#a perfect bagel can shine on its own

[iloveyou8600]

i love egg sandwiches but i am vegetarian and also don,t like cheese so i only add veggies and spices am i valid

oh my god hell yea. **as long as its on a roll, in my opinion, but i know thats a regional thing. Might i suggest if u havent already gotten a hashbrown on yours, you do that. for texture. <333

[athomewithlauraandpepe]

**Laura and Pepe’s Guide to De Beauvoir**

From the moment I strolled past the vibrant Hectors on a crisp autumn evening while on my way to view my flat, I knew De Beauvoir had captured my heart. Nearly 18 months have passed since then, and I've had the privilege of calling this enchanting pocket of London home. In that time, I've explored the diverse and delightful establishments that dot the neighbourhood, each contributing its own unique flair to the tapestry of De Beauvoir.

**EAT**

*SWEET THURSDAY* - Indulge in mouthwatering pizza, pasta, and delightful salads at this gem. Whether you choose to dine in or opt for a takeaway via online ordering or Deliveroo, be sure to try the Pesto Dip—it's an absolute game-changer. And don't forget to explore their fantastic selection of natural wines in the bottle shop.

*THE TALBOT* - Immerse yourself in the cosy gastropub vibes of The Talbot. With a consistently excellent menu and a roast that's nothing short of exceptional, this intimate spot also boasts a selection of meticulously crafted cocktails.

*THE HUNTER S* - Affectionately known as the 'porn pub,' The Hunter S is a haven for delectable pub grub and roasts. Don't miss their honey mustard sausages—my personal favourite. It's also a fantastic spot to bask in the summer sun on their outdoor benches.

*DE BEAUVOIR ARMS* - Surprise, surprise—more delicious pub food awaits at De Beauvoir Arms. Their memorable roast, especially the incredible chicken gravy, has secured its place in my heart. Whether it's a laid-back weekday evening or a weekend lunch, DBA never disappoints, offering a tempting £8.50 lunch menu on weekdays.

**DRINK**

*HECTORS* - This lively spot holds a special place in my heart, as I first spotted it while viewing my flat. The outdoor buzz, come rain or shine, complements a curated collection of natural wines, making Hectors a perennial favourite.

*THE SCOLT HEAD* - While it rightfully deserves a spot in the 'eat' section, I can't help but categorise it under 'drink' due to the sheer fun it exudes. Many unplanned nights out have stemmed from the infectious vibes at The Scolt Head.

*DUKE OF YORK* - What sets Duke of York apart for me is its ambient lighting—vintage French style that creates the cosiest atmosphere. Beyond the aesthetics, they also know their way around a good cocktail.

*ROSEMARY BRANCH* - Despite being in the 'drink' section, Rosemary Branch is renowned for its soulful atmosphere. Known for a great roast and the occasional piano accompaniment at 4 pm, it's a delightful pub that transcends expectations.

**BRUNCH**

*DE BEAUVOIR DELI* - A renowned spot for a leisurely brunch, De Beauvoir Deli offers a cosy setting, even during winter when you can snugly sit outside with a blanket. With a regularly changing menu, it's perfect for a sit-down meal or grab-and-go options like bagels and coffee.

*BOBO & WILD* - Nestled on the edge of De Beauvoir, overlooking Shoreditch Park, Bobo & Wild is a go-to for a tasty brunch. Friendly staff and a comfortable ambiance make it an excellent spot for both indulgence and productivity.

**COFFEE**

This section, perhaps unsurprisingly, is the most extensive, reflecting the abundance of excellent coffee spots in the area. It's worth mentioning that, although I'm not a coffee drinker myself, my friends who are enthusiasts confirm the delightful quality of coffee in the below. I will however highlight the things I love about these establishments as I go.

*DE BEAUVOIR DELI* - Beyond its delectable British fare, the Deli's vibrant scene outside and a hatch for takeaway coffee make it a morning go-to. Don't miss the Dusty Knuckle cinnamon bun—a personal morning ritual.

*DE BEAUVOIR WHOLEFOODS* - Right across from the Deli, Wholefoods serves up more than just groceries. A hatch offers coffee, hot and cold beverages, baked goods, and sandwiches. My personal favourite? The Turmeric Latte.

*BATCH BABY* - Embracing a hip and trendy vibe, Batch Baby, located in the Rose Lipman building, offers a cosy space that doubles as a perfect spot to work.

*2&4 VINTAGE* - Enjoy your coffee surrounded by beautiful vintage pieces at 2&4 Vintage. Maurice's fabulous collection adds a touch of charm to your coffee and cake experience.

*52A COFFEE HOUSE* - Selma's beautiful coffee shop on the corner of Southgate and Downham Road boasts a cosy atmosphere and an extensive selection of delicious cakes and brownies.

*MIRA* - Opposite The Hunter S, Mira stands out with its charming tiles that read 'Milk, Eggs, Butter.' Offering basic staples and salads, it's a fantastic spot for a quick coffee fix. My personal favourite? The homemade cake.

**DO**

*ROSEMARY BRANCH THEATRE* - Inside the pub where I once spotted Greg James, the Rosemary Branch Theatre hosts a variety of performances and community experiences, ranging from theatre and comedy to live music and workshops. Keep an eye out for the upcoming festival of female, femme, and non-binary-led clowning and comedy called 'Look for the Woman,' starting on March 1st.

*JAZZ @ SCOLT HEAD* - Every last Thursday of the month, the back room at The Scolt Head transforms into a jazz club with Peter Werth and his Jazz Crew. Having recently discovered this hidden gem, I'm committed to making it a regular occurrence. The experience is truly incredible, and booking a table is a must.

*REGENTS CANAL* - Embark on a scenic journey along Regent's Canal. Head left towards Haggerston, London Fields, and eventually Victoria Park to discover seasonal gems like Towpath and bustling markets like Broadway Market and Victoria Park Market on weekends. If you turn right along Regents Canal, you'll find yourself in Angel, with Camden Passage being my favourite spot in the area.

[escaped-goat]

🍅Tomato Post🍅

(You can toss them at me later, once you've read through this. No, I'm not taking constructive criticism. I only take cash or credit).

I've loved everything about this game so far. But there's this... deep and sinking sensation that won't leave me, like gripping, seeking, sightless dark roots stretching out from the shadow curse itself. But since there's so much discourse happening with Larion-critical fans, I've been put-off at the idea of sharing.

So instead of talking about it like the dumb, graceless twat of a bagel I am, I'm going to write it like a level 6 Bard crouched over a desk, covered in ink, somewhere in the corners of Baldur's Gate.

Because damn it, I want to share my own grievances, but even the most well-spoken of our Fandom can't seem to get through the waist-deep and resin-thick piety that surrounds the adoration of a franchise.

So I'm gonna do it with my thespian breeches on and write to you with all the sighing emotional romanticism of a lost Baldurian artist. Strap in, you gnoll-headed-dumps! Cuz it's a long one!!!

🍅

It is said that you can sense the heart and love of a person's creation through direct interaction with their work. The very seams of their breath unraveling with the slightest prod of finger to vein and vein unto bone. There, underneath the glamour, is truth lain so plainly bare before curious eyes.

Playing this incredible labor of love from Larian has changed and influenced so many of us. Each experience is unique, and I understand that my words won't ring true to all who read it. It may ring even less true to those who have infinitely more skill and understanding of data mining than I ever will. But I beg of you to hear me, sit with me, discuss with me. Because I am nothing if not open to perspectives and acutely aware of how small my own mind and world can be.

It is thus I speak and in my heart I beseech your company and sway of heart and mind, standing as one amidst you. Not as an enemy against you. Spare my flesh and keep my blood, if that is to be pennance. But on my knees, I beg. See the quivering sickness in the branches of those lovely trees, whose colors bewitch you so. For nothing on this earth could ever be so perfect without its own slinking, ravenous sort of madness.

My friends, my companions, my kin- hear me. Guide me. Seek me and find me with hands open and hearth warm. Know that a seat is here for you in comfort, placed with love by the fire, never in malice.

For of all the stories we have read, of all the tomes we have lifted whose covers were laden with dust and worn with age and pain alike, we know and respect the hands that wrote them. Lived them. Even created them. The heavy turn of pages with every spoken interaction, leading us well into the darkness of our own minds. Grasping blindly at empty air before us for the promise of something deeper than our sorrows; somewhere the pain has yet to reach.

These stories have shined for us, as they have for our ancestors and theirs before them, as stars in the night sky. Each bright flicker of celestial light breathing hope and guidance, never leaving us, even as the moon fades into slumber every cycle.

Stories teach us. Stories bind us. Entrance us. Entreat us. Are us. Stories are the whispers of a lifetime written in blood, whispered between the endless sigh of pages shifting by the firelight. Each traced letter dancing along the many lines speaking truths we could never possibly confess out loud.

Our creations hold us, as we have held them at the moment of their conception. They bear our mark upon their leather-bound brow as they stand, upright and proud, on those shelves of time. On those slowly ticking avenues of life.

My kin, my kind, my friends, my companions. Know that differences in alignment or belief do not alter the core of what we are or where it is our blood is lain to rest as it writes endlessly about our loves in the final, dark night. Know that each eye gazing upon this message, each ear tracking its music, each finger tracing its edges, are all of the same weaving of blood and bone and ash.

Beyond the bindings of our pages and the color of our ink or quality of our paper, we are, all of us, still stories. Even those left unwritten are not denied a purpose so loving, though they dwell not on the shelves- cut before their time.

My kin. My kind. My friends.

Our souls know such strange things without notice. Our souls gather threads where our minds cannot. It is in our dissatisfactions and discomforts that we come away with spools and weave for ourselves a meaning. Each woven tapestry may be different, but the threads are always the same regardless of where they've tangled upon searching fingers.

Errant stitching catching at your feet by an open door will trip you up if you are walking, and will stagger you just as well if you are crawling or snag you as you are shifting upon your belly. The fact of the matter being that the errant thread was present at a doorway and caught us all the same. Jumping over the rough hewn hem it comes from does not change the fact that it is still there. That it may yet trap your limbs or cause your fall on the way back without your notice.

If many of us point to the carpet and say, "Look here! The stitching is loose! Pray, watch your step," then it is only said in observation. None of us besmirch the good name of the carpet weaver nor sneer at his profession. Even our elders at their most skilled can still spill a goblet of wine on a good cloth of white. None are spared from folly. It is no dishonor to notice or mention it as such.

Know that observing, noting, pointing out, and bringing the eye to something troubling is just that- a neutral observation of mutual interest and experiences.

Thus, it is with BG3. Many of us have looked upon the waylaid lines here and there and acknowledged its effects as a whole. Loving the design of the carpet does not put you in the wrong simply because there are errantly sewn stitches amidst its interwoven beauties. None condemn the observer for their love of its craft, nor should they, simply because of its imperfections.

Doubly so for those whose keen eye or register of heart caught the imperfection or found themselves tangled beneath it. Careful seekers and finders whether intentional or no, should not be lashed for their observations. For it is not by their hands that the seam has been ripped.

We find imperfections because all that is worth loving is imperfect. Because we are imperfect. When things in our brief and tiny cosmic space mirror this, we are entranced with devotion and covet its study for generations to come. It becomes our focus and our muse for which wisdom and life are exchanged in a slow-burning kiss.

Because even in this, something both fictional and dear, our greatest fatal flaw reflects itself back to us: We search, constantly, for meaning.

Meaning of our suffering. Our loss. Our joy. Our hopes, dreams, dalliances, and duties. We cannot leave things to be as they are. For we are painted with an awareness, a conscience, that speaks as no other creature does. If there is no story woven between the stars above our lingering minds, we fear falling prey to that yawning chasm within.

BG3 has given us a tome larger than the space it occupies on polished wooden shelves, written so deep between the endlessly shifting pages, that it is all we can do not to lose ourselves in it hopelessly. It is art we have interacted with by pressing our veins over its own and finding an echo of our heartbeat within. Love exists there. Even in its throes of black-lacquered imperfection, it exists still, no matter how many eyes, ears, or hands engage and mark for others to see.

Please know that in my journey I, too, have traced those same striations even as I attempted to blind myself to them. That the frayed edges and gnarled, streaking threads needled by less gentle hands across Gale and Wyll's stories have struck my heart with unease and grief. That the immaculate embroidering of more adroit fingers gilding the stories of Astarion and Shadowheart, or the sweeping enchantments of color and hue of Lae'zel through the swath of greens and golds, mock and swallow the piteous stories around it.

It is not in malice we speak over the open pages. It is not with poison on our tongues that our unhappiness is relayed. It is not condemnation spitting from wrath that causes our hands to falter along the feather-light murmur of shifting pages. No, it is grief that colors our understanding. Brief and gripping anger that slowly melts and pools into empathy for those whose stories are much like Gale and Wyll's. Knowing that if our stories were ever to be written by those same hands which nicked and frayed its beauty, we would also be disgraced and forgotten. Our stories marked as unworthy of telling by the fire. Our agonies and woes belittled or misunderstood. Callously cobbled together so that even our joys would reflect but the shallowest of puddles, muddied between rock and dirt.

In creation, we search for meaning. In that search, we seek to find ourselves. It is a pain both unbearable and confusing when you siscover that aspect of your core mirrored before you in the open world; finding it to be a mockery of those who understand it so little.

My companions and my kin. Sit here, beside me. By the warmth of my hearth to the comfort of your chilled hands, I speak. Many of our stories do not just mirror those written in this art. It IS our story. We mourn the kindness ill-offered in the lives of those we have observed, as we have experienced. And it is a tragedy to the soul to catch the ragged threads that bear our experiences and find them unloved, still. That so many others who felt it before us agreed to its treatment- denied its care. Knowing that these same aspects of us would be unwritten or miswrittent if ever our own strength should perish before the ink has dried upon our still-empty pages.

You cannot sneer and jeer the bonds from a heart that seeks meaning. Once it has latched with its grasping, desperate fingers to the hem of that most wretched existence, it is a great effort to dislodge. Reality and fiction blur at the edges of such a watercolor life that humans live.

A human will find just as much love and meaning in an experience that is real as much as it is imagined. The lessons we teach through our profession or our creations will mark the world all the same. A fictional clump of details crafted on a simple canvas will hold as much meaning in its lesson as a professor relaying the importance of it.

In creation we seek. In creation we find. We connect and bind and heal with every new illusory pass of the needle through the tapestry of our own stories.

What we find is a reflection of our realities, be they good or bad. And what those reflections croon back to us, repeating its message upon our lips, is never less than a truth we are all but too willing to share. For we can only repeat that which we understand, because to repeat is to have heard or experienced once before. Anything else is newly discovered.

So in this message, I speak unto you with compassion and companionship, seeking your hand in mine, so that we may speak warmly by the emberous log,' crackle, of our differences in perspective. In the hopes that I, too, may gain a page from your tome, so carefully written by your own hand. For I would only ask for your ear or your musings if it were given freely. I would never seek to pry it from your heart.

Come. Sit by me.

Know that we are one and that our troubles need not divide us within this safety and space. For truly, we are of a kind, gazing upon the quiet splendor of BG3 and its many creators, continuing to search for meaning between the cavernous covers that hold the world we lay in.

🍅

(No editing/revising. We die like Rolan in the shadows).

[dohabarloun]

Savoring the Flavor: Discovering the Best Brunch in Astoria, Queens

Nestled in the heart best brunch in astoria queens borough of Queens, Astoria has earned a reputation for its rich cultural diversity and a thriving food scene that reflects it. While Astoria boasts a wide array of culinary delights, it's the brunch scene that truly shines. Let's embark on a gastronomic journey to uncover some of the best brunch spots this vibrant neighborhood has to offer.

Cafe Boulis

Our brunch adventure begins at Cafe Boulis, a cozy and unassuming gem that transports diners to the Mediterranean with its Greek-inspired delights. Indulge in a classic gyro sandwich, perfectly seasoned and wrapped in warm pita bread, or opt for something sweet like their heavenly Loukoumades (Greek honey donuts). The laid-back ambiance and friendly staff make this spot a local favorite.

Milkflower

For those in search of a more contemporary brunch experience, Milkflower is a must-visit. Known for its wood-fired Neapolitan pizzas, this spot also boasts an innovative brunch menu. Try their breakfast pizza topped with eggs, pancetta, and fontina cheese, or savor their avocado toast served on homemade bread. Pair your meal with a craft beer or a specialty cocktail for the full Milkflower experience.

Queens Comfort

If you're in the mood for comfort food with a creative twist, Queens Comfort is the place to be. This diner-inspired joint serves up dishes like the "Elvis" pancake stack with bacon, bananas, and peanut butter, or the famous "Mac N' Cheese" pancakes. The eclectic decor and quirky menu make Queens Comfort an unforgettable brunch destination.

Brooklyn Bagel & Coffee Company

While the name suggests Brooklyn, this beloved establishment has made its mark in Astoria as well. If you're craving the perfect New York-style bagel, Brooklyn Bagel & Coffee Company delivers. Customize your own bagel sandwich with a wide variety of spreads and toppings or opt for one of their signature sandwiches, like the Astoria Panini.

Sanfords Astoria

For a classic American brunch experience with a touch of elegance, Sanfords Astoria is the go-to spot. Their menu boasts a range of options, from the classic eggs Benedict to more adventurous choices like lobster mac 'n' cheese. The ambiance is refined yet welcoming, making it a great choice for a leisurely weekend brunch.

Ditmars Station

Ditmars Station brings a touch of sophistication to the Astoria brunch scene. This chic eatery offers a well-curated menu featuring French toast brûlée, smoked salmon benedict, and other gourmet delights. The cozy outdoor seating area is perfect for enjoying your meal on a sunny day.

Wrap-Up

Astoria, Queens, is a brunch lover's paradise, where you can explore a wide range of culinary traditions and flavors from around the world. Whether you're in the mood for Greek-inspired cuisine, artisanal pizzas, indulgent comfort food, or classic American fare, Astoria's brunch spots have it all. So, as you plan your next weekend outing or catch up with friends over brunch, be sure to explore these fantastic eateries that make Astoria a foodie destination worth savoring.

[juletheghoul]

Oblivius Chapter 10

We've come to the end my friends.

This is the last chapter for Francis & Spills and hopefully you'll enjoy it. I have had such a great time writing this story and have received so many lovely messages & asks about my two dumb idiot babies.

Although this is the end of the main story - you can always send in an ask about them because I will literally jump back in at the drop of a hat. (and who knows, might randomly drop a chapter / dabble if I get into my feelings)

Thanks for sticking with me!

Likes & reblogs are appreciated

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Pairing: Frankie x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Fluff & general cuteness, Smut 18+ - dirty talk, p in v sex (NO MINORS + WRAP IT UP) language *time jump at the end - which has a little surprise* (let me know if I missed anything)

Masterlist Series Masterlist Prev Part Playlist

--------

Age: 29

He knew he shouldn’t have been nervous, but he couldn’t help it.

He was working on his feelings for her, on coming to terms with his hurt and his anger. Once the initial burn of it cooled he could admit to himself that they’d both been utterly stupid. Both were to blame for how things shook out.

He knew this was the right course of action. He knew from the way he felt right at this moment, getting ready to pick Spills up for their first official date. He’d never once in the whole time he’d been with Claudia felt like this.

He had decided to keep it simple. Dinner and a movie. Can’t fuck that up and after everything that had transpired, he needed simple. It had been a couple of weeks since their conversation and things were a little awkward at first - trying to navigate this new dynamic but their conversations had gotten more comfortable. Both of them agreed to make the first date official.

He couldn’t help but smile as he made his way over to her place, even though his stomach was in knots. Even though a small part of him was terrified to fuck this up. Nothing could be sadder for him than for this not to work and have them drift apart but when he saw her rushing over to his truck all the doubts and worries melted away.

Of course this’ll work. I love you.

“Ready?” He asked and the smile was bright on her face when she climbed in and buckled her seat belt.

“Of course. Where are you taking me?” She ran her fingers through his hair and he could have purred, the touch felt so right.

“To our place.” He pulled out and made his way over to Marcellos.

--

The food was just as good as you remembered. The two of you found your rhythm as you ordered your meals and when they came he wasted no time in tasting your food and offering his plate to you. You sighed at how your heart swelled. This was so easy - so natural and you kicked yourself mentally over and over for not opening your mouth earlier.

You’d been afraid that things would be awkward after your talk and at first it was. The conversations and texts were weird, impersonal and almost forced but after a little while it was easy to fall back into your friendship.

It was so easy because you were friends. You already had the solid foundations for this to work and you were going to put everything you had into it.

You laughed, and you ate, and you enjoyed each other's company - forgetting the time and when he ordered the tiramisu and two forks you smiled big.

“I already bought the movie tickets, so we should leave soon or we’ll miss the previews.” You told him as the waiter cleared the table.

“You did?” He was surprised. “What movie are we watching then?” He asked as he paid for dinner.

“I picked a horror movie, looked terrifying.” you pulled out the tickets and he laughed. Kissing your hand as he walked you out of the restaurant.

--

He paid for dinner, so you bought the movie and popcorn. You made it with enough time to get good seats in the middle of the theatre, for the best vantage point according to him. In reality you didn’t actually care where you sat.

He lifted the divider as soon as the two of you sat, making sure you could tuck yourself into his side at the scary bits and you wasted no time getting comfortable. His arm was around you reassuringly as the trailers started, the two of you whispering a bit too loudly, deciding what was worth your time and what wasn’t.

You tucked your face into his neck at the jump scares, asking in whispers if it was okay to look. You could feel the rumble of his chest when he laughed, not unkindly. Felt him kissing your forehead softly when it was okay to look.

Despite having already kissed before, despite having had sex once before - this felt so intimate. You looked up at him to find him already smiling at you, your heart racing at the closeness. At the tenderness on his face.

You kissed him. Petal soft and chaste at first but he deepened it, his big warm hand coming up to rest softly on your cheek. His tongue tasted like popcorn and sugar and you couldn’t help but smile into it at first. The movie forgotten, the fear morphing into warmth and desire for him. As far as you were concerned - this was your first real kiss, and it took your breath away.

The rest of the movie was spent with your head on his shoulder. His hand steadily rubbing your arm and his nose buried in your hair and you couldn’t remember ever having a better first date.

---

You left the theatre quietly, the walk back to the truck was a leisurely stroll. Both of you smiling to yourselves as you held hands, your other hand holding onto his arm - you couldn’t get close enough.

He walked you to the passenger side, pressing you up against it to kiss you again quickly. You could see that he was taking every opportunity to press his lips to yours and you let him. Both of you quiet, breathless and giddy. You didn’t need words. Not for this.

After placing a couple more onto your neck and cheeks he remembered himself, and opened the door for you, running around the truck to get in. His hand found its way into yours on your lap as he drove you home.

He walked you to your door and asking him to come in was on the tip of your tongue but he forestalled. Speaking before you could ask.

“I’m coming in to check every corner so you aren’t scared.” He followed you in, closing the door behind him as he spoke. “But I’m not staying over, as much as I want to. I want to take this slow.” He was looking at you and you could have cried, not from disappointment, but from regret. Regret at having wasted so much time - regret that it took so goddamn long for you to get the courage to tell him how you felt and he must have seen the emotion on your face because he was holding onto your face in a flash. Cradling your jaw softly.

“What’s wrong Spills? Did I go too fast?” His brow was furrowed and despite your happiness the regrets swallowed you whole, you couldn’t stop the first few tears from falling.

“No no! I’m sorry. This was perfect and I just- I feel bad that we waited so long and I wasted so much time and we should have done this so fucking long ago.” You couldn’t stop the sob from clawing it’s way up your throat as he held you and he sighed loudly. Pulling you into the crook of his neck within the soft glow of your home.

“No - stop honey. Stop crying please - this isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have blamed you for everything. We’ve both been absolute idiots and maybe if we’d talked about this like grown-ups years ago all this bullshit could have been avoided, please stop crying.” He kissed your forehead as you clung to him. The smell of his clothes, the feel of him against your skin - his voice in your ear. It was all home and the longer he held you the better you felt.

“Listen, I was angry and hurt but the more I think about it the more I realize that we’re both to blame but it’s okay because we’re starting again right?” He pulled away to tilt your face up to look at him.

“We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be and this is going to work. It’s going to work because as far as I’m concerned you’re it. You’re the only person for me and I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Do you understand? Forget everything and focus on this.” He was looking at you so intensely it was hard not to cry all over again. “Tell me you understand honey.” He kissed your cheeks, one after the other.

“Yes, I understand. I feel the same way about you Francis.” You smiled a watery smile up at him and he returned it.

“Good, now I’m going to check before I leave- kiss you goodnight and then we’re going to go out again.” And he did.

—

“Good morning!” You climbed into the truck after putting your beach bag and your cooler in the back. His face smiling at you brightly as he leaned over to you, lips pursed. You kissed him and he handed you your hazelnut coffee.

“Good morning honey.” His good mood was shining through as he pulled away from your home and drove towards the beach, just the two of you. “Did you bring me breakfast?” He kept looking over to see if you had anything for him, which of course you did.

“Of course - open up.” You put the buttery bagel half in his mouth and he ate it with gusto.

---

The day was gorgeous, absolutely perfect for the beach and he set about getting the blankets and the umbrella ready for the two of you. You watched him, savouring the sight of his deft hands making quick work of everything.

“You’re staring at me Spills.” He said it with a smile on his lips and you didn’t look away.

“Yes I am.” You couldn’t help but match his tone - he turned to you then and leaned in to kiss you. He kissed you at every turn and you cherished it, you loved the way he showed his affection for you. He was a physical creature and he luxuriated in being close to you.

“Good.” He smiled as he handed you the sunscreen and once you'd finished, he made himself comfortable against you. He chose to sit with his back pressed up against your chest, between your legs - despite having laid out his own towel.

--

You were floating.

The water was enveloping you, lapping softly at your skin as you let it carry you. The sun was shining and you had your eyes closed to shield you from it. You had gone into the water first while Frances read but now he was there too, always an arms length away but it wasn’t close enough and you both fell back into your usual rhythm of splashing and teasing until you were wrapped around each other.

You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself up against him. Even in the cool water, his skin was warm and you felt as he wrapped your legs around his middle. His hands started at your waist, but they quickly moved down and held onto your ass. You laughed.

“What are you doing Francis?” You asked it with a smile, these days it felt like everything you did was with a smile.

“I’m holding onto you Spills.” He was nuzzling his nose into your neck, placing little kisses around your collar bones and up the column of your neck to your ear. You hadn’t had sex since the night before his wedding, the two of you agreeing to take it slow but his hunger for you was becoming more and more evident as the weeks rolled by. His hands roaming a little more each time you were together.

“Onto my ass?” You looked into his face, cherishing it.

“That’s right.” He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, wanting to be closer, always closer. “Do you not want me to?” He smiled lazily - biting at your ear playfully.

“I never said that.” You breathed out the words, he was affecting you and you had to remember that you were in public. You fell into a comfortable silence. The two of you happy to float in the water as well as your happiness alike.

“Francis?” You were staring out into the water as you spoke, your head resting over his shoulder.

“Hmm?” He was resting his head on yours, eyes on the shore.

“Promise me we’ll live near the ocean one day.” You rubbed his back, tracing lines into his skin with pruny fingers.

“I promise, one day we’ll have a little house by the ocean. You’ll be able to hear it when the windows are open.”

The two of you floated out there for a long time, peaceful and quiet and in love.

—-

Your hand found its way into his curls on the way home, the salt water always defined them and it was too inviting to ignore. He never minded.

His hand found its way onto your lap and the two of you were connected the whole way.

“Come in. Park the rustbucket and stay over.” You didn’t want him to leave, not yet. You were ready for the next step in your relationship.

“Are you sure?” He asked even though he was parking the truck.

“Yes, we can order in.” You smiled a smile that had nothing to do with food.

“You’re gonna kill me Spills.” He was hurriedly unbuckling his seat belt, he wanted this just as much as you did and you couldn’t get inside fast enough. When you were finally inside he almost tackled you. Crashing into you with a bruising force, mouth insistent and unforgiving in its need for you.

“I want it in my bed.” You were pulling his shirt off as you pushed him towards your room and he growled.

“What do you want, baby? Tell me.” He was pulling off your shirt, undoing the top piece of your bathing suit as you finally got him into your room.

“I want you to fuck me. Make me cum like you did before, make me feel good.” You pushed him onto the bed and straddled him. He wasted no time and within a few seconds your nipple was in his mouth. Your grip on his curls was tight as you held him close to your chest. His tongue a slow swirl around the pebbled peak of your breast. First one, then the other. He was ruthless in his teasing, sucking roughly and then biting softly.

“You want my cock baby?” He was kissing your chest as he held onto your ass, your clothed core pressed up against the stiffening pillar of his sex. The arousal was a burning coal in the pit of your stomach and every time he pulled you closer it burned hotter. Your cunt ached for him, drooling out your passion into your underwear, the threads of you unspooling for him at your entrance.

“Yes, give it to me - please.” You bit at his neck, tasting the salt of the ocean on his skin and he moaned. You used the momentary distraction to pull off him and finish undressing. You helped him pull off his swim trunks and you pulled him into your shower, both of you were still covered in sand and you wanted to wash the day off him.

His body curled around you as you turned the shower on. His cock was hard and pressed up against the cleft in your ass. His hands were around your waist, holding onto your belly; your breasts. Anything and everything he could get his hands on and you both laughed as you got into the shower. You dragged him under the hot spray, helping him wash the salt and sand from his skin and his hair and he did the same for you.

Once you were clean he pressed you up against the wall, the cool tile against your nipples made you hiss and he pulled your waist toward him, one hand on your back to tilt your pelvis enough for him to slide in.

“Can I fuck you like this baby?” He leaned forward to press a kiss to your neck. You wiggled your hips against him in response.

“Yes Francis, give it to me just like this - please.” He groaned as he rubbed his cock through your folds, even under the spray he could feel how wet you were and he slid in to the hilt. His pelvis flush with the plump skin of your ass. “Fuck, I feel so full - you’re so big.” You smiled at the groan he let out at your words.

“You’re so tight, feels so fucking good.” He snapped his hips, fucking into you hard and fast. Both of you so keyed up that this wouldn’t last and you knew it. “That’s it baby, take it. Just - like- that.” He held onto your shoulder for leverage and you reached down with one hand to rub at your clit.

“Yes, make yourself cum, soak my cock.” He pulled you up holding onto your breast as he split you open on his dick.

“I’m gonna cum…” Your orgasm crashed into you, making you clench around him while he sped up, chasing his own high and you felt it when he groaned into your ear. Felt him emptying himself into you.

—-

You were both naked, laying in your bed in the fading light of the sun. His head was resting on your chest as you played with his hair.

“I'm starving, have you seen my phone? We should order a pizza.” He got up and looked around and for a moment you couldn’t believe that your Francis was walking around your place naked. Even though he’d fucked you in the shower, even though he’d fucked you in your bed; made you cum with his fingers and his mouth and his cock. Your pleasure seemingly more important than his.

“I think you dropped it onto the counter when we came in.”

He came back with it in his hand and ordered your usual order before dropping it onto your nightstand.

“We have forty minutes until it gets here.” He smiled darkly as he crawled up between your legs and despite everything you’d done, you flushed, wrapping your arms and legs around him lazily.

“Better make them count.” You kissed him, and he did.

When the pizza finally came you needed another shower, which you took together. He stayed the night, and never went home again.

——

Age: 30

“Francis, wake up honey, happy birthday!” You were kissing his face, pulling him softly out of sleep. He groaned and smiled as he buried his face into your hair. His hand travelled down to grab at your ass. Even half asleep he pawed at you, making you laugh.

“Mmmph, sleep.” He mumbled onto your skin. Soft and pliant on the bed you shared.

“Francis, come on - get up so we can celebrate.” You pulled him away slightly so you could pepper his face with kisses, something he loved. “Come on baby, get up, I have a few surprises for you.” You ran your fingers through his hair. It was getting longer and you loved it like this.

“Are you naked?” He didn’t open his eyes but you felt his wits sharpening.

“No, that's later, I have other surprises for you, three of them. Hmm?” You waited a few minutes and he opened his eyes.

“Alright alright, I’m up. What’s the plan?” He yawned and stretched.

“The plan is they’re coming to get you in about half an hour so get dressed.” You got up out of bed pulling him up with you.

“Who?” He was lost.

“Your surprises.” He frowned and then it dawned on him.

“Pope? Benny and Will?” His eyebrows shot up in shock.

“Yes! They’re on their way so come on, up up let’s get you ready, they’re taking you out and then we’re going to have a big dinner.” He was moving on his own now and you could see how happy he was.

“Did you set this up?” He was brushing his teeth and you nodded.

“Yes I spoke to Pope a few weeks ago, thought it would make you happy to have them here for your birthday. They’re going to take you out for the morning and then we can meet up at your parents place for a big dinner.” You smiled at him.

“You’re not coming?” He frowned despite his joy at seeing his closest friends in a few minutes.

“No, you have your time with them and I’ll see you in a few hours.” He pulled you close.

“I love you Spills.” He kissed you, deep and insistent, all of his feelings for you behind it and you had to pull away as his phone went off.

“I love you too Francis, now get your ass in gear. See you later, have fun!” You pushed him out, patting him on the butt to get him moving.

———

Age: 33

“I am completely in love with it Francis, look at the windows!” You were walking through the little house like a kid in a candy store. Trying to take it all in.

“It’s really nice, floors are good.” He was looking at the wood, taking stock of the layout and the sturdiness of the staircase leading upstairs.

“Do you think we could afford it?” You were pulling him towards the kitchen, to the big window over the sink where you could just see the water. The yard was a little on the smaller side but it was big enough to put a little patio set and a grill, big enough for the three of you.

“Do you want it?” He stood behind you, his arms around your waist as you both stared out through the window.

“Yes, I think we’ll be really happy here. Do we have enough?” You turned to press a kiss to the stubble on his cheek.

“Yes, we have enough saved and with you going back to work we’ll be fine.” You felt the little hands then, grabbing at both of you and he bent down to pick up your daughter. She was tired and rested her head on his shoulder. “I think she likes it.” He ran his fingers through her soft curls as he kissed her forehead. You couldn't help but rub her little back as she melted into his shoulder.

“Open the window.” He gestured towards the latch and when you did you heard the soft sounds of the ocean drifting in. He was smiling at you, holding onto the little life you’d both created.

“Welcome home Spills."

--------------

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[1025cherrystreet]

reasons

harry and y/n exchanging vows on their wedding day

a/n: i was listening to music and feeling real lonely tonight, so i basically just wrote everything i want to hear from someone one day :) i never know how to end stories, soz! hope y'all like it, any feedback is appreciated!!

warnings: none, just fluff <3

The white chairs are filled with their family and friends. Gemma, Michal, and Anne sit on the groom's side while Y/N's parents and brother sit on her side of the aisle in anticipation. They didn't expect to be the people who have big weddings, and it's not even that big, but everyone they know is in attendance. James Corden and his family are in the audience, Louis, Liam, Niall, Zayn, and their dates all sit to watch their friends get married. Smiles adorn everyone's faces as the couple take platform at the front while Jeff (who got ordained just for their wedding!) reads off statements of marriage.

Y/N's best friend Claude is her bridesmaid (or 'bridesman' as his boyfriend, Frankie, liked to call it) and Mitch stands next to Harry as his best man. Everyone in shades of beige and sage green as it's Y/N and Harry's favorite colors.

"Y/N you can start with your vows, now." Jeff smiles at her, gesturing with his head, signaling Claude to take her handwritten promises out of his suit jacket pocket and hand it to the bride.

She mouths a watery, thank you, to Claude before turning back to face her fiancé standing in front of her. Even on her wedding day, she gives a bashful smile to Harry before clearing her throat.

"Harry." She starts nervously, "You are my person. You look at me as if I hung the stars and I can only hope you know I feel as devoted to you as the moon. The way you shined your bright light on my life is something I will never take for granted. You are my every reason. You are my lifelong dream to go to Italy and you are the endless praises I've always craved." Her hands shake in both exhilaration and trepidation.

"You are good books on long evenings... You are flowers in the middle of spring, you're long night car rides with blaring music, and you are the smell of rain on a cool evening in June. You're the cold side of my pillow in the middle of a hot summer night... the feeling of warm sun-kissed skin from showering after a beach trip...and the split second of silence when it's raining as you drive under the overpass on the interstate... You are 'that part' of a good song and the moment it would rain at school and everyone would just stop and stare out the window," She says, stray tears rolling slowly down her face, trying to ignore the way she can feel everyone's eyes on them in that moment.

"You are a pinky promise I hold so deeply... You are laughing so hard to the point of pain and you're rediscovering bagels every five months." Y/N smiles and glances up at him from her paper just quick enough to catch his chuckle as he knuckles the trapped tears in his green eyes. The last line gaining laughs from family and friends in the crowd.

"You are all of my reasons to live, H. Both the big dreams I've had my whole life and the little things I appreciate in my day-to-day. Of all these reasons to live though, most importantly.. you are Harry. My Harry. There's not enough words in the English language to convey my love for you, but I would spend the rest of my life searching for the right ones if that meant I got to spend it with you." She pauses to look her love in the eye, Harry staring right back at her with so much adoration for the girl in front of him.

She looks back down at the papers, tears catching on the edges. "So, with that, I vow to be your person. I vow to be your every reason to live another day and every small encounter that brings you even an ounce of joy. I vow to be your best friend and your indescribable love, if that's what being your person entails. I will be anything you need and everything you want, if it means we could happily grow old together."

"I love you, Harry Styles... and I can't wait to be your wife." Y/N finally lets the tears flow freely from her eyes as she stares up at her soon-to-be husband, Harry raises his hand to gently wipe them from her face with a breathtaking smile on his lips.

Tears of his own fall down, Y/N reciprocating the loving action. The two of them smile at each other for a moment, taking each other in. Harry has never felt more loved in his life, feeling honored to even be that person to someone, let alone his girl. He takes her hand and raises it to his cherry stained lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"That was beautiful, Y/N," Jeff whispers with a grin and turns to Harry, "Now, Harry you can now read your vows."

Harry drops her hand to retrieve the hand-written pages from his blazer pocket, quickly unfolding it and taking Y/N's hand once again. He glances at her before clearing his own throat and starting.

"Y/N, I want t'start off saying I love you. I love you so much it scares me."

"Y'have no idea what y'mean to me and what all y'have done for me. Y'keep me sane when my life tries t'drive me crazy. Y'make me feel normal when my job gets too much t'handle. You make me feel loved when it feels like everyone is out t'get me and y'make me feel like Harry when the whole world wants me t'be Harry Styles," He says, glancing up from the paper ever so often, his hands shaking in turn.

"I used t'resent being known as Harry Styles. My name became a bad taste in my mouth and sounded like nails on a chalkboard. I felt like Harry Styles always had t'be polite and put together and had no room t'make mistakes. It was exhausting trying t'be perfect all the time, I started t'lose myself... But you. You, Y/N, made me want t'become someone I wasn't ashamed of anymore. Y'showed me what it was like t'feel safe and content, and y'taught me t'never be anythin' but authentic because you said Harry Styles was just as capable at love and acceptance as Harry... You made me fall in love with myself again, and f'that I could never repay you. I love you so much that I can't even explain it, but f'your sake, I'll try, so here goes..." Y/N smiles at him with glassy eyes.

"I love how y'are so kind and loving t'everyone you meet. I love how you're a hugger from the first encounter and how y'always ask people if they are okay twice, just to make sure they know y'really care and will listen if they need it. I love how y'throw spilled salt over your shoulder and believe in the stars as some form of higher power. I love how y'decide to have a dance party two in the morning 'just cause' and sing songs at the top of your lungs f'the world t'hear. I love how y'have 86 spotify playlists because 'you need one for every memory or feeling'. I love when y'show me new music and bring me t'find a new appreciation t'my craft and others'. I love how y'look at the smallest moments in life and cherish them. I love how y'take nothing for granted and live everyday as if it's your last. I love how y'always choose t'view life for its beauty and child-like innocence, than for its deception and cruelty, first."

"I love you...Truly, Madly, Deeply," He chuckles out and Y/N laughs out loud, shaking her head at him playfully. Four loud wooo!'s sound out, the rest of their loved ones laughing at the cheeky reference. "I love everythin' about you and everythin' that has made y'who you are today...I love you, Y/N. My Y/N." He proclaims with a boyish grin.

"So, I vow t'be your husband always. I vow t'be your husband when you're angry at me f'messing up the laundry and when you're crying over not feeling enough f'people. I vow t'be your husband and love you when you get tired of rewatching The Notebook every time we have a movie night. I vow t'be there for you, even if you may not want me anymore-" She scowls and swats his arm for him even thinking that, making their guests let out a good chuckle.

"And, lastly, I vow t'be your best friend and lover 'til the day we die. You are not my Allie, you are so much better. You are my Y/N and I can't wait t'create my own movie with you."

Salty tears flow down their faces as they stare lovestruck at each other, the eyes of their family and friends all fade away and it's only the two of them in that moment. Hands intertwined, lost in each other's gaze, the only thing they comprehend is the, you may now kiss one another, that comes from Jeff's mouth.

'Awes' and coos sound from the crowd, Niall and Louis cheer the loudest, the other boys smiling at the newly-weds. Gemma and Anne are bawling their eyes out, just like Y/N's parents are. But, neither of them notice any of it as Harry wraps an arm around her waist, the other cupping her tear stained cheek and pulling her in to kiss her passionately.

[cinnamonrusts]

together, we can make it out alive - 1

[a/n: originally posted on my Ao3 and I decided to revamp my series some with my updated writing techniques. Hope you enjoy.]

                                                                  ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚

*BEEPBEEP BEEPBEEP*

The electronic chimes from your alarm clock blared loudly in your ear. Groans escaped your dry throat as the clock stirred you from your slumber, "Not yet--," your hand fished for the large snooze button on the top of the clock. Five more minutes, that is all you would need. Well, five minutes came and once again the alarm beeped in your ear. Your eyelids slowly lifted as you read the blurry red digits that stared in your face. "3:45 PM", it read. "Shit..." you cursed as you knew that you needed to get up and get around for your nightshift turn.

Your legs swung around the edge of your bed as you stretched with a loud yawn. Daylight peaked in through your blinds and shined directly into your eyes, "I really need some black out curtains," you mumbled to yourself as you made a mental note. This was just your daily routine now. You slept in the morning after getting off work from the Raccoon City Police Department and woke up around 3:00 PM. Ate, exercised, showered, and relaxed all before you pushed pencils on the clock at your desk.

Don't get it wrong. It was a job and you were thankful, but your duties weren't exactly what you expected them to be after the headache that was the police academy. You didn't hate your job, you just didn't -- like it. Also, you really fucking hated Raccoon City. It was not the same place that you remembered as a kid, not to mention all the weird things that had been going on lately. You just really wanted out of there. Maybe go to a warmer city... like Los Angeles or something.

You pushed yourself to a stand and turned around on the balls of your feet to head to the bathroom. When you reached the shower, you turned on the faucet and ran your fingers under the warm water. Just as it reached the perfect temperature, your phone rang. You ignored it and waited for the voicemail to pick up. But it just rang again.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" you yelled at the telephone as you stomped through your apartment to the device on the wall. "Hello?" you answered.

A familiar, yet unwelcomed voice barked from the other end of the line. "[L/N]! Where the hell are you?!" It was Lt. Branagh. "Home. My shift doesn't start until 10." your eyes rolled as you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Get your ass over to the station! We've had reports all day of violent attacks all over the damn city!" He couldn't be serious -- it was 6 hours now until your shift! "I don't come in until--," Branagh cut you off, "I expect to see you soon, [L/N]." the call ended.

You kicked the open moving box that sat in front of you in anger. It flipped onto its side and the contents spilled out onto the floor. It was a bunch of papers that you failed to file away and as you picked them up, you noted a familiar picture on top of the mess. The photo displayed two very recognizable faces that had smiles displayed happily.

You and Leon S. Kennedy.

He was your partner in crime during the police academy. Leon was the only one who didn't see you being a woman as a weakness. The two of you hit it off immediately after he introduced himself and complimented your skills.

On top of your heads were colorful party hats that seemed to be a bit too small. Both of your arms were slinked around his shoulders as you pulled him in for a close hug. His right hand was rested on your waist and the left held up a large mug of beer that was about to spill out onto the floor. Your thumb caressed the image of his handsome face and a smirk spread across your lips. You flipped the picture over and in faded pen was your handwriting: "Graduation Celebration! JULY '98"

Leon crossed your mind often. The two of you lost contact with one another after something happened between the two of you. It was as if that party happened yesterday -- the night that he kissed you. Your eyes closed and you could picture Leon's face perfectly - the way that his lips puckered and the way that they felt.

The two of you stood outside of the bar on that warm summer night. Leon was leaned against his shitty blue car that was wrapped in faded paint and rust. You stood in front of him with your arms crossed and your eyes focused on the clear sky that hovered above. Then the sensation of fingers over your skin drew your attention from the sky, to the man. Your gazes locked and his lids were half shut but a smile was on his lips. "Leon, you're drunk, aren't you?" you chuckled. His fingers wrapped around your bicep, "Maybe," he cooed as he brought you close to him. You could feel and smell his breath, it was warm and stunk heavy of booze.

With his free hand, he moved it to your cheek and tickled it lightly with his knuckle. Your [E/C] eyes stared deep into his moonstone ones, Leon's pupils dilated before they closed. His lips met yours. They were smooth but a bit chapped - he must be an avid user of Chapstick, you thought. The kiss was quick but meaningful. When he pulled away, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for another. When the two of you broke apart, you noted the way those moonstone pools in his head looked at you -- you could get lost in them -- forever.

The fond memories brought warmth to your heart that you lost the track of time. Pounds from beneath you interrupted your reminiscence. Your neighbor below screamed through the floorboards. "Hey, you fucking idiot! Stop using all the hot water! You're not the only one who fucking lives here!" he continued to pound and yell. "Shut up, you fuck!" you screamed back as you scrambled to your feet. Your clothing was stripped from your body as you dashed to the shower, and jumped directly into the lukewarm stream.

You knew that Branagh was most likely boiled over in anger because of how late you were already. Once you finished your shower, you pulled on your police uniform, styled your hair into a neat bun, grabbed a bagel, and ran out the door. Your car was parked pretty far down the road and rain began to fall from the sky. What a perfect start to the day. You shoved the bagel into your mouth and dashed for your car. The key slipped in your hands as you fiddled with them to get the door unlocked. Just as you grabbed the correct one, they fell onto the ground and so did your bagel.

"I've already had enough of today," you cursed and sighed to yourself as you bent over to pick them up. When you stood back up, a woman came from nowhere and threw herself onto you. She cried in panic and spoke incoherently. You noted the large wound on her shoulder and blood was seeped heavily into her shirt. "P-Please! Help me!" she grabbed onto your shirt with blood stained hands. "Ma'am!" you yelled and pushed her off of you for your own safety. She stumbled back and fell to her knee, "Let me call an ambulance!" you started to run to a nearby pay phone but she stopped you with a stutter that it was too late. "There's more of them!" her head turned in the direction of an alley to the left, then she took off from the ground in a haste. "Ma'am, wait!" you yelled as you watched her run away around the corner and into the city.

"Who's coming?" you whispered. With curiosity, you walked toward the alley that the woman had looked down but saw no one. Maybe she was one of the crazy people that were noted to be around the city and around the Arklays... If you saw her again, you'd probably call in some backup... the crazy look in her eyes... it unsettled you. You managed to shake the image of them from your mind and focused on getting out of the rain.

As you walked back to your car, you noticed the red stains that were now stained into your uniform. Whatever. You would worry about it after you made it to work. Once you got into your car, the radio started talking about more and more unrest that had spread more and more through the streets. Your finger pressed the power off, "Enough of that." the news was just the same and you just knew that you had to deal with it first hand once you arrived at the station, it just made it worse.

In front of the parking garage for the RPD were several cars that seemed to have been in an accident. Your car couldn't go any further than where you were at, so you hopped out of the vehicle to walk the rest of the way. People dashed around the streets in a panic and it seemed as if it were the apocalypse. You tried to flag people down to stop them but they all ignored you. What the hell is going on?! When you entered the station, there was even more chaos. Officers ran around like wild and some seemed to be injured as well. You felt anxious and confused by everything that was going on. What had gone on in your brief time away?

Phones rang, people yelled, doors slammed, and everything soon overwhelmed you, you could feel yourself going into an overload. But a strong hand on your shoulder was a saving grace. "There you are, [L/N]!" it was Branagh and a brief look of relief washed across his face. "I left a stack of paperwork on your desk. Sort through it and then you're going out on patrol. Some crazy shit is going down..." he gave you a light push in the direction of your desk.

As you walked to the back of the office, you noticed the banner that was spread across the ceiling in blue and yellow.

"WELCOME LEON"

Your heart pumped in your chest and you could feel your skin begin to turn clammy. There was only one Leon that you know of that was a cop. The man that you shared a kiss with and so many more feelings... Leon -- Kennedy? Was he actually on his way here? He always told you that after the academy he would eventually come find you in the city and be your partner again. You thought that it was just a joke -- but now, it didn't seem that way. How could he come here without saying anything to you? No call? No email? Nothing?

Your eyes remained on the banner and you asked your co-worker who sat on the desk beneath it, "Hey, Rita. Who's this, Leon?" She didn't look up from her desk, "I dunno. Some new guy from out of town. Last name starts with a K or something like that. Ask Neil, I'm sure he knows." You could feel a knot in your stomach and you darted to your chair. The desk that was across from you was normally piled high with boxes of paperwork, but now it was cleared off. You leaned over the divider and snatched the piece of paper on the desk. Your eyes darted across the text:

"Leon S. Kennedy, we're putting you on a very special case for your first assignment. Your mission is to... unlock your desk! The key to your success is in the initials of our first names."

The note confirmed it. It was indeed that Leon. You plopped back into your seat and gnawed on the nail of your thumb. Your thoughts were now consumed as to how both Leon and yourself would react when he arrived. You could see it now...

He would laugh with the other officers as they shot the shit with him. He would be in the center of the group, they would slap him on the back and tell him how happy they were to have him on the force. His gaze would eventually land on you and he would excuse himself from them. Leon would smile and show off his perfect teeth. He'd saunter over and slowly shake his head, "I didn't expect to see you here, [F/N]."

You swallowed hard but your thoughts were interrupted when the sounds of glass shattered right outside of the office's door.

The chatter and hubbub in the office halted as everyone's attention turned toward the door.  An officer who wasn't much older than you rushed toward the noise, he couldn't make out exactly what it was from behind the glass of the door but drew his gun in preparation. He looked back at the office filled with you and your co-workers before opening the door slowly. "Hello?" he called out. His gun was pointed out into the hallway but found that there was nothing there. Then a sound of something you had never heard before or ever would forget echoed loudly in the empty hall.

It sounded like a monster, there was no other way to explain it. It pierced through your ears and then the sounds of the officer's shrieks shook your core. A loud gurgle erupted from his throat as he was tackled by a person onto the floor. This - person, dug their teeth deeply into his throat and proceeded to rip it out. Bright, red liquid sprayed from the wound across the floor. Two male officers threw themselves onto the assailant and tried their hardest to pull him off but soon were attacked as well. Gunshots blasted off in the office which then were accompanied by more sounds of broken glass. The assailant dropped dead beside the officers on the floor and everyone exchanged glances of pure terror.

"More are out there!" yelled Branagh as he held his weight against the door to stop any more of these "people" from killing everyone his subordinates. "Pistols aren't going to keep us alive for much longer," Rita cried out. "But Irons insisted we hide everything else away, remember!?" your fellow officers shouted at each other as tension rose - fear and panic began to set in.

"I know where some are," you piped up. "I have the keycard for the weapons locker," you reached into your shirt pocket and pulled out a white, plastic card. "Perks of being the newbie, I guess. I'll go." you walked toward the back door but stopped when Branagh barked at you, "You can't go alone!" You shook your head, "I will be right back, I promise." you disregarded his arguments and with a deep breath, opened the door and took off on your mission.

The hall was dark and quiet, the electricity must had been cut out in this section of town. You swallowed hard and with your pistol in on hand with the flashlight in the other, you took quiet yet brisk strides down the long stretch of hallway. All you could hear was the sounds of your bootsteps and the groans of those things that lurked just outside of the fences that kept the building somewhat safe. You needed these guns, no matter what. Or you and your co-workers would end up just like those officers - dead. Your breathing was heavy and your heart raced which could be felt in your skull, "Easy girl," you spoke out, "Just a few doors and you'll be there."

Time was not on your side, so you took off in a sprint. The feeling of being so vulnerable next to a stretch of windows worried you as you could fall victim to whatever those things were at any time. They weren't exactly "things" they looked human and most likely were but maybe they were deranged with some sort of illness. But nonetheless, they were dangerous and deadly... Just as you feared, one of them crashed through the window. Their greedy palms reached for you over the broken glass and managed to snag you by your hair. You screamed in pain and terror as their strength pulled you in but when you pulled away, you only pulled them closer. Your pistol flew from your hands and slid across the floor, too far for you to reach.

Their bloody jaws snapped as they tried their hardest to sink their teeth into your soft flesh. You could feel their breath on your skin and you struggled but could feel your strength giving way to theirs. There was only one thing you could do and it was to grab the knife that was attached to the side of your right leg. Your fingertips were just barely able to reach the handle but with one quick lunge of your body, you grabbed hold of the weapon. The desire to survive charged your strength and you began to saw through the strands of your hair that were gripped tight in the clutches of the creature. Tears poured down the sides of your face as you sawed through the strands that were the barrier between you and certain death.

The creature was now halfway over the window and their hand still had your [h/c] hair in between their fingers, jaws still snapped at you as they begged to taste your flesh. You scrambled on all fours as you attempted to gather yourself so that you could press on. Your foot slipped on a large piece of broken glass which sent you across the floor, you then landed onto a large chunk of broken glass. The sharp piece embedded itself deep into your knee and you cried in pain as you held your leg close to your chest. The creature dug its nails into the tile floor and started to crawl toward you with dead eyes, and bloody teeth. You took several deep breaths as you prepared to yank the glass from your leg and with one last deep inhale, you yanked it out. You cried in pain but knew that you had to keep going, your muscle burned as it now was exposed to the air. You made sure to grab your pistol from the floor before you continued on.

Your sprint was now resorted to a quick limp but you managed to make it to the locker room. To your dismay, it was mostly empty besides a couple of shotguns and some ammunition. "Fuck! Fuck! This isn't enough!" you screamed as you pounded your fist against one of the lockers. Inside one of the open lockers was a weapons bag which you were able to fill with the lackluster amount of supplies. As you zipped up the bag, the metal door to the room opened and the sound drew your attention. Your pistol was ready and you limped around the corner to hide behind a row of lockers to hide from who or whatever it was. The room was dark but a flashlight flipped around the room, whoever it was, they were there to look for those guns or you. Your thumb slowly pulled the hammer back on the weapon and rounded the corner, "Stop right there!" you yelled.

It was a man and he seemed to be normal for the most part. He complied and raised his arms in the air. "Turn around!" Again, he complied and did a slow 180. Through the faint glow of his flashlight, your eyes caught a glimpse of a set of familiar moonstone pools.

"[Y/N]?!" his voice raised in shock. The entire city was faced with an apocalypse scenario or even the whole world for all you knew and the one person you run into is Leon -- Leon Kennedy.

He dropped his arms and grabbed hold of your, then pulled you into a tight hug. Leon smelled of sweat and cologne, the very cologne that you bought for him as a graduation gift. You breathed him in as it registered to you that this was real, he was really here. But you pulled away, "Leon, we have no time for chit chat. We gotta get moving, people need these guns!" you pointed to the bag that sat on the floor by your feet. As you tried to throw it over your shoulder, you winced in pain. "Here, let me get it." Leon attempted to take it from your hand but you paused before you surrendered the precious cargo, "I can trust you with this, right?" your grip was tight on the strap, "When have you ever doubted me?" he asked with a smile, "You don't want to know that..." your grip released as you responded but also pointed the fact that your leg was injured.

"Sorry to be a liability," you apologized, but Leon pulled you to his side, "Nonsense. I got this and you, just keep an eye out for zombies."

You led Leon down the hallway that you had your close brush with death in, the zombie, as Leon called it, was now gone. But when the two of you reached the door to the office, it was eerily quiet. Not a good sign. You pushed the door open to find the office void of any life, nothing but blood. Lots and lots of blood. Your heart hurt as you felt a pain in your chest, was everyone dead? The lifeless body of Rita laid on the floor with her eyes opened, her brown orbs were absent of the vibrant life she once had.

Tears welled in your eyes but as you turned to flee, you bumped into Leon's chest. A look of horror on Leon's face matched yours, "I-I left them not even an hour ago..." you cried into his shirt for a moment as he held you lightly with one arm. When you pulled away, you wiped your eyes and Leon took your hand from your face.

"I'm happy you're alive, [Y/N]," you examined your matured features and you did his. His hair grew a little longer than when you had seen him last and he examined your frazzled locks. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, a door behind Leon opened and shut. A man walked out from the shadows and into the light, it was Branagh. He held onto his side and you could see he was injured with his shirt heavily stained with what was most likely his blood.

Leon pulled his pistol out and pointed it at your superior while he had a protective hand on your arm. Branagh coughed a wheezed laugh and shooed his gun out of his face. He looked over to you and smiled, "Good to see you're still breathing, [Y/N]." The Lieutenant approached your male companion and placed a bloody hand on his shoulder,

"You must be Leon Kennedy -- well, son, welcome to Raccoon City."

[babbushka]

Beyond Reasonable Doubt (ch.1)

                                –      A Lawyer AU      –

You and Kylo Ren have hated one another for as long as you can remember. He, a criminal prosecutor, and you, a defense attorney should be natural-born enemies, and you are. But when Kylo comes to you seeking representation after being charged for a murder he didn’t commit, you both learn a thing or two about life, the law, and love…

[5k, no warnings for this first chapter!] 

Available on AO3

                                          ----------------------------

In a world of ever-changing circumstances, where people do things that cause ripples and shocks through the very fabric of society that shake them to their core, where the sun shines and rain falls and snow blows cold through the streets of Manhattan, where there is life and death and a mess of bullshit in between, there was but one thing that you could ever comfortably rely on in life.

Only one thing remained constant in the grand scheme of it all: your alarm.

With a grunt and sigh, your arm extends out from underneath the covers to smack at the loud blaring jingle that sounds from your phone, hand desperately trying to hit the dismiss button without looking so that you don’t have to face the day just yet. It’s too early, you reason, to pull your whole self out from under the covers.

Eventually you give that thought up though, because dammit now you’re awake and it’s Monday morning and you have an office that’s waiting for you uptown. So, ever grudgingly, you throw the plush comforter off of your body and stretch to greet the day, saying good morning to the city that never sleeps.

You don’t usually dread waking up, but well, the last time you’d been in the office was Friday afternoon, after you lost your case.

After you lost your case, to him.

Glancing at the clock on your phone, you chew your lip for a moment or two, before finally turning off the do not disturb function, immediately going into the bathroom to shower and ready yourself for the day while damn near a hundred backlogged notifications make your phone buzz nearly onto the floor.

There’s a small mirror in the shower, a little compact to make sure there’s nothing left on your face after you scrub your skin clean, and you catch your own reflection in it. You’ve looked better, that was for damn sure – but by that same token, you’ve also looked worse. Mondays were shit, but today was gearing up to be an even worse one than normal.

No, you think as you shake your head adamantly, you have no desire to let him soak up any more of your good mood than he had already. So what if you had forgone your entire weekend, canceling plans and ignoring friends to nurse the sting to your pride that was losing? So what if instead of checking your email or your phone, you sat yourself on the couch and wasted two entire days doing nothing but watching shitty shows on Netflix?

What you did on your downtime was nobodies’ business, and since you live alone in your beautiful one-bedroom in SoHo, no one was there to spill your secrets. If anyone asked – not that anyone would, if they knew what was good for them – you would tell them that you absolutely did not spend the weekend wanting to throw darts onto a photo of his face. That wouldn’t be very professional, now would it?

Shutting off the water, you wrap yourself up in a big plush towel, and pad across the floor to your closet. Briefly, ever so briefly, you glance at your phone on your way, holding your breath, wondering, hoping that there might be something from him.

If there is, it’s buried under a pile of emails and text-threads from your firm, so he’ll have to wait.

Manhattan in January was chilly, so you bundle yourself up in your chicest coat overtop your most well-fitting skirt suit and a pair of heeled boots. Even if you felt like shit, you could look like million fuckin’ bucks, and no one would be the wiser.

And what a wonder the power of confidence was! Through the streets and down to the subway, you smiled at everyone, and they all smiled back. You offered your seat on the train to an elderly man who clearly needed it more than you, and he complimented your gloves. Everyone from the NYPD officer drinking his coffee to the mom scolding her three children brightened as you wished them a good morning, and somehow, along the way to work, your Monday blues disappears into something a little brighter.

                                         ----------------------------

Your good mood only continues to grow as you exit the elevator of the huge high-rise that you call your home away from home, your office on the twenty-third floor right in the heart of the Upper West Side. Sandwiched between the Hudson and Central Park, you have to admit that getting your ass out of bed was worth it, even if just for this view.

“Morning (Y/N).” The front desk security guard greets you, and you say hello back to him with a performative show of your badge.

HKS Law, so named after the founders and current partners Amilyn Holdo, Ben Kenobi, and Luke Skywalker, is a shining pinnacle of what defense attorneys and opposing counsel at trials should be. Not only had the firm made history time and time again with incredible wins and even more incredible ultimate losses, but it prided itself on being representation for the people no one else could represent.

Most of all, it had you.

If your alarm was a constant, than this was a universal truth: you are a damn good defense attorney. As you walk through the crisp and clean polished floors, you hold your head high, knowing that this loss against him still put you at the lowest loss rate of anyone in the history of HKS, lower than even the founders themselves.

That little reminder has you grinning to yourself. You’d been working with HKS for nearly six years now, and very quickly you saw your office climbing higher and higher up the skyscraper, saw it getting bigger and bigger. And now, you were nearly positive, that your meeting at eleven o’clock would be to discuss partnership with the firm as a reward for your continued hard work.

“Hey (Y/N)!” One of the associates, Rose Tico smiles at you from where she’s chatting with her sister Paige by their desks.  

“Someone looks like they had a nice weekend.” Paige remarks, and you only wink at them, playing the game.

A game, which becomes instantly easier as your assistant, a bright-eyed intern fresh out of law school appears seemingly out of nowhere.

“(Y/N), good morning!” She is already offering you a cup of something nice and hot, her arm cradling a stack of manilla folders that have all sorts of sticky-note flags on them, that she shifts onto her hip ever so slightly to brush a few loose braids out of her face, speaking at what feels like a million miles a second, “I have your coffee ready and there’s a fresh breakfast buffet in the break room if you’d like, I can get you something – ”

“Good morning Neisha.” You accept the coffee gratefully, but interrupting her only to give her a chance to catch her breath. You check your watch, it’s only half-past seven, she’ll wear herself out if she exerts that much energy first thing. “A bagel with the usual would be perfect, thank you.”

“No problem – oh, Rick wanted you to look over those case files before your eleven-o’clock.” She breathes a sigh of relief, and gives you a smile.

Groaning, you accept the manilla folders too, balancing the coffee cup on top of them as Iman follows you into your own private office. Your assistant stands in front of your desk at the ready, looking sharp and put together, as ever.

One thing that you loved about Neisha – aside from the dozens of things that you admired and appreciated about her – was that you have never ever seen her in something other than a pantsuit. She did not wear dresses or skirts, she was almost never in heels, and she did not carry a purse. Instead, Neisha could almost always be found in a very smart trouser and blazer set, often complete with vests, and fun-colored socks in her loafers to coordinate with her ever-expanding collection of ties.

“Rick can go fuck himself.” You mutter under your breath, and she laughs.

“Should I tell him you said that?” With a playful glimmer in her eye, she crosses her arms over her broad chest.

“Yes.” You wink, before checking your watch once again and reminding her about that, “Bagel?”

“Bagel – right, on it.” Neisha snaps her fingers and leaves, closing the office door behind her.

 You like your office, even if you’ve outgrown it. Much like the rest of the firm, it has stayed up to date with the contemporary interior design of the day. However where the open floor of the firm is mostly whites and silvers and glass, your office feels warmer with shades of coffee browns and creamy neutrals. 

Remembering how you had been so excited for the promotion to your own office, you can’t help but chuckle to yourself now – it really was a small office. It consisted of a long dark brown desk situated in front of a wall-unit bookshelf/display area, and a seating arrangement of matching brown chairs situated around a free-edge wooden coffee-table. A soft rug covers the marble flooring, and cream gauzy curtains cover the windows, but that was about it.

You had been to the offices of the higher ups, you knew just what you could achieve if you made partner – even if you made junior partner.

And if all went well during this meeting at eleven, you knew you’d be moving into one of those offices soon.

For the first time all weekend, you sit down in the big leather chair behind your desk and finally check your phone. The case files remain on your desk, and you know you’ll get to them eventually, but until you’ve had some breakfast and that coffee can work its magic, no one could blame you for scrolling through the shit that you had put off since Friday.

It’s mostly work friends taking your side, which you appreciate. They knew losing a case was hard for you – you didn’t do it very often. And even though you never lost to anyone besides him, it still never got easier.

The case had been a simple one, or at least, you had thought so. Murders are so often simple, either the person did it, or they didn’t. If they did, there’s evidence, and if they didn’t, well, there’s evidence too. And when two parties come forward with their own evidence, compelling, strong fucking evidence – evidence of alibis and proof that your client couldn’t have been there, couldn’t have done it – it’s up to the jury to decide who to believe.

In this case, this jury decided to believe him, and there was nothing you could do about it. It was losses like this, losses like the knowledge than an innocent man was going to prison, that make you seriously question the legal system as a whole, frankly.

It’s then that you see it, and your hand freezes.

You have a missed message from him.

He’s saved in your contacts as the dick from VTH, and even though that could refer to any number of people, you know that it’s him. You have five missed messages from him, as a matter of fact, which sends both a rush of adrenaline through you, as well as a spike of anxiety.

The two of you…you’d never been friends, not really. In fact, the closest thing to a relationship that you might have is that of a rivalry, if not flat out enemies. You hated him, and he hated you, and he had hated you ever since the first day he set eyes on you, from the very first moment you walked into the courtroom as a last-minute addition to the defense counsel, and won the case in fifteen minutes.

Which was a shame, because you often find yourself thinking that if he weren’t such a…well, a dick, there could have been something there. Instead of a friendship, or even a civil acquaintanceship, you have over the years developed something of a hate-fucking-enemies-with-benefits arrangement. He was probably pissed that you ignored him all weekend, but that was okay – let him be pissed, you were pissed too.

You don’t open his messages, not yet. You’d need coffee in you and food in your stomach before you’re able to handle whatever mood he has to be in, now that you’ve got the energy to deal with him.

You’re so deep in thought that you nearly miss when Neisha returns with a plate for you, a big spread arranged on your desk for you to enjoy. You’re about to thank her and let her get on with whatever work she has to do, but she holds out a newsletter with a devious smile and curiosity gets the better of you.

“Have you seen?” She asks, and you raise a brow, a smile of your own creeping across your face.

The newsletter was something that circulated through the different firms in the area, keeping everyone up to date – or at least as up to date as legally possible – on the goings on in the sphere of influence that you all found yourselves in. Everything from congratulatory memos to case results, and even high profile celebrity gossip was fair game, but one of the more scandalous parts of the newsletter, was the publication of trouble that various lawyers found themselves in.

The Monday morning newsletter had quite a bit of this from over the weekend, and right there on page sixteen, is none other than his face looking as irritated as he possibly can, as he’s being given a hard time for a DUI on Friday night.

“Oh fuck.” Your eyes widen, wanting nothing more than to call him and yell at him for being a fucking idiot, “What the hell does he think he’s doing?”

“Whatever he wants, evidently.” Neisha shrugs, no doubt thinking the news would cheer you up in some sort of vengeful way that you appreciate. She reaches for a pumpernickel crisp from the spread on your desk and muses, “I bet the cops are thrilled, they hate that sonofabitch.”

“Yeah them and me both.” You mutter, already rubbing away a headache that’s starting to form across the expanse of your forehead. “He’s not going to be pleased about that photo, he looks rumpled.”

Sighing, you look down at the photo. He’s very clearly intoxicated, you’ve seen that look in his eyes more than once, the blurry out of focused glassy look that he gives you over smiles at dinner sometimes. You blink away the image of him in a nice suit on the other end of a table, reminding yourself that you’re angry with him.

“Doesn’t he have a driver? I wonder why he got behind the wheel himself.” Neisha continues, and bless her you think, for continually giving you a means to not be left alone with your thoughts.

“If there’s one thing I know about that man, it’s that when he sets him mind to something, no one is going to stop him from doing it.” You reply, not able to ignore a bit of gut-wrenching regret.

Maybe if you hadn’t been so mad at him, you could’ve gone with him to wherever he was coming back from, and maybe you could’ve --

“Should I have this framed?” Neisha asks, and you blink again.

You check your watch, it’s only a quarter ‘til eight. Have you really only been at work for fifteen minutes? That stack of folders sits on the edge of your desk, taunting you. You’re gearing up for an extra long day.

“No, that’s okay.” You shake your head, opening the bottom drawer of your desk and dropping the newsletter into it. “I will keep a hold onto it though. Just for fun.”

With a laugh, Neisha leaves and once again closes your office door.

“God dammit.” You grumble, pulling your phone out yet again.

The unread messages from him sit buried beneath thirty other messages that don’t warrant responses, and you hover your thumb over his name.

After all these years, something about getting a text from him made your heart jump. It felt stupid, you weren’t some teenager with a crush in high school, you were an adult, and this was just another adult, who you happened to have developed some sort of attachment to. Not a friendship, or a relationship even, but some kind of attachment.

Right now, you wanted to bitch at him for getting himself into trouble, for driving while he was so very clearly drunk, a whole argument prepared about how he could have seriously hurt or even killed someone, how even though he’s a rich asshole he can’t afford to be so reckless.

But first, in order to bitch at him, you have to read what he’s sent you over the weekend, and that’s where you keep tripping up. You don’t know why, but when you do finally open up his texts, you find that you’re holding your breath until you read them.

You try to ignore the way the thread starts out, try to ignore how if anyone were to squint, they might think something was going on between you two.

 Incoming: [1/8 6:03am] just picking up croissants from that place u like. jam?

[1/8 6:10am] Yeah, raspberry if they have

Incoming: [1/8 6:11am] on it, go back 2 bed.

 That had been just over a week ago, and you remember the day well, how you exchanged smiles over bites of fresh and flaky pastry, how you had dipped the croissants into hot chocolate in his bed, not giving a fuck about the crumbs that weren’t your problem because they weren’t your sheets.

How that was the last time you had seen him, before the conclusion of the case.

Now, now that you’d lost, the tone of the thread has very clearly shifted to something much colder. One thing you’re surprised to see though, is that they’re all from around Friday night, which was unusual.

 Incoming: [1/15 7:43pm] going out 2 celebrate tonight, join me

Incoming: [1/15 8:57pm] u can’t ignore me forever u know

Incoming: [1/16 12:02am] i’m glad u didn’t come, ud fucking hate it here. theyre playing music 2 loud

Incoming: [1/16 12:15am] r u seriously still mad?

Incoming: [1/16 1:09am] Fuck you.

 Rolling your eyes, you rub away more of that headache that starts to form. It was weird that he didn’t text you at all for the whole day of Saturday, or Sunday for that matter. If you didn’t spend the weekend together, he was very content to simply blow your phone up with links to random bullshit or long text conversations in broken grammar because his thumbs were too big for the buttons.

So for there to be radio silence after one o’clock in the morning was strange.

“For fucks sake.” You find yourself texting him back without even thinking about it, your fingers moving over the keyboard easily and quickly, sending off a slightly antagonizing reply after two days of nothing;

 [1/18 7:55am] Looks like you had quite the night on Friday.

 There, you think. That should get a response out of him. No doubt he would be quick to complain about how he had been pulled over and the whole nine yards. You wait for it to come through, the text. Or more accurately, the string of impassioned paragraphs that he tends to send you.

But a minute go by, and there’s nothing.

Five minutes, and nothing still.

You know you have to work, you have shit to do, you have that big meeting in a couple hours that you have to mentally prepare for, there’s no time to be worrying about him not texting you back. Still, you don’t like the silence. Sure that makes you a hypocrite, but he deserved your cold shoulder for beating you in court. At least, that’s how you justify it for yourself.

Getting up from your desk, you hover in the doorframe, where your assistant’s desk sits just outside to act as a buffer for anyone wanting to bother you.

“Hey Neisha?” You ask quietly, getting her attention, “I haven’t missed any calls, have I?”

A crease of confusion dips between her brows as she frowns, and immediately she checks the call logs on the conference phone that sits on her desk next to the big computer that takes up most of her space.

“No not that I can think of, are you expecting someone – ?”

Just as she’s asking, the phone rings. You lean over and see the number is one you don’t recognize, and you frown too.

“Better get that.” Neisha says awkwardly, so you just nod and retreat back into your own office from where you came.

It’s been seven minutes now, and there’s still nothing from him.

“Fine, fuck you too.” You mutter at the phone, locking it and putting it in the shallow drawer of your desk so you can focus on the folders in front of you finally.

 The stack is pretty normal, all the weekend material finally coming in now that it’s the start of a new week. There’s new case files to look through to decide if you’re doing to accept the client, supplementary material from old case files that you’ve asked for to review, notes and evidence belonging to associates’ cases that you said you’d give your opinion on – all mixed into one big pile.

You liked it though, liked staying busy. It was a good distraction from a loss, the ability to win, the ability to prove to yourself and to the world that you’re good at what you do. There are all sorts of awards and pieces of paper displayed on the walls of your office that show that you’re good, but still, there’s nothing like a strong win after a frustrating loss.

But you’re not even halfway through reading the first folder, when Neisha knocks on your door and opens it slowly, a look of preemptive apology on her face.

“I’m afraid you’re going to need to cancel your eleven o’clock.” She says, and you can tell by the tone of her voice that there’s no use in trying to argue with her.

You let the folder fall down onto the desk, and brace yourself for whatever bombshell she’s about to drop on you, what could possibly be so important for you to have to reschedule one of the biggest meetings of your career. They would understand, you’re sure.

You hope, anyway.

“Who is it?” Your tone is already filled with dread, but a resigned kind of dread, knowing that whatever it must be, it has to be big, and you’re the only one in this entire fucking firm who can handle big things like this – it was the reason they wanted you for partner in the first place.

But Neisha hesitates with this response, scratches the back of her neck in a way that makes you instantly curious.

“I…I was instructed not to say, just that you’ve been requested to meet with them regarding representation.” She tells you, and now your headache pounds even harder.

Clients didn’t withhold their identity from you; some used an alias of course, but you can’t say that so far in your career you’ve had a completely anonymous client. Whoever this person was, had to either be royalty, or something very very close.

And though that meant there was going to be a nightmare of a trial – because these high profile people almost never got to simple settle, not when the prosecutor wants to make a show of prosecuting them – you can’t help but think that would be a pretty good notch in your beltloop, as it were.

“Alright, where are they?” You’re already up and away from your desk, shuffling the case files into a locked cabinet.

“Rikers.” She says straight away, and you let out a groan.

“Of course they are.”

You had almost hoped that whoever this mystery client was, they had posted bail and could meet at a nice neutral location. You didn’t have anything against Rikers personally, but rather the entire prison industrial complex as a whole, and as far as New York prisons went, there were few more infamous for being unnecessarily brutal than Rikers Island.

“I can call them back and tell them you’re busy…but they sounded adamant about wanting you in particular.” Neisha nudges gently, and really there’s no need to butter you up, you’ve already made up your mind.

“I’m guessing they didn’t tell you why?” You ask, even though you know the answer.

“Correct.” She replies with a sheepish shrug.

You look at her, at your watch, at your phone screen which shows no new notifications from the last time that you checked it, and you square your shoulders.  

“Alright, reschedule the eleven o’clock, and let’s get out of here before Holdo freaks the fuck out on me for that.” You say, grabbing your coffee and a few more of the pastries to take in the car with you for the drive.

                                           ----------------------------

Most times, you have no problem taking the subway wherever you need to get, but visiting Rikers wasn’t as easy as hopping off the train and walking a couple blocks. For times like these, you and Neisha take one of the company cars, a sleek and shiny black thing with dark tinted windows. Cars really aren’t practical in the city, which is why you don’t have one of your own, but it was nice to be driven around from time to time in the peace and quiet of a car like this.

Normally, visitors are not allowed on Mondays or Tuesdays, but you’re not a normal person, and you’re not here for a normal visit, so once you pass through the security gate, the K-9 unit and the metal detector security tests with ease, you find it a pretty quiet lobby.

“Good afternoon Ms. (L/N), here on official duty?” One of the correctional officers that sits up by the front visitation desk beams at you.

“No, I just missed you Jake.” You reply, fishing out your identification for him even though he really doesn’t need it. Jake has worked there only a year or so, and every time you see him you can’t help but think he’s young, too young for this job, you think, too young to become desensitized to the humanity of incarcerated individuals. But that’s not a conversation that you’re here to have today, so instead you keep up the chitchat with, “How’s Lottie and the kids?”

“They’re good, who are you here for?” Jake asks as a matter of protocol, and you give Neisha a look, before looking back at him.

“That’s just the thing, I don’t know. I wasn’t informed for confidentiality reasons.” You try to explain, before leaning forward and mock-whispering to him, “Please tell me someone has me on the list and I didn’t drive all this way for nothing.”

Jake laughs, a sound that feels out of place in a place like this, and pulls something up on his computer. You can’t really see it, the list, and that’s okay. Whoever this mysterious person is, you’ll find out within just a few minutes.

“You know the drill, they’re waiting for you in the back.” Jake waves you off, and you’re glad to go.

“Wait out here.” You tell Neisha, who clearly looks uncomfortable even being in the lobby, and with good reason. She doesn’t argue you on that, instead takes a seat on a bench near Jake’s table, and the two of them get to chatting while your boots click on the floors as you walk away.

There’s a couple different visitation areas in the jail, and the deeper into the building you go, the more that you’re glad that visitation isn’t allowed on Mondays. You don’t want the chance of running into someone that you had failed. Granted there had only been a handful of those instances, but the thought of any one of them being here is not outside the realm of possibility.

Through the sea of empty tables and chairs that are reserved for long term inmates who happen to have visitation privileges for good behavior, you find yourself moving deeper and deeper, until you’re at the door of another room, a closed off one more typical to that seen in movies and television shows.

Opening the door, you hang in the hallway to confirm that there’s no one else there, as there shouldn’t be. There’s eight stations, four on each side of the small room, with a phone and a pane of bulletproof glass. Right away, you have a feeling this is going to be a murder trial, if they’re not even letting you meet with the client out in the open, if they’re monitoring the phone conversation that you’re about to have.

You see a shuffle of movement out of the corner of your eye, and assume that that’s who you’re here to meet, so with your chin held high, you step into the room, and make your way to the visitation booth where a man in a bright orange jumpsuit is waiting on the other side of the glass.

Stopping as quickly as you’ve started, you stand frozen in the middle of the room, blinking away and desperately shoving aside a wave of feelings that have crashed over you at the familiar face behind the glass.

The dark hair, the deep eyes, that proud nose, those full lips, you take it all in with some strange sense of disbelief – surely this must be a dream? It has to be, even as you sit on the little stool and yank the phone off the wall, shoving it against your ear, not even knowing where to start as you try to wrap your mind around the fact that the man, this mystery client…

“Hey sweetheart.” He says, and you could smack him upside the head if only there weren’t this glass between you and Kylo Ren.

                                         ----------------------------

Tagging some pals, please let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off the taglist! @safarigirlsp​ @steeevienicks​ @mochabucky​ @sacklerscumrag​ @artsymaddie​ @bitchydecisions​ @direnightshade​ @reyloaddict55​ @kylorenswhxre​ @sunflowersinthesnow​ @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief​ @drake-bells-waxed-penis @littleevilme13 @rennaissance-mama @materialisthicc​ 

[pink-sparkly-witch]

Soulmates: Chapter Six – Morning After

Summary: The morning after Ava spent the night with Jensen at San Diego ComicCon, feelings are solidified. Their talk about what last night means for their relationship isn’t what he wants, but Jensen makes promises he intends to keep.

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Ava Broussard (OFC).

Warnings: 18+ Only, smut, language, dirty talk, protected sex, insecurities from cheating, flangst, sweet and protective Jensen. 

Word Count: 4.3k A/N: This is the second fic I wrote because I couldn’t get enough of these two! This isn’t beta’d. Any mistakes are because of my own stupidity! Feedback and comments are welcome!

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

July 2006

Jensen gave up trying to sleep at 6 am. Ava was still in a deep slumber and had moved off his chest at some point during the night, much to his disappointment. She had rolled onto her back, hands resting at each side of her head as if surrendering.

He hadn’t properly noticed the tattoo on her right wrist before. It was a small, simple anchor, and it held several meanings. It was a symbol of her Boston roots and a nod to being a daughter of a Naval Captain. It also served as a reminder always to remain firmly grounded in her values and beliefs and to stay true to who she was.

Finally, it symbolised that she had a strong, deep, resilient, and invincible bond with her four sisters, and they would forever be each other’s anchors through all the storms life threw at them. All five Broussard girls had the same tattoo done by the same artist on their 18th birthday.

He couldn’t stop watching her sleep. She looked relaxed and content, with a small smile telling him she was having sweet dreams. The sun was rising, and it cast an orange glow around the room, turning Ava’s light blonde hair the colour of golden honey. Her long, soft curls splayed around her, spilling onto his shoulder and chest. The deliciously sweet smell of her orchid shampoo hit him every so often. He knew he wouldn’t get to see her like this again for a while, if at all, so he was taking everything in, making sure he didn’t miss a detail and committing it to his memory. She was breathtaking.

The urge to use the bathroom could no longer be ignored, and Jensen got out of bed as softly as he could so he wouldn’t wake her. However, she must have sensed him moving as she stirred in her sleep, rolling onto her left side to face the windows. She gave a contented sigh and settled back to sleep.

Jensen groaned quietly as his dick twitched. When she turned over, the bedsheet shifted down her body, exposing her naked back. The sheet was so low he could see the top of her perfect ass.

He turned back towards the bathroom, wanting to relieve himself before he got too hard. When he finished, he washed his hands, splashed water on his face, and brushed his teeth. When he returned to the bedroom, he put his jeans on and headed into the living area, closing the door so he wouldn’t disturb her and called room service to bring up coffee, bagels, and muffins. They had a Network breakfast scheduled for 10 am, but he was starving after last night’s workout!

The sun was streaming in the windows, shining directly onto Ava’s face, its bright light and gentle warmth lulling her from sleep. Last night, she’d slept better than she had in months and as she opened her eyes and saw that it was a beautiful day outside, a contented smile graced her features.

Stretching the sleep from her muscles, a twinge of pain came from her intimate area, and she grinned widely, remembering how that had happened as she rolled onto her back.

“Morning, Princess,” Jensen smiled from the door.

“Good morning!” Ava beamed back.

“Someone woke up in a good mood,” he grinned as he moved towards her with a cup of coffee prepared just as she liked it; hot, strong and with a generous splash of half and half. Ava laughed, grinning back at him as she sat up, tucking the bedsheet around her chest and taking the mug from him.

“Thanks, Jay. Yeah, I guess I did!”

“And why is that?” he continued, his tone teasing.

“Hmm, well, it could be because the sun is shining and it’s a beautiful day. Or that I haven’t slept so well in months. Or maybe it’s because someone took very good care of me last night,” she smiled sexily at him.

“How’re you feeling after last night?” Jensen knew he was big and what that could mean the morning after. Ava had also told him during one of their famous all-night chats after a few too many that it’d been a long time since she’d had sex with Ben. She hadn’t told him how long, and he didn’t want to pry too deeply and scare her off.

Jensen held her gaze, but she could tell he was worried about her answer. He was always such a gentleman; it was one of the many things she loved about him, even if she enjoyed busting his balls about it now and then!

Honesty was always the best policy with Jay. He didn’t take kindly to lies, and so with a small sigh, she told him the truth.

“A little sore. Everything really is bigger in Texas!” she giggled, “and it’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone, but I’m good. Really, really good,” she smiled, and it lit up her whole face.

Jensen smiled sweetly back at her. He’d noticed that not only did she look relaxed and glowing, but as she sat cross-legged in his hotel bed, legs and tattooed feet on display, bedsheet barely covering the rest of her gorgeous body, she looked a little more confident and content in her skin again.

If he’d played even the smallest part in that, he was an incredibly happy man. He knew, though, that it was time to burst the bubble he’d been in since last night.

“I guess we should have that talk now, huh?” he risked a glance at her and saw her smile falter.

“Jensen, I know...” she started, but he interrupted her.

“I have a feeling I know where this is going, and I’d like to say something first,” he sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I know this year hasn’t been good to you, and you were supposed to be getting married next month, but I like you, Ava. A lot. If there’s a chance we can be something… have a future, please, tell me.”

“Last night was amazing, Jensen. I’ve never had sex like that before. Ever! The things you did to me…” she smirked, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she looked down, suddenly fascinated by the tattoo on her left foot and not feeling as fearless as it declared she was.

Taking a moment to compose herself and form all the jumbled thoughts racing through her mind into a comprehensible conversation, she sighed and raised her gaze back to meet his.

“I really like you, Jensen. But I don’t know if I can give you what you want or deserve,” Ava said.

“I don’t understand,” Jensen said with an adorably confused look.

“You deserve the best of me, Jay, and I’m not at my best right now. Things with Ben really messed me up. A lot more than I want to admit. It’ll take a while for me to trust someone enough to let them in, you know? Stop thinking I’m not good enough or he’s out cheating on me when I’m not there. To not be so insecure, I keep thinking they’ll leave me because I work too much.

“After our string of failed relationships, neither of us deserves that, and I won’t put you through it.” Ava’s voice cracked, and the tears she was trying so hard not to shed betrayed her and made their escape down her cheeks.

“C’mere, Princess,” Jensen cooed as he pulled her into a comforting hug.

“What that bastard did to you, seeing what he’s done to you? You are a beautiful, confident, kind woman with a big heart who deserves to love and be loved, and he took that away from you, and it makes me want to kill him.

“I promise I will do everything I can to make you see that you are worth it. I will prove to you that I will never do any of the things he did to you. No matter how long it takes, I’ll be here, showing you that you are a Goddess and should be treated like one.”

Ava leaned back just enough to look up at Jensen and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I was trying so hard not to do that,” she chuckled sadly. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?” Jensen asked.

“This!” she said, pointing to her tear-stained, blotchy face. “A blubbering mess!” she chuckled.

“Darlin, your fiancé cheated on you, what? Three months before you were supposed to get married. I’d be extremely worried if you weren’t a crying, pretty mess,” Jensen chuckled as Ava smiled shyly. 

“Aw, you called me pretty. I’m flattered!”  

“I just hope you don’t regret what we did last night,” he asked, worried.

“What? Why would I?” Ava’s face showed her shock.

“I hope you don’t think I took advantage of you,” he said as he put his head in his hands and rubbed them over his hair.

“Jensen, look at me,” she said, and he lifted his head and looked into her sky-blue eyes. “If anything, I’m the one who took advantage of you!”

Jensen was about to interrupt her, but she put her hands on his to stop him. “You told me you had feelings for me, and I kissed you knowing that I wasn’t ready to be anything more to you other than a good tumble between the sheets. I’m so sorry I did that to you.”

“Oh, Princess. You’ve got nothing to apologise for. I know you wanted me last night. I could’ve stopped you when you kissed me, but I didn’t. I could see in your eyes that you thought you were using me, but I wanted you just as much, if not more, than you wanted me. There’s no way you took advantage of me. No way.” Jensen said.

“Okay. Then we’ll agree that we both just wanted mind-blowing sex and did it with each other rather than doing it with a random stranger we’d picked up at a bar,” Ava smiled at him and noticed he was grinning back at her.

“What?” she smirked.

“I was just thinking, if it was mind-blowing for both of us, maybe we could do it again,” he risked a look at Ava to gauge her reaction. She had one eyebrow raised and was trying hard to contain her smile resulting in a cute lopsided smirk.

“But we used my only condom last night,” he continued, “so unless you have one in your purse...” he asked her, watching as she bit her lip in thought.

Ava stood from the bed, wrapped the bedsheet around her and walked to the living area to get her purse. Jensen followed her, leaning against the door frame, and held back a groan as she bent down to pick it up from the floor. She turned towards him, opened it and took a foil packet out of her wallet. Smirking, she walked towards Jensen and handed him the condom.

“Come on, Cowboy. I am so ready for another round with you,” she said seductively and watched him stalk towards her like she was his prey. Jensen’s right hand went to the back of her neck, and he pulled her towards him, crashing his lips against hers.

Their kiss was full of fire and passion, all tongue and teeth, as Jensen pulled the bedsheet from Ava’s body. Their breathing was heavy, chests heaving, and their hands were caressing every piece of flesh they could find. Last night was all about making love. This time Ava knew it would be straight-up fucking.

Needing oxygen badly, she reluctantly broke the kiss, concentrating on undoing Jensen’s jeans and gently kissing his jaw and neck. She tried to get her breathing back to a semi-normal level, but when she pulled his jeans down, freeing his rock-hard dick, her breath hitched in her throat, and a low moan escaped unchecked. She knew he was big; she saw and felt it last night, but something about seeing it in the daylight had her trembling.

“Such a big boy,” she smirked as her hand gently wound around his length.

“Please, baby, no teasing,” Jensen said as he gently removed her hand from his throbbing member to roll the condom down his impressive length. “Not right now. I need you too badly,” he moaned as his lips found her neck, placing soft, wet kisses and gentle sucks on every inch of skin he could reach.

Jensen’s hand moved down to her core and cupped her mound, his fingers gently circling her clit as he licked and sucked sensually at one of her nipples. She moaned as her head fell back, and her hands grasped his shoulders.

“Fuck me hard, Jay,” Ava purred, shocking herself with how low and seductive her voice was.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Ava. That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard!” Jensen growled.

He spun her around, pushing her against the wall and pulled her hips back, making her bend slightly at the waist. She raised her hands to the wall to support herself as he shifted her legs further apart.

Moving behind her, Jensen lifted her hair, uncovering the back of her neck. He lavished her neck, shoulders, and spine with wet kisses, smiling as goosebumps erupted all over her body.

When he’d tasted enough of her flesh, Jensen lowered her hair and skimmed his hands around the front of her body to play with her breasts as he leaned into her ear and whispered in a low, sexy rasp. “I hope you’re ready for me, Princess.”

Lost in pleasure and with her skin on fire from his kisses and wandering hands, no more than a nod and hum was her reply. Jensen grabbed his dick and pumped it a few times before his fingers swept through her folds, checking she was slick enough for him.

“Hmm. So wet for me, baby girl, huh? And so sexy standing there waiting for me to fuck you,” he growled lowly.

“Please, Jensen! I need you!” she whimpered, pushing her hips back and causing him to smirk.

“I know, baby girl,” he murmured in her ear as his left hand held her left hip.

Jensen raised his right hand and placed it on hers before gently pulling it from its perch on the wall. He twisted her arm up and around so that her hand gripped the back of his neck and put his arm across her chest. He let his hand greedily squeeze at her left breast.

At the same time his lips found her neck, he thrust himself into her waiting pussy. Hard. His thick member stretched her walls, causing pleasure to surge through her in waves.

“Oh, my fucking God, Jensen!” she moaned. 

Jensen pulled all the way out of her before slamming back in until he bottomed out, eliciting another moan from her.

“You feel so good, baby,” he moaned in her ear as he continued his brutal pace of fucking her. She took him so well, like she was made for him, and it struck him how amazing it would be if she were the only woman he was ever inside of again.

Jensen’s right hand snaked down her stomach and between her legs. His fingers found their target quickly and circled her bud of nerves slowly and gently. A string of almost incoherent curses escaped her mouth, mixed in with the most delicious moans, grunts and whines he had ever heard as he hit her G-spot and hilt with every thrust of his hips.

“So beautiful, Ava. Look at you, taking my dick so goddamn good. Gonna fuck you so good, baby girl… you’re not gonna remember… your name… or mine... so good… you won’t forget... fucking me... any... time... soon... so fucking good… you won’t wanna fuck... anyone else... ever… again…”

“Oh, shit! Fuck, Jay, don’t stop… please,” she moaned, a little bit of the Boston accent coming out. Jensen had only ever heard that sneak out when she was drunk, tired, or angry.

The pleasure was overtaking all other functions and senses she had, even having to tell herself to breathe. Her body was taking on a life of its own as her hips circled against his hand, trying to increase the pressure of his fingers on her clit as she focused on reaching her high.

Jensen removed his hand briefly to grab hers from his neck and brought it down between her legs, placing his on top of hers so he could feel every move she was about to make.

“Show me how you like it, baby. I wanna see how you get yourself off,” he rasped and chuckled gently as she groaned an incoherent response.

Ava’s small hand started to move lightly and quickly from left to right over her clit. Her hand was a blur as it moved swiftly over her bud, and her hips were thrusting not only on her hand but also on his dick which was still slamming into her and doubling her pleasure. Jensen peered over her shoulder, looking down, fascinated by their body’s movements from this angle.

He took in every inch of her body. Her stomach muscles were tensed, showing him how toned her abdomen was. The rise and fall of her chest told him just how heavy she was breathing, and the bounce of her perfect tits told him just how hard he was fucking into her. Her head leaned back onto his shoulder, and her mouth was slightly parted as the escaping whines told him how close her high was.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Ava,” he growled lowly in her ear before his lips found that spot hidden on her neck. He bit down gently, quickly following it with a soothing lick and a caressing suck, careful not to mark her as she would have a tough time explaining that at their panel today and in the photo ops.

His attention to her weak spot was what sent her over the edge. As his eyes glanced down the front of her body, he watched as she froze for a few seconds, taking a deep breath and holding it, causing her stomach to become taut. The only thing moving was her hand rapidly flicking her clit along with the bounce of her ample tits and her hips jutting forward, both caused by his hips slamming into her from behind.

A few seconds later, the air she was holding escaped in a long, high-pitched, breathy sigh of pure pleasure. She moaned his name like a mantra all through her orgasm. Jensen’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he groaned deeply at the feeling of her convulsing pussy squeezing him just right.

“Oh fuck, Ava!” he roared as he slammed his hips against hers a dozen more times, always hitting that sacred place within her, chanting a chorus of grunts and expletives in her ear.

Jensen grabbed her hips so tightly that he knew his fingerprints would leave bruises. He slammed into her hilt one last time and stilled as the building euphoria he felt finally snapped, and he came harder than he ever had before, calling her name.

As his senses started to return, he could hear Ava moaning again, building up to a second high from the pounding her G-spot had been taking, and Jensen grinned, extremely pleased that he could take care of her so well. He mentally noted this would be the fifth orgasm he’d given her in less than twelve hours. Fuck you, Ben! This is how you please a woman! He thought with a smirk.

He began thrusting again whilst he was still hard enough and replaced her hand with his on her clit. With five or six hard thrusts and the help of his fingers, he was rewarded with the sweet sound of her coming for the second time that morning. He moaned at the sensation of her pussy clenching his sensitive dick and the feeling of her riding out her high by gyrating on his fingers.

They stayed where they were as their breathing returned to normal. Ava’s hands were on the wall, supporting her weight, and her head bowed forward, taking deep breaths. Jensen was still inside her, slowly softening, his left arm around her waist and his right was next to hers on the wall, his head tossed back and panting at the ceiling.

Facing his head forward again, he placed slow and tender kisses on her neck and shoulders.

“How are you doing there, Princess?” he asked between kisses.

Ava lifted her head back and rested it on his right shoulder. Her smile was hazy and satisfied, and her reply came in a breathy whisper.

“I’ve never been better, Jay,” she panted. “I just need a minute to get the feeling in my legs back! Are you okay, Cowboy?”

Jensen chuckled at her nickname for him, secretly loving it and kissed the side of her head. He slipped his now soft dick from her satiated pussy, staying where he was to support her body so she didn’t fall.

“More than okay, Ava. That was amazing. We’re really good together,” he said as he moved both arms around her chest, encircling her in a strong and comforting hug. His lips pressed to her temple.

Ava loved his hugs. They were the best; strong, warm, and comforting, and they made her feel loved and safe. She’d never leave his arms if she had the choice.

“Yeah, we are,” she giggled, a shy smile forming as her hands left the wall and held onto his forearms.

“I meant what I said earlier, you know,” he whispered. “I’ll prove to you that you’re worth it. Worth everything. That you deserve only the best. And that I’m the one who can and will give you everything you need, want, and deserve. I’ll give you anything and everything you could ever ask for. I’ll wait, Ava, for as long as it takes.”

“Jay, I can’t let you do that. I don’t want you to put your life on hold for me. What if you meet someone?”

“I won’t,” he said confidently.

“You might!” she countered.

“I won’t because I’ve already found the perfect woman. I want to make you happy every day and love you every day for the rest of my life. And you feel the same. I know it, and you know it. When your heart accepts it and stops trying to protect itself, I’ll be waiting.”

“Jay…” she started.

“Ava, if you think I’m giving up on sex like that every day for the rest of my life, you are seriously mistaken!” he chuckled, taking a lighter angle with her.

“Every day, huh?” she smirked.

“God, I hope so!” he laughed.

“Hmm, I think I could live with that!” she grinned.

“Oh, I know you could, sweetheart!” he grinned cockily.

“Okay, Dean, if you say so!” Ava joked with a roll of her eyes, causing him to laugh heartily. “I better go shower and get ready for the panel. Breakfast is downstairs at ten, right?”

She slipped out of his embrace and dressed in last night’s clothes. She wasn’t sure how she would feel if she got caught doing the walk of shame at San Diego ComicCon and was thankful that her room was right across the hall, and they were the only two whose rooms were on this floor.

Fully dressed and shoes in hand, she turned to say bye to Jensen and noticed he was clad back in his jeans and leaning against the bedroom door, watching her.

“What?” she asked, feeling self-conscious as he stepped away from the door frame and walked towards her.

“You really are beautiful, Ava,” Jensen said as he leaned down and captured her lips with his.

He didn’t know when he’d get to kiss her again, so he made this one count, laying all his cards out on the table by putting all his feelings into it, giving her a taste of what he could offer her.

It was soft and gentle, packed with love and affection, filled with a promise of many more kisses just like this one and hope for the future he could give her. She didn’t want it to end, but he pulled away all too soon.

Stunned into silence, Ava looked into his eyes and saw that he meant every beat of that kiss. She smiled softly, resting her hand on his cheek.

“You are something else, Mr Ackles, you know that?” she spoke, her voice still husky from their kiss.

“And what is that something, Miss Broussard?” Jensen grinned, causing her to laugh lightly before he saw the smile that he adored and knew all too well held nothing but mischief behind it.

“Ha! Wouldn’t you like to know!” Ava replied as she leaned up and placed her lips gently against his cheek in a sweet peck. “I’ll see you downstairs,” she said, heading towards the door.

Closing it behind her, she kept her composure until she had safely shut the door to her room and slid against it, smiling like a crazy person.

“Oh, you got it bad, girl!” she whispered, walking into the bathroom for a shower.

Wait till I tell Hilarie about this! she thought and laughed lightly as she wondered what her best friend would say.

Or maybe, just this once, she wouldn’t tell Hils. Perhaps this could be her and Jensen’s secret…

Across the hall, Jensen unknowingly followed the same actions as Ava, sliding against his closed door and laughing lightly. “She’s gonna be the death of me!” he mumbled out loud. And you know what? I’m okay with that! He thought as he smiled wide and ran his hands through his hair on the way into the bathroom.

Next Chapter >>

[jangmi-latte]

Hello! Is it ok to request a idia shroud x reader fluff? 👉🏻👈🏻 I read a lot of your stuff and I love them :3 your a very talented story writer! Thank you so much! 🙌🏻

❞ 𝐂𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞...❝

࿐. . . IDIA SHROUD (ft. Ortho Shroud)

➻ content: bagels and coffee!

➻ warnings: too sweet

➻ comments: *sprinkles extra diabetes* you want it soft and fluffy, my darling customer? you get a very fluffy pastry. also, it might cause diabetes so eat responsibly. thank you for compliment too~

“Hi, y/n!”

You grinned and gave the younger Shroud a wave. It was the weekend, no school meant you have time to finally hang out with your boyfriend. You had just entered the dormitory and Ortho was walking around the area, probably doing research and investigating like he always does, “Ortho,” you greeted back as the boy approached you, “Brother is in his room. You can just head in since he wouldn’t hear you over his headphones. I tried teling him to meet you on his own but.. ” he scratched his head making you let out a small laugh, "It's fine Ortho, I'll see my way to it."

Once Ortho left, you sighed, of course Idia would we playing his games again. Not like you minded, it makes it easier for you to know where the anti-social prefect was.

You went to his room and upon entering, you saw your boyfriend on his desk and playing the game he's been working hard on for the past few days. Closing the door, you walked over to the male, thinking whether or not to bother him but obviously, you were touch starved and your body moved before your brain could. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, giving him a fright as he reflexively paused his game. Probably gamer reflexes.

He snapped his head over his shoulder, upon realizing it's you, he relaxed, "I'm sorry," you giggled and gave his cheek a small peck, "Didn't mean to frighten you," you continued while Idia removed his headphones, "It's fine..." he mumbled.

The male's cheek turned a bright red as he span his chair around, "It was an easy level anyways," he shrugged it off while you took a seat on the chair beside him, "Can I watch you play then?" you offered in which made Idia's eyebrows raise. You? Want to watch him play? In all honesty he was grateful that you would take interest in something he likes. He barely shares his interest to others and knowing his own girlfriend would make effort to know what he likes made him genuinely happy.

"If you want to," he said, a ghost smile on his face as he handed you another pair of headphones.

You sent him a sweet smile, making him flustered, and wore the headphones. You look adorable.

"What the..." you trailed off the moment Idia began playing again. Your eyes going around as you focused on the character Idia was controlling, "How is that easy?!" you exclaimed. Ah, you have awakened Idia's confidence.

Idia had a small smirk on his face as his fingers effortlessly moved along the keyboard. The sounds bouncing through the headphones giving you goosebumps as you couldn't take your eyes off the screen. Upon a few minutes, Idia won. You looked at the screen baffled before it went back to the game's map level. He was already at level 162.

"What?" Idia innocently asked though a grin had already made its way to his face, "Teach me."

"Huh?!"

"I want to learn how you did that! Teach me how!"

Idia blinked once, then twice, before looking back at the screen, "This game is hard though." "I don't care. I want to be as good as you."

How you have stolen Idia's heart all over again. Complying, the prefect nodded and moved a little to give you more space to the keyboard. He set a new folder before cracking his stiff fingers, "Your main controls are WASD for movement, J for counter attack, G for dodge, and..." he continued on and on as you listened closely.

Okay maybe this game is hard after all and Idia was talking quite fast. He was excited indeed and nonetheless you were more than happy to see his, usually dull, eyes shine. Maybe after this he has someone to play with! Your fingers stayed on the keys he had mentioned, you asking questions for clarification before nodding, "Okay I'm ready," you said. Your eyes held determination, Idia found it cute.

A smile graced on his lips before he clicked level one. A small screenplay introduction before the battle began. Idia kept an eye both on you and the game and honestly, he was....cringing. You would accidentally, or intetionally, click the wrong keys, making your character be more vulnerable to the enemy's attacks. You easily lost and you were left baffled. He wasn't joking when he said it was hard now, was it?

That's when he noticed, your fingers kept leaving some of the keys. You aren't even relaxed, you were stiff though the way you face would scrunch and pout was a sight Idia would love seeing. Why?

"You have small fingers," Idia mumbled once the game was over and you looked at him surprised. The male took a moment to realize what he had said before spinning his chair around and covering his face, "I didn't mean to say that!" he yelled embrassingly. If he sees you as someone adorable then he was no exception in your eyes.

"Aw," you cooed and kicked his chair back to face you then pulling his hands away, "Was that a disadvantage when playing this game?" you pouted and held his hands. Ah why do you have to be another one of his weakness?

"Maybe... you did suck...."

"Alright I know I'm not good with games. But at least I have you to teach me!"

"You really want to learn?"

"Of course I do! I am determined to defeat that stupid monster."

Idia was thrilled. His bigger hands held yours gently as he looked down, your hands were cute. He liked the way they would frantically move on the keys since your fingers couldn't stretch that far, "How about we start with easier games first? " he pulled on your fingers like he was making them grow longer. You may not be good at games but you are a great girlfriend. Quite the sight to see you having fun with the things he loves doing the most.

"You got it. Maybe someday I can defeat you!" you stuck your tongue out. Idia arched an eyebrow and sent you a grin, "Are you doubting my skills?"

Meanwhile, Ortho took a peek inside his brother's room, a smile making its way to his face as he admired the sight before him. His brother finally has someone to be with and maybe help him enjoy the outside world. He adored you as his big sister now. You were perfect for Idia.

The sight of your and his brother's happiness was a cynosure indeed.

[harringtonstudios]

you’re perfect.

plot: the famous life isn’t for everyone, sometimes the comments can get to you.

A/N: i got distracted while working on a request haha! let me know your feelings :) 

reminder: you are all beautiful the way you are, no matter what anyone says. there is inner beauty hiding in corners of your skin, and outer beauty glowing, lighting you up.

taglist: @iamdorka​ @no-shxt-sherl​ @bakerkells​ @lovemythsworld​ @rosegoldrichie​

Dating a celebrity came with its own struggles. You’d been with Machine Gun Kelly for almost a year now after meeting him through a mutual friend. It had all been surreal, you’d know this kid since high school and now he was playing guitar on stages with actual rockstars. He’d invited you to a recording session where he had introduced you to Kells.

It had been a rollercoaster after that, flying across the country to go on dates, sitting backstage at rock shows, getting to hang out with this generation’s greatest artists. You two had made it official after six months of the coolest dates you’d ever been on in your life. Honestly, half the time, you’d have preferred to sit on the couch and watching a shitty Netflix special, but you knew this was his lifestyle and you didn’t really mind. 

That was until the paparazzi started.There had been nights where both you and Kells had been fucked up, tripping on some kind of drug, trying to walk your way across the path to the Lyft you had ordered as people gathered around you shouting. Other days, you would be enjoying a bagel, laughing at Colson’s dumb jokes when a camera would come straight into your face, asking you about rumors. Once, you both had just left his house when three reporters had stopped you in your tracks, focusing their cameras on you as they started filming. Those days you would feel thrown into the spotlight, awkward in your skin, bees buzzing in your mind.

You had tried to get use to the ugly comments and the nasty posts that came with dating Colson. It was hard at first, trying not to search your name and see what came up. Sometimes you wouldn’t even have to search, people would tag your Instagram in posts, making fun of the way you looked on a certain night or criticizing your features. You didn’t really fit the criteria of being famous, a bit bigger than the models that usually walked around in LA, acne scars dotting your cheeks, frizzy hair usually flying around your head. 

In the beginning, it had gotten to you fast. People calling you talentless, spamming your comments with gold digger, theorizing on twitter that your relationship wasn’t real because why would Kells fuck with a girl like that? 

It had hurt, left you spiraling, spending days sitting next to Colson in the studio completely numb. You would just sit on the couch, scrolling through comments, trying not to let your insecurities get the best of you. The fans weren’t necessarily wrong, you didn’t have a special talent, you weren’t beautiful by any standards, and you had kinda just showed up out of nowhere. 

-

Sipping on the coffee Colson had bought you this morning, your eyes widened as you stopped at a particular comment. The user had typed it in all caps, screaming through the screen about your weight. It was on a picture Colson had taken of you, sitting in a bathtub, bubbles sitting on top of your head. You read the comment once, twice and then suddenly your phone was being taken out of your hands. 

“Baby, I asked if you wanted to go on a walk with me?” Colson repeated, looking down at you while loosely holding your phone in his hands. 

“Uhm, yeah,” you mumbled, reaching up to grab it.

“Nope, this is a no-phone walk,” he responded, turning around to put your phone down on the table. As soon as he lifted the screen up to his face, you grimaced knowing he was going to see the comment you’d been looking at for the past five minutes. 

“Wait, what the fuck,” he murmured, running his thumb over the screen. “Who the fuck wrote this,” he scoffed, turning back around towards you. 

“It’s not important. C’mon let’s go on this walk,” you responded, trying to smile as you got off the couch. 

“Nah, we’re not going anywhere till I find out who’s been talking shit about you online,” he said, plopping himself down on the couch. 

“Cols, it’s not that serious. I mean it, I don’t even read that shit,” you tried to distract him, extending your hand out to get him back up. 

He gave you a look over your phone screen, and you could see the anger brimming in his eyes. You sighed, sitting down next to him. You two weren’t going anywhere soon. 

Kicking off your shoes, you pulled your legs under you, shifting to face him. “I just get a couple of mean comments every now and then. People hate on things they can’t have, you know?” you tried to rationalize, watching him scroll through your comments. 

“Baby. These aren’t just a few. What the fuck, why didn’t you say anything,” he looked up straight at you, and you looked down at your lap trying to avoid eye contact. 

“Cause I mean they’re not wrong,” you muttered under your breath. 

“What?” he questioned, leaning down lower to catch your eyes again. 

“Nothing, what would have happened if I told you huh? You would have beat up the big, bad bullies? Newsflash, not everyone is going to just fucking love you,” you bit out, voice cracking as you tried to fight through the feeling in your throat. You didn’t want to cry, not here in his studio. 

He was quiet for a beat, then two and you bit your lip, knowing you had fucked this up. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that,” you mumbled out before continuing, “they’re just internet trolls. I’m really trying not to let it get to me. I’m trying hard, but some people are just mean and I can’t fix that.” 

He cleared his throat and then you could feel his arm wrapping around you, pulling you closer. You moved in, shifting so that you were pressed up against his side. Your head rested right around his shoulder, and he softly pulled at your hand. You could see your fingers shaking just a little and you were so tired of letting everything get to you, so you closed your eyes, letting your head fall back. His fingers intertwined with yours and you could feel him rubbing at your knuckles. 

“You’re fucking perfect. Everything I’ve ever wanted and needed in my life. There’s nobody else I’d rather be with,” he spoke into your ear. 

Your eyes were still closed, but you felt a blush rise on your cheeks as he continued. 

“All these flaws they comment on? I love them all. You’re just so real, realer than anyone I’ve met in this city.” 

You felt his fingers touch your chin, slightly tilting your face to see his. Opening your eyes, you saw the clarity in his blues. 

“I think I love you,” you blurted out, eyes widening when you realized what had just fell out of your mouth. He let out a little laugh, and you could feel yourself turning even more red, burning up. 

“C’mere,” he mumbled, squeezing your hips a little, pulling you even closer. He kissed you, hand resting on your warm cheek, stroking his thumb back and forth as you kissed back. The words sat unspoken between you. He wouldn’t say it yet, you knew it, but you could feel something loosely resembling love as he pushed into the kiss, breaking off only to kiss your forehead. 

“Why don’t we show these haters something,” he muttered, moving his hips up so that he could get his phone out of his back pocket. 

“Ayo, Rook, bring your ass here,” he shouted, and you heard a cymbal crash followed by the studio door opening. You laughed as Rook showed up, beanie skewed on his head. 

“Take a coupla picture of us,” Kells instructed, throwing his phone up in the air. Rook caught it and then you were being lifted onto Colson’s lap. 

“Hmm?” you whispered, as he placed both his hands on your hips. 

“Kiss me,” he responded back, smirking and you smiled. Kissing him softly, you cupped his face in your hands. You could hear the sound of Rook taking pictures in the background and you couldn’t help but laugh just a little as your lips met Colson’s. 

“Get a room fuckheads,” Rook shouted before lobbing the phone back your way. It hit the couch and you broke the kiss off, reaching for it. Before you could get it, Colson grabbed it, laughing as he looked at his camera gallery. 

“Holy shit, these are GOLD,” he barked out, swiping. 

“Lemme see,” you reached out your hand, trying to get a glimpse. 

“Nope, you just have to wait,” he winked as he opened up the Instagram app. A part of you tremored with the anxiety of it all, you got enough hate without being publicly posted on his social media, but another part of you was excited, knowing that no matter what you had Colson on your side. 

A minute later, he nudged your shoulder with your phone and smiled as you took it off his hands. Going on Instagram, you went to his profile. Laughing, you clicked on the picture he had posted. Your hands were on him, focused on kissing. One of his hands was wrapped around you, while the other flipped the camera off. The caption read, “None of y'all got anything on her.” 

You liked the photo before grinning at him. “You’re my knight in shining armor,” you said in a mocking tone, raising your hands to your chest, posing. 

“Well then princess, let’s go slay the dragon,” he responded before picking you up. 

“Colson, wait, my shoes,” you shouted, laughing as he brought you to the door. 

Everyone needed a little reassurance sometimes, and your goofy boyfriend knew exactly how to cheer you up. There was nothing better than this and your heart beamed at the pure love you felt from him. Flaws and all, you had something special here and you had never felt this happy before.

[threeletterslife]

Nothing a Lil Green Can’t Fix

→ summary: Imagine having a best friend so crazy you have to have 911 on speed dial. Turns out that you are that friend. And it's up to Park Jimin to keep you from facing disaster.

→ pairing/rating: jimin x reader | PG-15

→ genre: i love bittersweet stories 🥺 so this is basically fluff all the way but angst lurking in the background | coming of age!au

→ warnings: profanity, mentions of death, divorce, heartbreak (like pretty fucking sad shit), implied sex

→ wordcount: 19.2k

→ a/n: i had so much fun writing this! a HUGE thank you to all of my friends & beta readers who helped me not make a big embarrassment out of myself LOL. a round of applause and special thanks to @aaugustlee​​, @fangirlfeelz​, @bangtansgalaxie​, @byuncaa​, @yunjikim021​ for putting up with my unedited writing! (: ALSO a huge HUGE thank you to @justastar​ for this BEAUTIFUL mood board 🤩

♫: Who by Lauv (feat. BTS) | Say Something by Pentatonix | Inner Child by BTS

cr.

When Jimin was younger, he knew superheroes existed. After all, his own mother was one of them. She cooked, washed the clothes, taught Jimin the alphabet, ran the grocery errands, worked from home, read Jimin a bedtime story and tucked him into bed—which was her daily schedule. She was strong, loving and caring. The things every mother should be. She handled problems better than she handled her emotions, that woman.

Which was probably why she cheated on Jimin's father. Jimin was only five when he heard the shouts and screams coming from downstairs. He remembers how frightened he had been, gripping his pillow and trying to drown the sound of yelling with his blankets. Only shortly after that night, his mother had packed her bags and left. Jimin never saw her again.

But life wasn't too bad after that. You had shown up, after all.

Even though Jimin's once perfect family was ruined, he didn't mind too much. When he's with you, he forgets about all of his other problems.

You'd first waddled up to him in his kindergarten class with a green marker in hand. "Can you please color me green?" you'd politely asked.

If Jimin's mother taught him one thing before she walked out of his life, she'd taught him manners. So when you, a complete stranger, had been so polite about a request that didn't look like it'd do much harm, Jimin complied.

He helped you color yourself green. Halfway through the process, he'd said: "Why are we coloring you green?"

You'd laughed out loud, grinning as you announced emphatically, "BECAUSE GREEN IS THE BESTEST COLOR EVER!"

You hate it when Jimin teases you of your first encounter with him. Mainly because you had yelled out 'bestest' at the top of your lungs that day and 'bestest' is most definitely not a word. (You're kind of a grammar freak.) Not to mention, both of you had gotten into huge trouble for coloring you green that day. Jimin had cried when the teacher had scolded the two of you, but you had shrugged, patted Jimin on the back and boldly asked the teacher, "Would you like to be colored green as well?"

You were banished to the time out chair and your star got moved down two slots into the angry orange section instead of the happy green. Jimin had felt sorry for you, but you didn't seem like you cared that much. Your skin was your favorite color. How could you not be happy?

Later that same day, you'd declared Jimin your best friend. And then you had taught him your secret language so no imbecile could eavesdrop on your private conversations. Jimin thought you were the coolest human being alive.

Jimin still thinks you're the coolest human being alive.

He's thirteen and waiting for you outside of your house so both of you can walk to school together. Walking to school side by side has been a tradition ever since you were little, too. It was also a tradition that you were always a few minutes late.

You suddenly bust out of the door with half a bagel in your mouth and your hair a frenzied mess. "Bye Granny!" you yell as the door slams shut. "Let's go!" you exclaim to Jimin in your secret language as he nods in agreement. The two of you begin to walk to school.

"What are you today?" he asks as he looks over at your outfit of the day. You're wearing black cargo pants, a black mesh top with a black tank top underneath, big, black boots and metal chains around your neck. You like to keep your fashion choices interesting by having a different style every day. You've already tried prim and proper, goth, princess and tomboy. But this... Well, this was something definitely new.

"I'm a bad girl." You grin, chomping down on the rest of your breakfast and brushing your hands together to get rid of the crumbs.

Jimin frowns. "You're gonna get dress coded," he says but upon your disappointed look, he sighs. "You're gonna get dress coded," he says in the secret language.

"Am not."

"Are too."

You roll your eyes, flipping your messy hair over your shoulder. "They can dress code me. Fine. I'll go to school in my underwear the next day, then."

Jimin laughs, shaking his head. "They'll send you to juvie."

You snort, throwing your head back in a fit of laughter. "Oh, Jimin, I—" You suddenly gasp, hand flying into your pocket to fish out your favorite green permanent marker. Its name is Gilbert.

"Grammar error?" Jimin asks.

"Yeah," you sigh, shaking your head in disdain. "Over there."

There's a sign in front of a local coffee shop that painstakingly reads: free cakes everyday after four!

"They forgot the space between 'everyday,' " you huff, so disappointed that you forget to speak in the secret language. "Wait right here."

Jimin stops walking, watching you quickly stroll over to the sign and circling the word, 'everyday' with Gilbert and marking in all caps right next to it: NEEDS SPACE.

You make your way over to Jimin again, sighing. "When will people learn?"

"Not everyone is good at grammar, Y/N," Jimin reminds you. "I think you're being a bit of a grammar Nazi."

You scoff. "So what if I am a grammar Nazi? Do you think it's acceptable to parade around town using the wrong 'everyday?' " You throw your hands in the air for dramatic emphasis.

"I mean, everybody makes mistakes," Jimin tries.

You huff, crossing your arms. "Yeah, like your outfit," you grumble. "You forgot to hook a strap of your overalls over your shoulder."

"Hey!" Jimin says. "It's fashion!"

"It's ridiculous," you counter. "It's like you're trying to show off your man chest."

"Well, you're trying to show off your girl chest."

You gasp, gazing down at your black mesh top before realizing Jimin's actually right—this stupid top does expose a lot of you to the public's scrutiny. "Don't look there, idiot!" you say. "Perve."

"What am I supposed to do? Not look at it?"

"Yes!" you say very indignantly. "A true gentleman would not look!"

"But it's right in front of my face!"

"You know what, Jimin? You can walk to school alone!" You start dashing away from Jimin, your heavy boots thumping on the concrete.

"Wait! Y/N!"

Though you might've won the fight at that moment, Jimin becomes the real winner when you come out of your house the next day wearing a turtleneck that covers your whole upper half and modest boot cut jeans with white sneakers.

"What are you today?" Jimin teases in the secret language.

"Shut up," you mutter. "Let's go."

Jimin happily obliges, skipping his way to school as you grumble, following right behind him.

Sometimes Jimin wonders what he would do without you. You were the angelic figure that had swept him off his feet when he needed a good distraction from reality. You had stepped in when his mother had stepped out. And he loves you no matter how weird you are.

"Jimin?" you ask, your head propped against his chest as his arm wraps around you. Both of you are staring up at the blue sky with sunglasses on.

"Hmm?"

"I think I can speak to the weather," you confess in the secret language, grinning wildly as you watch the clouds shift in the blue sky. "It was probably my fourteenth birthday gift from the universe, you know?"

Jimin loves how you never grew up. You were the same Y/N he knew in kindergarten with a big imagination and overflowing creativity—only smarter, taller and more beautiful.

"You can speak to the weather?" Jimin asks.

You nod. "I'm making it sunny right now."

"Really?"

You snuggle into his chest, clinging to his warmth as you laugh. "I control it with my emotions. I'm so happy right now that the sun can't help but shine upon us."

Jimin's heartbeat quickens as you clutch onto his t-shirt, but he tries to play it off. "And why are you so happy right now?"

"It's summertime!" you exclaim, suddenly jumping up and out of Jimin's arms. "We'll be in high school this year!! And you know how much I love hanging out with my best friend."

Jimin smiles, though he wonders if you'll ever love him the same way he loves you.

"You know," you sigh as you trudge down the steps of your apartment building in a large green raincoat and white boots with a glazed donut in your hand. "I'm feeling pretty horrible today. I think it's going to rain."

Jimin nods as he looks up at the sky. Sure enough, the rain clouds are settling in, painting the sky a dark gray. "That's not a good way to start off the first day of high school."

"It really isn't," you sigh.

"Is it your granny?" Jimin whispers in the secret language as both of you begin to walk to your new school.

You flinch. "She's just... she's not feeling too well, you know?"

"I'm sorry," Jimin says. "Do you know what it is?"

"She won't fucking tell me," you groan, handing your donut to Jimin. "I don't want it. Do you?"

It's Jimin's favorite food: a glazed donut, so he takes it and munches on it. Something tells him that you saved it just for him. "Thanks," he says. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No..." You shake your head, your lips that had been set in a stern lip suddenly curving up to reveal a bright smile. "Sorry, I'm totally killing the mood. We should be excited! High school, right?? Oh my god, do you think we're all going to dance in the gym like we're all in it together??"

"That stuff only happens in the movies," Jimin chuckles as he finishes the last of your donut. But upon seeing your disappointed face, he offers: "No, we'll definitely dance around in the gym singing songs from High School Musical."

"That's more like it!" you exclaim.

Crazily enough, by the time the two of you reach the new school, the rain clouds have disappeared from the sky. Jimin looks over at you, who had taken off your raincoat to reveal a rather summery green t-shirt dress. Maybe you really can control the weather with your emotions.

Jimin admires how you don't give two flying fucks about social standards. You're brave enough to be yourself, to stray from society and not conform to stupid high school stereotypes. You're everything that he isn't. And in sophomore year in high school, you're wilder than ever before. Frankly, he thinks you're what everyone wants to be but is too afraid to be.

"Did you study for the AP chem test?" Jimin asks as he fidgets with pages and pages of notes in his hands.

You snort, tugging your favorite green jacket around yourself. "No. Why would I? It's just a test."

"But it's an important test," Jimin insists, eyes glazing over as he half listens to you and half crams last-minutely. "Last test to raise your grade before the final."

"My time's important too," you laugh. "I don't regret those six hours I spent reading yesterday. You know, I woke up so late today that I had to wear my pajamas to school."

Jimin glances down at your sweatpants and looks up at your tousled hair.

"Yeah," you say, "only had time to put on the nearest jacket. But it's kind of hot, isn't it?"

You're right. Ever since you helped nurse your granny back into top-notch health, the weather was perfect—always sunny and just slightly breezy. It matches your mood.

You shrug off your green jacket, folding it away. When Jimin notices your shirt underneath, he gasps out loud.

"Y/N!"

"What?"

"You're wearing those pajamas!" he exclaims in the secret language, frantically. "Do you wanna borrow my t-shirt or something?"

"What? No!" you cock your head. "What's so bad about my t-shirt right now?"

"Y/N, you're literally wearing a shirt with the periodic table on it. We're taking a chem test!"

"Oh, you're so funny, Jimin," you say, shaking your head. "It's just a t-shirt. No one will care."

Fast forward ten minutes later when your AP chem teacher calls you up before you sit down with your test and tells you that you need to put a jacket over your shirt.

"But Mr. Levitt!" you protest. "I don't want to be in a stuffy jacket when I'm taking a test!"

Mr. Levitt sighs, but after an intense one-minute staring contest in which you claim victory, he agrees to turn on the air conditioning. Silently, everyone thanks you (it's a hot day, after all) as you return to your seat with your jacket covering your shirt and your eyes sparkling with their usual mischief. Jimin thinks you might've elaborately planned this whole scheme out. Mr. Levitt is infamous for being a total tightwad on the AC, so maybe you thought you had to do something about it instead of studying for the test.

Naturally, you proceeded to completely bomb the chemistry exam.

"Ugh," Jimin groans the next day as you step out of your home with an apple in your mouth. "The scores are out. I got a 92%," he huffs. "That's barely gonna raise my grade."

You laugh out loud, tossing Jimin another apple that he gratefully catches. "I got a 43%. Deal with it."

"You're serious."

"I'm always serious," you giggle, twirling around in your rather nice-looking outfit. Jimin notices you took extra time to curl your hair and apply a sheer lipgloss on your lips. "Besides, you know, that test had so many grammatical errors that I couldn't possibly focus on the problems!" You scoff, shaking your head disdainfully as your eyes gloss over to remember the horror you saw the day before. "I had to whip out Gilbert and fix all the errors, you know? I didn't even get to look at half the questions on the test. But I'm pretty sure I got everything else right, though," you confidently announce. "Totally worth it. Mr. Levitt needs to learn a thing or two about dangling modifiers."

"But Y/N, you can't fail a class!" Jimin protests. He doesn't have the guts to tell you that you earned your 43% after a 13% curve—that in reality, you'd really gotten a 30%.

"I'm not failing," you giggle, "yet."

"What am I gonna do with you?"

You shrug, biting at your healthy breakfast and chewing slowly. "Anyways, do you like my outfit?" you ask in your secret language, totally changing the subject.

Jimin warily eyes your pretty skirt and button-down top. His face heats up just a little bit, but he forces himself to look away. "Why'd you dress up so much? You're going to fall down wearing those heels."

You roll your eyes so hard Jimin can see the whites of your eyes. "Google Earth always takes pictures, my friend," you sing. "If people see me walking down this street on that app, I want to look fabulous."

Jimin's learned a long time ago from experience to not believe everything you say. (One time when the two of you were six years old, you told Jimin if he waited in his garage at night without falling asleep, he'd see his father's old, battered Hyundai turn into a chivalrous robot—this was after you had watched Transformers with him at home—and Jimin had stupidly believed you. What followed was him staying up for three nights in a row, waiting for the car to morph in Optimus Prime. He was almost going to stay up for a fourth night until you had to put an end to his madness by telling him you were joking.) And there were many, many more times your large imagination had convinced Jimin something that wasn't real, was. But now, he knows when to take your words with a grain of salt.

Even so, the next day, he dresses up extra nicely. Just in case Google Earth is taking photos.

You pass sophomore year with mediocre grades, but by now, Jimin knows you don't really care much about your transcript.

Junior year is rumored to be the hardest of all in high school, a rumor that turns out to be quite true. Well, except for you.

Jimin's reading for his huge physics exam on his bed while you're propped up against the headboard, legs tangled absentmindedly with his. The two of you had been in that position for hours. Normally, you can't sit in one spot for more than forty-five minutes, but you must be concentrating on something because you'd been way too still and quiet for way too long.

"Hey, Y/N?" Jimin calls in the secret language. "You good?"

"Hmm," you hum. "Mhm."

When Jimin looks up, he sees you sewing. You must've gotten that sewing kit splayed before you from your granny. It's really endearing how much you love her and how much you're willing to do for her. She's the only family you've got left around here, and she's the one that has taken care of you since you were very young. Your granny is a lot like you, too. Jimin's heard from you that she likes watching extreme sports and hopes to become a three-time gold Olympic medalist snowboarder by the time she's dead (though she hasn't won a single snowboarding contest in her life). She loves fashion and enjoys taking you out to shop. She likes to preach that grades do not define intelligence. (It seems as though you've had that soaked in your brain for a very long time.) Her husband, Gilbert, was a grammar freak like her, but he passed away before you were born. You named your permanent green marker after him.

You don't like to talk about it, but your granny hasn't been in great health in the past few years. Jimin knows how much it's putting a strain on you, yet you insist that everything's completely fine before suggesting to embark on another wild journey.

"Are you sewing something on your favorite shorts?" Jimin asks, setting down his physics book.

You nod, tongue poking out of your lips as you concentrate. "It's a QR code."

"Oh, really?" Jimin becomes interested as he scoots closer to you so that your arms are touching.

"Yeah, so when I wear these scandalously short shorts and guys are checking out my ass, they'll see this QR code instead and dare to scan it, you know?" you smile proudly at yourself, setting down your sewing project as you lean again Jimin's shoulder. "Wanna know what comes up when you scan it?" you ask in the secret language.

"Yeah."

"Information about colorectal cancer."

"What?"

"Colorectal cancer. Colon cancer, Jimin." He notices the way your lips tremble slightly as the words spill out of your mouth. You're struggling to keep a straight face.

"Oh, Y/N... Your granny—"

"Yes," you cry out, tears starting to well up in your eyes. "Stage four, Jimin. Fucking stage four. She has about a year left."

"Y/N..."

You move in to hug Jimin, crying into his shirt as he wraps his arms around your waist, letting you cry in silence.

You don't like to cry. Jimin's only seen you cry one other time in his twelve years of friendship with you—when your granny had her first cancer scare a couple years back. To see you breaking down in front of him like this hurts him more than words can describe. You're usually so resilient; you wear a fierce smile on your face even when times are tough. But you'd have to take off your happy mask at some point.

He lets you sob into his chest, warm hands tracing circles on your back in hopes of soothing you. He never knows the right thing to say, unlike you, so he stays quiet.

It takes a few minutes but your sobs dwindle to soft sniffles, then to complete silence. Jimin holds you in his arms without complaint, savoring your warmth, hoping that just embracing you can help.

You pull away, wiping off the residue of your tears on your face with the back of your sleeve. "I'm so sorry, Jimin," you whisper, your hands tracing the wet patches of your tears on Jimin's shirt. "I think... I need to go home."

He doesn't stop you when you pack up your sewing kit and leave without another word. And he hates himself for being so cowardly.

But the next day, you come out of your house with a bright smile on your face. You're wearing the shorts with the QR code sewn on the back, proudly flaunting them to Jimin. He does everything so his eyes don't linger around your ass; in the end, he just looks away entirely.

You laugh when you see him blush, linking your arms together as you march to school. The sun's shining brightly today, but the streets are wet with the hard rain that had poured last night.

All too soon, senior year rolls by with summer just around the corner. You and Jimin make use of your lax time, no longer needing to worry about grades or academic productivity.

"You know, everyone has one deep fear," you confess, snuggling up against Jimin on the sofa in your room. "You know what mine is, right?"

Jimin nods. "Losing your granny."

"Good. Well, I think I know what yours is."

"Really?" Jimin asks, letting you rest your head on his chest as he plays with your hair.

"You're afraid of being left alone," you whisper. "You're especially afraid someone you love will leave you."

"Hmm..." Jimin hums. "Like my mother?"

"Yeah. But me too."

"You?" Jimin asks, bewildered, suddenly sitting up and moving away from you to stare into your eyes. "You're leaving?"

"Hey, relax," you giggle, shaking your head. "I'm not leaving forever. I'm just... I didn't tell you but... Granny passed away a few days ago. You know when it was raining really hard that night? Yeah, well that was because I was crying nonstop. She'd always wanted to be buried in Hawaii because that's where she met Gilbert. I'll be in Hawaii for a week—"

"Why don't you tell me anything until the last minute?" Jimin sighs. "You could've told me your granny passed away the day it happened. Why are you telling me now?" He struggles to keep his voice from trembling too hard. I didn't even get to say goodbye to her...

You shake your head, biting your lip to keep a straight face. "Because I knew I'd break down if I told you the day it happened."

"Y/N, it's okay to cry..."

"No, Jimin. It's not. I'm supposed to comfort you. I'm supposed to be the strong one that doesn't bat an eyelash when trauma comes her way. I'm supposed to be resilient, Jimin," you sigh. "I refuse to cry."

Jimin doesn't know what to say.

"I know," you say, leaning forward to grasp Jimin's warm hands. "I'm so sorry. I told you we'd go to the senior prom together. I'm so, so sorry, Jimin." You're smiling to reassure him, but your façade isn't fooling anyone—thunder clouds boom outside of your house, then the rain begins to fall. "I'm sorry, Jimin," you say again. "I want to make it up to you somehow."

Jimin had completely forgotten about going to prom until you had brought it up. You'd made those plans during freshman year, and both of you had been excited about it for all of high school. Now, it looks like those plans will be ruined. But Jimin knows how much you love your granny. She means way more than a silly prom night to you. He'll have to figure something out for himself. "You don't have to make anything up to me, Y/N," Jimin says. "I'm not going to prom, then, I guess."

"But you've been waiting for it since we were in ninth grade," you protest, shaking your head. "You were going to wear a green suit to match my green dress, remember?" you say in your secret language, a small smile playing on your lips. "I can get someone to go with you."

"It's fine, Y/N," Jimin says, shaking his head. "My dad wants me to start thinking about my future, anyway. I don't think he'll appreciate me going out without knowing what I want to study in college."

You nod. "Oh, okay, then."

"You're not going to college, are you?" Jimin whispers.

"I can't, Jimin," you shrug, a fake smile plastered on your lips. "I got a job at a restaurant as a waitress. I think I'll manage financially. You know, I think you should go into engineering or some pristine shit. You're too good at math and science."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jimin says as you cuddle into his chest again. He's known you for thirteen years now and he's never seen you this let down in his life. You're struggling to hide the gargantuan amount of pain you're feeling, but the weather is reflecting your emotions too well. Jimin never knows how to comfort you—partly because you're rarely upset, but also because he's scared you might leave him if he says the wrong words.

You're right.

Jimin's terrified of losing someone he loves. He's scared that you'll leave him one day.

Your senior year in high school is the last time Jimin sees you sad. It takes you a few months to adjust to a life without your granny, but after that, you jumped right back up and out of your misery. The years rolled on through delightful days and unforgettable nights. Both of you are 24 now and it seems like nothing has changed.

Jimin waits for you to come out of your house in your work uniform, and you do just a few minutes after he arrives.

"Hey!" you beam at him. "Hope you didn't sleep too late studying or whatnot."

Jimin laughs as the two of you begin to walk to your workplace. "I actually pulled an all-nighter studying for the mid-term," he shrugs, pointing at the dark circles underneath his eyes.

"Aww, Jimin," you coo. "I'm kind of glad I never went to college. Much less try for a master's degree. After your classes, wanna meet me during my night shift?"

"Sure," Jimin agrees. His eyes glance at your petite figure, admiring the bright look on your face and your sparkling eyes before realizing what you were wearing. "Oh, Y/N!"

"What?" you giggle. "Do you like it?"

"The manager isn't going to be happy about that, Y/N," Jimin sighs.

Your work uniform was black and red—a modest black dress with a cinched-in waist and short sleeves and a red waist apron. It was a uniform that Jimin thought made you look gorgeous, but he knew how much you hated it. You'd complained several times that the outfit was too dark and gloomy and that it made you look like a sexy vampire. And you do not like sexy vampires. (Jimin thinks that's because you always rooted for Jacob the "sexy werewolf" in the hit book series, The Twilight Saga.) But what could you do about it? The black and red uniform matched the colors of the logo of the restaurant you worked in: The Black Dress.

Yet it seems like you do not give a fuck.

You're now wearing a bright green skirt with a green fanny pack around your hips, and the white pirate blouse you bought on a shopping spree sale last Halloween. Your red waist apron is tied around your neck so it flows behind you like a cape. And to top it all off, there are green clips in your hair.

"I think I look outstanding!" you chirp, twirling around. "I'm still wearing my apron so I think I'll be fine."

"Y/N... You work at The Black Dress... You can't not be wearing a black dress!" Jimin cries. "You're going to get fired!"

"Nah, I'm not," you snort. "I think the new manager has a soft spot for me. He'll really like my rather innovative work uniform!"

"What if I come over during your night shift to find out that you're no longer working there?" Jimin protests. "How are you so sure he'll be fine with you not following the dress code?"

"Oh, Jimin," you giggle, shaking your head. "Live a little! Break a few fucking rules, will you? The manager and I are good friends. I'll be fine. We're still on for tonight, right?"

"Yeah," Jimin scoffs, "if you still have your job by then."

"I will!" you protest. "Do you wanna bet?"

"What? No!"

Jimin knows when you threaten to make a bet, you're always 100% sure you're going to win. He had lost a lot of money before he’d figured that out.

"See? I'll be fine, Jimin," you say, stopping your walking when you come in front of the restaurant. "Good luck on that mid-term, all right?" You give him one of your best grins, hitting his back encouragingly as you begin to walk backward towards the entrance of the restaurant. "You're going to ace it!" you yell in the secret language.

Jimin smiles brightly. He knows that your words of encouragement will do wonders to his score like always. "Thanks!" he calls. "Bye!"

You wave your arms frantically, nearly tripping on a rock as you do so (walking backwards is not your thing). With final grins exchanged, you head into the restaurant. Jimin watches as you leave, unable to hide the fierce blush of his cheeks. It's been almost two decades and he's failed to tell you that he loves you.

Meanwhile, you sashay into the restaurant, twirling around in your modified work uniform. "Hello, everyone!" you announce in your best singing voice.

"Good morning, Y/N," your manager offers, smiling at you as he walks up to greet you.

He's a handsome man, you must admit. In his early thirties, intelligent, good with his words and rather caring.

"It's just me for now," he chuckles. "I guess the others will come later."

"Wow, I can't believe I'm the first one here, Namjoon," you laugh. "I'm literally always the last. Isn't this the first?"

Your manager laughs as well. "This is a special day then, isn't it?"

"Every day is a special day. Is it not?"

"That's very true," Namjoon agrees. "Is that why you decided to ditch your work uniform, Y/N?" he teases. "I must say the modified version looks quite nice. Someone has a penchant for the color green doesn't she?"

"You caught me!" you exclaim, raising your hands up in mock guilt. "My best friend thought I'd get fired or something. He's such a plain Jane," you giggle. "But I love him though. He's coming over later during my night shift. Is that okay?"

"Of course that's okay," Namjoon smiles. "I thought he was your boyfriend. Doesn't he walk you here every day?"

You laugh so hard you snort. "Boyfriend? Boyfriend?! God, no! We've been friends for nearly two decades, Namjoon! I think one time we even showered together. We're literally best friends."

"Good," Namjoon grins. "Because I've been wanting to ask you out for a while."

Your eyes widen. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah. When are you free?" he asks.

"Hmm..." you think. "Well, I'm supposed to have a movie night with Jimin on Friday. On Saturday, Jimin and I are supposed to watch the water fountain show we bought tickets for like seven months ago... On Sunday I'm supposed to sleep over at his place so we can wake up on Monday at the same place, you know, so it'll be easier for Jimin to walk me here... I think I'm okay Sunday. As long as I get to Jimin's home by 8!"

Namjoon laughs at your long explanation, looking at you fondly. "I'll take you out on a cafe date. Then we can watch a movie and have an early dinner. How does that sound?"

"I like it!" you giggle. "I haven't been on a date in... damn, I've never been on a date."

"Really?" Namjoon asks, slightly bewildered. "No one's taken you out on a date? You?"

"Yeah!" you blush. "Why? Am I date-worthy?"

"You're very date-worthy, Y/N," Namjoon laughs. "Maybe everyone thought you were already taken. You know, you spend a lot of time with your best friend."

You snort. "Jimin and I hang out all the time but I never once thought of anything as a date. He probably thinks of me like I'm his sister!"

"Good, good," Namjoon grins. "So he won't be mad that I'll have to steal you away for a day."

You giggle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Jimin never gets mad. The last time he got slightly irritated with me was in senior year of high school."

"Great!" Namjoon says. "I'll see you at the cafe next door at 2?"

"Sure!" you exclaim.

"Everything's planned, then," Namjoon smiles. "Well, we have fifteen minutes left until the restaurant opens. Why don't you get dressed in your actual uniform? We have extras in the back, okay? Maybe I'll see you around today! I'm going to go check up on our chefs."

"Okay!" you nod. "Bye!" When he's out of view, you have to duck your head to hide your blushing red cheeks. When was the last time a man was interested in you? Never. You're not going to mess up on a perfect chance to date Kim Namjoon who's tall, handsome, intelligent and diligent. You don't think you can wait to meet Jimin during your night shift to tell him such good news. You might just accidentally text him right now! But you can't. Jimin's taking a test and you would be evil to distract him like that.

You've awaited your fairytale romance for 24 fucking years. Maybe you've finally found the Gilbert to your granny. Something about Kim Namjoon feels right.

You squeal giddily as you flee to the back counter of the restaurant, finding the extra black dress there as Namjoon said. You skip to the bathroom to get changed, folding up your modified uniform and stashing it somewhere in the back counter. Your radiance is obvious during your day shift—you get three times the amount of tips than usual. Namjoon even notices and compliments you on your diligence!

Usually, when your day shift is over by 4 p.m., you like to sit in the corner of the restaurant with a fresh magazine in hand and use Gilbert to correct all the embarrassing grammatical errors until it's time for your night shift. But today, Namjoon sits down across from you (because his work for today was over) and he asks what you're doing.

You spend the next two hours until your night shift explaining to Namjoon the intricacies of correct grammar. He seems to enjoy every minute of it. When you have to go back to work, Namjoon promises to see you tomorrow, which was Friday and wishes you the best on your night shift. You let out a dreamy sigh when he leaves.

How did you not notice such a great man like Namjoon was right in front of your face? Granted, it's only been a few weeks since he started working here, but still.

You're usually just a little bit tired (crazy, right? for such an energetic person like you) by the time you start your second shift, but you feel more energized than ever. By the time Jimin comes into the restaurant, you're serving the last customers and cleaning up the tables and pushing in the chairs.

"Hey!" you cry, rushing in to hug your friend. "How was the mid-term?"

"It was great!" Jimin beams. "You've been in a really good mood today, haven't you? The sun was out the whole day. Huh, and you're not fired, I see. Someone made you put on the uniform?"

"Yeah, Namjoon," you say dreamily. When Jimin makes a blank face, you clarify, "my manager."

"Oh? He wasn't mad?"

"No! He wasn't!" you giggle. "He asked me out on a date, Jimin! And then he told me to change into my uniform, but that's beside the point! We're supposed to meet on Sunday at the cafe next door at 2! This is my first date! You have to help me with what to wear!"

Jimin plasters on a giant grin for you, though his insides crumble. "That's great, Y/N! Maybe I can come over later and help you choose what to wear. Are you thinking of making it official? It sounds like you really like him..."

"I don't know yet," you hum. "But I know he's a great guy! You know how well I read people, right? He really likes Gilbert too! God, I think he's already gonna be my prince!"

Jimin nods. "Wow," he mumbles. "Do you know him very well?"

"Well, I know that his name is Kim Namjoon. And he's the day-time manager for The Black Dress," you say, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to think. "He has blonde hair... uh, he's tall and he likes to wear all black!"

"You don't know him very well, do you?" Jimin accuses, crossing his arms over his chest. "Y/N, how do you like him so much if you barely know him? Is it because he expressed interest in you? You can't just go liking people back just because they like you... You need to make judgments for yourself."

You pout, shaking your head. "It's not like that," you say. "And I made my judgment already! I like Kim Namjoon, Jimin. Besides, I will get to know him. Now, I'm gonna go close up the restaurant so sit tight, all right?"

Jimin nods, grumbling under his breath about how quickly you were moving on to like someone you barely gave a second look at. He does admit that he's a bit jealous... Who was this Kim Namjoon who just decided to waltz into your life and steal you away from him? Who was he to ask you out just based on physical attraction? Jimin can't believe you were falling for a guy you basically just met. But he does admit that you've always wanted some sort of fairytale romance. Is it too late for him to confess now?

"Why are you thinking so hard?" you giggle, making Jimin jump away from you from the suddenness. "I closed up the restaurant. Shall we go home?" You hold out your hand for Jimin to take, which he does after just a bit of hesitance.

"I was not thinking very hard," Jimin says.

"Oh, really?" you snort, swinging your intertwined hands back and forth. "You were thinking so hard, a vein popped out in your forehead! A penny for your thoughts?"

When you hold out an actual penny for him to take, Jimin laughs, shaking his head. You huff, putting the penny back in your pocket. "It was nothing, Y/N."

"Wow, I didn't know nothing made you think so hard you looked angry," you tease. "You can tell me anything, you know."

"Yeah, of course," Jimin sighs, squeezing your hand and struggling to hide his actual feelings.

Damn. If he could control the weather with his emotions, it would be raining right now.

Jimin knew you would never be one to put your dates over your friends. That fact was confirmed for him when even though you got Namjoon's phone number, you never texted him when you were hanging out with Jimin—which was practically all the time.

Your Friday movie night was a blast, as usual. The two of you cuddled up on the couch and completely lost it over a hysterical comedy. And the Saturday hangout was even better with the majestic water fountain show. When the two of you separated that night, you ended up FaceTiming in each of your houses. Like Jimin had promised, he helped you pick out a cute but modest outfit for tomorrow—something that enhanced your best features (which Jimin thought is everything) and something that would make it very obvious that green is your color. You went to bed smiling because you were excited about your date with Namjoon tomorrow. Jimin went to bed smiling because you were the last person he saw before going to bed.

On Sunday morning, Jimin woke up, texted you to have fun on your date and began to study for his advanced thermodynamics class, which was a whole fucking pain in the ass. He skipped lunch, got a snack around early evening and waited for you to come over while he watched some kitten Youtube videos.

You were supposed to be back from your date by 8 p.m. It is promptly 8:07 and Jimin begins to get a bit nervous. Should he text? Call? 8:07 is such an ambiguous time. If he calls now, he'll sound clingy, like he's trying to interrupt your date with Namjoon. Well, Jimin wouldn't mind doing that, but he doesn't want to hurt your feelings and burst your idealistic bubble. Perhaps he should wait.

You're always late to everything, anyways. If Jimin wasn't in your life, you would've been late to every single day of school from kindergarten to high school. Hell, if he hadn't banged on your door for you to come out on graduation day, you might've never graduated high school. Maybe Gilbert fell out of your flimsy dress pocket and you're looking for it? (It's happened before so it could surely happen again.)

Alas, the door of Jimin's small apartment swings open and you practically skip through, giggling and twirling around. "Sorry I'm late!" you say, rushing over to where Jimin was slouched on the couch and cuddling up next to him.

You smell faintly masculine. Jimin struggles not to make an unflattering face—that was no doubt Namjoon's cologne. He wonders what base Namjoon took you to tonight. Did you kiss him? Did you make out with him? Have... sex?

He shudders thinking about it.

No. That couldn't have happened. They were in public places the whole time. Unless...

He glances over at you who's stripping off your jewelry, socks and jacket. You're too busy tying up your hair into a messy bun to notice Jimin staring at your lips. Had Namjoon kissed you goodbye?

Jimin shames himself for having these thoughts. He should be happy for you. Besides, you weren't even that late. It's only 8:10.

"You wouldn't believe why I was like, ten minutes late," you giggle, stretching out your legs and sitting in an unflattering position that hikes your dress up to your mid-thigh. Jimin struggles not to look down.

"Really?" he asks. "What happened?"

You snort. "Okay, so—wait do you have my makeup remover wipes here? And can I borrow some sweats? I totally forgot to bring a change of clothes. Sorry!" you say.

Jimin nods. "Yeah, the wipes are in my bedroom where you last left them and um, you can find some of my t-shirts in the first drawer of the cabinet next to my bed."

"Okay, thanks, Jimin!" you giggle, quickly bouncing up from your spot. When you see that Jimin's still glued to his seat, you laugh. "I can't tell you the story when you're that far away from me! Get up! I'll tell you the story while I change."

Jimin flushes at the thought. "Y-Yeah, okay," he stutters. You tug him into his own bedroom, snatching the makeup wipes from the nightstand and beginning to wipe off your light makeup. Jimin sits down on his bed, cross-legged, attentively waiting for you to start your story.

"Okay, anyways, Joon—"

"Joon?"

"Yeah, it's like my little nickname for Namjoon, isn't it adorable? Where was I? Right!" you mutter to yourself as you furiously scrub off the remnants of your mascara. "We were coming out of the movie theater, right? I found out Gilbert wasn't in my pocket! And I was just about to turn around to tell Joon my misfortune but he was already facing me and yelling, 'I FORGOT MY PHONE!' "

You take a moment to skillfully aim the wipe into Jimin's trash bin, squealing when it goes in completely clean. Jimin claps politely for you.

"Thank you," you bow dramatically. "Oh yeah, where was I?" You begin to make your way towards Jimin's bedroom cabinet, pulling out the first drawer and inspecting your choices of nightwear and sticking your hand in the neatly folded clothes to rummage through and pick your poison. "So, naturally, Joon and I went back into the theater and—ooh, Jimin you have a few condoms in here! Are you getting it on these days?"

"Y/N!" Jimin shrieks, scrambling over and snatching the condom you were teasingly holding out before chucking it into his closet and slamming the door shut. "T-That's private."

"Oh, really?" you ask, wiggling your eyebrows. "Who's the lucky girl?"

"Come on, Y/N. I'm a virgin, you know that."

You raise your eyebrows. "It looks like you're tired of being one though," you tease.

Jimin can't look you in the eyes. His face burns with humiliation. He can't possibly explain why he had bought those condoms. Back when he was an undergraduate, he had been desperate to get over his feelings for you—so desperate, in fact, that he had purchased his first batch of contraceptives to have sex with other women and completely forget about you. But he never had the guts to try. How could he? When he was so hopefully in love with you that he couldn't imagine himself being sexually active with someone else. Er, not that he sees himself being sexually active with you. But—

I need to stop thinking about this.

"Aw, Jiminie," you coo. "It's okay to be a virgin," you say in your secret language as you sit down on the bed with one of Jimin's favorite black t-shirts in hand. Jimin believes you must've thought he was pissed off at you for teasing him about being inexperienced. "I'm a virgin too, right?" you say. "I'm waiting for my prince!"

Jimin breathes a sigh of relief. So you hadn't had sex with Namjoon tonight. For some reason, he feels much better after hearing that. "You know what, Y/N?" he smiles. "I'm waiting for my princess."

You smile so bright it lights up the room. "Good," you say. "Let's get married on the same day, then. A double wedding in a castle far, far away!" you place a dramatic hand over your forehead. "Now! Where was I for the hundredth time? Oh, yeah! Joon and I went back to the theater," you say, starting to unzip your dress.

Jimin's eyes turn wide and he quickly turns his back towards you, making you laugh.

"I'm not putting on a strip show," you giggle. "You don't have to be so embarrassed about it!"

"I-I, uh, I'll just give you some privacy. Tell me when you're done," Jimin manages to choke out.

"So gentlemanly. How do you not have a girlfriend yet?" you chuckle to yourself, sliding the sleeves of the dress of your shoulders and dragging the fabric off of your body. "Okay, okay, okay. I need to focus. Anyways, Joon and I went back into the movie theater and the first thing we did was to go back into the room where we watched the movie—great film, by the way—and we literally scrounged around everywhere for my poor Gilbert and Joon's phone! But to no avail! It was as if both of them disappeared!"

You toss your dress on the floor, unclip your bra and tug Jimin's shirt on in smooth motions.

"Jimin, you can look now," you say.

He turns around, ears slightly pink and eyes averted. Quickly, Jimin sits down on his bed, across from you. "You can continue your story," he offers.

You grin. "So, Joon was panicking at this point because he lost his phone. And I was about to burst into tears because I lost Gilbert, you know?"

Jimin nods in response.

"Yeah, so I figured I'd have to be late coming to your apartment because I can't just leave without Gilbert! When I reached into my purse to get my phone to tell you of my misfortune, guess what happened. Guess! Guess!"

Jimin pouts. "Can't you just tell me?"

You roll your eyes. "I was building the story up just so you could literally guess what happened with no problem," you huff. "Fine, then. I reached into my purse to get my phone and I pulled out Namjoon's instead! Turns out, before the movie, Joon was holding all the snacks and he dropped his phone. So, you know, I picked it up and couldn't give it back to him so I just put it in my purse!"

Jimin smiles. "And you forgot you put it in your purse?"

"Well, yeah!" you giggle. "I was so worried about Gilbert!"

"Did you find him?" Jimin asks.

You snort. "Is that even a question, Jimin? I wouldn't be this happy right now if I hadn't. You'd never guess where Gilbert was, Jimin."

"So there's no point in me trying, right?" he responds, teasingly. But when he sees your death glare, he sighs. "Fine. Was Gilbert in Namjoon's purse?"

"HA!" you exclaim. "Good one! But no, it was in my right pocket."

"Oh, Y/N," Jimin says, leaning back on his bed. "You only checked your left pocket before you declared Gilbert missing, huh?"

"Yessir!" you laugh. "Joon and I got a good laugh out of it. He told me I'm really silly! And, get this, he said I'm a natural!"

"Really?" Jimin says. "A natural at what?"

"Dating!" you squeal. "He told me I'm naturally cuddly and adorable and kissable and—god, my heart exploded in my chest!!!"

Kissable???

"But I told him I don't kiss on first dates—not that I've never been on another one... You know? Like you need to give them something to long for!" you laugh, spreading out on Jimin's bed while looking up at his ceiling. "I read that from a romance novel somewhere. And it worked! He asked me out on our second date during our first date! Am I amazing or what?"

"Oh, Y/N," Jimin sighs.

"Oh, Jimin," you mock right back. "Anyways, shall we go to bed early? My princess beauty sleep is waiting!" you sing, making your way to Jimin's bathroom. "I'm gonna wash up, okay?"

"All right," Jimin answers, getting up to turn off the lights of his room. He crawls back into his bed, waiting for you to join him. A few minutes later, you do, tucking yourself in on the left side of the bed and snuggling Jimin's blankets as you sigh out.

No matter how many times he's slept beside you, Jimin feels like his heart will beat out of his chest every time. It feels wrong, to sleep in the same bed as adults when you're in nothing but a platonic relationship with him. Yet something about it feels so right... And you've been doing it since you were kids and upholding tradition is pretty important to both of you.

Jimin double-checks to make sure he isn't pulling the blanket covers too hard. He doesn't want you left with anything to stay warm through the night.

"Goodnight, Jimin," you whisper.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he whispers back.

And he drifts off to sleep. Only in his dreams can his longing to be with you come true.

Jimin is always your priority. You have a lot of friends, but when it comes to who you're willing to spend the most time with, it's Jimin. And it's always been like that—since that one fateful day in kindergarten to now. Er, kind of.

These days, your priorities may have shifted just a tiny bit.

It's been like that ever since Namjoon took you out on that stupid fifth date, which was the date that marked the official start of your romantic relationship with him. Jimin had sulked in his bed that whole day when you'd first texted him the news. But later, he forced himself to get up and have a cup of coffee with you in the cafe next to your workplace. He feigned a smile for you and told you that Namjoon was one lucky man.

And he was.

Now that Namjoon is officially your boyfriend, Jimin had to share you with him. It's unfair. Jimin's known you for nearly two decades, but Kim Namjoon decided to waltz into your life one day and win you over in less than a month. What did Namjoon have that Jimin didn't??

But no matter how bitter your relationship with Namjoon made Jimin feel, he hid it away from you. Besides, you are practically glowing these days. Whatever Namjoon tells you makes you absolutely radiant. And Namjoon must be a good man because you come over to Jimin's apartment after every date happy and bubbly like it was your first. So he's definitely treating you right.

You don't get to spend as much time with Jimin anymore, too. Sometimes, Jimin asks if you're available for lunch or dinner but half the time you've already made reservations with your boyfriend. Yet you always make sure you see Jimin at least five days a week (two days less than what was before, but it's a small price Jimin's willing to pay for your heightened happiness).

Since your birthday is coming up, Jimin's been putting the finishing touches on your present—the one he's been preparing since the day after your last birthday. This year, you've already made him a short little flipbook (that you drew yourself) about the first time the two of you had first met for Jimin's birthday. The gift was rather nostalgic and it had almost made him cry. Jimin hopes the present he makes for you this year will make you cry. In a good way, of course.

You and Jimin share every single one of your birthdays. It's been an ongoing tradition since Jimin turned six before you did. This year is no different. You had to tell a very bummed Namjoon that you already made dinner reservations with your best friend so he'd had to give you your present when you ate lunch with him earlier that day.

Jimin doesn't really think Namjoon likes him that much. He always eyes Jimin with some sort of suspect as if Jimin was going to steal you away from him. Hmph. The feeling is reciprocal.

When you came to your favorite restaurant wearing your favorite green dress, Jimin had already ordered the food and was patiently waiting with his hand-made present.

"Hey!" you cry as you slide into the seat.

"Happy birthday, Y/N!" Jimin smiles. "You look great!"

"Right?" you giggle, tossing your perfectly curled hair over your shoulder. "I felt like for my 25th birthday, I'd have to wear something cute. I'm halfway to the fucking 50 years old, Jimin. I'm aging too quickly," you huff, crossing your arms over your shoulder. "Did you order already?"

"O-Oh, yeah," Jimin says. "Why? Did you want something different?"

"No, I just wanted to check if the menus had any grammatical errors," you laugh, shrugging. "Oh well, when we get dessert menus, I'll check out RM."

"RM?"

"Oh! It's part of the gift Joon gave me," you exclaim, pulling out a—

"Red marker?" Jimin scrunches his eyebrows. "For your birthday?"

You nod, placing the marker on your desk and rolling it towards Jimin so he can pick it up and examine it. Jimin does, scrutinizing the marker that was most definitely not as great as Gilbert.

"Well, Joon always saw that I was correcting grammatical errors with Gilbert and he thought that something red would be more emphatic, you know?" you explain, taking out Gilbert from your left pocket. "Of course I love Gilbert more, but I thought I'd give RM a try. Besides, Joon said red serves as the better color for correcting. He said the color itself brings alert to the problem and that green is too passive. I guess I can see that."

Jimin frowns. "But you like green because it's 'passive,' " Jimin sighs as he makes air quotes with his hands. "And it doesn't make the corrections seem as rude and aggressive."

"I know, Jimin," you smile. "I'll try RM out once and keep it on a shelf somewhere. Gilbert's not going anywhere. You know that. Besides, Joon was really insistent that I tried it out, you know? He was so thoughtful too! I think it's a great gift! And I think it's endearing that he named it RM for me. Did you know RM used to be his nickname when he was back in college and in an acapella group? The man can sing! What can he not do?" you gush.

"He named the marker after himself?" Jimin snorts. Typical.

"Well, yeah, I guess he did!" you laugh. "It's like I'm always carrying around a mini him!"

Bleh.

"Yeah," Jimin agrees without much heart. "Oh, wanna see what I got you for your birthday?" he asks, hoping to steer the conversation away from your boyfriend.

"OH MY GOD, YES!" you exclaim. "I've been waiting for this moment since my last birthday."

"Good," Jimin grins as he whips out a box with pretty, green wrapping. "Here."

You take it from him, shaking the box wildly and with wide, happy eyes. "It's kinda heavy!" you comment, beginning to rip the wrapping off. You skillfully force the box open with the butt of your fork. When you finally see your present, you gasp. "Oh, Jimin, you fucking didn't."

"I fucking did," Jimin smiles proudly. "Open it."

You carefully take a photo book out of the box, your eyes glued on the beautiful front cover. "God. I'm tearing up just looking at the front," you laugh. "Where'd you even get these photos?"

He shrugs, smiling. "Here and there, you know?"

Jimin had made sure the cover of the photo book would be littered with childhood photos he and you had taken when you were younger. The rest of the book is filled with little memories the two of you shared growing up with captions and comments underneath. There are a total of 392 photos in the book. And Jimin had spent seven months accumulating them—mostly from his father's old camera and Jimin's old Nokia phone he dug out from his garage. You'd always wanted a photo book, so Jimin thought it was time to gift you with one.

You're excitedly flipping through the pages, spending more time to stare at the more sentimental photos. Even when the food arrives, you can't put the book away. You're so distracted with Jimin's present that you don't even try to correct the grammar errors on the dessert menus. So Jimin grabs Gilbert and makes corrections himself. He puts the correct accents on crème brûlée and corrects a rather obvious spelling error. Then, he proceeds to order two strawberry cheesecakes. Surprisingly, even when the dessert arrives, you don't put the book down.

It's rare when something entrances you so much that you don't speak for long periods of time. You haven't spoken a single word to Jimin ever since you'd started flipping through the photo book, and Jimin finds that he doesn't mind at all. He loves watching how your face relaxes and contorts again as the memories of your childhood flood through you. The last photo in the book is the one your granny took of you and Jimin fighting over the last glazed donut when the two of you were in first grade. Spoiler alert: you'd won. But you had also felt bad after watching Jimin sulk so you'd broken the donut in half and handed a piece to your best friend.

When you finally catch sight of the last photo, you gasp, putting a hand over your lips.

"Granny," you whisper. "She took this photo. I remember..."

You're practically clouded with nostalgia and Jimin swears he sees tears welling up in your eyes. But you won't cry over something as simple as this. It's the fact that you loved his gift so much that you almost cried that counts.

"Gosh... Jimin," you breathe, fanning your eyes. "I'm not crying, by the way. Something's in my eye, I don't know," you mumble.

Jimin grins.

"I don't even know what to say, Jimin. I love it. I'll cherish it forever. Thank you. God, it's perfect," you say. "Wow. You're leaving me speechless, Jimin. And it's very hard to shut me up. You're something special."

Jimin practically beams. All the time and effort he'd spent on your birthday gift had really paid off. He loves seeing you so happy that you can't even describe what you're feeling in words.

You carefully shut the photo book, setting it off to the side before staring right into Jimin's eyes. "I would totally fucking say I love you right now but I don't think Joon would appreciate it."

"What?" Jimin breathes as his heart flutters in his chest. "But he's not here right now."

"He doesn't like it when I do 'romantic' things with you," you sigh as you lean back. "We had a long discussion about it a few days ago."

"Romantic things?" Jimin makes a face. "What the hell is he talking about?"

"Oh, it's not a big deal!" you exclaim, waving your hands. "He just thinks, well, he thinks that some of the stuff that I do with you... um, is not really, uh, platonic."

Ah. Jimin sees where you're going with this. And now it's obvious why Joon always looks at him so suspiciously—Namjoon feels threatened by Jimin.

"How so?" Jimin asks but he already knows the answer.

"Like um, he doesn't like it when I sleep over at your place, you know?" you say, fidgeting in your seat. "And he really put his foot down when I told him we sometimes share a bed. He said I shouldn't really do that with you anymore."

Jimin understands where Namjoon is coming from. But at the same time, he feels as if Namjoon had violated his rights. His rights to be with you.

"I can't hold hands with you either," you say, looking down at your uneaten strawberry cheesecake. "I'm so sorry, Jimin. I know we've been doing it for so long and I swear, I didn't know it was strictly a relationship thing. But apparently it is, and it made Joon uncomfortable that we were holding hands when I'm really dating him and just—" you stop yourself from rambling, sighing as you take a sip of your ice water. "And I really love him, Jimin," you whisper. "I don't want to lose him."

"You love him already?" Jimin says with a slight tremor in his voice that you completely look over. "It's only been a month, Y/N."

"Love has nothing to do with time," you smile wistfully. "He's my prince, Jimin. If I let him go, he'll find someone else."

Jimin's silent, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn't hurt your feelings.

You take his silence as a bad sign. "Jimin, I didn't want to break all of this to you on a celebration night but I felt like you deserved to know earlier," you say in your secret language. "I'm sorry. It was all part of our tradition too."

"It's fine," Jimin sighs. But it's really not. Yet Jimin hides his pain by shoving a forkful of cake into his mouth. He chews slowly, swallows. "What Joon's suggesting is pretty justified. Don't worry about it."

The rest of your birthday dinner is somewhat awkward. Of course, you try to save the mood by cracking a few jokes here and there, but Jimin finds it hard to laugh. It's the worst birthday he's ever celebrated with you.

You and Joon have only started dating for a month, but so much as changed already. Jimin doesn't even want to think of the drastic changes that might follow as your relationship with your 'prince' deepens and blossoms into something even more serious.

When Jimin arrives at your home to walk you to work on a Monday morning, he does a double-take because he finds you already waiting outside, shivering from the chilly air in nothing but your plain work uniform. Never in the twenty years that he's known you have you ever been on your doorstep before him.

"Y/N?" Jimin asks, bewildered. "What happened?"

"Hey!" you exclaim, waving at your best friend enthusiastically. "Nothing happened. I'm just trying to get into the habit of being early. It's not a good habit to be late all the time."

"Your face is red, Y/N!" Jimin says, shrugging his thick coat off and handing it to you and you take it gratefully. "How long have you been waiting?"

"Eh, just a few minutes," you say, sniffling your runny nose and grinning. "I'm as red as RM! Besides, the sun's shining. You know what that means? I'm fine."

Jimin shakes his head. "You should've waited inside. I'm okay with waiting. I've done it for twenty years so I wouldn't mind doing it for more."

"Joon told me I should get into the habit of being early," you giggle. "I've been late to every single one of our dates so far, you know?"

"Well, you've been late to every single one of our hangouts but I never said anything," Jimin scoffs.

"It's different with you," you say, smiling.

How? Jimin so desperately wants to ask. But he's afraid of your answer.

You wrap Jimin's black coat tighter around yourself as you skip down the porch steps. "C'mon! I wanna get to work super early!"

It takes only a week later for Jimin to realize you like going to work early because your boyfriend's already there, waiting for you.

You've been with Namjoon for about three months now, and the effects are starting to impact Jimin's life rather largely. For starters, you're spending way less time with him than before. The daily routines you had established with him for years are broken as you mold your lifestyle in the way that Namjoon wants you to. Jimin hates change more than anything. You should know that.

And you do. You apologize profusely—any chance you get—about the little changes in his lifestyle because of you; Jimin never blames you, though.

When you missed his grad school graduation because Namjoon bought you expensive vacation tickets to an acclaimed resort in Hawaii, Jimin didn't blame you.

It was Namjoon who had bought the tickets and it was Namjoon who told you the trip wasn't refundable. It was Namjoon who wanted to take you away from Jimin for a week. You promised you would FaceTime him.

And you're the best promise-keeper in the world.

"How is it there?" Jimin asks in the secret language as he lounges on his couch. "Is the weather nice?"

"It's beautiful!" you exclaim, moving out of the screen to show Jimin the sparkling blue-green oceans behind you. "We went snorkeling a few hours ago and we just had lunch so we're waiting to digest our food before we dive in again! I wish you were here," you pout. "I'm sorry I missed your graduation, by the way. Was your father there?"

"Yeah, he was. Don't worry about that," Jimin says. "I'm glad you're having fun."

"Aw, thanks!" you giggle. "Joon really outdid himself with all of this. Oh, how's your job status, by the way?"

"I got the job," Jimin smiles. "I didn't go through with those extra few years of school for nothing."

"HA!" you snort. "If I actually went to college, I would've been kicked out for literally failing every class. Remember when I got a 32% on that physics test? God, I hated Mr. Chung. Look at that! After all of these years, I still remember his goddamn name!"

Jimin shakes from laughter. "Of course I remember! Mr. Chung told me to tutor you or something."

"And then you told Mr. Chung that—"

"Baby?" Namjoon calls off-screen, interrupting you mid-sentence.

You turn around to look at him. "Yeah, babe? Oh, wait, sorry. I mean, yeah, babe?"

Jimin can hear Namjoon sighing. "Baby, can you please, refrain from using that secret language of yours in public?" he whispers. "I'm so sorry, but it sounds a bit like a chicken is being repeatedly run over by a car and people are starting to stare."

Jimin's about to give Namjoon a piece of his mind when you cut in before him.

"Aw, I'm sorry Joon," you giggle. "I made the language when I was really young. Explains a lot, doesn't it? Sorry, Jimin," you tell the camera. "I guess we'll have to stop our encrypted conversation."

"And baby?" Namjoon calls. "We're on vacation! Technology should be off when we have such beautiful scenery around us."

Jimin grits his teeth.

"Right!" you laugh. "Silly me. Sorry, Jimin," you say again, not even looking into the camera this time. "I have to go! I'll talk to you later, okay? Bye!"

Before Jimin can even answer, you end the call. Jimin's left staring right back at his own frustrated face. He chucks his phone across his couch and covers his face with his hands.

At first, Jimin didn't like Namjoon because he was jealous. But now, it's come to more than that. Namjoon's been trying to change the little quirks and habits that made you, you; he's trying to mold you into the same society you rebelled against for all of your life. He's trying to take you away from Jimin. He's trying to strip you of everything you were before you met him.

But what can Jimin do about it?

You're too head over heels in love with this Kim Namjoon. That man is the self-proclaimed prince to your princess. Jimin can't help but think he's the ogre. A handsome, successful ogre who strikes slowly, so slowly that the damage cannot be detected until it's too late.

If Jimin tries to warn you about Namjoon and his dubious intentions, you might not believe him and hate Jimin for life. If Jimin says nothing, he might not be able to recognize you in a few years' time at the rate the changes are happening now.

Jimin doesn't know what to do. He hates confrontations—that had always been your job, not his. So he does what he always does: nothing.

Being with you every day is a mystery. You have something new up your sleeve every single day without fail. Whether it be a new fashion style or a new gadget you made, you're always flaunting something that others wouldn't dare flaunt. And that's what made you so special.

But the crazy color schemes that had once been in your closet have been reduced to dark, muted colors. The Halloween costumes you kept every year to wear as everyday clothes were sitting on a rack in some Goodwill store. You dressed... plainly now.

Of course, there is nothing wrong with that. It's just not you. It is Namjoon though. Besides from Jimin, Namjoon is the plainest man he knows. And so far, switching out your wardrobe was definitely not your idea, though you seem to believe it is. That Kim Namjoon. He's planting these stupid ideas in your head and you're absorbing them like a sponge, too kind and docile and a bit too naive to disagree with your boyfriend.

Jimin's heard the way you talk about him. Your eyes gloss over with complete adoration and you giggle at everything Namjoon does. You're madly in love with him, and Jimin can't do anything about it except watch.

But no matter how many of your habits and physical lifestyle Namjoon can change, he can't touch your personality. You're the same girl Jimin's known and loved for years and years of his life. And he's not going to let you go anytime soon.

"JIMIN!!!" you yell, almost knocking your friend over by hugging him the moment you open your apartment door to see his face. "You're two minutes late!" you pout as you drag him over in front of your television. "I already picked a movie!"

Jimin can't deny Friday movie nights with you is the only thing he looks forward to these days. Though you don't cuddle with him on the couch anymore, you like to lean against his shoulder. And that's enough contact for Jimin to be satisfied.

"Really?" Jimin grins. "What movie?"

"Interstellar!" you say, collapsing on your couch as you aggressively pat the empty seat next to you. "Hurry up! Hurry up! I'm excited!"

"Y/N? Are you sure?" Jimin asks as he sits down next to you with a confused look on his face. Usually, when you choose a movie, you always end up reverting back to your classic favorite Disney princess films. "I know you don't really like sci-fi..."

"Yeah, but I told Namjoon I already watched that movie, but I haven't. So now I need to watch it," you explain quickly. "You like sci-fi, though, so you can explain all the things I don't get! Which would be half of the movie."

There Namjoon goes again. Making you watch movies that literally lull you to sleep.

"Okay," Jimin sighs. He doesn't have the guts to tell you that he's watched this movie hundreds of times.

By the time the roll credits are playing on the screen, you're completely knocked out. Well, you've been knocked out since the first twenty minutes of the film. Jimin's been watching you sleep for the rest of the two hours and thirty minutes of the film. (Not in a creepy way—an endearing way.) He had to stop himself multiple times from reaching out and tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and away from your face.

God. Jimin needs a drink of water. Is it just him or is the room getting hotter?

He stands up slowly and quietly, making sure he wouldn't disturb your peaceful beauty sleep. Jimin's known your home since he was five; he could walk blindfolded to the kitchen if someone made him. He finds refuge near your water dispenser, fanning his face and taking his own cup from the cupboard. Your granny had bought that blue cup for him years ago, gifting you with a separate green cup. It's the only cup you use at home.

Jimin fills his cup with water, downing all of it in one large gulp. The water helps him cool off just a tad bit. He moves to place his used cup in the sink, his eyes habitually glancing over at your trash can.

You never remember to put a plastic bag inside it, which makes the gross remnants of your waste stick to your trash can. And Jimin can definitely say that that stench is horrendous. Jimin sighs as he finds an empty Walmart plastic bag rolling around your kitchen. He approaches the trash can, holding his breath just in case. But when he checks inside, there is nothing in it except for—

"GILBERT?" Jimin gasps loudly.

"JIMIN?!" you shriek. There's a resounding thud in the living room and a small "oof," from you as you lay sprawled on the floor.

"Y/N!" Jimin yells.

You dash over to your kitchen, rubbing your eyes and trying to adjust to the bright kitchen lights. "Jimin?" you say, your brows furrowed as you approach your friend who's pointing aggressively at your trash can with wide, angry eyes. "Oh," you say softly when you realize what he's talking about. "Right..."

"Why is Gilbert in the trash, Y/N?" Jimin asks, running his fingers through his hair as he grips the kitchen counter for stability. "Was it Namjoon? Did he do this?"

"No!" you shout. "I did it, Jimin. I tossed Gilbert in the trash."

"Why?" Jimin whispers, taking a step away from you. "That marker's everything to you."

"I know, Jimin, I know," you groan. "It dried out. It's ages old, you know?"

"But you take such good care of it, Y/N." Jimin shakes his head. "And you're just tossing it away like that because it dried out? What about your grandfather? What about your granny?"

"Jimin, it's fine. I'm fine," you say, shrugging. "It's time I let go, you know?

"Let go of what, Y/N? The only family you've known?" Jimin sighs. "What happened to saving the world by correcting their grammatical errors?"

"Its," you reply.

"What?" Jimin says exasperatedly.

"Saving the world by correcting its grammatical errors," you say, a slow smile emerging on your face as Jimin shakes his head to hide his own grin beginning to manifest on his face. "I'm sorry, Jimin. You're right. I don't know what I was thinking," you say. "Well, I wasn't. Joon and I had our first fight today."

"Oh..."

"No, don't you 'oh' me, Park Jimin!" you laugh. "It's really not that bad! He told me I had a premature taste in films and an immature outlook on life, but I mean, he's not wrong, you know? I tried to stay awake watching Interstellar. I really did. But Joon's right. I can't like anything that's advanced. And I realized that it's a crime to vandalize, too..."

"So you threw Gilbert away because of that?"

"Well, yeah," you say. "It's a crime, Jimin. I didn't even know until Joon told me! He's so wise!"

"Oh, god," Jimin groans, burying his face in his hands.

"Ah, c'mon, Jiminie," you say, grabbing his wrists and trying to pry his hands away from his face. "He's helping me move on, you know? He's helping me become a better person!"

A better person.

The words sting. If your definition of a 'better person' is losing the spark, the color of your life, then fine. You were already a better person than before. But all Jimin can see is the monochrome you. The you without color. Which doesn't really seem like you at all.

But it hasn't rained in a while, so maybe you were truly fine with losing your color. Either that or you had also lost the ability to control the weather with your emotions. Jimin wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

Jimin is a patient man. Not only has he waited twenty years for you to love him back (which you never did), but also he never outwardly expressed his frustrations with your change in lifestyle to you.

Besides, if Namjoon's making you that happy, then there really was no problem, right?

Wrong.

You call Jimin on Sunday with the worst news ever imaginable.

"I'm moving!" you squeal and Jimin can hear you jumping up and down on your bed from the other line. "Joon asked me to move in with him!!"

You've only dated him for four months.

"H-He did?" Jimin stutters, cursing himself for sounding so pathetically off-guard. "What about your home? Your granny's home?"

You've lived in that house ever since you were born until now.

"I can't live in that house, forever, Jimin. I want to move on!" you say. "Plus, I think Joon and I are ready to take our relationship to the next level!"

"That's ridiculous," Jimin mutters, raking his fingers through his hair in pure frustration.

"Sorry?" you say.

Shit. Jimin had forgotten you were still on the phone.

"Nevermind," he sighs.

"Jiminie," you say with that characteristic lilt in your voice. "You can tell me what you're thinking you know! I haven't been your ride or die best friend for twenty years to not know what's going on with you."

"I know," Jimin says. But he can't tell you that he absolutely despises your boyfriend. It'll break your heart. And Jimin doesn't want to be the reason for your unhappiness. "Congratulations, Y/N," he says. "I hope you like your new place, then."

"I love it, Jimin!" you squeal. "Joon remodeled his bedroom recently and damn it's just so beautiful! I'll finally be living in a castle with my prince!"

"That's great, Y/N!"

"I know, right?" you exclaim in such a voice that Jimin can tell you're absolutely beaming on the other line. "You have to come over when the move's finished! You know what? Come over this Friday for movie night! I wanna give you a tour of my new home!"

"Namjoon won't mind?" Jimin asks.

"He's going out with friends that night," you giggle. "We'll have the whole place to ourselves! Did you know Joon has a flat-screen TV?? It's humongous!"

The offer sounds very tempting. Watching a movie on a high-end television with you on a Friday night? Hell yes. It almost makes up for the fact that you're moving out of the house you and Jimin had practically grown up in.

God, Jimin can't wait for Friday to come.

It's Jimin's turn to choose the movie when Friday night finally rolls around. Since he knows you nearly idolize Rapunzel, he suggests the two of you rewatch Tangled for probably the millionth time. But before the movie had to come the house tour, of course.

Namjoon's home is rather spacious for a guy who was single for a long time. You parade around the home as you've already lived in it your whole life. Jimin silently tags along. He has to admit that Namjoon's home is, indeed, better than your granny's old house. But he nearly bursts with jealousy when you show him around the big bedroom that you supposedly share with Namjoon.

"Isn't it great?!" you say, twirling around the commodious room with a bright grin on your face. "Joon even bought new sheets for us! I wanted green and he wanted white, so we went with light gray," you giggle. "Compromise of the century, huh?"

"Still looks white to me," Jimin mutters under his breath. But you're so hyped about showing your best friend around your boyfriend's home that you don't hear him.

"C'mon, let's go watch Tangled, now!" you say, dragging Jimin back to Namjoon's expensive leather couch and switching on the flat-screen TV.

Both of you collapse on the couch, leaning against each other by habit as the movie begins to play on the screen. Jimin's watched the film with you so many times that he's basically memorized the whole script.

You like to silently mouth Rapunzel's lines and Jimin mouths Eugene Fitzherbert's lines. You also like to sing when Rapunzel does, and you've been trying to convince Jimin for years to sing with you. But Jimin does not sing. And that was that.

No matter how many times you've watched Tangled, you cry when Eugene Fitzherbert 'dies.' Before you were dating Namjoon, you'd always bury yourself in Jimin's arms, waiting until the climax of the scene is over. Nowadays, you limit yourself to placing your head on Jimin's shoulder, burying your face in Namjoon's couch pillows. Jimin doesn't mind. He likes that you take comfort in his presence.

Just as the tension of the scene is about to lift, the front door of the house opens and Namjoon walks in. But you're so engrossed in the movie that you barely notice, instead, digging your face harder into the pillow.

Jimin's head jerks towards Namjoon and their eyes meet. Namjoon doesn't look very happy. For just a split second, Jimin fears his life. He takes the time to scoot a bit away from you so Namjoon doesn't come for his neck. You whine when Jimin pulls away, trying to tug him back as your eyes are glued to the TV.

"Y/N..." Jimin whispers. "Your boyfriend's here."

"Oh, what?!" you say, breaking from the trance that the movie had put on you and finally turning your head to see a frowning Namjoon. "Joon! You came back so early!"

"Why is he here?" Namjoon asks, ignoring your enthusiasm. He doesn't look at you when he speaks, his eyes trained on Jimin, instead. Jimin gulps.

"It's Friday movie night!" you laugh. "We're watching Tangled! Oh, Jimin can you pause the movie? Damn, we'll have to rewind it. Wanna watch with us?"

"No, Jimin," Namjoon says through gritted teeth. "Turn the TV off. Y/N, this is not your home. It is ours. You're to tell me if you are to have guests over." He glares at Jimin again. "Then we can talk if they are welcome here or not."

"I-I, uh, I have to go," Jimin stutters, desperately, standing up from the couch.

"But we didn't even finish the movie!" you protest, grabbing Jimin's wrist and looking at him with puppy dog eyes. "We always finish the movie."

"Y/N, we need to talk. Let him go," Namjoon says, crossing his arms.

"I—" you sigh, letting go of Jimin's wrist. "Okay..."

It hurts to watch you look down at your feet like Namjoon was scolding you. You look so small, powerless up against him that just for one, small second, Jimin contemplates staying. Maybe give Kim Namjoon a piece of his mind.

But who is he kidding? Jimin could never compare himself to a man like Namjoon.

"I'll uh, talk to you later," Jimin quickly says. He doesn't look back when he leaves and you watch him go with a certain emptiness in your heart.

The moment Jimin's out the door, he runs. He runs from your boyfriend, your obvious pain... He runs away from himself. But he should know. No one can outrun cowardliness.

You're really the only significant figure in his life; the only person he's loved for twenty consecutive years. Yet he can't do anything to save you from the obvious monster that is your boyfriend. Jimin hates himself for that.

He crash-lands on his bed, burying himself in his pillows and drowning in self-hatred. He lays still for what seems like hours in the darkness, the silence. He tries to numb his thoughts. But when his vision is nothing but a black screen, he cannot do anything but think.

He thinks of the fight you might be having with Namjoon. He thinks of how sad you must be inside. He wonders if you genuinely like being with Namjoon. He wonders if you're genuinely happy. But most of all, he wants to know if you miss your old self.

Jimin groans when he hears his phone ring next to him. He doesn't want to get up nor move, but something inside tells him that it's important. That it might be you.

And it is.

Hurriedly, Jimin answers the call. "Y/N?"

"H-Hey, J-Jimin," you wheeze.

Jimin freezes. You're crying. And everyone knows you don't cry.

"Y/N?!" Jimin panics, sitting up. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Of course I'm okay!" you yell, making Jimin wince at the harshness of your voice in his ear. "Joon and I just fought! I'm fine!" you sniffle. "You said to talk to you later so I'm calling you!" you try to laugh but it comes out like a broken sob. "I'm not crying, I swear!"

Bullshit.

This is the third time Jimin's heard you cry. The first two times had been because of your granny. This time? It was because of that bastard, Namjoon.

"Did he do anything to you?" Jimin says, his hands slightly shaking as he waits for an answer.

"No! Joon would never," you say. "We just talked. You don't have to worry, Jimin."

"He looked angry when I left..."

"He was..." you sigh. "Listen, Jimin... this is going to sound bad, but um... Joon... He, well, he doesn't want you coming over anymore."

"What?!" Jimin blurts out. "At all?"

"It's okay! It's okay!" you say, though you sound far from it. "I can always come over to your house!" You sigh deeply. "It's just that I don't think Joon's very comfortable around you."

No, he's just not comfortable when I'm around you.

"This is ridiculous," Jimin mutters.

"Sorry, Jimin, what did you say?" you ask. "I didn't hear."

Jimin closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He tries to stay calm, tries to keep from bursting out and yelling, but he can't help himself. It had to be said. "It's fucking ridiculous!" he shouts suddenly, standing up and starting to pace back and forth in his room with a crazed look on his face. "He's being fucking ridiculous!" he yells.

"Him? You mean Joon?" you say.

"Yeah!" Jimin throws up his hand in frustration. "He's acting like he fucking owns you!" Jimin snaps.

God. He's done it now. There's no going back.

"He's not, though!" you protest. "Don't get mad, Jimin. He's only voicing his rightful opinion. There's nothing wrong with that."

"He's trying to separate us!" Jimin yells. "Don't you get it?"

"No!" you say, starting to raise your voice. "Joon wouldn't do that!"

"Like he wouldn't fucking convince you to throw away Gilbert? Like he wouldn't convince you to clean out your closet and replace it with clothes that he finds sensible? Like he wouldn't fucking convince you to keep your distance from me?? He wouldn't fucking do any of these, huh?" Jimin shouts, his voice interlaced with anger and sorrow. His throat feels raw in his neck, but he continues on with the thoughts he's held in for months. "You're blind, Y/N! He's ruining your fucking life can't you see? Where's the Y/N who used to talk to me for hours before going to sleep in our secret language? When's the last time you've spoken that, huh? And when's the last time you pretended to control the weather with your emotions? Where's the real Y/N? What happened to her?"

"Joon doesn't like her!" you yell at the top of your lungs. Your voice rings in Jimin's ear.

"Why do you want Joon to like you? What are you trying to prove to him?" Jimin cries, his voice quivering.

"I'm following my path to love!" you shout. "It's something you'd never understand. You don't even know what that is! I've never, ever seen you pine for anyone in the fucking twenty years I've known you! You can't be talking about love if you've never fucking felt it!"

Jimin collapses on his bed, his head numb and hands cold.

You take his silence as defeat. "I fucking thought so," you say. "Joon says you're too dependent on me. You need to go out and make another friend other than me. The world changes, Jimin. People come and go. Stop being just so—just so fucking stuck in the past. Goodbye."

You don't wait for a response, ending the call right away.

Jimin's phone slips from his ear, falling face down on his bed. He's frozen into shock. If only you knew why he had never chased after love for twenty fucking years. He didn't need to. Because his love was right in front of his face the whole time.

Aside from the occasional bickering as kids, you and Jimin had never fought. This is the first time both of you had exchanged nasty words with each other.

You had used to call Jimin a peaceful soul because of his extreme hate for confrontations, unnecessary drama and fighting. Not once in his life had Jimin ever said something that he knew could damage something significant to him. Not once in his life had Jimin ever initiated an argument. Not once in his life had Jimin ever really argued, in fact. It had always been you yelling and Jimin nodding if anything.

But when things had stacked up, Jimin couldn't take it anymore. He'd cracked. He'd yelled. And he'd finally fought with his words.

Yet the fight doesn't symbolize anything except a double loss for Jimin because you had ultimately chosen Namjoon over him. Then, you'd proceeded to completely crush his heart by failing to recognize his love for you.

Jimin never had to worry about heartbreak. He and you had always been best friends, nothing more. No matter how much he loved you, he never acted upon it, which meant you never rejected him. So, yeah, no heartbreak.

But this... that fight... When you'd accused him of not knowing love... when he had loved you for years. That was heartbreak. And it is still heartbreak.

Jimin found it extremely hard to get out of bed every morning after the fight. Sometimes, throughout the day, when something even the slightest bit amusing happens, he whips out his phone to inform you of it. Then, he realizes he and you are not quite on speaking terms at the moment. Jimin also realizes if he can't text you, he has no one else to text.

Maybe you were right. Jimin needs more friends.

It's almost been a week since the fight on the phone; it has also been almost a week of constant rain. It pours down hard and steady, only slowing down for light drizzles in the afternoons. It's the only reassurance that Jimin can get. That you're just as sad as him. That some part of you misses him as much as he misses you.

The weather forecast said the rain was supposed to clear by tonight. But Jimin waits by his window, where the thunder clouds boom over the roof of his lonely house and the rain pounds against the concrete. It's a storm.

He worries about you.

Maybe he should text you? Call you? What if you're all alone in your room, crying profusely and that bastard of a boyfriend, Namjoon's giving you the silent treatment? It's like Jimin can feel your pain through the weather.

A lightning bolt flashes through the sky and four seconds later, Jimin hears the booming thunderclap. It wasn't supposed to rain today. You must be crying all alone. You must be missing your granny. You must be missing him.

Another sharp thunderbolt pierces through the dark rain clouds in the sky and the thunderclap rings louder than the last. That's it. Jimin picks up his phone.

It's sad that you're still the only person in his favorites contact 'list.' He taps on your icon and presses the phone against his ear, looking out the window as if you were out in the rain all by yourself. The phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Usually, by then, you pick up the phone. But it occurs to Jimin now, that this is not going to be a usual conversation. His phone is heavy in his hands and he rests his cheek against the cold window, wondering if you're ever going to pick up.

Maybe you're crying so hard that you can't hear your phone ring.

Jimin lets out a shaky sigh, just about to disconnect the call to avoid hearing the all-too painful dial tone when you finally pick up.

"J-Jimin?" you breathe, groaning. "God, Jimin."

"Y/N?" Jimin exclaims. "Thank god, Y/N!" he breathes a sigh of relief.

"Mmm," you groan again.

"That's right, princess. You're mine all right?" a hushed, masculine voice whispers.

"Joon," you whine, urgently. "Please..."

Jimin can hear the soft slapping of skin in the background, Namjoon's heavy grunts and your whimpering. Immediately, the hairs on the back of Jimin's neck stand up straight. It's then when he realizes that you're moaning from pleasure. That Kim Namjoon's fucking you right now. And that you had still decided to pick up Jimin's call.

Tears blur Jimin's sight as he fumbles to end the call, chucking his phone halfway across the room afterward. He crumbles up in a ball, digging his face into his arms and sobbing.

Did you disrespect him that much? To pick up the call so he could hear you having sex?

It's the first time Jimin's ever questioned why he's in love with you.

Maybe, in the beginning, he had good reasons, but that had been because you had good intentions. You had been boisterous, unafraid to go against the current, wild, rebellious and had this my-way-or-the-high-way kind of character. That's the person Jimin had fallen in love with. The girl who carried around a green marker in her pockets to correct others' grammatical errors. The girl who invented a secret language when she was young just because she felt like it one day. The girl who convinced herself and others that she could control the weather with her emotions. The girl who didn't give two shits about what anyone thought of her. The girl who wore whatever the fuck she wanted because she could. The girl who never showed him when she was sad because she wanted to be strong, resilient. That's the person Jimin had fallen in love with.

But who the fuck are you?

Jimin had used to think it was Namjoon's fault you were so different. But you'd let him change you. You'd become docile, tedious, plain. All the things Jimin was and is. It's your fault. You could've stopped everything if you wanted. You could've broken up with Namjoon. But you didn't. Because you wanted to change.

Jimin can't love the new you. He doesn't even know if he can see you again.

His body shakes hard with fear and rage.

He's definitely not going to see you again.

He was never your prince; you'd ultimately chosen Namjoon. And you were never his princess; he had been delusional to think so.

He's going to walk out of your life. He needs to leave. For himself.

Jimin had already spent a week without your company and that had been enough. Now he wants to cut off all contact with you. He's already blocked your number, switched apartments and stashed away everything that reminded him of you—which was fairly a lot of things. He was so determined to be independent, to forget what it felt like to be dependent on you.

But without your presence, his bland life was even blander than before.

Waking up every day and not walking you to work felt foreign to him. Friday nights felt lonely without you. Weekends were dull. Weekdays were even worse.

He missed having to hear your bright, cheery voice. He missed talking about the craziest things with you. He missed waking up in the morning and wondering what you would be wearing today. He missed Gilbert. He missed your granny, too. Most of all, he missed you.

But you'd hurt him. Whittled away his heart little by little over the many years just by never loving him back. You'd humiliated him by choosing the man you knew for four months over the man you'd been best friends with for two decades.

Jimin figures he'll miss you for a long time. You'd been a large part of his life, after all. He'd already broken off contact with you, and that was already a giant leap. The next step would be to stop thinking about you, and the step after that to stop missing you. And when that's all over, he can stop loving you.

Looking back, Jimin realizes he struggled to get his life back on track for nearly eleven, long months. He'd seen winter come, spring pass and summer leave. But just as winter was making its presence on the weather again, frosting the leaves of plants and chilling the morning air, he'd finally come to his senses.

The past eleven months had been mournful. But as the days passed, he'd allowed himself to think about his current life more than his past. It had occurred to him that now, he was living a life of no-nonsense. Of no silly, childish imaginations. He was living in reality. Where he should've been in for all of his life.

Sure, he spent his birthday alone and without you for the first time since he was five years old. But it was something he could get used to. Celebrating the day he turned one year older just didn't seem like such a big deal anymore.

Maturity suits Park Jimin well.

He'd always preferred things that were tangible, anyway. Things that could be proven. Things that made sense. It was time to say goodbye to the foolish things of his past: secret languages, weather-controlling, naming markers...

It took him eleven months, no, 25 years, but Jimin finally became an adult.  

He's 27, now.

He likes to drink black coffee in the morning like his co-workers. He likes vanilla ice cream the best just because it's the most simple. He likes to tell women that he's a civil engineer to impress them on first dates. He has an adequate number of friends. He goes to work five days a week, eight hours per day. He drinks on Friday nights, watches the news and goes to bed early. On the weekends, he spends his mornings reading articles in the science section of the paper and he hangs around bars at night with his friends.

It's a humble, normal, plain life. But Jimin likes it. It suits him.

He has thoughts about you from time to time; he would never forget what it felt like to love you. But he never again gets the urge to call you. You're a figment of his past, and Jimin's moved on.

The early spring breeze caresses Jimin's cheek as he walks steadily, staring at Google Maps on his phone and glancing up every once in a while so he doesn't run into a pole like last time. He was supposed to have a Sunday brunch with Jeon Jungkook but that silly bastard had canceled last minute on him to take his own girlfriend out on a date. Typical. But Jimin actually appreciates the alone time.

Jungkook had promised to take Jimin to a great cafe that was walking distance from Jimin's place. Since Jimin had nothing better to do, he decided to have his brunch there alone.

"You've arrived at your destination," the monotone voice named Karen drolls.

When Jimin looks up, he sees a small cafe sitting at the corner of the block, surrounded by towering trees shading the area and lots and lots of verdant green bushes. Something about the place seems homely. Familiar, even.

Deja vu, maybe? Jimin thinks.

He doesn't think much more and walks in. The inside of the cafe is decorated mainly with wood, green yarn and healthy vines twisting around the furniture. Jimin's hit by a cordial, oaky smell that instantly calms his nerves and clears his mind. The place is completely empty, too. His footsteps pad against the wooden floor as he admires the little cafe. The ordering counter stands in the corner, fairy lights and green paper lanterns dangling from it to illuminate its surroundings. Jimin walks towards the lights as if he were in a trance.

Something about this place seems so damn familiar.

Jimin hasn't felt this connected with nature, with this much creative liberty since—

"Jimin."

He whirls around, eyes widening and mouth dropping open when he recognizes the owner of that voice. Sure enough, he sees you, wiping your hands on a bright green waist apron. You're wearing a white pirate blouse that could've passed for a Halloween costume and a skirt with layers and layers of different shades of green fabrics—it looks like you'd made it yourself.

"Y/N," your name leaves his lips in a breathless whisper.

"Hey," you smile, waving awkwardly. "It's been a while, huh?"

A while? Two whole fucking years, in actuality. "Yeah, I guess," Jimin nods. He glances at the door, contemplating just leaving, but some instinct inside of him urges him to stay. "You work at this place?" he asks as he walks up to the counter where you're getting ready to take his order.

"Yeah," you giggle. God, Jimin had missed that smile of yours, but of course, he doesn't want to admit it. "Well, I own this place."

"Really?" Jimin asks. "It's beautiful."

"Thanks!" you say. "I decorated it myself. What can I get for you? Do you want me to recommend our best dishes? Look, we have a separate menu just for brunches!" you say excitedly, showing Jimin a neatly laminated menu laced with green yarn. "I recommend the Gilbert Special. Eggs, toast, bacon and hash browns. But, the Jimin Special is our house favorite!"

"The what?"

"100% off for the person it was inspired by," you smile. "That's you, by the way."

"W-Wow, Y/N, I'm—"

"No! You have to take the offer!" you say. "You can't even say you won't like it because it's literally all your favorite breakfast foods combined!"

Jimin smiles, shaking his head. "It's really the house favorite?"

"You bet it is," you laugh.

"Then I guess I'll have a Jimin Special," Jimin says. "Any chance it comes with a glazed donut?"

You shoot him a knowing look, a grin spreading across your lips. "It wouldn't be a Jimin Special without one."

Jimin ends up having brunch with you.

The icy, awkward barriers in the beginning slowly melt away into the friendship Jimin had known for more than half of his life. He dines on the best breakfast he could have ever asked for while getting to talk to you again after nearly two years. He can't imagine a better way to spend his Sunday.

Small talk with you is fun because you spice everything up with loud gasps, wide eyes and extroverted reactions that make even the dullest stories exhilarating. But it's suffocating to speak of such shallow things with a person he'd been best friends with for twenty years. Jimin's dying to know how you've really been, not what you found hilariously funny last week.

"So," he asks, "how are things with Namjoon?"

You snort, shaking your head. "God, that was fucking ages ago," you say. "We broke up a while back."

"Sorry," Jimin says. But he's not really.

"You're not that sorry, aren't you?" you laugh as Jimin's face morphs in shock when you call him out. "It's okay. I know how you feel about him. And I agree with you now. That idiot had the audacity to tell me to grow up. And he called you a good-for-nothing-awkward-ass-wimpy-child." You roll your eyes. "I knew it had to end when he said that. Besides, there's a certain highly endearing thing about innocence, don't you think? We should all be a little more childish."

"Wow," Jimin breathes.

"Wow, indeed," you smile wistfully. "That bastard could've said anything he wanted to me, but he shouldn't have dared to bring you up like that. I can't fucking believe I thought he was going to be my prince! I was so scared I'd lose him so I did everything he said, you know? God, in retrospect, I was just a really, really, oblivious and desperate idiot."

"You were just in love, Y/N," Jimin says. "Love makes you blind."

Your face twists for just a split second before you smile, shaking your head and sighing. "Jimin, I feel like I have to get this out before we become life-long best friends for fucking ever again."

"Hm?"

"I never apologized for what I told you like, two years ago," you say. "That fight we had on the phone? I told you that you didn't know love. And god, I've regretted saying that for every day, every hour, every fucking minute and second of my life. It was wrong." You shake your head, looking extremely disappointed in yourself. "At least what you told me was right. God, I was so angry, so terrified of losing my first love that I spit out words without thinking. How could I say you didn't know love, Jimin?" you say. "Of course you did—of course you do. You wouldn't have stuck by my side for years if you didn't. And Jimin, fuck. I love you too. I never said it enough. But I'm saying it now. I love you and I missed you. And I'm sorry I picked up the phone when I was having sex."

Jimin laughs. Around two years ago, that day had definitely not been a laughing matter. But only time can tell if the most depressing matters can morph into rather laughable memories. "I love you too, Y/N," he says. "And you shouldn't be sorry. I think we're all past that now."

"C'mon, I wanna show you how I redecorated my granny's home!" you say, bolting up and taking Jimin's cleared plates in your hands. "Meet me at the front of the cafe in two minutes!" you holler as you dash to the kitchen.

Jimin can't get rid of the smile on his face. He adjusts his jacket and stands up, taking another look around the cafe before he exits with a light skip to his step. He'll have to buy Jungkook dinner sometime for recommending this cafe to him. What was the name of this place, anyway?

Jimin steps back and squints at the big, capital letters placed on a banner in front of the cafe. He can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him.

"Nothing a Lil Green Can't Fix!" you exclaim as you come bounding down the steps of the cafe to stand next to Jimin. "Isn't that true? Green fixes like, everything."

"Lil's not a word, Y/N. I thought you knew better," Jimin jokes.

"Oh, spare me," you say, placing a dramatic hand on your forehead. "It had to be done. The stupid company had a character limit for the logo. It was either Nothing a Lil Green Can't Fix or Nothing Green Can't Fix," you huff. "And the latter is completely disgusting."

"I agree," Jimin snorts. "Then, in that case, I believe you made the right decision."

You smile. "I sure did. So, shall we go now?"

"Definitely."

Your granny's apartment looks exactly the same on the outside, but on the inside is an abundance of green. From plants to paintings to posters to silverware, everything is green.

"Nothing a lil green can't fix, indeed," Jimin breathes as you drag him around the whole place.

"Right?" you giggle. "Look! I even made a separate cabinet with all the birthday presents I've ever received from you!!"

The tour nearly takes five hours because the two of you get distracted every other minute, indulging yourselves in past childhood memories. And when Jimin's been tired out, the two of you lay side by side on your dark green sheets, silent but comfortable.

"Hey, Jimin?" you whisper, breaking the silence momentarily.

"Hm?"

"Remember our senior year in high school?"

"Of course I do," Jimin says. That year was the hardest (arguably) in your life. It was the year where you learned of the fatalities of death. It was the year you had lost your granny.

"We had the conversation about our true fears that year," you say with so much nostalgia in your voice that when Jimin closes his eyes, he can see the events of that day unfold before him. "Turns out, I didn't have just one fear. I had two. One was losing Granny. The other was losing you. And you know? For two years, I thought I lost you both. It hurt to think that my best friend hated me so much he had to dissociate himself from my life."

"I didn't hate you," Jimin says, opening his eyes as he turns to his side to look at you. "I swear. I just figured it was a good time for me to self-improve. You know, become independent for once. And maybe I didn't like who you had become, but I never hated you."

"Really?" you say, turning to face your best friend. "I was so scared that you'd shit talk me if I ran after you when you left that I didn't do anything. I thought it would've been better if I let you go. But I mean, I think the time apart was needed. We've self-improved."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees.

"So..." you say, a silly grin appearing on your face, "are we reunited now? Best fucking friends forever?"

"Of course we are," Jimin says.

"Okay, good," you say. "And before you say anything else, I have to ask you something, Jimin."

"What is it, Y/N?" Jimin asks, sitting up as you start to rummage in the pockets of your skirt.

"I just—" you're unable to finish your sentence, smiling. "Will you color me green, please?" you politely ask as you hold out a green marker in your hands.

"Oh my god," Jimin breathes. "Is that—"

"I pulled him out of the trash, Jimin," you say, eyes watering with emotion. "As soon as you left that night, I pulled him out. And then I kept him with me for years. I even recently got the ink replaced so it works fine, now." You let your tears fall down your face and you blink rapidly to see your best friend's softened face. "Did you really think for a second that I'd throw him away?" you ask in your secret language.

Jimin almost sobs right then and there. He'd never thought he'd hear that language again, and even after two years, he's able to understand you fluently. He hopes he doesn't sound too awkward when he replies, "I mean, you did have him in the trash can," he laughs, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. "You really want me to color you green again?"

"It's the bestest color in the world. What did you expect?"

Jimin's never been happier in his life. Tears streak your cheeks but you are unbothered by them, holding out Gilbert for Jimin to take. He takes note that you do not try to hide your tears anymore. In a way, you've become more beautifully confident. He realizes that you want to take him back to the start—the very beginning of when your friendship had commenced. With those simple words, "Will you color me green?" you've transported the two of you back to a place of innocence, of childishness, of thoughts of staying young forever, of avoiding maturity at all costs.

Outside, there's a slow drizzle of rain, indicating another spring shower. But above the soft gray rain clouds is a double rainbow. The colors are so vibrant, they wash away the monotonous hues of the clouds heavy with rain.

Romantic love makes people suffer. Jimin should know. He's been in love with you romantically for nearly two decades. He's felt feelings such as pain, experienced experiences such as heartbreak and dealt with the understanding of the wretched concept of unrequited love. But now? Two years later?

He realizes that you may never love him the way he had loved you. But that's okay. Because maturity is when you accept the way things are. Being childish is refusing to let go, which is what Jimin is too—he refuses to let go of you. But that goes the same for you, for you refuse to let go of Jimin.

You still love him. And for once in his whole fucking life, Jimin loves you in the same exact way that you love him.

a/n: find my behind the scenes thoughts and original endings here!

masterlist

[orangetail-works]

A Phoenix and a Raven: Mission Impossible

A/N: The prompt for this one is a little long, but I think it would be impossibly cute.  PROMPT: Person A was sent to kill Person B but they got hurt and now Person B is naively nursing Person A back to health and calling them cute pet names and Person A just cannot do this.   It turned out to be its own monster, let me tell you.  A lot longer than I thought it would be and so different than what I originally planned for plot.  Once I start typing, all plans were out the door.  Happy reading!

Chapter: Mission Impossible

“Well, it looks like everything is in order.  You will have a protection order if you so choose and an unmarked vehicle parked on your block,” the officer read off from a page and stood up to stretch out his legs. His deep voice echoed off the walls of the dank and blank walls of the interrogation room walls around them making it seem more like a cave or dungeon, “Do you have any questions?”

A younger man sat behind the table, his hands in his lap as he scanned his eyes around the room and then to the officer in front of him, “Is all this really all that necessary?  He doesn't even know who I am.”

“You can't think that he doesn't,” the officer warned and sat down across from him again, “You are the only witness that we have against Stefan Barnes.”

“I'm not even sure if what you're saying is what I actually saw,” he argued and leaned on the table.  He folded his hands over one another on the steel surface, “You all are making speculations at this point.”

The officer opened the statement that he just signed, “You saw Mr. Barnes walk into the coffee house and joined Henry Perce at the table.  After they talked over a few items- including the addition of Stefan to the man's will as successor- Henry was distracted.  You noticed Stefan add something to his cup.  A sip later and the man is dead.  Yes, you don't know what was in that addition, but you can see where we would connect the dots.”

“It could have been sugar and the poor guy choked on the bagel he was eating!”

“And the coroner just happened to find a fatal dose of Atropine in the system?”

The guy leaned back in his chair a little exasperated, “Why would Barnes single me out?”

“How many other patrons were in that coffee shop at the time?”

“We have been over this.  Other than them, it was me and two men at the front.”

“Those other two men are already dead.  Car wreck, highly suspicious,” the officer shook his head, “Mr. Barnes has connections to the darker parts of our city.”

“Like?”

“Like assassins.”

“Assassins?” a moment passed as he waited for the punchline, but it never came about, “I'm starting not to take this seriously.  If you think that this man is truly guilty and you need my help, I will.  I will testify that I was in the coffee shop, enjoying my morning when a gentleman died and I saw something go into his cup before hand.  But I don't think that statement is worth my life.  I doubt they would think that either.  Any lawyer worth their merit could argue what went into that cup.”

“Or just rid of the problem to begin with,” the officer argued back, but then shook his head, “Don't come back to haunt us when you get taken out by someone like Black Feather, Phoenix or the Green Curse.”

“I am an insignificant man in the larger realm of things,” he pushed up from the chair, “Can I go now?”

“You are free to go and live your life.  However short you make it, Mr. Fitheach.”

“Diaval, please,” he threw back and then walked out the door.

Diaval left the police station and shook his head at the slight audacity of the officers.  How a morning coffee and something to nibble on can lead to a murder investigation he had no idea.  Now, all he wanted was something to eat and head home.

As he reached his car in the parking lot, he noticed a small puddle of liquid from under one of the back tires.  He leaned down and took a peek to see liquid not only falling from the one tire, but from the other back tire as well.  He hummed to himself and leaned back.

“That doesn't look good, 'ol girl,” he patted the trunk of his car from the bumper.

He frowned at his reflection in the chrome and noticed another form behind him.  He looked over his shoulder and his chin nearly dropped to the ground. Diaval looked up to see one of the most stunning women he had ever met.  Her eyes nearly glowed green with hazel gold, sculpted cheek bones and her brunette hair straight and shining under the sun.  A small shoulder bag hung at her side.  She wore a flowing dress that still was able to show off her slim figure and a short dark jacket and covered her top.  Her hands were behind her back as she looked over him.  

“Is everything all right?” she only lifted her brow as she looked him over.

He quickly scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off in front of her, unsure of how to continue without making himself out being a complete fool. His mouth opened and closed in an attempt to say something. Anything.

“With your car?” she asked as if she needed to explain her inquiry further.

“Oh!” Diaval turned back to his car and then back to her, “She's a bit of an older vehicle.  Been falling apart for years.  Need to get myself another new model, you know?”

“Is uh... she safe to drive?”

“Probably not,” Diaval shrugged and bumped the tire with his toe, “I am no mechanic, but she seems to be leaking some kind of fluid.  No problem, I will catch a cab more than likely.”

At that point his stomach began to growl and he looked mortified as he looked from his stomach to the woman.  He scratched at the back of his head in embarrassment, “Sorry, I'm a bit peckish.  Been in a meeting all morning.”

“If you head down 5th street, there is a lovely little bistro-” she offered and began to point before she stopped and took his hand, “Come with me.”

“W-wh-hat?” he stammered, but let her lead him irregardless.

They found a booth with no problem and she sat down across from him.  She peered over at him, her eyes narrowed as she looked him over. He was nothing special as far as he knew.  Dark hair, darker eyes and a penchant for dark clothes as well.  He desperately hoped that she didn't think he was into the darker side of life.  He actually enjoyed the brighter side quite a bit.

“You are a bit of a quiet one, aren't you?” she asked and took off the short jacket. It slid off her shoulders and fell beside her in the booth seat.  She grabbed the menu and began to peruse the selection in practiced familiarity.

“Just wait until you get to know me,” Diaval shook himself out of a quiet stupor, “Then it's a bit of a difference, I am afraid.”

“Afraid?  You talk too much?” she asked with a slight frown though she kept her eyes on the menu.

“I wouldn't say that either,” he shrugged and tried to distract himself with the menu as well, “I don't slip secrets or anything of the sort, but once I am familiar with you, I start to spout gibberish or facts about things that I find interesting.  My interests aren't always everyone's cup of tea.”

There was a slight pause and he flicked his eyes up to find her staring at him again as if waiting for something.

“Such as?” she prompted.

“Oh, well,” he looked out the window for a moment, his brain scrambling to remember his own interests.  Sitting not to far away from them on a small tree were two ravens and he smiled, “Ravens.”

“Ravens?” she tilted her head and another brow lift.

“Yes, did you know they have to be the most intelligent of birds?  Right up there with chimps and dolphins as far as brains in the animal kingdom.”

“You don't say,” she said in a aloof tone, but he saw the slight smirk in the corner of her lips.

The waiter came back to the table, “Are you ready?”

“We will both have the lobster bisque with a basket of french bread to share with extra sharp cheddar,” she handed her and his menu to the waiter without another word.  The waiter bowed and walked to the kitchen.

“How did you know I wanted the bisque?” he tilted his head.

“I'm a very observant individual.  I saw your eyes drift to it more than once,” she nodded and looked at him again.  She leaned forward on the table, her perfect skin almost luminescent in the bistro's dim lights, “Tell me something else.”

“About ravens? Sure, they are very adaptable.  Able to trick most of their predators to actually hunt for them.  They can mimic a wolf's howl so that a pack will take down an elk or open up a fresh kill and the raven will feast on what is left. Not only that, they usually know if they are being watched and will try to trick other birds on where their hoard is hidden.  Clever things.  They are also very empathetic.  Care very fondly for one another.”

“You are passionate about them.”

“They're on my family crest.  I started young,” he scratched the back of his head a little in embarrassment.

“Do you see some raven qualities in yourself?” she asked as the bread and cheddar was placed between them.  She immediately took a slice of the bread and a piece of cheese to her plate to nibble on.

“Adaptability, I would say so,” he nodded and then shrugged, “I don't know about intelligence as I keep putting myself in bad situations.”

“Is that why you were in the police station?” she asked.

“More of wrong place, wrong time, but nothing on the criminal spectrum, I assure you.”

She hummed to herself and took a bite of the french bread and the cheese.  She shifted in her seat and then her jacket fell to the floor.  She muttered something as she put a hand to her mouth so she wouldn't spit out her bite.

“I got it,” Diaval assured her and picked up the jacket from the floor.  He handed it back to her and she nodded her thanks after she finally swallowed.  She put the jacket on the other side of her.

“The bread and cheese is so good here,” she mentioned and looked up at the waiter as he set down their bisque, “Thank you.”

“I am more of meat eater,” Diaval mentioned and picked up his spoon to dig in to his bisque, “Even if it is shellfish.”

She looked a little disappointed, but continued with her meal.

The rest of the meal was spent talking over his other interests- food critiquing mostly.  Then it turned to her quite quickly as he wanted to know more about her.

Hesitantly at first, she told him very vague things of her childhood and her family.  Her parents had been killed on the same day, leaving her distant relatives to care for her.  The harsher life that she fell into after being used to more grand things when her parents were still alive.  She even went into the silly crush in her youth that turned into a dead end.   After minutes slipped by and an hour almost passed them by, she relaxed and more of herself opened to the stranger.  Her standoffish nature melted away with the minutes and she even found herself smiling at something that he said, but then the smile would turn sad and she would build another wall up behind her eyes.  

“I still manage to find myself still at his beck and call,” she sighed heavily and scooped at the last of her bisque with the last bit of her first slice of bread.  She popped it into her mouth and then sighed, “He calls for favors and I fulfill them.  Even now, when he has moved on and married and has a child of his own.”

“You still love him?” Diaval asked and poked his spoon in her direction.

“I don't even know anymore,” she answered truthfully and looked at his bowl, “Are you going to finish?”

“I am finished,” he pouted with a slight chuckle and looked at his bowl which held smeared remnants of his bisque.

“No, you are not,” she frowned and reached over to pick up another piece of french bread.  She put it in front of his face to show him, then mopped the bottom of her bowl with the bread until it was clean and took the bite that had the bisque.  She nodded then as if to show him that was the way it was done.

“If you say so,” he huffed and frowned at his bowl, “I think that I'm all full.  You know, we've been here talking this whole time and I don't even know your name or why you'd even want to sit down with me.”

There was a long silence and he looked up to find her eyes dilated and her breath shallow.  She blinked slowly a couple of times before she frowned a looked at the table confused.

“Are you okay?”

“I- I- so stupid,” she gasped between breaths and dug into her purse.  She brought out a vile and drank some of the substance inside.  She took deep breaths after and continued to blink slowly.

“You need help, I'll call-”

“No!”she yelled tough it was quite slurred and put her hand over his, “No ambulance, no police... please.  I'll be fine- had medicine.”

“Are you having a reaction to the food?” he asked and put his other hand over hers.

“You could say that,” she smirked and began to waiver in her seat.

“I need to get you out of here,” he whispered to her and she only bobbed her head.

“Is there a problem, sir?”

“She's having a bad reaction to the food.  I don't know why,” he said and walked around the booth to grab her jacket and threw it over her shoulders, “I will pay in a moment, but we have to leave now.”

“We did not know that she was allergic to shellfish-”

“It wasn't the shellfish,” Diaval muttered, “She got sick after eating more of that bread.”

“Take your wife home, sir.  We will take care of the check,” a manager came up from behind the waiter, “She doesn't look well to stay.”

“Thank you,” Diaval didn't bother in correcting his assumption and picked her off her seat.  He pulled her arm over his neck as she wobbled as soon as she stood.  He held her tight around her waist and pulled her against him so she wouldn't fall to the floor.  They made their way out to the curb and waved down a taxi.  He settled her in the cab and then sat next to her, “Where are we going?”

“Going?  Are we on a trip?” she asked with a hand to her chest.

“One of us is,” Diaval noted and looked to the cab driver, “Home it is.”

He gave the cab driver his address and they were off.

Once they got to the apartment building Diaval helped her out of the cab, to the elevator and all the way in to his studio apartment.  He laid her gently on the bed and headed to the sink.  He dampened a washcloth with cool water and came back over to her.  He patted her forehead with the cloth and noticed that her breathing had finally evened out.

“Are you still with me?” he asked and brushed the washcloth carefully over her forehead, “You gave me quite a scare back there.”

“Barely,” she huffed and her eyes fluttered open, “I'll be okay.  Took medicine. Do not call-”

“I know, no doctors, no cops,” he smirked, “Just like me to find a stunning woman with a possible sketchy past.  Don't even know your name.  This is what I mean about the lack of intelligence.”

She gave a soft smile back at him and put a gentle hand at his cheek, “Such a empathetic raven, you are.”

“That's me,” he nodded, “Are you okay to sleep?”

“Sleep would be good,” she nodded and turned her head into the pillow.

“Well, we may be here for a little while,” he hummed and went to re-wet the cloth.

Diaval didn't leave her side for more than a few moments at a time over the next few hours.  She would talk in her sleep of ripped wings and dangerous places, but nothing that made sense.  He trusted that she knew what she had talked about with the medication and he hoped to God that she would wake up good as new.  Evening time came about and he cooked basic bacon and eggs at his stove as that was all he had in the fridge.  He was not used to company and he definitely did not see her coming into his life.

“Are you cooking bacon at this hour?”

He quickly turned to the voice from the side of the room.  She sat up in the bed, a hand to her head as she blinked and tried to make sense of her surroundings.

“... and eggs,” he added with a nod.  He took the pan off the fire and walked over to her, “Do  you need anything?  You've been out for the past five or six hours now.”

“Water,” she said and grimaced as she held her head.

“As my mistress commands,” he nodded and went to the fridge to pull out a bottled water.  He brought it back to her and sat at the end of the bed.

“Mistress?” she asked as she took a sip.

“I still don't know your name,” he offered back and shrugged his shoulders, “With you getting as sick as you did, I thought that you had the right to order me about if you needed.  So, what else does my mistress ask of me?”

“I have been out cold for the last five or six hours and the worst you have done is come up with a nickname for me?” she asked a little shocked.

“Another thing you need to know of ravens,” he stood up and pulled at the front of his shirt, “We are gentlemen through and through.”

“And here I thought that you could have been a dragon,” she added on.

“I bet if you give me the right motivation,” he shrugged and turned to the stove, “I'll get you a plate.”

She watched after him and looked over the side of the bed where her purse laid on the floor.  It was still partially open, but she found all of her items there.  Everything that she had was still in the same pockets, the same lay out that she had meticulously put them in.  He didn't even look for a wallet- a phone.  He just trusted her to know and do what she asked of him.

“You trusted me...” she whispered.  Then to the side of her bag was a bowl of water and a few drying washcloths on the rim.  He had cared for her during the time she was out.  She knew so many people who would have left her on the curb, but he took a stranger into his home and helped her in whatever way he could, “You tried to help me.”

“You seemed to know what you were doing with that medication, but you were getting warm and weren't sweating.  I hoped that you weren't running a fever. Whatever you had a reaction to from the bread was bad,” he said as he came back over to her and handed her the plate with a fork, “Hope you can eat something now, Mistress.”

“I don't need you to call me Mistress,” she narrowed her eyes playfully at him.

“Well, then I will need to call you something,” he smirked and went to grab his own plate.  He sat down at the end of the bed again, “You can call me Diaval.”

She looked him over and shook her head before she let out a single syllable, “Mal.”

“Okay, Mal,” he smiled brightly and then began to eat.

She took a long look at him one more time before she began to eat.

A few hours passed since she first woke up and during that time they found more to talk about between his food critiquing and her mysterious food allergy to pass the time.  He also showed her his collection of polished gem stones as he was always drawn to shiny things and strange little nick-knacks.  She told him some of the gemstones were used in a variety of ways and he was enamored with her knowledge.

She looked at his bookcase where there was a picture of him and a little girl with golden curls, “You have a daughter?”

“Oh, no,” Diaval smirked as he caught sight of the picture she was looking at, “That's Rory.  She's my little sister.”

“She doesn't look like you.  I don't see the family resemblance.”

“Not blood related,” Diaval walked up to her and pointed to the shirts that they were wearing in the picture, “Part of the big brother program. Knew her since she was just a little thing.  Her parents aren't around much.  She usually stays with her aunts for the most part. Her mother's busy with her own father and his business and I never met Rory's father.  She doesn't talk about him much.”

“Hm,” Mal hummed and drew a finger down the girl's hair, “Pretty little thing.”

“Turning sixteen in a few months.  Throwing her a party since her father won't.”

“You sound more like a father than a brother,” she folded her arms over her chest.

“Sometimes feels like it,too.  I call her my little fledgling,” he took a pause and looked at Mal, “She would get a kick out of you.”

“Would she?”

“Always likes a puzzle, just like me,” he laughed at her expression.

She paused for a moment as if in deep thought, “You are a good man, Diaval.”

“I don't know about that, I'm just trying to do my best with the cards I'm dealt,” he felt his cheeks heat for a moment and walked toward the washroom to make sure he didn't embarrass himself.

“Diaval?”

“Yes, Mistress?” he asked as he reached the door.

She frowned again at the nickname, “Thank you again for your hospitality... and the meal.”

“Anytime,” he hesitantly turned back at to her and leaned on the door frame, “Would be quite happy to do it again, in fact.”

“We shall see, you silly bird,” she teased him.

He excused himself to the restroom, but when he came back out she was gone and there was a small handwritten 'Thanks again' on his bed.

“We shall see,” he whispered and let out a sigh before actually getting some sleep.

Over the course of the next few days, Diaval was able to pick up his car from the police lot.  He found out that it was his brake lines that were leaking from behind his tires.  Definitely not a good sign.  He was happy that he noticed the leak, otherwise he would have been devastated if something happened to Mal if he had tried to drive them to his apartment in his car after her food allergy episode.  The cops were even more paranoid- as was the usual.

He walked down the sidewalk on his way to the market for some essentials when he turned the corner and ran right into someone.  They both spun for a moment and he landed with his back against the brick wall and the other person right in front of him.  He looked down and a smile bloomed on his face.

“Mistress!”

“Hello, silly bird,” she greeted and dusted herself off as she took a step back from him.

“I'm not just a bird, a raven,” he corrected and pushed himself from the wall.

She turned to one side and pulled him with her as he heard something hit the wall where he just was, “What are you doing, running around without your car?”

“She's falling apart,” he shrugged.  He heard something hit the ground behind him and he turned his head to look, “Ready for a new one, I think.”

“You could always walk and taxi,” she shifted again and pulled him with her with a grip at his sleeve.

“I guess- what are you doing?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Thinking,” she narrowed her eyes, “Are you free tonight?”

“I- I... uhm, yeah,” he muttered out.

“Good, come with me,” she looped her arm through his and began to walk down the opposite corner of the building.

“Where are you leading me this time?” he asked, but was happy to be led.

“Dancing,” she smiled up at him as she led him to a little hole in the wall dance bar, “It's as close to flying as you can get around here.”

The next few weeks continued on much like that day.  To or from work, Diaval would bump into Mal or vice versa and they spent the rest of the day or evening together.  They would have dinner- taking great care with any gluten- or would enjoy one another's company in an outing.  He even introduced her to Rory on one occasion.  She was a bit uncomfortable with the teenager at first, but warmed up to her in mere moments. Rory had a way to do that with people.  When she had left to walk to the town car her mother sent for her she had hugged Mal goodbye.  It shocked the usual stoic woman who lightly hugged her back.

“She is quite delightful,” Mal said as they waved down at Rory from his window, “You've done a wonderful job with her.”

“She's a good kid all her own.  Didn't need me,” he waved her compliment away and then turned from the window.  He walked to the television and held up a couple of disks, “What's it to be tonight?  Horror or slap stick?”

“You know I enjoy a good blood bath,” she smiled warmly over her shoulder.  He went back to the player to get the disk ready while she turned back to the window.  She looked up at the top of the next building over and frowned.

“Are you ready?” he asked from the couch.

“Yes, just going to close the blinds,” she said quietly and she moved to do just that.

The court hearing finally came and Diaval was asked to come to play witness.  He dressed his best as it was still a court room and rolled his neck. He really disliked court.  Even if he was just to be a witness.

“Are you sure you should do this?” Mal asked from the end of the bed as he fiddled with his tie, “The police are constantly at your block and haven't lost sight of you in weeks.  What if they really have something to this whole assassination attempt?”

“If there was a hit on me, I would have noticed it by now,” he rolled his eyes and walked over to her.  He knelt down in front of her to look her directly in the eyes, “And I wouldn't have let you anywhere near me if it meant that my dear mistress was in danger.”

“I know you wouldn't,” she pinched his chin playfully and looked at the mess of a tie he had on, “Let me see this.”

He sat still as she fixed his tie and pulled on it to make it secure.  He watched her face as she concentrated on the knot.  Her straight hair fell flawlessly over her shoulders and her lips pressed and puckered as she worried over the tie in her hands.  Her beautiful eyes swept from one side of his collar to the other and then to his face when she had finished.  For a moment he couldn't catch his breath.

He coughed into his hand to clear his throat, “How do I look?”

“All preened and ready to go,” she smiled and carded a hand through his hair, “Handsome raven as ever.”

“You coming with?”

“Of course I am,” she smirked and followed him to the door, “Need to make sure you stay in one piece.”

“And just what are you going to do to an assassin should one come after me?” he asked as he opened the door for her.

“You'd be surprised.”

After the hearing they stood outside the courtroom and heard that the case was going to trial.  In part thanks to his testimony and there were also more factors and evidence to consider.

Diaval nodded to her and then toward the elevator.  He laughed to himself as they waited, “Well, if they wanted me dead before, it's going to be worse now.”

“Stop talking like that,” she hit his chest with the back of her hand.

“Should I take them up on the safe house?” he joked, earning yet another hit to his chest.

“Mister Fitheach!” a voice called from down the hall.

Both Mal and he turned to see Stefan and his lawyer walk toward them.  Mal stood in front of Diaval as they approached.  Diaval put his hand on her arm and took the step in front of her in response.

“Don't think it's a good move to talk to a witness outside of court, Mister Barnes,” Diaval said and stuck his hands in his pockets, “I don't have anything for you.”

“All my client wants is the truth,” the attorney summarized.

“Then he needs to remember what he put in that cup of coffee.  I told them what I saw. I didn't say it was poison and I didn't say it was creamer.  The jury can think for themselves on the contents.”

“You little piece of crap,” Stefan took a step toward him.

Mal was instantly in front of Diaval and took a long look at Stefan in the eyes.

“Mally,” Stefan breathed out and looked from her to Diaval and then back again, “Not as strong as I thought you were.”

“Stronger than you ever dared to hope,” she growled back at him.

“I would sleep with one eye open, Fitheach,” Stefan said as he still stared at Mal, “She's not who you think she is.”

“Come on, Stefan,” his attorney pulled at his client's arm to the elevator.

As soon as the elevator door closed Mal let out a breath.

“I didn't know you knew him.”

“I thought that I did,” she muttered and looked at Diaval who just looked confused and a little hurt.  She took another deep breath in, “I need to tell you something.”

“Something that is better in private, I think,” he nodded and pushed her toward the other elevator that arrived.

Once they made it to his apartment, he threw off his jacket and pulled off his tie.  He sat on his small couch and looked up at her, “So?”

Mal shuffled on her feet and opened her mouth a few times to start, but couldn't get very far past one word.  He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head as she struggled with words.  He got back off his couch and went to the cupboard for a glass and something harder to drink than water.

“This is harder for me than you think it should be,” she finally said after he took a shot.

“He's the childhood crush, I get it,” Diaval nodded and turned to lean back against his stove, his arms crossed over his chest, “Did he send you to- what?  Provoke me?  Threaten me?  Distract me?”

“No, he... he,” she muttered and let out a muffled scream from between her teeth in frustration, “He did much worse.”

“How's that?” Diaval tilted his head to the side in wonder and then shook his head, “How could it be any worse than throwing your ex at a man even though she still had feelings for you?  What kind of man would do that to someone who clearly cares for him?”

Mal's lips trembled a little and she looked away for a moment to pace.

“Did he tell you to keep seeing me?  Running into me?”

“No!” she fumed, her temper now beginning to show.

“Then why do it?!”

“To keep you safe!” she screamed and threw her bag across the room and onto his bed.

“Safe?  From what?”

“From others like me,” her shoulders dropped and she stared at him with a gloss over her eyes, “Others that would take my place and try to kill you.”

“Kill me?” he narrowed his eyes at her and opened his mouth to say something else, until he ran right at her.  He caught her around the middle and they both dropped to the floor just a moment before the vase behind her shattered.  He stayed over her for a moment before he looked over at his windows, now wide open instead of closed and locked like before. He then looked up at the wall and noticed the red dot that had been over Mal's chest.  He looked down at her and raised a single finger, “We are not done with this discussion.”

She nodded and looked toward the bed where she threw her purse, “My gun is in my purse.”

“You smuggled a gun into the courthouse?”

“I always have a firearm handy,” she said nonchalantly.

“Strange,” Diaval muttered and then rolled to his couch a foot away and hit the side panel of the base. The panel slid out and pulled a small glock with a silencer.  He handed it to her and then pulled out a rifle with the same outfitting before he closed it up again.  He checked for ammunition and then looked back at her again, “I'm the same way.”

Her eyes were so large at that point, he didn't know if they were going to fall out of her head.

“Get this guy off our tail and then we have a long night of questions ahead of us. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she breathed out.

“I'll take the East window.”

“I'll take the West,” she nodded and they both crawled toward their windows.

“Think you know who it is?” Diaval asked as he carefully set up his rifle and looked out the scope.

“If I had to guess, it would be Borra,” she explained and tried to get a good feel on where he was set up, “If there was anyone that would take the contract on you and get to take me out as a bonus, it would be him.”

“Type?”

“Bulky, likes his muscles and rifle do the talking,” Mal growled, “Not much going on up stairs.”

“Good, won't be as big of a mess.”

“He's on the Southern edge.  Laser scope.”

“I see him,” Diaval focused his sight and just as the laser pointed his way again, he squeezed and no more laser.  No more shooter.

“Hold for a moment,” Mal said before either of them moved from their places.  A second lazer came into view from a story down from Borra, “There is another.”

“Yeah, I see the end of the rifle, but not them,” Diaval frowned and leaned back, “They have a better shot at me then I do of them.”

He heard the soft shot through the silencer from his other window.  The end of the other rifle fell back and then it was still.  He looked over her Mal who shook her head and stood from her spot at the window.

“You hit them with the glock?”

“I had a shot,” she said as if he had insulted her, “Give me some credit.”

He finally shut his window and walked over to shut hers, “Okay, so questions and answers.”

“How?” she asked and held up the glock, “You're a food critic.”

“Part-time food critic,” he corrected and took the glock from her before he went to put it back into the couch hide hole, “You know how I wasn't worried about assassins?”

“Yes, I thought that you were being way too under prepared for it.”

“Ever heard of Black Feather?”

“That's you?”

He laughed, “I really had hoped that they would pick up on the feathers left on the bodies belonged to a raven, but when you leave it to the media to name you...”

“Raven... you and ravens,” she shook her head and sat on the back of the couch to face him.

“Like you should talk,” he smirked and sat next to her, “Phoenix.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since you picked me up from the police parking lot,” he admitted and looked at the floor at their feet, “I knew that someone was after me when my break lines were cut.  Then a gorgeous woman takes me to lunch out of no where?  What did you have behind your back at the car?”

“Injectable nightshade,” she said quickly as if to soften the blow, “You saw me quick.  I'm glad you did.”

“Good trick with the jacket at the bistro,” he shook his finger at her, “Would have tricked most men.  I'm sorry I didn't stop you from eating that second slice.  I thought that you knew which slices were safe to ingest since you put the poison on there.”

She laughed under her breath, “Yes, that.  I got distracted.”

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” he smiled and bumped her shoulder with his, “I distracted you into poisoning yourself.  That is a new one.”

“Stop that, you insufferable raven,” she rolled her eyes at his laughter and looked at his profile, “Then you knew what I was doing after that day.”

“You probably tried to get the gang to call off the hit on me on the days following our meeting,” he guessed at which she nodded and then he frowned, “But once you found out someone else tried to take up the bounty, you came to keep me out of harms way- you know, I thought those were bullets hitting behind me.”

“They were.”

“What changed from today where they targeted you too?”

“Stefan,” she shook her head and her teeth ground together, “He put the hit on you to begin with, just like the other men who were caught in that coffee shop with you.  He asked me to take care of it.  When he saw me with you today, he finally realized that I truly wasn't going to go through with it.  I wasn't going to kill you.  I was going to protect you.  I then became the second target.”

Diaval took a moment and finally looked back at her, “Not that I'm glad you didn't keep trying to kill me after your disastrous first attempt, but why didn't you?”

She looked at him, deep in his dark eyes and shook her head, “I was being stupid and reckless and sentimental...”

He chuckled and she laughed lightly with him.

She took his hand in hers to poke at his palm, “And, I may just had fallen in love with you.”

“After that first day?”

“No, I knew you were a good man after that first day,” she rectified and kept a hold of his hand, drawing over the lines in his palm, “Then I got to know you, and Rory.  More and more and it just grew.  You were the first one to genuinely ask after me.  About me.”

Her head suddenly lifted in a single notion, “You did want to know me?”

“Yeah, I did,” Diaval nodded and pulled at the hand that was in his, “I still do.”

“After everything that I told you?  After you know what I am?”

“A killer just like me?”

“You kill the bad guys.  You're a vigilante and a hired gun for those you deem worthy. I've read up on you,” she smirked, “The blood on your hands is merited, mine is dirty... so very dirty.”

“Blood is blood. We've both done things that we regret- some things that we will never speak of because we think it will label us monsters.  Things we blame ourselves for.  I know your track record too.  Every single target,” he answered and took a deep breath.  He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight to his side, “The worst part is, I love you anyway.”

She smiled up at him and then leaned her head on his shoulder as he hugged her to him.

“I need to let you know something,” he whispered into her hair above her.

“More?” she asked as she pulled away.

“Yeah,” he squinted and rubbed the back of his head, “I was supposed to kill you too.”

“What?” she frowned.

“After you killed me, actually,” he chuckled a little, “Stefan tried to contact Black feather to take out another hit man after they finished with their target.  He wanted to tie up loose ends.  I think he figured out that wasn't going to happen either.  He kept asking, I kept ignoring him.  He finally gave up.”

“So, we were asked by the same man to kill each other?” she asked and narrowed her eyes at him, “I think that we should at least let him know that the contracts cannot be completed.  Don't you?”

“Absolutely,” he nodded as she tried to pull away from him.  He caught her arm and pulled her back to sit in front of him, “But before we do-”

She looked at him in question until he leaned forward and kissed her.  His hand lifted to gently caress her cheek and fingers gently stroked the hair pinned behind her ear.  She smiled into the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer.  She nearly crawled into his lap as he tried to steer them to the bed.

Much later that night, they found themselves wrapped in the sheets in his bed as they planned their first of many team contracts.

[nikkzwrites]

Yesterday Once More | Dark Fix-It Fic Series | Chapter 9

A/N: This fic is one that I started with my OC because honestly, I personally didn’t like how season 3 ended. So I am rewriting all of Dark with my OC Annalise Dahlheim. I hope you all like it. Some things will be expanded more on just for more depth to Dark that season 3 kinda skipped over so…. yeah.

CW: Canon Typical Triggers: Smoking, Sex, Language, Drugs, Drinking, Death, Violence, Suicide Mentions, Cutting, Violence.

Word Count:  6.5k

[First Chapter] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

That morning Jonas woke up slowly. His lulled senses were comforted by the smell of the girl next to him. His eyes actually remained closed in fear that if he were to open them, she would not be there with him and that her presence in his life at all was just all a pleasant dream to soothe himself of his misery. He pulled her tighter to him at that thought. He curled around her entangling their legs together to trap her there with him. Tears fell from his eyes without his permission, yet he couldn’t stop it. He pressed his forehead against Annalise’s neck as his body heaved.

Annalise slowly untangled her legs just enough to be able to turn to the boy. She snaked her arms around him and pulled him closer. The girl pet his head. She steadied her breathing taking large, slow, breaths to calm him down. 

Jonas buried his face into her neck and wrapped his legs with hers again. His fingertips pressed into her and pulled into his fists taking parts of her shirt with them. He felt so small so powerless to do anything of value. His lips brushed against her skin as he blubbered. His breathing fast and shaky as if trying to cross a recently frozen lake that just started to crack. The feeling of her fingers rubbing circles into his scalp soothed him. His well of grief started to dry up as he calmed. He allowed her warmth and soft nature to finally reach him once more. Her light shined past his clouds giving them a nice rosy hue. 

Annalise gently pressed her lips against the side of Jonas’s head. “It’s okay,” She soothed, “Everything’s okay, Jonas.” She started to finger comb her way out of his hair so that she could trace patterns into his back and shoulders. Despite being so close to him, her heart was actually complying and not allowing the lack of space between them to affect its job. She rubbed her cheek against his head. “I’m here,” she whispered, “You’re safe here in my arms.”

Jonas nodded and slowly pulled his face out of her neck to press his forehead against hers. His shattered breathing tried to mimic Annalise’s. His cheeks burned as she brushed his tears away. His throat was dry. It hurt when he tried to speak, “Can I stay with you today?” He felt so weak, like a child asking their mother if they could stay home from school. Jonas felt as if he was admitting defeat until he felt her hands interlace themselves with his.

Annalise brought his now held hands up to her lips and kissed his knuckles, “Of course you can. We can even stay right here if you want us not to move.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jonas admitted.

Annalise giggled, “It’s completely okay, Jonas. What else would you want to do?”

A growl erupted from his stomach. Embarrassed, his face glowed. He started to chuckle and commented, “Eat probably. I forgot to eat yesterday.”

Annalise shook her head and wiggled her nose against his, “No wonder you are being so emotional today then Silly. You need to eat.” She pulled away from him after kissing his forehead and went to her wardrobe. She opened it up to try and find a suitable outfit for that day.

Jonas carefully tore himself from the comfort of the bed. Once his feet hit the cold harsh floor, he rushed and held Annalise once more. He rested his chin on her head. His arms wrapped around her waist.

Annalise patted his head and asked, “Do you want to pick out my outfit?”

Jonas nodded forcing Annalise to squirm down to make sure he was comfortable.

“Okay,” she smiled up at him through the mirror inside the door, “What sort of thing were you thinking?”

Jonas blanked. He had no idea about what girls wore or what looked good. He felt like an idiot for saying he wanted to pick out her outfit. He started to panic, “Uh…”

Annalise laughed, “It’s okay! Why not you just pick what sort of...feeling… you want the outfit to give and I pick based on that?”

“Uh…” Jonas tried to think. He sighed and placed his cheek more on her head, “What do you mean?”

Annalise giggled, “Okay, so what do you want to do today?”

Jonas shrugged, “Whatever you want to do. I just... “

“It’s okay,” Annalise tilted her head and kissed his cheek, “Why don’t we take a bike ride and go have a small lunch out at the lake?”

Jonas nodded, “That sounds fine to me.”

Annalise smiled and removed herself from his arms. She took his hands as she looked at him, “Do you wanna invite your mom out with us? It might be good to have a family outing.”

Jonas shrugged again, “As long as you are there, I don’t mind.” He really hoped that Annalise wouldn’t invite the rest of the group though. He didn’t really want to have to deal with seeing Martha right now nor did he want to see anyone else for that matter. But if she did, he'd just try to stick to Annalise like glue.

As if she could sense his hesitation, Annalise smiled and told him, “It could just be you and me if you want through Jonas. No one else has to be with us if you aren’t comfortable…”

Jonas nodded quickly, “Please.”

Annalise pulled one of her hands away to place it on his cheek. She watched as he pressed against her palm as if it were the only comfort he had in the entire world. The girl giggled and said, “We are going to have to part ways for a little bit, okay? Why don't you go hop in the shower while I change and go make you some breakfast?”

Jonas nodded, but did not move. His feet firmly planted so that he wouldn’t leave. It took him a minute to unstick himself and turn to go to the bathroom to take a shower.

Annalise walked downstairs to see Hannah getting ready to leave for a job. She smiled and gave the woman a hug. She waved her off and started to cook some pancakes for the boy. She laughed as she cooked ignoring her phone which had Martha frantically texting her. 

Jonas washed off yesterday and watched it go down the drain. He was alone. Very alone. He groaned. The cool water kept his mind from wandering too far down the rabbit hole. He did zone out until he smelled it. They smelled different though, like it was burnt.

Screaming rang through the house as Annalise watched her pancake start burning. She tossed it into the sink and tried to put it out with a towel. Luckily the banging on the stairs meant Jonas was on his way. She started to cry. The fire was out but there was the burnt pancake.

Jonas nearly slipped running downstairs as fast as he possibly could while still getting dressed decently enough. By time, he got to Annalise, she was standing there crying, staring at the sink as black smoke rose from the pan. She looked as if her entire world was ending just because she burnt one pancake. Her fingers clutching her hair. Her body shaking. Jonas couldn’t help but laugh. He ran his fingers through his hair laughing.

Annalise turned to the blond. “It’s not funny,” she pouted, going over to cry in his arms, “We make pancakes differently in America.” Tears streamed down her face. She tried to sniffle them back.

Jonas nodded, “It kinda is though. Funny, I mean. I have no idea about the different pancakes.” He wrapped his arms around her and rocked her trying to stop himself from laughing.

After calming herself down for a little bit, she realized that they had more skin on skin contact than normal. She pulled away and blushed. She grumbled at him, "go put on a shirt."

Jonas chuckled, "how do I know you won't burn the house down as soon as I turn my back again."

"Well, if I can somehow do that while making cereal with milk, then I have a new magic show," Annalise joked back. She turned and tried to reach up for the box of cereal. She smiled to herself.

Jonas reached up to grab it and teased, “The fiery temptation Lise of burning heart.”

“And silent but ever present, lovely assistant, Jonas,” she teased back, snatching the box from him.

Jonas laughed, “I get it. I get it.” He pressed his head against hers for a second, “I’ll be back soon.” He released himself from her to walk upstairs to finish getting changed.

Annalise smiled as she started to throw away the defunct pancake while she made them bagels instead. She grabbed the jam and placed it on the table along with a few other toppings. This felt nice. As if they were already in love with a house of their own. Annalise hummed as she got everything ready for the two of them. She also started to pack some food for the picnic later. The girl daydreamed of their future life. She moved her hair from her neck so that the image of Jonas in her mind could rest his head there as she worked. Annalise bit her lip thinking of his lips pressed against her neck, not in sorrow, but full of love. The girl didn’t realise she was giggling until she heard his voice.

“Still thinking of our teases,” he asked. Jonas sat at the table. Something felt melancholic about this delightful moment. He sat and ate trying to figure out what it was. Then it hit him. This was basically exactly like before. When his father was around, every breakfast was just like this. He sorrowfully smiled.

Annalise kissed his temple, “Is there something wrong?”

“Hm,” Jonas looked up at her, “Oh, no. I’m sorry. It’s perfect actually.” He smiled, “It just reminds me of some of my happiest days.”

Annalise moved to sit across from him. She smeared jelly across her bagel and took a bite, “Oh?”

Jonas nodded, “Thank you. For everything I mean. It’s nice to have a day of normalcy.”

“Well, if normalcy is what you want, we can…” Annalise trailed off.

Jonas shook his head, “I thought your original plan was better.” He took a bite of his cereal. He smiled at her with a full heart. 

Bartosz stared at his phone. There on his screen was a picture of Annalise on Magnus’s shoulders and Martha on his in the middle of the water trying to knock each other off. Everyone was all smiles then. The four of them were a perfect team and laughs were never scarce. Thinking back to a few minutes after that picture, Magnus tossed Anna off his shoulders, knocking all three of Bartosz, Martha, and her into the water. Bartosz remembered seeing her terrified face for a split moment before Martha and he pulled her up. After she was out of the water, she had panicked with only him seeing it as Martha was already fighting with her brother. The girl was shaking, hyperventilating, and crying. She was doubled over whispering to herself. Every part of her was trembling in an instinctual fear. Right when he reached to touch her shoulder, Anna came back to life. Her smile illuminated once more. She laughed, “Oh. You rightfully won then right? No need to rub it in Bartosz.”

Bartosz smirked and chuckled, “Well there’s no need to cry over losing either, but here we are!” He slicked back his hair from his face while talking to her trying to hide that he was concerned for her. 

Annalise had rolled her eyes, “Thanks I guess.” Her sneer still rang through his mind. He didn’t want to hurt her, but soon Martha and Magnus were at her side taking care of her. There was a flutter in his gut. He knew he did the right thing. As Martha scolded him, he couldn’t take his eyes off Annalise starting to smile once more. A small quiet part of him at the time was delighted seeing her bubbly once more.

Meanwhile, Martha stared at her phone. Neither of the two had texted her since the incident. Her heart ached. She realized now just how much Annalise must have liked the boy. He was something like the boy she described as one of the reasons for her coming to Winden. However, Martha knew for a fact that Jonas was not that boy, because he was with her that day and night. She shook her head off and just tried to focus back on the fact that Jonas had kissed her back. She wasn’t crazy. He loved her. She loved him. This was going to work out fine. Annalise would grow to be okay once she was back home.

Jonas chuckled at Annalise’s hesitation to get on his bike. He shook his head, “I promise we won’t fall.”

“I don’t trust you,” Annalise laughed, “Magnus had a lot more practice with Mikkel and Martha. How much have you had?”

He chuckled, “None.” He laughed seeing her back away from him. He grabbed onto her waist, “No, no, no.” He held her close, “You just have to trust me that I won’t let us.”

Annalise rolled her eyes, “You are insane. Let me go. We can just walk.”

“You said bike ride earlier,” He smiled.

She shook her head, “Fine. But I am not happy.” She handed Jonas the basket which he tied to the back. She stood on the cogset. Annalise hid a smile in his hair as they took off. 

It was not long before they both were there laying on the sandy beach eating, laughing, playing. The two teenagers finally having a moment of rest together before the next day arose.

That next day in 1953, Ulrich sat outside the bunker. He was in awe and disbelief of what he had done. Had he really killed a child. If so, why was he still here? His hands shook as he cried. He really had just killed a child.

Bernd sat in Egon’s office. He was there to report Helge’s disappearance. He was terrified the people who were against the powerplant had taken his son. He needed to know that they were going to find Helge.

Egon walked into his office, “Mr. Kahnwald told me that… your son has gone missing.”

“Yes, since yesterday,” Bernd confirmed.

Egon asked, “And when was that exactly?”

“My wife said it was around three o’clock,” Bernd explained. Egon started to hurriedly make notes as the man leaned over, “Mr. Tiedemann, I want you to find my son. Whatever it costs. I don’t care about anything else. The nuclear power plant, anything at all. Just bring me back my son.” He put his hat on and excused himself out of the man’s office.

Greta sat with Noah and confessed, “I prayed to God to get rid of the child before it was ever born. And after I had him, I prayed every day that something would befall him. Because he may not be Bernd’s child. Because maybe he wasn’t a child created out of love, but…” She trailed off then sighed looking at the paster, “That’s what’s in my head. Every day. I can’t escape it. It’s my fault.”

Noah shook his head, “We are all full of sin. No pure human being exists. But no matter what we do, we never fall any lower than into God’s hands.”

“And what if they aren’t God’s hands,” Greta asked him, “What if they are the hands of the devil?”

Noah comforted her. He gently placed a hand on top of her clasped ones in her lap, “God sent me to you. Did he not? We don’t meet the people we meet by accident. We touch the lives of others and are touched ourselves, and thus God’s hands guide us to our true destiny. Let us pray. Even though I walk through the darkest valley,I will fear no evil… for you are with me...  ” Noah looked at the picture of Helge and turned back to her, “your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

Ulrich walked along the road with his head down when Egon spotted him. Right when Ulrich realized what was happening. He took off running into the woods. He tried to make it to the caves, but the young Egon tackled him to the ground. When Ulrich was able to crawl away, Egon pulled his gun and shot it into the air.

“Stop,” He commanded. He then pointed his gun at the man who slowed his pace to a stop. Ulrich placed his hands out already knowing the drill. “Hands up,” Egon yelled, “What did you do to the two boys at the construction site?” He asked. Ulrich turned to the man. Egon then asked, “Where’s Helge? That was you too.”

Ulrich asked, “The two boys? That’s impossible. They can’t be there. I changed that.” 

“What did you change,” Egon asked, keeping the gun up.

Ulrich panted from running so hard, “The course of time. Helge’s dead. Helge can never be able to kill again.”

“You’re a madman,” Egon shook his head at Ulrich, “Go on, turn around. Turn around! Down!” Egon kicked behind Ulrich’s knees annoyed at how slow Ulrich was going, “On your knees!”

“But I changed it,” Ulrich whispered to himself as Egon started to cuff the man.

Down in the bunker, Helge sprang to life causing the second canister in the time machine to go up.

In 1986, Boris ran through the forest trying to get away from the cops. He held his shoulder and bag as he limped. He could hear the dogs barking trying to get to him and find him. He ducked behind a tree and lifted his mask up to take it off. He then placed it on his wound while hiding his gun in his jeans.

Seeing Katharina standing outside by herself, Hannah walked over to her. Katharina turned her head and blew her cigarette smoke in her face, “Piss off.”

Hannah stayed and asked, “I just wanted to know, is Ulrich still in prison?”

Katharina tilted her head and replied, “They have to release him today.”

“Did Tiedemann say who told him,” Hannah asked.

Katharina shook her head at the young girl’s question and took another puff of her dirty habit.

“And you and Ulrich,” Hannah asked.

Katharina looked at Hannah and asked, “What about us?”

“I don’t know,” Hannah answered, “Won’t your mom freak out if you keep seeing him?”

Katharina nodded but shrugged, “I don’t care. Nobody’s going to come between us. That’s love, you know. It’s stronger than hate. But you don’t get that yet. If I find out who told the cops that… I’m going to clobber them.”

Hannah started to calculate things. She looked up and said, “Maybe it was Regina. I mean, Tiedemann is her grandfather.” After that seed was planted, she turned and said, “See you.” She left Katharina to her thoughts.

After school, Ulrich held Katharina. His chin on her shoulder as they leaned up against the lumber. Katharina commented, “I can’t believe you were in jail Ulrich. That’s really harsh.”

Ulrich took her cigarette out of her hand and smoked a bit of it himself. After, he handed it back to the girl and blew the smoke out. He went back to cuddling her. 

“Why does Tiedemann have it in for you,” She asked after flicking off some of the ash to the ground and handing it back.

Ulrich half-jokingly commented, “He thinks I’m the AntiChrist.”

Katharina giggled until she saw Regina walking home. She stormed over to her, “Hey, Tiedemann! Damn four-eyes!” As Regina took off her headphones, Katharina pushed her, “I know what you did. You trying to get me back for the summer? It was a game. We wouldn’t have left you hanging there all night. We couldn’t have known you were so damn fragile!” Katharina pushed her again.

Regina trembled. She bent down to pick up her violin, “I have to go.” She tried to leave, but Katharina pushed her away from her instrument.

“You see this,” Katharina asked, “My mom did this. And why? Because you fed your grandpa bullshit!”

Regina cried out, “I didn’t! Honest!”

“Rape,” Katharina growled, “is that the best you could come up with?”

Ulrich grabbed onto his girlfriend’s wrist trying to get her to back down, “Come on Katharina.”

The girl pulled away from him and whispered down to Regina, “You make me sick.” She took her knee and shoved the girl in the stomach with it. 

Regina doubled over in pain and agony.

Boris walked out of the forest seeing a blonde girl beating up a smaller brunette. He yelled, “Hey, stop!”

“Screw off,” Katharina yelled at the boy, “It’s none of your business.”

He continued to walk to them, “I told you to stop.”

Katharina pushed Regina away from her, “And I told you to screw off.”

Boris looked at them. He motioned to Regina and said, “Apologize to her.” When Katharina didn’t move, he took out his gun and cocked it, “I said you should apologize.”

Ulrich started to back off knowing that the other boy was serious. 

“And how do I know it’s real,” Katharina asked.

Boris took the magazine to show the girl that it was full and placed it back in. He pointed it back at her again and said, “You two get the hell out of here, and fast. And if you hurt her again, I’ll finish you.”

The couple quickly ran away. Boris limped over to Regina. He put his gun away and placed a hand on her shoulder, “Everything’s okay.” 

Regina’s breath was taken away. She stared at him. When she finally took her breath back, she smiled, “Thanks.” 

Boris nodded. He then collapsed backwards. He reached into the inside of his jacket to check his wound again.

“You’re bleeding,” Regina said, concerned.

Boris started to sit up again, “It’s not so bad.”

Regina shook her head, “You have to see a doctor.”

Boris shook his head at her scared that they were going to find him if she took him to the hospital.

Regina offered, “We have bandages. My mother isn’t home. I can do it.” When she watched Boris nod, Regina asked, “What’s your name?”

“Aleksander,” Boris lied.

A middle aged Helge walked out of the bunker with one of the belts and a pan. He had no idea he was being watched by the older version of himself. Helge walked inside the cabin to go to clean it up as well as start on his art project. 

After being cleaned up, the, now, Aleksander took all the evidence and buried it while being watched by Hannah. After he finished with that, he walked into Claudia’s office. He introduced himself with a cocky smile.

“So you’re a friend of my daughter’s,” Claudia asked, “And all this time I thought she didn’t care about boys.” She stood in front of her desk.

Aleksander nodded, “I’m new in town. Looking for work. Regina told me you might be able to help me.”

Claudia asked, “Do you have training?”

“I’m a metal worker,” he explained, “I can work. Hard. I’m a fast learner.”

The woman looked him over, “You’re not from here?”

“All I’m asking for is a chance,” Aleksander said.

Claudia stood up, “I’m sorry. We don’t need anyone at the moment. But maybe we will soon. Where can I reach you?”

“I’ll just come by again tomorrow,” the boy explained with a smile.

While this happened, Regina started to brush out her curls trying to straighten them.

Noah worked with the middle aged Helge on the chair. Helge shook and asked, “Why doesn’t it work?”

“It will, be patient,” The man told Helge, “Do you think Einstein would have given up so fast? It is the fate of pioneers to persistently pursue their aim. To believe, although no one believes.”

Helge shook his head, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” He held the screwdriver tightly, “Why would God want any of this?”

“Yes,” Noah said, walking towards him, “Why would God want any of this? After looking into hell, as you have, it can never be forgotten. It becomes a part of you. And the idea of God, of Jesus the Savior, becomes a thread of hope you cling to. All of us who know the darkness long for the light, but… There is no God!” Noah topk Helge’s hand, “God didn’t make this hole among us. God doesn’t have a plan. There is no plan at all. There’s nothing but chaos out there. Pain… and chaos!”

Helge started to panic as Noah continued to talk and start to take the screwdriver to poke it into his stomach. 

Noah then held Helge, “People are bad. Malicious, evil. Life is nothing but a spiral of pain.” He pat the man’s back, “And the world is doomed to be destroyed. But this here… This is our ark and I’m Noah. If we can harness this energy, we can change everything. Then we decide the world’s fate, far removed from all the evil and from all the pain. We’ll create a time machine. That reorders everything, the beginning and the end.”

The third canister lifted in the time machine as the third event fell into place then.

In 2019, Hannah stood on the counter to grab a small box down from on top the cabinets. The kids were God knows where. Those two were, thankfully, up each other’s asses as of late. She was hard pressed to think of a time she saw one without the other close behind. It kind of sickened her to see them so wrapped up in their own little world. Like no one else in it mattered. Yet, it was nice to see her son smiling like he had before his father passed. She placed the box down on the table and removed the bag of evidence against Boris.

Magnus kissed Franziska. Before he could steal another one, she pushed him away and said, “I have to go.”

Magnus reached over to his night stand and handed Franziska her eagle necklace, “Here.”

“Where did you get this,” Franziska asked the boy.

Magnus told her, “I found it under the bridge.”

“Just because we fuck doesn’t mean you have to know everything about me,” she complained as she put on her pants.

Magnus grabbed her hand and pulled her down to meet him. He caressed her face, “I don’t want to hurt you, okay? I want to know who you are. Who you really are.” 

Franziska shook her head and placed his hand down, “Not today, okay?” She stood and left.

Martha sat watching the television upset still. She grabbed her phone and tried to call Jonas.

Jonas sat in his room listening to Annalise take a shower. He played with the red knot in his hand when his phone started to ring. He tried to ignore it with tears filling his eyes. It wasn’t long before he heard Lise’s water turn off. He walked and sat with his back against the door with his eyes closed just wanting to be as close to her as he could be. He missed the happiness and the carefreeness of the previous day. He missed the world that was just he and Annalise where their phones stayed at the house where neither of them would be bothered.

“Hey,” Martha told Jonas’s voicemail, “It’s me. Call me back, for crying out loud!”  She was getting frustrated. What was going on with those two? She huddled with her knees in her sweater. Then she looked towards the stairs hearing someone hurry down. When she looked, she saw the redhead. “Franziska,” she asked confused.

Franziska nodded, “Martha.” Then she turned and left.

Magnus walked in and sat next to his pale faced sister. He ignored her disgusted stare behind her tear stained face. 

“Why is it that we all keep our secrets from one another,” Martha asked her brother.

Magnus sighed and grabbed the remote, “Somethings you just want to keep to yourself.” He fought so hard to not make a smarter comment at the girl about the things he knew. He already knew his sister had been crying over it, so he decided to just let her sit with the guilt. Just like how Annalise was doing.

Bang, Bang, Bang yelled the Kahnwald’s door. Hannah walked over to answer it and said, “Katharina! This is a surprise.”

Katharina stormed in, “Where is he?”

“Who,” asked Hannah.

Katharina growled, “Don’t act so stupid. Ulrich! Is he here?” She looked up the stairs.

Hannah turned around innocently and walked into the kitchen, “No. Why would he be here?”

“You lying piece of shit,” Katharina growled rushing at Hannah. She pushed her, “How long has it been going on? A month? Half a year? Or longer?” When Hannah started to stutter, Katharina mimicked her then yelled, “I don’t know where my son is! And I don’t know where my husband is! My husband! Do you understand?” Katharina tapped on the counter next to the trapped Hannah and asked, “Did you fuck here?” She then stormed to the table and shook it, “Or here?” She paced back to Hannah and asked, “Or in my house? In my bed?”

Hannah calmly told Katharina, “He isn’t here.”

Katharina stared at her, “Is it fun for you? Yeah? Does it turn you on? Destroying the lives of others? My life and my children’s lives? Did you think about that when you stuck your scrawny ass out to him?” Katharina harshly grabbed Hannah’s ass for emphasis.

Hannah just calmly walked away and played with her hands. “It’s over,” Hannah told Katharina, “It’s over.” She walked over to the sink and heard Katharina collapse in a chair at the table. Slowly Hannah slid into one of the other chairs. “I ended it,” Hannah lied, “I never wanted any of it. But… he just didn’t let up. You know how he can be. He wanted to leave you. I told him that was crazy.  He said that he didn’t love you anymore. That he loves me. But I want you to know that’s it’s over now, Katharina. It’s over.”

Katharina shook her head and started to cry. 

Bartosz sat in his house playing video games trying to get out all of his aggression. He noticed an old lady walking up to his house. He walked to the door and opened it, “Can I help you?”

“You must be Bartosz,” She said, “I’m Claudia, your grandmother. Is your mother home?”

“My mother told me you died before I was born,” Bartosz argued.

Claudia nodded, “I’m sure your mother told you lots of stories about me. Only some of them are true.” She walked inside and chatted with her grandson, “It looks so different than it did. There was no addition.”

Bartosz lounged back on the sofa staring at her, “Why did Mom tell me you’re dead?”

“For your mom, I’m sure I am,” Claudia admitted, “I wasn’t a particularly good mother, you know. You’re a lot like the two of them. Your eyes. Your chin. You look a lot like your parents.”

Bartosz sat up and then asked, “If you’re not dead, where were you all these years?”

Claudia sighed, “that’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

“Regina won’t be home till late,” Bartosz tried to get her to explain, “Are you going to wait or…?”

Claudia shook her head, “Not today. I have to take care of something.” She reached into her pocket and handed Bartosz a note, “I want you to give her this. Will you do that for me?” Bartosz opened it and looked at a picture of his grandmother and Regina from when she was his age, “That was before. Before that summer and everything else that followed it. I made lots of mistakes back then. Believe me, if I could turn back time, I would do lots of things differently.”

Today, Hannah was called in by Aleksander to give him a massage. She did her job for him as she normally did, but then grabbed the bag and placed it on the ground in front of him, “Do you recognize this? All these years I’ve wondered why I kept it. But there’s a time for everything. Don’t worry. The contents are in safe keeping.”

“What do you want,” Aleksander asked.

Hannah asked, “Why do some people have everything and some nothing? Why do you and Regina have a beautiful home and I can’t even pay my electrical bill? Why does fate predestine a good life for some and not for others?”

“Do you want money,” he asked.

Hannah replied, “I don’t want any money. I want you to do me a favor. I want you to destroy Ulrich. I want him to lose everything. Everything.”

“How am I supposed to do that,” the man asked desperately, “What do you have in mind?”

Hannah wiped off her hands and told him, “I don’t give a damn how you do it or who you pay, just destroy him.” She took her bag, before she left she said, “Boris Niewald. Interesting name. I think it suits you much better.”

It was raining when Annalise and Jonas finally decided to go and grab some food for themselves. Annalise sighed and hummed. She had left her umbrella at the school from the play so she didn’t exactly have something prepared. Jonas looked at her and commented, “You can go grab an old jacket of mine upstairs. I’ll start getting going. Just come meet up with me. I’ll go slow. Just take the back way out of the house.”

Annalise nodded. She smiled and said, “See you soon.” She ducked back into the house and ran upstairs.

Jonas sighed and put on his hood to his raincoat and grabbed his bike. He started to walk onto the road when he was stopped by a brunette in the road. He slipped off his hood and walked up to her. 

“Hello,” Martha greeted him.

Jonas stared at her, “Hello.” He stood there for a second then said, “I have to go.” He tried to walk past her.

Martha held out her arm and barked, “You have to go? Can you tell me what’s going on? I’ve been trying to reach you for days and you don’t even write back!” She panted angrily then asked, “What was that after rehearsal?” When Jonas didn’t reply, she continued, “You just make out with me. Did you think, ‘the chick’s unstable, so I’ll take what I can get?’” She stared at him expecting him to say something. When he didn’t, she shoved him yelling, “God, say something!” 

Jonas stood there thanking everything that Annalise was taking her sweet time trying to find an old jacket of his to wear and to get back outside. He would have hated to see Martha’s reaction to seeing Annalise there with him. Jonas honestly didn’t know what to say to Martha though. He went with the simple answer, “It was wrong.”

“What was wrong,” Martha asked him. Her frustration grew more.

Jonas tried his hardest not to let his emotions get to him, “The thing with us. It wasn’t right.”

“Because of Bartosz,” Martha asked.

Jonas swallowed, “No, not because of Bartosz.”

“Annalise then,” Martha asked frantically.

Jonas shook his head, “No. It has nothing to do with her. Because of us. It…” This hurt him more than anything to say. He had been hoping to avoid the breaking of his own heart as well as hers for days now. He was thankful the rain was hiding his tears, “We’re just not a good match, okay?”

“We’re not a good match,” Martha asked frenziedly. 

Jonas nodded annoyed that she wouldn’t just leave him alone in his misery, “Yeah. We’re not a good match. The whole thing is wrong. We’re wrong.” He tried to get past her again.

Martha stood in front of him and pressed her lips against his. When she kissed him, she could feel him kissing back. Satisfied with that, she pulled away to see Jonas still barely moving from his spot from kissing her back. “So this is wrong,” She asked when he opened his eyes.

Jonas let a small nod out. He pulled away from her and walked away, “I’m sorry.”

Annalise popped out from behind the house and hopped up to show her head over the fence, “Hey Jonas.” She smiled in one of his oversized hoodies. The hood was so huge on her.

“Hey there dummy,” Jonas greeted her, “go around. You won’t make it over that side unless you get help and I’m not doing it. Because we will both fall, get wet, and you will rip my hoodie.”

Annalise pouted, “Fine.” She ducked back down not even noticing Martha was there. She ran to the other fence and jumped it to join Jonas.

Martha could hear him ask her, “What took you so long?” Her eyes started to fill with tears seeing them together. Jonas didn’t seem happy at first, but he wasn’t unhappy either. She could tell that he cherished her. Annalise just radiated so much happiness and devotion when she was with him. There was no one else in the world when they were together. Annalise danced around him while she could see him starting to liven back up from her antics. What truly broke her though, was that those two didn’t even need to kiss. Jonas just grabbed her to have Annalise next to him. With that, Annalise slipped her arm into his and laced her fingers with his. She put her head on his shoulder as they walked. Martha started to sob.

Aleksander stared at the bag as he started to make a few calls about Ulrich. He was so scared now. About the truck and his future.

Now the machine now whirled to life as the final piece started to fall into place.

Bartosz stood outside waiting for Noah. He got into the car and told the man, “You were right. Everything you predicted has happened.” He leaned his head against the window. It looked as though he had been crying before Noah had arrived. 

“Did you think about my offer,” Noah asked. 

Bartosz nodded, “Yes.”

In 1953, young Tannhaus disassembled the cellphone that Ulrich had left in his house. The grayed Claudia walked in effortlessly. The man stood up and asked, “Can I help you?”

She looked around then said, “I think I have something that could interest you.” She took out plans for the time machine and spread it out, “I want you to build this for me. It’s something that will set the course of time straight.”

[sockparade]

tips for surviving the pandemic: things i learned from my immigrant parents

It’s hard to believe that it’s only been a little over a week since the WHO announced that the coronavirus (COVID-19) was officially a pandemic. This has been a long, challenging week for a lot of people and it is nothing short of terrifying to read reports of what is happening in Asia and Europe as many predict that we’ll likely endure a similar fate here in the United States. In the midst of all of this chaos and uncertainty, I’ve been reminded of so many lessons that my Taiwanese immigrant parents taught me. I’m sharing them here so that others might also benefit. Thanks Ma. Thanks Daddy.

你昨天已經出去了.

“You already went out yesterday.“

1. Learn how to stay home. Our family is eight days into self-isolating at home and Tony asked me this morning if I had cabin fever. And strangely, the answer is no. I’m not. Not to downplay the difficulty of this moment but my experience with this “shelter-in-place” ordinance reminds of pretty much all my summers between kindergarten and 8th grade. Both of my parents worked full-time so summer was just three blissful months of nothing. No structure, no plans, no camps, no playdates, and no responsibilities. My parents never made me feel like I was missing a thing by staying home and I don’t remember ever feeling bored. There were always library books to read, stories to write, and thoughts to journal. Hours were spent playing school with my big sister (now a first grade teacher!), making up random games like who can avoid touching the carpet longest, learning Kim Zmeskal’s latest gymnastics floor routine, writing lyrics to Kenny G saxophone solos, and rehearsing for our variety show that we would perform to our tired parents at the end of the day. And that’s not even including the hours we spent watching The Price is Right, CHIPS, Knight Rider, and Airwolf (yep, no cable).   

As a teenager I carefully plotted all my hangouts with friends so that I didn’t have too many consecutive days when I was out of the house. Whenever I asked my parents if I could hang out with friends, they would always say, “But you already went out yesterday. What’s wrong with staying home? Why do you always have to go out?” It was as if having too much fun two days in a row was off limits. If there was a big party on Friday, I would purposely make sure I stayed home Wednesday and Thursday just to increase the chances of being able to go out on Friday. I know a lot of people talk about how awful their high school years were but I was one of those lucky kids who had a really great group of friends that made me feel seen, loved, and cared for. The downside was that I couldn’t get enough of it. I was always thinking about the next hangout, the next event, the next thing. It took me all the way until my late twenties to fully appreciate the fine art of staying home and to finish my unexpected transformation into the expert homebody that I am today. 

I’m reminded of that old quote by Blaise Pascal, “All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone." 

It’s great to be out and about, but it’s also really important to learn how to stay home.  

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晚上要吃什麼？清冰箱.

“What are we eating for dinner?” “Cleaning the fridge.”

2. Be creative with what you have. I love food. Not in a foodie sense, but I get a lot of pleasure out of eating. I’m not a food snob by any stretch of the imagination. I thoroughly enjoy a Stouffer’s frozen lasagna or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as much as I enjoy a fancy, inventive, Michelin-starred meal at Commis. What’s hard for me is when food is eaten as sustenance rather than with delight. But my parents taught me that you can always take pride in preparing a meal. No matter your ingredients.

My mom is an excellent cook. I know a lot of people think their mom is a good cook but my mom is legitimately skilled in the kitchen. There were some nights when I’d ask what was for dinner and my mom would just reply, “Cleaning the fridge.” 

Now for some, this might sound terrifying. But my mom could honestly make something out of nothing. I still crave my dad’s simple egg and garlic fried rice. My parents raised me to be able to make an tasty meal just from rummaging in the pantry and fridge for random leftover things. There were plenty of summers where lunches and snacks were an individual culinary adventure for each of us kids. I still remember the day I witnessed my baby sister add a Kraft single on top of her onion ramen noodles. She saw my confusion, shrugged and said, “You should try it, it’s good.” 

With all the hoarding folks have been doing during this pandemic, I’ve found myself feeling quite anxious. Trying to calculate if we have enough food. Estimating how many more meals we can eat at home before we need to make another grocery run. As someone who struggles with a scarcity mentality it has been hard not to panic. But then I keep reminding myself that I know how to make good food using just whatever’s available. 

You know, I was pretty disappointed with Mary H.K. Choi’s second novel, Permanent Record, given how much I enjoyed her debut novel, Emergency Contact. But I was absolutely thrilled with the shine she gave to what her protagonist calls “Hot Snacks”.

Here’s an excerpt from Permanent Record that is a beautiful ode to creative food mashups and immigrant kids everywhere: 

“I edit and post a Shin Ramyun Black video set to music. My favorite instant noodles with three flavor packets and so much garlic. It’s a classic Korean HotSnack, especially when you throw in cut-up hot dogs, frozen dumplings, extra kimchi - and this is where the artistry comes in- eggs, cheese, corn from a can, and a drizzle of sesame oil on top. And furikake if you’re feeling wealthy. The next night I put up a bacon, egg, and cheese not in a bagel but in a glazed honey bun. Laced with sriracha and pan fried on the outside. Then it’s chilaquiles with Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos and chorizo. Jamaican beef patty casserole disrespected with a smothering of Japanese curry and broiled. With Crystal Hot Sauce over the top and pickled banana peppers. I’m trolling with that one but the controversy is berserk. When I run out of old videos, I make saag paneer naanchos with Trader Joe’s frozen Indian food, and it’s a hit. Especially when I add yogurt and a thick layer of crushed-up Takis on top.”

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看連續劇.

“Watch soap operas.” 

3. Find a way to escape. I’m generally pro technology but I’ll admit I’m a little bummed at the way iPhones and iPads have made TV viewing such an individual activity. I like how Disney+ has gotten some families back to watching TV together again. Although I will say, we really coddle our kids these days. I grew up in a time when movie ratings only applied in the theaters and we watched movies with our families like Alien, The Fly, and Gremlins. We were scared out of our minds and sometimes could only watch through the cracks between our fingers covering our eyes because it was so scary. Okay, this also might be why I can’t watch horror movies as an adult. 

From a young age, my parents taught me that watching other people’s drama unfold on screen is one of the best way to escape your own drama. Some people say binge watching became a thing when the TV networks started releasing shows on DVD. Others give credit to Netflix releasing their original content a whole season at a time. But truth be told, I first learned how to binge watch from my parents. 

We would rent 30-40 VHS cassette tapes from that random spot in Bellaire Chinatown. Can you picture it? You needed multiple plastic bags to transport that many VHS tapes. 

Do you remember the one about the dying mother who needed to find homes for each of her 7 children? I don’t think it’s normal for a 10 year old to cry so much but you better believe it’s made me learn the true value of a soap opera escape hatch. 

Are you in a pandemic? Now’s the perfect time to pick up that YA novel, binge that reality show, start that kdrama, or rewatch all six seasons of The Sopranos again.

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下個禮拜會下雨.

“It’s going to rain next week.”

4. Be informed about what’s ahead. If you ask either of my parents about the weather at any given time they can reliably tell you the daily percent chance of precipitation and humidity for at least seven days out. They’ve always been this way. They would inform me of the weather at various points throughout the week. They planned their yard work and car washes around the weather forecast. There’s something about the way the weather forecast is available to everyone. And it feels like it’s just a matter of making the small extra effort to access it and gain a slight advantage. I feel like so much of the immigrant mentality is to be diligent in making the right choices to not screw yourself over and seizing opportunities whenever you can. And it wasn’t just weather but this is such an obvious example of it. 

I remember my dad saying to me once, "Can you imagine if someone decided to read every book in their local library? If they just went shelf by shelf and systematically read all the books? You could do it, you know. It’s free, it doesn’t cost any money to check out a book from the library. But no one really does it.” 

I think immigrant parents get a bad reputation for forwarding chain letters and health/science hoaxes they get on email, WeChat and Line. And in a pandemic, yes, they are definitely susceptible to misinformation, rumors and flat out untruths. But the thought behind it seems right. 

The mistrust of government leadership is actually quite relevant right now in this pandemic. Many immigrants left countries with governments that were overtly corrupt, oppressive, and used propaganda to influence its citizens. And while many Americans still take pride in living in a country that verbally champions freedom and democracy, the truth is that our government has already failed us and lied to us in many ways. During this pandemic, we cannot wait on leaders to tell us what to do. We must be diligent in reading for ourselves, seeking experts, using our critical thinking skills, and making preparations accordingly.

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會不會冷?

“Are you cold?” 

5. Check in with yourself. Check in with others. I have so many memories of my parents walking through the living room and asking me and my sisters if we were cold. It felt like they couldn’t walk past the thermostat without asking us if they needed to raise it or lower it. As if they couldn’t hear us sneeze and wonder if they needed to turn off the ceiling fan. They couldn’t see us sitting in a dim room without turning on a light for us. There are so many times I fell asleep reading on the couch and woke up with a blanket over me. Or sometimes I was fully awake doing something random, like playing Egyptian Rat Screw with my sisters (a cardgame for the uninitiated), and my mom would walk by and wordlessly drop a warm, heavy blanket over my shoulders. That’s care, y’all. Consistent, immediate action, and often without words.  

The tip here is to pay attention to your discomfort during a pandemic. There’s this immigrant stereotype of stoicism and that’s true to some degree but maybe the resilience is made possible not because of unnatural toughness but largely because immigrant parents can also be so incredibly perceptive and tender in some very tangible ways. 

When everything is chaotic around you and you’re busy multitasking these next few months, don’t ignore your needs. Notice how you’re feeling. Physically and emotionally. Where are you carrying your stress and tension in your body? You don’t have to tough it out. Oh and remember to check in with your people on how they’re feeling. Is there a light switch you can turn on for someone? 

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笑死人.

“Laugh to death.” 

6. Laugh to survive. Look, we didn’t have the perfect family or anything like that. We’ve definitely had our share of difficult times, financial stress, health issues, arguments, and pain. But my parents also really knew how to laugh and taught us to laugh with abandon. Like, bent over, tears running out of your eyes, can’t breathe kind of laughing. Our dinner table was kind of like a writer’s room. It was difficult to tell a mediocre story. You had better come prepared with a punchline or a point. It was a tough crowd, every night. On many occasions I stopped myself halfway through a story upon the self-realization that there was no real way to land the plane. Polite laughs were nowhere to be found, except perhaps a charitable smile from my baby sister. But it didn’t stop us from trying. I think my sisters and I are all probably better storytellers for it and we definitely have learned to try to bring humor into difficult times.  

I know that this pandemic is so incredibly dark and depressing that it can sometimes feel disrespectful, inappropriate, or childish to laugh at anything. But my parents taught me that you laugh to survive. Nothing is ever so dark that you can’t find a reason to laugh. And sometimes you really need to find something to laugh about.

I’ve been taking long breaks each day from major media news outlets but I have been finding such joy and laughter from the meme creators on IG and the comedic geniuses on Twitter. In Taiwanese when something’s really funny, people will say a phrase that is imperfectly translated as laugh to death. Like you killed a person it was so funny. Now’s the time to find that content or those people who will get you to laugh to death. 

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我要去挪車.

“I’m going to go re-park the cars.” 

7. Go to bed with a plan for the next morning. I grew up in a suburb of Houston, Texas where one property developer built the entire neighborhood and used the same eight or nine floor plans for all the houses but changed up the brick and trim color to keep things interesting. Most homes have a long driveway that connects a garage set near the backdoor of a home to the street. By the time I was driving, we had four cars in total -- two in the garage and two on the driveway. At the end of the day when everyone was home for the night and my dad was getting ready to go to bed, he’d announce, “I’m going to go re-park the cars.” Then we’d all kind of stop what we were doing and rearrange the order of the cars to match our morning departure schedules. This meant figuring out who was leaving when in the morning and sometimes also prompted brief check-in conversations about any changes in our usual routine. 

In a pandemic it can sometimes feel like there are a million different things to attend to and large conceptual concerns that demand your attention. But there’s something calming and centering about spending a few minutes each night thinking through specifically what needs to happen just tomorrow. Not the day after or next week. Get super tactical and specific about what tomorrow morning looks like. Check-in with your partner about any aberrations to your schedule (e.g. I have a super important conference call at 7am tomorrow) to minimize any unnecessary surprises. There’s something magical about setting up your morning that helps you rest just a little easier at night. 

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星期三我們有禱告會.

“On Wednesdays we have prayer meeting.”

8. Make time for your spirituality. Growing up my parents both had physically demanding jobs. My mom was a seamstress for many years, providing alterations at my aunt and uncle’s dry cleaners. She later worked in an elementary school cafeteria and then eventually became a classroom aide for special needs students. My dad worked at that same dry cleaners for years until he got a job at the post office. He then became a letter carrier, delivering mail on foot. The summer months were especially grueling, carrying a heavy sack of mail in 100 degree, humid weather, and walking until sweat soaked his shirts and blisters formed on his feet. They had every excuse to skip weeknight events. But unless they were sick in bed, I can’t remember a time when they missed their weekly prayer meeting with their friends from church.  

Pandemics have an unsettling way of forcing us to confront our mortality and can trigger a bunch of unresolved shit that has been bubbling underneath the surface. We’ve lost some of our usual coping mechanisms and it can be super hard to quiet the anxieties, fears, and other demons that we usually try to keep under control. This isn’t a lecture about a particular faith or belief system. It’s just a reminder to prioritize your existential questions, your interior life, and your connection to things much bigger than yourself -- whether that’s a community, a yoga practice, a faith group, a tradition, or something else. 

I have a fledgling meditation practice that I’ve been trying to strengthen since last year. When I say fledgling I mean that sometimes I bail before the ten minutes is up and check my phone. Even though I’m not very good at it yet, I can really tell the difference on the days that I make time for it. Our church started hosting its weekly Sunday service online and that’s challenging for me because a church service feels like it’s designed to be so much about the physical rhythm of going to a place, seeing faces of people I love, hearing their voices co-mingling with mine in song and in prayer, and tasting the bread and wine in my mouth. The online service was short, and just for viewing through a zoom conference call, but there was still something meaningful about setting aside that time Sunday morning, asking our wiggly kids to be present, and saying the liturgy out loud knowing that in homes all across the country, other people are doing the same. 

If things are really going to get as bad as some are predicting, we’ll need the spiritual strength to make it to the other side. Those habits are hard to form overnight. My parents taught me that you really have to make the time for your spirituality non-negotiable, so that you won’t abandon it when it’s inconvenient or when you are too tired.    

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沒辦法.

“What choice do we have?” 

9. Rise to the occasion. Whenever my parents are telling old war stories about things they had to do to get to where they are today, inevitably one of us will say, “Man that’s crazy, how did you manage to do it?” And instead of pointing to some super personality trait of theirs or some complex self-help principle, they always say, “We had no choice.” It’s not said in a defeated way, but in a posture of accepting that life can be cruel, unfair, and capricious. And that it’s not helpful to dwell too long on the why’s and how’s. My parents taught me that you can’t stay in despair mode. You eventually have to push yourself into problem solving mode and you do whatever it takes to move forward.  

This coronavirus is so unlike anything we’ve ever experienced in our lifetime. It is so unprecedented for me that my brain is having a hard time processing the reality of what’s happening right now and the rest of my lived experience. I spent the first few days of this week just being overwhelmed, anxious, angry, and irritable. At this point though, I’m in go mode. I’m doing what needs to be done for our family and taking care of business. What choice do we have? I can hear my parents saying it. One day, if we’re lucky, we’ll say it to our kids too. 

[bellakitse]

Michael vs Lox the duck - part 1

Alex gets a duck named Lox. Lox hates Michael. Michael has a feathered nemesis. 

check out the pinterest board for pics of Lox here

Michael arrives at Alex's cabin with his tools. The last time he was there for dinner, at Alex's insistence that they have 'friend moments' despite already having confessed that they still loved each other, even when they had both tried to move on, he’d noticed the shaky floorboards of Alex's front porch steps.

He goes up said uneven steps. Lifting his hand to knock, despite having the key Alex gave him when he hears a crash coming from inside. Forgetting to be polite, he doesn't knock or even use his key. Instead, he turns the lock with his mind and pushes the door open to find… a duck.

There is a duck in the middle of Alex's cabin along with Alex's sweet beagle, Bagel. Next to them is Alex's small side table, knocked over, the lamp that usually sits on it in pieces.

Bagel, who in the last month that Alex has had her, is usually mellow, always looking at everything with sad eyes, is bouncing around the duck, barking happily and licking at the duck when it presses its small body against hers. Michael thinks it's the first time she’s ever seemed so animated; it's sweet. But it still doesn't explain the duck in Alex's home.

He opens his mouth to call out for Alex so he can shine a light on the mystery that is this feathered intruder when he comes into the living room from the direction of the kitchen. Alex barely spares him a look and a fleeting smile, before he looks down at the two animals that have stopped jumping around and are now looking up at him in attention. He's seen Bagel do that, always going alert in the presence of her owner, but is surprised to see this strange duck do the same.

"Bagel, Lox," Alex starts, his tone scolding but soft, as he places his hands on his hips with a frown on his face. "Did you guys make this mess?"

Bagel lets out a small whine, laying her head down on her paws, her big wet eyes looking remorseful.

And…Lox?

The duck lets out a squawk of his own, laying his head over Bagel’s.

Alex's expression softens. "I'm not mad guys, but we have to be more careful in our home."

The pair let out a couple of calls that Michael swears sound as if they are agreeing with Alex, and given the smile on Alex's face, he's not the only one interpreting it that way.

“Uh, Alex?”

Alex lifts his gaze from the animals on the floor to look at him, giving him an easy smile that he seems to give freely to Michael these days and never fails to remind him how far they’ve come. “Hey,” he greets him, his tone tender. “This is a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I came to fix your steps,” Michael explains showing him his toolbox. “I heard the crash, and I thought maybe you were hurt, so I let myself in.”

“You used your key?” Alex asks pleased, and it makes something in Michael jump, the fact that Alex wants him in his space, wants him to feel like he’s welcomed, warms him inside.

“Yeah,” Michael says, tapping at his temple, giving a shrug when Alex lets out an amused huff.

“Okay,” he says easily, and it’s just another thing that makes Michael love Alex just a little bit more, his easy acceptance of Michael’s powers, and his lack of fear of them.

“So are we going to ignore the duck in the room or what?” he questions after a moment when Alex doesn’t say anything.

Alex frowns, looking back down at the duck who has since waddled towards the couch. “Lox? What about him?”

Michael gives him an incredulous look. “Umm, how about the fact that I was here two days ago, and you didn’t have a duck, but now the cabin is apparently his home or the fact that his name is Lox?”

Alex rolls his eyes, which isn’t the response Michael is expecting. “My dog’s name is Bagel, Guerin. He’s her duck brother, what else should I name him?”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “That answers nothing, Alex.”

“It answers the name question,” Alex shoots back, the corners of his mouth quirking upward, reminding Michael how good being a smartass looks on him.

This time Michael rolls his eyes, more at himself and his lovesick thoughts, than at Alex. “Do you want to answer the first question?”

Alex shrugs as he goes to the couch, Bagel follows him, climbing on his lap once he’s sat down. Lox the duck squawks until Alex reaches down and places him next to him. The duck settles in nicely, placing his small head over Bagel’s again. “So apparently these two were friends at the shelter,” Alex starts as he runs a hand over Lox’s feathers, while the other rubs Bagel’s back. “They didn’t tell me this when I adopted Bagel, and while she’s been adjusting to living here, you’ve seen she’s sad, right?”

Michael nods. Bagel is such a sweet dog, and it’s obvious that she’s already taken with Alex and even with Michael, usually curling at his feet when he visits. But he’s seen her cry for hours sometimes like she’s missing something.

“Anyway, I called the shelter to ask for some more information on her,” Alex continues. “And that’s when they told me about this little guy, who was her buddy, he was still at the shelter because most people go to adopt dogs and cats, maybe a rabbit, but not a duck.”

Michael sits down on the sofa chair across from them, starting to get a picture of where the story is going.

“I took Bagel to see him yesterday,” Alex looks down at his dog with the softest smile, so gentle and loving that it makes Michael’s heart squeeze. “She got so excited when she saw him, and he with her. They hugged, Guerin, I swear,” he promises, looking at Michael with wide eyes like he’s seeking his approval. “I couldn’t leave him there; it’s obvious that they’re family.”

Michael stares at the man he has loved for over a decade and falls in love just a little bit harder. It’s just such an Alex response. "Obvious," He says softly, a smile on his lips. Alex looks at him, and he's not sure what his face is showing Alex, but it makes Alex go rosy and bashful as he looks away again, clearing his throat.

"Do you want to pet him?" Alex asks quietly, biting down on that bottom lip of his that drives Michael to distraction, especially when it's caught between Alex's teeth. He misses kissing Alex; he misses it so much he aches with it. The knowledge that one of these days he'll get to press his mouth against Alex's, both gets him through his days and leaves him on edge, needy. This slow-burn back to each other being the sweetest, most torturous tease of his life. "Guerin?"

Michael snaps back from his thoughts, blinking quickly. "Huh?"

Alex looks at him for a moment and starts to smile slowly, knowingly. He might be the alien in the room, but there are times like this that he's convinced that he's not the only one with mind powers.

"Come pet him," Alex repeats, extending his hand to Michael. "He's really sweet."

Michael gets up and walks over to the trio. Bagel doesn't move from her place on Alex's lap, not that he blames her, he's enjoyed that lap plenty. Lox, on the other hand, lifts his head off his friend and stares at Michael with black shiny eyes.

"He's really cute, isn't he?" Alex continues as he plays with Lox's feathers.

Michael doesn't answer, but there is nothing cute about the way the bird is staring him down. Still, he reaches out to touch his small white head, anything to please Alex. His fingers barely touch the feathery head before Lox clamps his beak over Michael’s index finger.

“Fuck!” Michael jumps back.

Bagel starts barking excitedly at his reaction, Lox joining her by squawking.

“Shit, Guerin,” Alex stands, getting from under the animals that are now jumping around on the couch. “Are you okay?”

“He bit me!” Michael exclaims, cradling his bitten hand to his chest.

Alex takes his hand in his, examining it. “Technically ducks don’t have teeth,” he says, running his fingers over the slightly red skin. “He didn’t bite you. He pinched you.”

Michael rolls his eyes at the explanation. “Really, Alex? He attacks me, and you’re explaining duck physiology to me?” he kind of whines, playing it up. “I’m hurt here; he could have drawn blood.”

Alex gives him a small apologetic smile. “I’m sorry,” he says, though there is a teasing glint in his eyes that betrays his amusement.

“The least you could do is kiss it better,” he continues, laying it on thick. His pulse ticks upward when Alex’s eyes widen, locking with his as he lets out a deep breath. “It’s your wild beast, after all.”

Alex looks at him for another second, those dark eyes of his showing so much. He holds his breath as Alex brings his hand to his mouth and presses his lips against Michael’s index finger, holding it to his mouth. “Better?” he asks quietly against his skin.

“I might have miscalculated here,” Michael admits just as softly, his free hand pulling Alex closer by the waist, a sigh of relief passing his lips when Alex allows it, his body pressed against Michael’s.

“How so?” Alex murmurs, his face inches away from Michael.

Michael takes a moment to admire it. It’s been a while since he’s been this close to Alex, and Alex has always been the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He takes in everything, the thick brows, the perfect skin, but for the small scar on his forehead he didn’t have back when they were teenagers. He makes a note to ask about it. He looks into those eyes he could get lost in forever, the straight line of his nose. Cheekbones that even Isobel as commented on enviously. His mouth, that perfect mouth of his, soft lips that know how to take Michael apart just by the taste of them.

“I haven’t had your lips on me in months,” he whispers, his hand reaching to touch Alex’s face, his thumb pressing at the corner of his mouth. “So, this was just a tease.”

Alex lets out a soft laugh, his hand raking through Michael’s hair, tugging Michael closer.

“I thought we were taking it slow,” he whispers, even as Alex brushes his lips against his.

“We can stop,” Alex hovers, his breath against his skin. “Maybe shake hands, instead.”

“Fuck, no,” Michael answers with a laughing groan before he closes the last bit of the gap between them. Months, months of pain, of being with other people, trying to build an actual relationship between them. Months of curbing the constant need to touch Alex pours out of him. Alex moans, his hands gripping Michael’s hair, his body pressed tightly and heavy against his like he’s trying to fuse them together, trusting that Michael will keep them upright. Alex runs his tongue over the stem of Michael’s lips, slipping in when it makes Michael gasp.

“Alex, darling,” Michael pants out, and he’d be embarrassed at being so breathless from just a kiss, left so needy if it wasn’t for the fact that this is the way its always been between them. No one on the planet can get him going faster than Alex Manes; no one ever will.

Alex shivers, his hands going tighter around Michael’s curls. “I missed you calling me that,” he whispers, he pulls back enough to look at Michael.

Michael is blown away by the way Alex looks, his eyes hazy, his skin flushed, and there is a smile on his face, so sweet, so hopeful, that it almost breaks Michael’s heart thinking that there was a time where he thought that smile would never be directed at him again. He promises silently that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep Alex smiling like that at him.

“I’ll call you darling every day if you keep kissing me,” he promises, proud when that smile grows even more.

Alex looks more than ready to continue, a teasing smirk on his face that holds promises of his own; when  Lox lets out a series of screeches, startling both of them. Alex takes a step away from him, and it’s enough for the rotten bird to get between them, flapping his wings at Michael until he too steps away.

Michael looks over at Alex, who is looking at Lox, surprised, raising an eyebrow at him when Alex looks back at him.

Alex shrugs. “I’m sure he’ll warm up to you.”

***

Lox doesn't warm up to him.

In fact, Lox seems to hate Michael with the intensity of the sun.

"Lox doesn't hate you, Guerin," Alex says with a huffing laugh as they sit on the bed of his truck, settling in to watch Jurassic Park at the drive-in. Bagel and Lox (because yes, Alex brought them with him, in matching knitted sweaters no less) are off-leash playing by their feet. “How can something so cute, hate anything?”

Michael looks down at Lox and Bagel, who has calmed down now that she’s smelled her surroundings and is now settling down. Lox is pressed against her, but like he knows they’re talking about him is staring at Michael with those evil beady eyes of his. Lox has been living with Alex and Bagel for three weeks now, and in that time, has snapped his beak, flapped his wings, and chased Michael around every time he’s been over at the cabin for a visit. Only calming down if Bagel distracts him with her games. He’s tried everything, including bribing the damn thing with duck treats, that only worked until he ran out of them, and then the damn thing tried to rip his pant’s pockets off thinking he had more and was denying him his snacks. Alex finds it amusing, but Michael knows an enemy when he sees one, and the damn thing is out to get rid of him.

Lox screeches in his direction, a warning if he ever heard one before laying down on Bagel, their matching sweaters blending together.

Michael frowns, looking at the pair, taking in the purple and blue threading. “Where did you even find those matching sweaters for them? I know there are clothes for dogs, but ducks?”

Alex takes a pull of the beer he brought with him to their date, looking away from him. Michael studies him, his eyes narrowing when he spots a hint of a blush on Alex’s face. He looks back at the pair, they aren’t bad sweaters, but the more he looks at them, the more he realizes that they’re homemade.

“Alex?” he starts, amusement coloring his voice as a thought enters his head. “Did you…did you knit them their sweaters?”

“It gets cold here at night,” Alex argues. “And like you said, no one makes clothes for ducks.”

He grins, letting out a laugh when Alex shoots him a dark look. Unable to help himself, he pulls Alex close, pressing a kiss at his temple, relishing when Alex doesn’t pull away because they’re in public. Instead, he leans into Michael’s touch, his face tucked into his neck.

“When did you learn to knit?”

“Therapist recommended a hobby once,” Alex murmurs into his skin, his hand comes to rest on Michael’s stomach, holding on to his shirt. “It kept my hands busy after I got hurt.”

Michael lets out a small sound and nothing else. He just holds Alex a little tighter. “You should make me a sweater.”

Alex pulls back and looks up at him, smiling. “So, you can match with Bagel and Lox?”

Michael shrugs. “Sure.”

Alex chuckles. “And you’d wear it?” he asks, skeptical, looking back down at his pets. “I’m not very good.”

“They look good to me,” he assures him. “And they both look warm and happy. No one’s ever made me anything, and it would be from you,” he finishes feeling self-conscious as Alex looks at him with fondness in his eyes.

“I’ll make you a sweater with a scarf and gloves to match,” Alex promises with a smile as he leans in. Michael smiles back at him, warmed by his words, and accepts the gentle kiss Alex gives him.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he says against Alex’s lips, kissing his smile once more. He’s more than ready to say to hell with the rest of the movie, and just keep making out when he feels a tug at the laces of his boots. Looking down, he’s not surprised to see Lox at his feet, eating said laces.

“Your duck is a cockblock,” he grumbles, shaking the duck off gently. Alex snorts hopping off to pick up Lox and then Bagel when she jumps on his legs to join them. Alex puts Bagel on Michael’s lap while he holds on to Lox.

“He just wants us to watch the movie,” Alex teases, as he pets the small white duck. Michael doesn’t believe that for a second. Lox is out to get rid of him. He doesn’t say it out loud because even he knows how ridiculous it sounds, even if it’s true. Instead, he gives Bagel the cuddles she deserves, grateful that at least one of Alex’s pets like him.

“Besides,” Alex continues, his voice casual, but the heated look he sends Michael anything but. “We are going to continue where we left off when you follow me home tonight.”

Michael swallows hard. “I’m following you home?”

“Mmhmm,” Alex hums, a playful smile on his face. “And I’m going to invite you in for coffee when really I’ll be asking you to spend the night.”

“Can we go now?” he blurts out after a few minutes of quiet between them, impatient.

Pleased when Alex lets out a happy laugh.

 ***

Michael wakes up with Alex's warm body next to his, his head on his shoulder, and the total peace and satisfaction of having what he loves the most back in his life.

What he also has, is a pissed-off looking white duck on his naked chest, mean black eyes staring at him in judgment. Before he can react, Lox is already flapping his wings, letting out a battle cry of a screech as he snaps his beak at Michael, scaring him more than Michael is ready to admit.

What happens next Michael isn’t sure; all he knows is that he’s ended buck-naked on Alex’s bedroom floor, having rolled off the bed in his effort to get away from Alex’s duck, who obviously is possessed by satan.

He lays on the floor for a second, his heart beating wildly when he hears a snicker from the bed. Slowly he stands up and finds an alert Alex sitting up, the sheets pooled over his lower half and Lox on his lap. Alex is running a soothing hand down the bird’s back to calm him down.

“Good morning?” Alex askes hesitantly,

Michael stares at him wide-eyed and a little manic. “It was, until that duck from the pits of hell tried to kill me in my sleep!”

Alex’s lips twitch.

“Guerin,” he starts, trying to mollify him.

“Uh-uh,” Michael cuts him off. “I have been saying for weeks that he’s out to get me. He doesn’t like me.”

“He’s a duck, Guerin,” Alex tries again, he still sounds amused, but his tone is gentle.

“Who’s trying to keep us apart,” Michael answers, feeling a little crazed by the ridiculousness of the situation. “We have spent 10 years apart, we’ve had feuding families that make the Montagues and Capulets seem like friends, aliens, your crazy homophobic father, a shit ton of misunderstandings and we have overcome all of that, but a demon duck is what's going to keep me away from the love of my life,” he exclaims. “How is this my life.”

"Love of your life?”

Michael looks at Alex, takes in his expression, the love that’s there, the amusement that is also still there, but also a tiny amount of doubt, and he finds himself scoffing. "Oh don't act like you didn't know. Of course you’re the love of my life. I have never loved anyone else, and I don’t plan to ever love anyone else but you, so don’t change the subject.  We are talking about your duck and how he's trying to kill me to keep you all to himself, focus, Alex.”

Alex looks at him, biting down on his lip, but it doesn’t stop the laughter that pours out of him. Michael stands there, still naked and frankly offended as Alex is reduced to giggles, still clutching his evil duck.

“Oh, Michael,” Alex sighs happily, still chuckling. “I love you, so fucking much.”

Michael opens his mouth and closes it, his heart pounding. It’s the first time either of them has actually said those words out loud. Alex doesn’t wait for him to answer; instead he turns to Lox and lifts him to eye level.

“Okay, buddy,” he starts gentle but stern. “I get it. Bagel and I are your people. You’re protective. But you don’t have to be protective of me from Michael. He’s my people, which makes him our people. So I’m gonna need you to start being a good duck when he’s around. I’m sure he’ll grow on you, he did on me.”

Michael narrows his eyes, at the teasing look, Alex throws his way. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously,” he pouts, wincing as he hears the whine in his voice.

"I'm telling my duck to stop being mean to my boyfriend, Guerin; you're lucky I'm not still laughing hysterically."

Michael perks up at that. “Boyfriend?”

Alex shoots him an unimpressed look. He puts Lox down on the floor and tells him to go find his sister, and the damn thing listens, waddling out the door. He looks back at Michael and pats on the bed, gesturing for him to come back. Michael gets in the bed and lays down on his side, facing Alex as he does the same. Alex slips an arm around his waist and tugs him close until they are pressed against each other, faces inches away.

“I tell you I love you, but me calling you my boyfriend is what trips you up?” Alex questions with a raised eyebrow.

“The ‘I love you’ part sent my heart racing,” he confesses.

Alex smiles. “Love of your life did the same to me.”

Michael matches his smile. “You are, you know. The love of my life, I love you, Alex.”

Alex closes his eyes, the smile on his face beaming, and Michael can’t help but close the gap and kiss him until they are breathless. When they break the kiss, Alex tilts his face to press another kiss on his forehead.

“You said it yourself, Michael,” Alex whispers, opening his eyes, his love shining in them. “We have been through so much; nothing is keeping us apart now. I won’t let it.”

“I won’t either,” he promises.

“I know,” Alex says softly. “This time, it’s for keeps.”

Michael nods, swallowing around the lump of emotion in his throat. “Your duck still hates me, though,” Michael assures, knowing it’s true.

Alex lets out another small laugh, his face going sly. “Guess you’ll have to spend a lot of time here, exposing him to that Guerin charm of yours until you win him over.”

Michael raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t think I won’t,” he says, pulling Alex even closer, letting out a pleased hum as Alex tucks himself into Michael’s chest. Over his shoulder he sees that Lox is back at the door, staring him down. He runs a hand down Alex’s back and looks straight at his new feathered nemesis with narrowed eyes. “I’m not about to be beaten by some damn duck.”