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lovelylogans · 4 years ago

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the warmest hello (to the coldest goodbye)

once a spy, always a spy forever, forever the warmest hello to the coldest goodbye remember, remember -spies are forever, the tin can bros

warnings: undercover spy work, mention of weapons, drugging someone into unconsciousness/giving someone a roofie, essentially the start of an enemies to lovers fanfiction

pairings: virgil/logan, offscreen roman/patton

words: 4,465

notes: this is for day 7 of @analogicalweek! the prompt of the day is “free day” and i have decided to write a combination soulmates and rival spies au! please enjoy!

⁂

Not that Virgil would admit it, but, like literally every other marked person, he's tried to imagine how he might meet his soulmate. He just didn't ever spare any thought on what he'd do if it happened on the job.

His official cover to his friends (which was mostly his cousin Roman and Roman’s husband Patton) was that he was an analyst—he was always vague about what exactly it was he analyzed, but since neither of them were particularly mathematically inclined, and both were maybe a bit too trusting for their own good, they took him at his word.

Even when he was sent off on various unusual "business trips.”

It’s not like Virgil’s mark is very specific about when and where it’ll happen. Virgil knows that variations of "sorry about that” make for a large percentage of common soulmarks.

There’s protocols in place, of course, but Virgil had never really paid attention to those classes while training to be a spy. The Lewis clause is the kind of thing Virgil didn’t pay as much attention to, because it didn’t seem as useful as understanding the technology or how to make a cover. The Lewis clause is what to do when someone meets a soulmate on the job—there are specifications for if the soulmate is a target, a team member, or an enemy.

Virgil hadn’t really cared at the time. He’d kick himself for that later.

Any number of meetings occurred accidentally—knocking something over, bumping into someone, or, like his cousin Roman's soulmate did, take Roman's coffee thinking it was his own hot chocolate. They got married two winters ago, just so they could serve hot beverages in cold weather.

He thinks the iteration stamped in black along his left inner arm, "I'm very sorry about this," with the addition of "oh no, it's you” tacked on at the end of his makes it likely that whatever he says will, A, likely be first, B, be somewhat unique, or unique enough to be immediately recognizable, and C, be in the aftermath of some kind of accident.

He ends up being partially right. What he says is first and it is somewhat unique. What his soulmate apologizes for is no accident, though.

Virgil does undercover work, sure, but it's very rare for him to enter the James Bond style locale he's at today, and that he’s been working for the past couple months; the marble ballroom he's circling is dripping with gold chandeliers and matching heavy, velvet curtains that accent the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a string quartet in the corner, barely audible over the chatter of rich socialites. Virgil, deeply uncomfortable in his white-tie attire, is circling the room in an attempt at looking like he attends charity balls all the time.

He sucks at it.

As if on cue, his earpiece crackles to life.

"How the fuck did you ever qualify to be a spy?" Janus, his tech man and eye in the sky, snickers into his ear. "Your acting skills are horrendous. If you auditioned for The Room right now, they wouldn't let you into the cast.”

"Fuck off,” Virgil fake-coughs into his shoulder.

"Christ, at least try to look like you're mingling, not like you've stalked the target here."

Unable to stop himself, he glances toward the target he's meant to be watching.

The target, who is so staggeringly wealthy it could make Virgil, who is trying to pay off his student debt on a spy's salary (not as high as one might think) burst into tears. Or, much more likely, start ranting about the myriad flaws of capitalism. If so inclined, he could honestly probably steal the amount of money necessary from one of her offshore accounts, and it would be as unnoticeable as someone taking a penny from him.

Mary Lee Truman is standing amidst a flock of suited men, like a dove amidst a flock of dour crows; her dress is slinky silk, a shade of champagne that glimmers rose-gold in the right shade of light. She’s standing leaned to one side, her hip popped out and an arm crossed over her stomach, a crystal-cut champagne flute dangling in her fingers as if she was born to hold one.

Her husband, Lee Truman (fuck if that wasn’t confusing, it was really easier to think of them by their codenames) is off by the bar, seemingly getting himself another drink.

His eyes stray to Mary Lee again; he can tell a couple of the suits are hired muscle, bodyguards, which makes sense, as the Trumans are allegedly a massive crime family, doing their dirty dealings in plain sight. A couple of the suits he recognizes from dossiers; one is a business partner of Lee’s father, who might not even know what the Truman family really gets up to; one absolutely knows what the Truman family gets up to, as Virgil’s read his rap sheet and knows he’s been in and out of jail due to his assignments from the mob.

There’s one suit there that really doesn’t seem to fit the mold of either category.

For one thing, he’s around Virgil’s age; for another, he isn’t rippling with muscle. Not that he doesn’t look fit; his well-tailored suit shows off his broad shoulders, his biceps, his lean waist. He’s dark-haired, and pale, and blue-eyed, and he’s standing next to Mary Lee with a look that Virgil would think of as dour, but now that he’s looking closely, the blue-eyed man looks almost... calculating.

This man wasn’t in the dossier.

Almost everyone at this ball was in the dossier.

Virgil looks away from Mary Lee and the handsome man, and instead decides to start taking up Janus’ advice; he slowly moves through the room.

Well. He's doing it to get closer to Mary Lee, but sure, he can attempt to mingle.

He traverses through the room, his fancy shoes clicking on the marble floor, mindful to not step on any dress hems—he has it easy, as his directive was simply to wear his white tie with his hidden weapons, his ear piece, and his lapel pin that records everything he's seeing. The women in the room provide the only splashes of color outside of the black suits and white shirts of the men, the gleaming marble, the gold- accented glasses and dishware. Even what little art he's seen follows that color theme -- white marble busts, abstract black and white paintings in their gilded frames, a gold statue outside the front steps, as if to greet the partygoers.

But the women of the party aren't beholden to this strict color scheme. Gowns of pink chiffon, red lace, blue taffeta, deep violet velvet, Virgil passes them all, keeping one eye out for rose gold silk.

He ends up instituting himself in a ring of people listening intently to an art history professor talking about the architectural significance of his building—he introduces himself with his cover name, James Walker, to the man next to him, who Virgil already knows is a Truman cousin. He gives a fake first name too—he says his name is Alex, when Virgil knows it’s really Bruce. Okay. Something to take note of.

He listens to the art history professor talk about art deco with just one ear, the other straining to eavesdrop on Mary Lee and her suits.

“Do you think our beneficiary approaches?” Mary Lee murmurs to the blue-eyed one, the one that wasn’t in the dossier.

“Oh, I know he does,” the blue-eyed man says to her. He has a pleasant British accent, the kind of voice that would be right at home on a nature documentary calmly narrating the eating habits of wolverines, or something like that. “According to all my research, our previous beneficiary is no longer within our purview. A new one will have been instilled in hasty time. As a matter of fact, I believe I would be able to point him out to you right now.”

Mary Lee sighs, a little, and the man continues talking about their charity. Virgil’s mind races. He knows the Truman’s “charity work” almost always acts as a sieve to run dirty money through, so what would it mean, that they got a new beneficiary? A new target, maybe? A new directive?

Either way, this is almost definitely some kind of code they’re talking in. He tunes a bit more into the art history professor’s impromptu lecture—he’s taking a brief tangent into talking about Tamara de Lempicka—as he ruminates on that particular conversation between the blue-eyed Brit and Mary Lee.

Then he ends up in conversation with an elderly woman beside him, who wants to know who he is—James Walker, I run a business a state or two over, I’m interested in diversifying my assets—and if he’s been to any art museums in town. Both he and the man he is meant to be have not, but it turns out she’s a curator and has numerous suggestions for him.

He also knows this woman, Ida Kelly, has been paying into the Truman business for quite some time, and has potentially ordered hits using the Truman’s muscle.

“Madam,” a suited waiter shows up at her side, as if on cue, and hands her a small glass full of what looks like a gin-and-tonic.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” she says, taking her drink immediately.

The waiter turns to him. There is a singular champagne flute on the tray. “Sir.”

“I didn’t order anything,” Virgil says stupidly, before he realizes that almost everyone here is taking champagne flutes off of trays, and he supposes this waiter just wants to clear his before he has to double back and get more. “Oh, all right.”

He takes it. It’s a delicate, crystal-cut glass. He’s almost a little afraid that if he holds it wrong, it’ll break.

“Really, we’re doing an Impressionism exhibit, and it is positively divine,” she says.

Very suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder, emanating warmth through his suit and Virgil jumps, a little—he hopes whoever it is didn’t feel one his knives. Or, God forbid, his gun.

He turns to see no one, when a hand touches his opposite arm, and he turns again. It turns out to be the blue-eyed Brit, who is staring only at Ida, brushing past him, allowing his hand to trail down Virgil’s arm, touching his hand as if to say, please stay there, I do not want to bump into you.

At such a close range, Virgil can smell his absolutely incredible cologne, see his defined jawline, the way his blue eyes gleam.

Ida brightens. “Darling!”

“Ida,” the Brit says warmly. “I visited that display myself, it was simply wonderful.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” she says, clearly drinking up the praise. Virgil looks between them, feeling even more awkward than he has all night.

“Wait a goddamned minute,” Janus murmurs in his ear, after such a long stretch of silence that it makes Virgil jump again. There’s the sound of rapid typing.

“A victory!” The man says, lifting his glass—it looks to be full of whiskey. “A toast, to your latest triumph.”

“Oh, now,” she says, but when the other surrounding suits start lifting their glasses, Virgil lifts his, as well.

“To Ida Kelly,” the Brit says. “One of the finest artistic minds to walk the earth at our time!”

Virgil takes a sip of his champagne at the same time as everyone else; another woman in a deep green gown with a shawl edged in feathers takes Ida’s arm, rhapsodizing about the Impressionism movement and the latest event that her art gallery had put on.

It takes about a minute for Virgil to notice his vision going blurry in the corners.

It takes him about ten seconds of blinking hard and rubbing his eyes, hoping to clear it, to stumble over his own two feet.

It takes five seconds for Janus’ voice to buzz to life in his earpiece, urgent, “Virgil, get out of there, get away from that man, that’s Lo—”

It takes him about two seconds after that to notice that the blue-eyed Brit is looking at him with an expression clearly lacking remorse.

It takes him about half a second to realize the finger tapping one shoulder, his hand at his hand—the same hand that had been holding his champagne flute. He hadn’t been looking at his drink. The Brit had made him turn away from his drink.

The Brit put something in his drink.

Virgil’s been made.

“Good God, man,” another suited man says, when Virgil stumbles over his own two feet, “had enough of the bubbly, have you?”

Virgil ignores him; even as his vision is growing blurrier and blurrier, his eyes are intent on the Brit, staggering towards him, and he doesn’t even really know why. He’s been made, he should be running, but—

"Did you just fucking poison me, you fucking asshole?" Virgil slurs, and his sudden lack of physical control resoundingly answers the question before the Brit can; the arms that catch him before he can full flat on his face are muscular and warm. He’s distantly aware of the crystal-cut grass slipping from his hand and shattering on the marble.

The warm, muscular arms are more pressing than that. And, for a dirty rotten criminal who has probably killed people, the man is quite handsome. His bespectacled face swims in Virgil's vision.

"'I'm very sorry about this," he says smoothly, before his eyes widen in alarm. "Oh no.”

As Virgil is on the verge of unconsciousness, he hears, "It's you."

His last three thoughts before he slips under: did he just fucking say what he thought he said, then, good God his eyes are so blue, then, fuck, I should have paid way more attention to the Lewis clause.

⁂

Virgil is aware of three things as he wakes up: one, he feels like he has a dreadful hangover. Two, he’s pretty sure he’s in a plane or train or car or something moving, which makes him feel motion sick.

Three, he’s been stripped of his earpiece and his weapons.

He blinks his eyes open slowly, squinting; it’s night time, but even the low light is making Virgil’s eyes hurt.

This is a limousine, he can tell that much off the bat; the partition is closed, the glass tinted as dark as it legally can be, the interior leather light-colored, the bar fully stocked with different sodas and crystal-cut decanters full of various liquors, which makes him wince in memory of the champagne.

He feels like shit, but when he looks over and sees the blue-eyed Brit—his soulmate—his soulmate who had fucking drugged him and was working with the mob—it makes him feel even shittier.

“Ah,” his soulmate says. He’s sitting with one ankle resting on his knee, a squat glass of whiskey in hand. He has glasses on now that he hadn’t had on before. Also, his accent is no longer British; he’s got a nice Italian lilt to his voice, now. “Good. You’re awake.”

Virgil stares at him. He doesn’t say a word.

“I’ll admit this,” he gestures between them, “rather put a cinch in my plan on how to deal with you.”

“Would you have killed me?” Virgil asks. His voice comes out a croak. “If we weren’t...”

He trails off.

The man’s eyebrow arches, before he shrugs, and rolls up his sleeve. His soulmark is in the same place as Virgil’s—stamped across his left inner arm, in the spiky handwriting Virgil only uses in his personal notes, not the more uniform one he writes reports with.

Did you just fucking poison me, you fucking asshole?!

Undeniably a matching soulmark to his.

“My parents were quite bemused by it, when it showed up,” the Brit—or American?—the blue-eyed—his soulmate says. “I suppose we have our answers now.”

“Do we?” he says.

The man takes a sip of whiskey. Then, he says, “Your predecessor was FBI. Are you the same?”

Virgil tenses. The man rolls his eyes again.

“Please,” he murmurs. “For an organization meant to be secretive, your lot are quite obvious when you trade moles in and out. One comes in, goes out, and coincidentally someone new is knocking on the door within the week. It’s absurdly simple to pinpoint who’s reporting back to your government. So. FBI, CIA, military...?”

“Who gives a fuck,” Virgil says.

“One should know what one’s soulmate does for a living, shouldn’t they?” he says. “This is a very unique situation. I’m simply trying to find out—”

“What do you do for a living, then?” Virgil snarls. His head is pounding, his mouth is dry and it tastes dreadful, his soulmate is an asshole working for the other side, and he’s being carted off to God knows where. This day is one of the worst of his life. Why couldn’t he have had a nice little café meet-cute, like Roman had had?

The man smiles at him, not particularly kindly. “I diversify.”

Virgil pulls a face, because he knows that’s poking fun at his cover.

“What,” Virgil says, “poison people on Monday, go to Ida Kelly’s resort on Tuesday, with a fun little Friday jaunt of killing people who cross the Trumans?”

“I’ve never actually been to the museum Ida Kelly curates,” the man admits. “It was an easy way to insert myself near you, to put it in your drink. And for goodness’ sake, it wasn’t poison.”

“Roofie. Drug. Whatever.”

The man’s eyebrows pull together, in a rather petulant expression. “I designed that myself, you know.”

“Well, it’s shit,” Virgil snaps. “I feel like I have the worst hangover of my goddamn life.”

“Yes, that was part of the design,” the man says, and offers him a glass of water.

Virgil stares at him. “Seriously.”

“No trust between soulmates?” He says.

“Yeah, well. Fool me once.”

The man shrugs, putting down the glass of water into a cupholder, before digging out a sealed water bottle. Virgil takes it and places it into a cupholder near him. No fucking way he’s accepting any food or drink from this man.

His lips quirk up into a smile.

“Where are you taking me?” Virgil says, ignoring the way that smile makes his heart pound.

“That rather depends,” he admits.

“On?”

“Well.” He says. He uncrosses his legs, planting both feet on the floor. “I’m assuming that now the man in your little earpiece—he was rather rude—is aware that you have been, what is it you say? Made?”

Virgil nods.

“Well. Now that he, and therefore your employer, knows that you are made, you won’t be poking your nose into Truman business anymore, will you?”

Virgil grits his teeth. “Not undercover.”

The man ignores that. “And I know that no matter which you work for, the Lewis clause has been adopted across every arm of that government, and as such you’ll be prohibited from any mission that might bring you into contact with me.”

God damn it. How does he know the spy lessons better than Virgil does?

And then it occurs to him: Janus knew that man. He warned Virgil to get away from him, to get away from Lo—

He rolls this information around in his head. The Lewis clause isn’t exactly a widely advertised part of being a spy; there was a whole trilogy of novels that got adapted into secret agent movies, years ago, that concerned opposing agent spies coming to face each other again and again, and the secondary soulmate agents teamed up together. Which the Lewis clause would prevent, but the public who went and read those novels or saw those movies wouldn’t know that.

So either this man—Lo? Lo what?—either knows a lot about spies, because he’s one of those know your enemy types, or...

Or he sat down and learned about the Lewis clause the same way that Virgil did, except he actually sat down and listened. Maybe he defected, maybe he’s dirty? Or maybe Virgil’s just overthinking it.

Look. Virgil’s got a lot of questions here. Chief among which:

“Where are you taking me?”

“Away,” the man says vaguely, looking at him. “Are you gay?”

Virgil gapes at him.

“I’d be perfectly fine with a platonic soulmate, but for the sake of disclosure, I am gay.”

“For the sake of disclosure,” Virgil repeats disbelievingly, and pinches the bridge of her nose, rubbing it. God, his head hurts terribly.

“Bisexual, or pansexual, perhaps?” He prompts. “Asexual? Or... you could be straight, I suppose.”

“Ugh,” Virgil says reflexively, then shakes himself. “I’m not—okay. Fine. Yeah, I’m gay too.”

“All right,” the man says, as if noting it. “What’s your name?”

Virgil snorts.

“What?”

“Okay, I don’t—” he gestures to the limousine around them. “Again, you just drugged me. I don’t know where you’re taking me. You probably would have killed me if I hadn’t said those words.”

The man makes a moue of distaste.

“Or had someone kill me, I don’t know,” Virgil amends. “Either way, you’re working with that family, who I’m assuming aren’t pleased at having a spy getting caught trying to work himself into your ranks, so I’d rather you not know all that much about my life, thanks.”

“It’s not like I’m asking for your,” an infinitesimal pause, as if he’s wracking his brain, trying to remember something, “social security number or anything. A name.”

Virgil stares at this man. Lo—. Lo something. Lochlan? Loyd? Or was it a codename?

“Yours first.”

The man pauses.

“You drugged me,” Virgil says.

He smiles at Virgil. “Will you hold this over my head for the rest of our lives?”

The rest of our lives. Yes, that’s meant to be the fairytale ending for soulmates, isn’t it? A nice little meeting, the swell of overdramatic violins in the background, falling into each other’s arms and forming a life together. That’s the popular answer.

More and more recently, though, people have been advocating for choice; that soulmates are not always the best person for you.

Virgil doesn’t know which camp he and this man will fall into, just now.

“Yes,” Virgil says quietly. “Yes, I think I will.”

The man sets aside his whiskey.

“Logan.” He says at last, and his accent has changed again; it’s vague, almost indecipherable, but if Virgil had to guess he’d say Midwestern American. Virgil wonders if it’s his real one. “My name is Logan.”

Logan.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Since discovering you’re my soulmate? I haven’t lied to you at all. Not a word.”

“Except for the accent.”

Logan laughs.

“Habit, sorry. It’s a long story that perhaps the man screaming in your earpiece will be able to tell you one day.”

Virgil jolts with surprise. “You know—?”

He cuts himself off before he can say Janus’ name.

“Reputationally,” Logan says, and, as strange as it is, Virgil believes him. In this, at least.

His soulmate’s name is Logan.

“Virgil.”

Logan smiles, his blue eyes glittering. “It’s nice to meet you, Virgil.”

There’s the sound of a soft knock on the partition, and it lowers; Virgil can’t see the driver.

“Sir? We’re here.”

“Right,” Logan murmurs, shaking himself. He reaches into his jacket and withdraws an envelope, offering it for Virgil.

Virgil hesitates.

Logan rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I’ve laced it with anything. I’m holding it with my bare hands.”

Virgil huffs, but he takes it, opening it and pulling out a thin piece of paper.

It’s a commercial flight ticket to Washington, D.C.

“Why D.C.?” Virgil says quietly.

“Most of those organizations are based there,” Logan says. “Is it too far a jump to assume that you are, as well?”

It is actually too far a jump; it’s not even remotely close, he lives in an entirely different part of the states. But. To be fully honest, he doesn’t want Logan to know the state he lives in, and therefore the state that Patton and Roman live in, until Virgil knows if he can be trusted or not.

Logan opens the limousine door from inside, revealing they’ve pulled up to the local airport.

“What, no private plane?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t trust that,” Logan says with a shrug. “The Trumans may be powerful, but you know as well as I that manipulating a flight of this nature is well outside their purview.”

Logan’s right, he absolutely wouldn’t have trusted that, but. This limo’s pretty swanky. For the time he wouldn’t have been obsessively running over every crack and seam in a private jet and interrogating the pilot, he probably would have had a pretty swell time.

Virgil swallows, looking up at Logan. “There are programs, you know? If you wanted to be a witness. Be in service to—”

Logan smiles at him in a way that’s almost pitying. “I left that life behind a long time ago.”

Virgil looks to the airport, then back at Logan.

“Will I see you again?”

Logan shrugs again, almost delicately. “Who’s to say?”

Virgil nods, once, and he says firmly, “I’ll see you later.”

Logan grins at him. “Not if I see you first.”

Virgil slips out of the limo, slams the door shut, and, with what feels like Herculean effort, manages to get into the airport without looking back to see if he can see Logan through the tinted glass.

He does exchange the ticket for another that’s an hour and a half later, though. He’s not a total idiot.

He gets through security pretty quick, and sits in one of the incredibly uncomfortable chairs, his brain pounding with his headache, the questions swirling around in his head making it even worse. Virgil puts his head in his hands.

He just met his soulmate.

His soulmate is working for a mob family.

He just met his soulmate.

His soulmate is apparently smart enough to specifically engineer a roofie.

His soulmate, though!

Janus knows his soulmate. Janus recognized his soulmate.

His soulmate knew about the fucking Lewis clause.

Was his soulmate a spy too? Was his soulmate in deep cover? Had he betrayed his organization? Was he a good person, or had the universe seen fit to hitch Virgil to someone awful?

How had Logan gotten entangled with the Trumans in the first place? Why wasn’t he in the dossier?

Where was Logan even from? Did he like coffee? Hot chocolate? What had he studied in school? What was his favorite food? If they were normal people, would he have asked him on a date and not drugged him and dragged him off in a limo?

Who was Logan?

Whatever the answers to his questions are, though. Virgil knows himself enough to know that he isn’t about to let this case go. Not the Trumans. Not him.

Lewis clause be damned.

#my post #text #my fic #analogical #analogicalweek #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #virgil sanders #logan sanders

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jeongyunhoed · 4 years ago

Photo

The 100-Day Relationship

alternatively titled: 10 Months Love

Member: Seonghwa Pairing: Seonghwa/OC Group: ATEEZ

Genre: Fluff, romance, comedy, tiny bit of angst (if you squint), fake dating

Summary: When wealthy socialite Juhyun is facing pressure to bring a date to the biggest wedding of the year and the beginning of the social season among the elite, she hurriedly asks an old college schoolmate, Park Seonghwa to be her boyfriend for the entire season. The longer they put up appearances, the more they realize that they never want the arrangement to end.

Things to note: Art curator!Seonghwa, a lot of expensive-ness going on. Other idols are mentioned as well (if you’ve read my fics, you know there will be). Tag list is forever open if you want to keep tabs on this fic, hehet!

Warnings: Some cussing, we’ll be feeling poor and broke with what’s in here.

Tag list: @closer-stars , @masterninjacow , @kunrengui

Masterlist

Chapter 2

“So who is he?” Kibum asked the next day over breakfast.

Kim Kibum was the son of the Kims that owned a chain of hotels and condominiums. The very building Juhyun lived in was owned by his family. The youngest son, he was a dedicated bachelor while his older siblings did all the corporate work. Kibum was also Juhyun’s best friend and constant date if she needed someone for an event, but she thought it would definitely change this time.

“Who is who?” Juhyun raised a brow.

“The guy you were with yesterday, grocery bags and all, I told you to call me after that meeting you had but you didn’t,” Kibum grinned. “So, who was he?”

“Park Seonghwa, he’s an old schoolmate of mine, and the guy,” Juhyun paused. “The guy I have arranged to be my boyfriend for this entire social season…?” She looked at him, a little wary about what she revealed.

Kibum gaped at her, unable to hide the surprise as he tried to understand what she did for a few seconds. “Juhyun….really? Are you that desperate?”

Juhyun rolled her eyes at him. “No, well, maybe, but seeing as Jihan practically humiliated me when he cheated, I’m taking any chance I get. Seonghwa knows and understands what we’re going to get ourselves into anyway.”

“Does Jinri know about this? You ought to tell the bride you’re bringing a plus one, given that she’s been bridezilla these past few weeks,” Kibum joked while taking a sip of his mimosa.

“I didn’t need to. Jinri just assumed I’d be bringing someone, she always says it’s in case I finally move on from Jihan,” She sighed. “Well, any day now, I’d have to meet Seonghwa again to go dress shopping.”

“Dress shopping? You mean no designer’s dressing you yet?” Kibum raised a brow.

“No, because they’re all occupied with the other people attending this wedding and their parents,” Juhyun shook her head. “I figured I’d reuse the blue Elie Saab gown I only wore once and it was during a magazine’s anniversary party. I was only there for 20 minutes anyway.”

Kibum sat up. “Either way, I’m looking forward to meeting Seonghwa, probably make him squirm about your relationship-”

Juhyun slapped his arm. “You will not. Now that you know that Seonghwa and I are pretending to be dating, I won’t let him be subject to your foolishness,” She blew a raspberry at him, making him laugh out loud.

“Alright fine. Anyway, you’re coming with me to Macau, right? I promised Elise I would be meeting her there.”

Juhyun raised a brow at the name. “Elise? Your new pursuit?”

“We’ve only been seeing each other for a month, Juhyun, I doubt it would last, but maybe I could still see her long enough until after the wedding.”

“I’m still keeping my fingers crossed for the two of you, and yes I’ll be going.”

That gave him an idea. “Ah, why don’t you bring Seonghwa along? We could have it like a double date,” He suggested.

It was Juhyun’s turn to look surprised. “...What?”

“Bring Seonghwa along. We’re taking my jet anyway, and it’s likely that Elise and I won’t be leaving our hotel room so I might not have time to take you around while we’re there,” Kibum winked, making her cringe.

“I-I guess I’ll try and see if he’s free,” Juhyun shrugged. “I can’t promise you that he’ll agree to come, we haven’t even set the date for when I’ll go dress shopping yet either, much less Jinri announcing when the wedding shower is.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t ask,” Kibum pointed out. “Tell him I asked, I really did ask you to bring him along after all.”

They sat up when they heard the elevator doors open in the hall. “Unnie,” They heard the voice of her sister Jihyun, sounding even more chipper than the last time she came to visit. Juhyun’s sister Jihyun, was known among society circles for her fashion sense. She was also dating Moon Bin, a celebrity choreographer, the two of them having been together for 4 years, one year more than when she and Jihan dated.

Juhyun and Kibum got up to see her. “Yeah?” She asked.

“I was- Oh hi Kibum,” Jihyun waved at him before handing Juhyun a lavender envelope. “That’s for the upcoming epilepsy benefit. It’s next week.”

Juhyun looked through the contents of the envelope. “Jihyun, did you know, your sister’s bringing a date,” Kibum suddenly said, making her nudge him hard. He laughed out loud, amused at her reaction.

Jihyun’s ears perked up. “...Who is it? It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Believe it or not, it’s not me,” Kibum thought to egg her on. “Juhyun’s got a boyfriend, the two of them have been seeing each other for a while now too.”

“Kibum!” Juhyun nudged him hard again, and he laughed even more.

Jihyun stared at her. “Well? Who is he? What’s his name? And more importantly, why haven’t you said anything?”

“Park Seonghwa, an old schoolmate of mine, he owns the Mars Art Gallery,” Juhyun replied. “And I didn’t want to jinx it. Things have been going very well,” She added, Kibum trying his hardest to stifle his laughter.

“What does he look like?” She could tell Jihyun was trying not to squeal with how unusually calm she sounded.

Juhyun took her phone out, showing her the selca they took together, leaning away when, as she expected, Jihyun squealed. “Oh my god, unnie … He’s gorgeous! Okay now I have to meet him when you bring him to the benefit, okay?” Jihyun brought out her own phone, tapping furiously that Juhyun knew she was telling their parents. “I have to go, I just came by to give you that invitation and now I’m glad I did! See you at the benefit, unnie! Bye Kibum!” She rushed back to the hall where the elevator was.

As soon as they heard the doors close again, Juhyun nudged Kibum again. “You really had to tell her, didn’t you?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

Kibum laughed. “Come on, Juhyun, think of that as a trial run before the wedding. Seonghwa will be better prepared by the big day once you bring him along to Macau, and at that benefit we now have to go to.”

“Alright, but because you’re insisting I bring him along, you are now sworn to secrecy,” Juhyun beamed. “If you tell, I’ll tell everyone you’re marrying Elise.”

Kibum feigned surprise then nodded. “Alright, you drive a hard bargain. This whole thing is safe with me.”

Hongjoong gaped at his friend. Seonghwa invited him over to eat lunch at the gallery, along with both their longtime friends who also worked for him, Kang Yeosang and Jeong Yunho, when he told all of them what was going on. Hongjoong worked as a producer for A Entertainment, but he also had a side gig as a street fashion designer, having launched capsule collections that were regular fixtures at Seoul Fashion Week. Seonghwa could argue that Hongjoong was also one of the few that actually succeeded in pursuing their major, and in Hongjoong’s case, it was music production. “...Are you joking?” Yunho managed to ask, and Seonghwa shook his head.

“Really? Was that why she was talking to you?” Hongjoong chimed in.

“Yes. It-It’s just for this whole social season she’s got going on and she said after all of that we won’t have to have anything to do with each other anymore,” Seonghwa explained.

“And you’re okay with this? “ Hongjoong raised a brow, wanting to be sure. “People of her kind of crowd aren’t exactly the nicest.”

“I know, I know, but I can hold my own, you’re making it sound as if I don’t deal with those types on an almost regular basis, rich stiffs tend to buy paintings from the gallery,” Seonghwa pointed out. “But I know Juhyun, I know she isn’t like that. She’s the opposite of a rich stiff. I mean, she’s rich, but she’s no stiff.”

“I do know that, we all know that, we’ve all gone to school with her,” Yunho spoke. “It’s the people in her circle that we know are those rich stiffs you’re talking about.”

“Well, I won’t say I’m not concerned, but who knows, maybe you’ll blend right in,” Yeosang commented. “Looks like the gallery’s going to get a ton of publicity once Seonghwa makes his society debut.”

The art curator frowned as they tucked back into their food. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and he paused eating to take it out. It was a message from Juhyun.

Epilepsy benefit next week. My sister’s dying to meet you already. Think we can meet tomorrow?

An amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and it didn’t go unnoticed by his three friends. “That was her, wasn’t it?” Hongjoong eyed him.

“As a matter of fact, it is,” Seonghwa replied coolly before typing his reply.

Sure. We can meet at that cafe again for lunch?

Seconds later, he saw a response.

It’s a deal.

“What did she say this time?” Yunho asked, wiping his mouth with a tissue.

“We’ve got our first event to go to next week. It’s an epilepsy benefit and we’re meeting tomorrow to go over the details, I guess,” He said. “And her sister wants to meet me.”

“Her sister? Choi Jihyun?!” Hongjoong’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, the same Choi Jihyun who is already dating that choreographer from F Entertainment,” Seonghwa remembered, making the shorter male frown and Yeosang and Yunho snicker. “I don’t think she’s willing to leave that guy for you either.”

Yunho and Yeosang burst into fits of laughter.

Seonghwa arrived at the cafe the next day, quickly taking the table close to the counter so he could look at the menu while he waited. He wondered what they were planning to do today while also thinking of what his friends had said. It was Juhyun’s friends that they were wary of, and he should be wary of them too. He still wanted to make a good impression. There was the publicity his art gallery was going to have once they go public.

“Hey.”

He snapped out of his thoughts when he saw Juhyun, looking a little embarrassed yet for some odd reason she looked different. It was then he realized that they seemed to be wearing the same pattern on their clothes; blue polo stripes against white, her blouse with his dress shirt under his blue blazer. If anything, they looked like a couple attending a gala on a yacht. “Hi,” He got up to greet her.

“Did you wait long? I’m sorry,” Juhyun said. “And what a coincidence too,” She gestured to their clothes, making the two of them chuckle. Seonghwa gestured for her to sit down and she sat across from him.

“I came just a little before you did so you weren’t late at all,” He assured her. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Just the raspberry iced tea?” Juhyun replied.

“Got it, I’ll be back,” He smiled, padding towards the counter.

Juhyun watched him, thinking about what Kibum told her. One of those social events would definitely have her parents in attendance, and the fact that her sister was aware of her so-called “relationship” with Seonghwa, it wouldn’t be surprising if they and their friends already knew and were trying to find out more about him. She just hoped he was prepared for it.

He returned a moment later, holding the tray with their drinks and set it down. “So what’s going to happen at this benefit? Other than your sister wanting to meet me?” He sounded eager.

“Well, my sister is an understatement, pretty much everyone who knows me will want to know who you are and how we met and what family you’re from, what business you own or specialize in, all of that stuff,” Juhyun swirled her straw in her drink.

“Oh, right, well, at least we have that covered. What time should I pick you up?” Seonghwa took a sip of his tea, looking at the invitation Juhyun slid towards him. “...Wow, this benefit seems huge,” He read the rest of the details. “It’s hard to book a function room in this hotel. Everything had to be made six months in advance,” It made him think of one high-profile exhibit he ended up hosting and the headache it caused him trying to book a venue months in advance.

“8:30, how about that? Cocktails are at seven, but I’d rather not go in for the small talk,” Juhyun frowned at the thought. The last thing she wanted to do at an event like that was to pretend to be friendly with everyone, including Jihan.

“It’s okay with me,” He nodded. “What time should we leave?”

“Because I don’t plan on staying there very long, 8:45?” Juhyun asked. Seonghwa stared at her incredulously. “I know it seems like a waste of effort, but really, events like that are incredibly boring.”

“So why do you even go in the first place?” Seonghwa was confused. He never understood why people of her stature would only afford to be at a black-tie event for a few minutes at a time.

“They’re also expecting I shell out some money to the cause, and it’s a good cause, I just don’t like who I have to mingle with for the sake of that cause,” Juhyun looked down as she took a sip of her drink. “And, for the sake of being petty, I plan on showing up on Jihan and Eunbi, which is why I asked you to meet me, because today’s a day we have to prepare for those events.”

“Prepare?”

“Yeah,” Juhyun nodded. “We’re going to go shopping for your suits.”

Seonghwa froze. “...Today?”

“Yeah, I have to look for a dress too because I only have one dress to recycle, and Jinri is going to demand to see what I plan to wear now before she freaks out later, yeah, you’ll meet her in the events too,” Juhyun added.

“Alright then, so where do we go first?”

“Department store, for your suits. I know just the place, well, it’s the only acceptable place to get fitted for suits in my opinion, I’ve never seen guys walk out of that place not looking good,” Juhyun said with a knowing look.

Seonghwa raised a brow. “...where is it?”

Juhyun smiled. “It’s an old place, but it’s great.”

They were standing in front of a Huntsman boutique at the topmost floor of the department store a while later. “This is what I was talking about…” Juhyun said quietly, glancing at him to see his reaction.

“...Here?” Seonghwa couldn’t hide how surprised he was.

“Yeah, what do you think? If you don’t want to, it’s okay, we can always go to where you usually get your suits…” Juhyun said, hoping she didn’t overstep any lines with him.

“No, no, it’s- I just only thought this was like the Kingsman movie for some reason,” Seonghwa assured her.

“You’ll need a few more suits for every event, and this is usually my father’s go-to shop whenever he has events, and these suits are made to last too,” Juhyun recalled what her father would always tell her mother. She took his hand. “Let’s go inside, we’re catching them on a quiet day.”

She led him inside the store, and Seonghwa looked at everything in awe. “Ah, Ms. Choi, hello,” He heard a man greet her, making him snap out of his momentary daze.

“Hello Basil, this is my boyfriend, Seonghwa,” She introduced them, Seonghwa immediately bowing. “He needs a few suits for this season.”

“Ah yes, busy time of year,” Basil replied, looking him up and down. “He has the built for a suit like ours, I’ll get your measurements and you could pick the fabric,” He gestured to the large rolls of fabric on the shelves behind the desk.

“Send me the total and I’ll make some calls,” Juhyun said. “Sorry, I know, I know what you’re already thinking,” She flashed Seonghwa a sheepish grin. “I promise everything else is on you to spend on me.”

“Now I’m getting nervous on how much I have to spend on you,” He teased.

“I swear I’m not as fancy as I probably seem right now, I don’t even go in here a lot,” She pointed out with a chuckle. “I buy my clothes where everyone buys their clothes.”

“I know, and I don’t doubt that at all,” Seonghwa kissed her cheek, the two of them freezing for a moment at the sudden display of affection. Juhyun felt her cheeks heat up, partly in embarrassment as it happened in front of Basil.

She watched Seonghwa get measured, eyes traveling to the fabrics as she tried to compose herself. She was initially worried about insisting on everything so far, but she was relieved that he was okay with whatever she showed him. “All the men in my family come to this tailor for their suits. Basil worked in the actual Savile Row shop,” She eyed the tailor, who just smiled.

Seonghwa looked impressed, lifting his arms when the tailor went to run a measuring tape along them. “Oh yes, Ms. Choi’s family have been loyal patrons at the Savile Row boutique. I remember having to measure your grandfather,” He replied. “I would personally recommend a navy blue velvet tuxedo jacket for one, bespoke of course.”

Juhyun nodded, giving Seonghwa an assuring look as well, sensing that he was still trying to get used to getting fitted. “Sure, h-how long until it’s done?” He spoke this time.

“For Ms. Choi’s date? Six weeks at the most, both of you won’t need to worry,” Basil assured them.

“Oh, now I see why we had to go here early,” Seonghwa’s eyes widened.

The two of them were walking along the dress boutiques a while later, stopping every now and then to look at the designs displayed on the mannequins. “There’s something else I have to talk to you about,” She said, as they stopped in front of a slightly more colorful dress shop. “My friend Kibum, he owns the building I live in, he’s inviting us to go with him to Macau.”

“Macau?” Seonghwa asked curiously.

“Macau,” Juhyun nodded. “He’s inviting you too to come with me, keep me company or something like that because he’s meeting his girlfriend there.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Really?”

“Yeah. He also wants to meet you. He’s one of my best friends. We’re taking his jet so you don’t have to worry about tickets or anything.”

“Alright then, I think I can leave for a week or something,” Seonghwa nodded. He hadn’t traveled in a while. Neither did Juhyun, who seemed especially surprised at his answer. The two of them figured they still had some getting to know each other to do. He noticed the green and black dress behind the mannequin. “That dress seems like it would look good on you,” He gestured to the display, making her turn around.

“You think so?” Juhyun nodded, looking at the details. “Let’s ask inside then.”

They quietly entered the shop, seeing all the mannequins dressed in long ball gowns and tuxedos. There were photos of celebrities on the walls having worn some of the dresses that were proudly on display, including the dress they were looking at. Juhyun rang the little bell on the desk, and her expression fell when out from the backroom was none other than Kim Eunbi herself, who looked just as disappointed to see her.

“Oh, well, well, well, if it isn’t Choi Juhyun and,” She tilted her head. “Park Seonghwa, right? Jihan told me about your new...squeeze.”

“Hello Eunbi,” Juhyun replied. “I was going to inquire about the dress on that display at the window-”

“Nice, isn’t it? I was inspired by The Devil Wears Prada, Seo Yeji went head over heels for that number, but you’re no Seo Yeji,” Eunbi pointed out.

“Of course I’m not Seo Yeji, I have a different name,” Juhyun quipped back.

Eunbi’s expression stiffened. “Well, if you think I’m going to sell you that dress, you’re probably kidding yourself. Off you go, chop chop,” She gestured them to go away.

“...Excuse me?” Seonghwa blurted out. He could feel his blood boil at the rudeness that was in front of him.

Eunbi laughed a mocking laugh. “Go on, chop chop, before I close this shop out of an abundance of caution. As if I would give any of you the pleasure of wearing my creations.”

Juhyun calmly nodded and turned on her heel. “Come, there are other places to shop,” She muttered to him, and he followed, his free hand curling into a fist as they closed the door, walking down the other direction to the other boutiques.

“If I didn’t care enough, I would’ve lost it at the way she treated you,” Seonghwa frowned as they walked.

“I kind of expected it anyway the moment I realized she owned that shop,” Juhyun said.

“If she knows who you are, she should’ve honestly feared you, you might have her kicked out of this place or something,” Seonghwa said.

“Maybe, since my family owns this department store.”

Seonghwa gaped at her. “Then all the more you should’ve done something, have her kicked out for being rude to you, she doesn’t deserve to be here, she doesn’t deserve to run her own line at all if she’s going to be like that.”

“I know, but it’s not worth my time, I’ve got other things to worry about, like what we’re going to do in Macau or something,” Juhyun chuckled, linking her arm with his. “Why would I waste my time trying to ruin her when I know I’m better off where I am anyway?”

That seemed to make him feel better, but he figured he’d say something if Eunbi tried to do anything again if they were going to see each other at the events. Seonghwa placed his hand over hers. “...Since we’re going to be a couple for this social season, we’d better get comfortable like this, wouldn’t we?”

“Yeah, for a second I was worried that this might come off too strong or something,” Juhyun chuckled, squeezing his arm, feeling the muscle tense under her fingers.

“If we’re going to be believable, coming off too strong on each other is probably what’s needed,” Seonghwa agreed with a knowing look. “We’re going crazy like Jackson Pollock on his canvas.”

“Are you going to make art puns this whole time?” She laughed at the comparison.

“Maybe, hey, you’re supposedly dating an art curator, and I know my art,” Seonghwa grinned. “Want to get some ice cream before we go back to shopping?”

“Just the ice cream. I think after today, I’ll just figure out what I’ll be wearing for the next few months.”

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nam-nam-joon · 4 years ago

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Pairing: lucas/wong yukhei x reader

Genre: meet cute; rich kids AU

Wordcount: 10.6k

Warnings: lots of swearing; yukhei punches someone

Summary: one word is all it takes, and the opaque glass dome surrounding him cracks, and then there's you peeking in through the opening.

notes: i started this in february '19, when i was in san fran, and very much walking through the fashion district and marvelling at the sketches in the boutique windows of dior, and watching the actual rich people around there. and i've loved @stormae 's rich kid AUs for so long, i wanted to try and write my own :)

The first time he sees you, he doesn’t know it’s you yet.

And he also doesn’t see you, not really.

That is, his mind registers a person crouching off to the side as he steps up to the crossing, one hand in his pant’s pocket, the fingers of the others lazily curled around the thin velvet strings of a small bag, carrying a bottle of the expensive scent his mother always leaves a hint of wherever she goes.

That she forgot at home before this trip, and sent him to fetch for her, because of course they didn’t take Doyoung with them for this weekend trip to the fundraiser in the city by the bay.

And in lieu of their usual boy-for-everything, the next best thing is of course their own son.

He doesn’t mind.

It gives him an excuse to saunter around the streets of the high society neighbourhood their hotel is located in, somewhere among the sparkling city lights of downtown.

A breath escapes him.

It is a city like any other. The only difference with this one are the light buildings and summer etched into every corner and crevice, even though the temperatures aren’t quite there at this time of the year.

Running his mother's errand gives him an excuse to breathe in the air that smells of big city, of a million different foods, like gasoline and a bit of freedom, too.

When he walks the streets like this he can be nobody. Just another face in the crowd - a very expensively dressed crowd, but nonetheless. Here he doesn’t have a name, doesn’t have watchful eyes on him scrutinizing his every move, like his father likes to do. Noone there to clutch at his arm and whisper harsh words to him, in a tongue foreign to most of those surrounding them, behind the back of those who take selfies with their new purchases safely tucked into bags that boast the name of brands. His mother’s words are unforgiving about anyone falling outside her perception of no less than perfection, of people like his father and his colleagues, and ultimately, him and his friends.

Because, really, they’re the next generation of perfect people, carefully raised and curated by the last generation of perfect people.

But then there’s movement from the end of his field of vision and you step into it from the right, hand brushing back a few stray hairs that escaped into places they're not meant to be in and the first thing he sees is the way the headlights of passing cars momentarily create a glowing circle around your head, the way the traffic lights tint your face into a multitude of colours, and his eyes, usually so fleeting and only ever interested in the horizon, can’t let go.

They slip down your body with a practiced ease that has been second nature longer than he can think.

He doesn’t know anything about you other than you look absolutely ethereal bathed in the unassuming shine of artificial light.

But then his gaze runs down the length of your body and he comes up empty handed. Not one piece of clothing that you’re wearing bears the label of a designer he’s familiar with.

The washed out pants are rolled up over the worn out converse, there’s the hint of a flannel peeking out beneath your open jacket that seems just light enough to not cause sweat on this early spring's evening. The model of your phone is that from four years ago, but that’s all he can recognize.

Although it tells him enough.

And yet…

Another vespa zips by and in its headlight something at your belly blinks up. A small flutter spreads through his stomach as he takes in the knobs and levers, the metal and beaten black plastic. The long lens with its round cover and your left hand protectively curled around the whole creation, cradling it so close that he can’t think other than to immediately assume it’s just a part of you.

“Hey.” He says, before his brain can stop his mouth. It comes out low and even, a smirk playing around his lips.

The light switches to green, after what feels like an eternity, and you begin to walk before turning your head in his direction.

But instead of the million little things he is so used to hearing in return to one of his “Hey”'s - you don’t say anything. You just look at him and smile, you look into his eyes and smile. And then your gaze leaves him, without a second look, without scanning him. Without seeing him.

It has the smirk threat to slip for a second.

“So, uh, I noticed your camera. You really like photography, huh? Is it a hobby of yours?”

You stop at the next corner and turn into the direction of the setting sun flooding the street that gently slopes down in front of you, lift the camera and keep quiet for a moment. His gaze is fixed on the way your fingers turn a ring close to where the lens meets the rest of the camera, making adjustments, before your body seems to freeze for the fraction of a second that it takes until the camera clicks and you lower it.

Your eyes meet his again and he notes how your right hand automatically turns a little lever, a ticking noise emitting from the case in your hands for the duration of the movement.

“Yeah, you could say that. But I mostly just like to take pics of pretty things, or things I like. It’s not really- Not like I earn money with it or so.”

He nods. “Been here before? In the city, I mean." Then he adds. "I’m Lucas, by the way.”

He waits, one step ahead of you, until you put the cover back over the lens and slowly catch up to him.

“_______. And nah, First time for me. You?”

“Me neither. You like it?”

“It’s alright.” The grin on your face screams that your passive tone is a lie, and his lips curl into a grin until you crack and join in. “Yeah, I love it. Been here for a week now and am still finding new favourite spots every day. What about you? Here for a vacation?”

If only, he thinks, as his eyes catch on the dark clouds opposing the radiant sunset.

“Family trip.” He says instead.

“Oh, awesome! I’d love to have my fam here now- it would be so nice to go sightseeing with them. Where have you been already?”

His eyes trail back to yours, slightly irritated at the energy you just revealed, and the passion behind your words when speaking of the people that created you.

“Just arrived today.” He says, and it’s only half a lie. But he doesn’t know how to explain that his parents aren’t the type to go sightseeing with their offspring; that the idea of his mother in her Manolo’s strutting over the local tourist hot spot bridge is… bizarre.

“Oh, okay.” You say, and he can sense the slight dent his answer gave your enthusiasm. “Well… where do you wanna go? What stuff are you here for to see?”

You add, after he keeps quiet for a moment while trying to come up with a smooth save.

“The… bridge.” He says, as it is the first thing falling into his head. A knowing smile has your eyes glinting, like you are somehow able to see through him.

It has an uncomfortable feeling spread inside him - the pretense he always dresses in to keep his parents - his friends, everyone around him - happy so much more important than some pretty person his mind couldn’t let go of after laying eyes on.

The subdued panic wells up in his chest. He briefly considers walking off, especially now that your head is tilted down and his feet are in your direct line of sight.

The black sock sneakers carry the little printed letters that spell ‘Balenciaga’ along the outer sides, their low rise only allowing a thin slip of skin to show around his ankles before the elastic band of his pants covers the rest of the leg that the sun touched with a tan again, now that he’s away from the snow of winter.

He almost holds his breath.

All of his friends are like him.

Young, good looking.

Wealthy.

You’re no less good-looking and yet as different to him as night is to day.

Your eyeliner is a bit messy towards the outer corners of your eyes, like you had wiped at it, forgetting it was there. There’s frizz making short hairs stand up over the rest of where it is kept together. He can see it’s been a while since you last plucked your eyebrows, but all of it contributes to an image that is so much more human than what he’s used to.

You’re not proper, with skin smooth as if airbrushed like the girls his mother wants him to converse with at events, you have your camera to snap keepsakes of your travels, alone, in a city that is not your own.

You’re walking these streets without fear, and without caring that almost everyone else here is dressed in clothes that, a single item alone, probably costs more than all of yours combined.

There is something fierce inside you that he catches a glint of as a Tesla purrs by and your eyes flash over the car; the way your eyebrows quip upwards for a moment and your lips purse, and suddenly he feels awfully aware of what he’s wearing.

Of how confident you look, how comfortable, without a single brand name lining your side.

Your eyes meet his again, and this time, they stay longer. Flit around and take in all his features before you open your mouth and the spark of mischief beautifully adorns your expression.

“I know the perfect place to see the bridge. Wanna come?”

“Wh- Now?” His eyes fly to the smart watch on his wrist, the time ticking away, and the notification that his mother send him a message, asking about her perfume.

“Yeah. Now. Unless you got somewhere else to be?”

He has. He really has.

“Uh… can I meet you sometime later? Like… eleven, maybe?”

Is that disappointment on your face?

“Ah, I see. Sorry for going in like that, I thought… Nevermind. Hey, look, if you need to go, I won’t keep you.”

This expression he knows, although it’s strange to see on your soft, warm face that holds no trace of the practiced smiles and pleased looks that cover the features of him and his friends. You’re pulling back, distancing yourself.

He swallows down the panic that rises in the pit of his stomach against all the rules and mental restrictions he built over the course of miserable years of splendor and grandeur; the very same walls you crept around and instantly closer to his soul than anyone since his childhood nanny.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I really do want to go with you. It’s just- My parents- I have to bring this to them, and they’ll expect-”

He notices, notices the way your eyes catch on the little bag he holds up, and it’s a pinprick into his chest as he remembers the triple digits he paid for with his travel credit card.

But then your eyes touch his again, and they’re not hard, not unforgiving, not condescending. Just curious.

He gapes at you as you look up at him without a single wrinkle of displeasure on your face.

And in that moment he makes a decision.

“You know what, fuck my parents.” He steps around you and lifts a hand, a cab setting its blinker almost immediately to respond to his call. “I’ll bring this to them and then we can go to see the bridge.”

He pauses with the door held open, wondering why you’re still standing on the sidewalk, camera in hand.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I don’t really have money for taxis.”

He furrows his brows and puts one arm over the door. “It’s alright, I’ll pay. Don’t worry about it.”

When you slip into the seat next to him he tells the driver the address of his parent’s hotel and the car leaves the curb.

“Four Seasons, huh.” You say flatly.

“Yeah. My mother won’t stay at any other.”

It comes out matter of fact, and he has to look over to see the shadow of a grin around your lips before he realizes your sarcasm is such a subtle tease he didn’t pick up on it at first.

“Are you sure they won’t kick me out?”

He brushes past the portier opening the glass door for you, but as he turns around to look back at you he catches you mouthing a thank-you at the young man in the neatly pressed uniform.

“Of course they wouldn’t. Just- just wait here, okay? I’ll be back in a sec.”

You grin and shake your head.

“Hey Lucas!” You call out then, as he waits in front of the elevator. “Wear something plain, okay?”

“Where do you think you’re going.” Comes the voice from his father, stern and with the disapproval so expertly woven into it that he has long since stopped hearing it.

“Out.” He says flatly, picking up his leather jacket he left draped over one of the chairs on his mother’s side of the bed on his way out, back down to you after switching pants and shoes. The flask with perfume is safely clutched in his mother’s hand. It clinks against the marble vanity as she sets it down.

“Lucas! We have an event scheduled, you cannot be-”

“That’s not my name!” He interrupts the higher voice of his mother, his own voice suddenly spiking.

It’s the name _______ knows you by, an evil little voice whispers in his head that he shoves down.

“That’s not my name.” He repeats into the heavy silence after his outburst, more controlled. “Don’t pretend you care about me being there with you, I would just get in your way, as usual. Have fun getting drunk.”

The heavy oak door cuts off his parent’s voices, the nagging one of his mother and the scolding one of his father.

When he rips the clean, neat button down off of him it almost feels like he's shedding a layer that reeks of his parents. He dumps it in one of the artfully concealed trash bins and tugs the white tee shirt he's wearing underneath out of his pants.

He knows he’ll pay for this little act of rebellion, this act of defiance, but when he leans his head against the cool tiles in the elevator, he doesn’t find it in himself to care.

You greet him with crossed legs sitting on one of the decorative, uncomfortable couches in the lobby, the latest Vogue open on your lap.

“Finally. The receptionist was creeping their hand closer to the phone to call the cops on me by the minute.” You grumble, and it’s really not your fault, but he tips his head back and laughs.

He catches you as you eye the plain white shirt, the leather jacket over his arm. Your eyebrows rise as you take note of his shoes - the Balenciaga’s are gone, replaced with a pair of Adidas, so new they practically sparkle.

“What.” He ducks his head to meet your gaze, but you refuse to meet his as you exit the hotel.

“Just look at you. I can’t take you anywhere like this, people will think we’re super good targets to mug and then leave in a ditch. Here, put this on. And give me your jacket.”

He’s too baffled to refuse to take the flannel you just shrugged out of. It’s still warm when he takes it, and it smells more like the scent he only caught a trace of when you sat next to him. He draws a deep breath and hopes you won't notice.

It’s big, at least for you, but on him, it fits. Out of your backpack you conjure up a smaller, slouchier bag, littered with patches that carry unknown town’s names. A water bottle and a polaroid camera find their new home in it, before you stuff your own jacket into the bigger bag and hand it to him. He takes it, again, slinging his arms through the hoops and adjusting them so they fit him.

“C’mon, bend down a little, won’t ya? I’m not a giant like you.”

He complies against his better judgement, cautious eyes under worrying eyebrows keeping track of your facial features, watching out for any trace of malice that might appear as you come close.

It's all he can do to not flinch too heavily when you lift your arm.

Your hand ruffling through his hair, messing up the slicked-back look, catches him off-guard and he’s left to stare at your face in wonder after you lean back, satisfaction radiating from you.

“There, better. Now you’re just a backpacker like me, with fresh splurged-on shoes. Let’s go.”

He offers to take another cab, to wherever you want to go, but you simply shake your head.

“Half the fun is getting there.” You tell him and his burning calves as you climb what is possibly the steepest street he’s ever encountered.

He admires the way you push forward, always half a step in front of him. At the top you look back to where he’s briefly catching his breath, beckoning him forward with a smile.

His jacket looks good on you, he notices. The sleeves are so long that you can make paws out of them, and in the fresh, almost cold evening air, you do, which he thinks is adorable. In a good way.

It takes longer than he thought, from the bustling core of the fashion district across town. You lead him through the criss-crossing streets, point at stuff, and show him things he’d never notice otherwise.

It’s long since pitch black dark before he’s following you through a patch of trees, down a slight slope.

“You sure this is the way? I-”

“Yeah! It’s just one more corner, bridge should be there then, don’t you fret! I’d never lead you astray.”

Doubt sparks sharply in his thoughts, but he fights it down.

He doesn’t know you, not really, he reminds himself; even after a cab ride and a trek across the city spent talking, but it’s this or the fundraiser.

His breath stinging his sides or his mother's manicured fingers pinching him to keep him from slouching.

The refreshing air, heavy with moisture and the smell of trees, or the stuffy warmth that has him light headed without any alcohol - that is saturated with perfumes so thickly he could cut it into pieces.

He steps in a puddle and his adidas aren’t so white anymore, he’s pretty sure he walked himself a blister somewhere and the cold is beginning to seep in, after the hills of the city are behind you

“Lucas! You coming?”

The name is another setback, another pinprick, but he jogs up to where your voice comes from.

The sky behind the trees is oddly red, as if a great light is illuminating the clouds.

He’s only reached you when you already turn, and he wants to call out for you to stop, wait up, and then…

And then he sees the bridge.

The two towers rise high into the night’s sky, six streams of cars flow between them, one side white, one red lights.

It connects the curving street to the dark mountains across the water, where the trail of light vanishes between the sloping tops.

“It’s good, eh?” You smile up at him, suddenly back by his side. He nods and swallows, unable to look away.

The sight shouldn’t be special, he’s seen bridges like these lit up all over the world, so why is this one so breathtaking?

He hears the snap of the shutter, the clicking of the film being turned, once, twice.

He turns his head just in time to hear it click a third time, and he needs a moment before he realizes the last picture definitely has him in it.

“Hey! Did you take a picture of me?”

“So what if I did?” Your grin is shit-eating wide, and he feels himself give in.

“-That’s not allowed.” He says for a lack of anything better when it looks like you’re still waiting for an answer.

You laugh and turn to the front, admiring the sight again.

The countless headlights sparkle in your eyes, the red glow shining on your face.

He gets the urge to snap a picture as well, and in that moment understands you a little bit.

This close, shoulder to shoulder, the details of your face stand out differently.

He should say something, break the silence that’s stretching uncomfortably between you, but there’s nothing coming to his mind.

You turn your head and meet his eyes, and deep down he dreads the comments that will come, about him staring, about him not conversing, about him being rude.

But all you do is smile up at him like he’s the nicest thing you've seen all day, and inch a bit closer.

“It’s cold, no?” He breathes in, breaking eye-contact in favour of the dark water and the park spreading out around you.

“You want your jacket back?” You’re already lowering your backpack’s strings before his hand catches yours, pauses your movement.

“No, no it’s fine.”

“You sure? I can handle it, I’ve got my own jacket. You don’t have to be all tough, don’t wanna get you sick.”

“Trust me, I’m good.” His hand lowers, and he smiles.

“No it’s not!” You speak up, catching his palm in your own. “You’re all clammy! Here, take your jacket back and give me mine, c’mon.”

No matter how much he protests, you don’t take no for an answer, and fifteen minutes later he’s begrudgingly trotting along the beach on the other side of the street, back towards the city, wearing his own jacket.

Your connected hands gently swing between you.

Now and then you sigh, and then take a breath as if wanting to say something, but then you don’t and he’s left to wonder.

The moon breaks through the clouds now and then, bathing the wide walkway in silver-grey light, and then shrouds itself again.

“What’s on your mind?” He brings out, after another sigh of yours.

Your eyes meet his, your face open even though you’re biting on your lip and struggle with words.

But he meant what he said, doesn’t look away, even stops and tugs you to follow his example.

“I’m just,” You begin, looking off into the distance. “Every vacation comes to an end. Guess I’m both relieved and sad about it at once.”

“When do you go back?” He can’t believe he hasn’t asked until now.

“Next week.”

“That’s still some time.”

“I know. It’s what I keep telling myself, but… Time flies. One moment you’re arriving in a new city and the next you find yourself leaving. Life is so fast sometimes and it’d be nice to... Live slow. You know?”

Oh, he knows.

He’s never known anything slow.

The cars he and his friends drive are fast, whenever one of those friends takes an interest in a girl or a boy or anyone, really, they’re fast to proclaim their love and date and then fast to break up. The planes that are bringing him from city to city are fast, the way he only has to tap his plastic on the card reader and it rings up his purchase, fast.

But you’re slow.

You walk, everywhere, you tell him, and he listens. You talk slow, too, there’s a lot of breaks between your sentences, he learns, and occasionally you’ll pick up a topic to talk about that he thought you’d finished already and moved on from, just to add another perspective he hadn’t considered.

The ocean is slow, too, with the waves rolling on the sandy beach and barely grazing the stone steps you sat down on to watch the water.

“Can I lean into your side for a while? I’m not feeling so well.” You say quietly, barely above the wind and the waves.

He turns his head, takes in how your eyes are a bit distant, staring out over the rippling surface.

Instead of answering he puts his arm around your shoulders, shuffles closer until the length of his thigh touches yours and he can tug you into the side of his body.

Both your arms snake around his waist, under his jacket, and because it is right there and not doing it seems weird, he leans his cheek on the top of your head.

This is fast, too, he muses, cuddling the same day you met; but his sore feet and the hours of walking around and talking make it seem like he's known you for longer.

He can’t remember any of his friends ever having talked so much with him.

The bar in the basement of the hostel is loud, filled to the brim with people, there’s music pumping between the walls and he doesn’t know anyone but you.

You vanish to put away your bags and even though this is a place he should feel more comfortable in, he doesn’t.

Maybe it’s because it’s not so dark that he can still see everyone, and everyone can still see him, and everyone is dressed much like you, if not a little more shabby and run-down.

He’s stood by the bar, waiting for two small colas, because they don’t sell the champagne he usually goes for.

“That’ll be nine bucks mate.”

He waits for the clerk to put the card reader out for him, and when the guy doesn’t, he feels the annoyance bubbling up.

“Card?” He says, irritated.

“Sorry buddy, cash only.”

“What?!”

“‘scuse me says so up front.” The guy shrugs, hands inching closer to take the cheap plastic cups away.

“I got it!”

He turns and you’re back, with hair fresh up and shockingly clothed with just a single t-shirt. Gone are the layers and layers from before, and it's like you're a different person.

You put a note with a ten on it down on the counter, politely say thank you upon receiving your change and then turn, handing one cup to him.

He feels strange, still riled up because of the embarrassment and because you were the one to save him, and because you seem to not find fault in that, just smile and take a sip.

“I’m Yukhei.” He blurts out.

Your eyebrows twitch closer together. “I’m ________.” You repeat.

“No, I mean… That’s my name.” He shifts, uncomfortable.

“And Lucas?”

“That’s… That’s my western name. The one my parent’s call me by. But… Yukhei is my real name.” He takes a sip as well, almost cringing at the sugary taste.

“Do you prefer Lucas or Yukhei?” You take another sip, and your eyes are so soft again.

“-Yukhei.” He answers, looking into them.

“Come on guys, make some room for Yukhei and me alright?”

He preens, unseen by anyone but himself, under the way you call his name, and he takes another sip, almost used to the taste by now.

Under a lot of shuffling and grumbling the present people free up a tiny space on the bench and you motion for him to sit down.

As soon as his butt hits the worn out wood, he finds you in his lap, using him as a seat for yourself.

The hand not busy holding his drink comes up to your hip by instinct, he looks up at you out of wide eyes, lips twitching but finding no words for the bold move.

He's had people grinding down on him in clubs everywhere, this shouldn't feel different. It does. This is so much more intimate.

“Everything alright? If I get too heavy I can get off?” You turn and are a lot closer to him than he thought, noses almost touching.

“Huh? Uh, no, I’m good, don’t- Don’t worry. Is this okay for you?”

You nod, half listening to a conversation happening at the table again.

Over the course of the next hour you go and refill your own and his cups, with fanta this time, which he likes a bit better. Every time you come back to him he looks up at you and expects you to demand a seat for your own now, but every time you shuffle back into his lap. The hand on your hip slowly extends each time until you take his fingers and drag them over until his arm is lying around your belly.

His chin is on your shoulder whenever you’re there, but he mostly listens and doesn’t contribute to the chats much.

To his surprise his trips to Tokyo, Monaco or Dubai sound a lot less glamorous, exciting and adventurous compared to what some of the people here, not even much older, can talk about.

One backpacked his whole way down the Rocky Mountains, across a whole continent; another hasn’t been home in two years and is looking to get another visa somewhere else already.

One has just arrived from their plane coming in from the other coast, and another travelled all of the north and is now looking for something a little more southern.

He learns that you’ve been to quite a few places yourself, listen intently as you recall memorable moments and rant about impossible people you’ve come across.

He squeezes once after a loud round of laughter has mostly died down, and even though you’re currently talking to a girl diagonally across from you, your own hand comes up to cover his and squeeze back, and he doesn’t think twice about it but knows you heard him, told him to hang in there.

Once you’ve both said your words you turn to him, curiosity on your face. The way you’re sat, twisted, is a little unstable and so you put a hand on his shoulder, to keep steady.

“Hm?”

“Where’s the bathroom here?”

“Ha? Oh, it’s through that door, on the left side, you just have to follow- Do you want me to show you?”

He feels silly, already mentally beating himself up about not being man’s enough to just go, but already you’ve stood up, linked your hands and are pulling him along.

“You okay? You’ve been so quiet?”

He feels like his ears are half deaf, now, in the silent hallway after the door to the bar shuts.

“Just… tired.” He avoids your question, but not entirely, either.

“Shit, you arrived today, I forgot… Hey if you wanna get out of here just tell me.”

He nods and mirrors your smile before pushing open the door to the washroom.

You’re still there when he comes out again, leaned against the wall, tapping on your phone.

“All done.” He announces, bouncing his hands by his hips, and you smile at the cute voice he puts on.

"Wanna go back inside? Or have enough yet."

He rubs a hand over his neck and looks to the side.

"I think I can stomach another cola. Or fanta. How much do I owe you?"

You shake your head and wave a hand.

"I’ll send you a bill, pretty boy. Come now, don’t think you get a lot of chances at getting out of your ivory tower to mingle among the common folk, eh."

He wants to open his mouth and disagree, and then he doesn't

You squeeze his hand and part with him before you get back to the table, motioning in the direction of the bar and likely referring to the last drink he mentioned, and he nods and goes to sit back down.

You join him soon after, leaning forward a bit to squeeze between the table and his legs, and over your shoulder he catches the leer of one of the guys that’s been eyeing you a little too much all evening.

But you don’t seem to notice and so he clenches his hand into a fist and presses it against the wood.

Soon after, one of the girls from the right side of the table puts her drink down and gestures towards him.

“What about you, where are you from? You staying in the hostel as well?”

He answers, as best as he can, and he’s had a lifetime of dodging and carefully evading clear answers and if the others are aware of him shifting the topic of conversation around and asking for more travel stories of them, they don’t say anything.

You wiggle out if his lap and whisper you’ll use the restroom really quick and that he better not dare to run off, and then your reassuring weight is gone and he’s alone at the table but it feels safer than sitting at one of the round tables of a gala, with crystalline flutes of bubbling liquid and stiff jackets all around.

The door to the hallway closes behind you and the guy from before turns to the person next to him, an ugly grin spread on his face, and says something low on his breath. Following a sudden impulse he gets up to head to the reception of the hostel upstairs and doesn’t really hear the spoken words, and part of him doesn’t want to, and another part strains his ears to pick it up nonetheless.

When he comes back the same girl who’d asked before directs another friendly question at him and his attention momentarily slips.

But not for long.

His eyes find the door when you push it open again, and in the same moment he hears the two guys clearly.

“..._______ such a slut.”

At once the anger is back and his fingers flex.

“What?” He says, and it’s louder than anything else he’s said this evening. The others at the table pause in their chat, and he feels eyes on him. “What did you just say?”

The guy glances around and then leans back, fake confidence mixing with real one.

“I said what I said. Cute ass, too.”

“Apologize!”

The guy pulls a face. “Why should I? She isn’t here and it’s not like she didn't have it coming-”

He’s on his feet before he can blink and then there’s a sharp pain on his knuckles and the guy is curling forward, pressing a hand to his mouth and cursing.

Right afterwards the guy rises to his feet, and to his satisfaction Yukhei notes that he’s a couple inches taller than the asshole, a little broader too, even though the other guy looks like he packs more muscle.

“You wanna fuckin’ go?” The guy hisses, red seeping between his teeth and eyes glinting.

“Apologize and we won’t have to.” He growls, hand still clenched.

"Yukhei!"

He hears you exclaim into the awful silence that suddenly fills the dingy space, but the adrenaline is rushing in his veins, his blood loud in his ears.

"Stop it!"

"Do you know what he called you? How he’s talking about you behind your back?"

The fury about someone reducing you to a glimpse, a fraction of who you really are, just based on your shirt slipping a little too low-

As if he isn’t just as bad.

Giving you a once-over upon first seeing you, running a mental checklist of brands you were sporting, how compatible your styles were.

He knows how shallow him and his friends, but especially his mother and father are. And maybe that's why his anger is boiling over now, roiling in his stomach. Because he knows he's no better, because in just a couple of hours spent with you he's lived so much more than in the months preceding this trip alone.

But there's your hand on his elbow, the warm skin of your palm as your fingers weave between his, and even though the asshole is still dabbing at his busted lip, sneering so ugly, he lets you. Lets you tug him away, out between the people staring from their seats, into the weird hallway and up the flight of stairs.

"You really don't care that guy called you that? For no reason, at all?"

He doesn't mean to sound this accusing, this hurt that you rejected his offer to stand up for you. At the top of the stairs you turn back, fingers twitching in their hold on his hand. He looks down into your face when he comes to a rest next to you, rubs his thumb over the back of your hand once.

"Of course I care." You blink, and he worries his eyebrows because he doesn't understand. "I don't like being labelled like that, by assholes like him. But it happens all the time. And even if I would've spoken up about it, which I would have, by the way, that- speaking up should have been enough. I'm not going to fucking deck a guy just because he can't handle me showing as much skin as I want. Worse things have happened."

"But-"

"I appreciate it, you standing up for me. But you don’t have to, I can handle it alone.”

The words of protest are heavy on his tongue but he swallows them down.

“I think we need some fresh air.”

He hears you mumble.

The clouds that move across the expanse of darkness above are the colour of rust.

He’s quiet again, but for a different reason than before.

Now and then he sneaks glances at you, wondering when it would be a good time to open his mouth again.

You lead him, again, around corners and across streets until he’s lost his way for sure and could only find his way back by taking a cab.

Then again, he was sort of lost as soon as you brought him out of the fashion district already, so this isn’t that much of a change.

“Hey, you hungry?” You ask suddenly, stopping in front of a fast food restaurant. “I’m hungry. Let’s go in.”

He doesn’t object.

The cup of ice cream he got with your enthusiastic approval is nice and cool against his bruised knuckles.

Through half a pack of crispy golden fries already he sees you pause, with your gaze locked on his hand.

“It’s not-”

He starts, after you swallow and he practically hears you complain already.

“It doesn’t hurt, don’t worry. I’m sorry- I- I’m not sorry about hitting the guy. He deserved it. I’m sorry he said that about you.”

You close your mouth and take a sip of the drink. Just one shared cup, without a lid or straw, because you said there is enough plastic in the oceans already.

You look away from him, put the cup down and reach for his hand.

He wants to object and pull it away but you glare at him and he doesn’t want to upset you further and so he lets you examine it.

There’s a soft, barely there touch to his raw knuckles and his eyes are darting back in time to see you put the most careful of kisses first to where the skin is sensitive, and then to the back of his hand.

He feels himself calm down. It’s like his entire being is solely focused in this moment in your touch. For just a moment nothing else matters.

You lean back and sigh, not letting go of his hand.

“What am I gonna do with you, hm.”

He hopes it’s a question you don’t intend him to answer, because there are no words coming to his mind.

He holds the door open for you as you exit the 24 hour restaurant. The air here in the city is a little less crisp than out at the bridge, but it’s still fresher than inside. His legs ache, and the soles of his feet burn, reminding him of the amount of walking he’s done trailing after you today and then there’s the flight from the morning and he’s very suddenly very tired.

So much so he stumbles and bumps your shoulder, even.

“Hey, Yukhei? You okay?”

And you look at him again, with your eyes so soft, and his hand clenches around the bandana you got out from who knows where and wrapped around his knuckles as a makeshift bandage.

“Just tired.” He whispers, head filled with the image of your face lit up by the restaurant’s neon signs beside you two and the glow of the streetlights to the other side.

“Maybe that’s a sign to head to bed then.” You grin at him, but despite your words, there’s no flirtatious meaning behind them, no other intention than innocent honesty.

“Would you like to come back to my hotel?” He blurts out, hand curling around your bandana over his palm, feeling the tightness of it and the small pain as it stretches over his skin.

There’s doubt on your face.

“The four seasons? With your parents? I don’t know…”

“We could get a room at another hotel. Without my parents. Just… us.”

And he doesn’t mean anything else than what he just said either and instead he’s silently hoping, wishing, you won’t leave him. Not yet. Not like this.

You smile.

“Are you paying?”

“Of course.”

The smile widens into a grin.

“You’re cute when you make puppy-eyes. Okay fine, I’ll bite. Where are we going?”

“To catch a cab.” He huffs. “My feet are killing me.”

“New shoes,” You whistle and pat his arm affectionately. “Yeah, I’m praying for your feet man.”

The big black expensive wooden door clicks close behind him almost without sound.

He doesn’t care.

It’s not the Four Seasons, it’s the next best thing, but the room he left his card for at the front desk is bigger than the dingy bar at the hostel alone, and his chest warms at the sight of awe on your face.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He hears, and turns from the panorama window overlooking the city to see you resurfacing from the bathroom.

You’re holding on to the door frame and seem to be caught between anger and wonder.

“There's a bathtub the size of a fucking swimming pool in here. The fuck. And-” You lift a hand and he sees a bottle of lotion or shampoo in your grasp. “This shit costs sixty bucks! What the entire hell.”

He grins, and it’s one he settles into easily, one of the million-dollar-smiles that are his trademark.

“Like what you see?” He lifts an eyebrow.

You shake your head and put the bottle down, gingerly, as if it isn’t made of plastic and would probably survive a good toss across the room.

The mahogany floating cupboards you pull open reveal a set of bath robes and pyjamas so soft you push your face into the first shirt you pull out, turn to him and shake your head again.

“Wanna take a swim in the bath-pool?” He asks, because he feels the exhaustion with every move, settling deeper into his bones.

You nod and follow him as he crosses the room.

The tub is big, he thinks, but not the biggest he’s seen or even been in. He turns the faucet on and even in here the windows reach from ceiling to floor, allowing glimpses of the streets far below.

You shoo him out to get in first.

The foam is so thick he has to search for your face upon coming back in.

He hears you giggling and then a portion of it moves and there’s your smiling face.

“Come in, it’s amazing.”

He’s reaching for the belt around his robe and you cover your eyes like a child. It feels weird, being allowed such privacy, when all the other girls he’s usually around would eat up any and all chances at seeing him.

He sinks into the foam, on the other end of the tub, because you only agreed to this if he kept his distance and there was no ‘accidental’ touching involved.

He can’t seem to bring himself to mind.

Every other girl he would have met somewhere, in a club or else, and they’d have at least rolled in the sheets once by now. But not you. It feels more thrilling than he could have expected.

“What are you thinking about?” Comes your voice and then a tiny mountain of bubbles gets parted and he’s able to see your face again after sinking into the water.

He shrugs, because that is his go-to answer.

“No thoughts, head empty?” There’s a quirk around your smile like he’s supposed to know what it means but he just nods.

“Tired.” He says, and only after it leaves him does he realize how often he’s said it.

“Are you, really?” You ask, and your voice is softer than before. “Putting what you feel into words is difficult.”

“Yeah, it is.” He agrees, and cups a handful of foam between his palms. “I don’t know. I don’t really need to say what I feel, if I shrug or say that I don’t know, it’s enough for people.”

His eyes glaze over.

“And right now? I mean, you’re tired, but what else is in you?”

“Huh?”

You gesticulate but you're a bit out of focus.

“I, for example, I’m tired too, but also happy because I got to show you the bridge, and I’m in awe at being here, in a hotel room bigger than a house, in a tub with a cute boy I met this afternoon. There’s more, but just, you know?”

He puts an effort into blinking and clearing his eyes, and turns your words over in his head.

“I feel… Tired from travelling, and from my parents wanting me to be like them and going to the fundraiser with them and be seen as their perfect son. I’m… Seeing the bridge was nice. No, not nice, it was… Amazing. It shouldn’t be but it was one of the nicest- most amazing things I’ve ever seen. I liked watching the ocean with you, I felt… Like I could pause and take a breath. This is nice, too. Sharing the tub but not… doing anything.”

He shuts his mouth and it’s strange how light his chest feels suddenly.

“Wow.” It slips out.

Across the foam, you smile at him.

You make him get out of the bath first, cover your eyes again and tell him to leave the room so you can come out, too, but then after you come out looking scrubbed clean and fluffy wrapped in your bathrobe, he goes back in to wash the gel out if his hair and the metaphorical dust of travelling off his skin.

You’re watching the skyline when he re-emerges, smelling like the expensive shampoo and lotion the hotel supplies.

The spaghetti top fits you nicely, he thinks as he approaches, and hugs you from behind.

You stiffen in his hold, just for a moment, and then you relax again, cover his hands with yours.

“It’s so pretty.” A yawn breaks the last word and he chuckles, even though he’s just as tired.

“I know.” He says, but his head is leaned against yours and his eyes are closed.

He wakes to white sheets and the soft golden hues of dawn.

For a moment he doesn't recognize who's in bed with him, hair sprawled over the pillow and half buried under the blanket.

Did he get drunk last night?

But when he reaches back in his memory there's no haze, no blurry images, everything is clear and he remembers everything.

It's you, there with him.

He lifts his head.

It's quiet in the spacious room.

Only the sunlight comes in, and it touches everything into a magical glow.

And among that you sleep soundly, curled around your hands fisted in the sheets, and he leans over to the bedside table, fishes his phone up from there and snaps a picture before he can lose the precious sight.

Then he puts the device away, lays back down and continues watching you, even though his eyes droop once more.

It seems like a dream, everything that went down yesterday, but he is once more reminded that it isn't when he reaches out to brush hair away from your face and sees the bruise on his knuckles, standing out against his skin.

His heartbeat is loud in his ears.

His chest is a bit tight, like his heart is too big for it, and he softly exhales in hopes it might soothe the ache.

He dozes off again, wondering if this is what love feels like.

A hand combing his hair rouses him from slumber, the pad of a finger rubbing his cheek.

He blinks his eyes open and squints at your radiant smile, almost as blinding as the sunlight from before.

"Hey," He rasps, and swallows and clears his throat.

"Hey." You answer, smile impossibly brightening. "Slept well?"

"Mhm, yeah? You?"

You laugh and lean your forehead against his shoulder.

"Yeah. This bed is like a tiny cloud. I feel so refreshed."

"That's good." He smiles and yawns and stretches.

Your fingers touch the smooth expanse of his stomach, revealed as the blanket slips away, and he cracks mid stretch and giggles.

"N-No- Mercy, mercy please! Please!"

The giggles turn into a laugh as you push up into a sitting position and he twists and turns and bats half-heartedly at your hands.

"No." He breathes, trapping your wrists in his palms and pushing himself up as well. "Don't. Bad… Bad human."

Your eyes sparkle again and it's the cutest thing he's seen.

"Okay, okay. I yield."

Satisfied, he lowers your hands.

"Wanna order breakfast?"

"What?" Your eyes widen. "Like, up to this room?"

"Yeah?"

"Isn't there like, a buffet downstairs or so?"

"Maybe? I don't know."

He shrugs, and it's the truth. He doesn't feel like he has to pretend he knows everything.

"Let's get washed up and go downstairs. I wanna have a look at all the rich people in their morning attire."

He purses his lips and is about to tell you there's nothing special about that, really, but his thought process gets cut short by your palm on his cheek and your lips pressing a soft smooch to the other.

He's left gaping while you hop off the bed and vanish in the bathroom, and only after the lock clicks into place does he feel his entire face burn, cheeks tingling with the ghost of your touch.

He brings his own hand to the spot your lips were in just moments prior and is absolutely powerless against the big, flustered grin spreading on his face.

He gets up and out of bed, stretching once more and feeling as good in his skin as he hasn't for a while now, and just unlocked his phone to check for messages when the lock clicks across the room and the door opens.

"We didn't order-"

The words die in his throat at the two figures waltzing in, not even bothering to close the door behind them.

"What did you think you were doing, young man?!"

His mother's words drip venom that could have left black burned holes in the plush carpet under her steps.

At once his shell is back, the hardened surface that had peeled back in your presence.

"Taking money out of your account, eating at a… At a fast food restaurant? Are you out of your mind?"

"You know I usually think you should be allowed your freedom but I'm agreeing with your mother here." His father helpfully supplies, hands behind his back from where he wandered over to the window.

"So what if I do with my money what I want? It's not like it matters to you?"

"That's enough. Get dressed, we're going back to our hotel. Gods help us none of the-"

"No." He says, and feels something welling up inside him.

His mother pauses, glaring at him.

"-Nobody saw you out, that would be such an unnecessary-"

"I said no."

His volume increases alongside his anger at being ignored and talked over.

"Lucas, pull yourself together. Why you would book another hotel room when you have one next to ours is useless spending, not to mention-"

A door opens behind him and he turns. His stomach hits the floor between his feet.

He forgot about you, hidden in the bathroom.

You're carefully closing the door behind you but pause when you realize all eyes are on you and the conversation stopped.

"Good morning." You dip your head slightly, eyes flicking from them to him.

"Lucas, what is that."

His mother asks, not turning her eyes away from you, and you're obviously left speechless at such blatant rudeness thrust in your face this early in the day so you keep quiet.

"This is my friend, mother."

His tone is freezing as he crosses the space separating you and takes a hold of your hand. "Not that it concerns you."

"Lucas," His father speaks up, hands outstretched in front of him. "You know we don't mind you socializing, but someone like that…?"

He obviously means the messy bun you put your hair in, the simple - cheap - outfit with the worn flannel around your hips.

Nobody of their standing would be caught dead like this.

He bristles under the comments, his chest filling with a prickling rage, but then you squeeze his hand and he looks down into your wide eyes and the half hidden panic in them.

"I'll go now. Thank you for everything, Yukhei."

You slip away from him and give his parents the widest berth you can manage before picking up your shoes and taking your jacket off its place by the door.

"No, wait-"

He hasn't asked you for your number yet, or Snapchat, or Instagram or anything; it feels like you're slipping through his fingers and he knows if he doesn't get you to stay, somehow, you'll be gone in a heartbeat and he'll never get you back.

Cinderella running as soon as the clock strikes midnight, but unlike her prince, he doesn't even have a shoe that would allow him to find you again.

"Lucas-" His mother warns him, but with a hate-filled look he's out the door, heart hammering away in his chest at the prospect of losing you.

Losing soft, warm, you, with your slow words and your camera and your view of the world that's so different from his.

He manages to wrench a hand between the doors of the elevator just before it closes and he's panting and high strum when the metal slides back and allows him in.

"Yukhei? What-"

He turns and sees his parents come out the door, and hurries to press the 'close doors' button even though neither of them would do as he did and sprint to catch them.

As soon as the cabin moves, he turns to you, hands feeling jittery and out of breath.

"Can I have your number? Or social media, or address or… anything? Anything I can reach you with?"

"Yukhei…" Your eyes are still wide as you look away from his face.

"Please." He swallows and tries to calm his erratic breathing. "Please, you're- You're the fucking best thing that's happened to me in months, months, okay, I don't- I don't want to lose you, I want to, I want for us to have breakfast together and do stupid tourist shit together and I just want more time with you, please…"

The doors open and reveal the first floor, and the presence of an elderly couple shuts him up momentarily.

They get on and upon seeing the button for the ground level lit up already settle against the opposite wall.

He catches your eyes again.

"Please."

He whispers.

"Boys like you aren't good for girls like me, Yukhei." You tell him, cupping one of your hands over his cheek, and with a sadness on your face that installs more fear in him than his parents showing up unannounced.

"What do you mean?" He asks, and wraps his own fingers around your wrist.

The doors open again and reveal the lobby, and everyone gets off.

"I mean…" You sigh and look around, at the brown suitcases with golden letter print, at the names flashing from every purse, shades or shoes. "I mean, boys like you... Don't spend much time or thought on girls like me. We don't mix and match. We're too different. Boys like you… Lose interest in girls like me once they get what they want."

He knows you're right and he hates it.

He wants to say something, anything, but his tongue weighs too heavy and you look like you know your words are true to the bone.

"And, your parents…" You lift your eyebrows and tilt your head, having said enough.

He feels powerless and he hates it, but unlike with his parents he can't act up, he can't step out of line, he can't risk a slap or punch in exchange for a brief moment of exhilarating freedom. Because you are freedom in the shape of a person already, and he is at a loss at what to do.

"Let me prove you wrong."

A plead. He knows your time together is running out and he knows he's grasping at straws but he's desperate.

"I appreciate that."

A beat of hope in his chest.

"But you don't have to, really. You have nothing to prove to me, Yukhei."

"Lucas!"

He freezes at the shout, the voice of his mother reaching out of the elevator.

"It was so nice getting to know you."

"No- No-!"

And you're slipping from his hands, are gone faster than he can gather his thoughts and defreeze his tongue and all that's left of you is one more kiss, quick and fleeting, pressed to his other cheek and then you're skipping to the exit, look back once you reach the door, with a smile on your face.

His mother's hand takes a hold of his elbow like a claw wrapping around prey, the rings on her fingers pressing into his skin, and her voice is talking but he doesn't hear.

He still feels your soft lips on his cheeks, the ghost of your fingers between his, and it's so little contact to what he's used to from the girl's he's usually around, and yet it feels like it meant so, so much more.

He closes his eyes and hangs his head and mentally shuts off to let the words spoken at him roll off his skin without allowing them in.

It's late and the sky is dark and he's locked in his room while his parents are out on the second evening of the event.

The screen of his phone lights up and he turns his head to check, not really interested in whatever is happening. His attention spikes when he reads the Snapchat notification that he's just been added as a friend.

Turning on his side he pulls up the new chat, and there are the little dots that indicate the other person is writing.

-Yukhei what the ruck!!!

-*f

A smile finds the corners of his lips, the first one since the more than harsh awakening this morning.

>found my gift? ;)

-what the fuck! i can't accept this??

>no take backs. get something nice and pretend like it's a souvenir from me

At least that way you could have something to remind you of him. If you want that.

-that's so much koney tho??? are u sure?

-*money ruck

-*FUCK

>don't worry about it. i owed you, you know. consider it paid back, with interest

Your bitmoji drops down and it seems like you're considering what to do next. It feels good, to know you received the envelope he left at the front desk in the spur of the moment, his Snapchat handle scrawled on it alongside a short “Please add me when you get this :)”

Then…

-did u get in trouble? bc of me?

>nah

>my parents caught me doing worse

He pauses and bites on his lip, weighting pro against con of telling you.

-do i want to know??

>hosted a party and couple of my friends had an orgy in my parent's bedroom. they came back early and…

-holy fucking shit what the fuck

He opens the camera and snaps a selfie, pouting and adding a text about being grounded for the remainder of this trip.

He holds his breath in anticipation until the little pink square next to your name fills out and he can click on it.

It's a close-up of your face, from an incredibly unflattering angle, and you're clearly not shredding an ounce of sympathy for him.

No text is added.

He sends another pouting selfie, zoomed in as well and lays on the puppy eyes thick.

The next image is half your face hidden under your blanket, with the word "no" taking up much of the screen.

He swipes into the main menu and then further to the friend page, clicking on your story.

What unfurls before his eyes is a miniature movie, single pictures taken all over the city and pieced together with selfies and you talking to yourself.

At once his heart beats a little faster.

His screen lights up, months later, and still his heart won't beat normal.

That morning a letter arrived for him - a letter, for him, in a battered envelope with an entirely foreign stamp and his name proudly on it.

It's from you.

In it he found copies of the pictures you took of him in front of the bridge, the light and dark touching his face.

And then the tiny polaroid he had asked you to take two times, one for you and one for him, and then hadn't gotten the chance to take it with him.

He'd snapped a selfie of the letter and him and sent it to you before opening it, and now he's blinking to keep the tears from spilling over.

Wong Yukhei does not cry, especially not at something like this. And yet…

But instead of an answer snap to your “omg u got mail!!” he opens the screen to a video call, and hurries to brush his eyes dry and fails when the connection stabilizes and he can see you.

It's a different time of day for you, and your hair has grown and changed, too, but the smile that's on his screen is still the same, radiant one as before.

"You got my letter!"

You exclaim, and even though it's a bit warbled and the rendering is a bit blocky, he feels your excitement.

"I did."

"Was beginning to think it got lost in the mail. Do you like the pictures? I put the polaroid in as well, did you-"

"Yeah," He smiles, and the word comes out rasped. "Yeah I- I got everything. Thank you."

You smile again.

It's so nice to see you again.

The words spill out before he can hold them back.

"So, hey," He brings up, an hour later just before you have to end the call. "I'll be flying out next month, to- Maybe we can-"

The grin on your face impossibly widens.

"You serious? My town? When?"

"Uh-" He has to minimize snapchat to pull up his calendar to tell you the exact date.

"You wanna meet up? Get to know my city?"

Warmth explodes in his chest, showing in a barely contained smile of his own.

"Yeah! Yeah that… I'd love that. More walking for me."

You laugh and then both of you fall quiet, content watching the other for a moment.

"I'm happy." You tell him. "I'm really happy I'll get to hug you properly. This-" You gesticulate towards the phone screen. "-isn't really holding up well."

“I’m looking forward to it, too.”

He drops his head on his pillow and smiles.

notes: i hope you liked it :) comments/reblogs make my day, so if you send an ask or just say a few nice words, i��d love that ^-^

you can also find all my other writing on Ao3 - runningfaucet is my @ there

118 notes · View notes

moondustaeil · 4 years ago

Text

anaphora ⧜ nakamoto yuta

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ✧☾.·:·. a n a p h o r a

⠀ ⠀⠀ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ

⁖ genre : royalty au - fluff , angst , very light suggestive content

⁖ pairing : yuta x reader (both royals)

⁖ word count : 15k

⁖ warning : badmouthing , light suggestive content , attempted thievery , family drama , mentions of a forbidden relationship , broken kingdoms , character deaths , poisoning , toxic plants , based on oneus’ performance of “be mine” in road to kingdom

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀ ⠀⠀ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ

⁖ Rather than living without your love, Yuta would prefer to die out of hatred. Once at a banquet the man you were willing to devote yourself to but due the split of the kingdoms, you can no longer promise forever to him like you did that night under the moonlight in the conservatory.

〚 I ; ūnus 〛

"This might be the death of fashion diplomacy, look at that attire," A woman of somewhere at the end of her forties interrupts Yuta's path. It isn't physically that she interrupts him, but his footsteps halt as soon as he hears the words. The two silver chains that circle from his left shoulder to the right side of his waist soundlessly move along as he turns his body back.

He looks straight into her eyes, his head cocking to the side as he wants to confront her in the sweetest way possible. Revenge is on the tip of his tongue but the guard could be quick to snatch the symbolic entrance ticket from between his fingers if he caused a stir.

"Are you talking about me?" He decides to ask her, letting go of his lower lip to flash her a smile. His smile nearly shines as bright as the glittering silver parallel-running lines upon his black blazer. But his smile doesn't catch as much attention as his outfit does, and yet, he doesn't feel ashamed about his attire.

"If you feel addressed then it must be about you, right?" She asks in return, her lips curling until she's able to imitate his smile. While he looks for revenge, she just tries to overpower him with the sugary sweet and yet snarky comments. Yuta can't help but hum in approval "I guess that's accurate, you have a point there."

He isn't afraid to show how she has a point because after all, he feels like he won even though the minuscule passage of words wasn't part of a contest. "Now, I would like to talk about having an excellent sense of fashion all night but seems like I should not waste time on people who don't have such things from the start," he shrugs his shoulders to hide the prideful words that slip from his lips. After giving her attire one last shameless glance, he turns on his heel and walks away from her.

Somewhere in the distance people are either way spreading their half-opinionated gossip or looking at him like he just killed an evil authority. Whether it's a good or bad thing isn't something that bothers Yuta, his footsteps don't get any heavier as he steps between the crowd on his own.

The potion has been stirred but not enough for his entrance ticket to be snatched away, yet enough for his father to walk up to him with disappointed eyes.

"What was that about?" His father asks in a quiet shout, pulling Yuta by the tight cupp of his puffed blazer. Merely by the button as the fabric is tightly resting around his wrist, too tight for his father to hook his fingers on the inside of it. "Nothing, she was just inquiring about my outfit," Yuta answers simply.

It's not hard to pull from the barely-existing grip, the undamaged button rests against the cupp again. "You know these sorts of people, you are supposed to nod your head and agree to all they want you to agree on, understood?" His father starts the real lecture in the middle of the crowd-filled room. Watched or not watched, Yuta has no care for it, and apparently, his father doesn't mind giving free lectures.

"Said no one, father. Jaehyun, Mark, or any of the others don't want to be treated like this either and they are in a way higher position than that twat," He tells his father but is aware of the answer that he will receive to his words, of course, he will get the response that he's not supposed to involve his stupid friends in serious matters like this. "Do I need to remind you that Jaehyun, or Yoonoh as you should say, nearly lost his position when he shared the sheets with a lady he had never seen before?"

Yuta clenches his thumb between his balled fist, creating the cracking sound as he only grows more assertive when hearing the words. "Oh father, please stop believing human newspapers, they're no good ass wipers," he mentions lightly but the consequences aren't as smooth as his words are.

He's willing to get scolded for protecting one of his friends: yes Jeong Jaehyun nearly lost his position when he shared the sheets with a woman. But added to the false story should be the truth, that Jaehyun had been sharing a secret life with the woman for more than half a year. The scandal was only a scandal because the woman was just an inhabitant who didn't occupy herself with kingdoms, authorities or wealthy cowards.

"This is the first and last thing I am hearing from you today, Yuta, if I hear one more thing, you can forget coming to events like this."

Yuta just carelessly nods his head before he walks away from his father, not caring whether the words would come true or not. He doesn't see why he would need to attend banquets, balls or any other formalities: it only cost him time and money as his outfits weren't exactly bought on a weekly market, neither were his exact body sizes measured by a randomly generated number.

"As if I care," he mumbles as soon as he is far enough from his father, he wouldn't have minded if his father heard the words but still protected the last bit of image that he had left. His footsteps were slow but not slow enough to match the still ones of everyone around him: curious ladies that were staring at him with either distrust or lust, men that tried to keep their wives from starting a vicious circle of rumours. Yuta pushes his body through the empty space that everyone left for him until he is standing near one of the large windows.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Yuta grasps his cake fork between his thumb and index finger as soon as a plate with a large piece of cake is presented to him. He's about to dig in and scoop the point of the cake onto his fork but the voice of the person next to him momentarily stops him from doing so.

"Did any of you hear something about marriage already?" Mark Lee asks out loud to everyone who is sitting on the same part of the table as him, obviously, he only finds himself around people of the same age with a few years minus or plus that is. Yuta expects Jaehyun to let out a quiet huff but realises his friend isn't there to complain about the matter of a wedding. Yet, enough people around him are willing to take over.

"My parents are trying to find me a partner, it almost seems like one of those contests of who the most beautiful person is but only if they're rich enough," Mark answers his own question before anyone else can, clearly he just needs someone to listen to him even though no one can fix his situation.

Opposite of Yuta is the eldest of the group, Moon Taeil. As relaxed as Taeil is, there is also a part of him that values tradition and rules over anything else. Perhaps he doesn't follow them as much as Doyoung does, but as he's the eldest, people are more likely to listen to him than to Doyoung. "It's the way it is, we all have to get married someday soon."

"Well it's you who should go first then, you're the oldest here," Yuta says in a teasing way to rub the fact in a little more, he knows it wouldn't affect Taeil because Taeil follows his tradition and has been preparing himself for the important moment to come. "I will," Taeil answers simply, it's simple but seemingly a hidden message hides behind the words.

Yuta glances at Mark who started the talk about marriage but didn't find relief as no one really picked up on his words with a sense of empathy. He doesn't really feel bad for his friend, with the simple reason that he has to undergo the same, and probably even earlier than Mark does.

"What about you y/n?" Taeil asks you as he drifts away from his group of friends for a little moment, not that you're not a part of his friend group, you simply never informally met Yuta or Mark which was why he decided to try and involve you in their conversation right now. You were listening anyway so it might be a good moment to bring you into his group of friends.

"My parents truly organised this for me to possibly find a fiance but instead of allowing me to talk to possible candidates, they claim me," you explained to Taeil with a soft sigh leaving your lips. You had no idea whether you sighed because you were forced to find a future husband or because your parents had claimed you until the moment you were seated at the table.

Taeil nods in response as he is actively listening to what you're saying, yet, Yuta can't help but let out a soft snort as he is amused by your story. Not because you're the starring role in the confusing wishes of your parents, but because parents will always be parents. "That's what all parents do. If you didn't see earlier, my father still tries to grab me by the sleeve like I'm a little boy who is about to cross a busy street," he tells you and the rest of the group.

The words make everyone want to change the subject to what happened earlier, a little moment everyone had seen: Taeil had seen it even if he only made his entrance at that moment, Mark had been able to see it whilst conversing with some wealthy people and you had seen it from your position as your parents lectured you about who was going to be present at the banquet.

"Yeah that was a wild scenario, man," Mark says as he can't help but think back, it's nothing unfamiliar as he had seen Yuta with his father before. Yuta was just too free-spirited to always listen and obey to everything that others tell him and he's not afraid to make a scene out of it.

"All because some lady made fun of my attire. She called it the death of fashion or something," Yuta says as he once again snorts at the short memory of the gossip he heard barely a couple of minutes after making his entrance. He would admit he was salty about it but didn't think about it longer than five seconds as it wasn't important.

You can't help but look at Yuta as he's saying the words: first you start at the features of his face but the moment he mentions his attire, you can't help but stare at his upper body. The black blazer has puffed sleeves that tighten around his wrist and is decorated with parallel silver glittering lines, then there is a chain that splits in two as it goes from his shoulder to his waist, to finish the outfit there are some silver bands that coat his left upper arm and shoulder. It's more than a handful and you're sure that there is more that you're not seeing.

"It looks very unique," you say about his outfit and smile slightly at your own words, you're being genuine as his outfit looks like something you never saw before. Even though he got bashed for the attire he's wearing, it makes him look more expensive than anyone else in the big room. The lace on the long dresses, the fake fur on the men's clothing, they don't compare to glittering lines on Yuta's blazer.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

"Get home well"

You wave your hand to Taeil as he leaves the location, you're aware that he can't see what you're doing because it's too dark outside, but you still feel like saying goodbye to him in some way. Next to you is Yuta who made the excuse that he needed some fresh air just so that he could say goodbye to his friends and stay around you for a little bit longer. It didn't look like his father was leaving anytime soon which is why he took the chance to escape for as long as he could.

"So have you found your future husband?" Yuta inquires curiously as he stands next to you, waving his hand at Taeil just like you did despite also realising it wouldn't be shown in the dark. Soon his eyes go to you as he sees you shaking your head from the corner of his eye "I don't think I did. I'm not planning on marrying Taeil, I've known him for so long," you say honestly.

"What about Mark?" Yuta asks, giving you the option to admit if you found someone to your liking. Even though you said you didn't but Yuta just wants to know for sure before he continues to talk to you and perhaps flirt with you a little bit more than he did already.

"Nice but not as my brother, he seems like a little brother."

Yuta can't help but laugh out loud to your words because he felt the exact way. He wasn't ever going to marry Mark but did see Mark as his little brother more than anything else: there was just something about him that made him the perfect little brother compared to real little siblings.

"Sounds like I'm the last candidate then," he says in a joking tone as the two of you start taking awfully slow steps in no particular direction. It's automatically that your feet take steps without your mind wondering where your feet are wandering off to.

You softly laugh along to his words for a few seconds, letting your laugh fade out when your mind tries to see an image of you getting married to Nakamoto Yuta. He's attractive and perhaps he's from a family that your family would appreciate, but the man himself is something people would be against.

"Sounds like it," you respond finally as you stare ahead and notice the conservatory coming into view. It's not an unfamiliar place but it's not like you find yourself there on a daily basis. Still, right now it seems like a fitting space to walk to together with Yuta.

Yuta can't help but smile at your words even if he doesn't see himself getting married anytime soon, perhaps in a few years when he feels ready to settle down, especially knowing marriage must also mean starting a family. "Did you expect to find a future husband tonight?" he asks curiously as he sees where you're going and mindlessly allows his footsteps to imitate yours.

"Far from yes," you answer his question as honest as you can, still staring ahead of you towards the conservatory. It's not a long walk but you're anticipating the moment you can open the door and explore the greenery in the darkness together with Yuta. Both of you seem to need some minutes away from the heavily decorated banquet, and now that dessert had been eaten, there were plenty of chances to sneak away. "How about you? Your parents must be looking to find you a spouse too?"

Yuta hums in approval, signalling that you're absolutely right when you assume that. "They don't force me but obviously try to stimulate me into finding someone to marry but how will I ever love someone that only meets up to their requirements but not mine?"

"You don't. We don't marry out of love, my parents were kind enough to at least tell me the truth about that"

Your words open a new dimension for Yuta, just like the door to the greenhouse is opened before the two of you walk inside. It's pure darkness and yet your eyes can easily recognise the different shades of green and the forms of leaves and other plants.

"Your parents might be right about that," Yuta admits as he walks behind you, giving the greenery a brief look before he tries to follow your figure with his eyes. He is very interested in nature and would love to go on endless walks and hikes in unexplored green masterpieces, but right now, his attention shifts to you.

Minding your steps to not accidentally step on a plant, you make your path through the greenhouse to the place where you usually take a seat to be away from everyone and everything. But being in the darkness, the path doesn't seem clear enough to walk on without accidentally hurting a fallen leaf.

The sound your feet make when they come in contact with greenery is the only thing that keeps the silence from comfortably walking between the two of you, there's distance enough for it to sneak in and almost third-wheel unnoticed.

Your steps align once you see the carved marble bench right in front of you, empty like each time you come to this place, though this time both spots on it will be occupied. On the seat of the bench is a carved satyr but you can't make out the little details since only darkness flows through the glass roofing.

"Let's sit for a bit," you suggest as you sit on the side that you automatically always take, leaving the other spot free for your companion, Yuta. Yuta does as you suggest and immediately plants himself on the cold bench next to you, his eyes staring at the window that can only show him the darkness of the outside world.

"Is this where you take party victims?" He playfully asks you as he turns his gaze to you instead, watching as your eyes are on the same spot that he was looking at seconds ago, not that there is much to see as the night seems close to an unrecognisable shade of black. Before you laugh, he observes how your mouth lightly parts before the sound escapes.

"If I can be a victim as well then you could say I take party victims here," you tell him after your soft laugh dies down against the air. Yuta's own laugh of slight amusement dies soon after yours even if it threatens to stay for a bit longer because of your confession.

It's not funny but without laughter, the oxygen-filled air would feel as heavy as it was in reality and right now both of you prefer to keep it light in the greenery-filled glasshouse.

"I'll be one of your victims, you should invite me more."

〚 II ; duo 〛

Yuta's boot-clad feet skillfully avoid the fallen leaves on the ground as he walks into the greenhouse, even though it's his third or even fourth time, he's not accustomed to the path he has to follow just yet. Luckily the ground already drew out the path by decarmating the stones that led him towards the bench.

The bench is still empty when he arrives and he takes that as an opportunity to explore a little further in the maze of greenery. Even though he follows the laid out ground, he doesn't exactly follow any path, his eyes are fixated on his surroundings as he walks.

Even though the endless windows lock him up in the glasshouse, he feels like he is taking a stroll in nature. A place that is yet to be discovered by some, a place where he doesn't have to remind himself of his manners towards the wealthy and treasured of the country.

The greenery greets him without words which is quite something else compared to the endless badmouthing that ordinarily happens when he walks into the ballroom of an overly decorated event. The plants don't have critical feedback on his attire, his manners, his slightly longer hair, his personality or his wealth. Yet, the plants are alive and growing, just like most humans.

Some more living examples of people that do not badmouth are you and his small group of close friends. His friends for starters don't act as wealthy as they truly are and he's grateful that they don't act like that, they are just normal like any human that walks through the streets. Then there is you, who never judges him and listens to the many things he wants to tell while also trying to have a good time at the same time. Does that mean he appreciates you more than just an acquaintance?

The answer to the question he speechlessly asks himself is probably yes, you would use the words 'far from no' to answer the question because you seem to like giving that response more than just a yes or no. Perhaps he sees you as more than an acquaintance, even more than friends: his feelings for you are in bloom just like some of the flowers in this greenhouse.

Having those feelings means that he no longer wants you to find a spouse, neither does he want his parents to find one for him. Independency led to this moment, where he can make his own choices in his lifeline and end up with the one he might just truly love. Yet, what holds him back is that he has never been in love before, doesn't have any knowledge as he never saw the genuine love between two people, and he simply has no faint idea of what he wants to achieve in the future.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long, my parents suddenly decided it was a good idea if they educated me on trading materials."

Your voice makes Yuta look up from the point that he was staring at, he doesn't have a clue what point he's exactly staring at and before he's about to find out, his body is already spun towards you.

"Hello," He greets you with a smile, ignoring your previous words because he simply did not hear them while being one with his thoughts. His eyes greet you as well: without judging going from your facial features to the outfit that you're wearing to cover your skin. The colour of your attire compliments you: midnight blue might just become his new preferred colour if you continue to look as magical in it.

"You didn't get lost whilst waiting for me right?" you ask with a smile on your lips as you let your eyes move in the same circle that a clock makes, just to get familiar with the greenery around both of you, perhaps it could explain what Yuta was staring at for as long as you had been watching him from a not-so-far distance.

Yuta shakes his head in response and slowly walks up to you "no, of course not. I stopped by the bench not long ago but seeing you were not there yet, I decided to explore a little," he explains even though there is no need for him to do so. You don't seem enraged by his exploration so you probably don't mind it when he lets his eyes wander and his feet explore.

"We can walk around here some more if you would like, there is much more greenery than you see now. Perhaps we could even water some of the plants together, even if it's unexciting," you suggest and smile at your own idea. It reminds you of a date even though it's not much different from sitting on the bench: after all, it's the same location and there hasn't been a confirmation that this was a date. "I would really like that," Yuta answers.

Before you are able to take off on your own, Yuta takes initiative to link your arms together as you walk. You're surprised by the sudden display of affection as you are aware that only those who are lovers are known to hold one another like that. It's a large step in the outing of affection but neither of you try to separate your arms from one another.

"So I assume you enjoy nature," You say to Yuta, not using a questioning tone despite your will to find out if he actually enjoys nature as much as he seems to, after all, who would agree to meet up in a greenhouse time after time without complaining about the green-coloured surroundings or scent of blooming flowers. Yuta briefly nods in response to your words, a smile coating his lips but you're too busy staring ahead of you to notice. "I love nature, nature compares to freedom for me. No one judges but everyone listens."

His explanation is what makes you look at him, there is no questioning look in your eyes as you seem to understand without further explanation. "Because nature is alive too," you say as you partially agree to his words. There aren't many opportunities for you to discover nature unless it's in the greenhouse, but you can imagine the feeling of walking on an undiscovered land, only filled with grass and large trees of which leaves slowly dwindle to the ground.

"precisely."

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

The quiet whispers of the wind easily dwindle down the glass walls that kept you from truly experiencing freedom. Despite not being able to feel an unlimited amount of freedom: the wind wasn't present to disturb the small stream of water that collapsed on the tightly-patted loam.

"Do you ever receive flower bouquets?"

It is a question that should not make you flabbergasted because the never-ending supply of flower bouquets that you're given are no longer gifts that take you by surprise. Yet, rather than to be given a bouquet, Yuta is thoughtful enough to ask whether you ever receive them before he sets up his plan.

"I do," you answer his question simply. You don't say it to brag or for his plans to fall in the pond, but for the reason that you do get a lot of them. Every person that visits the gigantic place you call home takes at least one flower along, handing it over to you whilst pride reflects from their eyes onto yours. But your eyes don't resemble a mirror: they shine with a dull glow as you thank them for the friendly gesture but internally scold them.

"And?" Yuta asks as he looks over at you whilst you water the following plant, his grip tightening around the gardening tool that you pushed into his hand before starting to do a task that wasn't yours. "And that is it. Why would I need a bouquet of flowers that will wither merely a week after its been given?" You reason.

"As well as how this conservatory consisting mostly of flowers and other sorts of greenery? Because they don't wither as rapidly as the ones you receive?"

The questioning undertone in Yuta's voice momentarily makes you suspect if you are obligated to answer with yes or no to either of the times he used it. Momentarily truly lasts momentarily, the moment you find out he has been looking at you, you realise he was only trying to complete the answer to your question before you had to do the effort.

"Precisely."

You smile once the word leaves your lips, even if you contemplated him just a few seconds ago, you can't help but think of yourself as an idiot who nearly misinterpreted the words. Luckily you watered the symbolic flower before its petals started to dwindle down from the disk.

"But you still enjoy flowers?" Yuta asks curiously as he watches how you finish off watering every plant that comes in your reach. The endless refills of water make it possible for the flowers to bloom or for Yuta to stay by your side a little longer.

You nod your head in confirmation before giving him a brief but suitable statement. "I do, I just dislike like receiving them as a gift. Specifically when they are just an excuse to not come empty-handed."

Yuta senses how honest you are when you say the words, it's not only that as he understands what you mean from experience. It was impolite to request someone's company and not have anything in return, to the most when it was about a possible romantic encounter.

"Now I know that I should not bring flowers with me next time," he eventually answers but the smile is evident in his voice, but even more on his lips. They're curved upwards from nerves as he awaits your response.

"I won't accept any gifts from you, Yuta. I have warned you and I expect you to remember for as long as you're able to," you order Yuta in a rather playful manner. You meant the words, they were genuine despite the playful hue in them but you weren't able to give him a scolding for something that didn't occur yet.

"What if I accidentally forget?" He asks you in the same playful way, wanting to continue the conversation so that he could see your reaction. He didn't know what reaction to expect, there was a wide variety of emotions you could display in response. Soon it was proven to be his lucky day when a smile made its way onto your lips at his words. You shook your head in disbelief "perhaps it is time for me to find a new love interest in that case, and my mother will have a lovely flower bouquet to make my father jealous with."

"Love interest?"

Yuta's lips can't take control, allow him to slip out the words that laid on the tip of his tongue. By the way his eyes are widened, you can see that he is astonished. "Love interest," he repeats again: this time not to question you but to test how the words sound when he's saying them out loud.

You love the way the mixture of letters leaves his lips, you love the two words that you have been able to use for personal preference for the first time in your life. The way Yuta says them only makes them sound better, when he says them, it almost makes you believe he feels the same way about you without officially confessing.

"In that case, I shall not forget, you will not be receiving any flower bouquets from me," Yuta finally answers even though it should have been you who completed the cycle of feedback. Your first – and genuine – reaction is a smile that graces your lips from one minute into the other. From his words, you could dissect that he would have a fancy for being your love interest, or so you thought that was what he meant.

Briefly, you glance at Yuta before looking towards the large windows that lock you up in the glasshouse. Yuta is quick to follow your gaze towards the outside world: his eyes following the direction of the tree twigs that get swayed along with the wind. "Is there something else you could offer me, you know, to compensate for the flowers?"

Your words make Yuta laugh soft, his breath almost simultaneously blowing like the wind does outside the window. "What would you fancy?" He asks you even though he knows you are kidding. It became clear before that you don't waste words on people who bring you gifts in return for a bit of your attention.

"Anything you are willing to offer," you begin as you bend down to put down the watering can, leaving it on the ground before you stand up to face Yuta again. The smile that you carry on your lips the moment you look at Yuta gets reflected to his. "What do you think about love?" He asks you as the smile minimizes a little bit when his lips move to speak but that doesn't make it less impactful.

You freeze momentarily when you hear the suggestion, along with your body, your mind also takes a halt for a couple of seconds. Your ears correctly heard the question, as did your mind process the words before going in short lockdown. "I would enjoy that," you murmur whilst slowly dragging yourself back into reality.

A soft embrace around your hand instantly pulls you back into the real world, the hand closes around yours and keeps a gentle grip on it. "I will be looking forward to it," Yuta says as he gives your hand a little squeeze, immediately gaining your nod-filled reaction.

"Me too, Yuta."

〚 III ; trēs 〛

Hundreds of questions collect on your tongue as tastebuds: when one disappears, it simply gets replaced by a new one. Their flavours are dissimilar: some taste bitter, others taste free, and on the tip are many fear-tasting buds.

"How do you know they will walk by without seeing us?"

Yuta can only let out a soft laugh at the sixth question that slips from your tastebuds onto your moving lips. It's an adorable and wholesome sight to see so you worried, he misses the realisation how either of you two must be aware of the risks this takes along.

"It is very early, y/n. Most people out on this hour are on their way for duties and the children won't be able to catch who we are," Yuta tries to ease your uneasiness. The fine line between freedom and getting caught is what your feet seem to be walking on rather than the neatly stoned ground.

In response to his words, you nod, but the anxiety only grows with every step taken towards the civil world. "People on their way might still see us," you say in a complaining tone even though you only try to make Yuta see it in the way you see it. He has done this countless times whilst you rarely came here, and if you did, then it was not supposed to be a casual stroll with your love interest. "They are always rushing, they don't have time to look for people like us before they have to do their daily tasks."

You believe his words as this time, the little bundle of nerves in your stomach disappears but another knot is waiting in queue to get untied. "That must be true," you admit silently before staring at the barely-filled street in front of you. People like you and Yuta aren't as customised to a regular life, hence the reason why you still fear running into people at 7 am. But Yuta seems to know the case well and you can only make up from that, that he does these things more often than you know.

"How often do you come here?" You ask him upon realising how he also seems to know which way he has to take. It's obviously something people habituated here should know but you are still unfamiliar with the little alleys between buildings, unlike Yuta who took your hand and pulled you along, reaching the destination in a shorter amount of time than you estimated. "Maybe weekly, usually I come here at night to take a stroll. People sometimes get drunk so there will not be evidence if they catch me walking," he reasons.

Before a soft response in the shape of a sigh escapes your lips, you purse them together and opt to consider your words. The way Yuta mentions people and getting caught brings a high wave of anxiety to your stomach: the wild sea almost reaching to your heart. "So you did get caught?" your question stays unanswered for the first few seconds and once you look over at Yuta, you notice that he seems to be heavily considering his next move. "Someone saw me but as there has been so much gossip and the man was drunk, no one really believed his story."

This time you opt to not respond at all, you don't even have to purse your lips in order to stay quiet. You try to understand the prequel of the situation you find yourself in: allowing your love to bloom in another place than the greenhouse but the unwritten sequel might not be filled with blooming or freedom. You have to do things differently in the present in order to change the future but you don't take that opportunity. You only hold Yuta's hand tighter as your feet are aligned with his with each step you take further into the homeworld of humanity.

"It is a good thing to escape from the greenhouse for a bit. It doesn't give you the freedom you need even if you think it does," Yuta says. He notices you've gone completely mute by now, purposely not speaking because you are distrustful towards him or the surroundings. You nod your head as you're aware: you act like the greenhouse gives you an immeasurable amount of freedom but still, you find yourself between four walls that keep you secured in place.

"I am aware," you tell Yuta. Subjectively, it sounds like a way to make him stop talking because you're only getting more stressed but from the objective perspective, you're only answering to his previous words. Just like roses naturally grow thorns, you naturally grew the thought that you will never experience true freedom because even in this situation, you feel far from free.

"Shall we continue our walk? It looks beautiful so far."

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Inquisitive thinking such as exploration, investigation, and learning. It can be observed by anyone who is able to keep an eye on you despite Yuta making it clear that you were safe from the eye of the public. Your urge to explore and investigate could easily be called: curiosity. It's not something you can be blamed for because even Yuta is still curious about the real outside world after coming here on a weekly basis. You are not only curious about what the eye meets but also things you cannot observe: like the inhabitants that must lead their lives in this area or how it must feel to be able to lead a life in this context. Houses aren't overly large and there seems to be a lack of space due to the buildings not having gaps between one another.

Every couple of minutes you have been able to quietly observe as people passed by. You stared at them and wondered what it was like to randomly walk over the street and not tease a future drama about it. Luckily for you, you don't think people saw you staring at them which hopefully also meant that they didn't see you at all.

"Are you hungry? You must be, we left so early you probably didn't get breakfast served yet. Am I right?" Yuta asks you as soon as the street once again is empty enough for his regular voice to come through. Normally he could not care less about it but knowing you are a bit uneasy with the entire situation, he pours some water into the wine to make it taste less bitter.

Your eyes scan around before you choose to reply to his words with a small hum. You are quite hopeful to think that the end of your adventure is near but that story seems to unfold itself differently. "We should get some bread by the bakery," he carelessly suggests. With those words being said, you're left more than speechless. Do you want to decline? Yes, you do, but you dismiss the words and your heap of thoughts. Perhaps if you don't respond, you won't get food and Yuta will take the hint.

"How about that, y/n?"

Internally you use foul language to express your feelings but those words don't come to an official outing because it would be highly impolite. "How about what?" you ask him even though you know what he is asking you about, and acting like you didn't hear what he said might just give you an extra few seconds to decide whether that's a good idea or not. "How about getting bread at the bakery?" he repeats his words from before in a slightly different hue but they still mean the same.

"We can't do that, Yuta," you tell him before you're able to stop your mouth from opening. The sigh that leaves your lips once the words had escaped was one you had been keeping in for a couple of minutes too long: it's a long one that draws out the feelings you've been silently experiencing.

"Why not?" Yuta asks as he tries to discreetly point towards one of the buildings that you already passed by, a bakery where you could smell fresh bread and other related pastries but had passed by without giving it a glance as the owner stood outside of his shop to promote mouth-to-mouth. "The bakery is right there, we can just get some bread and eat it before I bring you home again."

"For starters, we did not bring any money to hand the man and I would still like to keep it quiet that we are here," you tell Yuta just in case he forgot the obvious. There are some extra excuses you could come up with but that would make things only less believable when the truth already escaped from your parted lips. "How did you want to get bread?" You ask as you await to hear his plan. With that, you only confuse yourself more: first, you decline his idea before you ask how he was planning on doing it. Were you just tolerable because Yuta and you shared a little more than just hand-holding?

"Either of us can distract him," Yuta simply stated, his fabric-covered shoulders moving up and down in a matter of seconds as he shrugged. The plan was clear in his head but the words made you only more confused. He noticed the look on your face and leaned closer to your face, his face tilting as he moved forward a bit more to speak to you. "And the other one can just take the bread."

Two reactions occur at the same time: either way you widen your eyes and at the same time, you shake your head rapidly. The ridiculous idea leaves you to have a moment of distrust in Yuta.

"Absolutely not, we're not going to steal. You can eat along with us tonight," you say instantly before you are able to process that it is not close to dinnertime. Though they would still serve you food if you asked for it. "Where did you even get that idea?" you ask as you stop your feet abruptly and turn your body towards Yuta.

Even though the regret kicks in, he doesn't back away and turns his body towards yours. A scolding is what he expects, perhaps because his parents would even be capable of killing him if they knew he suggested stealing from a baker.

He sighs and brings his left hand up to rub over his face, his fingertips harshly pressing against his skin and cheekbones. "Sorry," he apologises to you, wrapping his mind around the reality of the situation. He never stole anything before and suddenly he suggests stealing some fresh bread, something he did with a blank mind despite the setup he made a few seconds prior to telling you.

"It should be time to head back," you change the subject in order to once more buy more time for yourself. You try not to be judgemental because you know Yuta well enough by now: he's not the average wealthy man that you meet at a banquet. He's the rebellious young man that intrigues you and pulls you into his world. There don't seem to be risks in his life and if there are then he simply ignores the possible consequences: it doesn't give a great first impression but is like the sweetest song, sung by angels and it only pulls you in more.

The way back is filled with silence even though the surroundings seem extra loud, it's just the silence that makes the rest increase in volume. There's only one commonly shared word now that you're on the way back: it's Yuta who has his one-end conversation of saying "sorry." but you opt to give a soft breath and silence as a response.

Instead of Yuta dragging you along like earlier in the morning, it's you who marches towards your home. Yuta follows behind you, his fingers twitching now that he's unable to hold onto your hand. His eyes meet with the ground many times as he fears to see you going up the steps and inside without saying your goodbye to him.

Upon the ground and through the grass, his feet walk on the exact same spots that you walk but in relay. One little glance up and he notices that your property is already under his feet but you're not marching towards the home, instead, you're leading him towards the greenhouse. It makes him want to smile but he's unable to, his lips form in a thin line as he perplexes himself with the many different emotions.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

"Why did you suggest stealing the bread?"

The question doesn't catch Yuta off guard as he expected it sooner or later but at the same time, he's at a loss for words and doesn't know which excuse would be accepted. No excuse should be accepted and he's aware of that: which is why he stays silent and considers his words for a decent amount of time. You're not impatient, even kind enough to give him time to reflect on himself. In the meantime, you keep yourself busy organising some of the gardening tools: that way the workers don't have to put effort into it and you have some wasted time that goes by just a little faster than when you're not doing anything.

"I don't know, I really don't know. But I regret even thinking about it or imagining it," Yuta tells you as an answer, you could tell he genuinely thought but ended up concluding nothing because it perhaps was something that happened without him realising. His fingertips trace over the carved Satyr on the bench, it feels empty enough without you sitting next to him.

He eyes you as you are busy organising different tools, it's no use but you still do so. "I hope you are being truthful," you mumble as you drop the pair of gardening gloves next to the other materials before looking at him. Still, you don't look with judging eyes but you try to look through the facade to see whether he is truthful. You ask yourself whether you doubt him or not: you didn't doubt his truthfulness but his intention of stealing the bread. A selfish thought in your head tells you he wanted to steal it so that you could be fed, and it's a good assumption but you try not to fall for your misleading mind.

"I mean it y/n, I truly don't know"

There's no such thing as a correct answer in this given context but you're willing to take the answer because you trust Yuta and he sounds genuine when he says that he doesn't know. You wish you could hear a proper set of words but you could also wish that the situation hadn't occurred at all: that would be a much better wish to make. But there was no genie to grant your wishes, especially not when the situation already passed by.

"I'm sorry," Yuta says when he thinks you're not going to grant him forgiveness. You are so quiet that Yuta can't help but drown in guilt whilst you are watching from afar.

The seconds continue to tick by, they seem to get lengthier as you don't immediately respond to the apology. Eventually, you have no other option than to give him an honest response. "It's not me that deserves an apology."

Yuta nods as a signal he understands what you mean, he should be apologising to the baker for the things that almost happened. "I know," he murmurs in an almost inaudible tone, his eyes on the bench on which his fingertips endlessly trace over the carved figures.

After letting out a sigh that withheld mixed emotions, you sat down on the bench next to Yuta. In the end, you decide to forgive him because you can't blame him for things that didn't happen yet. "We should indeed buy some bread there next time, the scent was heavenly," you say with a small smile on your lips as you rest your hand upon Yuta's shoulder. Slowly, you let that hand creep up to his hair to gently comb through the locks.

"It did and I knew we were both hungry," he starts his reply, relaxation slowly dawns on him as he feels your gentle touch through his hair. It nearly makes him miss the moral of your words, nearly. "Did you say next time? Do you want to go there again?"

You smile once his realisation comes, or perhaps because you think back about the good time you had despite the anxious feeling and Yuta's dumb mistake. "I do, I enjoyed it. Not weekly but perhaps every once in a while," you say honestly.

The freedom you felt outside seemed unreal: there had been moments where anxiety filled your body to the brim but at the same time, looking at the world whilst walking around in it was positively different from looking at it through large windows.

Your hand slips from Yuta's brown locks when he turns his head towards you. "I think I am in love," he whispers a second after you look back at him, your head tilted to see his healing smile from a different point of view.

"With me?" You question hopefully as you feel bumblebees buzzing in your stomach, the sweet honey nearly edible on the tip of your tongue. A laugh falls from Yuta's lips but he rapidly reacts by nodding his head "of course with you, there has been one person that makes my heart swell. And that person is you," he explains, his eyes widening slightly as he confesses his romantic attachment to you.

There is a quiet second, interrupted by a sound of surprise aligned with Yuta's laughter. By your reaction, Yuta senses that you feel the same and is quick to make his next move. He inches himself closer to you before placing an unexpected and soft peck against your lips. Before you have the opportunity to return the kiss, your lips are distanced and smiles are unconsciously appearing.

"I might just be in love with you too."

〚 IV ; quattuor 〛

"Were you aware that the moonlight changes every day?"

Your head that has been tilted upwards towards the glass roofing slowly lowers itself for you to properly look at Yuta as he speaks. In response, you shake your head and twitch your fingers subconsciously as a sign for him to explain his random particle of information.

"The intensity of moonlight varies greatly, as stated, it depends on the lunar phase," Yuta explains to you as he notices your light motion and the interest on your face. You continue to look at him as he speaks, together with nodding, those two things make it obvious that you are listening actively to every word he says.

"Does it not depend on our eyes as well?" You ask as you silently wondered about it when he was speaking. You think your eyes are not always prepared to see the same amounts of light: especially not very bright hues. Yuta shows the same interest that you showed him not long ago and nods his head when you finish your question "hm, I think it does."

After that, a moment of silence settles down. Both of you occupied by the subject of moonlight and its daily-changing intensity. To speak honestly, there is no need to ponder about it for much longer, and yet, you two seem silently captivated by the subject. Perhaps because the moonlight is currently bringing a hint of its brightness into the nightfall.

You are the first one to break the silence because you feel how your head automatically moves upwards to look at the source of light and the acquaintance of darkness in the sky. "The moon is so beautiful," is what you tell Yuta who can't help but hum in agreement. His mind is only partially on the moon, as are his eyes because other things steal his attention.

"It is, sometimes I watch the moon from my room but watching it here makes it so much more pleasant," he answers as he not-so-gently throws his head back to look through the glass roof. The moon might be pulchritudinous but the true beauty comes from you. Yet, his words aren't complete nonsense. He watches the moon when he is alone in his room but while doing so, he thinks about you which makes him stare without being able to see much.

You smile at the words, your fingertips running over the back of his hand in a relaxed manner. "Me too," you say simply, your lower lip painlessly tucked between your teeth before you decide on confessing the other half of the story. "When I do, I think about you. That you must be in your room: asleep or watching the moon too."

It's awfully cliché but that is a side effect of lovers who have not been sharing a romance for longer than six months. Yuta doesn't show a negative reaction, he thinks it's wholesome that you feel that way, he feels the same way but does not admit it yet because he loves imagining that you think about him at night.

"Is that why we are here together tonight? For you to secretly stare at me instead of the moon?" Yuta playfully asks you as he inches closer to you, it's a playful moment even if he's guilty to the things he is teasing you with. "That was the plan, but I got caught," you answer with a smile as your own body moves closer.

"You know what happens to those who sin," Yuta mentions with a small smirk, his hands moving away from yours to instead embrace your waist. It's an easy way to pull you closer and have some physical contact at the same time, and he takes advantage of the moment do to both of those. His fingertips press against your covered skin as he runs slow and steady circles in an attempt to explore more of you.

You hum soft, an act that you do not care about the consequences of those who sin. In reality, you do care because the consequences are far from pleasant. Being in the contextual element, you know this is not about the harsh punishments people receive upon committing a true sin. Both of you are young enough to modernise the meaning of sin.

"Tell me what happens to those who sin?" You ask as your head wants to lower once more, but Yuta's lips press against the side of your neck, requiring you to keep your head upwards for a little longer.

Yuta's teeth gently nip at your skin when he hears your question, soothing the gnaw with the tip of his tongue. "Why should I explain, it seems like you're about to find out for yourself," he says before he clicks his tongue in a cocky way. Confidence and pride fight for the lead in his heart but lust takes the crown mercilessly.

The first sigh of pleasure leaves your lips after a soft hiss does, but the slight pain of his teeth brings you towards an unexpected amount of pleasure.

"Be mine," Yuta mumbles, the words not far from inaudible because his lips are hastily pressing kisses against your neck while he speaks. "I will be the one who loves you," he continues as now, between every word, the kisses seem to increase their lustful intentions.

You want to respond to the words, tell him you're his and his only but the forming drive to pleasure prevents you from wasting time on explanations. As if his kisses are not satisfying enough, his fingertips go underneath the attire that covers your bare skin. Due to the warmth of your clothing and the coldness of his fingertips, you shiver when his fingertips patch over your thighs.

"Yuta," the way you breathe out his name signals that you're asking for his attention. Your body is fighting against it and wants to beg for more but those words do not articulate on your lips, something holds you back from asking for more intimacy. "This is not right, imagine what would happen if they found out," you reason despite your body urging you to get closer so that his fingertips trail to more sensitive spots. The consequences wouldn't be mild if anyone found out, it's not Yuta who makes the situation problematic, but the authorities and religion that decides that the closest form of intimacy should not occur until marriage.

"Hence why I said I would make you mine, y/n, and trust me…," Yuta starts as his lips trace upwards, leaving the trail of hot kisses to go from the side of your neck towards your ear. His breathing is deep, driven by lust as even your scent is enough to make him want more. "…I will make you mine," he whispers.

The decisive whisper is answered by a solemn nod from you: you trust Yuta but it's mostly your own senses that tell you to stop protesting against it. Yuta's eyes let you undergo an examination, just to check whether you were okay with this. "I'm yours," you whisper as you connect your lips with his for a heated kiss.

The words "I'm yours," seem to split in two as both of you take the words in a different way, and you are yet to find out Yuta's true meaning behind the words. In your eyes, you had been his the second you went from acquaintances to love interests and it still was now that you officially were hidden lovers.

“Only the united beat of sex and heart together can create ecstasy.”

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Dawn. The first appearance of light in the sky before sunrise.

Dawn. The beginning of a phenomenon or period of time, especially one considered favourable.

Three minutes before there were only ten minutes left until the clock pointed its smallest hand at five. That was dawn. The way you silently laid against Yuta's side on a marble bench, your head resting against the area where you could listen to his heartbeat. That was dawn.

Moonlight chased away the shadows of the night and replaced it with the first light of a new day.

Your eyes are closed but that doesn't mean that you're asleep, for a few hours you have been dozing in and out of catnaps. None of the short amounts of time long enough for a dream, but you feel like you're living in one, so it's not needed to live in a visual world with your eyes closed.

Yuta seems asleep, you can hear by the way he breathes and you can feel by the slow beat of his heart. Sixty-one beats per minute is what you observed on a moment that you were sure he was in dreamland, but keeping track of the number of heartbeats and seconds was a difficult combination. Thus, it could have been a little bit more or some less.

After letting out a soft sound of tiredness, you open your eyes and greet the greenery with a small smile. Though it's mostly the memories that make you smile: memories of the nightfall and its nocturnal ventures. Your mind still holds on to the momentum: the patches of Yuta's fingertips on your skin, the whispers of naughty and nice, the swelling of your heart out of love and the ecstasy that mixed itself due to the heart and sex combining.

A red-pink-coloured flower greets you in its full bloom, it stands out next to the few pastel purple flowers. You can imagine the scent, or you think you can, but you realise you are lying between nothing but greenery and flowers that bloom.

The peaceful moment gets interrupted by deafening noises outside the glasshouse, they aren't extremely loud but the many different audible triggers are blaring. Yet, you're too far away from the window to properly look through it and the bloomed red roses are in front of the nearest window. It's not unusual for these noises to be heard, the time is what makes it strange. But you don't pay attention to it, not more than needed, or so you like to think.

"What are those noises?"

Your eyes shift from the red roses that cover the window towards your lover, it means that you have to turn your body slightly so that you can comfortably look at him. Once you're in a comfortable position, you smile at the sight.

Yuta looks tired and well-rested at the same time, his smile is small but the corners of his lips are twitched upwards the moment he sees your face. "I think someone just left or arrived, usually it is when they are looking for something or about transport," you answer his question so that you have more time to look at him without having to interrupt the moment.

His tired lips press a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth before he draws your body closer to his. "Good morning, by the way," he whispers as he distances his lips from yours properly. "Good morning."

Momentarily, you see Yuta disappearing from the real world and towards his own forest of thoughts. The thought about the shared intimacy come back to life there together with each minuscule aspect that he was able to observe with his five basic senses.

"I meant it yesterday."

You look at him while confusion is written on your face, rather than it's written on your features, there's a ceramic stamp all over your face. "You meant what," you ask and once more turn yourself more towards him so that it's easier to communicate. Before he speaks up, you try to recall everything that has been said yesterday but only two kinds of words come to mind: the sinful words and the outings of genuine love.

"I will make you mine," Yuta answers, quoting them as he said them yesterday. Yesterday or today, the words were still confusing. You already considered yourself as his, but he seemed to wander on a different part there.

Due to the sweetness of the words, you display a small smile but it doesn't fully replace the confusion that primarily outed itself. "I'm yours, Yuta," you tell him in case he suspects you might think otherwise. Perhaps he only saw you as a love interest until now, or perhaps he thinks you see him as nothing but a love interest.

"I mean, truly make you mine. I will love you, worry about you, and be responsible for you," he starts explaining before he stops talking, something rests on the tip of his tongue and he's not going to withhold himself from saying it. The set of critical words are more grand and they leave his mouth once his lips part.

"I want to marry you."

〚 V ; quīnque 〛

Yuta's fingertips are circled up against the palm of his hand, clenched in an angry fist. His footsteps are quick as he makes his way through the formation - that just like him is on the move - , harshly speaking he seems like a soldier marching towards the enemy with a loaded gun between his fingers. He doesn't get distracted by the walking of the people that try to hold him back without using the direct signals that they are trying to stop him.

Perhaps if his wardrobe would have allowed it, he would have been able to fit in with the crowd without getting caught in the act. But his clothes were surprisingly different from their attire: his black coat draped over his shoulders and the gold-coloured details on each visible border are shaped as non-existent flowers.

In his brain, he can clearly recall when you said a situation like this was not completely unusual. Still, the situation was unexplainable to him. It seemed like they were after him: not to chase him and get him off the property but almost leading him inside your home. The place where he had only been once to attend the banquet. Fairly speaking, he did not want to go inside because he would probably see your parents but if he wanted to find you, he would have to go inside

"Would you let my son in without those bastards circling him like he is a prey."

Yuta slowly looks up when he hears the familiar voice saying the words that only make his suspicion turn into facts. His eyes fall on his own father standing next to yours: while your father looks overly satisfied with his arrival, his own father looks slightly disappointed and his pokerface shows a lot more emotion than it should.

"What is going on?" Yuta asks as he glances between the two men for an answer, he knows he's being led by an army of people around him but he wants a clear answer of the things that are going on. When your father only motions for him to follow inside, he roughly marches forward, perhaps a little bit too unrestrained as people are no longer forcing him in direction of the door. "You may come in, Yuta."

Doing as he's asked, Yuta starts to walk up the steps towards the door before following his and your father further inside the place. With each step, he feels a heavy weight being added onto his shoulder and it is almost as if he left his courage at the lowest step of the stairs. Despite already feeling anxious, he makes it worse by starting to look around: not to claim furniture that your father would gift when feeling generous but to check if he could see any traces of you.

Whilst observing he can almost say that he doesn't know whether this family has children, there are no traces of you or something that reminds him of you. It's not even the lack of cohort portraits, it is the lack of personality that this place holds.

"Why don't you sit here with us?" Your father suggests as he walks into the room where he had been with Yuta's father minutes earlier, discussing merely one subject with a filled liquor glass in their hands. The seat where his father sat was still pulled out, signalling it had not been time to bid each other farewell yet. Once his own father takes a seat and your father does too, he sits on the leftover seat.

"I would like to ask why you came here? Or why you have been here almost every day for the past time…" Your father asks but the words suggest for Yuta to speak up so that they don't have to pull the words out of his lips. He doesn't feel like they just caught him in the act but manages to feel the astonishment.

Yuta clears his throat, swallowing the saliva-filled nerves before he speaks up. "I come here for y/n, we enjoy spending time together," the word he tells don't lie but he keeps all of the details behind for as long as he can. Not because he's ashamed or doesn't want to admit to your relationship, but because he feels the urge to protect you.

"And you lure y/n with you into town?"

That is the moment where he feels like he got caught, simply because of you, who had been so scared to get caught whilst walking on the most regular streets in town. He wonders how they found out he took you to town but also considered inhabitants possibly recognising him or you.

"For a simple walk, I had no intention of luring her to town with bad consequences," Yuta explains. But by the expression on your father's face, he can recognise that his explanation didn't add much positivity to the story.

"That is what they all claim, young man. But I hope you realise that y/n will not be at hand to marry you," your father says and before he can comment, saying that that will happen even if your father says no, his father takes the wheel. "If you do not allow my son to marry y/n, I demand us to nullify our exchanges."

The protection from his father gives him courage, he had never expected his father to give protection in this context but misses the clue that his father is only trying to protect future exchanges and deals. Perhaps he misses the clue because they say love makes people blind and he is deeply in love with you. Without suspecting the next step, he waits for your father to give his comment.

"Consider them nullified."

Yuta's father raises from his chair soon after the words are spoken out loud. "I suggest we return homewards, Yuta," he says to his son as he clears his throat uncomfortably. Yuta is unable to perform anything, staring at your father but he is left speechless and frozen in his spot. "Yuta," his father calls out for him again, this time successfully receiving Yuta's attention.

"I will not leave, not until you give me a fair chance to marry y/n. We have a lot in common and both of us want to take the following step," Yuta claims, his voice getting louder as he feels misunderstood. He wasn't just a young man who lured you into town for his own pleasure, he was a young man who wanted to spend the rest of his life together with you. "y/n and I are in love."

Your father is the second one to raise from his chair, marching the short distance between his and Yuta's chair. "Listen to me, Nakamoto Yuta," he starts before he presses his hand against Yuta's shoulder blade. It's not a light touch but Yuta is too stubborn to show his usual strong reactions. "We do not marry out of love, we marry for money and profit. But I require my son in law to have manners, and that is something your parents never taught you."

"I love y/n, and you cannot stop me from doing so," Yuta says as he pushes away your father's hand from his shoulder, he stands up from his chair and turns towards your father. Due to the height difference, it seems like Yuta is in charge but that's only an illusion.

"You are right, I can't stop you from loving y/n," your father admits. Once again Yuta fails to see a detail, this time blinded by his pride when he hears the words. It's a calm moment before the storm, and the storm is only a few seconds away. "Too bad I can stop you from getting married to y/n, and I will do anything. Even if it costs you your life."

Minutes later, the three of them are walking the large hallway in order to get Yuta and his father out of the building. Yuta's fists are clenched as he only states in front of him while walking: angry with the world, disappointed in himself.

An employé opens the large front door for Yuta and his father to for the last time leave this place without ever returning. Exchanges and money-related deals are officially unchained the moment his father walks out of the door. "I suggest you leave now," your father says as he motions his hand towards the outside world, an impolite gesture in Yuta's eyes.

"Allow me to do one more thing before I leave," Yuta says as his feet step closer to the wall, plucking the only decoration from its designated location. The flag's fabric is rich in texture and feels soft under his rough fingerprints, but the feeling in Yuta's hands is too bitter to botire the softness. "As a last gift to you."

A smirk displays on his lips as he glances between his own father and your father. He knows he will get scolded by his own father for playing a dirty trick like this, but he cannot care less about that. His pride and love are on the line and he will not allow anyone to touch either of the two.

"You see this flag right?" Yuta asks as his hand smoothes over the details of the flag before he grips the flag at two of the corners with his hands. The flag is fully stretched between his hands: showing the coat of arms to who he now considered as the enemy. One harsh movement and the flag showed its first rip: the start of something grander than separation. "I would be careful with your words, my life could be spared but yours not," he says to your father before he ceremonially rips the flag in two separate pieces.

The two pieces sadly dwindle onto the ground but Yuta is the only one looking at them with a proud smile on his lips. He momentarily doesn't think of the consequences this has for you: pride takes over his senses. He steps over the piece that holds the coat of arms of your family while he steps out of the door.

"Farewell for now."

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Unlike Yuta is told, he doesn't exactly leave the property. Told his father that he was going to walk home because he was in need of time alone to reflect on himself. Walked towards the greenhouse in order to meet you.

Seeing you in the greenhouse had been his intention from the moment he arrived but without a chance had lost his non-physical fight against the people that worked for your father. Now he probably was over an hour late to see you, perhaps you even left because you thought he tricked you.

There is a lump in his throat as he walks into the greenhouse and immediately closes the glass door behind him. The greenery doesn't tell him whether you are still here waiting for him but he doesn't ask about it either. His footsteps are quick and headed towards the bench where the two of you usually sit. More than just sitting had happened on the bench but lustful thoughts are not priority.

"y/n?" He calls out your name through the greenhouse but in the meanwhile doesn't stop his footsteps towards the familiar bench. His eyes are busy, wandering around the available space with the hope of you still being here. Soon enough his eyes meet with the red roses that cover the glass window, a sign that he is close to the bench. His body turns, almost dramatically as he knows he will, either way, see you or the empty bench now.

Despite the situation, a smile appears on his lips as he sees you sitting on the bench. "I missed you," he says as he walks towards you and plops himself down on the other side of the bench.

His words are left unanswered and after glancing at you, Yuta realises you look far from happy. "Is something wrong?" He asks you, his hand moving to your thigh, softly stroking over the fabric-covered skin. Deep inside, he knows why you stay quiet but he tries to convince himself that his thoughts are incorrect. "I bet you already know," you whisper.

Your whisper allows Yuta to let out a breath, his nostrils moving as the air is blown out. Momentarily, he doesn't know what to say because what he's supposed to say conflicts with what he wants to say. He needs to say that he is not allowed to marry you but he wants to tell you to run away with him and marry in secret.

"I am not allowed to wed you," you say softly. The heartbreak when you say those words intensifies: first it seemed mere cracks but now that you say the words, your heart is ripped in two pieces. Yuta nods his head, silencing himself by tugging his lip between his teeth. Yet, he can't help but speak "flee. We can do it together and marry without anyone finding out who we are and where we are."

The tempting words are like poison: appealing to you but there is no way back once you took a sip. "What will happen to us? We have nowhere to go, we won't have anyone but each other," you clarify as you once again are afraid to get caught like the time in town. At first, it seemed like no one found out, until today when your father stated the facts.

"Having each other is plenty. I will make up a plan and then we can run together," Yuta says as he takes both of your hands in his. The moment is intense because you're expected to say yes or no: you would say no because of your families and not having anything when you flee, but yes because you promised forever to Yuta and you don't want anything more than having that forever.

Without waiting for your answer, Yuta stands up and pulls you up on your feet gently. "Five days, we leave in exactly five days. Midnight and I will pick you up here, on the bench, in the glasshouse," he clearly states the words so that you'll remember them. You rest your hand against his chest, gripping the expensive fabric of his blazer before your grip loosens.

"I will be waiting for you,"

〚 VI ; sex 〛

Five days consisting of one hundred twenty hours.

One hundred twenty hours consisting of seven thousand two hundred minutes.

Seven thousand two hundred minutes consisting of four hundred thirty-two thousand seconds.

For you, time delays more than normal. Over recent days, you had a speed course on levelling up your provisional skills: lying to your father that you ground yourself in your room because you're heartbroken while you're plotting freedom with the love of your life. It's not an easy task but your father allows it, as long as he can lodge a complaint about Yuta and his family during dinner. You don't talk back to your father because you don't want him to suspect a thing: you simply listen and fraud your tears once or twice.

Yuta journals time in a different way. The hours tick by without difficulty even though he mainly stays in his bedchamber as well: he quietly coats his walls with removable ink that he's been given and draws shapes of patches of land or writes possible destinations as well as a list of things that need to be purchased in advance. Each dinner he will show up for a short amount of time, aside from the day that he stays in the common room until his father goes to bed, that night he lets his hand wander to a treasure of capital and hastily hides it in his blazer's pocket. Stolen money that he wordlessly promises to return one day, but the day would never come.

Whenever the nightfall takes place, both you and Yuta look out of the window: greeting the darkness as you wordlessly wish for one another: thoughts of the night where forever has been a given and received promise tend to come back. It's a coincidence that your desire of Yuta doing the same comes true, but he's simply so in love with you and can't stop himself from thinking about you.

With a little less than four hours to go, Yuta permanently leaves his room. His clothes are deftly hanging in his wardrobe and there's no doubt that dust will coat the exorbitant fabrics. The walls that had been scribbled full are now empty, not a trace of the plans revealed upon the wall. Just like they creatively appeared, they disappeared when Yuta washed them off. Something he takes along with him, is, money and the outfit that is wrapped around his body right now: primarily he is only in need of you and the rest belongs to an unnecessary subordinate.

Once his bedroom has been left, the rest follows minutes after. His father is left the moment Yuta soundlessly passes by his office. His entire home is left behind the moment he steps outside and pulls the door shut. Naturally, those things happen and he doesn't feel any remorse for doing so, he is willing to do anything for the person he loves.

From his property, his first destination is the town. If there is something that might make the flight more serene, it's food to keep both of you alive in the first days of survival. He goes to the bakery that he almost stole from once: a memory he can't help but relive because, despite its negative undertone, the memory consists of you.

The queue at the bakery is not overly long, a handful of people seem willing to buy the fresh-smelling bread. Just as willing as he is, perhaps they need it for survival purposes as well. Two women are in front of him and either of them is accompanied by a child that doesn't look older than five: it's not their turn yet hence why they spent their time being a human newspaper. "Did you hear? Apparently, y/n has been found dead," the words flow from her mouth.

For the first time, Yuta heard what they are talking about. Normally he isn't interested in news brought by human newspapers: what they tell us usually something sugar-coated or filled with a spoonful of sea salt. Your name is the trigger for him to listen, but what follows after, completely triggers him.

"When?" The other woman asks to keep the conversation running and Yuta can't help but allow all of his senses to work together. His ears have to listen as he tries to use his eyes for their body language, on the tip of his tongue is a bitter taste and he can feel tears forming in his eyes. "Last night they say, she was caught and murdered by someone that works for their family."

The words leave Yuta frozen in his spot, the coins that were resting in the palm of his hand are clenched between his fingertips as they form into a tight but sad fist. "Excuse me," he quickly mutters after his body is turned towards the exit, pushing through the few people that are lined up behind him.

Without bread, he leaves the bakery. His footsteps don't match up with the pace he wants to reach: sloppily walking as his mind is as mushy as porridge even though in his mind, he is running as fast as he can towards you.

"I need to get there," he ends up muttering to himself. Realisation of his hindered pace comes after he realises that the past ten steps didn't take him further than to the corner of the street. In that critical moment, his feet finally set off to a faster running pace.

Even if the past five days had gone by rapidly, time now went slower than it ever did before. His footsteps didn't change the pace of time, because no matter how fast he went, it seemed like he didn't reach much further. Tirelessly, his feet continued to run until the first changes in scenery were noticeable.

The streets from town slowly started to disappear, replaced by an uncountable amount of greenery. The only real street was in the form of a path that led him only further into the greenery.

Due to the fast running, his feet tend to oversee the details of the greenery underneath. The first time he stumbles it's over his own clumsy feet. The second time he stumbles and falls it's due to the roots of the tree that cross his path. His black-clothed pants are dirt covered when he sits up on his knees before standing up on his feet again.

"I will take responsibility for you till the end"

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

The rose as red as blood is the only visible factor as he glances through the window of the greenhouse. His hands are pressed on the glass for a direct look upon the bench that's inside: but the red flower prevents him from seeing anything. Now that he thinks about it, he remembers how the roses shielded anyone from seeing the pureness of your bodies as you made love underneath the light of the moon.

Silence drapes a symbolic flag over the property. It's eerily quiet for a long time but Yuta is too busy to notice the silence until finally, a sound drags him out of his observation process. In surprise due to the sound, his hand flatly places against the glass before his body wildly spins around. The large doors are opened and less than a dozen men walk out: dressed formally as they carry outside a variety of objects that Yuta can't make out in of the near distance.

He can recognise the colours printed on the flag, by the things he's been taught, he concludes that this will be the raised flag for the upcoming time. A time of mourning hence the monochrome colour of the flag. He thickly swallows before letting out a cough when the saliva collects at the back of his throat.

Unable to withhold himself from performing sentiments, he screams out of wretchedness. Knees colliding with the ground for the fifth time that day, but the pain is zilch compared to the heartache that burns through his shirt. When he thought his heart would no longer beat, the pace quickened due to one of the men signalling another by pointing near the source of sound. On his knees, Yuta crawled to the large door, letting himself in after he reached up to pull the handle.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

"J'aime tes pleurs. C'est la rosée qui sied aux fleurs"

Rather than the passionate red roses, blue colourized roses are plucked by Yuta's fingertips. Like you once tutored him: red roses symbolise passionate love and blue roses symbolise unrequited and unreachable love. His promise of never giving you flowers is disintegrated.

In front of Yuta's blurry vision are continuous drips. One drop, two drops and still going. His teardrops landing on top of the sadly fallen flower petals, withering together as a sign of grief.

Memories fall like rain at dawn with each blue rose that Yuta plucks: one for the banquet where you two met for the first time, one for your first shared kiss, one for the endless talks in this greenhouse, one for the intimacy under the moonlight, and the last one for forever that will never come but always be yours.

Five roses are clenched between his fingertips, strongly held as the thorns press into the thin skin. The spring shower of memories stops the moment he spins his body towards he bench, a loud sob wrecking his vocal cords.

"y/n," he calls out to you as he walks up to the bench, his knees willingly giving out right in front of the bench. The place where your body was laid to rest until further notice: the place where you would be at peace, the place where love bloomed much like flowers. Your parted lips almost indicate you want to call out to him too, but your body is still and so are your non-existing words.

"I brought you these flowers," Yuta says softly as he places the five bundled flowers between your folded hands, the coldness of your fingers lingering against his skin until he backs away. "I know you explicitly told me to not gift you flowers but these will not wither, they will bloom," he whispers as his twitching fingertips ache to touch you, but out of fear, he can only let them caress over the rose petals.

His head comes to rest against the edge of the bench. "I hope you like them," he whispers as he can only look at the ground in sadness, shame, heartbreak. His blurry vision detects coral beads on the floor next to something that looks like a brown bean.

Abrus precatorius.

From another memory together with you he remembers the flowering plan out of the bean family. The plant is best known for its seeds, or better said beads that are toxic due to the presence of abrin. Ingestion of a single seed can be fatal to both adults and children.

An old symbol of love in China, which they call "相思豆" or "mutual love bean". A deadly love bean is what humans would tend to call it within the town, simply because they had no idea of official wordings or the dangers of the plant.

Yuta swallows thickly, almost like one of the seeds is on the tip of his tongue and he needs to swallow it. But the bitter feeling on his tongue is due to the realisation of what truly happened.

"I understand y/n. Even if fate separates us, all your tear-drenched memories will die in my embrace," He whispers. The fingertips of his right hand move towards your cheek, stroking over the skin daintily. The tender touch is cold but the warmth of love fills his blind heart. Beneath the bench, his left hand clutches a handful of coral beads.

The decorational plant beads rest in his hand as he brings them up to his mouth. A mutual love bean: cause of death for the love of his life, and soon to be his own as well.

Well-chewed, he swallows the seeds all at once. A breath escapes from his lips as he soon allows his head to lay against your shoulder, your stiff and cold body, pillowed by a thin layer of white lace that covers your skin.

His brown eyes eternally stare towards the love of his life. His broken heart swallows the tears for the deep pierced scars to get healed by the droplets, as a consequence, death starts blooming from the cracks of his heart. Before nightfall spreads over the glasshouse, his solitary serenade is heard.

"Rather than living without your love, I'll die with hatred. When we meet again, I hope we bloom as flowers."

201 notes · View notes

loudsuitlover · 4 years ago

Text

Doctor Harry XIV. Salir.

A/N: I personally love this. I hope you enjoy it too! :)

***Preview:

It's funny to me that she thinks my infatuation with her is about her neckline. I mean, sure, it got me breathless when I saw her tonight because she doesn’t usually dress like this and man, she looks like some sort of sex goddess; but it’s just so much more than that. It’s the way she walks, the way she bites her bottom lip, the way she calls me off…

After she unbuttons my shirt, her warm hands caress my exposed chest and she takes my shirt down my arms until it joins my jacket. Her eyes roam my chest before she smiles and takes the air out of my lungs.

“Naked Harry is my favourite Harry, you know?”

Fuck... She’s so naughty tonight. I feel her nails sinking down the skin of my shoulders before she scratches my chest and watches the pink mark she’s leaving with lustful eyes.

“Next time, don’t take so long before you kiss me.”

She pouts and it seems to have a direct line with my cock, especially when her plump bottom lip sticks out. I want to bite it and suck it into my mouth and lick it until we’re both out of breath. This girl is going to drive me crazy. I don’t know what she wants from me.

INDIE’S POV

Antonio Vega floods my room as I stare mindlessly at the notes professor Gibbins sent me. Not only did he send me the notes from the seminar I missed on Monday, he’s also sent me the notes for the rest of the week. He always sends us the notes but since he does that before lectures, we still have to add the stuff we discuss in class but I can tell he rewrote these notes after the lectures because I can read question: and answer: and it just fills my heart to imagine him writing those down for me. He must be such an incredible friend because he’s kind to everybody, I can only imagine how great he must treat his friends.

And talking about friends… I haven’t yet seen Jason or Ollie. Marie came over for lunch yesterday again but this time it was on me. I am a lot better now, I’d say I’m okay now, I just haven’t been going to the lectures because my teachers are doctors and the lectures hall is right after the hospital. It’s dangerous to go near a hospital with the flu. Some people there just can’t dare to get it.

But I know nothing from Ollie or J either. Olivia just doesn’t participate on the group chat and when Jason does it’s never to say something about himself. I hope he’s talking to the girls at least or that he just doesn’t have much to tell. Considering his situation, that’s a good thing.

I miss them though. I miss the Golden Girls and I miss going out with them and having a drink and trying to find a guy for Marie. I don’t know how long for I’m going to stand not talking to Ollie. I don’t know how she does it. I really miss her.

Harry: What are you doing tonight?

I try to get back to my surgery notes and ignore Harry’s text. I don’t know what I’m doing tonight but I don’t know if I want to see him. Okay, I’m lying, I seem to always want to see him but I don’t know if that’s what’s best for me.

Wednesday was the strangest day of my life. I woke up before he did for once and I let him sleep in. After what had happened in the am, and him almost crying and me not knowing how to comfort him, I thought he needed that sleep yet those hours of alone time and silence did no good to my racing thoughts.

I felt terrible. I still remember that feeling on the pit of my stomach that went up all the way to my throat. I felt terrible for him and I felt terrible for Dylan, I felt terribly guilty for both of them.

I don’t know why I want to know what was Harry’s turning point so bad. I’ve never been a nosy person, but maybe even that he’s rubbing off on me; and the uncertainty is curiosity’s best friend so I set my imagination free.

He can’t have lost the love of his life too. That would be too much of a coincidence but somehow, and in a fucked-up way, that would settle me down. If he was doing the same thing I am doing, I wouldn’t feel so guilty. He would have his own Dylan and I would be his Harry and that would make things better but that’s just a selfish thought and anyway the likelihood that that’s what’s wrong with him is so small it’s not even worth considering it.

Then I consider drugs. He does take diazepam in order to sleep and even though that’s not necessarily doing drugs, I read somewhere that anaesthetists are the kind of doctors who more often did drugs because of the easy access. What if he started taking amphetamines so as to study, that would partially explain his brilliance, and then he just couldn’t get out of it? He’s under so much pressure too and pressure and stress and not wanting to disappoint anyone are the perfect storm for an addiction like that.

I really hope that’s not the case. I don’t think I can go through that again but I’d feel terrible leaving him alone to deal with that if I found out that’s the case. I mean Harry is not my responsibility, his life is none of my business and I don’t have nor need to help him. Plus I wouldn’t even know how, I’m not a therapist. But I’ve been through this once already and if I couldn’t help Dylan, why would I be able to help him?

I wonder if I could ever share that with him. I’ve never shared that with anyone. Not even with Jason or Coco but they know because they’ve lived it too. Not like me but they saw it. I hate that he triggers me so much. I’m fine when I don’t think about, I’m fine when I don’t think about it.

“Blue…”

I turn around from my chair and face my begging sister. I know that tone, she’s going to ask for something. I give her a knowing look and she bites her bottom lip.

“What are you doing tonight?”

I think about Harry’s text.

“Nothing.” I shrug. “Catching up on studying I guess.”

She walks slowly and somehow dramatically inside my room until she takes a seat on my bed. She’s wearing party clothes, a black mini skirt and a white silk blouse crossed at the front. I frown. I don’t know where this is going.

“It’s Elvis Buchanan’s birthday party tonight-”

“Oh no, no, no, no.” I don’t let her finish.

Those parties are just a combination of everything I hate. It’s just rich guys trying to prove to rich girls they’re as rich as their daddies and then someone showing you their fancy car and offering to take you home just so they can make out with you and then tell the rest of them. No, no, no, there’s no way I’m going to one of those.

When I was sixteen, that was all I did. Going to stupid parties with stupid people and buying stupid ridiculously expensive dresses and just try not to be left out because that’s what always happens, that’s all they know how to do, making you feel bad. But I’ve come a long way from there and I am not about to go back there.

“Please!” Coco pouts. “Chicco’s gonna be there.”

“Chicco’s a complete ass.”

“He’s not! Please, please, please.”

She’s giving me puppy eyes. I’m so sorry for her. Her friend Amanda left to Paris when they started uni and she was the only decent person in that circle so now Coco’s all alone with all those bitches. I wish she’d just ignore them like Rio and I do, but she’s just more fit for that high society than my brother and I ever were.

Harry: Do you have plans?

“Coco, those people-”

“I know, I know what you’re going to say but not all of us are as lucky as you and have friend as great as yours.” She sighs and looks away from me but I can still see her pout.

Oh, Coco, if you knew I’m not so sure I even have friends anymore.

“Chicco’s gonna be there and the rest of girls too… Daniela too… If I don’t go then they might get their way with him. I almost have him, Blue! He was here the other night! And had sushi with me! And he doesn’t like sushi!”

That makes me chuckle. Gosh, I don’t know what to do. I think leaving the house might do me good and I actually feel like going out but I want to go out with my real friends not with these rich kids. I bite my bottom lip.

Harry: Hey, rich girl

Harry: Don’t play hard to get

Harry: Tell me

Harry: Am I worth your precious time or not?

He has to be kidding me. I hate it when people call me that. It’s not my fault my family is wealthy but I’m not just that. I don’t want to be any of that.

Harry: You’re so boring, Indie…

“The girls said someone from your hospital was invited too. Guido Matteoti’s older brother…” Coco adds. “I think his name is Marco. They’re obviously Italian.”

“Mario.” I look up from my phone to her and her eyebrows raise on her forehead.

“Mario, yeah, that’s the one. Do you know him? He’s hot, they say.”

“He went out with Olivia a few times.” I tell her.

“He did?” Her eyes widen in bliss. “Maybe Ollie’s coming then! Did you text her?”

I shake my head. I haven’t texted her since last Saturday but I don’t think she’s going to be there. But maybe she is? She could have been invited anyway. Ollie moves in that high-class circle too… And she bought a Stella McCartney dress a couple days ago… And I want to see her.

“Alright, I’m going but-”

Coco doesn’t let me finish my conditions as she wraps her thin arms around me and squeezes me.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re leaving if they start talking about cars to you or if someone orders a Dom Perignon special edition.”

I chuckle.

“I’m going to have a look through your closet. Don’t really like this shirt, it makes my legs look like two loose pieces of thread.”

I throw my head back and laugh. My clothes are oversized for her but if she likes anything she can take it. I text Harry back before I start getting ready myself.

Indie: I already have plans.

Indie: Sorry.

He’s online but he’s not answering. He types, he deletes it, he types, he deletes it. Honestly I don’t know what he was expecting. He really does think I’m going to drop everything for him whenever he wants me to. I’m not a toy.

I decide on a bodycon dress I’ve already worn hundreds of times before. It’s elegant and for some reason I feel comfortable with it even if it’s far more revealing that the clothes I normally wear. The neckline is low cut for starters but I like it, it flatters my chest. It’s got a tight champagne-grey lining embellished with a geometrical pattern of silver sequins and pearls. I combine it with champagne heels and a champagne clutch bag and leave my wavy hair down.

“Wow” Coco gapes at me and I give her a smile.

“Do you like it?”

“You do know you look like a goddess right? Man, I wish I had your curves.”

“I wish I had your legs.”

“You mean these needles?” She pouts.

I stare at her. She looks so gorgeous and so elegant on that dress. In the end she chose a bodycon dress with a low v neckline with a pattern of horizontal stripes with fringes, and sequins and pearls. The colours remind me of those of a majestic peacock with back and turquoise and indigo blue. The dress flatters her to perfection and her long, straight dark hair falls on her back making her look like some sort of aboriginal princess.

“You look incredible, Coco.”

“Your boobs look huge too!” She compliments? I guess.

I laugh and push her away from my room and towards the door. We’re taking a cab to the party and the taxi driver is already waiting outside.

Elvis Buchanan’s house is ridiculously huge. The kind of huge that could only be explained if you live together with another fourteen people. I don’t understand why anyone would need a house this big. It’s just plain silly.

Coco and I walk along the path that leads from the opened metal fence of the entrance to the house and I notice the tasteful tiny white stones that decorate the green grass. They look like hail.

A guy from the Buchanan’s service opens the door for us and I do a quick scan of the crowd hoping to find Olivia. It doesn’t matter how many people there are in a room, you can always spot Olivia. That’s how gorgeous she is. But I don’t see her.

Coco lets me know where Chicco is and to my surprise I see him talking to some other guys, not surrounded by slender rich girls like I had imagined him, so I take Coco’s coat and tell her I’ll leave it wherever it is we’re supposed to leave it for her. The longer I can be away from the party the better. I decide on asking the guy who opened the door for us where I should leave the coats but I get a call from a Marie.

“Hi, lovey.” I greet her.

“Hi, Indie-pixie, how are you?”

“I’m good, thank you, and you?”

I want to ask her about Olivia. Whether she knows if she’s going to be here or not. I also want to ask her why in the world she’s not at all angry after what she did to Mario. Especially considering how judgy Marie can be; her words, not mine.

“I’m good too. You didn’t check the group that’s why I’m calling. Listen, Jason invited us all to have dinner at his house and then we can go out for a drink or maybe go to 505.”

Us all? I frown.

“I’m not stepping a foot in that house.”

“Come on, Indie, David is not even going to be there.”

“Oh, is he on a satanic spiritual retreat?”

“Indie…”

I sigh.

“I already have plans, Marie.”

“Oh.” I can hear the surprise on her voice. “Are you with Harry?”

“No, I’m with Coco. I went with her to this birthday party. You know, family friends’ stuff.”

“Oh.” That surprises her even more. “But you hate those things.” She chuckles.

“Yeah, but Coco doesn’t.” Plus, I thought Olivia would be here but I guess she’s having dinner at Jason’s now. “Anyway, I gotta go. I need to find out where to keep our coats.”

“Okay, have fun, honey.”

“You too. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I keep my phone on my purse and ask the guy that opened the door for us. He says there’s a cloakroom service. My face must speak for me because he chuckles along before I shake my head and disappear down the hall.

There is a freaking cloakroom service! I can’t believe this. Luckily, there’s no one waiting so I’m going to participate in this pathetic situation as little as possible. The girl gives me a polite smile as I hand over our coats but she doesn’t even take them as another guy jumps in and hands in his.

“Keep this one, please.”

She goes attend him and completely ignores me.

“Hey! It’s my turn!”

“Miss” The girl from the cloakroom tries to stop me but when the guy faces me I just raise my eyebrows.

His dark brown eyes set on me and his frown relaxes into a smile. His hair is dark and up in a casual quiff and his skin is tanned. He’s got a beautiful smile but he was still rude.

“That’s okay, Elisabeth.” He tells the girls. “Keep her coat in and then you can keep this one.”

“Okay, sir.”

Sir? He’s like a boy!

“Just so you know, if I get in trouble for this, it’d be your fault.” He points a finger at me giving me another smile.

“What do I care?”

I tilt my neck and stare back at the girl and I see her eyes widening. My rude attitude is probably freaking her out. It’s not usual for girls from my status to talk like that, especially to someone they don’t even know, but who cares? This guy came in here thinking he owns the place and trying to jump the queue and now he thinks he can win me over with that white teeth smile. The girl hands me a red silk ribbon with a number on and I keep it on my purse. The brunette offers me his hand and I look at it and then at him.

“What’s your name, beautiful?”

“What’s yours?”

I see the girl opening her eyes even wider from the corner of my eyes. She reminds me of Marie, with her judgy faces and her polite words.

“Heard that, Elisabeth?” He’s still grinning at me. “You’d think your guests would know your name at your birthday party.”

Elvis Buchanan. I should have guessed. He did not walk in here as if he owned the place, he does own the place. Well, all the more reason to consider him rude, jumping the queue over your own guest.

“You came here with someone?” I nod at his question. “And your date didn’t even take care of your coat.” He purses his lips disapprovingly.

“I can take care of my own coat.”

He grins, he liked my answer. He amuses me so I give him a smile before I walk away. He reminds me of Harry.

“You didn’t tell me your name.” He calls me out.

“Indigo.” It’s his birthday after all and this is his house, I can’t be that rude. “Anderson.”

“You’re Coco’s sister?”

I nod and he nods slower, readjusting his black suit jacket before he walks past me.

“I gotta go now but I hope we can talk some more later. Just walk straight up to me, yeah? I gotta feeling people won’t get off my back tonight, since it’s my birthday and all that shit.”

I smile and nod. It seems like I’m gonna like this guy after all. He’s at least interesting and that’s a lot more than I can say for the vast majority of them.

“Oh, miss, you’re lucky you’re pretty.” The girl from the cloakroom giggles. “I was honestly suffering for you. I thought he was going to kick you out.”

“Is he that bad?” I ask her.

“Aren’t they all?” She rolls her eyes.

I throw my head back and laugh and her eyes widen again when she realizes, after all, I am one of them.

“Sorry.”

I dismiss her and silently pray for her to keep her job. I bet it sucks though because I’m sure every guy tries to hit on her. She’s pretty too and rich guys have a tendency to think they can have anything they want, more so if the girl they’re hitting on is not high class. They’re trash but that we all know.

I make my way inside the insanely huge living room and have a look around to see if I can spot Coco. She’s laughing at Chicco’s terrible jokes. I can’t hear them but I bet they suck. I try to get away from the dance floor before one of those guy who are uninvitedly throwing dirty glances at me thinks it’s safe to approach me and instead I make my way towards the bar. I’ll get a drink before I have to dodge familiar faces in my search for Mario. I mean, Coco said he’ll be here and if I have to spend the night waiting for Chicco to actually kiss her, I might as well do it with someone I like. I didn’t know Mario moved in this circle either so finding out about it might be interesting.

My phone vibrates on my purse though so I get it out before I order. I frown when I see Jason’s name. I should pick up but I’m still hurt by what he said the other night to me and I don’t want to do this over the phone. If this is about me not going to his stupid dinner, he has to understand I won’t go to that house. I keep my phone on my purse. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. When the waitress looks at me, I open my mouth to order but she places a drink in front of me. I frown.

“Bulldog and Fever Tree Mediterranean, right?”

“Yes but how did you-”

She smiles and points at the other end of the bar and I can’t believe my eyes. Harry’s smile goes beyond his cheerful mesmerising green eyes and I could fall on my knees.

I grip my drink and don’t take my eyes off him- I couldn’t if I wanted to- as he makes his way towards me. Everything around him disappears to me for he drinks all of my attention. He’s without a doubt the most handsome, sexy and magnetic man in this room, and in every other. He looks so dreamy, like some sort of eye candy in a light pink shirt and a dark grey suit that makes him look like some sort of illusion.

I’m completely spellbound and it’s almost hard to stand on my feet. I feel my blood running fiercely through my veins and my heart beating wildly and I just saw him. This reaction is not normal and I know that, this has never happened to me, but I can’t control it.

From this distance, there’s nothing I don’t like about him. The way he looks, the way he walks, the way he smiles, the way he’s looking at me; even the way he lifts my chin with two fingers and closes my gaping mouth. How embarrassing.

“It’s a good thing I got you a drink, right? Bet your mouth is dry already.”

I roll my eyes. You see from this distance, I can hear him talk, so there are some things I don’t like about him. He chuckles though.

“So this was your plan” He guesses. I don’t answer but he keeps on with his monologue. “You must be at ease here, right? With all these posh rich kids…”

I don’t mean to but my face says what my words don’t because I feel my eyebrows cocking and he grins wider. He’s annoying me but for some reason he’s doing it on purpose.

“If that’s what you think then what are you doing here?”

“I was invited.” He shrugs.

“What an upgrade” I smile bitchily like these girls do “a nobody from Bellamond in a posh rich kids’ party…”

His jaw clenches. He only likes these games when he’s the one playing them. Well, I don’t like it when he calls me posh rich kid either so fuck him and his feelings. A tall brunette man swats Harry’s back before his brown eyes set on me. He roams my body up and down nastily and makes me uncomfortable.

“Styles, who’s this beauty here?” He grins at me.

“No one.”

His words hurt me but I won’t show it. No one? Is that what I am to him? His friend laughs.

“I’m William Buchanan.”

Another Buchanan. Man, I’m gonna meet the whole family.

“She’s Barbie’s brunette’s friend and we were just leaving.” Harry answer for me and pushes me away but I pull away from his hold and give him a death glare.

“I’m Indigo.” I shake his hand.

“Wow” Willian Buchanan smiles “so your name is as pretty as your face.”

I want to roll my eyes so bad at him but I keep it together. Harry’s standing next to me and he’s nervous. I like it. I’ve never seen him act like this before and he was just a jerk so he deserves it.

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you-”

“Hey” The little brother joins the party and Harry tenses up next to me. “Do you know my brother?” His brown eyes bore into mine and I think I can sense some warning.

I look at Harry but he’s looking away and then my eyes set back on the Buchanan brothers.

“No.” I frown.

“Better that way.”

“Elvis, what the hell?”

“Just go away, Will, please. Leave my guests alone.”

I stand flabbergasted at their interaction and Harry stands next to me tensed like a block of ice. Elvis waits for his brother to disappear before he gives me a gentle smile.

“I’m sorry about that, my brother is not a good guy.” He wrinkles his nose. “If I were you, I’d dodge him.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say about a sibling.”

He nods his head.

“Exactly, just imagine how terrible he must be for me to warn you. See you around?”

“See you around.”

Before he leaves, I stop him placing my hand on his bicep and he looks at my hand before he looks at me.

“Thank you.”

He gives me a smile before he finally walks away. When he does, I turn so I’m facing Harry and find him frowning.

“Do you know the Buchanans?” He asks me.

“No, do you?”

He shakes his head and surprises me as he places his hand gently on my waist.

“Would you like to go outside with me?”

I would love to but before I can answer, Mario, another two guys and two girls reach us. I greet Mario with a hug and he introduces me to his brother, Guido, and the two girls, Savannah and Anastasia. Harry’s let go from me and I don’t fail to notice the way Savannah looks at him and then at me. I almost smirk to myself.

It's clear she was hoping to sleep with him and I wonder if she would have gotten it if I wasn’t here. She’s breath-taking and I gotta the feeling that Harry’s rather easy, not just with me. I almost laugh when she tries to wrap a slim arm around Harry’s waist and he discreetly dodges her contact.

They invite me to sit with them. Apparently Harry was already with them before he went to the bar to get a drink and found me. I steal a look at Harry from the corner of my eye. I guess he was going to order water or some soft drink but I take it these people might not even know he doesn’t drink at all.

We sit down on some couches and this time Harry seems to wait for me to sit down and then he sits next to me. He rests his hands on the back of the couch behind me so even though he’s not touching me at all, it kind of looks as if we were together.

I learn Mario’s family owns hotels and he tells me how his brother and he have to endure these torturous fancy parties so their parents keep their contacts. I already liked Mario but after knowing he comes from the same circle I do and that he also doesn’t care about this, I like him even more.

Like last time I had a drink with him, we click and talk about anything and everything and it takes him almost an hour to ask me about Ollie.

“I just don’t know what to do.” He shrugs. “I thought we had fun and she told me she did and it sounded sincere to me but… Now she doesn’t pick up my calls and it takes her days to answer my texts…”

And you’re still trying? I suck my lips inside my mouth. I need to tell him. He’s such a good guy, he doesn’t deserve what Olivia’s doing to him.

“Listen, Olivia’s just… A free bird, you know?” But she’s my friend and friends’ have each other’s back. “She’s not the type of girl to settle down.” I shrug. “It’s not about you.”

“Oh.”

He gives me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. I think he had gotten there on his own.

“I’m just so inclined to fall in love, you know?” He chuckles. “It’s always the same story.”

His words surprise me. I thought girls were the ones inclined to fall in love and the fact that he’s saying that only makes me want to protect him more. He must sense the surprise on my face because he laughs.

“What? You weren’t expecting that?”

Harry straightens his back next to me and I wait for his smart comment.

“Guys fall in love too, you know, Indie?” There it is.

I give him a look and my eyes meet his amused ones. He’s clearly messing with me but I’d much rather have this Harry than the one calling me a posh rich kid. I roll my eyes at him and look back at Mario. He’s smiling.

“I just thought that was more typical of girls.”

“That’s incredibly sexist.” Harry complains and I swat his arm and he laughs along with Mario.

“I mean I’ve only had a girlfriend but it was the same with her really. It was like way faster for me than it was for her, you know? But still she got there.”

No, don’t keep your hopes up with Olivia! She’s gonna break your heart, Mario, she’s gonna break your heart. I try to push my thought away giving him a smile. I feel the alcohol on my system already and I notice I’m a little woozy because Harry’s scent and warmth is pulling me under his spell even more than usual. All of a sudden I want him to wrap his arm around my shoulders so this Savannah girl would stop stealing glances at him.

Coco waves her hand at me and gives me a cheerful smile before he has a look at Chicco and when she realizes he’s preoccupied ordering the drinks she gives me a thumbs up. I chuckle at her antics. I can tell she’s tipsy already. From the corner of my eye, I see Guido unconsciously smiling as his eyes fix on her.

I wonder if they’ve met. I don’t understand why Coco is so obsessed with Chicco when she could easily have a guy like Guido, sweet and polite and funny. And then I realize, I’ve actually been having fun in this stupid fancy party.

Turning my body on the couch, I face Harry and he gives me a confused look. He’s been so quiet, only adding hater comment every once in a while and he hasn’t even tried to touch me. I make sure he can see my exposed legs and chest and my belly tightens when his eyes drop to my breasts. I don’t normally like it when a guy stares at my chest, hence why I don’t normally wear low cut necklines, but for some reason it drives me wild that he does it. I guess, even after all the times he’s told me he thinks I’m beautiful and after having sex with him multiple times, it still thrills me that he actually does find me attractive. And he looks so good tonight… I bite my bottom lip. I want to have him so bad.

“Are you not having fun?” I ask him and tilt my chest in order to give him a full view.

His eyes drop to my breasts again. I love this.

“In this stupid party?” He frowns. “It’s not really my thing.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Well I got stood up this evening.”

His beautiful green eyes stare into mine firmly and his calm contrast my longing. I’m not sure he’s talking about me. My lips part as I bore my eyes into his, trying to read him. I hope he is talking about me because the thought that he might be talking about someone else, a real date he had tonight that stood him up, and that he only texted me after that left a sour feeling on the pit of my stomach that I don’t like. He seems to sense my discomfort and for the first time tonight he grants me his contact. His fingers caress my temple before he tacks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I’m happy you’re here.” He promises. “Even though I would never bring you here.”

Bring me here. When did he become mushy? I think about our date, our single date. After that, he got what he wanted and he has never asked to take me out ever since.

“Where would you take me?”

“My bed.” He smirks.

Of course. Where else? Sex is everything he wants from me. I feel suddenly embarrassed so I look away from him. I spot Coco on the dance floor and my desperation to feel Harry’s touch gets the better of me.

“Would you like to dance?” With me?

He just shakes his head but his green eyes don’t leave mine. I can’t believe I just had him on my mouth a couple days ago and now he doesn’t even want to dance with me. I wonder if he just wants to be left alone with endless-legs-Savannah. I don’t want to blush so I look away from him and back to the dance floor. There seems to be several people between Coco and Chicco so it might be safe to check on my sister. That way I can leave Harry and Miss Universe alone too. Before I stand up, I turn my body away from his and I think I feel his fingers skim my low back but I’m already standing.

“I don’t dance, baby.”

I shrug, feigning I don’t care.

“That’s fine.”

I hand him my purse and silently leave him as the guardian and make my way towards the dance floor without saying another word. I don’t even have to draw Coco’s attention because she turns around as if on cue and as soon as she sees me we both start dancing like nobody is watching. Dua Lipa’s Don’t Start Now fills our ears as we both let her voice move our bodies.

I think it’s the first time I actually have fun at one of these parties and it has nothing to do with Harry for he’s been off all night. It would have been a lot more fun if Ollie had been there too. Also if Jason and Marie were here dancing with us. Jason’s so funny when he dances to this song… I wonder if they’re having as much fun as I am. I hope so, even though it still makes me a little jealous. I wish things were different, I wish everything was normal between us, like it used to be… It hurts to be apart from them more than I let out.

When my eyes look back up, they meet Elvis’ amused ones. He grins at me and takes my smile as an invitation to come closer. Coco’s eyes and mouth widen right behind him as he stands in front of me and I try to ignore her as best as I can but I am feeling all giddy. I’m drunker than I thought.

“Damn.” He’s got a beautiful smile.

I roll my eyes but smile back.

“You’re a good dancer, Indigo.” He compliments. “Don’t stop because of me.”

Fearlessly I start swaying my hips and my chest again at Dua Lipa’s rhythm and see the way his eyes roam my body. I would much rather have Harry looking at me like that but after his rejection, Elvis’ attention is boosting my confidence. After all, he’s the birthday boy and very handsome, I take it half the girls here would want him to give them the attention he’s giving me. He tilts his neck as he watches me.

“But dance with me, birthday boy.”

He laughs but obliges and I try not to laugh. I don’t know why but most guys’ dance moves are funny to me. I mean when they try to act all manly and stuff, it’s just funny. I guess that part of me is happy Harry declined my dancing request.

“You can laugh.” Elvis tells me grinning. “I know I’m a funny dancer but that’s just ‘cause my body doesn’t stop me.”

He then starts doing the most weird dance move I’ve ever seen, acting like some sort of snake, and I throw my head back and laugh but he doesn’t seem to mind because he keeps it up, showing me some more ridiculous dance moves. I start imitating him and he laughs too and like that we start some sort of ridiculous dance competition.

“I take it this is your birthday gift.” He tells me.

My eyes widen. Oh, God, we didn’t bring a birthday gift. He laughs and points a finger at me. It’s the second time he’s pointed a finger at me tonight.

“I’m kidding, woman.” He laughs. “You should have seen your face!”

I swat his chest but he grips my wrist and turns me around so my back is against his front. We’re not touching and I appreciate his respect. The only man I want to touch me is sitting on the couch. Wait, no, he’s not. I panic and stop, looking for him around the huge living room. Again, another uncalled-for reaction but I’m getting used to them.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Elvis’ hand rests on my shoulder.

“Elvis” I need to stop him now before he gets his hopes up, I can’t go around criticizing Olivia and then acting like her. “You are really nice and really handsome but” the good thing is he’s smiling “I didn’t come here for you. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even know it was your birthday.”

He frowns but is still grinning so I take it he’s just confused.

“You’re with that guy who was with you earlier.”

“I mean” My head starts shaking uncontrollably “we’re not like together-together but, uh, I just don’t know where he is and… I’d like to go find him.” I smile at him, hoping that would excuse me.

He’s still grinning. I don’t get this guy. No one has ever taken a rejection so nicely.

“Okay, well, just to be clear, since you’re not together-together” he mimics me “I think you are really pretty and funny and I was hitting on you, I’m not gonna play it down. I appreciate that you told me that and” he offers me his hand and I shake it amused “it’s been a pleasure not flirting with you.” He grins. “Now-”

“Hey, Indie, what are you doing?” Harry cuts him off as rudely as he can go.

I almost feel embarrassed on his behalf but Elvis’ grin only widens. He offers him his hand for Harry to shake and he does just that. I don’t think I’ve ever been more uncomfortable than right now.

“This is him, right?”

Harry looks at me and then back at Elvis and I just look straight ahead. If I don’t make eye contact with any of them, they might think I’m not here.

“Sorry, man.” Harry’s words surprise me.

When I look at him, he’s tilting his neck and raising his eyebrows and his lips are pursed as if he was actually sorry for Elvis. Elvis, on the other hand, just looks amused like a little boy who heard a good joke. I wonder how old he’s turning. He looks way younger than Harry and even myself.

“It was nice meeting you, Indigo.” Elvis bows his head with a charming smile and then he just turns around and leaves.

I face Harry, ready to scold him for his childish possessive behaviour but he just hands me my purse and gets me confused.

“Here” he says “don’t leave me on charge of these things, I’m not used to it, almost forget it on the couch.”

I get the purse and don’t look at him. It bothers me that he’s been ignoring me, that he didn’t even want to dance with me, and when he sees me having fun with another guy he just appears claiming me like I was his pet and it bothers me even more because I know he sleeps with other girls but he doesn’t want me to do the same? Who the hell does he think he is?

“Are you okay?”

Well, no. I feel like some… convenient girl. I don’t want him to read me so I keep my eyes fixed to his expensive shoes.

“Why did you do that?”

I dare to look him in the eyes and the emotion in them takes me by surprise. Once again, I can’t read him. Warm hands cups my face until our lips touch. It’s timid at first and in that moment I don’t care who’s around, who could see, whether this is inappropriate or not. I embrace his closeness and let my lips move against his. He places one hand on my low back and closes the gap between us until there’s not enough space for air. It’s just clothes and longing as his tongue slides over mine in a delicious, slow caress. If he wasn’t holding my waist, I’m afraid my knees would have failed me and I’d be on the floor now.

“Why did it take you so long to even touch me?” I complain against his lips.

I feel him smile against my lips.

“I tried touching you before and you dodged me.”

“You didn’t want to dance with me.” I whine pulling away so I can look into his eyes.

“I didn’t want to dance.” He clarifies. “But you are driving me crazy with this fucking dress.”

He tacks a strand of hair behind my ear and pulls me into another kiss with his hand on my cheek. My hands find his hair too and I tangle my fingers and pull from some soft locks on the back of his neck. He’s disassembling me and I feel like I can’t trust my legs.

“Harry…” I all but gasp against his lips.

“No.”

I pull away and stare confused into his eyes.

“Call me like you do.”

“Love?”

“What?”

“Let’s get out of here.”

He nods before he pecks my lips again. I have one last look at Coco but the way people around us are looking at me intimidates me. Family friends look at me disapprovingly and I try to have their stares slip down my body but for some reason it affects me. I say my goodbye to Coco and after she reassures me that she’ll be fine, Harry and I make our way to the cloakroom.

As we wait for our coats, I can’t help my mind from entertaining the thoughts that those judgemental stares have put inside. I could easily think those girls were just jealous. After all, the most handsome man in the whole party was kissing me and not them and in front of everyone at that but deep down I know I feel embarrassed because I can’t help but feel somewhat dirty.

This is stupid, I thought I could easily do this but now I can’t push those thoughts away and it angers me because it’s sexist and I don’t want to be but- I wish my mind could just shut down.

“Baby,” Harry places his hand on my shoulder “it doesn’t matter what they think… You’re better than all of these people together.”

His words touch me. I bore my eyes into his green, sincere ones.

“Do you really think that?”

“Of course.”

His words calm me only partially because they also mean he also noticed the way those people stare at us so it’s not just in my head. I don’t know why this is affecting me like that.

“I’m…” He stutters as the cloakroom girl gives us our coats.

I told her to keep Coco’s and give her my sister’s full name and she nods. Harry already has his coat on and is frowning when I turn around. He waits for me to put on my coat with his hands on his pockets and then the two of us make our way outside in sudden silence. I’m about to ask him what’s wrong when he speaks.

“Do you regret it?”

He takes me off guard so I stop on my tracks.

“What?”

“Us.” His green eyes study me.

Do I? I guess part of me does. The part of me that doesn’t want to be seen as an easy girl, enchanted by an older guy’s charms, and the part of me who refused to have a pink stethoscope like the one my father got me because I thought it would only make it harder to be respected in the hospital. I know a woman shouldn’t be judged by those things but I also know we are and until that changes, we gotta do what we gotta do.

There’s another part of me that regrets the way I feel about him, the part of me that’s attached to Dylan beyond life and love themselves.

But the bigger part of me… I’m learning a lot from Harry. Not just about sex, but also about men and about me. I had never dreamt I could enjoy sex like I do with him or that I could feel the way I feel when he kisses me or when I touch him, even when I see him. I guess I just thought I was never going to feel that… Happy, again, after Dylan passed.

He makes me laugh too, even though he has a weird sense of humour, but I like that he shows me that part of him too. And he not only bears me but seems to enjoy my company, even seeks it; and that’s saying a lot, all things consider. I know I’m difficult. So I think… If I went back to that first dinner with him, knowing all I know now, I wouldn’t change it.

“No.”

He sighs and knowing he’s been holding his breath only makes me not-regret it more.

“It took you really long to answer.”

“It was a hard question.” I defend. “What about you? Do you regret it?”

“No.”

He doesn’t even think about it. We get on his car and he doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride. Neither do I. I don’t want to think about his question either, nor about his answer, but I wonder if it would have been different had he thought harder about it. I gave him a proper answer. It’s true it took me longer but that only means it’s true for I consider everything but he always seems to be this impulsive and I’m afraid that’s how he does everything, without thinking.

I need to push these thoughts away from my mind. He could have gone home with any other girl tonight and still he chose me and I could have gone home with Elvis Buchanan but… I didn’t want to. And that’s what scares me the most.

When we get to his apartment, he doesn’t push me against the door like he’s done other times and instead just waits for me to get inside before he locks the door after us. Maybe he’s doing all the thinking now, maybe he’s reconsidering everything and he’s about to tell me that he does regret it and that it’s best if we just stay friends. I place my coat on his dresses and only then I realize I’ve made it to his room. Where’s this familiarity coming from? Intruding into his room without his invitation… When I turn around to apologize for my intrusion, he pushes me into the wall and his hands grab the back of my thighs and squeeze my flesh. I moan at his contact.

“This fucking dress, baby…”

He pushes his hips against mine and I pathetically whine when I feel his arousal against my belly. I can’t believe just the sight of me got him this hard. I wish I knew what he’s been thinking and picturing in his mind.

“You are such a beautiful woman, Indie.” He presses his lips against mine almost violently and I suck his breath inside my mouth as his tongue licks my mouth. “When I saw you dancing with that guy, I thought maybe I wouldn’t be the one to have you and… I would have danced.”

“I want you so bad.”

I bring him closer to me pulling from the collar of lapels of his jacket and press our lips together hungrily and we both lap at each other’s mouth in a very heated, very passionate make out session that has me embarrassingly wet. I can’t wait for him to thrust inside me.

He seems to sense my desperation because in a second, he’s getting a condom out of his wallet and I surprise him by unbuttoning his suit pants. I hear him hiss as I pull his pants and his boxers down his thighs and then my hands slid across the soft fabric of his shirt and snake under the collar of his suit jacket, pulling it down his arms until it hits the floor. I bite his bottom lip and suck into my mouth and his groan makes my pussy throb.

His hand caresses my thigh up until he gets to the elastic of my pantyhose and pulls them down. We hear them rip in the process and he chuckles against my mouth as he apologizes but I can’t say anything because my breath gets caught on my throat when his fingers snake around the elastic of my underwear and he pulls them down my legs. I try to help him but loose my balance so I cling onto his arms whilst I pull them down my legs clumsily and he laughs. He kisses my neck and squeezes my hips with his hands before he lifts me up against the wall and my legs curl up around his waist.

When my head hits the wall, I pull from my dress to try to take it off or at least pull it down my breasts but Harry stops me.

“Leave it on” he breathes on my ear “I want to fuck you on this dress… It’s so sexy, baby… And you’re mine, fuck… I want to fuck you so bad… You’re so beautiful.”

Holding my weight with his hands on my hips, he lifts me higher and then sinks me down until he’s inside me. My back rests against the wall as Harry rises and lowers my body while he thrust his hips with more desperation and passion than ever.

“Are you” he gasps as his hips crashed me into the wall “do you like it like this?”

His words come out of his mouth in fits and starts while he fucks me and holds me tight so I don’t fall.

“Yes.” I moan, I love it when he fucks me against the wall.

This is so intense and the way he sounds and his firm grip on my body… I’m going to cum embarrassingly soon.

“Kiss me, baby.”

I love it when he asks me to kiss him. It makes me feel so powerful and wanted and I love that he loves kissing me as I do him. I lick his bottom lip slowly, I know it drives him crazy, and he parts his lips for me so I dive my tongue inside. I pull from his hair and try my best to kiss him whilst he pulls in and out of me faster and harder. He’s drilling me against the world fast but our kiss is slow and intimate and I bite on his lips whenever he hits the spot that has my eyes rolling to the back of my head.

“I don’t get tired of fucking you, Indie… Fuck… You feel so good.”

“Oh, God.”

I gasp and moan, I don’t know what else to do to let out some of the pression he’s building inside my belly that’s getting more and more intense with each thrust. He groans and his guttural, animalistic sounds are driving me wild. I scream and even hit my head against the wall. I’m going to come but I know he’s almost there too, I can feel how tense he is.

Like a firework, the electric current starts at my belly but spreads fast down my legs and arms and I fight for air as I feel a gush coming out of me. He curses under his breath and kisses me.

“Calm down, baby.”

I try to do as he tells me but I keep lowly moaning against his mouth as my walls clench frantically when he tenses up and burst inside the condom. He’s gasping and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so out of breath so he rests his forehead against mine and catches his breath before he rises me higher and rolls out of me, gently placing me on the floor.

I watch him rolling out the condom before he makes a knot and lets it fall to the floor. He’s such a pig sometimes. We then stare into each other’s eyes and he undoes me with his dimply smile. We’re still catching our breaths when we kiss, calming one another with sweet wet pampers.

“Seriously you look stunning tonight.” He compliments.

I chuckle.

“What a low cut neckline can do to you.”

HARRY’S POV

She chuckles staring straight into my eyes and I think my heart is going to burst out of my chest. How can she still look as pretty as she did when I first saw her tonight? I mean I don’t know a lot about makeup but I’ve noticed most girls after partying, drinking and dancing like she did tonight, not to mention fucking like I just fucked her, look like panda bears but Indie doesn’t. She still looks like a fucking goddess.

Her hazel eyes look into mine as her soft hands unbutton my shirt. She’s a little drunk, not too much so that she doesn’t know what she’s doing but drunk enough to have less inhibitions and I love that she’s acting this free and wild and fucking sexy around me. I’m the luckiest bastard in the world.

“Naked Harry is my favourite Harry, you know?”

Fuck... She’s so naughty tonight. I feel her nails sinking down the skin of my shoulders before she scratches my chest and watches the pink mark she’s leaving with lustful eyes.

“Next time, don’t take so long before you kiss me.”

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

Her hazel eyes widen and my cock twitches again. She looks so innocent and pure… But I know she’s a dirty girl… My dirty girl. She shrugs and looks down at my chest. Her fingertips caress the skin over my collarbone.

“I’m always afraid you’re gonna pull away.”

I frown at that. The gin she had tonight is taking away her filter and maybe I shouldn’t but I’m going to take advantage of it. It’s not every day she talks to me this clear.

“Hey” I lift her chin with my fingers and make her look at me “I love it when you kiss me, I won’t pull away.”

“Not even if we’re in public?”

“Baby, you’re the one who’s not into PDA.” I smile at her.

She’s just saying that because she’s drunk but I know she won’t think the same tomorrow when she’s sober.

“Okay” she smirks “and don’t claim me like I was your dog.”

Yeah, I know that was uncalled for. I don’t know what had gotten into me.

“You’re so bossy tonight.”

“Alcohol makes me fearless.” She smiles.

I feel her fingers sliding down my chest to my abs and lean down to kiss her again, holding her hands and bringing them back to my chest again. She challenges my attempt at keeping this a family show as her hands caress the end of my belly. She brings her mouth to my cheek but instead of giving me a kiss, her mouth moves to my ear.

“And horny.” She whispers.

Fucking hell. I groan when she squeezes me in her warm, soft hand and she presses a kiss on my jaw.

“Fuck me again, Harry.”

“So bossy…” I grin.

“It’s not always gonna be you in charge.” Her hand starts pumping me as the other one snakes around my neck and pulls my mouth to her perfect one. “At least let me do something for you.” She nibbles on my earlobe. She’s crazy if she thinks for one second I don’t want to fuck her again. “You’re dying for it, come on.”

Of course I am. I’m dying for her to touch me or kiss me or even just look at me all the time. I give in and kiss her hungrily. Sometimes I feel guilty for the things I wanna do to her and for the things I do to her but not these times. Right now I want to ruin her, fuck her so hard that her silhouette lingers on my bed when she’s gone.

She grabs my wrist and places my hand on her breast and it drives me crazy to know she wants me to touch her. She moans on my mouth when I squeeze her tit on my hand and makes my cock twitch. I’m crazy for her.

Without breaking the kiss, she turns around and starts walking backwards and I follow her suit like the sucker I am for her. When my bed hits the back of her knees, she pulls away from me and turns to the side, pulling the hem of her dress away from her skin under her armpit and unzipping it before she pulls the thin straps over her shoulders down her arms and gets naked in front of me.

I run her body with my eyes up and down and she smiles. She’s growing more confident on her own skin and I love it. I can tell she’s a lot more comfortable when she’s naked around me now. I don’t understand why she wouldn’t be. She’s perfect.

Her soft hand caress my chest as they make their way up and rest onto my shoulders as she pulls me closer to her and sits me down on the bed. She leans in and straddles me and her mouth licks and nibbles and sucks on my neck as she grinds her hips on mine, pressing her body against mine. Fuck…

I can feel how wet she is against my pubis and my dick is throbbing for her. I hold her hips and make a mental attempt to stop her movements but my muscles don’t do anything to stop her.

“Baby” I gasp “if you keep that up I’m gonna cum before we get started.”

Her lips leave my skin and I feel the air cooler when it hits the wet spot she was pampering. Her face is inches away from mine.

“And what do you want to do, love?”

Fuck, she’s driving me crazy. Usually it’s me asking her but I didn’t know it was going to be so sexy for her to do it. And when she calls me love… Something stirs inside me.

“Do you want to fuck or do you want me to suck-”

I cut her words short with a kiss. I want her, no, I need her. I push my tongue inside her mouth and taste the sour taste of the gin he had. It’s delicious combined with her otherwise sweet taste.

I try to lift her so I can grab a condom but her hips trap me under her as she kisses me harder. Shit.

“Condom” I manage to gasp against her lips “Need a condom, baby.”

She complains against my mouth and I feel her soft tongue shutting me up again. I grab her ass and the movement of her hips speed up. I can’t take it any longer so I just rise her up firmly and place her bottom on the bed and turn around to get a condom from the bedside table.

“I kind of wish we didn’t have to use them.”

My cock twitches as she whispers that behind me and I tilt my neck so my eyes set on her. She’s resting her weight on her elbows impatiently waiting for me. She looks away before she speaks next.

“But I don’t want you to give me an STD.”

I turn back around and get the condom before I start overthinking her words. I think if I had some blood reaching my brain I would read her confession differently but all I can think about is that he wants to have me bare just as much as I want to feel her without the barrier. It’s irrational because it’s not like the condom bothers me much but it’s just knowing we couldn’t get any closer then that’s driving me crazy for her.

I crawl up her body, spread her legs open with my knee and line myself up with her but she grips my biceps and stops me.

“No, I want to do it.”

Her hands push my chest away from her and they keep pushing until my back hits the mattress and she straddles me. She moans whilst she sinks down on me and the sound all but ties a knot on my heart. She circles her hips, rising and lowering them above me slowly, torturing me as I watch her and try my best not to cum yet. She’s overwhelming me, her scent, her sounds… And when she sinks her nails down my abs, I almost loose control. I hold her by her waist and turn us over, pinning her against the mattress and hovering over her.

“What-” She looks confused.

“I couldn’t take it anymore.”

I grunt when she grins.

“I’m gonna go rough, baby.” I give her a sneak peak, thrusting inside her fast and hard so her body bounces on the bed and she gasps through her smile. She wants this too. “You can tell me to stop anytime.” I reassure her.

“Just fuck me hard, love, like you know I like it.”

I enter her fast and rough, pressing my weight on her and squeezing her flesh on my hungry hands. I love having her like this. She doesn’t know the struggle on not getting a hard on whenever she acts all innocent and shit around other people because I know how dirty she really is but that’s something only I know.

She sucks her lips inside her mouth as she moans and I know it’s her way of helping herself from screaming but I want to hear her. I slip my hand to the inner side of her thigh and pull her leg over my shoulder and we both moan at the new angle.

“Don’t shut your mouth, love.” I warn her. “I want to hear you.”

She obliges and lets a loud moan out and I could burst.

“It won’t…” She stutters. I love doing this to her. “I won’t…”

I chuckle at her fight for words and she grants me a delicious smile.

“It won’t just be you hearing me if I” I push inside her “Oh, Harry…”

“Let my neighbours know” I push inside her again and watch her breasts bounce “let them know what I’m doing to you.”

I lean in to kiss her neck but I can’t barely close my mouth around her skin without getting dizzy. It’s hard to breathe when she’s wrapped around me like this.

“God, Harry.” Her hand pulls from my hair and I grunt against her skin. “I’m so close, love, I’m gonna cum.”

She tenses up underneath me and her skin covers in goose bumps. Lifting her hips from the mattress, she presses them further against me as her walls clench so she’s impossibly tight. I hide my face on the crook of her neck as I fill the condom and my hips keep sloppily thrusting inside her accompanying us down our highs.

I rest my head against the hot skin of her flushed chest and feel her collarbone against my temple every time he breathes in. I hold her hips as I pull out and her throat complains at the emptiness.

INDIE’S POV

I don’t know when I fell asleep but when I wake up is still night-time. I’m alone in Harry’s room and the cold drops a heavy paralyzing blanket over my naked body. I rub my hands against my arms but they’re cold too so they do nothing to warm me up.

Wrapping Harry’s quilt around my body, I get out of his bed and walk towards his living room. I can’t help but wonder where he is at. I need heat, possibly his, but if not I’m gonna need the heaviest duvet he has. I’m not normally cold in his house but because he’s a human heater.

Harry’s sitting on one of the high stools in the kitchen and the light from his laptop screen hits his face and illuminates his frown. He wears his cosy sweatpants I love so much and a long sleeves cotton t-shirt. I envy his warmth. It takes him almost a minute to notice my presence.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m cold.”

His green eyes set back on the screen of his laptop.

“There are blankets on the storage bed.”

If I was already cold, now I’m freezing. I feel like he just took my heart and squeezed it on his hand. How can he be so harsh? Especially after what we did before I fell asleep. I embrace myself and turn around before he can see the effect his cold attitude has in me.

It's like he knew everything I was thinking before we got here and then threw it at my face. Yes, I am a convenient girl for him; yes, I am the easy shag; yes, I am a canned vagina with legs to him. I almost want to call Ollie and tell her she’s right and call Jason and tell him it happened that he got tired of me and then call Marie and told her I should have listened from the beginning.

I realize everyone in my life has been trying to warn me and still here I find myself like some free prostitute he doesn’t even want to sleep with. I mean who works in the A.M on a saturday morning? Am I so terrible he doesn’t even want to lie down next to me?

I need to get out of here and go look for my dignity because I must have lost it somewhere on the way here. I don’t want to cry because of him and I won’t. As I look for my underwear, Harry walks in and holds my arm as he walks me to the bed. He gets us both under the covers and spoons me, intertwining his legs with mine and hugging me tight.

“What are you doing?”

“You said you were cold.”

“And you told me to get a blanket.”

I’m glad he can’t see my face but my voice is trembling and betraying me.

“I’m sorry, I’m a jerk.” Yes, he is. “But can I hold you?”

“Why?”

“Because I like it.”

He has to be kidding me. I don’t understand a thing. I’m not cold anymore, the mixture of the internal heat from the anger and the embarrassment and now his warm skin heats me up until I’m hot. The temperature changes as his mood.

I’m not one to ask many questions but I think his constant back and forth might drive me insane. I pull away from him and lie on my back. I don’t know where to look at.

“Baby-”

“Don’t call me that.” I cut him.

He wheezes and lies down on his belly but his eyes are set on me. This reminds me of when he cried a few nights ago and I feel my heart wrinkling again.

“Tell me how you feel.”

I finally tilt my neck so I can look him in the eyes. Either he’s kidding me or he’s bipolar, there’s no other option. Oh my God, he’s serious. Are we doing this? Talking about our feelings in the A.M.

“How do you think I feel?”

“You thought I was very cold, didn’t you?”

I nod ad look back at the ceiling. I don’t want to do this with him.

“And you didn’t like how that made you feel.” I don’t say anything. “Well, you’re an ice floe, Indie. Constantly.”

I turn on my side again and give him my back hoping he understands I don’t want to talk to him. I won’t cry. I’m an ice floe, after all.

I know that, it’s true. I know I’m cold and difficult and obnoxious but the fact that he out of all people said that feels like a slap on the face. I remember what I once promised and stay quiet. Quiet is better than mean.

Yet warmth fills my insides again when his chest presses against my back. He tucks me under the blanket better before his arm wraps around my waist and pulls me to him and one of his legs wrap over mine too. I feel his hot breath reaching my neck through the gaps between my locks of hair and my eyes finally closed. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to think about anything at all. He brings my body to his and I cover the arm that hugs my belly with mine and feel him finally relax behind me.

“I really am sorry.” He whispers.

I don’t let him know but I’m sorry too.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic

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missinghan · 5 years ago

Text

night changes (2) ⤖ bang chan

❖ genre : rich kid!au

❖ word count : 21k.

❖ warning : explicit language & mentions of alcohol

❖ summary : fate decides to backfire when you try to pull the son of the Senator in as a barrier between your life and Bang Chan.

❖ a/n : read pt.1 beforehand to understand the story better, I’m too tired to proofread this after the nth time, please don’t @ me.

one. The only reason why your mom persuaded Jeongin to move after when you moved in with your dad was college being practically thirty minutes away from the place. And also because of the rent. You feel bad for your brother mainly since the walls there are awfully thin and the girl next door always seems to have someone over every other night. They aren’t exactly trying to be subtle either. Sometimes you wonder how the fuck can he study for finals when the noise pollution can’t get any worse but he still manages to hit straight A-s.

On the other hand, you and Felix never have to worry about things such as students’ loans or college tuition. Every single penny was paid, as well as every other necessity in life. But you feel like nothing but a filler or a mannequin whenever you dad demands for intimate parties where you’re forced to sit still and look pretty when he’s too busy talking business with the other families. You’re just simply there, in his circle of status. Even when you’re all dressed up in designers’ clothes and whatnots, you still feel so out of place, sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Someone didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Felix rolls his eyes dramatically when you pull up right in front of a rather ugly tree, scowling hard. “And you’re seriously taking your Rover today? Where did all of your standards go?” He glances sideways and sees a black Mercedes right in front of your car but shrugs it off shortly after.

“Hey! You take that back! She’s my baby! And also, it’s not gonna freak Jeongin out as much as your Tesla would,” you chuckle and punch his arm, earning a wholehearted laugh in return. Despite being born in a well off family, your stepbrother isn’t as much of an asshole as you’re expecting him to be. He’s pretty down to earth and acts like every other college kid that you’ve met with a questionable obsession with Fortnite. Except he loves to shove all the logos of luxurious brands into people’s faces who keep pissing him off, making him that much more intimidating.

“Wait here or stay there, pick your poison,” you tell him before grabbing your key and exit the car.

Felix mumbles something along the lines of ‘don’t be so rude’ and trails after you. He flutters his eyes upwards to take a closer look at the apartment complex before him. It’s quite small but seems very cozy. He wonders if it does feel less isolating and cold when there isn’t so much extra space around him all the time. “Hurry up, Lix! Jeongin gotta run to class in three hours.” With that, he hastily follows you up a narrow, rusty flight of stairs, the place reeks off the smell his dad always despises. He calls it ‘the subway smell’.

When your hand is hovering over the wooden door, it suddenly swings open, revealing an impossibly handsome guy. Chestnut brown hair, midnight orbs, tall nose, and peachy lips. He has you completely frozen for a good five seconds before you snap out of it, raising an eyebrow. Since when did Jeongin have hot guys as his roommates? And since when did your mom even allow him to have roommates? “Uhm sorry, you are..?”

The stranger smiles, perfectly showcasing his white. That’s your weak spot too. You’re a complete sucker for guys with cute smiles. “I’m Jaemin, and uh, my friend asked me to come over and help him with an upcoming exam.” You subconsciously stare at his outfits for a while, seeing no signs of any designers’ pieces. But his posture screams mad confidence, straight back, always maintaining eye contact, like he’s been raised in a wealthy family just like Felix. You can’t help but automatically judge people for what they wear, it’s been drilled into your mindset at some point and you hate yourself for that.

“Hello? Are you okay?” He waves his hand when you stay unresponsive. He partially thinks that you’re mentally judging him for acting like a weirdo.

You laugh nervously, completely oblivious of how Felix is facepalming himself behind your back. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m here to look for my brother.”

“Brother who?” Jaemin narrows his eyes at you skeptically.

“Yang Jeongin? Ring any bell?”

“What? Jeongin never told me he had a sis—“ his gasp is cut off midway when a hand flies to his mouth out of nowhere and pulls him backward. Your brother pokes his head out from behind Jaemin and smiles sheepishly. You can’t help but notice how different his smile is. Oh…where are his braces?

Jeongin says flatly, “Hey, sis, long time no see.” Then he scratches the nape of his neck, unsure of what to say. “Uhm, so what are you doing here?” It’s really been a while since you last saw him. Your dad can’t really do anything because your mom had full custody of raising him and he wanted to stay with her either way. He said he wouldn’t feel like he belongs if he dares to take a single footstep into his billion dollars mansion. Sometimes it feels like you’re just two strangers with the same blood coursing through your veins, family in name, but not in fact. But to be fair, you don’t even have the same last name as him.

“Where’s mom?” You avoid his question before stepping into the studio apartment completely. The last time you were here was when you’re still a freshman in college, you believe. And now all you can do is stand there in awe.

There was nothing but cardboard boxes scattered everywhere, dirty dishes piling up day by day, chipping wallpapers and a crusty old couch that the previous owner left behind as a result of your heartbroken mom. It used to make you grimace but holy shit, mom really did pull herself together. The place is freshly renovated, the smell of new paint is still evident, a teal couch, wooden cabinets, clean kitchen, bathroom on the left along with a brand new TV. Although it’s not the newest model of any sort, you can see how far your mom has come. She worked hard for your brother, and it’s definitely paying off.

Jeongin whispers something into Jaemin’s ears and pushes him out the front door, leaving a very shocked-looking Felix as a witness. “She’s at work,” he states the obvious monotonously.

“Oh,” you chuckle to yourself and let your fingers dance along the kitchen aisle. “Silly me. Anyway, when did you have your braces off? Last week?”

“It’s been a lot longer than that, Y/N. The last time you saw me was Woojin’s wedding.” He massages the side of his temple, sighing heavily. And your heart sinks, a pang of guilt always seems to be inevitable whenever you come over to visit him. Even when it’s only once or twice a year, you could never move on with life without knowing how he’s doing. You tried. “What are you doing here?”

You cut to the chase, “Dad wants you to come and join his party at the hotel this weekend. Nothing major, just another event as an excuse for him to make more money. And also he said he wanted to see you.”

“As if he needs any more money,” your brother sneers. “And he wanted to see me? Don’t be ridiculous. The old man probably wants me there to humiliate the shit out of me so that I’ll stay away from him and his precious jewels.” You perk a brow at what he’s referring you and Felix to, “I’m not gonna be there and smile through the whole thing. I don’t even own a tuxedo for fuck’s sake! Those people aren’t just rich, they’re crazy rich. They’re snoshy, and loud, and act all elegant with thousands of dollars draped over their bodies—“

Felix makes a face, “Snoshy?”

“Posh and snobby.”

“Are you coming for my accent?”

“I dare not.”

He laughs and swings an arm around Jeongin’s shoulders. “Good move, kid. Now get in the car, loser, we’re going shopping.”

The younger boy scrunches his nose in disgust, shoving your stepbrother away. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t make me put you in timeout.”

two. Jeongin feels like he’s sitting on a pile of burning coal instead of the espresso-colored velvet couch in the middle of a Tom Ford store. Soft white light slipping through the ceiling, walls embedded with mirrors all around and closets that are probably made with the finest kinds of wood. Even the fake pot of flowers on the glass coffee table in front of him looks more expensive than everything he owns combined. While he’s receiving dirty looks from some of the staff, Felix on the other hand, is too busy skimming through the watches and ties displayed inside the see-through cabinets.

Being humiliated just because he doesn’t dress like ‘your people’ makes him wanna bust through the door and stay at home for three consecutive days. People already disrespected him in a clothing store, what will happen if he attends that stupid intimate party? He’s not gonna fit into the social circle just because he’s wearing some designers’ pieces because that’s not who he is.

“Wrap those up for me,” you voice, face stoic of any emotions.

A staff at the checkout nervously laces her fingers together, a bead of sweat unknowingly rolls down on her temple. “Miss Lee! Having you buy our newest collection is more than we can ever afford, I’ll make sure to contact our superior to let you—“

“To let me fire you?” You cut her off, voice soft and stern at the same time. “Oh please, don’t bother,” the staff almost jumps back when you place one of your hands on hers, your rings cold against her burning skin as shivers run down her spine. “Minho will take good care of you, I guarantee.”

Jeongin groans in pure frustration when you wave at him, smiling in your luxurious glory when he’s sitting inside a high-end store like an absolute idiot. “Tom Ford? What is wrong with you people?” Felix glares at him and he immediately puts his hands up in defense. “Right, sorry. But would you mind and just strangle me right here right now so that I won’t make a grave mistake by putting that on? Can’t I just wear the tux that I had on Woojin’s wedding?” You bringing Felix along had already suffocated him enough when he literally lives and breathes in Gucci. Jeongin is not a fan of the tiger on his bomber jacket either.

“Eh..it’s a little dated, wouldn’t hurt to buy a new one. And did you really think that your sister’s gonna let you pay by yourself? How innocent,” Felix puts an arm over his shoulders when he refers to the brand new suit jacket, dress shirt and slacks on the marble counter. All that for more than ten thousand dollars, so… he’s gonna need more than ten years to pay you back. “Also, did you know that your sister is scary when someone pisses her off?” He whispers under his breath, slightly scared that you’re gonna catch his words.

“You’re wasting my time,” you hand your credit card over to the other staff, in which he receives with shaking hands. “Get yourself clean up and pack your bags, I’m sure a professional like you would have no problem landing another job like this.”

Jeongin almost gawks at how you’re giving ten thousand dollars away like you’re simply buying a burger at McDonald’s. He even feels bad for the staff who’s on the verge of breaking down, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. She did treat him like he was trying to rob the place but having her fired is far too harsh. Now he knows why he should never be on your bad side. “I think I do now.” He swallows thickly with two hands on his knees, the muscles on his back tense.

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, we—“

You smile coldly, “That’s enough, I believe you all can reconsider your own behaviors towards customers. All of your customers.”

“Yep,” Felix catches the jet black Tom Ford bag when you walk past the couch, seemingly busy talking on the phone with Minho. “Iced cold motherfucker.”

Then, an unfamiliar figure enters the store the moment you walk out the door. Felix and Jeongin also pass by her without a second look even when they both accidentally catch some parts of her conversation with the staff. Fuzzily. So he doesn’t bother to think too much about it. “Good afternoon, ma’am, how can we help you?”

“I’m here to pick up a tuxedo for my boyfriend,” the girl takes off her sunglasses and grins, a smile that can take the breath right out of anyone.

The staff returns her smile and taps away on the iPad while the others are escorting the crying woman into the bathroom. “May we have the name please?”

Felix tosses the bag into the car trunk as soon as you start the engine, hurrying to the backseats after. Jeongin has his arms crossed in front of his chest in the passenger’s seat, no words can describe how frustrated, and mad, and partially relieved he feels right now all at once. All will be revealed in the next episode of how his sister fucks up every relationship he’s ever made, stay tuned folks!

“I was having a migraine just by seeing you handing out one of your five other credit cards. And firing her too? Aren’t you being too harsh? Couldn’t you spare her any sense of kindness at least?”

You laugh monotonously, “There are way worse things that could have happened to her. Trust me, you don’t wanna know what ‘my people’ can do.” This isn’t the first time you’ve seen some self excessively conceited staff who judges people by their social background. And now they had the audacity to insult your brother? Being fired is the only sense of kindness that you can give them for today.

“Great, now I’m gonna have to pay the old man back.”

You carefully take a turn and almost snort at your brother’s pointless concern. “That was my money, in my own defense. I don’t live off dad’s pennies anymore.” Even if it was your dad’s money, he would never make his biological son pay for what he can’t even afford. That’s like…asking a vegetarian why they want to bring down the mood of a BBQ party.

Jeongin replies flatly, looking out the window in boredom. “Huh, funny. Last time I checked, you said you were working at his hotel. Who’s the big boss there? Where does all the money come from? Him. Same thing.”

“Are you familiar with the triggers of migraines?” Felix abruptly places a hand on Jeongin’s shoulders, almost giving him a heart attack.

Jeongin doesn’t know much about migraines but he does know that your stepbrother is high-key a weirdo who just happens to be born with a butt load of money. “Uh…no?” If he happens to live in the same home with this idiot, he’s gonna go insane in a minimum of twenty-four hours. No doubt.

Felix excitedly laces his hand together and you mentally facepalm yourself. You’re so over his discussion about stuff like this because you know damn well he’s just trying to take it out on people after being stuck in med school for two years. He’s convinced that he’s gonna kill people instead of curing them so his mom gave him the consent to drop out to prolong the family’s legacy. “Here are some of them so that you know what not to do; from most likely to least likely: emotional stress, hormone, not eating, the fucking weather, sleep disturbances, certain odors, neck pain, alcohol, bright lights, smoke, certain foods, exercise, sexual activities, etc.”

“Sexual activities? Like a hangover after getting laid?” Jeongin asks.

“No, like just sex itself but it’s not supposed to happen that often so don’t worry too much about that.”

You automatically grit, feeling the need to bleach your ears after this. “Do not encourage him.”

“Hey! This is for educational purposes! Besides, it’s not like he’s still a little boy or whatever, he’s an adult now. #LifeCoachingWithLeeYongbok.” Felix takes no time to defend himself. “Now, I wish I could lecture you about the hypothalamus and give you a long-winded explanation of the science behind it, but Imma spare you for today.” Even if it were possible for you to sew his lips together, there’s no doubt that those unnecessarily inappropriate words would still find their ways to crawl out of his mouth and potentially mess up your little brother’s entire existence.

You let out a humorless chuckle, one that yells ‘hey, stop before you fucked it up for the rest of us’. “I’d hate to poke your enormous ego, but whoever attends your classes is gonna have their life crumbling right in front of their eyes.”

Felix simpers at your attempt of a clapback. “Actually no, people who attend my classes drastically turn their life around because they know what not to do. If you think about it, all of my advice to you has been great. I just don’t practice what I preach,” he tuts in that deepass voice of his, not noticing how Jeongin’s face is morphing into a very disgusted expression. “Just one more shot, I’ll be fine. I can quit whenever I want. I’m not addicted,” he mocks one of his friends who can’t stop drinking for their own good. “No, you won’t you lying bitch. An example of someone who followed that sentiment is right in front of you.”

He fairly believes that he can become the youngest professor to be teaching at a college or university with a Ph.D. in the ‘Getting your shit together’ Department.

But in your eyes, these are just some of the side effects that he got from hanging out with Minho so much. Being bitchy and all. If anything, Minho should be the one who takes his spot and becomes the youngest staff for big places like Harvard or Oxford. And you’d love to continue this nonsense of an argument but you’re already pissed off by that staff previously so you should just let him win or your dad’s gonna find you three ending up in the E.R.

“So this is what I get for setting you up with Chan,” Jeongin crosses his arms and you glance at him sideways, staying silent for the rest of the drive home.

three. Chan dreads the packing process after a long tremendously because not only does he have to trust his idiotic friends to not damage his luggage, he also has to help them pack since they are literal children. Changbin’s butler straight up shakes his head when Chan FaceTimed him, asking about how he usually helps him with preparation for a trip. He really hopes his family pays the man good money because dealing with Changbin’s impulsive, indecisive ass sounds extremely exhausting, and burdensome as well.

“Which one?” Changbin refers to a dozen of black tuxedos hanging inside the dressing room, and Chan feels like his brain’s about to retire.

He exclaims in frustration, “THEY’RE ALL BLACK FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

“No you uneducated moron,” Changbin purses his lips, “There’s carbon black, raisin black, olive black, super black, coal-black,..which one’s sexy enough for me to snatch myself a date at the party?”

“Seo Changbin!”

Chan’s been so sensitive these days, to the point that he decided to whack a mosquito with his MacBook the other day. He did miss the mosquito, but also, he almost killed Jisung who’s taking a nap right beside him in the studio. And apparently, Han Jisung holds grudges. Hence, there’s no way in hell is he gonna help Chan in the ‘Getting Seo Changbin aka the snobby brat the perfect tuxedo’ Operation. It would be way easier if Jisung was here.

Changbin interjects his trains of thoughts, “Silk or wool?”

“Uh- silk.”

“The Gabardine one or the smoking jacket?”

Chan makes a face, “Smoking jacket?” Whatever that means. He didn’t like the shoulder pads on the other one anyway.

“You heard him, Park, go get that ish and wrap it up! Go go go!” Changbin pauses for a second, “Wait, no, actually…just take them both.”

Call him delusional, but in the span of ten seconds, Chan fully believes he’s already entered (or has been pushed into) the Panamera 4 E-Hybrid that’s waiting outside of the mall. Jisung’s sitting in the passenger’s seat, honking the car repeatedly while the Seo family’s chauffeur is constantly throwing daggers at him with his eyes. Now he’s starting to question if bringing Jisung to the mall would be the wisest decision.

“What’s with the grumpy face, grandpa?” He chimes unhelpfully with a pout on his face. And now all Chan wants to do is to deck his perfect teeth and knock upside his head. “You really need to lighten up, old man, you’re going home!” He groans dramatically, arms crossed like a three-year-old.

“Yeah, going home,” Chan says with expressive hands. “To put on a goddamn show for my grandparents so that they won’t have a heart attack knowing that I can’t give two fucks about their promise with some random family in the same circle.” He’s on the verge of breaking down just thinking about going hand in hand in public with another woman that’s not you. It makes him sick to the stomach more knowing that he’s been hiding everything from you.

He’s such an asshole for doing this to you. Avoiding your calls and texts every other day becomes almost all too unbearable for his shoulders. Instead, he’s been trying to leave you voicemails every other week but it seems like you’ve already despised him. The night of Woojin’s wedding comes crashing down on him as he takes a stroll down memory lane. He might as well be cursed because there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to have you in his arms again. The saying: “out of sight, out of mind” works for some people as an excuse to forget someone but truth is, he still misses you, all the time, every second, every minute, every hour, every day.

“So you didn’t tell her?” Changbin perks a dark brow.

“Not yet…”

“You should though,”

Chan barks, “I know! She just won’t answer my voicemails,”

“Then call her you coward!” Changbin immediately barks back, fingers still tapping away on his phone, “Look, if Y/N was your date in the first place, you would be crazy giddy and all right now, and not the nervous kind of giddy, but like the exciting kind of giddy. You are so loopy in love with her it makes me wanna feed my eyeballs to my dad’s German Shepherd whenever you’re FaceTiming her,”

Chan’s been clenching his jaw for God knows how long, and now it’s starting to ache. “Don’t say that, she probably hates me. Like you said, I’m a coward. I don’t deserve her and she doesn’t deserve this. Falling for Y/N was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. All I’ve been doing is tearing us apart. Sometimes I wish I didn’t fall for her—“

“—listen up, you genius. If falling for Y/N is a sin then so be it. Because being in love with her is gonna be the best fucking mistake you’ve ever made in your twenty-three years of existing,” Changbin’s words start zeroing in on Chan, so when he opens his mouth to say something, it automatically snaps closed. “I’ve never seen your eyes do that thing where they sparkle whenever we mention her name or when you’re just simply giggling to yourself while texting her. And have you seen the way that she looks at you? She looks at you like you’re the only person to exist on this planet, like someone she’s ever truly loved more than herself.”

Chan drops his gaze from Changbin to his knees, his heart beating rapidly at the sound of your name. Goddamn, he really misses you. “It’s okay, Bin, even if she hates me. I can—“

Changbin interjects immediately, gripping onto his friend’s shoulders tightly and stares into his tired eyes. “Don’t fucking tell me that it’s okay because I saw you alone in the studio every night. You were crying like a baby!” Seo Changbin gives really good advice because pushing people to their limits, not crossing them, just dangling at the edge so that they can’t stop acting like a loser and get their shit together is what he does for a living. Without getting paid a single penny.

“It’s because I’m losing her! I did that to myself!” Chan shudders at his own words, shaking his head profusely to hold back his tears. The idea of losing you sounds so terrifyingly panic-stricken that he would rather lose anything else than not have you in his life, or just not having you at all in the first place. Chan was an idiot for kissing you that night but something deep down still tells him that “screw life, you said what you said and you did what you did, now go out there and get her back before she falls into someone else’s arms”.

Changbin corrects him, pinpointing his words. “You’re losing her, you didn’t lose her yet. You still have an opportunity to make it up to her.” He knows Chan long enough to know that his friend doesn’t easily wear his feelings on his sleeves, mainly because he’s the eldest in 3RACHA. If he falls, the group’s gonna fall with him. But today, seeing the pool of tears in his eyes, the raw emotions in his voice makes Changbin believe that he’s senselessly, wildly in love with you. He knows damn well that Chan would never let you slip away again.

“This is your chance, to prove to Y/N that you’re still the goofy, caring, dumbass Bang Chan that she has already fallen in love with, not only once, but twice.”

four. “Have you been hearing anything from Chan? He hasn’t called me for two months. Changbin and Jisung have been avoiding me like the plague too.” Woojin asks you with a questionable looking drink in his hand. Minho said he mixed the masterpiece with all of his blood, sweat, and tears. You don’t know how to take it, metaphorically, or literally because both options would make sense. You’re just fairly concerned for Woojin’s liver since he’s been attending too many parties, mainly for business but still, that doesn’t mean he’s not gonna stay away from alcohol.

So much for adulting.

“Not really,” you didn’t want to admit that Chan was ignoring your texts and calls before but it’s quite obvious now that he doesn’t want to talk to you. You didn’t think about it much at the beginning because everything must have been so hard for him in a foreign country where young talents are out there competing with each other like they’re in The Hunger Games. But daily conversations turned into weekly, and then monthly and then basically non-existent. No more ‘Good morning’, no more ‘How was your day?’, no more ‘I miss you’. None of that.

The kiss that day seems like it’s disintegrated into literal dust.

‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’ sounds like utter bullshit now and you’ve never felt so foolish for saying ‘I love you’ to someone you truly believe won’t take your heart and crush it. But Chan did just that. You spent lots of sleepless nights thinking, and bawling your eyes out. You felt so lost and tremendously hurt. You didn’t know what to do. But you soon figured that it’s okay, people aren’t supposed to know what to do in those kinds of situations. You just gotta figure it out by yourself. So wherever he may be, whatever he’s doing, you still hope that he’s happy. That’s all that matters.

Or maybe you’re just too tired to reach out to him again.

You reply with a lifeless smile, bracing yourself for the upcoming party that’s starting in less than an hour. “He hardly talks to me. He doesn’t even text me in full sentences anymore.” You shrug it off casually, ignoring the sound of your heart aching to focus on other stuff for the time being. “Maybe he’s just busy? You know how problematic the music industry is.”

“Being busy isn’t an excuse to ignore your loved ones, Y/N,” Woojin knits his brows together. “Mind you, I still come home to my wife at nine o’clock, every single day.”

You check the time and almost panic, but before you can form a proper sentence, someone’s already dragged you away from the scene, “Look after Jeongin for me! Got it?” You yell back at him only to receive a thumbs up with a grimace. Woojin is the CEO of a well-known IT firm, after all, no one’s gonna mess with Jeongin if he stays by his side. The last thing you want is your brother coming home sobbing his heart out just because some wonderbread doesn’t know when to keep their mouth shut.

“I’m like..” You trail off while tapping away on your phone. “—pretty much free tomorrow morning, right?”

Chaeyoung - your assistant frowns and stops you midway, smoothing out your baby hair. “Not quite, you can’t skip DBR at seven,” she asserts. “And the daily phone call with your dad- I mean, the CEO at half-past six as well.” It’s obvious that everyone wants a coffee in the morning and since it’s a common time to gather, it seems like DBR (or Daily Business Review) is a good idea to just have a meeting before the day starts. The rules are simple. The meeting can not last more than half an hour and to make sure, you all stand up. You talk about the night before, VIPs coming in, the forecast for the coming day and any common issues to the group. Then you all dismiss and go to work. This way, everyone is on the same page 24/7.

“Oh, and a meeting at three too, and also the Kims Are coming in fifteen minutes.” She checks her watch subconsciously and it reads [7:30p.m.]

“Right, right,” you close your eyes for a moment and let the information sink in, slightly taken aback by yourself that you forgot Jennie’s coming back from New Zealand. The party won’t start until eight, you can still spare fifteen minutes and chat with your friend before being pulled away into utterly unnecessary conversations. “I can’t believe I almost forgot Jen’s visiting us…” You murmur under your breath, “God, Chaeng, what would I do without you?”

Chaeyoung pushes your shoulder playfully, “You’d die, obviously.” She’s not necessarily wrong because if it weren’t for her to manage your shitty schedule, your life would become a fucking merry-go-round which makes you all nauseous and dizzy. As if you’re not being tossed around and fucked up enough.

“Hypothetically speaking, I can just hire another assistant and move on with my life,” you smile cheekily.

She follows you towards the front desk, where Lisa is too busy texting someone cute to focus on her main task: greeting people that she despises with her entire existence. “Well, hypothetically speaking, no one can replace me and you would never have the heart to do that anyway.” Again, you hate it when she’s right. And she’s always right. Because she’s Park Chaeyoung.

You put your phone away finally and ask her about your beige suit with matching high-waisted slacks. “How do I look?” Also, you’re never wearing heels again because you’ve learned not to torment your precious feet when you’re gonna be out and about, being dragged around like a rag doll. Woojin’s wedding taught you that.

Chaeyoung gives you the warmest smile, “Like a boss bitch,”

“You have to come with us to Bora Bora this summer! We just opened a summer resort there with a beach and spa services, it’s absolutely delightful! Very fitting for de-stressing, dare I say.”

“How convenient! Do you see these wrinkles? We were all exhausted after the flight from New York. And I’m stressing over how it’s impossible for my son to improve his English. How in the world is he gonna travel the world for business trips now?”

“Ew,” you automatically scrunch your nose at your stepmom’s conversation with the Senator’s wife. “If we’re gonna act like that when we’re their age, I’d rather jump off a cliff.” And Chaeyoung clears her throat awkwardly when she sees your mom waving you over, giving you a pat on your back. There goes your fifteen minutes of freedom.

You quickly fix the lapels of your blazer and muster a sickly sweet smile, just for the Senator’s wife. “Yes, mom?” Or in this case, ‘stepmom’ but you wouldn’t want it to be awkward for the both of them. She does treat you with nothing but kindness and generosity although you’re not her actual daughter.

“Honey,” you almost snort at the nickname. Honey is practically a bee’s vomit. So you don’t really see the point in calling people bee’s barf. Ain’t cool. “You must know that this is the Senator’s wife, she suggested that you and their son can perhaps—“

You cut her off sharply. “No,”

“Y/N, don’t be so rude,” she laughs nervously as the Senator’s wife wears an unreadable look on her face. As if she’s interested in your particular kind of demeanor like you’re a completely different species. She doesn’t seem to be mad or offended at all. “I’m sorry, you see, this girl can play hard to get from time to time…and—“

You elect to ignore every word that comes out of her mouth from this very moment. Not again with this bullshit. An arranged marriage is basically a living embodiment of your biggest nightmare. You can’t imagine being tied down to a person that you barely know just because of their social status or for the sake of mutual benefits. Not to mention, every guy in the circle is all the same anyway. Disrespectful, egotistical, and only show mild interest if the person they’re marrying at least has something to offer that’s related to cold, hard cash in the long run.

It feels like the world just stops spinning when you flutter your eyes upwards and make direct eye contact with him. He enters the front entrance in a full-on black tuxedo, black silk shirt tucked neatly into his pants, chestnut hair rather well-styled, and black dress shoes. The outfit looks like it was made for him, personally tailored to every detail of his body. You almost scowl and look away until you recognize that smile, those midnight orbs.

To your dismay, the Senator’s wife exclaims, “My goodness! I told him not to wear that specific shirt!” before excusing herself from the conversation.

“Uhm is that…”

“Oh yes! That’s their son, Jaemin. Felix used to go to the same kindergarten as him, I believe,” your stepmom explains calmly, watching how you’re slowly becoming interested in the Senator’s only son. So that explains the black Mercedes in front of Jeongin’s apartment. “He got sent to a private school in the UK after graduating from middle school but somehow, I don’t know how he still can’t speak fluently English. Maybe you can help—“

You quickly realize how fast the situation’s escalating and you must say, you’re not letting that happen. “Sorry mom, Jen’s here! I gotta go!” Learning to let Chan go is one thing, but getting yourself into an arranged marriage with another guy who cares about nothing but money is an absolutely torturous idea.

People change, they all do eventually. But sometimes they don’t. Certain things can never fluctuate despite the circumstances. For instance, Kim Jennie still pulls you into a bone-crushing hug like she always does the moment she spots you in the crowd. Her gummy smile didn’t change, her gestures, the way she walks with pride didn’t change and you highly doubt that she no longer sneaks cute boys into the house when her parents are conveniently abroad. But she definitely looks more mature the last time that you guys met in Paris.

“Wow, Jen,” you utter. “You look…good,” Tonight she’s wearing a white dress from Chanel, diamond earrings and bold red lipstick. And don’t even get you started on her ring, you’re pretty sure that it was a present from the brand themselves. She is the ambassador, after all, they would be more than happy to spoil her with their newest collections.

Jennie takes a look at your outfit, twirling you around before breaking into a fit of giggles. “Good? I look good? You look gorgeous! Look at you! Well, actually you look just fine in your PJs as well. Heck, you can even breathe in this thing, I can’t relate,” she beams and keeps on admiring you as if you’re her own life-sized Barbie doll. Baggy clothes can look good, she knows that now.

Jennie clings onto one of your arms and receives a glass of champagne from a waiter, smiling at him softly. “So, how are you enjoying the party, manager Lee?”

You threaten to spill alcohol on her fifteen thousand dollars dress but only proceed to roll your eyes because you value her money too much for the sake of being petty. “It’s kinda meh,” you make a face. “But you know, let’s just get it over with. And to be honest..I’m kind of sick of socializing with people that I don’t even like.”

“Oh really?” Jennie raises a brow curiously when she sees a certain someone in the midst of the chaotic party. “Someone seems to be interested in you though, that cutie over there…” She then motions towards the general direction of Na Jaemin, the person who you’ve been trying to avoid all night. “I think he fancies you. Been eyeing you up and down for the past ten minutes,”

Right, you also forgot that Jennie didn’t know about you and Chan.

“Actually—“

“My God! Did you see that? The Bangs are here!” She gasps and tries to tiptoe in order to get a closer look, allowing her heels to dig into her feet even more. You won’t blame her, the Bangs are basically the biggest developers in Korea. Real estate, investment, tons of things, tons of boring paperwork but you do respect them for what they do. “I heard their eldest son’s dating some up and coming artist, her exhibitions were quite successful, all big hits since last year. It’s mind-blowing!”

You pull your friend back in time when people are shoving each other before her white dress can be contaminated with the bubbly champagne. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to patch your lips together?”

“Damn, he looks fine,” your friend murmurs and has you roll your eyes for one too many times tonight already. “I’m not messing with you, look!” She grabs either side of your face and turns it sideways, towards the front entrance.

You feel like someone just kicked you to the curb and stepped on you, knocking the breath right out of your chest. It’s Chan, it’s really Chan. Navy tuxedo, brown hair styled neatly, he looks even more beautiful than the last time you’ve seen his face. Beside him, hand in hand is another girl. She has the most delicate features and probably the most angelic smile in this world. She’s looking at him all lovingly, the same look you gave him approximately a year ago when you thought that the kiss did mean something to him. Apparently, it didn’t. Now you feel like a paper bag being thrown away, forgotten in the corner, drifting through life like a haze.

Your heart is stuck in your throat, slowly crumbling into dust when you see how he smiles at her, the dimpled smile that you treasured with your entire heart. They look like they are meant to be. And yes, you wanted to see him again but not like this. It’s like karma’s trying to tell you that this is what you get for falling in love with Chan faster than a tick of a clock, for foolishly holding onto false hope. And your butt load of money doesn’t matter anymore because your everything is already being held in someone else’s arms.

Now you’re the one who’s left with a broken heart.

five. In the dead of the night, you no longer feel the sounds of your heart shattering into pieces. Chan’s just making it easier for you to forget him.

“Y/N?” You stay unresponsive at his voice calling out to you. Every cell, every muscle, every neuro inside your body is yelling at you to turn around and throw your arms around his neck. The willpower that you’re mustering to not do that right is impossibly terrifying. But you’re not giving in again, not this time. You won’t be able to piece your heart back together after a second heartbreak. “It’s been quite a while huh? Are you—“

You turn around with glossy eyes, tears threatening to spill any second. Chan’s words get caught dead in his throat upon seeing you on the verge of breaking down. It hurts more knowing that he’s the one who made you cry. “You should have told me..” Your voice cracks and it breaks Chan’s heart into a million pieces at how broken you are. “You should have told me if you wanted to cut it off sooner..” You smile bitterly with tears rolling down on either side of your cheek. You no longer care about how pathetic you may sound or look, you just want to be completely transparent with him.

Another thing that you hate about yourself: how you just let yourself go exposed and vulnerable right in front of his eyes. “What happened to ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’? Does our kiss that night mean nothing to you? Was I setting the bar too high? Was I…getting in your way?” You ask him between quiet sobs, not bothering to put on a fake smile anymore. You’re too exhausted for that anyway. “You didn’t even tell me..that you’re part of the Bangs family, like the Bangs family. What else are you hiding from me, Chan?”

Chan grabs you by the shoulders to hold you back firmly, eyes boarding into yours fiercely. His touch once made your heart weak, now you feel nothing but disgust when his fingertips graze past your clothed skin. “Y/N, listen to me. You don’t understand— she’s not—“

“Y/N!”

Chan snaps his head towards the owner of the voice and grimaces when he sees Jaemin waving at you from the other side of the room. You gotta be shitting me. Chan then looks over at you in disbelief, eyes almost popping out of their respective sockets. Out of all people, you’re dating Na Jaemin? The Senator’s son? Without letting him know? And you’re accusing him of hiding things from you when you’re also with someone new already? “You know,” you wipe your tears away and look him dead in the eye. “I’ve always thought that all the guys in my dad’s social circle were a bunch of ignorant jerks, but it turns out you’re the asshole.”

With that, you briskly walk away with your phone clutched in your hands, knuckles turning white as you bite down your tears. Chan’s gaze trails after your figure until you’re completely gone, falling into another man’s arms like it’s your safe place. Jaemin caresses your cheekbone and smiles at you. You return it too, bitterly. It was supposed to be Chan who makes you feel like the happiest woman in this world, not the one who takes your heart and crushes it into pieces. His heart breaks, again, and again, and again, and again until he no longer feels its presence beating inside his rib cage. There’s something else more than just distance between the both of you now, something that was never there in the first place. Little did you know, you’re not the only one with a broken heart after all.

“Jaemin right?” You sniffle when he lures you away from the party, away from the chaos, away from Chan. “Thank you, I can manage myself now.”

Jaemin shakes his head and speaks to you softly. “Nonsense. I’m staying here with you. The party sucks, but don’t take it personally.”

You chuckle with teary eyes, but you’ve determined not to cry again tonight, especially not in front of the Senator’s son. “Does my brother know that his tutor is the son of the Senator?” Jaemin shakes his head again, the warm smile never once leaves his lips. He gently wipes a single tear that unknowingly rolls down on your cheek and heat flares through your nostrils, a shade of coral scattered across your face. This is why you never cry in front of a stranger.

“There, there you crybaby,” he comforts you with a hand on your shoulder, the other pulling out a handkerchief to dab your tears away. “Who knows the manager of the Carpe Diem Hotel is such a softie. I heard from the staff that you’re fucking scary when someone gets on your bad side.”

“Then don’t get on my bad side,” you roll your eyes in annoyance. “But God, I really can’t blame them. Our people are so posh, and snobby—“

“We’re basically snoshy,” he finishes your sentence and laughs. “Your brother tells me that all the time, if only he knew about my family. He’s most likely gonna murder me in my sleep.”

You roll your eyes, pushing his hand away slightly. “This is why we’ll never get a happy ending of our own. What’s the point of owning all the dollar bills when we’re just sad motherfuckers? And people wonder why we all prefer one night stands. I fucking beg to differ. Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed him that night. Maybe I was nothing but an instant filler for his non-existent love life. ‘Do you still want my phone number?’ He didn’t even bother texting me anymore! Bullshit!”

Jaemin doesn’t know you very well but by the looks of it, you’re definitely not the type to lash out on someone very often. You must have been furious with that Chan guy because whatever he’s done to you, shit must have stung. Because you still look at him with those eyes. Eyes of those who are madly in love. He can’t change that.

“Y/N,” he pulls you into a hug and rubs little circles on your back as an attempt to soothe your aching heart. “Listen, it’s okay if he’s not the one. He might be the wrong person at the right time for all I know. And your soulmate is probably taking their sweet ass time because they are completely oblivious about your existence. But they will be there for you, they will, I promise. You know damn well how life likes to toss us around right? Love is patient, love is kind. And it will come one day.”

You snicker and hug him back, grateful for how he’s already consoling you although you’ve only met twice. Maybe he isn’t like the other boys in the same circle, maybe he’s different even when he dresses the same and looks the same. “Cliché sayings are cliché for a reason, Jaemin,” you laugh before pulling away, staring into his starry eyes.

“I know I know,” he squishes your cheeks together and chuckles. “But hey, sometimes they’re not wrong either. Tell you what though, I was so close to decking that guy in the face back there but I didn’t want to go all Alpha Apeshit and appeared as a douchebag then get blood on his goddamn Tom Ford. Just throwing that out there in case it does help you feel better.”

You can feel your tear-stained cheeks cool against the night breeze. The balcony seems to be the only place that you can seek calmness in, mainly because there’s no alcohol and no one to push you from one boring conversation to another with the same topics. Your people are basically repeating themselves over and over again about money and arranged marriages which you’re not very interested in so yes, you don’t see the purpose of throwing parties that only consist of the top 1%. You lean your back against the railings and watch the party from afar, letting the background chatters sink in. Soon this whole place will be within your grasp along with many others, but you’re afraid that you’ll be lost in your own empire.

“No offense,” you turn back to him and smile. “I didn’t think you’d be able to throw a punch at all.”

Jaemin makes a face, “I’m not like those wonderbreads over there,” then smirks devilishly. “But I’ll never be one’s knight in shining armor. Life just teaches me things that our people don’t. For example, living in a mansion won’t teach you how to throw or take a proper punch. Also, wear black because you’ll never know whose blood is gonna be on there.”

“So you’re saying that being sent to boarding school is the best thing that’s ever happened in your life?”

“Not quite,” he winks. “The best thing that’s ever happened in my life is to have the pleasure of meeting you.”

You shove his chest and laugh wholeheartedly, it feels nice to talk to someone like this. “Don’t flirt with me and find yourself another trophy out there, I’m too bitchy to fit in with those chicks.” You jerk your head towards the girls who are all dressed up in fancy dresses and heavy jewelry, finding amusement in how they’re all eyeing Jaemin up and down like he’s a prettier version of an ATM. “And also, what do you expect? You have the look, the money, know how to kick someone’s ass. That’s more than what a trophy wife needs.”

Jaemin scratches his neck sheepishly. “I don’t know how to take that but thank you, you look better than all of them honestly. I don’t know why women choose to suffocate themselves in a dress and torment their feet just to attract guys with thick wallets like me. I think I’ll need to settle down sooner or later and I’m not planning on doing that with a brat who only sees how many dollar signs I can afford on Yelp.” He sighs in pure frustration and a puff of cold air escapes his lips.

“Haha very funny, Na Jaemin is adulting like how the Senator’s son should be in his early 20s,” you joke. “And no, I’m not gonna make fun of you for that. You want me to pinpoint where we are right now? Adulthood.”

“No! I’m being serious!”

“Keep telling yourself that, kid.”

“Let me take you on a date and prove it.”

“You’re drunk,” you laugh nervously. But suddenly he inches in closer and your breath hitches in your throat. Nope. He’s dead-ass serious. “You’re being fucking serious, aren’t you?”

Jaemin brings your hand up and presses a small kiss on your knuckles, “See you around, manager Lee.” before sliding away with ease, leaving you blushing so furiously that you almost forgot your heart was broken that night.

six. While you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack because of a date, Kuma - Jennie’s Pomeranian is complaining to you with his eyes about his first world problems aka, Jennie leaving his favorite toy back in New Zealand. “Yes, yes, I get that it’s absolutely unforgivable of her to do that.” You acknowledge and nod absentmindedly, petting him gently. “If anything, I can do you a favor and douse one of her favorite dresses in pickle juice.”

“But also what?” You tilt your head slightly, “She what?! She insulted your favorite tuna bites?! She’s a witch! Burn her!”

“I can’t stand the goddamn smell, that’s all.”Jennie glares at you while hauling her suitcases out of the closet. “You dramatic, bitchy, ungrateful ass.”

“Jen, it’s just a dinner date.”

Jennie dodges your eye roll and proceeds to rummage through one of her ten suitcases, throwing dresses and bodysuits all over the floor. She’s lucky the suite has plenty of extra space or you won’t be able to see the floor in the next fifteen minutes for all you know. Kim Jennie goes ham on picking out clothes for her favorite bitches because not only is she one of the most acclaimed actresses but she’s also a fashion icon, influencer, and Chanel’s one and only darling. Hence, knowing that you’re going on a date with the dress code: formal; she freaked out and dragged you all the way from your house to the hotel that she’s staying in.

You facepalm yourself onto the extra king-size bed and sighs into the soft blanket. Yeah, that’s how rich the Kims are. Not king-size, but extra king-size that can fit at least four people but still have extra leg space. You know where to have your girls’ night this weekend now because you’d rather not have Ryujin whip your ass for bringing friends over.

Your groan grows louder when you keep hearing Jennie repeats “I’m a genius, a fucking genius!” to herself over and over again until she stops. And that’s when you decide to push yourself off the bed carefully to not wrinkle your clothes. “Look at this baby!” She holds up a long, bedazzled gown with spaghetti straps. Gives you a very 70s vibe but you’re not mad at it, you think you might be able to pull it off. “Listen, if you don’t look good in this, I’ll call Chanel and drop it as a flop, got it?”

Wow, Chanel is hanging on the edge of flopping by a strand of hair just because of you. The pressure’s on.

Jennie shoves you into the ridiculous-sized bathroom with marble floor and all, she’s definitely not letting you wear one of your blazers today. “Knock knock,” she impatiently leans against the door after what seems like ten minutes. But all Jennie’s met with is dead silence, she’s starting to get worried now. “Y/N, you good?”

You barge out of the bathroom with a panicked expression, shrieking. “Kim Jennie what were you thinking?!” When she gives you a what-do-you-mean look, you mentally groan to yourself and are kind of ready to call the date off. You’re not going out looking like this. “It’s 64 degrees outside and you’re making me wear this?!” You do a full 360 turn to only to show her the awfully low cut on the back of the dress, and she immediately claps happily like a seal. God, what is wrong with your friend?

“Stunning! Absolutely stunning!” Jennie nods to herself like the evil mad mind genius that she is. “You’re pretty tolerant, so I think it’s not gonna be a problem.”

“Do I have a say in this?” You eye her in defeat when she helps you on a dainty necklace and a pair of silver earrings.

Jennie puts her hands on her hips and almost laughs, admiring you like a piece of art, a creation that she will forever keep in her heart. “What makes you think so?” And off to the date, you go.

Jaemin picks you up not long after, wearing a full-on white suit in his black Mercedes. It’s not hard to guess that it’s his favorite. Since the party from last week, both of you have been texting and FaceTiming non-stop, it almost feels like he’s making up for the lost time that Chan’s wasted. For the Senator’s son, he’s surprisingly approachable, very quirky but charming at the same time. Jaemin does give an effort to make you laugh every time he sends you the same memes over and over again. Hey, it’s not your fault his humor is impeccable.

But being one of the Elite, you can’t blame him for wanting to do it the old-fashioned way. Fancy restaurant, having waiters drape white napkins over your lap, cheesy classical music in the background and the typical candles to set the romantic atmosphere. The place is quite busy too, some ladies in their forties are wheezing in helpless laughter as a waitress secretly shoots them dirty looks while a group of businessmen is eating in silence, an old couple is feeding each other in the corner and a younger couple that you don’t really pay attention to since they’re too far away. Sometimes you wonder what that feels like, to have someone by your side forever.

Maybe forever is just not meant for you.

Forever might not be for you, but going on a date feels like a fresh breeze passing by after so much pain and agony. Jaemin always tries to make you feel as comfortable as possible but still manages to make you laugh until your stomach hurts and tears are evident in the corners of your eyes. He’s not one of those guys who’s not used to hearing the word ‘no’ and never pushes your boundaries. But the feeling’s not there, it’s just not there at all and you wish that it was. You can’t play along then end up breaking his heart later on. No one deserves going through that, not even the ones who lost your trust.

“Okay..” Jaemin peels his eyes away from his crème brûlée’s when you set your fork down. “Just to be clear, I don’t hate you but I would never date you.” And he immediately chokes on his big bite, coughing furiously into the white napkin. You’re very straight to the point, he appreciates that, but still, ouch.

“Tell me three valid reasons why I should stop going after your heart.”

“One, I don’t wanna break your heart. Two, I don’t want you to break mine. And three, I just threw it in the trash.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes rather dramatically, holding back a lighthearted chuckle. “So what? You got your heart broken by some bastard and now you’re gonna distance yourself from everything that’s related to ‘love’? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life like this? Alone? In your giant mansion with your butt load of money?”

“Yes,” you nod without hesitation, trying to ignore the bitter feeling that’s rising in your throat. “And technically I can adopt as many puppies as I want to.”

“Fair enough,” he sighs and moves a bit to the side. “There’s your man, twelve o’clock.”

You feel like you would personally gouge your eyes out of the sockets the moment they land on Chan and his current girlfriend at the opposite table if you weren’t sane enough for a Michelin-rated restaurant. They’re both wearing black, laughing and talking with each other like they’re the only beings left in this world. You wonder if fate could be a bit more generous to you, just a little bit, then would you be there with Chan instead? You’ve told yourself one too many times not to dwell on the past but like always, you never learn. And you know that you’re dumb but you still don’t get why fate forces two people to meet each other knowing damn well that one of them is gonna leave the other behind.

But this time when you look more closely, his smile looks somewhat forced and the dark circles under his eyes have been darkened by time. He looks so tired and drained but still keeps up the smile for his date. A pang of guilt hits you hard when you realize that you should have listened to what he had to say at the party. He doesn’t look happy, that’s what ticks you off.

Chan subconsciously flickers his eyes upwards and meets yours, completely frozen in his spot like a statue. His smile falters, eyes going wide from surprise, utterly, undeniably speechless. It’s not easy to read what’s going on in his mind but you’re positive that he doesn’t seem to expect to see you in this kind of situation. He quickly averts his gaze back onto the other girl, laughing nervously so that she won’t turn around and accidentally see you. Your heart unknowingly sinks to the pit of your stomach.

“It shouldn’t be like this,” you never knew that you’ve been crying until Jaemin gently wipes your tears away with his handkerchief, his eyes softening at your sobbing form. “But it is what it is.”

seven. Chan quickly calls in a cab for his date after sliding his credit card across the counter. He grimaces slightly when she presses a goodbye kiss on his cheek, and then waves her off when she enters the taxi. After receiving his bill, Chan pushes himself through the busy waiters and waitresses, mumbling small “sorry” along the way until his feet lead him to the long flight of stairs.

And he sees you standing there with your back against him, fiddling with your fingers nervously. He knows you’ve never been good at hiding how awkward you are so it gives him a tiny bit of hope when he finds out he still has this kind of effect on you. But when he takes a few more steps forwards, his jaw almost drops to the floor when he can finally get a closer look at your dress.

Chan’s never seen you in a dress before, but he believes that you have the ability to pull off anything. He’s not wrong after all. The dress hugs your figure perfectly and in the most flattering way, leaving him in complete awe. But you’d never choose a dress, even when it’s a formal dinner. Goddamn, that kid is one lucky son of a bitch, he mentally curses.

You meet Chan once again on a balcony, but tonight you’re met with a sky without stars. It seems like they can’t even muster the courage to see where this conversation is gonna go.

“What’s her name?” You ask breathlessly, still not willing to make direct eye contact with him.

Chan inhales deeply, and exhales, “Her name is Eunji. Apparently, our families had an agreement that we’re gonna be engaged once we reached a certain age. I’m so sorry for shutting you out without a proper explanation, I really am. I’m such an asshole.”

You finally can look at him without getting all teary-eyed, your lips trembling. “It’s alright,” then you quickly look away to avoid any awkwardness. “You guys look good together, I’m happy for you both.” And when Chan doesn’t say anything, you decide to ask him softly. “But are you?”

He buries his face into the palms of his hands and sighs heavily. “I- I don’t know, I just don’t want to let them down. And I tried so hard to tell them that I already had someone else but I’m just scared that—“

“That they won’t accept me because you didn’t know that I do in fact, make cold, hard cash?” You stare deeply into the distance and laugh humorlessly. “After all those years, I had no idea, no fucking idea that you were Christopher Bang, like the Christopher Bang, the one who’s supposed to take over the family’s business, the most eligible bachelor in the country.”

Chan grabs you by the shoulders, catching you off guard when your noses are barely touching, his warm breath fanning your face. “Speak for yourself. You’ve never even told me that you were Felix’s stepsister. All those years of college, and I only know that you’re the manager of the Carpe Diem Hotel now. And why are you dating the Senator’s son again? Last time I checked, you’re still leaving me messages even when I went MIA or put the phone on silent all the time.”

“I can date whoever I want to,” you try to shove his arms away but his grip only gets tighter. “And no shit, you know I’m not into guys like that. We’re not dating, he offered me dinner after seeing me so miserable at the party.”

And you quickly assert with a fake smile. “But that’s not the point, is it? Let me guess, if I were not some daughter of the CEO of the biggest hotel chain in the country, then you would never tell your parents about me, would you? You’d rather marry Eunji so that your grandparents won’t potentially disown you instead.”

Chan shakes his head profusely because he could never, would never, can never, and will never trade you for anything else in this world. “No, you don’t understand- I- just- just give me some time and-“ He loves you too much to the point that his heart bleeds a bit whenever you catch his gaze from across the table and return to your conversation with Jaemin, giggling and laughing at his lame jokes like nothing’s ever happened. But his biggest problem here, is how can he convey his love to you once again when you’ve already despised him with every single cell inside your body?

You narrow your eyes at him, slightly amused by how he’s stuttering. “And?”

“Let me make it up to you,” he tells you after running a hand through his brown locks. “Come with my family on a cruise trip next month in Singapore. I’ll prove myself to you and do everything in my power to get your trust back. Even if things can never be the same again. I can’t lose you, I won’t let you go this time. Bring whoever as your plus-one, just not that kid…I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

“How are you so sure that you’re not gonna break my heart again?”

Chan says breathlessly and goosebumps automatically bubble up on your skin at his words, “I’m not. Because I know that no matter how many times I stupidly, or impulsively hurt you, you will always stay. And I’ll always be there to gather the broken pieces as if you’ve never felt the pain before.”

A long, muffled silence occurs between both of you. You quickly look away after a good ten seconds of making eye contact with Chan. He’s having that kind of effect on you like how he used to and you’re determined not to fall again. You’d hate to have your heart broken twice by the same person. “You do know that we wouldn’t have worked out anyway right?”

Chan doesn’t say anything, instead, he turns around and calls a ride for you. His eyes look stormy that night, impossible to read as if there are so many things on his mind at the same time to the point that his head becomes cloudy and nothing makes sense anymore. He doesn’t even wave you goodbye when you get inside the car but his gaze never leaves your figure until it’s completely gone in the distance.

You know that it’s something more than just love because your feelings for Chan are still there even when he’s not. You’re just far too busy being depressed inside your bedroom, under your fuzzy blanket to notice them. Now they’re back, again, for the third time, much, much stronger and more powerful. You don’t know whether this is hazing because falling for someone more than twice just sounds unhealthy for you, a person who lives off donuts for two weeks straight because you need the push of the sugar crush in order to avoid caffeine. Chan just stepped into your life like how he did about three hundred and sixty-five days ago and completely broke down the fort you were trying to build.

Call you an idiot, but is it bad to think that he’s not planning on leaving any time soon?

eight. You hate cruises for plenty of reasons, and one of them being, not surprisingly, a cruise is basically a hotel on water. The concept of a hotel floating on the water makes it a trillion times cooler and unnecessarily overrated. In your defense, having a massage or partying ‘til dawn while not knowing when you’re gonna drown to your imminent death is petrifying. Maybe you’re just bitter about the fact that people don’t appreciate normal hotels enough, because they really don’t.

Okay, if you have to choose one thing not to hate on a cruise, then it’s probably the mini theatre that Chan personally demanded for his chaotic group of friends. Hey, privileged people need some wholesome, chill times with friends too.

But the fact that almost everyone has already seen Stranger Things makes you feel more like a grandma than you already are. These are the times where you rarely choose to sit next to Jisung because you’re both on the same boat for once. Other times, you’re just bickering like the reincarnations of every movie where the main characters constantly want to put the other’s head on a chopping block but end up falling in love anyway; except, you will never fall in love with Jisung. That’s so creepy on so many levels.

Creepier than whatever the fuck of a demonic image that Hyunjin’s about to show you, being the pest that he is. “We have four votes for Stranger Things and four votes for Spider-Man: Far from home,” he announces in that irritating voice of his while hogging the whole bowl of popcorn to himself. “So what’s it gonna be, Han? Choose wisely, my friend,”

Jisung sips on his Coke and points his index finger at his roommate as if he’s accusing Hyunjin of murdering someone, “I’m with Y/N, because screw you,” he’s not entirely wrong because, without a doubt, Jisung’s soul is gonna detach itself from his body after the first episode. “And if Chan were here, he’d agree with me,”

“Nope,” Chan conveniently steps in when you’re about to do a fist bump with Jisung, taking the seat on your right despite plenty of other (about twenty-six) empty seats. “We’re watching Stranger Things, it’s been almost thirty minutes and all you guys have been doing is aiming at each other’s throat,” he whips out a small remote from his pocket and clicks the ‘play’ button without anyone’s consent. He has no right to do that! You don’t think you’ll ever forgive him after this.

Chill time isn’t so wholesome anymore.

So basically the whole plot is about a boy going missing, flipping a whole town from Indiana upside down. Everyone spends days and nights, desperately trying to find him until one day, a little girl with a shaved head comes into the story and makes the entirety of the movie that much weirder. And more horror-worthy when she’s being chased by ‘bad guys’. This is another reason why you hate Chan: he can’t be bothered about what he’s watching because he’s only here for good food. And probably your suffering. But mostly just good food.

Actually, it might be the other one because you can clearly see that stupid grin on his face when you pull your hood low enough to cover half of your eyes so that you won’t be potentially haunted at night by whatever’s ready to pop on screen. And Jisung’s already clinging onto one of your arms like his life depends on it, legs quivering in his boots. You really don’t wanna accidentally elbow him in the face when there’s an inevitable jump scare.

“Chan, you sadist, I hope you’re happy for doing this to me,” you sneer at him with gritted teeth, frustrated about the fact that you can’t singlehandedly feed him to the sharks.

Chan leans in slyly, lips dangerously close to your ear. “That’s for you ogling Tom Holland,”

Jisung automatically gasps scandalously, once again opening that useless mouth of his and decides to put you on trial. “A compromise was almost made, Y/N you monster!” (Actually no, he’d never survive law school). Jisung wiggles himself out of his seat faster than a lightning bolt and snuggles closely next to Woojin, who’s staring at the screen like someone’s forcing him to watch one of the worst pantomimes to ever exist. Great, now you’re stuck with Chan in the very front seat, having no choice to hold onto him like he’s your last option before falling into your impending misery in the next sixty minutes.

This asshole is really—

The moment you’re ready to pour a paper cup full of Sprite over his head, Jisung and Hyunjin just happen to whimper and yelp at the same time, with the same amount of awfully loud volume, spilling their own endless string of curse words with the same length while holding onto whoever’s lucky enough to sit next to them. So naturally, you stupidly let your guard down and cower like a child watching Snow White for the very first time and being absolutely terrified of the ugly witch. You’re far too busy thinking of ways to bury Hyunjin alive to realize that you’ve unknowingly pulled yourself closer to Chan and hid your face in his chest.

“Hwang Hyunjin you fucking moron!” Jisung yells at the top of his lungs when another demonic scene occurs, sending actual chills down his spine. He almost misses the feeling of still having a vendetta with his friend back in the good old high school days when they’re still wrestling each other every two minutes. Also, you’ve never felt this bad for Jisung (or even related to him) in a fairly long time, because… same.

Hyunjin can officially kiss your Jeep goodbye because you’ll never let him borrow it again. That idiot.

“You’re such a baby,” Chan comments and purposely cuts off your trains of thoughts so that you can peel yourself off him and look straight into the screen again, at the wrong time.

“I’m not your baby—“

You hiss in panic and throw yourself onto him again, trying to calm yourself by listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat and persistent pace of breathing. You’re already mentally apologizing to Jennie because you’re 75% sure that she’s not gonna be able to sleep with you sticking to her side like a jellyfish. There was this one time you all watched The Conjuring because Jisoo insisted so much and except for her and Lisa, no one got a wink of sleep that night so you’re not sure how you’re gonna survive this when there’s no pillow or blanket to protect you from all of the horrifying sound effects and imageries.

Chan secretly bumps his fist with Jeongin in the back, who’s a little bit too occupied with Hyunjin crushing his bones every two seconds. The perks of hitting on a friend’s sister. Works like a charm, he smirks internally. “Little Y/N is scared, how precious,” he looks down at you, and a smile blooms on his lips, enjoying the blissful feeling of having you in his embrace again.

“I am not scared!” You still can’t learn to accept that sometimes, admitting to your defeat is better for your own good.

“Then why won’t you look at the screen then?”

“Because- oh my God, what the hell was that?!”

“It’s okay to admit that you’re scared, I can protect you,” Chan boasts with his chin high up. And you’d love to blush at his affectionate words right now, really. Only if he didn’t quickly jump into conclusion because of your crush on Tom Holland and chose the movie in the span of a split second.

“Christopher, this isn’t funny!”

“Well, I certainly didn’t try to insult you in any means at all, ma’am. I don’t see what’s the problem here,” he singsongs, gently draping an arm around your shoulders. This time, he’s glad that you didn’t end up punching him in the gut.

“Shut the fuck— Jesus Christ!” You screech when the demonic image keeps flashing in your mind, driving your head around in circles. “Chan, I swear to God, you’ll regret—“ you don’t even bother to finish your sentence and have no choice to hold onto him like he’s your only source of life, without him, you’ll soon disintegrate into fine dust and slip away easily. If Lisa was here, she would record the whole thing and play it on the slideshow of videos that she’s been preparing for your upcoming birthday. Thank God she’s playing beer pong with BamBam somewhere on the second floor.

That sounds so melodramatic but it’s not necessarily wrong. Chan still has that same sense of comfort whenever your skin comes in contact with his, even when it’s a thin layer of fabric away, you can still feel how badly it burns like a reminder for you that he’s here and he’s not going anywhere. Nothing’s going to change that, your intuition has told you before but you elect to ignore it. You’re starting to realize that you let Chan into your life again just like that, let him tear down your walls, and lit your heart on fire.

But what you don’t know is that his heart is still beating vigorously in his chest cavity for you, after all this time. His one and only.

“Hey, hey,” he tells you softly.

“What? Don’t make me look, I don’t wanna see it, I don’t wanna hear it either, I’m scared okay just don’t—”

“No, Y/N, look at me,” Chan chuckles and takes your face in his hands, forcing you to stare into his starry eyes. All you can see is an entire cosmos, more wondrous and beautiful than everything you’ve ever seen. He shines like he owns the entire universe in his existence, glowing from within and leaves you utterly speechless. Your head starts to become fuzzy and your heart dips when you realize how terribly close you are to him.

Chan takes your head and gently places it on the left side of his chest, smiling. “Can you hear that? It’s your fault, yeah, you did that to me,” The calm rhythm of his heart cancels everything out; all you can see is him, and all you can hear is his heartbeat. You spend approximately one second debating whether you should kiss him and you hate every moment of that one single second, you dread every nanosecond of it.

“Are you still afraid?” He whispers and you shake your head almost immediately without replying with what’s in your head. Like no shit, you’re more than just petrified right now, this is by far, one of the scariest, most frightening, and most nerve-racking decisions you’ve ever made in your life.

At that moment, it feels as if you’re standing on the edge of a cliff with him by your side. And you do exactly what he’s asking you to because it’s the only thing that you can do.

You jump.

nine. Weirdly enough, you miss college.

You miss those days where you had to finish the entirety of your morning routine in a span of five minutes so that you could be out the door and not miss the bus. You miss those moments where you had to skip two steps at a time on the longass flight of stairs just so your professor wouldn’t have another excuse to yell at you other than the overdue assignments.

You also miss college parties, not because they’re ‘lit’ but because things were simpler back then. People come, drink, get wasted, fight someone (or make out with someone), and then go home. Actually, no, they usually make out first thing first in the front porch because college students don’t give two fucks about their dignity and decency. You definitely didn’t miss that. And also those times where you ogled Chan during lunch breaks or when you both took the usual 4419 to college on a daily basis.

Everything gets a little more nostalgic when Minho slides your usual mojito across the counter and gives you that cat-like smile of his. Somehow, it makes you wanna hug him and bite his head off at the same time but you’re not wasted enough for that yet. You just need to get your mind off Chan when he’s too busy being tormented by his own family.

“Zero sips and you’re already dreaming about Chan? Gee, if I’m not mistaken then you’re so in love with him, manager Lee,” Minho is in his element, surrounded by good music and alcohol. In which, there’s no point in arguing with him anyway because you’re basically vulnerable and defenseless when everywhere you go, you see Chan’s face.

You down half of the mojito in one go and the bartender in front of you almost staggers backward from utter shock. Normally, you’d be snapping back at him with a witty retort instead of being all sappy and dreamy like this. This is not good. “My my, you’re really thinking about him, aren’t you? So tell me, how does that feel? To be deeply in love with another human being,” he leans forward to approach you, propping his head up with his hands. You murmur a small “bullshit” and proceed to toss your head back for a bit, shaking the weariness away.

“Listen, I might be heartless and all but when I accidentally put Tabasco into Jisung’s orange juice instead of honey the other day, I did actually feel bad about it. I felt a rush of empathy for a split second there,” Minho muses when he sees the corners of your lips curl upwards, stretching into a small grin. “It was wild, and then I just thought; is this what it feels like…to be a decent human being? Edgy, I know.”

You laugh dryly with boredom glinting in your eyes. “You know, if you’re going to distract me from thinking about Chan, at least be good at it,” his mouth drops open at your statement, completely gobsmacked. Oh, how the tables have turned. He’s never felt so defeated and useless before. Usually, he’s the one who makes others speechless. It’s not hard to tell that he hates it when everything just flips upside down.

“Bitch please,” Minho says with puckered lips. “Even if I spiked your drink, you’d still repeat his name in your dream like a mantra because you’re so fucking whipped for him,” he stops for a while to train his undivided attention on the Tequila Sunrise for Jisung who’s already smashed after two beers. He can really use some counseling, Minho ponders. “And you wouldn’t kiss Chan back if you hated him, gotta love stupid feelings that you can’t even explain for yourself, am I right?”

You take another sip of your drink and exhale, staring into his sharp eyes. “Excuse me, who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Lee Minho, genius, dancer, fashion icon by day, party animal by night, personal counselor,” he holds back the urge to slap you across the face with Felix’s Gucci slippers and instead, musters the sweetest smile. Being a bartender and a potential alcoholic at the same time definitely doesn’t help because he wishes he could just chug a whole bottle of vodka before you complain to him about your miserable love life. “I believe I’m qualified enough to give you some solid advice. So shut up and listen to me—“

“—I’m trying! But Minho, what if I’m the delusional one? What if he just wanted a fresh start so that we wouldn’t be so awkward towards each other? A kiss can’t possibly mean something. I mean, if you consider our New Year’s kiss, it meant so much to me but I don’t know if—“

And now, Lee Minho, self-proclaimed, genius, dancer, fashion icon by day, party animal by night, personal counselor; doesn’t have the slightest earthly idea of what the hell he should do. God, serious relationships are so fucking complicated to the point that his brain is yelling for retirement. Usually, he just poisons his friends with a dose of some common sense and solid logic to knock them back to reality in order to figure out whatever they’re going through. But this time, he thinks he should just let you fall further and further until Chan catches you instead.

Now that he’s thinking about it. Chan definitely didn’t pay him enough to be the bartender and a personal therapist for the love of his life.

“Seems like you’re not enjoying the party,” you instantly turn around because you can realize the owner of the voice in the matter of a split second. The moment Chan’s eyes are locked with yours, your heart immediately jumps up to your throat and then drops back down to your chest. If only this was because of the mojito, you’d feel better about it somehow but unfortunately, Minho gave you a non-alcoholic one today.

You can tell that he’s already hammered by the smell of alcohol when his warm breath brushes over your nose and how his cheeks are redder than usual. Minho quickly excuses himself from the scene to save himself from witnessing a mediocre, drunk confession session. And also because people are starting to pour in by the second, so the bar will probably be overpopulated in the next ten minutes or so. It’s downright a college party again except for the fact that everyone is floating on water but still, alcohol-thirsty pigs are still pigs. Everyone’s sloppy and lightheaded to the point that you’re already hearing the janitors crying themselves to sleep tonight.

“I’m enjoying it more than you if you couldn’t tell already,” your face morphs into a frown when Chan giggles and stumbles around like a madman. He would have facepalmed himself onto the marble counter with various bottles that probably cost more than one of his cars combined and made a scene if it weren’t for your hands steadying the blades of his shoulders. The warmth of your fingers radiate through his denim jacket and sinks into his skin, making his head a little fuzzy while you’re wondering how the fuck did he get this batshit drunk when Minho was with you the whole time.

“What the hell did you have?”

“I don’t know, BamBam asked me to try out some of his new cocktail recipes,” Chan hiccups and allows you to fling one of his arms over your shoulders. “Guess I didn’t consider dinner with my family afterward. Mom said I should just get some rest but I was thinking of you, so voila, I’m here now,” he gives you that signature boyish grin of his that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. But this time, your frown just grows deeper because since when did BamBam know how to make cocktails? And almost knocked Chan out too? You know why you should just stick to Minho’s mojito now.

Your eyes widen in panic as Chan almost trips over your foot when Hyunjin accidentally bumps into his back. “Oh Y/N, I’ve been looking for you,” the younger boy tells you with a Margarita in his hand, curiosity laced in his eyes. “No, scratch that, actually, some guy called Jaemin is looking for you,” Hyunjin then leans closer to a very-shocked-looking you and tries to shout over the loud music. “Who is that guy anyway? I heard rumors going around that he’s the Senator’s son or—“

Even though Chan’s not very sober at the moment and all he can hear is “some guy” and “the Senator’s son”, he knows that he needs to get you out of here as soon as possible. That bastard, Chan thought he’s already eliminated him from the guest list. Without a second thought, he grabs you by the waist and pulls you away from Hyunjin although he’s not the real threat here, piloting you through the sweaty bodies grinding against each other to the EDM music in the background. He was gonna take up the DJ duty tonight but really…is he gonna let you have another encounter with Na Jaemin? Yeah, he thought so too.

Before you can even register the whole situation, Chan’s already backed you up against a wall in his bedroom, a hand over your mouth with the other on the small of your back. Time seems to stop when you see the golden flecks in his eyes, floating softly in his nebula, and you’re absolutely, definitely, totally falling for him all over again. He’s so incredibly beautiful it leaves you moonstruck, wondering how can God be so unfair to make Chan look better than you even when he’s wasted.

Everything starts moving once again when a series of “have you seen Y/N?” echoes through the hallway and you can physically feel Chan tighten his grip on your body, jaw clenching too much that it might hurt. You know that voice all too well; Na Jaemin is here. And he’s looking for you. But you can care less right now because your heart automatically does a flip when Chan makes direct eye contact with you, his index finger hovering over his lips.

“Y/N, I need to tell–“

But this is not the time to fawn over how good he looks, you tell yourself with such determination.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” you help Chan walk over to his king-size bed, his limbs wobbly and unstable. After a solid minute of struggling and panting, you finally have Chan laying on the bed, legs dangling off the edge. While you’re too busy unfolding his blanket, he’s murmuring gibberish that you can’t quite, choosing to ignore it like how you’ve ignored Woojin snoring at two in the morning during a camping trip. “Chan,” you shake his shoulders slightly. “You’re gonna fall flat on your face if you sleep like this,”

You hiss through gritted teeth helplessly. “Chan!” But he doesn’t even move a single muscle. “You idiot, why did you agree to drink all of those cocktails?” You’re going to rip BamBam’s head off of his neck next time with your bare hands, it’s on. “Chan!” Your last attempt of waking him up fails miserably when he scrunches his nose a little, then proceeds to move on with his slumber.

Yeah, he’s definitely gone.

Or not.

Just when you’re about to give up and leave him as he is, Chan grabs you by the wrist and pulls you flush against his chest, heart thundering more vigorously than ever. He easily rolls the both of you to the side with no effort, only to get a better grip of your waist, his breath tickling your nose. At the suddenly close proximity, you can take a closer look at his long lashes that framed his eyes perfectly, his tall nose and his plump lips. Chan looks so ethereal and otherworldly that you wonder what it feels like to run your hands through his hair, dance your fingers against his jawline and press your lips against his.

But you also notice the bags under his eyes and how his brows are slightly knitted together. He doesn’t seem to be doing a great job at taking care of himself after all and it makes your heartache knowing that he didn’t have any other choice. It’s no one’s fault, really, though, in scenarios like this, people would love to point fingers and make assumptions out of something that they don’t even know. Falling in love with Chan for the third time can be the best thing that’s ever happened to you or it will eventually push you off a cliff, straight into a downward spiral.

Whatever the consequences are, you’d never trade him for anything in this world. Even if it means getting your heart broken all over again. You’re willing to walk through fire and step on thorns just to be by his side again. But at the same time, you’re not sure if he feels the same because if not, you’ll be left with nothing. Maybe he’ll forget all of this in the morning. Maybe it’s never meant to happen anyway.

Chan suddenly pulls you in more and his lips are terribly close to your flesh, your eyes going wide in panic. Moments later, soft snores escape his mouth as his chest heaves up and down in a calm rhythm. It reminds you of when he hugs you in the theatre, embarrassment soon flares through your nostrils and sprinkle a shade of coral on the apples of your cheeks. You can’t help but smile, arms snaking around his firm waistline.

Chan hugs you so tightly that you blindly believe that he needs you. As if it’s his way of saying “stay, it makes me feel at ease that you’re right here, in my arms again”. No one has ever really needed you. As sad as it sounds, your family can still move on with life just fine even when you’re not there. Your friends have their own jobs and other relationships as well, they don’t actually need you. You’ve never felt anything quite like this before, it’s a little bit frightening but also a little bit tempting.

Yep, you think to yourself. I’m done for.

Goddamnit BamBam.

ten. Chan groans loudly when the early daylight hits him like a truck, knocking him out of his semi-unconscious state. Hangovers still hit him hard, but this time, shit hurts way worse because someone still has a lot to learn as a mixologist. He smells like alcohol, probably looks like trash, and his head is fuzzy yet [insert culprit’s name] is standing right in front of him, all dressed up like he’s about to do a drug transaction.

“Bro,” he narrows his eyes to do a full scan of the bedroom, plopping himself back down only to realize that you’re not here. “You fucking suck at making cocktails,”

BamBam only chuckles humorlessly at that, five of his drinks didn’t even put a dent on Changbin yet the infamous Bang Chan wasn’t able to stay sober to not have a girl carry him to his bedroom. “Drink,” he gives the glass of water in his hand a light thrust before handing Chan a tablet of aspirin with the other. He’s also decided that it’s a lovely Sunday morning and he doesn’t have time for this shit. He should be chomping on breakfast in bed with something on the TV right now. But, he can’t risk having Chan roam the cruise looking all homeless and insane.

“I can’t believe not only did you let Y/N into your room, slept in the same bed as her,” Chan chokes on the big gulp of water that he’s just taken, and everything from last night starts pouring back to him like an unwanted nightmare. He was far too drunk to even remember every detail, he just prays to whatever gods up there that he didn’t say anything stupid. “Yet you didn’t even confess, great fucking job.” BamBam asserts like the true friend that he is, accidentally pushing Chan closer to his imminent misery.

Chan snaps his head up and almost screams aloud that his heart’s about to jump out of his chest, “You wanted me to what?!”

“You heard me,” BamBam tongues the inside of his cheeks in annoyance, regretting the amount of money that he spent to tip one of the cruise’s staff so that he could sneak his own alcohol in safely. “You know what that means? That means you still didn’t shoot your shot! You did not shoot your shot! Which entails? You’re gonna be lonely for the rest of your life and eventually die alone. You’re gonna die alone! You hear me?”

Chan thinks it’s way too early for him to endure BamBam repeating himself over and over again like a crazy person. He might still be slightly hammered because all he’s hearing is “shoot your shot” and “die alone”, he’s confused because why in the world is his best friend making him choose between killing someone and dying alone? Wait, no, actually….he might mean something else. Chan’s just in denial.

“Where is she?” He rasps out tiredly after taking the pill and downs the whole glass of water.

“Lisa carried her back to Jennie’s room in the middle of the night,” BamBam informs his friend, watching how his eyes are starting to turn stormy, and then he exhales out of relief. “She almost murdered me! This is all your fault!” He cries out dramatically before belly-flopping himself onto Chan’s bed, metaphoric tears dripping down on his cheek.

Chan perks an eyebrow as if BamBam just offended him, as if he’s mental and just made it out of an insane asylum. “My fault?” He questions, his voice getting louder and louder at the end. “Whose idea was it to poison me with your questionable drinks? Whose idea was it to make me all batshit drunk? Whose idea was it to let me into the party so that I could find the only thing that I’ve been trying to avoid all night? It was your fault, okay?! It-was-your-fault!” He deadpans and soon realizes that now he’s the one who’s repeating himself.

BamBam is more than confused right now because didn’t Chan want this after all? To confess to you once again and get you back? All he was trying to do is basically give his friend a teeny tiny sprinkle of motivation and this is how he repays him? Now he looks like an idiot who has been trying to sabotage the relationship between the two protagonists of another horrible rom-com. Jackson was right, he should have just played ping pong in peace and not stick his nose into other people’s business.

“Look,” he places a hand on Chan’s shoulder as he sighs deeply into the palms of his hands, mentally debating how the fuck can he make it up to you now. “She could have just refused your invitation of stepping onto this cruise. She could have pushed you away when you tried to kiss her,” BamBam stops midway to suppress his laughter at how Chan’s cheeks are taking no time to turn into a brighter shade of pink. “And, she could have left you alone and drunk at the bar, and- I don’t know, hang out with Na Jaemin or something.”

When a muffled silence descends in between the current civil conversation, only a confused look crosses Chan’s features and all BamBam wants to do right now is to put his head through a goddamn wall. “Jesus fucking Christ…” he murmurs to himself. “Minho’s right. You both are so dumb it’s physically hurting me.” Not exactly the most comforting words to tell a person in crisis but things hitting hard like this actually helps Chan a lot more than how people usually sugarcoat their words.

“Listen, it’s not like there’s no more fish in the sea but have you ever met someone who instantly clicked and just simply fell for you? She didn’t know that you had money, she didn’t know anything about your family. She could care less about your social background too honestly, because she fell for who you truly are,” BamBam hates to be cliché, really, but it is what it is. “Y/N has never gone a day without checking your notifications, she was so broken when you suddenly just shut her out like that. And yes, you were an asshole for doing that but can’t you see how hesitant she was every time you’re trying to get closer?”

Chan looks up at his friend, his tense muscles finally relaxing. “Which isn’t the point…”

“Which isn’t the point,” BamBam tells him, looking more serious than ever and it’s freaking him out. “Because what I’m trying to say is, it’s still not too late to shoot your shot.”

eleven. Maybe you deserve someone else, but deep down, you’ve always wanted Chan. And in your heart, you know that it’s right because humans only want the love they thought they deserved. You think part of the reason why you can never seem to let go of him is you’re just scared that something so amazing won’t happen twice. People might call you out for dwelling on the past but you call it a coping mechanism.

Magically, you’re starting to get used to the frequent encounters with Chan and Eunji since they’re also apparently part of the Privileged. You really should give yourself a pat on your shoulder for not having a mental breakdown whenever you see them hand in hand in public. The forced smile on Chan’s face always gives you the tiniest strand of hope that he’s just putting on a show as demand from his family. But at the same time, you’re scared that you’re just being delusional and you’d never have anything to do with his life from now on. Perhaps he wanted a fresh start so that everything can be like how they used to back in college? He didn’t want to “lose you again” because he still wanted to be friends?

But every time he tried to sneak a glance towards your direction and smiled, all you could think was: “Oh, shit,”

You knew that you fell for him twice, and you’re still falling. Every. Single. Day.

“Like what you see?” Changbin brags on the other side of the curtain, followed by a string of gagging noises by Jisung. And you secretly want to take a picture of his face, for science, obviously. But by that, you mean to blackmail him whenever wherever you want because he’d rather not have his fans gushing over him looking like a dying donkey, inside a fifteen thousand dollars suite on a cruise.

“You look like an idiot.”

Jisung voices with pure disgust in his tone. “Who the fuck lend you a white tuxedo?” Needless to say, you try to picture Changbin wearing a white suit and you immediately scrunch your nose up, shaking your head profusely. Changbin looks especially good in dark colors, but you’re not saying that he wouldn’t look good in brighter tones, it just feels weird not seeing him in a black tux, even when it’s just for a small party.

“My sister! If anything she’s an idiot,” he’s probably throwing his hands up in frustration. “She said I should switch things up. And I trusted her, now I feel like an idiot.”

Jisung asserts like a snake, “You look like you have a stick up in your ass, it’s so high up I can literally see it whenever you’re opening your mouth.” He’s probably man-spreading on the blue velvet couch, playing with the glass of bubbly champagne that he’s specifically requested. You don’t get why he would want to drink when he’s waiting for his friends in the dressing room but he will, just because he can.

“Ew,” he spats not long after. You’re not sure if he’s referring to the drink or Changbin’s outfit. It might be the drink, it’s shit but it gets the job done. It’s more about the concept of looking elegant and fancy more than the concept of getting wasted, in order to not look like a corrupted person. “Why would you godsend privileged, snoshy, live-and-breathe-in-money people deadass drink this instead of a nice Tequila?” Yep, not surprising.

Changbin protests, clearly annoyed. “Because we can afford that shit, just like how there’s a random, money dripping guitar in the dressing room,” you don’t even have to peek to know that he’s rolling his eyes to the point that they’re gonna fly out of their sockets. “But at the same time…true, I don’t like it either. That’s why I never get wasted whenever I go to parties like these, man, I miss college parties,”

God, this zipper is driving me nuts, you mentally curse when it gets stuck halfway and your arms are already giving up on you. Where’s Jennie when you’re in desperate need of her help?

“Whatever, let’s go find your sister and get you in a new tux,” you can hear Jisung pushes himself off the couch and settles his champagne down on the coffee table. “No offense towards her…I just fucking hate it on you,”

“Wait, guys—“ the moment you try to call out to them, they basically shut the door of the dressing room. “Well, shit,” you sigh, quickly realizing that 1) you don’t have your phone with you; 2) you can’t just run outside to grab it because what if Changbin and Jisung get back here at an untimely moment; and 3) there’s no way in hell you’re gonna ask one of them to zip it up for you. Now you’re forced to stay in a confined space with your only protection aka the red velvet curtain that looks way too cliché for your liking. Seriously, isn’t Jennie supposed to be here with you? It was her idea to put you in another dress, which you hate with a passion but you can never have the heart to tell her that.

The door swings open again and you exhale out of surprise, “Thank God, Jen. You’re here. Can you help me with my zipper? It’s stuck, and my hands gave up on me,” you immediately turn around, a sense of relief washing over you.

“Do you think Chan’s gonna hate seeing me in a dress again? I mean, I did call him an asshole when I wasn’t wearing one,” you stop to take in a breath, completely oblivious about the fact that it wasn’t Jennie who opened the door. “…but I was kinda acting like a bitch when I was wearing one too. I was so furious knowing that he’s seeing someone else behind my back that I wanted to bite his head off. And now I’m stuck here with him, his family, and that chick, in a hotel, on water, floating spontaneously somewhere near Singapore.”

Wordlessly, a pair of hands push the curtains aside to tug onto your zipper, slowly adjusting it and careful not to break it at the same time. Once your dress is zipped up all the way, you’re ready to turn your head and thank your friend. “Stay still, I’m not done yet,” your face automatically burns darkly when you come to a realization that it’s definitely not Jennie, most definitely not Jennie. In fact, it’s the person you’ve been planning on avoiding all night. Before you can decide when to make a run for it and save yourself from the imminent embarrassment, a silver necklace is draped around your neck, a diamond-studded buttery resting nicely right below your collarbones.

“Beautiful,” he says again in that honey-dripping voice of his. “You should wear dresses more,”

“Chan! You just scared the living daylights out of me,” you whisper harshly, turning on your heels and shove his chest. You definitely didn’t know what you were signing up for because it’s a grave mistake for you to accidentally look into his captivating eyes and you can see an entire universe in them. Absolutely magnificent. He looks impeccably good in his bejeweled black suit jacket, black turtleneck, and a silver chain around his neck, matching pieces of jewelry adorning his ears.

Chan wiggles his brows like the self-indulging person that he is, straightening his lapel dramatically. “Hmm, I don’t know if you can smell that, but it reeks of jealousy in here, and also hatred, but mostly jealousy.”

“Can. You. Zip. It. And. Call. It. A. Day.” With every word, you repeatedly slap his chest, but only to see him breaking into a fit of giggles in return. You almost forgot that he works out, whereas, you literally have zero ounces of muscles on your body. What a disgrace to your family. Like come on, even Felix has abs, and he never turns down Tacos Tuesday whenever he has dance practice with Hyunjin because their studio is conveniently situated right next to the best Mexican restaurant.

And the guacamole there? Phenomenal.

Chan teases, “I thought girls like you should be taught to act like a lady, not hitting the innocents.”

“Stop being a baby, Bang, it’s not like I’m gonna leave you with a bruise or two.”

Ah yes, this reminds Chan of the good old days of college where you’re both in that weird phase where you’re too much of a scaredy-cat not to talk to him on a last name basis because Changbin was an idiot for constantly leaving you two alone in the music room. “Why?” His lips curl up into a grin. “Because you can’t even open a jar of spaghetti sauce by yourself?”

That’s…that’s just a harsh truth. And now you feel like Regina George getting hit by a bus because life’s willing to give you a piece of its mind. You’re weak as fuck.

“It’s not fair when Felix has a six packs while eating tacos every other week, and I’m here looking like this with a green smoothie for breakfast every day,” you mumble bitterly, already too tired to argue with Chan because the party’s starting in half an hour. “I swear he’s on drugs, he always puts something into his daily Americano.”

Chan laughs breathlessly and cups your face with his hands, squishing your cheeks together. “I’m pretty sure it’s just stevia since Lix has a sweet tooth. On the bright side, I think you look just fine like how you are right now. I like you just the way you are. No modification is needed.” The audacity.

Your nostrils flare with heat, and your cheeks feel hot against Chan’s cool fingers. Again, Chan looks really good tonight and you’re not sure how much longer your heart can hold up before you pass out in his arms. “Uhm, so, just to make it clear,” you fiddle with your fingers nervously. “You and I-“

“Hey guys, how are things going—” Jennie pops her head into the dressing room and looks around, seeing no signs of Changbin or Jisung whatsoever. “What did I miss?” She looks at you cluelessly, then her lips automatically spread into a shit-eating grin when she sees how Chan’s cupping your cheeks. Just when you thought you can’t possibly blush any more darkly.

You awkwardly pull away when Chan clears his throat, retrieving his hands from your face. “Jen, just get out, I swear it’s nothing.” Yeah, as if Jennie aka the person who proclaims to be an expert at love because she’s snuck way too many boys into her closet, is gonna believe your pathetic attempt at an explanation.

“Oh, I’ll get out,” Jennie throws you a wink and you can see how Chan’s shuddering slightly at the dangerous glint in her eyes. “Now, don’t get too freaky in here okay kids, walls are pretty thin,” she asserts unhelpfully like the true friend that she is before shutting the door close. When you’re about to blurt out as many apologies as you can muster to Chan, a soft ‘click’ echoes through your eardrums. Your eyes grow alarmed almost immediately and so do Chan’s.

Did she just lock you inside the dressing room with Chan and expect something to happen? Kim. Fucking. Jennie.

“I hate you, and Jennie,” you tell Chan, not even bothering to hit him this time.

You’d rather take a nap on that couch over there than go out and party honestly. Parties only consist of two things most of the time: drinking and talking. But getting wasted is not an option tonight because you’re not about to spill rosé on the dress that Jennie adores the most. Although you do hate her ass right now.

And people don’t even hold proper conversations during parties unless they know each other, there are only small talks which are so….ugh. You don’t understand the purpose, the meaning of speaking to someone with a maximum of three sentences. You need a real, authentic, civil conversation about a specific topic that’s worth one’s time. Not just “how are you liking the party?” and “yeah, it’s dope, you?” or other gibberish nonsense.

Sometimes you feel bad for those people because their lives are staler than those crumbs of bread that pigeons feed off.

Chan tips his head back and releases the most obnoxiously loud series of laughter that you have to hold back the urge to kick him off the cruise. “You know you love me,”

“I don’t.”

“If you don’t then why would you dash through the airport like a madwoman just to hug me and tell me those three magic words?”

“Too bad, my brain just refused to recall that memory.”

He grabs your chin and angles it so that you’re directly looking into his eyes, dimpled smile, and all. “Then do I need to interfere and remind you?”

You don’t think you’re gonna make it through tonight if Chan keeps making your chest swell like this.

twelve. You and Chan have decided to change into more casual outfits and ditch the formal ones to strip the awkwardness and tension to a bare minimum. And by ditching, you mean hanging them up nicely so that Jennie won’t strangle you later. It is her dress after all. But you have every right to burn it since it was her idea to lock you up with Chan in a dressing room. Thank God it’s almost the size of her closet. Now, you’re both laying flat on your backs on the navy fuzzy carpet before the white couch, already moved the tiny coffee table away so that you won’t accidentally knock something that costs a fortune over. Kind of insanitary too but you can’t care less.

“Are you hungry?” Chan turns his head and asks you, warm brown eyes twinkling under the dimmed light.

“No,” you shake your head, and as if on cue, your stomach rumbles involuntarily. As Chan bursts into laughter, you quickly cover up your pink cheeks with the palms of your hands, internally groaning in pure agony. “Yes, I am hungry like a normal human being should because it’s already midnight, sue me.” You confess.

If only some of Ryujin’s leftovers were here. This is exactly why you refuse to eat out most of the time. Why bother hiring high-end chefs and having fancy dishes when you’ve already had a roommate who’s born into cooking? God, you miss her spaghetti.

Chan props his head onto one of his arms and looks down at you, a glint of mischief evident in his orbs. “You know what’s a whole fucking gourmet dish? Me,” he peels your hands away from your face with ease, holding onto them tightly to prevent you from smacking his chest.

You roll your eyes at him in the bitchiest way possible, yanking your hands away from his because every touch burns like fire and you’re not letting yourself be vulnerable tonight. If you still remembered some of the moves from the martial art classes that mom forced you into when you were in middle school, Chan wouldn’t stand a goddamn chance. You almost snap someone’s arm in half back then, but those days are long gone.

“You? Please, you’re like those piles of unwanted leftover vegetables that everyone keeps giving away to their most annoying relatives,” you start talking big with no intention of meaning it.

Chan’s not just a single dish, he’s an entire buffet. You could never imagine how it felt like for him to have thousands of letters and notes pouring out from his personal locker when he’s wrapping up for the day. Yeah, a total heartthrob. That’s why all of the dumb bitches on campus would always circle around him during breaks, no matter where he went. You were one of them too, you’re also a dumb bitch. Except, you didn’t need to stalk him, Changbin did all the work for you: inviting you to sit with them during lunch breaks, letting you ride the 4419 home alone with Chan, consistently hinting at Chan about your stupid feelings for him every two seconds,… In all honesty, you should be thanking him but you also want to throw him into a tank full of sharks.

Chan gasps, like audibly gasps as if you’re throwing shade at him, which you totally are. “You’re such an absurd, unreasonable, incongruous, preposterous-“ he pauses midway because he’s already running out of big words for ‘ridiculous’ to call you out on; it takes guts and Oscar-worthy acting to insult his godly appearance and impeccable visual, it really does. “—whatever, doesn’t matter. I know that you’re lying,” he singsongs before pushing himself off the carpet, stretching his limbs tiredly.

You think it’s almost two hours since you’re laying in a single spot, and you’re not risking having any parts of your body paralyzed so you get up, proceeding to do the same thing. “I can’t believe you didn’t have your phone with you,” you throw your hands up in exasperation, careful not to chip one of your nails. Lisa didn’t spend an hour on them for nothing. “And no one is even looking for us! Literally no one!” You can’t exactly blame your chaotic group of friends because they’ve probably fallen asleep since formal parties like these are so damn boring but Chan’s parents not freaking out about their missing son? And his “fiancé” too? That’s oddly concerning.

“You don’t have your phone with you either,” he snickers, hands reaching for the random acoustic guitar in the corner of the room. “I doubt that Lisa or Jisoo’s gonna get us out of here, I don’t even have faith in the two other parts of 3RACHA anymore.”

“What about your fiancé?” You ask him out of the blue, completely ignoring the sudden pang in your chest.

Chan shrugs nonchalantly, strumming some random chords with the instrument. “I broke it off with her, in front of my parents.”

“Cool then-“ you almost choke on your own saliva, “—hold up, did I just mishear you? Did you dump her?! In front of your parents?! What the hell is wrong with you?!” You heave, feeling your heart rate increasing by the nanosecond. Not only did Chan break down the walls you’ve been trying to build, he utterly eliminated the invisible barrier between your life and him (sorry Jaemin), and he knocked down the only obstacle left that’s in his way. Now, imagine two dots with a single line to connect them both. Everything’s as simple as that but your brain is already fried from coming up with one hundred and one ways to move in the slowest way possible.

Chan keeps strumming the guitar in his arms but purses his lips at your particular way of responding to his previous statement. “You know, a ‘thank you’ would be nice. And no, they didn’t disown me. I was like ‘fuck it’, and I told them everything. Not everything-everything, but like everything-everything, you feel me?”

No, I don’t fucking feel you but I can physically feel the shame and agony that’s slowly dawning on me you moron, you think to yourself, inhaling and exhaling deeply to prevent yourself from exploding like a ticking bomb.

“What did they say?”

“They didn’t say anything since they were too…uh, taken aback by the amount of information I guess..”

“Chan, I don’t think you were thinking straight—“

He interrupts you with a sad pout, sticking out his bottom lip. “Why are you talking about my parents and not this guitar?” This man is being ridiculous, as stubborn as a child.

“IT’S A GUITAR! RELAX ABOUT IT!”

“I GOT THIS FOR YOU!” Chan raises his voice slightly to catch you off guard and then sighs deeply. “Felix said you hadn’t played the guitar in years, but you were pretty good at it. So I wanted to surprise you, don’t you like it?”

“Chan, you what?” Your voice grows smaller and smaller until it’s only as audible as a whisper. “You didn’t have to do that- of course I like it! But- it’s just..” You stop talking completely to take a closer look at the acoustic guitar in his hands. It’s made of a reddish-brown type of timber with a satin finish, you can tell that the wood will age well through time and create more depth and warmth to the sound of the instrument. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a guitar, but it’s been way too long since you’ve touched one.

“I- I forgot how to play it after a while..”

Chan throws a wolffish wink in your direction as a reassurance that there wouldn’t be a problem with that. “I can show you how to if you like.”

“Moving too fast, moon is lighting up her skin,” Chan cuts you off softly with his angelic voice, and your heart is stuck in your throat, refraining you from barking back with anything. “She’s falling, doesn’t even know it yet. Heart is beating loud but she doesn’t want it to stop.”

Is he seriously trying to do this by singing a song? A fucking One Direction’s song?

“We’re only getting older, baby. And I’ve been thinking about it lately,” Chan’s voice slowly bleeds into the chorus, and you feel as if all of your pride and dignity have been thrown out the window because you’re completely frozen in your spot when he sits down next to you. Chan smiles throughout the lyrics seeing how you’re looking at him like he’s the only person left in the entire Milky Way, a strange warm sensation bubbling up in his stomach. “Does it ever drive you crazy, just how fast the night changes?”

“Everything that you’ve ever dreamt of, disappearing when you wake up,” Chan’s heart does an entirety of an acrobatic routine when he locks his eyes with yours. Seemingly to keep himself together, but the insides just feel like he’s being hung upside down on a tree with blood rushing to his face. This just has to be the cheesiest, sappiest, not-necessarily-scream-CB97 way to confess to someone but fuck it, he still needs to shoot his shot. “But there’s not to be afraid of. Even when the night changes…”

He pauses for a few seconds, “..it will never change me and you..” and finishes off smoothly, embarrassment growing more evident on his cheeks.

What did you tell yourself months ago, Y/N? Aren’t you tired of trying? How are you so sure that he wouldn’t do it again? Haven’t you had enough?

Yeah, you’d never know. And yes, you’ve had enough.

Well, to hell with that.

That’s when everything clicks in place. After all this time, after everything you’ve been through, after everything he’s done, you can finally see why you’ve been chasing him relentlessly knowing damn well that your heart is still in his hands, one wrong move and you’ll be utterly destroyed forever. Nobody compares to Chan. Nobody makes you smile like he does, nobody makes you laugh like he does and nobody makes you cry as hard as he does. It’s almost a truth that’s universally acknowledged that everything has been leading up to this specific moment, your heartbeat comes in sync, and two completely different worlds collide with each other.

You almost lost yourself all the way to him, but in him, you also found the way back to you. And how do you argue with the algorithm of falling for someone when the entire universe has conspired for the both of you to be together since forever?

“Uhm…so what-“

Before he can even finish his sentence, you abruptly grab a fistful of his hoodie and yank him towards you. Chan physically feels shivers run up his spine when your hand automatically interlocks with his, still fits like a glove. You kiss him with such desperation and tenderness it makes him feel as if you’ve been wandering this celestial sphere by yourself in the past century, yet he’s always had your heart. And he lets himself trust you with his in your hands once again because this is only the beginning. The paths ahead might not always be peaches and cream, but if it’s with you, he’s willing to stick with you ‘till the very end of it.

You’re the first one to break the kiss, managing to talk between short breaths. “Sorry, you were saying?”

Chan shakes his head and laughs breathlessly, wearing a dimpled on his face, “Nothing, I was just wondering if you’d take me back after everything.”

“After everything?” You merely chuckle when tiny bits of confusion in his orbs soon disintegrate into stardust, floating through the galaxy for eons. “A million times over, I will still choose you and let you rip my heart in half if that’s what it takes for me to stay by your side.”

Chan feels like he’s floating in midair, head all fuzzy and moonstruck. “Actually though…can I kiss you again?”

“And then nap time?” You let out a big yawn, making Chan toss his head back, laughing wholeheartedly.

“And then nap time,” he agrees, gingerly pulling you in by the waist while trying to stop himself from picturing the smirk on BamBam’s face when he opens the door in the morning.

Likewise, BamBam indeed opens the door to the dressing room early in the morning to make a move on his cleanup duty before Chan’s parents have a cardiac arrest. His smirks can’t possibly grow any wider when he sees you cuddle closely to Chan, palms resting on his chest while his hands are locked on your waistline. And BamBam sighs in relief because thank goodness he did shoot his shot.

#stayshub #stray kids scenarios #skzwritersclub #rich kids au #bang chan fanfic #chan fic #chan x reader #kim woojin #seo changbin #lee felix #yang jeongin #han jisung #kim seungmin #hwang hyunjin #lee minho #na jaemin #kim jennie

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alexandralyman · 5 years ago

Text

Summary: A Hook/Emma angel/demon AU. They hide in plain sight, the servants of heaven and hell. The angels and the demons, who can save your soul or damn it. They stand on opposite sides, they are the bringers of light and the agents of darkness, they are enemies in an eternal war, but what happens when an angel and a demon are inexplicably drawn to each other?

Read on FF.net here or on AO3 here

Part Twenty-Four

The Sistine Chapel - May 6, 1527

The long train of her gown made a faint whispering sound against the floor as she glided the length of the chapel, the heavy gold satin rippling and flowing in waves over the fine marble and intricately laid mosaics. They would have been a showpiece in any other cathedral, but here they paled in comparison to the splendour of a thousand years' worth of papal wealth that surrounded them. A few lanterns were still lit in the niches and alcoves set into the walls but the light was dying, flickering and growing even more dim with each step she took further and further into the shadowed heart of Christendom. It was in this place where a new pope rose upon the death of the old, crowned and gowned and bequeathed the Keys to the Kingdom as he ascended upon Saint Peter's seat.

The ancient throne lay empty and abandoned on this night.

Her hair was a loose spill down her back and she wore no hood or veil to conceal it, normally an unthinkable breach of protocol for a woman entering the sacred site and a grave offence to the Church. But there was no one left to bar her entry, not that any mortal man could actually stop her from passing through any door to any room in this place, where even the holiest of relics, the priceless texts of scripture and verse, the sacred hearts of saints, the swords carried into battle during the Crusades, all paled in comparison to her.

Not a single candle was left burning by the altar where a figure was just visible in the gloom, garbed as a monk in sober dark robes. But he was no more a lowly cleric labouring anonymously in the depths of the Vatican in his humble attire than she was a wealthy Roman noblewoman in her rich gown and while her head might be uncovered, it was far from bare. She wore her own diadem above her brow, it was made not of gold or gems, but of an unbroken circle of Heavenly light. Divine radiance illuminated her path while the astonishing frescos that the Florentine master, Michelangelo, had laboured over for the better part of a decade looked down from the ceiling above, now silent witnesses left behind when everyone else had fled.

Almost.

"His Holiness has left in the company of the Swiss Guard and the Emperor's army is about to breach the walls. Rome will fall to the wolves and it will fall tonight, it's too late to stop it now."

Emma delivered the news to the figure's back, as still as any of the painted prophets and saints that surrounded them. For several long moments he didn't move and if it was anyone else she would have thought he didn't hear her. But he heard everything, and when he finally turned the hood of his monkish robe fell back to reveal one who was both prophet and saint, known by many names and titles in different languages and traditions. In the chronicles of noble knights seeking the glory of the Holy Grail he was the mysterious and powerful Merlin, possessor of magic and esoteric knowledge beyond that of mortal men. In truth, he was a Prince of Heaven in his own right, an Archangelus, the patron of healers, lovers, and guardian angels and one of the highest ranked of the Blessed Ones along with his brothers Michael and Gabriel.

The Archangel Raphael.

Like all angels he was captivating to look at, with a face that Michelangelo would have given his own soul to capture in marble. Strong brows, full lips, and large, liquid eyes that were fixed firmly at some point in the distance before his attention turned to her. Pleas for salvation were echoing in the back of Emma's mind like a thousand hands all reaching out from the shadows to clutch at her train, while the Pope had been spirited away to safety many innocent souls had been left behind, unarmed and completely defenceless against the rampaging horde of soldiers about to descend upon them.

Raphael spoke in a low voice as his gaze drifted again, to the shadows that veiled the splendor around them and grew more with each passing moment. "Yes," he exhaled, and painted heads turned as his breath gave the little figures miraculous life. "They will come from the north...an army sent to expand an empire and lay waste to all who stand in the way...cities fall one by one and there will be death and destruction and war."

An exasperated huff escaped her lips. "Will be? War is already here!"

He shook his own head, his hair as close-cropped as any monk's in place of the flowing locks usually depicted in the many portrayals of him that adorned chapel walls and illuminated texts. The shapeless robes stirred about his legs, lifted by a cool breeze that swept through the nave and made the lanterns flicker and the frescos cower. The light dimmed even more with it and didn't recover, more faint, misty glow now than illumination.

"No, I don't mean this. What is to happen tonight will fade from history and be all but forgotten within a generation, though the effects will linger. This is not war, this is two mules eyeing each other balefully over the same pile of hay.

Only an angel would openly refer to the two most powerful men in Europe, the Supreme Pontiff Clement VII, who held dominion over all Catholic souls, and the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, who ruled most of the land those souls resided on, as nothing more than humble pack animals fighting over a mouthful of feed. But the description was an apt one, it was their mutual stubbornness and refusal to cede any ground that had led to an army the Emperor could no longer control poised to lay waste to everything in its path and the Pope abandoning Saint Peter's throne to flee like a thief in the night instead.

"Charles and Clement may be nothing more than mules, but even a mule's kick can be fatal," Emma argued back. "And when a Hapsburg aims for a Medici, he doesn't just strike his rival. Tell the people of Rome that this is not war when they're burned from their homes and slaughtered without mercy in the street."

Raphael sighed and statues wept. "His Majesty and His Holiness are not the only ones possessed of an excess of stubborness. Now is not the time for debate about the constitution of war, it's long past time for you to go home, beata Emma. The army is not the only wolf howling at the gates tonight."

Emma lifted her chin, not giving quarter even to an Archangel. "And the innocents will suffer all the more for it."

His voice was firm and the warning in his tone was clearer than any bell. "The darkness will always seek to snuff out the light, in every form. Always. We can't save them all, Emma, and we are not meant to. He gave them the freedom of their own will be they prince or peasant, and as such they are capable of so much beauty and so much ugliness in equal measure. That potential they all hold within is His gift to mankind and we must allow them to choose their own path. You can not interfere in this mortal quarrel and if you stay, it is inevitable that the darkness will seek to find you."

She knew what would follow the soldiers in once they descended like locusts from the plagues of old and began to pillage the city. Even in the very heart of the Vatican itself she could sense them faintly in the distance, just beyond the seven hills.

Waiting.

Damnate Infernum.

The Damned of Hell.

"I do not fear the darkness."

Her voice didn't rouse the frescos or move the carvings to tears as his did, but her voice was steady and her shoulders were squared back in her elegant gown. She carried no sword, no heaven-forged blade like the one that had made it into legend alongside Raphael's tenure as Merlin appeared in her hand with which to repel back a demonic horde, but she couldn't leave, not when so many voices were out there and calling to her with their pleas for salvation.

"You do," the Archangel intoned with a raise of his brow. "Oh, you are brave and your heart is pure, but no one, not even an angel, is immune to fear."

He smiled then, a breathtaking sight that eclipsed even the glory of the grandeur that surrounded them. Emma felt her own lips lift in response and the candles that had been left unattended at the altar all ignited, filling the air around them with the scent of beeswax and sweet oil. Raphael's smile turned melancholy, his pupils twin golden flames from the reflections but also flickering with something else, beyond what Emma herself could see. The Merlin of tale was a prophet and that wasn't the fanciful imaginings of a twelfth-century cleric, Raphael had the divine gift of prophecy as all the Archangels did and in truth, Emma was afraid to ask what he saw when he looked at her now.

Another breath of wind swept through the chapel, cold, and decidedly unnatural. It licked a shiver down her spine and the candles went out again from the force of it, wisps of dark smoke curling up to the ceiling in serpentine ribbons. All save for one long, pale taper that continued to burn alone in defiance of the attempt to snuff it out. Raphael looked at it for a long moment and then he nodded once, as if in acknowledgement.

"A single light remains. If you truly wish to stay through what is to come, I won't forbid it. But Emma, you must keep in mind that the most divine of gifts can also become the heaviest of burdens. To listen and stay silent is not easy, you can find yourself longing not to hear them at all when you can't answer. Perhaps even for eternity."

She couldn't imagine even considering such a notion, one that trod so dangerously close to a path that led away from Heaven and only a few had chosen to follow since He first separated the light from the darkness as painted above.

"Is your gift a burden, beatus Raphael?"

His handsome face shifted, becoming softer and more wistful at the question. "My gift is wonderful. And terrible. I see such marvels to come, each more astonishing than the last as they continue to embrace art and science and learning, even when they stumble along the way. Then there are the horrors that have yet to be as well, when they fall into ignorance and loathing. But that is the future and as pleasant as it might have been to be gifted with visions of only the former and not the latter, without both, I would be blind in one eye."

With that, he made a motion with his hand and the candle that still burned lifted from the altar on unseen wings, crossing the bit of distance to float between his cupped palms. The little flame grew even stronger and for a moment that was an eternity unto itself the whole chapel blazed with light. Frescos acted out their stories in miniature, Passion Plays in pigment and plaster. The First Man reached to his Creator, the waters rose as the Flood washed over the banks and the Serpent hissed in triumph as the Forbidden Fruit was consumed and Man fell from grace.

Raphael offered the taper to her and she accepted it, his hands closing over hers so they both formed the ancient gesture of prayer. When he pulled away the flame returned to nothing more than a tiny spark, the painted figures were still and his eyes no longer reflected that which fate had hidden to all but him.

"They will follow you by this light, beata Emma."

She dipped her chin. "Gratias tibi ago."

The Archangel Raphael stepped back and folded his hands solemnly in his sleeves. A papal audience would conclude with the kissing of the fisherman's ring, but angels wore no jewelry. Her own fingers were bare of any adornment despite the richness of her attire. Still, she recognized she was being dismissed and she turned, satin gown rustling with the movement.

The candle illuminated the path back out of the chapel and no more, saints had retreated into shadows and all that remained of the dazzling splendor was a solitary angel. A glance back revealed what she already knew, Raphael was gone and she was alone.

It had already begun, Emma could hear the hue and cry quickly spreading across the city in advance of the army. She picked up her skirts and started to run, flying not with her wings but on her faith instead, trusting that it would take her where they would find her, whoever *they* were.

When she reached the closest set of doors that led outside they opened into the darkness of the night, the sky above indistinguishable from the ground below even with the candle in her hand burning bright. The space between the ornately carved wood gaped like a maw, and she could smell the smoke in the distance as her own prophecy came true and the fires were lit.

Rome had fallen.

When she reached the threshold the finely laid mosaics abruptly stopped, giving way to the drop where the Pope would slowly descend to the cheers of the waiting masses come to pay him homage in His name. Adoration had turned to debasement, cheers to screams, and as the floor fell away from beneath her feet Emma didn't ascend.

She leapt straight into the storm instead.

Lower Saxony, Germany, 1943

Bright sunshine shone down on the tall stone walls of the medieval Schloss, an imposing structure that dominated both the surrounding countryside of forests and fields and the picture postcard village nestled in the valley below, all nearly unchanged from how it must have looked centuries ago when the Hapsburgs still ruled this part of the world with absolute power not as mere kings like in France and England, but as emperors anointed by Rome.

Killian stepped out of his car and tilted his head back to take it all in, squinting into the light. It really was like stepping back in time, his was the only vehicle he'd seen on the winding road that connected castle and village and, unlike in every other city and town across Germany, there was no hint of the current turmoil to be seen or heard. No armed checkpoints on the roads, no soldiers posted at the town hall, not even the distant roar of the Luftwaffe in the sky overhead that was ever present now in even the most remote provinces far from the hive of furious activity that was Berlin. It would be curious, if Killian didn't already know exactly who was currently residing behind the ancient walls, someone who was far older and had the power to keep everything that was going on at bay.

For now, at least.

Inside, heavy damask curtains were drawn tight across every window and he was plunged directly into the darkness upon entering what was almost certainly enemy territory. It would have been disconcerting to anyone else, but Killian could see perfectly in the dark and his eyes adjusted at once with a flash of crimson to take in the artwork that crammed every inch of the walls in ornate frames. Far from an unusual sight in a castle, but these weren't the expected solemn-faced portraits of family scions or middling landscapes by unimportant artists like the one Emma had been so enamoured with before the French decided to give their entire aristocracy the same treatment as Herod gave to John the Baptist. Killian recognized the unmistakable hand of Titian in a red-haired siren and Caravaggio's signature chiaroscuro in the depiction of a saint, there was a Rembrandt that, as far as he knew, belonged to the Dutch royal family, currently exiled in Canada, and a half-finished sketch that he would wager a literal king's ransom was a Da Vinci. It was a veritable Aladdin's cave of priceless treasures, and none of it was owned by the noble family who had given their name to both the Schloss and the village and were now conspicuous by their absence. War had redrawn the European borders once again and, like the sacking of Rome by another German army four centuries prior, spoils had been taken and even more innocent blood was spilled. As Damnate Infernum, a Demon of Hell and corruptor of human souls Killian had seen it all before, he'd been standing on the hill when the city gates were finally breached on that May eve long ago and the holy city itself started to burn, but this conflagration was the closest he'd ever felt to the End of Days and the war destined to eclipse all others.

The Final Battle.

The artistic splendor was marred by the presence of an imp, lounging on an antique chaise in an insolent sprawl with one leg slung over the back and a grin that revealed a mouth packed with too many teeth.

Killian detested imps.

"Corruptor," the lesser demon practically purred, drawing the title out like it was a juicy treat. "What business have you with the illustrious Dark One? Have you come to make a deal?"

He would sooner be tortured by the Inquisition again than make a deal with Rumpelstiltskin and he bared his own teeth at the imp, white and far sharper than they looked.

"Tell your master that I'm here to speak with him, and that he needs to keep his pets on a tighter leash. I've heard what you've been up to when he lets you run loose. Bad form, even for an imp."

The rebuke in his voice made the imp's head snap back hard against the padded velvet, but instead of being chastised, it let out a high-pitched giggle that quickly melted into an obscene moan.

"Do it again!"

Killian grit his teeth, trying to keep his hellish temper in check. As much as he would have liked to teach the imp a painful lesson in the proper amount of deference owed to a higher demon, he was here for something far more important and anything else was a distraction.

Besides, the infernal creature would probably enjoy it.

"Fetch. Your. Master," he repeated, each word snapping in the air like the crack of a whip.

The imp stood and gave a mocking salute, clicking its heels together and bending its knees like a ballerina doing a plié. Killian didn't return the gesture, despite the uniform he was currently wearing.

"Aye, aye, Kapitän."

He felt his eyes narrow at that as the imp disappeared down the hall, dancing and whistling a jaunty tune through those piranha teeth as it went. The sound seemed to echo long after the imp was gone until Killian realized he was hearing someone else instead, his head turning in the direction it was coming from and following on silent feet until he found the source.

A pair of narrow doors stood ajar with a sliver of light peeking out and through the gap he saw that it was the castle's library, tall stacks rising right to the ceiling and filled cheek by jowl with leather-bound books. He gave the door the tiniest of nudges and it swung open fully, revealing that the curtains were tied back in heavy swags unlike in the other rooms he had passed, letting in the sun. The reason why quickly became obvious, there was a ladder attached to the bookcases to allow access to the higher shelves and perched on it was a soman, her back to him as she dusted along a row of books and hummed to herself in a sweet voice. Unlike the imp she was mortal, entirely human, her petite figure clad in a modest blue dress and her chestnut hair falling down her back in thick curls. Killian supposed she was Rumpelstiltskin's chambermaid, but strangely for someone in a demon's employ there wasn't a whiff of corruption about her. As one whose entire purpose was to corrupt and defile he could always detect it, to him it was like the scent of overripe fruit about to spoil. It clung indelibly to those falling away from the Light as their souls blackened and shrivelled like the half-eaten apple left behind in the Garden, so perfect and unblemished on the Tree until temptation proved too much for Mankind to resist. Whoever the woman was, she was still innocent, and curiosity had time taking a step closer because he was never one to resist temptation in any form.

The doors both slammed shut in his face before he could cross the threshold, with enough force to make his teeth rattle and the sweet humming was abruptly cut off, replaced by the harsh scrape of a lock being turned.

"Corruptor."

His demonic title was spoken from behind him in an oily voice and Killian turned smoothly on his booted heel, away from the library and the woman now locked within.

"Dealmaker," he acknowledged.

Rumpelstiltskin's thin lips went even thinner, but he couldn't fault Killian for addressing him in kind and not by his preferred moniker. He was attired in current fashion from the knife's-edge part in his hair down to his two-tone loafers, but he still carried the silver-tipped cane that Killian remembered from Paris, in the midst of another time and another war. The handle was shaped like a reptile's head, fitting for an ancient demon with such a cold-blooded disposition. The ebony tip rapped sharply against the floor when he turned and started to walk back down the hall without another word, not bothering to check if Killian followed. The dealmaker was more arrogant than any king in his newly acquired castle, and Killian rolled his eyes behind the self-styled Dark One's back before falling reluctantly into step to the metronome of the cane against the polished stone, each strike echoing loudly in the silence.

More incredible art adorned the walls on either side of them, one long corridor was completely lined in fourteenth-century tapestries that were somewhat faded with age but remarkably intact, depicting a typical medieval hunt. Killian had participated in his fair share of them under his many different noble aliases, he immediately recognized the scenes. The elusive quarry managed to evade the hunting party for several panels, leaping through glens and peeping defiantely at them through a copse of trees just beyond their reach. It almost slipped away, but the pursuers were determined and the freedom of the forest was fleeting, as the tiny woven arrows landed straight and true at the end.

Rumpelstiltskin came to a halt by another pair of doors where the imp was waiting, bowing like a well-trained footmen when he approached, fawning and obsequious now in the master's direct presence instead of mocking and impertinent. Rumpelstiltskin lifted the tip of the cane off the floor and used it to raise the imp's chin, forcing the creature's head back at what on anyone else would be an unnatural angle.

"Wait for me outside the library. It's currently locked, and it stays that way."

The order was clear and the imp ran off again, not bothering with any theatrics this time to scuttle away like a cockroach instead. Killian watched it scurry down the hall, his interest piqued even more while Rumpelstiltskin entered what looked like an ordinary sitting room. Tufted chairs, a wireless in a walnut case, and a china tea set left on a side table, nothing unexpected at first glance. A closer look told a slightly different story, there was a copy of the current evening edition of the London Telegraph folded next to the flowered cups, even though it wouldn't be out for another two hours across the Channel. There was no picture of Der Führer hung in place of pride or copy of his odious book on display as there were in every patriotic German household, and even ensconced as he was deep within the dark heart of the Glorious Reich, Killian suspected that Rumpelstiltskin had his long, grasping fingers stuck in all sorts of pies.

"Did the local count bargain away both his Schloss and das Mädchen?"

Killian sat down in the tallest chair without waiting for an invitation, pulling out a silver cigarette case engraved with his monogram and flicking it open. He lit one without a match, inhaling deep and blowing out not a mere smoke ring, but a smoke serpent that rose in the air and hissed right in the other demon's face until it dissipated from an equal flick of Rumpelstiltskin's finger, his expression clearly unimpressed by the showy display.

"She made her own deal with me and is therefore off limits to you, Corruptor," he said. "Don't think I've forgotten the last time you interfered in my affairs."

Killian hadn't forgotten it either, and he couldn't say he felt any remorse for assisting the courtesan Maleficent settle her affairs behind Rumpelstilskin's back. The letter she had written had been delivered safe to her daughter while the daughter's husband was away from the house and unable to confiscate it, Killian had made sure of that. It hadn't been a deal, not exactly, just an offer made to give the woman a bit of comfort with none of his usual strings attached because he felt like being magnanimous. Besides, he'd always enjoyed Maleficent's elegant salons. He took another drag on his cigarette and did his best to look contrite, even though they both knew it was completely insincere.

"Speaking of which," Rumpelstiltskin continued, as if the thought had just occurred to him, "what happened to that angel you were so damn adamant about? I heard rumours that an angel finally smited that irritating succubus Zelena in Paris and yet by some miracle you appear to have walked away from that encounter completely unscathed. How curious."

Killian hadn't forgotten the Dark One's interest in his angel either, an interest he had no intention of encouraging. Emma hadn't fallen, not yet, and until she did and he could claim her openly for his own, she was fair game to any demon that crossed her path. He was certain that he was the only one who could seduce her, but the others would be all too eager to attack a Blessed One and try to destroy her. Including the demon who sat across from him now.

He needed to tread very carefully.

"She flew beyond my grasp," he said, blowing out another lungful of smoke that turned into an image of Zelena's face, rendered as delicately as any of the paintings on display. Her mouth split open in a silent pantomime of her final, agonized scream when another breath of smoke spilled over it just as the holy water had in life. "Zelena thought she could take an angel on herself, if she had stayed on her back where she belonged and out of my way, then maybe she wouldn't have ended up as nothing more than effluent in the Paris sewers alongside the contents of every royal bowel loosened by the steel kiss of Madame Guillotine. But I can't say I mourned her untimely passing, not after she spoiled my plans and let the angel escape."

Zelena's image finally melted away just like the succubus herself when he stubbed the cigarette out into a crystal ashtray, leaving behind a smear of ash as dark and thick as her infernal blood had been when it spilled over the blade of his iron knife. Rumpelstiltskin's gaze followed the movement, unblinking even through the eye-watering haze of smoke that now filled the room.

"Indeed. Perhaps you'll have another bite at that particular apple, one day. Although it's already been what, a hundred and fifty years? Taking the definition of eternity rather literally, aren't we now?"

Killian knew it was a jab at his apparent failure and he let his expression twist into a scowl. Little did the Dark One know of all the nights since then when he'd succeeded in "capturing" Emma, her wrists pinned fast by his grasp that could so easily become shackles from which she'd never escape, caging her with his body while she was wound in his sheets, close, so close to surrendering to him fully and not just to his carnal temptation. He'd savour his other victories privately until then, how he'd coaxed out her name the night they met, worked to gain her trust over the centuries, her confession that she could hear him, each far more valuable and rarer than any painting or tapestry Rumpelstiltskin could acquire.

He'd get what he wanted, in the end. Patience might be a virtue, but he was willing to be virtuous for this, and he'd rub Rumpelstiltskin's nose right in his success whether it took ten years or a hundred. Losing a little face now was a small price to pay.

Turn the other cheek, as it were.

"I'm sure it didn't take you nearly as long to accumulate your little treasure trove, did it, Dark One? And all strictly for the glory of the new German empire, I'm sure."

There was a flash of amusement on Rumpelstiltskin's face at the sarcasm in Killian's tone.

"I've held up my end of all the bargains I've made on behalf of the empire. What you see here are merely a few trinkets kept for my private collection."

Killian thought that "looted" was probably a more apt description than "kept" for the fortune crammed onto the walls, but he didn't say it out loud. And he was the one who'd once been called a pirate. Still, the dealmaker's penchant for trinkets was the whole reason why he'd come and he made a photograph appear, held delicately between his fingers like the cigarette before he set it on the table and slid it over.

"Is this one of your new acquisitions like the artwork and the decorative young girl, perhaps?"

The image was grainy, a faded sepia and foxed at the edges from age. Rumpelstiltskin looked down at it and while his expression didn't change the blue haze in the air from the cigarette smoke rippled around him, like a stone dropped in a still pond.

"It's called the White Hilt," Killian began, watching the other demon carefully as he spoke, "among other names, and was said to have been made from a remnant of the sword wielded by the angel who drove the First Man and First Woman from the Garden, where it was cleaved in two by their sin."

While the photograph was badly faded, the object pictured was still recognizable and had even retained a bit of gloss, forever reflecting the flash that had gone off when the image was captured for posterity. It was a blade, long and narrow and oddly shaped. Both sides were curved several times along the edge, so that it resembled less of a knife and more like a lick of flame made metal. Despite the name the actual hilt wasn't white, it was so dark in the picture that it was probably black or nearly to it, and was studded with what looked like a large jewel at the top.

"There was legends about it, like those about the Holy Grail and the Spear of Destiny, but they fell out of fashion and out of history and only a few scholars have even heard of the White Hilt now, including those that Der Führer has combing every pilfered record he can get his hands on thanks to his new obsession, the occult sciences."

Rumpelstiltskin gave him a contemptuous look. "Spare me the lesson, I'm far more versed in these tales than you, Corruptor. More than one soul has tried to barter with me for holy relics, thinking it will bring them power and glory. A blade forged from Heavenly light is an attractive idea, especially to one who has styled himself a Saviour of the people."

"While he exterminates those who don't fit his definition of the term," Killian added.

It wasn't spoken of openly, but people knew where their absent neighbours had gone. Yellow stars were left behind on the lintels of empty houses, paint flaking away in the elements and the sin cut deeper than any knife.

The other demon lifted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. "Sieg Heil."

As before, Killian didn't return the sentiment. He gestured to the photograph instead. "This was taken sometime before the Great War, in this very castle."

He flipped it over and revealed the writing on the back, done in an old, copperplate hand. There were only three lines, the name of the Schloss they were currently sitting in, an illegible signature, and below them both was a word written first in German, and then, perhaps more tellingly, in Latin.

Dagger

Rumpelstiltskin eyed his uniform, one that gave him near absolute authority in the name of the would-be king. "I suppose you've come here as the knight on a noble quest?" he asked, tone still laced with contempt. "Shall I address you as Sir Killian instead of Corruptor then, collecting shiny tribute for your new master?"

Killian ignored that jab as well and focused on what the dealmaker might have just accidently let slip instead.

"So it is here?"

He met Rumpelstiltskin's gaze head on across the table. It was like staring into a well, his eyes were fathomless black depths that seemed to ripple from deep within. A mortal soul would fear what lurked unseen at the bottom and glance away from it, as Damnate Infernum in his own right, with power far beyond what the rank on his collar granted him, Killian didn't blink.

When Rumpelstiltskin spoke again it was through teeth gone serrated as a crocodile's. "I don't answer to you. Or to Der Führer. You think I'm somehow unaware of his more esoteric interests and attempts to collect such objects? Napoleon went to Egypt in search of Biblical treasures to strengthen his laughable claim, Charles V sent his troops to Rome to seize Saint Peter's throne, and now Adolf Hitler seeks a broken sword with which to rule the world. An emperor in all but name, and like those who came before him, doomed to inevitable failure. Just as you've failed in your pathetic attempt to intimidate me."

He started to rise from his seat then, cane in one hand and clear dismissal in his voice. "You can see yourself out now, Corruptor."

Killian remained where he was, idly examining his rings. The large, square cut ruby that he'd owned for centuries sat on his finger and winked up at him, he refused to don the honours that went with the uniform and wore his favourite pieces in their place instead. He rubbed his thumb over it and admired the fire within before rolling his wrist and snapping his fingers without looking up.

"Even in this modern world, I find that some still cling rather stubbornly to the old ways, don't you, Dealmaker? Especially those who used to hold power. They still style themselves with the titles they lost in the last war in the hope they'll regain them one day, prince, duke, count, and they still arrange marriages for their children. Marriage is a sacrament, and there is nothing more sacred to these people than money."

Rumpelstiltskin snatched up the papers that had appeared on the desk at Killian's command, his face a mask of utter fury as he scanned them and obviously realized his error. The marriage contract was clear, the bride's wealthy family had provided a considerable dowry to the impoverished but noble groom, on the condition that she be granted sole ownership of his ancestral seat and all the contents within upon the wedding, a hedge against a future divorce. Furnishings, carpets, silverware, there was a complete inventory right down to the number of teaspoons.

Including; "an antique jewelled dagger of unknown provenance."

"I confess I may lack your level of expertise," Killian continued, acting as innocent as a virgin at Mass, "but I do know that you can't put up what doesn't belong to you as collateral. Your contract was only with the husband. Mine is with the wife."

Her signature was next to Killian's own on the document the Dark One now held, granting him possession of the castle and surrounding estate. Marriage was a sacrament, and adultery was his favourite sin. He lit another cigarette from his silver case, filled as much with smug satisfaction at having pulled the rug out from under Rumpelstiltskin as the smoke he drew into his lungs. Another demon couldn't interfere directly once a bargain was struck and they both knew it. But Killian hadn't, since the deal was never valid to begin with. "Good faith" was not a doctrine demons followed, and Rumpelstiltskin had no choice but to accept that his own carefully wrought deal was now completely null and void.

"You don't answer to me, that's true. But you do answer to the Fallen One, so if you care to argue this further we can always take this little disagreement to him for a final ruling, if you desire."

The papers fluttered back down and spread across the table in an untidy heap while Rumpelstiltskin's dark gaze went sharper than any dagger. Despite his easy posture with the cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers, Killian was inwardly as tense as a bowstring. They were both bound by the same rules that called for the other demon to acquiesce, however unwilling he was to do so, but he looked to be on the verge of breaking those rules completely and refusing to relinquish his claim. If he did it would come at a considerable cost, and Killian's entire plan hinged on the Dark One being unwilling to pay it.

"That's twice," he said at last. "Believe me, there won't be a third time."

With that, Rumpelstiltskin lifted his cane and slammed it back down on the floor. The sound was like the strike of a match flaring to life, only magnified a thousandfold and everything in the room rattled from the force of it. For a split second Killian could see what lay beneath the unassuming countenance that had slithered unnoticed and forgotten throughout history for so long, the Beast without his human form to conceal him. He braced himself for the attack that was sure to follow, fingers tightening on the arm of the chair and ready to leap up and fling the lit cigarette right into the demon's face.

It never came. The Dark One was gone instead.

His boots made no sound when he stood up from the chair and walked around the table, the tip of the cigarette flaring crimson as he took another deep inhale. A chasm had opened in the floor like a sinkhole, right where the cane had struck. Killian crouched down to examine it, taking a final drag before flicking the cigarette into the hole and watching it fall end over end until it was swallowed up by the darkness. The chasm was deep, impossibly so, and for a moment he wondered if Rumpelstiltskin had decided to appeal to Lucifer after all and returned to Infernum itself to do so, as the Fallen One rarely left his kingdom below. He waited a few moments, but there was no summons under his skin that compelled him to follow and a check of the castle revealed that most of the treasures had been removed as well. The walls where the tapestries had hung were bare, the exquisite paintings were gone, furniture was draped in dusty cloths and there was an air of disuse and neglect as if everything had been shut away and left untouched for months. A check of the hall outside the library revealed the imp was nowhere to be found, and now that he'd established himself as master the door opened as soon as Killian touched the knob.

It was empty.

Not just the maid, a lot of the books had vanished alongside her. There were holes on the shelves that hadn't been there before and a few of the ones left behind had toppled over completely without the others to hold them in place. Rumpelstiltskin had withdrawn in silent acknowledgement that he'd been outmaneuvered, but he'd obviously taken everything from his other deals along with him. Using that much power at once could nearly cripple a demon, even one as powerful as the dealmaker.

When he returned to the sitting room he saw the rent in the floor had sealed itself back up and all that remained where it had been was a small black mark, perfectly round, left by the tip of the cane. His shoulders dropped with relief under the tailored wool of his jacket that his gamble had paid off, in truth, Killian hadn't wanted to involve the Fallen One either and the invocation of his authority had been a bluff.

The edge of the photograph peeked out from underneath a page of dry German legalese, Killian picked it up and read the words on the back again. If the White Hilt truly existed, then it was a holy relic of the highest order and one he would not allow to fall into Nazi hands. That madman in Berlin could make do with the ramblings of false prophets and the bones of apocryphal saints to fuel his insane crusade, anything genuine was exceedingly rare and he had his own reasons for searching such objects out, reasons he didn't share with those who only thought the commanded him. Just as it had the last time he'd been part of a German army, it was to serve his own purposes and not the other way around.

"Find it."

He didn't have any imps at his disposal so he sent his shadow to begin the search instead. The dark shape moved along the wall of its own volition and sank into the stone like water sinking into the sand, if the dagger was secreted somewhere within the Schloss then he'd find it no matter how well it was hidden. If it turned out to be a medieval copy then he'd return with it to the capital and graciously accept the Reich's accolades, but if it was real, then his coded dispatch would report that the legend of a blade forged from a sword once wielded by a holy angel was just that, a legend, and nothing more.

Night had fallen by the time Killian went outside for some air, frustrated by what appeared to be a fruitless search. There was no jewelled dagger anywhere to be found and he couldn't sense the presence of anything holy. He'd known the odds were exceedingly slim to begin with, and yet for some reason a part of him had believed that not only did the White Hilt exist, he would find it here. Learning that Rumpelstiltskin had chosen this of all the estates he could have had for a wartime headquarters had only increased that belief, it was too much of a coincidence that the demon who coveted power above all else could be sitting unawares on such a prize.

A single line in an inventory that had been prepared years prior and a photograph even older still. It could be real, or it could be nothing more than a wild goose chase and there was no way to tell without the dagger itself. He'd know immediately, just as he'd known that Emma was an angel. The damned always recognized the divine.

A light appeared high in the sky above and drew his attention up. It wasn't the holy light that had drawn him closer on that night in Rome when war had raged unchecked and the city burned, it was the Luftwaffe, flying on steel wings to rain fire in the form of the bombs dropped nightly across the Channel. A falling star streaking across the heavens with a deafening roar, and as it passed overhead he felt the disturbance in the air even from the ground.

The feeling didn't go away after the plane was gone, if anything it increased, hairs on the back of his neck rising and a prickling under his skin that usually meant one thing. Something else caught his eye, a tiny bit of movement that was nothing but a pale smudge against the deep indigo at first. As it grew closer Killian saw that it was a bird, a dove, with something held in its beak.

Not an olive branch, it was a note, falling straight into his hands while the dove flew away. There was only one who correspond with him in such a fashion, and it wasn't another demon. When he unfolded the square of paper letters appeared as if by magic in gold script, addressed at the top in a familiar hand to, "Damnate."

Killian quickly scanned the lines, his brow creasing with a frown. Once he'd secured control of the castle his plan had been to keep following the trail of the White Hilt if it wasn't there, he had some other leads and records that pointed to where it might have gone and the war was the perfect cover for his pursuit. Now that the Dark One knew of his interest, it was even more important that he maintained his cover and moved as quickly as possible. He wasn't bound to answer the summons he held in his hands, the promise he'd made could easily be broken.

"...as you once agreed to give me safe passage I ask that assistance again of you now…"

"...I need you…"

"...please…"

It was signed at the bottom with a single initial in lieu of a name, E, and he brushed his thumb over it.

His answer was silent to all but her.

Belgian Countryside, 1943

"Someone's coming."

The whispered announcement made everyone freeze for a moment before they hurried to the dusty windows in a flurry of palpable dread, dousing the old gas lamp they'd been using for light and pulling the tattered curtains back to peer out into the gloom on the other side of the glass. Outside it was pitch-black for miles around and silent as a tomb across the barren fields and empty roads that made up the ancient Flemish countryside, with not a soul to be seen nor heard from in days. Or it had been, at least. Now there was a distinctly mechanical hum in the air, quiet and barely audible at first, but growing louder and louder and a collective gasp echoed around the room when the long drive to the abandoned farmhouse where they'd taken refuge suddenly lit up with twin oblong lights. As yellow as the predatory eyes of a serpent poised to strike and moving even more quickly, they were unmistakably headlamps, from a large vehicle that was making its way directly towards them at breakneck speed.

"Soldiers!"

"Germans!"

It was a single cry of alarm that was taken up at once by the rest of the ragged group, white-faced and trembling with both exhaustion and fear. In the shadows Philippe and Richard shared that kind of unguarded embrace that would send them straight to the camps as sexual deviants alongside Isaac and the other Jews who sought shelter under her wings, while the Mother Superior had her arms wrapped comfortingly around little Gretel, as thin and delicate as a baby bird fallen from the nest.

Emma forced herself to her feet despite her own utter fatigue and lurched towards the door, tossing a hurried, "Stay here," over her shoulder as she went.

"Emma, Emma come back!"

"Emma, wait, no, it's too dangerous, you don't know who's out there-"

She heard them, but there was another voice that was even louder and she didn't heed their warnings, already on the sagging porch with her shoes scarcely touching the ground as she practically flew down the steps and flung herself headlong into the path of the oncoming car. The light found her immediately and there was an ear-splitting squeal of metal as the unseen driver behind the wheel slammed on the brakes. Gravel flew from under the tires like shrapnel and the car skidded to a halt scant inches from where she stood, so close that Emma could feel the searing heat from the engine, a shocking contrast against the cooler night air. A door opened and a tall figure emerged, standing just beyond the pool of light with his face hidden under the brim of his hat. His appearance elicited another shriek of fright from behind her when they caught a glimpse of his uniform, the glint of silver on his collar and the armband red as blood. Her little flock hadn't listened and had followed her outside, staying close to their shepherd and bleating in fear like orphaned lambs in the dark. Their presence pulled at her to return while his pushed her back, his damnation attempting to repel away her divinity and she swayed back and forth where she stood, caught between warring instincts until he stepped into the light and there was nothing except him.

"Engel," Killian murmured when she threw herself at him, straight into his arms and burying her face in his shoulder. His voice rumbled through her, equal parts amused and concerned. "Oh blessed one. What have you done now?"

There was a shuffle of footsteps behind her and she felt him stiffen, his attention shifting to the small group she'd guided from the Dutch border and across half of occupied Belgium. Emma knew she should pull herself away and try to come up with an explanation as to why she was embracing what appeared to be a Nazi officer who'd just appeared out of nowhere in a car more suited to a film star than a soldier. It must look like their shepherd had delivered them straight to the wolves instead of the safety she promised and she should step back, reassure them, ease their worry...but her head was too heavy, weighed down with innumerable unanswered prayers that flickered behind her eyes in an endless loop. People were suffering, starving, dying, and it was too much for even her wings to carry. Her fingers curled into the dark wool of his jacket and when they called her name again it seemed to come from very far away. His voice was among them but she couldn't answer, her hold loosening and her knees giving out, buckling like an ancient tree gone hollow with age and unable to withstand the force of the wind any longer.

"Killian."

His name fell from her lips in a whisper and she was falling with it, the hard earth below rushing up to meet her and the heavens above, dark, and devoid of stars.

The demon caught her before she hit the ground.

#cs ff #cs fic #my fic #Between Heaven and Hell

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sugar-petals · 5 years ago

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Hav u done predictive readings for who the boys will end up with & how their career will go etc?

a 2020 career prediction i’ll publish at the end of december! their future partner we’re doing now. i added some angel oracle cards today ♡ those describe the theme of their relationship.

Jungkook: QUEEN OF CUPS

Hallelujah! Oh yeah. That’s an ideal card, picture perfect. The Queen of Cups is quite possibly one of the best partner allegories to have because a) Cups rule smoothness of relationships and emotions and b) she’s a royal card which indicates a highly developed state of mind where things finally come to fruition unlike with the aces and pages. Jungkook will mean so, so much to his partner. That’s a twin flame or soulmate connection we’re talking here. A really beautiful and dignified person, a little touchy feely, but experienced with love. They can really depend on another. Maybe they’re from Busan like him or the shore generally, the sea plays an important role for the Queen of Cups. There are tiny little cherubs on the card, I’m thinking he’ll be treated like an angel. It’s a very healthy relationship that leaves nothing left to be desired. As for looks: It might be a blonde, taller person whose favorite color is blue. There are cliffs on the card that remind me of Cornwall’s coast. The English theme is pretty consistent in his readings lmao we’re dealing with an excellent speaker. And, because it’s a court card with quite abundant imagery, it’ll be a S/O of quite some status. I am sure the person will be known to us already, or at least a big deal within his or her family. It’s queen energy, so the mom friend is right on their way into JK’s heart. Another aspect is that his partner might be rather spiritually inclined — mind you, every person is spiritual, how aware you are makes the difference — or even psychic. Water signs ahead; Pisces, Scorpio, Cancer.

— angel card: “Playfulness — To bring about romantic feelings, allow your youthfulness to shine with delight.”

Taehyung: THE EMPRESS

Yet another powerful female archetype, this reading does not mince words. And also a very wholesome outlook, it’s very similar to the Queen of Cups vibe, or Queen of Pentacles if we’re looking at other tarot suits. I was really happy when I saw this card come out. The Empress almost always signifies kids, the theme is fertility. Taehyung will live a very lavish life with this partner. The card has so much opulence and positivity on it. Nature, food, pillows, ample garments, jewelry, good weather, and harvest time. And, of course, the Empress is fairly curvy, so expect either Taehyung gaining weight in the future or his partner being chubby. It’ll be the good life, in a good place, with the right person. There’s a settled and satiated feeling there. Stagnation could be possible after a while because this card gets too cozy. However, loyalty and a ripe sexual life are like glue to the union so I don’t see Taehyung stress anytime soon there. The card gives me plenty of clues how his home will look like as well, it’s highly decorated and comfortable. Interestingly enough, we see a huge wheat field surrounding the Empress — hence the card symbolizes fertility — so I wonder whether Taehyung’s dream of getting involved in farming will play out. I mean… coincidence? The countryside will take on an important role in any case, maybe with photography as well. Tae marrying a farmer’s girl, who knows! Beautiful card, definitely. It’s a good prospect for him. The Empress is major arcana so, this state of happiness will last him for a giant while and it’s destined. The boy will shed a tear no more.

— angel card: “Attraction — you receive love by enjoying the moment.”

Yoongi: KNIGHT OF SWORDS

It’s the fastest card of the tarot! The power of swords paired with a knight on his speedy horse is quite a combination. Yoongi’s future partner is not going to waste time to charge right into sweet honey boy’s life. We’re dealing with a hothead, athlete, extrovert. I don’t think Yoongi has to do as much as crook a single finger to get things going. In fact, he’s the one waiting it out. He’ll just lean back and poof there is his significant other bursting into his life. Though I gotta say, the Knight of Swords has a detriment and that is: He leaves as fast as he arrives, and you have to be sure of your boudaries. Major burnout dangers there. The relationship might be short compared to say Namjoon’s or Tae’s reading. It’s Yoongi’s part to make this last if that’s what he’s going for. It’s a sword card, there have to be efforts and mental clarity involved to solve the problem. Though, someone rushing towards their love interest with so much passion has a good reason why he or she does that. Yoongi could get snatched away by someone else, with so many people interested in him you really have to be determined. With the archetype being a knight I also know it’s going to be someone younger than him, there’s a certain rebellion to the card. It has military energy. Yoongi’s partner will be one outrageous and direct person. They are 100% unafraid to face off with Yoongi, they have better comebacks than the master of sharp remarks himself. When it comes to sex, Yoongi will probably forget his own damn name after that ride. This person is wild as hell. It’s not a fellow sleepyhead as we saw in the ideal type reading, but a S/O bringing him out of his dreamy world. There’s a strong encouragement for Yoongi to achieve a lot more when he enters that relationship, it’s a power up to be expected here.

— angel card: “Worth the Wait — Divine timing predicates your relationship.”

Namjoon: TEN OF PENTACLES

Nice! Wow. The tarot says Namjoon is blessed. This is the card of wealthy, happy old age. He’s headed right for it already. In all tarot suits, the 10 indicates fulfillment. E.g. the Ten of Cups shows relationship completion because cups stand for love, the Ten of Swords shows total defeat because swords symbolize conflict, the Ten of Wands signifies complete effort/exhaustion since wands represent impetus. So the Ten of Pentacles equals coming full circle in terms of material things as pentacles are responsible for all tangible value in life. He’ll be living blissfully with his S/O. Everything is cared for. We’re talking long-term relationship here. The card shows an old man settled in his favorite coat and spot. Namjoon has a kind of master plan to gently arrive in his 80s, 90s. It’s not a surprise, we know he looks ahead, the tarot is aware of it, too. And yes: He will finally be able to answer his question “Who the hell am I?”. Ten of Pentacles means: Identity found. I had to wipe away a tear for that one man. I think it has to do with the location. The setting of the card is like a polished type of town with castles. A bit Italian, Mediterranean. Not as modern as say Seoul, bigger cities. It could be him moving to a warm country where things are slow, antique, and indulgent. I once said Namjoon has a type of European mindset going on, if he moves there it with his loved one or his partner is European it wouldn’t be shocking. There are two dogs on the card so, Joon will have pets involved in the partnership. The 10 of Coins also shows a couple immersed in a chat. His S/O is primarily someone he can talk to about the world, it’s a very conversation-heavy union. Now, the old man on the card could also show that he finds another old soul— we’ve had that topic come up in the other readings as well, the tarot is sure he’ll meet someone on par. Earth sign energy here.

— angel card: “Love Without Fear — Open your heart to give and receive the highest of energies.”

Hobi: THREE OF PENTACLES

Even more pentacles. Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn is possible. His partner is a darn good team player, their friendship bond is strong. First thing that came to my mind, they’ll build a house together or get busy working around their home in some kind of way, that’s interestingly enough the central theme I get from the card. Distribution of chores and general tasks is a big thing, and they’ll be planning a gazillion industrious things from what I got through the imagery. There’s an abbot, architect/craftsman, and monk seen on that card working on a church wall embellishment. One gives directions, the other has drawn a sketch that illustrates what kind of decor the abbot wants to have on the church wall, and the third guy does the crafting, hammer and chisel in hand. It’s not a love-related card per see so it’s important to point that out. It could hint at some pretty huge artistic collaborations coming our way instead. If you combine that, it could happen in a way like… Hoseok gets with someone he collaborated/collaborates with sometime soon, or a little later. Yup. Chicken noodle soup with Becky G on the side! Their chemistry is amazing and she is so cute, it’s very much possible. Or, in a wider sense, it’s someone from an upcoming project. That’s interesting. It seems quite sure that Hoseok won’t retire after BTS even if he’s pretty damn rich already, he’ll stay in the industry and foster (=embellish) his career with a strategy behind it much like the abbot on the card. We’ll get to know his partnership(s) along the way, but the tarot says it’s not top priority. Pentacles are earth sign energy so Mercury, Saturn and Venus are what will dictate that union, it’s the overall pragmatic energy that’s taking center spot. Also, since the church is so prominent on the card, Hoseok is working towards marriage nine times out of ten.

— angel card: “Fresh Love — A new person has stirred your romantic feelings.”

Jimin: FIVE OF SWORDS

That one is… sigh. The odd one out in this post. How do I put it. It’s a series that just doesn’t break. Jimin constantly gets the messy cards and not so love-friendly swords when I do relationship readings on him. There is something going on and I kind of hate it already. But the tarot is being adamant so we have to decipher what’s going on and see the resolution, there’s more to it than just the cards doing him dirty. The Five of Swords pictures a battle aftermath with a mischievous winner and two defeated parties walking away sore. The winner picks up the weapons left behind to hoard then. So when it comes to his future S/O, we’re talking someone wants to play win-lose with Jimin’s insecurities and will get away with it because they’re strong, sly, and full of themselves. They don’t have his best interests in mind, especially when quarrels go down. Lack of harmony overshadows the relationship. There’s some major bullshit and that’s scary. The partner is like a leech, leaving only Jimin pissed, it’s not a lose-lose situation, things are wholly unequal. Picking on Jimin leaves their ego inflated and intensifies resentment. Working against each other over working with another is going on. Jimin has to walk away from that situation and mend his wounds, and never return. It’ll be a period of growth in his life ahead where he becomes aware just how giving too much and being defeated by that does him no good, as well as learning how to spot douchebags who don’t care about him. The Five of Swords is among the quintessential breakup card, it’ll be what defines his future relationship unless or until he has the grit to stop the fight and search for equity and affection instead of put-downs.

— angel card: “You Deserve Being Loved — You’re worthy of love.”

Jin: SIX OF PENTACLES

Pentacles, pentacles everywhere. I see that the hyungs have some financial themes going on, Jin’s card is emblematic of that. First let’s have a look what’s going on with the imagery. A wealthy man holds a scale on this card. He distributes coins to poor men kneeling before him. It’s an interesting symbol for a relationship, if not for another more important area of Jin’s life which could very well be philanthropy. He is the wealthy man on the card, sharing in just ways as the scale indicates. That could be providing for his partner a lot or simply doing charity together with them. I do have to say, and that is similar to Hoseok’s card, I don’t see too much of a romantic theme here which is surprising, but the tarot knows its ways. Some members might be doing partnerships much later in life or eschew them. With Jin here, I get a sense that business relations and deals will be an overarching theme in the near future. It could be the situation with his dad’s business in Germany the card is hinting at, and if marriage is involved, there’s a major exchange of valuable ideals and things involved between parties. A recurring theme is class difference though, the same popped up in the last reading. Jin’s status will be much, much higher but he can tip things into balance with a fairness mindset, Libra energy. A huge gap will be bridged. Last but not least, mea culpa: I think I’ve been missing the obvious interpretation there. The signs are everywhere in the cards for his readings, and oh my god: Jin is the member who’ll get together with a fan.

— angel card: “Children — Kids will have an influence on your love life.”

#PS: i already pulled the career reading cards this week and i can say #u can def look forward the results were interesting #bts tarot reading #anon #cub mail 🐅#tarot #bts tarot #bts

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loganscanons · 4 years ago

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Jacques & Ursula + Their Relationship and History

Important Side Characters:

Johannes Wendler: Born into a vampire family similar to the Caligos in the 600s. He’s estranged from the family in the 900s. Goes by several different names, but Jacques knows him as Johannes Wendler.

Ruprecht Von Dressler: Born in the 1460s to a wealthy and powerful family in what is now Germany. He’s obsessed with the occult and supernatural. In 1489, he meets Johannes, who initially intends to just toy with Ruprecht. They end up falling in love and Johannes decides to turn him. Ruprecht turns both Ursula and Jacques.

Laura Wood: Jacques’ wife. They marry in 1825. In 1837, Laura is murdered, and Jacques goes on a killing spree before spending the next 16 years being an outlaw.

Jacques & Ursula’s Relationship

They don’t like each other, but they do have that special bond created when two people plan and carry out a man’s death together.

Jacques thinks Ursula is stuck-up, self-centered, and a bitch. She also thinks she’s gorgeous but that’s beside the point. She does respect Ursula, but a lot of that has to do with the fact that Jacques was a servant for the de Bourbon family and less to do with whether Ursula is actually deserving of her respect.

Ursula thinks Jacques is poor and beneath her and not even that pretty, so why did Ruprecht even take interest in her in the first place? Ursula gets more tolerant toward gay people, but she’s still personally offended anytime a gay man isn’t interested in her, and she really doesn’t get why Jacques is interested in women when men exist.

Jacques doesn’t get Ursula’s infatuation with men.

Though Ursula would sooner die than admit this, she does respect Jacques. She’s impressed by what Jacques has accomplished, especially because she’s a servant girl.

Ursula will disparage Jacques and say negative things about her but if anyone says something negative about Jacques to her, she starts feeling little murderous toward that person. It doesn’t usually result in actual murder, but that person is definitely on her bad side.

Jacques doesn’t say negative things about Ursula generally but if someone says something negative about Ursula, she’s usually like “You’re not wrong”

They’re each other’s only connections to their pre-vampire life, and that keeps them on good terms. They tolerate each other and know that the other person would probably (albeit reluctantly) be there for them.

Their history below the cut b/c it’s v long

Becoming Vampires

In the 1520s, Ruprecht suggests to Johannes that they build their own vampire family comparable to Johannes’s original family. Johannes is like “but they suck and also u can’t have kids” and Ruprecht is like “I don’t want kids. We’ll just turn them ourselves and have an army of vampire allies” and Johannes is like “ok bet”

Ruprecht and Johannes turn a few people in the late 1520s and early 1530s, choosing to seduce and romance the people before turning them in an attempt to ensure loyalty and affection from the new vampires.

In 1537, Ruprecht sees Jacques (19) for the first time and is like “I want her.” Jacques has no desire to get involved in the life of a nobleman and ignores him as politely as possible. He can’t get near her bc Jacques’s mother is convinced Ruprecht is a life-draining demon and makes her do a bunch of things to ward him off.

Since he was born a vampire and not turned, Johannes is not as affected by the wards and starts courting her in 1538. Over the next several months, Johannes convinces Jacques to stop taking her mother’s wards so seriously. He presents himself as a servant, and though she’s not actually interested in romance (she’s actually just not interested in men, but she doesn’t realize that yet), she figures getting married is in her best interest and doesn’t resist his advances.

Jacques is a servant for Ursula’s family. While Johannes is busy trying to get Jacques to let her guard down, Ruprecht turns his sight on Ursula (24, almost 25).

Ruprecht starts courting Ursula and a few months later, starts feeding off of her. She believes she’s dying. She laments that her and Ruprecht’s love affair is being cut short by her impending death. Ruprecht reveals that he’s a vampire and offers to turn her so they can be together ~forever~.

At this point, Ruprecht and Johannes have turned several people, and Ruprecht is confident in himself and their little harem. He doesn’t tell Ursula about his other lovers before turning her because stupidly, he’s not concerned about the possible consequences of turning a lovesick, entitled, rich girl.

A couple weeks after turning Ursula, Ruprecht turns Jacques.

Johannes is more careful than Ruprecht and suggests easing Ursula into the idea of being part of a vampire harem. If it had been up to him, they wouldn’t have turned Ursula at all. She’s too volatile.

When Jacques wakes up as a vampire, she’s furious, betrayed, and hurt. She’d always had a lot of internal anger and frustration, but Johannes and Ruprecht didn’t realize that. From the moment she wakes up, she starts planning her revenge. She lets Johannes and Ruprecht introduce her to the harem and pretends like she’s content to be there.

She realizes that Ursula, who supposedly died a couple weeks ago, was likely turned into a vampire too. She finds Ursula hidden in a house that Ruprecht owns, where he’s keeping her until Johannes is confident that Ursula won’t snap if they tell her the truth about the harem. Jacques never interacted with Ursula much, but she knew from other servants what Ursula was like. She tells her the truth about Ruprecht and Johannes and convinces Ursula that she’s on her side.

Ursula is pissed for many reasons. She wants to be the only object of Ruprecht’s affections. She’s also classist and homophobic, so she’s extra pissed that Ruprecht took interest in Jacques, a poor servant girl, and is in love with Johannes, a man.

Jacques and Ursula team up to kill Ruprecht and Johannes. They have to kill a few of the other vampires in the harem who try to protect them, but neither of them are broken up about that. Ursula kills Ruprecht in a very brutal and messy way, making sure he feels plenty of pain before he dies.

Johannes escapes before they’re able to kill him. They spend a few weeks trying to track him down, but they lose his trail and decide to part ways.

Wandering Years

Ursula and Jacques both spend a few centuries wandering. Ursula moves around France, and eventually around other areas in Europe, marrying men whom she inevitably kills.

Jacques searches for a cure to vampirism while also trying to track down Johannes. In the early 1770s, Jacques finds a witch that grants her the ability to survive in sunlight. Shortly after that, she moves to the New England area of the U.S.

Around the same time, Ursula decides to move to the U.S. She’s suspected of murdering her past three husbands and decides it’s best to leave Europe for a while.

Ursula marries a man in Massachusetts. This is the first time since the 16th century that Ursula and Jacques are in the same area. They have a few meetings, but they mostly run in different circles and don’t see much of each other. Jacques is presenting as a man, which Ursula thinks is weird.

Jacques finds out that Ursula has been trying to track down Johannes for as long as Jacques has. Ursula doesn’t hate Johannes the way that Jacques does, but she sees him being alive as their job being unfinished.

Jacques falls in love with a woman named Catherine Williams. When Ursula finds out about this, she’s like “uhh Jacques you know you’re not actually a man, right? How’s this going to work?” and Jacques, in denial about being gay is like, “I’m just playing the part of a man!” but she’s also like “oh fuck this won’t work out what will happen when Catherine finds out I’m a woman” so she dips

Moves westward over the next few decades, living in different towns east of the Mississippi, usually pretending to be a man. Eventually ends up in a small-town west of the Mississippi in 1824, where she meets Laura Wood.

Falls hard for Laura (which she again attributes to just playing the part of a man) and indulges in Laura’s affections. She tries not to let Laura get too close, but she’s super in love with Laura and isn’t good at keeping her distance, especially bc Laura is also in love with her.

Laura finds out that Jacques is a woman. Jacques is fully prepared to flee but to her surprise, her being a woman changes nothing for Laura. They get married in November of 1825.

A few years after they get married, Laura finds out Jacques is a vampire. She’s not bothered by it because Jacques generally doesn’t kill people, just drains as much as she needs to get by.

For the first time ever, Jacques is happy.

Unbeknownst to Jacques, Johannes has been tracking her and Ursula, mostly to ensure he stays out of their way, but also because he loved Ruprecht and wants revenge for his death. Seeing Jacques happy and in love with Laura infuriates him. He disguises himself and heads to the town where Jacques lives. He spreads some rumors about Jacques and Laura, including revealing that Jacques is a woman. In 1837, his rumors result in the murder of Laura and the attempted murder of Jacques.

Jacques goes on a killing spree and kills everyone who was even remotely responsible for Laura’s death. She’s unaware that Johannes had anything to do with it.

She isolates herself for several months, grieving Laura’s death. One day, a group of wealthy travelers get a little too close to her hiding spot and she takes out her anger and grief on them, killing all of them.

The killing feels good, and she wants to do more as a way of coping with her anger and grief. This marks the beginning of her career as an outlaw, where she tracks down people growing wealthy off the gold rush and kills those she considers “guilty.” Her definition of guilty is pretty vague and she’s kinda insane during this time period.

In 1854, Jacques ends up in Forsaken Bluff. She meets Uriel and he helps her work through some of her grief.

Once she’s settled into Forsaken Bluff, Jacques stops disguising herself as a man as often.

20th Century

Other stuff related to Forsaken Bluff happens, but I haven’t decided on that yet so we’re just gonna skip all that.

Jacques helped found SBI, but she hates bureaucracy and is a jaded person in general. She’s not very happy working there and does it because she feels obligated to. Every few decades, she’ll take a decade off of work and isolates herself or obsessively looks for Johannes and/or a cure to vampirism.

In all this time, Ursula has been what she’s always been doing: getting married and then killing the men she marries. In the 1950s, she stops marrying the men she’s interested in. Her relationships get shorter and she kills significantly more men. She has a type and by the 1970s, she’s attracted the attention of the SBI for being a serial killer that goes after wealthy, high profile men.

Because of their weird bond, Jacques warns Ursula that the SBI is on her tail. Ursula flees to France while she waits for things to cool down.

Jacques has a lot of informants around the world, and in 1990, she gets reliable information on the recent whereabouts of Johannes. She finds Ursula in France and asks if she wants to help her track Johannes down once and for all. Ursula is more than willing.

In 1993, Jacques and Ursula find Johannes. Before Jacques kills him, she finds out that he was responsible for Laura’s death. This stirs up the old feelings of grief and anger that Jacques never got over, and she tortures him for weeks as retribution before she finally grants him some mercy and kills him.

Ursula is shocked by how cruel Jacques gets while enacting revenge. When she points that out to Jacques, Jacques is like “oh no I’m a terrible and cruel person I can’t believe I’ve let myself behave this way” blah blah self-flagellation. Ursula is less impressed after Jacques’s “woe is me I’m so awful” speech

After Johannes is dead, Jacques hermits again, isolating herself from everyone for about a decade. She’s grieving Laura again and also having a crisis about herself and how she’s a terrible person and how Laura would be so disappointed in her. It’s very emo and whiny

Ursula moves back to the U.S. in 1994

Jacques returns to work at the SBI in 2004. She’s working just to work at this point. The SBI regularly pisses her off, and she frequently goes against the orders of the SBI. It’s hard to fire her though because she’s been there longer than anyone else and she has a lot of power.

She also has an entire library of encoded information on most important supernatural creatures and many uninfluential creatures as well. She has a lot of information on most people she’s worked with at the SBI. People would rather not cross her

#jacques was supposed to be the side character in ursula's story #that's pretty much been flipped lol #jacques duval #ursula de bourbon #ruprecht von dressler #johannes wendler #laura wood #background #urban fantasy

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praphit · 4 years ago

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CRASH - I promise no race talk

First, let me say that this particular post will be a safe space. No race talk here. Today, we're going to talk a lil "Crash".

This movie came out in 2005; I hadn’t watched it since then. I remembered really liking it. I remembered Ludacris and Larenz Tate stealing the movie as a comedy duo.

I remembered these two ladies:

(Jennifer Esposito - not the best picture of her, and perhaps that’s partly my fault. She is pissed in this scene... probably because the person whom she is talking to is not me :)

and Bahar Soomekh

(Wait, that’s “Saw 3... hmm... she was in “Saw 3″ btw.)

Let me try again -

(Nope. Dammit. Still “Saw”)

You get the idea. These two ladies! Yes!

I remembered watching this movie with my then girlfriend, and thinking to myself "As soon as this movie is over, I'm breaking up with her and seeking these two out, to propose to the both of them - this is my destiny."

I remembered something about Saint Christopher, who is apparently the patron saint of travelers.

He was kinda like an Uber driver (I guess... and by the looks of this depiction, a grumpy Uber driver). He will get you safely to where you'd like to be, as long as you listen to his smooth jazz, questionable philosophies on life, and of course allow him to flirt a lil with you.

Oh, and I remembered Luda getting his ass beat by the dude from "Empire"

- no, not that dude.

This dude - (Terrence Howard).

I believe that anyone who tries to explain what this movie is about will end up sounding like they've had one too many to drink:

"It's about a bunch of people of different races/ethnicities who... have racist stuff happen to them. And they don't know each other, but they're kinda connected... and there's a crash... although it doesn't have much to do with the story... but it kinda does... maybe? Ludacris is in it. He gets his ass beat by that guy from "Empire", but not that guy... the other guy. Racism sucks, bro."

Trying to explain it is similar to how we'll (years from now) try to explain 2020... or Trump being president.

Let's me try to break it down:

Don Cheadle is Detective Graham Waters (what a name).

He deals with a lot of race stuff on the job and in cases. Race stuff that I'm sparing you from today (you're welcome:) Annnnd he's banging one of the women whom I thought would be my future wife.

The first time that we meet HER (another detective), we learn that she's pretty racist.

Side note: Can one be both pretty AND racist? Does the racism overwhelm the pretty face? or vice versa? Would some of us see Trump as being racist, if he looked like Chris Hemsworth?

(and always gave press conferences shirtless)

Sorry, I promised no race talk.

What if Trump looked like this?

Are presidents allowed to get sex changes?

So, Terrence Howard and Thandie Newton have a racist and perverted encounter with the cops.

The more I think about it, the more I blame most of the horrible events that take place in this movie on these two cops (and their superiors). Had they worked by better standards, a lot of the bad things that end up happening in this movie wouldn't have happened. Terrence and Thandie have some race stuff going on within their relationship as well (which I won't be talking about :) Brown people also have race fights; whitey doesn't always have to be involved.

I talked about Luda and Tate already. They're kinda like hipsters in a sense (in spirit). They have a racial commentary/banter throughout the whole movie. They're right about the things that they say (which I'm still not talking about). The prob is that they're also criminals.

Sandra Bullock (who's prob the most racist character in the movie) and Brendan Fraser are also doing their thing in this movie.

They're your stereotypical wealthy white couple. Fraser's character is in politics. There's some juicy race stuff there as well. We'll just ignore all of that.

Tony Danza is surprisingly in this just to be racist. Now, TD is before my time, but I remember him being loveable - no?? That's what makes it weird. Kinda like if Stephen Colbert swung through a movie briefly just to drop an N-bomb or something.

Michael Pena is here, because... he's on the short list of Latinos that Hollywood knows.

I think this movie was his big shot (which he killed). Look him, he’s acting his ass off. His mouth opened so wide... that’s acting! He's also the only character in this movie who's NOT an asshole. He's actually a good guy. Even in the midst of people being very openly racist towards him, he remains calm and collected. He has a daughter who is scared, and so he gives her an invisible cloak that has a supernatural, imaginary ability to make her invulnerable. She then puts it on and immediately runs into traffic... and you know... BOOM!

I'm joking. But, that could have happened. Parents, don't lie to your children.

There's a scene where she does face some danger as a result of this lie. Spoiler alert, she makes it. Maybe it was the power of Saint Chris. Though she appears to be the only one that he saves in this flick. Seems like every time the good ol saint Christopher appears, someone pulls out a gun. Patron Saint of Gun Violence.

Fun fact: Michael Pena is also a scientologist. See, they're not all like T.Cruise - don't be so prejudice:)

Watch, there's going to be a story about some awful scientology weirdness on Pena’s part, the second I post this.

That's uh... not a great summary of the plot. It's an awful summary, actually. If you look up the summary on wikipedia, it pretty much does the same thing I did - just talk through the people involved in this picture.

This movie is like a game of 52 pickup - only the game is played with a deck of race cards.

If you're a person who doesn't think much about race issues, but is open to hearing about them, then this movie will possibly be enlightening for you.

If you're the type of person who has been actively avoiding race talk (and who typically avoids deep talks like that) Then, this def isn't the movie for you.

If you are racist, and somehow keep reading my posts... Imma pray for you, cuz this movie beating you over the head with race is only going to fuel you're... "special, hateful beliefs".

As for me... this time around I was indifferent towards this movie. I can see why I adored this movie back in the day. I enjoy deep talks about this kind of stuff, and we (me and my circle of peeps) prob weren't talking much about these kind of topics, openly, in the early/mid 2000's. But, as a movie... meh.

There is a touching moment when there is a literal crash

wait...

My finding pics game has been way off today.

CRASH!

There's real humanity. Two characters come face to face with mortality, and all of the bullshit is pushed aside in efforts to secure rescue. But, then, after that moment, we go right back to the bullshit. Nothing really changes. The movie notices that they missed a few race cards, and continue on with their game.

I remember tearing up the first time that I watched this movie. I don't know whether my girlfriend and I were fighting that may have caused those tears. Or maybe her breath was stanky with onions (while trying to make-out with me in the theatre) that brought me to fight some tears. Or maybe 15 years later, I've become a heartless SOB, but outside of that crash scene, the only time I was moved was when Sandra Bullock fell down some stairs.

- moved to laughter.

It still makes me laugh. That's my fav part of the movie for sure. I wish that they had ended the movie there.

She's spread out at the bottom of the steps. And then a silent roll of the credits. It would have made just as much sense as the actual ending. She DOES however end up being ok, and less racist, as a result... somehow.

So, if any of you know someone who's super racist ("coughtrump") and notice that they're near some steps... do your part. We'll end racism one flight of stairs at a time.

In the end, this movie is about diverse groups of one dimensional assholes, who complain about everything (even the rich, white people... cuz we all know how hard their lives are), and through sappy music and a lack of learning from some contrived moments, make little progress towards peace.

Totally unrealistic. In real life, we get shit done!

Grade: A/D/A

A for the race talk (which hopefully I was successful in not talking about:)

D for... just about everything else...

... and another A for Sandra Bullock’s tumble down the stairs.

#crash #john praphit #praphitproductions.com #Movie Reviews #Sandra Bullock #brendan fraser #race talk #racism #praphit #michael pena #saint christopher #jennifer esposito #bahar soomekr #racist #black lives matter #ludacris #larenz tate

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saltsyy · 5 years ago

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My JJBA Secret Santa for @gaymiens!! @jjba-secret-santa

Crash the Reception

“Should we go over it one more time?” said Buccellati.

“Just gotta know who I’m gonna shoo—”

“We’re here because Passione thinks the hosts are doing business with another gang,” interrupted Buccellati. “Abbacchio and I will be looking for any evidence of other deals, Fugo, Giorno, and Trish are going to get what they can from the hosts, and you two…”

Buccellati paused, continuing when he received blank stares.

“Backup. Watch for anyone who seems suspicious of us—and don’t shoot. Tell us. This is covert.”

“Of course,” said Mista. “We’ve got the sharpest eyes on the team, don’t we?”

Mista shifted in his seat, pulling his pants down at the inseam. He complained for the first hour of wearing the suit about the tightness of the tie, before giving up when he received no sympathy. Then, he grumbled about white not being his color.

“They’re old money,” continued Buccellati to Abbacchio in the front seat. “So all business is conducted on the estate—which is massive, but I can get you in quickly. We’ve also used fake names on the RSVP, on those cards I gave you.”

“Nervous?” muttered Narancia, leaning over to Mista. Fugo slapped Narancia’s hand away from his gelled-down hair. It had taken half a jar of Giorno’s gel to pull down his messy black locks without a headband, and Narancia was determined to pick at it.

“Because of a bunch of rich people that stand around eating tiny bruschettas?” Mista snorted a laugh.

“I’ve just never done something like this, I guess,” said Narancia. He rested his elbows on his knees and bounced his legs, sending his whole body bobbing.

“Don’t think most of us have,” said Mista. “‘Cept Fugo—and Giorno? Weird, huh?”

“I haven’t gone to wealthy parties,” said Giorno.

“We don’t know anything about you, Giorno,” said Mista after a moment. “Like, where you—”

“The mission,” said Buccellati. Mista slouched back in his seat, pouting his bottom lip out. He adjusted his revolver at its stubborn resting point on the side of his waistband, where it poked his hip. Narancia fiddled with the top button of his blazer. Fugo quietly said something to Giorno before Abbacchio pulled roughly into the curb. He cleared his throat.

“Well, he’s not a limo driver,” said Narancia, receiving an elbow from Fugo as he exited the car. He, Giorno, and Trish stepped out into the early evening first, making no small show of walking through the front entrance. Even from their spot far back on the street, Mista could see Trish quickly finding interested men to talk to. He grinned a little—she was always good at playing up things she had no interest in.

Narancia and Mista were shooed onto the sidewalk next. They introduced themselves to the party with the long names on the little white cards in their pockets. They came up with a story about being eligible bachelors and quickly fumbled any partygoers’ interest on their way to the buffet table.

“This is right in the middle,” said Narancia. “We can see pretty good from here—there’s Giorno!”

“We should stick to the sides, actually,” said Mista, scanning the tall marble walls, broken up by a grand staircase in the center. That one led to the rest of the house, and no way would anyone could walk up it without calling attention to themselves. He brought his gaze back to Narancia, who frowned at him over a growing pile of hors d’ oeuvres on his plate.

“We could eat first. To blend in.”

Mista’s grumbling stomach agreed, and he followed Narancia into the line. He picked up a small crostini in his fingers and examined it; it seemed to have prosciutto and figs. He caught the gaze of a repulsed guest across the table as he put it back, and used the tiny tongs laid by the plates of food next time.

“Tiny bruschettas!” called Narancia a little way down the table. Mista joined him, settling into one of the small, raised tables around the buffet. Narancia had put every fruit and fried food available onto his plate, and Mista had stuck with a selection of meats. Mista stole a croquette from Narancia’s plate, who complained loudly.

“You can have something off mine,” Mista offered.

“I don’t like tripe,” pouted Narancia.

“They didn’t have tripe,” commented Mista. He grabbed a slice of fried scamorza between his thumb and his fork before holding it up to Narancia’s face. Narancia gazed at it for a moment, before turning his face a little to the side and sputtering an excuse. Mista bobbed his hand in Narancia’s face, and Narancia finally took the bite from him, turning redder. Mista ignored the own red undoubtedly on his face.

“Is it good?”

Narancia nodded silently. Mista sat back to let him pick at his plate.

“Should we look around?” Narancia asked suddenly. Mista nodded.

“Nervous about something?” he said, repeating Narancia’s question from earlier.

“No, not about the mission…” muttered Narancia before turning on his heel into the crowd. Mista struggled in his dress pants to follow Narancia’s fast pace. They made it to one of the massive room’s walls after a moment.

Mista spotted Trish’s group on one of the platforms around the room. They lounged around a statue of a man curled in on himself, talking with a man and woman that he dully recognized from the files Buccellati had shown him.

“Those three have found the hosts, and I guess Buccellati is in the house if we haven’t seen him,” observed Mista. Narancia took a drink from a passing waiter and swirled it in the glass, taking a sip. He wrinkled his nose and Mista giggled, taking the glass from his hand. His own sip wrinkled his face up as well.

“Oh, it’s bubbly,” said Mista. “Champagne.”

Mista turned his back to a plant sitting on a table along the wall. He gazed around before cautiously dumping the drink into the soil behind his back. He continued a slow circle of the room with Narancia, waving his hand for a moment about how they should focus.

He entirely lost that idea when Narancia’s arm brushed against his and he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let his knuckles brush against Mista’s.

“Could this be like a date, y’ know?” said Mista, continuing to look forward. He cleared his throat at the silence from his partner. “Little finger foods, dressed up nice, we can get drinks…”

They paused beside a tall window. It had already grown dark outside, and Mista watched the way his shadow moved next to Narancia’s, where the light from the window was thrown onto the pavement.

“I wish you had your hat,” said Narancia.

“Don’t remind me,” Mista groaned. “Why?”

“So I could hold it up when we kissed,” said Narancia. He was blushing furiously when Mista caught his gaze.

“That’s what it’s about?” laughed Mista. “You’ve been blushing all night!”

“You said it was a date first!” insisted Narancia. He was shocked into silence as Mista pushed him back, behind the curtains pulled away from the window. He felt Narancia’s warm breath on his face as they moved closer together, surrounded by the heavy fabric.

“How about now?” said Mista. His shaky voice betrayed his bold words. Narancia reached up and met his lips anyways, wrapping his arms around Mista’s neck. Mista closed his eyes after a moment, crooking his neck downwards. Narancia pulled back like he’d realized his actions, eyes wide.

“Something you had tasted good,” said Mista. He leaned in a second time, turning his head and letting his hands fall down the other’s waist. He pulled back and ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “The orange slices.”

Narancia snorted and tore his way out of the curtains. Suddenly, Mista had followed him back into the bright lights of the chandeliers and raucous groups of people.

“The mission, right?” said Narancia. Mista screwed his mouth into a frown and began following Narancia again, pressing up against him whenever he stopped so Narancia had to giggle and bat him away. They reached an inconspicuous spot of marble wall, and suddenly Buccellati was next to them. He ignored the way Mista was pressed against Narancia’s side.

“Have you seen anything out of the ordinary?”

“No,” Mista answered truthfully. As much as he’d fooled around, he’d kept a decent eye on the guards standing at specific doors. None of them had responded to any particular message at once or taken off to another part of the building.

“Tell Fugo’s group to get to the car,” said Buccellati. As he mentioned their name, he scanned the crowd for three bright heads of hair and found them quickly, very interested in what the hosts had to say. He pursed his lips before leaving back through another small zipper. Mista was sure no one around them had even noticed the finely-dressed man appear from a wall.

“Can you even get drunk off champagne?” Mista complained as they fielded their way through the crowd. He pushed another man in a suit jacket and loosened tie away from him. The room was only getting louder as the evening went on.

Narancia found Giorno first, nudging him away from the platform before a shrill voice carried over from the statue.

“Cosimo, do you know these two?” an excitable woman exclaimed. From this distance, Mista could definitely tell she was the woman in their pictures—a few drinks in.

“Yes, our drivers,” said Giorno. He laid a hand on the woman’s. “I’m afraid we need to leave.”

The woman moped, finding another drink on a passing tray and holding it out to Giorno as she sputtered for them to stay. He graciously turned it back to her and pulled the group he had arrived with away as she was distracted.

Mista didn’t realize how hot the room had become until they made it onto the grand front steps. He made to strip off his jacket in the cooling night air when Fugo laid a hand on his shoulder.

“We’re not in the clear yet,” he said quietly. Mista groaned, loosening his tie as much as he dared, and trudged back to where the limo waited at the curb. Buccellati was a silhouette in the front seat, and Abbacchio leaned on the hood with a cigarette in hand. As they approached, Narancia threaded his fingers into Mista’s, and Mista bit his lip to hold back a wide, crooked grin.

#my fic #ok to rb #jjba secret santa

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blue-collects-things · 7 years ago

Note

i would really love a reddie oneshot where they practice kissing and it's just cute and fluffy!!

Five Times Richie Kisses Eddie and One Time He Doesn’t Have To

Eddie Kaspbrak x Richie Tozier

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: swearing, a very slight panic attack, a little bit of angst because our losers have issues they’re going through (but mostly fluff)

Author’s Note: I’m back!!! Thought you could get rid of me? Not that easily. I plan to get back into writing by finishing up some requests that I’ve gotten during my hiatus before picking back up with YWISC and some of my other original ideas, so keep an eye out for them! Anywho, I absolutely adore 5+1 fanfics and your prompt was perfect for it, nonnie. I don’t know if it’s exactly what you want because I threw in a little itty bit of angst, but I still enjoyed rereading it while editing. Also, I know that Frogger wasn’t out until the 80s. So let’s just do a little time jumping and act like this takes place during the movie timeline. That means that The losers are going to graduate in the 90s. Enjoy!

Read it on ao3

The first time Richie kisses Eddie, it happens to be on a sunny Thursday afternoon in March.

“Truth or dare, Eddie,” Ben says from across the circle. Currently, all seven of the losers are in the Barrens, spending a much needed day off from their senior year together. They sit cross-legged, knee to knee, in the midst of the grass, talking and playing games. However, when Bev had suggested they play truth or dare, Eddie was less than thrilled. But Richie dragged him down in the circle and forced him to play. It’s not that he’s embarrassed to admit something to his friends, it’s how close in proximity Richie is to him. It makes him feel the need to keep his hand tightly grasped around his inhaler just in case his lungs suddenly decide to give out.

“Truth,” Eddie blurts without thinking. Good job, numb nuts, he thinks to himself. Now you’ll for sure be embarrassed.

Ben, being the sweet person he is, can’t think of anything truly embarrassing to ask Eddie. Or anyone for that matter. So he simply says, “Who was your first kiss with?”

Eddie’s eyes widen so that his whole iris can be seen. He actually does begin to panic a little. He brings the inhaler to his mouth to take a puff, but thinks better of it.

“C-c’mon, Eddie,” Bill says from the other side of Richie. “It c-c-can’t be th-that ba-had.”

Eddie draws in a shaky breath and looks up to the sky to avoid eye contact with anyone. “I’ve never actually, you know, kissed anyone before?” It comes out as a question even though he’s entirely certain of the fact. He expects teasing in any and all forms, but none comes.

But Richie does say, “Wait, really?”

It’s a valid question, but it causes Eddie to get angry. “No, Rich. You’re on fucking Candid Camera. There’s a hidden camera over there.” He points off towards one of the bushes in the area, but nobody looks. He rolls his eyes and stands from the ground, brushing off his jeans. He has to consciously keep himself from running from his friends. He hears Mike and Stan shouting at the rest of the group things like “Good job” and “Way to fucking go.” He gets all the way to Kansas Street and his bike before he hears someone coming after him.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eds,” Richie says, cresting the hill. He bends over, hands on his knees to catch his breath. “For a little guy, you sure move fast.”

Eddie works his bike out from the heap the losers made with their bikes. “I’m aerodynamic,” he says sarcastically. “And don’t call me that.” He finally gets his bike out and he starts to push it away when Richie grabs his wrist.

“Hold on,” he says, face completely serious. “Why did you run?”

“I didn’t want to get made fun of. I know everyone else down there has had their first kiss and it just sucked,” Eddie responds quietly.

They are both silent for a while. Finally, Richie speaks up: “You must think we’re pretty shitty friends.”

“What?” Eddie asks, thoroughly confused. “Of course not.”

“Then why would you think we’d make fun of you for something as trivial as a kiss?” Richie responds. He takes a step closer to Eddie and puts his hand on the handlebar of his bike. Their fingers end up overlapping and Eddie feels like he actually can’t breathe. “I could- I could teach you.”

Eddie’s head snaps up at break-neck speed. “What?” he asks again stupidly.

“I could teach you to, um, how to kiss,” Richie says. Eddie almost doesn’t believe his eyes when Richie turns the exact same shade of red as the tomatoes in his mother’s garden.

“You would do that? Is this some kind of joke?” Eddie is suddenly on the defensive. Typical Richie, he thinks, always trying to pull a fast one.

“What? No. I’m being serious,” Richie responds, the honesty in his voice making Eddie shiver. “Just close your eyes. I’ll do the first one.”

Eddie does as told and shuts his eyes. He can feel his heartbeat everywhere. His fingertips, his ears, his nose, even his knees. He senses Richie getting closer and he thinks his lungs actually will stop working. After all this time of harboring a crush on his best friend, it was finally going somewhere. Even though that somewhere was “kissing lessons” because Richie felt bad for Eddie. He felt Richie’s breath on his lips just before the distance was closed.

His first kiss was… awkward to say the least. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he kept them firmly planted on his handlebars. All he did know was to keep his eyes closed, so he did. The kiss was essentially Richie touching Eddie’s lips with his own and holding them there for a few seconds. Regardless of how strange and how short it was, Eddie walked away from the Barrens with a dopey smile etched onto his face.

ii.

The second time Richie kisses Eddie happens only a day later.

All seven losers plus Mike’s boyfriend Sam are gathered around the TV in Eddie’s living room after school watching movies that Bev rented. He, Richie, and Stan take up the couch. Mike and Sam are squished into the large chair that Eddie’s mother usually inhabits. Bev, Ben, and Bill sit on the floor in front of the couch, Bill leaning against Stan’s legs. Snack bowls and drink cans were strewn about the room even though they had yet to start a movie.

The first one Bev picked was one called Dial M for Murder. The movie doesn’t sit well with Eddie. He watches on in muted discomfort as a man plots to kill his wife but doesn’t succeed. Eddie absently grabs at Richie’s arm when the man’s hired murderer gets stabbed with a pair of scissors. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Richie look at him with amusement.

The second movie is House on Haunted Hill. Eddie recognizes the main character is played by Vincent Prince. He was the actor who starred in House of Wax, a movie his cousin had forced him to watch that scarred him for life. He can only feel gratitude for Sam as he makes comments throughout the whole thing about how every special effect was done. He buries his head in Richie’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to look at the body of a wealthy woman dangling from the ceiling. Richie shifts so that Eddie can comfortably hide without craning his neck.

Lastly, and most out of character for Bev, she chose Singin’ in the Rain. This is a movie Eddie can get behind. All of his friends laugh and even sing along sometimes. In the last scene, he watches as Debbie Reynolds and Gene Kelly himself share a kiss in front of the sign advertising their film.

After three consecutive movies, Ben and Stan decide to call for pizza. Bev and Bill race for the bathroom, Bev claiming that her “lady issues” take precedence over Bill.

“C-come on, Bev,” he protests. “I di-hidn’t need to know th-th-that!”

Eddie rolls his eyes and laughs as he makes his way to the back porch for a breath of fresh air. It’s only a matter of seconds before the porch door slams again and Richie joins him, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Eddie leans against the railing and watches the sun stain the sky orange and pink as it sets. The two are silent as Richie lights up. Eddie can tell that his best friend is watching him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks, a cloud of smoke rising from his mouth.

“Oh, nothing important,” Eddie responds, not bothering to take his eyes off the skyline. There is nothing farther from the truth. Eddie is currently thinking about the kiss from Singin’ in the Rain and the kiss Richie gave him and just how badly he wants to kiss Richie again. He looks over to see Richie staring at him. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Richie stamps out the butt of his cigarette on the porch and steps closer to Eddie. “Come off it, Eds. I’ve known you since the diaper days. You’re thinking about something important. I can see the smoke coming out of your ears.” The sentiment along with Richie’s matching hand gestures make Eddie laugh.

Then he realizes just how close Richie has gotten. He feels his eyes drop to his best friend’s lips and flick back to his eyes. This time, Eddie’s eyes are open when Richie kisses him, but soon they flutter closed. It’s better than the last time because Eddie actually has an idea what’s supposed to happen. Although, Eddie has no idea where to put his hands. Richie grabs at them and puts them on his waist. Eddie gasps as his fingers accidentally slip under the hem of Richie’s t-shirt. Richie laughs against his lips and pecks Eddie once more before quickly drawing away.

Eddie’s eyes are still closed dreamily when he says, “Let’s go back inside.”

Richie chuckles. “Yeah, sure, Eds. I’m sure the pizza will be here soon.” He puts an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and starts heading for the front door.

Eddie subconsciously snuggles into Richie’s side. “Don’t call me that.”

Richie brings out his mobster Voice: “Whatever you say, boss.”

iii.

The third time that Richie kisses Eddie, it’s by accident.

The two, along with Mike and Sam, had decided to go to the arcade after school one day. Eddie was having fun despite the arcade being a cesspool of germs. The group had more or less broken up as soon as they stepped in the door so they could each play what they wanted to. Eddie had looked at a few of the consoles and decided to play Frogger, something that seemed a little more his speed than the fighting games that Richie is so fond of or the racing games that Mike dominates.

The first few times he plays are duds, his high score only reaching nine. But this time, luck seems to be on his side. He keeps getting more and more. It doesn’t last very long, but now his high score is forty-two! He tries one more time, fitting his last quarter into the slot. He took a deep breath to focus and started to play.

During this game is when a young girl comes up to the machine to call next and sees how well Eddie is doing. “Wow!” she exclaims. “Good job!”

Eddie barely registers that she’s spoken and continues to play while mumbling a ‘thanks’. The girl runs to her big brother to report how well this boy is doing. He walks over to the machine with her, eyes the near-triple-digit number on the screen, and gets his best friend to watch. Soon, a small crowd has gathered around Eddie to watch him play. The word had spread all around the arcade to the point that most of the patrons and even the freckly teenager running the prize counter had come to witness Eddie’s impossible game.

Richie, Mike, and Sam had caught up and were looking for Eddie when they saw the huge commotion in the center of the arcade. Richie asks one of the kids in the back what’s going on.

“This kid is totally demolishing Frogger!” he responds enthusiastically. “Woo!”

Richie muscles his way forward to see if he can find Eddie somewhere in the crowd. He looks down at the people’s faces, not seeing his best friend anywhere. And then, he’s at the front of the crowd and spots him. At the console.

“Go Eddie!” Richie says, breaking out of his stupor. He shouts and whoops, the crowd following suit.

None of this seems to phase Eddie. He just keeps playing, the score rising into the 4-digit territory. All he does is concentrate and hope that his butterfingers won’t accidentally screw this up. He plays for another ten minutes without messing up. The crowd starts up a chant of his name, Richie, Sam, and Mike leading the pack: “Ed-die! Ed-die! Ed-die!” He smiles, but still doesn’t chance a look up.

Finally, he messes up and causes the frog to lose one of his lives. The crowd makes a mixture of noises, an “ooh!” or a hiss expelled through the teeth. Eddie isn’t stopping though, because he’s got two lives left. The number in the corner of the screen flicks to 5 digits, making everyone absolutely lose their minds.

He messes up again, causing himself to only have one life left. Now he begins to get nervous as the crowd of watchers literally bite at their nails. The score is now 6 digits long and everyone is in awe. He’s already beaten the high score, it’s just a matter of by how much.

He messes up one final time and it’s game over. Even though he lost, the crowd cheers, chanting his name once more. He turns around and pumps his fist in the air, shouting, “Hell yeah!” Mike and Sam rush over to life him on their shoulders as the chanting continues. When they let him down, the machine is still spitting out his massively long chain of tickets.

One of the little boys who had fronted the crowd says, “Mister, you gotta put your name in!” and points at the screen. There’s a cursor blinking in front of his score, a whopping 432,189, for three characters. Eddie thinks momentarily of putting his initials in, but then catches a glimpse of Richie smiling encouragingly at him and types in EDS.

The crowd begins to disperse, some leaving, other going back to their games. Sam and Mike bunch up Eddie’s tickets in their arms and start to feed them into the counting machine. Richie runs towards him and scoops him up, spinning him twice until he’s giggling.

“Amazing!” Richie shouts. He looks Eddie in the eyes and places his hands on either side of his face, planting a kiss on his mouth. This one lasts only six seconds, maybe seven, but it feels like an eternity to Eddie. Richie’s lips are warm and only slightly chapped. They both open their mouths, Richie’s tongue slipping inside. Eddie can taste the cigarettes and sugary banana chewing gum that he’s so fond of. They both pull away at the same time, Richie going red in the face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Eddie cuts him off, “No. It was…” Fantastic, amazing, exhilarating, his mind supplies. More, his heart interjects. But aloud he only says, “nice.” They grin at each other before Richie slings arm around Eddie’ neck and ruffles his hair. “Stop it, you dickwad!”

Richie raises his arms in surrender, but sends a wink his way. Then he turns towards the two boyfriends still counting. “Mike! Sammy! What’s the hold up? The Frogger King needs his prize!” Eddie just rolls his eyes as he feels his heart grow.

iv.

The fourth time Richie kisses Eddie, a month has passed.

It’s nearing one in the morning when Eddie hears the soft tapping against his window. He forces his eyes open and blinks a few time, an attempt to make himself less sleepy. He focuses his ears, listening for the sound to happen again. When it does and he’s sure the noise wasn’t a product of his semi-conscious state, he raises from the bed, taking the duvet with him and pulls his blinds apart to peek outside. There, standing in his yard is a tall, lanky figure that Eddie knows all too well.

He cracks the window open and whisper shouts at the curly-headed person, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Can I come up?” Richie whisper shouts back, a slight strain in his voice. That irregularity instantly puts Eddie on edge. He nods and shuts the window before dropping his blanket and rushing down the steps to the front door. His best friend stands on the porch as he opens the door and ushers him inside. Eddie notices immediately that Richie is curled in on himself, shoulders tight and arms hugged to his midsection. His brow is furrowed also.

“Come on,” Eddie says, extending his hand. Richie takes it, allowing himself to be led up the stairs and into Eddie’s room. He kicks off his ratty sneakers and lays on the bed, knees drawn into his chest and eyes shut painfully tightly. Eddie climbs in next to him, urging him to scoot towards the headboard so he can cover the both of them. Richie does so with the least amount of movement he can get away with and it worries Eddie. His best friend, usually a loudmouthed, vivacious, and energetic person, seemed to be ill in one respect or another. “Do you want to talk about whatever happened?”

Richie’s only response was to nestle into Eddie’s side, placing his head on Eddie’s chest. Eddie is shocked and wills his heartbeat to slow so Richie doesn’t hear it, but still places his hand on his best friend’s head. He slowly runs his fingers through the curls and hopes that it’s calming. Now that there’s so much contact between the two of them, Eddie can feel Richie’s trembling and realizes that he’s crying. That’s when he starts to panic internally.

Richie begins to speak before he can do anything, his voice gravelly and thick with tears: “My mom was out again tonight. She came home drunk off her ass and stumbling around the front yard. I had to get her inside like usual, but this time she was so drunk I literally had to force her into her bed. My dad- my dad didn’t even care, he just stayed asleep.” Eddie grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers, as Richie takes a shuddering breath before continuing. “I asked her if she new my name or even who I was and she just looked at me. She finally said “You’re my nephew, right? Randy? Robert? Roger?” I- I went off on her.” He lets out a strangled sob.

“Shh, shh,” Eddie shushes him. “You don’t have to tell me.”

But Richie just keeps talking through his tears: “I told her she had to get her act together, that she was so hammered she didn’t know her own fucking son, and that at some point I’m not going to be there and dad doesn’t give enough of a shit to make sure she hasn’t choked on her own vomit. She started to cry and I ran like a damn coward.”

“Look at me, Richie,” Eddie says, a stern tone filling his voice. He forces two fingers under Richie’s chin to make him look up with his big, beautiful, brown eyes and even bigger glasses. Eddie removes these before speaking and wipes away a tear with his thumb. “You are not a coward. There’s nothing wrong with wanting a mother who cares. Until she gets her shit together, you’ve got Ben, Bev, Mike, Bill, me, hell, you’ve even got Stan.” Richie chuckles a little and sniffles. “We’ll be your family because we love you.” Because I love you, he thinks.

“Can I kiss you?” Richie asks suddenly. Eddie nods, not fully in control of his actions but not disagreeing with them either. Richie pushes himself up farther and places his lips delicately on Eddie’s. He can feel the slight waver still in Richie’s and pushes himself to be confident.

This kiss is slow and sweet and lasts for what feels like hours. Eddie puts a hand to Richie’s cheek and wipes away remnants of tears. He tastes the salt from them on Richie’s lips. This one is the gentlest of the kisses the two have shared. From both of them, there are only tender lip touches and quick pulses pounding at their throats. They kiss until they can’t breathe and must pull away from each other, but not completely. Their breaths mingle together as they gaze at one another, full attention on the other person.

“We should go to sleep,” Eddie says, his voice coming out in a whisper. They adjust themselves so that they’re laying flat in the bed. Richie’s head is still on Eddie’s chest, but this time his heart beats only slightly above his average rate. They wrap their arms around each other, a reminder that they’ll be together for the night.

“Goodnight, Eds,” Richie says sleepily.

“Goodnight, Rich,” Eddie replies, eyes shuttering closed.

The fifth time Richie kisses Eddie, they’re not alone.

The losers club and Sam are gathered in Bill’s dining room, preparing for game night. The monthly tradition that had started in their youth had become a staple in their lives. It got brutal and always competitive between the teens, especially as they got older and smarter. This month, it’s Bill’s turn to host and supply food.

Outside, the rain is pouring down in sheets. It puts Eddie on edge, being in this house while it’s storming outside like that. He shivers as he watches out the window.

“Eddie!” Bev calls. “We’re about to start and you’re on my team. Get in here!”

Eddie shoots one final look at the water streaming down the road towards the drain, a chill creeping up his spine, and turns to join his friends. They play through a game of charades, Sam and Ben winning by about ten points, before the thunder starts. Eddie, Bill, and Mike jump, taken by surprise at the sudden sharp noise.

“Ooh, I hate that,” Mike remarks uneasily. Everybody chuckles tensely, Sam included, because they all know. The pain is still fresh for some, but what they went through when they were eleven scares everyone. Eddie can feel his face contort into an expression of grim remembrance.

“Let’s keep going,” Richie interjects into everyone’s thoughts. When Eddie looks up, Richie is staring at him. His eyebrow shoots up in question: Alright?

Eddie nods subtly as he is dealt a hand of cards for Go Fish. He is winning significantly, six pairs on the table in front of him, when a flash of lightning lights the windows. Eddie’s eyes grow to the size of saucers and his breaths quicken to the point of near hyperventilation. He knows he’s being irrational but he can’t help thinking of the horrible things that happened some seven years ago. It’s just a storm, Kaspbrak, he has to remind himself. We killed It. Nothing more to worry about.

“Eddie, are you okay?” Stan asks.

Eddie’s eyes are clenched shut as he lets out the last of his labored breaths. “Yeah. Yes. I’m fine. Just a little- jumpy.” Nobody at the table believes him, but they don’t want to work him up into an asthma attack, so they let it go. Eddie ends up winning having gone out with eight groups on the table. Richie jokingly accuses him of cheating before reaching across Bill to ruffle his hair.

Ben checks his watch. “Almost nine-thirty. Do we want to play one more game?”

“Yeah,” Bill says, grabbing for the Battleship box. “You’re all welcome to stay the night.” There are choruses of “thanks” and “sounds good” as a few people rise momentarily to call their parents. When everyone is back at the table, they split into teams of two. Bill, Ben, Eddie, and Sam on one team, Stan, Bev, Richie, and Mike on the other. This game lasts the longest because no one can sink anything on Eddie’ team. It was Ben’s idea to cluster all their ships together since not one person on the other team would guess their strategy.

Everyone’s less jumpy and more involved in the game when the power goes out. Eddie immediately cannot breathe as his mind fills with the nightmares that usually only haunt him in the wee hours of the morning. He swears he can hear the drip drip drip of the gray water in the sewers. He’s not sure if he screams or not, but if he had to bet he’d say yes. He shuts his eyes tighter than ever before and grabs at the table edge with a death grip. He distantly hears his friends shouting for him to look at them, to snap out of it, but he can’t. There is a shout from Richie for someone to grab his backpack and Eddie can hear him rustling around in it for something. He briefly lets go of the table and searches frantically for his inhaler in his pants pockets, in his hoodie, in the fanny pack he still carried, panicking more when he can’t find it, envisioning it in his mind’s eye on the table in the entry hallway. In the back of his memory, the image of his leper comes up and he hears the laugh of It, taunting him. He sees all the blood, his friends hurt, the leper, the werewolf, the mummy, Georgie-

“Eddie!” Richie’s voice commands. He doesn’t open his eyes but feels Richie’s hand delicately touch the back of his head and jams the spout of an inhaler in his mouth. He pushes the trigger once, twice, three times and waits for Eddie’s breathing to start again. “Eddie, open your eyes.”

He opens them slowly. In his panic and confusion, someone must have brought out candles because there are two lit on the table. It’s a miracle he didn’t knock them over and set the whole fucking house on fire. He glances around nervously at all of his friends. Stan is crying silently and he sees Bev is too. Mike is breathing about the same pace as he is, which is to say far too quickly to be healthy. Finally, his eyes slide to best friend. Richie grabs at his hands and puts them on his chest. “Feel my breathing. C’mon, Eds.”

But Eddie just can’t. “I-I-I saw It. I heard It! What if we didn’t kill It? What if It’s still down there, lurking and biding It’s time before another kill? What if another kid gets snatched? What if it’s one of us? God, I can’t of this again. I’m losing my fucking mind! What if-”

Suddenly, Richie’s lips are on Eddie’s. He doesn’t understand why, but it effectively shuts him up. This kiss only lasts a few moments, but it does the job. Eddie is breathing normally and his heart no longer feels like it’s about to take the jump. Richie is a constant in Eddie’s life and that thought calms him considerably. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. When Richie shoots his eyebrow up skeptically, he adds, “I mean it this time. Do you carry my spare inhaler?” Eddie can’t help but ask.

“Just in case,” Richie responds, he notices that he hasn’t let go of his hands.

When Eddie looks around a second time, everyone in the room has a look of mild shock on the faces. “What?” This breaks everyone out of their gaping stance as they rush to sit down or leave the room entirely and say “nothing, nothing” as they scratch the back of their necks. Eddie shakes his head at them. “Sorry for freaking out.”

“We get it,” Stan says, his voice still tight with tears. He walks towards Eddie and wraps him in a blindingly tight hug. “We’re here for you though. Talk to us, don’t bottle it up. You’re not a burden.” The others pile in for the hug and for the first time in his life since fifth grade, he feels truly safe.

Graduation creeps up unexpectedly on the losers and when it finally does come, they aren’t the least bit prepared. Yes, they know where they’re going to college and what they are studying, but they aren’t ready for the drastic change in their way of life.

This is all that Eddie thinks about as he poses with his various aunts, cousins, and even his grandma as his mother snaps pictures of him in his graduation cap and gown. After what feels like the fiftieth picture, he snaps, “Mom! I told my friends I’d meet them in ten minutes on the other side of town to take pictures. I’ll see you at the ceremony.” He feels bad for blowing up at his mother, so he gives her a quick peck on the cheek before removing his robe, leaving the house, and laying it along with the mortarboard delicately in the backseat of his car.

He drives to the newly constructed bridge over the lake and parks. He can hear his friends in the distance, laughing and shouting, enjoying the last official moments of their youth. Eddie smiles a bittersweet grin as he grabs his cap and gown to join his friends. He crosses to the middle of the bridge when Stan and Richie spot him.

“Fucking finally!” his best friend says. “Eddie Spaghetti is here now!” The loud announcement has gotten the attention of the rest of his friends. He takes the time to look over all the beautiful formal outfits the losers club has picked out.

Bev rushes over to give him a hug. She’s wearing a delicate, form-fitting red gown that drops to her knees. The off-shoulder straps allow everyone to see the heavy dusting of freckles that cover them and with her black pumps on, she’s the same height as Eddie. “You look beautiful,” he whispers into her ear.

“You look snazzy, too,” she replies once she lets go. She yanks playfully on the spring green tie his mother picked out. “Look at you, matching with trashmouth.” Eddie’s eyes dart to Richie who is still standing by Stan and immediately lock onto the near identical bowtie he’s wearing.

“Unintentional,” Eddie says to Bev. She just smirks at him and walks away. He looks around once more, noting that Mike, Stan, and Bill are all wearing black suits with pristine white dress shirts, the only difference being their tie colors. Ben looks dapper in his navy blue suit accompanied by a baby blue dress shirt and cerulean bowtie.

“Alright, ladies, let’s get this show on the road!” Sam calls out, brandishing a camera and gesturing for them to get in one spot. He offered to take pictures for his boyfriend and their friends even because he had graduated a year earlier.

All the losers put on their caps and gowns for the first picture. They stand in a line looking at the camera and smiling. After one nice picture, it all goes to shit. All of them had removed their graduation garb. Somehow, Bev ended up giving Stan a piggyback ride, Mike and Ben were threatening to throw Richie over the edge of the bridge into the lake below, and Bill and Eddie had ditched their suit jackets due to the increasing heat, their suspenders hanging limply by their sides. All the while, Sam’s camera clicking can be heard.

“One more, one more!” Sam shouts. The losers regroup and stand in the same formation as before, though a little more bright eyed and smiles a little wider. The camera snaps once more before Sam instructs them to get to the auditorium before they’re late. The losers split up between the three cars, Sam taking Mike, Bill taking Stan, Bev, and Ben, and Eddie taking Richie. They take their sweet time loading their gowns into the backseat of Eddie’s car and are the last set to leave.

Before either can get in the car, Richie speaks up: “You look really good. Handsome, I mean.” His hands are buried deep in his pockets and eyes downcast, but Eddie can see the blush lighting his best friends’s cheekbones.

“Thanks, Rich,” Eddie replies, struggling to keep his own blush from showing. “You clean up good.” Their eyes meet over the car and Eddie feels an overwhelming surge of emotions for Richie. The words are tumbling from his lips before he can stop them: “What are we?”

Richie has a deer in the headlights look in his eyes, caught with no chance of escape. “What do you want to be?”

Eddie rounds the front of his car so they can speak properly to one another. “I asked you first.”

His best friend takes in a deep, grounding breath before speaking. “Honestly? So much more than friends.” He lets out a breathy, nervous laugh that makes Eddie feel all sorts of things. “I’ve had the biggest, gayest crush on you for God knows how long and I’ve never had the balls to talk to you about it and the “kissing lessons?” Yeah, can’t say I’m proud of that one. I just didn’t know how to get your attention and I did the only thing that I could think of on the spot. I’m really sorry that I took advantage of you like that, but I’m not sorry that I finally got to kiss you. Wow, I’m making this a lot worse and I cannot stop talking-”

“Oh, shut up, you big idiot,” Eddie says lovingly, having heard enough and pulling Richie towards him by the lapel. He kisses his best friend with as much energy as he can muster. Hands fisted in Richie’s jacket, Eddie is finally the same height as his gangly friend. Richie grabs Eddie by the suspenders and drags him even closer, a hand drifting upwards to caress Eddie’s cheek. Eddie nips at Richie’s lower lip, gaining access to his mouth in the process. He tastes like cigarettes, as always, but underneath that is the taste of mint. When they finally come up for air, they’re both gasping. Eddie leans his forehead against Richie’s, breathing in the same breaths. “You’ve always had my attention. It was you I thought was unattainable. And there’s nothing for you to be sorry about. Jesus, all this fucking round and round and we could’ve been dating this whole time.”

“You want to date me?” Richie asks incredulously.

“Of course,” Eddie says simply. He places another, shorter kiss on Richie’s lips before returning to his side of the car. “Let’s get going. My mom would actually kill me if we skipped.” The two climb into Eddie’s car, driving towards the high school. Richie carefully intertwines their fingers, receiving a huge grin from Eddie. Even though they are about to officially graduate and be free to do as they please in the world, they are certain about one thing and one thing only: that they will be together.

And for now, that’s enough.

~ ~ ~

This took a very long time to write and I sincerely hope you enjoy it. To the incredibly patient anon that requested this: bless your soul. I wish I had this kind of patience. Got a request? Submit one here. See my masterlist here.

#I LOVE MY GAY SONS #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #stan uris #bill denbrough #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #bev marsh #it 2017 #the losers club

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