turning to his inspection your warm cheek, though Mingyu doesn’t permit you to escape very far and you feel a domineering tug at the chain hanging around your neck. His two fingers are curled with the thin, silver string. Another tug, and Mingyu reclaims the nervous fluttering of your gaze. You can only hope that Suri isn’t camouflaged amongst the bodies in the main living space, that Jane hasn’t already spotted too much from a well-hidden nook, perhaps Deedee as well if she remained by the couch where you’d last seen her. Yet, you’re uncertain if you truthfully care, or if you’re attempting to fool yourself into caring.

The necklace twists again, and you hear the rasp of his soft remark, “I’m joking.” He then loosens his careful grip on the chain, your eyes drawn to his mouth when he says, “I’m not forcing, but something’s clearly been bothering you, and I wish you’d forget it and have some fun.”

You don’t deny him. He already witnessed the pearlescent stain to each cheek when he caught you on the back porch. Through the atmosphere, you sense an ache, and when you connect with Mingyu’s stare, a glistering one at that, you wonder if at last it’s him that’s aching for you.

“Okay,” you sigh, pinching at the splashes of scarlet colour that stain your dress, “pass the salt.”

He smirks in triumph.

Once Mingyu releases the necklace and hands over the glass salt shaker, the pendant returns to its mold in between your collarbone. You upend the container with a few small thuds, watching the grains coat the top of your wrist. The boy’s eyes are concentrated, unwavering, when you slowly lap your tongue against the salt so that the saliva slicks the inside of your mouth. In a quick twirl, the bottlecap spins from the tequila, and the grooved rim sits snug against your bottom lip as the liquid gushes in. It’s much too astringent. A lime wedge is used to mitigate the intense, burning flavour, for you chomp into the pulpy skin until its drained to the rind.

The shrivelled wedge is tossed next to Mingyu’s on the counter. You wipe your sparkling chin and take a breath. Already, you sense the music vibrate your bones against each other.

“Impressive,” he eyes your lips, swollen from suckling the lime, “was that gulp bigger than mine?”

“We are not making this a competition, Mingyu. I like being able to walk straight.”

The citrus flavour has rendered the inside of your mouth sensitive and welting. Your tongue can’t help but swirl, rubbing against one raw, tingling cheek then poking deep against the cushy other. The boy is staring at you rather blatantly, so you wipe your lips again, assuming there might’ve been some untouched pulp or a gleam from the alcohol. 

But then he’s staring at something else.

“Looks like your friend’s getting comfy with Tommy.”

“Who?”

You follow Mingyu’s eyeline.

Deedee, who had at one point been sitting, squished against the arm of the couch clutching to a grape wine bottle while Tommy prattled her ear off, is now flush to the wall. Her fingers disappear through the soot curls of Tommy’s hair, tugging and dishevelling as he colours her jaw with kisses that drift and mark. A bruise the same shade as the wine bottle flashes against her neck, a notable contrast to her moonbeam pale skin. You pull a tart, stunned face. It’s not that you’re surprised the reserved Deedee has a promiscuous side, that Tommy could crack her shell after weeks of pining, more so you seem to be the only one who can’t ever get what they want.

And you wonder why. Are you not straightforward enough? Are you a pushover? Is there a lock inside you that automatically snaps shut when it comes to exerting yourself?

“I guess they have a thing.” You shrug, acting unbothered, though your reach for the tequila and another stinging swig draws Mingyu to even more suspect. He takes the square-based bottle from your hand, sips and braces against the clear fire.

You watch as Tommy loops his arms around Deedee’s waist, hoists the tiny girl up like she’s a feather, and begins carrying her down the corridor. If Mingyu abandons you tonight, then Deedee’s company is off the list. Considering Jane’s fling with the unknown Jeonghan, she most likely won’t be in the arms of another unless she wants to break that mystery guy’s little heart. Maybe you could find her.

“Considering what just happened, could be a bit more than a thing,” Mingyu reasons upon their intimacy now whisked away, “she doesn’t really give off the impression of liking anyone though.”

“Deedee?” You question.

“Mm,” he spins the bottlecap to the liquor, “she’s very to herself. Avoids everyone a lot. Kinda like you.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Like, every time I see her, and she sees me, she gets up and walks off.”

“Just you?”

Mingyu stops flicking the bottlecap and raises a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, are you by yourself?” Nervously tapping your foot against the floor, you laugh while teasing him, “I know you like to think it, but I’m sure not everyone adores you.”

He doesn’t react much apart from a huff, but you know his mind is turning, and he smacks your inkling right on its head when he says, “I’m not usually alone. Suri’s pretty much always with me.”

And Suri is everywhere, you think. Instinctually, you look over your shoulder, but you see only Chan sitting on the counter with his hand plunged into a bag of chips while Seungkwan animatedly chats to someone over the phone. However, you don’t suggest anything to Mingyu.

“Hm, guess it’s hard to say.” You shrug.

Mingyu squints at you, like he’s reading microscopic font, and says, “do you know something?”

“Nope,” you pop the syllable, “nothing. Why?”

The bottle returns to his lips. Another sip down, a lesser reaction, his palate adjusting to the bitter formula. “Never mind, doesn’t matter.”

“Wait, do you get to play that way? I thought only I could do that.”

“Hm?”

“Avoid all questions and pretend nothing’s wrong,” you say, “I thought that was my role.”

Mingyu tosses a half-assed smile. You had never pinned him as the evasive one, yet you catch something in those eyes, like they’re oiled and wanting to slip from your inspection.

“Anyways,” your hand flicks dismissively and you return to adjusting the necklace, “thanks. I really did need a drink.”

Brushing through his hair, Mingyu chuffs, “I think that was obvious.”

Proceeding to fill a small cup abandoned on the counter with more tequila, you use it to hide your smile, because you could have spent the entire night standing in the kitchen with him, observing the party and emptying the icy, square bottle and feeling his gaze trod each patch of your skin.

Tilting some of the alcohol into your mouth, you ask from behind the cup, “what’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get back home?”

Mingyu slides his hands in his pockets, “I don’t know. Probably fuck all.”

You swirl around the tequila. “I’m using all my energy to unpack. I’ll probably check my bonsai tree, because I doubt my friend is watering it enough, and then I’ll take a nap. Or maybe i’ll just nap first.”

The song switches. It’s rather upbeat compared to the last track, for its rhythm is strobing and jerks at your foot to start tapping and your fingers to begin drumming against the cup. It summons a mass into the main living space. You spot Jane dancing with Chey, a girl with ash lavender hair and arms wrapped in tattoos. She’s a co-worker who arrived to the beach house just for the party.

“You really can’t think of anything?” You ask him again.

“Nothing cuter than you and your little bonsai tree.” He shrugs. “What’s it like taking care of one of those things anyway?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stutter, distracted by his comment, “I just water it every day, especially if it’s really sunny out. It’s not hard. You could do it.”

“No, it would definitely die if I were looking after it. My mom tried growing this sunflower patch when I was a kid. When she came back from vacation - all dead. Just a sad, dead, grey patch of sunflowers.”

“Hmm,” you begin sticking out one finger at a time, “you’re a great cook, you have an artistic eye, you’ve definitely struck the visual gene pool lottery, you could have scored a professional baseball scholarship, and you’re dating a model. Guess lacking a green thumb isn’t too much of a waste.”

Mingyu only grins, then drags over an empty glass and pours himself a thin layer of tequila. “Thanks for the pep talk.” He winks. 

You jerk the cup toward your mouth, hoping to muffle a dreamy sigh. 

The boy bumps you elbow. “Have you drank any water tonight? Make sure you do.” Mingyu advises softly. “You dehydrate easy. And I might not be around later to get you any crushed ice.”

Flickering memories move you backward to a longwinded night on the porch with Jane, Mingyu, and Seokmin. One too many cans of alcohol and not enough water, a screaming hangover spent on the couch, too weak to move to the washroom, Mingyu kindly nourishing you with a cup of crushed ice and pressing a dampened cloth against your forehead when everything felt too hot.

You look at him and sigh again. Of course, you know what’s coming.

Mingyu returns your gaze and huffs out his chest.

“Oh, finally! There you are!”

It’s peculiar, and you don’t know how she does it. 

One moment, the air is vacant, and then the particles seem to rearrange, revealing Suri who burns into existence like a blinding star. Mingyu flinches, surprised at the arms which curl around his neck from behind, feeling a kiss bury against his nape. She smiles from ear to ear, slips herself right at his side, and catches his mouth to imprint another kiss. Her presence crowds the kitchen and unconsciously you begin to distance yourself from the couple, as though you’ve been hit by a cold, dismal storm. You aren’t certain, but Mingyu appears tense. He doesn’t melt like usual when she touches him.

“I thought you might come to the patio,” Suri hums, “I was wondering what kept you.”

His bottom lip pushes out. “Did I mention coming to the patio?”

She chuckles, and it sounds oddly brittle, “that’s where I said I’d be, babe.” Suri pats his chest.

The atmosphere yields something smouldering and itchy. 

You announce your retreat. “I’m gonna go sit on the couch.” Then, a small wave. “See you guys around.”

Not once you do allow a second glance at Mingyu’s eyes. You swore they had glistened, a pitiful glisten, one that might have entreated you to stay. But you don’t linger, because if you’re wrong and his eyes might’ve just been duller than wood, it would be another slit to the heart.

Instead, you shrink into yourself on the couch, like a tulip bud engulfed by the shade. Everything that surrounds you bustles. Chey and Jane clasp their hands together, jumping in a circle, Seungkwan belts with passion to the lyrics while Chan giggles uncontrollably behind his phone. The new faces which had been invited for the party are a mixture of glowing cheeks, wildly dilated eyes, and fast-paced motion. It’s a blur beyond your comprehension. Even the red cup in your hand is starting to look unfocused, fuzzy. The tequila mottles most things, exempt from Suri pushing Mingyu to sit on an island stool, so she can claim her favourite seat on his lap. 

Her tongue must be an angel’s sweet gold, because once she turns her head to kiss him, Mingyu grins and reciprocates the pressure. Despite appearing so impervious earlier, he licks into her mouth with thirst. You shouldn’t continue to watch. You don’t want to watch. You need a distraction.

And then Seokmin attempts to flit by.

“Hey!” You shout.

He stops, angles a finger at himself in question, and approaches you with an unexpected sobriety. You know he hasn’t drunk much, as his skin is absent of its pink flush.

“What’s up?”

Your mouth hangs open and you begin to drawl, for your plan wasn’t well concocted. “Erm, I just noticed that—that you were walking by, so… I wanted to say hello.”

Seokmin glances at the alcohol in your hand before his gaze reverts back to your face. “What is that? Vodka?”

“Tequila,” you smile at him, “I’m not drunk, if you’re thinking that.”

He blinks. “I wasn’t.” And then he notices something, so he leans in, staring at the glint off the necklace. “Is that… Wait, is that Mingyu’s?”

An ocean roars inside you. It’s panic and toxins between the salt of the waves, a lurch to the first thought which materializes like a vapour: “do you want to dance?”

And poor Seokmin whose heart is more benevolence than artery and blood doesn’t get to weigh the options, because the obliging crinkles beside his eyes always speak before his tongue. 

“Okay,” he laughs, reaching out to take your hand and pull you from the couch, your solo cup deserted on the coffee table, “let’s dance.”

You manage to find a pocket of space in the main living area, which grants just enough breadth for you to move without banging into any bodies. However, the rhythm doesn’t find you straight away, rather in the back of your head there is a deep pit, and it’s filled by thoughts of Suri coiling her fingers through Mingyu’s hair while he clutches her waist and kisses her hard. Seokmin’s hands press against your lower back, your palms to his shoulders, and together you swing awkwardly to the energetic beat. There’s a shift in your position. Now, you have a direct beeline to Mingyu and Suri at the island. She pecks his jaw twice, then sits back in his lap with a smile.

“Hey,” Seokmin twirls your bodies again, and the couple escapes your sight, “is everything okay?” You hadn’t recognized it before, but his hands are fidgeting nervously at the back of your dress and you must have been wearing a moonfaced expression. 

In the moment, you nearly sigh, but then it’s bitten back.

“Sorry, was I spacing out? I think my head is just lost.” You make sure to warmly flit the edges of your lips, hoping to look engaged.

“You know, this is a fast song,” Seokmin says, eyeing between you and the fumbling, wriggling bodies in the surrounding, “and we’re dancing like mud.”

“What does that mean?” You ask, half in laughter, half in questioning.

 “Slow, sludgy, like we’re stuck in the earth ‘cause we’re hardly moving.”

“I’m not really that good at dancing,” you admit, sliding your hands a little further over Seokmin’s shoulders.

The boy grins, and it reaches his eyes effortlessly. “Well, you’re in luck. I happened to take a few couple’s dance lessons in high school,” he boasts as though it’s something commendable, “so allow me to lead and let your body loose.”

Before you relax your muscles, you chuckle, “what sixteen-year-old takes a couple’s dance lesson?” which is curtly dismissed when Seokmin mutters, “not important” as he tucks one firm arm around your waist while his other hand interlaces with your fingers. You’re trying not to laugh at the thought of this scrawny, adolescent boy having to parade an instruction dummy around a classroom packed with middle-aged adults, outwardly embarrassed but inwardly enjoying it (because it’s Seokmin after all), until he suddenly begins to guide you in a series of merry step-by-step circles.

You gasp unexpectedly and grab the back of Seokmin’s shirt in order to better stabilize your motion. Your interlaced hands rise high up, then groove back down, high up, then groove back down, while your feet fumble slightly, attempting to keep pace with Seokmin’s expressive weaving and twirling. Eventually, the rhythm sticks, and you feel an immeasurable sort of energy as you dance together in the midst of the living space, catching glimpses at Chey’s lavender hair and Seungkwan’s heartfelt singing and some stranger whose flicking their head back and forth. The tequila takes light in your system like a match striking its chemical strip. You yelp excitedly when Seokmin flings your body out, then curls you right into his chest with his arm bracketing you snuggly at the waist, to which you smile at him so pertly.

“I know I was laughing before,” you tell him, somewhat breathless, your mind racing, “but you’re actually really good at this. I-I feel like—I feel like I’m alive, or that I can do anything. I can feel my blood in my veins. Is that weird? Is that weird?”

“Did you just say ‘is that weird’ twice?”

“Did I? I don’t know.” You’re a rattling cauldron bubbling over with laughter, leaning into Seokmin’s chest like there’s suddenly no floor for your feet.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” the boy shouts over the music, his eyes bright, “but I think you’re a little tipsy. Let’s enter the cool down.”

 You nod your head, “yes, the cool down, let’s enter the cool down.”

The next song isn’t so riveting. It still pops and heightens into these powerful synths, though you and Seokmin slow your rhythm. However, a second later and your pulse seems to mimic electricity. Mingyu is staring right at you. For how long, you have no idea, but he’s staring with a sort of emotional blankness that has your spine prickling and toes curling. He seems in a daze, and doesn’t immediately note that you’re staring back, not until Seokmin places both his hands to your hips and angles your bodies again, moving Mingyu from your vision. But you still attempt to look, watch intently as the boy whispers something into Suri’s ear before delicately removing her from his lap. He walks into the wide, marble-tiled corridor that leads to the front entrance of the beach house and slips out the stained-glass doors.

“Whew,” you whistle, smiling at Seokmin, “this was fun, thank you.”

His cheeks glow beneath the light, and he simply nods his head. “How are you finding the cool down? It’s the most important part.”

“It’s great,” you say, though start to chew on your bottom lip, “and… There’s something I have to do, right now. I’m gonna step outside for a few minutes.”

Seokmin’s grip falls from your hips. He then bows to you satirically, though still polite in his nature, “thank you for this dance.”

You bow to him as well. “Of course.”

And then you’re treading carefully in between bodies, reaching the marble-tiled corridor which leads outside, outside to where Mingyu is. Somehow, that fire you experienced earlier hasn’t dimmed, and without its flame, there is no way you would be marching straight into the shrapnel like this. But you don’t even think to consider the aftermath, for if you don’t say anything now, it’ll sting forever.

Compared to the stifling body heat inside, the night is pleasantly cool and clear. The scent of lemongrass that seems to come alive beneath the sunlight is replaced by the undergrowth from the forest. You hear crickets and water and lazy buzzing. Mingyu is at the top of the stone steps, leaning against a thick, white pillar that stretches to the roof’s arch. He’s looking down at his phone which is lurid in the dark purple night, tapping something with his thumb, and you know the longer you stand in silence the more your nerves will consume you. Inhaling a breath to announce your presence, you take a few steps.

“It’s getting pretty warm in there.” You comment, kicking a pebble from the stairs and watching it disappear into the grass.

Mingyu looks to you, smiles very dully, and continues tapping on his phone. “Yeah, stuffy,” was all he said, his intonation oddly grey.

“It’s super stuffy. And hot. You’re right, I should’ve had some water.” It’s not obvious to him, but your prevaricating is making you sick. 

You have to just say it.

But then Mingyu is at last sliding his phone in his pocket, and he glances at you with eyes drier than the dead sea. “Did you have fun with Seokmin?” He asks, and you know Mingyu had been watching you dance with his best friend. 

But you don’t want to talk about Seokmin right now. Your heartbeat is like open shutters on a windy day, slamming back against the house, loud and brittle and acting like they might break.

Taking another step toward the honey boy, you tell him, “do you remember when we were sitting on the floor together, and I had that secret I wouldn’t tell you?”

Mingyu tilts his head to the side, recalls, and nods his head. The light from inside sparkles through the stained glass and creates a complex piebald of violet, crimson and gold against the side of the boy’s body. Your voice hitches in your throat. Your fingers twine together nervously. Your knees are shaking.

“Well, that big secret I couldn’t say… I-It’s that I have a crush on you. A big crush, and I’ve had it ever since the eleventh grade.” You slip in a rapid breath, continue speaking, ignore the fact you might faint. “Then I didn’t see you for such a long time, and I thought that my feelings went away. But since we started hanging out, I realized that they didn’t go away at all. I still have a crush. And the reason I’m saying crush even though it’s childish is because I don’t know how else to say it. And I know you have a girlfriend and that I probably just made everything weird and I completely understand if you don’t feel the same way. But I can’t not say anything.”

In two breaths, everything that you’ve been bottling inside flows free like a spilt can of paint. How liberating it feels to loosen a string so close to your heart, yet it’s frightening too, for no matter what you wish, there is nothing that can retract those words back into your mouth, no amount of scooping and scraping that will collect all the paint back into its can. The stars wink down at you from the night sky, and the crickets turn silent, as though nature is quieting itself to hear Mingyu’s response. You stare at him with a twinkling eye, watching how he bites his lip hard, then licks over the bruise using his tongue, his hands in his pockets.

“…O-Okay.” He stutters, nods his head. Nothing else follows.

“Okay,” you repeat, stapling on the brightest, most broken smile that has ever crossed your mouth, “I guess I’m gonna head back inside now. Later.”

But you don’t cry. Not a tear. Not a sniffle. 

Not even an unsteady, shaky breath that one exhales through parted lips when they’re attempting to suppress a sob-story. Your eyes merely shine, like coins rubbed brand new by vinegar, and you twist through the bodies in the main living space while they dance so vivaciously. For some reason you return to the Reading Room. It’s much quieter in that neck of the house, and the music is greatly muffled through the door which you shut with a slow hand. There’s a king-sized chair with soft leather that you sink into, in between two shelves of dust-ridden books that look like they might contain witchcraft or imprecations that leap out the second you open the cover. And for the rest of the party, you sit in the cold chair, in the darkness, staring emptily at the light beneath the door.

“Okay.”

It feels like that dot in your senior yearbook. It hurts more than that dot in your senior yearbook, because this time you’re not a stranger.

Mingyu practically held a clove of your heart and it still ended all the same.

That night, your journal experiences a tearful entry.

I told Mingyu how I felt. 

I guess he just doesn’t see me like that. Which is fine. You can’t force someone to see you more intimately or more platonically or more romantically, whatever it is. I feel like I should be happy I was open for once. But honestly, I feel the worse I’ve ever felt. 

CHAPTER 20: GOLDEN HOUR

Lying awake in bed, you can’t fall asleep. Jane is in the washroom cleaning her face, the garnet dress and shawl pooled in a clump on the mat. You roll onto your side and blink at the nightstand, where your journal sits, the most recent page blotched with tear stains. Earlier in the night, you managed not to cry, but the moment you were alone in the bedroom with those papers baring their open space, a few beads poured over your cheeks. You made a promise to yourself: this is the only time I cry about this. The only time I cry about a boy.

Jane assumes you’ve already fallen asleep.

She shuffles quietly into bed, pulls the string on her lamp, and the room is swallowed by indigo. Strangely, you begin to think about your hike to the third summit. It had been last week, accomplished by you and Mingyu alone. Right before dawn, you two embarked on the pathway woven deep into the forest. It was best to hike early because the air was far less humid, more breathable, though you had to be very cautious of slipping on the dew-slicked plants. Mingyu insisted on lugging his camera equipment with him, including the oblong case for his tripod. He wanted a picture of the rising sun.

Upon reaching the third summit, there was a perfect clearing. It rose above the trees and swirled with mist, it smelled so clean yet so earthy, and the breeze swept down as a gust from the white firmament which had suddenly felt close enough to touch. While Mingyu set his camera on the tripod, you approached the lip of the cliff and gazed over the green. Against the horizon of Silver Lake, the sun broke through the watery line in a blistering, potent red. Its colour stained everything it could reach, and the sky slowly began to morph from its pinkish gleam into gold, brilliant gold, a shade so warm it cleared the mist. It melted over you, smooth and alive.

“Hey,” Mingyu called, jerking his thumb, “move your ass.”

You stood behind him as he took pictures. In that moment, with the sun casting its molten rays, he truly was a boy made of honey.

Once Mingyu had packed up his equipment, you asked, “satisfied?” with a big, comfy smile on your face. 

He promptly flashed a smaller camera from thin air, pale blue, blocky-looking, with a very round lens, and it was a kind you had only seen in magazines. Placing the camera up close to his eye, Mingyu snapped a photo of you, wearing that smile and the golden light in your eyes.

“Now I am.” Mingyu had said. “Let’s head back before it gets too hot.”

 But then you tossed onto your side, trying to shake the memory away.

CHAPTER 21: THE IMPOSSIBLE BREAKFAST

Eating breakfast at the island is quieter than usual, and you suppose it’s the early morning grogginess and exhaustion from last night’s party. Chan is practically hanging over his bowl of steaming, sludgy oatmeal, his cheek slipping off his fist for the third time. Jane blinks sleepily at the biscuit she smears with cold cream cheese, her hair still matted and flattened to the side of her head. You sit across from them, staring into your cereal, swirling around the remaining pink and green Fruit Loops with your spoon. Jane’s biscuit crackles when she bites into it. You scoop out a pink Fruit Loop and let the flavoured milk flow past your lips.

“You disappeared for a bit the other night,” Jane mumbles, swallowing the biscuit coarsely, “I couldn’t find you.”

“I was there,” you respond, completely lacklustre, “I was just… floating around, doing what I do, you know, all that.” The lights above your head reflect in the milk, small orbs, glowing, which you distort with a drag of your spoon.

“Oh, well, I guess I might’ve missed you.” Jane says.

“I saw you,” Chan croaks, looking up from his oatmeal, “talking to Mingyu by the counter, doing tequila shots.”

“Fun.” Jane smiles, covering the inside of her warm biscuit with more cream cheese. “I didn’t drink a whole lot. Just a few beers. But I think I must’ve thrown my shoulder out or something dancing, because it really hurts today.”

Chan finishes plucking an empty spoon from his mouth, his eyebrows raised mischievously, “or you’re just an old ha—”

“Shut it.” Jane deadpans, thumping him in the back of the head. “I’m only a year older than you. I don’t wanna hear it.”

Usually, you laugh at their trivial antics. Jane has an older sister type relationship with Chan, and especially Seungkwan, and they tend to bicker innocently like siblings. But today is just not a day where you feel cordial. You don’t want to think about what happened between you and Mingyu outside or else you’ll fall into this sticky cobweb of self-loathing, regret, other destructive sentiments that will positively ruin the rest of your summer days here. Besides, it was foolish, wasn’t it? Revealing a secret like that despite knowing Mingyu has a foundation with Suri. You had said it to get this weight off your chest, and while you want it to be nothing more, deep inside there had been this glimmer of hope that Mingyu would admit to likewise feelings. Having expectations can be crushing. Even when they’re tiny.  

You begin to wonder if the universe hates you, for Mingyu comes downstairs and makes his breakfast. While he shakes the Fruit Loops into a bowl and collects the milk carton from the fridge, him and Jane strike up a conversation, one you try not listening to the details because currently, you decide Mingyu doesn’t exist. It’s not for eternity, but until you have the courage to face him again after being hung out to dry. He carries his bowl to the island. The closest stool is the one right beside you, and you don’t suspect he’ll take it if he can sense the tension you’re sensing, because it’s pretty damn palpable. But he chooses that stool anyways, and you lean ever further over your bowl, close enough that your tired face reflects in the milk.

“… And I guess she just thought ‘screw it’ since she had a designated driver and no place to be. Well – not until Saturday. She has to be back to work at the tattoo parlour by then.” Jane finishes her story, setting down the metal cream knife.

“So that’s why I found her passed out in the washroom.” Mingyu chuckles.

“Yeah, I was supposed to keep track of her but then Seungkwan got a piece of gum stuck in his hair and he made me spend an hour detangling it. It was gross. I did catch Chey this morning and she looked like death. I think Tanya picked her up.”

You don’t mean to listen, but you do anyways. From your peripheral vision you can see Mingyu poking into his cereal while Jane talks, how he continuously brushes through the black bangs that flop over his glasses, the manner in which he chews his bottom lip. It’s uneasiness, restlessness. He feels the tension too, but rather than pretending you don’t exist, he’s pretending this awkward air is nothing at all. It’s audacious no doubt, to merely wipe away the events of the night before, like taking a hose and watering away the dust of chalk drawings left on the street. 

“So,” Jane scrapes off her knife against the cream cheese container, “how was your night? I saw you and Suri sucking face as usual.”

There’s a freezing drop in the air that only you and Mingyu can detect.

He’s stiffened, uttering out a dull, “it was fine,” like a tired high schooler who’s trying to avoid small talk with their parents.

“That’s it?” Jane tilts her head. “Sounds like you either had the worst time of your life, or someone sucked your soul out with a vacuum.”

The stool releases a cracking sound as you shift in your seat. You hardly maintain the appetite to finish your breakfast, and instead you feel sick. Neither you or Mingyu are going to come clean about last night, which has established an invisible barrier that Jane is slowly beginning to press her hands against.

“Are you looking for a play-by-play of the entire night?” Mingyu questions, sounding sharp and impatient, a harsh contrast to his usual behaviour. 

Chan, definitely sensing the unease at the table, sees an opportunity to slip away when Cluett walks by with his skateboard. He leaves his unfinished oatmeal by the sink and rushes outside with the buzzcut boy.

“Oh, so you’re in one of your infamous, cranky moods I guess.” Jane mumbles, squishing her cheek against her fist. “I’m done pestering then, swear.”

Mingyu has spooned up his cereal so hastily that he finishes at the same time as you. Jane scrolls through her phone, abiding by the promise to no longer pester her best friend. Sitting in the centre of the table is a plate with one last blueberry biscuit on it. You reach for it, at the same damn time as Mingyu, and when your hands accidentally brush you’re surprised there’s no visible stab of pure lightning. There’s enough energy in the air to lure Jane’s attention, who stares between you with a quirked, questioning eyebrow. 

Mingyu is about to say something, probably a courteous offer for you to take the last biscuit, but you’re already hurrying off the stool.

“It’s yours.” The words are practically thrown out from your mouth.

 “Hey! Where are you sprinting off to?” Jane calls as she watches you leave your bowl in the sink.

Down the long corridor next to the staircase, you spot Deedee fitting into her sneakers. 

“I’m going to see Deedee!” You shout back, leaving the awkward breakfast behind, wiping the last glisten of milk from your mouth. 

“And I’m not sprinting!”

“Hey.” Deedee smiles when you meet her by the door to the back patio.

“Where are you going?” You ask, burying your hands into the pockets of your sweatpants, something you had never done before. 

It feels strange, uncharacteristic, so you slide them back out and fold your arms instead. She reaches for her black wallet left on the floor, unzips it, and shoves a ripped piece of paper inside.

“Zaria is sick. So I’m gonna run to that family pharmacy down by Flowerpot Lane and get some Pedialyte. Neosporin for Tommy because he kind of fell down the deck stairs last night and scraped his elbow pretty bad. Some allergy medicine for Chan. There are other things too. I made a list.”

“He fell down the deck? Is he okay?”

“I think so,” Deedee huffs, blowing the hair from her eyes, “I thought we were going to hook up, but he didn’t want to go any further because he said I was too drunk – which makes sense, I had a lot of wine. He led me out back to get some fresh air and then slipped walking down the deck stairs.” 

She pauses, stares at the floor for a second, smiling to herself. “It was kinda funny… He’s as klutzy as I remember.”

“Maybe he should cut his hair.” You giggle.

Was there a separate history between Tommy and Deedee you weren’t aware of? However, knowing Deedee tends to recline from being too open about herself, you allow the shiny anecdote to swim away. Wanting to escape the house for half an hour at most, you ask Deedee if she’d be okay with your company, and she nods her head. Digging through the closet beside the door, you throw your old, loose pair of slip-ons behind you while Deedee reveals her car keys from her pocket. 

You’ll be happy to see Flowerpot Lane and explore more of the town again.

Suddenly, the backdoor shutters. Something pestilent, like stinging nettles, pricks against the inside of your gut as Suri and Blair come inside, draped in their beach towels and dripping water. Deedee, she turns paler than a pearl, her eyes nearly bulging out from their sockets at the very sight of Suri.

“Oh, hey.” Suri greets you. “Heading out I see?”  

Deedee crams the list tighter into the fold of her wallet, zips it shut like it’s scribbled with secrets. 

“Well, just make sure you’re not out for too long,” Suri says. “We’re planning on watching a movie tonight. The Chase, or something, I don’t know really. It’s some thriller.” She splays out a hand and starts checking her fingernails. 

“Okay,” you nod, “sounds fun. We shouldn’t be too long.”

“I’ve seen it before. It’s so good. You guys won’t wanna miss it.” Blair emphasizes, grabbing at her damp hair and squeezing the black fibres.  

“Oh, I’m not sure if you’ll like it that much,” Suri adds, “especially you Deedee. I still remember when we watched The Shining at Lamay’s fifteenth birthday, and you got so scared you locked yourself in the bathroom all night.” Suri stops to cackle into her hand, and for some reason, you feel the urge to slap her. “Sorry, sorry, I know you don’t like that story. Maybe you’ve grown up a bit.”

Deedee is eyeing you with sheer panic, the kind that illustrates she isn’t going to say anything. Before you can slip a word in, Blair snorts with laughter.

“No, no. I’m sure she’ll show up. Because she’ll have Tommy’s big, strong arms to fall into. She’ll be amping it up too, I bet. I’ll have to keep watch.”

Suri folds her arms, wipes under her eye. “I wouldn’t put it past her.” She sighs dismissively upon noting the horrified expression on poor Deedee’s face.

“C’mon, don’t be so sensitive, Dee. It’s just jokes.”

You want to act friendly; you want to act with grace, but quite frankly, Suri is starting to feel like a flea, and you’d rather tweeze her out now than later. 

“That’s your idea of a joke?” Grabbing onto Deedee’s hand, you squeeze her fingers tightly. “I think the definition in your head is a bit misconstrued.”

Suri just humphs, her shoulders slouching. She knocks you on the arm as she shuffles past you with Blair trailing behind her.

“Don’t be getting all lame on me,” Suri huffs, “I think I liked you better as the quiet one in the house.”

As though she can sense your desire to bite back, Suri turns around and flashes a smile you had grown much too tired of seeing and excusing.

“Kidding.”

Not wasting another minute in that corridor, you pull Deedee out the back door, down the deck stairway, and take the dirt trail that leads around to the front of the house. 

“I can’t believe she still talks to people like that.” Deedee grumbles.

“I can’t believe I didn’t punch her.” You reply through tightly clenched teeth, squinting against the sunlight that pierces through the tree leaves.

CHAPTER 22: MOVIE NIGHT

Suri had put you in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

It didn’t help that your breakfast was already unpleasant and ridiculously awkward, fortifying the notion that you might have just tore the fabric of your relationship with Mingyu into ugly, spindly threads. If you couldn’t be anything more to the boy, then you would have at least hoped to maintain your friendship.  

You try desperately to avoid Suri. You desperately try to avoid Mingyu.

And that goes relatively well until movie night starts, and suddenly everyone is packing onto the two couches, heating up buttery popcorn in the microwave and digging out blankets. It’s a thriller movie you haven’t seen before. Seungkwan is reluctant to participate because there’s some supposedly scary scenes, so Mingyu has to coax him until he at last crams himself against the end of a couch, a blanket pulled up to his chin. Opening the cupboard, you claim the last kernel bag. Just as you’re about to use the microwave, Suri abruptly slips in front of you and throws her own package inside, slamming the door shut and setting the timer.

You keep your mouth closed like a rusted lock when she turns around.

The girl dusts off her hands, smiles at you sweetly, though it’s almost too sweet, bordering on sinister, like she’d just poisoned someone’s meal. While she hops back onto her seat at the couch, you watch the bag spin slowly through the microwave door, listening to the kernels burst open and smelling the distinct, buttery scent which has pervaded the entire kitchen. The thing is, you don’t really feel like watching a movie. You don’t really want popcorn either. This miserable cloud has been hanging over you since last night and nothing has been able to shake it away.

Mingyu is the one to retrieve Suri’s popcorn, and you assume they’re sharing a bag. Not once do you look at him. In fact, being in the same space as the honey boy has caused the cloud to become greyer and more tumultuous and overbearing.

He empties the popcorn into a bowl, then turns to you.

Oh no.

“You can take this one,” Mingyu offers, “We’ll just use your bag.”

“Thanks.” You mutter, almost under your breath it’s so quiet.

Suri’s gaze is fiercely burning into you as you walk into the main living space and take your seat next to Jane. However, you don’t acknowledge her.

You simply stuff a huge handful of popcorn in your mouth, pretending it’s delicious, that the salty taste of the butter is the most brilliant flavour on earth.

Eventually, everyone settles and Jane starts the movie. It’s completely dark apart from the television’s white glow. You try to focus, draw your attention solely to the screen, but your gaze wanders. Seungkwan, who won’t stop cowering behind his blanket even during the lacklustre scenes, while Chan occasionally shoots him a judgemental glance. Cluett, who, for some obscure reason, has a separate container for the popcorn kernels he finds in his bowl, picking them out like coins in a wishing well. Deedee, who is sitting on the opposite side of the living room, as far from Tommy as possible. Blair, who keeps whispering to Zaria about what’s happening every time the scene switches. Seokmin, who just spilled some red Fruitopia on his sweater. And then you look at Mingyu, with his arm around Suri’s shoulders. She’s laying against him comfortably, but Mingyu seems tense.

His eyes flicker in your direction, and you’ve never looked away from someone else so quickly. You feel like you could suffocate.

“Hey,” Jane nudges your elbow, “wanna do me a solid? Go downstairs to the recreation room and grab another box of popcorn?”

“Sure.” You comply, relieved to have a task that involves slipping away.

The recreation room is very large and cold. A long, rectangular shape, with cement flooring that is freezing under the feet. The walls are a plain eggshell colour, and a few carpets have been laid down, mostly beneath the game tables. Cluett and Tommy play Ping Pong and Air Hockey quite frequently, though you had learned to watch their Ping Pong tournaments from a distance after a plastic ball almost smacked off your forehead. Upstairs, you can hear the muffled echo of the thriller. There are many white cupboards covering one wall. It gives you an excuse to take longer in your search, opening each one as you try to find the extra popcorn. You discover detergent bottles, some empty laundry baskets, bedsheets, huge bags of birdseed, and deflated pool toys. But then the staircase begins creaking with someone’s weight.

Seokmin appears, wearing a different sweater.

“Hey,” he smiles, “Jane said you might need help finding the extra popcorn.”

“Yeah. It’s a mystery opening all these cupboards.”

“I think the popcorn is in this one.” The boy walks over to a bottom cupboard, third from the end.

He bends down, pulls out a red box and hands it to you.

“Well, you just saved movie night. Or else we might have had to resort to the birdseed, in this cupboard here.” You tap it with your foot.

Seokmin laughs, his eyes becoming crescent-shaped. “Hey, it’s just a bunch of seeds. Can’t be that terrible. It probably tastes like trail mix.”

You had always liked Seokmin. He has an approachable atmosphere, a trustworthy face, and it’s quite easy to converse with him. Of course, the boy has greatly changed appearance-wise since high school. For someone who had once looked unbelievably dorky – with his striped, button-tight t-shirts and straightly combed bangs and jeans one size too big  – he’s become like a marble statue, someone who could be modeling expensive suits or jewelry.

Not wanting to miss any important scenes from the movie, Seokmin proposes that you two head back upstairs. However, you happen to step on a round, smooth object which instantly rolls from beneath your foot and nearly lands you flat on your back, if not for Seokmin’s instantaneous reaction. He grabs your elbow, steadying you, while the white Ping Pong ball disappears beneath a large cooler. There’s a slight flare in your ankle, the one you had injured during your summit walk with Jane.

“That could’ve ended badly. You alright?” Seokmin asks, chuckling.

“Fine, I think. The popcorn’s safe.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, his fingers still wrapped around your elbow, “thank god nothing happened to the popcorn. I’d have to ditch your chalk outline in a heartbeat.”

You both start to laugh, but then the staircase creaks again. Mingyu appears from around the corner with a flat look on his face, which transforms into the type of expression you would wear upon seeing something you wish you hadn’t. Seokmin clears his throat, and you feel his grip retract. You’re so winded by the sudden company that you don’t even realize how you’re hovering on just one foot, not allowing the aching one to touch the floor.

“Hey,” Seokmin nods, “what’re you looking for?”

Mingyu rubs under his nose, then shoots a glance at the cooler.

“Getting more sodas.” He replies, staring right past you.

You return the popcorn to Seokmin while mumbling, “I’m going to use the washroom,” feeling awfully incongruous between the two.

When Seokmin catches your hesitation to use your right ankle, he winces.

“Uh, you didn’t just flare up that old injury, did you?”

“I think it’s fine!” You practically shout, already standing inside the washroom near the bottom of the stairway.

Truthfully, you didn’t have to use the washroom. 

But you shut the door anyways, spend a moment pacing back and forth and ignore the dull throb at the base of your foot. You hate that even just the sight of Mingyu disinters this nervous energy inside you, almost like a buzzing beehive sitting in your gut. Their voices sound muffled through the wall. Unable to help yourself from snooping, you press your ear snug against the door in an attempt to hear their conversation.

Your heart drops when your name leaves Seokmin’s mouth.

“She’s so pretty, isn’t she?” He says in an excited tone. “What do you think? Should I go for it?” You draw in a breath so sharp you’re afraid to exhale.

Wait, Seokmin is interested in you?

But as soon as Mingyu begins speaking, you press your body incredibly flush to the door that you’re surprised it hasn’t collapsed onto the ground.

“You wanna ask her out?”

He doesn’t sound like himself. There’s something off.

“Dunno for sure yet. That’s why I’m asking you, man! It wouldn’t be weird or anything, right? We seem like a good fit?”

You gulp thickly. The fluorescent lights shine hot like fire.

“Dude, I don’t know,” Mingyu sounds irritated, “there’s no one else you’re thinking about? What about Zaria? Or—Or Blair?”

“Blair?” Seokmin seems to have choked on his own saliva. “Do you actually listen to a word I say? Man, I’ve said so many times I don’t like her. Not even a bit.”

“So why her?” Mingyu is almost demanding. 

There’s hurt in his voice, and at that moment, you feel sick to your stomach for listening in on them.

The honey boy repeats himself, “why do you need to be with her like that?”

“You’re making it sound like she’s my forbidden lover or something.” Seokmin chuckles, clearly a bit confused at Mingyu’s sudden change in tone. “No, it’s not like that. It’s just to have some fun and see if it goes anywhere… You’re acting kinda strange, you know.”

Silence envelopes the room. It’s so unnervingly quiet that you can hear dialogue from the television upstairs. There’s a thunderous crashing noise, followed by Seungkwan’s startled yelp. They must have reached an action scene.

Seokmin digs at his friend a little more. “Did you… get in another argument with Suri? Like, I know you guys seemed comfortable up there, but—”

“First Jane asks me that, now you?” Mingyu’s voice resonates with a hostile depth, and a shiver runs through you.

Your teeth clamp down hard onto your fingernail upon hearing Mingyu’s next comment. There’s anger bleeding through. An upset anger. Not directed at Seokmin, but most likely at himself. You know the feeling far too well.

“We’re fine, alright? And yeah, whatever, ask her out if you want. You don’t need my seal of approval just to know if you should get her in your bed.”

“Okay, seriously,” Seokmin has lost his confusion and now seems intent to discover the root of Mingyu’s frustration, “what’s going on?”

And that’s when you decide to pull the plug on jamming your ear against the door. Instead, you walk back into the recreation room, watching the two boys immediately lock their gazes in your direction, as though an extra-terrestrial had just waltzed out from the washroom rather than a human being. The disturbed air caused by their conversation still hovers, but you pretend not to notice it. With a smile, you simply invite Seokmin back upstairs with you.

“Unless you need help with the drinks, Mingyu?” You ask.

The boy shakes his head, reaching into the cold mist which hisses and crawls over the edges of the cooler. He meets your eyes directly, and you flinch, like a blazing hot spark had just landed on your skin.

“No,” Mingyu says, throwing you a very strange, very perplexing smile, “you two should go back up.”

CHAPTER 23: CHRYSALIS

A few days pass. The air is different. It’s cooler, and the simmering days of July drip to a bittersweet end.

Away from the beach house, you revisit the harbour that Mingyu brought you to explore the day he went picture-taking. Deedee and Jane poke around inside the Discoverer’s Shop, examining glass vases shaped like open-mouthed pickerel, then weathered bottles and pearl necklaces discovered at the bottom of the lake. You had wanted to join them, but you opted to stay outside, plopping yourself down at the end of a dock, holding a long, forked twig you randomly picked up from a flowerbed. Sticking the forked end into the water, you trace the twig back and forth, watching the small current you create. The sun shines bright and strikes the water with clarity, allowing you to see the large rocks fuzzy with algae. You like having an empty head.

Not full of thoughts or concerns but rather an infinite plain, like swaying grass in a meadow. Leaning further over the water, you observe a long, slim bass slowly emerge from beneath the dock, the colour of pine needles, blipped with black stripes. It hovers at a forked end of the twig which you now keep still, fluttering its fins, until a shadow casts over the water and suddenly the bass darts away like it had never even been there. When you look over your shoulder, you see Caroline, her straight, dark brown hair laying over her cheeks, her mouth flat as usual. She tends to look intimidating but today you find her seeming warmer, more so when she sits next to you and passes you a chocolate bar.

“Jane told me you love these.” She says.

“Thanks.” You reply, though place the bar aside to continue playing with the twig. “Did you just get here? Jane said you might stop by.”

“Well, I went to see her and Deedee in the shop first,” she explains, sliding her hands over her knees, “but I actually came to see you.”

You’re surprised, pulling the twig from the water. Since the incident with Caroline’s heirloom vase, you attempted avoiding her as much as possible. Sometimes when you close your eyes at night, you still hear that disappointed note in her voice and find yourself staring into that wildly upset expression she gave you.

“What for?” You ask, watching Caroline tuck some hair behind her ear.

“I don’t mean to go digging up the past,” she begins, and this sinking feeling folds your stomach like dough, “but when I came for a check-up of the house last week, Mingyu pulled me aside. It was strange. I had never seen him so… serious, I guess you could say. He told me, ‘Caroline, I know who broke your vase, and it’s not who you think it was’ and he rambled to me with these big puppy eyes a story that made a lot of sense.” She pats her hands against her thighs, then raises a knowing brow at you. “The vase wasn’t your fault. You were only taking the blame.”

You don’t respond, but you clutch the end of the twig so tightly in your palm that you feel the wood cracking. Caroline sighs, staring out across the lake.

“This isn’t Jane’s first time inviting friends to my lake house. I love that girl to death; she’s family to me and I trust her with a lot of heart. She brings this Mingyu kid to my apartment when she was a high school senior and I was on my last year of university. He’s all banged up because he got in a fight with this weirdo who kept following Jane home after school. Safe to say, that was the last time it happened.”

You vaguely remember Jane filling you in about that ordeal. Mingyu had walked her home every day since then, until graduation.

“And as I bandaged him up, gave him a bag of frozen peas for his black eye, I knew he was a good kid, that he was like Jane. Someone who also became family to me, someone I could trust. So when Mingyu told me Suri had pushed Tommy right into the vase, I believed him.” She gently sets her hand over your wrist, squeezing softly. “And I want to apologize for snapping at you. I’m sorry, dear. I hope this chocolate makes up for it, even a little bit.”

“B-But—,” you stutter, meeting Caroline’s copper eyes, “I never said who did it. I didn’t say anything to him.”

She shakes her head. “I think he was onto something. Probably did some prodding and got the truth out of Suri.” With a sly smile, Caroline leans in closer to you, lowering her voice, “also, Tommy is a terrible liar. I’m sure that’s where he started.”

Your heartbeat flares up dramatically, “did you talk to Suri yet? Because if you haven’t, please don—”

“I’ve said nothing.” Caroline replies, and you breathe out in relief.

It’s less from desiring to keep Suri happy, and more from wanting a summer that ends in as little tension as possible.

“In fact, I don’t think Suri even knows that Mingyu came to me.” She admits.

“Why is he keeping it so secret?” You mumble, mostly to yourself as you circle the twig through the water.

“I suppose for the same reason you did,” Caroline looks at you with confidence, “to keep people from feeling hurt and upset.”

A huff blows through your nose. “I don’t feel either of those things… Really, I was handling it on my own. Karma has to work somehow.”

You hear a slight laugh from beside you.

“What?”

Caroline presents an admiring grin. “Nothing really. I like that you’re so certain of yourself.”

It’s as though a spark comes to light in your chest. “Really?” You sound pleasantly surprised, and fight to bat away the crooked smile on your mouth.

She gives your shoulder a tight rub. It feels like your skin has grown a little thicker, a little tougher, and you don’t shy from her firm touch.

“Mingyu never specified if I should bring this up to you. I think he believed it was easier if I took control of that choice. At the end of the day, he wanted me to know the truth, maybe to free you from this guilt that’s been bogging you down.”

“Sometimes I think you just have to live with your choices. Even the regrettable, stupid ones.” You reply truculently.

“You’ve got a point. But I’ve just met you. I’ve just met Suri. I’ve just met more than half these people. And I now know that you were big enough to take the hit while Suri was more than comfortable with accepting it. Of course that vase meant a lot to me, yet, in reality, it was some blue glass that sat on a pedestal collecting dust most of the time. I can get over some blue glass. It’s what happened afterward that concerns me most. But if you want to move on, so will I. Suri will just have to come back down to Earth with the rest of us.”

“I know she took advantage of me.” You sigh, pulling out the twig from the water, watching the droplets run off the forked ends. “But I want to bury this.”

And so Caroline nods, stands from the dock, and smiles.

“Consider it buried.” She says in her strict voice.

You then throw the twig into the water so it can float away.

Once Deedee and Jane come outside, they entertain you with the antique items they purchased. Jane presents a small hand mirror with a crack against the glass, and a chipped, pink handle, while Deedee shows a circular tin glimmering with marbles, all in different sizes and colours. They look like miniature planets, or galaxies that have been frozen in time. Deedee invites you to pick some marbles to keep. You choose a large one that’s a deep, mystic purple, almost black, and then a smaller marble that’s an aquamarine, the inside containing yellow swirls. The three of you sit on a bench and watch the harbour, all the fishing boats coming and going, the clouds rolling over the distant forest hills, birds flying to nests nuzzled into broken lamp posts.

And you take a huge bite from your chocolate bar.

Later that night, you stop at Mingyu and Suri’s bedroom. Suri is the one to pull open the door, dressed in a long t-shirt that you know isn’t hers, her features slanted into an expression that is all but affable. However, you’re not interested in speaking to her, and you don’t bother powdering your words in an attempt to keep her satisfied, rather you state that you’d like to talk with Mingyu. She pauses for a moment before biting her lip. You almost want to nip at her, no, say it, but suppress yourself, waiting patiently as Suri calls out the boy’s name and suddenly, he’s behind her in the threshold. It seems like Mingyu had been preparing for bed, because he’s in his sweats and a navy blue, unbuttoned flannel which reveals his bare chest. For once, there are no hickies or scratches covering his gold skin.

You fold your arms over your chest and nod at the door. “Can you close it?”

He steps into the dim corridor with you, and shuts the door gently.

Before he can spit out a question, you’re already digging into your pocket to pull out his chain, the one he’d given you on the back porch. It dangles in the air, then, you grab the boy’s hand, ply open his fingers, and drop the necklace into his palm. Mingyu just stares at it, like he’d forgotten it even existed.

“I meant to give it back earlier, but I forgot.”

His teeth press into his bottom lip, black hairs slipping over his eyes as he continues looking at the chain. Finally, he nods, and hides it in his pocket.

“I want to say thank you. But, also, please don’t get involved in my business next time. I could have lived with my decision; I just needed more time.”

The boy reflects a confused countenance.

“Sorry,” Mingyu quirks his head, “what are you talking about?”

“The vase thing. I know that you were trying to help, but when I don’t want to tell you something, I don’t tell you for a reason.” There’s a firmness to your tone which makes you feel somewhat like Caroline, and while you do have to force it for the time being, you can interpret that Mingyu senses the weight of your words.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Right,” the boy hums, “I get it. I shouldn’t have done that.” Silence engulfs the corridor until Mingyu picks up his head, his gaze connecting directly with yours. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you crying that day you told Caroline. I don’t know, it was making me mad as hell, that you were so upset about something you didn’t even do.”

You can’t help but swallow your own heartbeat, your toes curling into the carpet mat. Those eyes kill you every time, so careful and sweet.

“I kinda figured, when you kept bugging me about it.” Comes your hushed voice, and then a slow, gradual smile. “You’re a detective now, is that it?”

Mingyu huffs and smirks while rubbing the point of his nose. “It was light work. I just went to Tommy. He’ll always slip up eventually.” You two laugh together in the hallway, though quickly muffle your volume when you realize how late it is.

As soon as it’s quiet, the boy gazes at you tenderly once more. “Look, I just want to say that I don’t like at all what Suri made you do—”

“It’s fine,” you stop him abruptly, “I… I don’t really want to talk about it anymore. Every day, I’m still learning about myself, and I just feel like, right now, I need to see the repercussions to my choices head on, no interferences. Maybe you don’t understand what that means through and through, because I don’t really understand it either to be honest, but… it’s proving helpful to me. I think.”

Mingyu smiles at you, a warm smile that feels like a reassuring hug, a smile that reaches his eyes and ignites a little glint in them, like the beautiful marbles you picked from Deedee’s antique tin. It feels like you could have spoken in complete gibberish to Mingyu yet he would still find a way to make you feel comfortable with your words. 

“Can we start talking again?” He asks. “I miss you.”

You nod your head.

Before he disappears back into the bedroom, Mingyu touches his hand ever so softly to the side of your face, his thumb brushing along your cheek.

“Goodnight.” The honey boy murmurs in his brassy voice.

You feel the depth in your knees, and you nearly melt into the floor.

“Goodnight, Mingyu.”

CHAPTER 24: STUCK IN THE WEB

The next morning, you eat breakfast with Deedee on the back porch. You ask her if she wants to join you for a swim, but she has to decline, having already made a promise with Cluett, Tommy and Zaria to play soccer. There’s a perfectly green field buried somewhere in the lakeside town that Cluett managed to find, exploring different twists and turns on his skateboard. The kitchen is quiet when you place your dishes in the sink, though an open window allows the sound of susurrus tree leaves and wind to freshen the air. You check the fridge just before you run upstairs, and happen to spot a note taped against a chocolate milk carton, addressed to you.

 I made sure Chan didn’t drink all of it. 

There’s some left for you!

Mingyu :)

Experimentally, you pick up the carton and slosh around the milk inside, then peel off the note and take it upstairs, which you stick into your journal. You aren’t sure if it’s healthy to keep pining in secret about the boy, but it feels like as long as he’s something tangible in your life, there’s no way you can release him, like throwing that twig into the water.

The beach is empty as you drop a drawstring bag into the sand. More clouds smatter the sky than usual, and the blue you do see has resorted to a very mute, dusty colour. You wade deep into the lake, pushing harder and harder while the water rises in force against your skin and suckles around your shoulders. Then you lie on your back with your limbs spread out like a starfish, allowing your body to float. It’s easy to lose track of time when the sky doesn’t seem to move, but once you plunge your head under the water and glance back to the clouds, the particularly fluffy one you’d been tracking now appears to hover over the centre of the lake. For a moment, you panic, because you wonder if you’d allowed the current to tug you so far away from the shore that it’ll look like a slit.

But you realize you hardly moved, and that you can still touch the floor under you, and that the water still laps at your shoulders.

You spot Mingyu standing at the shoreline with a towel over his shoulder. He gives a curt wave. At first, you’re confused, because you thought Mingyu would have joined Suri on her hike, unless she’s back already.

“Thanks.” You mutter as he stretches the towel behind you. “I can’t believe you’re done hiking already. You mustn’t have gone far.”

“Hm?” Mingyu questions, tilting his head. “Hike? What hike?”

“Did you not go hiking with Suri? It looked like she was leaving around the same time I came down to the beach.”

Immediately, there’s an uncomfortable gloom on the boy’s face and you begin to wonder if you’ve said or implied something hurtful. Mingyu chews his lip for a moment, and then you freeze just as you begin patting down your arm.

“Suri and I aren’t… We’re taking a break.” He clarifies, his voice raspy.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t reali—”

“We didn’t make a big deal out of it. She’s moved some of her stuff to Blair’s room. There’s no malice or anything. We’re on good terms. That’s it.”

You give him a smile, but it’s fluttery and weak, and you aren’t sure what kind of smile it is exactly until Mingyu’s pained stare settles upon you for a little too long. Is this my fault? The worry escalates into a barking cry. Is it because I confessed? Because I couldn’t hide well enough that the vase wasn’t my doing? Something feels like it’s closing in and you aren’t powerful enough to keep yourself from getting crushed.

“It’s no one’s fault.” Mingyu says, softening his tone.

“I know.” You nod, then breathe out discreetly.

“I actually went to take pictures.”

“Did you get any good shots?”

“A few,” Mingyu grins, “have you seen that huge anchor sitting at the end of Tina’s Point, with all the flowers around it? I took some pictures of that.”

“I saw it once. Isn’t that close to where the soccer field is?”

“Yeah, I stopped by and watched them play for a bit. Hey, did you know Deedee is insanely good at soccer? Her and Zaria are putting them to shame.”

You stop at the drawstring bag you left in the sand and untighten the opening, pulling out a large t-shirt you stuffed inside.

“Really?” You mumble while fitting your head through the collar. “I know Tommy is good too. She’s better than him?”

“Guess so.”

However, as you begin to dig through the bag, you notice something horrible, something which wipes the smile clean from your face and exchanges it for dread. Everything is still inside: your sunglasses case, a water bottle, an extra pair of swim shorts, and an SPF tube. Everything but the most important thing, your journal. You keep rustling through the items as though it’s going to magically appear. Certain as certain can be, you know you put your journal into the bag before you went outside. There’s no way you’re this delusional already. Butterflies, the twisting, terrible, anxious kind, explode in your lower tummy and the only thing you can think about is that someone took it, someone took it and is going to read all your secrets.

Mingyu slaps the towel over his shoulder, tilting his head in question. “What are you looking for?”

Slipping on the drawstring bag, you cast a glance up and down the beach, hoping to see that leather book abandoned somewhere, sticking out like a sore thumb.

“My journal, it’s not in my bag.” Your voice trembles, but you don’t care. “Did you take it?” You ask Mingyu, knowing how much he pestered you about it.

The boy shakes his head. “I’ve never touched it,” he says, “did you see anyone else come down to the beach?”

You grumble exasperatedly, “I wouldn’t have been able to, I wasn’t even looking…” Kicking up sand, you begin pacing, nervously squeezing your hands until they feel numb. You then bubble over and shout at the boy, “this is horrible, Mingyu! If someone has it and they’re reading it—I have so much stuff in there! So much personal stuff! What if they’re reading it and planning to pass it around to everyone and take pictures of what I’ve written and—”

Mingyu plants his hands on your shoulders, stopping you from the manic pacing. Your eyes are stinging and you want so badly to burst into tears and cry, because maybe you’d feel better if he held you or brushed the wetness from your cheeks, but you manage to keep the storm inside.

“Calm down for a sec, so you can think,” he says gently, “there are different ways we can do this. We can just look for it ourselves, we can tell everyone to look for it, or maybe just get Jane and Deedee involved. You trust them, right?”

“Y-Yeah,” you nod, wiping your nose, “of course.”

“So why don’t we start there?” Mingyu takes your hands in his, passing his thumbs along your knuckles. “We’ll get them, and they can help us look. Alright?”

You sigh greatly and agree to his plan.

“But if you find it,” your grip turns ironclad on his fingers, “please, just give it straight to me. Please don’t read anything.”

“I wouldn’t ever,” Mingyu replies, a soft smile on his mouth while he crosses an x-shape over his heart, “I promise.”

It’s probably a stupid place to look, but you can’t help it. In the dust of the quiet Reading Room, you lower to your hands and knees and peer under the leather chair, though you discover nothing apart from a blue paperclip and a felt patch. Jane and Deedee are scouring different parts of the house while Mingyu investigates outside, poking around beneath the back porch despite all the spiderwebs. You jerk back onto your knees when Zaria sticks her head into the room.

“You need help looking for something?”

“No, it’s alright,” you reply, your heart racing, “just dropped my phone.”

As you brush the dust off your hands, you sigh despondently. It’s a “finding the needle in a haystack” situation except the needle is a personal capsule detailing every blunder, intimacy and aspiration of the past year. You feel physically ill at the thought of someone reading it. For a moment you even consider rushing into the washroom to vomit. Instead, you find Jane upstairs in your bedroom, the sheets torn to the end of the mattress while she shines a flashlight under the frame. She’s just as emptyhanded as you.

“Nothing,” Jane frowns, throwing the flashlight on the bed, “we might have to do some detective work. Be sneaky and sly and try to get hints out of people.”

“How would one even do that?” You groan, slumping onto the blanket mound.

Jane thinks for a moment. “We shove them up against the wall and threaten everyone they love? I don’t really know yet. Hopefully Deedee or Mingyu are having more luck. I wish we could just bust into everyone’s rooms.”

“Yeah, but then everyone would know. I think Chan is sweet but he’d probably read my journal like it’s the morning paper.”

Jane smiles. “So we threaten him first.”

Everyone groups at the bottom of the porch, yet there’s no good news. Mingyu is only coated in shiny strings of web which Jane can’t help but pick from his hair while Deedee sits on the stairway and pouts.

“I checked the kitchen, the recreation room, two closets, and the downstairs gym,” she sighs, “Cluett’s door was open and I wanted to peep so bad, but I don’t think he would know anything. If it’s not about Leticia Bufoni then he doesn’t care.”

“Nothing under the porch but spiderwebs,” Mingyu reports next as Jane pulls a particularly long string from his back, “and I didn’t see anything on the walkway down to the beach. I’m guessing you guys didn’t score anything either.”

“If we did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” You grumble, kicking at a pebble to send it flying into the bushes.

Jane gathers her hair back and fastens it in a half-pulled ponytail.

“I think we’re all exhausted at this point. Let’s just lay low but keep an eye out, eavesdrop if we have to. I bet you’ll have it before you leave.”

Deedee grabs the handrailing and pulls herself up. “Jane’s right. We can always dig around more tomorrow. Sorry we couldn’t find it.”

“Everyone did what they could,” you smile faintly, “see you at dinner.”

Jane squeezes your shoulder comfortably as she slides past you to join Deedee up the stairs. Alone beneath the shade of the wide, over-branching cedar trees, you stare at Mingyu whose hair is still patterned with a few thin webs. You help to pull them out, letting the bits get blown away in the breeze. It feels like a day that’s been turned upside down and stretched inside out. Sometimes, you wish you could just turn back into a small child who crawls into bed and pulls the blankets over themselves, knowing that by morning, the world will somehow be normal again, and you’ll be able to sit in front of the television with your favourite cereal, worriless and content.

Some days are still similar to that, but your mind will never be as carefree. Even when you were a teenager and you hated the world for making essays and algebra and significant figures a thing, you were still allowed to be stupid and over dramatic, perhaps walk by Mingyu’s fourth period gym class playing kickball outside eight times just to see him in those red shorts.

“I’m sure we’ll find it,” the boy says, luring you from your daze, “let’s go eat for now. I heard someone ordered Chinese food.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and you walk inside together.

CHAPTER 25: THE FORTUNE

That night, after most people had gone to bed, you find yourself sinking into the hot tub in your t-shirt, holding an orange bottle you pulled from the kitchen cabinet. You aren’t sure what type of alcohol it is exactly, but it tastes citrus and tart, with enough sear to keep you mellow when in reality, you’d much rather be having a break down. A jet pulses against this sore spot on your lower back. The water ripples and steams and glows. You guide the bottle to your mouth for another sip, then let it rest on the border of the tub. Submerging deeper into the heat, you stare up at the night sky, all the stars that are spread out far in between, yet seem so clustered from where you are. You wish the stars could tell you where the hell your journal is.

Nobody had given you any peculiar or hair-raising looks at dinner. Then again, you couldn’t bear to sit in the living space the entire time knowing that someone might be using your latest anecdote as a bedtime story. You took your plate to the basement instead, which involved forfeiting your seat next to Mingyu on the couch. He tried to reach for you, but Blair quickly swept him into a conversation he couldn’t escape from. It was a bit lonely eating in the recreation room, next to the Ping Pong table, but Jane came downstairs to give you a juice box and Deedee managed to save you a fortune cookie.

“In the end all things will be known” it read.

While shoving the broken cookie into your mouth, you scoffed.

You’d hope so.

The sliding door suddenly opens. Of all the people who could still be awake, you’re surprised to see Seokmin. It seems like he might question you for sitting in a hot tub with your shirt still on and your pants thrown onto the deck, but he must have spotted the orange bottle, because his expression fades.

“Uh, do you care if I join you?” Seokmin asks, sounding slightly nervous.

Sitting up straight so you don’t get a mouthful of water, you shrug, “No.”

While your exterior feigns indifference, your heart is oddly jumping. You didn’t realize Seokmin could look so firm, and you immediately keep your head down when the boy slips in beside you, wearing nothing but his boxers. Grabbing the orange bottle, another swig coats your throat and leaves behind a tingly burn. He can’t help but eye you curiously, most likely wondering what’s drawn you to the back porch, to drink alone like a failed poet in the dead of night.

“I noticed you get up at dinner. Is everything… Okay?” He begins timidly.

“It was really hot up there. The basement was cooler.”

You attempt to place the bottle back on the ledge, but Seokmin stops you and grabs the alcohol. He grimaces at the first taste yet immediately drinks again.

“Are you not sitting in a hot tub?” The boy laughs.

“I’m not hot anymore.” You enunciate, feeling the moisture slick your neck.

“No,” Seokmin grins, “you’re just sitting in a hot tub with half your clothes on at midnight drinking this horrible tasting Sangria.”

You tilt your head back and sigh. It’s louder than usual and even more devoid of perseverance than ever before. Casting an expecting glance at the boy, you mumble, “okay, I give you permission this time, mock me.”

But Seokmin merely raises an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” He chuckles.

And it comes as an invisible slap to the face. Because Seokmin is not Mingyu, and Seokmin does not carry Mingyu’s irritable little habit of mimicking you whenever you sigh. Seokmin doesn’t talk with that slight lisp, or rub his canines with his tongue when he’s thinking particularly hard, or always waltz around with his hands in his pockets like he lives in the clouds. And you feel hollow inside because now you’re thinking about the honey boy and how he shot down your confession without so much as a compassionate gaze. And then you’re angry. Mingyu rejected you and yet, you still want him. For one night, you’d like to forget he exists, even for just an hour.

“Well, whatever that means,” Seokmin huffs, placing the Sangria back on the ledge, “I saw you out here and I wanted to make sure you were okay, because, you know, what you have going on doesn’t look too good from an outsider’s view.”

“Don’t people mind their business anymore?”

“You saying I don’t mind my business?” Seokmin gawks half in astonishment and laughter. “No, I mind my business. Occasionally.”

“So, you wouldn’t—let’s say read someone else’s journal if they left it?” The boy is already scratched from your list, but maybe he could have leads.

Seokmin shakes his head. “No way. Plus, I’ve kept every secret anyone has ever told me. Wanna know how?”

“Because you forget?”

“Because I’m trustworthy.” He corrects.

“How trustworthy?” You persist, leaning in close to his face. “Like, if the secret hurt someone else, you would still keep it level-trustworthy?”

The boy brushes his hair back, slightly damp with steam. He must note the wild dilation in your eyes, because he swallows tight and scratches awkwardly behind his ear. “Are we… talking specifics? It feels like we’re talking specifics.”

And then you accept the fact that Seokmin is useless—in a good way.

“N-No, sorry…” You stutter.

For a moment, nothing really happens. It’s just you staring at the boy and him staring back. But up from the mist that swathes the hot tub, you sense a push, one that directs you to slowly close the space in between you and Seokmin. Your forehead touches his and his hand cups your cheek. Just as there’s a gentle brush against each other’s lips, he moves away, looking off to the side as he bites his inner cheek.

His hand slides from your face and he shakes his head.

“It’s best if we don’t.” Seokmin advises.

You feel a little better upon reading his disappointment.

“Why?”

He looks at you again, his eyes glimmering. “Because…” the boy begins, though his words drift off quietly and you feel every inch of your muscle practically convulsing. Seokmin seems to contemplate on whether he should continue.

“Because I can’t do that to Mingyu.” He fires.

You can hear tires screeching against the asphalt in your head, the scent of burning rubber, the clutter of metal scraps bouncing away. Moving your elbow, you nearly knock the Sangria bottle from the ledge in an attempt to scoot closer. 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Briefly, that conversation you had listened to in secret enters your mind, where your ear was connected to the washroom door while Seokmin and Mingyu experienced a newfound tension.

“I-I really shouldn’t elaborate too much, since I did promise him not to say a word,” Seokmin catches your eye and its intense blaze, “but if I should let you know anything then… Mingyu… He feels something for you. I mean, isn’t it a little obvious? You really don’t notice it, any of it?”

Your body has gone completely livid.

“Notice what?”

The colourful lights reflect off Seokmin’s astonished face.

“For starters, he looks at you all the time – you don’t notice any of it? When you made your breakfast yesterday, he didn’t stop staring at you once! I’m surprised he didn’t get down on his knee or something. And the pictures. He has so many pictures of you on his camera. Don’t you think that’s a bit telling?”

“H-He kept saying something about a background study…”

Seokmin shakes his head.

“Trust me, that’s just an excuse. If you can’t see it then, I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell ‘ya.”

Your fingers are shaking, and you can hardly take a breath.

If you stay in the hot tub any longer, you fear the heat might cook you like you’re part of a stew. Seokmin watches as you stumble out from the tub, pick up the pants you had shucked off earlier, and bid him goodnight. He stays in the water, taking another sip of Sangria, wondering how you never noticed, or if you had convinced yourself you weren’t someone worth liking.

When you try to fall asleep that night, another distant memory returns to you.

CHAPTER 26: WARM IN THE WINTERTIME 

It’s your first official day at Sacred Heart. Eleventh grade. 

And Principal Whittaker has taken it upon himself to deposit you in the mixed gym class. But you know absolutely no one at this school apart from Phoebe and Joshua, the student duo who cordially took you on a tour a few weeks ago, just so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself looking for the washroom, your chemistry class, data management, all of the above. The girls take the gym’s right side while the boys take the left. Except, you feel sick to your stomach, and rather than throw on a jersey stuffed in the back of the equipment room you take a seat on the stage.

If the gym teacher asks why you’re sitting out, you’ll just say cramps.

You can see him through the window to his office, drinking from a coffee thermos and scribbling on papers – probably written assignments he’d forgotten to grade. Out of nowhere, you spot this girl trudging toward you, her jersey tied up with a scrunchie, every single hair on the crown of her head flattened beneath a headband. You smile at her, because maybe this is your opportunity to make acquaintances with someone, even if she does look a bit scary and smells like an overbearing cloud of cheap perfume. She tightens her ponytail and folds her arms.

“Are you playing? Or sitting out?”

“I’m sitting out, I don’t feel g—”

“What?” She squawks. “C’mon, the teams are uneven now.”

“Jenna!” Another girl shouts, bouncing a basketball. “Is she playing?”

This so-called Jenna plays a dramatic roll of the eyes, whips around, and stalks back to her uneven group of players.

“No,” you hear her nip, “she’s one of those girls. We’ll just do subs.”

And at that moment you wanted to shrink. Escape. Run all the way back to your old high school where you’d be sitting in the library right about now, attempting to muffle your laughter as you played online games with your best friend (even when there was a Kinesiology assignment waiting to be done). The girls are still deciding which players will be the first substitutes, meanwhile the boys are just shooting at the net, practicing how to dribble and step-cross. There’s this one kid. He’s much taller than his friends and his jersey actually fits him. His hair is awfully lengthy, and he keeps having to brush it from his eyes, which seem soft and puppy-like.

He turns to the girls.

“Hey Jenna!” The boy shouts.

She glances at him, looking unamused.

“This one’s for you!”

After sending her a wink, he takes a lazy shot at the net, except the ball hits the rim and bounces away into the corner. He begins snickering and snorting as though deliberately missing his shot is outbreaking comedy. Even his friends are cackling with him. Jenna’s face prickles strawberry-red.

“We’re supposed to be playing pick-up games!” She yells across the gym. “It would help if you guys took anything serious.”

“Should I take another shot for you?” The boy calls back.

“Whatever, Mingyu!”

Straight away, you think he’s cute, golden at every sport he plays, and has a locker stuffed with anonymous confessions. There isn’t anyone at your old school who you’d been crushing on. In fact, it’s been such a long time since you ever admired anyone that you nearly forgot the sensation of butterflies. It isn’t until Mingyu excuses himself from their game and approaches the stage that your palms become clammy.

You realize you’re sitting right next to his backpack.

“My bad,” he says upon causing you to shuffle away awkwardly, unzipping the front pouch of his bag, “looking for an elastic—oh! Found it.”

When he places the tie between his teeth, you can see his braces. Mingyu sweeps back a decent amount of his long, black locks, leaving some of the strands to frame his face. There are two earrings in one of his ear lobes, a black stud, and a gold dot. You can feel your heart racing as he takes the elastic and fastens the hair in place, a small, curly ponytail poking from the back of his head.

“You’re sitting out?” He asks, and you hear a notable lisp.

“Um, yes. I’m waiting for lunch. I was a dumbass and skipped breakfast.”

Mingyu smiles at you. “If you look in my bag, there’s one of those apple struddles from the bakery, in a red container. You can have it.”

“Aren’t you going to eat it?”

The boy shrugs. “Not really a fan of them, honest. But what is good though,” his eyes ignite, sparkling, “are those blueberry muffins. Oh, man. They’re fucking scrumptious. Especially when they’re straight from the oven and the blueberries are all melty.” Mingyu tilts his head back blissfully. “I’m not salivating, am I?”

Somehow, this boy manages to make your first day less depressing.

“Not yet,” you laugh, swinging your legs giddily, “I haven’t been to the bakery at all. I moved here not too long ago.”

Reaching into his bag, you see the red packaging he was referring to. His friends chortle at him to stop dillydallying and return to the game.

“Gotta go,” he takes a quick sip from his water bottle, “you should stop by there when you can. Ask for the Mingyu Special!”

“What is that?!” You shout as he jogs back onto the court.

However, he gives you nothing apart from a sneaky little wink, and you feel that exploding sensation of butterflies. As you take large, hungry bites from the warm pastry, the sweet apples melting in your mouth, you begin to think that perhaps your first day isn’t going to be completely uncomfortable and awkward and terrible.

That week, you make sure to repay him. You stop at that bakery he suggested to you just before school, trekking snow and cold puddles all over their floor. You’re almost late to first period. Practically frozen solid too.

On that Friday, you catch Mingyu whisking between students toward his friends, waiting for him in the front foyer. You feel slightly weird grabbing his shoulder, but he isn’t going to notice you with his earbuds in. When he sees that it’s you, he pulls one out.

“I bought you a blueberry muffin, from the bakery,” you elaborate, “I would have asked for the Mingyu Special, but it was too embarrassing. Anyways, this is for the apple struddle thing on Tuesday.”

“Oh yeah,” Mingyu mumbles, “I remember that.”

“What is the Mingyu Special?”

“I shouldn’t spoil the secret, especially to a newbie like you,” he says with a wink, “but I’m feeling generous. It’s that muffin in your hand.”

“The Mingyu Special is just a blueberry muffin?”

“Whew, okay, hotshot” Mingyu puffs out his chest, “you just got here and you’re already taking a tone.” He then raises a curled finger and starts waving it in your face, mimicking the chalky voice of an elderly man, “one more wise crack like that and I’ll put ya in yer place, you disrespectful little vermin.”

Muffling your laughter with a hand clasped over your lips, you realize he’s an absolute fool. Maybe even an idiot. But your heart only pangs for him harder.

His name echoes down the hallway, where his friends are beckoning him impatiently. Mingyu says goodbye, that he’ll see you around, and dashes to meet them. You end up tagging along with Joshua to data management, though you spend most of the class daydreaming, wondering how to make Mingyu fall in love with you.

CHAPTER 27: HOW NOT TO LIE

Beginning the last week at the lake house, you awaken with the feeling that everything is slightly slanted.

Not literally, but in a sense of imbalance and disruption, like the restless behaviour of wildlife before a great storm. Your missing journal is chiefly all you can think about. When it was received as a present, you had been doubtful it would ever be used, though such a trajectory quickly shifted when you were hired in customer service and desperately needed a space to vent. Obviously, you couldn’t admit to the customer’s face that they were behaving like a complete idiot, so you would scribble it into the journal instead. Little by little the pages morphed from hot-blooded complaints to the secrecies of your life, things that were simply easier to write than elaborate to a person.

However, the journal is gone and you feel so uncomfortably vulnerable.

The worst part is uncertainty; the fact there is no mystifying glass ball which lets you glimpse into the future, where you might spot yourself leaving the house holding onto your journal. It’s like swiping a hand across a dark wall in an attempt to search for the light switch. You want to know the truth and want to know it now.

Jane understands your fragility, and she somehow convinces you to join the small group looking to take Caroline’s canoe for an evening trip on the lake. While Seokmin struggles to find a life jacket that doesn’t squeeze the colour from him, you pick up different wooden oars and settle for the one which goes just above your hip. Cluett holds the canoe as it sits in the glittering, pink water, reflecting the hue of the sky. The canoe could fit six people, though including yourself, only five would be using it. Earlier in the day you asked Mingyu to accompany you (by latching onto his arm and shaking it like a rattle), but he said he couldn’t come.

“You’re a loser,” you told him, “and you’ll regret abandoning me.”

Mingyu had rolled his eyes. “Oh, what a creative mouth you have. I’m so hurt.”

And at that point, you closed his own door in his face.

After Seokmin let that tiny secret slip about Mingyu in the hot tub, he came up to you the next day and asked you to forget everything he said. It’s like the universe wants to squash even the potential of Mingyu having feelings for you.

Aside from the journal, you became afraid of losing something else: your friendship with Mingyu. Sure, maybe you aren’t written in the stars, maybe there’s no red sting of fate which has connected you since birth, maybe the memories of eating a  baked apple struddle from his lunch and in return offering him a blueberry muffin have no significance, but at least you can be friends. You just worry that once the summer ends, you’ll fade. Mingyu will forget you. He could realize you aren’t as special as you seemed back at that lake house, and somehow, you’ll become the arbitrary dot he left in your yearbook. Painfully, you’ll have to find some way to get over him.

Suri is the first to take a seat in the canoe. She positions herself right at the front while Cluett continues holding the boat. Seokmin steps in next, settling with a life jacket that still must be too small, because he didn’t bother to do the zipper. Cluett calls the seat behind him, so you take the spot beside Seokmin. You can’t help but grimace slightly when your feet touch the cold, small puddles in the metal belly of the canoe. Blair almost whips you in the back of the head with her paddle when she takes her seat next to Cluett, though you bite your lip incredibly hard to avoid making a snarky comment. It’s not that you dislike her, but she’s annoyingly oblivious.

Once Cluett gives the boat a shove, he hops in and you all begin paddling.

“Why don’t we head toward the Lily Trail first?” Suri says. “Then we can paddle back here, break, and try the Rainbow Trail.”

Upon floating through the entrance to the Lily Trail, you note the canal is wide and quiet, with forest bracketing on both your left and right. The willow trees are white as fresh silk. They have low, drooping branches that just hover above the water. When you peer over the edge you can see the green weeds far below, and the deeper you paddle into the trail, the more lilies appear, scattered across the calm surface in spots of pale yellow and pink. You quite like the Lily Trail.

“It’s so gorgeous here,” Blair leans over the edge to touch one of the pink flowers, “must be a peaceful life if you’re a fish.”

“Stick a microphone down there and ask them.” Cluett snickers.

“You’re ridiculous.” She grumbles, attempting to splash the younger boy.

“Hey, can we not splash?” Seokmin whines. “You’re gonna throw up a leech or something. And then I’ll have to start screaming.”

Suri sticks out her tongue. “There are no leeches here, genius. They like shallow areas, so they can hide under rocks or debris.”

“You should hop in, you know, just to test it.” Cluett humours.

She tilts her head. “I’ll throw you in instead. You can swim, right?”

“How about we head back?” You interject before Suri actually attempts to drown Cluett in a water field of lilies. “So we can break and try the Rainbow Trail.”

“The voice of reason.” Seokmin chimes.

Once the boat touches back at the main shore, everyone wobbles out to stretch their legs. You would need to be quick paddling toward the Rainbow Trail as the sun is slipping lower and lower, separating the sky in luminous rips of orange. A cold breeze slithers off the water, and it draws a shiver to your spine. Cluett decides to torture Blair by hanging a slimy piece of seaweed over a stick, chasing her with it, while Suri barks about how childish they are (until Cluett flings the seaweed at her and she screams even louder than Blair). The younger boy is consequently banished to hold the canoe again, the breeze turning into a wind which he braces against.

Just before everyone settles back into the canoe, you feel a tap on your shoulder, and suddenly you’re staring at the black eyes of Blair, orange sunlight stained across her face.

“Can you do me a favour?” She asks in a whisper.

“What sort?”

“I want your seat next to Seokmin, that’s all. It’s better than sitting next to Cluett. And if we see something pretty it will give me an excuse to lean into Seokmin’s side like ‘aw, isn’t that gorgeous?’ Y’know, stuff like that. I think he likes me.”

You nod tersely, and plaster on a crooked smile. Admittedly, you had also tried not to laugh in the poor girl’s face, because she really isn’t all that receptive to anything. Exhibit A: the fact that Seokmin isn’t fond of her whatsoever.

“Oh, sure! Sit there all you want.”

“Thanks,” she sighs in relief, “I think this will really prove if he likes me.”

“Maybe,” you agree in a small voice, “but, saying how you feel works too. That way you don’t have to sit on the fence of whether or not you should keep at it.”

For some reason, Blair looks offended. Another gust of wind rushes in from across the harbour and somehow that orange sunlight couldn’t feel any colder.

“I mean, I guess… But I’m really not like you. I don’t want to push myself onto other people just to get flat out rejected. I’m glad you have the self-esteem for that and everything, but not all of us can just go around—”

And at that moment, you have to stop Blair in her tracks, because how on earth would she know about any of your rejections or your intimate declines or your approach toward romance if you’ve never told her? At first, she doesn’t seem to realize what she’s done, rather she stares at you with a dumbfounded expression.

“Wait – you know about me getting rejected? How? Who told you?”

In fact, the only time you ever confessed to a person of interest was the night of the house party, though Mingyu didn’t have much to say, and while you could have interpreted his curtness in many ways, it was an obvious rejection. Nobody had known about it, no one at all, unless their prying eyes had found your journal.

Blair tries to gobble the words back into her mouth, but it’s too late.

“Well, it was just something I heard—”

“How? Because I didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t either.”

And then, the girl manages to fumble again.

“Mingyu could have said something! How would you know?”

Like someone had cradled your heart in the pouch of a slingshot and let it fly into your chest, it’s a pulse that nearly splits you down the middle. A single beat which completely flips your emotion. Cluett doesn’t understand why neither you or Blair have gotten in the boat, while Seokmin and Suri seem utterly confused.

Oppositely, for you, the fog has lifted. There’s a crackling urge in your palm to slap Blair right across the face, though you’re able to refrain.

“So you took the journal!” You accuse her without hesitance. “And you’re hiding it somewhere! I want it back, or just tell me where it is so I can find it myself!”

“I-I have no idea what you’re yelling about,” Blair stutters, “I didn’t take your journal and I don’t know where it is.”

“How can you lie to my face?!”

“I’m not! I didn’t take it!”

You shake your head. Tears bulb at the rim of your eyes.

“But you clearly read it! If you didn’t take it, then who?”

Blair wavers and avoids meeting your gaze. Seokmin has tried poking his way into the dispute, yet his questions flail and never receive a response. There is too much blinding anger for you to take note. Again, you press the girl for an answer. She doesn’t say a word, but her gaze flickers in a telling direction. You follow the trace, and stop at the girl wearing the two gold beads in her ears, her tar-black hair draping over her shoulders and feathering in the wind. Suri stands with her arms nonchalantly folded, doesn’t even realize that your incinerating eyes have fallen upon her until everyone starts to blink her way, wondering if it’s true, if she took your journal.

Her brow furrows at the attention and she bristles like a territorial cat. Blair hadn’t exactly sold her out, but she wasn’t keen to take the full blame.

Suri then bursts into laughter. “Wait—you think I took it?” She drags her fingers smoothly through her long hair. “Caroline’s house is full of fancy paintings and books and expensive knickknacks, and you think I want a journal?”

Cluett has stopped holding the canoe, though no one has noticed it slowly bobbing further and further from the shallow water. He scratches the top of his head.

“No one’s asking about your shopping list,” the boy groans, the gloomy rings beneath his eyes suddenly appearing more sallow than usual, “did you take her journal or not? This isn’t rocket science. Not that you know about it anyways.”

Suri whips around and points her finger at him, hissing, “be quiet you little weasel. I swear, you’re always making the dumbest comments.”

“Okay, what’s your great talent? Covering your snake skin with fake jewels?”

In a flare of indignance, Suri squirms from her lifejacket and throws it on the ground. She looks wild, like in that moment, if no one else were there, she would lunge for Cluett and hold him underwater. Seokmin has to slosh into the lake and stop the canoe from floating adrift, while Blair nervously keeps quiet. By the time Seokmin has half-lugged the boat onto the shoreline, Cluett and Suri are mere feet apart, nipping at each other with insipid insults which only make your head pound.

“Enough!” Seokmin grasps each person by the shoulder, hauling them apart with a booming voice. You didn’t know he could be so domineering. “This is tiresome,” he utters between his teeth, then looks impatiently at Suri, “just answer the question. Did you take the journal?”

At first, there is no sound but the waves knocking against the canoe. You feel the breeze halt the few tears which have trickled in frustration down your face, and stare intently at Suri who is pinned in the centre of a whirlpool. She doesn’t want to sink, but she can’t stay afloat either. And with a deep breath, she sighs and says,

“I took it. I noticed it had nearly slid out of your bag when you went swimming last week.” She swallows the lump in her throat. Her hair doesn’t seem to shine any longer beneath the setting sun, rather it looks stringy and dry. “But I had a reason! I thought you might’ve said something to Mingyu that would make him suggest our break… I needed to know for sure… So that’s why I took it.”

The rage you experienced earlier had hardened like liquid sugar. In lieu of wanting to grab Suri by her thin shoulders and push her down into the sand and swat at her barbarously until she apologized, you want to grovel so deep into the earth that you won’t ever be seen again. In an instant, the unspoken unity between you, Seokmin, and Cluett crumbles. You’re ambushed by doubt. How do you know Suri hasn’t shared pages with others in the house? Or made hints behind your back that referenced the journal’s content. Instead of anger, you feel tiny and so afraid.

Suri squeezes her fists at her sides. “I’ll give it back—”

“Who else read it?” You interrupt her, even glance questionably at Seokmin who had always been sweet to you, and at Cluett who had made Suri’s skin itch since the first day at the lake house. “Did you pass it around to everyone?”

“N-No, of course not,” Suri says, “I swear, I-I just skimmed it, and I told Blair a few bits but that’s it.” She huffs almost spitefully through her nose. “Look, I have it in my room. I’ll give it back to you and—”

“Did you read it?” You ask Seokmin directly, tears flooding from your eyes.

He shakes his head profusely. “No, not at all.”

Your voice trembles as you look to Cluett. “W-What about you?”

“Didn’t even know you had a journal.” He admits.

For some reason, you think about your first day meeting Suri, when you helped her move beer bottles and cans into the ice cooler. You thought she was gorgeous. She had looked so prim and emanated this accomplished glow. Through your perspective, Suri was a girl who seemed to have everything swirling in the palm of her hand. A rewarding career as a model, being photographed at the world’s most stunning places, jewelry boxes overflowing with gold and silver pieces. People couldn’t help but to be envious of her, including yourself. Mingyu had once been coiled around her finger, bending to her every whim. But now, it feels that her leashes are untying.

As Cluett said, underneath such smooth skin must be the roughest, pointiest scales. How could someone so bountiful stoop to this harmful low? For a split second, your palm crackles again. There is anger inside you, wanting to escape. It tangles up from your belly, and you know that if you stay outside a moment longer, Suri will have the red imprint of your palm stinging across her pale cheek.

So you don’t stay.

You unbuckle the life jacket and shoulder if off.

Turning on your heel, you rush to the stone pathway leading toward the house. Seokmin takes a few steps after you, though the magnitude of your emotion is enormous and pounding. He seems fearful of your riptide and his pacing stills. In through the sliding glass store, down the hallway to the staircase, up the second level, you storm to your bedroom. Suddenly, Mingyu has appeared in the corridor, though his innocuous comment of whether or not the canoe trip was any fun crinkles away the second he meets your eyes. Unbeknownst to you, the tears are running, but the sole thing you recognize is the burning urge to be alone, isolated.

“What’s wrong?” Mingyu doesn’t succeed in stopping you as you brush past him, left puzzled and a bit dazed, staring at your back.

He tries again. “Hey, what’s wrong?!”

You throw open the door as Mingyu closes the distance in between.

“Seriously, what the hell happened?” There’s a pleading tone in his voice.

At last, you face him through the threshold, ready to slap the door shut at any given moment. He swipes back the messy hair from his eyes, studies the complex range of emotion which spills to your every feature. Frustration, sadness, an urge to wither up permanently, he can’t possibly identify them all. Mingyu tests his luck by taking a small step forward, attempting to soften his worried expression.

“If I can help you, then—”

“If you want to help me,” you interrupt him, suckling back the uncomfortable oozing in your nose and the tears in your eyes, “then please, leave me alone.”

The door whips shut. A clicking sound suggests the lock.

You collapse stomach-down onto the bed, your arms threading under the pillow which your face has sunken into. Mingyu tries the handle, but to no avail. He jiggles it a few times, then knocks, jiggles the handle again, and knocks.

“C’mon,” the boy’s muffled voice leaks through the wood, “don’t block me out like this. Did someone say something? Do something? Are you hurt?” 

His persistence is aching. The fact you can hear actual concern heavying his tone only forces you to shove your face deeper into the pillow, until you can hardly breathe. You don’t know how, or why, but Mingyu’s presence only encourages the emotions to bleed thicker. Rather than realize his intent to comfort you, a derisive image lies in the way.

Suri tucked under her covers before bed, flipping through the pages of your journal, reading every word, snickering and cackling and licking her teeth excitedly as though she were an evil witch. Embarrassment almost coats you to the bed. One hand clutches at the sheets and squeezes so tightly, your fist begins shaking. It feels impossible to face Mingyu knowing that Suri’s read your every heart flutter about him. And what’s to stop her from telling him? Then he’ll be embarrassed for you, won’t ever desire or rethink his choice to never speak with you again. An abrasive knock temporarily shatters the unpleasant thoughts. Mingyu has sighed heavily.

“Why can’t you just talk to me?” He croaks, and you hear the sound of his head thumping against the wood.

You lift your head from the pillow, the bedroom air feeling winter-cold against your cheeks. “I-I told you already, please go away!”

“Why can’t I see you at least once?” Mingyu sounds choked up too, and it only increases this aching inside. “Please, if you just talked to me, I could help you feel better. I’ll listen to you. You know that.”

For a mere second, you contemplate opening the door. But then you picture Suri sharing your journal with Blair, laughing at you, ridiculing you, using your most personal device as a tool for complete mockery. 

And you suddenly decide that opening it would be a very bad idea.

CHAPTER 28: GIRL TALK

Throughout the night, different people come to your door. 

Seokmin arrives after Mingyu, taps his knuckles gently, waits, fiddles his fingers. Accepting his fate which lacks a response, the boy utters a quiet, “I hope you’re okay”, and returns to the lower level of the house. Cluett had knocked too. It surprises you, because your relationship isn’t firm as iron, or even remarkable to much extent, but he had announced himself and pressed down timidly on the handle, only to leave a moment later. News of the stolen journal and its thief must have spread quickly, for even Chan had attempted to get you talking, though he receives the same empty air as everyone before him. Around nine o’clock, there’s shouting from the main living space.

You can’t decipher a single word, just the strange fuzziness to the words, the outrageously high pitches, and no more than half an hour later do you hear rubber turning hot against the outside pavement. Someone has clearly abandoned the house.

In the minutes that proceed, you nearly fall asleep. The blaze which had ravished your body in the evening light has shrunk to a frail ember. Tired of crying, done with feeling, your eyes close and you listen for the waves which had sounded so loud during your first night. However, before you can fade, there’s another knock.

“It’s Jane—” a slight pause, followed by a wispier voice, “and Deedee—” now back to the original speaker, “and you better open this door or I’ll bust it down.”

Jane and Deedee, at last returned from their earlier hike in the forest, are more than aware of the incident between you and Suri. After Jane practically wrangled the information free by curling her fingers through poor Seokmin’s shirt, she knew she had to get your journal back. Lugging yourself off the bed, you stare blankly at the indent your body left in the sheets, smear a hand under your nose, and then unlock the door. Jane enters the room rather explosively while Deedee trails behind with more caution. Before anything else, Jane hugs you, sets your head onto her shoulder and gives a few firm pats to the back of your hair. She smells like the wet leaves, dark soil, and the twilight breeze of the woods.

Together, you sit on the bed. Jane hands over your journal, though it doesn’t carry the familiarity it once did before Suri had read it. Instead of a release, it resembles a burden. You don’t even open it or whisk through the pages for good measure. Seeing the words will surely grasp your embarrassment by its neck and uproot it straight toward your chest, and you’ll have another death-grip on the sheets.

“Suri was hiding it in one of her big jewelry boxes.” Jane explains, shaking her head disapprovingly.

Deedee tucks a curl of blonde hair behind her ear. “Her and Blair gathered all their things and left. Just stuffed their suitcases and stormed out the front.”

You connected the nine o’clock commotion to the screeching car. At first, you aren’t sure what to make of the situation. Suri, as much as she adored to act high and mighty, hadn’t offered even the tritest apology. Blair, who had always seemed caught in Suri’s shadow, a disciple who marched a one-way street, tucked her tail and ran right along with her. In a way, it’s pitiful more than anything.

Jane taps a finger against her lip. “Tommy didn’t read it, did he?”

Deedee tucks her knees in to her chest. “Doubt it. He can’t keep a secret, and Suri isn’t an idiot. She must’ve left him out on purpose.”

Clutching her fist tight, Jane sighs. “Honestly, I’ve never met someone so insecure. And deluded. Some people aren’t worth a bag of bread.”

You manage to chuckle at that. Jane is right after all. Contorting yourself to be liked in the eyes of someone who you know nothing about, there’s something toxic that comes with it. You realize there’s no point in bending until you break.

“Deedee,” glancing toward the fair-skinned girl, her cheeks suddenly colouring pomegranate-red, you ask, “did something happen between you and Suri?”

“Well…” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a blue barrette, popping it open and closed nervously, “I’m sure you know we went to the same high school and everything. Ash Hills. Before Suri was close with Blair or Tommy, I was a good friend of hers. But… She started treating me different when Tommy came into the picture. She would try to embarrass me in front of him. Bring up old stories I hated. Then she told me I shouldn’t even talk to him. It was messy, and ugly, and terrible.” 

Swallowing loudly, Deedee clicks the barrette again. “Suri always sort of kept Tommy on the outside. I think he’s seen glimpses of how shallow she is, but he doesn’t know the full extent. I’ll have to talk to him.”

Jane scratches the scar on her nose. “I’m sure everyone will jump to update him once he wakes up from his nap. Everyone’s blabbing about it down there.”

Great, you think, exactly what I need, everyone knowing my business.

Casting a sharp look to your journal, you sigh, “I always thought there was some weird tension between you and Suri. Now I know why.”

“I didn’t want to think she was still the same.” Deedee admits. She uses the barrette to pin back a thin section of hair. “But I guess she’s just an airhead.”

“Sweet at first, then awfully salty.” Jane agrees. “I only knew bits of how controlling and obsessive she is because of Mingyu. She’s totally two-faced, and I’m relieved they’re over. He can be too kind for how own good sometimes. I’m just glad she’s packed her damn bags.”

“Yeah,” you sniffle, “she doesn’t deserve to step foot on a runway.”

Jane snorts, chuckling through her nose. “Believe me, a sidewalk is the only place she’ll be strutting. As long as the universe is merciful for once.”

Glancing at your lap, you see Jane’s hand grab yours, giving it a tight squeeze that convinces you everything will pass. For some reason, you imagine the plain expression of expectancy covering Caroline’s face when she hears about this drama. She definitely has a knack for developing certain senses about people. Deedee leaves the room to investigate on whether or not Tommy is awake yet, but she places a candy on the bedside table right before slipping out the door: a crinkly gold wrapper with a hard caramel inside. Jane stays a few minutes longer, waiting to hear if there’s anything you need, if you want to leave early the next morning, but you shake your head no. Only three days are left until the lake house is empty again.

You might as well stay.

CHAPTER 29: ASHES TO DUST

Around two in the morning, you decide to give up on sleeping. Your eyes just won’t stay shut, and every minute or so they flutter open, gauging the black space and shadows. Careful in movement despite Jane’s ability to sleep like a log, you grab your journal and tiptoe downstairs. You take the matchbox which sits in a kitchen drawer.

Wandering down to the beach, your vision is able to adjust in the moonlight, though you see everything through mute and dark blue shades. At last, you stumble across the circle of rocks placed in the sand by you and Seokmin all those weeks ago, when everyone had gathered outside for a bonfire. There’s still some shards of wood, dry leaves, twigs, and moss which lump together in the blackened pit. Striking a match against the rough strip, a crackle hits the air and your face becomes illuminated. You bend down and stick the match near some dry leaves. The fire quickly sizzles across them, makes them curl and disintegrate, before slowly crawling up the wood. You stuff the small box into the sand.

Then, you open your journal to the very first page, your angry scribbling hardly readable as you ranted about that one, particularly horrible customer. It takes nothing more than a curt tug to rip out the paper. You let it float directly into the fire where the ink is charred in mere seconds. The page you just held in your hand is now completely erased, apart from a few black, smoking flecks. And the routine continues exactly like that, tearing out page after page, letting them soak in the hot, orange light until they’re gone forever. You don’t feel empty or poignant about it.

More than anything, you feel relaxed, like a key has just turned the lock on your diaphragm, and you can breathe properly again.  

It doesn’t surprise you that later on, as you progress through your written entries, you hear footsteps behind you. Whenever you can’t sleep, it seems like Mingyu can’t either, which has brought him outside into the coolness, staring over your shoulder at the fire and the black water of the lake. In fact, he’s standing awfully close, close enough that his chin has suddenly nestled onto your shoulder.

“Did you hear about what happened?” You ask him, not bothering to hide the wobbliness in your voice. He already knows how you feel about him anyways.

He nods. “Mmhm, through Seokmin.”

Separating another page from the book spine, you allow it to float down onto the fire, the edges immediately searing and crumpling inward.

“And you don’t think it’s a bad idea for me to destroy every page?”

“I think you’re just doing what feels right.” Mingyu shrugs.

Compared to the evening, when he’d been outside your door banging his fist, begging to see you, for you to talk to him, he’s composed now, and it’s sort of peculiar how your emotions have always fallen into synch.

You rip out another page. “Do you want to read this one before it’s gone?” Comes your offer. “It’s about you, when you carried me back to the house after I hurt my ankle.” He’s silent at first, so you assure him you don’t care anymore.

His head lifts from your shoulder and he accepts the paper.

“Here’s another one,” you stick the paper behind you, “it’s when you dragged me into the water and kept asking about my journal.”

Mingyu holds both in his hands, reading each one.

“I’m guessing there’s more.” He says as his eyes gloss over the words.

“Yeah, you were a pretty big topic.” Dropping more pages into the fire, you chew your cheek and mumble, “big enough for Suri to think I caused your breakup.”

At that, Mingyu huffs, a short burst of laughter. The pages he’d been holding swoop down and get absorbed by the flames, adding to the black flakes which spot the sand surrounding the pit. You have yet to look back at him, until you’re setting the last few pages free. Somehow, you can feel the strength of his gaze from behind when he says those words so nonchalantly, like it’s nothing at all:

“It was because of you.”

As though he’d pulled some metaphorical trigger, you finally turn around and catch his eyes directly. He uses a finger to pull some of the black fringe from his forehead, and a small smile which you can’t exactly read has tapered his mouth.

“I didn’t really want to be with her anymore,” Mingyu admits, “even before I knew about the vase, about the journal, I was thinking it. I mean, we did have some good times together, good moments where she seemed, y’know, genuine. But then you came in. I feel things when I’m with you, that I realized I never felt with Suri.”

He tilts his head, grins, “in your words, I have a crush. On you.”

Something that resembles a lightning strike cracks inside you, full of heat and energy and electricity. You feel it in your fingertips as they start to twitch, in your toes as they begin to squirm, in your chest as it uncontrollably flutters.

Tilting your head at him, your mouth hovers open blankly for a few seconds, and then you find your words. “I don’t know if I should punch you or kiss you.”

Mingyu reaches for your wrist, grasping it softly and pulling you in close.

“I think you should punch me later,” he whispers with a smirk, his forehead nudging against yours, “and kiss me now.”

It takes a moment before his voice clicks in your mind. In fact, you aren’t even sure if this is reality. Is this really moonlight hitting your skin? Is there really a fire crackling and popping behind you? Is the dancing breeze really curling through your hair? But, Mingyu seems real. He seems firm and alive and warm. Deciding to trust your instincts, you press your mouth to his, slowly at first, like you’re testing the temperature of something that could be red hot. Your eyes shut and there is only a colourless void, sound. He pecks you softly in return. You kiss him again, stronger.

Mingyu pushes back, his mouth slanting against yours, wedging deeper, which draws you to bite his lip. It’s an accidental bite, though it’s just the right amount of gentle and erotic to ignite some sort of spark in the boy. His hand cups your cheek while the other sits tightly against the small dip in your lower spine. You drop the journal into the sand, a carcass that had been stripped of all its bones, and run your fingers through his black hair like you used to imagine in your daydreams. The texture is smooth and thick, with fronds gliding between your fingers effortlessly, until you try a sharp tug. At that, Mingyu cracks.

His arms fasten with an impressive strength around your waist. He lifts you up while you separate your mouth from his, taking a big breath of the cold night.

The next surface your back hits is his bed.

CHAPTER 30: FEVER | SMUT WARNING

You’re nervous. Undeniably. 

This isn’t something you could have ever imagined, and it’s all happening so fast. As your head rests on Mingyu’s pillow while his tongue traces and swirls against the side of your neck, you blink up at the ceiling, dimly lit and fuzzy. You can’t understand why the ceiling looks like it’s been wildly smudged. But then the boy’s knee slips in between your thighs, presses right at the apex, and the ceiling scatters with these smattered dots. It’s a sign of your pleasure, you realize, a high that rushes through you like a warm flare. Mingyu returns to your mouth again. You expect the kiss to be sloppy or rushed, though your brow raises in surprise when Mingyu continues his soft pressure.

The rapid beating in your heart subsides ever so slightly, and the nerves slowly begin to trickle out. It seems that he doesn’t want to rush, like he’s giving you time to question if this is something you truly want. When his knee slips back out from between your thighs and his lips leave yours in a quiet pop, you feel this powerful ache in every inch of your body. Despite the nervousness, there’s certainty too.

Mingyu’s eyes are round and glistening as he gazes down at you.

“I don’t want you to think you have to do this.” He says tenderly.

As you wipe beside your nose to dust off what feels like an itch, you note that your hand trembles. Mingyu leans further away.

“Seriously, I won’t be upset or anything,” the boy smiles, drawing back the hair tumbling over his forehead,  “It’s not even about me.”

You can’t help but laugh with the butterflies in your stomach. “C’mon, you won’t be even a little upset? What if I find that insulting?”

His head drops down, and he half-sighs, half-chuckles.

“Well, of course I’ll be a little miffed.” Mingyu sits back, still straddling your lap, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m just trying to be a decent person, here.”

“No, I appreciate that.” You grin.

“Besides,”  the boy smirks, “I still have my left ha—”

“I get it,” comes your flustered interruption, the heat licking fiercely at the underside of your skin, “I think I could assume that much.”

He rolls his eyes and smiles. Then he leans down further, pauses, leans down a little more, pauses again. With his hands still stuffed in his pockets, Mingyu is finally close enough to kiss you, a very sweet and reassuring kiss that makes you grin into it like a complete fool. He hovers just a few inches above your face.

“So, you’re down?” Mingyu asks in a comfortable but gravelly voice.

“Yes.” You nod up at him, practically beaming like the sun itself.

“One-hundred percent?”

Another nod. “One-hundred percent.”

For some reason, the boy just blinks at you, as though he’s contemplating.

“What’s wrong?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “Nothing.” However, a slow, lascivious smirk begins to dance from one corner of his lip to the other, his tongue drawing over his teeth, and you know his mind must have suddenly gushed with inappropriate thoughts. “It’s just,” he begins, “you’re going to have to be quiet. Really quiet. As in I might have to put a hand over your mouth or put your face in the pillow to stop you from crying.”

Your eyes immediately widen and the question stumbles out embarrassingly fast, a dead giveaway at your inexperience, “I’m going to be crying? Good… crying?”

“Oh,” Mingyu purrs like he’s cooing at someone rather dumb, though you can’t deny the rush that shoots straight to your core when he places his elbow next to your head and whispers in your ear, “it’s better if I show you, isn’t it?”

And then he giggles, which sounds like the tinkling of tiny bells. You can’t believe him, how easily he flips between smoulderingly attractive and an innocent puppy whose just trekked dirt throughout the house. Before you can even make one last humorous comment, Mingyu has sunk his canines into a pliable spot a little ways down from your ear. You gasp as a low burn tingles from the bite. He marks and sucks and licks his way down, has you squirming underneath him, releasing small grunts which you can’t seem to muffle in any way, even with effort.

His eyes flash toward you.

“I want to say something, but I won’t.” Mingyu remarks, his hands pushing up your t-shirt inch by inch. Your nerves are starting to return and rustle like a lump of autumn leaves. A breath has to crawl into your chest before you can respond.

“Is it a stupid joke?” You raise a brow in question.

Sitting back so that Mingyu can help you pull off your top, he juts out his lip.

“No,” he mumbles, gathering the fabric by its hem and sliding it gently over your head, “I was going to say you should be quiet, but I like your noises too much.”

The shirt falls onto the floor with a lightweight thud.

“So, should I be quiet or not?”

Mingyu shrugs. “Do you want everyone in the house to know you’re getting fucked? By me? This bed creaks enough as it is. Slaps the wall like a bitch too.”

Falling back against the sheets, your hands come to rest over your stomach while you realize the double edge of Mingyu’s words. Now that you think about it, you had heard a bit of squeaking, some light thuds every now and then in the past, that Mingyu or Suri always bore a visible hickie the next morning. The fact those tidbits were just clicking now makes you feel like everything goes over your head.

“I guess you would know.” The comments seems like it should sting, but you truthfully don’t mean it in such a way. It’s a mere observation.

However, Mingyu can’t help being so soft. The mischievous glint from earlier blips from his gaze, replaced by a gentler sheen you can’t describe. You just know it makes your stomach flip upside down and there’s some deeper emotion behind it.

“I promise I’m not treating you like some rebound, or someone I can add to a stupid body list. I want—”

Holding up a hand to stop him, you shake your head.

“You don’t have to explain yourself. If I thought that, I wouldn’t still be under you, Mingyu. Or in this bedroom.” Your lips curl in warmth and your hand reaches out to stroke his firm thigh. Visibly, you see him relax, the tension leaving his body.

Once the boy peels off his own long sleeve, his mouth returns to your neck, suckling at the flesh while his tongue softly probs and soothes the bruises. His big hands cover your chest, palms pressing down over your plain-coloured bra, squeezing, massaging. Mingyu distracts you with a heated kiss, one where your saliva mingles and your lips swell and your temperature raises tenfold. Then, a hand slips under the padding, his fingers rubbing against your nipple, a slight pinch and tug, his thumb circling around it afterward to ease the dull sting of the pleasure. When he separates your mouths, you mewl in frustration. You watch with glassy eyes as Mingyu slides his tongue across his fingertips before moving them back under the bra.

The added wetness to the contact lures another gasp. Except this time, it’s his name, whispered sharply, with a lot of breath. He rubs your nipple again, gives himself a moment to take in your knotted brow and tightly shut eyes, only to deliver a slow lick over the mound of your other breast. Needing to feel the warmth from his mouth, you undo the bra’s clasp and remove it almost in an impatient manner, like you need his hands and tongue on your bare skin more than water and food. The very second Mingyu laps over a perked bud, you begin to squirm and dig your feet into the mattress, turn your cheek into the pillow and try your absolute hardest not to whine.

He switches between flicks and flat, broad licks. You don’t think. A hand flies up to his hair and you tug at the black locks like it’s going to keep you centered.

“It f-feels so good, Mingyu,” you attempt to whisper, though your voice cracks a bit in the middle as his teeth teasingly graze the plump skin.

“Shhh,” he reminds you, palming your breasts with gentle movements, “a little quieter, sweetheart. Try to keep your voice as low as mine.”

“It’s hard.” you admit, toughly biting your bottom lip.

It doesn’t help that you make the mistake of peering down, only to glimpse at Mingyu pressing a peck to the space between your ribs, his body inching lower and lower, his kisses getting a little hotter and wetter. The dense pink shaded across his cheeks and the ruffled mess of his hair stirs the pressure inside you. Unable to imagine what his tongue might feel like, lapping right against your flesh, right against your most sensitive parts, laving and sucking and flicking. A shiver blasts like an icy breeze down your spine and you suddenly jerk. Mingyu raises his head, grinning.

“And what on earth are you thinking about?” He murmurs lowly.

Knowing you’ll melt, your eyes dart everywhere but his dark gaze.

“Something…” You scrunch up your nose. “Something very inappropriate.”

“I think I can tell what it is,” Mingyu’s fingers hook into the hem of your shorts, and his voice is thick with desire, “I’ve played this out in my head before.”

You nearly choke. In fact, you almost slam up in bed, though some unbelievable willpower keeps you glued to the mattress. He must note your struggling to remain calm, because Mingyu quickly snorts and rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, Miss Five Year Crush. Don’t tell me you’ve never pictured this.”

The pulse in your wrist almost has the vein turning bulbous beneath your skin, and you’re surprised you haven’t liquidized into a pool of goo.

“Well, I have. You’re just upfront.”

His gaze shifts like he’s looking at the ceiling corner, and then the boy is agreeing, nodding his head matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, you can say me admitting to fantasies about eating you out in my bed is upfront.” Mingyu smirks, baring his teeth before he continues. “I needed something to think about whenever I used that big fancy shower.” 

“Oh my god, you did not just say that.” You deadpan.

The boy laughs deviously. “Those were some of the best showers I’ve ever taken. All thanks to you.”

Grabbing a random pillow, you bop him on the head. This sudden splurge of information will end you before Mingyu gets the chance.

“You talk too much.”

“If I can say one more thing,” the boy blows the hair from his eyes, “I should preface that this is the part where you’ll cry.”

He begins to remove the shorts, at first tugging them off your hips, then down your legs with the help of you raising your pelvis accordingly. You aren’t sure how helpful Mingyu’s warning is, because the anxious pounding from before has greatly amplified and your toes are already curling and wriggling like caterpillars. He nudges one of your thighs aside, plants dizzying, full kisses up toward the inner corner of skin, a sure damp spot already formed on your underwear. There’s this strange stickiness in your throat and you have to create a rumbling sound to clear it.

Mingyu lifts his head, looks at you with concern. The sight of him between your thighs is so jarring that you end up pinching yourself to calm down.

“I didn’t mean to scare you with that warning,” his eyes are thoughtful, considerate, “I really meant what I said before. You don’t have to.”

“It’s not that,” you shake your head, “it’s just a little… nerve-wracking to have you down there. Imagining it is a lot different from the real thing, y’know.”

The boys nod his head, smiles comfortingly.

“I know.” He mumbles in his brassy voice. The warmth of his breath touches through the fabric and you have to supress a visible shudder. “Just lay back and close your eyes,” Mingyu instructs, speaking gently, “that’s all you have to do, promise.”

And you trust Mingyu. Readjusting your head against the pillow, your eyes soon flutter shut, and you take in a big inhalation which releases the tension in your bones. Just before the boy’s mouth switches to your other thigh to place an upward trail of kisses, an intense tingling expands in your tummy when he affirms you in a voice especially deep and especially melting: “good girl.” It results in another straw of composure to be plucked from the haystack, though you merely continue to breathe and raise your hips when you sense Mingyu’s pleased with his teasing, now wanting to remove your underwear. As soon as they’re slid off your ankles, you swallow dryly.

The boy mumbles something about how pretty you are, how extremely crazy you make him, yet you don’t quite register half of it because within the next moment, his tongue drags along your core like he’s licking at his favourite popsicle. And you can feel everything. Everything. The velvet texture and heat of his tongue, how it coats your skin in a sopping wet sheen, the instantaneous euphoria as the muscle slightly pulls up at your clit and suddenly you’ve never felt anything better. His hands clutch your waist, holding onto you firmly. Then, his tongue sweeps again, this time trailing along your left fold, making a few calculated circles at your bud, and licking softly down, following the right fold. You get the impression that Mingyu has more than one technique up his sleeve, and that you better learn to bite your lip.

But it’s difficult. Perhaps even more difficult than every time you had to look this boy square in the face and pretend your heart wasn’t beating like a war drum.

It’s particularly troublesome when he angles his tongue a certain way, catching the glistened edges of your slit or ravaging your clit until you’re afraid this pressure in your abdomen will crack you in half. Though a few squeaks escape the tightly confined pressing between your top and bottom lip, you think you might just survive this pleasure without too much commotion. Of course, this possibility is deflated the second Mingyu coils his arms around your waist, a foreboding action which isn’t fully realized until he buries his face deeper into your core, his mouth then latching onto your clit. At this point, you nearly scream.

Nearly.

Sharp thinking has the flesh of your wrist wedged between your teeth, where you chomp down in an attempt to mitigate the cry. The worrisome part is the boy’s damning persistence. Mingyu continues his suckling, won’t loosen his hold in the slightest, subjecting you to a sheer amount of hedonism that has your arousal glimmering on the sheets, his rosy lips and chin. You’re forced to accept that gnawing on your own wrist isn’t going to alleviate anything, and before your mind is aware of the orgasm, this staggering high flows throughout your body in a tidal wave.

“Fuck, Mingyu!” You whine, mushing your cheek into the pillow, hoping your words are at least half-muffled.

A throbbing sensation overwhelms your core. His arms are an unbreakable latch, ensuring your pelvis doesn’t thrust too far up or that you twist away from him, because he certainty isn’t going to stop just because you’ve hit a climax. You feel his slippery tongue, how it presses a hungry lick from the honey at your entrance to your sensitive, flaring bud. Your hands cramp from clawing too harshly at the sheets.

“A-Aren’t you—Ah! God—aren’t you going to give me a moment?”

He chuckles, and the grittiness of the vibration travels straight into your core. Mingyu’s eyes dart upward for a split second, blackened and twinkling behind his messy hair. A scant remark follows, though it’s mumbled, quick, like Mingyu can’t stand even one second away from your taste, or having you mewl beneath his tongue.

“M’not done with you yet,” he grunts, “so just sit back,” he slips his arms under your thighs, gives you a hard tug which has moved your heat even further toward his face, “and let me lick this cute pussy until I’m satisfied, okay?”

You gulp, loudly, and nestle your head back into the pillow.

At that, Mingyu further exposes your core by spreading you open with his thumbs, plants a sweet kiss to your left hipbone, and then spits right onto your clit.

“Thank you.” He has the audacity to grin.

For certain, you aren’t going to survive this night without hot tears pumping down your cheeks. Or without making a sound loud enough to echo across the harbour. By the time of what feels like your third orgasm (you aren’t entirely sure, the pleasure sometimes bleeds together, then tingles back into pain, but slowly builds into slickness and arousal again), you’re like a limp towel. Gathering clumps of the boy’s tresses in your fingers and pulling at his scalp has turned from a tingly sting to a meekness that’s hardly even there. He doesn’t show much response to it.

A glisten stripes down your chest and sweat tinges along your hairline. Right at the slight dip in your collarbone, there’s a distinctive coldness, where your tears had dripped and collected as Mingyu flicked, swirled, and consistently rubbed his tongue until he’d brought you to the point of sobbing. Your thighs are trembling, still bracketed by his arms. It had been during your third climax, at the blurry tip, when you couldn’t mute your noises any longer. A squeal burst from the back of your throat and your spine arched from the bed. It felt as though you were not in control whatsoever, but that this rush under your skin was moving for you, making your limbs twitch and shake. Now, Mingyu cleans the last of your arousal, every little drop.

When he finally releases the strict hold he had on your thighs, the bend in your legs drops and this burning ache resembles a sensation close to pins and needles.

The boy brushes the damp hair from his eyes, licks the last bit of your cum glimmering on his chin into his mouth, and smiles like he just ate a bowl full of candy. He doesn’t even appear the least bit tired.

“I guess I should stop now, before you pass away.”

You take in a huge breath, just barely possess the energy to cock your head up at him, disbelief colouring your face. “What? Are you saying you could keep going?”

Mingyu laughs, now his turn to exemplify disbelief. “It hasn’t even been an hour yet. You just cum really fast.”

Choking on thin air, your eyeballs nearly pop from their sockets.

“I-I, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Your body just reacted to how good it was feeling. Did I make it sound like it was bad?”

Wiping the sweat from your forehead, you sigh, “I don’t know, I guess so. Is it supposed to be better if I hold off? I don’t really know how.”

The boy returns to leaning over your body. He sticks a small kiss to your cheek, then your lips, and shakes his head. You appreciate that Mingyu doesn’t seem to care about how guileless you are. Something about it eases you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that in an insulting way.” He smiles softly, his fangs poking out. “And it doesn’t matter if you can or can’t. Whatever. Doesn’t change the fact you felt really good, right?”

You nod. “Mmhm, you’re right.”

Mingyu lowers his head again, mapping another kiss against your lips. It’s a sweet contact at first, though he squeaks when you give his shoulder a smack.

“But I don’t know how you expect me to live through… through your dick. I think I’m too sensitive or something. You didn’t think this all the way!”

There’s a small pause, then the two of you are breaking into a giggle fest, where Mingyu eventually brings a finger to his lips as a reminder to keep quiet.

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he admits in a whisper, looking sheepish, “but even if I did think this all the way, it probably still would’ve come to this. You think I’m not gonna spend all the time I can eating you out? Really?” He makes a tsking sound.

Warmth floods your entire face.

“So what now?” You study his glowing eyes. “Grace period?”

“We could…” Mingyu trails off, sounding awfully uncertain.

“But?”

He almost winces as the words tumble from his mouth. “I’m so unbelievably hard that the most I can go without turning you around and fucking you into the bed is probably a minute if you let me. Now fifty-seven seconds. And dropping.”

Mingyu quirks an eyebrow. “My left hand is pretty good too.”

“Oh, shut up about your hand,” you swat at him playfully, “I guess I can’t make the big desperate puppy wait. Do you have a condom in here somewhere?”

“Top drawer, in the nightstand right beside your head.” He directs.

You lean over and pull the compartment open, your fingers eventually brushing against what feels like a smooth, foil packet. The second you hand the protection over to the boy, Mingyu holds it between his teeth while he removes himself from straddling you. His pants are shucked straight off, followed by his underwear, and you decide to not even spend one extra second looking toward his pelvis because it will only clog you with more nervous energy. That one split-second glance is enough, you decide. No wonder Suri was so territorial over him.

His head tilts back when he at last wraps a hand around himself, lending a few pumps which seems to alleviate his near pain. This deep rumbling emanates from his chest, followed by a sharp breath sucked between his teeth.

Suddenly, the heat from beforehand slicks your entrance again, and you realize just how badly you want this to happen, that you can relate to Mingyu in the sense that, if he doesn’t fuck you sooner or later, your sanity is going to decay. Despite the pool collecting at the apex of your thighs and the thundering in your every muscle, you still don’t spare too many looks at where his hand glides up and down. You’re lucky he hadn’t seen the initial expression on your face either. Drawing himself to a more composed state, Mingyu finally settles back over you.

He tilts his head, grins a bit empathetically.

“Seen a ghost or something?” The boy questions.

You crinkle your nose. “Definitely not a ghost… Genuinely – and please don’t laugh at me – are you going to fit? I know it sounds stupid, but…”

“Hmm, for everyone who’s asked me that,” he braces an elbow next to your head, “it’s always worked out. Just gotta remember to stay relaxed and breathe.” His hand cups quickly to the side of your face, a short but tender kiss buried at the space between your brows. “There’s nothing to worry about, okay? I’ll be slow, then we’ll see how we feel. You get me, sweetheart?”

Your arms wrap around his neck, and you smile. “I get you.”

Mingyu decides to take an extra precaution in order to help soothe you. He gently slides his index finger past your entrance, studying your countenance closely as he wriggles the digit inside you. His middle finger sinks in soon after, and you feel a scissoring motion stretch against the sponginess. It’s a weird sensation in the beginning; not pleasurable, but not uncomfortable or painful either. However, only a minute later and Mingyu’s finger brushes against a certain spot, one he has to push slightly deeper to find, and your hips jerk perfectly into his movement.

A smile has already crept onto his mouth as he lowers his head next to your ear, a whisper tickling your skin. “Think I found a nice little pressure point.”

He exercises the area by rubbing his fingertips, and your nails immediately plunge into the back of the boy’s neck. You’re even tempted to chomp on his shoulder if he doesn’t thwart his motion soon, because you sense a moan rising in your chest.

“Okay,” Mingyu slowly withdraws his fingers, coated in your slick, “I think I gave you a good stretch. You ready to move on?”

“Yeah. If there are any damages, I’ll bill you.”

His hand curls around himself, and he peers downward to help guide toward your entrance. Mingyu chuckles so casually at your comment, meanwhile you’ve just gaped in the biggest breath upon feeling his head glide up and down your core, ensuring he’s soaked in your arousal. You wonder how enjoyable it is for him to observe your facial expressions, because he’s wearing a smirk that’s almost gleaming as the head of his length runs along your clit and your eyes squinch. He repeats the action a few times, then settles himself right at your slit, just nestled inside the tiniest amount. He requires his hand to keep himself from slipping out, but once he’s situated in past the head, Mingyu takes both of his hands and interlocks them with yours.

“You’re still a little bit tense, angel,” Mingyu murmurs, nuzzling a kiss to the crown of your hair, “take in a breath, slowly, or else it’ll sting more. I don’t want to hurt you.” Audibly, you can interpret that it’s straining not to just slam himself inside.

Attempting to loosen yourself, you breathe in, then out, feeling Mingyu slide in a bit further, the pressure experienced against your walls unlike anything else in the world. There is a notable sting, and this tingling trickles throughout your entire body, warm enough to provoke the sweat glittering on your forehead. Tears prick against your eyes as Mingyu nudges himself further, though he kisses all over your face, trying to distract you. His fingers slot even tighter with yours, squeezing them comfortingly.

“M’almost there,” Mingyu grunts, proceeding to capture your mouth in a passionate kiss, “n’you’re doing so well, baby. You look so beautiful like this.”

Without issuing the act yourself, your walls clamp around him upon hearing his praises, and you lift your head to steal his mouth back, kissing the boy again, sucking on his bottom lip while you feel him push unbelievably deep inside you. Once he’s properly situated, the boy waits a moment just to be certain. His tempo begins very slowly, with soft thrusts that allow your body the time to really feel him, how he drags against your silk-like walls, the warmth of every stretch, a slight numbness which mingles into pleasure and suddenly you’re burrowing your face in his shoulder. Once he presses in to the hilt, Mingyu grinds his hips with a dizzying precision, and you squeeze around him with such a firm and suctioning grip that he laughs.

“Well,” he stares at your clouded eyes from behind the messy curtain of his black hair, “you’ve got a fucking vice grip on my cock right now, you know that?”

“I can’t help it,” you squeak as quietly as possible, “do you expect me to take you that effortlessly? I’m hardly keeping it together.”

A darkness seems to shift across his eyes, and suddenly you wish those words had never trembled from your mouth. Mingyu unlocks your fingers, instead leans above you with just one hand stamped next to your head. You feel his length being pulled out, followed by an embarrassingly wet squelch that has your neck and cheeks burning like they’ve been crisped by the glow of a fire.

“Turn onto your stomach.” Mingyu lends a simple instruction.

You’re rather slow to comply, considering each bone in your body is still plagued by the earlier orgasms from when he’d tongued between your thighs. For a second, Mingyu handles you with a bit of impatience, practically rolling you over himself and dragging you closer to him by your hips. There’s a fluttering feeling in your tummy, and you can’t deny the prospect of him manhandling you like a flimsy ragdoll has created a new pulse lower in your region. At first, you’re confused as to why Mingyu wanted this new position, though it becomes instantly clear when he begins fitting his length back inside your heat. He practically lies overtop you. One hand covers your mouth while the other settles at the back of your head.

His lips feather at the cusp of your ear, and he whispers using a tone that’s low and sickly sweet, like honey, “I know you can take it, baby. Because you’re such a good little girl, aren’t you? Only for me?” 

He ruts himself into you harshly, and the bedframe whacks in a hollow thud against the wall. A loud whimper rushes up your throat, though it’s positively muffled by Mingyu’s hand clasping over your mouth.

“I’ll have to keep you quiet though,” he growls, nipping your ear, “nice and quiet. Unless I get desperate enough to hear how you sound crying my name, then maybe I’ll let you squeal. Does that sound good, pretty girl?”

His hand lifts from your mouth.

“Y-Yes, Mingyu.” You stutter, eager to feel him pounding into you.

The palm shifts back over, and you’re muffled again.

“There it is already.” The boy grits from between his teeth, his hips jerking against your skin, his length creating a delicious friction with your tightness which can’t seem to slow him down as it did before. “I think my name was made to come from that pretty mouth of yours, sweetheart, hm? I’d fucking love to hear you screaming ‘n crying for me. Makes me w’nna cum just thinking about it. That’s what you do to me, devious little girl.”

Despite your physicality, it feels like you should be a puddle, a complete puddle left to glisten on the bed. Or maybe nothing but a pile of ashes, because you don’t understand how your body hasn’t combusted from the dirty wishes escaping the boy’s mouth. He doesn’t change his pace, only deepens the groove to his thrusts, looking for that sensitive spot he massaged into before using his fingers.

A few bed thumps against the wall later, and Mingyu strikes it. He knows instantly, as you attempt a desperate whine into his palm and your body convulses beneath him, like the burst of pleasure was too much. He digs into it again, the hand braced against the back of your skull shoving your head down further toward the pillow. The beaded tears at your eyes roll onto his fingers as he continues to abuse the golden spot, nailing it repeatedly with his deep, consistent thrusts. The springs in the mattress are squeaking like they’ve been broken. Your own hands claw at the sheets, every single sound of yours drowned by the palm clamped to your mouth. Mingyu chuckles breathily from overtop. Somehow, you sense that he’s become even harder.

“Think you might cum one more time, sweetheart?” He hums, his voice right beside your ear, gritty and rough and turning your insides to mush. “It’s okay, m’gonna cum too. You just feel so good around my cock, baby. So so good. In fact—” his hand lifts from your mouth and you immediately suck in a breath of warm, muggy air. The bedpost keeps knocking into the wall, harder and harder.

“Say it,” Mingyu practically snarls, sneaking a hand underneath your body to brush circles against your exhausted bud, “I don’t care how loud you are. I wanna hear how well I’m fucking you, baby.” The pleasure which radiates from him stroking your g-spot has you starry-eyed and incoherent. Your fingers have become too slippery for even a reasonable grip on the bedsheets, and the only thing you can feel is him pulsating inside you. With one last powerful rut of his hips, you buckle.

“Mingyu!” His name tears from your throat, a sob more than a moan, as you contract around him, milking his length until he’s tipped over his edge.

“Such a good girl.” He chuckles, the strength of his voice weakening. His head slumps into the crook of your shoulder, damp hair tickling your skin as he stutters again breathily, “ff-fuck, keep moaning for me, baby. D-Don’t stop.” 

However, you don’t need to be told. Even without the boy’s instruction, his name is the only thing you can repeat amongst the bliss and fogginess of the high. As your clit throbs under his fingers and your arousal drips out, leaking from around his length, you spew Mingyu’s name like a broken record. Your whimpers turn increasingly softer, until you’re just barely murmuring anything, your eyes already fluttering shut in the aftermath of such a riveting orgasm. It’s hardly even noticed when Mingyu’s weight disappears from your back as he discards his condom. By the time the mattress dips, signalling his return, you’re half-asleep, fading in and out of subconsciousness. You feel a hand on your shoulder, a gentle shake.

“You’re just tired right? Not passed out?” Mingyu inquires, all the authority and lust now cleared from his tone.

“M’just tired…” Comes your slurred response.

He grabs a folded blanket half-slumped off the very end of the bed and drags it over your bodies, wrapping you up like butterflies before they emerge from their cocoons. You possess just enough energy to roll onto your side and bury your face against Mingyu’s neck, inhaling a shallow breath of his scent. Once he clicks off the bedside lamp and the room falls with blackness, the boy tucks his arms around you and pulls you in closer to his body. Ever so faintly, you feel his knuckles grazing tenderly at the bottom dip in your spine, and the kiss he plants to your temple.

You fall asleep to the sound of the waves outside.

CHAPTER 31: THE PROBLEM WITH LOVE

Everything returns to you slowly, sluggishly. As you lay in bed, painted by the dim light of early morning, your mind wavers between whether or not last night was a dream. If it had been, then it’s certainly your most erotic, vivid dream by far, and rather than instantly blurring from your memory, it sticks out like something big and bold. But as time passes, your eyes flickering open, your brain shedding its mist, you realize this is not the bed you share with Jane. The armchair you’re currently staring at isn’t swallowed by your clothes, but holds a familiar black bag and a condensed tripod. Even the blanket keeping you toasty, it’s not the one Jane packed.

Finally, it clicks. Last night was as real the breaths you’re taking in. When you turn over, there is nothing but slightly strewn white sheets. Emptiness, or maybe sadness, consumes you for a moment. What if Mingyu is out pacing in the corridor, fingers digging through his mussed locks, regretting his decision? Peering toward the washroom door, you spot a thinning layer of droplets on the mirror. Did he already shower? Pop downstairs to make himself breakfast? It still feels early, as though the sun hasn’t risen, but casts a deep blue glow across the sky in its first cracks of light and heat. The house is incredibly quiet, enough to hear a pin drop in the hallway. You don’t move a muscle, just stare at the ceiling and pluck at a thread beneath the blanket which feels like it’s coming loose. Then the stairway begins creaking.

The door knob turns, and you see Mingyu stepping into the room, holding two bowls with the spoons sliding around. He taps the door closed using his foot.

“Awake at last?” He questions, his voice still raspy with sleep.

You rub at your eye until it speckles with white dots.

“Hardly. How early is it?”

Mingyu sits on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. He’s dressed warmly, in a hoodie and his sweats, which is when you realize just how cold it’s become. But then you spot the window behind the armchair, open just a crack, filling the room with fresh but nippy air. It engenders the emptiness from before. You think about the calmness after the sex, burying your head against his neck, bodies pressed together tightly, his arms squeezed around you like he could never let you go.

“Uh, six-something,” the boy shrugs, “no one else is up yet.” He balances one of the bowls on his thigh. “Anyways, some Fruit Loops for you.”

You attempt to scoot up the bed, but this sharp ache suddenly strikes between your legs, resonates almost, like a clanging bell. Mingyu winces for you.

“Oops,” he grins sheepishly, “guess that’s my fault.”

After wrapping the blanket over your shoulders to hide from the cold, you take the cereal bowl off Mingyu’s lap, scooping up a spoonful of Fruit Loops. As much as you’d like to pout in his face or put on some adorable front to distract from the grogginess of your morning appearance, you’re too hungry to care. Skipping dinner last night is taking its effect. You shovel spoonful after spoonful of cereal into your mouth, hardly exchange a word with Mingyu until you’ve fished out every little piece and drank all the milk from the bowl. At last, you wipe the corners of your lips.

“If I’d known you’d be that hungry, I’d have made some pancakes or something.” Mingyu laughs, setting aside his own bowl.

“No sense going to all that trouble so early in the morning.” You sigh, squinting around the room, trying to spot your shorts or t-shirt. “Did you move my clothes somewhere? I need to get dressed.”

“They’re here.” Mingyu reaches down to the floor, then throws up the exact articles which he’d stripped from your body the night before.

You stare at them blankly for a moment, recalling how his kisses felt when they feathered so sweetly against your skin, how his arms weaved around your waist to hold you down while he brushed his tongue along your core. A chill pricks down your spine when you remember his words in your ear, his deep thrusts which scrambled all sense and articulacy. Afraid you might drool or shudder or portray the slightest hint as to what you’d just been reminiscing, you frame a straight face.

Mingyu sits on the edge of the bed as you slip back into your clothing, facing away from you. When he speaks, he sounds disappointed, and your heart falters.

“Gonna head back to your room already?”

The thing is, at this moment, you don’t know what Mingyu is to you, and you don’t suppose sleeping with him for one night is going to miraculously slap a label on whatever your relationship has become.

You like him—no, you love him. Are in love with him.

And it’s clear that he feels something toward you as well. Maybe if you were the same person as when you came to this lake house with Jane, then you would be stumbling all over your words, attempting to string together a single sentence which could somehow slam you two together. But you know it’s not like that. Despite Suri being shallow and sleuthing, Mingyu had still liked some part of her, some precious part that was able to shine bright enough to camouflage her ugly side. That part of Suri – the part Mingyu actually liked, loved, whatever – is not some obstacle he can simply jump over. Not some page he can immediately turn, where you’re all that occupies the next blank square.

He’s going to need to be alone. Think. And ponder if you really are the person in which he can see himself with next. Of course, it hurts. You’ve been patient, waiting, wore your heart on your sleeve the night you confessed to him. Besides, the grass is always greener on the other side. Mingyu could decide that the idea of being with you isn’t so glimmering and gold as it once seemed. But rather than crushing two things together, hoping they’ll magically stick, your connection needs to happen naturally. Perhaps Mingyu might not realize this fact right away. It could be why he sounds so disheartened that you’re dressing right now, preparing to leave his bedroom. Yet, you assume a small sliver of him understands.

Once you’re dressed, you drape your arms over Mingyu’s shoulders from behind. You squeeze him tight, feel his muscle and smell the lightness of coconut, stick a kiss on his cheek which lingers a second too long. Your heart aches terribly as he grabs your wrist to place a gentle peck in return.

“See you around.” Slides the soft whisper into his ear.

“Yeah, later.”

Walking carefully on your tiptoes, a hand against the wall to steady your movement, you return to your bedroom with Jane. She’s still fast asleep.

Exactly like you left her.

CHAPTER 32: THE NOTE

The last day. Packing day.

Opening every drawer, looking behind every cranny, bustling through your suitcase for the third time just to ensure you have all the items you came with. Really, you should have started packing the night before, though Caroline had reassured you at breakfast that it would be fine if you took a little longer than the others to leave. She had only arrived to see everyone out and lock up the whole house. You even gave Caroline a present. It’s a bracelet, with small bulbs of silver and smooth, cobalt blue stones, which you bought at the Discoverer’s Shop with Deedee. Despite the vase incident being dismissed, you couldn’t leave without gifting her at least something.

“You’re welcome back here any summer,” she had said, the rare slant of  a smile crossing her mouth, “though, if Jane is going to have another get-together, I advise she invite less people. Maybe just four next time.”

Outside, everyone is attempting to properly pack their suitcases into their friend’s vehicles, like a confusing game of Tetris. You and Jane manage to easily stack your belongings in her trunk, while a few bags containing extra clothes or souvenirs from Silver Lake lump in the backseat. It’s not a very bright day. The sky is covered by the greyish, cotton-looking clouds which seem infinite and impenetrable. An intermittent drizzle sprays down, and all the edges of the house, the vehicles, and trees have droplets slowly trickling off. There’s a tiny breeze, though it’s pleasant and whisks away some of the morning humidity. You embrace the cool sensation against your cheeks as Jane slides the last knapsack into the backseat.

Cluett walks by, carrying his skateboard under his arm, wearing a large, black jacket with a warm wool insulating at the collar. The beanie tugged over his head hides his buzzcut, and for some reason, he’s eating a yellow apple. You feel a bit disappointed you hadn’t gotten to know him better.

“Who are you going home with?” You ask him.

He takes another crisp chomp into his apple.

“Caroline,” sounds his mumbled response, “after she locks the house up and all that. She really likes that bracelet you gave her.”

You’re stunned at the information. Jane pulls her head out from the car, slamming the door shut and dusting her hands off.

“Caroline?” There’s a noticeable squeak in your tone. “You guys are good friends?”

“No,” Cluett drops his skateboard, planting his foot on it, “she’s my older sister.”

Again, you’re astonished, presume he’s joking. But Jane interjects, reading the question from your face, and promises the truth in his statement.

“Wow, how did that never come up?” You wonder.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, “we don’t seem like we should be related. She’s all ‘responsibility’ and ‘intellect’. And… I’m… Well I’m me.”

“That’s right,” Jane slaps him on the shoulder, “you’re definitely nothing alike. But that’s what everyone loves about you two.”

“Everyone?” You gawk. “I was the only one who didn’t know?”

Cluett shakes his head. “Probably not the only one. You think if Suri knew I was Caroline’s brother, she would have treated me the same? No, she hated me – which I definitely knew and took advantage of. I bet if you didn’t run her out of the house, then I would have. Eventually. Hopefully.”

He takes another bite from his golden apple and pushes off on his board, announcing that he’s going to wait for Caroline by the pillar. She emerges from the house and squints her eyes, like she’s searching for him. As soon as he pops out, Caroline makes him leave his board outside. She addresses him as Adrian, which couldn’t sound any stranger to your ears. You glance around the driveway while the rain softly patters; the huge, circular driveway, the kind you had always wanted as a kid, thinking of all the space there is to run around and ride your bicycle and throw a tennis ball against the garage when there was nothing else to do.

You spot Deedee and Zaria at one car, packing the last of their bags in the trunk, simultaneously figuring out how they are going to incorporate Tommy’s suitcase as well. It pokes out slightly, preventing the hood from closing. He spins a kick at the corner, his hair flopping over his eyes, attempting to nudge it in further. When it doesn’t budge, Zaria decides that Tommy’s suitcase will just have to sit next to him in the backseat. You’re going to miss Deedee, seeing her strawberry-pink cheeks and her chin-length, luminous blonde hair in the halls every day. She’ll be very busy this upcoming semester, studying aerodynamics and all these complicated physics terms that she tried explaining to you one night, though you were utterly confused.

But she had given you her number and promised to stay in touch.

However, your most painful goodbye is to Mingyu.

He saunters over, tucked into a navy-green coat with a dark hoodie underneath, moisture glittering in his black hair. Assuming that he’ll bid goodbye to Jane first, you press yourself against the side of the car to keep out of their way.

“Let me know how that dates goes with Jeonghan.” Mingyu says like a strict, overprotective father. “Should I hide in the bushes? Maybe show up to the same restaurant and hide behind some newspaper, in case he tries anything funny?”

Jane pulls up the hood on her jacket, stuffing her puffy hair beneath it while she rolls her eyes. “I can think of better things you should be doing apart from hiding in some dusty bushes across the street. One: literally anything else.”

He laughs, rubbing a hand beneath his nose. “Hey, I’m only making sure. Just because he gave you that tattoo doesn’t mean he’s worth a million bucks.”

“I’m always careful. Always. You know that.” Jane replies, sounding resolute but endearing at the same time.

“I know.” Mingyu says. “Just looking out for you.”

He steps forward and wraps the girl into a big hug, similar to the one he gave her the day you all reunited at the diner. Still, you keep quiet, only observe with a smile from the corner of your eye. Mingyu sets a palm on top of Jane’s hood and gives her head a quick rub after they separate. It appears like they want to say more to each other, but then you hear a desperate call from across the driveway – it’s Seungkwan, and he needs help fitting his abundant suitcases. Chan hasn’t even stuffed one of his bags into the car yet. It’s like Seungkwan brought his entire wardrobe. Jane announces that she better help them before Seungkwan gets a little scratch on his pinky.

Now that you’re standing alone with Mingyu, it reminds you of something tucked into the fabric of your past. 

Graduation Day. You’re able to envision the corner you were standing in, the noisiness in the foyer as it swarmed with parents and students grabbing snacks. You remember handing Mingyu that stupid yearbook which he gazed at with utter blankness, how Seokmin burst from thin air and tore Mingyu away to the gymnasium, leaving behind that black spot of ink. That dot. And you had always wondered about it. What was Mingyu going to write?

“Well,” the boy clears his throat, then sticks out his hand like you’ve just accepted a phenomenal business deal, “let’s get this over with.”

Playing along with Mingyu’s antics, you interlace your fingers with his. He shakes firmly, smiles at you and speaks in a deepened, stoic voice.

“I look forward to our professional relationship.”

You almost caw at that. Though you simply nod your head.

“Me too. This has been a great exchange.”

He continues shaking your hand. “Agreed. Positively.”

Some wet mist blows through the air, and you can feel the condensation layer your eyelashes, the baby hairs tufting around the sides of your face, the crest of your warm cheeks. Mingyu’s honey skin too begins shimmering beneath the rainy weather, small speckles beading in his strands of black hair. And you feel something rather gloomy as he at last drops your hand. He’s going to leave again. Disappear back into his regular life. Maybe he’ll never come find you. Maybe he’ll forget.

“Hug it out I guess.” Mingyu shrugs, a glint in his eyes. He slides his arm around your waist and pulls you into him. “That’s how all deals end, right?” He questions rhetorically, his chest rumbling under your palms.

You press yourself as tight as possible against his body, snuggle into his warmth like he’s the only ember aglow in a world of frost. He gives you a long squeeze, nestles his cheek against the side of your head, and you hear him take a big breath. You don’t want Mingyu to leave. It’s hurting already, as though you’ve been speared through the heart, even though he’s holding you so preciously and with every bit of strength he can muster without crushing you. He breaks away first. His hand slaps you lightly on your right shoulder blade and lingers there for a moment.

Gazing deep into his eyes, you want to kiss him, pull his face forward and push your lips on top of his. Somehow, you don’t. You just look at each other.

And then Mingyu walks away, back to his car, where Seokmin is waiting.

Most vehicles have emptied from the driveway. After Jane successfully helped Chan and Seungkwan fit their bags into the trunk, she came back to you, wiping a tiresome gleam from her forehead. Their car suddenly putters to life, and you both wave goodbye as it pulls out the driveway.

“Better get going.” Jane sighs.

As you start walking to your side of the car, you feel the girl grab your shoulder stiffly, stopping you from taking another step.

“What’s this stuck to your coat?” She asks, hearing her peel something off.

You turn around instantly. It’s a very small rectangle of damp paper, with a series of digits scribbled across it, in blue, slightly watery ink.

“Wait,” Jane huffs, “this is Mingyu’s number. He’s kept it the same for years. Did he put this on your back?”

“H-He must’ve…” You respond, sounding dazed.

Jane raises her brow at you, handing over the paper.

“Guess he’s interested.” She lilts in a sing-song voice, a faint smirk appearing on her mouth before she’s ushering you into the car, complaining about the weather.

At first, you only stare at the number. But then you notice a soft, blue tint bleeding in from the other side. Curious, you flip the paper to find a brief note:

What I was going to write in your yearbook.

END: WHAT WE HAPPEN TO ENDURE

– Two Months Later

The days of October are dreary, rain-sodden, and wonderfully mesmerizing all at the same time. As the leaves continue to morph from the lush green of summer and mottle with bright reds, oranges, and yellows, you enjoy morning walks through the city square more often, even when it’s cold and wet.

You stand beneath the thick branches belonging to an old oak tree, an easel of rich colour glimmering in the leaves above. Everything smells like soil and the sharp wind which has been howling whenever it pleases. Your hands are stuffed far into the pockets of your long peacoat, fingertips rubbing together, attempting to rid the numbness. Titling your head back again, you look at the leaves, how they rustle and twitch. You hold the pose, listening to the specific shuttering noises which seem to surround you, echoing from different angles. Click click click. There’s a burning sensation in your neck afterward, the muscles stiffened, aching.

“I think you need to start telling me how long I should hold these poses. It feels like my head is gonna roll off.”

“Poor little baby.” Mingyu juts out his lower lip, pouting at you.

“Did you at least get some good pictures?” You choose to ignore his sarcasm, instead coming over to the boy who begins clicking through his camera.

The little images reflect in the lenses of his glasses.

“In my opinion, they’re all good,” he sticks a small peck to the side of your head, an unspoken thank you for letting him take all the shots he wanted, “but I’ll slim it down to the best. And then no more photoshoots. At least for now.”

“Well, that’s cool. Oh—wait, you can’t show them that one!” Your face immediately crinkles when Mingyu clicks one image too far, uncovering a rather obscene picture he’d taken of you in the bedroom, his hand on your throat.

Heat surges to your face, your fingertips suddenly tingling and warm, though the boy simply smirks before switching his camera off, letting it hang from around his neck. No – if your parents saw that, you’d have to walk into oncoming traffic.

“Relax,” Mingyu purrs, combing a hand through his hair, “they’re not gonna see the dirty ones.” His casualness doesn’t surprise you anymore.

“Yeah, that wouldn’t make a good first impression.” You can’t help but speculate, the flame which had scorched your cheeks slowly subsiding.

This Saturday is going to be Mingyu’s first time meeting your parents. The nervous handshakes. The pained, awkward introduction. The uncomfortably long, overly prepared dinner. That’s how you’re expecting it to go, anyways. Mingyu doesn’t seem too nervous about it, though he has nitpicked certain aspects, such as his photography. Almost every day this week, you’ve been captured by a lens.

“They’re not gonna care about some ladybugs I photographed on a mushroom,” Mingyu had told you one evening while you cuddled together on his couch, half-watching a movie they boy threw on, “they want to see excellent pictures of you.”

“But I like the ladybug mushroom picture,” you had frowned in response, nearly falling asleep from his rhythmic strokes up and down your side, “and they have pictures of me all over the house anyways. Older pictures. Embarrassing ones…”

You loathe that Mingyu is going to see those pictures. He’s going to see your old bedroom too. With the pink, mermaid bedsheets that you never bothered changing because of how soft they are. He’s going to see the pastel and crayon drawings taped to the wall beside the closet. All your stuffed animals lined up along the desk. And he’ll probably want to dig out that high school yearbook still crammed onto the shelf, his big, round eyes glistening excitedly as he’ll flip through the pages.

A sigh escapes your mouth at the very thought.

Mingyu sighs back. He slides an arm around your waist, tugging you in closer to him, shoots you a curious glance from behind those round spectacles.

“What are we sighing about today, sweetheart?”

You lean your head onto his shoulder.

“The dinner on Saturday. The fact you might accidentally show my parents a nude. The fact I haven’t changed my bedroom is years. The fact my mom is going to pull out every photo album and give you the allegory to my childhood.” You take in a breath, then smile at him, feel your heart flutter at the dark gold in his eyes and how he studies your face like there’s nothing else in the world that matters to him.

“Fuck,” the boy laughs, “sounds hectic up in that pretty head of yours.”

“I guess I don’t mind.” You shrug. “I will just happen to endure it.”

Mingyu grins, though it’s not his usual, wolfish grin that suggests mischief. It’s tender and delicate and when he presses his lips to yours, kissing you deeply, you realize something that’s been teetering in front of you since the day you met him.

There is much you can endure when you are positively in love.

✧✎ a/n: well.... that’s it. that’s the end! AND I HOPE YOU LIKED IT! i started writing this in june i think? i rly thought i could finish it by august and actually upload this as a summer fic, but ofc, that became impossible. this plot started floating around in my head last year, though i made a lot of changes to it when it was time to get the words on paper. the ‘world’ i used for this fic was actually meant for a minghao artist!au lol but i didn’t like how that story turned out, so i scrapped the fic but salvaged the setting and places. there rly isn’t much more i have to say!! just know that if you legit finished this, i’m proud of u. and i’m so freaking thankful you read through this entire thing even if it wasn’t absolutely terrific or blew ur doors off. this is the first time i’ve ever written smth of this length so i’m sure there r so many spots for me to improve on! anywho, here are all the lovely ppl which requested a tag for this scenario:

@ally-127 / @ataraxia-98 / @celestialpearls / @chanyeolparkriswu / @cloudysmothy / @dexters-slice / @dnylwoo / @emiaegi / @golden-thimbles / @hwanghyunjinx / @j-speg / @jeonshuawreads / @johnysuh / @junhuiste /  @masterpiecejoonie/  @moonlightmasquerade / @mingy0u / @minkwans / @muhanuibean / @nasagyu / @revehosh / @shoshishua / @suh-younghuh / @svtherapy / @vernosaur / @vulpixtodoroki / @woozes / @wtfkidult / @xjeonwoo / @z-recs

THANK U ALL SO MUCH !!!!!!

bonus! @jeonquin​ made some superb thumbnails for honey boy and i wanted to put my fave one here cuz it’s absolutely gorgeous <3

[hellfiresushi]

Family Affair

— Chapter One.

Pairing: Jonathan Pine x Female ! OC

Summary: After her mother’s death, Rue Roper moves to Majorca to live with her estranged father amongst his expensive, criminal empire. But she’s caught the eye of his right hand man, Jonathan Pine, and it’s been made very clear that Richard Roper’s daughter is firmly off-limits.

Warnings: None for now ;)

The first thought which circulated Rue’s head the second she stepped off the plane was, fuck — Majorca is hot as balls. Granted, her less than average seat had been mysteriously upgraded to first-class the second she had arrived at the airport to check in for her flight. Although she hadn’t spent much of her life in her father’s company, she wasn’t stupid, and she was aware of the staggering wealth piling up in his back pocket.

If anything she was a little surprised he hadn’t sent her one of his private jets or something, then again, it was rare that he actually recalled having a daughter, who grew up with only a mother to guide her through adventures such as adolescence, puberty and adulthood under the roof of a cramped little flat in London. That was… until her recent passing. But it was a sensitive subject which Rue was struggling to acknowledge at the moment.

The floor was sticky. She could feel it clinging to the soles of her greying, though once white, Converse sneakers in sync with every step she took. Which were probably a strange contrast to the lemon sundress hanging from her frame. Thin spaghetti straps tied into delicate, bowed knots on top of her shoulders. This wasn’t her trying to impress her new family or anything, she simply wasn’t sure how hot Majorca was going to be. And thank the lord she hadn’t opted for the tattered jeans now bundled in the bottom of her case somewhere.

A few metres away, Rue spotted a man modelling a pair of grey jeans, a black polo shirt and a navy blazer, holding up a sign reading Roper in thick permanent marker. Huffing, she approached him reluctantly, considering he was a complete stranger to her. Of course her own father wouldn’t take time out of his busy schedule to pick her up from the airport.

“Rue, I presume?”

“My father’s not here, I presume.” She couldn’t help retorting, a sour taste spreading in the back of her mouth.

Chill, Rue.

“Come,” He beckoned her with a quick jerk of his chin. “The car’s outside.”

Rotating on the heels of his shoes, he was already on his way towards the exit. Rue hadn’t even noticed that he’d taken her suitcase from her.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she followed his quick, long strides outside where a shiny grey Range Rover was parked to the right of a taxi bay. While the nameless man loaded her case into the boot, Rue decided to sit in the backseat, not feeling comfortable enough to ride up front alongside a total randomer.

Picking at her nail polish, the female stayed silent for the majority of the ride, observing the sunny Majorca scenery from outside the tinted windows. The radio played quietly in the background.

“You know you never told me your name.” Rue called out, deciding she would feel less awkward if he could at least tell her that.

The man cleared his throat, “Frisky, Miss Roper.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s my name, doll face.”

She chuckled, “your name is Frisky?”

“Do you have a problem with that, Miss Roper?”

Rue shuddered, leaning back into the leather seat. “I suppose not… as long as you stop calling me Miss Roper. Rue will do just fine.”

“Roper forgot to mention his daughter was a feisty little thing.” Frisky chortled from the front seat, fingertips tapping against the steering wheel.

“Well he also forgot to mention that he’s been absent for ninety-five percent of my life,” Rue mumbled, rolling her eyes exasperatedly. “So I doubt he knows anything about me.”

Frisky didn’t respond. Nor did he speak for the rest of the journey. Busy streets gradually turned into a more secluded trail — golden sand, vibrant trees as green as emeralds and turquoise water which looked much more appealing compared to the sea back home.

Stones crumbled beneath the rubber tires as they ascended up onto a spiralling cliff. Propping herself up on her knees, Rue stuck her head out of the window, exhaling at the warm, gentle breeze tickling her skin.

Mum would’ve loved this. The content bliss of the sun scorching down. It’s true what people say about the heat abroad being different to Summer in Britain. It was hot, but comfortably hot. Rue could imagine the two of them lying on sun loungers, clinking cocktails and reading their books together in a comfortable silence.

But she wasn’t here anymore.

“Welcome to La Fortaleza.” Frisky announced as the Range Rover slowed to a halt outside a pair of extravagant, ornate gates locking out any uninvited visitors.

Popping his window down, he exchanged words with someone through an intercom system, seconds before the gates automatically opened up.

A gorgeous, beige stoned villa clearly came into view, and hell it was huge. Rue gawked at it like something out of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

In a way, it intimidated her. It made her feel out of her comfort zone. Like she wasn’t meant to be here. That placing her in this luxurious setting would make her stick out like a sore thumb. A wildflower amongst herds of expensive roses.

Frisky parked up, killed the engine and exited the vehicle, making a point to open the back door for Rue. Sending him a short nod, she followed him around to the boot, grabbing her suitcase before he could do it for her.

It made her feel incompetent, and above him. Which she certainly wasn’t.

Holding his hands up in surrender, the man locked up the car and guided her towards the entrance, where a tall, slim woman with ice blonde hair stood waiting, looking like an absolute goddess in a silk, ivory maxi dress.

Rue gulped, briefly peering down at her worn out converse and the way the upper half of her dress clung to her generously full bust like a cotton leech. Self conscious didn’t quite cut being in this woman’s presence.

“Rue?” The blonde assumed, raising a single eyebrow. Her berry covered lips twisted into a warm smile, “It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She pulled the younger girl into a welcoming embrace, before adding, “I’m Jed.”

Right, Jed. Dad’s girlfriend. Rue recalled him mentioning her over the phone, but she wasn’t expecting her to look… well, like a Victoria’s Secret model fresh off the runway.

“And you.” Rue awkwardly patted her on the back, retracting from the exchange after a long moment.

“How was your trip? I sure hope your upgrade to First Class made it a bit more enjoyable.”

Rue hummed, reaching behind to latch her fingers around the handle of her suitcase again, “For my first time on a plane, I guess I can’t complain.“

“It was your first time?” Jed gasped. “I tried to have your father send a jet but… he required it for, uh, business and such.”

“I expected nothing less.” The words rolled off Rue’s tongue before she could stop them.

Jed chuckled quietly, placing a hand on her back, “shall we head inside?”

“Lead the way.”

The two women entered the villa, with Frisky a few metres away on their trail. Rue ogled every piece of art on the wall, every corner decorated with plush furniture which looked brand new, like it hadn’t even been touched. And there were some of the most beautiful vases and statues dotted around on shelves. There was even a grand piano right below the stairway, a bold, patent shade of black paired with a specially crafted cushioned bench. Rue itched to run her fingertips across the keys from left to right. She had piano lessons back in school, but Mum couldn’t ever afford to buy her a keyboard, never mind a piano, so she hadn’t played in years.

Nevertheless she enjoyed it.

Footsteps echoed against the marble steps, slow and prolonged. Suddenly every hair on the back of Rue’s neck stood up, and she hadn’t even turned around to see who it was. But it sounded like several pairs of feet. Now she was feeling nauseous.

Inhaling a breath, Rue forced herself to swivel around on the heels of her shoes to see three male figures reaching the bottom of the staircase. On the far right was a man with a grey, receding hairline, cupid lips and a sketchy frown on his face. To his left was someone who looked much younger, with sun-kissed skin and strawberry blonde hair. He was definitely the tallest, and the easiest on the eye.

But on the far left stood a familiar, morbid looking figure who had induced the growing sickness in Rue’s belly.

Throat dry and lips parting, she didn’t blink for a solid minute, and neither did he. Neither one of them how to respond to this moment. But eventually, it was he who spoke first.

“Hello, Rue.”

“Dad.”

God, the silence was deafening. Insert the sound of crickets right about here. For a moment, Rue’s helpless pupils flitted around, avoiding eye contact at all costs, before catching onto a shade of glacier blue.

The blonde gentleman.

His irises discretely observed her from head to toe, noticing the reddening apples of her cheeks. Sneakers with a dress, interesting choice. Most women would usually opt for some wedges, or a set of sandals if heels weren’t their thing. But she chose sneakers, and he liked that.

“You look different,” Roper’s voice snapped them out of their impromptu staring trance. “All grown up and independent.”

His daughter laced her hands together behind her back, visibly cold and distant.

“You look older.” Is all she replied with, curtly shrugging her shoulders. Roper scratched the back of his neck,

“I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”

“Are you?” quipped Rue.

You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. Everybody else surrounding them looked speechlessly at the ground.

“I’d like to introduce you to my colleagues, and my closest friends,” Richard brushed off her icy comment. “Jonathan and Corky.”

Another dumb nickname.

The receding bloke at the end of the line leapt forward first, shaking Rue’s hand, “A pleasure to meet the infamous daughter of my chum.”

Next appeared the hot one, Jonathan, Rue presumed. He, too, offered her his hand, to which she accepted, feeling his larger palm engulf her own. The musky scent of his cologne wormed it’s way up her nostrils, entrancing her. Rue shifted inside her frozen body, feeling unexpectedly nervous now that she was up close and personal with him. She couldn’t lie and say the way he towered over her wasn’t a bit of a turn on.

For a guy she’d only just met, he seemed pretty magnetic. Like a Disney prince.

“Rue… that’s Greek for regret, right?” His voice was smooth like honey. That was true. And ironically she was already regretting coming to Majorca.

“And apparently Jonathans are God’s gift.” The girl recited, brows lifting, though the corners of her lips twitched with a sense of playfulness.

“So I’ve heard,” Jonathan swiped the tip of his tongue across his lips. “Do you disagree?”

“I’m not sure yet.” She sighed, squeezing his hand, “I guess it’s up to you to convince me otherwise.”

“I’ll make it my mission.” Dropping her hand, Jonathan reversed away from her.

“Why don’t I show you to your room?” Jed suggested, hoping to clear the air by cutting the conversation short.

Agreeing, Rue followed her up the staircase, and as tempted as she was to lock eyes with Jonathan for one last time, she refrained from doing so.

Her room was probably the size of the entire flat she shared with her mum. She’d never slept in a king size bed before, but the cream sheets and silk pillows did look inviting. All of the furniture was exquisite mahogany, not a speck of dust in sight. There was even an en-suite bathroom, and a walk in wardrobe. This must be how the Kardashians felt.

Though the thing which intrigued her the most was the balcony facing out towards a private beach, and at the opposite end of the stretch of sand and waves, was a quaint little cottage.

How sweet. However, not Roper’s cup of tea. So who lived there?

Huffing, Rue started unpacking her case, which didn’t take long, considering her pile of clothes only occupied a tiny corner of the walk-in wardrobe. Plucking out a tattered panda plushie, she brought it to her nose and inhaled.

It reminded her of home.

Setting it down amongst the mound of pillows and cushions, Rue proceeded to lay out her skincare products on the shelf above the two his and hers bathroom sinks.

Within twenty minutes or so, she had already finished unpacking, and she flopped back onto the mattress like a rag doll. Staring at the ceiling, she pondered what her life would be like now that her mother was gone. It was always just the two of them, and now she was alone, with a group of complete strangers, in a setting she’d never experienced in her life.

Never mind those goddamn blue eyes.

Tags: @flashpoison , @ryansgirl5509 , @ladyblablabla , @itsybitchylittlewitchy , @lokischambermaid , @thenerdyoldersister , @i-would-kneel-for-loki

[yoonpobs]

to the touch | pjm

pairing: park jimin x oc (ft. brother yoongi)

genre: mutual pining, fluff, cute crushes, brothers best friend

warnings: JIMIN that's it

words: 5, 216

summary: he's back

“You’re … you’re here?” You squeak and it’s not one of your best moments even if you were sure Yoongi would argue otherwise and that you rarely had average moments, to begin with. But there was something about spontaneity and surprise that threw you off in the worst way possible and made your brain short-circuit to the point where you’re unable to throw coherent thoughts together. And this was definitely a surprise, one that you’d never expected to happen because—

“I am,” Jimin says curtly, tossing you a firm nod of his head when he pushes you aside and steps into your apartment like he’s been year a thousand times. But in reality, it’s his first time standing at your doorstep, first time knocking on your door, and definitely the first step he’s ever had the chance to get a glimpse of how your living room looks like.

You’re still gaping at the entrance with the door open and you’re sure if any of your neighbors were to step out of their homes, they’d just see a lone girl outside that looked a little too unnerved to bother. When you snap out of it and turn your body to face your visitor, he’s already made himself comfortable on your couch and it’s hard to piece together the fact that Jimin was quite in fact in your living room, and lounging on your couch, staring at your television like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“W-What—how?” You croak because there are about ten million different thoughts running through your head but the most pressing one is how Jimin looked … different.

A good difference, for sure. He’s always been handsome and unreasonably so. Especially with the way that he’s dyed his hair back to black and the gentle fluff of how it lays atop his head. You note that he still kept his style despite him going MIA for three years and wore slacks that shaped his legs (and butt) beautifully with a casual shirt tucked into the waistband of his pants. It was unfair how effortlessly good-looking he was on a spontaneous occasion while you looked anything but, especially with your sweats and old tank top.

But Jimin had always been a little hard to read. Terrifying and brassy all at once but never obstructive—although you’d argue that his presence was the obstruction as it is of how distracted you feel whenever he was around you years ago. It’s like you never learned how to accommodate his presence because he happened to fill every space with just his body even if he wasn’t that tall.

“I thought I’d pay a visit. Your brother gave me your address.” He says, finally turning his head to face you, and its still blank like every expression you remember made towards you. You expected nothing more or nothing less than the way he stares you over and makes you feel like the outsider in your own home.

“Yoongi …” You grit, cursing your brother mentally and hoping he’d make use of that stupid sibling telepathy power he claims he has to receive your gripe.

You clear your throat as you awkwardly shuffle closer towards the couch and hover awkwardly by the arm of the sofa to keep your distance. It’s been years and it’s still a little unfamiliar to see Jimin right in front of you, and not someone you kept at the back of your mind.

“You could’ve called …” You say softly while fiddling with your thumbs. Jimin just raises an eyebrow at you and you feel stupid for saying that already.

Some things don’t change and it’s proven when your heart still beats the same when he’s around you. You cursed at yourself for being weak-willed because you thought time would help you get over your silly crush on Jimin but you also long acknowledged the fact that it wasn’t just a crush. It was more.

You hated falling for the cliches of crushing on your brother’s best friend, especially one that was just emotionally reserved and detached ninety percent of the time. The only conversations you remember having with Jimin were the ones that you were blushing at him when he looked at you a little longer than usual, or when he drove you to and from school when Yoongi left for university.

But then he disappeared, without saying goodbye and you only found out from his parents that he got into a dance program abroad and packed his things and left. Obviously, twenty-year-old you was devastated because you somehow convinced yourself that he enjoyed your presence even if he was huffing and puffing every five minutes when you’d fall into a ramble of your own.

He changed his number and he wasn’t a social media person so you had no idea what he was doing or how he was, besides the occasional mention of his name in conversations you had with your brother. It sucked. Majorly. Because you really liked him even if he was cold because you knew that Jimin was a good person. A cold and shitty person wouldn’t pat you on your head before your wisdom teeth extraction and mumble it’s okay if he wasn’t kind.

“The place is nice.” He ignores your statement and glances around your apartment and you feel smaller. You do feel a little relieved that he approved of the place, and you did spend hours browsing through catalogues and going through roommates until you decided that this was perfect. Granted, it was a little pricey but you valued comfort and a decent workplace to really get you motivated.

“Thank you.” You mumble, still shifting on the balls of your feet and Jimin just raises an eyebrow at your impersonal stance. You know he wouldn’t point it out because he wasn’t that kind of guy, but his face often spoke for him so you swallowed all the concerns you had and took a seat at the edge of the sofa, as far away from him as possible.

“Do you live alone?” He asks. You’re about to respond but he doesn’t let you.

“It’s dangerous if you do. Do you really just answer the door for anyone without checking who it is? You’ll get yourself into some serious trouble if you aren’t careful.” He chides you.

You want to scoff at him because you were an adult and you’ve learnt a few things along the road to adulthood. Jimin was always a little on edge most of the time and you knew he was just bad at expressing his emotions so you never faulted him for it. But now, you were a little older and not as naive—but unfortunately still very much into him.

“God Jimin, it’s fine—”

The door opens and both your heads immediately turn to the source, and Jimin is sharp with his movements and you try to not allow your heart to flutter when he tugs you closer to him and hides your body with his own as if he thought it was an intruder. But you knew better, so you knew it was—

“Tae. You’re back early.” You greet your roommate who only eyes the man on the couch who has you situated behind him like he was your personal shield. His bag is tugged over his shoulder and you see a few of his art supplies threatening to fall out so you hop off the couch to help him with his belongings, and Jimin’s gaze just burns harder onto the back of your skull.

When you’re close enough, Taehyung leans in and gives a brief glance over at Jimin who is still piercing him with a fierce gaze.

“Why is your booty call staring at me like I’ve murdered ten kittens?” Taehyung whisper yells and you glare at him, pinching his hip because just because he thought he was being quiet didn’t mean that he could easily get rid of his naturally loud voice.

“That is not my booty call!” You respond equally as agitated, “That’s … Jimin.”

Taehyung’s eyes bulge out of his socket when he looks over your shoulder once more to still see Jimin glaring at the two of you.

“Why is he so fucking scary? You said he was nice!” Taehyung hisses.

“He is nice!” You weakly defend, “He’s just … scary looking?”

You know it doesn’t convince Taehyung because he’s sighing and dropping his belongings to the floor, offering Jimin as sincere of a smile as he can muster even though you’re fully aware that he’s terrified of the man on your living room couch.

“Hi! I didn’t know _____ was having guests over. I’m Taehyung.” He smiles brightly at said guest but Jimin just blinks at his cordiality and then looks over to you.

“Is he your boyfriend?” The question throws you off guard and you can tell that Taehyung even more terrified when Jimin completely ignores his presence even though he was the tallest person in the room.

You splutter for a response even if the answer to that was obvious. But Jimin had a shitty way of interrogating people, even if it probably would work in legal settings because he was just terrifying enough for you to stumble over your words and make you look guiltier than you were.

“Unfortunately not.” Taehyung thinks he’s saving you when he lightly jokes with Jimin. And you want to facepalm because Jimin was aloof and impartial to everything, and had horrible skills of reading the room because you were sure that Jimin thought that Taehyung wanted to get in your pants.

“Tae, would you excuse us for a second?” You smile stiffly at Taehyung who is quick to oblige as he darts into his room.

Jimin now has his arms folded across his chest in a manner that makes him look more hostile, but you knew him well enough that you suppose he just had a lot of questions.

“Did you really have to be like that?” You ask irritably as Jimin scoffs at you.

“Please, do enlighten me. All I did was ask you a simple question, which you couldn’t even answer. What was that about?” Jimin responds equally as displeased but you had so many questions and you didn’t need to deal with his mini tantrum right now, especially between the walls of your own home.

“Don’t turn this on me! You turned up to my house unannounced after three years of no contact and you expect me to bend at your will? What do you take me for? A puppet?” You retaliate with petulancy and you can tell Jimin is slowly getting more annoyed by the second but won’t blow up just yet. Or probably because you had another person in the house.

“Am I not allowed to visit?” Jimin raises an eyebrow.

You scoff at his audacity because Jimin was seriously so bad at reading emotions. You weren’t even sure why you liked him but your heart never made reasonable decisions for you.

“We haven’t spoken in years, Jimin!” You throw your hands in the air, “I didn’t even know where you were or what you were doing because you disappeared like you were running away from a crime!”

“Did I need to update you on my whereabouts?” You know his question is genuine even though it was posed a little rough and you want to pull at your hair because obviously, you wanted to know! Jimin was the person you spent the most time with, outside of school, and one day he wasn’t anymore.

“Of course! I thought we were—I thought … why did you just disappear?” For some reason, it was hard to say that you and Jimin were friends either because the only reason why he’d ever tolerate you in the first place was that he was a good friend to Yoongi and you were just someone that came with it by association. He never outwardly said that he hated spending time with you but he never said he enjoyed it either.

Jimin raises an eyebrow and stands up, and you notice that he still towers over you. He walks towards you slowly, and you feel all the hotter under his intense scrutiny that you just want to retreat to your bedroom and forget this ever happened.

“You don’t need to know.” He says and you feel yourself deflate, “I wanted to visit because your brother’s worried about you.”

The confession just annoys you because you knew to a certain extent that Jimin wouldn’t be here from … wherever he was … if it was only for your brother. He had to give a shit somewhere deep down in him enough to make an effort to get your address from your brother, then turn up on your doorstep unannounced with his usual impassioned stare.

“Oh fuck off, will you? I’m not a little girl anymore. I can take care of myself.” You bite back.

Jimin shoots you an unimpressed stare at your snappishness and he won't lie and say that he was pleasantly surprised to see you after a long time. You were always pretty, in an unconventional way, he supposes. You never made an effort to look nice but just did with the way you approached life, even when you were younger. But now that you were standing in front of him with a bite that you didn't have when he left, he's intrigued.

"You weren't so rude before I left." He smirks at you.

His gaze also makes you burn and you avoid his eyes when it searches for yours. You hate that his tone makes you feel funny and that you wanted him to be a little mean.

"Yeah, well—that's what happens when you don't see someone after three years with no contact or notice. They change. They get a little annoyed because someone is just too emotionally constipated to ever make any effort to keep in touch." You narrow your eyes at him.

"Why are you throwing a hissy fit? Needed me to keep you company?" He prompts.

You flush but still glare at him.

"Whatever, Jimin. I just would've appreciated it if you called. Or at least have done something to let me know that you were alive." You mutter.

Somehow, he's managed to cage you in with his body against the back of the sofa, and your breath hitches when you feel his broad chest pressed on yours. You didn't realise it happened until he places his arms by your side, effectively leaving you with no room to leave. You gulp because this is the closest you've ever been to Jimin and you feel dizzy. He smells fresh like laundry and flowers. It's a huge juxtaposition to his demeanour, but he smells good and you want to nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

"Why would I? You're Yoongi's sister. Not my girlfriend." He smirks.

You huff and roll your eyes. The reminder stings a little and you know he's baiting you.

"So? Were we not at least friends?" You snap.

He wants to laugh because you're obviously annoyed at the casual way he referred to you as Yoongi's little sister. You're frowning but attempting to pretend that it didn't bother you.

Jimin would be lying if he said he was never interested. Because he was, undoubtedly so. But back then when you were still navigating your way at the beginning of adulthood with Yoongi constantly breathing down his neck, he would have never done anything to compromise his friendship with your brother; or lead you on. But now you were standing in front of him, soft and sweet with a little edge to you that draws him in.

"Do you usually have crushes on your friends?" He pushes.

Your eyes widen and snap up to look at his teasing expression. His smirk is apparent against the rest of his face and you feel absolutely mortified that he's so close to you when he called you out.

"W-What? A crush? I didn't have a crush on you!" You rebuff him with a stuttery voice and you weakly try to push him away.

But he locks you in position with his hands around your wrist as he leans down and crowds you further with his presence.

"You didn't?" He feigns hurt, then he pulls away abruptly and you're immediately chasing his warmth, "Shame. I would've liked that a lot."

You gape at him when he shuffles away, putting some distance between the two of you as he dusts his hands on his slacks, giving you a curt smile; one that never reached his eyes but that was still Jimin being friendly.

"Y-You what ...?" You squeak.

Jimin shrugs and walks towards your door and you're half-terrified and half-relieved at the prospect of him leaving. But you're more terrified because you don't know if you'll ever see him again and with your current interaction you don't think you'll ever get over him.

"Usually a cute girl crushing on me would be a huge ego boost ... but you didn't, so ..." He trails off.

You bite your lips as you play with your hands. You know he's teasing you and you didn't know when he's gotten so forward, or good at this game. But you suppose Jimin has always been charming too, even if he was bad at emotions. He was good at playing them. And the way he rakes his eyes over your body only to bite his lip makes you burn in want.

He's about to turn the knob of your door but you reach out to grab his wrist before your mind can tell you it's a bad idea.

"W-What if I ... what if I ..." You mumble, hands wrapped loosely around his wrist as he turns around, leaning against the door the way boys do that was super hot for no reason.

"Speak up, bunny."

The nickname only makes you blush harder because it reminded you of all the times he's ever called you that stupid childhood nickname that somehow followed you up until adulthood. But you had to admit the way that Jimin uses it makes you feel ...warm. Like you want him to call you bunny for whatever reason he does so.

"WhatifIdid ...?" You mutter quickly and softly that Jimin leans in to get a better listen, also prompting you to speak louder.

"Couldn't hear you." He sing-songs.

You grit your teeth and swallow your pride because even after three years, you were soft and pliant for Park Jimin even if he was hot to the touch. You just wanted to please him.

"What if I did?" You say a little louder, braver, with determined eyes, "What if I did have a crush on you?"

He grins at you in Jimin fashion that was still a little reserved but warm because you knew him. You knew that was what he wanted to hear. So, he rests his body against the door and gestures his finger in a come-hither motion to get you to step closer, which you oblige. It should've been offensive that he could summon you so easily, but Jimin was a lot of things but he would never take advantage of your passiveness.

"I don't know. What would you have done if I hadn't left? Play friends? Family maybe?" He teases.

You scrunch your nose at the prospect of playing family with him because you've heard that phrase way too many times. Your parents at one point kept on saying how you had two older brothers instead of one because Jimin was always there, but they were blissfully unaware of your crush and the way you'd frown at the suggestion.

"We would've hung out more ..." You mumble.

Jimin snorts but cocks his head for you to continue.

"What's the point of this?" You huff, shutting your eyes when you can feel his gaze on you.

"You tell me. You were the one with the crush."

You want to correct him and say am the one with the crush, but you bite your tongue.

"You're the one who wants to know." You respond with indignation.

He chuckles, low and deep before he tilts your chin upwards with his index finger.

"You're still a little girl, aren't you ______?" You think it's the first time Jimin has called your name the entire time he's been here and you almost whine with the sultry look he's giving you.

Jimin applauds his self-control because you were a sight to behold. Even if you were in sweats and a tank, with your glasses drooping slightly down your nose and tangled hair, you still were so appealing even if you didn't know. You looked comfortable, homey and it did make Jimin burn with an ugly monster to know that 'Tae' could see you like this daily.

"Am not." You growl, but he only thinks you look like an angry bunny.

"You are. You don't know how to ask for things, hm?" He hums, tracing a finger up your jaw to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I so do know how to ask for things that I want. I do it all the time." You retort petulantly like you had a point to prove but Jimin only chuckles darkly.

"Then what do you want right now?"

Jimin's question is expected but it also throws you off-guard.

"R-Right n-now?" You stutter.

He tuts as if he expected your bewildered and shocked expression.

"When else but now, bunny?" He whispers as his gaze has you locked in a trance when your eyes dart to his lips when he drags his tongue over it. You're entrapped in him because his mouth suddenly looked really inviting.

"I really wanna ..." You mumble, ears flushing a pretty shade of red and you lean into Jimin's hand when he cradles your cheek gently.

Jimin was capable of being gentle, even though he chose not to. But he never was, though there was something about you that made his territorial, made him want to fight. He didn't know when he started feeling this way but he supposed it was a flurry of emotions and the accumulation of the times he's spent with you throughout the years. Three years didn't do him justice and only made him think of you more. He knew he was hard to read, and frankly even harder to understand. Jimin also knew that you were fully aware of this fact. But that didn't deter you in trying to get to know him, to prick yourself against all his edges that were harder to accept.

You were sweet and naive, a type of person that Jimin would usually scoff at. But your one-dimensional and idealistic view of the world was fresh to him, even if that meant you were living in your head most of the time. It never took away from the fact that you were kind and understanding. The type of person that cracked all of Jimin's harshness made him want to try.

But it didn't mean he wasn't going to have his fun. He liked seeing you like this, gentle and warm, close to him as you look at him with a hazy expression.

"Wanna do what?" He prods, reaching his hand to the back of your hair to tug your face closer to his, but maintaining enough distance to prompt you to make the first move.

Jimin would do it. But he wanted to be sure that you wanted this, and not the idea of him. Sure, he was giving you hints and nudging you, but he also was aware of the fact that you'd never say or do anything that you didn't want. You were always clear-cut about this type of thing.

"You know ... that ... thing ..." You mumble, shifting on your feet as he glances down to your face.

You still looked unsure, but you leaned into his hold regardless, and Jimin took that as a good sign. You just need a little push.

"You know I'm not that bright. You need to tell me, bunny." He says gently.

You can't stop the small whimper in the back of your throat at the nickname and it's taking everything in Jimin's willpower to not take you against this wall. He would, but you deserved sweet things and he wanted to try be that for you.

"I ... I wanna ..." You whisper, "Wanna ... kiss you."

You clutch his t-shirt in his hands and when you glance up he's grinning widely as if he's won the lottery.

He nods his head ever so softly, and you take that as a cue to lean in.

When you do kiss him, you already feel your knees buckling because it's like everything you dreamed and more. Jimin was the right amount of assertive and gentle that makes you chase his mouth even if you were pressed up against him. He takes the lead eventually when his hand cups your jaw to angle your mouth deeper into his, and your body flush against his.

You feel like a teenager again having your first kiss, but it may as well be because you've always wondered what it was like to share your first kiss with Jimin back in high school.

"Is that all?" He whispers against your lips, but before you can respond—

"Oh fuck, I'm sorry!" You hear Taehyung squeak and that makes you pull away from Jimin, highly embarrassed to be caught making out with him against your door like a horny teenager.

You want to curse at Taehyung but he's already ducking into the kitchen before you can get any words out.

Jimin doesn't look affected, if anything, he looks pleased. The moment you shared a clear testament of who you belonged to and Jimin loved the fact of people knowing it was him.

When you look at Jimin, you're equally parts flushed from the kiss but giddy too. You give him a shy smile, and Jimin just chuckles lowly at your bashfulness.

"I'll see you around, ______," Jimin smirks at you when he reaches for the doorknob to leave. You follow him out, wanting a little more privacy even if it was in the hallway of your apartment complex.

When Jimin steps out and with you behind him, you swing on your feet as he observes your next actions. You clear your throat, even though you were confused and glad—because that was the closest thing you could get from Jimin that was affection so you'd take it.

"So ... what does this ..." You mumble, before shaking your head.

Jimin raises an eyebrow.

"What did I say about asking for what you want?" He berates you as if he was speaking to a child, but his tone is still curt and a little detached, but very like Jimin. You know that it's him and you like that anyways.

"Don't make me say it ... it's already embarrassing as it is ..." You whine, burying your head into his t-shirt.

Jimin welcomes the sudden closeness and pats you softly on the head. It's a little stiff because he still isn't used to physical affection that wasn't 'intimate', but he did say he would try for you.

"Again: I'm not that bright." He teases.

You roll your eyes, but then bite your lips when you see he's waiting for a response.

"... what does this mean for us?" You ask softly.

Jimin smiles at you and decides to grant you a gentle kiss to your forehead. A kiss that was so domestic and soft that you feel your heart soar.

"Check your phone." Is all he says when he waves you goodbye, as you stare at him dumbly, heart still fluttering and cheeks burning.

When you return back into your home, you lean against your door as you press a hand to your chest to feel the way your heart beats rapidly against it. You feel weak in the knees but so blissful that you let out a squeal into the palm of your hands.

Once you've calmed down, and offered Taehyung a look that said you'll explain later—you rush to check your phone, only to smile at what lies on the screen.

Unknown Number [17:21]: hi bunny

Unknown Number [17:21]: save my contact

Unknown Number [17:21]: make sure that when people see it they'll know you're mine

Unknown Number [17:22]: see you soon

Unknown Number [17:22]: if you're still a little slow ... it's jimin

Unknown Number [17:25]: ❤️

You notice the heart emoji was sent a few minutes after the rest of his texts, which showed you that he may have contemplated whether or not to send it. You feel your heart flutter, as you plop back onto your bed, a wide grin splaying on your face.

extra scene

"I'm sorry ... what?" Yoongi chokes on the piece of meat he just shoved into his mouth as he stares at his best friend in the face as if he'd grown another head. But as usual, he seemed to only attract people that were vastly similar to him, and Jimin's face is unreadable as ever. But Yoongi knows he's serious and not fucking around because he's looking intently at the older boy for a response.

"So?" Jimin says casually, leaning into his seat and Yoongi needs to chug down a glass of water to ensure that the food goes down all the way before he can say anything to the question Jimin just posed him with.

"You want my sister's address ... to ... I'm sorry, correct me if I'm wrong but I had a fall and I may have a concussion so I don't know if I'm hearing things right," Yoongi deadpans but Jimin just rolls his eyes at the older one's dramatics before nodding his head for him to continue.

"You want her address to ... confess to her?" Yoongi says hesitantly and Jimin nods his head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

But it wasn't. Because as long as Yoongi's known Jimin, he's been all detached and broody, uninterested in everything and everyone. He's never shown the slightest interest in anyone and usually opted for casual hookups than actual relationships so clearly, Yoongi is a little skeptical.

"Are you okay?" Yoongi asks baffled.

Jimin nods, folding his arms across his chest.

"Yes. I went for a medical check-up that day and my doctor said he's never seen results as impeccable as mine." Jimin says blandly.

Yoongi scoffs.

"You're just not ... the dating type, you know? Much less ... with my sister?" It sounds weird to even Yoongi's ears. He grew out of his childish mindset and had no problem with Jimin dating you, but it was still weird to see his best friend showing interest in you.

"I like her. And I respect you. Which is why I came to you before I did anything."

Yoongi gapes at his best friend, who looks much softer than he usually does.

"Wow ... I just ..." Yoongi exhales, "Damn."

Jimin offers a small smile before gesturing to their food.

"At least we can really be brothers now." Yoongi jokes, sliding a piece of paper with your address on it to Jimin.

Jimin smiles fondly at the paper before tucking it into his shirt jacket.

The image of you in white, smiling and looking only at him drives him to see you the next day.

[focusfixated]

ofmd fic recs

haunt you down by @yeats-infection

rating: explicit // pairing: edward x stede // length: 13k

summary: 

Ed had a dream about something that hadn't happened yet.

An arm settled around his belly. "Is that alright?" 

His voice was so sweet. Sometimes he thought of his mother, but that was a bit too weird. If it was a ship (it had been a ship earlier but maybe it wasn't anymore) it was like no ship he had ever been on. They were aloft in a maze of stars.

"This is all nonsense," Ed realized. "You're not here." 

"I'm closer than you know," Stede said. His hand tightened in the fabric of the robe at Ed's heart. 

notes: post s1 reunion - stede and ed meet again unexpectedly. gorgeous, devastating. the writing, the craft, the quality of this is just incredible. funny and tragic. romantic and bitter. a real push-pull all the way through of two people fighting themselves to get to love each other. the dialogue in this is so satisfying to read, and every part of it feels thought-out, meaningful. also features two fantastic OCs that fill this story with even more colour and feeling.

--

amaranthine by @yeats-infection

rating: explicit // pairing: edward x stede // length: 3.6k

summary:

Ed closed his eyes. Stede was trying to be surreptitious about gently herding his body ninety degrees to port so that he would no longer be facing the mirror.

“Stede, I know this was my… whatever — ” On a moonless night, in the deep pitchy darkness where no god could see, where all the very old and new shame alike was floating silently upon the water, he had said to Stede, do you think we could take the dresses next time — “but I don't think I like it very much after all.”

“Nonsense!” Stede announced again. “Nonsense. Give me another minute. It just needs adjusting.”

“I’ll give you five minutes,” Ed said. “And then I’m taking it off and burning it.”

notes: and if, after the first fic, you want a lighter pick-me-up, there’s also this stunning, ed-gets-fucked-in-a-dress jewel of a fic which is also lovely, emotional, a wonderful exploration of gender feelings, funny and extremely hot. the characterisation + dialogue is so on point, an absolute delight to read.

[dreamy625]

The Party

A ficlet for Steve’s birthday

Words: 835

Content: plotless fluff, kind of a fix-it. One little swear word!

Uses the OC from my main fic (hey, recycling’s good for the planet!) but many years ahead of that timeline. You don’t need to have read any of that for this to make sense. 

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

By 10pm the older Leppard progeny have formed a scratch band and are playing the only three songs that they all know for the second time, while the younger contingent careen around the room evading their parents and bedtime.

Alice and Steve are dancing. Well, Alice is dancing and Steve is doing his standard swaying from side to side. Periodically, departing guests stop by to say their goodbyes and once again wish Steve a happy birthday. As the opening chords of ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ kick in for the third time, Steve grabs his partner’s hand and steers her to the side of the dancefloor. 

“Phew.” He pulls her into a hug, resting his chin on the top of her head and trying to catch his breath. “We are so fucking old!”

“Speak for yourself.” retorts Alice with a fond smile, always mindful of the simply enormous age gap of five years between them. “And actually, that’s a good thing.” 

“It is?” He looks unconvinced.

“Yes, it’s amazing! What did they say to you? You’d be lucky to get to thirty? And here you are at twice that! Okay, with dodgy knees and a liver that looks like badly-cooked steak, but you’re alive and dancing. Sort of dancing.”

“Hehe, I guess I won!”

“Winning. We have to go for the next thirty years now.”

“Wow. That’s a long time. I’ll need you to push me in my bath chair when my knees give out.”

“But I’ll need you to push me in mine when my back seizes up.”

“I’m sure there’ll be robots to do that?”

“Or trained Shetland ponies?”

“Maybe we should get a stairlift?”

“Only if we can turbocharge it.”

Just then Gavin claps Steve on the shoulder. He’s got his bass slung over one shoulder.

“Our turn now, mate. Time to show the kids what real music sounds like!”

“Yeah? Have you got Dave and George?”

“George is up for it, can’t find Dave though. He went for a slash and then we lost him.”

“Bet Joe’ll do it, he’ll sing anything if he’s got an audience!”

Gavin heads for the stage and Steve turns back to Alice, “D’you mind if I…”

“I would love it.” She reaches up to flick his hair back into its characteristic swoop over one eye. “Do some Pearl Jam for me.”

He ambles off to the back of the stage and picks up a guitar from behind the PA system, joking with his old mates on the stage and even older mates in the audience as he plugs in and checks the tuning. Luckily Dave comes back from the loo so Joe is spared lead singer duties (for now, from previous experience the whole gang will be up there joining in before long), and the band breaks into a passable rendition of ‘Lithium’.

Steve’s played with several other bands over the years, and worked with numerous other musicians including some of his own heroes, and the guest spots with Ded Flatbird of course, but this lot have been the most constant. George is still the new boy, even though he’s been with them for at least ten years now, but Gavin and Dave are originals from that jam session upstairs in the King’s Head back in 1994. Gavin’s a producer and Dave, unlikely as it seems given the tattoos and eyeliner, was an accountant for a software company in the nineties, and now owns a restaurant. George is a bona fide musician, drumming with two other groups, one of which even makes records and gets played on the radio. This is a side project for all of them, playing covers and some of their own songs for friends and charity events and those little local festivals that have sprung up everywhere. They started with grunge, but these days they throw in some punk, classic rock, and even metal if they’re in front of the right crowd. Alice believes that, truly, this was what saved Steve from himself after quitting Def. Obviously the therapy and the medication helped, but having that creative outlet and getting to do what he loved with like-minded people and very little pressure was crucial. Realistically, nothing was ever going to stop him drinking, but this was the lifebelt that stopped him from drowning in it. 

Watching her love of so many years relaxed and happy and still doing what he was made to do, Alice feels her eyes well up again and blinks rapidly (she’d already cried when Phil did his little speech, and when Lyla gave him the present from the Lepp guys, and at the video message from Beryl, and her mascara is not going to survive any more!). It’s been a weird life, so far from what she’d envisioned for herself as a kid that it’s almost unbelievable. There have been amazing experiences, and joyous successes, and dark days that seemed interminable, and some moments where she, they, had barely held on by their fingernails. She wouldn’t swap for anything.

[flashbang-througthe-door]

Random facts about some of my ocs

A/n: it's one am and I choose pain

Tw: swearing, speaking about death/dying

Salvage

Thinks he's a badass but is really a dumbass

Gets under everyone's skin

Loves soda but shouldn't drink it

Tight hugger

Throws heat like a tire fire

“I slammed my hand on a knife„

Should be put on a leash

Is truly on his own side

Has tattoos, one on his arm that's the classic line of barbed wire and one on his forearm for his mother

Luke

The smart brother

Wants Peck happy and healthy

Has an Aether Crystal lodged in his thigh

Actually fucking dying

Is getting weaker as time progresses

Always cold

Has the "He's dying throw him in a cell" jail card

Tired, because the crystal is slowly taking his energy

Tattoos, One on his back being the tree of life and one on his pointer finger of a cross

Lear

Hates Halloween

“Im too old for this„

Dies during the bunker escape, was taken back to the safehouse to die

Tired bitch face energy

Lanky tol man

Believes someone up in heaven hates him

Has no feeling in his chest do to the burn damaged

The middle name his mom gave him gli eroi non muoiono mai means heroes never die in Italian

Tattoo, cherry blossoms on his shoulder blade with five open blooms

Alexander Hartfield

Bell, Tinker Bell, Bell ringer, Bell boy

A ginger who loves his hair

Dies due to Adler

Doesn't really know when to talk when the others are fightng

“This five percent doing the mission and ninety-five percent of me getting hurt„

Hugs people when he's scared

Loves going on food runs

Falls asleep in the strangest of places

Tattoos, a dove on his rib cage with the date of his mother's death, a snake on wrapped around the top half of his right arm and a heart on his middle finger

Sammy Pierson

Has gotten his finger stuck in canten

Aieoll is a good friend, his most trusted friend after Turner's passing

Doesn't really get angry but if Stiles is being mean all bets are off

Yanks on Turner's belt loop when he needs something

“There is this pain in my chest„ “That's a panic attack Sammy”

Was late for basic training